Part 22 (1/2)

”Are we out of the swamp at last?” asked Ted eagerly.

”Not by a long jump. You're on Blackjack, one o' the biggest islands.”

Noting the boy's sigh of disappointment, the old man added: ”But don't worry. You lay quiet till to-morrow, and then I'll tell you more about it, and show you the way out o' the swamp.”

”Oh, thank you. You are very kind.”

With such a prospect in view, it would be easy to lie quiet until the morrow, it being now late in the afternoon. Ted wanted to ask many questions, but he submitted when his host bade him be quiet and withdrew. A few minutes later Hubert entered, with a smile on his face, and the boys congratulated each other.

”I think we are safe at last,” said Ted, relaxing on his bed and beginning really to rest.

”Yes, I think we are,” said Hubert. ”That Mr. George Smith is very kind, though he is a queer old duck. He looks just like a ram-goat with that long beard running down into a point. He's been camping and trapping here for years. I was afraid to tell him that we had been kept prisoners on Deserters' Island. I haven't said a thing about the slackers.”

”Perhaps that was just as well,” said Ted, dreamily, and soon fell asleep.

An hour or more later his eyes filled with tears of grat.i.tude as his elderly host brought in a delicious quail stew for his supper.

”To-morrow,” the old man promised, ”I'll show you how I shoots them partridges.”

Ted knew that he should have said quail instead of partridges, but was too polite to correct him.

”Do you think we could start out to-morrow?” asked the boy, after he had eaten and thanked his host.

”Better wait a little longer. It'll be a long pull and you ought to be rested up,” advised the old man. ”Hubert says you want to git to Judge Ridgway's. I know where that is. We kin boat it a piece o' the way and then tramp it till I put you on the trail. You strike the trail on a big peninsula runnin' in the swamp. Then all you got to do is to follow that trail about ten miles till you git to your uncle's neighborhood.”

All Ted's anxieties dropped from him as he listened. Home had not seemed so near since the day he and Hubert were lost in the swamp, and when he fell asleep he dreamed that he was actually there.

XX

In the morning, feeling well and strong, Ted rose early and followed Hubert out of the cabin to the camp fire. There their attention was attracted to two large fox-squirrels lying on the gra.s.s.

”I shot 'em befo' you waked up,” said their host, who was busily preparing the morning meal. ”The woods is chock full of 'em.”

Both boys ate a hearty breakfast, after which Ted felt so fully restored that he declared he was ready for the hardest kind of a tramp. But he was again advised to wait till the following morning.

The boys spent the day talking with their new friend, gathering young ”greens” from his little vegetable garden, giving some help toward the preparation of the meals, and lying about on the gra.s.s and sleeping. Ted took great interest in a bow belonging to and manufactured by the old trapper, considering himself highly favored on being allowed to shoot away two or three arrows, which latter he diligently searched for and returned to their owner. Both bow and arrows were made of ash, the latter being tipped with sharpened bits of steel. The bow-string was made of tough gut of the wild-cat.

”You-all come go with me now, if you want to see some fun,” said Mr.

Smith at sundown.

He then took bow and arrows and led the boys about a quarter of a mile away in the woods, telling them he would show them how ”partridges”

(quail) roosted at night. When the place was reached twilight had fallen, but a dozen or more of the birds were distinctly seen squatting near each other in the wiregra.s.s.

”Now watch me bag 'em,” said the old trapper; and, lifting his bow, he bent it almost double, the string tw.a.n.ged, and the arrow sped on its way.

Again and again the bow tw.a.n.ged, and in amazement the boys began to see, as they did not at first, that each flying arrow cut off the head of a quail. The neighboring birds looked startled, turning their heads from side to side as if striving to pierce the gathering gloom, but there was no noisy plunge of the remainder of the covey until the old man had shot as often as he wished and stepped forward to gather up his arrows and the slain.

”You see, I shoots 'm in the head to keep from sp'ilin' the meat,” he smilingly explained.

”What a fine shot you are!” exclaimed both boys in a breath.