“Tonight then?”
“Yes, tonight.”
The boys scrambled back quickly, for Frischette was beginning his journey homeward. A moment later, from the deep shadow of a heavy thicket, they watched him pass. He was shaking his head and talking to himself in a complaining undertone. Not long afterward he had disappeared in the tangle of greenery, and over the woodland there settled a deep and impressive silence. Dick looked at Sandy and Toma and smiled.
“The farther we go into this thing, the stranger and more perplexing it becomes. I wonder who that man is? In what way is he associated with Frischette? Why is he guarding the box? Now what do you suppose they were arguing about?”
“I can’t imagine,” answered Sandy. “What do you think, Toma?”
The Indian youth rose and broke off a twig from a branch above his head.
“I think him bad fellow just like Frischette.”
“Yes,” agreed Sandy, “probably his accomplice.”
“It doesn’t look as if we would open that box now,” grimaced Dick.
“Not unless we overpower the old man.”