Chapter Thirty Eight.
Rube’s plan.
For several minutes, Rube preserved his meditative attitude, without uttering a word or making the slightest motion. At length, a low but cheerful whistle escaped his lips, and at the same time his body became erect.
“Eh? what is’t, old boy?” inquired Garey, who understood the signal, and knew that the whistle denoted some discovery.
Rube’s reply was the interrogatory, “How long’s yur trail-rope, Bill?”
“It are twenty yards—good mizyure,” answered Garey.
“An yurs, young fellur?”
“About the same length—perhaps a yard or two more.”