"Nothing. Leave it to me. Don't show any signs of excitement, please, but just keep on with what you are doing," and Frank allowed his left hand to slowly creep in the direction where his shotgun lay on the ground.
CHAPTER VI
THE SWAMP FUGITIVE
"Now, my friend behind the bunch of saw-palmetto, won't you join us?"
Frank had slowly risen, picking up his gun as he gained his feet. There was a movement in the quarter where his gaze seemed directed, then a human figure began to crawl into the camp, looking more like a great dog than a man.
"Great Caesar's ghost!" ejaculated Bluff.
"Tell me about that, will you!" exclaimed Jerry, making a dive for his own gun.
"Quiet, fellows! There's no need of any excitement. It's only a visitor from the swamp, come to have a cup of coffee with us," remarked Frank steadily.
He made no attempt to aim his weapon, being satisfied to let the negro see that he was armed, and ready for action. The wretched outcast was almost in tatters. He looked thin and haggard, in marked contrast with the sleek and well-fed darkies the boys had generally noticed since reaching the Sunny South.
Having reached a spot in front of Frank, the man arose to his full height. There was a look of trouble on his face. He had been hunted like a wolf for so long that naturally he believed every man's hand was against him.