The thing must be faced like a good sport, however. If he hurried back to camp, he might still arrive in time to watch some of the other victims come in, and thus have the laugh on them——He suddenly realized that he was not sure which was the way back to camp. He had depended on the guidance of McNulty, and did not have the least idea where he was, or how far away the tents might be. Well, he would have to explore a bit, pioneer the way home for himself.
Carrying his flash-lamp hooked on his belt, he beat his way through the scrub carefully, on the lookout for snakes and other dangerous dwellers in the forest. He blundered across a narrow ravine, pushed his way through a clump of laurels, and climbed a stone fence. The light showed on the rutted tracks of a lane that wandered through the trees—a lane that seemed somehow familiar. Sure enough! It was the road that led to the gloomy house of Rattlesnake Joe, the hermit; it was the trail he and the others had followed only two nights before!
He knew his way now. The stars were out, and a half-moon was tilted among the tree-tops. He snapped off his lamp, so that it would not draw too many mosquitoes, and found he could follow the lane well enough by moonlight. Taking the direction that led away from the hermit’s dwelling and toward the campus, he trudged along by himself, almost laughing to think how easily the snipe-trick had worked. It was a good joke; and next year, if he came to camp, he could have the fun of taking some scary tenderfoot out into the woods and planting him there for the evening, to coo and wait for snipe that would not come.
Only about five minutes passed before he was aware that someone was coming toward him up the road; he could hear the low mumble of voices only a few hundred yards in front. Could one of them be McNulty, alarmed because Blackie had not yet turned up in camp, and coming to seek him and break the news? If so, he was due for a little scare; the jester would himself be the butt of a jest. Blackie planted himself behind a thick oak trunk, ready to jump out with a shout and throw the bag over the leader’s head and give him the fright of his life.
The voices came nearer; one of them harsh and bullying, the other sounding strangely weak and pleading. Blackie pondered. Neither of them could be McNulty. They must be strangers, even men who, finding him alone, might do him harm. He resolved to keep quiet and let them pass without noticing him. Inwardly congratulating himself for turning off his light, he concealed himself as best he could behind the friendly oak. The voices grew louder; they were rough, uncouth, and profane.
Two slouching figures emerged from the dark, and stopped right beside the tree Blackie had chosen. He could have reached out his arm and touched them both. There was a scratching sound as a match was drawn across a rock; a red flicker burst forth and revealed two faces bent to light cigarettes. The face of the taller man was seamed and dirty, and the unshaven jowls were covered with gray stubble. A green patch hung over one eye, giving him a peculiar and sinister look. The other man was younger, with a slack mouth and watery eyes, and a vacant face that showed he had little or no will of his own. Both were garbed in loose, patched garments streaked with mud and torn in places.
“Tramps!” thought Blackie. “Gee, they sure look hard-boiled! If they ever find me here——” He crouched behind his shelter, fearing that they had seen him already.
“Aw, what ya want to be yeller for?” the older man was growling. “I tell ya it’s a sure thing! He lives all alone up there—I heard all about him down in Elmville. The hermit, they call him around here, and everybody knows he’s got a silver mine somewheres in the mountains that he won’t tell about! Every once in a while he sneaks off and digs up some silver and buries it under the stones of his fireplace!”
“Are ya sure, Reno?” asked the other, in snivelling tones.
“’Course I’m sure! I seen him myself the other night, diggin’ up the stones at the fireplace and takin’ somethin’ out that looked like a bar of silver. There ya stand moanin’ like a sick chicken, and all we have to do to get rich is just walk in and tie him up and take the silver!”