"It ain't so bad," volunteered the third man, lighting his pipe. "Easy pickin's around the farmhouses. It didn't take me ten minutes to rustle that grub to-night."
"You did well, Bill," said the man at the fire, glancing at a package of food near by.
"I wonder where that guy is that we met on our way in here? He gave us a funny look."
"He minded his own business, anyway."
"Good thing for him that he did. I don't hold with bein' asked questions."
"Me neither. A good rap over the dome for anybody that wants to know too much—that's my motto."
"Is that mulligan ready?"
"Not yet. We'll be eatin' in about five minutes."
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?"
