July knew that there was trouble ahead of him in any case, and as he obediently followed his captors while they beat the neighboring bush, endeavoring in vain to start the dogs on the scent, he stuck to his story, unblushingly inventing incidents with a view to impart to it an atmosphere of convincing reality.
As Ted waited and watched for July, he noted that the spreading branches of the water-oak embraced the trunk of an immense old decaying cypress, and that there was a circular opening in its side a foot or two above him and only a few feet away. Plainly there was a large hollow—possibly the result of some past forest fire—for the opening was at least two feet in diameter. He saw also that, by moving a foot or two nearer on the limb supporting his weight, he could grasp the sides of the opening and perhaps enter the hollow.
He now heard the murmur of voices and listened intently, fearing that the pursuers had arrived and put an end to July's chances of escape. The voices grew louder, and then the tramp of feet was heard, but still Ted lingered, owing both to his concern for July's safety and his eagerness to know the definite issue.
Then, before he realized that they were so near, the slackers appeared with the dogs and July himself on the other side of the cypress pool and began to wade across.
Ted now perceived that he was in peril. It was too late to hurry on the trail of Hubert, for the noise and leafy commotion inevitably accompanying his passage from tree to tree would at once attract attention. Doubtless Hubert was far enough away to be reasonably safe and could for the time be left to take care of himself. At all events Ted realized that his own safety could be his only immediate concern, and that it was necessary not only to keep quiet but to hide.
Therefore, without a moment's delay, he moved guardedly out on the bending limb, leaned forward and grasped the sides of the cypress's hollow, which fortunately proved to be firm. Drawing himself up quietly, he thrust his feet through the opening and slid into the hollow with but little noise. As he did so, a large squirrel whisked past him with a frightened squeak and scurried wildly up the sides of the cypress.
"I never saw such a piece of good luck," Ted declared afterward, relating that the hollow was neither too big nor too little, and that his feet landed on a firm bottom just far enough below the opening to permit him to stand comfortably and look out.
But when he looked out he could see little more than the foliage of the water-oak. He listened intently as the slackers waded across the pool. He hoped that they would turn aside, but they seemed to come straight on. A few moments later the dogs made a noisy rush and he heard them barking excitedly immediately beneath the cypress. Convinced that he had been scented and was now "treed," the boy feared that one of the slackers would promptly climb up and drag him from his hiding place.
But he kept quiet and still hoped for some fortunate turn of events. Tempted to lean out and look down, he drew his head back quickly and almost held his breath. He had glimpsed two men tramping around in the shallow water beneath the oak and looking up into its branches. Evidently the opening in the side of the cypress had not yet been discovered, as there was no triumphant outcry, and at this thought Ted felt somewhat encouraged. He now heard the impatient voice of Carter:
"I don't see nothin'. What's the matter with them dogs anyhow?"