“Why not tell Tom and try to catch him?” Jack asked.
“Because that might make some of the men mad and then they’d up and quit. You know how fickle they are. They want the stuff and we’ve got to keep them from getting it without letting them know that we’re doing it.”
By this time they were ready to start and swinging the rifle beneath his arm Bob led the way toward Big Ben’s camp. It was twenty below by the thermometer on the office porch, but there was no wind, and without wind the clear dry air of Northern Maine is not penetrating.
“I have an idea that he’ll start about daybreak so we want to find a good hiding place before it begins to get light,” Bob said as they swung along between the towering spruces.
The snow had settled enough to make good snow-shoeing and they made good time although it was still dark when Jack who was in the lead stopped.
“I guess we’re there,” he whispered, “I can see a light just a little ahead.”
“It’s in the cook house, I guess,” Bob said, moving a little to one side to get a better view. “Yes, that’s it,” he added in a low voice, “now to find a good hiding place. Let’s go over this way a bit.”
“Here’s just the place,” Jack declared a few minutes later, as he spied a thick clump of bushes in between two large pines.
It was indeed an ideal place for their purpose and just as the first hint of the coming day was showing in the east, they crouched down in their hiding place.
“Hope we don’t have to wait long,” Jack whispered, “because it’s not exactly warm here.”