What had taken them half an hour to cover when they were "scouting" in such approved fashion, was passed over in about five minutes.
It was Paul who came to his senses first. He realized that there was no one chasing them and that, to tell the truth, not one of the boys could have been seriously hurt by what had befallen.
So he began to laugh, and the sound reaching the ears of the others, appeared to act on their excited minds like soothing balm.
Gradually the whole lot slackened their pace until they were going at a jog trot; which in turn settled down to a walk.
Finally Bobolink came to a full stop.
"Whee! let's get a few decent breaths, fellows!" he managed to gasp.
The others were apparently nothing loth, and so they all drew up in a bunch. A sorry lot they looked just then, to tell the truth. It seemed as though nearly every fellow had some distinguishing mark.
Phil's rather aristocratic face had a long scratch that extended down the right side, and gave him a queer look; Jack was caressing a lump on his forehead, which he may have received from a tree, or else when he was knocked down without warning by that singular explosion; Andy was trying to quench a nose-bleed, and needed his face washed the worst way; Bluff's left eye seemed partly closed, as if he had been too close to the business end of an angry bee; while Bobolink had two or three small cuts about his face that made him look as if he had been trying to tattoo himself—with wretched success.
So they looked at one another, and each thought the balance of the crowd had the appearance of a set of lunatics on the rampage.
Hardly had they stared at each other than they set to laughing.