There was such a grim tone in the last utterance that neither Hal nor Bert doubted the truth of its assertion. They remained absolutely motionless while Slim’s fingers explored pockets and, afterwards, rummaged bags and all likely places of concealment. The net result was some eighteen dollars in coin and three return tickets to Central City. Hal hoped that the latter would be rejected, but not so. The big fellow seemed very pleased with them. Then there was a thorough examination of the boys’ wardrobes and Slim and his companion took a fancy to some underwear, two pairs of shoes—though Hal doubted they’d fit—Bert’s and Hal’s mackinaws and four pair of woolen hose. Hal hoped that the men would prolong their visit to change into their new clothes, but they didn’t. They put the mackinaws on, to be sure, but the rest of the plunder they took with them, or started to. That they didn’t was only because just at the moment they were ready to depart the door opened most unexpectedly and a burly, red-faced man who chewed an unlighted cigar said pleasantly:
“Stick ’em up, and stick ’em up quick!”
It was somewhere about midnight that night when Camp Resthere settled down to normalcy. The three boys had then been in bed for more than an hour, but that hour had been, like the several hours preceding it, devoted to excited conversation. Now, at last, the excitement had abated. They had re-lived the whole experience, discussed and re-discussed every incident. Bert had told his actions and re-actions, Hal had explained in full detail his every thought and intention and Joe had, more briefly sketched his part in the successful affair. For it certainly had been successful. The boys had recovered their property, Sheriff Collins had in his keeping the money and bonds stolen from the now convalescent Mr. Robbins and the robbers were doubtless by this time safely ensconced in the Pemberton jail. There seemed absolutely nothing left to discuss or explain, and silence had lasted for quite four minutes when Hal broke it.
“Say, Joe,” he observed out of the warm darkness, “you must have made quick time to North Pemberton. How long did it take you, do you think?”
“I don’t know,” replied Joe. “It was eleven minutes past five by the church clock when I went into the hotel down there.”
“What? Why, you didn’t leave here until twelve minutes of! That makes it—makes it—er—why, that makes it twenty-three minutes! And it must be all of five or six miles! Gee, Joe who told you you couldn’t skate?”
“Maybe your watch and that clock aren’t alike,” offered the somewhat sleepy voice of Bert. “How many times did you fall down, Joe?”
There was a moment’s silence. Then Joe answered in tones charged with incredulity and wonder; “Not once!”
“There!” exclaimed Hal triumphantly. “What did I tell you? Didn’t I say you could skate if you didn’t—didn’t try?”