“What’s got into your dog, Peck?” one of the men asked.
“He’s found something in the bushes.”
“The consarned brute is always finding something in the bushes, when we want to keep under cover!” snarled the other man.
“Look here, Hart,” Peck said sternly, “you let the dog alone. He’s done us many a good turn in his time, and he’s likely to do more. I wasn’t thinking about the dog at all,” Peck went on. “Just take a couple of sniffs at the air and see if you can locate that wood fire.”
“There surely is a fire hereabouts!” Hart answered in a conciliating tone. “Perhaps there are tramps here and the dog has come and caught them. If so, we’ll send them about their business.”
The two men arose, passed around the cove and soon came to the thicket where Case and Jule were struggling to their feet rubbing their eyes sleepily as they did so.
“Hello here!” Hart exclaimed. “This seems to be quite a find.”
The two boys, now thoroughly awake, reached for their automatics as they gained their feet. The men’s faces glared down upon them sinister and suspicious.
They glanced eagerly about hoping to see the Rambler riding in the cove but, as the reader understands, the motor boat was not there. Clay had not returned and the fire built for the purpose of cooking the fish had burned down to embers.
“None of that, boys!” Peck threatened as Case and Jule reached their hands back to their hip pockets. “You don’t have to draw any guns on us.”