Frank was somewhat provoked about the happening of the preceding night, and even thought it might be advisable to move the camp away from that bluff. The others convinced him, however, that they were just as safe there as in any other locality, and so he did not persist in this idea.
He did climb to the top of the bluff to examine the ground. Here Jerry joined him after a little.
“Any signs?” asked the latter, swinging over to where Frank knelt.
“Plenty. Here they crouched and watched us.”
“Then there were more than one?” asked Jerry, eagerly.
“You can see the marks of two separate pair of shoes; and one of them small enough to belong to your Waddy Walsh. I think you said he was a squatty chap, and used to boast of his delicate hands and feet,” continued Frank, pointing.
“You’re right. And that settles one thing. The hoboes stole our kettle, and not any wild man. I reckon they’re a little afraid of us, seeing we’re armed, and they may not be. Wonder what they thought we were shooting in the night?”
“All I hope is they’ll give us a wide berth after this. If they keep on trying to make us feed them, it’s going to spoil our outing some, I fear,” remarked Frank, as he started to descend the bluff again.
After a serious consultation the party separated.
Frank and Jerry started off along the shore, heading to the west.