Several skate-straps, buckled together, were at once thrown up. Winding one end around his hand, Harry lowered the other.
“Got it tight?” he asked.
“Yes,” returned Boxy. “But I’m afraid you can’t haul me up—I’m wedged in that firm!”
“I’ll see.”
Bracing himself as best he could, Harry hauled away on the strap. The leather cut his hand a good deal, but to this he paid small attention.
At first Boxy did not budge. Then, with a groan, he came up a few inches. A tearing sound, as of clothing, followed, and finally he was raised so that he could get his hands on the edge of the hole. Then he helped himself; and soon both he and Harry were down among the others again.
Boxy’s coat was torn in half-a-dozen places, but he gave scant attention to that. He was very thankful that he had been pulled out of the tree-trunk alive.
“Supposing I’d been alone when that happened?” he shuddered. “I was worse off than Jack in that pit on the other side of the lake.”
“That shows the wisdom of keeping together,” said Jack. “After this we will make it a point to go out together, or, at least; in pairs—never alone.”
The journey up the creek was resumed, and they kept on until at least a mile and a half had been covered.