“All but the man Art shot,” said Jack. “The fellow who shot at you. And you haven’t heard who he was.”
Jack’s eyes were bright. Frank looked at him questioningly.
“Not——”
“Yes,” said Jack. “It was Lupo himself. Art wounded him in the chest. He died before we could do anything for him. But Dad got some information from him first.”
He looked at his father. Mr. Hampton’s face was both grim and sad.
“Yes, Frank,” he said. “We learned who set these men on us, and who plotted against Thorwaldsson. But let us not discuss it now. It’s bad business all the way through.”
Mr. Hampton turned aside, taking Farnum with him, and the two fell into a low-toned discussion. Bob and Jack, meanwhile, helped Frank to resume his clothing which still lay where he had discarded it before taking to the river. Art busied himself at packing up the camp equipment.
Presently, the two older men called Art to them and, after a few words of discussion, rejoined the boys.
“Boys,” said Mr. Hampton, “we want your opinions on this, too.”
“On what, Dad?”