“Get nearer and make sure. Then we’ll see,” said Chet, with confidence.
“I hope we’ll see,” muttered Dig, “but it’s blamed dark.”
They both remembered their training under old Rafe, however. The hunter had taught them how to move quietly in the night, and through thickets far more dense than this. Soon the two chums, side by side, were in view of the tiny clearing where the fire burned.
Their suspicions were correct on the first count, at least. There were two men at the fire.
One was lying on his back with a blanket wrapped around him, while his big, black hat was tipped over his face. Dig pinched Chet sharply, and when his chum turned to scowl at him, the excited lad mouthed the words:
“My blanket!”
Chet nodded. He recognised the stolen covering. There could be no doubt but these two men were the ones who had robbed them. Besides there were the coffee-pot and some of their cooking utensils on a log near the fire.
Dig’s eyes snapped and he doubled his fist and shook it at the prostrate man, who was evidently asleep.
It was just then that Chet touched his chum’s arm and pointed to the second figure by the campfire. This man was sitting, with his back against a log and his knees drawn up. He was the one who smoked, and it was both a vile pipe and strong tobacco he was sucking on.
Dig nodded vigorously when he made out the features of this man in the shadow. “It’s Tony,” he breathed in Chet’s ear. “But who’s he?” and he pointed to the sleeping man.