“No; you watch out on the road. They may make a dash, and then you will have to go after them. My idea is to see if they are there without letting them discover me.”
“And if they are?”
“Then I’ll give you a signal—a whip-poor-will cry—and you can hurry off for help, and we can capture them. Understand?”
“Yes, but the danger——” protested Frank.
“I don’t mind it. Now, I’ll be off. Watch the hay-stack, and listen for the whip-poor-will cry.”
And with these words, Bob slipped into the shadow of some near-by bushes, leaving Frank standing by a tree in the lane, alone.
Frank stood perfectly still for several minutes and then moved silently toward a stone near the fence, intending to rest until he should hear from Bob in one way or another.
Having seated himself the young man drew out his pistol, and examined it to make sure that it was in proper condition for use.
It was then that he made a discovery which caused him to utter a low cry of dismay.
The weapon was empty.