“No,” says I, “but what about their findin’ Uncle Hieronymous? They may git to him any minnit. We don’t know but he’s only a mile down.”
“He’s more’n that,” says Mark.
“How d’you know?” says I.
“Because,” says he, “they couldn’t ever get a big scow with a derrick on it up h-h-here.” He almost strangled getting out that last word, he stuttered so hard.
He stopped a minnit to get his breath, then he says, “We’ll just keep stringin’ along b-behind them. Maybe we’ll f-find a good chance to s-sneak by after a while. There hain’t n-nothin’ else we can do,” says he, with a sort of dissatisfied grin like a fellow grins when he has to take the best he can get.
“Well,” says I, “we better git some breakfast, then.”
“You bet,” says Mark; and his voice sounded real enthusiastic.
CHAPTER X
“I dun’no’,” says Mark Tidd, while we were building a fire and getting breakfast, “whether it’s m-more dangerous to be ahead or b-b-behind the enemy.”
“Why?” I asked, for it looked to me like we were a lot less likely to be caught when we were behind.