The others followed his example, and when one of them stepped into plain view in front of the open door, Bob saw that his face was concealed by a bag drawn over his head.
“What in the world is the meaning of that, I wonder?” soliloquized the silent watcher, who was utterly bewildered by these strange proceedings. “It looks suspicious, to say the least. It’s a lucky thing for Dick and me that I didn’t speak to them; and in order to be on the safe side—”
“Listen! listen!” suddenly exclaimed one of the intruders, in an excited whisper.
The speaker and his companions instantly became as motionless as so many blocks of wood, and Bob Howard held his breath in suspense.
He had tried to draw his gun toward him, intending to put a cartridge into each barrel, and so prepare himself for any emergency that might arise.
The rustling he made in the hay, slight as it was, reached the ears of one of the intruders and alarmed them.
“I was certain I heard something,” continued the latter, in the same cautious whisper.
“No doubt you did,” replied one of his companions, with some impatience in his tones. “I have heard something ever since I have been in the barn. I have heard horses stamping and the cows eating their hay.”
“But I heard something else—I know I did. It was a faint, rustling sound—”
“Oh, come now! We have heard enough of that. You are altogether too chickenhearted for this business, Benson. How will you act when you get on the plains, among those—”