He moved like a panther. Never
in all his life had Hervey Willetts seen such an exhibition of scouting.
Presently Tom paused, holding open the brush. "Hervey," he said in the
faintest whisper, "they say you're happy-go-lucky. Are you willing to
risk your life--again?"
"I'm yours sincerely forever, Slady."
"We're going home the short way; we're going down the way the turtle
did," Tom whispered. "It's the only way--look. Shh."
With heart thumping in his breast, Hervey looked down where Tom pointed
and saw amid the dense thicket a glint of bright red. Even as he looked,
it moved, and appeared again in another tiny opening of the thicket
close by.
"What is it?" he whispered.
"A. H." Tom hardly breathed. "It's little Anthony Harrington--shh. Don't
speak from now on; just follow me. See this trickle of water? There's a
spring down there. They can't have their camp there, they'd roll down.
The kid is there alone. If you're not willing to tackle the descent, say
so. If we go down the regular way we'll have them after us. We've got to
go a way that they _can't_ go. Say the word. Are you game?"
"You heard them call me a dare-devil, didn't you?" Hervey whispered.
"They claim I don't care anything about the Eagle award. They're right.
I'd rather be a dare-devil. Go ahead and don't ask foolish questions."
For about twenty yards Tom descended, stealthily pausing every few feet
or so. Hervey was behind him and could not see what Tom saw. He did not
venture to speak.
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