“Did you kill him?” Charlie’s voice came in a tense whisper.
Bill snorted. “Nothing like that, kid. I tapped him on the bean with my automatic. He’s out for half an hour or so—but that’s long enough for us. You stop here and go through his pockets. Take any letters or papers he may have about him. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
“But Bill—I don’t like being left with a dead man! Can’t—”
“Cut it, Charlie! If you don’t obey orders, you can hike back to the house. What’s the matter with you? This is no time for fussing. I told you the man’s only stunned.”
“Oh, all right,” grumbled the boy. “I wasn’t afraid of him—honest I wasn’t, Bill.”
“Good. Carry on, then,” said his friend, as he melted into the bushes.
Charlie bent over the man on the grass and consistently went through his pockets. “I’ll bet Osceola taught Bill how to move that way,” he thought, “and if the chief ever gets up to Maine, I’m going to have him show me how to do it.”
“What are you mumbling about?”
Charlie jumped. “Oh, it’s you, Bill. Gosh, you gave me a scare! What have you been doing?”
“Setting a trap. Got his papers?”