THE slackers scattered about their business early next morning and the two boys were left alone in the camp with July, who had been ordered not to let them get out of his sight. The negro had glibly promised, but his sympathies were divided. He was still averse to being forced to go to the "waw," and to this extent he was still a confederate of the slackers, but he had developed such admiration and affection for "Cap'n Ted" that he was now almost as ready to do the boy's bidding as to respect the wishes of Buck Hardy himself.

So he was not disposed to follow his orders to the letter, and when an errand called him down to the boat-landing he left the boys alone without a word. He was hardly out of sight when Hubert became alert, looked around cautiously, and said to Ted:

"Last night I overheard one of the slackers speak of a jungle trail at the lower end of this island, and I think he meant a trail that leads all the way out of the swamp. Let's go and look for it—now that we've got a chance to walk off by ourselves."

Ted promptly agreed to this proposition, but said that he didn't want to run away yet. "Mr. Hardy is getting interested in the war," he explained, "and if we stay a few days longer I may be able to persuade——"

"Oh, shucks!" scoffed Hubert. "All the talking in the world will never do any good, as I've told you and told you."

"We'll see," said Ted hopefully. "In the meantime it will be a mighty good thing to find that trail and know where to make for when we are ready to start—if we do have to run away."

He caught up his gun as he spoke and they started off in a hurry, actually running the first two hundred yards in order to be out of sight before July reappeared.

They first walked about two miles down the backbone of the island, stopping to look into July's turkey-pen as they went and finding it as yet empty of feathered prisoners. They then decided to cut across to the swamp on the right and begin looking for the jungle trail. Their plan was to follow as nearly as possible the line of demarcation between the swamp proper and the higher ground, thus rounding the lower half of the island in the course of some hours and necessarily crossing the looked-for trail.

To follow the island's rim was obviously the only way to make sure of a thorough search, but they found it easier to propose than to perform. Often a dÉtour higher up or lower down the slope was necessary to avoid bogs, marshy tracts, impregnable clumps of fan-palmettos and tangled masses of brambles. And often the way was made difficult enough by reason of the old fallen logs thrown criss-cross or piled high by wind storms, by dense blackjack thickets, and by crowding swamp undergrowth. Once they penetrated a cane-brake through which they could scarcely have forced their way but for passages made by wild animals; for the tall strong reeds, which stood as straight as arrows, were for the most part hardly three inches apart. Even along the borders of the comparatively open pine land which formed the island they were forcibly reminded of what a wild and remote wilderness the interior of the Okefinokee really was.

Several times they halted and carefully examined faint suggestions of a trail, soon pushing forward again unsatisfied. They had passed the lower end of the island and were returning up the left-hand side, fearing that their effort had been fruitless, when they at last came upon what Ted felt convinced was the object of their search.

Having followed the trail two or three hundred yards into the jungle, they retraced their steps to higher ground, after the wiser Ted had resolutely rejected Hubert's wild proposal that they push on toward freedom, unprepared as they were and at whatever risk. It was now near noon and high time to turn their faces toward camp, for they had already begun to feel sharp hunger. But they were tired after the long and rough tramp, and Hubert insisted on at least a short rest. So they lay down on the soft billowy wiregrass in a high and dry spot inclosed on three sides by tall clumps of palmettos.

Their rest was short indeed, for Hubert had hardly stretched himself out, yawning, when Ted heard a rustle in the grass on their left. One searching glance revealed what appeared to be a wild-cat, crouched within a few feet of them. As the startled boys sprang to their feet, the cat's hair stood on end, its eyes flashed with rage and it displayed its glistening teeth, uttering a low guttural growl. The creature had evidently been surprised close to its lair, as otherwise it would likely have made off without show of fight; plainly its back—of dark brownish gray mottled with black—was up in more than a literal sense.

Ted caught up his gun and fired, but his hurried aim caused him to miss his mark even at such close quarters. Before he could shoot again the cat leaped upon him. The shock carried him to his knees, the now useless gun slipping from his grasp. As the bounding cat came down, its fore paws struck the boy's chest and clawed through his coat, the creature snarling furiously the while and blowing its hot breath into his face. Ted beheld its fiery eyes only a few inches from his own and his hands flew to its throat.

Exerting all his strength, he held the beast off, but could not prevent the tearing of his clothes and the painful clawing of his arms and body.

Hubert now came out of his first paralysis of surprise and fright. Getting out his pocket-knife and opening it as quickly as possible, he caught the cat by the tail and stabbed it twice in its stomach. Then, with a maddened snarl, the creature let go its hold on Ted, wrested its neck from Ted's grasp, and leaped upon Hubert.

"Grab him by the throat!" shouted Ted, staggering to his feet and reaching for his gun.

Luckily his eye fell on the bloody pocket-knife just dropped by Hubert and he snatched it up instead of the gun, which he now realized could not be used at such close quarters without risk of killing his cousin. A moment later the wild-cat was stabbed in its side; then again and yet again.

But Hubert was still exposed to the wounded animal's strong sharp claws which did not relax their hold. So Ted seized the cat's left fore-leg and pulled with all his might. The throat of the snarling beast, thus drawn partly away from its victim, was now exposed, and into it Ted drove the knife to the hilt.

It was all over after that. The cat ceased to struggle, became limp and dropped to the ground. The battle had been won, but at no small cost. Both boys were bleeding from several deep scratches and their coats were badly torn. As all this became painfully evident, Hubert found himself unable to keep a firm grip on his lachrymal ducts.

"I don't want to cry, Ted," he said, as he sat down heavily, drawing shuddering breaths and raining tears, "but I c-can't help it."

"You just cry as much as you want to," said the older boy in a sympathetic voice, adding gratefully: "If it hadn't been for your help that thing might have scratched my eyes out. Have you noticed that it's smaller and has a longer tail than the one that jumped into our boat that morning in the swamp?" he continued. "That one must have been a lynx and this is just an ordinary wild-cat."

Ted now proceeded to cut a long, stout, green stick. He then fished some twine out of his pocket and tied the dead wild-cat's feet together. Thrusting the stick between its legs, he took one end of it and Hubert the other. Chatting and even laughing cheerfully, in spite of the pain of their bleeding scratches, they bore their dearly bought prize between them along the backbone of Deserter's Island.

As they approached the camp they saw that several slackers were still sitting over their noon meal. July was the first to see the boys and their burden. A few leaps, and he was beside them; a few words, and he knew the outline of their story.

"Look yuh, Cap'n Ted," he cried, laughing and gesticulating, "you mean to say you an' Hubut kill dat wile-cat wid des yo' pocket-knife!"

"That's what we did," declared Hubert, proudly.

"Oh, go 'way!" cried July, gleefully. "Well, well, well, if dat don't beat all!"

Hardly less enthusiastic were the slackers, who expressed admiration of the youngsters' pluck and readiness of resource in no mild terms.

"That's the sort of grit I like to see, boys," said Buck Hardy, showing great pleasure. "Never mind; I'll fix you up," he added, seeing both boys wince on being patted on the shoulder.

He made them strip and washed their wounds, while Al Peters hunted up a box of healing salve made from bear's marrow, and Bud Jones, producing needle and thread, neatly darned their torn coats. Even Sweet Jackson spoke kindly to the boys on hearing the story later. Everybody seemed determined to make heroes of them and their story, in response to eager questions, was told and told again. As long as he talked about the wild-cat adventure and hunting in general, omitting any mention of the war, Ted noted that he secured universal, willing and pleased attention. If these young men so highly valued pluck and victory in a mere struggle with a wild animal, he thought, why could they not thrill in contemplation of the true glory of shedding one's blood for one's country in a war against the foes of the world!

As the boys were eating their dinner, after the dressing of their wounds, Ted inquired as to the value of wild-cat fur and was told that it was worth "quite a little." Then, after a few whispered words with Hubert, he rose and, with quite a grand manner, said:

"Mr. Hardy, my cousin and I wish to present this pelt to you as a small token of our appreciation of your kindness to us."

Following Ted's lead, Buck also was formal in accepting, walking over awkwardly and shaking hands, as he said: "This sure is nice of you, boys; I'll think more of that skin than any I ever had."

---