When they stepped back into camp Tom threw the magazine of one
of the rifles open, extracting the cartridges. Then he stepped
over and carefully deposited the rifle across the middle of the
fire.
"I might have known!" cried Hazelton.
The other two rifles were soon disposed of in the same manner.
"Let the rifles cook in the fire for an hour," smiled Reade,"
and the barrels will be too crooked for a bullet ever to get through
one again."
"What are you going to do with the cartridges, though?"
"Fire a midnight salute with them," Tom answered briefly. "Wait
and you'll hear some noise."
Alf Drew cautiously approached camp when he felt the pangs of
hunger. The cigarette fiend must have been satisfied, for Tom
and Harry had already gotten the meal. But Reade, without a word
of rebuke to their supposed helper, allowed young Drew to help
himself to all he wanted in the way of hot food and coffee.
Bringing midnight two hours nearer---that is to say, at ten o'clock,
Tom and Harry, aided this time by Alf, built a large fire-pile
in a gully at a safe distance from camp.
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