"Of course you'd object," snapped the vinegary Aunt Peggy; "he is as worthless as Jake Golcher himself."
"Keep quiet," interposed Mr. Brainerd; "there's too much talking here."
"You are correct," added Fred; "all this is out of order—there comes the fellow now."
The words spoken had been in whispers, but they were not needed, and nothing now was heard but the scraping of Habakkuk's legs against the vine which he was descending.
The attenuated limbs were becoming dimly visible, when the New Englander seemed to become tired, for he uttered an aspiration now and then as though seeking to hold his breath.
Fred shuddered, for a listening Indian can hear such a noise a long way on a still night.
"Keep quiet," commanded Fred, forced to speak dangerously loud; "hold your breath."
McEwen tried to obey, but the explosion, when it came, was worse than before.
"He is either a fool, or is seeking to betray us into the hands of the Indians," muttered the indignant youth, speaking hot words, that meant more than he intended.
The next minute Habakkuk reached the limit of the vine, and let go, with the purpose of dropping to the ground; but, as if fate was determined to interfere, he caught his trousers, and was instantly inverted, his head hanging downward, while his feet pointed toward the stars.