CHAPTER XIIGROPING IN DARKNESS
Herb tugged gently and gave another yell of delight when whatever was attached to the handle yielded grudgingly to the pull.
“It’s the trap door, fellows!” he cried. “Move over a bit, Bob, till I pull the thing down.”
Bob, who, about this time, was finding Herb’s weight not any too comfortable, moved over, and, in doing so, stumbled, nearly pitching himself and Herb to the floor.
As it was, Herb lost his balance and leaped wildly. He landed on his feet and reached out a hand to find Bob.
“Of all the tough luck,” he groaned. “There I had the thing in my hand and now we’ve gone and lost it again.”
“Sorry. But stop your groaning and get busy,” Bob commanded him. “I haven’t moved from this spot, so if you get up on my shoulders again you ought to be able to get hold of the handle easily enough.”
So, hoisted and pushed by Joe and Jimmy, Herb finally regained his perch and felt for the handle. He found it, and this time pulled the door so far open that the boys could see through the opening in the barn floor.
“If somebody can hold that door,” panted Herb, “I think I can get through this hole. Grab hold, boy. It sure is heavy.”
So Joe caught the door as it swung downward and Herb scrambled through the aperture. Bob gave a grunt of relief as the weight was taken from his shoulders.
“You’re next, Joe,” Bob was saying when Jimmy came stumbling up, carrying something that banged against Bob’s legs.
“I’ve got it,” he panted. “Had an idea I might find something like it. Trust your Uncle Jimmy——”
“For the love of butter, what are you raving about?” interrupted Joe, and Jimmy proudly exhibited his prize.
“A soap box,” he said. “And a good big one, too. If we stand on that we can reach the opening easily.”
“Good for you, Doughnuts,” cried Bob, joyfully seizing upon the soap box. “This beats playing the human footstool all hollow. Jump up on it, Jimmy, and see how quick you can get out of here.”
Jimmy needed no second invitation. He scrambled up on the tall box, and by stretching up on tip toe could just manage to get his fingers over the edge of the flooring above.
“Give me a boost, some one,” he commanded, and Bob obligingly administered the boost.
Joe was next. Bob went last, holding the trap door with his foot to keep it from closing too quickly. Once upon the floor of the barn he took his foot away and the door banged to with a snap, being balanced by a rope and weight above.
“Well, there’s that!” exclaimed Bob, eyeing the closed door with satisfaction. “If Cassey thought he was going to fool us long, he sure was mistaken.”
“Maybe he’s hiding around here somewhere,” suggested Herb, lowering his voice to a whisper.
“No such luck,” replied Bob. “I’d be willing to wager that the moment we struck bottom there, Cassey and his friends beat it away from here as fast as their legs could take them.”
“Don’t you think we’d better look around a little bit, anyway?” suggested Joe.
“It wouldn’t do any harm,” agreed Bob. “But first let’s have a look outside. We don’t want to overlook any clues.”
The boys thrashed around the bushes about the barn until they were satisfied no one was hidingthere and then returned to the barn. They were curious to find out just how they had been shot through that trap door.
They thought at first that it was perhaps worked by some sort of apparatus, but they found that this was not the case. They found by experimenting that the trap door yielded easily to their weight, and decided that it had been their combined rush upon Cassey that had done the trick. The weight of the four of them upon it had shot the door down so rapidly that they had not had time even to know what was happening to them, much less scramble to safety. Then it had shut on them.
“It couldn’t have worked better for them,” said Herb, as they turned toward the door of the barn. “I bet they’re laughing yet at the way they put things over.”
“Let ’em laugh,” said Bob, adding fiercely: “But I bet you anything that the last laugh will be ours!”
“I wonder what Cassey was doing here, anyway,” said Jimmy, as they walked slowly homeward. “It was lucky, wasn’t it, that we happened along when we did?”
“I don’t see where it’s so lucky,” grumbled Joe. “We’re no nearer catching him now than we ever were.”
“Except that we know he’s around thislocality,” put in Bob. “I guess the police will be glad to know that.”
“Oh! are you going to tell the police?” asked Jimmy, whose thoughts had been upon what he was going to get for dinner.
“Of course,” said Bob. “He’s an escaped criminal, and it’s up to us to tell the police all we know about him.”
“I only wish we knew more to tell,” said Joe disconsolately.
Since they had been flung through the trap door, Joe had called himself every unpleasant name he could think of for his carelessness. If he had stayed at the door where he belonged, there would have been one of them left to grapple with Dan Cassey. Probably the two men who had been with Cassey when they had surprised him had not been anywhere around. They belonged to the type of criminal that always thinks of its own safety first. Probably they had not been anywhere near the barn. And if it had been only Dan Cassey and himself, well, he, Joe, could at least have given the scoundrel a black eye—maybe captured him.
He said something of this to his chums, but they laughed at him.
“Stop your grouching,” said Bob. “Haven’t we already agreed that there’s no use crying overspilled milk? And, anyway, you just watch out. We’ll get Cassey yet.”
As soon as the boys reached town they went straight to the police station and told the story of their encounter with Cassey to the grizzled old chief, who nodded his head grimly and thanked them for the information.
“I’ll send some men out right away,” he told them. “If there’s a criminal in those woods, they’re sure to get him before dark. It’s too bad you lads couldn’t have got him yourselves. It would sure have been a feather in your caps!”
“Why doesn’t he rub it in?” grumbled Joe, as they turned at last toward home and dinner. “He ought to know we feel mad enough about it.”
“Well,” said Bob, “if the police round him up, because of our information, it will be almost as good as though we’d caught him ourselves. I wouldn’t,” he added, with a glint in his eye, “exactly like to be in Cassey’s shoes, now.”
CHAPTER XIIICUNNING SCOUNDRELS
But, contrary to the expectations of the radio boys, the police were not able to locate Cassey nor any of the rest of the gang. They searched the woods for miles around the old barn about which the boys had told them, even carrying their search into the neighboring townships, but without any result. It seemed as though the earth had opened and swallowed up Cassey together with his rascally companions. If such a thing had actually happened, their disappearance could not have been more complete.
“They must be experts in the art of hiding,” grumbled Bob, upon returning from a visit to the chief of police. “I was certain they would be rounded up before this.”
“Guess they must have made a break for the tall timber,” said Joe.
“Decided, maybe, it isn’t just healthy around here,” added Herb, with a grin.
And then, just when they had decided thatCassey and his gang had made a masterly getaway, the radio boys got on their trail once again.
That very evening, when tuning in for the concert, they caught another of those mysterious, stuttering messages in the unmistakable voice of Dan Cassey!
“Rice, rats, make hay,” was the substance of this message, and the boys would have laughed if they had not been so dumbfounded.
“What do you know about that?” gasped Jimmy. “That old boy sure has his nerve with him.”
“They’re still hanging around here somewhere!” cried Bob excitedly. “They’ve probably got a hiding place that even the police can’t find.”
“Oh, if we could only make sense of this!” exclaimed Herb, staring at the apparently senseless message which he had written down. “If we only had their code the whole thing would be simple.”
“Oh, yes, if we only had a million dollars, we’d be millionaires!” retorted Jimmy scornfully. “Where do you get that stuff, anyway?”
“Well,” said Bob, temporarily giving up the problem, “as far as I can see, all there is for us to do is to keep our eyes and ears open and trust to luck. Now what do you say we listen in on the concert for a little while?”
In the days that followed Cassey’s voice cameto them several times out of the ether, and always in that same cryptic form that, try as they would, they could not make out.
It was exasperating, that familiar voice coming to them out of the air day after day without giving them the slightest clue to the whereabouts of the speaker.
And then, while they were in town one day, they quite unexpectedly ran into their old friend, Frank Brandon, the wireless inspector, whose work for some time had taken him into another district.
However, he was to stay in Clintonia for a few days on business now, and since he had nothing particular to do that day, Bob enthusiastically invited him up to his home for a visit.
“Maybe you can give us some tips on our set,” Bob added, as Mr. Brandon readily accepted the invitation. “We’re not altogether satisfied with our batteries. For some reason or other they burn out too quickly.”
“Yes, I’ll take a look at it,” agreed Mr. Brandon good-naturedly. “Although I imagine you boys are such experts by this time I can’t tell you very much. What have you been doing with yourselves since we last met?”
The boys told him something of their experiences, in which he showed intense interest, andin return he told them some interesting things that had happened to him.
And when he spoke of catching mysterious messages in the stuttering voice of Dan Cassey, Bob broke in upon him eagerly.
“We’ve caught a good many such messages too,” he said. “Have you managed to make anything of them?”
“Not a thing,” said Mr. Brandon, shaking his head. “If it is a criminal code, and I am about assured that it is, then it is a remarkably clever one and one that it is almost impossible to decipher without a key. I’ve just about given up trying.”
Then the boys told of their encounter with Cassey in the woods and their adventure in the old barn, and Frank Brandon was immensely excited.
“By Jove,” he said, “the man is up to his old tricks again! I’d like to get hold of him before he does any serious harm. That sort of criminal is a menace to the community.
“The funny part of it,” he continued, as they turned the corner into Bob’s block, “is that these messages are not all in Cassey’s voice. Have you noticed that?”
It was the boys’ turn to be surprised.
“That’s a new one on us,” Bob confessed.“The only messages we have caught so far have been in Cassey’s voice.”
Frank Brandon slowly shook his head.
“No,” he said, “I have caught a couple in a strange voice, a voice I never heard before.”
“The same kind of message?” asked Herb eagerly.
“The same kind of message,” Brandon affirmed. “I have taken it for granted that the owner of the strange voice is a confederate of Cassey’s.”
“Maybe one of the fellows who was with him in the woods,” said Jimmy, and Mr. Brandon nodded gravely.
“It’s possible,” he said. “I don’t know, of course, but I imagine that there are several in Cassey’s gang.”
By this time they had reached Bob’s home, and as it was nearly lunch time, Mrs. Layton insisted that they all stay to lunch. The boys, not liking to make her trouble, said they would go home and come back later, but the lady of the house would have none of it.
“Sit down, all of you,” she commanded, in her cheerful, hospitable way. “I know you’re starved—all but Jimmy—” this last with a smile, “and there’s plenty to eat.”
Frank Brandon was very entertaining all during the meal and kept them in gales of laughter.Mrs. Layton found him as amusing as did the boys.
At last the lunch came to an end and Mr. Brandon professed himself ready to talk shop.
He was enthusiastic over the radio set the boys showed him and declared that he could see very little improvement to suggest.
“You surely have kept up with the march,” he said admiringly. “You have pretty nearly all the latest appliances, haven’t you? Good work, boys. Keep it up and you’ll be experts in earnest.”
“If we could only find some way to lengthen the life of our storage batteries,” said Bob, not without a pardonable touch of pride, “we wouldn’t have much to complain about. But that battery does puzzle us.”
“Keep your battery filled with water and see if it doesn’t last you about twice as long,” suggested the radio expert. “Don’t add any acid to your battery, for it’s only the water that evaporates.”
“Will that really do the trick?” asked Joe, wondering. “I don’t just see how——”
“It does just the same,” Brandon interrupted confidently. “All you have to do is to try it to find out. Don’t use ordinary water though. It needs to be distilled.”
“That’s a new one on me, all right,” said Bob, adding gratefully: “But we’re obliged for theinformation. If distilled water will lengthen the life of our battery, then distilled water it shall have.”
“It seems queer,” said Mr. Brandon reflectively, “how apparently simple things will work immense improvement. Marconi, for instance, by merely shortening his wave length, is discovering wonderful things. We cannot even begin to calculate what marvelous things are in store for us when we begin to send out radio waves of a few centimeters, perhaps less. We have not yet explored the low wave lengths, and when we do I believe we are in for some great surprises.”
“Go on,” said Joe, as he paused. “Tell us more about these low wave lengths.”
CHAPTER XIVA DARING HOLDUP
Frank Brandon shook his head and smiled.
“I’m afraid I don’t know much more to tell,” he said. “As I have said, what will happen when we materially decrease the wave length, is still in the land of conjecture. But I tell you,” he added, with sudden enthusiasm, “I’m mighty glad to be living in this good old age. What we have already seen accomplished is nothing to what we are going to see. Why,” he added, “some scientists, Steinmetz, for instance, are even beginning to claim that ether isn’t the real medium for the propagation of radio waves.”
“What do you mean by that?” asked Bob, with interest. “Is it some sort of joke?”
“Joke, nothing!” replied Frank Brandon. “As a matter of fact, I fully believe that electro-magnetic waves can as easily be hurled through a void as through ether.”
The boys were silent for a moment, thinking this over. It sounded revolutionary, but theyhad great respect for Frank Brandon’s judgment.
“There’s the Rogers underground aerial,” Bob suggested tentatively, and Brandon took him up quickly.
“Exactly!” he said. “That leans in the direction of what I say. Why, I believe the day is coming—and it isn’t so very far in the future, either—when no aerial will be used.
“Why, I believe,” he added, becoming more and more enthusiastic as he continued, “that ten years from now we shall simply attach our receiving outfits to the ground and shall be able to receive even more satisfactorily than we do to-day.” He laughed and added lightly:
“But who am I to assume the rôle of prophet? Perhaps, like a good many prophets, I see too much in the future that never will come true.”
“I don’t believe it,” said Bob. “I shouldn’t wonder if all your prophesy will come true in a few years.”
“Well,” said Herb, with a grin, “it will be a relief not to get any more broken shins putting up aerials.”
Mr. Brandon laughed.
“I’m with you,” he said. “I’ve been there myself.”
“Have you read about that radio-controlled tank?” Joe asked. “The one that was exhibited in Dayton, I mean?”
“I not only read about it, I saw it,” Mr. Brandon answered, and the boys stared at him in surprise. “I happened to be there on business,” he said; “and you can better believe I was on hand when they rolled that tank through the traffic.”
“What did it look like?” asked Jimmy eagerly.
“The car was about eight feet long and three feet high,” responded Brandon. “It was furnished with a motor and storage batteries, and I guess its speed was about five or six miles an hour.”
“And was it really controlled by radio?” put in Herb, wishing that he had been on the spot.
“Absolutely,” returned Brandon. “An automobile followed along behind it and controlled it entirely by wireless signals. The apparatus that does all the work is called the selector, and it’s only about the size of a saucer. It decodes the dots and dashes and obeys the command in an inconceivably short time—about a quarter of a second.”
“It can be controlled by an airplane, too, can’t it?” asked Bob, and the radio inspector nodded.
“In case of war,” he said slowly, “I imagine these airplane-controlled tanks could do considerable damage.”
Their guest left soon after that, and, of course, the boys were sorry to have him go. His last words to them were about Cassey.
“Keep your eyes open for that scoundrel,” hesaid, “and we’ll find out what he’s up to yet.”
But in the next few days so many alarming things happened that the boys had little time to think about Dan Cassey. The alarming happenings consisted of a series of automobile robberies in neighboring towns, robberies committed so skillfully that no hint nor clue was given of the identity of the robbers.
And then the robberies came nearer home, even into Clintonia itself. The president of one of the banks left his machine outside the bank for half an hour, and when he came out again it was gone. No one could remember seeing any suspicious characters around.
Then Raymond Johnston, a prominent business man of the town, had his car taken in the same mysterious manner from in front of his home. As before, no one could give the slightest clue as to the identity of the thieves.
The entire community was aroused and the police were active, and yet the mystery remained as dark as ever.
Then, one day, Herb came dashing over to Bob’s home in a state of wild excitement. Joe and Jimmy were already there, and Herb stopped not even for a greeting before he sprang his news.
“Say, fellows!” he cried, sprawling in a chair and panting after his run, “it’s time somebodycaught those auto thieves. They are getting a little too personal.”
“What’s up?” they demanded.
“One of dad’s trucks has been held up!” gasped Herb. “In broad daylight, too!”
“Was anything taken?” asked Joe.
“Anything? Well, I should say! They looted the truck of everything. It’s a wonder they didn’t steal the machinery.”
“That’s a pretty big loss for your dad, isn’t it?” said Bob gravely.
“It is!” replied Herb, running his fingers through his hair. “He’s all cut up about it and vows he’ll catch the ruffians. Though he’ll have to be a pretty clever man if he does, I’ll say.”
“They do seem to be pretty slick,” agreed Bob.
“I wonder if the same gang is responsible for all the robberies,” put in Joe.
“It looks that way,” said Jimmy. “It looks as if there were a crook at the head of the bunch who has pretty good brains.”
“A regular master criminal, Doughnuts?” gibed Herb, then sobered again as he thought of his father’s loss.
“It’s bad enough,” he said gloomily, “to hear of other people’s property being stolen, but when it comes right down to your own family, it’s getting a little too close for comfort.”
“What is your dad going to do about it?” asked Bob.
Herb shrugged his shoulders in a helpless gesture.
“What can he do?” he asked. “Except what everybody else has done—inform the police and hope the rascals will be caught. And even if they are caught,” he added, still more gloomily, “it won’t do dad much good, except that he’ll get revenge. The crooks will probably have disposed of all their stolen property before they’re caught.”
“Well, I don’t know,” said Bob hopefully. “Those fellows are getting a little bit too daring for their own good. Some day they’ll go too far and get caught.”
“I hope so. But crooks like that are pretty foxy,” returned Herb, refusing to be cheered. “They’re apt to get away with murder before they’re caught.”
The lads were silent for a moment, trying to think things out, and when Bob spoke he unconsciously put into words something of what his comrades were thinking.
“It seems as if radio ought to be able to help out in a case like this,” he said, with a puzzled frown. “But I must say I don’t see how it can.”
“It can’t,” returned Herb. “If some one had been lucky enough to get a glimpse of one of thethieves, then good old radio would have its chance. We could wireless the description all over the country and before long somebody would make a capture.”
Bob nodded.
“That’s where the cunning of these rascals comes in,” he said. “Either nobody sees them at all, or when they do the thieves are so well disguised by masks that a useful description isn’t possible.”
“Were the fellows who held up your father’s truck masked?” asked Jimmy with interest.
Herb nodded.
“From all I can hear,” he said. “It was a regular highway robbery affair—masks, guns, and all complete. The driver of the truck said there were only two of them, but since they had guns and he was unarmed, there wasn’t anything he could do.
“They made him get down off the truck, and then they bound his hands behind him and hid him behind some bushes that bordered the road. He would probably be there yet if he hadn’t managed to get the gag out of his mouth and hail some people passing in an automobile. Poor fellow!” he added. “Any one might have thought he had robbed the truck from the way he looked. He was afraid to face dad.”
“Well, it wasn’t his fault,” said Joe. “No man without a weapon is a match for two armed rascals.”
“Didn’t he say what the robbers looked like?” insisted Jimmy. “He must have known whether they were short or tall or fat or skinny.”
“He said they were about medium height, both of them,” returned Herb. “He said they were both about the same build—rather thin, if anything. But their faces were so well covered—the upper part by a mask and the lower by bandana handkerchiefs—that he couldn’t give any description of them at all.”
“I bet,” Bob spoke up suddenly, “that whoever is at the head of that rascally gang knows the danger of radio to him and his plans. That’s why his men are so careful to escape recognition.”
The boys stared at him for a minute and then suddenly the full force of what he intimated struck them.
At the same instant the name of the same man came into their minds—the name of a man who used radio for the exchange of criminal codes, a man who stuttered painfully.
“Cassey!” they said together, and Herb added, thoughtfully:
“I wonder!”
CHAPTER XVOFF TO THE WOODS
For days the town hummed with the excitement that followed the daring robbery of the truck belonging to Mr. Fennington, but as time passed and there seemed little prospect of bringing the robbers to justice, interest died down. But the radio boys never abated their resolve to do all in their power to recover the stolen merchandise, although at that time they were kept so busy in high school, preparing for a stiff examination, that they had little time for anything else.
“It’s getting so bad lately that I don’t even get time to enjoy my meals,” grumbled Jimmy, one sunny spring afternoon. “Swinging an oar a la Ben Hur would be just a little restful exercise after the way we’ve been drilling the last week.”
“Get out!” exclaimed Joe. “Why, you wouldn’t last two hours in one of those galleys, Doughnuts. They’d heave you over the side as excess baggage once they got wise to you.”
“After two hours of rowing in one of those old galleys, he’d be glad to get heaved overboard, I’ll bet,” put in Herb, grinning. “I think Jimmy would rather drown any day than work that hard.”
“Huh! I don’t see where you fellows get off to criticize,” retorted the harassed youth. “I never saw any of you win gold medals for hard and earnest work.”
“Lots of people deserve medals who never get them,” Bob pointed out.
“Yes. But, likewise, lots of people don’t deserve ’em who don’t get ’em,” retorted Jimmy, and for once appeared to have won an argument.
“I guess you’re right at that,” conceded Bob. “But, anyway, I’m going to pass those examinations no matter how hard I have to work. It will pretty near break my heart, but it can’t be helped.”
The others were equally determined, and they dug into the mysteries of Horace and Euclid to such good effect that they all passed the examinations with flying colors. After that came a breathing space, and just at that time a golden opportunity presented itself.
Mr. Fennington, Herbert’s father, had become interested, together with several other business men of Clintonia, in a timber deal comprisingmany acres of almost virgin forest in the northern part of the state. He was going to look over the ground personally, and when Herb learned of this, he urged his father to take him and the other radio boys along for a brief outing over the Easter holiday. When his father seemed extremely dubious over this plan, Herb reminded him that Mr. Layton had taken them all to Mountain Pass the previous autumn, and that it would be only fair to reciprocate.
“But the Lookers are up in that part of the country, too,” said Mr. Fennington. “Aren’t you fellows scared to go where Buck Looker is?” he added, with a smile lurking about his mouth.
“Oh, yes, we’re terribly afraid of that!” answered Herb sarcastically. “We’ll take our chances, though, if you’ll only let us go with you.”
“Well, well, I’ll see,” said his father, and Herb knew that this was practically equivalent to surrender. Accordingly he hunted up his chums and broached the project to them.
“Herb, your words are as welcome as the flowers in May,” Bob told him, with a hearty slap on the back. “If this trip actually works out, we’ll forgive you all last winter’s jokes, won’t we, fellows?”
“It’s an awful lot to ask of a fellow, but I suppose we can manage it,” said Joe, and Jimmy,after pretending to think the matter over very seriously, finally said the same.
They were all overjoyed at the prospect of such a trip, and had little difficulty in getting the consent of their parents. Mr. Fennington eventually consented to take the radio boys with him, and there ensued several days of bustle and excited packing. At length all was ready, and they found themselves, one bright spring morning, installed in a big seven-passenger touring caren routefor Braxton Woods, as the strip of timberland was called.
“This is the life!” chortled Jimmy, as the miles rolled away behind. “Fresh air, bright sun, the song of birds, and—doughnuts!” and he produced a bulging paper bag full of his favorite dainty.
“How do you get that way?” asked Joe severely, although he eyed the bag hungrily. “The ‘song of doughnuts!’ You’re the only Doughnut that I ever heard of that could sing, and you’re no great shakes at it.”
“Oh, you know what I meant!” exclaimed Jimmy. “At least, you’re thicker than usual if you don’t.”
“Do you hear that, Joe?” laughed Bob. “The boy’s telling you that you’re thick. Are you going to stand for that?”
“He knows it’s true. And, anyway, he doesn’t dare talk back for fear I won’t give him one ofthese delicious little morsels,” said Jimmy placidly. “How about it, Joe?”
“That’s taking mean advantage of a poor fellow who’s practically dying of starvation,” said Joe. “Give me a doughnut, and I won’t talk back—until after I’ve eaten it, anyway.”
“That’s all right then,” said his plump friend. “After you’ve eaten one, you’ll feel so grateful to me that you’ll regret all the low-down things you’ve ever said about me.”
“Oh, you’re the finest pal any fellow ever had,” declared Joe. “How many doughnuts have you left, Jimmy?”
“Something tells me that you don’t mean all you say,” said Jimmy suspiciously. “Just the same, I’ll take a chance and give you another one. They won’t last long at the rate they’re going; I can tell that without half trying.”
“Well, a short life but a merry one,” said Bob. “Come across with another, Jimmy, will you?”
“You know I love you too much to refuse you anything, Bob,” said Jimmy. “Just the same, I’m going to hold out another for myself, and then you big panhandlers can finish them up. I’ve just had four, but I suppose those will have to last me for the present.”
“Say, that’s tough—only four!” exclaimed Herb, in mock sympathy. “What will you ever do until lunch time, I wonder?”
“I’m wondering the same thing myself; but I’m used to suffering whenever I’m with you fellows, so I suppose I’ll have to grin and bear it somehow.”
“I don’t see why you didn’t bring some more, while you were about it,” complained Bob. “You might have known that wouldn’t be half enough.”
“It will be a long time before I buy any more for you Indians, you can bet your last dollar on that,” said Jimmy, in an aggrieved voice. “You’ve been going to school a number of years, now, but you still don’t know what ‘gratitude’ means.”
“The only one that should be grateful is yourself, Doughnuts,” Joe assured him. “You know if you had eaten that whole bag full of doughnuts that you’d have been heading a funeral to-morrow or next day. It’s lucky you have us around to save you from yourself.”
While Jimmy was still framing an indignant reply to this there was a loud report, and the driver quickly brought the big car to a halt.
“Blowout,” he remarked laconically, walking around to view a shoe that was flat beyond the possibility of doubt. It was not an unmixed evil to the boys, however, for they welcomed the chance to get out and stretch their cramped muscles. They helped the driver jack up the wheeland change shoes, and in a short time they were ready to proceed.
Back they climbed into their places, and with a rasp of changing gears they were on their way once more.
Braxton Woods lay something over a hundred miles from Clintonia, but the roads were good most of the way, and they had planned to reach their destination that evening. When they had covered sixty miles of the distance, Mr. Fennington consented to stop for the lunch for which the boys had been clamoring for some time. They took their time over the meal, building a fire and cooking steak and frying potatoes.
“Gee, this was a feast fit for a king!” exclaimed Jimmy, when it was over.
The boys lay down on the newly sprouted grass, but had hardly got settled when the driver, who appeared restless, summoned them to proceed.
“We’ve got a long way to go yet,” he said, “and the last fifteen miles are worse than all the rest of the trip put together. The road is mostly clay and rocks, and at this time of year it’s apt to be pretty wet. I don’t want to have to drive it after dark.”
Mr. Fennington was also anxious to get on, so their rest was a brief one, and they were soon on their way again.
The radio boys laughed and sang, cracked jokes, and waved to passing cars, while the mileage record on the speedometer mounted steadily up. The sun was still quite a way above the western horizon when they reached the place where the forest road branched off from the main highway. The driver tackled this road cautiously, and they soon found that his description of it had not been overdrawn. It was a narrow trail, in most places not wide enough for two cars to pass, and they wondered what would happen should they meet another car going in the opposite direction. But in the whole fifteen miles they met only one other motor, and fortunately that was at a wide place in the road.
The scent of spring and growing things was strong in the air, and compensated somewhat for the atrocious road. The boys were often tossed high in the air as the car bumped over logs and stones, or came up with a lurch out of some deep hole. But they hung on to each other, or whatever else was most convenient, and little minded the rough going.
After one particularly vicious lunge, however, the heavy car came down with a slam, and there was a sharp noise of snapping steel. With a muttered exclamation the driver brought his car to a halt and climbed out.
“Just as I thought!” he exclaimed. “A springbusted, and the nearest garage twenty miles away. Now we’re up against it for fair!”
“Do you mean that we can’t go on?” asked Mr. Fennington anxiously. “It will be dark in another hour.”
“I know it will,” replied the chauffeur. “But what can we do about it?”
“Can’t we make a temporary repair?” suggested Bob. “We can’t have much further to go now.”
“Well, I’m open to suggestions, young fellow,” growled the driver. “If you can tell me how to fix this boiler up, go to it. It’s more than I can do.”
Bob and the others made a thorough examination of the damage, and they were not long in concocting a plan. Bob had brought with him a small but very keen-edged ax, and it was the work of only a few minutes to cut a stout limb about six inches in diameter from a tree.
With this, and a coil of heavy rope that was carried in the car for emergencies, they proceeded to make the temporary repair.
CHAPTER XVIPUT TO THE TEST
First of all the boys trimmed the branch to a length slightly greater than the distance between axle and axle of the car. Then, near each end, they cut a notch about two inches deep, one to fit over the front and one over the rear axle. Next they placed the branch in position, and with the heavy rope lashed it securely into position. Thus the front and rear axles were kept at the proper distance from each other, and, moreover, the side of the car that was over the broken spring could rest on the stout pole.
The driver, who at first had watched their efforts with a derisive grin, took their plan more seriously as he realized the scheme, and now he examined the completed job with an air of surprised respect.
“I’ve got to admit that that looks as though it might do the trick,” he admitted, at length. “I’ve seen a lot of roadside repairs in my time, but blest if that hasn’t got ’em all beat. I’ll takeit at slow speed the rest of the way, and we’ll see if it will stand up long enough to get us in.”
And get them in it did, in spite of much creaking and groaning and bumping.
The automobile drew up before a long one-story building, constructed roughly but substantially of unpainted boards. Supper was being served, and they were just in time to partake of a typical lumber camp meal. The big table was laden with huge joints of meat, platters of biscuits and vegetables, while strong, black coffee was served in abundance. After this plates of doughnuts were passed around, greatly to Jimmy’s delight, and for once he could eat all he wanted with nobody to criticize, for the lumbermen were no tyros at this sort of thing, and packed away food in quantities and at a speed that made the boys gape.
“Gee!” exclaimed Bob, after they had emerged into the balmy spring air outside, “I used to think that Jimmy could eat; but he can’t even make the qualifying heats with this crowd. You’re outclassed, Doughnuts, beyond the chance of argument.”
“I don’t see but what I’ll have to admit it,” sighed his rotund friend. “But I don’t care. It seems like Heaven to be in a place where they serve doughnuts like that. There’s none of this ‘do-have-a-doughnut’ business. Some big huskypasses you a platter with about a hundred on it and says, ‘dig in, young feller.’ Those are what I call sweet sounding words.”
“And you dug, all right,” remarked Joe, grinning. “I saw you clean one platter off all by your lonesome—at least, you came pretty near it,” he qualified, with some last lingering regard for the truth.
“I didn’t anything of the kind! But I only wish I could,” lamented Jimmy.
“Never mind, Doughnuts, nobody can deny that you did your best,” laughed Herb. “After you’ve had a little practice with this crowd, I’ll back you against their champion eater any day.”
“So would I,” said Bob. “We’ve often talked about entering Jimmy in a pie-eating contest, but I never before thought we could find anybody who would even stand a chance with him. Up here, though, there’s some likely-looking material. Judging from some of those huskies we saw to-night, they might crowd our champion pretty hard.”
“You can enter me any time you want to,” said Jimmy. “Even if I didn’t win, I’d have a lot of fun trying. I never really got enough pie at one time yet, and that would be the chance of a lifetime.”
At first the boys were more than half joking, but after they had been at the camp a few daysand had begun to get acquainted, they let drop hints regarding Jimmy’s prowess that aroused the interest of the lumbermen. He was covertly watched at meal times, and as the bracing woodland air and long hikes combined to give an added edge to his appetite, his ability began to command attention. There were several among the woodsmen who had a reputation for large capacity, but it was soon evident that Jimmy was not to be easily outdistanced in his own particular department.
At length interest became so keen that it was decided to stage a real old-fashioned pie-eating contest, to determine whether the champions of the camp were to be outdistanced by a visitor from the city. The cook was approached, and agreed to make all the pies that, in all human probability, would be needed.
“Jimmy, you’re in for it now!” exclaimed Herb, dancing ecstatically about his plump friend. “Here’s your chance to make good on all the claims we’ve ever advanced for you. You’re up against a strong field, but my confidence in you is unshaken.”
“It simply isn’t possible that our own Jimmy could lose,” grinned Bob. “I’ve seen him wade into pies before this, and I know what he can do.”
“I appreciate your confidence, believe me,” said Jimmy. “But I don’t care much whether I winor not. I know I’ll get enough pie for once in my life, and that’s the main thing.”
The time for the contest was set for the following evening, the third of their stay. Five lumbermen had been put forward to uphold the reputation of the camp, and they and Jimmy ate no supper that night, waiting until the others had finished. Then the board was cleared, and the cook and his helper entered, bringing in several dozen big pies of all varieties. One of these was placed before each of the contestants, and they could help themselves to as many more as their capacity would admit.
The cook, as having the best knowledge of matters culinary, was appointed judge, and was provided with a pad and pencil to check up each contestant. A time limit of two hours was set, the one having consumed the greatest amount of pie in that time to be declared the winner.
The cook gave the signal to start, and the contest was on.
The lumbermen started off at high speed, and at first wrought tremendous havoc among the pies, while Jimmy ate in his usual calm and placid manner, evidently enjoying himself immensely. Each of the lumbermen had his following, who cheered him on and urged him to fresh endeavors. Bob and Joe and Herb said little, for they had observedJimmy’s prowess over a period of several years, and knew his staying qualities.
At the end of the first half hour their friend was badly outdistanced, but the other contestants had slowed up noticeably, while Jimmy still ate calmly on, no faster and no slower than when he had started. He was only starting on his second pie when all the others were finishing theirs, but the confidence of his three comrades remained unshaken. They observed that the lumbermen chose their third pies very carefully, and started to eat them in a languid way. They were only about half through when Jimmy disposed of his second one, and started on a third.
“How do you feel, Jimmy?” asked Herb, with a grin. “Are you still hungry?”
“No, not exactly hungry, but it still tastes good,” replied Jimmy calmly. “You sure can make good pies, Cook.”
The other contestants essayed feeble grins, but it was easy to see that their pies no longer tasted good to them. More and more slowly they ate, while Jimmy kept placidly on, his original gait hardly slackened. He finished the third pie and started nonchalantly on a fourth. At sight of this, and his confident bearing, two of the other contestants threw up their hands and admitted themselves beaten.
“I used to like pie,” groaned one, “but now I hope never to see one again. That youngster must be made of rubber.”
“I’ve often said the same thing myself,” chortled Bob. “Just look at him! I believe he’s good for a couple more yet.”
Excitement ran high when two of the remaining lumbermen were forced out toward the middle of their fourth pie, leaving only Jimmy and a jolly man of large girth, who before the start had been picked by his companions as the undoubted winner.
“Go to it, Jack!” the lumbermen shouted now. “Don’t let the youngster beat you out. He’s pretty near his limit now.”
It was true that flaky pie crust and luscious filling had lost their charm for Jimmy, but his opponent was in even worse plight. He managed to finish his fourth pie, but when the cook handed him a fifth, the task proved to be beyond him.
“I’ve reached my limit, fellers,” he declared. “If the youngster can go pie number five, he’ll be champion of the camp.”
Excitement ran high as Jimmy slowly finished the last crumbs of his fourth pie, and the cook handed him a fifth. Would he take it, or would the contest prove to be a draw?