“What—is it?” whispered Grace Ayres.
“Somethin’,” admitted Neddie, rebelling against the tight squeeze Ranny was holding him in with.
Mr. Doane somehow took in the situation without any explanation. Perhaps that was because he had been a boy not so very long before, and he could easily guess what hunters are apt to come upon in Turtle Cove Woods.
“He’s in there,” ventured Ranny, pointing to the hole in the rocks which had swallowed up the prize.
“Big?” asked Mr. Doane.
“You bet!” replied Tom. “He looks like a deer.”
“We’ll get him,” boasted the man with such a look of courage and determination that every boy was at once his slave with renewed, if unspoken, allegiance.
“A rope,” suggested Jerry crisply.
“You bet, old man,” agreed Mr. Doane. “We have one in the boat—”
“I’ll get it,” offered Arthur, but perhaps Tom thought of the lunch box, for he turned and ran along with the first messenger.