“Bet your life,” replied Tom. “I wasn’t goin’ out in the bush without a tent. It’s one some coves that was down fishin’ last summer left with the old man to take care of. Don’t you split!”
“No blime fear,” said Dave. “We’re mates.”
“Let us put these things in the boat first,” said Tom, “an’ we’ll come back and get the tent.”
“Where is the boat, Tom?” asked Dave. “I ain’t seen her yet.”
“Foller me!” cried Tom. “We got to be quick. The tide’s on the turn, an’ we’ll go down with it. Did you pinch a pair of pants for me?”
“Yes; and I hooked one of the old man’s shirts, too.”
“Good egg!” exclaimed Tom, gleefully. “I couldn’t have gone another night without a shirt. The mosquitoes ’as nearly ’et me raw. Gimme the shirt now.”
“Is it near the top? Give us it, anyhow. They’ve sucked all the blood out of me back an’ legs. I’d a lit a fire to keep ’em off only I was afraid of somebody seein’ it.”
“My crumbs,” he added, presently, “this shirt comes all over me.”
“Tuck it down in your sugar-bag, fer now,” said Dave; “we’ll cut a bit off it in the mornin’. I got an ole pair of trousers fer you, too, but they’re in the bottom of the bag.”
“Your a all-right first mate, Dave,” said Tom. “You want a bit o’ trainin’ yet, an’ you want a bit more pursonal courage; but you’ll do. I reckon we’ll surprise ’em before we’re done.”
“My oath we will,” said Dave. “We’ll make ’istry.”
“Hist!” exclaimed Tom. “Didn’t you ’ear a noise?”
“No,” said Dave, crouching down behind the log, “did you?”
“Ssh!” whispered Tom. “I ’eard something along there be Dobie’s fence.”
“Well, they don’t whistle softly to theirselves. Leastwise, I never ’eard a cow do it. You might.”
“I don’t know the tune,” replied Tom, “but it was a whistle all right. Lie low, there’s some people comin’.”
“Don’t breathe!” said Dave, in Tom’s ear. “I can ’ear ’em. It’s somebody talking.”
“They’re comin’ this way,” muttered Tom. “Keep quiet, can’t yer! Yer rootin’ in them dry leaves like a wild pig.”
“It ain’t me,” denied Tom, _sotto voce_; “it’s you. You’re makin’ enough row to wake the dead, blarst yer!”
“I ain’t!” said Dave, indignantly. “I ain’t.”
“Shut up!” hissed Tom in his pal’s ear. “They’re comin’ right this way.”
“Who is it, Tom?” asked Dave, in a faint whisper. The strain was heavy on him.