For the first time since he came to Mount Airy to live Tom Bigden was perfectly happy. According to his way of looking at it, he had turned the tables on the squatter very neatly, and any sensible boy would have said that the best thing he could do was to keep clear of that low fellow in future. But he did not do it. Scarcely a week passed away before his hatred for Joe Wayring led him into a worse scrape than the one from which he had just been extricated by his cousin’s lucky discovery.
I must not forget to say that while the boys were lounging about on the bank of the creek, eating their bacon and cracker, there was something going on in the woods behind them. Every thing they did while they were standing beside that hollow log, examining the guns that had been found in it, was seen, and every word they uttered had been overheard by a young ragamuffin who was concealed within less than a stone’s throw of them. Ralph Farnsworth had come upon him so suddenly that he did not have time to run far. He shook both his fists in the air and gnashed his teeth with rage when he saw Tom and his cousins walk away with the guns in their possession, and as soon as they were out of sight he came from his place of concealment and crept toward the log on all-fours. But he did not stop there. He simply glanced at the hollow as he passed and presently disappeared in a thicket on the opposite side. When he came into view again he was closely hugging two small valises, one under each arm. The angry scowl was gone from his face, and he was grinning broadly and going through a variety of uncouth antics, expressive, no doubt, of great satisfaction and delight. He stopped and listened, and the sounds that came to his ears told him that Tom Bigden and his companions were shoving off in their canoes and heading down the creek toward the lake. When their voices died away in the distance he bent himself almost double, and moved off with long, noiseless strides.
The three canoeists reached their camp in the grove long before dark, for the swift current in the creek helped them along at the rate of three miles an hour. Tom’s first care was to make sure of the guns; and these he at once proceeded to hide in the thick branches of an evergreen, while his cousins cut wood, made the fire, and cooked the supper. They had brought very light hearts back with them, but one of their number, at least, did not sleep any the better for it. It was Tom, who grew uneasy every time he thought of the coming interview with the squatter, which he hoped to bring about on the following day. How was it going to end? That was the question Tom kept asking himself, and when he saw the day breaking, after an almost sleepless night, he had not found a satisfactory answer to it.