"An' that's why you throwed it," exclaimed the admiring Maurice. "Gosh, nobody else would'a thought of that."
"Nobody," echoed Fatty, "nobody but Bill."
"Well, somebody has to think in a case o' that kind," admitted Billy, "an' think quick. It was up to me to save you, an' I did the only thing I could think of right then."
Just here the whistle of bob-white sounded from a little distance along the trail.
"That's Elgin Scraff and Tom Holt comin' to look fer us," cried Maurice.
"Answer 'em," said Billy.
Maurice puckered up his lips and gave an answering call. It was returned almost immediately. A moment later two more boys came into the moonlight.
"We wondered what kept you fellers, so came lookin' fer you," spoke Tom Holt as they came up. "Thought you'd be comin' by the tamarack swamp trail, an' we stuck around there fer quite a while, waitin'. Then Elgin said maybe you had come the ha'nted house way, so we struck through the bush an' tried to pick up your trail. Once we thought we saw the ghost, but it turned out to be old Ringold's white yearlin' steer. It had rubbed up ag'inst some will-o-the-wisp fungus an' it fair showered sparks of blue fire. If we hadn't heered it bawlin' we'd have run sure."
Somewhere behind him Billy heard a giggle, which was immediately suppressed as he turned and looked over his shoulder.
"Yep," he replied, "we saw that steer, too. We've been waitin' here, hopin' we'd hear your whistle. I wonder what time it's gettin' to be?"