“Willie and War should be able to get help to us by tomorrow,” Mr. Livingston said. “If the Forest Service plane drops food, we’ll be all right. But if the plan goes amiss for any reason, we may have a rough time of it.”
The night was closing in chilly, with a threat of rain, so the Scouts decided to sleep inside the cabin.
A fire brought a little cheer to the dreary room. Mr. Livingston and Craig Warner told a few stories of past experiences in the wilds. However, talk soon died for, although no one said so openly, the atmosphere was oppressive.
Twice Jack left the fire to gaze out the open window. He couldn’t see anyone in the dark, yet he couldn’t rid himself of the feeling that someone was prowling near the cabin.
“Think we ought to post a guard?” he suggested.
“Not a bad idea,” Warner agreed. “I’m a light sleeper, though, so maybe we can take a chance.”
Before turning in, he and Mr. Livingston made a tour of the cabin area. Everything was quiet. A light rain, however, had started to fall.
“This may prevent the plane from dropping our food tomorrow,” Mr. Livingston remarked, scanning the sky.
The Scouts made up their beds and turned in. Jack was too weary to sleep. After a while, above the sound of the rain, he thought he heard footsteps outside the cabin. Quickly, he got up.
Before he could investigate, the door was flung open. Jarrett Walz, his clothing torn and wet, staggered in.