“I don’t blame them,” remarked Bobby. “But come now, fellows, let’s get along. There’s nothing to keep us here any longer, unless,” he added with a laugh, “Fred wants to take this fellow’s head along as a souvenir.”
“Not on your life!” declared Fred emphatically. “I’ll see that head often enough in my dreams as it is. Gee, Bobby,” he continued with a sigh of relief, “it was a mighty lucky thing you had that hatchet along with you.”
“And luckier yet that he threw it just right,” put in Lee. “That’s what comes from being a good ball player. One learns how to throw.”
“Don’t give me any credit for that,” protested Bobby. “I might just as well have hit him with the handle instead of the blade. Luck sure was with us.”
They left the loathsome reptile and made their way to higher ground, picking their steps with exceeding care and avoiding as they would the plague anything that looked like a thick stick.
Bobby was going ahead as fast as the tangled vines and shrubbery would let him, when he gave an exclamation and fell to his knees.
“What’s the matter?” asked his companions in alarm, running up to him.
“Stubbed my toe on something hard,” explained Bobby, rising to his feet and brushing himself off, “and barked my shins in the bargain as I went down. Kicked against a stone, I imagine.”
“That’s funny,” said Lee. “There are mighty few stones around here. It must have been a stump.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter much,” replied Bobby. “It brought me down all right, whether it was wood or stone. But just for curiosity, I’m going to find out.”