“Timothy had cartridges for his pistol,” put in Mrs. Larchmond. “They are up in his closet. I’ll get ’em.”
She soon returned with the cartridges, which, luckily, just fitted the pistol Bob carried. It took but a moment to load, and then the boys were ready to start back.
“I’d go, only my rheumatism is wuss,” said old Larchmond, apologetically.
“Indeed you wouldn’t!” put in his wife. “I wouldn’t let you go for twice eighteen hundred dollars; there, now!”
The boys were soon on the road. The lantern shone brightly, lighting up every foot of the way.
“I trust we find it before we get anywhere near Raymond’s,” said Frank. “I have no desire to get into another tussle with him.”
“Neither have I,” returned Bob. “But, Frank, keep your pistol ready for use. We don’t want to waste words with such a desperate character as that hotel-keeper.”
“I agree with you. Here is my pistol right in my coat pocket.”
“And I’ll carry mine in my hand. You take that side of the road, while I take this, and carry the lantern as low as possible.”
In this fashion the two moved slowly along, searching every foot of the hard and dusty road.