"Now, climb away, Fenton!"
Fred waited for no second invitation. He was not foolish enough to decline a favor that came within reach. Possibly Buck's new resolution might cool off more or less, if given time; and Fred dared not take the risk.
So he immediately began the task of drawing himself up the short distance that lay between his eager hands and the rim of the pit.
And Buck, having braced himself firmly, with his foot against a solid spur of rock, held through the trying ordeal. Fred in a short time was clambering over the brink, delighted beyond measure at the chance to once more find himself on the outside of that miserable hole.
He had hardly half raised himself to his knees, when he felt a warm little hand clasp his, while the voice of Billy sounded in his ears.
"Oh! ain't I glad I was along with brother Buck right now, Fred," the boy cried; "I'm afraid he'd a left you there if he'd been alone. But then, you see, Buck never knowed what a good friend you'd been to me that time. And it was mighty kind of you never to peach on me. But I guess you'n Buck ain't a-goin' to be fightin' each other after this. You had ought to be friends right along."
Fred looked at the bully. He even half thrust out a hand, as though to signify that he was ready to bridge the chasm that had always existed between them, if the other would come the rest of the way to meet him.
But Buck obstinately kept his hand down at his side. He was not going to forget all his troubles of the past, many of which he believed he could lay at the door of the boy who had refused to knuckle down to him, as most of the Riverport lads had done in the past.
But Fred was not caring in the least. Things had worked almost like a miracle in his favor. That these two, perhaps heading across lots for the humble home of Arnold Masterson, to hide from the wrath of the Squire, should happen within earshot of his cries for help, was in the nature of a chance in a thousand.
"You won't shake hands, Buck, and be friends, then?" Fred asked.