“Dunno. He must a-skipped off as soon as we wus all asleep—long about two o’clock. He made a dummy outen a blanket, and an old hat, an’ stuck it in his bunk. There was a lamp burnin’ dim on the table, too.”
“I mind hearin’ a noise,” said a logger named Tommy Bobb; “but I was too sleepy to do more’n sing out, ‘Who’s thar.’”
“You must a-skeered him,” declared Thomson, “an’ that’s why he didn’t take nothing with him—not even his own gun. Thar it rests on the hook.”
“He took something better than a gun,” exclaimed Brick, who had meanwhile been examining his pocket. “He took my gold watch, and a purse with thirty dollars in it. I had some more money in a belt, but that’s all right.”
This declaration caused a renewal of the excitement. The loggers sympathized with Brick, and offered him rude consolation.
“How about you fellers?” asked Tommy Bobb of Hamp and Jerry.
They shook their heads and smiled. The contents of their pockets would have offered no temptation to the meanest sort of a thief.
“I don’t mind the money,” said Brick; “but I hate to lose the watch. I’m going after that sneaking rascal.”
“No use, youngster,” assured Thomson. “Sparwick has a big start. He took an old boat what we had here, an’ went down the Mallowgash. He’d have clear water fur four miles. Then I reckon he’d strike deep inter the woods. If thar was a chance of gettin’ him we’d make up a party. How’s that, boys?”
“Dead right,” exclaimed the loggers, in chorus.