The tree creature strode on, not saying a word. Fiddleford was almost literally "scared stiff"—not able to move for some time.

Though he had tried repeatedly to get the creature to tell him what it wanted with him, or where they were going, he had received no answer. The creature's eyes had only moved down as if to look at him and a couple of times Fiddleford had noted the expression that seemed to be a smile. There was never, however, any word from the creature.

Oh dear. How on earth am I gonna get out of this?

Were Stan and Ford following? They had to be. If they caught up, though, how would they ever get him away from his captor?

A couple of times Fiddleford had looked over the edge of the creature's hand and contemplated jumping, as Stan had called to him to do, but it was so far down—he would more than likely get hurt than he would escape.

How far have we gone? He wondered.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to relax himself enough to sit up. Since the creature was so large, he could not see what was behind them. Looking forward, however, he caught sight of a steep rock cliff, which the creature seemed to be headed toward.

Oh my goodness, he thought, -is it gonna climb the cliff?

The tree-creature continued walking straight toward the cliff.

"Oh, dear – "

The young man placed his hands over the back of his head and ducked it between his knees.

The creature kept right on walking.

When they reached the cliff, Fiddleford grit his teeth and braced himself for an impact, but there was none. Daring to look out of the corner of his eye, he noted the scene around them had become – blurred—for lack of a better description.

"Well, shut my mouth…" he said in almost a whisper, lifting his head. It almost looked as if the creature was walking through water, although Fiddleford didn't' feel the least bit wet.

Suddenly the creature carrying Fiddleford was through, and the scene around them became clear again.

The young man drew a sharp breath and put his hand to his mouth. "Oh, my word…"

"Stanford, would you hurry it up!?" Stan said, pounding a fist on the top of his brother's head.

"Stan-ley, we have to be prepared!" his brother insisted, shoving one last item of food into the backpack and closing the refrigerator.

"Prepared? For Pete's sake, Poindexter, this is supposed to be a rescue mission, not a Boy Scout trip!"

Ford stood, rubbing his head, and looked his brother in the eye. He noted Stan was scowling. "Stan, I know that. "he said in an even tone. "I'm concerned about Fiddleford too, but we won't do him any good if we have to travel a long time and don't bring any supplies with us. How can we rescue him if we both starve? "

Stan exhaled. "O-kay. I'm sorry, I just—I've grown attached to the kid, you know? I think I said before, he's like another little brother, and—I'd hate to think that the last thing anyone said to him was somethin' that hurt his feelings. "

Ford frowned. He didn't want that, either. "All right, then, Stan—let's go."

He started to put the backpack on, but Stan grabbed it from him and put it on himself. "Like it or not, Poindexter, I'm stronger than you'll ever be."

Ford grinned at him, and then set his jaw. "All right, Stan—let's go find Fiddleford. "

The two headed out the door, and over to the edge of the forest.

After walking in silence for a few minutes, Stan asked, "How far do you think that they—whoa !"

He fell forward and flat on his face, letting out a loud grunt as his brother landed on his back.

Ford rolled over and sat up. They seemed to have fallen into a shallow hole.

"Uh—Sixer, could you get off of me?" came his twin's muffled voice.

"Oop. Sorry, Stan." Ford said, scrambling to his feet and standing up. Continuing to examine the hole, he saw that it was only about two feet deep, and extended in front of them for several more feet.

Stan got up and shook himself. "What the heck happened? "

Ford walked a little ways down the length of the hole, then turned to face him again. Stan noted his brother's eyes widen and get a kind of spark in them: what Stan called the "lightbulb going off in his head" look.

"Stan!" Ford practically yelled. "I know what this is!"

"Well, I'm glad one of us knows—Sixer!"

Ford had run back to the end of the hole where the twins had fallen in, and scrambled out. Stan took a running jump and got out that way.

"Just as I thought," Ford said, turning and looking at the hole. Stan came to his side and looked too.

They had fallen into a giant footprint.

"Son of a gun," Stan muttered as he looked at the giant footprint before them, then smiled. "Guess this thing won't be so hard to follow, will it?"

His brother smiled back and shook his head. "Come on, let's go."

He ran around the edge of the footprint, careful not to fall back in. Stan was right on his heels.