Three men were seated about a small fire, over which one was holding a tin pail suspended from a green branch. They were unshaven, frowsy-headed, untidy fellows, and they sprawled on the ground in careless attitudes.
"Tramps," whispered Chet, but Frank pressed a restraining hand on his arm.
There was one thought in the minds of the four boys—that this trio might be the automobile thieves!
"Not far from Bayport, are we?" growled one of the men.
"Not many miles farther on," replied the man holding the branch.
"It's the first time I've ever been in these parts."
"It ain't so bad," volunteered the third man, lighting his pipe. "Easy pickin's around the farmhouses. It didn't take me ten minutes to rustle that grub to-night."
"You did well, Bill," said the man at the fire, glancing at a package of food near by.
"I wonder where that guy is that we met on our way in here? He gave us a funny look."
"He minded his own business, anyway."