"I wonder if this is Simpson's back yard?" he queried softly.
"It must be," Fred concluded, "or else the back yard of some member
of his gang."
Charley put his hands warningly on both their arms.
"Hist! What 's that?" he whispered.
They crouched down on the ground. Not far away was the sound of some
one moving about. Then they heard a noise of falling water, as from
a faucet into a bucket. This was followed by steps boldly approaching.
They crouched lower, breathless with apprehension.
A dark form passed by within arm's reach and mounted on a box to the
fence. It was Brick himself, resetting the trap. They heard him arrange
the slat and stone, then right the barrel and empty into it a couple of
buckets of water. As he came down from the box to go after more water,
Joe sprang upon him, tripped him up, and held him to the ground.
"Don't make any noise," he said. "I want you to listen to me."
"Oh, it 's you, is it?" Simpson replied, with such obvious relief in
his voice as to make them feel relieved also. "Wot d' ye want here?"
"We want to get out of here," Joe said, "and the shortest way 's the
best. There 's three of us, and you 're only one--"
"That 's all right, that 's all right," the gang-leader interrupted.
"I 'd just as soon show you the way out as not. I ain't got nothin'
'gainst you.
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