“Very good, sir,” answered George. “Do you want me to go down to the village?”
“No, I will come up here. And, Dick, I shall no doubt find you and Bob at the academy if I have occasion to serve a summons on you? All right. Good-by! I am sorry that we have put you to so much trouble and anxiety.”
“I am not,” said Bob cheerfully. “This thing was bound to happen, sooner or later, and now it is over.”
The sheriff and his party rode away, and the three boys went around to the front of the cabin and seated themselves on the bench.
“Do you know, Dick, that we had a very narrow escape last night?” said Bob, who was the first to speak.
“Of course I do. Didn’t you see that window this morning? It was full of holes, and if we had been there—”
“I wasn’t thinking of that. I mean it was a lucky thing for us that we didn’t try to approach the house after we drove the robbers away. While you were telling your story to the sheriff, I heard Mr. Stebbins say to a man near him that he stood guard at that window all night, ready to shoot the first one of us who showed himself.”
“And he would have done it without realizing what he was about,” replied George. “His fright took away all his sense. But what do you suppose the sheriff is coming up here for on Monday morning?”
That was a question that neither Dick nor Bob could answer. Like the causes that had impelled Wallace and his companions to take up stealing as a pastime, it was a mystery, and so it would remain until time unravelled it.
While they were discussing the matter, Dick Langdon caught a momentary glimpse of something that brought him to his feet and sent him post-haste into the cabin. When he came out again, he carried his double-barrel in his hands, and his cartridge-belt was buckled about his waist.