Beantoe and Spider maintained a discreet silence.
“By Jinks! that’s it, fellows!” cried Bill. “Say, this is rich! Tie ’em to the fence, and leave ’em. Then we’ll give the alarm! Say, this is great!”
“Oh, don’t tie us! We won’t tell!” wailed Beantoe and Spider in a chorus.
But their foes were relentless, and in a few minutes the two spies were secured to the fence across the road from the barn. Meanwhile the flickering lights in the old structure had increased. Smoke was pouring from the windows and doors.
“There, you can tell any story you like now,” said Pete, as he fastened the last knot. “Maybe they’ll believe you and maybe they won’t.”
“Oh, we Smith boys will be blamed anyhow,” was Bill’s grumbling opinion.
“Then we might as well have the game as the name. Come on, it’s going good now. We’ll give the department something to do.”
With a final look at the barn, and the lads who were tied to the fence, the Smith boys and their chums began to run down the road in the direction of the town. As they left, the whole interior of the rickety structure was lighted up, and the smoke poured out thicker than ever.
“They’ve set the barn on fire!” yelled Beantoe, as he struggled to get loose.
“And they’re going to put the blame on us,” added Spider, threshing about with his long legs.