“Well,” exclaimed Artie, “I’ll be blistered! Whatcha think I am, Wes, a cripple?”
“You can bet I don’t think any such thing when you can talk that way.”
“That’s better, Wes; but say, where are my enemies?”
“The eagles?”
“Sure! What a foolish thing to ask. Who else would I be inquiring about so solicitously?”
“I don’t like to hurry you, Art, but we can’t spare any more time gossiping like a couple of old ladies over a clothesline. Our friends won’t be much longer in digging out their progeny. Not only that but it’s imperative we get back to Uncle Jeb as quick as possible, if you feel up to it!”
There were many questions and remarks that Artie would have liked to voice at that moment, but he realized that the seriousness of Westy’s tone forbade it. He told him to go ahead and tie the rope to the tree and when he felt the tug he’d start.
It was like witnessing some one arising from the dead for Westy to see the familiar form of his friend come safely over the edge of the precipice. There was joy ringing in his soul and tears in his eyes, when he saw him get to his feet and untie the rope from around his waist. Westy rushed forward and put both his hands on Artie’s shoulders.
“Gee, Art!” he said chokingly, “able to stand all right and all, huh?”
“Sure,” Artie answered with a catch in his voice, affected by Westy’s emotion, and then to cheer him: “I’m standing all right, but I suppose I’ll feel like a pretzel for the next few days, until I get the kinks out from sitting down all wound around myself.”