“That’s how it struck me,” Jack nodded. “I’m glad we hid it under the tent flap. Let’s hope it’s still there.”
“It has to be,” Ken returned. “I’ve been in camp every minute since you hid it.”
Nevertheless, to reassure themselves, the Scouts peered beneath the flap. When folded back, it served as an open doorway. When lowered, it provided a curtain across the front opening.
“Still here,” Jack said in relief.
“Maybe that guy wasn’t after it at all,” Ken said doubtfully. “Who would know we have the map?”
“Jarrett Walz, for one,” piped up Willie.
“Can’t picture him coming to our camp at night,” Ken said. “Did it look like Walz, Jack?”
“Not especially. I didn’t get a glimpse of anything but his back. He lit out like a house afire.”
“Well, boys, he’s gone,” Mr. Livingston said, yawning. “We may have a rough day tomorrow. So I suggest we try to get a little more sleep before dawn.”
Once more the Scouts settled down. Throughout the remainder of the night, the only disturbing sound was the rumble of traffic past the motel office.