As the three held a council of war at the rear of the
deserted house they were startled by the loud squeaking
of brake bands on the road in front. Bridge ran quickly
into the kitchen and through to the front room where he
saw three men alighting from a large touring car which
had drawn up before the sagging gate. As the foremost
man, big and broad shouldered, raised his eyes to the
building Bridge smothered an exclamation of surprise
and chagrin, nor did he linger to inspect the other mem-
bers of the party; but turned and ran quickly back to his
companions.
"We've got to beat it!" he whispered; "they've brought
Burton himself down here."
"Who's Burton?" demanded the youth.
"He's the best operative west of New York City,"
replied Bridge, as he moved rapidly toward an out-
house directly in rear of the main building.
Once behind the small, dilapidated structure which
had once probably housed farm implements, Bridge
paused and looked about. "They'll search here," he
prophesied, and then; "Those woods look good to me."
The Squibbs' woods, growing rank in the damp ravine
at the bottom of the little valley, ran to within a hun-
dred feet of the out-building. Dense undergrowth
choked the ground to a height of eight or ten feet
around the boles of the close set trees.
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