Step Hen fairly gnashed his teeth while drawing this agonizing mental picture of the further troubles of Bumpus. And even those who had the most faith in the fat scout’s newly aroused ability to think, and take care of himself, could hardly see how the awkward lad might come out of such an encounter as this with any degree of credit.
Being up against two husky and unprincipled men, who had brains with which to plot and scheme, was an entirely different proposition from meeting animals that acted only from instinct, and often very unwisely.
“But see here, Thad,” exclaimed Step Hen, “you said a while ago there were two reasons for you feeling sorry, and the first was that it was getting late, and we might have to camp soon. What was the other?”
“Why,” the patrol leader continued; “knowing that these hard characters are abroad, between us and Bumpus, even if they haven’t made a prisoner of our chum, you see, we’re kept from doing any more shouting out loud.”
“Just why?” asked the other, dubiously.
“It would only advertise our presence to the pair, and they could lay a trap to snare us. Perhaps they’d make Bumpus lure us on, or even imitate his voice and catch us napping. As it is now,” Thad went on, “so far as we know, they don’t even suspect that we’re around. If we can keep them from knowing right along, our job’s going to be all the easier.”
“You’re right, Thad,” said Allan, emphatically.
And even the other two could see the force of his reasoning.
There was nothing to do, therefore, but keep steadily along, trusting to their perseverance to bring them a reward in the end. None of them dared to even dream that the astonishing good luck that had followed Bumpus ever since he found himself lost in the big timber, would not continue with him to the end.
The best they could figure on was that if their chum had fallen into the hands of the two husky timber spies, they would be tired enough to go into camp soon after, and make the boy do all the work of getting supper.