Though Josh Owen smoked many pipefuls, time soon began to drag on that worthy's hands. Hours slipped by.
"I'd no business to let Danny go," growled Owen, uneasily, time after time, often rising and pacing about, though never straying away from the two boys. "That young feller thinks a heap too much o' liquor for one so young. He's spendin' time, as well as money, over in Dunhaven. It won't be so bad if he don't take too much, and get talkative."
Two or three times Josh thought he heard someone moving in the woods.
Each time he called softly, or signaled, but there came no response.
Despite his inward suffering, Jack Benson dozed at last. So, as he afterwards learned, did Hal. Yet these drowsings must have been short. They were filled with horrible dreams of disgrace, imprisonment, and all the misfortunes that healthy young minds in torment could bring up.
At last Jack awoke, with a start, to realize that it was daylight.
Josh Owen was on his feet, his taste for tobacco gone. He was listening, peering between the trees, and making many impatient remarks under his breath.
"Hullo, uncle! Gettin' weary, carryin' 'round my share of the money?" chuckled the voice of Dan Jaggers. Then that shaggy young bully stepped out from behind a tree.
"Ye've been long enough," growled his relieved uncle. "But I'm glad t' see ye're in good enough shape."
"Oh, I'm all right," admitted Jaggers, serenely, as he came forward.
"I've been back here for hours."
"What are ye telling me?" demanded Josh Owen.