THE MESSAGE OF THE SPLIT STICK.
A temporary halt had been called, and the scouts were consulting as to what this new development might mean.
"Sure you saw a man, are you, Bumpus?" asked Giraffe, as though he had an idea the stout boy might have deceived himself. "Twa'n't a rolling stone, now, I take it? Or it couldn't have been a frisky little 'coon' or 'possum,' I suppose?"
"Well, what d'ye think I've got eyes for, if I don't know a biped when I see one?" retorted Bumpus, indignantly. "He was as plain as anything; and makin' from one pile of rocks to another. You go with me back there, and I'll show you, Giraffe. Then you'll believe me when I say a thing."
The two boys made a move as if to carry out this project, only the scoutmaster put a stop to it.
"Don't think of doing that, fellows," Thad said, quickly. "These mountaineers are a thin-skinned lot as far as I've been able to learn; and they won't stand for any poking of your nose into their business. Besides, if it was a man, the chances are he would be armed, and you might bring a hornet's nest down about our ears."
"Oh! he did have a gun, all right," remarked Bumpus, carelessly.
"You didn't mention that before," broke in Step Hen, with an intaking of breath that betrayed excitement.
"'Cause nobody asked me; and every one wanted to have something to say," retorted the other. "It was a gun, and an awful wicked looking one too, about as long as my staff, seemed to me."
"Could it have been Old Phin?" suggested Allan.