The conversation continued for an hour or more in this strain, and when the boys had heard David and all his friends soundly abused, and Bob had provided for the spending of every cent of the money he would earn during the first year he rode the route, if his father succeeded in obtaining the appointment for him, he and Lester went out to attend to their horses and talk the matter over by themselves.  Bob was in ecstacies; and while he was counting off on his fingers the various articles he intended to purchase with his wages, Lester suddenly laid his hand on his arm.

“What’s that?” said he, in a suppressed whisper.

Bob looked in the direction indicated by his companion, and saw a dark figure creeping stealthily along the fence.  His actions plainly showed that he had no business there, and, as if moved by a common impulse, the two boys dropped to the ground and waited to see what he was going to do.

“It’s some thieving nigger,” whispered Bob.  “If he lays a hand on anything we’ll jump up and catch him.”

“Hadn’t I better go into the house and call your father?” asked Lester.

“O, no; you and I can manage him.  Do you see those fence pickets over there?  Well, we’ll sneak up and get one apiece, and then if he attempts any resistance, we shall be ready for him.”

The pickets, of which Bob spoke, were piled about twenty yards nearer to the barn than the boys then were, and they succeeded in creeping up to them and arming themselves without attracting the notice of the prowler.  The latter followed the fence until he reached a point opposite the spot where the barn, corn-cribs and other out-buildings were located, and there he stopped to survey the ground before him.  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.”