“Humph! I believe those fellows have gone away for good!” cried Tom.
“We must wait here until Bob gets back,” remarked Dave. “So what’s the matter with making ourselves comfortable? Suppose we try the windows.”
“But—but—just imagine what might happen if Hank Styles an’ some others should come back,” began Larry.
“Ease your mind, son,” interrupted Tom, loftily. “We’re not a bit afraid.”
Finding all the ground floor sashes fastened the crowd decided to adopt heroic measures. A ponderous sawhorse was found in the stable; and, armed with this, they attacked the door. Before their onslaught it soon tottered back on creaking hinges.
“Hooray—hooray!” shouted Tom. And, followed by the others, he dashed inside.
“Let’s get something to eat,” suggested Dave. “I’m uncommonly hungry.”
“That seems to be the best plan,” agreed Sam. “Here’s a big stove and enough wood to start a fire. Let’s pitch in hard.”
Several of the boys immediately went out and got the saddle bags.
But one thing marred their happiness—the absence of Bob Somers. Without his cheery presence a damper seemed to have come over the group.