"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.

"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 thrashin' 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 shining, 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 pushin' me," complained Hubert, still half asleep.

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