"Thanks, fellows," was all he said, finally. But his tone spoke volumes.
"Look before you leap next time, Dick," observed Jim Havens. "Lots of dangerous places around these mountains."
"You bet I will. Crickets! It was awful to hang over that chasm. I felt sure the sapling was going to snap," and Dick shuddered at the thought.
Still puffing and blowing, Dave Brandon was busy wiping his perspiring face, while he lay at full length on the ground.
None of them felt quite in the mood for hunting, and the stout boy finally proposed that they return to the dugout.
"I need a good, square meal," he said.
"And you deserve it, too," said Dick, heartily. "Let's vamoose."
Tired and hungry, they finally pushed through the last belt of timber, and came in view of the dugout.
"Well, well, who in the world is that?" exclaimed Bob Somers in surprise, as he observed a figure sitting on a log before the entrance, calmly smoking a big pipe.
"By the flying partridge, a visitor out here," laughed Dave.