As long as there's any sign of a trail you can't get me rattled, but cracky, I don't like marshes. You can get lost in a marsh easier than in any other place. Pretty soon I was plodding around deeper than my knees and it gave me a strain every time I dragged my leg out of the swamp. Maybe you'll wonder why I didn't go back, but if you do, that's because you don't know much about marshes. All of a sudden I was right in the middle of it, as you might say, and there were no landmarks at all.

Pretty soon I was in waist deep and then I was scared, you can bet. If there's one thing that gets me scared it's quicksand. As long as I could get my legs out I was all right, but when I began sinking as low as my waist and had to drag myself out by squirming and catching hold of bushes and things, then I lost my nerve--I have to admit it.

I saw I was a fool ever to go into that pesky place, but it was too late and I knew that pretty soon I'd be in too deep to get out. Oh, jiminies, I was scared. Once, after I scrambled out I tried lying flat on the marsh with the reeds laid over sideways underneath me. But they didn't hold me up and anyway I knew I couldn't lie that way forever. I wondered how a scout had ever gone through here.

Before I knew how to swim I came mighty near to getting drowned and I got lost in the woods, too, when I was a tenderfoot. But this was worse than anything I ever knew before. Once I sank down almost to my shoulders and I guess I would have been a goner, only my feet struck something hard and flat and I stood on that until I got rested a little.

All the while I looked around to see if I could decide where the land might be a little harder, but I guess I must have been in the worst part of it. I decided that the safest thing I could do was to stand just where I was. I didn't know what it was I was standing on, but anyway it didn't seem to sink any, so I was kind of safe there, as you might say. But I knew I could never raise myself out of that place and I'd have to just stand there till I got so tired and hungry, that I'd drop down and be sucked into the marsh.

So anyway, I'd have to die, I was sure of that only I didn't want to die any sooner than I had to. Two or three times I shouted as loud as I could, but I knew it wasn't any use, because I was two or three miles away from any house. Even if anybody knew, I didn't see how they could get to me and it was only by good luck that I wasn't dead already on account of the hard thing I was standing on. Every once in a while bubbles would come up and I thought it was because that thing I was standing on was sinking lower. The marsh was just about even with my shoulders and I kept looking sideways at my shoulders all the time, so as to see if I was going down any and sometimes I thought I was. But I guess I wasn't.

The weeds stood up all around me so I couldn't see, except up in the air and it was like being in a grave with just my head out. Gee, I thought about the fellows hiking it to Little Valley and beginning work on the house-boat and waiting for me to come, and I could just kind of hear them jollying Pee-wee, and oh, I wished I was there. I was wondering who the Silver Foxes would elect for their patrol leader and then I got to thinking how n.o.body, not even my mother and father, would ever know what became of me, because you can't drag a marsh like you can a river. And it seemed kind of funny like, to die without anybody ever knowing what became of you.

Pretty soon my legs began getting very tired like a fellow's legs always do when he keeps standing in water. Only this was worse than water. I wondered how it would feel when my knees gave out and I sank down.

Then I happened to think about having my hikebook with me. It was all wet and the pencil was wet too, but I held it up high out of the marsh and wrote this on one of the pages. After I wrote it I stuck it up high on one of the marsh weeds.

This is where Roy Blakeley, patrol leader, Silver Fox Patrol, Bridgeboro Troop, B. S. A., was sucked down into the marsh, after he couldn't stand up any more. I was standing on something that was hard and maybe you'll find my body lying on that. In my desk is something I was going to give my mother for a birthday present. I send her a lot of love too. My father too. And I hope my Patrol gets along all right and that the troop has a lot of fun this summer. I hope somebody will find this.

CHAPTER VI

THE TIGHT PLACE

After that I made up my mind I wouldn't think any more about living and then I was satisfied, kind of. 'Cause as long as you know you've got to die, what's the difference. They could get another fellow to lead the patrol, that's one sure thing. Mostly I cared about my mother on account of not being able to say good-bye to her. All of a sudden it seemed as if there was more water around me than before. Up to that time it was mushy, kind of, but not much water. But now it was more like water all around me and I noticed a little bunch of net moss near me. Maybe you don't know what net moss is. It's moss that grows in swamps. Well, what do you think I saw lying on that clump of net moss?

Cracky, you'd hardly believe it, but it was a spark plug. And it looked funny to see it there.

If you're not a scout maybe you don't know anything about camping, but it's one of our rules not to defile the woods with rubbish and Mr.

Ellsworth always told us a tomato can didn't look right in the woods.

Well, jiminety, that spark plug sure did look funny lying on that piece of net moss. It floated right near my shoulder and I lifted it off and, oh, crink.u.ms, but it made me 'think of Bridgeboro.

It was almost the same as if it was a fellow come to rescue me, as you might say. It was just because it didn't belong there, I guess. Of course, I knew it couldn't rescue me, but it reminded me of people and that kind of cheered me up a little. Then I began to think about it. I remembered what our scoutmaster said about a fellow that's drowning--that he can think as long as his head is out of water. And this was like drowning, only slower. I was wondering how that spark plug got there.

It's funny how you'll think about little things like that even when you're dying.

One thing sure, no automobile ever went through there, and no motorcycle either. Maybe a fellow in an airplane might have dropped it, or maybe--

Then, all of a sudden I began to laugh. And while I was laughing some water flowed into my mouth. But I didn't care, I was feeling so good.

I knew all about the whole thing now, and I felt like kicking myself only my feet were down in all that tangle of marsh. But what cared I, yo ho--and a couple of yee hees.

Oh, I was some wise little boy scout then, and I had a scout smile long enough to tie in a couple of bow knots. That spark plug was thrown out of a motor boat. I could see that the spark points were bad and somebody threw it away because it wouldn't work and then put in a new one. And I knew that already the tide was beginning to come up and that pretty soon there would be a creek here and that I could swim in it.

Cracky, you can't scare me when it's a question of swimming, for I wasn't brought up in a bath tub. Many's the time I swam across Black Lake. Water's all right, but swamps--good night! Maybe if you don't live near meadow lands you won't understand how it was. But when the tide rises twice every twenty--four hours (you learn that in the Fourth Grade), it makes creeks through the meadows and marshes. Some of them are deep enough for small motor boats even, only you've got to be careful not to stay up one of them too long or you'll get stuck till the next day. One time that happened to Ed Sanders that owned we Rascal and he was there all night, and he almost died from poison of the mosquitoes. Anyway I would have been dead before night when the mosquitoes come out--that's one good thing. I don't mean it's one good thing, but anyway you know what I mean.

Pretty soon I could push the swamp gra.s.s out of the way and swim a little. Oh, cracky, I was thankful for that tide I I knew it would keep on coming when it once started 'cause the tide never goes back on you.

Of course it goes back, but you know what I mean. Sometimes if you're on a hike and telling time by the sun it'll go under a cloud. Or sometimes if you're lost and following the stars, it'll cloud up and you can't see them any more. And crink.u.ms, a trail will go back on you sometimes. But the tide is sure. It's got to come up, and so I knew it was coming up to rescue me and I knew I was all right as soon as I saw that spark plug.

Pee-wee wanted to name this chapter "Saved By A Spark Plug" or "The Hero Plug," but I said it sounded silly. Any way I'll never say another word against the tide. Often when I saw motor boats stuck on the flats I could hear the men in them saying things about the tide--oh, gee, you ought to have heard some of the things they said.

But I'll never say anything, anyway. It seemed kind of, you know, like an army coming to rescue me, slow but sure, and pretty soon I was swimming around, and oh, didn't I feel good!

All of a sudden like, there was a little river there and it kept getting deeper and wider and I knew it began away out in the ocean and it seemed as if it was picking its way all the way up into these marshes, to give me a chance to do what every scout knows how to do--swim.

Of course I was saved, but I didn't know how far I'd have to swim, only I was pretty sure I wouldn't have to die now.

I guess now you'd better look at the map I made, and then you'll see how the creek came in the marshes and about where I was, when it began, to rise.

Of course I didn't know where it came from or where it went, but I decided to swim against the tide for two reasons. First I was afraid to go the other way because it might just peter out, like most of those meadow creeks do, and then I'd be in the marsh again. Oh, boy, safety first.

I'd had enough of marshes. Besides if I swam the other way it would be deeper and wider and I'd be more likely to find a board or a log or something and pretty soon I might come to solid sh.o.r.es.

But before I started I had another adventure. I took off my shoes and stockings and everything except my underclothes. But of course, that wasn't the adventure. It was a dandy adventure, but you have to wait, and if it rains to-morrow so we can't go trailing, I'll write some more.

I think it'll rain to-morrow.

CHAPTER VII

WEETONKA, THE TERRIBLE CHIEF

OF course you can tell when you look at the map where the creek came from. It came from Dutch Creek and Dutch Creek flows into the Bridgeboro River, and Bridgeboro River rises in the northern part of some place or other and takes a--some kind of a course--and flows into New York Bay. Once I got kept in, in school, for not knowing that. But how should I know where this creek went? It came-that was enough for me. I should worry where it went.

Before I started to swim I decided I'd go under and try to find out what it was that I'd been standing on. Because I had to thank it. A boy scout is supposed to be grateful. So I ducked and groped around in the marshy bottom and I felt something hard with a point to it. I had to come up for air, then I ducked again and felt around over it and under it. I joggled it with both my hands and it budged-not much but a little. Then I came up for air and went down and gave a good tug at it.

I guess it was just kind of caught in the mud and weeds for after I pulled some of these away a lot of bubbles came up, and then I got hold of one end of the thing and it stuck up slantingways out of the water like an alligator's mouth. Oh, gee, it was all slimy and had moss growing to it and it was black and hard. I was crazy to find out what it was and I swam around the end of it, bobbing it up and down.

Then I sat on it and rocked it and it joggled. When I straddled it, it went down with me and when I jerked it, it seemed to get loose a little. The end that was sticking up wasn't very big around, only it was terribly slippery. Anyway, I sat on it and tightened my legs around it just like a fellow does with a balky horse, and then I began jouncing up and down like on a seesaw.

Pretty soon the other end came up and, oh, boy, didn't I get dumped off into the water. It looked like a slimy old log floating. I gave it a turn and then--g--o--o--d night--what do you think it was? It was a regular Indian dug-out.

I guess maybe it was a hundred years old and you can see it now, if you ever come to Bridgeboro, because it's in the Museum of our Public Library and you'll know it because it's got "Presented by 1st Bridgeboro Troop, B. S. A.," on it. I guess maybe it was about fifteen feet long and as soon as I cut into it with my scout knife, I saw that it was made of cedar and it wasn't rotten--not so much, anyway.

Jiminies, that's one good thing about cedar; it lasts forever under water.

Oh, boy, wasn't I excited. I swam around it washing it off with my scout jacket, then I bailed the little dug out part out with my scout hat. It wasn't so black when I got it all cleaned off. It was kind of chocolate color and I knew it must be very old, because cedar turns that color after a long time. You learn that in Woodcraft. It was all made out of one piece and the place where you sit was just hollowed out--about big enough for one person.

Then I got inside and it was crankier than a racing sh.e.l.l. You had to sit up straight like a little tin soldier to keep it from tipping--it was one tippicanoe, you can bet. I fell out and had to roll it over and bail it out two or three times. At last I got the hang of it and I pushed it in the marshes a little way so it wouldn't drift up stream.

There was a regular creek there now, good and wide and deep, and the water was coming up like a parade.

Then I pulled a lot of reeds and bound them together with swamp gra.s.s.

That was a funny kind of a paddle I guess, but it was better than nothing and anyway I decided to wait till the tide was at flood and then paddle back with it. That would be a cinch.

So then I sat in the dug-out and just waited for the tide to come up.

The dug-out stayed where it was on account of being pushed in among the reeds and oh, jiminety, it was nice sitting there. I thought maybe the creek would empty out again into Bridgeboro River and I could tie up there and, go home. But I had a big surprise waiting for me, you can bet.

It was about nine o'clock in the morning when I started on that crazy trail and it was about five o'clock in the afternoon when the tide began to turn and go back. All the while I was sitting there waiting I thought about the Indian that owned that canoe. Maybe his bones were down underneath there, I thought. Ugh, I'd like to see them. No, I wouldn't.

Maybe he was on his way to a pow-wow, hey?

Well, after a while when the tide turned I started paddling down. A little water came through a couple of deep cracks, but not much and I sopped it up with my hat. But oh, jingoes, I never had to sit up so straight in school (not even when the princ.i.p.al came through the cla.s.s-room) as I did in that cranky old log with a hole in it. And oh, you would have chucked a couple of chuckles if you'd seen me guiding my Indian bark with a bunch of reeds. Honest, they looked like, a street sweeper's broom.