"They didn't steal anything, anyway," said Tom, half under his breath.
Archer stared at the coats, then peered cautiously about among the trees. Then he faced Tom again, who returned his stare in mute astonishment.
"You don't s'pose we could have swum across in ourr sleep, do you?" said Archer.
Tom shook his head thoughtfully. Could it be that those Huns, those fiends of the air and the ocean depths, those demons who could shoot a gun for seventy miles and rear their yellow heads suddenly up out of the green waters close to the American shore—could it be that they were indeed genii—ghouls of evil, who played fast and loose with poor wanderers in the forest until the moment came for crushing them utterly?
Or could it be that this black wilderness, perched upon its mountain chain, was indeed the magic toyland of all creation, the home of Santa Claus and——
"Come on," said Archer, "let's not stand herre. B'lieve me, I want to get as far away from this place as we can!"