“Well, Skeel or no Skeel, I’m going to have something to eat!” cried Tom. “Come on, fellows, make yourselves at home.”
This they proceeded to do, making arrangements to get a meal, for there was plenty of wood for the stove as well as a pile of dry logs for the fireplace. A blaze was not unwelcome, for it was growing colder, and there were signs of a storm.
As our friends sat about the cozy, crackling blaze on the hearth they were unaware of three men, on the edge of the little clearing in which the cabin stood—three men who were gazing at the smoke curling up from the chimney.
“Yes, there they are!” grumbled the one known as Whalen. “There they are in their cabin, nice and warm, and with plenty to eat, and we’re out in the cold. I don’t like it, I say! I don’t like it!”
“Now, don’t get rash!” observed Professor Skeel, for he was of the trio. “What is a little discomfort now compared to the satisfaction we’ll have later?”
“I wouldn’t mind so much, if I was sure of that,” said Whalen sullenly. “But it ain’t noways sure.”
“I’ll make it sure,” said the hoarse voice of the other plotter.
“Have you decided on a way to get him into our hands?” asked the former teacher eagerly. “Have you a plan, Murker?”
“Yes, and a good one, too!” was the answer. “It’s come to me since we’ve been fiddling around here.”