a little bower, opening on the camp at one side. The nest was plainly visible.
“It all depends on the one throw,” warned Stanley. “If you miss the men will be on their guard. The first shot must hit and bring out a swarm of wasps before the brutes know what is up. The second that happens one of us must be ready to dash forward and cut the ropes.”
“I can’t do it,” groaned Bub. “I’d miss. My hand is shaking so I can hardly hold the rock.”
“You must,” commanded Stanley. “Brace up. I’ll steal around and be ready to make the dash. Lucky I’ve my knife.”
“No, Stan; it won’t do,” whispered Bub. “You must do the shooting and leave the rescue to me. I can do that better than you; but I can’t hit the nest. Take the stones.”
“Very well,” quickly agreed Stanley. “I’ll play the nest is second base and I’m nailing a man trying to steal from first. How long will it take you to get around behind Abner?”
“When you hear a squirrel chattering let her go,” warned Bub. And he vanished noiselessly.
It seemed an interminable time to Stanley waiting. Once left alone he found his hand following Bub’s example and shaking violently.
