In a tangled mass of bushes, near to the hollow oak that the three scouts had selected as a meeting-place, Boone and Kenton lay concealed.
They were waiting for the return of Lark.
“Strange, what can keep him?” muttered Boone, impatiently.
“Haven’t you seen him at all?” Kenton asked.
“No, not since we parted.”
“It must be past twelve.”
“Perhaps he’s been captivated by the red heathens,” Boone suggested.
“That is possible,” Kenton replied.
“Shall we wait any longer?”
“Just as you say.”