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 More tree climbing now followed, Bub examining the direction of their camp as well as the ground ahead. “Not that I expect to see any signs of Nick,” he explained, “but there might be one chance in a thousand that I could spy him on a ledge or in a tree.”

“Will he climb trees?” cried Stanley.

“I never patented the idea,” grinned Bub. “You must realize, my son, that by this time Mister Nick is very busy trying to find us.”

“In other words we are again in the zone of danger,” sighed Stanley.

“Yes, if you mean by that we are being hunted,” replied Bub. Then in deep admiration, “My, but I wish I could talk as you do, Stan. An education is a wonderful thing.”

“You have improved a million per cent already,” encouraged Stanley, speaking most sincerely.

“Do you really think so?” eagerly pressed Bub.

“I know so,” returned Stanley, firmly. “You are as well educated as I am—better. You had certain loose habits of speech because you have lived with careless men. But you have no idea how you have dropped that habit. By the time we reach the mills you’ll be giving me pointers.”