CHAPTER XII
THE MYSTERY MAN OF THE MARSH
The moon was just rising out of the marsh; turning the dark rushes to a deep bottle green and spreading a bar of gold down a channel. For two solid hours Johnny had managed to throw off his problems and worries and the strange grip of mysteries that had held him so long. In those two delightful hours he had been just a boy, paddling about an enchanted marsh in twilight and gathering darkness.
With his good pal Mazie, he had eaten the lion’s share of a lunch such as only Mazie could prepare; strangely delicious little sandwiches and cake that melted in your mouth, pears from a glass jar, cold chicken, and a thermos bottle of steaming cocoa. Johnny had enjoyed all this.
And now, side by side on the narrow seat of the flat-bottomed boat, they sat through a half hour of deep enchantment, watching the moon rise. For a long time they sat in silence, and who can know what were the long, long thoughts that came to them?
Whatever they were, they were destined to come to an abrupt end. Suddenly, as his ear caught an unaccustomed sound, Johnny put a finger over Mazie’s lips, then stood straight up to allow his eyes to sweep the marsh. The next instant he motioned Mazie down as he dropped flat in the bottom of the boat. For a moment they lay very still.
“Wha—what is it?” Mazie whispered.
“Sh!” Johnny’s all but inaudible whisper answered back. “Not so loud. Some men can shoot accurately at sound. It was often done during the war. I heard the dip of an oar and caught the gleam of a rifle. It’s—it’s the mysterious one! It must be. Lie perfectly still. Not a sound. Perhaps he didn’t see me.”
“I—I won’t move, Johnny.”
Johnny knew that Mazie was frightened, for he felt the wild beating of her heart against his shoulder. But he knew she was game, too, and was proud of her for that.
Fifteen minutes they lay there in the bottom of the boat. Speaking in the lowest whispers, scarcely daring to breath, they listened intently, but caught no further sound.