“Hello.” It was Red, suddenly genial. The Ralestones could almost feel the radiance of the smile which must have split his face.
“Whatta yo’ doin’ heah?” That was Jeems, and his demand was sharply hostile.
“Now, bub, don’t get us wrong.” That was Red, still genial. “I know my pal sorta flew off his base this mornin’. But it was all in fun, see? So we kinda wanted yuh to stick around till he came and not do the run-out on us. And now the Boss has come down here so we can talk business all friendly like.”
“Shut up, Red!” Having so bottled his companion’s flow of words, the other spoke directly to Jeems. “My men made a mistake. All right. That’s over and done with; they’ll get theirs. Now let’s get down to business. What do you know about that big plantation up river, the one called ‘Pirate’s Haven’?”
“Nothin’.” Jeems’ answer was clear. The hostility was gone from his voice; nothing remained but an even tonelessness.
“Come now, I know you have reason to be hot. But this is business. I’ll make it worth your while—”
“Nothin’,” answered Jeems as concisely as before.
“You can’t expect us to believe that. I followed you one night.”
“Yo’ did?” The challenge was unmistakable.
“I did. So you see I know something of you. Something which even the present owner does not. Say the ghost in the hall, for example.”
There was the sound of a deeply drawn breath.
“So you see it is to your advantage to listen to us,” continued the Boss smoothly.
“What do you want?”
Val knew disappointment at that question. Would Jeems surrender as easily as that?
“Just an explanation of how you get into the house unseen.”
“Yo’ll nevah know!” The swamper’s reply came swift and clear.
“No? Well, I’d think twice before I held to that answer if I were you,” purred the other softly. “A word to the Ralestones about those nightly walks of yours—”
“Won’t give yo’ what yo’ want,” replied Jeems shrewdly.
“I see. Perhaps I have been using the wrong approach,” observed the Boss composedly. “You work for a living, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Then you know the value of money. What is your price? Come on, we won’t haggle.”
The Boss’ impatience colored his tone. “How much do you want for this information?”
“Nothin’!”
“Nothing?”
“Ah ain’t said nothin’ an’ Ah ain’t a-goin’ to say nothin’. An’ yo’ bettah be a-gittin’ offen this heah land of mine afo’—”
“Before what, swamper?” Red was taking a hand in the game.
“Yo’ can’t fright’n me with that gun,” came calmly enough from Jeems. “Yo’ ain’t a-goin’ to risk shootin’—”
“There ain’t no witnesses here, kid. And there ain’t no law back in these swamps. Yuh’re gonna tell the Boss what he wants to know an’ yuh’re gonna spill it quick, see? I know some ways of making guys squeal—”
At that suggestion Val’s fingers tightened on his club and Ricky choked back a cry as her brother crept toward the corner of the cabin. Their melodrama was fast taking on the color of tragedy.
“So yuh better speak up.” Red was still encouraging Jeems.
There was no immediate answer from the swamper, but Ricky touched Val’s arm and nodded toward the bushes. She had decided that it was time for her to leave. He agreed eagerly. She dropped lightly to the ground and he watched her crawl away unnoticed by those in front who were so intent upon the baiting of their quarry.
“Three minutes, swamper!”
Ricky was gone, free from whatever might develop. Val edged forward and for the first time peered around the corner of the cabin. The two assailants were still only voices, but he could see Jeems. The swamper’s face was bruised and there was a smear of dried blood across one cheek as if he had already been roughly handled. But he stood at ease, facing the cabin. His hands were hanging loosely at his sides and he was seemingly unconcerned by what confronted him. Suddenly his eyes flickered to the bushes at one side. Had Ricky betrayed herself, Val wondered breathlessly.
Clear now of the cabin, Val wriggled his way around the platform. In a minute he would be able to see the Boss and Red. He gripped the club.
Then Jeems stared straight into his face. But the swamper gave no sign of seeing Val. And that, to the boy’s mind, was the greatest feat of all that afternoon. For Val knew that if he had been in Jeems’ place he would have betrayed them both in his surprise.
The others were at last visible, their backs to Val. Nervously he sized them up. The Boss was tall and thin, but his movements suggested possession of wiry strength. Red, his brick-colored hair making him easy to identify, was shorter and thick across the shoulders, but his waistline was also thick and the boy thought that his wind was bad. Of the two, the Boss was the more dangerous. Red might lose his head in a sudden attack, but not the Boss. Val decided to tackle the latter.
Slowly he got from his knees to his feet. After the first quick glance, Jeems hadn’t looked at him, but Val knew that the swamper was ready and waiting to take advantage of any diversion he might make.
“Three minutes are up, swamper. So yuh’ve decided to be tough, eh?”
“Whatta yo’ wanna know?” Jeems’ question was silly but it held their attention.
“We have told you several times,” answered the Boss, his temper beginning to fray visibly. “What is the trick of getting into that house?”
“Well,” Jeems raised his hand to rub his ear, “yo’ turn to the left—”
So he agreed with the listener. Val was to take the Boss on his left. He gathered his feet under him for the leap which he hoped would land him full upon the invader.
“Yes?” prompted the man impatiently as Jeems hesitated. At that moment Val sprang.
But his game leg betrayed him again. Instead of landing cleanly upon the other, he came down draggingly across the Boss’ shoulders. The gun roared and then the attacked man lashed back a vicious blow which split the skin over Val’s cheek-bone.
For the next three minutes Val was more than occupied. His opponent was a dirty fighter, and when he had recovered from his surprise he was more than the boy could handle. Val’s club was twisted out of his hands, and he found himself fighting wildly to keep the man’s clawing fingers from his eyes. They were both rolling on the ground, flailing out at each other. Twice Val tasted his own blood when one of the enemy’s vicious jabs glanced along his face. Either blow would have finished Val had it landed clean.
Then in a sudden turn the Boss caught him in a deadly body-lock which left him half-stunned and panting, at his mercy. And there was no mercy in the man. When Val looked up into that flushed, snarling face, he knew that he was as hopeless as a trapped animal. The man could—and would—finish him at his leisure.
“This way, Rupert! Sam!” the cry reached even Val’s dulled ears.
The man