“Don’t know—just found it out.”
“Well,” said Harry, after a few minutes more of sullen silence, “what are we going to do about it?”
“Do about it?”
“Yes, what are we going to do about it? Hang around in Oakwood for two months?”
“They’ll write.”
“Yes, I suppose they will,” said Harry. “We’ll hear something in a few days. The trouble is they may not know for a few days just where they’re going to settle. You know, they’re going to get out at Ticonderoga and strike up into the woods north. Red Deer spoke of following the old Mohawk trail. I wish I had his map.”
He thrust his hands into his pockets, and stood gazing out of the window. Neither spoke.
“Harry,” said Gordon, at length, “it would be a great stunt for us to go up there and find them.”
“You must be crazy, Kid.”
“Of course, they’ll write and tell us where they are, but that may be a week or more, and when we got to them they’d all laugh at us. Now, if we could just—”