The arrival of the Chosen Trio in Queensville did not occasion the excitement in that small city that at least Mr. Gaines had anticipated. Possibly there would have been a more noticeable interest had it not been that strangers and strange cars had already become, on account of the numbers present for the races, a drug on the market. Queensville people had grown quickly accustomed to the presence of visitors. Beyond a passing glance the lumbering Roadster and its passengers received little notice, therefore.
Soapy had counted so much upon the demonstration of lively interest the arrival of himself, his car and Pickton and Perth—whom he regarded as a kind of body-guard—would occasion that to attract little or none of such curious attention was a serious blow to his vanity.
The fault, Mr. Gaines in his own mind assured himself, lay in the very ordinary appearance of his friends. He would have to let it be known, he concluded, that he alone was the owner of the Roadster and that he, if not those with him, was a person of quite some consequence.
It was with difficulty that Pickton and Perth prevailed upon Gaines to do as they had originally agreed and look for quarters where they could prepare most of their own meals and so incur no considerable expense. This accomplished, they quite readily found a really desirable place of the character desired. It was a vacant, one-story, white cottage. Adjoining was a more pretentious house, the owner of both of which dwellings was desirous of taking in what money he might while the influx of strangers was on. For the moderate charge of five dollars for the week he gave the Trio the use of the cottage for themselves and permission to run their car into a shed in the rear of his own residence.
The three lads might have been very comfortable—might have fared well in all respects, in the situation presented, had Soapy been the least bit favorably disposed toward "roughing it." With the gasoline camp stove for their cooking, ample bedding, and water and similar accommodations already in the cottage and at their disposal—why, under the same conditions the Auto Boys, or any group of really congenial young fellows, would have lived in a delightfully care-free way!
But Gaines did not like the bare floor and he did not like the absence of such little conveniences as rocking chairs and electric lights. And although Mrs. Gaston, wife of the owner of the property, and a most pleasant, motherly old lady, sent over a mirror, a lamp, a small table and three kitchen chairs for the accommodation of the boys, to say nothing of a jar of canned peaches and a fresh rhubarb pie, Soapy "hoped he wasn't an object of charity just yet awhile."
Or as Mr. Freddy Perth expressed it, he "simply turned up his long, thin nose at the whole shooting match and acted like a beastly cad." Where and how anything remotely similar to a "shooting match" came into the situation may not be exactly clear. No doubt young Mr. Perth knew just what he was talking about; but at any rate the words quoted, it should be understood, were his own.
However, and notwithstanding Mr. Gaines' constantly expressed dissatisfaction, Pick and Fred went ahead with the plan to make the white cottage their headquarters for the week of the races. The location was pleasantly convenient. Only four blocks distant was the main street and the Crown Hotel. Here many of the racing car owners and drivers were staying and here, also, the committee in charge of the contests had its office.
Considerably disgusted with the failure again to find the Auto Boys and out of sorts with himself and everyone else, Gaines went alone to the hotel for his supper on Sunday night. Perth and Pickton enjoyed their evening meal just as much without him, it is possible, at the cottage. And though they attempted nothing more intricate in the culinary art than boiling eggs, toasting bread and making coffee, they supplemented this fare with fruit from the stand down on the corner and so managed very well.
Soapy returned from the hotel to find the cottage uncomfortably cool and Fred and Tom both in bed—because they were tired and because they were warmer there. He sniffed contemptuously as he prepared to follow their example. Growing still more sulky, he requested both his friends to bear in mind who owned the car that brought them there. Even after he was in bed, Gaines felt moved to declare that he didn't care where the Auto Boys were or were not. He meant, he said, to enjoy the races.
He wanted to hear the hotel discussions, see the practice work and all things incident to the contests. So far as he was concerned, he at last concluded, "Worth and that bunch might run and jump off the edge of the earth if they wanted to." Which feat, by the way, had the Auto Boys known they had Mr. Gaines' free and complete permission to perform, they would quite likely have been glad to undertake for his especial accommodation, if for no other reason.
Now, although Mr. Tom Pickton was no better pleased with the temper Gaines displayed than was Mr. Frederick Perth, the two did not themselves become the firmer friends. Being fellow sufferers from Soapy's disagreeable manner, it would have been quite natural that every bond of friendship and sympathy between them should be strengthened. Yet quite the contrary was true.
Pickton more than half believed Perth responsible for the fact that Gaines had not invited him to supper at the hotel. Fred's somewhat inferior clothing, and his general lack of a kind of swaggering style, much affected by Soapy himself, made the latter ashamed to associate with him. In this light, at least, Pickton viewed the matter. He reasoned that Gaines went by himself because to invite one made it necessary that he invite both the others. Thinking thus, he wished fervently that Fred were some place else.
On the other hand, young Mr. Perth resented in his thoughts, if not in words and actions, a certain secretive manner Pickton had shown more and more of late. He resented still further Soapy's selfish and snobbish conduct. So all in all, harmony and good-fellowship among the Chosen Trio's members, never strong, never founded on the deep, mutual love and respect that is the basis of all true friendship, was in a fair way to disappear entirely.
Monday morning presented little change in the chilly atmosphere of the white cottage. Soapy remained in bed until Perth called him to breakfast—again toast, eggs and coffee. Meanwhile Pickton had brought the Roadster around to the street in front, and after the morning repast suggested a trip over the course. As Gaines and Fred both liked this proposal, the feelings of all three toward one another became, for the time, more pleasant.
Earnest, serious practice by the racing drivers began this Monday morning and from four to ten o'clock the roads were closed against all others. The Trio ran down in the Roadster to the banked curve just south of Queensville to watch the work of the different cars and men. It was at this point that the main grandstand was to be. Work on the structure, rising in successive tiers of seats in rows hundreds of feet in length, was now nearly completed. No charge for admission would be made before the day of the races and from boxes for each of which, for the one big day, the price would be fifty dollars, the three lads viewed the coming and going of the machines and their crews.
A large, red car, stripped to the chassis, save for the hood, the low seats and fuel tank back of them, made the most consistent record of the morning. Repeatedly its driver covered the circuit at fifty-five mile speed and did not exceed a minute's difference in time between one lap and another.
This machine was theClarion; Kemper, driver, and Allstop, mechanician. It was a popular car and a favorite crew. Gossip at the Crown Hotel was partial to Kemper and theClarionas winners in the heavy car race.
A long, low, gray car with black lines—and known as theHare, was another of the "sure" winners, according to the forecast of those whose wisdom was aired each day and night wherever crowds congregated in Queensville. The identity of theHare'sdriver was the subject of almost unceasing discussion. When out on the course or wherever he might be seen, he wore invariably a head-dress that covered his face completely. None could recognize him. On the entry list his name appeared as "I. S. Mystery"—nothing more, and it is scarcely necessary to add that a mystery he was. Cobert, his mechanician, was also unknown. He wore no mask. His head-rigging left his face open to close scrutiny; but he was silent always. He worked with Mr. "Mystery" as if they read continuously each the thoughts of the other and had no need of any other language.
TheHare, as a car, was known quite well enough. The manufacturers were among the most prominent in America. As a factor in the heavy car race, the machine was considered very important, as has been stated. So much, however, depends upon the skill, experience and daring of the driver in any such contest, that many and many a man would have given a great deal to know who "Mystery" was, and where he and Cobert had acquired their apparently perfect training.
Six other cars, including the Alameda, two Brights, a Henry and two Wings completed the field for the big race. The light car contest was but a minor affair and attracted little notice. Of the six machines just mentioned, the Henry was looked upon as a bare possibility. The Brights were not rated highly, though one of them, with Crane—a long-experienced driver—as pilot, was counted upon as an interesting "dark horse." The Wings were the product of unknown builders. One of the wags at the Crown Hotel remarked that "thepairof them might flysome, but not very far at that." The Alameda was not considered at all formidably, either, being practically unknown.
All the gossip concerning the different contestants he had heard about the hotel Gaines repeated as being strictly first-hand intelligence, or quite as if every word were a matter of his own personal knowledge, as the Trio watched the Monday morning practice. Very well did Fred and Pickton know where he had heard all he told them. That they secretly resented his manner of superiority there can be no doubt; but their interest in obtaining information was too lively to permit of their failing to listen, and attentively.
By ten o'clock, all the racing cars had been taken home to their respective stations, some in Queensville and some to headquarters established in camps at convenient points adjacent to the course. With the way now open to them, the Trio started in the Roadster for a trip around the circuit, Pickton at the wheel.
"Oh, you!" called a voice from one of the tire supply pits directly in front of the grandstand.
Perth answered, "Hello!"
"How far you going?" asked the first speaker, a brisk young man in a suit of khaki. "Wonder if you'd just as soon take a couple of tubes over to the Clarion camp for me?"
"Sure, Mike," said the by no means bashful Perth, though why he supposed the name of the young man to be Michael—which, in fact, it truly was not—is a problem. But anyhow, "Sure, Mike!" he said.
"Their camp is in a little grove just the other side of Chester. You'll see a lane leading right back to their tent and a barn they have," the chap in the khaki suit continued. "Give 'em these two tubes. They'll know who sent 'em. You're the boys for me, all right!"
Gaines would have objected to taking the tubes aboard except for the opportunity to see the Clarion headquarters. He did not like the way in which Perth acted as spokesman. He so informed Fred a little later. Again he requested him, also, and with some degree of earnestness, to remember whose machine he was "banging around for the accommodation of any Tom, Dick and Harry."
Perth smoothed matters over as best he could by saying, "Oh, Gaines, let's be civilized!" but he held the two tire tubes in his own hands. When the camp of theClarionwas reached, he carried them personally to the man who appeared to be in charge.
With the gentleman who received the tubes Perth found it quite easy to become acquainted. He volunteered to assist as the stranger immediately set about the work of inserting one of the new tubes in a tire. The change was being made on a car kept at the camp for general purposes. Fred's offer was accepted and he did his work right skillfully.
Gaines and Pickton looked on but gave no assistance. Later all three were allowed to watch Kemper and Allstop making some adjustments on the Clarion racer. A proud moment it was, too, when the famous driver nodded to them in a friendly way.
"Much obliged for those tubes," he said, looking toward Fred. "It was one on me that you were asked to fetch them. I intended stopping at the tire control my last time around and forgot it."
"Don't mention it," said Perth.
It was odd, but the fact, nevertheless, that this very natural conversation was the source of much irritation to Mr. Soapy Gaines.
"That Clarion car has no more chance," said he, when the Roadster was again underway upon the course—"that Clarion car has no more chance of winning than your grandmother. The thing's a heap o' junk and Kemper couldn't drive a truck!"
"Fudge!" snorted Perth in an outburst of supreme contempt.
"Keep our eyes open and we might find Way's outfit," suggested Pickton, anxious to prevent a clash and even more anxious, if the whole truth were known, to locate the Auto Boys' camp.
Strangely enough Tom's proposal instantly interested Soapy very much. Fickle and uncertain always, he now declared that, come what might, he would find where Way and the rest were staying and what they were doing in the locality, if it took all day.
"Wiggle around some! Get your blood in circulation, and you'll be warm enough!" ejaculated Billy Worth, rather forcibly.
His remark was aimed at Paul Jones, fussing and shaking, pretending to be all in a shiver with the cold while he leaned half-dressed over the campfire. "Might wiggle a little more wood up here. Can't afford to burn up the back-log, just getting breakfast!" Billy added.
Worth had been up and fully dressed a quarter of an hour or more. With Phil's help he had the morning meal actively in course of preparation. It was but little later than sunrise. The air was still cool. Dave was finishing his hasty toilet in the tent and Jones half-heartedly was trying to do the same while crouching as close to the fire as he very well could do without falling in.
"Great Scott, Bill!" protested Paul in answer to Worth's call for firewood. "Great Scott and also gee whiz! I'll bet I've toted twenty-seven cords of wood into this camp already, and we've been here just two days. I hope if ever you are married your wife will be descended from four generations of railroad firemen and your coal house will be half a mile from where you live! I just do, by ginger!"
And although Paul's words were decidedly softened by his tone of pretended personal injury and suffering, Billy called, "Gangway!" in a manner far more peremptory than sympathetic in reply. Up he came rushing with the coffee pot and, uncertain whether some of its cold contents might not be intended for his bare shoulders, Paul sprang quickly to one side. Quite sprightly then, he completed his dressing in almost less time than it takes to say it, and until breakfast was announced gathered and carried up firewood as if he had whole train-loads to collect and only a day in which to do it.
On part of all the boys there was the liveliest activity this Monday morning. At last and at last, after all their months of planning, after all the preparations and their long journey they were ready to explore the secrets of the vast Ship woods. All talk of the automobile races, all thought of the Chosen Trio's pursuit, thus far so ridiculously fruitless, were forgotten. True, Mr. Gaines and his loving friends were in Queensville; and true, that small city lay almost twenty miles distant. Still what do twenty miles count with an automobile at one's disposal? Yet even this thought did not more than once occur to the four chums.
"Three stones piled one upon another to mark the place." Once more the Auto Boys found themselves repeating many times the words which had been the means of bringing them to the great woods. Once more they speculated upon the probability of being able, in all this broad expanse of timbered hills and dales, to find that one small spot where years before the marker of stones had been erected.
Their search, it had been decided long ago, should be pursued systematically. To roam through and through the woods, going at random in this or that direction, would almost certainly result in a complete failure to locate the object of their trip. The danger of becoming hopelessly lost, far in the forest's interior, was still another excellent reason for keeping steadily within lines of march agreed upon before starting.
"Remember," said Billy Worth, "that the bark has the most moss on the north side of the trees. Remember—"
"Oh, fiddle, Billy! You remember that there'll be the hungriest quartette around here to-night that you ever had to cook for," broke in Paul Jones. "Nobody's going to get lost!"
"Well, you remember, young fellow, that you're to be back to camp in time to go for milk before supper," cried out Dave MacLester.
There were other parting sallies as Dave and Billy started out in one direction and Phil and Paul another. A last admonition from Way, that regardless of all else, and no matter what was or was not discovered, all four were to meet in camp again at six o'clock, marked the separation of the two searching parties. Yet even these were not the last words spoken. Dave MacLester just could not resist his customary prediction of ill-luck.
"Bet a dollar, right now, nobody finds a thing!" he called loudly. But by this time he and Worth were high up on the crest of the ridge rising above the camp. Phil and Paul were some distance away, heading straight up the valley of the stream below.
Any one chancing to observe the boys as they thus set out would surely have found his curiosity aroused by their accouterment. Each party carried an axe and spade. In the hollow of Phil Way's arm was also a small rifle. Billy Worth carried in addition to his spade a rather formidable looking revolver. Paul Jones carried a noonday lunch for himself and Phil in a small box slung over his shoulder like a knap-sack. Similarly MacLester bore refreshment for himself and his partner for the day.
"Pretty good fun if wedon'tfind anything," Dave found himself admitting almost before the echo of his prediction of failure had died away.
And was he right? The air was just pleasantly cool. The fragrance of the forest's tender new leaves was everywhere. No sound but the distant cawing of crows, and somewhere to the right the chirp of a squirrel broke the silence save for the rustling leaves underfoot. The very hush of the woods was eloquent with sweet sentiments. The dogwood blossoms seen at intervals, and more frequently the wake-robins and adder's tongues, contributed their touch of beauty to enhance such gentle thoughts and feeling.
Buoyant and happy, the one eager with expectation, the other less confident but very willing to find himself a poor prophet, the two lads moved steadily, watchfully forward. Billy and Dave had been assigned to all that part of the forest lying to the north of Camp Golden and between the edge of the hillside above the creek and a long since abandoned logging road which penetrated deep into the woods a quarter of a mile to the east. It would keep them very busy to cover the ground at all thoroughly before night.
"No, this ain't the great woods, though! Oh, I guess it's hardly any woods at all! Very poor woods! Oh, yes! Very poor day, too!" With this and other similar declarations, equally dignified and polished, Paul Jones expressed the delighted state of his mind at about the same time Dave was mentioning his own pleasure to Worth.
Phil Way acquiesced in all of Paul's words, paradoxical as it may appear, for he really denied them. "There never was a grander day; and isn't it a dandy, big woods!" he said. "Just makes a man feel like soaring, though never before so conscious of his littleness and downright insignificance. Why! the creek! these old trees! They were all here and ages old long before we were on earth! They'll be here long after we are gone, too, Paul. But oh! it is fine to be with them—to enjoy them!"
The course Way and Jones were taking was to the north through the valley. Between the east bank of the creek and the foot of the hill lay a strip of woods ranging from one hundred to three hundred yards in width. This was to be the field of their searching as they progressed to the extreme northern limits of the forest. Returning, they would traverse carefully the broad, sloping hillside, broken here and there by precipitous ledges. So would they reach camp again, and the more open valley near it.
"'Three stones piled one on top of another!' It will be along the hill, I'm thinking, that we'll finally find them," observed Paul thoughtfully to himself. Then, impressed by what he considered the importance of this conclusion, he called out the substance of it to Phil, for the two were keeping some distance apart in order that the least possible bit of ground should escape their scrutiny.
"Well, don't forget there's something more than three stones to look for," Way answered. "If you find anything that looks interesting, sing out. I'll do the same."
It was a valley of romantic interest the two boys were exploring. Here the creek foamed and bubbled into "suds" over and around obstructing rocks or driftwood. Again it rested in deep, narrow pools. Beyond, in gentle ripples the water gained speed again to go tumbling on and on in miniature falls of a thousand different shapes and sizes, where its course was rough and broken.
Years and years ago the Indian knew this valley and its adjacent wooded hills and low plateaus as a favored hunting place. Later white hunters and trappers here sought and found wild game,—the deer, the bear, the panther, the wolf, and even the beaver.
Pioneer settlers followed in their turn. For the latter, however, the country was too broken by rocky ledges and hills. The more level and fertile lands offered greater attractions for their husbandry, so they carried their work of clearing, ploughing and planting elsewhere.
For years after the country all about had been quite opened up, wild game continued to be found in the rough region now known as the Ship woods. It continued thus to be a hunting place. Men traveled many miles to try their skill as sportsmen there, finding pigeons, wild turkeys and smaller game for a great while after the last deer and the last bear were gone.
At noon Phil and Paul came together beside a considerable waterfall of the creek. Seated on a great beech tree, partially uprooted by the undermining of the stream and now lying across it, the two ate their lunch. No reward for their searching had yet come to them. Through the screen of leaves and low bushes they could see in the distance a farmhouse. It meant that the road bounding the Ship woods on the north was very near.
"Humph! Didn't think wewouldfind anything right off," observed Paul, philosophically. "But it wouldn't surprise me if we'd have some luck this afternoon." And a minute later, as if fortifying himself against disappointment,—a really wise thing for anyone to do where the element of chance is a factor—"Then again," said he, "it wouldn'tsurpriseme if wedidn't."
But although Paul had thus plainly stated that he was not to be surprised at any event, the fact remains that he gave a most joyful yell a couple of hours later, in answer to Phil's loud signal,—"Guess we've found something!"
"Not the three stones, but something pretty good, though!" Way called again, easily, as Jones bounded forward. "It's slippery elm! Twenty trees if there's one!"
"Good enough!" Paul cried enthusiastically. "Wish it had been the other thing but anyhow we wanted slippery elm, too! We haven't failed entirely, have we, Phil?"
Delighted as could be, Jones frisked about like a colt while with his axe Way trimmed from a tree before him a long strip of bark. Then again and again he pulled off shreds of the inner fiber and tasted them.
"Let me see!" Paul demanded. He sank his teeth into the interior surface of a piece of the bark. It was soft and moist and had a peculiarly sweetish taste. In one's mouth it seemed to be melting away and in a smooth, oily manner like butter.
"Gee! It's slippery, all right!" ejaculated Paul, seriously, his lips screwed up like the mouth of a jug, his nose all wrinkled.
"No doubt at all about it being slippery elm," replied Phil confidently. "Only trouble is, it's not the best season for gathering it. Ought to be taken in spring when the sap is flowing. The inside of the bark is just the slipperiest thing then you ever saw."
"Twenty-six cents a pound. I remember the quotation we saw in the paper as if it were only yesterday," observed Jones delightedly. "S'pose there must be just hundreds of pounds in the trees right around here, Phil. Won't weigh so much when it's dry though!" he added, his spirits falling slightly.
"Only the inner bark is good, but even at that," Phil returned with satisfaction, "even at that, we could gather a perfect stack of it in almost no time. Won't Billy and Dave be glad?"
Carefully noting all surroundings,—the distance from the creek, the bare knob or point on the hill yonder and various other landmarks,—that they might easily find the place again, the two boys in due time continued on. With them they carried extensive samples of their discovery and both watched eagerly for more trees of the same kind while pushing forward. But they did not forget they had other things for which to search. They cautioned each other they must be as painstaking as to this as they had been before.
How Worth and MacLester had been faring meanwhile may be told more briefly, though they were even more fortunate. That part of the woods penetrated by them lay quite dry and high. There was less underbrush than on the lower levels. The saws and axes of the logging crews had scarcely touched this portion of the forest. All was in quite the same wild state as it had been a hundred years before.
Dave and Billy came upon a shack of brush piled over some supporting poles late in the afternoon. Some hunter had erected the shelter the preceding winter, perhaps. In any event, with its bed of leaves and abundant shade, it offered a good place to have lunch and to rest. Leaving their tools here, then, the boys descended into a valley beyond to find water. There was a small brook there but its bed was quite dry.
"Good thing we have that bottle of cold coffee," observed Billy. "It'll do for now. We'll get water sometime, or—"
His sentence was never finished. Suddenly his eyes had fallen upon a low, broad-leafed plant. He gazed steadfastly for a few seconds. Then Dave saw what it was that had so unexpectedly arrested Worth's attention and—
"Ginseng!" he exclaimed. "Sure it's ginseng! I've seen the cultivated kind!"
"I just happened to catch sight of it! Wasn't watching out for anything just then at all!" said Billy excitedly.
"And here's some more!" cried MacLester in similar tones.
"Here, too,—a lot more! Six dollars a pound for it! Hurrah for us!" And Billy ran for a spade. He wanted to make sure the plants had the forked roots usually characteristic of ginseng.
"Now, Bill Worth, don't you go to counting any chickens before they're hatched!" answered Dave. "There'll be some drawback, somewhere."
It was quite like young Mr. MacLester to make just such a prediction.
Yes, David MacLester, some drawbacks to be sure, yet without this bed of ginseng never would the joys experienced in "The Auto Boys' Race" have been your happy lot.
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Finding there is a wide demand for plays which commend themselves to amateurs and to casts comprised largely of children, Miss Richardson, already well and widely known, has here given four plays which are unusually clever and fill this need. They call for but little stage setting, and that of the simplest kind, are suited to presentation the year around, and can be effectively produced by amateurs without difficulty.
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