As Dick neared the camp he stepped more softly. He wanted to see whether Mosher really had come back.
But no figure was discernible in the clearing beyond the camp. Dick walked in more confidently. His first care was to examine the food supply.
"Nothing gone," Dick murmured. Then he looked about for a stick large enough to serve as a weapon at need. While doing so his glance fell upon an axe.
"I wouldn't use that," Prescott told himself. "But there is no knowing what Mosher would do if he got cornered by more than one of us. Hereafter we mustn't leave this thing outside."
Dick carried the axe into the tent, hiding it without awaking any of the other sleepers. Then he went outside, searching until he found a club that he thought would answer for defense.
Taking this with him he went over to the wash basin, where, wetting a towel, he bathed his battered face.
"Almost one o'clock," he remarked, after striking a match for a look at his watch. "I won't call Dave at all, but will stay up and call Harry at half-past one."
CHAPTER XII
"TAG" IS THE GAME—-TAG MOSHER!
"Now, come in with the sprint!" Dick sang out to Hazelton.