“Well, what are we going to do about it?” asked Carl, after a dubious silence.
“Le’s pack all dis here stuff in de flat boat, an’ git away quick,” Sam proposed.
“And leave the bees? Not much!” returned Bob. “No, we must put all this plunder back, cover it up again, and never make a word or sign to show that we know it’s there. If those fellows think we know nothing about the stuff and are going away in a month or two, they may let us go in peace. I think we’d better ship the packages of bees a little earlier than we intended, and—”
“What’s that? Listen!” exclaimed Joe; after a moment of tense silence he tiptoed to the window.
The others crowded after him. Bob choked a startled exclamation. Beside the bayou a large boat was drawn up, and three men were starting up the slope. Candler was in the rear, and both Bob and Joe instantly recognized the man in the lead. So did Sam, for they heard his dispairing ejaculation.
“Blue Bob! Oh, my golly!”
Joe wheeled, sweeping a glance at the plunder littered about the cabin.
“The worst minute they could have come!” he exclaimed. “We mustn’t let them get a look in here. Alice, you must stay out of sight. Get the guns, quick. Don’t be scared. We’re too many for ’em!”
All the firearms were in the cabin, by good luck, and the three white boys picked them up and stepped outside, shutting the door. The intruders were coming up without paying much attention to the flying bees, which were not vicious that day. The boys hurried down to meet them with the most indifferent expression they could assume, and Joe gave them a pleasant “Howdy!”
Blue Bob did not reply to the greeting. He tucked his repeating rifle under his arm, and fixed a fierce gaze upon the apiarists.