“Now, Mr. Lindquist,” said Beveridge, “it's getting on pretty late in the evening, and we're tired. Can't you put us up for the night? Not in the house—I'd hardly ask that—but out in the barn, say?” As he spoke he laid a two-dollar bill on the table and pushed it over close to the farmer's hand.
“Well, I dunno.” For a moment the bill lay there between their two hands, then Lindquist's nervous fingers slowly closed over it. “I suppose you could sleep out there.”
“That's first-rate. We 'll go right out if you don't mind. You needn't bother about coming. Just let your boy there bring a lantern and show us where to go.”
Lindquist did not take to this. “Axel,” he said, “you go up to bed. Mind, now!” Then he lighted the lantern and led the way to the barn. When he had left them, tumbled about on the fragrant hay, Smiley spoke up. “Well, Beveridge, what next?”
“Didn't he lock the door just then?”
“Yes,” said Harper, “I'm sure I heard it. I 'll go and see.”
Slowly he descended, and felt his way across the floor, returning with the report that the door was fast.
“Now, boys, I 'll tell you,” said Beveridge. “We 'll take a little rest. It's all right as long as one of us is awake. Before the night's over we've got to get hold of that boy, but we won't make a disturbance yet.”
“Oh,” cried Dick, a flood of light breaking in on his understanding, “it's the boy you're after.”
“Yes, it's the boy, of course. I've had to sit down a good many times in my life and thank the Lord for my luck, but this beats it all.”