The Motor Boys on the Pacific

or

The Young Derelict Hunters

by Clarence Young

Contents

PREFACE

DEAR BOYS:

I believe it is not necessary to introduce the Motor Boys to most of my readers, as they have made their acquaintance in the previous books of this series. To those, however, who take up this volume without having previously read the ones that go before, I take pleasure in presenting my friends, Jerry, Ned and Bob.

They are booked for quite a long trip, this time; across the continent to the Pacific coast, where they are destined to have some stirring adventures, searching for a mysterious derelict.

Those of you who know the Motor Boys from their past performances know that they will meet emergencies in the right spirit, and that they will do their level best to accomplish what they set out to do. Whether they did so in this case I leave it for you to determine by reading the book.

Though their own motor boat, the Dartaway, was destroyed in a train wreck, they managed to get the use of a powerful craft, in which they made a cruise on the Pacific ocean. Their old friend, Professor Snodgrass was with them, and, if you care to learn of his search for a horned toad, you will find the details set down here.

Yours very truly,

CLARENCE YOUNG.

CHAPTER I.
SOME BAD NEWS

“Well, she is smashed this time, sure!” exclaimed Jerry Hopkins, to his chums, Ned Slade and Bob Baker.

“What’s smashed?” asked Ned. “Who’s the letter from?” for Jerry had a slip of paper in his hand.

“It isn’t a letter. It’s a telegram.”

“A telegram!” exclaimed Bob. “What’s up, Jerry?”

“She’s smashed, I tell you. Busted, wrecked, demolished, destroyed, slivered to pieces, all gone!”

“Who?”

“Our motor boat, the Dartaway!”

“Not the Dartaway!” and Ned and Bob crowded closer to Jerry.

“That’s what she is. There’s no mistake about it this time, I’m afraid. You know we thought once before she had gone to flinders, but it wasn’t so. This time it is.”

“How did it happen?” asked Ned.

“Yes, tell us, can’t you?” cried Bob. “What are you so slow about?”

“Say, Chunky,” remarked Jerry, looking at his fat chum, “if you’ll give me a chance I’ll tell you all I know. I just got this telegram from the Florida Coast Railway Company. It says:

“Jerry Hopkins. Motor boat Dartaway, shipped by you from. St. Augustine in freight wreck just outside Jacksonville. Boat total loss, buried under several freight cars. Will write further particulars. J. H. Maxon, General Freight Agent.”

“That’s all there is to it,” added Jerry, folding up the telegram.

“All there is to it! I guess not much!” exclaimed Bob. “Aren’t you going to sue ’em for damages, Jerry?”

“Well, there’s no use being in such a rush,” observed Jerry. “Maybe they’ll pay the claim without a suit. I’ll have to make some inquiries.”

“Let’s go down to the freight once here and see Mr. Hitter,” suggested Ned. “He can tell us what to do. The poor Dartaway! Smashed!”

“And in a land wreck, too!” put in Jerry. “It wouldn’t be so bad if she had gone down on the Atlantic, chasing after a whale, or in pursuit of a shark—”

“Or with the flag flying, out in a storm, with Salt Water Sam,” interrupted Ned. “But to think of her being buried under a lot of freight cars! It’s tough, that’s what it is!”

“That’s right,” agreed Bob. “Just think of it! No more rides in her! Say, we ought to get heavy damages! She was a fine boat!”

“Come on then,” cried Ned. “Don’t let’s stand here chinning all day. Let’s go see Mr. Hitter. He has charge of all the freight that comes to Cresville, and he can tell us how to proceed to collect damages.”

“Yes, I guess that’s all that’s left for us to do,” decided Jerry, and the three lads started for the railroad depot.

They lived in the town of Cresville, Mass., a thriving community, and had been chums and inseparable companions ever since they could remember. Bob Baker was the son of a wealthy banker, while Jerry Hopkins’s mother was a widow, who had been left considerable property, and Ned Slade’s father owned a large department store.

You boys who have read the previous volumes of this “Motor Boys Series” do not need to be reminded of the adventures the three chums had together. To those of you who read this book first, I will say that, in the first volume, called “The Motor Boys,” there was related a series of happenings that followed the winning of a certain bicycle race in Cresville. After their victory in this contest the boys got motorcycles, and, by winning a race on them, won a touring car.

In this automobile they had many adventures, and several narrow escapes. They incurred the enmity of Noddy Nixon, a town bully, and his crony, Bill Berry. The three chums then took a long trip overland in their automobile, as related in the second book of this series and, incidentally, managed to locate a rich mine belonging to a prospector, who, to reward them, gave them a number of shares. While out west the boys met a very learned gentleman, Professor Uriah Snodgrass, who was traveling in the interests of science. He persuaded the boys to go with him in their automobile to search for a certain ancient, buried city, and this they found in Mexico, where they had a number of surprising adventures.

Returning from that journey, they made a trip across the plains, on which they discovered the hermit of Lost Lake. Arriving home they decided, some time later, to get a motor boat, and, in the fifth volume of the series, entitled, “The Motor Boys Afloat,” there was set down what happened to them on their first cruise on the river, during which they solved a robbery mystery. Finding they were well able to manage the boat they took a trip on the Atlantic ocean, and, after weathering some heavy storms they reached home, only to start out again on a longer voyage, this time to strange waters amid the everglades of Florida.

They had recently returned from that queer region, and, as they had done on their journey to that locality, they shipped their boat by rail from St. Augustine to Cresville. Or, rather, they saw it safely boxed at the freight station in St. Augustine, and came on up north, trusting that the Dartaway would arrive in due season, and in good condition.

They had been home a week now, and as there was no news of their boat, Jerry had become rather anxious and had written to the railroad officials in St. Augustine. In response he got the telegram which brought consternation to the hearts of the motor boys.

“It doesn’t seem possible,” remarked Bob, as the three lads hurried on toward the freight office.

“I guess it’s good-bye to the Dartaway this trip,” said Jerry. “Too bad! she was a fine boat.”

“Well, we’ll make the railroad pay for it, and we’ll get a better boat,” spoke up Bob.

“We couldn’t get any better boat than the Dartaway, Chunky,” said Ned. “We might get a larger one, and a more powerful one, but never a better one, She served us well. To think of her being crushed under a lot of freight cars! It makes me mad!”

“No use feeling that way,” suggested Jerry. “Just think of the good times we had in her, not only on this last trip, but on the previous cruises.”

“This last was the best,” remarked Bob, with something like a sigh. “It was lovely down there in Florida.”

“I guess he’s thinking of the Seabury girls,” put in Ned, with a wink at Jerry.

“No more than you are!” exclaimed Bob. “I guess you were rather sweet on Olivia, yourself.”

“Or was it Rose or Nellie?” asked Jerry with a laugh. “They were all three nice—very nice.”

“That’s right,” said Ned, fervently.

The three young ladies the boys referred to were daughters of a Mr. Nathan Seabury, whom the boys met while cruising about the everglades and adjacent rivers and lakes. He was in his houseboat Wanderer, traveling for his health. Mr. Seabury owned a large hotel in Florida and his meeting with the boys, especially with Jerry, was a source of profit to Mrs. Hopkins.

She owned some land in Florida; but did not consider it of any value. It developed that it adjoined Mr. Seabury’s hotel property and, as he wished it to enlarge his building, he purchased the lot for a goodly sum.

The three boys, after the return of the Dartaway and Wanderer from the strange waters, had stopped for a week at Mr. Seabury’s hotel, before journeying north.

“I’d like to see them again,” said Bob, after a pause, during which the boys turned into the street leading to the depot.

“Who?” asked Ned.

“The Seabury family.”

“Mr. Seabury—or—er—the girls?” asked Jerry.

“All of ’em,” replied Bob quickly.

“I had a letter the other day,” remarked Jerry quietly.

“You did!” exclaimed Ned.

“From them?” asked Bob eagerly.

“Well, it wasn’t exactly a family letter,” answered Jerry, with just the suspicion of a blush. “It was from Nellie, and she said she, her sisters and father were going to lower California.”

“To California?” exclaimed Bob and Ned.

“Yes; for Mr. Seabury’s health. You know they said they expected to when we parted from them. The climate of Florida did not do him any good, and they are going to try what California will do. She asked us to call and see them, if we were ever in that neighborhood.”

“I guess our chances of going to California are pretty slim,” remarked Bob. “Our motor boat’s gone now, and we can’t make any more cruises.”

“I don’t see what that’s got to do with it,” declared Ned. “We couldn’t very well cross the continent in her, even if we had the Dartaway, and she was rather too small to make the trip by water, even if the Panama Canal was finished.”

“Oh, well, you know what I mean,” retorted Bob, who did not exactly know himself. “We can’t go anywhere right away. School opens soon, and it’s buckle down and study all winter I suppose. But—”

Bob’s remarks were interrupted by the arrival of the Boston Express, which rumbled into the Cresville station, where the boys now were and, after a momentary stop, steamed on again. A man leaped from the steps of a parlor car and ran into the freight office, first, however, looking up and down the length of the train to see if any other passengers got off.

“He seems in a hurry,” observed Ned.

“Yes, and he must have some pull with the railroad, for the Boston Express never stops here,” said Jerry. “Maybe he’s the president of the road.”

The boys kept on to the freight office. When they reached it they found the stranger in conversation with Mr. Hitter, the agent. The chums could not help overhearing the talk.

“Have you several packages here, addressed to X. Y. Z., to be held until called for?” the stranger asked.

“There they be,” replied the agent, pointing to several small boxes, piled near the door.

“That’s good,” and the man seemed much relieved. “Now I want them shipped by fast freight to San Francisco, and I want to prepay them so there will be no delay. How much is it?” and he pulled out a pocketbook, disclosing a roll of bills. As he did so he hurried to the door and looked up and down the depot platform, as if afraid of being observed. He saw the three boys, and, for a moment, seemed as if he was about to hurry away. Then, with an obvious effort, he remained, but turned into the freight office and shut the door.

“He acts as if he was afraid we would steal something from him,” said Bob.

“Or as if he didn’t want us to hear any more about those boxes,” supplemented Jerry. “He’s a queer customer, he is.”

“Well, it’s none of our affair,” remarked Ned, but neither he nor his chums realized how, a little later, they were to take part in an adventure in which the mysterious man and the queer boxes were to figure importantly.

In a short time the man came out of the freight office. He did not look at the boys, but hurried off down the street, putting some papers into his pocket book, which, the boys could not help noticing as he passed them, was not so full of money as it had been.

“Let’s go in and ask Mr. Hitter what to do about our boat,” suggested Ned.

They found the agent counting over a roll of bills.

“Been robbing a bank?” asked Bob cheerfully. “Guess I’d better tell dad to look out for his money.”

“That was paid by the man who was just in in here,” replied the agent. “Queer chap. Seemed as if he didn’t want to be found out. First he was going to ship his stuff by fast freight, and then he concluded it would be better by express, though it cost a lot more. But he had plenty of money.”

“Who was he?” asked Jerry.

“That’s another funny part of it. He didn’t tell me his name, though I hinted I’d have to have it to give him a receipt. He said to make it out X. Y. Z., and I done it. That’s the way them boxes come, several days ago, from Boston. They arrived by express, consigned to X. Y. Z., and was to be called for. I thought of everybody in town, but there ain’t nobody with them initials. I was just wondering what to do with ’em when in he comes an’ claims ’em.”

“What’s in ’em?” asked Jerry.

“Blessed if I know,” responded Mr. Hitter. “I couldn’t git that out of him, either, though I hinted that I ought to know if it was dynamite, or anything dangerous.”

“What did he say?” inquired Ned.

“He said it wasn’t dynamite, but that’s all he would say, an’ I didn’t have no right to open ’em. He paid me the expressage, and seemed quite anxious to know just when I could ship the boxes, and when they’d arrive in San Francisco. I could tell him the first, but not the last, for there’s no tellin’ what delays there’ll be on the road.

“He was a queer man—a very queer man. I couldn’t make him out. An’ he went off in a hurry, as if he was afraid some one would see him. An’ he shut the door, jest as if you boys would bother him,—Well, it takes all sorts of people to make a world. I don’t s’pose you or I will ever meet him again.”

Mr. Hitter was not destined to, but the boys had not seen the last of the strangely acting man, who soon afterward played a strange part in their lives.

“What you chaps after, anyhow?” went on the freight agent, when he had put the money in the safe.

“Our motor boat’s smashed!” exclaimed Bob. “We want damages for her! How are we going to get ’em?”

“Not guilty, boys!” exclaimed the agent holding up his hands, as if he thought wild-west robbers were confronting him. “You can search me. Nary a boat have I got, an’ you can turn my pockets inside out!” and he turned slowly around, like an exhibition figure in a store show window.

CHAPTER II.
A DESPERATE RACE

“Well,” remarked Mr. Hitter, after a pause, during which the boys, rather surprised at his conduct, stood staring at him, “well, why don’t you look in my hip pocket. Maybe I’ve got a boat concealed there.”

“I didn’t mean to go at you with such a rush,” apologized Jerry. “But you see—”

“That’s all right,” interrupted the freight agent. “Can I put my hands down now? The blood’s all runnin’ out of ’em, an’ they feel as if they was goin’ to sleep. That’ll never do, as I’ve got a lot of way-bills to make out,” and he lowered his arms.

“Do you know anything about this?” asked Jerry, handing Mr. Hitter the telegram.

“What’s that? The Dartaway smashed!” the agent exclaimed, reading the message. “Come now, that’s too bad! How did it happen?”

The boys explained how they had shipped the craft north.

“Of course the accident didn’t happen on the line of railroad I am agent for,” said Mr. Hitter, after reading the telegram again. “If it had, we’d be responsible.”

“What can we do?” asked Bob. “We want to get damages.”

“An’ I guess you’re entitled to ’em,” replied the agent. “Come on inside, and I’ll tell you what to do. You’ll have to make a claim, submit affidavits, go before a notary public and a whole lot of rig-ma-role, but I guess, in the end you’ll get damages. They can’t blame you because the boat was smashed. It’s too bad! I feel like I’d lost an old friend.”

Mr. Hitter had had several rides in the Dartaway for he had done the boys many favors and they wished to return them, so he was given a chance to get intimately acquainted with the speedy craft.

Taking the boys into his office, Mr. Hitter instructed them how to write a letter to the claim department of the Florida Coast Railway, demanding damages for the smashing of the boat.

“Be respectful, but put it good and strong,” he said. “I’ll write on my own account to the general freight agent. He’s a friend of mine, and we have business dealings together—that is his road and my road,” and Mr. Hitter spoke as though he owned the line of which he was the Cresville agent.

“That’ll be good,” said Bob. “Maybe it will hurry matters up. We’re much obliged to you, Mr. Hitter.”

“That’s what we are,” chimed in Jerry and Ned.

The boys lost no time in sending in their claim. Then there was nothing to do but to wait. They knew it would take some days, and they did not expect an answer in less than a week, while Mr. Hitter told them that if they got money in payment for the destroyed boat within three months they would be lucky.

“Well, since the Dartaway’s gone, I guess we’ll have to go back to the automobile for a change,” suggested Jerry one afternoon, early in September, about a week before school was to open. “Let’s take a little jaunt out in the country, stay a couple of days, and come back, all ready to pitch in and study.”

“Fine!” cried Bob. “We’ll stay at a hotel where they have good dinners—”

“Of course!” retorted Ned. “That’s Chunky’s first idea—something to eat. I’ve been waiting for him to say something like that.”

The boys were at Jerry’s house, talking over various matters. The auto was kept in an unused barn back of his home, but, since the advent of the motor boat, had not seen much service, though occasionally the boys went out in it. Now, it was likely to come into active use again.

“Let’s look the machine over,” proposed Jerry. “It may need some repairs. It got pretty hard usage, especially in our trips to Mexico and across the plains.”

The boys soon found that, beyond two tires which needed repairs, and some minor adjustments to the engine, the car was in good shape. It was in running order and, at Bob’s suggestion, they got in it and made a trip to the town garage, where they intended to leave it to be overhauled.

As they were turning a corner, near the automobile shop, they heard a sudden “Honk-honk!” that startled them. Jerry, who was at the steering wheel, shut off the power and applied the emergency brake.

And it was only just in time for, a moment later, from a cross street, there shot out a big green touring car, very powerful, as they could tell by the throbbing of the engine. It almost grazed the mudguards of the machine in which the three boys were, and, skidded dangerously. Then, with what seemed an impudent, warning toot of the horn, it swung around and sped off down the road.

“That was a close shave!” remarked Jerry, as he released the brake.

“I should say yes,” agreed Bob. “That was a six-cylinder car. Bur-r-r-r! If she’d hit us—” He did not finish, but the boys knew what he meant.

They proceeded to the garage, leaving their machine to be repaired. It would be ready for them the next day, the man said, and they arranged to call for it, and go for a trip in the country.

“Let’s go to Riverton,” suggested Bob, naming a summer resort about a hundred miles away. “The season is just about to close there, and, as it isn’t crowded, we can get better attention and—”

“Better meals, he means,” finished Ned. “All right, Chunky, we’ll go.”

“It wouldn’t be a bad idea,” agreed Jerry. “We could make it in one day easily, and wouldn’t have to hurry. We could stay there a couple of days, making little side strips, and come back Saturday. That would put us in good shape for Monday, when school opens.”

There was no dissension from this plan, and, having secured the consent of their parents, the boys, early the next day, started off on their journey. It was a short one, compared to those they had been in the habit of taking, but they did not have time for a longer jaunt.

They arrived at Riverton in the afternoon, having stopped on the road for dinner. They found the place rather livelier than they expected, for there had been an automobile meet the day previous, including a big race, and several lovers of the sport still remained, for the weather was very pleasant. The sheds about the hotel were filled with all sorts of cars, so that the boys had hardly room to store their machine.

“This is a little more exciting than we counted on,” remarked Jerry, as he and his chums entered the hotel to register. “I’m afraid we’ll not get such good attention as Bob thought.”

“Oh, it’s all the better,” was the answer of the stout youth. “They’ll have all the more to eat, with this crowd here.”

“Chunky can argue it any way he likes,” declared Ned. “No use trying to corner him, Jerry.”

“No, I guess not. But I’m hungry enough to eat almost anything.”

As they were turning away from the clerk’s desk, having been assigned to rooms, the boys saw a youth, about their own age, standing near a bulletin board fastened on the side wall. The youth was tacking up a notice and, as he turned, having finished, Jerry exclaimed in a whisper:

“Noddy Nixon! What’s he doing here?”

At the same moment, Noddy, the long-time enemy of the motor boys, saw them. His face got red, and he swung quickly aside to avoid speaking to the three chums.

The last they had seen of the bully was when he started to accompany them back to Cresville, after his disastrous attempt to make money from a Florida cocoanut grove. Noddy was wanted as a witness by the government authorities, in connection with the attempted wreck of a vessel, in which Bill Berry was concerned; but, after the motor boys had rescued Noddy from an unpleasant position in Florida, and he had agreed to return to Cresville, he suddenly disappeared in the night. This was the first they had seen of him since. They had learned that the government no longer desired his testimony.

“Let’s see what notice he put up,” suggested Ned. “Maybe he has lost something.”

They walked over to the bulletin board. There, in Noddy’s rather poor handwriting, was a challenge. It was to the effect that he would race, on the track near the hotel, any automobilist who would choose to compete with him, for money, up to five hundred dollars, or merely for fun.

“Noddy must have a new car,” remarked Ned. “His old one couldn’t go for a cent. We beat it several times.”

“What’s the matter with trying again?” asked Jerry, a light of excitement coming into his eyes. “I’d like to have a race. Maybe several cars will enter, and we can have some fun out of it. Our machine has a lot of ‘go’ left in it yet.”

“That’s the stuff!” exclaimed Bob. “I’m with you. But let’s get supper first, maybe—”

“I guess he’s afraid there won’t be any left,” remarked Jerry. “But come on, I can eat a bit myself.”

As the boys left the office of the hotel, they saw several men reading the notice Noddy had tacked up.

“A race on this circular track here!” exclaimed one man to a friend as the boys passed him. “It’s very risky! The turns are not banked enough. I wouldn’t do it, but I suppose some will take the chance.”

“Yes, it will be a dangerous race,” responded the other. “Who is this Noddy Nixon?”

“A son of that rich Nixon over in Cresville, I believe. His father made a lot of money in stocks lately, and, I guess the son is helping spend it. He has a powerful car.”

The motor boys did not stay to hear more, but went to their rooms to change their clothes, and were soon eating supper. There was talk of nothing but automobile topics in the hotel corridors and office that evening. Many motorists were planning to leave the next day, but some said they would stay and see if the Nixon race would amount to anything.

“Let’s accept the challenge,” suggested Jerry.

“I don’t want to have anything to do with Noddy,” objected Ned.

“We don’t have to,” replied Bob, “I was talking to the clerk about it. All we have to do is register our names, and the name of the car. It’s an informal affair, only for fun. They won’t race for money. Come on, let’s go in it.”

Hearing this, Ned agreed, and the boys put their names down. As Noddy had stipulated there must be four passengers in each car it would necessitate the motor boys getting some one else to ride with them. This the clerk agreed to arrange.

There were six entries in the race, which was to take place the next day. Early in the morning, before breakfast, Ned, Jerry and Bob went out in their car to try the course. When they were half way around it they heard a car coming behind them. In a moment it had passed them, and they recognized it as the same machine that had nearly collided with them in Cresville.

“Look who’s in it!” cried Bob.

“Who?” asked Ned.

“Noddy Nixon. If that’s his car, we haven’t any show.”

“Humph! I’m afraid not,” answered Jerry rather ruefully. “Still, I’m not going to give up now. He’s got a new car, but maybe we can beat him. He’s a poor driver.”

Several other autos soon appeared on the track to have a “tryout,” and, though none of them seemed as speedy as Noddy’s new machine, there was no talk of dropping out on the part of those who had entered. That gave the boys more courage, and they decided to stick, even though their chances were not good.

Noddy did not speak to them, though he passed them several times. Nor did he appear very popular with the other autoists. He had several young men with him, and they made things rather lively about the hotel, occasionally giving what seemed to be college yells.

“They’re regular ‘rah-rah’ boys,” said Bob, in contempt.

Early that afternoon just before the race Bob, Jerry and Ned spent an hour in going over their car, making some adjustments, and seeing that the tires were in good shape. Almost at the last minute Jerry decided to put the non-skidding chains on the rear wheels.

“Those turns, which are not banked much, are dangerous,” he said, “I’m not going to take any chances. We don’t want to turn turtle.”

There was much activity about the hotel as the hour for the contest arrived. Noddy’s car seemed the finest of the six that lined up at the starting tape. The motor boys had drawn a position next to the bully and his cronies.

Noddy glanced contemptuously at them.

“You must think it’s winter, putting chains on,” he remarked to Jerry, who had been chosen to steer.

“It may be a cold day for somebody before we get through,” was all Jerry replied.

“You haven’t the ghost of a show,” called one of Noddy’s companions. “You’ll think you’re standing still when we start.”

The others laughed at this joke, and Noddy seemed pleased. There was a short consultation among the judges and other officials, and, a moment later, a white puff of smoke was seen hovering above the uplifted revolver of the starter. Then came a sharp crack, and the panting machines, the engines of which had been put in motion some time previous, started off together, as the drivers threw in the high speed gears.

The race, which was truly a dangerous contest, was on, and, with eager eyes the motor boys looked ahead on the course.

CHAPTER III.
NEWS FROM THE WEST

The track was a half-mile one, and, as the length of the race was five miles it would be necessary to make ten laps or circuits. The course was in the shape of an ellipse, with rather sharp turns at either end, where the contestants, if they did not want a spill, or a bad skid, must slacken their pace. It was on the two straight stretches that speed could be made.

At the report of the pistol Noddy’s car shot off as an arrow from a bow, the explosions of the cylinders sounding like a small battery of quick-firing guns in action. But the others were after him, the five cars bunched together, that of the motor boys a little behind the other four.

“We’ve got to catch him, Jerry,” whispered Bob.

“Easier said than done,” replied Jerry, as he shoved the gasolene lever over a trifle, and advanced the spark, thereby increasing the speed of the car. “Noddy’s got a powerful machine.”

“They should have had a handicap on this race,” said Tom Jennings, the young man whom the hotel clerk had asked to be a fourth passenger in the motor boys’ car, so that the conditions of the contest would be met. “It’s not fair to have a high power auto race one of two cylinders.”

“Ours has four,” spoke Ned. “Of course its not as up-to-date as Noddy’s is, but—”

“We’ll beat him!” exclaimed Bob. “We’ve done it before and we can do it again.”

“I’m afraid not,” went on Tom. “That big green car of his will go ahead of anything on this track.”

And so it seemed, for Noddy was spinning around the course at fearful speed, his car looking like a green streak.

“Let’s see how he takes the turn,” suggested Bob. “He’ll have to slow up if he doesn’t want a spill.”

Noddy was wise enough to do this, though even at the reduced speed at which he went around the bank, his rear wheels skidded rather alarmingly.

But Jerry was not idle during this time. As he found his car responding to the increase of gasolene and the advanced spark, he shoved the levers still further over. The auto shot forward, distancing the yellow car immediately in front of it, passing one with an aluminum body and closely approaching a purple auto which was behind Noddy.

Suddenly a loud explosion sounded back of the motor boys.

“There goes a tire!” exclaimed Bob.

“Hope it isn’t one of yours,” said Tom.

“If it was you’d be sliding along the track on your face instead of sitting here,” responded Bob. “No, it’s one on the aluminum car. She’s out of the race,” he added as he gave a quick glance back. A few minutes later there was another noise—a crashing sound—and the motor boys, by a quick glance, saw that the rearmost car in the race had, by injudicious steering, been sent through a frail fence which surrounded the track. The radiator was broken and, though no one was hurt the car was put out of business. That left but four cars—Noddy’s green one, the yellow, the red one of the motor boys’, and a purple affair. They were speeding along in that order, and, a few seconds later something went wrong with one of the cylinders of the purple machine, leaving but three contestants. Then the yellow car shot ahead of the red one containing the motor boys.

By this time one circuit of the track had been completed, and a start made on the second lap.

“Think we’re catching up?” asked Bob, as Jerry cautiously fed the engine a little more gasolene.

“Well, we’re holding our own,” was the answer of the steersman, “and I think we’re catching up to the yellow car again. If we pass that I’m not so sure but what we can come in a close second to Noddy.”

“I don’t want to come in second,” spoke up Ned. “I want to beat him.”

“So do I,” replied Jerry, “but it’s not going to be so easy. Our car’s doing well, but we can’t expect wonders of it.”

“The race isn’t over until you’re at the finish tape,” said Tom Jennings. “Keep on, boys, I’d like to see that Nixon chap beaten. He thinks he owns the earth.”

For two miles there was no change in the position of the cars. Then slowly, very slowly, Jerry saw that his red machine was overtaking the yellow car. Inch by inch it crept up, the steersman of the rival car doing his best but failing to get more speed out of the engine.

“Too bad we have to pass you!” cried Jerry, as he careened past the yellow machine.

“That’s all right,” sung out the steersman good-naturedly. “Beat that other one, if you can.”

“We’re going to try!” yelled Ned, above the noise of the exploding cylinders.

They were on a straight stretch then and, as Noddy looked back and saw the red car closer to him than it had been before, he put on more speed. His green auto shot forward but Jerry still had something in reserve, and he let his machine out another notch.

“He’s got to slow up for the turn!” cried Ned. “Maybe we can pass him!”

“Yes, but we’ve got to slacken up too, if we don’t want a spill,” replied Bob.

“That’s so,” admitted Ned.

Noddy did slow up, but not much, and his car skidded worse than at any time yet. It looked as if it was going over, and a cry from the spectators showed that they, too, anticipated this disaster. But, with a sharp wrench of the steering wheel, Noddy brought the car back toward the center of the track.

Jerry swung around the turn at reduced speed, and, because of the chains, his machine did not skid more than a few inches.

“Good thing you have those chains on,” commented Tom. “They may come in handy at the finish.”

“That’s what I put them there for,” answered Jerry.

For another mile there was little change in the relative position of the cars of Noddy and the motor boys. Jerry thought he had cut the bully’s lead somewhat, but he still felt that he was far from having a good chance to win the race. Still, he was not going to give up.

“Two laps more and it’s all over,” said Bob, as they began on the final mile. “Can’t you hit it up a bit more, Jerry?”

“I’ll try.”

Just a degree faster came the explosions of the cylinders of the red car. But also, still faster, came the reports from Noddy’s auto. He was not going to be beaten if he could help it.

Around the two machines swung, the yellow car having given up and dropped out. There was a confused shouting from the spectators, and Bob could distinguish cheers for the red auto.

“We’ve just got to win!” he cried. “Win, Jerry! Win!”

Try as he did, by “nursing” the engine, Jerry could not gain an inch on Noddy’s car. The red machine was fifty feet behind the green one, both going at top speed. Only an accident, it seemed, could make the motor boys win.

As they swung into the last lap Ned cried:

“Noddy isn’t going to slow down for the turn!”

“Neither are we!” cried Jerry fiercely. “Quick boys! All of you get out on the inside step! Crouch down! That will help hold us as we go around the bank, or, otherwise, we’ll go over.”

They all knew what he meant. By hanging out on the runboard or step, nearest the inside of the track, more weight would be added to that side of the car. It was what automobilists call “shifting the center of gravity,” and aids in preventing spills.

Giving one glance to see that the boys were in their places, Jerry grasped the steering wheel firmly, and sent the car at the dangerous turn at full speed. Noddy was doing the same, but he had not thought of having any of his passengers hang out on the step.

“Look out now, boys!” called Jerry, as they took the turn.

“Swing out as far as you can, boys, but hang down low!” called Tom Jennings, who had been in races before.

Even with this precaution, and aided as they were by the chains on the rear wheels, the red car skidded or slewed so that Jerry thought it was going over. But it did not. By the narrowest margin it kept on the bank.

Not so, however, with Noddy’s green dragon. As soon as his car struck the turn it began to skid. He would not shut off his power, but kept on the high gear, and with the engine going at top speed.

There was a cry of alarm, and then the green car left the track, mounted the bank, slid over the top, and came to a halt in a pool of mud and water on the other side of the field. It went fifty yards before Noddy could stop it.

“Go on! Go on!” yelled Ned. “We win! We win!”

Jerry had all he could do to hold the steering wheel of his slewing car, but, by gripping it desperately, he swung it into place, and the red machine started up the home stretch, crossing the tape a winner, for it was the only car left on the track.

A burst of cheers greeted it, and men crowded up to shake hands with the plucky boys.

“Glad you beat the ‘mud lark,’” said the owner of the yellow machine, thus giving Noddy’s car a name that stuck to it for some time. “That Nixon chap thought he was going to walk over every one. You taught him a much-needed lesson.”

Nothing was talked of in the hotel that night but the race, and the motor boys were the heroes of the occasion. Noddy did not appear, and it was learned that he had to hire men and teams to get his car out of the mud.

The motor boys started for home the next day, and thought they were going to make it in good time, but they had a tire accident on the road, when about twenty-five miles away, and decided to stay in the nearest village over night, as they had no spare shoe for the wheel.

As they left their car by the roadside, and tramped into the town, to send word to the nearest garage, they saw a cloud of dust approaching.

“Here comes a car,” said Bob. “Maybe we can get help.”

As the machine drew nearer they saw that it was painted green, and, a moment later, Noddy Nixon had brought his auto to a stop, and was grinning at them.

“Had a break-down, eh?” he asked. “That’s a fine car you have, ain’t it?”

“We can beat you!” exclaimed Ned.

“Yes you can! Not in a thousand years if I hadn’t gone off the track! Want any help? Well, you’ll not get it, see? Bye-bye! I’ll tell ’em you’re coming,” and, with an ugly leer, the bully started off.

“I wouldn’t take help from him if I had to walk ten miles without my supper,” said Bob firmly, and that was a strong saying for the stout youth.

The motor boys found a good hotel in the village, and the next day, when their car had been repaired, they resumed their journey, arriving at home about noon.

“There’s some mail for you, Jerry,” said Mrs. Hopkins, as her son came in, after putting the auto in the barn. “It’s from California. I didn’t know you knew any one out there.”

“Neither did I, mother. We’ll see who it’s from.”

He tore open the letter, read it hurriedly, and gave a cry of mingled delight and surprise.

“It’s from Nellie Seabury!” he said. “She says they are in lower California, traveling about, looking for a good place to stay at for a few months for their father’s health. When they locate she wants—that is Mr. Seabury—wants us to come out and see them. Oh, I wish I could go—I wish we could all go!”

“Perhaps you can,” suggested his mother with a smile. “California is not so far away. But I suppose you’ll have to wait until next vacation.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” admitted Jerry. “And that’s a long ways off—a long ways.”

“The time will soon pass,” said his mother. “But tell me about your auto trip. Did you have a good time?”

“Fine, and we beat Noddy Nixon in a great race.”

“I wish you wouldn’t have anything to do with that young man,” said Mrs. Hopkins. “You have nothing but trouble when you do.”

“I guess he’ll not want much more to do with us,” returned Jerry. “We manage to beat him every time. But I must go find the boys. This will be great news for them—this letter from the Seabury family.”

“I thought it was from—Nelly.”

“So it is—but it’s all the same,” answered Jerry with a blush.

CHAPTER IV.
MORE LETTERS

Jerry found Ned, his nearest chum, at home, and told him of the news from the west.

“That’s fine!” cried Ned. “Come on and tell Bob.”

“Don’t have to,” said Jerry. “Here he comes now.”

The stout youth was, at that moment, walking along the street toward Ned’s house.

“Come on in!” cried Ned, as he opened the door while his chum was still on the steps.

“That’s what I was going to do,” responded Chunky. “Did you think I was going to sit out here? Of course I’m coming in. What’s the matter?” for he saw by Ned’s face that something unusual had occurred.

“Jerry’s got a letter from Nellie Seabury—they’re in lower California—we’re going—I mean they want us to come and pay them a visit—I mean—”

“Say, for mercy sakes stop!” cried Bob, holding both hands over his ears.

“I guess Ned’s a little excited,” suggested Jerry.

“You guess so—well, I know so,” responded Bob. “Are you all done?” and he cautiously removed his hands from his ears.

“Tell him about it, Jerry,” said Ned, and Jerry told the news.

“It would be fine to go out there,” said Bob, reflectively. “But there’s school. We can’t get out of that.”

They all agreed they could not, and decided the only thing to do was to wait until the following summer.

“Too bad,” remarked Bob with a sigh. “Winter is the best time of the year out there, too.”

In spite of the fact that they knew, under the present circumstances, they could not go for several months, the boys spent an hour or more discussing what they would do if they could go to California.

“Oh, what’s the use!” exclaimed Ned, when Jerry had spoken of how fine it would be to hire a motor boat and cruise along the Pacific coast. “Don’t get us all worked up that way, Jerry. Have some regard for our feelings!”

“Well, let’s talk about school. It opens Monday.”

“Don’t mention it!” cried Ned. “I say—hello, there’s the postman’s whistle. He’s coming here.”

He went to the door, and returned carrying a letter, the envelope of which he was closely examining.

“You can find out from who it is by opening it,” suggested Jerry.

“Here’s a funny thing,” spoke Ned. “This letter is addressed to my father, but, down in one corner it says, ‘May be opened by Ned, in case of necessity.’”

“Well, then, open it,” suggested Bob. “This is a case of necessity. Where’s it from?”

“Boston, but I don’t recognize the writing.”

“Open it,” called Jerry.

Ned did so, and, as he read, he uttered a cry of astonishment.

“Well if this isn’t a queer thing,” he said. “Did you ever see such a coincidence? This letter is from Professor Uriah Snodgrass, and listen to what he says: ‘Dear Mr. Slade, or Ned. I write thus as I want one of you to read it in a hurry, and one of you may be away from home. You remember the last I saw of you and your chums (this part is for Ned) was in Florida. There I secured the rare butterfly I was looking for, and, through that success I was able to obtain a position with a Boston museum, to travel all over the world for them, collecting valuable specimens. I have been here for only a few weeks, but I already have a commission. I am soon to start for California, in search of a Cornu batrachian.’”

“A ‘Cornu batrachian’!” exclaimed Bob. “For the love of tripe, what’s that?”

“California!” murmured Jerry. “I guess the fates want to pile it up on us.”

“Say, is that ‘Cornu batrachian’ anything like a mountain lion?” asked Bob.

“Wait,” counseled Ned. “He explains. ‘The Cornu batrachian,’ he says, ‘is what is commonly called a horned toad. I must get several fine specimens, and I thought you boys might be making another trip, and could go with me. I would be very glad of your company. Please let me hear from you. My regards to Mrs. Slade.’”

“Well, wouldn’t that tickle your teeth!” exclaimed Bob, more forcibly than elegantly. “And we can’t go!” he added with a groan.

“Think of the fun we’ll miss by not being with Professor Snodgrass,” went on Ned.

“And with the Seabury family,” chimed in Jerry.

“It’s tough!” exclaimed Ned. “And school opens Monday!”

At that moment there was a whistle out in the street and a ring at the door bell.

“The postman again,” said Ned. “I wonder what he wants?”

He went to the door.

“Here’s a letter I forgot to give you,” said the mailcarrier. “It got out of place in my bundle, and I didn’t discover it until I was quite a way up the street.”

“That’s all right,” answered Ned good-naturedly. “From the Board of Education,” he murmured, as he looked at the printing in the upper left hand corner. “I wonder what they are writing to me about?”

He opened it and drew out a printed circular. As he re-entered the room where his chums were he gave a cry of delight.

“Listen to this!” he called, and he read:

“‘To the pupils of the Cresville Academy. It has been discovered, at the last moment, that a new heating boiler will be needed in the school. The tubes of the old one are broken. It has been decided to replace it at once, and, as it will be necessary to do considerable work about the building, thereby interfering with the proper conducting of studies, the school will not open for another month, or six weeks, depending on the length of time required to install a new boiler.
“‘Therefore pupils will kindly not report on Monday morning, as originally intended, but will hold themselves in readiness to begin their school work shortly after the receipt of another circular, which will be sent out as soon as the building is in proper shape. The faculty earnestly recommends that all pupils apply themselves diligently to their studies during this unlooked-for, unfortunate, but wholly necessary lengthening of the vacation season. By applying to their respective teachers pupils will learn what studies to continue.’”

“Whoop!” yelled Bob.

“O-la-la!” cried Ned after the fashion of some Eastern dervish.

“Say! That’s great!” exclaimed Jerry. “A month more of vacation!”

“Now we can go to California with Professor Snodgrass, and help him catch horned toads!” added Ned.

“And visit the Seabury family,” supplemented Jerry. “Oh, boys, this is simply immense! Things are coming our way after all!”

CHAPTER V.
PROFESSOR URIAH SNODGRASS

The sudden and unexpected news that they need not begin their school studies on Monday morning fairly startled the boys, at first. They read the circular over again, to make sure they were not mistaken.

“Why didn’t I get one?” asked Bob, rather suspiciously.

“Probably it’s at your home now,” suggested Ned.