Jubilant and expressive though it may have been, Paul Jones' "wow," was very far from being all the Auto Boys had to say concerning the telegram received. In general they shared Paul's mirthful feelings. With a very human kind of pleasure they let their minds dwell upon Gaines' sullen wrath and Pickton's chagrin and disappointment.
The condition of bewilderment and utter discomfiture which would be natural to Freddy Perth was also easily imagined. In short, it was with real delight that the boys pictured the Trio confronted by the discovery that they had been out-generaled; left like a squad of raw recruits hopelessly drilling around the field, looking for the beginning of the battle that was all over long ago.
"Oh, I guess maybe they don't findtheircake is dough, and they couldn't eat it if they kept it," chuckled Paul, blithely, but really somewhat twisted as to the quotations he meant to employ. "But anyhow, the thing for us to do is keep moving. We're getting too much noticed. It'll lead to more advertising than we'd really like to have."
This reference to a considerable number of pairs of eyes now scrutinizing the travel-stained car, its touring and camp equipment and the owners thereof, caused Billy, now at the wheel, to drive slowly up the street.
Dave MacLester, who had gone into a livery stable close by to inquire about the roads to the westward, came out just in time to see the machine move off. Not guessing Billy's intentions, which were to go only to the next corner above, as a good place to turn, he dashed frantically after the car. He sprang aboard and climbed into the tonneau breathlessly.
"Don't seem to be in any hurry at all!" he ejaculated, witheringly. "Go straight ahead. Turn at the first corner. It's the best road west. Other one's all torn up for four miles out, they said."
Billy had put on speed at once, when Dave was safely in, and now he let the speedometer mark up to twenty-five on a fine stretch of brick pavement, clear of car tracks and broken by few intersecting streets, a speedway not to be resisted.
The net result of the flying start and apparent haste was not a little comment on part of those who had gathered near the car. Even the men in the livery stable ran out to see and learn what the commotion was all about and the town marshal sauntered up just a moment later.
Now the marshal of Sagersgrove was a self-important old fellow named Wellock. His uniform consisted principally of a badge of great size and a greasy blue coat with brass buttons. He wore old and rusty black trousers, very baggy at the knees and much frayed around the bottom.
With a solemn and knowing look Marshal Wellock made a few inquiries concerning the car which had just passed out of sight and its occupants. Then he made some mysterious entries in a pocket memorandum, the generally soiled appearance of which was not at all unlike his own. These movements alone were enough to make a deep impression upon the crowd which had now collected; but accompanied as they were by Mr. Wellock's knowing and extremely mysterious air, the whole effect was to produce in the minds of those gathered near the profound conviction that the four strange boys were nothing short of bank-robbers in disguise.
Men exchanged looks of deep significance as if saying, "I told you so." Women nodded their heads to one another in a way that plainly indicated their certain knowledge of the guilt of the young strangers, whatever might be the crime laid at their door.
Observing the unlimited notice he was attracting, Marshal Wellock's importance increased. Preserving still his deeply mysterious air, he walked on to the telegraph office and went in. What he learned there apparently did not cause him to change his very good opinion of himself and of the great power vested in him, for he was more darkly mysterious than ever as he returned. Indeed, his whole bearing was such as to make him decidedly red in the face, as he frowned savagely, in keeping with his idea of the great personage which he himself felt and, he believed, everyone else must undoubtedly consider him to be. What he thought he knew about the four boys would have made a long story. What he did know could have been told in a dozen words and none of them to the lads' discredit.
Meanwhile the Thirty still sped on westward. The afternoon was waning and the road was growing bad. Sagersgrove lay far in the rear.
"Don't look to me as if this could be the main route," said Phil Way, thoughtfully noting the brush-grown fields and the poor character of the farmhouses and buildings, becoming more and more infrequent as they progressed.
"Oh, it's the road all right. It'll be better going soon," MacLester answered; and as the latter himself had obtained the information respecting the route, Phil said no more.
Mile after mile slipped to the rear, but slowly now, for the road was a constant succession of deep ruts, miniature mountain chains and great, half-dried holes of mud. The late June sun was going down. Blackbirds flew in noisy flocks from one to another of the dense thickets growing in frequent and extensive patches as far as eye could reach over the low land at either side of the wretched way.
"Well, if thisisthe road, we better go where it isn't," muttered Billy Worth, his arms beginning to feel the effects of driving over the painfully distressing course.
"Oh, stop your growling!" Dave answered a little savagely. "This road will be all right when we get to the high ground where the trees are yonder! And by the Old Harry! Why should you hold me responsible? Never knew it to fail, anyhow, that whoever it is that half breaks his neck and nearly gets left behind, to dig up the road statistics for a trip or any part of one, is from that minute blamed right and left for every hole that's found and for every stone that's struck."
In which observation young Mr. MacLester was not at all wrong. Identically the same weakness of human nature crops out in so many places that none can fail to recognize it. Phil Way saw and felt the truth of Dave's remarks at once.
"Does look better on ahead. Can't expect good going all the time," he said. It was a way of his. He had turned aside and prevented storms which might have grown to serious proportions among the four in just such manner time upon time.
Nevertheless, the promised improvement did not come with the higher places to which the rough trail in due time led. Two parallel ruts among the grass and low underbrush were all that now remained to indicate a road of any sort. Now, too, a thick woods, without so much as a fence between, bounded the course on both sides. The sun was lost to view, the late twilight of a June night was closing in. For nearly two hours not a human habitation had been seen.
Away to the east stretched the swampy brush-grown country that had bordered the line of progress for many miles. To the west there appeared only the scarcely passable path leading deeper and deeper into the forest, hemming in the course on north and south.
Billy had brought the car to a halt. Unmistakably the Auto Boys were as nearly lost as one can well be on a public highway—(but there are many just such)—of a prosperous and wealthy commonwealth.
"Anyhow it makes me think that I always was fond of white meat," chirped Paul Jones, trying to put a cheerful countenance upon a truly depressing situation.
"If you don't mind a suggestion, Jones, I'd say that it's better not to talk of what you aren't likely to get," put in Phil Way, a little soberly. "Just some of that ham and bread and butter and beans sounds good to me. So if Billy will make some coffee we can go into camp pretty comfortably right here. In the morning we can go back, if we can't do anything else."
"Gee! I always did like chicken, though!" persisted Jones, as if Melancholy had marked him for her own, and there was no remedy for his feelings but the refreshment he mentioned.
"Here, too! If we had a good supper, it would brace us all up," Worth put in.
"Shucks! We'llhavea good supper," remonstrated Phil, impatiently. "Who'll get some water? Wish I knew where. Come on, Dave! Likely there's a good, clear creek just over this rise of ground. You make the fire, Paul."
So Way and MacLester started off with a bucket while Chef Billy set to work with his provisions. In five minutes Jones had a bright fire blazing beside an old log, where an open, grassy place offered comfortable seats upon the ground, then he began unloading such baggage as would probably be needed. Yet every minute or two he would trot around to where Worth's supper preparations were in progress, sniffing the air, and smiling in a most delighted state of anticipation. "And won't Way be surprised!" he said. "Just listen to me when he comes back."
At last Phil and Dave did come. They had been obliged to go a long way to reach the valley and the stream they knew must be there, and it was now quite dark.
The embers of the fire glowed brightly, offering a truly comfortable sense of companionship. In the bright glow's midst stood the big coffee pot which had seen service many times before, also a tightly covered, black roasting-pan. The two boys put down the bucket, borne between them on a short pole and Way at once busied himself in opening up a big bale of bedding.
"All-I-wants-is-my-chicken," half sang, half chanted Paul Jones.
"Oh, forget it!" drawled Phil, impatiently, creating a laugh—perhaps because it was not often he descended to plain, unvarnished slang. "You've been talking chicken all day. My! that coffee smells good," he added, just to take the rough edge off his speech.
"A nice drumstick and a slice or two of white meat. U-m-m!" sighed Jones, as if he certainly would expire directly if his wish were not gratified.
An impatient growl from Phil elicited another laugh in which Jones joined with greatest merriment. Then in another moment—
"Come on, here! Get your festal board ready!" commanded Chef Billy and directly he drew the black, covered pan from the coals and lifted the lid. Ah, what savory smell was that! Chicken—roast chicken, and positively no mistake about it.
"Say!" This ejaculation, his face lighted up bright as the blazing coals, was all Phil could muster.
"Well, I guess maybe we're no wizards! No, we're no wizards—nothing like that at all," chirped Paul Jones in his peculiarly happy way. "No! Don't take a wizard to do these little tricks! Don't think it for a minute!"
"Where everdidyou get that chicken?" demanded Phil, completely puzzled. "This is what your talking about white meat meant, is it?"
Then they told him how Mrs. Tyler Gleason, whose good friendship they had won out on the farm the year before, sent the chicken, all nicely roasted, expressly for the expedition. All four lads had been at the farm and at the "Retreat" in the ravine on Sunday afternoon and in confidence told Mr. and Mrs. Gleason of their plan to start their journey on Monday. The unexpected but very welcome contribution to their stock of provisions arrived but an hour before the car was loaded. Phil being so busily engaged in putting the blinders over the eyes of the too-confident Trio, had not, of course, known of the gift. The others saved the fowl for supper purposely to surprise him.
"Nothing to do but warm it up, and way off here on the edge of nowhere, we have as fine a roast chicken as ever came down the pike," quoth Billy Worth. And although it must be admitted that any roast chicken pursuing its way upon the pike, or any other roadway, would be nothing short of extraordinary, the fact remains that Mrs. Gleason's offering was all that could be desired.
Always master of ceremonies in such matters, Billy did the carving and a good-sized thimble would have contained all that remained of the roast fowl, apart from the dismembered skeleton, when supper was over. The best way to pick a bone really right up to the last shred, inclusive, never was with knife and fork, anyway.
Ample quantities of coffee, bread and butter and the other good things the regular store of the cheese-box larder afforded, made the entire supper so successful that, on the whole, the boys contemplated their situation with no serious misgivings as they gathered about the campfire. The croaking of the frogs in the broad expanse of swamp and marsh land to the east, the profound quiet, and intense darkness in the woods on either side, the flickering lights and shadows of the blaze before them, were well calculated to inspire dread and apprehension if not downright fear; but so used to depending upon themselves—so self-reliant, therefore, were these four friends that the thought of being fearful or allowing themselves to be uncomfortable on account of their lonely surroundings, lost though they practically were, did not occur to one of them. So much, then, for the worth of a clear conscience and the habit of self-confidence.
And again, notwithstanding their somber surroundings and the annoying lack of knowledge as to their precise whereabouts, the four friends were by no means without equipment to make themselves quite comfortable. Long winter evening discussions, plans and preparations had not been for nothing. Even to rubber-covered sleeping bags which, just as an experiment, perhaps, would have made a pouring rain something to be invited rather than feared, the camp and touring outfit was complete. Just for one night it was not worth while to put up the tent or to unpack a large part of the car's load, but blankets to spread upon the ground, others for covering, and a tarpaulin for the car, were all within easy reach.
Drowsiness came early, under the influence of the fire's genial warmth and in the midst of Paul's voluble discourse on the probable extent of time lost, due to losing the road, the other boys drew their blankets over them and with a laugh bade him good-night. There being "nothing else for P. Jones, Esquire, to do," as he himself expressed it, he, also "sought the arms of Morpherus Nodinski."
Again quoting the words of "P. Jones, Esquire," it must be "that frogs sleep all day, for how else can they stay up to holler all night?" Certainly there was little diminishing of the weird clamor from the marshes as the night advanced. All else was still as death. Not even an owl disturbed the forest's dark solitude.
And the Auto Boys slept on. The greater part of the night had passed, but no glimmer of dawn had yet appeared when there came suddenly like a wail of dire distress, louder far than the frogs' deep croaking, a long drawn-out cry—"Help!" And again and yet again, "Help! Help!"
Dave was the first awakened. The second call completely roused him and he had the whole camp astir in another five seconds. Once more, and thrice repeated, came the wailing, drawn-out cry.
"Yes, sir, they have went. I don't know nothing else about it," spoke the young fellow employed as general utility man in Knight & Wilder's garage. His principal work consisted of polishing metal and pumping up tires, but laboring under an impression that he was an automobile salesman, he put on very swaggering airs. Just now he affected scarcely to notice three boys who made inquiry concerning the proposed tour of Phil Way and his friends.
Mr. Knight, coming up at the moment, told the important young gentleman in an undertone that his deportment in the establishment was not that of publicity. Such being the case, he sent the youth to gather up some tools which a touring party had borrowed and left lying on the curb, as was certainly very good of them and very honest.
Then Mr. Knight quizzed the three lads, who were none other than Gaines, Pickton and Perth. It appeared, he said, with a sly smile, that Phil Way and his party had gone away on a trip. Then he asked them about their own plans, but they knew his friendliness toward the four chums too well to divulge a great deal. Still, they could not help showing the chagrin they felt upon learning that the Auto Boys had really departed the preceding day.
Seeing their ill-humor in the matter the senior partner of the establishment made various remarks to the effect that none but the most active and alert individuals could expect to cope successfully with such clever chaps as Billy Worth, Phil Way, MacLester and Jones. Indeed, he was of the opinion, he said, that no one—referring to no person in particular, of course—but in general,no one,—need feel disturbed if Phil Way and his crowd of fellows did get ahead of him or them; because Phil and Billy and the others were really exceptionally able men,—in fact, quite out of the ordinary with regard to intelligence and good judgment.
The whole effect of Mr. Knight's discourse, as he no doubt intended, was to make Gaines really sour, Pickton's vanity decidedly ruffled and Freddy Perth deeply humiliated, sick at heart and ready to admit that he was no match for such fellows as Way had gathered about him.
"Oh, come on!" growled Pick, at last, and when a half minute later the three were again in Gaines' Roadster at the curb outside, he slammed in the clutch so violently that Soapy just escaped being thrown out. To the Automobile Club, to the Park Garage,—to all places they considered in the remotest degree likely to afford information of the direction the Auto Boys had taken, the Trio went.
With furious impatience but still vainly, they hustled from one end of the city to another. Repeatedly they drove past Dr. Way's residence, as if to make sure, time after time, that none of the four friends was about the green and yellow shed. All they could learn was that the chums had driven away, their car laden as if they meant to go to the Pacific Coast, at least, the preceding afternoon.
"Ithoughtit was funny that only Way and Jones went to the ball game. And they did it just for a blind, too!" said Pickton grimly.
"You thought nothing of the kind!" growled Gaines. "Least if you did, it's a fine time to be telling it!"
"Well, I guess they haven't seen the last of us yet, anyway, eh?" Pick answered in that way in which he so often knuckled to Soapy's humor, leading that young gentleman on to do the thing he himself most wished to do.
"I should ratherguessthey hadn't," Gaines responded, as if the idea of pursuit were wholly his own,—"I'll show 'em a trick or two yet."
"The first thing is to find out where they are; at least, which way they went," put in Perth, quietly.
Gaines turned on him angrily. "What's that got to do with it? You leave that to me!" he said.
And while it would appear that the information Fred mentioned was, under all the circumstances, quite essential and really did have quite a great deal to do with the case, that young gentleman made only a wry face in answer. Soapy did not see him. Quite possibly Perth did not intend that he should.
In fruitless running from place to place the three boys spent the day. Repeatedly were they on the verge of falling out with one another completely. Only because Pickton bore Gaines' insolence in silence, or turned it aside by some flattering or cajoling remark, did these two get on at all in this time of trouble and disappointment,—the sort of time that really measures friendships and motives.
Perth was content to have little to say, usually accepting the suggestions and remarks of the others without comment. He drove the car, for the most part, and as he liked it very much, earnestly hoped the proposed long trip following after the Auto Boys would not be abandoned.
Wednesday came and the Trio, glum and despondent, talked a great deal, again came very near to serious quarreling, and achieved nothing. And now the objects of their chiefest interest and the cause of their chagrin were two days upon their way. But whither?
"'Three stones piled on top of each other to mark the place,'" mused Pickton over and over again. "Theythinkthey have something great in sight, but I'll bet they don't know exactly what, any more than we do. And they think they're so plagued smart! We've justgotto take some of the conceit out of 'em."
"That's what!" Soapy Gaines asserted, but rather dubiously.
"Might as well talk in our sleep, for all the good just talk's doing," Perth was moved at last to say with some asperity; and his views would appear to be not far wrong. However, he was called a pessimist, or some other word amounting to the same thing, by Pickton, while Soapy insisted quite violently, "You leave that to me."
The fact that the Auto Boys had disappeared almost as if by magic and at a time when their machine was supposed to be indefinitely laid up for repairs, Pickton and Gaines were obliged reluctantly to admit.
That their intention of following after the chums looked more and more ridiculous as the hours passed, and they had no notion whatever as to the direction they should take, was something of which they did not care to be reminded. Yet it is likely that for want of any clue whatever, and their inability to find one,—for none of the three was particularly resourceful,—the Chosen Ones would have been forced to abandon their scheme at last, but for the merest chance by which some valuable information came to them.
Early on Thursday Freddy Perth sat looking over the morning paper while Soapy and Pick were starting a fresh discussion of the necessity of taking some of the conceit out of someone, needless to mention whom. The three were on the lawn at Perth's home. The Roadster stood at the curb.
MARSHAL MIRED
SAGERSGROVE OFFICIAL PULLED OUT OF SWAMP BY YOUTHS HE PURSUED.
The foregoing headlines came to Fred's notice as he tried to read while still following the conversation of his two friends, thread-bare though their subject now assuredly was. Half mechanically at first, then with lively interest he noted the following:
"Sagersgrove, June—In a light automobile in which they had set out to overtake and arrest four youthful tourists from Lannington who passed through Sagersgrove yesterday, Marshal Wellock and Eli Gouger, the latter a self-appointed detective, plunged over a bank into Cowslip marshes west of here last night. Both were buried to their necks in mire."The locality is practically a wilderness and the automobile would have settled beyond recovery in the swamp but for the merest accident of assistance being quickly obtained. The touring party the officers were after had encamped on a ridge of high land a half-mile beyond and responded to the cries for aid. Wellock and Gouger were able to drag themselves out of the marsh and the car of the tourists pulled their automobile out when only the seat remained above mud. Marshal Wellock was saved the necessity of arresting his rescuers for it developed that his suspicion that the youths had stolen their car was unfounded. The four strangers had themselves taken the marsh road by mistake. They were piloted to the State pike by the officers."
"Sagersgrove, June—In a light automobile in which they had set out to overtake and arrest four youthful tourists from Lannington who passed through Sagersgrove yesterday, Marshal Wellock and Eli Gouger, the latter a self-appointed detective, plunged over a bank into Cowslip marshes west of here last night. Both were buried to their necks in mire.
"The locality is practically a wilderness and the automobile would have settled beyond recovery in the swamp but for the merest accident of assistance being quickly obtained. The touring party the officers were after had encamped on a ridge of high land a half-mile beyond and responded to the cries for aid. Wellock and Gouger were able to drag themselves out of the marsh and the car of the tourists pulled their automobile out when only the seat remained above mud. Marshal Wellock was saved the necessity of arresting his rescuers for it developed that his suspicion that the youths had stolen their car was unfounded. The four strangers had themselves taken the marsh road by mistake. They were piloted to the State pike by the officers."
Having read this interesting item through twice, the second time very slowly and thoughtfully, Freddy Perth again listened to the conversation of Pickton and Gaines. They still discussed the possible whereabouts of the Auto Boys.
"Seems likely to me that they may have gone west,—away out through Sagersgrove and beyond," observed young Mr. Perth, after a minute or two, a self-complacent twinkle in his eye.
"About as likely as a muley cow having horns, eh, Gaines?" Pick answered.
"Or a—or a dog or anybody else having 'em," Soapy responded, lamely.
"Well, of course I never did know anything about it, and of course you twodoknow all about it. Still, when you get through with all this stuff you've said over and over ever since Tuesday, till honestly I'm sick of hearing it, just read that!"—and Perth held out the newspaper, his finger indicating the important item. There was triumph unlimited in his manner.
"Aw, let's see!" growled Pickton, doubtingly. Perth's self-satisfied smile irritated him. He took the paper and, Soapy peering over his shoulder, both read the item through.
"Humph! May be them and it may not," was Pick's comment.
"Don't be a hogshead! It's them all right," Gaines answered brusquely. "Why, they're two hundred miles away by this time!"
"Yes, sir! And they're headed for the Gold Cup road races at Queensville," put in Perth, quickly. "That's just where that old State pike goes. I remember seeing the map!"
Reluctantly Pickton admitted that the tourists mentioned in the newspaper dispatch must be Phil Way's party. Inwardly he denounced his luck that he himself had not been first to discover the news. Reluctantly, too, he admitted that the four chums were apparently headed for the Gold Cup automobile races,—a series of road contests over a twenty-six mile course, scheduled for Saturday of the following week. However,—"Don't see, though, what that mystery of the 'three stones piled up to mark the place,' that they seem to make so much of, has to do with races," he persisted.
"Maybe they're going to have a lunch stand at the track. Maybe they rented space for it by mail and had three stones piled up so's they'd know their place when they got there. Just like that bunch, figuring to earn some money!"
This thought, advanced by Soapy, really did that young gentleman credit, he so rarely had an idea of his own. And although Pick declared as boldly as he felt prudent, that the three stones he had heard mentioned so mysteriously had been placed one upon another long years before, which fact he had also heard stated, the former insisted that his own notion of the matter was correct.
While in no sense agreeing as to this, Pickton, for reasons of his own, carried the discussion no further. In his own mind was the thought that he, at least, would find out if the three stones did not mark some spot vastly more important than Soapy pictured. Let Gaines and Perth think what they might, the main thing was to be starting in pursuit.
"If it's us for Sagersgrove and the old State pike west, we can't move too fast," he said. "We can trail them all right from there, and catch them by Sunday, I'll bet!"
Gaines and Perth gave prompt acquiescence. The Roadster was run to its home garage at once, and there followed the trying packing and repacking of touring equipment which inexperience always encounters.
Preparations for a hurried departure had been going forward, in a haphazard way, for a long time. The result was an accumulation of much baggage that was not needed, and the utter absence of several items both desirable and necessary. Out of such chaos order was brought before noon, however, and the three lads separated to meet again at one o'clock.
Their good-bys were said, their car at last lacked nothing which could well be carried on a machine of its type, and the Chosen Trio headed toward Sagersgrove promptly at the hour named.
"Now burn up the road," quoth Mr. Soapy Gaines; and Perth, at the steering wheel, answered, "We'll see the Gold Cup races, anyhow."
"Enough more than races, you take it from me," said young Mr. Pickton, grimly, still thinking of—what?
The cries for help which broke upon the quiet of the night, rousing the Auto Boys as they slept, they quickly answered. With what result has been told in the Sagersgrove item appearing in the Lannington morning paper, the second day following.
Briefly, the circumstances were that, his mind overheated by his large estimate of his own importance, Marshal Wellock's imagination got the better of him. True, the four young strangers had appeared to be in a great hurry. True, one does not often see, even in larger cities than Sagersgrove, four mere youths enjoying a touring car equipped for long-distance work. Also the Sagersgrove operator had plainly hinted to the marshal the telegram the lads received looked decidedly queer. And to one unacquainted with the facts, it must be admitted, also, that such an impression was quite natural.
All in all, the bumptious officer, believing he saw a glowing opportunity to distinguish himself, enlisted one Eli Gouger in his enterprise, not so much because he desired that gentleman's assistance, as for the reason that Mr. Gouger was possessed of a motor car. He used the machine, a light runabout, in his business of ice-cream peddling, on Sunday afternoons particularly, and on various occasions when not occupied with another line of activity he pursued, namely, that of general detective.
In this connection it may as well be stated quite frankly that if Mr. Gouger had ever succeeded in detecting anything more than some small boys, whom he once caught filching cherries from his trees, the world at large had yet to learn of it. But perhaps that was the fault of people who might have employed him, but didn't. He always had said he never got half a chance in detective work, though he liked it ever so much better than the ice-cream business.
Be this as it may, Mr. Gouger, private detective, had eagerly joined Marshal Wellock in his proposal that they pursue the four mysterious youths who, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the marshal himself declared, had stolen the automobile in which they attracted so much attention in front of the telegraph office.
In some respects the two officials were well matched. Mr. Gouger was considerably the younger, but his attire had the same appearance of needing renovating that marked the marshal's outfit. In their conclusions with regard to the absolute certainty that the young strangers were automobile thieves, and that probably a reward was offered somewhere for their arrest, the two were also quite identical. Even in their private and personal opinions of each other they did not differ greatly.
Marshal Wellock secretly considered Mr. Gouger to be nothing more than a would-be private detective, whose gilded badge was worth about five cents as a novelty—nothing more.
Eli, on the other hand, had long since reached within his own confidence the certain conviction that the town of Sagersgrove needed nothing so much as a new marshal; that Mr. Wellock was a conceited old loafer and nothing more, and that a man of about Eli Gouger's age should be in his place.
The very fact that, in the recesses of their hearts, the two men had for each other a minus quantity in the matter of admiration, was to a degree responsible for the ignominious ending of their enterprise. Each secretly planning to reap the major portion of the glory, also the reward they persuaded themselves would follow the capture of the four desperate car thieves, they chugged painfully over the road the Auto Boys had taken. Darkness had come before they were fairly started. Now it was growing very late.
"It's sure as shootin' that they stole the car. They never would have took such a road, except they was tryin' to sneak along where nobody would see 'em," observed Mr. Gouger.
The going grew steadily worse. It was past midnight. The little runabout had been making a slow and trying voyage over the ruts and through the holes. Perhaps Marshal Wellock was weary. He certainly had become impatient.
"Can't you get a little more speed out o' this junk wagon? Like ridin' in a stone-boat," he remarked pretty sharply, after a long silence in which he had reflected upon the probability that Mr. Gouger was "putting up some game" on him.
Nettled by these words, and being tired, cross and likewise suspicious himself, Mr. Gouger decided to shake the marshal into a better humor by going over a very rough place at the fastest rate the little car could muster. Possibly he would have succeeded; at any rate Mr. Wellock was gripping his seat with both hands to hold on, when suddenly, whizz! The car skidded into a rut, Mr. Gouger for a moment lost control, and in another instant the little machine leaped over the low bank into a stagnant pool of thick, dirty water and almost bottomless mud.
"Now see what you done!" gasped Mr. Wellock, sputtering and spitting, as he succeeded in dragging himself up the bank. He had gone out of his seat and into the mud and water like a log rolled off a flat car.
"Who in thunder made me do it? Nobody's fault but your own! I knew 'twasn't safe, but bygum! you kept squealin' for more speed! Now see whatyoudone," hotly returned Eli, who had also taken into his mouth rather more of the stagnant water than he seemed to relish. Head foremost he had pitched out over the steering wheel as the machine went down.
What followed when the two had taken inventory and found themselves not seriously damaged, though in a truly sorry plight, has in substance been told. Both men were still wet from head to foot and literally covered with the thick, oozy mud when the Auto Boys reached them.
The first task was to rescue the car. This was accomplished by means of ropes hitched to the Thirty though the runabout had sunk almost out of sight. Beside the rekindled campfire on the ridge, a half-mile away, the two unhappy officers bathed as best they could and dried their clothes.
The dawn of the early summer morning was breaking now, and Billy Worth bestirred himself to prepare breakfast. The other boys began repacking the car which had been quickly unloaded, preparatory to answering the calls for help.
The identity of the lads Mr. Wellock and Mr. Gouger had learned to their entire satisfaction. Yet it was with mixed feelings of disappointment and relief that they became convinced of their folly in supposing the four young men to be thieves and runaways. For itwasa disappointment that for all their trouble they had received nothing but a ducking in a swamp; and itwassomething of a relief not to feel compelled to place under arrest those who had been of such timely service.
So, as they scraped the thickest of the mud from their clothing, the crestfallen officers agreed to say nothing to the boys to indicate that the lads themselves were, in fact, the suspected car thieves of whom, they had already told, they were in pursuit. Unfortunately their self-importance had caused them to let a large part of Sagersgrove know the object of their journey as they set out. Their return home, in consequence, was followed by a very different kind of story in the newspapers than they had pictured would be the case.
However, that was a matter for the marshal's and the detective's own and later consideration. For the present, and for a long time afterward, for that matter, the degree of admiration they confidentially entertained toward each other was not materially increased. Nevertheless, the two did have the manliness to bury their mutual feelings of irritation, in the presence of the young strangers, and to offer in return for all that had been done for them to direct the boys to a cross road by which they could soon reach their proper route.
A hasty breakfast being over, the Thirty was again turned back to the scene of the runabout's accident. The little car had not been greatly damaged and from this point it slowly led the way eastward. At a still early hour a road leading off to the right and seeming to terminate in the very depths of the marshes was reached. With the assurance, however, that the rough trail was passable and led directly to the State pike, the Auto Boys ventured upon this course, Mr. Gouger's machine going on in advance as before.
A struggle of nearly two hours through ruts and holes—one so bad that the Thirty was practically unloaded before getting through—brought the promised end. Coming out of a stump-strewn lane, for the cross road was at this point nothing more, the two machines emerged upon a fine, smooth road. There was a sigh of relief from five of the six travelers. The sixth simply shouted and the hearty enthusiasm of his "Hurrah!" was inspiring. Needless to say, the noisy one was—to use his own usual form of identification—"Mr. P. Jones, Esquire."
"It was us they were after, all right. I'm satisfied of that," was Billy Worth's comment when good-bys had been said to the two men. "They suspected something or other, and I only wish we knew what."
"I hardly believe that," Phil Way protested mildly, but Paul and Dave sided quite emphatically with Worth.
Perhaps it is immaterial, but the subject was discussed at great length. And as the Thirty again rolled smoothly forward all but Phil recalled with unconcealed satisfaction the woeful spectacle the two men presented when first the light from the automobile lamps, carried to the scene of rescue, fell upon them.
"Why, honestly, I'm glad Dave did get us onto that awful road. We've had a real adventure," chirped Jones; but he had to dodge a backhand swing from MacLester the same moment. To make his peace in that quarter he added: "Anyhow we didn't lose so much time and I wouldn't have missed the excitement for a lot."
So, as the speed and the road permitted, the talk ran on and meanwhile the car was making good progress forward. The map showed nearly two hundred miles yet to be covered and half the distance must be made to-day if possible. If the going continued good this would be no hardship, but the old pike would be left behind before night, and road conditions beyond were likely to be questionable.
Following the extremely early breakfast, the usual noonday lunch was looked forward to with no little impatience as the morning advanced. Phil had suggested that no pause be made until a small river, shown on the map to be not many miles distant, was reached, and the others agreed. Nevertheless a wagon, en route to some market with strawberries, was so much of a temptation that the car was halted and two baskets of the fine fruit were purchased. The contents of one of these disappeared in a manner well calculated to make adherents of Fletcherism hold up their hands in amazement, had any such been near—which assuredly there were not, or not in the automobile, at least.
The second basket Billy Worth simply put away to be enjoyed with the regular noon luncheon; nor would all of Paul's and Dave's coaxing soften his stony-hearted determination. Billy, it will be remembered, was the cook and general chief of the commissary department. As such he possessed in a strong degree the trait, peculiar to those offices, of always being ready to repel too severe a raid upon the larder between meals and always keen to add some delicacy to the commissary's store.
And maybe Billy's idea was the right one. Certain it is that when the river bridge was crossed at last and the noon camp was made under some willows just beyond, nothing could be finer than the deliciously fresh berries with sugar and cream. Phil brought the latter from a farmhouse on the hill above and a still larger supply of good, rich milk. With the fruit, bread and butter, cheese, crackers and the last of the boiled ham, the repast was ample in both quantity and enjoyment.
"Only wish we had that other quart of strawberries," sighed Paul Jones, longingly.
"Of course you do, p-i-g! Lucky to haveany!" Billy reminded him. "Provisions are going to be a thing to look out for on this trip."
"Well spoken, my boy; well spoken!" responded Paul, with patronizing air; but Phil put in, "No joke about that. Nothing nearer the Ship woods than Gilroy and that's six or seven miles away. No telling, either, how far back in the woods we may be."
"Great Columbus, Phil! Don't talk that way! You'll give Bill nervous prostration!" exclaimed MacLester, rising and starting to look the car over. "On the job here, you fellows, if you're going with me!" he added briskly. For Mac was driving to-day and the responsibility of covering yet another sixty miles before sundown, and over roads some of which might be extremely bad, rested on his shoulders.
If "on the job" meant "on the car," as at least seems probable, instructions were followed with alacrity. Not even pausing to gather up the evidences of their having stopped for lunch, Billy and Paul hastily packed away bread and butter and similar supplies, then clambered into the tonneau. Phil had hurried to the river's edge where he washed dishes and milk buckets in a shorter space of time than he would ordinarily have considered proper; but the car was chugging away in waiting and he jumped up to the seat beside Dave in an exceedingly spry and nimble manner.
"Go ahead," he said, and the Thirty answered gently, smoothly to the clutch.
"You left that strawberry basket lying there by the fence and you had scribbled all over it," said Billy Worth to Paul, a half hour later. He was thinking of the possibility of the Chosen Trio coming on behind, perhaps in hot pursuit, yet uncertain of the course, "What did you write on the box?"
"Why! Say, that'sso!" was the answer, with a disconcerted grin, "That's right! I wrote 'P. Jones, Esq.,' for one thing, and 'With kind regards to Lannington.' I drew a picture or two and—Gee! I thought I'd toss the basket into the river! Don't s'pose it will hurt, do you, Bill?"
"Guess not. Of course we aren't billing the country as if we were a circus, exactly. At least that wasn't what we set out to do."
"Well, what d'ye think of it? I'm frank to say I'm a fine young chimpanzee," Jones muttered, really blaming himself a great deal.
"Oh, don't gnash your teeth over it! There's just about one chance in a hundred that Gaines and his crew will ever find which way we came or try now to follow us," said Billy reassuringly.
Phil and Dave agreed with Worth as the subject was discussed later, saying there was no probability whatever that Paul's writing would ever come to the Trio's notice. Even if Gaines' Roadster were to pass the identical spot, what likelihood was there that any of the party would notice or give heed to a little, empty strawberry basket?
So did Jones quickly recover his wonted joyousness. Blithely he was declaring, "Oh, I guess I'm no wizard! No, no wizard at all. No, not at all!" his customary good opinion of himself quite restored, within a few hours.
The sun was low. Camp for the night had been made beside a turbulent little brook where a woodland skirted the highway. Paul had gone to a dwelling some distance to the rear for milk. He returned bringing not only the five quart bucket nearly full, but eggs and a basket of berries, as well. Hence his self-complacency; hence for the third time, his words accompanied by that contagious grin, so peculiarly his own—"Oh, I guess I'm no wizard! Nothing like that at all!"
Quite likely it was because they were so completely engrossed with the intended search of the Ship woods—the main item in the plan they had discussed for many months, that the Auto Boys had thus far given the Gold Cup races little heed. Casually they had mentioned among themselves the circumstances that the western boundary of the woods was not many miles from the scene of the great stock car contests, but that was all.
Beside the campfire they kindled close to the dashing, woodland stream, however, the subject was suggested by an item in a city newspaper purchased in one of the small towns on the day's run. The final laying out of the twenty-six-mile course, it now appeared, had brought one corner of the irregular circuit to within a few miles of the great forest. The general headquarters would be in Queensville, only a half-hour's ride beyond.
"We'll just slip over there of a morning now and then and watch the practice work," proposed Phil. He brought his open right hand down like a small pile driver upon his left wrist at the same moment, not by way of emphasis, but in deadly attack upon a mosquito.
"And go to the races? Sure!" put in Billy Worth, asking and answering the question all in one breath. "Wonder we never realized how near Queensville we'd be!"
"Yes, we'll let the race meet upset all our plans and we'll go home with nothing to show for the whole trip," muttered MacLester, with a tremendous yawn.
Jones came up with a lot of green weeds, twigs and leaves for the fire just in time to hear Dave's comment. He dropped the armful on the blaze, producing a smoky "smudge" as protection from mosquitoes, and sat himself down cross-legged upon the ground. Then very deliberately—
"David, I really think you better go to bed," he said. "You're tired and cross. Go to bed, so as to wake up early in the morning and hear the birds sing," he added soberly.
"Possibly Iamsomewhat fatigued," was the cutting response, "and being so, you will kindly pardon me if I don't tear any buttons off laughing at such a positively brilliant witticism."
Paul grinned his appreciation of this thrust but before he could answer, Phil Way broke in: "Why, no! The races needn't interfere with our plans at all. Who knows but what a day or two will end the whole expedition so far as anything the woods contains is concerned? We wouldn't want to hike back right away! We're after fun as much as anything, aren't we?"
"And the most fun I can think of right this minute is to get some sleep," Dave replied. Then with a cushion from the car for a pillow he stretched out upon his blanket. "Happy day when we get the tent up and go into camp right, about to-morrow night," he said, as if to himself.
And if there was a note of irritation in his tone it was because hewasvery tired. Dave was a trifle gloomy and occasionally the least bit sour by disposition; but in this instance it must be remembered that he had been at the wheel of the Thirty all day; also, that the rest of all the boys had been much disturbed the night before.
"Really believe I am 'somewhat fatigued,' myself," chirped Paul, a few minutes later, gay and lively to the very last. For scarcely had he added: "Gee! This is adownycouch!—Down about a foot too far!" than he dropped off sound asleep on his blanket spread over the grass.
Billy and Phil were not long in following the example of the other two and presently the only sound to break the silence was the tinkle of bells where some sheep were feeding in a pasture across the little stream.
Tired humanity finds rest and comfort even on the bare ground when more conventional beds are not obtainable. Yet Dave was right. Another night, when a permanent camp had been established, might easily show a marked improvement in the lads' situation. Not but that all four were happy and contented just as they were! Any one of them would have asserted emphatically that he was having a fine time. But—confidentially—a nice dreamy nap on the soft grass beneath some tree on a warm afternoon is one thing, and sleeping all night on the ground is another. Even the Auto Boys, in strictest confidence, mind you, would have admitted it.
Time was that, when sleeping out, whether in the open as on this occasion, or in the hillside hut of Gleason's Ravine, the boys found themselves subject to a certain degree of nervousness. The distant shriek of a locomotive whistle on the still night air might cause any or all of them to start into partial or complete wakefulness, uncertain whether the sound was not a human voice. The heavy barking of a dog far away, yet in the silence and the darkness seeming very close, was apt to produce a similar effect. The certain conviction that the sounds came nearer, being directed, indeed, straight toward the camp, easily impressed itself upon high-strung imaginations.
A considerable variety of experience of this character is common to most camping parties whose members have seldom slept with no roof but the sky, or none but a bit of canvas, at the most. It would not do to say they are caused by timidity. But rather they are the result of surroundings wholly unlike those to which body and mind have been accustomed.
But there are delights in sleeping out of doors which those who have never experienced them can scarcely imagine. Even though the couch be "downy" after the manner Paul Jones described, there are compensations. Of course there must be sufficient covering to keep one warm, and a roof of some kind when it rains. With these provided, soft mattresses may well be dispensed with. The company of the stars, the good, fresh air, the music of the breeze in the branches above—these and much more will be bountiful recompense.
Every one of the Auto Boys would have endorsed these remarks and with enthusiasm, I am sure. Dave may have wished for a bed in an established camp rather than the one he had on the bare ground. They would all have voted for that. A pillow, even though made of a blanket-end spread over fresh pine twigs or clean, freshly gathered grass, beats an automobile cushion as a head-rest. This no one would deny. And if the established camp means one thing, and the roadside resting place the other, it is very well to choose the former.
The degree of comfort is the only question. The delights of out-of-doors exist as certainly one way as another. Thus, for instance, in either situation, are the stars, whether they look down in the tranquillity of a calm, still night, or through broken, storm-tossed clouds, most excellent and interesting company.
Now the whole purpose of this digression from the story is to make clear thereasonback of the simple statement that the Auto Boys slept soundly. Notwithstanding their strange surroundings and their lack of a permanent camp's greater comforts, they passed the night in unbroken rest. If they awakened at any time it was merely to turn over and fall asleep again. If in the interim they noted, drowsily, the stars still bright, the sky still clear and the promise of fine weather to-morrow, it was merely this and nothing more. The apprehensions that at one time would have come to them that possibly danger lurked in the deeper shadows they rarely if ever experienced now.
And let no one suppose it is not something of a trial to desert one's snug resting place upon the ground in the morning, quite as much as it is to leave a soft, warm bed indoors. The temptation to indulge in just one more little snooze of five minutes, ten minutes or whatever time one thinks he might possibly allow himself, is quite the same. Complete wakefulness and ambition return more quickly in the open air and buoyancy of spirit is usually greater—that is all.
With the responsibility of breakfast on his shoulders Billy Worth was the first astir. The sun was well up and all the woodland was merry with the songs of birds. Robins piped musically from the old rail fence. Bobolinks, jays, bluebirds, chattering blackbirds and even crows added their voices to the odd combinations of melody. In some not distant pasture a boy was calling loudly as he drove up the cows.
Into the cool, clear brook where the swift current eddied among some stones, Billy plunged hands and arms elbow deep. He dashed the water over his face with a half-shiver and ran to the towel left hanging over night on the steering wheel.
"You fellows going to get up?" he inquired abruptly.
"Yep! Right away!" came the response from Phil, and with a reluctant sigh he sat up and looked about him. From Dave and Paul came no answer.
"I'm going to get a bucket of water at the creek. I'll be back here in about a minute, and anybody who's not up is going to get ducked! So there's fair warning!" announced Mr. Worth. There was a note of determination in his voice.
Maybe Billy even hoped the two still stretched snugly in their blankets would fail to take him at his word. He would soon show them whether he meant what he said or not, he thought. But by the time he reached the brook Dave rose slowly and stretched himself. Seeing this, young Mr. Worth lost no time.
Half filling the small bucket, he raced back to camp. The distance was only a few yards. Two more quick steps and he would have reached the prostrate Paul; but suddenly as if shot from a gun that young gentleman leaped to his feet.
"Just savedyourself!" laughed Worth, making a move with the bucket as if he thought a little cold water judiciously applied might be a good thing anyway.
"Well, you want to remember that I gathered all the stuff for the smudge last night, and I need my rest," said Jones with a half injured air but with a sly smile, too.
"Well, that's so! Five minutes' work does quite exhaust some people," Billy returned with friendly sarcasm. "If you could possibly wiggle a little firewood up this way and Phil will get the grub out while Dave puts the blankets and things away, I'll see if we can't have a light collation in the shape of breakfast."
Way was already kindling the fire with the remnants of last night's fuel supply. Paul acted upon instructions with reasonable alacrity and a fine bed of coals was ready by the time the bacon was in one frying-pan and several large potatoes, washed, peeled and sliced, were in another. Coffee and bread and butter completed the menu, and as a fine appetite is another of the delights of open air living, the call to breakfast was answered a great deal more promptly than Chef Billy's earlier call to get up had been.
So was another day begun. So a little later was the Thirty again measuring off the hard, smooth clay of the road while the bright June sun and pleasant breezes combined to set off most delightfully every one of nature's early summer charms.
For mile upon mile the Auto Boys' route was bordered by rich pastures, waving meadows and the cultivated fields of a fine farming country. The wheat was coming into head. The oats marked the long, parallel lines of the drills like millions of tiny soldiers in green uniforms massed regiment upon regiment. Farmers, their sons and their hired men were busy with cultivators and with hoes in many a field where the young corn was starting off vigorously, as if having particularly in mind that growth expected of every good corn field, "knee high by Fourth of July," and meant to establish a new record.
Surely there's nothing to equal motoring as a means of seeing the country. Not only are the constant change of landscape and constant succession of new scenes which the railway traveler may enjoy, to be had in an automobile but more—very much more.
The motorist gains a great deal that the railroad passenger inevitably misses. For the man on the train the musical clang of the dinner bell as one passes near some farmhouse, for instance, is lost—swallowed up in the noise and rush of the locomotive. The sweet scent of the wild crab apple can never make its presence known in the skurrying currents of air sweeping constantly aside from and after the wheels of steel. And these are but samples of countless impressions upon the senses the automobile tourist experiences, which he who journeys by rail may meet only by rare chance.
The difference is vast. The Auto Boys discussed the subject with keen appreciation of their good fortune in owning a machine.
"Why!" said Billy Worth, "it amounts to the same thing as the difference between pictures and actual life. You can lay eyes on a scene like that young fellow plowing, over yonder, say, in any art store. You can see the green of the grass and the brown of the ploughed land. See the trees and the old rail fence in the background and the team of horses and the driver. But it doesn't mean anything like as much as when you can at the same time catch that smell of the ground just turned over and hear that hired man calling out to his team. Hear him? Hear that chap yonder, now?"
And through the air, rich with the fragrance of the freshly ploughed earth came in lusty tones: "Ha-a-a-aw! Haw, there! Molly! You great big haystack, why don't you ha-a-w?"
Certainly Billy was right.
The late afternoon sun shone with a softened light in the valley through which Wolf creek flowed dark and sluggish from the Ship woods. The stream itself looked very dark, indeed, where the shadows of the trees lay on the deeper pools. Where the sunbeams struck the ripples the water had a brighter, clearer hue and tinkled sweetly, soft and low, for the current was moderate.
Looking up stream from the low wooden bridge at the public road, one could see that a sharp, irregular, wooded steep marked the limits of the valley on the east. The rise of ground began only two score yards distant from the water and with it began, also, a thick growth of mostly small trees and brush.
Rough ledges of sandstone and conglomerate rock cropped out of the earth in many places here, but the strip of land between the stream and the hillside was cleared of timber and lay quite level. Two parallel paths through the coarse grass and among the straggling bushes marked a primitive roadway midway between the slope and the creek. It extended back through the valley, apparently, to where the woods a quarter of a mile distant from the highway, stretched down from hill to hill, hiding the creek and all beyond.
As the sun was going down there rolled along the unfenced public road skirting for nearly two miles this southern boundary of the Ship woods, a heavily laden touring car.
"The bridge! The creek! That old trail through the valley—By Jinks, we're here!" cried a shrill young voice from the car. The machine had come to a halt where the rough road led back from the highway just before the bridge was reached.
"Yes, we'rehereand blessed if I see anything very thrilling about it!" came another voice, in tones of decidedly less enthusiasm. "At any rate, though, weare here."
Is it necessary to state that Paul Jones was the first speaker and that Dave MacLester was the second?
"Well, scoot ahead, somebody! See if we can get down the bank and into that pair of ruts through the grass, yonder, without turning turtle or blowing out a tire."
This command, briskly delivered, came from Billy Worth who leaned, tired and dusty, on the steering wheel.
"All O.K.! Come ahead!" shouted Phil Way a second later. "The track down the bank is here all right, but under the grass. Gently, Bill!"
With a sudden plunge and stiff jerk the car went down the incline leading from the road and across a broad, shallow ditch. Then slowly it rolled onto the grass and weed-grown trail leading up to the valley.
Way walked rapidly in advance looking out for pitfalls or possible causes of danger to tires. "Might as well get the road cleared at once, fellows," he said, and the hint was sufficient. Paul and Dave jumped down from the slowly moving machine to lend assistance.
Heavy wagons in summers that were past and the logging sleds of the timber crews in winter had broken a well-marked road. It was still rough but odd chunks of wood and the stones found here and there could be and were thrown to one side.
Paul Jones voiced with considerable earnestness the opinion that he would rather pilot the car than "heave dornicks" out of the road; but a subdued chuckle from Billy, lazily driving forward as the course was announced clear, was all the comfort his observation brought him.
"S'pose we needn't go more than thirty or forty miles back from the road!" ejaculated MacLester grimly. He was quite out of breath from the effort of up-ending a heavy pole that had lain across the trail. Also, as has been noted earlier, he was just the least bit tired and impatient.
"No farther back than we have to go to find a snug camping place," Phil responded with extra good humor. For cheerfulness is contagious and does a great deal more to brighten up another's despondent mood than any sort of remonstrance against being glum could do. "Maybe that little point down by the creek is just what we want, now," Way went on gayly. "Hold up, Bill, till we peek around here some."
The point did offer many advantages, being a low, grassy place, like a small peninsula, where a water course curved about till it finally reached the main stream. The creek formed a considerable pool just below the junction with the water-worn trench; for, while the latter, though deep, was now nearly dry, it was apparent that in time of rain its torrents rushed into the larger stream with both force and volume.
"Rather flat and low, but pretty good at that," observed Way, hopefully surveying the situation. "But maybe we'd better look a little further. What do you think, Mac?"
"Reckon so," said Dave, and telling Worth to wait, the two went forward to investigate.
Paul Jones meanwhile had been tracing the deep, narrow bed of the smaller stream, filled with the idea that its source must be in some spring. And presently he came running back shouting at the top of his voice—"Yelling like a wooden Indian," Billy said—"Say! oh, say! Here's the hunky-doriest place you ever dreamed about! Here's the one spot in all your natural life, for a fact!"
The rapturous enthusiasm of Jones' tones caused Worth to jump down from the car and hurry toward him. Dave and Phil, now some distance forward, also hastened back, and together the quartette climbed the rise of ground toward the woods. What they found fully accounted for Paul's delighted manner.
Here on a shelving plateau of conglomerate rock, overgrown with moss and patches of velvety grass, was a level space several hundred feet in length and perhaps fifty feet from the abrupt descent at its front to the rough, irregular wall of natural stonework, rising as high as the tops of the trees, at the back.
From a wide but shallow cave, in the wall at the rear, there trickled a beautifully clear and cool spring. For a time the water rested in a natural basin in the rocks, then overflowed through a tiny channel of its own making. Deeper and wider this channel grew and so became the water course, previously described, leading to the creek.
Many small ash, beech and chestnut trees somehow found foothold in the earthy crevices of the rocks, but of underbrush, fallen timber or similar obstructions the place was quite clear. Being much higher than the valley before it, the little plateau caught the last rays of the sinking sun most charmingly as it also received the welcome visits of the wandering breezes that passed quite over the lower land.
Of firewood, that most necessary factor in the making of a camp, there was plenty both below and above the broad shelf. Water of the purest quality the spring afforded in abundance. For bathing, fishing or such other accommodations as a good-sized stream could afford, the creek was but a few hundred feet away.
"Great!" exclaimed Mr. William Worth approvingly. "Simply carniverous!"
By which expression, it will be understood, he meant that the spot under inspection was extremely satisfactory, rather than exactly what he called it.
"Never get the car up here!" declared MacLester, looking about doubtfully. "Never get the car up here in the world!"
"You leave that to me," cried Paul, blusteringly, as if Mac's remark were a challenge to himself personally. "I've heard of half-backs and quarter-backs and all that sort of thing, but I'll be blamed, Dave, if you aren't the champion hold-back of the United States! We'll get the car up here like rolling off a log!"
And although Paul's expression was possibly as much overdrawn as it was picturesque, it may be stated at once that a means of running the Thirty up to the higher level was provided without great difficulty. The cutting down of a few straggling trees and clearing away of the brush where the southern edge of the wide ledge sloped off easily toward the public road, made all that remained quite safe and easy.
The net result was that, ere the shadows grew so deep as to cause a suspension of operations, the car with all its heavy load stood close beside the shallow cave and the spring. The campfire blazed cheerily a few minutes later and the sweet sizzle of frying bacon, always delicious to a hungry man, filled the pure, wholesome air of the woods.
The Auto Boys were very, very comfortable. Of this fact they assured themselves over and over again, although at no time was there room for the slightest doubt in the case. And leaving them in this pleasant situation, weary but entirely tranquil, restful and luxuriously content, attention must at this point be returned to Mr. Soapy Gaines, and the two companions of that very unselfish and highly agreeable young gentleman.
It was on Thursday afternoon, it will be remembered, that the Chosen Trio set out from Lannington. Gaines' big and clumsy Roadster was loaded heavily. Freddy Perth at the wheel, Soapy at his side and Pickton buried among baggage strapped on and around the rumble seat, they headed toward Sagersgrove by the most direct route. Without mishap the little town of Waterloo was reached by dusk and there the night was spent. Pickton had so adroitly planned matters that Gaines registered at the village hotel for the entire party. He meant also that Soapy should have entirely to himself the pleasant task of settling the bill in the morning. But it was not to be. Very unselfishly that young gentleman ventured the supposition, when breakfast was over that, as he was furnishing the car for the trip, his companions would probably be prepared to pay the traveling expenses.
"Oh, whack 'em up all around," suggested Perth. "Thought that was understood."
Pickton said nothing.
"Well, by George! I don't pay anybody's but my own!" growled Gaines. "If anybody thinks I'm soft, they better think again."
This shot was so obviously intended for Pick that he flushed hot and scarlet. "Sure! Everybody's to pay his own way!" he said. Rather sheepishly he added, though: "We might have got breakfast cheaper along the road somewhere."
And the foregoing dialogue but serves to illustrate the feeling that existed among the three companions. The unity, mutual trust and generous friendship which characterized all the relations of the Auto Boys with reference to one another were wholly missing in the Chosen Trio. The wonder is, indeed, that these three had remained together so long.
True, Soapy wanted someone for company and someone to operate the car and to take care of it. Pickton had his own selfish end to serve by making use of Gaines in such ways as he could and Perth—Fred would have borne a great deal just for the sake of being around the Roadster.
Also, Fred liked both the other two, in a way. It was not his disposition to find fault or to be over-critical at any time. It did not so much as occur to him, for instance, that the uncomfortable rumble seat, hemmed in with baggage, should be occupied by Soapy any part of the time as the car chugged on noisily but at no mean speed, toward Sagersgrove.
It lacked still two hours of noon when Eli Gouger, self-constituted detective in Sagersgrove, beheld the heavy machine of the Chosen Trio coming down the main street of that peaceful town. He looked again and a sudden thought smote upon his brain. Then he acted.
Perhaps it should be explained that, following their uncomfortable experience in pursuit of the Auto Boys through the Cowslip marshes, Mr. Gouger had even less admiration for Marshal Wellock than he had entertained before. And now, as he saw the strange automobile approaching, he realized that it was traveling at a considerably higher speed than the ordinances of the town permitted. Also he realized that if Marshal Wellock chanced to see the law's violation by these young strangers he would pounce upon them instantly.
In no mood was the marshal, of late particularly, to let any motorist escape if there was the slightest reason for an arrest. The officer had been made the butt of too much ridicule as a result of that chase that ended with him head first in the mud to be in a very amiable temper. He wanted only the excuse and he would clap into jail any strange automobile user who entered the town.
Well aware of all this, and well aware that he, himself, detective though he feign would be, was powerless to make an arrest, Mr. Gouger hastily planned a deep and crafty plan. He would win for himself a degree of glory which should make Marshal Wellock appear, in contrast, a most negligent and inefficient officer, to say the least.
Frantically waving his arms, Mr. Gouger rushed into the street as the strange car and its three passengers drew near. Pickton brought the machine to a halt.
"You chaps will get arrested if ye don't watch out!" declared Mr. Gouger, vehemently, a little irritated by Gaines' instant and by no means polite inquiry, "What's hurtingyou?"
"Fact is, you've been speeding half way through town. I own a machine, myself, an' I know. Maybe there's a warrant out for ye now," he continued rapidly.
Pickton's jaw fell and Gaines felt a giving way inside as if his upper and lower halves had suddenly parted company at the waist line.
"Guess—guess—we'd better not stop to talk about it then," said Freddy Perth, brokenly, but with a sadly forced grin.
"Tell ye what, slip 'round here with me. Drive up slow. I'll get ye into my barn an' a little later ye can slip out o' town," Mr. Gouger suggested. There was a gleam in his eye, however, and a sort of internal chuckle in his tones that would have been a warning had any of the Trio noticed them.
"Well, blame it all! Show uswhere," growled Pickton, noticeably bolder now. "Lead on!"—This with solemn, dramatic air that would have been ridiculous had it not been so tragic.
Mr. Gouger wasted time in very few more words. Through an alley he escorted the Trio, still in the car, to the yard at the rear of his own modest, frame dwelling in a side street close by. Asking the lads to leave their car partially screened from view beneath the low-branching cherry trees, he invited them into a small, tightly-boarded cowstable.
"Stay in here a spell. I'll be back," grinned the would-be detective, and suddenly stepping out he closed the door and locked it by means of a large padlock attached to a chain. "Ye can consider yourselves under arrestright now," sang out Mr. Gouger, then, in tones of triumph, "I'll have the constable here right off an' ye can go before the 'squire an' pay up. Don't be speedin' next time till ye know there's nodetectivesaround."
The astonishment of Messrs. Gaines, Pickton and Perth may be more easily imagined than successfully described. They did not suspect the purpose and the reason for the imposition that had been practiced upon them, nor did they realize that their captor had no authority to make an arrest himself. He had taken this means of detaining them until he could summon a constable, apparently, because he did not care to undertake the arrest alone. Having no knowledge of Mr. Gouger's lack of admiration for Marshal Wellock, of course, the lads ascribed the motives of that very able disciple of Mr. Pinkerton entirely to a desire to share in the fine to be imposed upon them.