Instead of allowing himself to get “rattled” after discovering that he was gripped fast in the tenacious mud, Bumpus had looked around him, and noticed that convenient limb above his head.
Of course he had stretched out his hands toward it, but vainly, as they must have fallen short by two feet or more of reaching the limb. And then Bumpus remembered the fine rope he was carrying around his fat waist, under the conviction that it might come in handy some time or other.
Well, it did. Bumpus had drawn himself out of the mud, and up to the friendly limb of the tree; though it surely must have proven a most severe tax on his untrained muscles, he was such a heavy weight.
Giraffe admitted, deep down in his mind, that he could not have done any better himself.
And now, here was this same blundering, awkward Bumpus, actually knocking over a monstrous wildcat, one of the most ferocious animals roaming through the swamps adjoining the big timber belt.
It was commencing to dawn upon the minds of those two boys that, beginning right now, they would have to revise their opinion of Bumpus. He hardly seemed a fit candidate for the greenhorn grade of scout. Really, there seemed to be some class to this work he was putting up, that promised to raise him high up in the estimation of his comrades.
In fact, both of the boys who stood there, examining the hanging bob-cat, were beginning to wonder what next Bumpus would do.
“Seems to be another feller,” remarked Step Hen.
“Right you are,” replied Giraffe. “I never would have believed he had it in him. Biggest surprise ever. Gosh! Step Hen, after this, d’ye know, it wouldn’t take much to make me expect bigger things.”
“You mean——”