At this hour all Beartown seemed to be sunk in slumber, as was quite proper should be the case. From not a single window twinkled a light nor was man, woman or boy seen on the street. A solitary dog, with nose down and travelling diagonally as canines sometimes do, trotted to the front gate of the house opposite the post office, jumped over and passed from view to the rear.
“I wonder what that man is waiting there for.”
It was Nora who whispered this question, which instantly put the others on the qui vive.
“I don’t see any man; where is he?” asked Chester.
“Under that tree opposite; he’s in plain sight.”
Such was the fact now that she had directed attention to him. The elm was directly across the street, and had a trunk not more than six or eight inches in diameter. A man was standing motionless under the dense foliage several feet above his head, doing nothing except simply to stand there.
“He is the lookout,” said Chester.
“What’s a lookout?” asked the nervous Nora.
“He is there to watch for danger that may threaten the others who are inside and working at your mother’s safe. If he sees anything wrong he will give a signal, probably by means of a whistle, and the fellows below will run.”
“Why couldn’t you give the signal?”