"After him!" cried Havens, loudly.
Bob was first at the entrance. Raising his rifle, he sent a bullet speeding toward the retreating form. Then Havens' gun echoed sharply, but it was evident that neither shot took effect.
"Well, well," panted the poet. "A nice little surprise, eh? Hurt, Dick?"
"Not a bit of it, Dave." Dick's tones spoke of a troubled spirit. His companions were looking at him slyly.
"Ever take a prize in jumping?" asked Havens. "I'd bet on you, all right."
"I might as well admit it—he got my nerve," said Dick, frankly.
"Don't let it worry you, old man," said the "poet," laughingly.
"What do you suppose the old duffer was up to?" asked Bob.
"Guess he thought things looked kinder funny 'round here, so he walked up the tree and stepped on the roof. It's a beautiful mess, now isn't it?"
"A good day's work to fix it," commented Bob.