“Leave ’em shut in the mine till somebody who wants ’em starts looking for ’em,” was the cool answer. “They know too much about us and our business, and the longer they stay shut up, why the more time we’ll have to cover our tracks.”
“Their folks will probably start hunting for ’em today, but it may be a week or more before anybody suspects where they are and finds how to get ’em out,” ventured Slade, uneasily. “They’d pretty near starve by that time.”
“Let ’em starve,” snapped Latrobe. “It’ll learn ’em to mind their own business and not gum up somebody else’s game. All right, Miller,” he continued, “let’s get going.”
“Are you going to put out the bridge?” asked Slade.
“Sure,” answered Latrobe. “There’s no good leaving any more tracks than we can help. Let ’em guess how we did the trick. Come on, Miller; you and Slade get it out. We’ve no time to lose.”
From its place in the niche, the roll of dingy canvas was dragged to the opening in the foundation wall and pushed outside. Latrobe and Miller held one end of the cloth on the ground while Slade stepped onto it and walked slowly forward kicking the roll ahead of him. In a very short time he had laid a canvas walk, four feet wide, extending from the wall of the house to the fringe of bushes, among which the truck could be seen backing into position.
“That’s what Fatty and I heard flapping in the wind that night!” gasped Charlie Rogers, as he watched the canvas rise and fall in the breeze.
“Yes, and that big misshapen thing we saw must have been a man walking along that canvas with a case of bottles on his shoulder!” added Tommy. “No wonder we never could find any foot tracks!”
“Nor wheel tracks either!” wheezed Dave. “They worked the same kind of stunt for the truck at the entrance to the old road!”
“Sh! Keep still! They’re coming in again!” warned Ned.