Part 7 (1/2)

But Hubert and July, who were now twenty feet away, beckoned him frantically, and, thus urged, Ted reluctantly followed. The three then raced on their way, pursued by the now smiling Billy who apparently thought that some sort of game was proposed. Pa.s.sing the camp fire, July caught up a tin bucket of sliced venison, then darted along the winding path through the swamp cane toward the boat landing.

Racing along this same path a few moments later, Ted and Hubert halted suddenly at sight of the negro returning.

”De boats all gone,” announced July. ”Dem mens must 'a took 'em to go to dey traps in de swamp.”

Ted did not share Hubert's deep disappointment and smiled at the giggling Billy in the moment of blank pause.

”Let's hurry back, then,” he said, breaking the silence, ”so they won't know what we tried to do.”

The run to the boat landing and back, a distance of little more than two hundred yards, had scarcely consumed five minutes, and the four spectators were again on the scene of the fight before the combatants had noticed their absence. They were just in time to see Sweet Jackson strike the ground heavily beneath the weight of his antagonist, who now partly rose, placing his knee upon the breast of the vanquished.

”You got enough?” shouted Buck. ”If you ain't, say so, and I'll give you a whole bellyful.”

Sweet said nothing, but ceased to struggle, whereupon Buck let go his hold and rose.

”I'll git even with you yet, Buck Hardy,” declared the defeated man with black looks after he had painfully gathered himself up and was limping off into the woods.

The victor disdained a retort, and, turning, walked back to the camp, where he was followed by the boys and the negro. At the noon hour Sweet Jackson had not reappeared and it was evident that the work on his ”permeter” shelter would not be resumed that day.

a.s.sured of this by the time dinner had been served and his subsequent work about the camp had been finished, July proposed a job of another kind.

”Mr. Hardy,” he said, ”kin I take Cap'n Ted wid me to build dat turkey pen dis evenin' an' lef' Hubut yuh to play wid Billy?”

”Sure--if he wants to go,” consented Buck. ”I think I'll take 'em both on a deer hunt tomorrow.”

On their way to the selected site of the turkey pen, about half a mile away in the pine woods near the border of the swamp, July broke a brief silence as follows:

”A colored lady tole me dem Germans eats people. You reckon dat's so?”

”Of course not,” said Ted, ”but they've done things in this war just as bad.”

Having arrived at the chosen spot and cleared a s.p.a.ce about six feet square, July dug a trench from its center to a point some four feet without, baited it with sh.e.l.led corn and bridged it over with sticks. He then cut down a number of pine saplings and employed sections of these in building a pen about four feet high around the cleared s.p.a.ce, afterward covering the top with sections of the same and weighting them down with heavy ”lightwood knots.” Lastly a few grains of corn were dropped at intervals from the mouth of the tunnel to a point several yards distant, so that wild turkeys feeding in that neighborhood would be attracted toward the snare. July explained that when these wild fowl entered by way of the tunnel and ate up the bait they would merely struggle to break through the well-lighted cracks of the trap, forgetting entirely the shadowed path to freedom at their feet.

As he worked, receiving some a.s.sistance from the interested boy, the negro talked and asked questions about other matters.

”When de time come for you boys to run away,” he said once, ”maybe I'll go wid you.”

”That would be fine,” said Ted, ”because you could show us the way.”

”I gittin' tired o' dis job yuh in dis camp,” July continued. ”Dem white mens don't pay me all dey promus, and I don't like de way some of 'em cusses me aroun', speshly dat Sweet Jackson. Mr. Hardy pay me his part, but he can't collec' a cent o' my money fum some of 'em. If it wasn't for dat waw, I'd go out o' dis swamp wid you tomorrow. Cap'n Ted, if I was to go out wid you, you reckon dem draft-bode people would grab me right up an' sen' me to de waw?”

”They'd examine you and might send you to a training camp, and you might even go to France,” answered Ted, ”but I don't think they'd ever put you on the fighting line. You see, in this big war there's a lot to do besides fighting and the thing is to find out what a man can do best.

They might just make you a cook behind the lines, and pay you wages, too.”

”Gee! dat 'ud suit me grand,” cried July joyfully. ”I'd love to cross de big water an' see all dere is to see--if only dey don't put me where dem Germans kin shoot me. You think I kin 'pend on dat, Cap'n Ted?”

”I don't know for certain, July, but I think so.”

When they turned up at camp toward sundown, it was evident from their faces that both Ted and July were in a hopeful frame of mind. The one was glad because he had made two useful friends in a single day; the other was elated because he indulged in dreams of securing war adventure without incurring the risk of war's penalties.