“Let’s set our trap,” said Jud. “The first thing is to find enough rope.”
The boys at once began to search the wagon shed, and by the time they had found enough lengths, had fastened them to one another and had tied one end of the improvised rope to the gate of the chicken yard, darkness had set in in earnest. Carrying the other end of the rope across the yard and passing it between the wires of the fence, they retired with it to the door of the wagon shed to wait.
“Just a moment,” said Jud and crossed the yard to the house.
When he returned he carried with him a pan of cornbread and two large apples. “This is going to be fun,” he said. “It’s like being out in the woods, trapping.”
“It is a little,” Don agreed; and then he told Jud more about Glen Drake and about the trips that the old trapper and he had made together. “You’ll have to come to the house sometime when he’s there,” he said.
“I’d like to,” said Jud, “but if he’s with the army, it’ll be a long time before he can come to Boston again.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” replied Don. “If Glen wanted to come very much he’d come, and the King’s men would never catch him either!”
For a while the boys sat silent, munching cornbread and apples in the doorway of the old shed. All round them was darkness, damp and chill. Up on Common Street a wagon creaked past; the driver, whoever he was, was singing a boisterous song. After a while he passed out of hearing; and only the occasional challenge of a sentry far across the Common broke the stillness.
Don’s head was beginning to nod; but Jud, rope in hand, was wide awake. “Not asleep, are you, Don?” he whispered.
“What? Oh, yes.” Don shook his head from side to side several times. “Guess I was asleep. Wonder what time it is?”