There was a short argument after this, but in the end Farmer Brown and his son Bill, a tall, wiry youth of nineteen, agreed to accompany Mike Marcy and Dave. Mrs. Fairchild's home was less than a quarter of a mile away, and to cut off a bend of the highway they took to an open field which came to an end at the edge of the widow's orchard.
"There is the house," whispered Mike Marcy, at last. "Better go slow now."
"Yes, we don't want them to get away," answered Dave.
"Let us spread out around the house," advised Farmer Brown. "The first one to spot the rascals can give the alarm."
So it was agreed, and while Dave went to the rear of the dwelling the others passed to the front and sides. The place was pitch dark on the inside and lit up only by the light of the stars from without.
Dave's heart was beating rather rapidly, for there was no telling when he would find himself face to face with the two robbers, and he realized that they must be desperate characters. He clutched the club tightly, resolved to do his best, should it come to a hand-to-hand encounter.
Several minutes passed and slowly the four outside walked completely around the building. Only one window was open, that to the dining room.
"See anybody?" whispered Mike Marcy, coming up to Dave.
"No."
"Sure ye didn't make any mistake?"