“We’ll start in fifteen minutes,” one of them was saying. “Those swells ’round the Profile House hit the hay late. Won’t do to get there too soon. It’s almost the last house down this way--lucky for us. We can turn the car at the wide place in the road where guys stop to see the Stone Face, and be all ready for a quick getaway.” “How do you know they ain’t got a strong arm guy guardin’ the sparkle?” asked the other man. “They ain’t, I tell yer,” said the first. “Ain’t me friend Jim got a stable job at the Profile just to tip us off? Ain’t we got to split with him? Guess they didn’t reckon there’d be any need to watch the weddin’ swag, way up here in these God forsaken hills. Ha! They forgot that automobiles has changed things!” “They are going to rob somebody’s house--at the Profile,” Art whispered, pulling Peanut back toward the brook. “Gee, how can we stop ’em?” “Let’s rouse the camp, and pinch ’em right now,” said Peanut. “And get shot full of holes in the dark, and they get away in their car? Not much!” “They’d have to crank it, and we could chop up the tires with our hatchets.” “Probably got a self starter, and what would they do to us while we were chopping? They’d have time to get away from us and do the job before we could hike six miles to the Profile and give the alarm. No, sir, we’ve got to get there somehow as soon as they do!” “We could sneak a ride on the trunk rack behind the machine!” whispered Peanut. “If it’s got one--quick--hatchets!” The two Scouts slipped back into camp. Art grabbed up his hatchet, which he always kept beside his pillow, and slipped it in his belt. Peanut put on his. Then Art leaned down beside Rob, shook him gently, with one hand over his mouth, and whispered in his ear. “Don’t speak!” he said. “Peanut and I are going up the road to the Profile House. Follow us in the morning. Cut out the climb. We’ll explain later. We’ve _got_ to go.” “Why--what----” said the astonished Rob. “Sh! Don’t ask now. Robbers. We’ve got to give warning.” “Let me go, too,” Rob whispered, trying to rise. Art pushed him down. “We’ve got to hook on behind an auto. There’d not be room. You stay here, and keep the camp quiet.” Rob lay back, a little too sleepy quite to realize what he was letting the two younger Scouts in for, and they slipped out of camp again. This time they went down the brook, walking in the water so they would make no sound of breaking bushes, and came out into the road two rods below the motor. Then they stole on tiptoe, hardly daring to breathe, close up behind. As the rear lamp was not lighted, they felt softly with their hands to see if there was anything to ride on. Luckily, there was a trunk rack--empty! Straps across it made a rough kind of seat, just large enough to hold them. “We can’t get on yet--not till they start,” whispered Art. “It would shake the springs.”