“Take your rifles along.”
“What for? We can’t shoot down firewood, and we’ve got our pocket axes,” declared Tom.
“You take your rifles,” repeated the captain. “It’s not a good plan to go snooping about in this neck of the woods without firearms.”
“We might get some game anyhow,” said Jack, as he got his weapon out of the boat; and the others did the same, Dick helping himself to one of the spare stock, for they had brought several from the yacht.
This done, the lads set off into the jungle, promising to keep within call and come back as quickly as possible.
They struck off into the closely growing vegetation and almost immediately found use for their axes. Great lianas or creepers, as thick as a man’s thigh, hung down like serpents from the taller trees, and numerous flowering shrubs and heavily scented bushes barred the way. It was hard work to find any growth that appeared suitable for firewood. Everything was too rank and green for the purpose; but at length they came to a clump of small trees that looked suitable.
“Now watch the Boy Lumberman!” cried Dick, swinging his axe with a vicious swoop at the trunk of one of the smaller ones.
The next minute he uttered an eloquent cry of “Ouch!”
The sharp steel had rebounded from the wood, hardly leaving a notch on it to show where it had struck. The axe handle, too, had “stung” Dick’s hands sharply.
“Well, by the tall timbers of Texas,” he exclaimed amazedly, “what do you know about that? Not a mark on this fellow, and I swung with all my might! They must be made of steel.”