"I wonder whether they have Mr. Dodge in there with them?" breathed
Dick, in his ear.
"If Mr. Dodge is in there he's keeping amazingly quiet," Darrin responded doubtingly.
"Within a very few minutes," Prescott rejoined, "I'm going to know whether Mr. Dodge is in that shanty."
"We found his footprint close enough near here," argued Dave.
"Yes, and I feel sure enough that Mr. Dodge is there. But why don't we hear something from him? The whole business is so uncanny that it gives one that creepy feeling."
For a full quarter of an hour the two chums remained hidden, barely stirring. From the shanty, at first, came crooning tones, as though the man in brogans were humming over old songs to himself. Occasionally there was a snore; evidently Bill was drowsing the day away.
"Now, I'm going down there," whispered Dick.
"Look out the big fellow doesn't catch you," warned Darrin. "I've an idea he'd beat you to a pulp if he caught you."
"I'm not as big as he is," admitted Dick, grinning, "but I think
I might prove as fast as he on my feet."
As Prescott started to steal down into the hollow Dave reached about him, gathering all the fair-sized stones within reach.