Frantically he struggled to free himself, but he was held fast as though he had been shackled in irons, and his struggles only left him exhausted. Great beads of perspiration stood out on his brow. His mouth was dry and parched and his head began to swim. He felt that he was losing his reason, but he pulled himself together with a herculean effort. His legs and feet were cold and numb, and the keen night wind nipped his ears and nose cruelly. The mud under his arms had begun to freeze, and unless he kept breaking it continually with his hands, a stiff crust would form at the top. He racked his brain to devise some plan of escape from his terrible position, but could think of nothing except to shout. That, he supposed, would only be a waste of energy, but he must do something. Gathering himself together, he essayed to call, but his mouth was so parched that his voice did not penetrate further than ten yards. He tried again, and this time found himself shouting louder. Again and again he shouted until his voice echoed and re-echoed through the everglades. As the sounds died away his ear caught a faint call that seemed like an answer to his own. Flushed with hope, he shouted again and then strained his ears to listen. But silence, broken only by the twittering of the night birds, reigned about him. Once more he shouted, and again he thought he heard a reply, or was it an echo of his own voice? The ordeal was too much for him, and with a groan his head drooped and he lost consciousness. With King and Stebbins the time passed until sundown before they realized how late it was, and then they dropped their work and looked along the stream in the direction taken by their guest. “It is nearly seven o’clock, Marvin,” remarked King, consulting his watch. “Al said he would be back by supper time, and here it is an hour after. I believe he’s lost.” “If that’s the case, we must find him before dark, or he’ll have to stay in the swamp all night,” said Stebbins. Both young men were hurrying towards the boat landing as they spoke. “Maybe he’ll row around there a week before he finds his way out,” declared King. Stepping into the remaining boat, they both seized a paddle and sent the light skiff whirling along towards the lake, keeping a sharp lookout for any signs of the missing boat. “He promised not to go further than the lake,” said Stebbins, as they reached a point where the stream began to widen. “Let’s course over some of those creeks back there,” indicating a part of the swamp in the rear of their island home. The boat’s prow was accordingly turned in that direction, and they had proceeded but a few yards when King’s ear detected a faint call somewhere in the distance. It was so low and indistinct that he was unable to tell from what direction it came, but shouted loudly in answer. “Did you hear anything?” asked Stebbins, whose hearing was not so keen.