“Well, take your look and we’ll pass on.”
“That won’t do; I must have a peep inside.”
And to the astonishment of his companions, Jack flung aside the staff he had been carrying and began climbing the long, smooth trunk. To Gerald and Arthur nothing could have been more foolish, but they understood their friend too well to object.
“Did you ever see any one like him?” asked the former disgustedly.
All the two could do was to watch their chum as he shinned up the tree with the nimbleness of a sailor climbing a ship’s mast without help of rope or stay.
Jack had an ascent of fully twenty-five feet before he reached the first limb. The object which drew him upward like a magnet attracting a bit of iron was several feet higher, but the young athlete did not hesitate. It was still so light that he could be plainly seen as he began making his way along the frail support, which bent under his weight.
“I hope Jack knows enough not to run too much risk,” remarked Gerald with a thrill of misgiving; “pine wood has a way of breaking when you don’t expect it.”
“He has had enough experience to remember that.”
“But he is so set on examining that old nest that he’s likely to forget—Gracious!”
Both gasped, for while the words were in Gerald’s mouth, the limb along which Jack Crandall was making his way snapped off like a pipe stem. He was seen to throw out his arms in an instinctive effort to save himself, but there was nothing he could seize and he shot downward, without having time to straighten his body. He fell sideways, striking the ground with a violent thump which caused his hat to fly off and forced a cry of pain from him. Although stunned by the shock, he instantly tried to rise, only to fall back with a groan.