“There’s no danger of you ever dying,” said Sneak.
“Oh, please don’t laugh at me, Sneak, but cut me down; that’s a good fellow. The string is beginning to cut my wrist like fury!”
“How did you git in such a fix?” continued Sneak.
“Oh, hang it, Sneak, just get me out of the fix, and I’ll tell you all about it.”
“It’s hung now—didn’t you say ‘hang it, Sneak?’” continued Sneak.
“Oh, come, now,” continued Joe; “if you were in this way, don’t you think I’d help you?”
“Cut him down, Sneak,” said Boone; and in a twinkling Sneak was up in the tree, and the string was severed. Joe came down with great force, his feet foremost, and running through the snow-crust to a great depth.
“I wish some of you would help me out of this,” said he, after struggling some time in vain to extricate himself.
“You’ll want me to carry you home next, I s’pose,” said Sneak, assisting him up. Joe made no reply; but as soon as he could cut the string away from his wrist, seized Sneak by the throat, hurled him on his back, and springing upon him, a violent struggle ensued for a few moments before they could be separated.
“What do you mean?” exclaimed Glenn, dragging Joe away from his prostrate victim.