"It's me; Caleb Judson. Don't you know me?"
"Whew!" whistled Dixon softly, while the rest of the boys nodded and winked at one another. "It's one of Bud Goble's friends. Are we not in luck? I know of you," he said aloud. "But what are you doing there in the bushes? Come close to the fence and tell us what you want. Be quiet, for there are guards on both sides, and we mustn't let them hear us."
Thus encouraged, Caleb Judson arose from his hiding-place and came forward; but, as if he were afraid of treachery, he halted just out of reach of the fence.
"That won't do," said Dixon. "Come up close so that we can talk between the pickets. It's too late for you to run now, even if you wanted to. You see this fellow?" he added, calling Caleb's attention to the sentry, who came up holding his musket at "arms port." "That gun of his has got a bullet in it, and his orders are—"
"Don't shoot," said Caleb; and in his excitement and alarm he spoke so loud that the boys trembled.
"Don't you know enough to keep still?" exclaimed Marcy angrily. "No one is going to hurt you. Come up to the fence. Now, what brought you here? Talk fast."
"Well," said Caleb, speaking slowly, as if he did not know how to explain his errand; "you mind them Gray an' Graham boys, don't ye?"
"We have a slight acquaintance with them," answered Dixon. "What about them? Do you want to see them?"
"See 'em?" repeated Caleb. "I jest did see 'em, not more'n an hour ago."
"Um," said Dixon. "Where did you leave them?"