"Why not?" asked Sam.
"Just beyond that patch of timber is Nixon's Swamp, as it is called—as boggy and treacherous a spot as can be found for miles around. If he don't look out he'll get stuck there and never get out."
"Do you know the swamp?" asked Dick. "I mean the good spots?"
"Fairly well—I used to come over here when I was a boy—to pick huckleberries. They are plentiful on the other side of the swamp."
"Then supposing you lead the way and we'll follow."
They were soon in the woods and saw a well-defined path running to the eastward. Beyond was Nixon's Swamp, and still further on another woods.
They were afraid they had lost track of the man they were after when they heard a crack ahead of them, followed by a short yell of alarm. Merrick had stumbled over a fallen log and pitched headlong into some thorny bushes. It took him some time to extricate himself, and meanwhile the pursuers drew closer.
"I see him!" cried Tom. "He is turning to the right!"
"He is headed for the worst part of the swamp," was Mr. Laning's comment. "If he doesn't look out"
