He was a tall, lean man, with a hawklike nose and keen blue eyes.  He wore a long frock coat, considerably the worse for wear, and this, with his slouch hat, gave him the appearance of a Western marshal, in the eyes of Jerry, at least.

“Who was this scoundrel?” asked Frank uneasily.

“His name is Bob Young, an’ he’s really the son o’ a minister upcountry, but long ago his father cast him off as a scamp.  He’ll sure swing one o’ these days,” replied the sheriff, looking keenly at Frank, as though he suspected he might know something that he wanted to hear.

“Then he’s a white man?” asked the other quickly, and with evident relief.

“Shore he is, an’ the toughest ever.  Seen any sign o’ him, stranger?”

“Not a thing.  We had a coon in camp last night, starving, and we fed him.  He was Black George, the man they ran out of town some time back,” ventured Frank.

He saw that the dogs were nosing about, and feared lest they should set out on the trail of the poor wretch by mistake.

The sheriff laughed.

“Oh, our time’s too valuable to fool away with that black trash.  He ain’t wuth shootin’.  Come on, then, boys.  Like tuh sit up with yuh, friends, an’ have a snack, but we got to be on the move afore the trail below gits cold.  Yuh see, we hed word ‘bout Bob, an’ we wanter git him this clip, sure.  So-long, an’ good luck!  Thet thar is sure the boss little boat yuh got.”

And presently the sheriff and his posse faded from view under the long streamers of hanging Spanish moss that overshadowed the river below.

“I’m just as glad.  He gave me the creeps.  That eye of his was fierce,” said Will.

“Oh, that’s because you’ve got a guilty conscience, I guess,” laughed Jerry.  “Now to me he was a picture of a strong character that would have made a good showing in our album,” and he looked severely at Will.

“Oh!  What beastly luck!  Why didn’t I think of it in time?  Another chance gone glimmering!  I think you fellows are too mean for anything, not to remind me of these things in time.  He would have embellished our album handsomely—­and those dogs, too!  How picturesque bloodhounds are!  I feel sick.”

Will jumped up, snatched his camera, and stalked off beyond the edge of the camp, as if to brood alone.  Presently they heard him calling: 

“Oh, Frank!  Won’t you come here for a minute?  I’m just taking the picture of a big snake, and he’s as angry as you please.  There’s a locust somewhere close by, too, keeping up a tremendous rattling.  Please hurry!  He won’t wait long!”

Frank, followed by Jerry, was off like a shot.  His face turned white with sudden apprehension as he ran.  Coming upon Will, kneeling there, and watching, he seized him by the shoulders and whirled him back, exclaiming: 

“Why, you greenhorn, don’t you know that’s a diamond-back rattler, coiled up and ready to launch himself at you?”