"Before we could get under shelter he'd be up out of that hollow and have a square open stretch ahead. We've just got to stick to the rookery here, that's all."
"Hide, you mean, Frank?"
"Yes, Paul," came the ready answer, as Frank looked hurriedly around, up and down, and then went on to say: "There may be a cellar under the tumble-down hotel, but so far we haven't seen anything of it."
"What's wrong with our skipping up-stairs and lying low?" Lanky wanted to know.
"Our only chance, boys!" jerked out Frank.
"Go to it then, fellows!" said Lanky, acting as if he meant to make a mad dive for the stairs, and go up helter-skelter. But Frank caught him by the arm.
"Slow and sure, Lanky!" came the warning. "Take things easy! Plenty of time to get there! If we all went in a mob those ricketty stairs would probably come down with a smash and dump us in a heap. You go first, Lanky, then Paul, and I'll bring up the rear."
"I'm game for anything, even a fight!" retorted the tall boy, as he put his foot on the first step and started upward.
Paul was listening. The hoofbeats sounded much closer than before, as if Zeke continued to make good progress toward the old tavern. How those stairs did wobble and creak and groan, even though Lanky was trying to climb as softly as possible.