The horse did not seem to relish this invasion of his private domain to any great extent, but save a few snorts and an emphatic stamp or two, he paid little attention to his unbidden guest.
There were sounds of voices about the place for some time after the detective had secured his position, but just before midnight all grew still.
Now and then a steady footstep sounded in the distance, but in the immediate vicinity all was quiet.
“Now I wonder,” thought Nick, “if that sheriff’s officer is attending strictly to business. He seems to be an intelligent and nervy sort of chap, and I guess I can trust him.”
After what seemed hours to the waiting detective, he heard an inner door opened cautiously and the footfalls of two persons were heard stealthily advancing toward the place where he lay concealed.
“That’s the horse over there,” said a voice which he had no difficulty in recognizing as that of Morris.
“You take the iron and do the work,” said Brower, in a whisper.
“Not much. I’m not laming race horses for a living just now.”
“You’ve done worse than that before now.”
“Well, everything I ever tackled had some sort of a show.”