“Get ready!” he called to the others, loudly enough for Larry and his companion to hear; “you’ve been long enough at the eats. Come on.”
“Where’s the kid?” asked another.
“He’ll be out in a minute, and then we’ll finish up this business, and get back to New York.”
“Finish up!” whispered the farmer hoarsely. “I wonder if they’re going to do away with the poor little chap.”
“They wouldn’t dare!” declared Larry. “But I can’t understand what they mean by going back to New York. I should think that would be the very place they’d keep away from.”
“Look! Look!” suddenly exclaimed the farmer, pointing toward the house. Larry saw a strange sight.
From the lonely house came bursting a small boy, and to the startled gaze of Larry he seemed very much like the pictures of the stolen Lorenzo. Forth he came, and darted away across the deep grass of the yard.
“There he goes!” cried the tramp leader. “Get after him now, and see how long it takes to catch him!”
The tramps about the fire sprang to their feet, and were off after the fleeing lad.
“By heck! I can’t stand this!” fairly shouted Mr. Meldron. “I don’t care where the others are, I’m going to close in.”