“Yes, I can understand that,” the other told him. “I did hope we might run on Dock while we were up here, and either force or coax him to tell what he did with the stolen paper. He’s away from the influence of Mr. Culpepper, you know, and if we had to come down to offering him a price to get the paper he might accept.”
“Oh! much as I hate to have to compromise such a thing,” said Carl, desperately; “I believe I’d do it. Anything to get that paper, for the more I think of it the stronger I believe it means everything to my mother.”
“Well, we haven’t quite got to the end of our tether yet,” the patrol leader assured him. “I can’t explain it, but somehow there’s a feeling inside of me that tells me to keep on hoping. In some sort of fashion luck is going to turn your way. Just keep up your grit, and hang on. Take a lesson from the persistence of those dogs in following the deer.”
“Yes, I suppose I ought to. I’ve read how wolves will keep chasing after a deer day and night, steady as dock-work, until in the end they tire it out and get their dinner.”
Just then they heard a shout, or what was closer to a shriek. It came from beyond the camp, and was immediately followed by cries of alarm from the other scouts.
“What’s happened?” asked Tom, as with Carl he hurried to the spot to see a group approaching bearing some burden in their midst.
“Walt Douglass fell out of a tree,” replied Billy Button, looking very pale; “and Mr. Witherspoon says he’s afraid it means a fractured leg, if nothing worse!”