What he wants, now, is to hit up a pace for Gridley and get back into the cote with his mates." "How long would it take him to get there ?" wondered Tom.
"Why, something like ten or twelve minutes, probably," Dan answered.
"Whee! If we could make it that fast we'd be taking frequent trips," sighed Reade.
"I wouldn't make the trip more'n one way.

I'd stay in Gridley after I got there," grumbled Hen, but no one paid any heed to him.
"See here," broke in Dick suddenly, "if that pigeon wants to go home, and is able to, why can't we make him take a message for us?
I believe we can--if some one at the other end would only see it." "Dad always looks the birds over when he feeds 'em in the morning," Dan declared.
"Wait until I get a piece of paper," rejoined Prescott, almost breathless from the hold the idea had taken on him.

He got the paper, drew out a pencil, and sat down to write, calling off the words as he wrote them: "To the home folks.

We're all here at the cabin, snug as can be, with plenty of water, firewood and food, and having a jolly time.

Don't worry about us.