If I go roaming
through the woods, Mosher, as he calls himself, will double back
on the camp and clean out our provisions while I'm groping out
here in the dark."
So Dick paused only long enough to make sure of his course back.
Then he plodded along, wincing with the pain of many blows that
he had received.
"I'm lucky, anyway, that I didn't get an eye bunged up," he reflected.
"I smart and I ache, but I can see straight, and I don't believe
I've received any blow that will disfigure me for the next few
days. My, what a steam hammer that fellow is in a fight! I wonder
if he really is the son of that hard character called Bill Mosher?"
As Dick neared the camp he stepped more softly. He wanted to
see whether Mosher really had come back.
But no figure was discernible in the clearing beyond the camp.
Dick walked in more confidently. His first care was to examine
the food supply.
"Nothing gone," Dick murmured. Then he looked about for a stick
large enough to serve as a weapon at need. While doing so his
glance fell upon an axe.
"I wouldn't use that," Prescott told himself. "But there is no
knowing what Mosher would do if he got cornered by more than one
of us. Hereafter we mustn't leave this thing outside.
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