"So then they can't possibly get over the bridge?" said Mr. Kingbolt, plying his chisel.
"All the planks are up, and hid away till we go down, I tell you," replied the other, "and a red lantern hung across it."
"The bridge," Ford knew at once, must mean a narrow rough structure across a stream just before the road from town wound up the mountain.
"They're likely on their way around by the other one. It'll take them till midnight."
There was a pause. Then said Mr. Kingbolt, out of breath, "Where do you suppose that boy and the dog are?"
"Lost on the mountain, I dare say. But if they come back before we get through, we can fix them somehow."
Ford slipped from below the window. The boy understood all. Many houses in the town had been robbed lately. The "gang" had in some way learned that Major Pepper was occasionally obliged to keep large amounts of money in his lonely country house. They had chosen their day carefully, made or else altered their plans that very morning, thanks to Ford's own politeness in answering Mr. Kingbolt's questions. By a trick they had sent Major and Mrs. Pepper around by their longest route for home. The whole thing was a hastily but cleverly planned scheme. And Ford could do nothing—alone; the nearest houses in the village two miles up the mountain; his swollen foot!
Had he forgotten Leo? The thought darted into his confused mind like a flash. He leaned forward into a ray of light, and drew out gently his pencil, and the envelope, still undirected, in which was his letter to Harry North. He managed to control his excitement and terror enough to scrawl upon it: "There are burglars in our house. Come quick, somebody. Ford Bonner."
The envelope was secured by Ford's shoestring to the greyhound's neck. "Be very quiet, Leo," he kept whispering, almost beseechingly, as he led the dog as well as he could down the far side of the garden, along the fence, and some distance up the road, lest Leo should bark.