It was known among the settlers as Bruin's Island.
Dan knew the place well. Many a fine string of goggle-eyes had he
caught at the foot of the huge sycamore which grew at the lower end
of the island, and leaned over the water until its long branches
almost touched the trees on the main shore, and it was here that he
had trapped his first beaver. More than that, the island had been a
place of refuge for his father during the war. He retreated to it on
the night the levee was blown up by the Union soldiers, and spent the
most of his time there until all danger of capture was past.
When Dan appeared upon the bank of the bayou a dark object, which was
crouching at the water's edge near the foot of the sycamore, suddenly
sprang up and glided into the bushes out of sight. Its movements were
quick and noiseless, but still they did not escape the notice of Dan,
who dropped on the instant and hid behind a fallen log that happened
to be close at hand. He did not have time to take a good look at the
object, but he saw enough of it to frighten him thoroughly. He thrust
his cocked rifle cautiously over the log, directing the muzzle toward
the sycamore, but his hand was unsteady and his face was as white as
a sheet.
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