"Now if I don't fall into any pockets in the creek, I'm all right. I don't know whether the others are below or above me, but I'm going down a piece and if I find no one, I'll turn about and come back."
Every few moments Tad would shout. At last there came an answering call.
"Who are you?" cried the lad joyously.
"Chunky!"
"Chunky?"
"Yassir, nassir," answered the fat boy.
"Where are you?"
"I'm where the little boy was when he was chased by a bulldog—up a tree."
Riding over toward the voice, Butler found this to be literally true. Stacy had grabbed at a limb that had struck him in the face, and then swung himself up to the limb, permitting his pony to go on where it would.
"Take me down," begged Stacy.