“History teaches us,” said Dan, “that even the world’s greatest generals have been quite frequently ‘up a tree.’”
“Wonder if they were ever up a bluff?” murmured Tom.
“I’ll tell you what,” said Dan, after a moment’s consideration of the problem, “we’ll have to drive stakes on each side of the log; see?”
“Yes,” Bob answered dryly, “but I don’t see the stakes.”
“That’s easy. Who’s got the biggest knife?”
It appeared that Tom had; so Dan borrowed it, and set to work cutting down a stout branch and converting it into four stakes some eighteen inches in length. It took a good while, and the other three fellows disposed themselves comfortably on the ground and looked on.
“Wish those Wickasaws had broken their silly necks!” grumbled Nelson. “We’re going to miss our soak.”
“Maybe we’ll miss our dinner, too,” said Tom.
“Oh, cut it out!” said Bob. “You can eat to-morrow. I don’t see what you want to eat for, anyhow, fat as you are.”
At last the stakes were done and were driven into the turf at each side of the log, Tom mashing his finger with the rock which he was using as a hammer. Then Bob and Tom and Nelson manned the rope, and Dan wriggled over the edge of the cliff, feet foremost, keeping a tight hold on the rope. When only his head remained in sight he winked merrily.