Instead of a wheelbarrow, now, Bill and Osceola were given shovels for the afternoon’s work. At first, Bill welcomed the change but soon found that it was quite as arduous as the morning’s toil. There was absolutely no let up. As soon as one barrow was filled, another took its place. The wet mud was slippery, the mosquitoes by the water even more tenacious. He began to feel that death was preferable to endless days of this kind of thing.
To make matters even worse, the overseer in charge of the shovelers used his lash without mercy at the first sign of flagging. Bill felt its burning pain several times during those hours, as did every other man on the muck-heap.
The woodcutters returned late in the afternoon and began carting their logs up the incline where they were dumped on the mud at the end of the corduroy to solidify the foundation of the extended roadway. The tree trunks were heavy and the men so weak that it took eight or ten of them to carry a single log.
Slowly the sun sank toward the western end of the lagoon and Bill knew that within five or ten minutes they would be forced to knock off for want of light. Then Osceola slipped in the muck and fell flat.
Before the poor youth could get to his feet, the overseer’s lash felled him again. But instead of desisting in his cruelty, the man continued to rain blows on the prostrate and half-unconscious body of the Indian.
This was too much for Bill. As the wicked lash descended for the third time, he dashed toward the guard and swinging his shovel like a club, brought it down on the man’s skull. The overseer dropped in his tracks and Bill helped Osceola to his feet.
“Follow me,” he shouted, “it’s now or never!”
Osceola, half dazed, ran with him through the crowd of amazed workmen to the far edge of the muck heap. There came two splashes as the lads dove. Revolvers barked, men shouted orders and the lagoon’s glassy surface was churned with bullets.
[CHAPTER VIII—WHAT HAPPENED IN THE SWAMP]
The water closed over Bill’s head. The shock of the plunge put new heart into him and he struck vigorously out keeping well under the surface. His plan was to make for one of the small islands of the lagoon, trusting that oncoming darkness would cover his escape. What he would do after reaching the island must depend upon circumstances.