Never once did he speak or pause until he had
left an almost perpendicular area of half a mile or so of rock and
jungle between them and the spring above.
Then, breathless, he paused in a little level space above a great rock
and set the child down.
"Don't be frightened, Tony," he said; "we're going to take you home. And
don't scream when I take this handkerchief out because that will spoil
it all."
"Is it safe to stop here?" Hervey asked.
"Sure, they'll go down the path when they want to hunt for him. They'll
never get down here. The mountain is with us now."
"I didn't drop my whistle," the little fellow piped up, as if that were
his chief concern.
"Good," said Tom, in an effort to interest him and put him at ease.
"That's a dandy whistle; tell us about it. Because we're your friends,
you know."
"Am I going to see my mother and father?"
"You bet. Away down there is a big camp where there are lots of boys and
you're going to stay there till they come and get you."
"They sent me to the spring to get water and I took my whistle so I
could soak it in the water, because that makes it go good. I made it
myself, that whistle."
Tom, his clothes torn, his face and hands bleeding from scratches, sat
upon the edge of a big rock with the little fellow drawn tight against
him.
"And when you whistled we came and got you, hey? That's the kind of
fellows we are. And I bet I know how that nice sweater got frayed, too.
A little bird did that.
Pages:
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128