“I don’t see why they can’t chop off some of these roots, so it’s better walking.”
“All right—you come down and do the chopping,” returned Joe, lightly.
“Not much! The folks that own the woods can do that.”
“Don’t find fault, Jimmy. Remember, some of these very roots have furnished us with shinny sticks.”
“Well, not the one I tripped over.”
It was some time later that the boys noticed that they had tramped further than they had intended. They were on the very outskirts of the town, and before them the heavily-wooded region stretched invitingly.
Jimmy, who, on account of his plumpness, was not as good a hiker as the other boys, was for turning back, but the other three wanted to go on. And, being three against one, Jimmy had not the shadow of a chance of getting his own way.
It was cool in the shadows of the woods, and the boys were reminded that it was still early in the season. It was good to be in the woods, just the same, and they tramped on for a long way before they finally decided it was time to turn back.
They were just about to turn around when voices on the path ahead of them made them hesitate. As they paused three men came into full view, and the boys stood, staring.
Two of the men they had never seen before, but the other they knew well. It was the man whose voice they had been trailing all these weeks—Dan Cassey, the stutterer!