“Uncle Sim? Uncle Sim? I would rather have an infant in arms with me. Uncle Sim was scared before we were inside the house and after that everything he saw or heard all helped to scare him still more.”
“He surely was scared last night,” laughed Fred as he recalled the plight of the aged negro.
“He was that,” said John solemnly, “but the worst of it is he scared me too. You know they say that a man doesn’t run because he’s scared, he’s scared because he runs. I don’t know much about that, but I guess it worked both ways with me. I know I was scared before I ran and I know I was scared a good deal worse after I began to run.”
“Never mind, John,” said George, “We’ll have a fine ride to-day. We’re going up through Ramapo Valley, through that place my father was telling you about where young Montagnie was taken prisoner so many years ago by the cowboys.”
“I hope there won’t be anybody there to make prisoners of us,” declared Grant solemnly. “Do you ever have any hold-ups there now?”
“Not every day,” explained George.
“What do you mean by that?” demanded Grant as he turned sharply upon George.
“Just what I say,” repeated George.
“You don’t really think we’ll have any trouble, do you?” inquired Fred anxiously.
“I cannot say,” said George slowly. “There comes a gentleman now who belongs to the fraternity. Perhaps he can tell you more about it than I.” As he spoke the three boys glanced quickly toward the kitchen door. Approaching it was a man who bore every indication of being a tramp.