He continued to gasp
and splutter out excited adjectives, fragmentary sentences.
"Plot--get you into trouble--father--I heard 'em."
Then as his glance fell upon the people coming up the hill, the officers
in their lead, his eyes bulged with terror, he grasped Bart's arm, let
out an unearthly yell of fear, and by sheer force carried Bart
pell-mell down the other side of the hill with him.
"See here," panted Bart, as, still running, they were headed in the
direction of the railroad, "my business is here. Don't you hurry me off
in this fashion unless there's something to it."
"Told you--express shed--robbers!"
"Robbers? You mean some one is stealing something there?"
"Yes!" gulped Bart's companion.
"Who is it?"
"Don't know."
"Why didn't you stop them?"
"I don't dare do anything," the man wailed. "I'm a poor, miserable
object, but I'm your friend. I heard two fellows whispering on the
tracks near the express shed. Said they were going to steal some
fireworks. I ran to the shed to warn your father. He was asleep in his
chair. They might see me--didn't dare do anything."
Bart now believed there might be some basis to the man's statements.
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