"Hustle yourself," shouted Ned, himself losing no time in getting out of the water.
Chunky scrambled from the beach, then ran with all haste to his tent, with Rector following, making vain efforts to catch hold of the fat boy. He succeeded in overhauling Chunky at the entrance of the tent. Stacy, perceiving that he was going to be caught, found it convenient to stumble. Ned was upon him, but not before Chunky had picked up two handfuls of black, oozy muck, and as Ned fell upon him, Stacy plastered the contents of first one hand, then the other, over the face of his assailant.
Rector's mouth, nose and eyes were glued shut with the black stuff. Unfortunately for Ned he had opened his mouth at the instant when Stacy began painting his face.
"Now, maybe you will let me alone," jeered Chunky. "I guess I know how to defend myself."
"You're a fool," snapped Lilly. The guide was actually pale. "Why, didn't you know what was in the lake?"
"I'm busy. Come around after business hours," answered the fat boy, making all haste to discard his trunks and get into his clothes. He knew very well that, as soon as Rector was able to see and breathe, there would be trouble in the camp. Stacy proposed to be out of reach by that time.
The lad was out of the tent with remarkable quickness. He did not wait to draw on his boots, having heard the voice of Rector approaching. Stacy slipped out under the rear of his tent. He carried a rope with him. Making a bee line for a birch, he shinned up it almost with the speed of a squirrel, and a moment or so later was sitting hunched in a crotch, blinking down into the camp below him.
"Where's that ungrateful wretch?" raged Ned. "I'll skin him alive once I set eyes on him. Where is he?"
"He may have gone back in the lake," answered the guide. "I shouldn't be surprised at anything he did after that foolish play."
"I saw him go into his tent a few minutes ago," spoke up Walter.