It had not been disturbed. He caught a glimpse of the old
mansion on his way out of the woods. There appeared to be no one
stirring about it.
"I hope my birds haven't flown!" he exclaimed, and the thought gave
him such uneasiness that he put it from him. Pushing his heavy
machine ahead of him until he came to a good road, he mounted it,
and was soon at the charcoal-burner's shack. There came no answer to
his knock, and Tom pushed open the door. The old man was not in. Tom
could not send him for help.
"My luck seems to be against me!" he murmured. "But I can get
something to eat here, anyhow. I'm almost starved!"
He found the kitchen utensils, and made some coffee, also frying
some bacon and eggs. Then, feeling much refreshed, and having left
on the table some money to pay for the inroad he had made on the
victuals, he started to go outside.
As our hero stepped to the door he was greeted by a savage growl
that made him start in alarm.
"A dog!" he mused. "I didn't know there was one around."
He looked outside and there, to his dismay, saw a big,
savage-appearing bulldog standing close to where he had left his
motor-cycle. The animal had been sniffing suspiciously at the machine.
"Good dog!" called Tom.
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