CHAPTER VIII.
IN GRUESOME CONFINEMENT.
What more Patsy Garvan heard was along much the same lines as that which he already had heard, but none of it gave him any clew to the contemplated destination of Deland and his confederates.
Dusk began to gather within half an hour, and darkness quickly followed. Margate lighted a small lantern, so hooding it with an empty box that its rays could not be seen from outside, but in its feeble glow the three crooks continued to sit and discuss their knavery. Their faces and figures looked grim and threatening in the dim light cast upon them.
Presently, still crouching behind the grain chest, Patsy heard the thud of hoofs and the grinding of wheels in the gravel, and Margate arose at the same time, saying quickly:
“Here comes Ruff with the wagon. I told you he’d show up promptly.”
“Good enough,” cried Deland. “We’ll lose no time in getting away.”
“I must go to the house for my cap,” growled Margate.
“Go ahead. That won’t take long, Jim?”
“Wait till I douse this glim. There would be something doing, all right, if this dead wagon were seen here?”
“It has been seen, you rascal, and I can see your finish,” thought Patsy, with grim satisfaction.