After they had finished they marched on again. They had left the pine trees behind, and were pushing along a narrow track through a forest of great ilex, bastard oak, and magnolia. The undergrowth was of saw palmetto, growing in huge, impenetrable clumps, among which the muddy track wound in and out.
The scent of yellow jasmine was almost stifling, but the only life visible was an occasional cardinal bird with its vivid crimson plumage, or a stub-tailed water moccasin which raised its triangular, copper-hued head with an ugly hiss and dragged itself sluggishly out of sight among the tangled herbage.
The path was so narrow that they were compelled to walk in single file. Randal made Pete lead the way. More than once the negro had tried to drop behind, but each time Randal roughly ordered him to push ahead.
The silence of the swamp grew as oppressive as the intense heat. It began to get upon young Rutherford's nerves.
"A tough place to get lost in," he said at last.
Randal turned quickly. There was a queer expression on his sharp face as he replied:
"Yes, pretty bad, I reckon."
Somehow, Rutherford fancied there was something sinister in his tone.
"I don't like the chap," he thought to himself. "I wish I hadn't come." Then common sense got the better of his fears. "It's the place, not the people, that's worrying me. These big hamaks are worse than a desert. There you can see the sky; here it's like one great, green prison."
"Look out, sah. Dah's a wild cat in dat tree," suddenly hissed Pete Dally, and slipped out of the path into the thicket. "Quiet or youse done frighten him."