"Why, something like ten or twelve minutes, probably," Dan answered.
"Whee! If we could make it that fast we'd be taking frequent trips," sighed Reade.
"I wouldn't make the trip more'n one way. I'd stay in Gridley after I got there," grumbled Hen, but no one paid any heed to him.
"See here," broke in Dick suddenly, "if that pigeon wants to go home, and is able to, why can't we make him take a message for us? I believe we can—if some one at the other end would only see it."
"Dad always looks the birds over when he feeds 'em in the morning," Dan declared.
"Wait until I get a piece of paper," rejoined Prescott, almost breathless from the hold the idea had taken on him. He got the paper, drew out a pencil, and sat down to write, calling off the words as he wrote them:
"To the home folks. We're all here at the cabin, snug as can be, with plenty of water, firewood and food, and having a jolly time. Don't worry about us. We're having a jolly time."
"Tell 'em I'm here," begged Hen Dutcher. "My folks might like to know."
So Dick added that information and signed his name. Next he rolled the paper up into a cylinder.
"Dan, catch that precious bird of yours," begged the young leader. Dalzell presently accomplished that purpose. Dick tied a string around the pigeon's neck, loosely enough not to choke the bird, and yet securely enough so that the noose could not slip off. Then the paper cylinder was made fast to the string.