“You’ll have to set the trap to-night then, won’t you?” asked Tom Betts.
“We’ve made all arrangements looking to such a thing,” Tom was assured. “I’m glad that it still stays clear and cold. We may only have a couple more nights in Camp Garrity.”
“But it’s getting a little milder, don’t you think?” inquired Bobolink.
“It’s a big improvement on yesterday, and I imagine to-morrow will see a further change,” the scout-master remarked.
“Then if those fellows in the cave mean to strike out for home they’ll like as not find their chance by to-morrow,” observed Jud. “Course they’ve got enough grub to keep them for a week. But it isn’t much fun staying cooped up in a cave, and I reckon they’ve had enough of it. Sim and Jud acted that way, not to mention Bud Phillips.”
“Before we make our start I’d like to take a last turn over that way,” Paul observed, as though 223 he had been thinking the matter over. “I’d just like to see if they did strike out across the timber. Their trail would tell the story, and we’d know what to expect.”
“I speak to go with you then,” flashed back Jud, even as Bluff opened his mouth to give utterance to the same desire.
“T-t-that’s what a fellow gets for being a stutterer,” grumbled Bluff. “I meant to say just those words, but Jud—hang the l-l-luck—was too speedy for me. Huh!”
“Oh! as for that,” laughed Paul, “both of you can go along if you care to.”
As the day dragged along the scouts busied themselves in a dozen different ways according to their liking. Some preferred to swing the axe and chop wood, though doubtless if they had been compelled to do this at home, loud and bitter would have been their lamentations.