An hour passed. The boys spent the time in talking over the situation and forming tentative plans for the immediate future.
“S-S—h, someone’s coming,” Jack suddenly whispered, as his quick ears caught the sound of a low whistle.
“I see him,” Bob said a moment later, peering through the branches. “I think it’s that fellow that had the jug the other day.”
The man, swinging swiftly along on his snowshoes, passed directly beneath the tree in which they were concealed.
“He’s going up to see if we’re cutting on the tract,” Jack declared as soon as he was out of sight.
“Probably,” Bob agreed. “If he is he’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Jack’s prediction was correct, for in less than a half hour they sighted the man returning and it was evident, from the speed he was making, that he was in a great hurry to get back to the camp.
“Had we better go back and tell Tom?” Jack whispered.
“I think we’d better wait till we’re sure they are coming,” Bob replied after a moment’s thought. “We don’t want to give a false alarm and it may be that Ben has an entirely different plan.”
So they waited another hour and had about concluded that the enemy did not intend to make the attack, when the distant sound of voices reached their ears.