The idea oppressed him, and he felt like paddling away; but his case was desperate, and he determined to creep up and try to ascertain just who lived in the primitive-looking native shack.

So, finding a chance to land on the little island among the dark waters of the lagoon, he started to advance cautiously in the direction of the dwelling, which was really the first Will had seen made of leaves.

In spite of his fears, the fever of picture-taking was so strong in his breast that he had to stop once and level his camera at the picturesque shack.  Then the familiar click announced that he had secured what he wanted.

Perhaps that sound may have reached other ears, and been misconstrued to mean something else.  Will might have realized this much could he have seen the dark figure creeping up on him, and lying flat on his stomach most of the time.

As the boy reached the lonely shack he was about to put out his hand in an endeavor to draw aside some of the dry leaves so that he might peep within, when, without warning, a heavy form fell upon him, flattening him out on the sand.

CHAPTER IX

THE MOTOR-BOAT AND THE PROWLERS

The unlucky young photographer gave a shriek.  He could only think of that panther Frank had seen on the previous night, and believed that he was now in the power of the ferocious beast.

As he fell forward he managed to twist himself around so that he lay almost on his back.  This enabled him to look up into the face of the man who was pinioning him down so fiercely to the earth.

“George!” he exclaimed.

It was the same fugitive black who had visited their camp on the preceding night.  He stared hard at the face of the one he was holding down.

“Gorry!  Am it you, young marse?” he exclaimed, as he released his savage clutch, and even attempted to help Will up.

“Yes.  I’m lost, you see.  Tried to do too much.  Taking pictures in the swamp, and kind of got a little mixed.  But I’m glad to meet you again, George.  Is this the place where you hold out?”

The negro was breathing hard.  He had evidently been greatly excited, under the belief that the creeping form had been one of his enemies, bent on effecting his capture, with the idea of furnishing sport for the idlers at the river town, through the medium of a little “tar and feathers party,” so popular in some sections of the Southern backwoods.

“I heerd a sound like it wor a gun bein’ cocked.  Dat must ‘a’ been de black box heah, suh.  Gorry! but I’s glad it wan’t dem white trash from de town.  I’s jest a-gittin’ ready tuh vamoose outen heah right smart now.  I’s gwine tuh Chattanooga, tuh jine my darter.  An’ dat grub yuh guv me’ll kerry me part o’ the way.”

“That’s all right, George.  Suppose you just take the time to paddle me back to our camp.  I’ll promise you a lot more provisions, and some money in the bargain.  This is a serious scrape for me, and while my life may not amount to much, it does seem a pity to waste all the fine views I’ve taken in this old swamp.  Will you go?”