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Updated: May 6, 2025
For some minutes the water and the swamp underfoot had given place to firmer ground, and the character of the trees themselves had changed. Evidently, the trail had its ending at that screen of vineleaves draped between two giant gumbo-limbo trees at the lawn's verge. Thirty feet from the vines, Brice slackened his steps. His lithe body was vibrant with cautious watchfulness.
"Any novice in the art of slaying might have done the same thing. Shooting people is an accomplishment that improves with practice." Coldly, she turned away, and crossed to where the collie was beginning to weary of his fruitless efforts to climb the shinily smooth bark of the giant gumbo-limbo. Catching him by the collar, she said: "Bobby! Bobby Burns! Stop that silly barking! Stop it at once!
He surveyed his surroundings with anxiety. Great live-oaks, with their crooked limbs covered with the trailing Spanish moss; tall palmettos, and shorter young ones of the same type; gumbo-limbo trees, wild plum, and several wild orange trees, made up the immediate surroundings. "Oh! if we only had some idea which way he could have gone!" exclaimed Frank.
But the collie needed no effort of that sort. At first sight and scent, he knew well to what tribe the furry gray newcomer belonged. And, with a trumpet-bark of joyous challenge, he dashed at it. The creature fluffed itself to double its former size. Then, spitting and yowling, it ran up the nearer of the two gumbo-limbo trees.
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