The stranger stayed for at least two hours. He seemed to take an almost childish interest in their account of their misadventures and took an interest, that was pathetic, in all they could tell him of the news of the world outside. Events which had occurred two and three years before seemed to be news to him. Yet he appeared an educated, brainy man.
He stayed until the little party's yawns could not longer be suppressed, then departed as silently as he had come.
"Whew," sighed Charley, when at last he was gone, "I would as soon entertain a rattlesnake as that man."
"Why?" Walter said, in surprise. "I thought he seemed bright and pleasant."
"Is it possible you have never heard of that man, Watson? I thought everyone in Florida knew of him."
"I have never heard of him, either," said Captain Westfield. "Who is he? Tell us about him."
"It's a horrible tale, yet pathetic, too, in a way," said the lad, thoughtfully. "From what I have often heard, we are now in what is sometimes called 'Murderer's Belt.' I have heard it referred to many, many times, but I had forgotten all about it until I heard that man's name. In this fringe of country bordering on the Everglades, it seems that there are some forty or fifty men hiding out. They are men wanted for serious crimes, murder in most cases, for nothing but the dread of being hung would induce men to lead the lives they are forced to live. They live solitary lives. The Indians will have nothing to do with them and they fear or mistrust each other too much to associate amongst themselves. Each one is as alone in the world as though he were in solitary confinement. They get their living with their traps and rifles. That's all they get out of life, just a living and freedom. An army could not capture one of them, except by surprise, for at the first alarm they plunge into the swamp where none but an Indian could follow them. I don't suppose that man Watson has even spoken to a human being in years until to-night. Only our apparent harmlessness induced him to seek speech with us, I believe. For Watson is the king murderer of the lot. He came to Florida some years ago from Georgia, with the law officers in close pursuit. It had been discovered up there that he was the author of a string of mysterious murders. Brutal, cold-blooded murders that had been going on for years. Some forty or forty-five years in all, I believe. The officers caught up with him at Tampa, but he killed two, wounded the third, and escaped into 'Murderer's belt.' With him was a young brother, who, so far as could be learned, had taken no part in his crimes, but the two seemed to stick together from mutual affection.
"Contrary to the usual custom in 'Murderer's Belt,' the two did not play it alone together as they should have done, but met and made friends with a man by the name of Cox who was about as hardened a character as Watson. The three hung together for a while, but one day there was a little quarrel and Cox shot the boy through the heart. He intended to kill Watson also and thought he had done so but the bullet glanced off on a button and Watson recovered his senses after a while to find his brother dead and Cox gone. They are both now seeking each other in the 'Belt.' Watson will try to kill Cox at sight to avenge his brother, and Cox will try to kill Watson the first chance he gets to keep from being killed. Neither can appeal to the law for they are both outside the law. It's a case of man against man or rather murderer against murderer. Think of what their lives must be. Every hour, day and night, trying to kill or keep from being killed. Not seeing each other, but knowing every minute that the other is seeking him with murder in his heart, expecting death from behind every tree and bush."
"Massa Chas," said Chris, with a shudder, "youse gibbin' me de creep. Please not dat kind ob talk an' let's go to sleep."