"Anyhow he won't let that fool James burn this place down on us."
"We'd better move out, though, and do it quick," said Jones. "Zack James may be drunk. I smelt whisky on him to-day."
"We've got four guns," remarked Peters.
An immediate move being agreed on, the boys were wakened. The guns and blankets were divided between the three white men, who also secured a few personal belongings which they kept in the sleeping-loft. The negro was told to give the boys any tins of salmon or sardines that he could find and to shoulder as large a load of raked up moss as he could carry, after dropping it through the opening in the floor.
But before this was done, or any one had descended the ladder, Buck lay flat on the floor, thrust his head and shoulders through the opening and looked about. As he did so, he saw a man hurrying away—after listening beneath the loft, as it appeared. Buck then went half way down the ladder, gun in hand, and looked about more fully, noting that the old camp fire had burnt out and that a new one burned steadily some two hundred yards away at the point July had indicated, the upright figures of two men being visible within the circle of light.
"Come on, boys," he said softly, after a few moments.
Within fifteen minutes the move had been made in silence and without disturbance, even the moss being transferred to the chosen, grass-covered spot which was shut in on three sides by thick clumps of palmettos. Here they were amply screened both on the side looking toward the sleeping-loft, which was about a hundred yards away, and on the front looking toward the slackers' new camp fire, which was some two hundred yards distant. No upright figures were now seen within the circle of light, the alert slackers evidently having taken alarm and sought shelter behind their own "bunch o' permeters."
There was no moon, but myriads of stars rained soft light through the clear atmosphere, and, as the three white men took turns watching on the exposed side of their fireless camp, they were able to see every object distinctly for a considerable distance out among the scattered pines.
July shaped the pile of dry moss into a comfortable bed and Ted and Hubert lay down under blankets, as Buck insisted that they should do; but there was little sleep for anybody during the rest of that night. None of the white men lay down even while off sentinel duty. The three mostly sat in a group, watching, or listening, or softly discussing plans for the coming day.
At last morning slowly dawned, nothing of importance having occurred meanwhile. As soon as the growing light brought out distinctly the outlines of every familiar object on the island within reach of the eye, Buck stepped out into the open, gun in hand, faced the slackers' leafy fort, and called: