He added something in an undertone as his evil eyes glanced at the boys.
“Then the thing’s settled,” said Thomson. “You can tuck yerself into that bunk yonder just as soon as you please. And now about that kill of deer. We ain’t had any fresh meat fur quiet a spell, an’ I reckon it’ll taste good. Here’s a propersition for you, youngsters. We’ll bring the venison to camp, an’ give you all you kin carry. The rest we’ll keep fur our trouble. How’s that?”
The boys gladly assented, and ten minutes later half-a-dozen of the loggers started for the distant spot. They took with them lanterns, and a long hand-sled. There was no time to lose, for wolves were likely to scent the meat.
Thomson stayed behind and made himself agreeable to the young visitors. He soon knew all about them, and when he heard they were going to Chesumcook Lake, he gave them some valuable information about the locality.
Then he instructed the cook to prepare a warm supper, of which the boys ate greedily.
It was now close to midnight, and they eagerly took possession of the cozy bunks that were assigned to them. The last thing they remembered, before losing consciousness, was Kyle Sparwick’s sleeping figure in another bunk across the room.
Banging and rattling of dishes; clattering footsteps; angry voices and shouts—this was what roused the boys after what seemed to them but a few minutes’ sleep.
They tumbled out of bed, and rubbed their eyes. At first they did not know what to make of the confusion. The misty light of dawn was struggling with the red glow from the cook’s stove. The loggers were up, and clustered together at one side of the room. They were clamoring, and gesticulating, and uttering tremendous threats and oaths.
“Hello, youngsters!” cried Thomson. “Hev you heard the news? That consarned slippery cuss is gone. We might a-knowed better than to put any trust in Kyle Sparwick.”
“How did he get away?” asked Jerry.