The Boy Chums In The Forest Part 5

"Not giving out already, Walt," Charley said, cheerfully, as he made his way through the boggy marsh to the water to wash, followed by his chum.

"Not much," said Walter grimly, "I for one am not going back empty-handed after coming so far. But I'm beginning to realize that this is not going to be all a pleasure trip. You noticed the article that the captain read last evening about the convicts escaping. Can it be they are the party you saw signs of?"

"I believe they are," agreed his chum as they turned back towards the camp where the captain and Chris were patiently waiting breakfast. "I may be wrong, but I thought it all over last night and I decided it was only fair to tell the others what I suspect."

"The captain will want us all to pack right back home," said Walter, glumly.

His fears proved true, for when Charley related his suspicions over the frugal breakfast, the captain was visibly worried.

"I'm the cause of leading you into trouble again, boys," he reproached himself. "However, I reckon thar ain't nothing to be gained by regrets. As soon as we have finished eating, we'll pack up and head back for the coast."

But Charley opposed the plan of returning decidedly. "They have had plenty of chance to kill us off easily on the way here if they had wanted to," he argued. "Why they haven't done so puzzles me. Perhaps they fear a searching party would be sent after us if we do not return promptly. I have a feeling, though, that they are after bigger game, although I have not the slightest idea what it can be. Anyway, I am not going back, now, empty-handed, if there were twice as many jail-birds at my heels."

"I am with you, Charley," Walter said quickly.

"Me too, Ma.s.sa," grinned Chris, who was plucky enough when he understood the nature of the threatened danger. "Golly, I jest reckon dis n.i.g.g.e.r got to stay and look out for you chillens."

The captain, whose only concern had been for the boys, brought his hand down on his knee earnestly. "Then I'm with you, lads, till the last mast carries away. You're the pilot in these waters, Charley. What course shall we steer now, lad?"

"I think," suggested Charley, modestly, "that the first thing is to fix up a shelter in case of rain. We must be careful, and if we come into contact with any of those fellows we must not let them see that we suspect what they are. That would cause trouble right away, I am sure."

"Go ahead and give your orders, lad; we will carry them out."

"Then I'll deputize Chris to see if he can't get us some fresh fish,"

said Charley with a smile.

Chris, his face beaming, darted away to his saddlebags after his fis.h.i.+ng-tackle. If there was one thing the little darky liked above all others it was fis.h.i.+ng, and wherever he might be, his tackle was never far away.

As soon as he had departed, Charley, accompanied by the others, set about selecting a site for their permanent camp.

"You see," Charley explained, "we want a place that we can stand a show of defending if we should be attacked, and at the same time a place from which we can escape by water if we have to."

They did not have to go far before they found the very place they were hunting for, a long, narrow, scantily gra.s.sed point that penetrated through the marsh far out into the river.

"It's just the thing," Charley declared. "We will lead the ponies out to the end and then fell a few pines across the neck here. That will form a kind of a fence and keep them from straying away. There's gra.s.s enough on the point to keep them busy for a week at least."

Within half an hour the three eager workers had felled enough pines across the neck of the point to form a kind of rude stockade. Then they moved out to the end of the point and began the erection of their shelter. It was quite primitive and simple. Two saplings about twelve feet apart were selected as the uprights, and to them, about eight feet from the ground, two poles were lashed securely with buckskin thongs, the other ends of the pole being imbedded in the ground. Other smaller saplings were trimmed and laid across the slanting poles, and on them were piled layer after layer of fan-like palmetto leaves. In a short s.p.a.ce of time they had completed a lean-to which would protect them from any storm they were likely to experience at this season of the year.

"Have you noticed that, Charley?" inquired Walter, as they placed the last leaves on the lean-to. He pointed to a point, similar to their own, scarce two thousand yards away, from which rose a thick column of smoke.

"Yes, I've been watching it for some time," Charley said. "I guess it's our friends, the convicts. They are late risers. Somehow or other, Walt, I've got what prospectors call a 'hunch' that they are not after us and will not bother us as long as they think we are ignorant of their true character."

"I'll never trouble trouble 'till trouble troubles me," hummed Walter, cheerfully.

"A good motto," said his chum gravely, "but nevertheless it's better still to be ready for trouble if it does come. Now we must provide a means of retreat. Come, let's open packs one and two, we'll need their contents soon anyway."

Packs one and two, when opened, revealed bundles of numbered pieces of tough, thin flexible steel and packages of thick water-proofed canvas.

Under the captain's skilled direction, the steel was quickly framed together, the canvas stretched over it, and in a short time two canvas canoes were floating lightly at their painters at the end of the point.

All had been too engrossed in their labors to note the pa.s.sage of time until the captain snapped open his old-fas.h.i.+oned silver watch.

"One o'clock," he exclaimed in surprise.

Charley and Walter looked at each other apprehensively. "What can be keeping Chris?" Walter cried.

"Maybe he is having good luck and hates to quit," suggested Charley.

"Let's give him a while longer."

But two o'clock came and no Chris appeared.

"Get your guns, boys," commanded the captain. "We must go hunt him.

Something's the matter."

CHAPTER VI.

SOME SURPRISES.

Loosening their pistols in their holsters, and grabbing up their guns, the little party struck out in the direction in which Chris had disappeared.

They were proceeding almost at a run when Charley checked their headlong speed.

"Let's go slow," he panted, "it may be that the convicts have got him and we may be running right into an ambush."

He but voiced the fear in the minds of the others, and they slackened their advance to a slow walk, keeping a cautious eye on every bush or tree large enough to conceal an enemy.

Trampled marsh gra.s.s and broken twigs gave them an easy trail to follow, and in a few minutes they were in sight of the river bank.

Charley, who was in the lead, suddenly stopped short with an exclamation of relief and disgust.

"Just look at that," he said.

On a little gra.s.sy knoll close to the water was Chris flat on his back, his mouth open, fast asleep. A half dozen fine ba.s.s lay on the gra.s.s beside him, the end of his fis.h.i.+ng line was tied to one ebony leg, and a coil of slack line lay upon the turf.

"Let's give him a scare for causing us so much worry," Walter suggested.

"Wait a minute," cautioned the captain, "he's gettin' a bite, let's see what he will do."

The little party drew in behind some bushes, where they could peep out at the slumbering little darky.

The slack was running out rapidly, and at last the line tauted with a jerk on the sleeper's leg.

Chris sat up with a start, rubbed his eyes and looked at the sun, then at the pile of fish beside him. The continued jerking of the line at his leg seemed to bring him out of his drowsiness. With a broad grin he began pulling in the line, hand over hand.

The three watchers stood peeping eagerly through the bushes, expecting to see another fine ba.s.s appear.

As the hooked victim was drawn in close to the knoll, Chris gave a hearty yank and landed it on the gra.s.s beside him.