for us. Somebody must have leaked, or else Ted was tipped off. We've got
to be mighty cautious, I tell you, if we want to give them the slip."

"S-s-say, d-d-don't you k-k-know we've got a fi-fine b-b-barn on our
p-p-place, fellows?"

"For goodness sake; won't somebody please pound Bluff Shipley on the
back, and make him bite his twisted tongue, so he can talk straight?"
cried a pleading voice.

"Listen!"

There must have been a streak of authority in the tone used by Paul
Morrison when he spoke this last word; every one of the other six boys
crouched there, craning his neck, and listening to catch the unusual
sound that had apparently reached the trained ears of their leader.

The woods surrounded the boys on all sides, gloomy, and full of
mystifying noises.

Yet Paul knew full well just what every one of the sounds meant. An owl
called mournfully to its mate from a hollow tree. Katydids and merry
crickets added their shrill music to the chorus of that late summer
night. Even a colony of tree frogs solemnly chanted their appeal for
"more rain."

During the day just ended six fellows in the thriving town of Stanhope
had received urgent telephone calls from Paul, who was an only son of the
leading doctor in the place.