“Come a-running!” repeated Jule, his voice sounding close at hand.
Clay swung his gun to the front as he rushed for the thicket.
“Be careful!” warned Frank. “If there is a drove of wild hogs in there, and you should happen to kill one, they would give you the fight of your life.”
“Can you follow the sound?” asked Clay, as they pushed along through the undergrowth.
“Straight ahead,” was the reply.
“But there is a movement in the brush away to the left. That may be Jule.”
“It is Alex,” panted Frank, for they were moving fast and having a hard time working their way through the jungle, which increased in density as they proceeded. “Can’t you see the point of what he calls his bean-shooter?” continued Frank. “See, he is coming this way.”
In a moment Alex joined them as they ran, and the three made good progress. Only once they stopped to listen. They had heard nothing from the boy for a minute or more, and they were not quite sure they were going in the right direction.
“If he would only shoot, or call again,” Alex grumbled.
Then the call came, from the dense copse just ahead: