“But none of us have heard anything like that!” said the other.
“No, not a shout that I could mention,” Tom admitted. “There are those noisy crows keeping up a chatter in the tree-tops where they are holding a caucus, and some scolding bluejays over here, but nothing that sounds like a human cry.”
“It looks bad, and makes me feel shivery,” continued Carl.
“Oh! we mustn’t let ourselves think that all of them could have been caught,” the patrol leader hastened to say, meaning to cheer his chum up. “They may have been smarter than Mr. Henderson thinks, and managed to get through the bog without getting stuck.”
Perhaps Carl was comforted by these words on the part of his chum; but nevertheless the anxious look did not leave his face.
They had by this time fully entered the bog. It was of a peculiar formation, and not at all of a nature to cause alarm in the beginning. Indeed it seemed as though any person with common sense could go through on those crooked trails that ran this way and that.
The old naturalist had taken the lead at this point, and they could see that he kept watching the trail in front of him. From time to time he would speak, and the one who came just behind passed the word along, so in turn every scout knew that positive marks betrayed the fact of Tony’s crowd having really come that way.
By slow degrees the nature of the bog changed. One might not notice that his surroundings had become less promising, and that the surface of the ooze, green though it was, would prove a delusion and a snare if stepped on, allowing the foot to sink many inches in the sticky mass.
In numerous places they could see where the boys ahead of them had missed the trail, though always managing to regain the more solid ground.
“It’s getting a whole lot spooky in here, let me tell you!” admitted Felix, after they had been progressing for some time.