Jule leaned against the bole of the tree and laughed until the woods rang again, while Frank stood looking on with wonder in his eyes.
“I thought he was the Old Scratch!” the boy commented, in a moment. “Where did he get that fire paint?”
“Rubbed it off from matches,” answered Case. “It makes a great show in the dark. No wonder Ugly took to his heels!”
“Who is your horned friend?” asked Jule, nodding his head in the direction the Indian had taken. “He is some runner!”
Then Jule glanced about at the fire, at the unfamiliar automatic gun in Case’s hands, and at a collection of simple cooking implements which lay to one side, and asked:
“Where did all this come from, and what are you boys doing here? Where’s the cargo?” then, breaking in upon each other, as if that would hasten the relation of the strange story they had to tell, each one giving an entirely different version of the incident, the boys informed Jule of what had taken place. Case described the Englishmen as bushmen, similar to the natives who prowl the forests of Australia, while Frank insisted that they were educated men gone back to primitive life because of degenerate dispositions or because of fear of punishment for crimes committed.
“It looks to me, then,” Jule commented, looking suspiciously about, “that I came up in good time, and that my desire to give you a good scare brought you out of a bad situation. Oh, my!” he added, throwing back his head, “how that Indian did take to the woods! I don’t believe he will stop this side of the Arctic circle. He certainly can go some!”
“He probably has gone to warn the others,” Case suggested.
“That is exactly where he has gone!” cried Jule, “and we’d better be getting back. If we keep right along behind him, we’ll have the brutes between two fires.”
“How did you manage to get away from Clay?” asked Case. “He didn’t want you to leave the boat.”