“I should of give in to you,” agreed the Georgia boy. “I thought you was kilt dead. Last time I seed you, you was shore surrounded. What the devil did you do with Cooter?”

Tim pondered. Then he slapped his knees and broke into cat-sneezes of laughter.

“Well, I cain’t say I’ve outrunned Cooter. I cain’t exactly say I’ve outsmarted him. But I shore kin say I’ve done outwaited him!”

“Tim!” said his wife. “Where at?”

He ignored her and addressed the boy.

“Remember jest afore we turns in to the dirt road yestiddy mornin’? A car passes us, a Chivvolay? A couple o’ quare-lookin’ sap-suckers in it?”

“I shore remember that thing.”

“And recolleck, I says my conscience done tol’ me to keep right on a-goin’? Well, I shore orter allus foller my conscience. That was Cooter hisself, a-trackin’ us. And we pottered around a piece, and was fixin’ to take out, when we heerd a pistol shoot? Well, right then we’d orter done been gone!

“But we stops to look, like dogged cur’ous deer—and into the black-jack comes the Chivvolay. And I says to you, ‘Yonder’s them scoundrels now!’ ”

The Georgian shivered. Tim jerked a thumb in his direction.

“He’s a noble-timid boy,” he remarked to the rest of us. “So I tells him, ‘You walk down to the branch and squat. I’ll see kin I mislead ’em into the hammock.’ ”

“But when I sees one o’ them fellers nosin’ along behind me,” interrupted the Georgian, “I lights out for the hard road and I’m long gone. I looks back and sees you headed for the swamp.”

Tim nodded.

“I seed you had a fair chanct,” he said, “so I thew over the ol’ barrel thumper, and the whole works took after me.”

“Well,” he chuckled, “hit’s a pore set o’ heels cain’t save a scairt body. I reckon I could outrun ary one o’ them rascals myself, jest runnin’. Me and Cooter done some runnin’, too.

“And while we was runnin’, I had about half a mile to study in. We was crowdin’ on toward the swamp, not makin’ as much time as we was at first, when I looks back and notices hit’s jest only Cooter after me. T’other of them catbirds, the one that took after you, had done cut in the short way from the side, like, and was makin’ the hammock ahead o’ me.

“We splashed thu the swamp and hit the palmeeters.

“If I’d had thirty more yards, I’d done been safe in the hammock. I’d done been in the clare. I’d been home yestiddy for a hot dinner.”

He nodded to his wife.

“But I couldn’t make the hammock.”

He lipped snuff again and lowered his voice confidentially.