"Gee! If we had only done a bit of reconnoitering first," flashed through Bob Somers' brain. "What silly chumps to run blindly into a thing like this!"
"Wal—wal!" It was Pete Colliver who broke the tense silence. His face wore the most ludicrous expression of dismay. "Whar did you fellows drop from, hey? Never expected ter see nuthin' like this."
"I guess that's right, Pete," answered Bob, dryly.
"Howdy, boys!" Big Jim Reynolds' manner betrayed his embarrassment. "We've been a-campin' right here," he added, awkwardly, "an' if ye'd like to have a bit o' grub, why—yer as welcome as the flowers in May, eh, boys?"
"I reckon they be," came from Bart Reeder, while Tom Smull and Alf Griffin nodded a surly assent.
"Thanks, Jim; we've had our breakfast," answered Bob.
"See here, Pete Colliver," exclaimed Jack, in his usual abrupt fashion, "have you seen Dick Travers?"
"Have I saw Dick Travers, hey?" Pete assumed an attitude which had a decided suggestion of belligerency, then whirled around on one foot, nodding his head knowingly, and exchanging peculiar glances with some of the men. "Wal, I ain't seen none o' yer Dick Travers," he said, facing Jack again, "but—but—" Catching a warning look from Jim Reynolds, he paused; a queer light had kindled in his eyes. "Has he went an' lost hisself?" he finished.
"We don't know what he has went an' did," answered Jack, with tremendous scorn.
"Come up to the clearin', boys," interposed Jim. "Ye ain't in no all-fired hurry, are ye? 'Twon't cost nuthin' ter have a sociable chat."