“Yes, but hold on!” Jack interposed. “Did you hold a stop watch on him while he stood outside the cave, Ned?”
“He held a stop watch on himself,” the boy answered. “You can see where he walked about, taking many steps and stirring up the wash from the rocks at the mouth of the cave. Now do you understand?”
“Now, then,” Jimmie questioned, “perhaps you can tell us where this boy is, and why he didn’t make himself known to us if he was as hungry as you say he was. Go on, now, and tell!”
“And while you’re about it,” Jack suggested, “you might as well tell us whether the boy who stole our grub is white or black or mixed.”
“There are limits to the ability of even a Sherlock Holmes,” laughed Ned, “but,” he continued, more seriously, “there is little doubt that the person who stole our provisions is just about as I have described him.”
The boys now gathered about the fire again, and Ned and Harry proceeded to broil steaks for their breakfast. After a time Jimmie and Frank wandered down into the pines in the hope of securing the material for a squirrel stew for a dinner.
It was still and dim in the thicket except for the ceaseless murmur of the trees. The sun’s rays could not penetrate the heavy foliage. Here and there great rocks, evidently shunted down from the summits in some convulsion of nature, lay scattered about.
“Talk about your weird places,” Jimmie exclaimed, “this beats any graveyard I ever saw!”
“That’s no dream!” Frank answered. “I’ve been hearing ghostly voices for the last ten minutes. Listen, and you will hear them, too!”
Before the words were well out of the boy’s mouth, Jimmie caught him by the arm and drew him to the shelter of a great tree.