Stacy slowly rose to his feet. He was badly shaken, covered with dirt and with some blood showing through the rents in his clothes.
"Nothing but my presence of mind and my speed saved me, anyway,"
Chunky grumbled ruefully.
All in a twinkling that whirling yellow ball shot out of the tree, striking the ground before Tad Butler could draw the rope taut. However, the rope still hung over a limb. How the dirt flew! Tad realized that swift action must come ere the beast should make a leap at them.
Stacy started away, but Butler's sharp tone halted him.
"Chunky!" Tad panted.
"What?"
"Get hold of this rope with me. Shake yourself. What ails you? Have you got a streak of yellow in you?"
"I can thrash the fellow who says I have?" roared the fat boy, springing to his feet.
"That's the way to talk. Come, hurry—-get hold here! He's too much for me and he's going to get away from me if you don't lend a hand."
"Wh-what do you want me to do?"