“Yes, I suppose that would be only a wise provision,” returned Mr. Holwell, “for one never knows what a crazy person may do. They are also possessed of enormous strength as a usual thing. Get any sort of club you can find, boys.”
There was an immediate hustling around on the part of the half-dressed campers. Some managed to find suitable cudgels. Others picked up anything they could see that promised to prove useful in an emergency. Peg appropriated the camp hatchet, Ban Jansen the axe, while Andy Hale, in lieu of anything better, armed himself with the stout iron rod which they used across the fire when hanging a pot over the blaze.
Mr. Rowland had lighted the lantern. Others found blazing brands from the fire, which they made into serviceable torches by whirling them swiftly around their heads.
“Now come along,” said the camp director, smiling as he glanced around and noted the unique character of the procession ready to trail after him.
“I’d give a dollar, sure I would, to have a snap-shot of this bunch right now,” declared Clint Babbett, who was becoming quite an expert photographer, and aspired to win a prize by taking flashlight pictures at night time of little wild animals in their native haunts.
Indeed, they certainly did look comical as they passed from the camp and headed toward the spot where Dan had set his great trap. He bravely acted as pilot of the expedition, since none but he knew just where they were going.
Presently, from his cautious actions, the rest understood that they were very close to their destination.
“Can you glimpse the trap yet, Dan?” asked Peg, eagerly, lowering his voice as if afraid lest he start the prisoner into making new and desperate efforts to escape from the toils.
“And is he inside?” inquired Fred Bonnicastle, with a gasp that told of his interest.
“I can just begin to see the thing,” announced Dan, slowly, and Dick thought he could detect the first shade of growing disappointment in the other’s voice.