“They never came down here, in their condition,” she said decisively. “It must have been somebody else—probably the man who is back of them—or others of that gang.”
“Old Lewis?”
“I don’t know. Of course, he himself couldn’t have done this—”
“Yes, he’s a bit too old to come traipsing down to this valley all alone in the dark.”
“Too bad we’ve showed our light on the hill and around here just now,” she said slowly.
“You think they may still be in the offing?”
“I hope not. Chances are they don’t know about the plane.”
“You’d better go back to the house,” he advised. “I can lash two of these tins together and sling them over my shoulder. If there’s going to be a shindy, you’ll be better off up the hill with Terry.”
“Thanks a lot,” said Dorothy. “If there’s going to be trouble, we’ll go it together. Anyway, you’d never be able to find the trail to the woodlot in the dark. It’s great of you to suggest carrying on without me, but it just can’t be done.”
“You sure are a good sport, Dorothy.” Bill picked up his tins. “Where do we go from here?”