“Here’s a good place,” Joe cried.
“Yes,” his companion admitted.
They soon had a fire built under the tree, on the branches of which they hung their outer garments. The inner clothing they took off, wrung out and put on again, standing near the blaze to “dry out,” Joe meanwhile scolding.
“Talk ’bout gainin’ time by takin’ to the canoe. I guess we’ll know better than listen to a madman again.”
“I’m not so sure he is a madman,” Late said with emphasis.
“Why?” his companion asked in surprise.
“There’s too much method in his actions. Think it over. He’s managed to rob us of our guns an’ packs, an’ put us in a place where we may easily be shot down. I suspect he’s the fellow who visited us last night, an’ don’t believe that we have seen the last of him.”
“That may be,” Joe replied after a time of thought, “an’ we’ve got nothin’ but our knives to fight him with. It looks dubious, Late.”
The hours passed drearily. The garments dried slowly; there was nothing to eat; they could not sleep while half-clad, and there was the danger that the enemy would appear. Therefore they spent the time gathering fuel, and in keeping guard lest they be surprised. As the night grew older a cool breeze sprang up, and the boys began to feel uncomfortable.
“We shall have to put on our clothes, even if they are not entirely dry,” Late at length said, leaning over to feel of the garments.