“And I thought him such a brave un too.”
“And so I will be,” muttered Bart, as he made a fresh effort to recover from his feeling of panic; and as he did so, he hitched himself along the branch towards the main trunk with his back half turned, threw one leg over so that he was in a sitting position, and the next minute he was standing beside Joses, with his heart beating furiously, and a feeling of wonderment coming over him as to why it was that he had been so frightened over such a trifling matter.
“That’s better, my lad,” said Joses quietly; and as Bart gazed on the rough fellow’s face, expecting revilings and reproaches at his cowardice, he saw that the man’s bronzed and swarthy features looked dirty and mottled, his eyes staring, and that he was dripping with perspiration.
Just then Joses gripped him by the shoulder in a way that would have made him wince, only he did not want to show the white feather again, and he stood firm as his companion said:
“’Taint no use to talk like that to him. It won’t touch him, Master Bart. It’s very horrid when that lays hold of you, and you can’t help it.”
“No,” said Bart, feeling relieved, “I could not help it.”
“Course you couldn’t, my lad. But now we must get old Sam back, or he’ll hang there till he faints, and then drop.”
“O Joses!” cried Bart.
“I only wish we could get a bear on the bough beyond him there. That would make him scuffle back.”
“Frighten him back?” said Bart.