Realizing it was useless to question the old man further, Penny dropped the subject. However, she was convinced that Joe had at least a theory as to the cause of the strange pounding sound.
“He knows a lot he isn’t telling,” she thought. “But I’ll never get a word out of him by asking.”
If Joe were unwilling to discuss the signal-like tappings, he showed no reluctance in telling the girls about the swamp itself.
Wild turkey, one of the wariest fowls in the area, could be found only on the islands far interior, they learned. Although there were more than a dozen species of snakes, only three needed to be feared, the rattlers, the coral snake, and the cottonmouth.
“Ye have to be keerful when yer passin’ under tunnels o’ overhanging limbs,” Old Joe explained. “Sometimes they’ll be hangin’ solid with little snakes.”
“Don’t tell us any more,” Louise pleaded. “I’m rapidly losing enthusiasm for this place!”
“Snakes mostly minds their own business ’less a feller goes botherin’ ’em,” Trapper Joe remarked. “Too bad more folks ain’t that way.”
The boat floated on, and the heat rising from the water became increasingly unpleasant. Penny mopped her face with a handkerchief and considered asking the old man to turn back.
Before she could speak, Joe who had been peering intently at the shore, veered the skiff in that direction.
“Are the orchids here?” Louise asked in surprise.