“Yes,” added Harold, “I know they use ropes for a good many purposes in different parts of the country; but Billy doesn’t really deserve being lynched, even if he has gotten off some tough stories on us.”
Meanwhile Hugh, Bud and Ralph were running as fast as they could in the direction of the spot from whence those faint shouts came at intervals. The further the three scouts advanced, the plainer the cries sounded.
“Give him a whoop in return, Ralph, just to let him know we are on the way,” suggested the scout master, knowing the carrying power of the other’s voice.
So Ralph let out a call that might have been heard a mile away. Doubtless it afforded more or less satisfaction to the unseen Billy; for while he continued to give an occasional whoop, the frantic appeal was missing from his outcries.
“He’s only shouting now to let us know where he is,” Hugh explained.
“What in the dickens do you think has happened to him, Hugh?” asked Ralph. “Billy isn’t silly enough to get lost, or to shout like a baby if he did find himself mixed up. I wonder if he’s had an accident, and shot himself with that little Flobert gun?”
“Or been caught by a lot of the strikers, who think he must be a soldier because he’s wearing a uniform?” Bud added as his contribution.
“We’ll soon know,” Hugh told them, “because we’re getting close to where he is. If it was the strikers, they wouldn’t be apt to let him yell that way; I’m inclined to think it’s some sort of pickle Billy’s allowed himself to get into; which is mainly why I had you fetch the rope along.”
The other scouts might have demanded what he meant only it happened that just then they came upon the creek.
“Now we’ll find him, for he’s right above here!” exclaimed Ralph, after which he gave utterance to one of his “hallo” calls. An immediate reply from nearby caused the three boys to quicken their steps; and half a minute afterward they burst past a screen of bushes to discover the object of their concern.