"How's the walking?"
A look of relief in his hard eyes betrayed the hope that the question aroused in the captain.
"Fair—I won't say good, but fair. Right here she's swampy. A mile up the high banks start, and there's sort of a trail right into the place."
"All right. You'll run us up to the high banks. We'll get off and walk the rest of the way. You'll lay up at the banks for half an hour after we've started."
"What for?"
"I guess you're all right, but I play safe. I don't know anything about what you're afraid of up there, but I don't want you to get in ahead of us and accidentally break the news of our coming."
"Good!" cried Higgins admiringly. "And Old Betsy here, she'll throw a slug clean through that wheelhouse wall, captain, in case you should get impatient and try to run by."
The captain looked inquiringly at the scarred man, who nodded sullenly.
"All right."
"We'll be hitting back into the swamp," said the scarred one. "Come on, Pedro."