Near the center of the clearing stood a house, built of rough pine logs, elevated some twelve feet from the ground on stilt-like posts; and over a fire to the right of this structure bent a man's figure. Evidently he was cooking his evening meal, for the boys caught the delicious odor of frying meat.

"Maybe he'll give us something to eat," said Hubert wistfully.

Just then the man stood erect, and they saw that he was a negro in rough soiled clothes. A moment later he turned his face toward them and they recognized a care-free, good-natured type of young black man with which they had had abundant acquaintance.

The boys hesitated no longer. The negro heard their steps and looked up, the first bewildered expression on his black, sweat-shining face changing to one of pleased astonishment. He came forward to meet them.

"W-huh you boys come fum?" he cried. Then, his eyes fastening upon Ted's muddy uniform, he continued, giggling delightedly: "And one of 'em is a little soldier! Well, if dat don't beat all! _Who_ you boys?"

Ted staggered slightly and sat down heavily on the gra.s.s.

"Please give us something to eat and then we'll tell you," he said in a weak voice.

The negro showed instant sympathy. "Is you boys perishin' for sump'n to eat?" he asked, regretfully. "Lem me git you sump'n quick!"

He rushed about and within less than two minutes had piled hot meat, fish and bread on palmetto leaves placed before the boys where they sat on the billowy wiregra.s.s.

"You boys sho kin eat," he commented, grinning, as he watched them devour the good food. "I des know you was most starvin'. You kin eat all dat and have plenty mo'."

After Ted had satisfied his hunger, felt strengthened, and had thanked the negro gratefully and very politely, he asked:

"What camp is this?"

"Eight young white mens been campin' yuh since las' summer and dey brung me in to cook dey vittles. I'm July Martin."

"Oh--this is where those slackers are hiding to keep out of the war?"

said Ted, stating a recognized fact in the form of a question.

"Dis is it, but don't tell 'em I tole you. Dey's mighty partic'lar to keep people fum knowin' where dey is."

"How about you?" asked Ted. "Negro men are being drafted for war service, too."

"Who, me?" laughed July, slightly uneasy. "Well, you see, when Mr. Buck Hardy come an' tole me he want me in yuh to cook for 'em, he say if I didn't do it dem draft-bode people would grab me up an' send me to de waw, and I was powerful worried. You see, de waw come so sudden; it bus'

right in my face, like; an' it look like I des _had_ to take time to git in de notion to stan' up an' let dem Germans shoot at me. So I tuck dis chance to make a honest livin' in a quiet place. I's makin' a livin'.

Dey takes up a c'lection and pays me wages for cookin' and doin' dey dirty work. And, 'sides all dat; Mr. Buck Hardy say I des got to come in yuh wid 'em an' he wouldn' lem me say no."

Both boys smiled broadly, but at the conclusion of this prodigiously amusing speech Ted asked:

"Don't you call yourself a free man? Don't you think it's bad enough to be a slacker without putting the blame on somebody else?"

In ordinary times July would have boasted of his freedom to come and go as he pleased, but now he desired to persist in the persuasion that he was not a free agent.

"But Mr. Buck Hardy tole me," he argued, giggling uneasily,--"he tole me if I did n' come in yuh he and dem yuther young white mens would give me de devil, an' he tole me if dem draft-bode people got me and sont me to de waw dem Germans would cut my head off."

"Oh, confess that you are an out-and-out slacker and be done with it,"

said Ted. "That's the only honest thing to do, you know."

"Look yuh, boy," said July, his good-humored face showing irritation, "you better put a bridle on dat tongue o' yours. I like to see a smart boy like you wid plenty o' s.p.u.n.k, and I ain't mad wid you, but lem me give you a piece o' advice: if you go talkin' dat-a way to Mr. Buck Hardy and dem young white mens, you gwine to git into trouble. You sho will."

"Who is Mr. Buck Hardy?" asked Hubert, diplomatically, prudently deciding that it was time to check Ted by changing the subject.

"He's de ring-leader. He's de c.o.c.k o' de walk in dis camp."

"What is the name of this island?" asked Ted, looking around.

"I hear 'em say, but I disremember," answered July with seeming sincerity.

"A mighty good name for it would be Deserters' Island,'" remarked Ted, rising to join Hubert, who now stood by the fire drying his wet trousers.

VI

As the boys stood steaming by the fire, Ted using his wet handkerchief to clean the mud and slime from his trousers, more questions were asked, and in response to inquiry as to the present whereabouts of the hiding slackers, the negro said:

"Dey ain't come in yet. Some of 'em runnin' a deer and some gone to dey traps." July pointed to the skins hanging from grape-vines and bear-gra.s.s ropes under the elevated house of logs and beneath a low shelter of thatched palmetto fans. "Dey in de trappin' business," he added.

At this moment some one was heard coming through the brush, singing in a peculiar childish voice: "Open the gates as high as the sky and let King George's army pa.s.s by."

"Dat's Billy," said July. "He ain't got good sense."

A barefoot young white man, roughly clothed, entered the clearing at a trot and ran up to the two boys. Fixing his eye on Ted, he inquired with a giggle, "What's your name?" When Ted had told him, he turned to Hubert with the same question. His hair was light in color and soft as a child's, but his face was wrinkled and wore a meaningless smile. His pale eyes were vacant yet restless.

"He's Sweet Jackson's n.i.g.g.e.r same as I'm Mr. Buck Hardy's," explained July, showing his white, even teeth. "I found him in yuh waitin' on Sweet when I come. But Mr. Hardy don't cuff me round de way Sweet do Billy. _He_ don't think nothin' o' takin' a stick to dat half-witted boy when he git mad. It's scan'lous."

It appeared from July's remarks to Ted, while Billy still questioned Hubert, that "Sweet"--a curious ill.u.s.tration of the adhesiveness of Cracker nursery nicknames--was second only to Buck in importance and influence among the slackers. Yet Sweet was not liked, being often sullen and ill-tempered, while Buck, the "c.o.c.k of the walk," a great stalwart fellow with a waste of muscle and a kindly disposition, was generally popular.

The tramp of approaching feet was now heard and July turned hurriedly to the fire, where he had been frying cornbread. A heavy young man advanced out of the darkened woods, a rifle over his arm, followed by two other young men carrying a deer suspended from a stick which ran across their shoulders. Three dogs trotted into the fire-lit circle ahead of the hunting party. The two burdened men threw the deer down on a carpet of palmetto fans and at once began to skin it, merely glancing once or twice at the strange boys. The leading hunter, who, according to July's whisper, was Sweet Jackson, betrayed curiosity.

"Who-all's this?" he inquired gruffly, approaching the fire. "Billy, git me some water quick. Whur did you boys come from?"

Ted briefly explained, but Sweet Jackson did not appear to be quite satisfied, a gleam of suspicion showing in his eyes as they remained fixed upon Ted's uniform.

"What's them clothes you got on?" he asked, and when the boy had explained he was mysteriously informed in a voice suggestive of menace: "If they sent you in the Oke-fi-noke to find our camp and go back and tell 'em, they played thunder."

Another party of hunters now came out of the dark woods, exhibiting an otter skin as their single but valuable prize. Among these was Buck Hardy, who stood in the background only long enough to hear the outline of the boys' story and then approached them, his manner quite friendly.

"How you come on, boys?" he asked, extending his hand to Ted. "This one"--as he turned, smiling, to Hubert--"is as rosy as a little gal."

Hubert was highly indignant at this, but both he and Ted felt intuitively that the "c.o.c.k of the walk" would prove their best friend in the camp. As he questioned them and appeared to be satisfied with their straightforward answers, they observed him narrowly. He was fully six feet tall and evidently an uncommonly muscular and powerful man. But what attracted the boys was his atmosphere of quiet resolution and the kindly expression of his eyes. They wondered that such a man, who looked brave if he was not, should be a hiding slacker.

Meanwhile July had been busy frying thin strips of fresh venison steak, and now announced that supper was ready. The slackers thereupon took their places round the fire, and the boys had abundant opportunity to study the faces of all--an inspection that, except in one or two instances, found little that was rea.s.suring. Ted and Hubert were politely invited by Buck to join in the feast, but, having already eaten their fill, accepted only a cup of coffee.

The hapless Billy, who had taken the liberty of appeasing his hunger before supper was ready, now lay on the gra.s.s, reciting in a sort of sing-song: "Mena, mino, mo; ketch a n.i.g.g.e.r by the toe, if he hollers let him go." This was followed by: "Quemo, quimo, dilmo, day; rick, stick, pomididdle, dido--Sally broke the paddle over Mingo's head." The childish mind of the young man seemed to delight in nursery rhymes. He was beginning, "One-two, buckle my shoe--three-four, open the door,"

etc., when Sweet Jackson called his name roughly and sent him on an errand.

"What's the news about the war?" asked Buck Hardy of Ted, as the slackers lighted their pipes and settled into comfortable lounging positions about the fire.