“The fellow in the bow looked to me something like that superintendent at the turpentine camp,” Scott said doubtfully, “but I may have been mistaken. I have never seen him but once.”
“Yes, sir, that’s exactly who it was. Now what do you suppose he is doing over here?”
Before Scott could answer they both heard quite distinctly that clanking of a chain which had come to them the night before from somewhere out there in the swamp. It was much plainer than it had been before and seemed nearer. They listened intently for a few minutes but heard nothing more.
“Let’s take a sneak out that way,” Murphy suggested eagerly.
Scott nodded and they scrambled silently across the neck of land to the boat in the swamp. “Don’t make any noise,” Scott cautioned. “We do not want them to know that we are on the lookout any sooner than we can help.”
The moon had not yet come up and it was so dark back there in the swamp that they made slow progress. Every few minutes they stopped to listen. Once or twice they thought they heard a faint splashing, but sounds are very hard to locate in such a place. After more than an hour of fruitless search they gave it up.
“Now, what?” Murphy whispered as they sat disconsolate in the middle of the swamp.
“How far is it down to the place where they sell those logs?” Scott asked thoughtfully.
“About fifteen miles.”
“Will they make it with that raft to-night?”