“Well I do hope you won’t get into any more mischief,” went on their father. “I’m about tired of hearing everything that happens in this town laid to ‘Those Smith Boys.’”
“So are we, dad!” exclaimed Cap. “And half of the things that are done aren’t up to us at all.”
“Well, perhaps that’s so. But be careful now.”
“Yes,” they promised in a chorus, as they hurried out to meet Bat-Eye. And they really meant to do as they had said, but they were full of life and energy, and—well, you know how it is yourselves. Things don’t always turn out as you think they will.
A little later six figures might have been seen hurrying away across lots in the rear of the Smith homestead. There had been some earnest whispering before their departure, and from the manner in which they hastened away it might have been argued, by anyone who knew the lads, that something was going to happen.
Then, a few seconds after the six had melted away in the darkness, two other figures rose up from the deep grass where they had been hiding.
“There they go, Beantoe,” whispered one lad. “I wonder what’s up?”
“We’ll soon find out, Spider,” was the response. “Come on, we can easily follow them.”
Cautiously the two sped on in the blackness. Just ahead of them could be seen the group of six, and, from time to time, the twain could hear the voices of the Smith Boys, and their chums, Bateye Jones, Doc Lutken and Norton Tonkin.
“Can you hear what they’re saying?” whispered Beantoe.