Jamie was signalling desperately from the tree-top to his companion below, and pointing across the stream, beyond the camp-fire.
"Who is it?" asked Jack, in a hoarse whisper.
"Old Click, I do believe--and--Beagle!"
"Snakes alive! What now?"
"Better come up the tree. Quietly now."
Jack was just as expert at climbing as Jamie, and never sailor-boy shinned up the truck to the mast-head more quickly or more neatly than he did up that tall fir-tree. In another moment they were both perched aloft, and hidden amongst the branches.
The two men had seen the smoke from the distance, as it ascended above the trees, and suspecting either trespassers or poachers, they had crept quietly down to the place, and had reached the neighbourhood of the fire, soon after the boys had left the spot.
Imagine the feelings of the latter, as from their lofty perch they looked down upon their two bitterest enemies, only a stone's throw away, and effectually cutting off their retreat. Only a fortnight before, they had been hauled before the magistrates for this very same offence, and it had required all the influence of Jack's father to protect the youngsters from the penalty of the law.
"The young vagabonds----" Old Click was saying, as he kicked aside the embers of the fire.
"Look! Here be the heads of six foine trout they have stolen," said Beagle.