He stopped, swung around, and showed his teeth in a smile that was as free from worry as the day.
"Me sing askabee," he explained. "Enemy go down when me sing askabee."
"Then pray continue, by all means," I said hurriedly, "Maybe after breakfast we can manage to knock out a duet."
"We build fort after breakfast," he replied, unmindful of my banter. "Breakfast 'bout ready. Get wet quick and come back soon." It's a wonder he hadn't told me to smoke.
On the southern and western edge of our "island"—thus being nearest Efaw Kotee's settlement—were a lot of fallen palms; trees that many years ago had been killed by fire and now lay partially rotted. The best of these Smilax had planned to make into a fort; not an elaborate affair, but a shoulder-high hollow square, around which was to be built another hollow square, a three foot space between their walls to be filled with sand. It was a good idea, and would stop a Krag or modern Springfield bullet with ease.
We worked on this till noon; he trimming, lifting and placing the logs—and elephants have never swung teak more splendidly—while I, with our jointed camp spade, filled in the sand. The use of an axe could not possibly betray our position as Efaw Kotee had been betrayed, because the breeze continued from him to us, and also for the equally good reason that the bite of an axe in soggy palmetto does not sound with anything like the ring that is caused by hardwood. So our walls grew, being fitted with nice precision that gave them more than enough strength to sustain the filling of sand—which, in turn, was kept from sifting through the interstices by a double lining of palm leaves.
After an early luncheon we went back to add a few finishing touches, and then stood off admiring it.
"Oughtn't we put in a stock of provisions?" I asked.
"No stay long 'nough in there to get much hungry," Smilax shook his head. "One night and they pull um down and got us. Good to keep 'em off in daytime; after dark we run in grass."
There was something in what he said.