"Let him have it," he said; "and then drive to the nearest village and up to the police station. I'll pay you well for it."
"But—but—who is he?" demanded Abner, stopping his horse.
"Bill Sniggers, the rascal who is in league with Judson."
"Great hemlock! You bet I'll pick him up right smart. But he'll see you boys and scare."
"No, we'll hide in here," and Jack raised a leather flap that hung from the back seat. "It will be a tight fit, but there'll be room."
"Wa'al, if that don't beat all," said Abner. "Git in thar, then, and then the show kin go on."
As Jack had said, it was a "tight fit" in the recess under the seat, but, as Abner's rig had been made to take produce to market, there was a sort of extension at the back, which gave far more room than would ordinarily have been the case. Pretty soon the boys, in their hiding-place, felt the rig come to a stop. Then came a voice both recognized as Bill's.
"Say, gimme a ride, will yer?"
"Did ye say my harness was untied?"
"No, I said gimme a ride," roared Bill, at the top of his powerful lungs.