"About eight, I should think."
"And it's nearly seven now," muttered Godfrey despairingly. "No horse could do it in the time."
"You're sure it will be at Black Bayou?"
"Not a doubt of it. The place is made for a hold-up. Track narrow, thick bay scrub both sides, and there'll be water over the road there, so Sam'll have to walk his horse. It's a death-trap, Fred."
Fred Kinnersly set his teeth. "I'm going to warn him," he said quietly.
Godfrey started. "My dear chap, it's fourteen miles by road. Have you a horse here that can do fourteen miles in an hour over Florida sand and in this storm? Besides, you'd have to come through Black Bayou yourself, and get shot for your pains, to a dead certainty."
"There's another way," said Fred.
"Another way!"
"Across the swamp!"