‘Yes, and they’ll shoot quick, too!’ said Tim anxiously. ‘Can you hear her now, Harmon?’ ‘Yes, she still a-hummin’, but she long ways off.’ They waited. A half-hour passed, an hour. Then they forgot to keep track of time. The sky cleared magically and a million glittering white stars looked down on them. Tim gave up hope at last. ‘They got _him_,’ he concluded sadly. ‘That’s what happened. Maybe they killed him, Harmon!’ ‘They mighty mean-lookin’ pair,’ agreed the darky amiably. ‘Well, my gracious goodness!’ exclaimed Tim, outraged. ‘You don’t sound like you cared if they had!’ ‘Who ain’ carin’? ’Course I is! Mister Pud’s mighty fine boy. But, shucks, I don’ reckon they really _kill_ him. Maybe they pirate him.’ ‘Well, I’d like to know what we’re going to do,’ said Tim despondently. ‘I’m hungry, and it’s getting cold, and my feet are wet――’ ‘How-come we don’ build us a fire?’ ‘Because they’d see us and come after us.’ ‘They ain’ no light there now. I reckon they done gone to bed, Mister Tim. ’Sides, how they goin’ get us? They’s on ’at side of the creek and we’s on this side, an’ they ain’ got no boat, is they?’ ‘N-no, maybe not, but they could swim across, couldn’t they? Or they could shoot us!’ But after another ten minutes of shivering discomfort the fact that the cabin no longer showed a light convinced even the cautious Tim that a fire would be permissible. ‘I goin’ build it down in ’at there hollow yonder,’ said Harmon, ‘and no one ain’ goin’ see it nohow.’ Fuel was not easily come by, but after some search Harmon gathered enough to start with. Fortunately, in his position of cook he carried a box of matches in the pocket not sacred to his mouth-organ, and presently from the hollow between two hummocks, a not overly dry place, a cheerful ruddy light sprang. Tim approached it warily, mindful of snakes, of which they had seen many during the last two days. Harmon continued his quest for dry branches while Tim huddled close to the fire and, in its warmth, began to see life less darkly. Harmon joined him finally and they talked of food. Harmon craved a couple of fat pork chops and lots of gravy. Tim’s thoughts dwelt fondly on roast lamb and potatoes roasted whole with the meat. He became almost lyrical in his description of the golden-brown surfaces of those potatoes, and Harmon’s eyes grew large and round as Tim pictured the juice trickling from under the carving knife as it sliced into the lamb! But there wasn’t much lasting pleasure to be derived from such vain imaginings and presently the conversation swung back to Pud and once more they exchanged theories. It might be, they agreed, that he had captured the boat and was going down until he could get back into Two-Pond Run and ascend that stream to where they were waiting. But Tim feared that such a journey would take Pud to Swamp Hole, and he had little faith in his chum being able to escape from that dread spot with his life――to say nothing of the launch!