CHAPTER XXVII—CONCLUSION
“He’s gone crazy,” muttered Grant. “We should have held him back.”
On tip-toe and evidently trying to make as little noise as possible, George stole forward. Nearer and nearer he approached, the pillows still held firmly in his hands. He slackened his pace as he came closer and redoubled his efforts to move cautiously.
“They’ll turn and see him in a second,” whispered Fred, as much to himself as to anybody else. All three of the boys were tense with excitement as they riveted their attention on their companion who to them was doing such a remarkable thing.
George was scarcely ten feet distant from the men now. All at once he stopped. He slowly drew back his right arm and taking careful aim he let fly the pillow which he held. True to its mark it sped. It struck the larger of the two men squarely in the neck. The second pillow followed the other an instant later and it too scored a hit. Both had been aimed at the same man.
No sooner had George completed his bombardment than he uttered a wild whoop and rushed forward. He dashed straight towards the man he had been so successful in hitting and threw both arms around him.
Grant, Fred, and John were too taken aback to do more than stand and gaze stupidly at the strange proceedings taking place before their eyes. George’s actions to them were a complete mystery.
Suddenly he ceased hugging the rough looking man he had pounced upon so eagerly and turned to his three camp-mates.
“Grant!” he cried. “John! Fred! Come here and see who this is.”
“Who is it?” exclaimed John blankly. “Thomas and Hugh?”