“Throw him in the ditch, behind the bushes. They won’t find him so easily.”
“All right.”
The two caught up the limp body, and, taking it to the ditch, threw it in.
In the mean time Bob had crawled along the ditch to a point almost directly behind the hay-stack. It was so dark here that he could see but little, but his ears were on the alert and, by listening intently, he made out the faint murmur of voices.
He could not make out what was said, and, after waiting for several minutes, he ventured a couple of yards closer.
Then he beheld the two men in slouch hats in low but earnest conversation. Casco was nowhere to be seen.
Making sure that he was not discovered, Bob drew still closer to learn, if possible, what had become of the scar-faced man.
“Well, Grogan, what do you think of Casco’s plan?” he heard one of the men say.
“Sure, an’ Oi think it purty bould, Barker,” replied Grogan, who was undoubtedly an Irishman. “’Tis a foine way to make money widout workin’.”
“It’s not so fine if you get caught,” replied Barker. “To my mind it’s rather risky.”