Having made sure that there was no one in sight, he moved quickly
toward the smokehouse and tried the door.
"I don't think you'll make much there, my friend," whispered Bob.
"That door is locked."
The prowler found it so, and after a few ineffectual attempts to
force it open by pushing with his shoulder against it, he faced about
and disappeared in the barn. While the boys were trying to make up
their minds whether or not they ought to run up and corner him there,
he came out again, and he did not come empty-handed either. He
carried a bag of meal on his shoulder--the one Mr. Owens had put in
the barn that morning for the use of his horses--and in his hand
something that looked like a stick of stove-wood; but it was in
reality a strong iron strap, which he had found in the barn and which
he intended to use to force an entrance into the smokehouse. He
deposited his bag of meal upon the ground, set to work upon the hasp
with his lever and in a few minutes more the door swung open.
"Now is our time," whispered Bob, as the robber disappeared in the
smoke-house. "Stand by me and we'll have a prisoner when we go back
to the house."
Lester would have been very glad indeed to have had some excuse for
remaining in his place of concealment, and allowing his companion to
go on and capture the robber alone; but he could not think of any,
and when Bob jumped up and ran toward the smoke-house, Lester
followed him, taking care, however, to regulate his pace so that his
friend could keep about ten or fifteen feet in advance of him.
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