THEY landed on Deserters' Island late in the afternoon. The news of their arrival appeared to reach the camp ahead of the captive boys, for as soon as they followed the upward path through the swamp-cane to the outskirts of the familiar clearing they saw July running to meet them. The negro's smiling expressions of delight at sight of them were checked by his recollection that they were returning to captivity.

"I sho is sorry dey cotch you if I is glad to see you," he apologized. "But, Cap'n Ted, you won't have such a hard time dis time 'cause de gen'l'mens is got back an' now de dawgs'll have to keep dey place."

Ted did not wait for an explanation of this mysterious announcement, for he now saw Buck Hardy standing near the sleeping-loft and ran eagerly toward him.

"Oh, Mr. Hardy," he cried, in enormous relief and satisfaction, "I'm so glad to see you. We've had a terrible time since you left. I—I—I hope your mother is better."

Buck smiled down on the delighted boy, warmly clasping his hand.

"She's all right now, thank you, kid," he said. "Sorry I had to stay outside so long. Just got back two hours ago—with Peters and Jones. So you've had a terrible time, eh? July has been tellin' me, but he don't know it all, and I want to know it all up to this minute. Did Sweet Jackson do anything to you after he caught you? Did he—whip you—or——"

"He would have, if it hadn't been for Mr. Jenkins."

"Tell me all about it."

After walking into the clearing attended by the pleased and garrulous negro, Hubert shook hands with Al Peters and Bud Jones, but awaited his turn to speak to Buck Hardy, not wishing to interrupt the big slacker's earnest conversation with Ted. As he looked around, Hubert saw Billy seated a short distance away and wondered why he seemed to take no interest in their arrival. Judging from past experience, he would have expected the half-wit not only to be pleased but even to caper around him and Ted, giggling and shouting his expressions of gratification. But now Billy seemed to be intently contemplating some object in the grass at his feet and to be oblivious of everything else.

The news of the return of Hardy, Peters and Jones evidently reached Jackson before he came up from the landing, for when he appeared he had a conscious and depressed air. He spoke a perfunctory greeting to Peters and Jones and then, as he busied himself about the camp, his roving glance frequently returned in a stealthy sort of way to Buck Hardy where he stood questioning and listening to Ted. His manner was expectant and he probably was not surprised when Buck, turning from the boy toward the groups near the fire, called out:

"Sweet Jackson!"

Jackson pretended not to hear and sought to delay the coming reckoning.

"Billy! You Billy," he called sharply, "go bring me some fresh water."

The absorbed Billy looked up for a moment with an air of one rudely awakened from a dream, but he did not move and his eyes promptly returned to the object in the grass that seemed to fascinate him.

"Don't you hear me?" shouted Jackson.

"Don't you hear me?" shouted Buck. "Sweet Jackson, step out h-yuh and take yo' whippin'."

Jackson could pretend inattention no longer. Planning to force the other men to interfere while storming at Billy, he now whipped a revolver out of his pocket and wheeled round.

"Drop it," ordered Buck. "I've got you covered. I expected this and I was ready."

Two men rushed to Jackson's side, he permitted Zack James to take his weapon, and moved a step or two forward. Then Buck took his hand from the revolver in his coat pocket.

"What I done to you, Buck Hardy?" demanded Jackson with as blustering an air as he could support.

"Nothin'," answered Buck. "You know better'n to do anything to me. It's what you've done to two helpless boys when I was gone. You know what I'm talkin' about. I can be sorry for a natural-born coward. If I saw you runnin' from the draft officers and hollerin' that you wished you was a baby and a gal baby at that, I'd be sorry for you. But I can't stand a man that's a coward underneath and a bully on top whenever he thinks there's nobody to stop him. I whipped you once for beatin' on that po' weak-minded Billy. This time it's for what you did to two as nice boys as there ever was. I'd whip you for it if every man in this camp stood behind you. But there ain't nobody to stand behind you because they all despise you."

This withering speech and his fear of certain punishment combined caused Jackson's lip to twitch nervously. He doubled his fists and prepared to ward off the coming blows, determining to strike back at the outset in order to lessen his disgrace by a stubborn show of fight. But, try to stand his ground as he might, he found himself retreating backward before his advancing enemy.

Before Hardy had arrived within striking distance Jackson had backed into Billy and trodden upon the half-wit's outstretched legs.

"Git out o' my way!" stormed the retreating man, glad to divert attention from himself.

Billy sprang up and jumped out of reach, as if believing that he had been attacked. Then he faced his supposed foe, a strange glow in his eyes.

Suddenly Sweet Jackson became aware that he was treading upon some soft living body, which yielded beneath his weight and struggled in a peculiar, writhing way. As his glance swept downward, he heard a harsh rattling sound and saw that he stood upon a large coiled snake.

The look of mortal terror on his face and his gasp of horror caused Buck Hardy to stop in his tracks, and several of the on-lookers to start forward, just as the rattler struck the unfortunate man on the right leg above the ankle. With a wild cry Jackson jumped—too late!

A laugh at such a moment was the most unexpected and shocking thing in the world, and for the moment it drew every eye to Billy, who, giggling, cried out:

"That's right, son! Give it to him, son!"

Then Ted and Hubert and July comprehended what had happened before Jackson, in an agony of alarm, staggered out into the open, crying that he had been bitten by a rattlesnake and calling for help.

"I'm mighty glad I hadn't hit him," murmured Buck Hardy, as he joined those who, grabbing sticks and guns, started in pursuit of the snake which was now rapidly crawling away.

The rattler was quickly overtaken and killed, greatly to the indignation and sorrow of Billy. Then the attention of all was centered upon Jackson, who now sat with his back against a tree, tearing off shoe and sock in a hurried, terrified way, groaning aloud and shuddering in horror. The wound, when exposed, was seen to be swelling already.

"If anybody's got any whisky, for God's sake bring it out," shouted Buck Hardy.

He looked from one face to another, as heads were shaken, several reminding him that they were in a prohibition State. Only Jim Carter admitted that he had "just a smodgykin" saved up for a time of need. He ran to the sleeping-loft and returned with a flask containing less than half a pint of colorless whisky. This was forthwith poured down Jackson's throat.

Meanwhile Zack James and Mitch' Jenkins had drawn stout cords as tightly as possible round the leg above and below the wound, with a view to check the circulation of poisoned blood. This done, large portions of the raw quivering flesh of a turkey just killed were pressed hard, one after another, upon the wound itself, these supposedly acting as an absorbent.

One of the men suggested that the raw flesh of the rattler be applied in lieu of the turkey, mentioning a story he had heard to the effect that the best results could be thus obtained; but the poisoned man shuddered and refused to permit this.

He called pitifully for "a doctor," and the men about him only looked at each other helplessly, the nearest physician being many miles too far away to be sent for and brought through the swamp's difficulties in time to be of any service. There seemed to be nothing further to do but to continue to apply raw flesh to the wound.

By the time July announced supper, which nobody could eat, Jackson's leg was startlingly swollen and an hour or two later he had begun to wander in his mind.

Meanwhile, Hubert had related to Buck Hardy and several other listeners how he had one day been invited to visit the rattlesnake at its hole; how Billy had fed it, and seemed to be on the friendliest terms with it. Ted and July having confirmed Hubert's story, it became clear to everyone that Billy had brought the snake into the camp and was playing with it when the retreating Jackson stepped upon it. Nobody forgot that Jackson was of an ugly temper and had harshly used the half-witted boy whom he had brought into the swamp and who was said to be his cousin; but none the less was Billy now looked upon with suspicion and aversion, and by common consent he was shut up in the prison-pen that had been built for July. Rafe Wheeler gave expression to the general sentiment when he said:

"We don't want no sich walkin' free aroun' this camp. Fust thing we know he'll be tolin' up another rattlesnake to bite some of us."

As the poisoned man grew steadily worse and the inevitable issue had to be faced, Buck Hardy called Peters, Jones, Jenkins and James into consultation.

"He won't last through the night," said Buck in low tones, "and I reckon we'll have to bury him right h-yuh. He'd spoil before we could git him out. What do you say, men?"

All agreed that this was the only thing to be done, Zack James adding: "And 'sides that them that undertook to tote him out would run a turrible risk of goin' to jail for dodgin' the draft."

"Another thing," said Buck: "there's that po' fool Billy. He ought to go to his people, and I know you all want to get rid o' him. What had we better do about that?"

"Rafe Wheeler is goin' out for salt in the mornin'," said Zack James. "Maybe we could git him to take him."

This suggestion was approved, Wheeler was approached; and, though he objected, saying that he was afraid to lie down in the woods with "a crazy snake-charmer," a collection of contributed quarters and dimes offered as a substantial reward, induced him to undertake the disagreeable task.

Shortly after midnight Sweet Jackson drew his last breath, after his physical anguish had been mercifully dulled by delirium. Then a hush fell on the camp. Ted and Hubert retired to the sleeping-loft, but all the men sat about the fire until break of day. Straightening the limbs and covering the face of the dead, they sat about a freshened fire, speaking little and thinking much. Young men who had scarcely reflected seriously in all their lives did so now. Some of them feared the blow that had fallen was a judgment not only upon Jackson but upon the slacker camp in general, and more than one troubled mind wrestled with the question as to whether to turn from a selfish and cowardly course and go where duty called.

Awakening rather late in the morning, Ted and Hubert heard the sound of carpenter's tools and, descending from the sleeping-loft, they saw two of the slackers engaged in the construction of a rough coffin. Later they learned that others were digging a grave several hundred yards out in the pine woods. As July was giving them their breakfast, they also heard with relief that Wheeler had "gone out," and that poor Billy had been persuaded to accompany him.

An hour later the body was placed in the coffin and four men bore it to the grave, where the whole camp assembled. When the boys reached the spot Buck Hardy softly called Ted to come to him where he stood in consultation with several of the slackers.

"We ain't got no preacher nor no Bible," he said to the boy, "and we've agreed that the least we can do is to stand round the grave and every man say what he can remember of the prayers he used to say. We don't have to say 'em out loud if we don't want to."

There was a slight pause, and then Buck rather awkwardly added:

"Kid, I was thinkin' that, as you are the speaker in this camp, maybe you could remember some o' them pieces out o' the Bible they say at funerals, and——"

"Oh, Mr. Hardy, I'm afraid I can't," gasped Ted, appalled by the solemn responsibility thus placed upon him.

"You can do it, kid," urged Buck. "Don't be scared. Nobody will crack a smile, and we'll all think you're just great," As Ted still hesitated, Buck said further: "If you can remember any o' them Bible pieces, I think Sweet's folks would be glad if you said 'em."

"Well—I'll try—to remember some," said the shrinking boy, unable to resist this last appeal, "and—and—I'll do my best."

"Good for you," said Buck, putting an affectionate hand on Ted's shoulder.

Then he turned, gave the awaited signal, and all present formed a circle round the grave. Then, with bent and uncovered heads, practically every one repeated in whispers the whole of known or fragments of long-forgotten prayers.

As soon as the last man to do this looked up, thus signifying that he had finished, Buck stood a little forward with Ted, his hand on the boy's shoulder. Then Ted, in a voice at first low and trembling but gradually strengthening, his eyes fixed upon the coffin, repeated:

"Jesus said, I am the Resurrection and the Life. He that believeth in Me, though he were dead, yet shall he live.... Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord; they rest from their labors, and their works do follow them.... Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust...."

The boy hesitated and, turning to Buck whispered anxiously:

"I—I don't think I can remember any more."

"That'll do fine," whispered Buck, then announced aloud: "Now we'll bury him."

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