The next moment he was chiding himself for a fool. “He’ll be here in a moment and I’ll tell him about the reward.” Johnny smiled at the thought.
Walking to the tiny poultry house, he opened the door and, flicking on his flashlight, looked within. The calm assurance of chickens on their roost, of the single goose who did not so much as take his head from beneath his wing, did much to allay his fears.
“Just look about a bit, anyway,” he mused. “May find another case of diamonds,” he added with a forced chuckle.
As he stepped over the first mound of clay he thought he detected a sound behind him. Stopping dead in his tracks, while little tufts of hair appeared to rise at the back of his neck, he said in a low, steady tone:
“Ben. Ben Zook.”
There came no answer, no other sound.
He crossed another mound, and yet another. Then again there came a sound as of a brick loosened from a pile.
“Ben. Ben Zook,” he called softly. Once more no answer.
Then, just as he was about to go forward again, having thrown his light ten feet before him, he started back in horror. There at his feet lay a dead man!
Trembling in every limb, feeling sick as if about to fall in a faint, yet battling it back, he stood still in his tracks for such a space of time as it might take to count one hundred.