“We’re blocked, sure enough,” said Bobby. “We’ll have to go back and try some fresh path.”
“Looks that way,” assented Lee. “And I hope we find some bit of solid ground soon, fellows, because I’m pretty near all in. I can’t go much further.”
For the first time the boys realized the deadly danger in which they stood. The strenuous exertions necessary to keep away from being swallowed up by the black mud, the terrific heat, and the deadly gases that rose continually from the rotting vegetable matter, were all combining to sap their strength. And if that once gave out they realized there was no alternative but death in the clinging, suffocating mud.
Bobby felt his own heart sink, but he showed nothing of this in his manner as he said: “Ah, we’ll be all right in a little while, Lee. We’re bound to hit dry ground pretty soon. Keep a stiff upper lip and we’ll get through right enough.”
“Well, you’d better set the pace, and I’ll do my best to keep up,” returned the Southern boy.
Accordingly, Bobby started off, followed by Lee, with Fred last. Bobby had become somewhat used to picking his way over the grass tussocks by this time, and in addition he seemed to have a sort of instinct which, told him what path to take and which to avoid. Under his guidance they made better progress, and after a time Fred remarked:
“I may be only dreaming, but it seems to me that the ground is getting a little firmer. What do you fellows think?”
“I reckon it is,” panted Lee. “I’ve heard the darkeys say there was an island in the swamp somewhere, and maybe we’re getting near it.”
Sure enough, they soon spied higher ground ahead of them, with some trees growing on it. The sight gave them fresh courage, and they struggled gamely on, until at last came a time when they could put foot to ground without feeling it sink into slimy mud.