“What gug-good will that do?” he whispered back. “It won’t help fuf-find Hooker.” “No, but it may help us after he’s found.” “I don’t think so; it’s tut-too late.” “Why too late?” persisted Chipper. “Because everybub-bub-body would know we were just scared into it, that’s all. It wouldn’t help us a bit, Chip—not a bit, to tell it now. If Piper thought it would do any good you bub-bet your life he’d have told already.” “Perhaps you’re right,” sighed Cooper; “but it’s an awful load on my conscience, and I’d like to get it off my system.” “Come on,” Piper called back in a low tone. “We’re all right. This is the way.” They went forward again, turning presently to the left and descending to the lower ground at the border of the broad marsh. The trees became more scattering and the thickets grew thinner. Before long they saw the marsh, spreading out before them, silent and strange and uninviting in the moonlight which flooded its expanse of pools and reeds and brushwood, amid which a few scraggy dead trees rose here and there. In the midst of the expanse was a bit of higher ground, covered by a growth of small, dark, evergreen trees. This was the “island” on which stood the old camp where Piper hoped to find Roy Hooker. From knoll to knoll, in a zigzag course, led the path, the pools and marshy places bridged by felled trees and brushwood. “I’m afraid you won’t find him there, Piper,” said Nelson. Cooper, hearing the words, muttered for Springer’s ear: “I’m afraid we will.” Despite their caution in proceeding, at one point, Grant, breaking through the brushwood bridge with a cracking sound, plunged one leg to the thigh between the two lengthwise supports and drew it forth soaking wet. “This yere trail,” said the Texan, “is sure some unreliable and treacherous.” Those who reached the island first waited for the others to come up. They stood there whispering and listening, but hearing no sounds to assure them that the one they sought was near. “As he’s deranged,” said Piper, “we want to take care not to frighten him more than possible, for it’s likely he’ll be scared and run when he sees us.” “He can’t run fur,” declared Crane, “without plungin’ head over heels right into the swamp.” “And that’s what we don’t want him to do; it might be his finish. We must prevent him from running away when we find him.” “When we find him,” muttered Nelson. “But something tells me we won’t find him here.” Slowly they pushed forward toward the center of the island. In a few moments they came to a small opening and paused again, before them the old camp huddling in the shadows of a thick grove which rose close beside it. The place was dolefully silent and forbidding at that hour. A breath of wind, sweeping across the island, set up a sudden rustling, which was accompanied by a sound that put their nerves on edge.