“Nothin’,” says I, “but it does look to me like we was landed plumb in the middle of somethin’ mighty mysterious.”
He sat quiet for a while, thinking and pinching his fat cheek and jerking at his ear, but he couldn’t make anything of it.
“It l-looks to me like the man that’s watchin’ Tod m-might be workin’ for Wiggamore. Maybe they’ve had b-brains enough to think Tod might lead ’em to George Piggins. But whoever in the world would be watchin’ the spy is beyond me a mile. There hain’t no sense to it.”
“There’s somethin’ to it,” says I. “Nobody’s layin’ off there behind a bush, bein’ et up by mosquitoes and havin’ ants crawl down his spine, jest for fun. No, sirree; you can bet he’s got a reason.”
“Sure he’s got a reason,” says Mark, “and we got to f-find out what his reason is; but I don’t see at this minute jest how we are goin’ about it.”
“The only thing,” says I, “is to stick around here and keep our eyes on Tod, and then to follow him wherever he goes. And see if these other fellers follow him, too.”
“That’s right,” says Mark. “We’ll l-lay low and do just that. With all them spies traipsin’ around the woods, it’s goin’ to be mighty hard to follow Tod without gettin’ seen by some of ’em, but we kin do it.”
“You bet we kin,” says I. “Sich frontiersmen as you and me could come mighty clost to crawlin’ into one of them feller’s pockets without their knowin’ it. Anyhow, I could. If you was to git into a man’s pocket, the chances is he’d sense a leetle extry weight about him somewheres.”
“Huh!” says Mark. And then in a couple of minutes, “Let’s eat some l-lunch.”