“Ten minutes went by.” Bob sighed sympathetically. “Then I saw that tree. I don’t know how I came to think of it. But the minute I did, I realized it was the only thing I could do. I didn’t know whethah I had the nerve, but I decided I’d go ahead ’til I weakened. So I took out my films, rolled ’em tight in my handkerchief and stuck ’em inside my shirt. Then I made a present o’ the camera and my coat, revolver and shoes to the runaway citizens, an’—”
“So you could climb?” suggested Bob.
“So I could swim,” explained Tom.
“Swim?” exclaimed Bob. “In that whirl pool o’ alligators and snakes?”
Tom shrugged his shoulders. “What else could I do? Theah was no bridge and the tree was ovah in the swamp.”
“I’d have died first,” said Bob stoutly.
“You would not. You’d a done just what I did. Anyway, I picked up all the loose bits o’ wood and small objects I could find and rushed at it. I had to rush. I knew you were gettin’ mighty close. I yelled, threw chunks an’ things in the watah ’til I hoped my wriggly friends would have somethin’ else to think about. Then I took a runnin’ dive, an’ splashin’ an’ yellin’ like mad, I got theah.”
Bob’s sigh was almost a groan.
“After that,” concluded Tom, “it was easy enough. That is, after I got to the tree. I was in marsh water nearly to my ahms, but when I got hold o’ the hangin’ limbs and got a start on the tree, I felt so good that climbin’ wasn’t much. I stahted on a small tree leanin’ against the big one, an’ when I got where I could shin, I went up like a monkey. You know the rest, as well as I do. An’ now,” said the somewhat wobbly southern boy, “I’ve had enough o’ this part o’ the Everglades. When yo’ all is ready, I am. The camp on Anclote Island and the old Three Sistahs are good enough fo’ me.”
“But you’re goin’ to write about it, just the same,” announced the proud Bob.