“How does one reach Black Island?” Louise inquired.
“Only a few swampers that knows all the runs would dast go that far,” said Old Joe. “If ye take a wrong turn, ye kin float around fer days without findin’ yer way out.”
“Is there only one exit—the way we came in?” Penny asked.
“No, oncst ye git to Black Island, there’s a faster way out. Ye pick yer way through a maze o’ channels ’till ye come to the main one which takes ye to the Door River.”
“You’ve made the trip?”
“Did when I was young. Hain’t been to Black Island in years lately.”
“How long does the trip take?”
“Not many hours if ye know the trail. But if ye take a wrong twist, y’er apt to wind up anywheres. We’re headin’ toward Black Island now.”
“Then why not go on?” cried Penny eagerly. “It’s still early.”
The old guide shook his head as he paddled into deeper water. “It’s jest a long, hard row and there hain’t nothin’ there. I’m takin’ ye to a place where some purty pink orchids grow. Then we’ll turn back.”