Again Jacques’ greed for the money gave place to his hatred of Flannigan, and with darkening face and cruel eyes, he raged:
“Chien! Pig! Dat he should tink to fire me, me, Lavine, a son of ze great French republic, and nevaire hear notink again!”
Larry waited a minute for him to calm down a little, and then went on:
“Whin we have done fur him, we’ll divide the long green aiven, and thin make thracks fur Canada. Once in there, Jacques, me b’y, we’re outside the United States, and they’ll not be able to find us.
“Whin Flannigan comes around the turn of the road, you go fur the horse’s head, and I’ll tackle Flannigan. In wan minnit, before he knows what’s happenin’, I’ll——”
Just what more O’Brien might have said was never known, for just then Don—blundering old Don, seeing a jack-rabbit poke his head out from behind the roots of a great tree, found the temptation too strong to resist, gave chase and raced the rabbit across the grass in full sight of the plotters.
The Scouts, who all this time had been standing motionless, their hearts beating faster and faster as the details of the plot were made plain to them, and with faces on which horror was clearly written, were filled with consternation at this unexpected move of the dog. They now quickly skirted the bushes and, slipping among some thickly growing trees, found a little bypath and ran rapidly along it, on their way back to camp.
As the big dog bounded after the rabbit and into the bushes, within ten feet of them, the plotters sprang to their feet, filled with alarm.
“Someone ees list’ning to our talk,” said Jacques. “What ees eet that we shall do?”
“Look around and find them,” Larry replied. “You look in the trees on that side, and Oi’ll go over to that short cut thim Scout spalpeens take to their camp.”