In the meanwhile nothing had occurred to put Qualley and Roberts to sleep. They had followed the beach for only a short distance after passing Murphy and had then turned off into the swamp on a deer trail with which they were familiar. Progress was slow in the darkness of the swamp and the rough going did not better their already ragged tempers. Each was absorbed in his own brooding and there was no talking with the exception of frequent angry exclamations when some one of the party tripped over a hidden stick or root. They were all in an ugly mood, especially Roberts, whose disposition was never very pleasant.
The trail bore away to the northeast and headed for the upper end of the swamp which cut back into the forest from the beach like a big bay. The trail soon lead them across that narrow neck of swamp and out on to an open pine ridge which bordered the big swamp to the east of it. At the point where the trail struck it the ridge was two or three miles wide, but it narrowed rapidly to the northward and terminated three miles inland in a very narrow neck not more than a hundred yards wide between two very dense swamps.
This was the place where they confidently expected to catch Scott and Murphy. Roberts looked at the narrow strip of open pine woods, almost free from underbrush, with a grunt of satisfaction.
“Not much cover for them there,” he growled. “A rabbit could not get across there to-night without our seeing it. Unless they get suspicious and go west on the beach they are ours.”
“Of course,” Qualley replied thoughtfully, “as I said a while ago, there is a possibility that they may go west or try to go north, but I don’t think they will. They probably think that they can travel as fast or faster than we can and would take advantage of the lead they had to beat it straight down the beach for town. They do not know that the swamp is there and when they come to it they will naturally try to get around the end of it. That means about three miles down the beach for them and about five up here if they follow the edge of the swamp. They do not know that this is the only way through, so why should they try to avoid it?”
“Well, let’s get ready for them. They’ll be dropping in on us first thing we know and catch us blabbing here. I’ll take this clump of brush on the edge of the swamp, and Bob and Jim can hide over there on the other side. You can go down just beyond there in that bunch of palmetto and if by any possibility I should miss ’em you would be sure of them.”
Roberts suggested this arrangement because he feared that Qualley, who he thought was not known to be implicated in the crime, might be loath to shoot these innocent men. He had no such scruples himself and wanted a position where he would have the best chance at them.
Qualley raised no objection and they all separated in silence to take up their assigned posts. In about an hour, they figured, their victims ought to be putting in an appearance if they were coming at all. Qualley was apparently dozing comfortably in his clump of palmetto and the two hired men whispered cheerfully enough behind their brush screen. To Roberts alone, burning up as he was with a combination of hatred and fear, the minutes seemed to drag insufferably. He glanced nervously at his watch every few minutes and eagerly stared at the first projection on the edge of the swamp where he expected his victims to appear. As the time he had estimated for their arrival grew nearer, it was all that he could do to keep from crawling out of his hiding place and sneaking down to that point to see if they might not be hiding just around the corner.
More than an hour had passed and still they did not come. Roberts became as restless as a caged tiger. The owls had ceased their weird concert back in the swamp and there was nothing to break the stillness of the night save the never-absent small noises of the night. If only the wind would blow, or a tree drop or anything to break that nerve-racking monotony. Roberts moved irritably from one cramped position to another and still the tardy hours dragged wearily by without any change. Only the moon turned in her course and started the shadows slanting in another direction.
And yet they had not come. A certain chill crept into the air, a forewarning of the break of day. It was the hour when the pulse of the world is at the ebb, when sick men sometimes fail to catch the flood and are stranded in the great Beyond. No man can sit through it in the woods at night and not feel a certain awe, close akin to fear. Roberts felt it. All criminals are superstitious and with the turning of that tide he felt convinced that fate had turned against him. His prey had escaped him and with their escape every hour lessened the chances of his opportunity to enjoy the benefits of his stolen wealth. The possibility of spending the greater part of the remainder of his life in a penitentiary, just when he had acquired the means to enjoy himself, was almost maddening.
The first sudden streak of the southern dawn shot out across the eastern sky and Roberts could stand it no longer. With one last lingering look at that long-watched point he crept from his hiding place and sneaked cautiously back with many a nervous glance over his shoulder to the place where Qualley was stationed.
“Let’s leave the boys here to watch this place and go back to the beach,” he whispered. “Maybe we can track them now in the daylight.”
“Well, if you want to risk it,” Qualley assented, a little reluctantly, “but they have about an equal chance of seeing us first. If they have gone west they have gone so far that we cannot catch them and if they go any other way they must either come here or go up past Mike so I do not see what you will gain, but if you want to go I’m game.”
“We’ll at least know............