“It’s me—Jerry Hopkins,” was the reply.
“Oh—do you want anything—any of you boys sick?”
“No, I—I was just looking out—I couldn’t sleep. I’m going back now.”
“Oh—all right,” was the noncommital answer.
“No use trying that—he’s on guard,” mused Jerry as he got back into bed. “I’ll have to wait.”
The tall lad told his chums the next morning of his experience, and they agreed that there was something very strange about the matter. They got an early breakfast in the Comet, and at once set to work making a temporary forge to weld a new brace.
“I thought you were going to the blacksmith’s,” remarked the farmer, as he saw what they were doing.
“We concluded it wouldn’t be safe,” replied Jerry. “No objection to making a fire here, is there? We’ll keep it inside the stones, and not set the barn afire.”
“Oh, that—that’s all right,” said the farmer with an obvious effort. “But don’t go in—that horse is dangerous.”
All that morning the boys worked hard at the new brace. They had it nearly finished and were getting ready to attach it. In the meanwhile Mr. Rossmore had been hovering about them, never very far away, and always keeping between them and the barn, which structure he entered several times, taking with him bottles of medicine.