“Merciful Providence!” muttered the shaken boy, “what was that?”
“Come,” said Bill Brown grimly, “we’ll find out.”
But when they had picked their way through the awful bog, peering closely to right and left, their puzzlement grew. Neither on the trail, nor in the slimy marshes on either hand, had they noted a sign of life. The fearsome swamp was silent as the tomb, refusing to yield up the secret of the blood-chilling screams.
“I have it, Bill!” said Tom suddenly.
“You’ve solved the myst’ry?”
“Yes, that was the death-cry of the Sac scout!”
“Great Jupiter, do you think so?”
“Aye, Bill. He was sucked to his doom in the deadly mud, a victim of the black swamps of the Koshkonong.”