Whoever was in the chicken yard was having a hard time getting out. Don, standing at the corner of the house, could hear the fellow pounding furiously at the gate and shaking it with all his might.
In the midst of the commotion a window opened in the house next door, and then a light gleamed within. “There’s Fred Ferguson,” said Jud. “O Fred, O Fred!” he shouted. “Come quick!”
“Judson, Judson, what on earth is the matter?” It was the voice of Mrs. Appleton.
Jud did not reply, for at that moment Fred Ferguson, partly dressed and carrying a lighted candle, which he was shading with his hand, appeared on the back doorstep of the Ferguson house. He was a big raw-boned young fellow, and both boys noticed that he was carrying a heavy stick under one arm. “What’s wrong?” he shouted and advanced toward the fence.
“Somebody’s in our chicken yard,” replied Jud. “Come on, Don,” he added, and the boys hurried toward Fred.
“Open the gate and let me out of this!” came a voice out of the fog, and Don started.
The fence shook violently, and the dog and the chickens increased their clamor.
“Open the gate, I say!”
“Leave off shaking that fence,” cried Fred. “Who are you, and what are you doing in there? Leave off shaking that gate, I tell you—if you break it, I’ll whale ye!”
“Open up, then!”