friend Jim got a stable job at the Profile just to tip us off? Ain't we got to split with him? Guess they didn't reckon there'd be any need to watch the weddin' swag, way up here in these God forsaken hills. Ha! They forgot that automobiles has changed things!"
"They are going to rob somebody's house—at the Profile," Art whispered, pulling Peanut back toward the brook. "Gee, how can we stop 'em?"
"Let's rouse the camp, and pinch 'em right now," said Peanut.
"And get shot full of holes in the dark, and they get away in their car? Not much!"
"They'd have to crank it, and we could chop up the tires with our hatchets."
"Probably got a self starter, and what would they do to us while we were chopping? They'd have time to get away from us and do the job before we could hike six miles to the Profile and give the alarm. No, sir, we've got to get there somehow as soon as they do!"
"We could sneak a ride on the trunk rack behind the machine!" whispered Peanut.
"If it's got one—quick—hatchets!"
The two Scouts slipped back into camp. Art grabbed up his hatchet, which he always kept beside his pillow, and slipped it in his belt. Peanut put on his. Then Art leaned down beside Rob,
