"Why haven't you ever done it, then?" snapped the elder Gayle, sore over his partial failure.
"Why, nobody has ever tied my hands behind me," came in seemingly hurt explanation from Biddie, and the crowd laughed.
McKenzie had directed them not to wait for him, and they did not. Another five minutes found them eating like young wolves around a languishing fire.
Later, when the fire winked lower, and the meal was finished—when the screech-owls began to send their blood-chilling, shivering screams through the forest—they drew closer together and began to talk of weird and haunting things.
"Over yonder, on the real 'Death Head,'" began Roger, bringing the interest down to the spot, "is the haunted tree where——"
"Look out," broke in young Rowell, "a little more of that and friend Danny over here will cut for home and mother."
"I'll do nothing of the kind; I'm not a baby!" exclaimed Danny indignantly. But all the same, his heart was already in his mouth, for Danny had never been distinguished for signal bravery.
"No, you are not 'a baby,'" put in the unquenchable Biddie, "but before we get out of these woods you are going to wish you were a baby, and a girl baby at that!"
Danny did not reply to this. He only sat very still, wishing that Willard McKenzie would return from his prolonged trip, and thinking of the mother who was looking to him to play the man.
The scene lost its glow. The surrounding forest grew darker, taller, and began stealing up closer about them.