The boys swam back as fast as possible and rushed up on the bank.
“Who put a knot in the leg of my pants?” came in a howl from Fred as he struggled desperately to unfasten the knot.
“I’d like to catch the fellow who tied my socks together,” growled Mouser.
“And here’s one of my shoes floating in the water,” wailed Skeets.
They had to pay the penalty now of the tricks they had played on one another, and they felt as though they were in a nightmare as they tried frantically to get into their clothes.
“They’ll get away sure,” groaned Bobby. “Hustle, fellows, hustle! Come along just as you are if you can’t do any better.”
He led the way, and the rest came stumbling after him in all conditions of dress and undress. Mouser had stuffed his stockings in his pocket, Skeets carried his wet shoes in his hands, while Fred, with one leg in his trousers, held up the rest of the garment in his hand and made what speed he could.
But when they reached the tree under which the tramps had been sitting, they found no one. The birds had flown. They may possibly have recognized Fred’s red head as that of one of their victims, or they may have thought that he was one of a company, including men, who might ask them curious and troublesome questions. At any rate they had quickly gotten out of sight.
The boys searched about everywhere in that part of the woods, but fruitlessly. Pee Wee fell into a small excavation, this time barking his shins in reality. But he had no other injury except to his feelings, and his comrades hauled him out without much trouble.
“Well,” said Fred at last, “there doesn’t seem any more reason for hurry, and I guess I’ll get my pants on.”