It looked a little like Joblots, but he supposed that the dapper little fellow was by this time hundreds of miles away. At any rate, he was determined to find out, and, quickening his pace, he rapidly and noiselessly approached the fellow, whose back was toward him.
A moment later he saw that it was Joblots. There was no mistaking the shape of the little fellow’s back and head, and certainly there could be no duplicate hereabouts of that giddy, gaudy, shiny, new khaki shooting rig.
Percy evidently had some very definite object in view. He did not loiter as one enjoying the beauties of the forest, but pressed steadily forward toward the line of clearing, darting keen glances to right and left in a manner which was not at all like the absurd little creature they had come upon the day before. Moreover, his gun was nowhere to be seen.
As he approached, swiftly and noiselessly, a conviction that this time he was watching the real man, came upon Dick with overwhelming force. The next moment, as he reached Joblots’ side and caught his arm, he was sure. The expression on the fellow’s face, startled and annoyed, but not in the least idiotic, was proof positive.
The next instant a mask fell over the small man’s countenance.
“Grathiouth thaketh!” he gasped. “How you thurprithed——”
“Cut that!” Dick broke in sharply. “That went last night, but there’s no use in trying to fool me now. Who are you? and what are you after here?”
A bewildered look came into the pale-blue eyes.
“I weally don’t know what——”
“Cut it, I say!” Merriwell repeated, his eyes flashing. “Spit out the truth or I’ll knock it out of you! Quick, now! Who are you?”