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-grass 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 pass 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 nigger 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 illustration 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 "cock 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 "cock 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 reassuring. 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 grass, reciting in a sort of sing-song: "Mena, mino, mo; ketch a nigger 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.

Ted responded eagerly, describing the situation as he understood it and showing that the outlook was not as promising as it had been. He indicated that Russia had dropped out and was "no good any more," that Italy was hard pressed, that France was wearing out, and that England's safety was threatened by Germany's submarines.

"It depends on the United States," the boy declared. "We've got to end this war. We've got to be in a big hurry to put two million soldiers in the field, and every able-bodied young man is needed." Then, his zeal overcoming his prudence, he excitedly added: "I don't see how you men can stay here in this swamp at such a time. I—I—I'd be ashamed!"

Buck Hardy winced. Sweet Jackson sat erect with a threatening look. The other slackers shifted their positions uneasily and frowned, some of them uttering low ejaculations of astonishment. July paused in his noisy scraping of a pot and stood at attention. Hubert nudged Ted warningly and urged him in a whisper to hold his tongue.

"Who's ashamed!" cried Sweet Jackson derisively. "I ain't, for one. 'Tain't none of my quiltin'. What them Germans ever done to me? I never heard tell of 'em till lately."

"You'll hear of 'em a plenty if they ever get this country," said Ted, shaking off Hubert's hand. The boy was too excited and eager to speak his mind to count the costs. "They'll rob you of every dollar, and if you don't walk the line they chalk you'll be shot in your tracks. They haven't had a chance yet to do anything to you. The thing to think about is what they've done to other countries and what they intend to do to ours if they can. Do you want them to give Texas and a half dozen more States out that way to Mexico, as the Kaiser promised to do, if Mexico would help him conquer this country?"

"Texas is a fur ways, and big enough to take care of itself, too," said Sweet, serenely indifferent.

"That's a fine way to look at it!" Ted was quick to retort, scorn in his tone. "Will your right hand feel that way if somebody walks up and whacks off your left?"

"They could never do it," spoke up Buck Hardy quietly. "The Germans nor nobody else could ever take this country."

"That depends on what sort of a fight we put up and how quick we are about it," insisted Ted. "I read the papers a lot, and listen to men talk, too, and sometimes it looks as if even England may have to give in. If the Germans get England and the British fleet, what will happen then? Why, they'll get Canada, of course, and get ready to invade us anywhere across a three-thousand mile border line. Then we'll have it!"

"Canada and New York and Ohio and Chicago is a fur ways," remarked Sweet, yawning. "If the Germans do get 'em, what's that to us 'way down h-yuh?"

"What's that to us if the richest part of our country falls into the hands of the enemy!" cried Ted, losing his patience and with it all sense of prudence. "You make me sick. As I was about to say just now, it all depends on how many of us go out and fight and how many of us go and hide in a swamp."

Again Buck Hardy winced, and all the lounging slackers sat up, startled, staring at Ted as if scarcely able to believe that they had heard aright. As a general murmuring began, Sweet Jackson leaped to his feet.

"Billy, go get me a big switch," he ordered. "I've got to give that sassy boy a good frailin'. He's too big for his breeches. I aim to teach him a lesson right now."

"No, you won't," said Buck Hardy, who had also risen to his feet. "I like that boy. I like his spunk. And anybody who lays a hand on him has got me to whip. I put you all on notice," he concluded, turning from the furious but perceptibly checked Jackson and sweeping an eye over the seated slackers.

"Well, Buck Hardy," argued Sweet in a vain attempt to disguise his surrender, "if you're goin' to play the fool in this thing you'll be sorry."

"Aw, set down and let the boy talk," said Buck, resuming his own seat on the grass. "You don't have to agree with him. Let him talk; it's interestin'. Go on, kid."

But Ted seemed to think that he had said enough for the present, and for once he was not ready to speak. Buck Hardy himself broke the silence that followed.

"There's another thing I want to say," he announced. "I ain't in this swamp because I'm a-scared to fight. If they'd a let me alone, it would a' been all right, but when they up and passed a force-law, draftin' everybody whether or no, I got mad."

Then Ted found his voice, opening his mouth to speak impetuously, but Hubert grabbed him by the arm to check him and this time the younger boy would not be denied.

"Hush!—don't!" Hubert whispered urgently. "Don't tell him he was free to enlist and try to put him in a hole. He's our friend."

Ted saw the force of this in time and shut off his coming flood words, saying only:

"I didn't think you were afraid, Mr. Hardy. And it is very good of you to be willing for me to speak out, and I thank you very much."

Then the "cock of the walk" himself seemed to think that it would be better to change the subject, for he began to speak about an interesting incident of the day's hunting. But the conversation soon dragged, the slackers yawning drowsily. One by one they rose and disappeared, until only Buck, Sweet and the two boys were left by the fire. Finally Sweet rose, saying:

"What you aim to do with them boys to-night, Buck? We got to keep our eye on them boys."

"They'll sleep with me," was the answer.

Shortly afterward Buck Hardy lighted a torch and bade the boys follow him. He led them beneath the curious log house standing so high in the air—a precaution against snakes in summer—and climbed by a ladder through a square opening in the floor. Passing the sleeping men, whose faces even in the case of the least pleasing seemed softened in slumber, Hardy led the way to the extreme end of the room. Giving the torch to Ted, he scattered and broadened his really comfortable bed of leaves and Spanish moss so as to make room for the two boys between himself and the wall. There appeared to be no window in all the structure, but apparently sufficient air entered between the logs of the walls and through the wide door in the floor.

After the light was put out Ted recalled Sweet Jackson's "We got to keep our eye on them boys," with its suggestion of possible captivity at least for a time; but both he and Hubert were too tired to speculate or worry about their situation, and they soon forgot everything in sound sleep.

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