Again the boys sat back in their corner to wait, huddled together for the sake of companionship, and wondering what had become of their chums at the cottage.
“They ought to be here by this time,” Jimmie complained, in a whisper. “I left plenty of instructions regarding the route.”
The little fellow did not, of course, know that the boys were at that moment in the ancient house near the Culebra cut, nor that an automobile was speeding over a hill to the north of the old structure—watched by his friends with anxious interest.
“Something may have happened to them,” Ned said. “It seems to me that this case is set on automatic springs. The slightest move on our part brings out a bang from the other side. Our opponents are industrious chaps, and that’s no fabrication. They keep going every minute of the time.”
“And they’ve won every trick so far,” grumbled Jimmie.
“Yes, but the game is not out yet,” Ned replied, hopefully.
“I should think these gazabos would get tired of waitin’ an’ go away,” Jimmie said, after another long silence.
“They are taking turns sleeping,” Ned replied. “I heard one of them snoring a few minutes ago.”
Jimmie settled back again, rubbing his stomach dolefully, and the place seemed to grow darker before his eyes. When he awoke again Ned was pulling at his arm, and there was a great shouting and pounding at the door.
“Wake up and get your gun out,” Ned said. “There’s going to be something started here in a minute.”