Anxiously did Tom’s chums watch his movements. They realized, as did he, that the piece of paper, dropped either by Mr. Skeel or the hermit, might give them the very clew they needed to locate the treasure--if there was any. And they also realized the danger if Tom was seen. “If they catch him, it will be all up with our chances, I guess,” murmured Bert. “We’ll have to leave here mighty soon.” “That’s right. With that old professor, the hermit, and those two lads against us, we wouldn’t have much chance,” added Dick. “Oh, you fellows make me tired!” exclaimed Jack. “Why, it’s only four to four, and if we aren’t a match for that bunch I’d like to know it! Get out of here? I guess not much! We’ll stick!” Jack was like Tom--he believed in fighting to the last ditch. “Besides,” he went on, “as Tom said, the woods are as much ours as they are those other fellows’.” “But the mill, and the land around it, aren’t,” returned Bert. “They could keep us away from here.” “Maybe, and maybe not,” said Jack. “I guess Tom Fairfield can find some plan for getting around it. What’s he doing now?” for our hero was somewhat screened from the observation of Jack, though the others could see him well. “He’s crawling forward again,” spoke Bert in a low tone. “I guess the coast is clear. I hope he gets that piece of paper.” “What good will it be?” asked Dick. “Some good, you can wager, or Skeel and the hermit wouldn’t have been so excited over it,” declared Jack. “I’d like to get a look at it.” “Tom’ll get it all right,” insisted Bert. “He generally does get anything he goes after.” The three lads waited impatiently for the return of their chum. Dick took another look, and reported that Tom was not in sight now. “He’s probably working his way along the path to the place where the talk went on,” was Jack’s opinion. They resigned themselves to waiting, talking meanwhile of what might happen. Then, interrupting their talk, came a sound as of someone approaching down the slope. “Who is it?” asked Jack eagerly, for he had been sitting down on a stone to ease the pain of his injured leg. “It’s Tom all right!” exclaimed Dick, who was acting as sentinel. “Has he got the paper?” “Yes, there’s something white in his hand.” “Good!” exclaimed Tom’s college roommate. A few seconds later our hero rejoined his chums. There was a look of satisfaction on his face. “What is it?” demanded Bert eagerly. “I don’t know yet,” was the reply. “It’s all folded up, and I didn’t open it. Didn’t want to take the time. There’s no telling when they might miss it, and come back. I made tracks as soon as I saw I could safely advance and grab it up. Come on down to the boat.” “Go slow,” begged Jack, and they helped him down the slope. Not taking time to examine the bit of paper, Tom loosed the mooring line of his craft, and, pushing her out into the current, he let her drift down before starting the motor, as he did not want their enemies to hear the noise of the exhaust.