Scott was burning up with curiosity. “Well, why don’t you tell a fellow what it is instead of mooning around like a hero in a dime novel? Who is the man? Where is he? What has he done?”
“We don’t know who he is,” Greenleaf answered, with exasperating deliberation, “and you mustn’t talk so loud about it. There is no telling who may be in with them. It would not do to have them warned now.”
Scott gritted his teeth. “If you don’t want your neck broken you’d better explain this thing. What’s it all about, anyway?”
Greenleaf looked around suspiciously and drew Scott out into the open tennis court. “Sturgis has a hunch,” he whispered, “that those men who are working on the north road are trying to snare deer in the park. He wants us to help him catch them. It’s against the law, you know, and he’s a game warden.”
“Whereabouts are they?” Scott asked eagerly.
“He thinks the snares are over in Hubbard ravine. We’ll go over there tonight and try to catch them in the early morning when they come to look at the snares.”
“Gee,” Scott chuckled, “that will be something worth while. Are we going to start now?”
“Sturgis said he would wait for us at the corner of the pasture. We’d better take our coats with us; it’ll be cold waiting.”
A few minutes later the three had met and were hurrying out the old road toward the ravine. The boys were eager with suppressed excitement. They felt the primitive thrill of the manhunter.
“How did you hear about it?” Scott asked.