"Well, Lef is in a section of country right now where Lynch law often overtakes a rascal; and believe me, Frank, if he's caught red-handed in any of his ugly tricks out here he'll not have an indulgent dad to help him out of the fix."
"As long as we have any reason to believe that precious pair still hang out around here, Lanky, we've got to keep our eyes peeled for trouble. What under the sun are you sniffing like that for? Think you smell a skunk around?"
"Made me think of the way we smoked that mountain lion out of his den—smell of dried grass, all right. I wonder if the boys are burning off a piece of meadow that's turned brown in this dry spell?"
Frank himself was now busily engaged in "sniffing."
"Well, there must be a fire where there's smoke," he said finally, at the same time showing a trace of uneasiness. "Strikes me, it comes from over that way."
"Look at that burst of smoke shoot up on the other side of the house!" cried Lanky. "Some fire, that must be as sure as— There, listen to Charlie Gin Sing giving tongue! The cook's as scared as a singed cat. Let's scoot over that way, Frank, and see what they're doing. Now others are yelling to beat the band! We were longing for excitement, and, sure enough, here she comes full tilt!"
"Lanky, it's the barn on fire, I do believe!" Frank managed to say as the pair of them went at full speed, swerving so as to pass around the house, when they would have a full unobstructed view.
"With all that hay and the straw from last year in it, too!" added the other.