"You had better get up and dress as quick as you can," said Harry. "That's Webster crossing the clearing. Dad slipped out a minute or two before him."
Frank scrambled into his clothes and followed Harry to the window, where they leaned upon the ledge. There was no doubt that somebody was moving away from the house, because they could hear the withered grass rustle and now and then the faint crackle of a twig, but they could see nothing except the leafless fruit trees and the black wall of bush shutting in the clearing.
Then a savage growl that sounded dulled and muffled broke out from the stable, and Frank felt a little quiver run through him. The sound died away and he found the heavy silence that followed it hard to bear, but a few moments later the dog growled again and then broke into a series of short, snapping barks.
"If he gets loose somebody's going to be sorry," said Harry with a harsh, strained laugh. Then he gripped Frank's arm hard. "Look yonder!"
A yellow blaze suddenly leaped up beside the barn and grew brighter rapidly, until Frank made out a man's black figure outlined against it. He seemed to be throwing an armful of brush or withered twigs upon the spreading fire, and Frank swung around toward his companion.
"Hadn't we better shout or run down?" he asked.
"Wait," said Harry shortly. "Dad's already on that fellow's trail."
He was right, for while the figure bent over the fire a thin streak of red sparks flashed out from among the fruit trees and the crash of a rifle filled the clearing. The man leaped back from the fire, ran a few paces at headlong speed, and vanished suddenly into the shadow.
"He's not hurt," Frank said hoarsely.
"Then it's because dad didn't mean to hit him," Harry answered. "That was a warning."