"I think I know why this party hung about the camp so long last night," Paul remarked, when he looked up; and the others hardly knew whether the expression on his face stood for amusement or chagrin.
"If it was daytime when he came, I'd think he wanted to get a great picture of the outfit; but in the night, nixy," remarked Bobolink, who always had an opinion, one way or the other.
Wallace himself looked puzzled.
"Don't keep us strung up any longer, Paul," he pleaded. "What's your idea?"
"Put out your hand, then, just back of that bush, and see what you find," and Paul pointed while speaking to a particular little scrubby plant that had evidently been partly broken down by the passage of some heavy object over it.
"A string!" exclaimed Wallace, as he held it up.
"Somebody been flying a kite!" ejaculated the ever resourceful Bobolink.
"Suppose you pull it in," continued Paul.
When Wallace had drawn about eight yards of the stout cord he gave a grunt.
"Well, what did you strike?" asked Paul, smiling with confidence.