“I’ll give you a sandwich,” was the retort, and the fleshy youth began delving around in the rear of the car—that portion given over to the stowage of cots and other necessaries used when they camped out for the night.
“Hum! This is funny!” exclaimed Bob a moment later.
“What is?” Ned queried.
“Why, I put a package of sandwiches—some chicken ones mother made—and some of her dandy cookies back here just before we started, but I can’t find it now. You fellows haven’t been grubbing in here, have you?” he asked.
“Nary a grub,” declared Jerry. “Guess you ate ’em yourself, Bob, and forgot about it.”
“I did not! But I’ll take another look and—double-jointed mud turtles!” he cried a second later, while he tumbled backward into the rear seat he had left to delve in the after-part of the car.
“What’s the matter?” demanded Ned and Jerry, together.
“Something—or somebody’s—back there!” Bob sputtered.
“Somebody?” repeated Jerry.