“Ginger! it looks like Sim Jeffreys,” he whispered.
“No other,” added Jack.
“But what’s the matter with the fellow?” continued Tom. “See how he keeps tugging away at his right leg. I bet you he’s gone and got it caught in a root, and can’t work it free. I’ve been through just such an experience.”
“We’ll soon find out,” remarked Jack, pushing forward.
“Be mighty careful, Jack,” urged the other, not yet wholly convinced that the groans were really genuine, for he knew how tricky Sim Jeffreys had always been.
By this time the other had become aware of their presence. He turned an agonized face toward them, upon which broke a gleam of wild 128 hope. If Sim Jeffreys were playing a part then, Jack thought, he must be a clever actor.
“Oh, say! ain’t I glad to see you boys,” he called, holding both his hands out toward them. “Come, help me get free from this pesky old trap here!”
“Trap!” echoed Tom. “Just what do you mean by that, Sim?”
“I ain’t tryin’ to fool you, boys. Sure I ain’t!” exclaimed the other, anxiously. “Seems to me like an old bear trap, though I never saw one before. I was out with my gun, lookin’ for partridges, when all of a sudden it jumped up and grabbed me right by the leg.”
Neither of the boys could believe this strange story until they had taken a look. Then they saw that it was just as Sim had declared. The trap was old and very rusty. Jack saw that it had lost much of its former fierce grip, which was lucky for poor Sim, for otherwise he might have had his leg badly injured.