“Bless your simple heart, my boy, that’s done on purpose,” said Obed. “Can’t they fetch round together without our knowing it?”
“I didn’t think of that,” Jack admitted.
“Mr. Stackpole,” said Harry, after a moment’s thought, “if you and Jack will keep each other company, I will explore a little myself. I may happen to be at the conference.”
“Be careful if you do, Harry,” said Obed. “Don’t run no risk.”
“I’ll look out for that.”
In the rear of the house, and almost reaching to it, was a forest of eucalyptus trees. It was unfavourable to Harry’s purpose that these trees rise straight from the ground, and are not encumbered with underbrush. It was very pleasant walking though, and Harry sauntered along at his leisure. He almost forgot the object of his enterprise, until some half-an-hour later, in the stillness of the woods, his quick ear caught the sound of voices.
He was instantly on the alert. The voices, he doubted not, were those of Dick Fletcher and Larry Linton. He moved forward cautiously, and soon espied the speakers. They were sitting on the ground, under the over-reaching boughs of a gigantic tree. Harry managed to get near enough to listen to the conversation, being himself concealed from view behind the trunk of a neighbouring tree.
“Is there much money in the party?” he heard Linton ask.
“I can’t tell you. The boys haven’t got much, but that long-legged Yankee has probably got considerable.”
“What sort of a man is he?”