“Maybe they’ll pass without seein’ us,” Tallow guessed.
But the wagon stopped. It stopped right alongside of where we were, and somebody spoke.
“Fine time of the day to get a man out,” he says. “Might have had four hours’ sleep yet.”
“Never mind,” says another voice, sort of laughing; “you’ll be all right as soon as they start biting.... That boat Larsen told us about ought to be right near here.”
“Let it stay,” grumbled the other man. “I ain’t going to stir out of this wagon till it’s light enough for me to see to get around without busting my neck. A man of my size ain’t a cat, to run along on the top of a fence.”
“Here, have a smoke. That’ll cheer you up. It’ll be plenty light in fifteen minutes, Jiggins.”
Mark nudged me. I thought the voices were familiar, but as soon as that name Jiggins was mentioned I knew it was Mr. Collins and the fat man.
“Lay low,” says Mark, “and listen. That’s the pirate chief.”
We listened.
“We want to get back to Larsen’s by nine o’clock,” said Jiggins. “Our friend with the name ought to be home by this time, and I don’t want to hang around this forsaken hole in the woods all summer.”