"That neither Nat nor his uncle is especially anxious for us to reach my father's property out there in the wilds."
Sam whistled and his eyes sparkled.
"Perhaps you've struck it, Bob, my lad. But, oh, wow, I'm too sleepy to think any more about it. You and I, Bob, will play detectives. Natty had better look out."
Bob laughed.
"Don't for the world let him suspect anything," he cautioned. "Whatever his game is, it will have to be a pretty smart one to get ahead of us, after this."
Next day the boys continued their explorations until noon. It was just after lunch, when Nat, with his usual smile, exclaimed: "I'm going to the post-office to write some letters. Guess you don't want to come along, eh?—No! Well," he added carelessly, "I'll see you later."
"Now's our time," said Bob, in a low tone, after Nat had disappeared; "come on, Sam. Our detective work continues from this moment."
"What are you going to do?" queried Dick Travers, with interest.
"Follow Nat, and—"
"Oh, that's absurd," put in Tom Clifton. "What is the use of wasting so much time?"