“I don’t think so,” Jack Phillips answered. “I’ve seen him cook his food in a rock shelter about a hundred yards down-stream. He doesn’t dare have a fire inside the shack, or he’d likely burn it down.”
“All the same it’s our job to keep him in sight until the police get here,” Brad said. “Jack, suppose you and Fred follow and find out where he goes. Report back as soon as you can.”
“Sure!” agreed Jack, liking the assignment. “We won’t let him get away.”
“If he should lead you a chase, mark the trail,” the Den Chief advised. “Fred knows how to do it so the Cubs can follow.”
Fred and Jack hastened off in pursuit of the tramp. However, it seemed they scarcely had disappeared until they returned again, breathless from hurrying.
“Anything wrong?” Brad demanded.
“Not a thing,” Jack reassured him. “It’s just as I thought. The tramp is cooking his meal. He’ll be at it a half hour at least.”
“All the same, we ought to keep him in sight,” Brad decided. “You two hustle back and watch. If he starts this way, give some sort of signal.”
“What’ll it be?” Fred asked. “I know! I’ll whistle like a whippoorwill.”
“Are there any of ’em in the woods at this time of year?”