“But where is he?” demanded Grant.
“That’s just what I say,” rejoined George. “Where is he?”
“He doesn’t seem to be—” began John, when he suddenly stopped. “Look,” he cried and pointed towards the shore.
Two men were seated under a small tree which grew half-way between the wharf and the tent. Their backs were towards the boys so that it was impossible to see who they were. The back view however was not very reassuring. The strangers appeared to be rough and unkempt and were busily engaged in eating some food they had evidently helped themselves to from the stores of the four young campers. Both men seemed entirely unaware that they were being watched.
“How did they get there without our seeing them?” whispered John. “Pop saw one of them up by the tent.”
“The tent is between that tree and the place where we were standing,” said George. “It shut off our view and they probably walked down there while we were coming towards the tent.”
“What shall we do?” whispered Fred.
“Yell at them,” suggested John.
“Don’t you do it,” cautioned Grant quickly.
“For goodness’ sake,” exclaimed George suddenly in a low voice. “Don’t any one of you fellows move,” he ordered them. “Just wait here for me.”