“Sure; it’s Jacques Harbaugh and his two friends.”
“And the plot thickens,” Bob whispered, as he bent slightly forward to get a clearer view. “But I must signal the others.” And the clear shrill call of the whip-poor-will floated out in the still air.
For ten minutes or a little more the three men stood in front of the cabin talking in tones too low for the boys to catch any of the conversation. Then they went inside and a few minutes later smoke began to pour from the chimney.
“They’re getting breakfast, and I guess we might as well go back and tell Jack and Kernertok who’s here,” Bob suggested.
“I had a good-sized hunch that those fellows were mixed up in the case,” Jack declared, as soon as he learned of the presence of the three men. “What do you make of it?”
“Well, of course, it’s largely guesswork, but my guess is that they have Stebbins in that cabin and are holding him prisoner for some reason or other, hence the groans which you heard,” Bob said.
“And I’ll say you’re some guesser,” Jack replied, casting a questioning glance at Kernertok.
“Him heap good at guess,” the Indian agreed.
“What’s the next move then?” Rex whispered.
“I guess it’s their next move,” Bob said. “You see, they’re all powerful as well as desperate men, and we don’t want to come to a showdown with them if we can help it, until we have bigger odds on our side. I tell you those fellows would put a bullet through one of us as quick as lightning if he thought his safety depended on it.”