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Updated: May 18, 2025
It might be the night breeze sighing through the upper branches of the tall tree, or the alarmed turkeys holding a confab among themselves, for all he could tell. But they were rapidly bearing down upon the spot now, and in another half minute ought to be where they could see the swaying figure of the caught thief. "I don't seem to get him, Johnny!" ventured Lil Artha, in a disappointed tone.
Adhesive plasters haven't got anything on me when it comes to standing by you through thick and thin. No use wasting your breath; save it for your work, say I!" "Let him be, Lil Artha," said the patrol leader, hardly knowing whether it was fidelity to a fellow-scout in distress that influenced Landy, or a dreadful fear lest he find himself left alone in the midst of the dismal swamp.
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.
Lil Artha frequently looked queerly at the dripping Landy as he used the pole. Sometimes he would chuckle softly to himself, and a swift grin flash athwart his lean countenance as though a humorous thought had struck him; after which the tall scout might be observed to shake his head as if bothered. Landy settled down to taking things easy.
Lil Artha managed to stop the moving skiff in time to save himself; even then he might have been pulled overboard only that watchful Mark, anticipating something of the sort, threw his arms around the long legs of the pusher, and held on grimly until the pole could be extricated. An hour, two of them had slipped by since parting from Johnny Spreen. They were now in the heart of the swamp.
"Mebbe poor weak Hen has been cowed and bulldozed into doing the whole thing," suggested Lil Artha, sagely. "Now, I wonder if that could weally be tho?" remarked Ted. "We ought to get busy and do something right away, Elmer," observed Toby Jones. "I'm glad to know that's the way you feel about it," continued the patrol leader. "This is a bad piece of business.
"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.
"For one, now," admitted Toby, "I'd want to be excused from any session with the big white teeth of Mose that stick out from his lower jaw. But if you asked me my opinion I'd say one scare a night was as much as any ordinary chicken thief could put up with." "Nothing doing," muttered Lil Artha, showing that he, too, was of the same mind as the companion scout.
Landy eagerly assisted, though Lil Artha kept a watchful eye on what he gathered lest he mix in green stuff that would make a black smoke when it burned. Another scout managed to find a stick with a crotch that would hold the coffee-pot over the blaze until it had boiled.
He must have fixed it in that split stick, and just as they were leaving here stuck the wand in the ground, scout fashion." "We seem to have it all sized up to a dot by now," remarked the leader, preparing to move; "and as there isn't anything else for us to do here, suppose we get busy on the trail again, Lil Artha?"
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