THE two boys and the negro remained motionless in their places, wondering what would happen next, until Billy cut down the body of the headless gander and was about to bear it away. Then July interfered.

"Gim-me dat gander, boy," he said, laughing. "Quit yer foolin' an' gwine on. We got to hab dat gander for supper."

James now sat with his back to a pine, and Jenkins was bending over him and wiping away the blood with a wet handkerchief. The latter, seeing that the cut was little more than a painful scratch, began to jest and laugh, the atmosphere of tragedy being thus quickly dispersed. Having salved the wound, predicting a speedy healing, Jenkins turned to seek Jackson and "give him a talking to." The "knife-slinger" was pointedly informed that if he wanted to have a single friend left in the camp, he had better keep a grip on himself in future. Listening to this forcible utterance of common sense, Jackson rapidly cooled down, ceasing his profane and threatening speeches.

And so, in spite of the violent termination of the festive gander-pulling, the slackers soon recovered their wonted spirits. After supper, with the exception of the wounded man who went immediately to bed, they sat about the fire and joked, sang corn-shucking songs, and drank corn-beer, in the greatest possible good humor.

But July smiled covertly and shook his head, as soon as he found opportunity thus forcibly expressing himself:

"Look yuh, Cap'n Ted, I got to git away fum dis place befo' somebody draw a knife on me an' cut my throat."

"We'll get away to-night," said the boy confidently.

"We got a good chance," assented July. "After all dat jollification dem mens'll sleep hard, cep'n it's Mr. James wid dat cut face. You better look out for him. You better not move a foot till 'way late 'bout two o'clock."

Hubert fell asleep soon after they had lain down on their bed of moss in the corner of the loft, but Ted lay awake for hours, listening and waiting. He had been rendered the more anxious by a suggestion that was made as the slackers were taking off their shoes and preparing to lie down.

"Don't you reckon we'd better tie them boys?" proposed Sweet Jackson.

"Oh, no," answered the more humane Jenkins. "They've had their lesson."

Jackson did not seem to think it necessary to insist and the boys were left in freedom of hand and foot, to their great relief. But the restlessness of James was a continuing source of apprehension, his smarting face causing him to turn frequently with a grunt or sigh or muttered exclamation of annoyance.

At last Ted began to fear that there was no hope of stealing out of the loft that night, and in the midst of his discouragement sleep overtook him.

When he awoke all was quiet, except for the snoring of several of the men. Zack James, who had been restless so long, now lay still and made no sound. Ted did not know why, but he felt convinced that it was near morning. Lifting himself guardedly upon his knees, he bent over his sleeping cousin, shook him and whispered in his ear.

Hubert stirred sleepily and began a stupid muttering in a voice seemingly so loud that Ted was terrified, allowing the boy to relapse into slumber. After listening intently and hearing no disturbance, Ted tried again and this time roused Hubert to complete wakefulness without noise.

The two then crept along the wall until they stood opposite the hole in the floor. As they did this, Ted, who led the way, stumbled over an outstretched foot and narrowly escaped falling. The disturbed sleeper grunted, muttered a few unintelligible words, turned over, and all was quiet again. Just as the boys were preparing to swing themselves down through the opening, not daring to put down the ladder, one of the sleepers stirred noisily, and they heard the voice of James demanding:

"Who's that?"

Drawing back into the deep shadow, the boys stood silent, holding their very breath. The challenge was repeated. Then, for perhaps a quarter of an hour, Ted and Hubert stood in their tracks, hardly moving a muscle, breathing softly, and fearing that even the beating of their hearts would be heard.

Convinced at last that the wounded man had relapsed into slumber, they noiselessly swung themselves down through the opening and dropped softly to the ground below. Several dogs, lying asleep beneath the loft, rose and followed the boys with signs of great cheerfulness, evidently anticipating a night hunt.

The first need was to "turn July out," as Hubert put it. This consisted merely in lifting away the heavy section of a log braced against the makeshift door of the prison-pen, and was soon accomplished without noise. July came forth, rubbing his eyes, and whispering:

"I clean give you out an' went to sleep. It's mose daylight," he added, "an' we better be gwine quick."

"Let's take the dogs, so that they can't use 'em to track us," suggested Ted. "We can make 'em come back after we get a good start of five or six miles. I wish I could keep Spot," he added, referring to the dog that had so devotedly battled with the panther.

July agreed to this, and the dogs were called softly. The whole pack, five in number, followed gladly, as the boys and the negro hurried away from the camp. It had been decided on the evening before to take the jungle trail leading from the lower end of Deserters' Island, and they now moved in that direction. The intervening miles of high pine land were covered with the greatest possible speed. Wherever the ground was sufficiently open they ran, and even in the brush they pushed forward rapidly, careless of scratched hands and faces or torn clothing.

Faint light filtered through the treetops from the whitening sky before they had traversed half the length of the island, and by the time they reached its limit birds on every hand were singing their welcome to the arrival of a new day. The fugitives now observed with considerable concern that the dogs had disappeared, surmising that they had recognized the difference between a flight and a hunt and in consequence had returned to camp.

They soon found the trail and hurried down into the jungle, careless of the mud and water, the thorny brambles, the possible moccasins. They knew that within an hour's time the pursuit would begin and recognized the need of great haste at any cost.

July, who led the way, paused suddenly; and, opening the tin bucket carried on his arm, urged the boys to take some of the sandwiches therein and stuff them in their pockets.

"May be hard to keep togedder when dey come at' us wid de dawgs," he said,—adding: "But if you boys git lost fum me, you keep gwine on by yo'self till you git out de swamp an' find yo' way home."

Pressing on with the utmost energy for an hour longer, and not as yet hearing any sounds indicating pursuit, they began to feel more secure; and soon, at the urgent suggestion of Hubert, they sat down on a log to refresh themselves with some of the cold food while resting their wearying legs.

"We got to be gwine!" cried July less than fifteen minutes later.

He had sprung to his feet as the distant baying of dogs fell on his ear. All knew at once that the slackers were again on their trail and that there was no time to lose.

Again the negro led the way, taking new precautions and urging the boys to do precisely as he did. As he dashed forward over the difficult ground, he jumped from tussock to tussock, stepped upon roots and masses of dry moss, and avoided every bit of soft exposed earth where a track would remain imprinted. Whenever a fallen log ran parallel with their course, he sprang upon it and walked its full length. Once he made a complete circle, two hundred yards or more in diameter; then, springing upon a fallen log several feet beyond the limits of this circle, and directing the boys to do likewise, he pressed forward again over the direct course.

All this was intended to confuse and delay the dogs, if it did not throw them off the scent altogether; but in no great while it appeared to have succeeded only in a small measure. For the baying, instead of gradually fading away in the distance as desired, after ceasing for a time became more vigorous than ever and unmistakably drew nearer. Soon July halted, looked round, and waited for the boys to overtake him.

"Dem dawgs'll be yuh in no time," he said, discouraged.

"Will they bite us?" asked Hubert apprehensively.

"No; they know us," said Ted. "We could shoot them," he added, facing the negro, a question in his tone. "I'd hate to do it, and I don't think I could shoot Spot, but we have a right to do it."

Ted and Hubert carried their small guns. The negro was armed only with a hatchet and a heavy butcher-knife, the blade of which gleamed brightly where it stuck in his belt.

"Better let me go for 'em wid de hatchet or dis knife," said July, shaking his head. "Soon's you shoot dem mens'll know 'zackly where we is."

Further discussion was checked by the warning of a yelp very close in their rear. Bidding the boys conceal themselves, July ran back a few yards over the trail and took his stand behind a large tree trunk.

As the foremost dog was about to trot past, the negro leaned over and dealt it a terrific blow on the head with the butt end of the hatchet, breaking through its skull. With a stifled cry in its throat, the dog rolled over and lay in the struggle of approaching death, whereupon the four others coming up shied away from the unseen danger and took to their heels on the backward track with yelps of affright.

After Ted had gladly taken note that the slain dog was not Spot, the three fugitives hurried onward as before, and for an hour they heard nothing more from the dogs. Finally a subdued and, as it seemed, muffled yelp began to be heard at intervals. July looked puzzled and several times paused to listen, showing great anxiety when he became convinced that the sounds were drawing nearer. At last he said he believed that the slackers held the dogs in leash, their object being to steal upon the unsuspecting fugitives while they halted to rest in fancied security.

"If we ain't quick dey'll nab us befo' we know it," the negro concluded.

"Can't we put the dogs off the scent in some way?" asked Ted, looking about him.

They were now in a dense growth of water-oaks and other trees, gay with the full green leafage of spring; and some little distance ahead water could be seen.

"I believe we could climb up and swing from limb to limb until we got out yonder over that water," eagerly proposed Ted. "Then we could drop down and wade as far as the water went, then climb up again, and, if the trees keep thick enough, go quite a long way. That would break the trail."

"It sho will," assented July, "if only we kin do it. May be easy for you light boys, but hit won't be so easy for me."

"Let's try it anyhow," urged Ted, and they at once began preparations.

By means of stout twine, much of which they had fortunately stuffed into their pockets, Ted securely strapped his gun on his back. July having disposed of Hubert's gun and his own bucket in the same way, giving Hubert the hatchet in exchange, and all now having arms as well as legs free, they began to climb.

For once, Hubert led the way. Lifting himself among the larger branches of a spreading water-oak, he found it comparatively easy to walk out on a lower limb—while grasping a higher—until he could lay hold of an interlacing branch and swing himself safely among the larger arms of a neighboring tree. Repeating this performance, he passed on from tree to tree.

Ted followed readily enough, for, though older, he was no heavier than Hubert, and was even more active; but he lingered behind to watch and softly encourage July. Because of his far greater weight and the bending of the branches beneath him, the negro might well hesitate and move cautiously. He soon saw that his only hope was in a bold leap into the branches of the neighboring tree, trusting to his quick, firm grasp to arrest his descent to the ground.

The sound of a muffled yelp from the dogs, unmistakably coming from a point only a short distance away, spurred July on, and he took the dangerous leap, landing among the stout branches of the neighboring tree unharmed save for scratches and bruises which he scarcely felt.

"You can do it," Ted called back softly, by way of encouragement. "Come on as fast as you can."

"Don't wait on me," said July. "I'll git dere bimeby. You boys hurry on."

So Ted followed faster on the track of Hubert. Within a few minutes from the start the boys had transported themselves more than a hundred yards without setting foot on the ground and were soon over the water. They then let themselves down, waded knee-deep some fifty yards among scattering cypress trees, grasped a low limb of another water-oak, swung themselves up and were once more traveling, monkey-like, aloft.

"You go ahead, Hubert," said Ted. "I'll wait here till I see July coming."

Hubert went on and Ted waited. But he waited in vain, for July was in trouble. After leaping successfully three or four times, at last—while the boys were wading across the cypress pool—July failed to gain a firm hold of the branches through which his heavy body descended, and, though his fall was broken by the leafy obstructions, he struck the ground with great force and was for a few moments partially stunned.

A sudden yelping of the dogs now very close at hand roused him to action. Struggling to his feet, he laid hold of the tree into which he had attempted to jump, and climbed with some difficulty into its branches. The unfortunate negro saw that it was now too late to jump again, even if he dared to do so, badly shaken as he was, and that his forlorn and only resource was to conceal himself as best he could in the higher foliage of the tree.

Scarcely had the trembling of the leaves and branches subsided when the pursuers were heard very near at hand, July promptly recognizing the voices of Sweet Jackson, Jim Carter and two other men belonging to the camp. They held the dogs in leash, as the negro had suspected, but were marching with the greatest possible speed. Reaching the point where the trail came to an end, the dogs one and all halted, snuffing the air in a mystified way, and could hardly be forced forward.

"They must be round h-yer some'rs," the harsh voice of Sweet Jackson declared.

"Mebby they tuck a tree," suggested Carter.

A silence followed, and July understood only too well that the members of the party had separated and were scanning the neighboring treetops. Suddenly one of the dogs began to bay immediately beneath him, and a few moments later the triumphant voice of Carter was heard:

"H-yer's one of 'em up this tree!"