As Johnny swam rapidly under water, close to the white coral bottom of the creek, Dick saw that he was chasing a turtle which was skurrying toward the bank for protection.  It got there all right, but the bank didn’t protect it, and soon Johnny came to the surface hugging to his breast with his left hand a wildly flapping turtle, while with his right he struck out for the canoe.  Getting into the canoe would have been a ticklish job, so Johnny handed the turtle to his companion and swam to the bank while Dick followed with the canoe.  By the time Johnny had butchered the turtle, Dick had constructed a very creditable camp-fire under a palmetto, in the shade of which the boys rested while they waited for the turtle stew to be ready for them.  Their breakfast had been a cold one, consisting entirely of fruit, and they had decided that for dinner they would begin with turtle stew and end with broiled duck.  When the stew had been finished, Johnny inquired: 

“Want that duck cooked now?”

“No, I don’t.  If I ate another mouthful I’d bust.  Let’s have the duck next week.”

Yet each of the boys managed to eat about a hatful of wild grapes, which they found growing a short distance from their camp-fire.

Just as the boys were starting out again, Dick saw a turtle, and, laying down his paddle, said: 

“Johnny, if you can catch turtles, I can.  See me go for that one.”

“Hold on,” shouted Johnny, as Dick was about to jump overboard.  “That’s an alligator turtle.  Bites worse’n a bulldog, and ain’t good fur much t’ eat, nohow.”

As they kept on up the creek, its banks came nearer together, trees were more numerous, and the bushes thicker.  Soon these began to close overhead, while the stream itself broke up into several smaller ones.  As these twisted about, forming a labyrinth of little channels bounded by hundreds of tiny keys, all cohered by an interlaced canopy of leaves and branches, Dick wondered if ever they could find their way out.  But he had resolved that morning that never again would he turn back in his exploring so long as it was possible to go on.  The little streams continued to become smaller and the turns shorter, until to get around the bends the axe was in constant use to clear a path, while the boys waded and often dragged or carried the canoe.  It was wearing work, and they frequently sat down to rest.  On one of these occasions Johnny inquired: 

“How long you want ter keep this up?  This ain’t the right creek, not the one Mr. Streeter told about.”

“I know that.  The creek he spoke of must be away south of this, but this will probably take us to the Everglades, or near them.  So we had better keep on till the brook gives out and then travel to the east, toting the canoe till we get to the Glades.  We may be away north of Osceola’s camp, but there will likely be a trail that will help us to find it, and anyhow we will be near the line that Mr. Streeter thinks Ned and the Indian will follow.  Don’t you like the plan?”