“Some one spying on us,” declared Ben in a quivering whisper. The air had been so full of mystery the past few days that Ben traced its continuance in any unusual happening.
“More like a sleepy tramp,” observed Tom.
“Find out, will you?”
“I intend to.”
Tom picked up a heavy stick, advanced quietly to the bushes, and brought it down with a force of a policeman’s club directly across the flat soles presented.
“Thunder!”
The owner of the shoes leaped to his feet with a vivid exclamation.
“Oh, it’s you, Bill?” spoke Tom instantly. “What in the world have you got here?”
Peering past Bill Barber, Tom observed a double-barreled shotgun where he had been lying down. Ben looked dreadfully suspicious. Bill flushed and stammered.
“Oh, just hunting,” he spoke evasively.