“They left the camp right after dinner an’ they ain’t back yet. When you called I thought it was one of ’em, although they didn’t expect to be back much before supper-time. But now it’s rainin’ I guess they’ll come back sooner.”
“How long have they been here?”
“Most a week now, I guess. I didn’t come till day before yesterday. I didn’t have nothin’ to do an’ they give me a job, cookin’ an’ like that,” returned the man.
He invited Dave to make himself at home, and our hero was glad enough to go inside and take off the wet raincoat and also his shoes and socks. The baggage belonging to Phil and the others was in the cabin, and he helped himself to dry garments and a dry pair of slippers.
“We are all school chums,” he told the man. “My name is Dave Porter.”
“Oh, I heard ’em talkin’ about you!” cried the camp-worker, and then said his own name was Jerry Blutt, and that he was from Tegley, just across the Canadian border.
“We are not far from the border here, are we?” asked our hero. 228
“About six miles, thet’s all,” answered Jerry Blutt, and this reply gave Dave another idea. More than likely Buster and the others had chosen this spot so that, if pursued by the officers of the law, they could flee into Canada.
Jerry Blutt said the three lads had spent their time in various ways, occasionally going fishing and swimming. They had also written some letters and gone to the railroad station to mail them in the box placed there for that purpose.
“Have they been having a good time?” asked Dave, curiously.