“You seen only one man, you told me.”
“But that’s no sign there isn’t others near.”
“True. By gracious, Bill!” whispered the New Englander, peering forward and to one side in the gloom; “I believe I did see a person in front of us just then.”
“I didn’t notice him,” replied the driver, trying hard to pierce the gloom; “where is he?”
“Not in the middle of the road, but on the left.”
That was the side on which Durrell was sitting, so that he had a better opportunity than the driver. He believed something moved, but the shadows among the trees were too dense to make sure. The fact that the horses had shown no sign of fear was good reason to suspect Durrell was mistaken, but enough doubt remained to cause misgiving.
They talked so low that the boys behind them could only catch the murmur of their voices, without being able to understand their words. They were in such trepidation themselves that they forgot their recent farce, and, speaking only now and then in whispers, used their eyes and ears for all they were worth.
“If any one stirs, he’ll be shot!”
Some one at the side of the road uttered these words in a low but distinct voice, adding in the same terrible tones:
“Stop that team! There are three of us here, and we’ve got you covered; each one of you get down and stand at the side of the road and hold up your hands! Do as you are told and you won’t get hurt! Try any of your tricks and you’ll be riddled!”