"How far is it up to this terrible place from here, captain?" "It's four miles from this point." "By air line or river?" "River." "How's the walking?" A look of relief in his hard eyes betrayed the hope that the question aroused in the captain. "Fair--I won't say good, but fair. Right here she's swampy. A mile up the high banks start, and there's sort of a trail right into the place." "All right. You'll run us up to the high banks. We'll get off and walk the rest of the way. You'll lay up at the banks for half an hour after we've started." "What for?" "I guess you're all right, but I play safe. I don't know anything about what you're afraid of up there, but I don't want you to get in ahead of us and accidentally break the news of our coming." "Good!" cried Higgins admiringly. "And Old Betsy here, she'll throw a slug clean through that wheelhouse wall, captain, in case you should get impatient and try to run by." The captain looked inquiringly at the scarred man, who nodded sullenly. "All right." "We'll be hitting back into the swamp," said the scarred one. "Come on, Pedro." "No, you'll stay until we get to the high banks." "What fer?" "Davis did us a favor this morning, and I want to give him a chance for a fair start. If you would tell me his business----" "Ain't telling anything." "All right. Take the wheel, captain. We're off." The Cormorant backed out of the thicket of mangrove branches which held her against the point, straightened out and started upstream. "A little explanation and maybe we could be friends," suggested Payne. "We're much obliged----" began the captain, and the scarred man interrupted with: "But we ain't explainin'." "Cheer up, boys!" laughed Higgins. "We're doing you a favor, you know." "Know you are." "So you might tip us off about why it's going to be hard luck for us to hit this place we're bound for." There was no reply. The captain sullenly kept the boat's nose in the deep channel, but beyond this the gang was apparently no more responsive to words than the alligators which lay sunning themselves at the water's edge. The river now grew narrower, its waters grew clearer, changing from a yellow to a faint indigo. "Getting into a limestone formation," called Higgins over his shoulder. "But I don't see anything that looks like land yet. This stuff ought to be sold by the gallon instead of the acre." Soon, however, a change began to appear in the landscape. The mangroves gave way to banks of solid land. A few scattering pines, tall, straight, thin and branchless save for their crowns, reared their tops high above the tropical growths. "There's land there," said Roger. "Where there are pines there's honest ground beneath, even if it's only sand. It's good to see them." "You're right. I begin to feel at home again. That thick stuff is pretty, but give me some real trees."