Gazing around, to make
certain that nobody was watching him, he picked up the unconscious
lad and stalked off with the form, back into the jungle and up a
small hill.
At the top there was a split between the rocks and dirt, and into
this he dropped poor Dick, a distance of twenty or more feet.
Then he threw down some loose leaves and dead tree branches.
"Now I reckon I am getting square with those Rovers," he muttered,
as he hurried away.
The others of the Rover party wondered why Dick did not join them
when they gathered around the camp-fire that night.
"He must be done fishing by this time," said Tom. "I wonder if
anything has happened to him?"
"Let us take a walk up de lake an' see," put in Aleck, and the
pair started off without delay.
They soon found the spot where Dick had been fishing. His rod and
line lay on the bank, just as he had dropped it upon Josiah
Crabtree's approach.
"Dick! Dick! Where are you?" called out Tom.
No answer came back at first. Then, to Tom's astonishment, a
strange voice answered from the woods: "Here I am! Where are
you?"
"Dat aint Dick," muttered Aleck. "Dat's sumbuddy else, Massah
Tom."
"So it is," replied Tom, and presently saw a tall and well-built
young man struggling forth from the tall grass of the jungle.
"Hullo, what are you?" demanded the newcomer, as he stalked toward
them.
"I guess I can ask the same question," laughed Tom. "Are you the
Dick who just answered me?"
"I am Dick Chester.
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