“Simple,” said Tubby, with a grand air and a sweep of his hands, “simple. They were up in a tree, just as I suspected.”
Before long Merritt had to tell the real story. But when they looked about for Tubby to congratulate him that modest youth had slipped away. He was found later, devouring a raisin pie of Jumbo’s baking.
“You deserve pie and anything else you fancy,” said the major warmly.
“There’s only one thing I’d fancy right now,” rejoined Tubby.
“What is that?”
“I’d like to have hold of Freeman Hunt for about ten minutes.”
An examination of the canoes showed that, as Tubby had guessed, their mooring ropes had chafed through during the wind storm of the night before. This set them wondering how Hunt and his companions could have escaped from the cove. The next day on resuming their journey they examined the place—the entrance to which was not found without difficulty—but of Hunt and his gang no trace was found but the embers of the camp fire. Rob and Jumbo viewed with interest the rope ladder which lay in a heap at the foot of the cliff, just as it had fallen on the night that they made their escape. Further investigation showed that, by walking along the lake shore, the rascals who had harried the Boy Scouts must have managed to find a place to climb up to the forests above.
“I’m sorry they got away,” said Merritt.
“So are we all, I expect,” said the professor. “I don’t suppose we shall ever see them again now.”
“I hardly think so,” agreed the major.