“And I’m with you,” added Joe.
Hank said nothing, but the boys watched him as he walked some little distance from the camp, to a slight elevation. On this he stood, gazing off into the distance.
“I wonder what he’s looking for?” queried Joe.
“I—I hardly know,” replied Blake.
And yet, in his heart, each lad was aware of something that he hesitated to put into words. Presently Hank came back, and as the firelight shone on his face his expression betrayed no anxiety—in fact, no emotion of any kind.
“Did—did you see anything, Hank?” asked Blake.
“No—nothing. Snooze away. I think—I’ll have a pipe before I go to bed,” and he sat down on a small box and looked into the glowing embers.
Soon afterward, Joe, looking from his small shelter tent, saw Hank fingering his big revolver, spinning the cylinder, and testing the mechanism.
“Something’s up!” whispered Joe to himself. “I wonder if it can be that he saw——”
He did not finish the sentence, for just then Hank put away the weapon and soon the aromatic odor of burning tobacco filled the night air.