Chapter XVII: What Happened in the Swamp

The night was lighter than it had been when John arrived at Mrs. Boyle's. The curtain which shrouded the sky was torn in a few places, and through the rents here and there was gleaming a star.

John ran across the cleared space back of the house, meeting but one obstacle, a stump, which threw him and slightly bruised his leg. The interval between the house and the woods, or more properly the brush, was short; and it was not long before he was in the woods to which Mrs. Boyle had alluded. It had formerly been a wagon track, but of late it had been so seldom used by teams that one side of it was grown over with weeds, although the other was beaten down by foot passengers. Its width aided him in keeping it, and, moreover, the near bushes by their sharp briars notified him whenever he encroached on their territory.

He began to feel that his alarm in the house was unnecessary and that he had acted rudely toward Durgenson, who certainly had given him no cause for such treatment. His refusal of guidance through the woods seemed to him every moment more rude and uncalled for. And yet he could account for Mrs. Boyle's warning only by one of two suppositions, that she had some reason for her extraordinary caution or that she was insane. After she had handed him the envelope, she had disarmed the suspicion of the cattle-buyer by calmness and feigned indifference, such as might be used by a sly lunatic who was planning to deceive his keeper. He resolved that at the next opportunity he would amply apologize to Durgenson, though he could not imagine a way in which he might explain his uncivil departure.

The road ended at the edge a field, beyond which was some large timber, which was faintly visible. The intervening ground had been recently plowed by some unenterprising farmer who was late in the preparation of his summer fallow. Much of it lay up in large masses, which fell in pieces when it was trodden upon, for the dry weather had not baked it as it had the more easily influenced clay. John debated whether he would follow the edge of the improvement or enter the woods, but he soon adopted the latter course.

A short, distance from the field was a steep descent leading to the swamp, which here, at the end of a considerable stretch to the east, turned abruptly southward. He was at the bottom of the hill, preparing to return to the higher ground, when he heard in the bushes at his right a crashing, which, had he been in an eastern tropical jungle, he might have imagined to be made by a hippopotamus or an elephant. The crashing, together with its supplement, the sound of heavy and frequent blows from a cudgel, receded farther to the interior of the swamp. The day and the night of unusual circumstances had fortified John against surprises, yet they had not so far stripped him of curiosity as to keep him from wishing to unravel the mystery. Leaving his violin by a tree which he thought he could readily find, he followed the retreating noise, which, though varying in volume, was continuous and was an excellent safeguard against his being discovered by those who made it. It occurred to him that in thus dogging the footsteps of others, when he could assign no good reason for so doing, he was playing an unworthy part; but, as many a comparatively upright man had done before him, he subordinated his strictest sense of honor to the fulfillment of his desire. He soon came near enough to the disturbance to ascertain that two men were conducting a horse through the swamp, one leading him by a halter, the other occasionally belaboring him with a tamarack pole.

"Touch him up," said Wallace, who held the halter-strap and a lantern. "We won't get out of here till morning unless we're careful."

"I'll warm his ole sides," responded Ab. "Git along here with you."

"You want to look out, Ab," warned the father, "You don't know who's prowling around."

"Oh, you're always a worryin', dad," returned Ab, "I'm a-talkin' low. There ain't anybody goin' to poke around here at one o'clock for fun."

"Yes, the first thing we know we'll get gobbled," complained Wallace. "There'll be a pile of profit in that, I've a good notion to say I'll quit this kind of work. You can't make much of a living at it. There, I've got my foot in one of them devilish holes again! I'm wet clear up to my hips. I don't expect anything but what I'll be sick to-morrow with the rheumatism."

"Oh, this'll only just limber you up, dad," consoled Ab. "You ain't dead yet. You can grunt."

"I wish you wouldn't be so cunning," returned Wallace, with a whine. "It don't feel funny to be all crippled up. You know how I was last winter and you hadn't ought to laugh."

"Why don't you laugh, too? That's what 'ud do you good. Come, chirk up, dad. Less hear how 'twould sound for you to talk without that whine."

"If you felt like I do, you wouldn't be so chipper," said Wallace.

They had now reached a lower and thinner growth of bushes, where John could not follow them so closely as he had done without incurring a strong risk of detection. For a time, therefore, their conversation was unintelligible to him. As they entered the tamaracks, he quickened his pace and was presently at no great distance from them.

This was several miles below the retreat which had been fitted by Montcalm, and the use of which had been abandoned on account of the possibility that it had been discovered during the great hunt and that it would be secretly watched.

"I wish we had a market for these horses, dad," said Ab, "We'd make something then."

"I'm a-going to have a bigger share of 'em than I git now," said Wallace, "or I won't work."

"That's what you've said before," replied Ab, "but you keep right on."

"Well, there's no use of it," said Wallace. "I can do such business just as well as Montcalm can. He won't fool me much longer. I'll make him an offer; and then, if he don't come to my terms, we'll go it on our own hook."

"Now you're showin' some spunk," returned Ab. "We can sell horses as well as he can. He's one of the middlemen you tell about. Takes all of the profits and don't labor himself."

"There wouldn't be any trouble about selling 'em," declared Wallace. "When you get the start of me on a horse dicker, you've got to be up in the morning, I ain't a bit afraid but what I could show Trace Montcalm a trick or two."

"Who do you suppose the boss is that he's tellin' so much about?" asked Ab.

"I don't believe there is any," said Wallace. "That's one of his lies. He thought if he said that, he could grind our faces under a kind of a monopoly. I'll let him know what I think about it, too. I ain't dependent on him."

"Less have the whole benefit of this one ourselves," proposed Ab. "We're sharp enough for that. We can sell him and not be caught. We can do anything Montcalm can."

"We'll see," said Wallace. "Hold the horse while I pull up these few trees in front. I wish Whipple knew how to break a colt. This one won't half lead."

Ab had started for the purpose of taking the halter-strap, when the animal, jerking away from the elder Wallace, plunged among the trees, which at this place were not unusually thick, and circling about a large fallen tamarack, went toward the hard land in a course parallel with the road. Ab raced hurriedly back along the cleared strip, turning his head to one side, although his attempts to see the beast which he wished to intercept were necessarily unavailing. So intent was he on securing his lost plunder and so little light came through the tops of the trees, that without warning he came full against John, who was in the act of rising from his crouching position. Quickly gathering himself, he rushed among the tamaracks exclaiming, "Run, dad, run!"

The lantern which Wallace carried was immediately extinguished. The sounds of three bodies, one at the left and two at the right, were heard moving through the swamp. John endeavored to follow one of the objects at the right. He had no hope or intention of capturing the Wallaces, who at such a place and at such an hour would prove inconvenient prisoners to one man unsupported. It was, he thought, advisable for him to secure the colt, restore him to his owner, and testify to what he had seen and heard. Groping carefully and keeping his hands before his face were necessary precautions for protection against the limbs, some of which were dry, pointed, and hard. The horse was moving from him, but its retreat was slower than his advance. It was proceeding toward an opening in the tamaracks, through which could be seen patches of nearly cloudless sky.

This opening was on each side of the creek which ran lengthwise of the swamp. On the bank of the stream the colt stood, undecided as to which direction he should pursue. When John went toward him, he did not run away, but turning, remained with his heels suggestively presented. The man again made a circuit, and again the horse anticipated his design and gave a quiet but significant challenge, John persevered long in his endeavors, but at last, seeing their uselessness, he decided to retrace his way, giving no further notice to the colt. Accordingly, he set out to regain the road which he had quitted; but he had no sooner undertaken this task than he was followed by the colt, which seemed bent on keeping neither afar off nor in close proximity. Near a tall stub which loomed above the smaller trees, he stopped to ascertain his location and the course which it was best for him to follow. He was in a stunted, rather thin growth of the tamaracks. About him were trunks, the diameters of which were out of proportion to their heights, and limbs which reached far outward as if vainly trying to extend themselves over the entire surface of the ground. Farther on were the tops of the smaller trees which were too dense for penetration by the vision of one who was not in their midst. After he had calculated upon his probable distance from the place which he wished to reach, he selected a conspicuous broken tree-top as a landmark and advanced toward it. From this he was obliged to proceed unaided by a visible goal, for the trees were so nearly of a height and so close together that a distance of a few feet sufficed to make them indistinguishable. He thought the way to the road very long and very tedious. Now and then he halted to make observations, but as they were invariably limited to thirty square rods of swamp and an indefinite expanse of sky, they were productive of no good. It was with a feeling of relief that he saw the perceptible stretch of the now well-lighted heavens move downward and expand as the tamaracks diminished in stature. But his joy was dissipated when he found that he had traversed a circle and returned to the broken tree which he had left a few minutes before. Once more he set out, and once more, making the circuit, came back to the familiar stub. He now concluded that by another direction he would try to reach the upland. His next attempt was to return to the creek, and this he accomplished. It was now morning. He wandered up and down the creek, but he was unable to find a ford. In desperation he retreated a few paces from the stream and running up to the edge, jumped with all his might.

The creek was so wide that a trained athlete might not easily have cleared it at a leap; and he landed, therefore, in the muddy bottom, where he sank above his waist. Luckily for him, he struck within reach of some bushes, which afforded so good a hold that by hard pulling he was able to extricate himself. Striking out from this point, he met with the same success which had attended his efforts on the opposite side.

But by following the creek, he reasoned, in the course of a mile or two he would arrive at a public highway. With this end in view he proceeded down the left bank. A walk of thirty rods brought him to a bridge which was curiously constructed of poles. Across it teams and wagons had been driven, and from the right bank branched two roads. Passing over the creek, he took the left track, which turned and led him back to the bridge. He recrossed it, satisfied that he was in a fair way to reach the improvements. The colt, which had awaited him on the right bank, and had followed him along the circuitous road approached the edge, snorted, stepped on the poles carefully at first, and then finished the risky passage with a sudden rush. The road wound among the trees, its undulations indicating the way which had been most easy to clear, it brought John to some scattered bushes bordering a sandy slope where blossomed buckwheat was growing. He gained the eminence and beheld the welcome signs of civilization--houses, farms, orchards and cultivated fields. The sun was well up, and the hour for beginning farm labor had arrived. Between him and the nearest house young cattle and milk cows were grazing. Near the road and far to the right a boy was riding a wheel cultivator. The creak of a plow wheel came from the opposite side of an untrimmed hedge at the left. The hedge gave place to a board fence about midway in the line of division which separated the two fields. As John climbed the fence, the plow approached, drawn by two bay horses, one of which was wind-broken. The plowman had a sunburned, rather disagreeable countenance. He wore an old felt hat which was tucked under at the sides, so that it stuck out in peaks before and behind.

"Good-morning," said John.

"Good-morning, sir," responded the plowman.

"Can you tell me where I am?" asked John.

"I guess I can," answered the plowman. "Looks to me as if you was in my field."

"I got lost in the swamp," said John, "and I have no idea where I am. Am I still in Jefferson Township?"

"No," replied the man, "you ain't in that county. You're in Washtenaw, now, township of Warren."

"I wish to go to Break o'Day," said John. "Will you please direct me so that I can find the way?"

"Go to the road and make north. By and by you'll come to the forks. One comes here and one goes to Sharptown. You want to take the handle and that leads to Break o'Day. Helloa, is that your horse?"

The exclamation was caused by the colt, which had trotted to the fence and was whinnying to the team.

"No," answered John, "he followed me from the swamp."

"Followed you from the swamp!" echoed the plowman. "That's funny that he should be in there."

"Yes," said John, thinking it best to impart his newly gained information first to the authorities and afterward to the owner of the horse, "I found him there, and he seemed as anxious to get out as I."

"Did you catch him?"

"No, I did not."

"I'm going to try it now," said the man, climbing the fence. "Oh, you bloody brute!" he ejaculated, quickly retreating, as the colt whirled and stood with his heels toward him.

"Can I get something to eat at your house?" inquired John.

"Well, now, I don't know. It's just as the woman says about that. You can go up and ask her."

In twenty minutes John was leaving the house with his hunger appeased. It was with self-congratulations on his escape from the swamp, that, avoiding the graveled walk which lay between circular beds of flowers, he passed through the large gate and took long, steady strides toward Break o'Day.