"We've had our labor for our pains."

"No sign of them, eh?"

"No. Could they have gone to the Dalton residence?"

"More than likely. As Mason is skulking about this neighborhood, he, of course, must be living in the big house."

"Come on over there then."

"Get in the boat. It will save us making a detour of the swamp."

They saw numerous channels by following which they could reach the mainland quite close to the big house.

Gliding slowly over the water, the boat finally touched the sh.o.r.e, and the two detectives debarked and pulled the punt up on the bank.

There were rocks, trees and bushes all around.

As they stood looking for a path, a voice reached their ears, saying:

"Sim, where are you?"

Then the negro answered:

"Near de sho', Ma.s.sa Ronald."

Old King Brady held up his finger warningly.

"There they are!" he whispered.

Just then Mason's voice was heard again:

"Keep on shouting, Sim, so I can locate you."

"Dis way! Dis way!" cried the darky.

The detectives glided in the direction of the voice, and, pa.s.sing through the shrubbery, they parted the bushes, and entered a clearing.

A little brook was gushing from the midst of the verdure, and emptied its waters into a shallow pool, the bottom of which was composed of pure white sand.

Pausing on the brink of this pool, the detectives glanced searchingly around, and heard the negro laughing amid the shrubbery.

"He's over there!" said Harry, pointing across the pool.

"Watch a moment, and we may locate him," Old King Brady whispered.

Standing stock still, they listened intently.

In fact, they were so absorbed in looking for the negro that they did not see two men crouching in the bushes close behind them.

They were the two masked fellows who first a.s.sailed them.

As stealthily as tigers, they crept from their covert.

When but a few feet separated them from the Bradys, they made a combined rush, with their hands outstretched.

The alert detectives heard them coming, and glanced around.

Before they could defend themselves, however, the on-comers struck them heavily, and knocked the detectives into the pool.

Too late the Bradys realized that the negro had been decoying them purposely to that dangerous place.

For, the moment they fell into the pool, they sank in the sand.

Trying to scramble to their feet, the Bradys found their legs going down in the treacherous sand rapidly.

Then the truth flashed across their minds, and Harry cried:

"By Heavens, they've thrown us into a bed of quick-sand!"

"Try to reach the sh.o.r.e--quick!" panted Old King Brady.

They made the most desperate efforts, but only floundered around helplessly, and each moment got caught more firmly in the deadly sand.

CHAPTER XII.

AN UNEXPECTED FRIEND.

The moment Ronald Mason and his companion hurled Old and Young King Brady in the bed of quick-sand, they ran away.

Dodging behind the rocks, they hid themselves.

By this time the sun was rising.

Finding it impossible to extricate themselves from the deadly grip of the treacherous sand, the detectives ceased their struggles.

"It's useless, Harry," said the old sleuth, despairingly.

"If we remain pa.s.sive, we'll soon sink beyond our depth, and perish."

"Yell at the top of your voice. Some one may hear us."

"Help! Help! Help!" shouted Harry.

They were shouting this way when Mason came from behind the rocks, pulled off his mask, and grinned sardonically at them.