“We want to make an awful early start, Bob,” Tom was saying; “so we’d better not do any talking. Pleasant dreams, fellows!”
Long after the others were enjoying blissful slumber Larry was still awake. The windows appeared as two glowing parallelograms amidst a field of darkness. The forms of the sleepers were partially lost in obscurity. Occasionally one of them stirred; but, apart from this, the silence was dense—oppressive.
At last Larry began to slumber, and really being much wearied, was in a profound sleep when a frightful series of yells and pistol shots, apparently just outside the windows, brought him to his feet, white-faced and trembling.
CHAPTER XI
THE RIDER
The confusion which instantly reigned in that particular room of Fool’s Castle far outdid the same kind of performance enacted on the previous night. The boys, springing up, bumped into each other, wildly scrambling for points of safety, and by every action indicating that the night surprise had acted with terrific force on their nerves.
“Help, help!” yelled Larry.
The pistol shots and yells were ringing out again. Momentarily he expected to hear the whirr of bullets flying through the open windows.
What did it mean?
Bob Somers was the first to regain control of his faculties. Regardless of the threatened danger, he dashed out of the room. Stout Dave Brandon followed but a few feet behind.
Fairly leaping from the porch to the ground, the two, with muscles still twitching from the excitement, gazed about them. The appearance of nature had changed. The moon was sending a soft silvery light over the landscape. It flooded the walls of Fool’s Castle, which rose white and ghost-like. The “Italian garden,” looking like some spot fit for the tread of fairies’ feet, seemed as deserted and quiet as a place could be.