In this order, the Sheriff and Captain wended their way, until they arrived at the crossing of Eagle Creek, a stream having a miry swamp on each side. As his pony was drinking, an idea popped into the Captain’s head which was immediately acted upon. He suddenly turned his pony’s head down stream, and in half a minute was out of sight.
“Come, Button,” said he, “let’s hunt wild-cats a spell!”
The Sheriff, almost as soon as he missed our hero, heard him splashing down the creek. He plunged into the swamp, with the intention of heading him, but the mud was so soft that after floundering about a little while, he gave it up, and returned to the road, cursing as much for the loss of his black bottle, as of the Captain.
“Hello, Ellis!” shouted Suggs.
“Hello, yourself!”
“Don’t you try that swamp no more; it’ll mire butterflies, in spots!”
“No danger!” was the response.
“And don’t you try to follow me, on that tall horse, down the run of this creek; if you do, you’ll have both eyes hangin’ on bamboo briers in goin’ a hundred yards—besides, moccasin time ain’t over yet, and thar’s lots of ’em about these old logs!”
“Take care of yourself, you old thief!” said the irritated officer.
“Once again, Ellis, old fellow!” said Suggs, coaxingly.