Now he felt thankful indeed that his forethought had been, apparently, wise. There was something so hasty in the movements of the men as to convince him that they were on no ordinary errand.
They disappeared inside the stable, and the sound of their voices came over the air, mingling in with the stamping of horses’ hoofs.
“Ah! They are saddling their mounts,” murmured Bob. “Mighty interesting, I call it.”
Snuggling closer among the bushes the Rambler peered eagerly through an opening.
“Ah!” he breathed. The men were leading their horses outside, at the same time talking in excited tones, but too low for the words to reach him. “Going to skip, eh?”
One of the trio began tearing a bit of paper into strips. Then, taking off his sombrero, he dropped the pieces inside, while the others, standing near by, gesticulated in an angry fashion. Not a move was lost to Bob Somers’ eager gaze. Their actions bore out in an almost startling fashion his idea that something was up.
“Ah!” he muttered again.
Little Hank Styles was holding his hat high in the air.
Two arms were immediately outstretched, as his companions one after another drew forth a slip from the hat. Each seemed to scan the pieces with great eagerness. The next instant Hank Styles and another burst into a loud peal of laughter and began to slap their knees and give other evidences of extreme satisfaction. The third, however, indicated his displeasure in a way there could be no mistaking. He shook his fist in the air and at the house. And all this seemed to excite further the risibilities of the other two.
Bob Somers was clearly puzzled.