Another five minutes elapsed. Brad was shifting into a more comfortable position, when Dan gripped his arm.
“Look, Brad!” he whispered.
The door of the shack had opened. For a moment the tramp stood there in his wrinkled clothes, gazing directly toward the woods.
“Lie still, fellows!” Brad ordered. “I don’t think he sees us.”
“What’s he going to do next?” Dan speculated uneasily.
The tramp stretched himself, and wandering down to the stream, washed his face. After taking a drink, he re-entered the shack.
“I sure hope he stays there,” Chips whispered.
The wish was a futile one. A minute or two later, the tramp reappeared, carrying a few cooking utensils.
Turning his back to the Cubs, he followed the curve of the creek and vanished from sight.
“Is he leaving for good?” whispered Dan.