like a jungle kind of, and I could see where branches had been broken
by somebody that passed there. Pretty soon it began to get swampy and
there wasn't any more trail at all.

Illustration #2

"A map"

As long as there's any sign of a trail you can't get me rattled, but
cracky, I don't like marshes. You can get lost in a marsh easier than
in any other place. Pretty soon I was plodding around deeper than my
knees and it gave me a strain every time I dragged my leg out of the
swamp. Maybe you'll wonder why I didn't go back, but if you do, that's
because you don't know much about marshes. All of a sudden I was right
in the middle of it, as you might say, and there were no landmarks at
all.

Pretty soon I was in waist deep and then I was scared, you can bet. If
there's one thing that gets me scared it's quicksand. As long as I could
get my legs out I was all right, but when I began sinking as low as my
waist and had to drag myself out by squirming and catching hold of bushes
and things, then I lost my nerve--I have to admit it.

I saw I was a fool ever to go into that pesky place, but it was too late
and I knew that pretty soon I'd be in too deep to get out. Oh, jiminies,
I was scared. Once, after I scrambled out I tried lying flat on the marsh
with the reeds laid over sideways underneath me. But they didn't hold me
up and anyway I knew I couldn't lie that way forever. I wondered how a
scout had ever gone through here.