“Silence, everybody!” hissed Elmer, who knew it would be just like Toby, and perhaps some of the other fellows, to burst into a shout as soon as they could get command of their voices.

It was certainly a bear, a small one to be sure, but genuine enough, and not such as can be seen with wandering foreigners, taught to dance, or wield a pole as a soldier would his musket.

Just when the scouts glimpsed the hairy denizen of Sassafras Swamp, he was engaged in sitting on his haunches and gathering in the bushes with his sturdy forelegs. To Lil Artha, it looked as though Bruin might be making a lunch from the luscious, big blueberries that grew in such abundance here and there through the swamp.

Up to the moment when Lil Artha thus called attention to the presence of the black native, the bear must have been in ignorance of their being so near at hand. When he did notice them, he simply gave a disgusted grunt, and ambled away through the brush. Lil Artha always declared the bear glanced back at them as he ran, and even put out his tongue, just as if he knew it was the close season, and that a kind game law protected him from all harm.

“Say, let me tell you this old Sassy swamp isn’t such a bad place for a game preserve after all,” said Toby; “I think some of us could enjoy having a week up here, after the law on bears and all such was up. But it’s too far from home during the school session, for us to come.”

“Oh! I don’t know about that,” remarked the tall scout, meditatively; “we could borrow a car, and start in the middle of the night when there was a moon. That’d give us a whole day up here. Take it at Thanksgiving and we could make it three, with Friday and Saturday thrown in. Elmer, think it over, won’t you?”

“Plenty of time for that,” he was assured; “We’ve got our hands full as it is, without borrowing trouble.”

“And perwaps before we’re done with it,” Ted croaked, “you’ll be that tired of seeing nothing but thwamp all around, that you’ll vow never again for yourth.”

“I’m going to make a proposition, Elmer,” said Landy; “and I hope you’ll agree. Suppose we go ashore and tackle some of those elegant blueberries ourselves? It’s a shame that bears should be the only ones to enjoy such a feast. And it’s tough sitting here so long!”

At that Lil Artha grunted, and looking almost savagely at the speaker nodded his head while he muttered:

“That settles it, my boy; I see your finish. You’re going to earn your salt after this, no matter what happens!”

Elmer seemed to consider for a few seconds.

“I see no reason why we shouldn’t pull up for a little while, just as you say, Landy,” he observed, to the delight of the rest; “and everyone of us is fond of a mess of good ripe blueberries. So pitch in while the supply lasts.”

The berries were thicker and larger than any they had ever seen before; and Lil Artha declared he considered the judgment of the little black bear “prime.”

“He sure knew a good thing when he found it, and so do we,” he told those who were working fingers and jaws near him.

When Elmer concluded that “enough was as good as a feast,” they once more embarked, and the voyage was resumed. There was a new pusher in the older skiff, however.

“Here, you Landy, suppose you change seats with me,” Lil Artha had remarked as the fat scout started to settle down in the middle of the boat, just as though he had a mortgage on that prize seat.

Landy looked worried.

“What for, Lil Artha?” he ventured to say, looking at the skipper with distress plainly marked on his round features; “do you want me to push the boat now? Not but that I’m willing to do anything I’m asked, you know; but I didn’t think you’d want to take chances on getting wet, and mebbe losing our packs in the bargain; because I know I’m awful clumsy about some things.”

“Well, in this case we’ll have to take the risk,” said the other, grimly; “the only satisfaction we have is that if anybody does get wet you won’t escape. We’re all in the same boat, you understand; and we sink or swim together. Now climb up here, and I’ll show you how to handle a pusher. Time you learned a few more of the tricks a true scout ought to know.”

Landy, apparently, wanted to do his best. He watched how Lil Artha used the heavy pole and then started to imitate him.

“That’s the way, Landy,” said Mark, desirous of encouraging the stout boy in his new duties; “you can do it all right if you only keep on the watch.”

“Course I can,” replied the new hand, scornfully; “guess you’re all fooled if you think I never pushed a skiff with a pole before.”

“So you were just playing ’possum, were you?” demanded the indignant Lil Artha, “bent on fooling me so as to evade hard work, eh? I’d be serving you right, Landy, if I kept you shovin’ away the rest of the afternoon. It’d thin you down a trifle, too, because I think you’re getting too fat for any use. Go slow there, and don’t splash so loud when you drop the pole end in again.”

Landy seemed to soon become fairly proficient so that his mentor could turn his attention to other things of interest they happened to see around them as they continued their course.

Crows scolded from the treetops as the two boats glided underneath. This circumstance might probably pass unnoticed by one who knew little or nothing of woodcraft, but to an Indian it would be a sure sign that the sharp-eyed birds had discovered some human being, probably an enemy, and in that way he would be put on his guard against a surprise.

As the man they were looking for did not appear to be educated along these lines, they need not fear that their presence in the swamp would be betrayed through any such agency as crows cawing, or flying about in excitement.

Some time later Toby uttered a low “whew” that caused Chatz, just then in the act of putting the pole back into the water, to hold it suspended in midair.

“Elmer, I may be mistaken,” said Toby, “but something moved over in the branches of that tree yonder, and unless my eyes deceived me, which they seldom do, it was a cat!”

“You mean a wildcat, don’t you, Toby?” whispered Landy, for the two boats were close enough together for the occupants to have shaken hands, had they wanted to.

“Just what I meant,” repeated Toby, firmly. “I can’t say that I see him now, for he’s somewhere up in the thickest part of the bushy tree; but it must have been something more than a ’coon, because I actually saw the blaze of its eyes!”

“Whew!” gasped Landy, looking as though he wanted to drop the push-pole on the spur of the moment; “get your gun, Lil Artha, why don’t you? Mean to let a feller be jumped on, and clawed something awful, do you? I give you my word that if I see a wildcat comin’ for me, I’ll jump overboard, and let him tackle the rest of you in the boat, that’s what. Get your gun, Lil Artha; they’re vicious you must know, specially when they’ve got kits around.”

“We haven’t lost any cat!” remarked Lil Artha, composedly, as though he really took a cruel satisfaction in seeing Landy shiver; “and, besides, I don’t more’n half believe the fairy story. Toby’s got to show me before I own up. I reckon some of my people must have come from Missouri.”

“Yes, they raise a heap of mules there, I understand,” remarked Toby, with considerable sarcasm; “but I’m glad to see that Elmer has thought it worth while to lay hold of his scatter-gun, so as to be ready. Course we don’t want any trouble with any old cat; but there’s such a thing as armed peace. If she jumps for us, I hope Elmer will give her a load before she lands, that’s all. We’ve got to pass pretty much under some part of that tree, understand?”

Acting on Elmer’s initiative, Lil Artha now also picked up his gun, and started to keep a sharp watch. As Toby had truly said, they could not really continue on their way without passing under the wide-stretching branches of the tree where he claimed to have seen “something that looked like a wildcat.”

“Get busy there, Landy, use your pole, and push us along. Don’t stand there just like you were frozen stiff; we won’t let any cat grab you, make up your mind to it. Get a move on you, I say, Landy Smith.”

“Oh! well, might as well be killed for a sheep as a lamb, I reckon,” muttered the fat scout as he started to make use of his push-pole.

For the time being, caution was thrown to the winds; all Landy considered was the rapidity with which he could get past that ominous tree containing Toby’s bobcat.

Perhaps Landy’s heart was beating a regular tattoo as he found himself actually compelled to pass under the tree itself, owing to the narrowness of the channel at just that part of the runway. Elmer, watching out of the tail of his eye, could see how pale the other had become, and he was secretly amused.

It was just like Lil Artha, when their skiff was directly under the suspected tree, to utter a low gasp, and proceed to elevate his gun in a hurry, as though sighting the quarry.

Poor Landy came very near having a fit; he dropped the pole overboard and fell backwards in the boat, which came near swamping. Toby, in the other craft, succeeded in rescuing the floating pole before it had gone completely beyond reach.

“Guess I was mistaken that time!” said Lil Artha, without cracking a smile, although no doubt he must have been secretly chuckling at the way the handler of the push-pole had shown alacrity in getting out of range.

So Landy, with a sheepish grin, managed to get on his feet again, and take the rescued pole from Toby’s hands. He gave the tall scout a sharp look as though suspecting that it had been a trick intended to play upon his nerves. But then Landy was always a good-natured fellow, and never bore anyone ill-will, no matter what the joke might be of which he became the victim.

Toby could not be persuaded that he had not glimpsed a wildcat in that tree under which they passed. He kept staring back as long as it was possible to catch a view of its leafy branches.

“Well, say what you like,” he concluded, “I did see something whisk out of sight up there; yes, and it had starey eyes in the bargain. If it was a ’coon, then all I can say is they breed queer ’coons up in this old Sassafras Swamp country. There now, that’s about enough from me.”

“The afternoon is nearly half gone, and we haven’t scared up our quarry yet,” advised Mark later on.

“Plenty of time, for there’s another day coming,” said Elmer. “We’re here to comb the swamp through from end to end but what we’ll find nobody knows. Keep listening, too. It might be possible we’d hear a shout that would give us a clue.”

“Say now, I hadn’t thought of that before,” admitted Toby. “If Hen is being treated harsh-like by that unknown who’s got hold of him, mebbe he might let out a yawp once in a while. There’s no harm done in listening, I reckon, and Landy here could tell if it was him giving tongue.”

Now and then some sound did come to their ears, but of an entirely different character from the one they were hoping to catch. A granddaddy bullfrog on some mossy log sent out loud and deep-toned demands for “more rum! more rum!” Then a saucy bluejay started in to scold the fellows in the boats for daring to trespass in its preserves, and how the angry bird did lay it on until they were well beyond reach of its chatter.

Once a far-away grumble floated faintly to their ears, at which there was an immediate comparing of opinions. Some seemed to incline to the belief that it must be distant thunder, and that they were bound to soon be caught in a storm, which had been creeping unnoticed up on them, the dense foliage by which they were surrounded preventing them from learning the fact sooner.

“If you asked me what it was,” said Elmer, when he found that the others were not able to agree, “I’d be inclined to say we’re not more than half a mile away from one side of the swamp, and that there’s a farm lying yonder on which they keep a bull. I imagine it was his lowing we heard just then.”

“Bully, say I, not meaning to be funny either,” remarked Landy; “for I’d a heap sooner believe it was a bovine trying out his bazoo than a thunder-storm heading this way. It’s bad enough to be in constant danger of getting ducked by falling overboard, without taking chances overhead in the bargain.”

As they did not hear any repetition of the suspicious sound the scouts finally determined that Elmer had guessed right, and that there must be a stock farm not a great distance away from the border of the swamp.

The more they pushed on into what seemed the interminable recesses that surrounded them the greater became their wonder as to how they were to find those they sought. The chances seemed very much against them; but then they had an abounding faith in Elmer’s sagacity; and he seemed to be determined on persevering. Doubtless, too, the others reasoned to themselves, Elmer had some clever plan laid out which would be sprung when the proper time arrived; and this confidence did much to relieve their minds as they pressed steadily on.

Lil Artha was apparently bent on making Landy pay for his previous easy time; he kept the other at work, though frequently the fat scout had to hold his push-pole under his arm while he mopped his reeking brow. Perhaps Landy panted very loud on purpose, with the object of causing his obdurate boss to relent, and give him a chance to “spell” with Mark.

Heedless of sighs and half-heard groans alike, Lil Artha just sat there and took his ease, while the slave worked and worked as though he were chained to the galley’s oar.

No one ever knew whether it were actually an accident or a deep-laid scheme on the part of the weary Landy to end this period of torture. There may be some things even worse than a mere ducking-at least a stout boy like Landy Smith might think so.

At any rate, none of the scouts happened to be looking very closely at the time, and consequently they could not say one way or the other. All they knew was that without any warning Landy was seen to be dragged out of the stern of the skiff, struggle to clasp his writhing legs about the pushpole that stood at an oblique angle, caught firmly in the tenacious mud, and then releasing his hold, flop with a great splash into the dark-colored water of Sassafras Swamp!