“That’s so, he might go and give information to the government, and get that reward,” announced Fenn. “I wish we’d been more careful!”
“Well, I guess he’ll have his own troubles finding that cliff,” was Bart’s opinion. “We didn’t mention any special place. Our secret is safe enough.”
After further consideration of what they had said the boys agreed with this view. As they were now almost alone in the car they talked freely, deciding on what to do when in the woods.
They had brought a small sleeping tent with them, some guns which they had hired and a limited supply of food. As they were going to be within reach of small settlements, villages or, at the worst, scattered farm houses, they calculated they could, from time to time, buy what they needed to eat.
They had made a careful study of a map of the country they intended to utilize as part of their vacation trip, and decided on a place to camp that was not far from where they had observed the queer actions of the men on the cliff. It was also within a short distance of Bayville, where, as has been said, Mr. Hayward and his daughter lived.
They left the train at a station, near the foot of a small mountain, on the slopes of which they were to pitch their tent. Their baggage and supplies was piled up on the platform and, Frank, surveying it, exclaimed:
“Oh, dear, I wish we had that mule we used when we were rescuing my father. He could carry a good deal of this stuff, and we wouldn’t break our backs.”
“Aw, don’t mind a little thing like that!” advised Bart. “Why it’s not far, and we can make two trips if necessary.”
They decided this would be the best plan, and, taking what they could carry, they set off into the woods, the station agent agreeing to look after what baggage they left behind, until they came back for it.
The weather was fine, and the air, in that northwestern region, was clear and bracing.