“Well,” Frank went on, “fortunately there’s no need of anyone going right now, because I told the farmer’s wife what I meant to do to get Lanky out of there, and she said to leave the rope where it was. Her husband would get it later on, after the bull was in the barn for the night.”
“Let me have five minutes’ rest after that little slide, Frank,” entreated Lanky, “and then I’ll be ready to join you both in another run across to the road. It must have been the strain that told on me. Right now my heart is beating like fun.”
“Sure thing,” assented Bones; “mine is, too, because I thought that black beast was going to get me when he ducked my way with a whoop. Say, ain’t he just the limit now, fellows? Old Hobson’ll get in trouble with that critter some fine day. He ought not to keep such a wicked animal around.”
“Oh! well,” Frank remarked, “you know we really had no business going through his pasture. Even if you got hurt, your father couldn’t have recovered damages if Hobson chose to take it to the courts. When you trespass, you lose your rights up to a certain extent. How about it now, Lanky, feel like you could stand a grilling run again?”
“I’m as right as ever, Frank; and now that the whole thing’s over I’m ready to laugh at it as hard as the next one. It sure was the queerest thing that ever happened to me. A dog had me treed once—a bulldog that guarded an apple tree belonging to our next-door neighbor. Our apples were good, you know, but his seemed to be just the right kind I was lookin’ for.”
“What happened?” asked Bones.
“Why, the neighbor came along and called the dog off,” Lanky replied, with one of his customary shrugs; “me to the woodshed as soon as my dad heard about it, and—well, what’s the use saying anything more? I never like to think of that same interview, give you my word, fellows.”
They had by now started off again. Lanky seemed to show no signs of having suffered because of the strain he had just gone through. These thin, wiry boys are able to stand a tremendous lot of knocking about, without feeling any bad effects. Had it been Buster Billings, now, who was a prisoner in that tree, they could never have effected his release in the way Lanky was saved. His weight would have caused any line to sag, so that the poor fellow would have been an easy mark for the butting horns of the bull.
After leaving the farm of Mr. Hobson behind the runners found that they would have to pass over some more dubious ground. Frank realized that unless some better course was found than this it would be the height of folly for a runner to think he could save time by leaving the firm road, and taking to the cross country. And being a good, square sportsman he determined to do all he could to warn the Clifford and Bellport fellows against any such attempt. Still, they had the same privilege of examining the ground that the Columbia High boys did, and if it struck one of them that he cared to take chances that was really his own affair.
“There’s the road, fellows!” said Frank, after they had ploughed through a lot of soft ground, and were thoroughly disgusted with it all.