"And there ain't many human bein's could make that yell. So there you are."
"Yells or no yells, we're going to explore the caves," declared Frank, with finality. "What say, fellows?"
"I'll tell the world we are!" exclaimed Chet. "You couldn't drive me away now with a squad of marines."
The fisherman shrugged.
"It's your funeral," he said. "I'm thinkin' you'll come away from there a lot faster than you go in."
"Perhaps," agreed Joe, with a grin. "And perhaps we'll find out just who or what is causing all the disturbance. We'll go prepared for anything that may happen to turn up, at any rate."
"You'll need to," said the fisherman gloomily. "Don't say that I didn't warn you. You're welcome to put your machines in the shed, and if you'd like a bite to eat, I guess my wife can fix up a bit of a snack for you."
This hospitality was appreciated by the boys and they saw that the fisherman's bark was worse than his bite, as the saying is, but they politely declined, as they had eaten just a short time before. Chet, who could—and would—eat at any time, was not very emphatic in his refusal; he would willingly have accepted the invitation. But the other lads were anxious to be going on.
"It's very good of you," said Frank, "and I hope you don't think we're rude in going ahead to the caves after your warning. But there are four of us, you see, and we think we can look after ourselves pretty well. So, if you'll just let us leave the motorcycles in the shed while we're around here we won't bother you any further."
"You're welcome to do that. And I suppose if you're bound to go on to the caves, nothin' I can say will stop you."