Frank turned and gestured to the others, indicating that they might as well withdraw. It seemed clear to him that these men were simply tramps preparing their evening meal in the shelter of the woods, and nothing would be gained by making their presence known.
Jack Dodd and Joe turned and moved silently away, but the luckless Chet had not gone two paces before he tripped over a root and fell sprawling on the ground, with a grunt of pain and surprise.
One of the tramps looked up.
“What was that?”
“Somebody in the bushes,” said another.
The two men scrambled to their feet and came directly toward the boys. Jack and Joe took to their heels, but Frank waited to help Chet up and the delay was fatal. The tramps came crashing through the bushes and caught sight of them.
“Kids, eh?” roared one. He sprang toward Frank and caught him by the shoulder. The other seized Chet. Joe and Jack were out of sight beyond the trees by now and the tramps were evidently unaware of their presence.
“Take your hands off me,” said Frank coolly.
Somewhat taken aback, the tramp regarded him for a moment in a surly manner.
“What do you mean by spying on us?” he demanded.
“We weren’t spying on you.”
“What brings you around here, then?”
The other tramp had abandoned the pail of stew at the fire and came through the bushes toward them.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “What’s goin’ on here?”
“A couple of kids spyin’ on us,” said Frank’s captor, and tightening his grip on the boy’s shoulder.
“We oughta skin ’em alive,” declared the newcomer. “How long have you been hiding in them bushes, boy?”
“We just came up a minute ago and when we heard voices we looked to see who was there. We were just going away.”
“You were, eh? What were you going away for?”
“It wasn’t any of our business if you wanted to cook your supper in the woods.”
This answer seemed to placate the tramps, for they glanced from one to the other, seemingly reassured.
“You weren’t going for the police?” asked one suspiciously.
Both boys shook their heads.
“Did somebody send you here?”
“No. We were just wandering through the wood and we came on your fire.”
“That fellow we met a little while ago didn’t send you here, did he?”
“We haven’t seen anybody,” said Frank. “What did he look like?”
“Thin, hard-lookin’ guy with a hook nose.”
“We haven’t seen anyone like that.”
“He was prowling around here a little while ago,” said the tramp, in a more friendly tone. “I guess you boys are all right. If we let you go will you promise not to run and tell the police?”
“Oh, sure!” piped Chet, in vast relief.
“We’re not doin’ any harm here. We’re just three poor chaps that’s out of work and we’re on our way to Bayport to look for a job,” whined one of the others. “You wouldn’t set the police on us, would you?”
“It’s none of our business who you are or what you’re doing,” Frank assured them. “We won’t mention seeing you.”
“All right, then.” His captor released his grip on Frank’s shoulder. “Beat it away from here and don’t bother us again.”
The two boys lost no time in making their way out of that vicinity. The three tramps stood watching until they disappeared beyond the trees at the bend in the trail, then went back to their fire.
Some distance away, Frank and Chet came upon the other boys, who had halted and were devising ways and means of rescue.
“Golly!” said Joe, “we thought you were in for it. We were just going to toss up and see who would go back to find out what had happened to you.”
“Why couldn’t you both come back?” Chet asked.
“We thought if one of us went back he might be caught too, and that would still leave somebody to go for help.”
“Good idea. They were only tramps. Gave us a bit of a scare,” said Chet airily. He had been almost frightened out of his wits. “We just talked right up to them and they let us go.”
“I wonder who is this hook-nosed man they were talking about,” said Frank. “They seemed to be worrying more about him than about us.”
“A hook-nosed man?” exclaimed Jack Dodd. “What about him?”
“You remember when they were talking by the fire, they mentioned meeting somebody on their way into the wood. They asked us about him, and seemed to think he may have sent us in to spy on them.”
“Thin, hard-looking chap,” Chet remarked, remembering the description the tramp had given.
“Why, that must be—but it couldn’t be him!” exclaimed Jack.
“Who?”
“Gus Montrose. The hired man that Dad discharged a little while ago. I was telling you about him. The description fits him exactly.”
“I thought he went away,” said Joe.
“We haven’t seen him since he left the farm, but I’ve always had an idea he was prowling around.”
Just then Frank clutched Chet’s arm.
“Listen!”
The boys halted. They could plainly hear the sound of snapping twigs and a scuffing that indicated the approach of someone on the trail ahead. A moment later, a man came into view.
He stepped out from among the trees and came to a stop, staring at the lads, plainly astonished at seeing them. Then he wheeled about and sprang into the bushes. They could hear him plunging through the undergrowth as he disappeared.
Although they had only a momentary glance, the boys readily identified him as the man the tramps had mentioned. Disreputably clad, he was a thin man with a cruel mouth and a hooked nose.
“Gus Montrose!” exclaimed Jack Dodd.
VIII
The Missing Truck
“Let’s tackle that fellow!” exclaimed Frank Hardy. “We can ask him about your fishing rod, Jack.”
Frank scrambled into the bushes, where Gus Montrose had disappeared, and in a moment his companions were hurrying after him. But although Frank had lost little time making up his mind to question the former hired man, Montrose had been too quick for him. The fellow was nowhere to be
