“Great Abraham Lincoln!” gasped the boy, “this is a nice nest of hornets we’ve stumbled into. ‘Fix ’em,’ that must mean us.”
But the talk went on, and Rob strained his ears for the continuation.
“But if they was guvn’ment men they wouldn’t hev walked in like they done, I reckon,” put in another man, a pallid, sickly-looking chap, with pink-rimmed eyes and a ferrety, furtive manner.
“Best be on the safe side,” counselled the black-bearded man, who had introduced the travelers to the hut, “they’ve got money, too.”
“Money?” questioned the blonde-bearded man.
“Yes. The boy has. And they haven’t got any weapons. I guess we’ll have an easy time of it with them.”
“That nigger looks pretty hefty, and the kid’s no weakling.”
It was the pink-eyed man who spoke. Rob felt a shiver run through him. So they had been observed while they were asleep and never knew it!
“Oh, I’m a fine Scout!” thought the lad bitterly.
“Seems kind of tough on the kid,” said the blonde-bearded man, “but you never did have no sense of pity, Black Bart.”