Like those
they had seen in the canoes he had a hangdog, shiftless look, different
from the bold warrior of the more northerly forests.
The two did not remain long. So many people were about that they were
likely to be seen, and they returned through the forest to the cypress
cove in which "The Galleon" lay hidden. Here, it was agreed that they
should go forth later in the day on another tour of inspection,
re-inforced by Tom Ross, while Long Jim and Paul should remain to guard
the boat and their precious stores.
When the three had gone, Long Jim sat on the edge of the boat and looked
around at the sluggish waters of the bayou, the sad cypresses, and the
drooping live oaks. An ugly water snake twined its slimy length just
within the edge of the bayou, and the odor of the still forest about them
was heavy and oppressive.
Long Jim took a long, comprehensive look, and then heaved a deep sigh.
"What's the matter?" asked Paul.
"I don't think the country and the climate agree with me," replied Long
Jim lugubriously. "I wuz never so fur south afore, an' I'm a delicate
plant, I am. I need the snow and the north wind to keep me fresh an'
bloomin'. All this gits on me. My lungs don't feel clean. I'm longin' fur
them big, fine woods up in our country, whar you may run agin a b'ar, but
whar you ain't likely to step on a snake afore you see it.
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