"But you're not hurt much?" cried Bob Somers, with a feeling of great relief.
"How do you know I ain't hurt much, Somers?" snapped Hackett. "You can't feel the pain in my back, can you?—or the slam I got on the neck?—or the bump over my left ear? My eye! I'd like to meet the man that invented this game. Take those sticks, 'Mushroom,' and start a fire with 'em."
Hackett shook his fist toward the skees, then painfully leaned over and began to unfasten them.
"It was a fierce slide you got—that's sure," commented Musgrove, in a greatly relieved tone. "Your own fault, though, Tackett. I told you—"
"If it hadn't been that my foot struck a rock, I'd have gone through all right. Don't stand around looking at me as if I was a prize pig in a show. Give me your hand, Nat!"
It soon became apparent that Hackett's temper had sustained the most serious damage. But this was more easily repaired than broken bones or strained tendons, and the boys were correspondingly thankful.
But Tim Sladder and Billy Musgrove had a pleasant surprise in store, which went far toward restoring his temper, and make him forget his aches and pains.
Musgrove went to the back of the hut and reappeared with an enormous wild goose.
"Got 'im yesterday!" he exclaimed. "Ain't he a whopper?"
"Where?" asked Hackett, eagerly. "My eye! I want to get a crack at one myself."