Jake Utway stirred uneasily. Something was digging into his hip, bluntly shoving him back to consciousness. He sat up. Was it Reveille so soon? But this wasn’t Tent Ten! For a moment he stared, sticky-eyed, into a small fireplace heaped with flaky white wood-ash. In a flash it came back to him—the escape from Lenape; the moonlight march with their captive, Sherlock; the discovery of the shack in the woods—— Jake groaned softly, and stretched his cramped body.

“Anybody awake?” he asked drowsily. “Boy, but I’m stiff! This log floor—maybe I shouldn’t have slept against the grain of the wood!”

A loud sneeze at his side answered him, followed by a series of sniffles and a second sneeze. He turned and discovered Sherlock Jones, with tears in his pale eyes, rubbing his nose with a grimy handkerchief.
153

“Bad coad!” explained the ex-detective with another sneeze. It was plain that Sherlock was not made of the stuff of outlaw heroes. Reddened eyes, a dripping nose, and chattering teeth were the penalties of his moonlight jaunt and his night in the backwoods hut. “Very dasty coad! Say, who pud this thig over be?” Sherlock had noticed for the first time that a norfolk jacket had been carefully thrown over his body some time in the night. It was the garment worn by Burk, who had evidently tucked it about the sleeping boy as a protection against the night breezes that penetrated through the cracks in the floor of the hut. “Where’s Bister Burk? Oh, there you are. A-choo! Thags very buch, Bister Burk. You bust have been coad yourself!”

“Forget it, old man!” Burk rolled over and yawned. “Sorry you have a cold, though.” Of a sudden the man sprang up. “Where’s the other fellow?” he cried.

Jake looked about him. Jerry was not in the little room.

“Where’s your brother? Did he tell you he was going out?”

“Why, no!” said Jake. “He must be somewhere around, though. He can’t have gone far.”
154

The sun was high; a dazzling, glorious stream of light poured in through a dusty window. Sherlock pointed with his handkerchief.

“Whad’s that over the fireblace?” he snuffled.

Jake jumped up to look. A bit of paper was stuck prominently into the cracks of the stone mantel. It was an old envelope, on the face of which was scrawled a few cramped lines of writing in pencil. “It’s a note—a note from Jerry!” he exclaimed in surprise. “He’s—he’s gone!”

“Gone!” echoed the man.

“Yes; listen to this: ‘Dear Jakie and Others—We’ve got to have grub, so I’m going to Wallistown. Will bring it as soon as I can. Will try to get some news if I can. Don’t worry about me.—Jerry.’ Well, what do you think of that?”

“I thig it’s good,” sighed Sherlock. “I sure could eat somethig right dow!” Burk said nothing, but took up a couple of holes in his belt.

“That’s just like Jerry,” observed Jake, sticking the note in his pocket. “He knew we’d have to stay here in hiding all day, and didn’t want us to starve. We need grub, sure enough. But it’s no use for him to tell us not to worry—anything in the world might happen to him in Wallistown, and I won’t rest easy until I see him back here safe.”
155

“You thig he may get into druble?”

“Say, Sherlock, that cold of yours must be affecting your brain. Don’t you know that everybody in the world will be after us, after what happened last night? We can’t just disappear—the Chief and all the rest back at camp will be hunting for us, and they’re sure to connect our disappearance with Burk here. That’s why we can’t travel in the daytime.”

“But where do you wad to travel?”

Jake threw up his hands. “Listen! It’s plain we’ve got to tell you everything. Mr. Burk was put in jail for being a thief, but he didn’t steal the necklace. If we can get to Canoe Mountain Lodge, he thinks we can prove that he’s innocent. And we’ve got to get there! Now do you savvy?”

“Thad’s wad I thought all the tibe,” nodded Sherlock sagely. “I said Bister Burk was all right, and I probise to help if I cad. A-choo!”

“Well,” said Jake, “you can help us a lot—— Jiminy, what’s that?”

It was small wonder that Jake was startled. A sound had broken the stillness of the forest, a chilling, heart-gripping hullabaloo from the north, toward Lenape—the high belling howl of a pack of hounds on a warm trail.
156

“Dogs!” Burk clenched his fists. “By heaven, they’ve got bloodhounds out!” His pallid face went whiter still.

“Bloodhounds! You mean—they’re pointing out our trail last night?”

“Yes—listen!” It came again, the terrifying chorus of their sharp-nosed pursuers. “They can’t be far off! Boys, we can’t stay here!”

“But—where will we go?” said Jake, shakily. “If Jerry comes back here, he’s sure to be caught!”

“Can’t help that!” Burk was gathering together their few belongings over his arm. He ran to the door, and cooked his ear up the trail. “Come along!”

Sherlock Jones, at the first awesome baying of the pack, had given himself up for dead. Bloodhounds! He struggled weakly to his feet, found Jake pulling his arm, leading him toward the door.

“If we stay here, we’ll be cornered!” cried the man. “They’re not far off now—they’ll be on us in a few minutes!” The baying call ............