“I have some notes to make,” explained the “historian.”
“That settles it,” said Tom. “We’ve got to stay here until after dinner.”
Larry anxiously waited and watched. But no opportunity to slip away presented itself.
The lads, still full of the mystery, continued to speculate upon it as they walked briskly around the stockade, or wandered over the surrounding hills and prairie.
To the blond lad’s extreme annoyance, lunch was late. He began to fear again that the fates were against him. He didn’t enjoy the meal. And the way the others lingered over it tried his patience almost to the limit.
Hope, however, asserted itself while the dishes were being cleared away.
“It’s never good to travel right after a big meal,” declared Dave; “so we’d better remain as guests of Fool’s Castle for another hour or two.”
“Well, it’s a nice cool place, anyway,” said Dick Travers. “Who wants to do a bit more exploring—you, Tom?—Good! Come along then.”
Larry sauntered leisurely toward the door.
Twenty minutes had passed, when a “Hello, Bob; hello!” in Tom Clifton’s voice brought the Rambler, who was talking to Dave, Sam, and Thunderbolt, to his feet.