“Good idea.”
Folding the map into a tiny square, they hid it under the tent flap. Then, satisfied that it would be safe, they set about preparing lunch.
By the time Mr. Livingston, War, and Willie drove up, a big pot of stew was giving off a delightful aroma. Ken made tea and tossed a handful of raisins in the boiling rice.
“Any news?” Jack asked the Scout leader, as they all sat down at a picnic table to eat.
“Nothing of consequence. We sent off the telegram. The telegraph company agent promised to telephone us here if there is any answer.”
“What about Stony?” Ken questioned, after a moment. “Police haven’t caught that fellow who attacked him?”
“No. We dropped around at the station. Apparently, Jarrett Walz was right—the investigation won’t be carried on with any vigor.”
“What—about the arrangements—Stony’s burial?”
“Tomorrow at 10 A.M. The town is providing for a simple service.”
“Not Walz, then?”