“Thank goodness you’re alive,” answered Harriet Burrell. “I’ve been terribly anxious about you. Here—here’s a can of fresh water. I know your throats must be dry.”
Reaching forward, Harriet handed the can to the guardian. Miss Elting passed it on to Tommy. Each of the girls drank.
“Where are you, folks?” shouted a boyish voice.
“Here. Just ahead of you,” answered Harriet. She had sunk down on the trail, her strength gone. A moment later she was on her feet again, hurrying down the trail to guide the rescuers to the spot.
A tall young fellow clad in khaki, a campaign hat on his head, rushed up. Behind him came half a dozen other young men similarly clad. They were bearing fence rails on their shoulders, fairly staggering under the weight of their burdens.
“Oh, I’m so glad!” cried Miss Elting, now on the verge of tears after the strain. “Who are they, Harriet, my brave girl?”
“We’re the Tramp Club,” answered the first boy. “We’ll introduce ourselves after we get you girls out of the morass. You’re in a fine mess and you certainly do need help.”
CHAPTER X—IN THE HANDS OF THE RESCUERS
“Now, keep perfectly quiet. Don’t move an inch. We’ll have you out of it in a few moments. Here, Dill, give me the rope. Now the end of a rail. The young lady over there with the flaxen hair——”
“It ithn’t flaxen. It ith blonde,” protested Tommy indignantly.