"Not too fast," cried Ned warningly. "You're jumping at a rash conclusion now, Clay. That light is in the window of some farmhouse. It stands to reason that it can't be at our camp."
Clay stopped and retraced his steps.
"I was dead sure it was the campfire," he said dismally. "I thought our troubles were over."
"Perhaps they are," replied Ned slowly. "We'll go up to that farmhouse and find out exactly how the land lies. If the camp is not far off, we'll borrow a lantern and push on—otherwise we'll ask for a place to sleep until morning."
This arrangement was thoroughly satisfactory to Clay, and the boys started briskly across the field. They found an orchard at the farther end, and after passing through this and rounding the corner of the barn, they saw the house in front of them.
It stood in a good sized yard inclosed by a picket fence. The light was in one of the upper front rooms, where some late retiring member of the family was no doubt preparing for bed.
"It won't do to make any racket," said Ned, "because there may be a dog around. We'll go quietly in and rap on the door."
The boys softly opened the gate and entered the yard. In spite of the utmost caution their feet made a crunching noise on the gravel path, and the consequence was that before they were half way to the house a dog began to bark furiously. Worse still, the sound came from between them and the fence, so that escape was cut off.
"This way," cried Ned, dashing toward the corner of the house. "We may find shelter in the outbuildings."
He had taken but a dozen steps when his feet clattered on some loose boards. These gave way with a crash, and after a brief drop through empty space, he plunged into ice cold water, going clear under the surface.