“But see how he looked up there in the woods—like a reg’lar savage!” sniffed Dig. “Not half dressed—and living in that old shack. I wonder what he’s doing now that his outfit is burned.”
“I believe that stranger burned it—the one we saw talking with him when we rode by,” declared Chet earnestly. “And I never saw that man before— Oh, Dig!” and he suddenly made an excited grab for his chum’s arm.
“Well, goodness! Don’t scare a fellow to death. What’s got you now?” demanded Digby Fordham.
“That fellow is the one we saw with the lame Indian.”
“What fellow?”
“The man who butted in just now when I shot the hawk.”
“Whew! you don’t mean it?” said Dig.
“Yes, I do. I remember him now. I remember his hat. Now, who can he be?”
“Give it up! Hello! there’s father calling for us. Oh, Chet! I hope they let us go to Grub Stake,” said Dig, longingly.
Serious as was the errand to Grub Stake, Mr. Havens and Mr. Fordham were inclined to trust their sons more than ever before, and that because of one uncontrovertible fact.