“Surest thing you know,” said Jack. “And the woods end right here; and I’m glad of it—about forty-five twigs have scraped acquaintance with my face already. Great Scott, what’s that?”
A weird cry suddenly echoed through the woods; then from the distance came another.
“Only an owl, Jack,” laughed Bob. “Thought you were going to jump out of your boots.”
“Make an all-fired racket, don’t they?” murmured Jack, slightly confused.
“Here’s the road, fellows. Lovely view of the sunset. Going to put this in your history, Joe?”
“You bet.”
“Begin to-night?”
“Of course,” said Joe, in very uncertain tones. “Say! Where are we going now?”
“This way,” said George, waving his hand.
“I’d rather go in the other direction,” objected Joe. “Looks more interesting, eh, Jack?”