It was weird, but he kept himself brave in that way, and overcame the temptation to drop the bundle he was carrying and cut back home as fast as his legs could carry him.
Tom sneaked through the scrub with the stealthiness of an Apachee, and hid behind a bean tree, which he knew his mate must pass. As the scrub drew denser and darker Dave gave over whistling and started talking to himself.
Once he caught his toe in a vine, stumbled, and swore.
Presently he came to the bean tree. Tom was holding his breath.
As Dave passed he jumped out and caught him round the neck.
The red-headed boy let out a continuation of blood-curdling yells, which woke wild echoes in the forest, and frightened the night owl from his perch on Dobie’s fence.
“Shut up,” cried Tom, trying to smother Dave’s outcry by putting his hand over his mouth. “Shut up, you speckled idiot; you’ll have them down on us.”
But Dave was so thoroughly frightened that for the moment he did not recognise the aggressor. He concluded that a dastardly attempt had been made to smother him, and determined to die hard, anyhow. So he bit the hand.
“Let up!” yelled Tom. “It’s me, I tell yer!”
But Dave, sobbing with fright, held on like a bulldog.