IN the morning, feeling well and strong, Ted rose early and followed Hubert out of the cabin to the camp fire. There their attention was attracted to two large fox-squirrels lying on the grass.

"I shot 'em befo' you waked up," said their host, who was busily preparing the morning meal. "The woods is chock full of 'em."

Both boys ate a hearty breakfast, after which Ted felt so fully restored that he declared he was ready for the hardest kind of a tramp. But he was again advised to wait till the following morning.

The boys spent the day talking with their new friend, gathering young "greens" from his little vegetable garden, giving some help toward the preparation of the meals, and lying about on the grass and sleeping. Ted took great interest in a bow belonging to and manufactured by the old trapper, considering himself highly favored on being allowed to shoot away two or three arrows, which latter he diligently searched for and returned to their owner. Both bow and arrows were made of ash, the latter being tipped with sharpened bits of steel. The bow-string was made of tough gut of the wild-cat.

"You-all come go with me now, if you want to see some fun," said Mr. Smith at sundown.

He then took bow and arrows and led the boys about a quarter of a mile away in the woods, telling them he would show them how "partridges" (quail) roosted at night. When the place was reached twilight had fallen, but a dozen or more of the birds were distinctly seen squatting near each other in the wiregrass.

"Now watch me bag 'em," said the old trapper; and, lifting his bow, he bent it almost double, the string twanged, and the arrow sped on its way.

Again and again the bow twanged, and in amazement the boys began to see, as they did not at first, that each flying arrow cut off the head of a quail. The neighboring birds looked startled, turning their heads from side to side as if striving to pierce the gathering gloom, but there was no noisy plunge of the remainder of the covey until the old man had shot as often as he wished and stepped forward to gather up his arrows and the slain.

"You see, I shoots 'm in the head to keep from sp'ilin' the meat," he smilingly explained.

"What a fine shot you are!" exclaimed both boys in a breath.

"I could never do that in the world," said Ted.

"It took me years to learn that trick, but I learned it, and you could, too, if you tried hard," the old trapper said, generous in his pardonable pride.

As they sat about the fire after supper the subject of the war came up. The trapper asked for news and Ted outlined the general situation as he had understood it before the swamp misadventure cut him off from sources of information.

"If I was young enough I'd be in it," declared their host, much to Ted's satisfaction, going on to say that the Civil War was over before he was quite old enough and that the Spanish-American war was over almost before he heard of it, for he was in the Okefinokee that very year. "And now I'm too old to be a soldier," he concluded, with a smile and a sigh.

"I've heard my Uncle Walter say that 'the will is almost as good as the deed,'" remarked Ted politely.

"From all I hear them Germans is a mighty bad crowd, and they need the worst thrashin' any lot of people ever got," the trapper continued. "And the young men o' this country ought to see that they git it good and heavy. But some of 'em ain't goin' about it right. Some of 'em is kickin' about the draft, and some of 'em is scared to death; and they tell me some of 'em is hidin' out."

The old man spat in his disgust. The boys became alert, perceiving that he had knowledge of and was thinking of the camp of slackers on Deserters' Island. They looked at each other significantly and waited for him to go on.

"But it ain't my business to see that the sheriff is on his job," continued old George Smith, stroking his long beard. "I'm a old man, and I got to live in peace, 'speshly these days when there's young men without a particle of respect for gray hairs. I 'tends to my own business."

"My uncle said he heard that there were some slackers hiding in this swamp," said Ted, cautiously and invitingly.

"Mebby so; the Oke-fi-noke's a big place," responded the old man, after a moment of perceptible hesitation. "I don't see," he quickly added, "why there's all this kickin' about the draft. They drafted 'em 'way back in the sixties, South and North, too. We got to have it that way."

"My uncle says it's the fairest as well as the quickest plan."

"Ther must be more chicken-hearted young men now than ther was in my young days," remarked Mr. Smith. He fell into a thoughtful silence, from which he roused himself suddenly, saying: "Well, let's go to bed. Got to git up bright and early in the mornin'."

It was evident that he did not intend to speak openly of Deserters' Island. The boys were no less inclined to be cautious, not knowing what his personal relations with the slackers might be. After an exchange of significant glances, they tacitly agreed to keep silent also, at least for the present. It troubled Ted to think that an honest, patriotic man, such as their host appeared to be, should place his "peace" above his duty to inform against the hiding slackers, but he took comfort in the thought that the fugitives from the draft would not long be left in quiet possession of Deserters' Island.

"Mr. Smith won't tell on 'em," he whispered to Hubert after they had gone to bed, "but just wait till we get home. Uncle Walter will have the sheriff starting into this swamp in a day's time."

When a woodpecker, boring loudly into the cabin's roof, roused him next morning, Ted saw that the sun was shining, realized that he had overslept, and wondered why he had not been called. Hearing voices outside, he conjectured that the old trapper had been delayed by the arrival of visitors. But what visitors? The boy thought instantly of Deserters' Island, which was undoubtedly the nearest inhabited area within many miles. In sudden fear, he checked the noisy movements he was making. Then, listening intently, he heard the unmistakable voice of Sweet Jackson!

Creeping to the front wall, Ted peeped out through a crack between the logs, and at once his eyes confirmed the evidence presented by his ears. Sweet Jackson and Mitch' Jenkins, their guns across their knees, were seated near the camp fire eating the breakfast the old trapper was serving them.

"We wanted to make yo' camp last night," Jackson was saying, "but we was too fur. When we made it up to come over this-a way, I thought I'd bring a hide to trade for some plug-tobacco."

"Well, I'll trade," said old Mr. Smith, with his usual good-natured manner.

Ted bounded softly back to the bed and, bending down, shook Hubert.

"Quit pushin' me," complained Hubert, still half asleep.

"Hush!" whispered Ted warningly. "Look at me! Listen, and don't make a noise. Some of the slackers are out there!"

Hubert's rebelliousness disappeared on the instant, and he stared at his cousin in silent fright. Then he, too, heard Jackson's voice, whereupon he started up, looking wildly about, as if for some means of escape.

Without waiting to say more Ted hurried back to his peep-hole.

"Can't we slip out and run?" whispered Hubert as soon as he reached Ted's side.

"How can we? There's no window on the back and they are facing this way. They'd see us. We've got to stay right here till they go away, or till we get a chance to slip out."

"But what if they should come in here?" suggested Hubert.

"We'll have to risk it."

The breakfast was now over, and the two slackers rose to their feet. A few moments later the excited boys took note that all three of the men stood with their backs to the cabin door.

"Now's our chance," whispered Hubert. "Let's slip out, sneak round the house and run off."

"We'd better wait, I think," said Ted. "They might turn round on us before we——"

The boy stopped suddenly, for now the old trapper and Jackson turned, the latter saying: "Well, bring out your tobacco." The former moved toward the cabin accordingly.

"Let's lie down and pretend to be asleep, so they won't hear him speak to us," hurriedly proposed Ted.

When the trapper stepped into the room the slumber of the two boys appeared to be profound. He looked at them, smiled, and, as if deciding not to call them till later, went about the business of the moment, bending down over a large covered box with his back to them. Noting all this, Ted congratulated himself upon the success of his plan. It did not occur to him that curiosity might bring Jenkins into the cabin, or that the officious Jackson might wish to see for himself how large a store of tobacco the cabin contained.

So when a heavy tread was heard at the door, the boy faced the unforeseen as well as the affrighting. There was now nothing left for him and Hubert to do but cover their faces with their blankets and lie still, which they did, fearing that the very beating of their hearts would be heard.

The less curious Jenkins might have overlooked them, in the subdued light of the interior, but Jackson's roving eyes alighted on their outlined figures almost at once.

"Who-all's this?" he asked sharply. "I see you got comp'ny."

"Jes' two boys that got lost huntin' in the swamp," answered the old man quietly. "I kep' 'em a day or two to rest up. They had a hard time and was real sick."

"Two boys?" echoed Sweet Jackson, in tones of keen expectancy; and, stepping across the intervening space, he roughly tore away the coverings and exposed to view the shrinking boys.

For a moment Hubert seemed about to obey an impulse to hide his face in the moss of the bed, but Ted rose promptly and faced Jackson with a steady, watchful gaze.

"So you come over this-a way, did you?" cried Jackson, with a triumphant grin. "Wasn't it lucky that I come, too, just in time!" he sneered.

"Why, do you know them boys?" asked the old swamp-squatter, turning, in great surprise.

"Know 'em? They belongs to our camp," declared Jackson. "I want more than yo' tobacco, old man; I want them boys."

"We don't belong to their camp," cried Ted, his voice unsteady, addressing the old man. "We only found our way there when we got lost, and then they wouldn't let us go because they were afraid we'd tell on them."

"Why didn't you tell me before?" asked the old man, greatly troubled.

"I wish I had," said Ted. "We waited to tell you and then—then—we thought, maybe, we'd better not."

"He's lyin'," said Jackson glibly. "He was scared to tell you they'd run away from where they belonged."

Jenkins turned upon Jackson with an indignant manner, but hesitated, and seemed to decide to keep silent. Noting this with discouragement, Ted checked an angry response to the insult and turned again to the old man:

"Everything I have told you is the truth. Won't you stand by us?"

The old swamp-squatter looked sharply from man to boy and back again, his expression indicating great disturbance of mind.

"If you are a-takin' them boys without the right to do it," he said, "you may have double trouble on yer hands befo' long."

"That's my business, and you'd better 'tend to your'n—if you know what's good for you!" There was menace in Jackson's tone.

The old man surrendered the plugs of tobacco with a trembling hand, then took a step toward Ted.

"You see, the trouble is," he said, rather pitifully, "that I can't take the word of two boys agin the word of two men. If they claims you, I can't stop 'em. But I'm awful sorry because I've thought a heap o' you boys."

"Thank you," said Ted huskily, comprehending the old swamp-squatter's helplessness, and moved to make a polite acknowledgment of the compliment even at such a moment.

"Will you go peaceable, or do you want a whippin'?" demanded Jackson.

"Better go peaceable," advised the old man, speaking gently. Ted turned and exchanged glances with Hubert. They read in each other's eyes the conviction that there was nothing to be done but yield for the time, and that it was better to yield without a struggle than to suffer intolerable indignities and brutal usage. After swallowing hard, like one taking a bitter dose, Ted announced in a low voice that they were ready to go.

"Come on, then, and be quick about it," ordered Jackson, striding out of the cabin.

Jenkins and the boys followed. The old man lingered in the doorway, looking very sorrowful.

As the party was crossing the clearing to take the trail through the woods, Ted suddenly announced that he would have to "thank Mr. Smith for his hospitality," and, before he could be hindered, ran back to the door of the cabin. Jackson and Jenkins halted, turning to look on curiously as the boy performed this social duty.

"You've been very kind, Mr. Smith, and we thank you very much," said Ted, loudly enough for all to hear. Then, with his back to the slackers, he added in a low voice: "There's one thing you can do to help us. You know where Judge Ridgway lives and——"

"That's all right, Ted, honey," the old man loudly interrupted. "You sure are welcome to what little I did for you boys."

This speech was accompanied by three distinct pressures of Ted's hand which seemed satisfactorily significant. The old man then turned to shake hands with Hubert, who had been permitted to follow Ted.

"When are you goin' out again, Mr. Smith?" called out Jackson.

"I think it'll be some while," was the answer.

But when the old swamp-squatter was left alone in his clearing, his activities seemed to show that he had suddenly changed his mind.

"What's to keep that old man from goin' out and tellin' on our whole crowd?" asked Jenkins, as soon as they were out of hearing.

"He's scared o' me—that's what," was the confident answer.

Jackson halted as he spoke, took some heavy string out of his pocket, and, suddenly seizing Ted from behind, began to tie his hands. Protesting in hot indignation, the boy struggled so fiercely that Jenkins was called on for help.

"Not on your life," said Jenkins, standing apart. "I won't touch him. I ain't a party to this thing. You are takin' them boys, not me. I'm jes' walkin' long with you. You don't need to tie 'em anyhow. If they was to cut and run, you could easy catch one, and the other wouldn't stay off by himself."

But Jackson persisted. Checking Ted's resistance with violent language and ugly threats, he had his will, then served the protesting but unresisting Hubert in the same way.

"I know my business, Mitch' Jenkins," he said. "They ain't a-goin' to give me the slip this time."

Then followed a tramp of about two miles to the point of the island where the slackers had left their bateau. Much of the route was covered with dense thicket and bramble-infested jungle, and the boys suffered. Sometimes, when they stumbled and fell, or pushed through thorny brush, being unable to use their arms and hands, they received painful scratches or blows on face or head. Finally Ted rebelled, throwing himself down and persisting doggedly at all threatened costs.

"I won't go another step until you untie our hands," he declared, setting his teeth. "You can beat me if you are devil enough," he informed Jackson, with blazing eyes and unflinching calm, "but I won't budge."

Jackson swore furiously and lifted his foot to kick, but was checked by Jenkins, who said:

"And if you beat him, you may have to beat me."

Then the two men glared at and paid their respects to each other in unprintable language. Hubert hoped that they would fight hard and long, and that in the midst of it he and Ted might run away; but, as usual, the cowardice beneath Sweet Jackson's bullying exterior showed itself. He discharged much violent language, but prudently declined the contest of physical strength offered by Jenkins.

"What did you come in this swamp for, anyhow?" he demanded. "You ain't worth a cent."

"You kin find out what I'm worth if you want to," goaded Jenkins.

"Oh, shucks!" cried Jackson, with a show of vast disgust; and taking out his knife, he cut both Ted's and Hubert's bonds, intimating that he washed his hands of the consequences.

After that peace was restored, the tramp was resumed, and more rapid progress was made.

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