"How do you know there is anything else?" asked Lanky, grinning whimsically.
"Because I know you too well to believe it would end there. Confess now that you got something to eat after all—that you broke into that peaceful farmhouse and cooked a full dinner for the crowd."
"Oh! I see that you've heard. Well, we did that same thing, for we were nearly famished. But we cleaned everything up, washed the dishes, and when we went away left two dollars on the kitchen table with a note of apology," confessed Lanky.
"Well, that was decent of you anyhow. Catch Lef Seller and his cronies doing anything like that. They'd have smashed things generally like a lot of Apaches on the war-path. But you seem to be afraid that we wouldn't find any smoke rising from this farmhouse over yonder. Take a peep, and tell me what you think."
Something in the voice of Frank caused the others to hurry up beside him. Here they could easily see the house, now not more than a quarter of a mile distant.
"Say," observed Lanky immediately, as a smile of appreciation covered his face, "they're busy cooking for all that's out. Must be getting up a regular old-time Christmas dinner such as you read about. Yum! yum! wasn't it an inspiration that made me suggest coming over here? A cold lunch, hey? Not any in mine, thank you, Frank."
"Hold on," returned the other, quickly; "Ralph, are your eyes any better than Lanky's? When he's real hungry everything looks like grub to him. What do you say, partner?"
"Frank, there's a fire there," cried Ralph, quickly.
"Course there is. How under the sun could they get dinner without? Think every farmhouse here is up to date with the latest fireless cooker? Come off, now!" but neither of the others saw fit to argue the question.
"The house is afire!" exclaimed Frank, decisively.