u even expect to stop
off to interview that terrible McGee they talk about! Oh, my! what was
that, now?"

Larry ceased to stretch himself. He even sat up, his eyes wide open
now, as if he had noticed something away out of the usual; and they
were fastened on the stern of the boat, where he had certainly seen
something slip over the gunwale, and vanish under a pile of blankets
that had been airing.

Phil raised his head. He did not even glance at his chum, but seemed
to be listening intently.

"Now what d'ye suppose all that shouting means?" he exclaimed. "Seems
to be coming this way too, and mighty fast at that. There, look,
Larry, don't you see them running through the woods? As sure as you
live they're coming this way! I wonder if it's a fox hunt, or what?"

"Mebbe--" began Larry; and then his comrade interrupted him before he
could say what was on his mind.

"They're heading right for us; and there's that big Colonel Brashears
at their head, the fellow who told us all those awful stories about the
shingle-makers of the swamps. Here they come, seven of 'em; and look,
Larry, as many as four have got ugly whips in their hands! Something's
up, I tell you."

Again did Larry open his mouth as though to say something; and for the
second time, after a swift glance toward the blankets, he closed it
again resolutely.

The seven men who were running speedily drew near. Most of them were
out of breath, and all looked very much excited. The leader, who was
quite a character in the Southern town, and a fierce appearing
individual, with a military swagger, which Phil believed to be wholly
assumed, immediately addressed himself to the two young Northerners on
the new-fangled motor boat, which had been the wonder of the
townspeople ever since it was dropped off the cars to be launched in
the so-called "river" at their doors.

"Seen anything of him acomin' this aways, sah?" he asked, in a high
pitched, raspy voice. "We done chased him through the woods, and he's
give us the slip. Thinkin' he mout have come in this direction, we
changed our course to put the question to yuh."

"What was it--a fox?" asked Phil, innocently enough.

"No, sah, it was not a fox, but a miserable whelp of a boy!" exclaimed
the indignant colonel, drawing his military figure up, and cracking his
whip with a vindictive report that sounded like the discharge of a
pistol.

"A boy?" ejaculated Phil, astonished at all this display of forc