“It sounded like a cat spitting, only more dangerous,” sullenly replied Stanley.
“It was a little brown thrasher. She use to scare me before I knew. Really, old feller, if you could have seen—Ha! ha!”
“Quit it! Let’s be moving,” grumbled Stanley.
This admonition was timely, as the shadows now were very thick and the crude traces of the tote road were rapidly being blotted from the view of even the keen-eyed Bub.
“I think we are about there,” Bub was saying, when right beside them the night was made hideous with notes of wrath. The uproar consisted of snarling and growling, ranging from a bass to a shrill key, and each note a menace.
Even Bub lost his composure and with a frightened ejaculation jumped ahead. Stanley kept at his heels, his heart beating wildly.
“Sprint!” hoarsely directed Bub, as they reached a clear space and beheld the light of the wangan twinkling ahead.
“What was it?” cried Stanley, his breath coming in great lumps.
“Slow down; here’s the men,” panted Bub.
“What you two running for?” demanded Abner as he came up to the exhausted youths.
