Part 22 (2/2)

”I could never do that in the world,” said Ted.

”It took me years to learn that trick, but I learned it, and you could, too, if you tried hard,” the old trapper said, generous in his pardonable pride.

As they sat about the fire after supper the subject of the war came up.

The trapper asked for news and Ted outlined the general situation as he had understood it before the swamp misadventure cut him off from sources of information.

”If I was young enough I'd be in it,” declared their host, much to Ted's satisfaction, going on to say that the Civil War was over before he was quite old enough and that the Spanish-American war was over almost before he heard of it, for he was in the Okefinokee that very year. ”And now I'm too old to be a soldier,” he concluded, with a smile and a sigh.

”I've heard my Uncle Walter say that 'the will is almost as good as the deed,'” remarked Ted politely.

”From all I hear them Germans is a mighty bad crowd, and they need the worst thras.h.i.+n' any lot of people ever got,” the trapper continued. ”And the young men o' this country ought to see that they git it good and heavy. But some of 'em ain't goin' about it right. Some of 'em is kickin' about the draft, and some of 'em is scared to death; and they tell me some of 'em is _hidin' out_.”

The old man spat in his disgust. The boys became alert, perceiving that he had knowledge of and was thinking of the camp of slackers on Deserters' Island. They looked at each other significantly and waited for him to go on.

”But it ain't _my_ business to see that the sheriff is on his job,”

continued old George Smith, stroking his long beard. ”I'm a old man, and I got to live in peace, 'speshly these days when there's young men without a particle of respect for gray hairs. I 'tends to my own business.”

”My uncle said he heard that there were some slackers hiding in this swamp,” said Ted, cautiously and invitingly.

”Mebby so; the Oke-fi-noke's a big place,” responded the old man, after a moment of perceptible hesitation. ”I don't see,” he quickly added, ”why there's all this kickin' about the draft. They drafted 'em 'way back in the sixties, South and North, too. We got to have it that way.”

”My uncle says it's the fairest as well as the quickest plan.”

”Ther must be more chicken-hearted young men now than ther was in my young days,” remarked Mr. Smith. He fell into a thoughtful silence, from which he roused himself suddenly, saying: ”Well, let's go to bed. Got to git up bright and early in the mornin'.”

It was evident that he did not intend to speak openly of Deserters'

Island. The boys were no less inclined to be cautious, not knowing what his personal relations with the slackers might be. After an exchange of significant glances, they tacitly agreed to keep silent also, at least for the present. It troubled Ted to think that an honest, patriotic man, such as their host appeared to be, should place his ”peace” above his duty to inform against the hiding slackers, but he took comfort in the thought that the fugitives from the draft would not long be left in quiet possession of Deserters' Island.

”Mr. Smith won't tell on 'em,” he whispered to Hubert after they had gone to bed, ”but just wait till we get home. Uncle Walter will have the sheriff starting into this swamp in a day's time.”

When a woodp.e.c.k.e.r, boring loudly into the cabin's roof, roused him next morning, Ted saw that the sun was s.h.i.+ning, realized that he had overslept, and wondered why he had not been called. Hearing voices outside, he conjectured that the old trapper had been delayed by the arrival of visitors. But what visitors? The boy thought instantly of Deserters' Island, which was undoubtedly the nearest inhabited area within many miles. In sudden fear, he checked the noisy movements he was making. Then, listening intently, he heard the unmistakable voice of Sweet Jackson!

Creeping to the front wall, Ted peeped out through a crack between the logs, and at once his eyes confirmed the evidence presented by his ears.

Sweet Jackson and Mitch' Jenkins, their guns across their knees, were seated near the camp fire eating the breakfast the old trapper was serving them.

”We wanted to make yo' camp last night,” Jackson was saying, ”but we was too fur. When we made it up to come over this-a way, I thought I'd bring a hide to trade for some plug-tobacco.”

”Well, I'll trade,” said old Mr. Smith, with his usual good-natured manner.

Ted bounded softly back to the bed and, bending down, shook Hubert.

”Quit pus.h.i.+n' me,” complained Hubert, still half asleep.

”Hus.h.!.+” whispered Ted warningly. ”Look at me! Listen, and don't make a noise. Some of the _slackers_ are out there!”

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