The visitor was bearded and ragged from dwelling in the swamp, but he strode up to the camp with a confident, even aggressive step, such as no true swamp denizen would use; and presently, beneath the beard, the matted hair and ragged clothes Roger recognized Davis, the man whom they had helped to escape from the Cormorant that first day on the river. Davis' attention was concentrated upon Willy's wound.
"What?" he said hopefully. "Are there still some of them round?"
When the accident had been explained he turned to Roger.
"The United States Government missed by two hours last night the biggest round-up of egret shooters ever made. Garman tried a gang of pugs first, and you cleaned them out. Then he yanked his egret shooters out of the rookery and put them on the job. It was the first time in two years' work that I'd known 'em to be in a bunch. I got fifty government men assembled at Citrus Grove for a round-up; but the crooks down here got word of it somehow and streaked it into the cypress swamp. We've got the rookery, got twenty good men hidden there; they'll never shoot there again; and the rest of the men are after the gang in the cypress swamp. We lost out last night; but I think Garman's egret graft is broken up for good."
"Garman? Is he in that, too?"
Davis smiled.
"Payne, do you know anything round here that Garman isn't in? He's boss of the egret graft down here."
"Have you got evidence of that?"
"I'll say we have. A photograph of him trying out the gas gun he invented on a bunch of nests."
"Then why don't you get him if he's the head of the gang—first of all?"