His fate was evident
and most horrible.
"Come," said the Boss at last. "We don't dare touch him. We will get
a sheet from Mrs. Duncan and tuck over him, to keep these swarms of
insects away, and set Hall on guard, while we find the officers."
Freckles' lips closed resolutely. He deliberately thrust his club under
Black Jack's body, and, raising him, rested it on his knee. He pulled
a long silver pin from the front of the dead man's shirt and sent it
spinning into the swale. Then he gathered up a few crumpled bright
flowers and dropped them into the pool far away.
"My soul is sick with the horror of this thing," said McLean, as he
and Freckles drove toward town. "I can't understand how Jack dared risk
creeping through the swale, even in desperation. No one knew its dangers
better than he. And why did he choose the rankest, muckiest place to
cross the swamp?"
"Don't you think, sir, it was because it was on a line with the
Limberlost south of the corduroy? The grass was tallest there, and he
counted on those willows to screen him.
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