“How far will they go?” nervously asked Stanley.
Bub’s face fell. “That’s so. Night is coming on and Pete won’t wander around in the dark. He’s no woodsman; that is, nothing like Abner.”
“I was thinking they might find some trace of us and suspect we were near the camp,” explained Stanley.
“That’s possible—almost probable,” groaned Bub. “Well, my son, it means that if we’re going to do anything for the Whitten family we’ve got to do it pretty quick.”
But think as they could they could decide upon no plan that would warrant success. They were two boys against two men. They were unarmed, except as they had clubs. Each of the men was caressing a rifle and listening intently for some note of victory from the heart of the woods.
“If they were near cover we’d creep around and crawl up behind them and risk taking them by surprise with the clubs,” muttered Bub, his face white and desperate.
This move could hardly be considered, however, as Ben and Joe were some distance from the tangled growth and on their guard.
