“Lucky guys,” grinned Chips. “Especially if the mosquitoes are in biting trim!”
For the next two days, the Cubs took turns watching the exit of the old logging road. Though they remained faithful to their assignment, the novelty began to wear off and the task became increasingly tedious.
True, the Cubs developed a certain technique for making time pass more quickly. Working always in pairs, they brought books, magazines, and an occasional card game with them to the hide-out in the brush.
Even so, a two-hour vigil seemed endless. Mosquitoes were a constant torment, and nothing ever seemed to happen.
After his initial appearance, Saul Dobbs did not return again to the exit of the logging road. Nor did they glimpse the mysterious station wagon which had so intrigued their interest.
“Maybe it was an accident it came down this road the other night,” Brad said late one afternoon as he and Dan were taking their trick together. “It’s a cinch it’s not coming back. We’ve wasted our time.”
“I’m beginning to think so too,” Dan replied in a discouraged voice. “Gosh, this place is like a steam bath!”
“The worst it’s been since we took over,” Brad agreed.
The afternoon had turned unusually hot and sultry. Not a leaf stirred in the trees overhead. Wiping the perspiration from his face, Dan got up to stretch his half-paralyzed legs.
Through the gap in the trees overhead, he could see only a tiny patch of sky which seemed to be darkening.