ing camp," exclaimed Jerry. "That thieving
rascal must be inside."

"He may be one of them," suggested Hamp. "What are we going to do about
it?"

"First of all, we'll take a peep," replied Jerry. "I don't believe the
thief belongs here. If he does, we'll get square treatment, though.
Loggers are mostly honest fellows, if they are a bit rough. Come on."

CHAPTER XVII.

FOUND AND LOST.

The boys went cautiously forward among the obstructing trees, and soon
reached the end of the loggers' house. There was probably a hot fire
inside, for the window was raised several inches to admit fresh air. The
sill was not high from the ground, and the boys ventured to peep in.

They saw banks on two sides of the room. At the far end was a red-hot
stove. At the end nearest the window was a long table. Around this sat
half a score of burly, rough-looking men. All were smoking pipes but
one.

The exception was a tall, muscular fellow of about forty. His face was
covered with a stubbly red beard, and its expression was crafty and
brutal. Before him were a plate of food and a mug of coffee. He was
eating and drinking in the greedy fashion of a hungry pig.

The boys looked on for several minutes. They were too deeply interested
to be prudent. But, fortunately, none of the loggers glanced toward the
window.

All at once Hamp clutched Jerry's arm in a strong, excited grip.

"Look!" he whispered. "Over there are our sleds, against the wall."

"I see them," replied Jerry. "Hush! don't make any noise. I want to
hear what they are talking about."

The boys put their heads closer together. They looked and listened. The
conversation had been low and unintelligible. Now it suddenly rose to a
higher pitch.

"Whar've you been all this time, Sparwick?" demanded a red-shirted
logger at the head of the table, who seemed to be a leader among his
companions. "I reckoned you wasn't in this part of the country."

"I reckoned he was in jail," cried the man next him, with a loud guffaw,
and general laughter followed.

The red-bearded man, who was eating, lifted his face from the plate, and
scowled angrily.

"I didn't come here ter be insulted, Thomson," he replied, addressing
the first speaker. "I've been workin' with Bill Jordan's loggin' gang up
at the head of Chesumcook. I'm goin' down ter Bangor now fur a spell."

"Yer seem ter hev kinder struck it rich," pursued Thomson.