“Don’t let him get your goat, Red,” urged Tommy, as he seized Rogers’ arm and hurried him out of ear-shot of Wilbur’s irritating chuckle.
For half an hour the boys searched every foot of ground in the vicinity of the house without finding anything new.
“I guess this is about enough,” declared Ned. “There’s nothing to be learned here. Now let’s start at this end of the old road and trace it back as far as it goes. Four of us can walk ahead and Dave can follow with the car.”
For perhaps two miles the boys threaded the grass-grown track, which was so overgrown in places that the small trees and bushes swept both sides of the car, as it crept along behind the party on foot. There was ample evidence of the recent passage of some vehicle in the broken twigs and stripped leaves along the way, and whenever the grassy surface gave place to sand, the marks of rubber tires were plainly visible.
“Here’s where Ned and Fatty and I struck into this road the other day,” exclaimed Dick, pointing to a clump of crooked birches which he recognized as marking the spot.
“You’re right,” agreed Ned. “From now on, we’ll be traveling over new ground and we must keep our eyes open. Let’s go slow and cut out the talking.”
Half a mile farther, Ned, who was in the lead, halted suddenly and dropped to his knees.
“What is it?” whispered Dick, who was close behind.
“Some kind of a clearing,” was the cautious reply. “There’s a pile of slabs and I can see a shanty. Lie low, fellows, while I sneak up for a closer look,” and creeping silently away to one side, Ned disappeared amid the thick undergrowth.
For ten minutes the boys lay motionless; then a low whistle brought them peering over the pile of slabs to see Ned standing before the shack.