Jack's cries were beginning to grow feeble, when aid appeared from an unsuspected quarter. From the margin of woods surrounding the swamp, there suddenly emerged the figure of a rough-looking man. He carried a gun and was accompanied by two savage looking dogs.
"Hullo! What's the trouble here?" he demanded in an amazed voice, as his gaze lighted on the two struggling lads. By this time the marsh had engulfed Sandy to the arm-pits. Jack was in almost as bad a fix.
"For goodness' sake, help us out of this," implored Jack. "We can't hold out much longer."
The man grunted, but seemed in no hurry to aid them.
"You must be a fine pair of young fools," was his comment. "Any one could see that there was quicksands in thar'."
"Who are you, and how did you come here?" he demanded roughly the next minute.
"We'll tell you all that when you get us out of this," ejaculated Sandy. "Mon! mon, will ye stand glowerin' there, while we are sinking deeper all the time?"
"Serves you right for blundering in there," was the astonishingly heartless response.
The man turned away, whistling to his two dogs, and vanished in the woods. But, after all, the action was not as cold-blooded as it appeared. Instead of leaving the two lads to their fate, as it first had appeared, the man presently returned with some sticks of young timber.
He thrust these toward the two immersed lads, grumbling, the while, savagely to himself. Neither Jack nor Sandy was, fortunately, too weak to take advantage of this grudging aid. It was well that this was so, for the man didn't appear anxious to help them further. But when both lads had caught on to the sticks, with a firm hold he did bestir himself to pull and tug, and soon, what with their own struggles and the man's efforts, the two lads were out of the marsh. They were pitiful objects, indeed, as they stood on its marge. Black mud clung to them, like a sort of sticky paste. Their faces were strained and white. Perspiration poured in rivulets down them. Besides, they were shaky and unnerved from their ordeal.