“I sure will,” replied the other, humbly enough; “I had my lesson, all right.”
“What if they’re coming after us?” suggested Giraffe; and the very possibility of such a thing caused Step Hen to utter a little cry of alarm, and turn in several directions, as though expecting to discover crouching foes, or see the flash that would accompany the discharge of a hostile gun.
But nothing happened; and presently Allan, who had been looking back over his shoulder many times, announced that there was no danger.
“They haven’t left the camp up to now,” he said, positively. “I can see their figures moving in front of the fire. It’s all right, boys. We can go, and settle down after a little for the night.”
Presently Thad called a halt.
“Here, we can make a stop,” he announced. “There’s a little swale at the base of this rocky hill. If we wanted we could make a small fire, and finish our supper. I don’t think they’d see it; and besides, Allan and myself will stand guard up on the ridge here.”
This plan was carried out, since they had not wholly satisfied their appetites at the time Allan discovered the camp-fire which they supposed had been kindled by the lost tenderfoot, Bumpus.
Afterwards Thad and Allan came in, the fire having been extinguished, and ate a little. Then they talked in low tones.
“It makes me feel uneasy,” remarked Giraffe, “to think of that poor innocent thing of a Bumpus, who wouldn’t lift a finger to hurt even a fly, wanderin’ around all alone in these big woods.”
“Yes,” added Step Hen, seriously enough, “and with a couple of hard cases like that Hank Dodge and Pierre Laporte around. What if he was unlucky enough to run across ’em? wouldn’t they just take revenge on our poor fat chum. I hope that don’t happen.”