“He’s going to town for a constable,” mused Roy. “I wonder how far it is.”
“He said he wouldn’t be more than an hour.”
“Then we’ve got an hour to find a way out of here.” Roy turned and looked frowningly about the room. It was some twelve by fifteen feet in size, with one door into the hall, and one window. The walls were kalsomined a streaky white. The furnishings consisted of a bed and a mattress, a yellow bureau, a chair, and a wash-stand with bowl and pitcher and a square of rag carpet.
“If we only had some bedclothes,” muttered Roy.
“Or a ladder,” added Chub with a grin. “I guess we’re here to stay unless—”
“What?”
“Unless Dick turns up. I don’t believe he’s gone off very far, do you?” Roy’s reply was interrupted by the clatter of wheels and they went back to the window in time to see Mr. Ewing rattle by in the buggy. He looked up and grinned malevolently at the faces in the window.
Roy waved down to him airily. “Good-by, Pop!” he called.
The farmer cut the horse savagely with the whip and was out of sight around the corner of the house.