“Are you sure they’re up there?” asked Beantoe.
“Pretty sure. You can see the light, and I heard a lot of voices.”
They listened a moment and caught the unmistakable tones of Cap Smith.
“It’s all right,” whispered Spider. “Pour the stuff out, Beantoe.”
“Aw, I don’t wanter. You’d better,” objected the tripping youth.
“I will not! Didn’t I get all the stuff, and stick in most of the stakes?”
“Well, I sharpened some. Besides, I’m afraid if I pour it I might slip and fall into it.”
“That’s so, I didn’t think of that,” and as Spider recalled the unfortunate habit of his crony he took the can of molasses and lampblack from him, and began making a trail of it all about the foot of the stairs, walking backwards so as to keep out of it himself.
“I guess that will do,” announced the long-legged lad at length. “Now we’ll hide back here and watch the fun. I’ll bring ’em out.”
“How?”