“The forest fellow,” said Tom. “He’s around here a good deal, isn’t he?”
“Never heard of him,” said the young man; then raising his voice he called to another worker, “Know any one named Lawton?”
The man consulted shook his head.
“Who’s boss around here, anyway?” Tom called.
“I am,” the man answered. “Why, was he supposed to be working here?”
“Well, I should hope,” said Tom. Then he glanced curiously at Brent.
“You can search me,” Brent said.
“That’s funny,” Tom commented. “Well, come ahead.”
Their hike back took them along the road by which they had originally entered the reservation and down through the woods which the gallant Ford had penetrated. The aggressive little car looked lonely and neglected under its tattered and soiled old covering. It seemed to be more buried than ever in foliage.
“See if there’s a can of soup left in the car,” said Tom. “I feel just like having a dish of soup to-night. Wonder if Lawton likes soup? Guess those government workers eat about anything, hey?”