"Now we're on our own," Bud said as he listened to the hoof-beats of the horses gradually dying away. "Let's get up to where we can see the house."
"What about the broncs? Think we better leave them?"
"Well, what do you think? We want them near us so we can get going quick if we have to. Suppose we tie them as close to the house as we can without being seen?"
"That's a good idea. Well, there's the place. Somebody's sure in it. All lit up!"
The boys stood and looked at the old farm house which loomed in the moonlight before them. It was certainly inhabited, for several lights were glowing on the ground floor, and every now and then a figure would pass in front of the lamps, casting a shadow plainly visible from the outside.
"Got a lot of nerve, walking around like that in front of lamps," Bud commented. "Easy to take a pot-shot at them."
"Guess they don't figure us as the kind for that sort of thing," Dick responded. "And we're not, either—though it would serve them right if someone did let ride at the window."
The two boys now took up their positions agreed upon—Dick around to the left, and Bud to the right. They were thus separated from each other by about three hundred yards.
"Mustn't start thinking foolish things!" Dick exclaimed to himself. "Got enough on my mind now." He shook his head as though to rid it of fancies which hung around it. The boy was certainly not of a morbid type, and it was the most natural thing in the world for him to be a bit uneasy, considering his situation. Yet he would not even admit to himself that he was anything but wholly composed.
"Wonder how Bud is making out?" he thought. "Perhaps I'd better sneak over and see. But no, there's no sense in that." Thus did he dismiss the craving for company. "Besides, I've got my job cut out for me here."