“See here; you’ve got something on your mind; why not share it with us, Jack? You’re bothered about something, too. If it don’t take in those queer acting fellows on the power boat, what does ail you?” and George caught hold of his chum as the other arose from examining the trail once more.
“Oh! I don’t know as there could be anything in it,” Jack admitted, slowly, as if loth to air his secret fears.
“But tell us what you do think, even if it does seem impossible, Jack.”
“Only this, that if our chum chanced to slip into some muck bed, he might have been sucked down in the slimy stuff before he could even shout for help,” was the gruesome remark to which Jack gave utterance.
[CHAPTER VIII.]
TRACKED TO THE BAYOU.
“Oh! I hope it won’t turn out as bad as that, Jack!” gasped George.
“The poor spalpeen!” whimpered Jimmy, apparently shocked by what their leader had just remarked.
“Now,” Jack hastened to say, “don’t make up your minds, boys, that Josh has run against that sort of a hard deal, just because it flashed into my mind. You wanted to know why I was in such a sweat, and I told you. But, honest Injun, after I’ve spoken my mind, I just can’t bring myself to believe it. We’ll find our chum, sooner or later. Perhaps, after all, it’ll turn out that he had a bad tumble, and hurt himself so he wasn’t able to let us know.”