"I think it'll be some while," was the answer.
But when the old swamp-squatter was left alone in his clearing, his activities seemed to show that he had suddenly changed his mind.
"What's to keep that old man from goin' out and tellin' on our whole crowd?" asked Jenkins, as soon as they were out of hearing.
"He's scared o' me—that's what," was the confident answer.
Jackson halted as he spoke, took some heavy string out of his pocket, and, suddenly seizing Ted from behind, began to tie his hands. Protesting in hot indignation, the boy struggled so fiercely that Jenkins was called on for help.
"Not on your life," said Jenkins, standing apart. "I won't touch him. I ain't a party to this thing. You are takin' them boys, not me. I'm jes' walkin' long with you. You don't need to tie 'em anyhow. If they was to cut and run, you could easy catch one, and the other wouldn't stay off by himself."
But Jackson persisted. Checking Ted's resistance with violent language and ugly threats, he had his will, then served the protesting but unresisting Hubert in the same way.
"I know my business, Mitch' Jenkins," he said. "They ain't a-goin' to give me the slip this time."
Then followed a tramp of about two miles to the point of the island where the slackers had left their bateau. Much of the route was covered with dense thicket and bramble-infested jungle, and the boys suffered. Sometimes, when they stumbled and fell, or pushed through thorny brush, being unable to use their arms and hands, they received painful scratches or blows on face or head. Finally Ted rebelled, throwing himself down and persisting doggedly at all threatened costs.
"I won't go another step until you untie our hands," he declared, setting his teeth. "You can beat me if you are devil enough," he informed Jackson, with blazing eyes and unflinching calm, "but I won't budge."