Swamp Island Part 33

"I don't know nothin' about Danny Deevers," the widow replied as she picked up the paddle again. "I do know that the Hawkins' been up to mischief fer more'n a year."

"Then you must have an idea what that city truck was doing on the swamp road the other night."

"An idear--yes," agreed Mrs. Jones. "But I hain't sure, and until I am, I hain't makin' no accusations."

Now that Hod's boat was well away, the widow noiselessly sent the skiff forward.

"We kin follow close enough to jest about keep him in sight if we don't make no noise," she warned. "But we gotta be keerful."

Penny nodded and became silent.

Soon the channel was no more than a path through high water-gra.s.s and floating hyacinths. Hod propelled his boat with powerful muscles, alternating with forked pole and paddle. At times, when Penny took over to give the Widow Jones a "breather," she was hard pressed not to lose the trail.

"We're headin' straight fer Black Island, hit 'pears to me," Mrs. Jones whispered once. "The channel don't look the same though as when I was through here last. But I reckon if we git lost we kin find our way out somehow."

Soon the skiff was inching through a labyrinth of floating hyacinths; there were few stretches of open water. Shallow channels to confuse the unwary, radiated out in a dozen directions, many of them with no outlets.

Always, however, before the hyacinths closed in, the Widow Jones was able to pick up the path through which Hod had pa.s.sed.

"From the way he's racin' along, he's been this way plenty o' times," she remarked. "We're headin' fer Black Island right enough."

The sun now was high overhead, beating down on Penny's back and shoulders with uncomfortable warmth. Mrs. Jones brought out the lunch and a jug of water. One ate while the other rowed.

"We're most to Black Island," the widow informed presently. "If ye look sharp through the gra.s.s, ye can see thet point o' high land. Thet's the beginnin' o' the island--biggest one in the swamp."

"But where is Hod?"

"He musta pulled up somewheres in the bushes. We'll have to be keerful and go slow now or we'll be caught."

"Listen!" whispered Penny.

Although she could as yet see no one on the island, voices floated out across the water.

"We heerd yer signal, Hod," a man said, "but we hain't seen no one."

"A boat musta come through, or Maw wouldn't heve beat the pan."

"Whoever 'twas, they probably went off somewheres else," the other man replied. "Glad yer here anyhow, Hod. We got a lot o' work to do and ye can help us."

Hod's reply was inaudible, for obviously the men were moving away into the interior of the island.

"Thet was old Ezekiel talkin' to his son," the Widow Jones declared, although Penny already had guessed as much. "They've gone off somewheres, so if we're a mind to land, now's our only chance."

Penny gazed at her companion in surprise and admiration.

"You're not afraid?" she inquired softly.

"Maybe I am," the Widow Jones admitted. "But that hain't no excuse fer me turnin' tail! This here's a free country ain't it?"

She poled the skiff around the point to a thick clump of bushes. There she pulled up, and with Penny's help made the skiff secure to a tree root hidden from sight by overhanging branches.

Scrambling up the muddy bank, the pair paused to take bearings. Voices now had died away and to all appearances the island might have been deserted.

Treading with utmost caution, Penny and the Widow Jones tramped along the sh.o.r.e until they came to a path. Abruptly, the girl halted, sniffing the air.

"I smell wood burning," she whispered. "From a campfire probably."

"An' I smell somethin' more," added the Widow Jones grimly. "Cain't ye notice thet sickish, sweet odor in the air?"

"Yes, what is it?"

"We'll find out," replied Mrs. Jones. "But if we git cotched, I'm warnin'

ye we won't never git away from here. Ye sure ye want to go on?"

"Very sure."

"Then come on. And be keerful not to crackle any leaves underfoot."

The path led to a low, tunnellike opening in the thicket. Penny, who again had taken the lead, crouched low, intending to crawl through.

Before she could do so, she heard a stifled cry behind her. Turning, she saw that Mrs. Jones had sagged to one knee, and her face was twisted with pain.

Penny ran to her. "You're hurt!" she whispered. "Bitten by a snake?"

Mrs. Jones shook her head, biting her lip to keep back the tears. She pointed to her ankle, caught beneath a tree root.

"I stumbled and wrenched it 'most off," she murmured. "Hit's a bad sprain and I'm afeared I can't go on."

CHAPTER 21 _THE TUNNEL OF LEAVES_

Penny raised the woman to her feet, but as Mrs. Jones tried to take a step, she saw that the sprain indeed was a bad one.

Already the ankle was swelling and skin had been broken. At each attempted step, the widow winced with pain, suffering intensely.

"If I kin only git back to the boat, I'll be all right," she said, observing Penny's worried expression. "Drat it all! Jest when I wanted to find out what the Hawkins' are doin' on this island!"

Supporting much of the widow's weight on her shoulders, Penny helped her back to the skiff.

"I guess we may as well start back," she said, unable to hide her bitter disappointment.

The widow reached for an oar, then looked keenly at Penny and put it back again.

"'Course it would be a risky thing fer ye to go on by yerself while I wait here in the boat--"

Penny's slumped shoulders straightened. Her blue eyes began to dance.