Again Sam glanced about. “I don’t believe we ought to stay here any longer. It’s going to be a job to get back to town, and we ought to be making a start.”
As if in answer to a call, Mr. Grant came out of the camp.
“Whew! but this is getting to be a reg’lar wet spell,” he remarked. “And I don’t see any signs of a let-up. Too bad you boys should strike such a day to visit Sugar Valley!”
“We’re sorry, too, sir,” Sam assured him.
Mr. Grant looked the group over. “Let’s see! All here, are you?... No; must be two-three missing. What’s become of that little chap with the glasses and the other fellow who wanted to know all about sugar making?”
“They must have gone back, sir.”
“Umph! Don’t know but they did the sensible thing. I hadn’t realized how it was getting to rain.”
“We didn’t notice, either. And as for Varley and the Shark—that’s our nickname for the fellow with the glasses, you know—I suppose they must have started for the house?”
Sam made his statement more than half a question. Mr. Grant treated it as one.
“Yes, I guess they must have. They’d looked around here, and there ain’t much to see except the camp. Yes; I dare say they’re toasting their shins by the fire this minute. And I reckon we might as well follow ’em.”