“The next time I come here I’m going to bring along a bottle of citronella, and a bundle of Chinese punk sticks!” exclaimed Bob, slapping vigorously at his neck.
“That’s right! They’re fierce!” agreed Jerry. “Well, I guess we might as well go back.”
He led the way to the motor boat, seemingly indifferent to the operations of the men in the swamp. But, when he was out of their sight, around a clump of trees, Jerry began digging with a sharp stick, turning up some of the yellow clay.
“What in the world are you doing?” asked Ned. “Going to plaster some of that on your mosquito bites? I’ve heard that mud was good for a bee sting, so it might be good for mosquito bites.”
“Nothing like that,” said Jerry. “I just want to get some samples of this clay, that’s all.”
“But I thought you said it was no good,” spoke Bob.
“I did say so,” admitted Jerry, “but I’m not so sure of that now. Ned, did you happen to notice that, though Fussel said they were only making drainage ditches, the men had all the yellow clay they took out piled in one place? Did you notice that?”
“I did, but what does that mean?”
“It means, in my opinion,” said Jerry, slowly, “that those fellows were up to some other game than merely draining this swamp.”
“You think——” began Ned, excitedly.