“False hopes, I am afraid,” answered Tom.
“Woo, how deep is that lake?”
Woo consulted the skies.
“No savvy. Mebby fish can tell.”
No more was said. It was a sober Overland party that slowly retraced its steps to the camp, but, as they stepped in among the trees and came in sight of the little camp, the Overlanders halted abruptly and gazed astounded.
On a blanket that he had spread out sat Stacy Brown, his clothing wrinkled and dirty. Before him stood two cans of beans, open, and a plate of trout, while both cheeks protruded unnaturally as Stacy gazed soulfully at his companions.
CHAPTER XXIII
THE LAIR OF THE BAD MEN
“Hulloa, folks!” greeted Stacy thickly.
“Stacy!” cried Nora, running to him and throwing impulsive arms about the neck of her nephew.
Lieutenant Wingate drew Nora away and stood gazing down sternly at the munching Chunky. No one said a word, except Woo Smith, who hummed his “Hi-lee, hi-lo!”