CHAPTER V
IN SEARCH OF GAME
“What under the sun did he mean by that, Frank?” asked Bob, after the boat had swept around a bend on the swift river, and vanished from their view.
“I declare I can’t tell you,” chuckled his chum, looking at the envelope, which he was turning over in his hand.
“He was writing something, and then I saw him put it in that envelope, or packet, smiling all the time as if delighted; which I thought was rather queer for a man who was suffering from such a bad leg,” Bob went on.
“Well, we must let it go at guessing; because you heard me promise not to tear this envelope open for seven days,” Frank remarked.
“That was the queer part of it,” the other pursued, for anything touching on a mystery always excited Bob. “Now if, for instance, he had been making out a check, thinking to reward us for saving his life, he wouldn’t have gone about it that way, and make you give such a promise. Besides I saw that he just tore a blank page out of a note book, and scribbled on that.”
Frank calmly put the strange little packet safely away in an inside pocket of his jacket.
“Seven days from now we’ll take a peep, Bob,” he observed, drily; “just try and curb your curiosity till then; won’t you? And now, we’d better forget all about Mr. Jared Scott, and his balloon. It served to break up the monotony of our trip, and cost us little besides our time.”
“All right,” assented Bob; “but something tells me, Frank, that this isn’t the last we’ll hear from this Mr. Scott. The way he looked at you told me he sure had something on his mind. Shall we throw our saddles on right now, and get busy?”
Frank, instead of replying, began to gather things together. The tent came down in a “jiffy,” as Bob called it; the cooking things were soon placed in the blankets; and presently not a thing had been neglected.