"Down the mountainside," whispered the Phoenix. "Look! Do not stick your head over too far."
David wormed his way to the edge, peered down, and gasped. Below him, on the grassy slope at the foot of the scarp, was a figure clad in khaki. It was the Scientist.
"Do you think he saw us?" the Phoenix whispered.
"I don't think so," David whispered back. "He's looking off to the left. Oh, Phoenix, what if he comes up here? What'll we do?"
"Listen," hissed the Phoenix, "run down there. Talk to him, lead him away, distract his attention, anything. Only be quick!"
"All right!"
The Phoenix melted into the thicket, and David jumped to his feet. As he dashed down the trail his brain whirled with questions. What should he do? What could he say? How could he lead the Scientist away? Where would the Phoenix go?
In his haste he forgot one important thing. His foot tripped over the pile of grass and leaves on the trail. The released sapling sprang upward, the noose tightened with a cruel jerk around his ankle, and he was snatched into the air. As the blood rushed to his head he lost control of himself and began to struggle wildly and shout at the top of his voice.
The flat dry voice of the Scientist drifted to him as if through a long tunnel. "What's all this? What are you doing here? Who set this snare?"
"Get me down," David choked. "Please!"