The two fugitives, elated at their deliverance, but tremblingly apprehensive, stood hesitating at so radical a move as complete emergence from their hiding place.
"We can't crawl out of herre in daylight, that's surre," whispered Archer. "D'you think maybe she'll come even now—if we waited?"
"It must be long after midnight," Tom answered. "You wait here and hold the door up while I crawl out. Don't move and don't speak. What's that shining over there? See?"
"Nothin' but an old waterring can."
"All right—sh-h-h!"
Cautiously, silently, Tom crept out, peering anxiously in every direction. Stealthily he raised himself. Then suddenly he made a low sound and with a rapidity which startled Archer, dropped to his hands and knees.
"What's the matterr?" Archer whispered. "Come inside—quick!"
But Tom was engrossed with something on the ground.
"What is it?" Archer whispered anxiously. "His footprints?"
"Yop," said Tom, less cautiously. "Come on out. He's standing over there in the field now. Come on out, don't be scared."