"Maybe I'll need the rope to lynch him with," uttered Darry grimly.
Tom threw back his head, laughing heartily.
"Our dear, savage, blood-thirsty old Darry!" Reade laughed. "You
talk as vindictively as a pirate, but if you found your enemy
hurt you'd drop everything else and nurse him back into condition.
Darry, you know you would!"
"Let's get back to camp," urged Greg. "Supper is ready, but no
one has had any yet. My stomach feels like an empty balloon."
"All right, then," agreed Darrin gruffly, "though I'd sooner catch
that fellow than eat."
"That word, 'eat,' sounds like a poem!" sighed Greg, tightening
his belt as the quartette turned campward.
"So you didn't get a single glimpse of your---your annoyer?" asked
Prescott.
"Not what you could call a glimpse," Darrin responded. "Two or
three times I caught sight of the fellow's shirt sleeves as he
passed the rope around me. His shirt sleeves were of a light
tan color, so I suppose that is the color of his entire shirt.
That, however, is the sole clue I have to the scoundrel's description."
"I'd like to meet the fellow," mused Dick.
"Maybe you'll have that pleasure," hinted Darry with the nearest
approach to a smile he had yet shown.
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