Summary

Ambrose Newcomb Trackers of the Fog Pack; Or, Jack Ralston Flying Blind

No such thought worried Jack; but then the shadow of guilt did not hang over his head as was the case with Perk.
“Don’t forget to wind up your wrist-watch, buddy,” warned Jack, shortly afterwards; as Perk still sat there on his blanket, keeping up his meditative puffing, as though he meant to see the fire to its last flickering extinction. “They’re our only reliable guide to tell us when morning comes around. In this black cave we might lie dozing until the middle of the day, without knowing how we were sleeping at the switch, and wasting precious time.”
Source: Gutenberg

Ambrose Newcomb Trackers of the Fog Pack; Or, Jack Ralston Flying Blind

Down on hands and knees they dropped, to begin crawling inch by inch toward their objective. A cat creeping up on a sparrow, or a fat robin, could not have displayed a greater amount of sagacity and caution that those two man-hunters exhibited then and there—every little move was a gem; and Perk, keeping close to the heels of his leader, was fain to thrill with admiration over the wonderful skill shown by Jack in making this advance.
Source: Gutenberg

Ambrose Newcomb Trackers of the Fog Pack; Or, Jack Ralston Flying Blind

Jack was a little afraid lest some mechanic, or pilot, hearing them working, and being more or less curious concerning the pair who owned the trim aircraft in which they had been taking trips for weeks past, (and about whom a halo of mystery hovered) might come nosing around, offering to lend a hand, but really hoping to pick up a few words that would explain their leaving under cover of night—honest to goodness sportsmen, going off for a hunt, or a fishing jaunt to the mountains, would not be apt to time their departure while the world was smothered in darkness.
Source: Gutenberg

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