“Oh! Oh! Oh!”
A startled cry rang through the little camp shortly after daybreak the next morning.
Chot Duncan sprang up as if he had been shot, and Tom was not far behind him.
“What was that?” he cried.
They glanced around among the trees. A few birds were twittering in the branches, but otherwise the camp was apparently undisturbed.
“Sounds like someone in distress,” said Tom.
“Eh? What’s the matter, fellows?” cried Fleet, as he struggled up, rubbing his eyes.
“Heard a noise of some kind,” said Chot. “Woke me up.”
“Oh! Oh! Oh!” The cry came again in mournful tones, and from the blankets right at their feet. Looking down, the boys saw Pod, his face distorted apparently in great pain.
“What’s the matter—are you sick?” Chot asked, kneeling beside his little comrade.