CHAPTER XIV
WHAT HAPPENED
Larry was so intent on the progress of himself and Mr. Meldron that he paid little attention to what the others were doing. They had left him and his companion, in order to circle about the suspected house, and were soon out of sight.
“We’re to close in when we hear Bob fire his gun in the air, ain’t we?” asked Mr. Meldron in a whisper, when he and Larry had advanced some distance through the underbrush.
“That’s it. He’s got the farthest to go, and it will take him some little time to get around. We’ll have to wait for him. I hope everything comes off all right.”
“So do I,” said the farmer. “I guess them tramps won’t light out right away. It’s dinner time, and they’re as fond of eatin’ as most folks, I reckon.”
“I’m beginning to feel that way myself,” spoke Larry, for he had had an early breakfast that morning, and it was now past noon.
In due time Larry and his companion had approached as close as they dared to the house, without running the chance of being seen. They crouched down behind a fringe of bushes, while in front of them was an open space, what had once been the yard about the old house, but which was now overgrown with long and tangled grass.
The young reporter and the farmer were about three hundred feet away from the house, and they had a clear view of the tramps, who were gathered about the fire, over which something was cooking in a kettle. Now and then one of the sprawling men on the ground would go to the pot, and dip out some soup in a tin can which served him for a plate.
The group seemed to be a merry one, though they did not talk loudly enough for Larry to hear what they were saying. Occasionally one of them would break out into song, the others joining in a chorus.
“Some of ’em is good singers, if they be tramps,” commented Mr. Meldron in a whisper.