SCHAROK AGAIN 259 



A little rhyme kept running in my head. ' De blind 

 hoss stickin' in a big mud-hole,' it began. 



I admit it was not a very wise undertaking without 

 mud-pattens, and more than once I nearly paid for my 

 rashness. However, I went staggering along with 

 my load, drawing my feet out of the treacherous mud 

 as best I could, and counting every pace. I knew I 

 had time enough for my job before the tide turned if 

 only I could keep myself from sinking. A heavy man 

 would not have stood a chance, and as it was, the load I 

 was carrying handicapped me much. Once I was all but 

 checkmated. For I came suddenly to a creek into the 

 edge of which I sank above the knees, and seemed to be 

 going altogether. But pitching my posts down on the 

 firmer mud, I managed to scramble out on them, but 

 what with the scrambling, and what with the fishing for 

 the posts again in the black, smelling mud, and the 

 loading them on my shoulders, I was a most unpleasant 

 body. But I stuck to it, crossing the creek a long way 

 up, and coming down its further bank to the same spot 

 to take up the record of my paces. 



At last I reached the first point where the creek turns 

 to the south. Here I drove in one of my tall posts, 

 which I judged would show some three feet for guidance 

 at high water. Of course I couldn't hammer it in 

 straight, but I got over this difficulty by driving it in 

 slantingly, and then shoving it up till it stood straight and 

 fairly firm, the foot well blocked about with mud. It 



