They made the little journey back to the farm without incident. Ralph did not attempt anything like speed in covering the ten or more miles. Twice that same night he had raced like mad over that course, escaping disaster several times only by a narrow margin. Ralph did not care to accept the same risks again when there was no sense in it.
Rob, however, would not soon forget both of those hurried trips, with that ominous glare in the heavens to spur the driver on.
Arriving home, they soon sought their beds, for it was a pretty tired lot of fellows who came back after such a tempestuous experience.
Little talking was indulged in, at Rob’s suggestion. They could leave that for the morning, when they would be refreshed, and able to discuss all details connected with the night of terror.
When morning came it proved to be a fine opening, for the sun arose in a clear sky, despite the threat of rain during the earlier part of the preceding night.
They had hardly finished breakfast, and were trying to lay out a programme for the day, when the man Pete, who was in charge of Ralph’s queer fur farm showed up. Rob understood from his manner that something unusual must have caused him to pay this early morning visit to the farmhouse, for as a rule he cooked his own meals up at the other station, sleeping there as well.
When Ralph had had a little talk with him he came over to where the rest of the boys were sitting on the porch.
“Well, more trouble in prospect up at my fox farm,” Ralph remarked.
“Another cat bobbed up, Ralph?” asked Rob, immediately. “I mention that because I happen to know as a rule where you run across one you’ll also find its mate, for they generally hunt in couples.”
Ralph nodded his head, and made a wry face.