screamed, “You’ve done it, Stan. You’ve done it!”
And in a few twists and turns he stepped clear of the tree. “Now give me that piece of iron,” he grimly demanded, his jaw squaring as he glanced over his shoulder, fearing the return of the men even in their moment of victory.
“Knife in my pocket,” hoarsely whispered Stanley, completely exhausted by his exertions.
In a second Bub had secured the knife and with three strokes was able to help Stanley to his feet.
For a few moments the two could do nothing more than hobble into the woods, so benumbed were their limbs. Had the men returned at that time they would have found it easy to run the youths down. Repeated rubbing finally allowed of a slow, awkward gait, but freedom was sweet at any price and the youths could only evidence their joy by silent pressures of the hand.
“Where to?” asked Bub, after they had placed a half a mile between them and the scene of their capture.
“We’ll follow the men,” doggedly announced Stanley. “If they’ve got Abner we’ll make a try to release him.”
