“Yes.” The other nodded. “You fix it.”
“Now what in the world has he got to tell me?” Bob asked himself, as he moved away. “Probably, something about Lupo the Wolf. At any rate, I can’t see what else it can be. Was grateful because I gentled him a little—after first maltreating him.” He smiled at the irony of this thought. “Well, Mr. Hampton will soon be here, no doubt. Then there will be a chance to question him apart from his fellows.”
And with that, he dismissed the matter from his mind. Jack now rolled over, sat up and came out from under the tent, yawning. Frank continued sunk in heavy slumber.
“By George,” said Bob, looking at his watch, “two hours since you started to take your nap. Run down to the shore, will you, and take a look to see if there is any sign of your father. We left these fellows alone once”—nodding to their prisoners—“but I felt it wasn’t wise to try it too often. Something might happen. So I’ve been sticking close to camp.”
Jack nodded.
“Yes, that time you were fishing. It was foolish for me to run down after you, but I just had to tell you about hearing from Father.”
He set out for the shore.
A few minutes later, Bob heard his comrade give a joyful shout. It was answered by a fainter hail from the water. Faint though it was, however, it was unmistakable. Mr. Hampton was approaching.
Presently there was a babble of voices approaching, and the returning party came into view, Jack in the lead flanked by his father and Farnum, with MacDonald, Dick and Art bringing up the rear. Jack was eagerly explaining what had occurred at camp since his father’s departure.
“Hello, Bob,” said Mr. Hampton, coming up, and gripping the big fellow’s hand hard. “Had some excitement while we were gone?”