“When we left school this afternoon, we didn’t dream of such a thing as this—did we?” said Dick, who was the first to break the silence. “I say, Bob, it’s a lucky thing for Mr. Stebbins that we got lost. If we had come straight to the lake and gone on to George’s cabin, there’s no telling what these robbers would have done after they gained a footing in the house.”
“If they didn’t show more pluck in the house than they did out of it, they wouldn’t have accomplished anything,” replied Bob. “I didn’t expect we could drive them away so easily; but they showed themselves to be perfect cowards. There’s one thing that bangs me completely,” added Bob, pulling off his hat and digging his fingers into his head, as if he were trying to stir up his ideas. “Who were those fellows? That is what I want to know.”
“There’s something queer about that. You thought you recognized Wallace’s voice, and Forbes’, and you heard one of the party addressed as Benson?”
“I did, and his voice sounded like Benson’s, too.”
“But you don’t think it was he?”
“Why, of course not,” replied Bob, who, now that his excitement was over, was able to take a calmer and—as he thought—more sensible view of the situation. “There is more than one fellow in the world by the name of Benson.”
But this reflection did not satisfy Bob, or Dick either.
They fell asleep while they were talking the matter over, and slumbered peacefully until daylight, when they were awakened by a series of frightful yells, and started up to find Mr. Stebbins standing in the open door.
His wrinkled face was distorted with rage, and he held in his hands an old flint-lock musket, which he pointed straight at Bob’s head.
He looked dangerous.