The big alligator had not reappeared, and at the point where they then were there were no alligators to be seen either in the water or on the shore.
Coot looked around him. On the right hand of the stream the shore was low and marshy, but on the side nearest the town, the bank was a little higher than it had been, and between the creek and the forest, about a quarter of a mile away, there was a level stretch of dry land, covered with coarse grass.
“I tell you what we kin do,” said Coot. “There’s a road over thar in the woods that leads straight to town. ’Taint much of a road, but it’ll do to walk in, and it won’t be long before we kin strike it. I say, let’s land here, and walk to town. We kin git thar easy in three or four hours.”
“What do you mean?” cried Phil. “Leave this boat here, and the sail-boat in the river?”
“Yes, sir,” said Coot. “You don’t ketch me goin’ down among all them ’gators ag’in. I wouldn’t do it for all the money in the world! We kin come after the sail-boat to-morrow, and as for this dinky, we’ll have to leave her. It’s a pity for Bill Hawkins to lose his dinky, but what’s a little boat like this to being scrunched up by a lot of ’gators!”
“It will be a mighty mean thing to leave the man’s boat here!” exclaimed Phil, “and I’m not going to do it!”
“Nor I either!” cried Chap and Phœnix, in a breath.
“All right!” said Coot, pulling toward the shore. “I’m goin’ to land and walk to town, and if you choose to run back through all them ’gators you kin do it. I ain’t got no way to hender you.”
“What did you come for, if you’re afraid?” asked Chap.
“I didn’t think there was so many of ’em, or I wouldn’t ’a’ come,” was the cool reply.