At Whispering Pine Lodge by Lawrence J. Leslie
page 88 of 160 (55%)
page 88 of 160 (55%)
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rifle could knock over my pets as easy as turnin' his hand. But, all the
same, I've fixed my traps. For one thing I'd like to find out jest who the thief is." Max noticed what emphasis he put on that last remark. He could see the customary twinkle in Obed's eyes give way to a sterner look; as though he had brooded more or less over this same subject. And Max himself nodded his head as though he might in a measure understand just how Obed felt. So they returned to the house. Bandy-legs at least rejoiced because with all those clever contraptions set, and waiting to give the intended thief a warm reception, it did seem as though there would be hardly any necessity for them to waste their precious time in sitting up and keeping watch, when they would be so much better off enjoying "balmy sleep," as he called it; and all sleep was along that order, according to the mind of Bandy-legs. Max and Steve trailed along well in the rear. This may have simply happened, but Steve twice stopped the other, and pointed out something he wished Max to see; so possibly the delay was intentional on his part. At least, he presently made a remark that would make it seem so. "It certainly looks as if Obed was a pretty ingenious maker of snares, that's sure, Max?" Steve was saying, significantly. "That's right, he is, Steve, and we must give him great credit for it, even if his traps fail to catch a thief in the act." "I was just thinking, Max," pursued the other, meditatively, "that it's |
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