“Wisht I had a gun,” said Fortune. “Both them fellers are heeled, and I’ll bet my spurs! What’ll we do if they poke a muzzle in our faces, huh?”
“Dodge,” answered Clancy shortly. “Come on!”
Clancy led the way to the Cerro Gordo Street side of the Pembroke property, and he and Fortune crouched under the iron fence and listened intently. Still there was not a sound to be heard.
“Mebby we’ve made a mistake, pard,” whispered Fortune. “Like enough it’s another house. Wisht I knowed more about the jedge and the wigwam where he camps. What if we’re wrong? While we’re loafin’ here, Hibbard and Chantay Seeche may be doin’ their work on one of the other three cornders.”
“I don’t think we’re wrong,” returned Clancy, in a tense undertone. “This is our best bet, anyway. We’ve got to get over the fence and look around, Jimmie. Make as little noise as you can, and keep close to me.”
“It ’u’d take a hull lot to pry me loose from you at this stage o’ the game, Red,” answered Fortune. “Two’s comp’ny, jest about now, and I’m right hongry for comp’ny.”
Laying hands on top of the iron fence, Clancy bounded lightly over and into the yard. Fortune tried to vault, but his boots handicapped him. The toe of one of them caught on an iron picket and he came down among the bushes in a sprawl. He started to sputter, but Clancy laid a quick hand over his lips.
“Sh-h-h!” hissed Clancy warningly.
So far as they could discover, Fortune’s floundering had not aroused any one. After a few moments, they began crawling toward the side wall of the house.
They reached the wall about midway of the length of the house. There they paused and continued to listen and peer around them.