“We’ve got to hop it now,” said Bill. “Hand me the extra rifle, and come on.”
Followed by young Evans, he stepped down to the roadway.
“So long, fellows,” Ezra bade them, “better watch your step when you get near Turner’s.”
“We will,” returned Bill. “Got the times fixed in your mind, Ezra, and all the rest of the instructions?”
“You bet. I’ll write them down soon as I get home. Don’t worry, I won’t let you fellows down.”
He backed the car across the road, swung round his front wheels and chugged off in the direction of Clayton.
“And that’s that,” said Bill.
“I hope Dad will approve,” said Charlie.
Bill’s face took, on a look of grim determination in the darkness. “It’s just too bad if he doesn’t. Don’t shoulder that rifle, Charlie. It’s likely to hit a branch and go off. Hold it in the hollow of your arm, like I’m carrying mine. Keep three or four paces behind me—and remember, no more talking until we are inside the garage. If you see me drop down—flop!”
“O.K.” grunted the youngster. “On your way. If anybody spots us it won’t be my fault.”