Rutherford, all excitement, slipped his rifle from his shoulder.
But Randal barred his way. He was standing still, peering up into the tree indicated.
"Where? I don't see it," he exclaimed harshly.
"Dere it am, sah. On dat big fork," declared Pete, pointing. And then as Randal stepped forward, the negro slipped back round a clump of palmetto, and Rutherford felt a hand fall sharply on his arm, while these words were whispered in his ear:
"Dat man mean you no good, sah. Watch me, an' doan' do what he say."
He turned in amazement, but Peter was already gone. He had glided back, and was standing at Randal's elbow, pointing out the exact spot where he alleged he had seen the cat.
But there was no cat there now, and Rutherford wondered if there ever had been. Randal cursed Pete angrily, and once more they moved forward.
Rutherford, more worried than he cared to own even to himself, followed, as before, the last of the little procession.
It was getting late and the bullfrogs had begun to bellow harshly in unseen pools in the forest. But there was no decrease in the sullen heat. Not a breath stirred the moist, stagnant air, and the farther they went the thicker grew the tangled vegetation till there was no longer any sign of a path. In unbroken silence the three forced their way through primeval forest.
Presently trees broke away, and they stood upon the muddy marge of a reedy lagoon, across the stagnant waters of which the low sun cast a lurid light.