“White boy maybe scared, huh?” he grunted. “This old den.”
“That’s all right, that’s all right,” Dig returned airily. “But some stray creature might have gone in there since you were here last. And what are we going in for, anyway?”
“You stay here. Havens come,” said John Peep, with deep disgust, and at once dropped to his knees.
But Digby wouldn’t hear of being separated from his chum. “You bet I’m going in there if Chet does, John! You can put that in your pipe-of-peace and smoke it! If there’s anything going to chew Chet up, his second mouthful will be little old me—and I bet I don’t set well on his stomach, either! Lead on!”
“Umph!” was John Peep’s only comment.
“I don’t know what you fellows are aiming at,” growled Dig, getting down on all fours to follow Chet, “but I’m in on it, whatever it is.”
Chet looked over his shoulder to admonish his chum.
“Don’t anger him. I believe he can help us. I wish we’d brought that pick and shovel we carted up here on our horses.”
“What for?” cried Digby.
“I believe we may have use for them.”