“All right, go, and climb up in it, good and hard,” Giraffe answered pettishly; “but unless you want to get lost, don’t you dare go out of sight of this place. Call if you lose sight of me, Bumpus, d’ye hear? I don’t want Thad to say I didn’t keep an eye on you; but this is a business that must be attended to.”
All the while he was sawing away as if his very life depended upon bringing the ordeal to a successful termination; and possibly Giraffe thought it did.
So Bumpus began to look around him.
He realized that the tall pines were rather out of the question so far as affording them a chance to climb up; and that he must find some tree of a different type, with low branches.
It was not hard to find such a retreat in the shape of a thick hemlock, with its glossy green foliage that had such a delightful scent. Bumpus knew it well, because on numerous occasions the scouts had plucked masses of similar “browse,” to make the ground feel easier where they slept.
If they had to climb a tree as a last resort, this hemlock would offer all the advantages they wished. Why, Bumpus could even remember how Eli had told of an adventure that had befallen him along somewhat similar lines; and how in order not to fall from his perch in the crotch of a tree, he tied himself there by means of some stout cord he happened to have along.
Bumpus felt all through his pockets again, and was grievously disappointed not to discover a hank of fishing cord.
“Seems like I’m just out of everything that a feller’s apt to want when he gets in a bad pickle like this,” he grumbled. “Ketch me bein’ in such a hole again. Why, I’m goin’ to make it the point of my life to always carry a plenty of matches along; and a line that would be strong enough to hold a feller, if I had to use it. How would Jim fished up his gun, and shot them wolves, like he told us, if so be he didn’t tear his shirt into strips, an’ made a rope, with a loop at the end, to slip over the end of his rifle lyin’ on the ground. Next time I get the chance I’m goin’ to fix a nice clothes line, and wrap it around me every time I go out in the woods. Never know how handy such things might come in. Wonder how Giraffe’s gettin’ along with his sawin’? But I don’t dare say another word, or he’ll be so mad he might break his silly old bow on my back.”
He walked toward the spot where he could see the dim figure of the industrious fire worshipper bending low over at his labor.
Again Bumpus sank down to the ground; although he was shivering with the cold, he did not dare swing his arms around as before, lest it make him remember how hungry he was.