Drew blew again, and, to the intense satisfaction of both, the whistle was answered from among the trees above.
“Ahoy there! Where are you?”
“Here! here!” shouted the young officers together.
“Cease firing!” came now in a familiar voice, and the shots died out.
“It’s Roby,” said Drew eagerly.
“Never liked him so well before,” said Dickenson, laughing. “Ahoy! We’re coming up.”
“Oh, there you are!” came from above, and a good, manly, sun-tanned face was thrust over the edge of the cliff. “All right?”
“Yes! Yes!” was the reply.
“That’s better than I expected, lads,” cried the officer. “Does one good. I thought we were avenging your death. Well,”—the speaker’s face expanded into a broad grin—“it’s getting on towards dinner-time. What have you caught?”
“Tartars!” growled Drew shortly.