Dave laughed good-naturedly.
Havens made his way carefully from rock to rock. Out in the midst of the stream, with eddying currents and masses of foam on all sides, it looked bigger and more dangerous than when viewed from the bank. The main channel was too wide to jump, and the only means of crossing it was a series of small round boulders so smooth as to scarcely afford a footing.
His companions, who had followed part way, held the rope tightly and waited for him to fall in. It was a matter of some surprise when they found that this was not going to happen.
"Hope that we are just as lucky," said Dick, as he grasped the rope which Havens had tied to a tree, and prepared to follow.
By the time that Travers stood on the opposite bank Bob and Dave were well on their way across. These two worthies did not meet with any mishap, though the stout boy gracefully accepted all the aid that was proffered when it came to the final climb.
"I wonder if his catship is anywhere around," remarked Dick Travers.
"Maybe," answered Havens. "They have a way of skulking about. Keep your eyes peeled."
The boys were soon winded again, but even weariness did not prevent them from enjoying the forest. Gloomy and grand, it surrounded them on all sides. With heads bared to the whispering breeze, the boys lolled on the ground and looked at the patches of clear blue sky between the interlacing branches, and forgot, for the moment, whatever dangers might exist. Each breath of air brought with it some woodland odor—of fragrant pine or dogwood and many other plants.
"Grand," sighed Dave, peering dreamily through half-closed eyelids.
"Worth all our trouble," said Bob. "But say, Jim, will you be able to find that dugout?"