THE AUTO BOYS' QUEST

By JAMES A. BRADEN

AUTHOR OF "THE AUTO BOYS," "THE AUTO BOYS' OUTING," "FAR PAST THE FRONTIER," "CAPTIVES THREE," "CONNECTICUT BOYS IN THE WESTERN RESERVE," ETC.

ILLUSTRATED BY ARTHUR DeBEBIAN

THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY
CHICAGO, AKRON OHIO, NEW YORK

Copyright, 1910
By The Saalfield Publishing Company

Phil held up a yellow envelope, then read: "Know you have gone. Don't know where. Rushing around crazy."

CONTENTS

THE AUTO BOYS' QUEST

CHAPTER I

A PLAN AND A SCHEME

"And they piled three stones one on top of another to mark the place. The first was just a big field stone, the second was rough and flat and the third, which was at the top, was the kind called conglomerate. You know—all full of pebbles, like coarse gravel pressed into a mass. Or—or like a fruit cake."

There was a note of earnestness in Billy Worth's voice, as if he felt his words to be of great importance and desired that his hearers be impressed accordingly. That his communication did have reference to an important matter was made most apparent, perhaps, by the response it elicited, also earnestly spoken:

"And if no one has disturbed them, the chances are the rocks are there yet," said Phil Way. "I mean that, although the heaving of the ground, as it froze and thawed winter after winter, would probably throw the pile down, the three different stones would still be close together for years upon years."

"And I'll be standing here for years upon years without starting this engine if you don't give me a spark! Almost breaking myself in two, and you sit there threshing over that old stone pile again! Did you think I was working this crank handle just for exercise?" These remarks, both earnest and emphatic, came from a young gentleman who stood at the front of a large touring car, the forward seats of which vehicle were occupied by the two whose words have been earlier noted. "Or did you think I was trying an experiment in perpetual motion?" he added, with equal sarcasm.

Mr. Billy Worth, at the steering wheel, laughed good-naturedly. "I solemnly beg your pardon, Mac," he said. "I was thinking of those three stones. Now you're all right!" So saying, he moved the quadrant to the point at which there was a spark advanced to set the automobile's engine chugging when his friend with the crank handle had again given it an initial motion.

"Was pretty sure Dave would make a discovery if he worked hard enough," piped a shrill voice tantalizingly. "I noticed that the spark wasn't on. Meant to mention it after while, but really didn't like to interrupt the conversation!"

These remarks, accompanied by a very self-complacent grin, proceeded from a young gentleman whose half-recumbent position in the tonneau was possibly more comfortable than dignified. Indeed, comfort rather than dignity was plainly his preference as no doubt it often is with persons somewhat less than fifteen years of age.

"Meant to mention it, did you?" came with marked emphasis from the one addressed as Dave, slamming the tonneau door behind him, as the machine moved out of its quarters—a tidy green and yellow building nestling beneath some old elms. "Meant to mention it, eh?" and putting hands suddenly upon the youthful humorist's shoulders, he shook him pretty vigorously.

The latter took his punishment with utmost good nature, saying only, "No fault of mine! If you fellows don't know how to start the car, let me know and I'll teach you. Gee whiz!"

With all its irony, this speech was allowed to pass unnoticed for now the automobile glided with a gentle bounce over the sidewalk and out of the cinder drive of Dr. Way's residence into the street. All four passengers settled themselves in their seats as if for a rapid ride. Their car ran beautifully and in scarcely more time than is required to state the fact its glistening wheels and body, its shining wind shield, lamps and horn had disappeared at the park gate far down the avenue.

Had you happened to be in that well-known city of the Middle West, Lannington, on this early day of June in the year 190—, and had you noticed this particular automobile as, guided by well-trained hands, it swept with a flourish around the curve and in through the park entrance, quite possibly you would have wished to make inquiry concerning the car and its occupants. There was something of quiet distinction about the latter and about the machine and the way it was handled.

Inquiry from any person interested in boys or motoring or both—and who is not?—would have been, indeed, entirely natural. Nor would the veriest stranger have experienced difficulty in obtaining information. While in no sense were they especially prominent because of wealth, exalted social position or otherwise, the Auto Boys, as the four were called, were at least well known.

Introduced briefly and individually they are Phil Way, Billy Worth, Dave MacLester and Paul Jones. Just what sort of lads they are will become apparent as the acquaintanceship progresses. At the present moment attention must be returned to the spot they have so recently quitted—the little green and yellow building beneath the elms.

A very tidy structure is the small garage the four friends call their own. It stands at the end of the drive leading out past the blooming syringas and a great bed of vari-colored peonies to the street. Approach and entrance from that direction are very convenient. Or entrance by way of the alley, in the rear, may be accomplished quite as easily. Its doors, both front and back, are the largest things about the building. With both opened wide the automobile can be driven directly through. To back the car out is unnecessary at any time. Driving in from the rear means simply driving out through the front doors, or vice versa.

The custom of the young proprietors of this model establishment of its kind with reference to coming and going with the car was well known among their acquaintances. It was well known, too, that at most times the alley doors of the garage were kept closed and locked. Just why any of their friends should remain waiting at that side of the building, therefore, with them inside and the machine headed toward the street, as a glance in at the back window would easily show, might well be considered a trifle mysterious.

Also, just why any friend should apply an ear to the small crack between the door and the wall of the building proper—stooping down in an attitude of thoughtful attention upon all that was taking place inside—might well be made a subject of inquiry.

Nevertheless precisely such a situation had existed to-day. A sharp-eyed young fellow, not much less than sixteen years of age, had stood for all of ten minutes in practically the position indicated. Not until the automobile and its owners had departed did he also leave, walking hastily down the alley and keeping much closer under the cover of the high, tight-board fence than would seem entirely necessary.

The young man was too respectable in his general appearance to be mistaken for a tramp or other type of vagabond loitering about for no good purpose. Nor had he any of the usual sneak-thief characteristics, suspicious as his actions were. Only a half-surly, half-defiant expression about his hawk-like eyes and a scowl above his heavy brows gave a clue to his thoughts and purposes. It was easy to guess that in some way he had suffered a disappointment.

At the corner of a residence street upon which the lad presently emerged, his face lighted up. Smiling, as if he had concluded to think better of the matter whatever it may have been, he spoke quite aloud, yet in a low tone: "'And they piled three stones on top of one another to mark the place. One was a big field stone, another a flat stone and the third, which was at the top, was conglomerate.'" And then a moment later, "'Conglomerate! All full of pebbles like coarse gravel!' As if any man didn't know 'conglomerate'!"

There was something coarse and rasping in the way the boy repeated the latter phrase of the words he had overheard at the green and yellow shed. It suggested both maliciousness and mischief. His further language as he spoke in undertones to no ears but his own was confirmation of such an opinion. "Plenty of time yet. Guess wherever any old thirty horse-power motor can go, a forty-five can follow! Confound those little beasts! I don't see where they can be!"

That the young man's latter remark, even less amiable than it was complimentary, had reference to someone whom he expected to see, was made apparent a few minutes later when a heavy car of the roadster type, too lumbering to be of the best, came suddenly around the corner and stopped at the curb near him. The machine carried two young fellows of about his own age.

"Been looking for you everywhere, Pick," said one of the two—he at the wheel—"You said you'd go out Chestnut. What you doing way down here on the avenue?"

"Said nothin' of the kind," growled the sharp-eyed one. "I said I'd meet you right here on Green Avenue. Been looking for you till—"

"You did not!" spoke the other of the two in the car. "I know what you said!"

But by that time the lad called "Pick" had seated himself in the double rumble, and as the automobile moved forward—"Oh shut up!" he answered moodily. "I'm sore! Still nothing to it but talk of the three stones. Anyhow, though, I've got the exact words about them," and with this he repeated the description of three stones, piled one on top of another, substantially as he had overheard the same.

"Well, they're going somewhere and they're going to start soon. I've found out that much, for sure," spoke the chap who drove. He was a really likable looking fellow, named Perth—Fred, or more often Freddy, when addressed by his first name.

The lad beside him was "Soapy"—otherwise Harry—Gaines, the somewhat spoiled son of one of the very few rich men in Lannington. He was of such uncertain temper, slipping so far beyond the reach of ordinary mortals and putting on ever and again so vast an air of superiority, possibly because of the paternal wealth, but with or without cause or reason, that his nickname seemed well applied. He it was who claimed ownership of the Roadster.

"Course they're going somewhere! Haven't we known it all along? Didn't they say themselves they were going, and just as good as tell us we wasn't wanted, when we told 'em we'd go with 'em? Humph! They've had a plan rigged up this long while and making such a mystery of it that half the town wonders what they're up to."

He of the hawk eyes—otherwise "Pick," otherwise Tom Pickton—was the speaker. The coarse, rasping quality of his voice was the more pronounced as he put more contempt in it. "Just the same, I'm thinking they can't go where we can't follow—if we like; eh, Gaines?" It was in quite a different key, though the voice was still harsh as a file, that Pickton addressed the owner of the machine.

The latter young gentleman said that with his car he could run circles around the persons to whom the other made reference. He was of the opinion that nothing more interesting could be desired, however, than merely to trail along behind the Auto Boys, (for it was to them that the conversation referred) and by thus being constantly present, annoy and harass them in a way that would be a "deuced lot o' fun."

Then, too, if the four chums who had declined the self-extended invitation that Soapy and his friends accompany them, had in mind the secret exploring of a mystery, a search for a robbers' cave or some such thing, which was considered to be their real purpose, they would be enabled to carry out their plan, at last, only by making terms with the Chosen Trio.

The Chosen Trio, it will be understood, was the name by which Messrs. Pickton, Gaines and Perth had elected to style themselves. "Chosen to be hanged, if anything!" Paul Jones had ungraciously said; but that is neither here nor there. The three were in no immediate danger of meeting such a fate, and they were capable of making themselves most extremely disagreeable, without appearing to trespass beyond their lawful rights. Where one automobile was allowed, for instance, another might follow; and the public roads everywhere were built no more for one individual than for another.

"Well, I was only going to say, if you'll give me the chance, that I know the four of 'em are going on a trip and what's more I know just about where," put in Fred Perth, as Soapy concluded. "They've hired Jim Underhill to attend to a lot of the work they had engaged to do and they told him he'd have to begin next week sometime. They wouldn't tell Jim where they were going. Just said, 'Ask me no questions an' I'll tell you no lies,' when he put it straight at 'em to know what for a trip was scheduled."

"Next week, eh?" Pickton ejaculated. "We're ready now. All we've got to do is watch their old boat and when they begin to pack up it will be ditto here. Nothing much to that, eh?"

"Everything's fixed for me to leave any time," said Perth, thinking with satisfaction how, after much difficulty, he had obtained permission to accompany Gaines and Pickton on a proposed motoring expedition.

"Huh! I'll just go," spoke Soapy in that braggadocio way so common to his kind.

"Ought to get some new stuff in the touring outfit, I suppose," put in Pick, as if to himself, but really fearful that at the last moment, due to Gaines' well-known careless ways, the car would be found without one item of spare equipment.

"By George! That's right! Run down to the Park Garage, Freddy. We'll load up some stuff and I'll have 'em put it in dad's next month's bill. We'll be away by that time."

These instructions from Soapy, always willing to make purchases if they were to be charged, and the more so if he saw at hand a way to defer for a time an interview with his father in regard to them, changed the course of the Roadster away from the residence district of the city to the business center.

As the car passed the down-town entrance to the park, the machine of the Auto Boys came up behind and, gliding past, halted before the door of the automobile establishment toward which the Chosen Trio had journeyed. The Roadster drew up beside the Thirty.

"So you fellows are going to let daylight into some more mysteries, eh?" said Pick, in a tone of banter to the occupants of the other machine.

"Are we?" asked Billy Worth, with a smile.

"But you needn't tear yourselves away on that account. We haven't gone yet," Dave MacLester added as Soapy said, "Drive on!"

Perhaps it was the quiet, unruffled and yet absolutely uncommunicative tones of the Auto Boys that fired Soapy Gaines' wrath. Like a pouter pigeon he swelled up. "Aw, sure, drive on!" he said to Perth, still at the wheel. "And don't you think," he added in a low tone, still pompous but threatening, too—"And don't you think that we won't make 'em get right down on their knees to us or wish they'd never left home."

"Or both!" laughed Pickton in that unbearably rasping way.

"Yes, or both," was the response, "and some more on top of that! I'm going into this thing right, now, just for that low-down answer of Worth's if nothing else—the little two-by-four!"

"But yet—"

It was Perth who would have spoken, and it was in his mind to say that he saw nothing particularly objectionable in Billy Worth's words; that his answer to Pick's observation was natural enough.

"'But yet'? Just you keep your 'but yet' till later on. I'm talking now!" interrupted Soapy, savagely. "I'm talking now, I say!"

The fact is, indeed, that Mr. Soapy Gaines was quite apt to talk too much.

CHAPTER II

A LITTLE PRACTICE IN STRATEGY

It was a direct result of Gaines' tongue wagging much more loosely than reasonable discretion would have counseled, to say nothing of sound sense, that information concerning the scheming of himself and his fellow conspirators reached the Auto Boys.

In the first place Soapy made the boast in Knight & Wilder's garage that, when the Auto Boys set out on the tour, the object of which was shrouded in such mystery, his own car might not be so far behind but that somebody would look "about like thirty cents," when somebody arrived at somebody's very secret destination.

Again, the same afternoon, to a crowd of young fellows gathered for baseball practice he made such broad hints concerning the Auto Boys and a mysterious spot marked by stones piled near it, many years ago, that the dullest of them could not but connect the same with the journey Phil Way and his friends were known to have in prospect.

It was the most natural thing imaginable that, being very friendly indeed with Phil, Billy, Paul and Dave, and by no means an ardent admirer of the Chosen Trio, Ed Wilder improved his earliest opportunity to tell the former of Soapy Gaines' words and half-jocular, half-threatening manner. With equal promptitude, also, a half-dozen or more of the baseball enthusiasts let it be known that, whatever the well-concealed plans and purposes of the Auto Boys might be, Gaines and Pickton, and very probably Perth, as well, had obtained information in regard to them.

Thus did Soapy's exact words, in some instances, and the substance of them in others, reach the four friends at one time and another before twenty-four hours had passed.

"Hard to tell whether they think it would be just a joke to follow after us or whether they intend to be low-down, sneaking mean," said Phil Way, as the well-nigh inseparable quartette discussed the situation in the green and yellow garage.

"I don't see that that's the important thing. The main question is, how did the three of 'em find out so much," was Billy Worth's observation. "Of course we know that our intention to go on a trip is common property; but wherever could they have heard about 'three stones to mark the place'? If they've heard enough that they make hints of that kind, how much else do they know?"

"Oh, fudge! Pay no attention to 'em, I say. What's the odds whether they trail after us or don't?" put in Dave MacLester.

"Huh! Plenty enough odds!" ejaculated Paul Jones, forcibly. "If we'd wanted them tagging along we'd have told 'em when they as good as asked us. And what's more, if we're going to take them into the plan we might as well tell it to everybody and forget all about keeping our business to ourselves. But say! What's the matter with fooling 'em! Let 'em follow after us and when we've led 'em away off the real track, just slip away and go where we first intended?"

There was a general murmur of interest and some laughing over the possibilities Paul's suggestion might develop, but in the end the talk came back to Phil Way's inquiry—were the Chosen Trio bent on making serious mischief and of themselves a contemptible nuisance, or did they think merely that it would be fun to ascertain and expose the object of the contemplated journey?

"They've been spying on us some time or other or they'd never be able to drop so many hints about the Three Stones. Then again, though, that's all they have hinted at, so far as we've heard," said MacLester. "Likely they don't know about anything else. But if we are going to pay any attention at all to them, let's do as Jones says. Let's have some fun out of it."

And so began a series of moves on the checker board of events for both the Auto Boys and the three Chosen Ones which, and particularly with regard to the latter, gave all of them something to think about.

A decoy movement was the first put into execution. Its purpose was to ascertain to what extent Soapy Gaines and his friends were keeping tab on the going and coming of the Thirty, by which name, it will be remembered, the car the four chums jointly owned was known.

With a tarpaulin tied over the rack behind, as if it covered a quantity of baggage, divers boxes—mostly empty—in the tonneau, two extra tires in their racks and the whole outfit presenting the appearance of being ready for extended touring, the Auto Boys headed their car into the street the following morning.

Amid frantic waving of their hands, and by Jones a most ridiculous pretense of wiping away tears of parting—fairly giggling in his handkerchief as he did it—the machine was turned directly toward the Star Lake road. At good speed, yet not too fast—it wouldn't do to eliminate the certainty of being seen—the Thirty rolled into the country just as the great clock in the Court House tower rang nine.

Going with what carelessness he could assume, yet stealthily, too, through the alley at the rear of the Way and other residences on the south side of Grace Avenue, young Mr. Pickton looked in at the window of the green and yellow garage as he had done many times before within the past week. Not at all surprised was he to see the shed empty, but he was astonished and not a little chagrined to notice that the extra tires were no longer in the corner reserved for them, and various other articles of touring paraphernalia customarily stored in plain view—ropes, lantern, shovel, a large tarpaulin, and so on—were missing.

"Ginger! They're gone already!" exclaimed the dumbfounded Mr. Pickton, and took to his heels.

From a corner drug store in an adjacent street he telephoned the news to Soapy Gaines. The latter, no less surprised than Pickton, vented his disgust and displeasure by applying to the Auto Boys a comprehensive variety of names. One would have supposed they had done him some personal injury; at least that they had been bound by every sort of moral obligation to have notified Mr. Gaines and his friends of their intended departure.

Within a half hour Pickton and Freddy Perth were frantically working over Gaines' Roadster while that young gentleman rushed rather foolishly and very excitedly about the carriage house in which the machine was kept. (Mr. Gaines, Sr., had not yet relinquished horses.) Soapy's principal purpose, indeed, seemed to be that of getting himself in the way. In any event, he succeeded so well that young Mr. Perth, hastening to the tank with a heavy can of gasoline, collided with him violently and both rolled upon the concrete floor, the gasoline gurgling over them as if it laughed a deep, deep, solemn laugh.

Unlike most young fellows whose privilege it is to use and care for an automobile, Soapy Gaines little relished the work. Instead of being constantly afraid his chums would have too much to do with the oiling, the lights, the fuel supply and the general keeping of the machine in good trim, as many another young fellow would have been, Gaines was the opposite—afraid only that they wouldn't.

Not to any motive of generosity was this attitude of his to be credited. Soapy just didn't like to work and, moreover, had never learned how to perform even the simplest tasks, whether in connection with the automobile or otherwise. It was a misfortune real and serious. To a great extent, however, since such learning had never been required of him, was he to be pitied rather than blamed.

Notwithstanding their various vexations, for the spilling of the gasoline was but one of several annoying experiences, the Chosen Trio were presently spinning down the street at a rate of speed inviting unpleasant notice should a bluecoat be encountered. They were by no means equipped for an extended journey. All they hoped to do was ascertain the road the Auto Boys had taken. With this information in hand, they would return home and make ready for a long tour. It would be easy to trace the well-laden touring car once its general route beyond the city was known.

Perhaps the Auto Boys made a mistake by not slipping away quietly, this very morning, well ahead of their expected schedule. They could probably have eluded successful pursuit more easily at this time than later. And yet it must be remembered, and their own opinion in the matter was that only by a decoy movement could they assure themselves with regard to the Trio's real intentions. So all in all Phil and his friends thought they planned extremely well.

Alighting from the Thirty in the city's outskirts, Billy Worth had quietly returned by street car to the business district. In the seclusion of the private office of Knight & Wilder's garage he awaited developments. Nothing happening at once, he bethought himself of the telephone, and obtaining ready permission to use it, he called up Ben Ryder.

Reflecting with no small interest that, as the Ryder home was but across the street from the Gaines mansion, and Ben being a pretty wide-awake fellow and likely to be observing, also a good friend, even if he was going to college next fall, Billy was mightily pleased with himself for having thought of him. He rejoiced the more, too, when Ben—Mr. Benjamin Harrison Ryder, left tackle, if you please, sir!—but just good, honest Ben, for short, answered his summons.

"Yes, the three of them went bowling down the street in Gaines' young battleship twenty minutes ago," was the answer to Worth's question. "Don't mention your having inquired? Why, not if you want it that way, certainly. Might not promise so readily if I saw the thing from the same angle that makes it look so important to you. Hope you won't take offense if I say I really don't, though, Billy!"

As this laughing answer terminated the conversation, Worth scoured his brain for other sources of information. The Park Garage, and the Automobile Club were called in turn. From the first nothing was learned, but from the club came the news that Gaines and Pickton had been in the rooms to look at some road maps, leaving later to overtake Phil Way's crowd. The latter had driven out on the Star Lake road some time before. Dr. Malcom told Gaines and Pickton of having met them as he returned from a country call.

John Lawdon, the snappy young secretary of the club, always eager to be accommodating, told Billy all this without so much as asking to whom he was speaking. He had helped Pick and Soapy look over the maps, he said. Yes, Fred Perth was with them. He had seen all three drive away.

So delighted to have obtained a positive key to the Trio's movements that he could hardly say "Thank you," without betraying excitement in his voice, Billy hung up the receiver. Then he waited, but not long was he kept in suspense.

The telephone rang. Mr. Wilder's stenographer responded. "It is for you, Mr. Worth,"—with a peculiar little accent on the Mr.

It was Phil Way, calling in from Star Lake as had been agreed he should do. Promptly and with many a laugh over the success of their ruse, Billy reported all he had learned.

"Good enough!" exclaimed Phil. "We will run over a lot of cross roads and finally back to town before noon, giving them a route to trace that will keep 'em out all day."

"Hurry along! They'll be there soon!" Worth replied, eagerly. "Get a good start ahead and we'll watch for them as they come back! Let them see just a smile in the corner of an eye, you know! Better than to give 'em the laugh right out."

Almost to the letter was the plan of the Auto Boys consummated. The hitch in their program followed the early discovery by Gaines and his company that they themselves had made a serious mistake or else had been made the victims of a trick. That one or the other proposition was true dawned slowly upon them as they painfully traced the car they sought by the tracks of its wheels, or, where these were lost in the dust, by many inquiries at farmhouses and of fellow travelers upon the road.

"If it was just a low-down scheme to send us wild-goose chasing, they'll be hanging around somewhere to gloat, you bet!" Fred Perth suggested, as it became painfully apparent that the Auto Boys' machine had simply made an extended series of turns, then returned to town.

"Anyhow, it's all the more reason we've got to upset their old secret tour," said Gaines, with determination.

Pick was driving. "I'll run her around the suburbs to the South road, then up to your house through the back streets, Soapy," he proposed. "They'll be watching for us to come in through town, if this was just one of their measly tricks."

"Her" being the automobile and being also a well-behaved car, "she" made no protest of any sort to the longer way home, as Pickton suggested. Soapy and Perth likewise agreeing, a half circle was made around the town. It was nearly two o'clock when the Roadster, with the water fairly boiling out of the radiator, rumbled into the Gaines carriage house.

Perhaps it was because they were not only disgusted with their fruitless journey, but very hungry as well, that the Chosen Ones unanimously agreed that, in substance, Messrs. Way, Jones, MacLester and Worth were a precious lot of rogues who thought themselves extremely smart. And it is very much to be feared, indeed, that some such feeling with regard to their mental capacity was entertained by the four friends when a couple of hours later the two parties of young gentlemen came face to face on Main Street.

But if there was in the glances of the Auto Boys an exultation which, strictly speaking, was not at all to their credit, it must be remembered that they were only human. Only human, and not so trained in the suppression of the appearance, only, of exulting over a fellow creature, as older members of the human race sometimes become.

Phil and Billy were on the way to deliver the large route of evening papers they managed every week day, and Dave and Paul to buy some supplies for the proposed trip when the opposing parties met.

"Oh, hello!" cried Paul Jones with an expansive grin.

"G'wan, you—" It was Soapy who answered, but the final word, if he completed his sentence, was lost in the noise of the street. What that word was is immaterial, perhaps. What it wasn't was made very plain by his manner and the term was certainly not "young gentleman," "cherished friend," or anything of that order.

"Oh, well, they had no business trying to inject themselves into our affairs," said Billy Worth, sorry to see the bitter feeling of the three lads.

And there was really broad justification for Worth's remarks. For a large part of a year—ever since the preceding fall, and it was now June—the Auto Boys had had in contemplation the journey they were about to begin.

For reasons they deemed sufficient, their destination and their object they had revealed only in their families. All comment, all conjecture, all inquisitive or teasing words from their friends had been successfully resisted.

The curiosity of their usual associates was only heightened by this fact, and in time the secret plans of the lads were vested by their whole acquaintanceship with an importance far out of proper proportion to their probable consequence. Then came Soapy Gaines and his followers, Pickton and Perth, with frequent hints of a truly mysterious nature—"Three stones piled one upon another to mark the place."

What place, and where? And why? And who marked it, and when?

Not only those of an age with the Auto Boys themselves but their elders as well wondered more and more as ever and again came some reference to the secret journey.

CHAPTER III

A PLAN THAT DID NOT FAIL

A number of plans for eluding Soapy Gaines and the watchful eyes of his two bosom friends did the Auto Boys formulate. None of them seemed quite satisfactory. A scheme to slip away at night was discarded as being too much like simply running away. Another, which involved the shipping of all supplies to a nearby town and really making the start from there, was considered to necessitate too great a loss of time if the goods were sent by freight and to cost more than the lads felt justified in paying if forwarded by express.

Thus, as for varying reasons every suggestion offered was at last voted undesirable, there appeared no other course than to disregard the Trio entirely. It was in the midst of this extremity that on the Saturday following the wild-goose chase on which the Roadster had been led, Pickton again asked Dave MacLester point blank when "Sinbad's next voyage" was to begin.

"Since you are so good as to inquire, and as it must make a whole lot of difference to you," answered Davy, firing up under Pick's bantering tone, "we're going to start Monday afternoon. If there's anything else you'd like to know, just mention it."

"Say! Are you going to leave Monday?" asked Pickton, doubtingly.

"If it's perfectly convenient to you, we really would like to get away at that time," MacLester answered witheringly. Then fearing he had said too much, he added: "Of course we might come back the same day. Such things have happened."

Pick received this reference to the fruitless chase of a few days previous with a contemptuous "A-h-w!" Yet he went away pretty well satisfied that Monday was the chosen day.

A half hour later, Dave related at the green and yellow shed under the elms all that had been said.

"Don't see what you meant by speaking out that way!" growled Billy Worth. "They'll just be watching all the closer!"

"Yes, sir! They'll be watching all the more," cried Phil Way, with sudden enthusiasm, "and I have a scheme that I think will work." Then in the lowest undertones he told his plan.

In undertones filled with joyous anticipation, also, the suggestion advanced was elaborated upon. And when the four chums separated, each knew just what he must do, and there is no doubt whatever that at this juncture they would not have had Gaines, Pickton and Freddy Perth abandon their plan of pursuit if but a word would have persuaded them to do so. No! The prospect of vanquishing them and of leaving them chagrined and humiliated was quite too delightful to think of the circumstances being other than just as they were.

Monday came. Phil Way and Paul Jones were out in the car when the work of the morning had been finished. Billy Worth was occupied with the lawn mower at his own home and Dave was somewhat similarly engaged in the MacLester family garden. All of these facts the Chosen Trio had gathered in good season. Quite satisfied with the situation, they took the Roadster out for a spin, intent upon the whereabouts of Phil and Paul in the Thirty.

Keeping a sharp eye on all the automobiles in view, the three youths presently turned toward the Ravine road, for it was one the Auto Boys used a great deal. They often went to Tyler Gleason's farm, a short drive beyond the city. Phil and Paul had gone there this very morning, in fact.

And what was this? Soapy Gaines burst suddenly into a laugh not unlike a conqueror's war-whoop and Pickton and Perth joined in his mirth in scarcely less demonstrative fashion.

The Thirty of the Auto Boys was being "towed in."

Yes, it was true. As the Roadster came close, the Chosen Ones found their first glimpse of the predicament of the enemy fully verified. There was George Knight in his big six-cylinder, with Phil Way, glum and silent, in the seat beside him, while tied by ropes behind they hauled the four-cylinder car of the Auto Boys. Paul Jones, steering the car in tow, seemed to be trying to look indifferent—as if he didn't care.

"Give ye a lift?" cried Tom Pickton, slowing up. He was not alone in his anxiety to know how seriously the Thirty was out of commission.

"No, thank you!" Phil Way answered distantly, as Mr. Knight drove ahead without pause or comment.

It is interesting to note how quickly the Gaines party discovered that they were themselves ready to turn toward the city.

This they did, and until town was reached they loafed along a considerable distance in the rear of the towed machine, yet keeping that car plainly in view. In the light of subsequent developments, too, it is interesting to record the zealous watchfulness of the three exultant young gentlemen as they saw the crippled car hauled into Knight & Wilder's garage.

Lacking nothing in brazen audacity, Pickton alighted from the Roadster and, standing in the doorway of the automobile establishment, noted with evident relish that Mr. Wilder, the mechanical genius of the concern, looked very sober and puckered his lips up quite despairingly as he lifted the Thirty's bonnet and seemed carefully to inspect the motor. He spoke a few words to Phil and Paul, then some men came and pushed the Auto Boys' machine through the storage rooms into the repair shop.

An expressive and by no means unhappy smile shone on Pick's countenance—a really disagreeable smile, it was, in those hawk-like eyes of his,—as he climbed into Gaines' machine. Perth was driving,—Soapy rarely ever held the wheel himself—and as the car moved off, all three noticed the evidently disconsolate feelings of Phil and Paul as the latter two emerged from the garage and started homeward on foot.

"Guess maybe that don't simplify matters some!" chuckled Freddy Perth. "Instead of having to watch the whole bunch of 'em, all we need do now is keep our eyes on their shed at Way's to see when they get the machine home again."

"Watch the garage, too!" Gaines put in. "They'll run around to try out some as soon as they get fixed up. Hang it! Why didn't you push right up and see what the matter was, Pick?"

Young Mr. Pickton, although considerably irritated by this question, merely said: "Sure! We've got to watch the garage! Wilder wouldn't tell us anything, though, if we asked him! Knight, either. Remember when I inquired what was wrong with Crossley's limousine, the day it was run in there? 'Who wants to know?' Wilder says. 'Well, I do,' I told him. 'Guess it's the referendum,' he said with never even a grin. Humph! Knight's just about as accommodating as that, too. There's nothing to it but watch for the old boat when they get it to running again. Perth, you go down through the alley and peek into Way's shed about supper time."

Freddy said he would and added the suggestion that the Trio could spend the afternoon at the ball game; that, particularly since their machine was laid up, Way and his crowd would most likely be there. The proposal met with general approval.

A great deal relieved to feel that their vigilance might safely be relaxed for the present were the Chosen Ones as they journeyed to the ball grounds in good season. Sure enough, there were the Auto Boys,—Paul and Phil, at least, standing in line for tickets.

"MacLester and Worth are working some place. You can pretty near count on that. It's their steady system," whispered Pickton, as with Gaines and Perth he fell into line before the ticket window, then a minute later joined the rush through the gate.

And "There they go in!" whispered Paul Jones to Phil, his smile, always expansive, becoming almost alarmingly broad. "They saw us in line and never noticed us sidestep to the window," he added in triumphant manner.

"They think we went inside all right," Phil answered. "Trouble is we don't know whether they'll find out we didn't. It's the only drawback to this scheme. They'll be suspicious if they discover we aren't there. Only thing for it is quick action."

Already the two boys were walking rapidly down a side street. Turning the corner they reached the car line a few blocks from the ball park. From a neighborhood grocer's establishment Phil telephoned instructions to Billy Worth in waiting at Knight & Wilder's. Then, while Paul boarded the first city-bound car, he returned to the ball game.

Very careful was Mr. Philip Way to take note before going inside that Gaines' Roadster was still alongside the curb. Also careful was he to station himself where he could see all who came and went. In short, he was so occupied in these and similar matters concerning the whereabouts of that eminently select party of three, self styled as Chosen, that his thoughts were a long way from the baseball game now in progress. But then the game was one-sided and slow; maybe that was the reason Phil evinced so little interest.

With others of the great throng Way left the grounds when the very lame exhibition was over. A good many were growling about "a mighty poor article of ball," and "village hay tossers;" but Phil made no complaint. The game had served one purpose almost as well as the decisive battle of a pennant series could have done. He even laughed, though inwardly, as he overheard Fred Perth say, "Why, there's Way, now!"

As if quite by chance Phil was walking past the Roadster as its owner and his friends prepared to turn that lumbering vehicle homeward. Even when Gaines sang out, "Oh, I say! The walking's pretty good!" which comment was plainly meant for his ears, he made no answer beyond a deprecating wave of his hand. Not even did he look around—at that time, but he did assure himself of the direction the Trio took and that their manner was that of unsuspecting confidence.

Or perhaps Paul Jones' expression, as Phil told all about it afterward, fits the situation better. "There never was a better case of asleep at the switch," said Paul. And maybe he was right.

Was it merely a coincidence that the Trio in the Roadster twice passed Way's home before supper and again just afterward? Once Phil was on the porch. Once he was loitering near the low, green and yellow garage, now so empty and bare but for the workbench and tools of many kinds, and the desk in one corner.

Later, when the long June day was over, when the sun had set and the good-night twittering of the birds sounded unusually loud and clear as darkness gathered, Way busied himself inside the shed. The big front doors were wide open, to admit the air, no doubt. All three electric lamps in the small building were burning bright.

If Freddy Perth had only known it, in fact, he could have seen from the street that the automobile was not in the home garage at all and that Phil was. He might have saved himself the walk through the dusty alley, and still have made the same report to Gaines and Pickton, the substance of which was that the Thirty was still at Knight & Wilder's and that its owners were at their respective homes. At least Way was for he had seen him.

But if Perth or Pickton or Soapy Gaines, himself, or all three, for that matter, had chanced to board a certain limited suburban trolley car an hour later, the same evening, they might have been surprised to discover that although Phil had been at home he was not at home now. And, also, if appearances were not altogether deceptive, that he had no intention of being again at home in the immediate future. For an extra large suitcase was on the floor before him and a motor coat draped the back of his seat.

"Round trip?" said the conductor when Phil asked the fare to Littleton.

"No, one way," he answered.

"Forty cents," the conductor said. "Ain't bad for twenty-five miles. Cheaper'n automobile travel, at that."

"Oh, cheaper, possibly," said Phil Way, "but—"

CHAPTER IV

SAFELY AWAY

"They're going to go soon, if they go at all. Likely would have started to-day, as MacLester said, if their machine hadn't played out," said Tom Pickton, when on this Monday evening he and Perth were leaving Gaines at his home. "We'll watch 'em to-morrow, all right!" declared Mr. Pickton earnestly.

And now if Pick is as good as his word, if he and his fellow conspirators are really watching the Auto Boys, as another day comes, it is an interesting and busy scene that falls upon their gaze.

Phil Way is looking over every part of the Thirty's oiling system. "It's too bad we had to put the faithful old machine in the humiliating plight of being towed in, even if there never was a thing the matter with her," says he.

"And you ought to've seen Phil! Never saw him appear so broken up! Honest, I just hurt from holding in when the three of them drove by us, as if they thought they were 'it,' hollering out, 'Give ye a lift?' in that sarcastic way of Pick's! And when they were 'way past, maybe I didn't laugh!"

Paul Jones was the speaker, strapping a suitcase to the car's running board as he talked. Billy Worth and Dave MacLester were occupied in the rearrangement of a lot of other baggage, the canvas of a tent among the rest, in the tonneau. The car stood just outside a large frame building in the rear of the Yorkshire House, the principal hotel of Littleton.

A combined livery stable and garage was this frame structure, if one judged by appearances, for it housed both horse-drawn vehicles and automobiles. Of the latter there were three—two runabouts and a light touring car. The Auto Boys' machine appeared to have been kept here over night. By their further conversation it was evident, too, that the young gentlemen themselves had remained over night in the Yorkshire House, and into that hostelry they repaired a few minutes later for an exceptionally early breakfast.

"Too early for any earthly use. I don't see no sense in it," the not fastidiously tidy cook of the establishment stated at least five or six times to the maid who waited on table; and who, it may be added, quite agreed with him until she found a nickel tied in the corner of each napkin after the very early guests had left. As a matter of fact, it was exactly five o'clock.

And now again, if Mr. Thomas Pickton, still sound asleep in his bed at home, had been watching the Auto Boys, as he had stated would be faithfully done to-day, he would have saved himself and friends a rather humiliating disappointment at a later time. But, as has also been plainly indicated, Pick, with all his hawk-like eyes, saw nothing of what was taking place, and as Freddy Perth and Soapy Gaines were not a whit more wide awake than he at this hour of five A. M., the well-laden Thirty with its four owners aboard purred merrily westward, farther and farther from the small town of appropriate name, and farther yet from Lannington.

"Guess they have to get up in the morning some to get ahead of us," observed Mr. Paul Jones, with a sigh of satisfaction. And it would certainly appear that he was right, though he did rub his eyes considerably and though his sigh stretched out to the extent of a great yawn only a few seconds later.

Thus was the Auto Boys' Quest under way at last. Away back at the great, empty farmhouse where Grandfather Beaman once lived, the first plans for this trip had been laid. Those of you who have read The Auto Boys' Outing will recall the circumstances. You will remember the days of zestful fun and tranquil rest the lads had, following the solution of the mystery of the strange characters on Grandfather Beaman's wooden leg, the disclosure of Jonas Tagg's evil designs and the discovery of the identity of "Little Mystery."

And do you recollect the pleasant evenings on the old front door step? There it was that the trip to the great Ship woods was first suggested, and there it was that the solemn agreement, making the whole expedition a secret, was entered into.

Going back a little farther, it will not be necessary to remind readers of The Auto Boys, the first story of this series, that for purely business reasons the four friends had made it a practice not to talk publicly of their joint ventures. Even the "Retreat" in Gleason's Ravine, was known to few outside the immediate families of the boys. Just how they had managed, as the "Young American Contract Company," to acquire their automobile and start the passenger service to Star Lake, with all the exciting adventures resulting therefrom, was, likewise, a subject the young men did not publicly discuss, although of course the main facts had in time become quite commonly known.

One reason the four chums were so successful in confining within the limits of their respective households and to their very nearest friends knowledge of their plans and undertakings was that there was nothing of the braggart in any of them. Phil Way, usually the leader in their various ventures, whether for purposes of fun or business, was a tall, slender, brown-haired, clear-eyed and mild-mannered chap. At the time of the history herein related he is well past fifteen years of age. His father is a physician, by no means rich, but in very comfortable circumstances.

Billy Worth, fun-loving and jolly, but an earnest young fellow, too, is a little younger than Phil and in general appearance quite his opposite, being short and stout. Yet let none suppose that that stocky frame of his carries an ounce of anything but bone, muscle and good, red blood—good, red blood that glows in his cheeks, and helps to place that alert, snappy expression in his twinkling brown eyes. So much for William Worth, Junior. William Worth, Senior, it may be stated, is engaged in machinery manufacturing.

A member of this quartette of friends I am sure you will like is Paul Jones—slight, slender, audacious. He has been in long trousers less than a year. He wears his motor cap far back on his head and rakishly low on one side. His sandy hair, thus quite prominently exposed to view, is in a more or less tousled condition a greater part of the time. Of a care-free disposition is young Mr. Jones, however, and the rumpled state of his hair bothers him not at all. It was brushed this morning, and, "Goodness, gracious! Can you expect a man's hair always to be just so?" Why, probably not. Then again, a good deal depends on the "man."

Forgive a great deal to Paul. If he lacks something in general refinement and polish as compared to the other boys, it is because his advantages have not equaled theirs. Being an orphan, he has missed much his friends have received, though Mrs. Wilby, his sister, and John Wilby, her husband, have given the otherwise homeless lad the best their limited time and means afford.

Dave MacLester is of still another type. Nearly as tall as Phil, he is much heavier. He lacks the power of quick perception and quick movements common to his three friends, but outranks any one of them in strength. He is a dark-haired chap of Scotch descent and if he is just a little slow, he is at least sure. His fault, if fault it may be called, is a certain moodiness of disposition, apt to reveal itself at times in his hopeless, pessimistic view of things. Maybe it would be more accurate to describe this characteristic as his misfortune. He is at fault in regard to it only to the extent that he neglects or fails to strive against his naturally gloomy or irritated mental condition, and, so eventually grow entirely away from it.

One interesting fact about all the boys is the bond of union among them. Petty differences have arisen scores of times, of course; wordy disputes have occurred less frequently; but for a long, long time the four have been almost inseparable, both in work and in play, their unwritten motto being, "the best interests of one are the best interests of all." Unselfishly every pleasure is shared, and uncomplainingly in every task and duty each fellow does his share.

The escape from the watchful eyes of Soapy Gaines and his followers with the car and its load of baggage for this present expedition was brought about only because each one of the four worked in faithful harmony with the general plan. What this plan was, has already become apparent.

That the towing in of the Thirty to Knight & Wilder's garage was but a pretense to throw the Trio off their guard, you have probably guessed from the beginning. It would be interesting, perhaps, to hear at length how Billy and Dave rushed the automobile to the home garage upon receiving word by 'phone that the Gaines party had been lured into the ball game and forgetfulness, but more important matters are waiting.

Let this part of the history be summed up briefly, then, by recording only the bare facts that, with the help of Paul, who did not remain at the baseball park, it will be remembered, Worth and MacLester loaded the automobile with camp outfit and baggage and were safely beyond the city all within two hours.

By a circuitous route, avoiding the streets most used for motor traffic, the three reached the country roads. Here, too, they chose the least traveled thoroughfares until fully ten miles had been placed between them and Lannington.

Even by the longer route, Littleton, nearly forty miles distant, might have been reached before dark; but to attract the least possible notice they lingered in little frequented roads, and ran quietly into the Yorkshire House garage and stable just after sundown. So was the car, laden down with the evidences of an extensive expedition, and well calculated to attract much notice, housed for the night.

The three boys believed they had been observed by not one person likely to mention having seen them—at least to anyone from whom, directly or indirectly, the Trio would obtain intelligence of their movements. They told Phil as much, and with evident satisfaction, when they met him upon his arrival by suburban trolley car, later in the evening.—And now another day had come. The Auto Boys were in the best of spirits as they left the lately risen sun and Littleton in their rear.

"'Westward the Star of Empire takes its way,'" quoted Billy Worth, waving his cap zestfully, as the automobile bowled smoothly along, MacLester at the wheel.

"Takes its Way and also its Worth, and MacLester and Jones," shouted Paul, with that expansive grin which never failed to bring a smile from any sort of person disposed to be half-way good-natured.

"Say, Jones, they've hung people out in the Ship woods country for horse-stealing, and that's hardly a misdemeanor compared to such downright atrocities as you perpetrate! Goodness! That was bad!" declared Dave. He always did like to have a fling at Paul. "The best pun is horrible, but a poor one!—"

"What did you say about the 'breast bone' Mac?" shouted Jones, from the tonneau, with admirable pretense of having caught but two words and caught neither of those correctly, as the car whizzed forward. Then, almost without pause, "Yes, I like the white meat, too!" he sang out.

"White meat? Don't mention it! I'm positively starving," Worth put in, and in a twinkling the whole conversation changed to the subject of the noonday lunch and what the car's larder afforded. Paul's hearing improved very greatly, at once, by the way.

"Why, we have a cheese-box full of cold ham and buns and baked beans and pickles and a cake and cheese and pie and—" Jones enumerated; then MacLester, quickly going forward with the inventory, as Paul paused for breath, added:

"Sardines, bananas, olives and potato chips, and I'll bet half the stuff will spoil on our hands."

"Risk it!" Phil Way observed in the tone of one who speaks from experience. And somewhat later when a halt was made for luncheon, weighty evidence was presented that if any risk whatever existed it was extremely slight. The very hour appropriated to a noonday purpose was strong testimony—not yet eleven o'clock. However, breakfast had been extremely early, it will be remembered.

With a great deal more haste than ceremony, the roadside repast being finished, dishes and food were packed away again and the automobile sent once more bounding forward. Nearly fifty miles onward lay the little town of Sagersgrove and here the Auto Boys expected to receive information direct from Lannington concerning the movements of Gaines, Pickton and Perth.

How much or how little those young gentlemen may have discovered by this time, and what their intentions might be, were matters of marked interest to the chums who had so cleverly outwitted them. They were more than pleased with themselves, therefore, that their foresight had prompted the making of arrangements with Mr. Knight to send a telegram to Sagersgrove to be received upon reaching there.

That Knight & Wilder shared the secret of the four boys it is almost needless to say. Even to knowledge of the destination and the real purpose of the journey the garage proprietors had been taken into confidence. They were good, reliable friends, to begin with, and as the location of the Ship woods was remote from sources of automobile supplies, it might be necessary to send to them for repairs. And as both men had shown a lively interest in the enterprise now under way, it was quite certain Mr. Knight would not fail to have news of some kind awaiting the travelers at the point agreed upon.

Meanwhile the probable and possible discoveries of the Chosen Three and what their ultimate plans would be were discussed over and over again. Even if Gaines and his followers should learn the direction the Thirty had taken—even if they chanced upon the discovery that the party had spent the night in Littleton—they would still be unable to so much as guess the direction taken next.

Again, even if the Trio had any knowledge of the great Ship forest they would have no reason for supposing the four friends to be bent on reaching that wilderness. All the information the Gaines crowd had, so far as known, and the thing which so seriously pricked their curiosity, was that sentence they had somehow overheard, "Three stones piled one on top of another to mark the place."

"They could connect that and the big woods if they knew where we were heading for; but by itself the talk of the three stones gives them nothing to go by," urged Billy Worth. He had put the same thought into slightly different words at least a half-dozen times before and the others had done no less. But there was no cause to doubt his reasoning.

"Three stones piled one on top of another" might be used to mark many and many different sorts of places. They might be in town. They might be in the country, in pasture or meadow; beside a lake in the valley, or on the summit of the hills. Again, what reason why they might not be in the heart of a great forest?

The Ship woods comprised such a forest. Its very name was derived from the fact that for long years great timbers for ship building purposes had been cut there. In one part or another of its vast expanse men were at work the whole year through, sawing, chopping, hewing. A single "stick" from the forest's depths might measure more than one hundred feet in length by three feet or more each way, in thickness. Perhaps four teams of horses would be used to haul such a piece of timber out of the woods and to the railroad siding where it was loaded for transportation to the owners' mills, many miles away.

The fact that those who owned the forest did live a long distance from it, naturally left the vast tract in the hands of only such men as were employed in cutting the big "sticks." And as the latter were little interested in anything more than the trees that would do for their purposes, the woods was for the most part regarded as pretty nearly public property. That is to say, no one so much as thought of asking permission to go there, to camp, to hunt, to pick blackberries, or anything of the kind.

Nor was anyone expected to do so, for that matter. The boss timber man and the crews which handled the saws, and axes, the heavy chains, the canthooks and all the paraphernalia of their hard, hard work, asked no questions of trespassers. They warned hunters against leaving campfires burning and against dropping lighted matches in the leaves. They would permit no one to chop into or otherwise injure a tree which might make "timber" then or later; but in general the occasional stranger who visited these wilds was as free to come to hunt, to fish, to build a brush shack or camp, or to gather firewood, herbs or poles or bark—to do almost as he pleased in short—and as free to go away again, as he would have been in the unclaimed forest of a new country.

All this information and much more the Auto Boys had gathered. Plans for their trip had been under way all winter. In imagination they had often pictured the wild, rugged scenery of the locality. Working and talking together, they had built for themselves a kind of aircastle on the banks of the swift, cold and rock-strewn stream skirting the edge of the big woods, in which, at least figuratively, they lived. They had seen themselves in their tent, the automobile in a shelter close by, and a little fire lighted to drive mosquitoes away, many and many an evening together, while still the snow lay deep and the tinkle and gurgle of the swift-flowing stream were smothered beneath the ice.

Possibly it is true that in anticipation there is more pleasure than in realization, yet few people actually believe it. Certainly Phil Way and his friends did not. They had anticipated a lot of fun in this tour now under way at last, but one of its merriest features they had not foreseen at all. This was the keen delight they had in having given Gaines, Pickton and Perth the slip so nicely. Indeed, their self-satisfaction over this incident was quite beyond measure, and Dave MacLester found no support whatever when he advanced a supposition that the telegram to be picked up in Sagersgrove would say the Chosen Ones were in pursuit and probably not far behind.

"Anyhow, we'll know all about it in about two and a half flicks of a bobolink's tail," said Billy Worth, "for if that church spire up over the trees yonder isn't Sagersgrove, I'm blind."

Fortunately, then, for young Mr. Worth's eyes, the spire rising above the banks of green a half mile beyond, was that of the Methodist church of the town he named. In a very brief time it had been reached, also, and from a very neat and clean old gentleman, who might have been the preacher himself, although he was mowing the small church lawn, the lads inquired their way to the telegraph office.

Fortunately, again, it was not at all difficult to find one's way about in Sagersgrove. The telegraph office was in the wing of the operator's home, "down the street two blocks, then turn to your left two blocks—a little brown house, set low to the ground. You'll see the white and blue sign."

Three minutes later Phil Way emerged from the side door of the identical house the old gentleman described. He held up to expectant view a yellow envelope, then opened the same, and, one foot on the running board, read in a low tone:

To Phil Way and Party, Sagersgrove.

Know you have gone. Don't know where. Rushing around crazy.

"Wow!" yelled Paul Jones, with cheery emphasis. Which expression, although seeming to betray no very great depth of intellect, or to communicate any very particular intelligence, did appear to express the feelings of the Auto Boys to a nicety.

CHAPTER V

CAMPING ON A STRANGE ROAD

Jubilant and expressive though it may have been, Paul Jones' "wow," was very far from being all the Auto Boys had to say concerning the telegram received. In general they shared Paul's mirthful feelings. With a very human kind of pleasure they let their minds dwell upon Gaines' sullen wrath and Pickton's chagrin and disappointment.

The condition of bewilderment and utter discomfiture which would be natural to Freddy Perth was also easily imagined. In short, it was with real delight that the boys pictured the Trio confronted by the discovery that they had been out-generaled; left like a squad of raw recruits hopelessly drilling around the field, looking for the beginning of the battle that was all over long ago.

"Oh, I guess maybe they don't find their cake is dough, and they couldn't eat it if they kept it," chuckled Paul, blithely, but really somewhat twisted as to the quotations he meant to employ. "But anyhow, the thing for us to do is keep moving. We're getting too much noticed. It'll lead to more advertising than we'd really like to have."

This reference to a considerable number of pairs of eyes now scrutinizing the travel-stained car, its touring and camp equipment and the owners thereof, caused Billy, now at the wheel, to drive slowly up the street.

Dave MacLester, who had gone into a livery stable close by to inquire about the roads to the westward, came out just in time to see the machine move off. Not guessing Billy's intentions, which were to go only to the next corner above, as a good place to turn, he dashed frantically after the car. He sprang aboard and climbed into the tonneau breathlessly.

"Don't seem to be in any hurry at all!" he ejaculated, witheringly. "Go straight ahead. Turn at the first corner. It's the best road west. Other one's all torn up for four miles out, they said."

Billy had put on speed at once, when Dave was safely in, and now he let the speedometer mark up to twenty-five on a fine stretch of brick pavement, clear of car tracks and broken by few intersecting streets, a speedway not to be resisted.

The net result of the flying start and apparent haste was not a little comment on part of those who had gathered near the car. Even the men in the livery stable ran out to see and learn what the commotion was all about and the town marshal sauntered up just a moment later.

Now the marshal of Sagersgrove was a self-important old fellow named Wellock. His uniform consisted principally of a badge of great size and a greasy blue coat with brass buttons. He wore old and rusty black trousers, very baggy at the knees and much frayed around the bottom.

With a solemn and knowing look Marshal Wellock made a few inquiries concerning the car which had just passed out of sight and its occupants. Then he made some mysterious entries in a pocket memorandum, the generally soiled appearance of which was not at all unlike his own. These movements alone were enough to make a deep impression upon the crowd which had now collected; but accompanied as they were by Mr. Wellock's knowing and extremely mysterious air, the whole effect was to produce in the minds of those gathered near the profound conviction that the four strange boys were nothing short of bank-robbers in disguise.

Men exchanged looks of deep significance as if saying, "I told you so." Women nodded their heads to one another in a way that plainly indicated their certain knowledge of the guilt of the young strangers, whatever might be the crime laid at their door.

Observing the unlimited notice he was attracting, Marshal Wellock's importance increased. Preserving still his deeply mysterious air, he walked on to the telegraph office and went in. What he learned there apparently did not cause him to change his very good opinion of himself and of the great power vested in him, for he was more darkly mysterious than ever as he returned. Indeed, his whole bearing was such as to make him decidedly red in the face, as he frowned savagely, in keeping with his idea of the great personage which he himself felt and, he believed, everyone else must undoubtedly consider him to be. What he thought he knew about the four boys would have made a long story. What he did know could have been told in a dozen words and none of them to the lads' discredit.

Meanwhile the Thirty still sped on westward. The afternoon was waning and the road was growing bad. Sagersgrove lay far in the rear.

"Don't look to me as if this could be the main route," said Phil Way, thoughtfully noting the brush-grown fields and the poor character of the farmhouses and buildings, becoming more and more infrequent as they progressed.

"Oh, it's the road all right. It'll be better going soon," MacLester answered; and as the latter himself had obtained the information respecting the route, Phil said no more.

Mile after mile slipped to the rear, but slowly now, for the road was a constant succession of deep ruts, miniature mountain chains and great, half-dried holes of mud. The late June sun was going down. Blackbirds flew in noisy flocks from one to another of the dense thickets growing in frequent and extensive patches as far as eye could reach over the low land at either side of the wretched way.

"Well, if this is the road, we better go where it isn't," muttered Billy Worth, his arms beginning to feel the effects of driving over the painfully distressing course.

"Oh, stop your growling!" Dave answered a little savagely. "This road will be all right when we get to the high ground where the trees are yonder! And by the Old Harry! Why should you hold me responsible? Never knew it to fail, anyhow, that whoever it is that half breaks his neck and nearly gets left behind, to dig up the road statistics for a trip or any part of one, is from that minute blamed right and left for every hole that's found and for every stone that's struck."

In which observation young Mr. MacLester was not at all wrong. Identically the same weakness of human nature crops out in so many places that none can fail to recognize it. Phil Way saw and felt the truth of Dave's remarks at once.

"Does look better on ahead. Can't expect good going all the time," he said. It was a way of his. He had turned aside and prevented storms which might have grown to serious proportions among the four in just such manner time upon time.

Nevertheless, the promised improvement did not come with the higher places to which the rough trail in due time led. Two parallel ruts among the grass and low underbrush were all that now remained to indicate a road of any sort. Now, too, a thick woods, without so much as a fence between, bounded the course on both sides. The sun was lost to view, the late twilight of a June night was closing in. For nearly two hours not a human habitation had been seen.

Away to the east stretched the swampy brush-grown country that had bordered the line of progress for many miles. To the west there appeared only the scarcely passable path leading deeper and deeper into the forest, hemming in the course on north and south.

Billy had brought the car to a halt. Unmistakably the Auto Boys were as nearly lost as one can well be on a public highway—(but there are many just such)—of a prosperous and wealthy commonwealth.

"Anyhow it makes me think that I always was fond of white meat," chirped Paul Jones, trying to put a cheerful countenance upon a truly depressing situation.

"If you don't mind a suggestion, Jones, I'd say that it's better not to talk of what you aren't likely to get," put in Phil Way, a little soberly. "Just some of that ham and bread and butter and beans sounds good to me. So if Billy will make some coffee we can go into camp pretty comfortably right here. In the morning we can go back, if we can't do anything else."

"Gee! I always did like chicken, though!" persisted Jones, as if Melancholy had marked him for her own, and there was no remedy for his feelings but the refreshment he mentioned.

"Here, too! If we had a good supper, it would brace us all up," Worth put in.

"Shucks! We'll have a good supper," remonstrated Phil, impatiently. "Who'll get some water? Wish I knew where. Come on, Dave! Likely there's a good, clear creek just over this rise of ground. You make the fire, Paul."

So Way and MacLester started off with a bucket while Chef Billy set to work with his provisions. In five minutes Jones had a bright fire blazing beside an old log, where an open, grassy place offered comfortable seats upon the ground, then he began unloading such baggage as would probably be needed. Yet every minute or two he would trot around to where Worth's supper preparations were in progress, sniffing the air, and smiling in a most delighted state of anticipation. "And won't Way be surprised!" he said. "Just listen to me when he comes back."

At last Phil and Dave did come. They had been obliged to go a long way to reach the valley and the stream they knew must be there, and it was now quite dark.

The embers of the fire glowed brightly, offering a truly comfortable sense of companionship. In the bright glow's midst stood the big coffee pot which had seen service many times before, also a tightly covered, black roasting-pan. The two boys put down the bucket, borne between them on a short pole and Way at once busied himself in opening up a big bale of bedding.

"All-I-wants-is-my-chicken," half sang, half chanted Paul Jones.

"Oh, forget it!" drawled Phil, impatiently, creating a laugh—perhaps because it was not often he descended to plain, unvarnished slang. "You've been talking chicken all day. My! that coffee smells good," he added, just to take the rough edge off his speech.

"A nice drumstick and a slice or two of white meat. U-m-m!" sighed Jones, as if he certainly would expire directly if his wish were not gratified.

An impatient growl from Phil elicited another laugh in which Jones joined with greatest merriment. Then in another moment—

"Come on, here! Get your festal board ready!" commanded Chef Billy and directly he drew the black, covered pan from the coals and lifted the lid. Ah, what savory smell was that! Chicken—roast chicken, and positively no mistake about it.

"Say!" This ejaculation, his face lighted up bright as the blazing coals, was all Phil could muster.

"Well, I guess maybe we're no wizards! No, we're no wizards—nothing like that at all," chirped Paul Jones in his peculiarly happy way. "No! Don't take a wizard to do these little tricks! Don't think it for a minute!"

"Where ever did you get that chicken?" demanded Phil, completely puzzled. "This is what your talking about white meat meant, is it?"

Then they told him how Mrs. Tyler Gleason, whose good friendship they had won out on the farm the year before, sent the chicken, all nicely roasted, expressly for the expedition. All four lads had been at the farm and at the "Retreat" in the ravine on Sunday afternoon and in confidence told Mr. and Mrs. Gleason of their plan to start their journey on Monday. The unexpected but very welcome contribution to their stock of provisions arrived but an hour before the car was loaded. Phil being so busily engaged in putting the blinders over the eyes of the too-confident Trio, had not, of course, known of the gift. The others saved the fowl for supper purposely to surprise him.

"Nothing to do but warm it up, and way off here on the edge of nowhere, we have as fine a roast chicken as ever came down the pike," quoth Billy Worth. And although it must be admitted that any roast chicken pursuing its way upon the pike, or any other roadway, would be nothing short of extraordinary, the fact remains that Mrs. Gleason's offering was all that could be desired.

Always master of ceremonies in such matters, Billy did the carving and a good-sized thimble would have contained all that remained of the roast fowl, apart from the dismembered skeleton, when supper was over. The best way to pick a bone really right up to the last shred, inclusive, never was with knife and fork, anyway.

Ample quantities of coffee, bread and butter and the other good things the regular store of the cheese-box larder afforded, made the entire supper so successful that, on the whole, the boys contemplated their situation with no serious misgivings as they gathered about the campfire. The croaking of the frogs in the broad expanse of swamp and marsh land to the east, the profound quiet, and intense darkness in the woods on either side, the flickering lights and shadows of the blaze before them, were well calculated to inspire dread and apprehension if not downright fear; but so used to depending upon themselves—so self-reliant, therefore, were these four friends that the thought of being fearful or allowing themselves to be uncomfortable on account of their lonely surroundings, lost though they practically were, did not occur to one of them. So much, then, for the worth of a clear conscience and the habit of self-confidence.

And again, notwithstanding their somber surroundings and the annoying lack of knowledge as to their precise whereabouts, the four friends were by no means without equipment to make themselves quite comfortable. Long winter evening discussions, plans and preparations had not been for nothing. Even to rubber-covered sleeping bags which, just as an experiment, perhaps, would have made a pouring rain something to be invited rather than feared, the camp and touring outfit was complete. Just for one night it was not worth while to put up the tent or to unpack a large part of the car's load, but blankets to spread upon the ground, others for covering, and a tarpaulin for the car, were all within easy reach.

Drowsiness came early, under the influence of the fire's genial warmth and in the midst of Paul's voluble discourse on the probable extent of time lost, due to losing the road, the other boys drew their blankets over them and with a laugh bade him good-night. There being "nothing else for P. Jones, Esquire, to do," as he himself expressed it, he, also "sought the arms of Morpherus Nodinski."

Again quoting the words of "P. Jones, Esquire," it must be "that frogs sleep all day, for how else can they stay up to holler all night?" Certainly there was little diminishing of the weird clamor from the marshes as the night advanced. All else was still as death. Not even an owl disturbed the forest's dark solitude.

And the Auto Boys slept on. The greater part of the night had passed, but no glimmer of dawn had yet appeared when there came suddenly like a wail of dire distress, louder far than the frogs' deep croaking, a long drawn-out cry—"Help!" And again and yet again, "Help! Help!"

Dave was the first awakened. The second call completely roused him and he had the whole camp astir in another five seconds. Once more, and thrice repeated, came the wailing, drawn-out cry.

CHAPTER VI

ON TO THE GOLD CUP RACES

"Yes, sir, they have went. I don't know nothing else about it," spoke the young fellow employed as general utility man in Knight & Wilder's garage. His principal work consisted of polishing metal and pumping up tires, but laboring under an impression that he was an automobile salesman, he put on very swaggering airs. Just now he affected scarcely to notice three boys who made inquiry concerning the proposed tour of Phil Way and his friends.

Mr. Knight, coming up at the moment, told the important young gentleman in an undertone that his deportment in the establishment was not that of publicity. Such being the case, he sent the youth to gather up some tools which a touring party had borrowed and left lying on the curb, as was certainly very good of them and very honest.

Then Mr. Knight quizzed the three lads, who were none other than Gaines, Pickton and Perth. It appeared, he said, with a sly smile, that Phil Way and his party had gone away on a trip. Then he asked them about their own plans, but they knew his friendliness toward the four chums too well to divulge a great deal. Still, they could not help showing the chagrin they felt upon learning that the Auto Boys had really departed the preceding day.

Seeing their ill-humor in the matter the senior partner of the establishment made various remarks to the effect that none but the most active and alert individuals could expect to cope successfully with such clever chaps as Billy Worth, Phil Way, MacLester and Jones. Indeed, he was of the opinion, he said, that no one—referring to no person in particular, of course—but in general, no one,—need feel disturbed if Phil Way and his crowd of fellows did get ahead of him or them; because Phil and Billy and the others were really exceptionally able men,—in fact, quite out of the ordinary with regard to intelligence and good judgment.

The whole effect of Mr. Knight's discourse, as he no doubt intended, was to make Gaines really sour, Pickton's vanity decidedly ruffled and Freddy Perth deeply humiliated, sick at heart and ready to admit that he was no match for such fellows as Way had gathered about him.

"Oh, come on!" growled Pick, at last, and when a half minute later the three were again in Gaines' Roadster at the curb outside, he slammed in the clutch so violently that Soapy just escaped being thrown out. To the Automobile Club, to the Park Garage,—to all places they considered in the remotest degree likely to afford information of the direction the Auto Boys had taken, the Trio went.

With furious impatience but still vainly, they hustled from one end of the city to another. Repeatedly they drove past Dr. Way's residence, as if to make sure, time after time, that none of the four friends was about the green and yellow shed. All they could learn was that the chums had driven away, their car laden as if they meant to go to the Pacific Coast, at least, the preceding afternoon.

"I thought it was funny that only Way and Jones went to the ball game. And they did it just for a blind, too!" said Pickton grimly.

"You thought nothing of the kind!" growled Gaines. "Least if you did, it's a fine time to be telling it!"

"Well, I guess they haven't seen the last of us yet, anyway, eh?" Pick answered in that way in which he so often knuckled to Soapy's humor, leading that young gentleman on to do the thing he himself most wished to do.

"I should rather guess they hadn't," Gaines responded, as if the idea of pursuit were wholly his own,—"I'll show 'em a trick or two yet."

"The first thing is to find out where they are; at least, which way they went," put in Perth, quietly.

Gaines turned on him angrily. "What's that got to do with it? You leave that to me!" he said.

And while it would appear that the information Fred mentioned was, under all the circumstances, quite essential and really did have quite a great deal to do with the case, that young gentleman made only a wry face in answer. Soapy did not see him. Quite possibly Perth did not intend that he should.

In fruitless running from place to place the three boys spent the day. Repeatedly were they on the verge of falling out with one another completely. Only because Pickton bore Gaines' insolence in silence, or turned it aside by some flattering or cajoling remark, did these two get on at all in this time of trouble and disappointment,—the sort of time that really measures friendships and motives.

Perth was content to have little to say, usually accepting the suggestions and remarks of the others without comment. He drove the car, for the most part, and as he liked it very much, earnestly hoped the proposed long trip following after the Auto Boys would not be abandoned.

Wednesday came and the Trio, glum and despondent, talked a great deal, again came very near to serious quarreling, and achieved nothing. And now the objects of their chiefest interest and the cause of their chagrin were two days upon their way. But whither?

"'Three stones piled on top of each other to mark the place,'" mused Pickton over and over again. "They think they have something great in sight, but I'll bet they don't know exactly what, any more than we do. And they think they're so plagued smart! We've just got to take some of the conceit out of 'em."

"That's what!" Soapy Gaines asserted, but rather dubiously.

"Might as well talk in our sleep, for all the good just talk's doing," Perth was moved at last to say with some asperity; and his views would appear to be not far wrong. However, he was called a pessimist, or some other word amounting to the same thing, by Pickton, while Soapy insisted quite violently, "You leave that to me."

The fact that the Auto Boys had disappeared almost as if by magic and at a time when their machine was supposed to be indefinitely laid up for repairs, Pickton and Gaines were obliged reluctantly to admit.

That their intention of following after the chums looked more and more ridiculous as the hours passed, and they had no notion whatever as to the direction they should take, was something of which they did not care to be reminded. Yet it is likely that for want of any clue whatever, and their inability to find one,—for none of the three was particularly resourceful,—the Chosen Ones would have been forced to abandon their scheme at last, but for the merest chance by which some valuable information came to them.

Early on Thursday Freddy Perth sat looking over the morning paper while Soapy and Pick were starting a fresh discussion of the necessity of taking some of the conceit out of someone, needless to mention whom. The three were on the lawn at Perth's home. The Roadster stood at the curb.

MARSHAL MIRED

SAGERSGROVE OFFICIAL PULLED OUT OF SWAMP BY YOUTHS HE PURSUED.

The foregoing headlines came to Fred's notice as he tried to read while still following the conversation of his two friends, thread-bare though their subject now assuredly was. Half mechanically at first, then with lively interest he noted the following:

"Sagersgrove, June—In a light automobile in which they had set out to overtake and arrest four youthful tourists from Lannington who passed through Sagersgrove yesterday, Marshal Wellock and Eli Gouger, the latter a self-appointed detective, plunged over a bank into Cowslip marshes west of here last night. Both were buried to their necks in mire.

"The locality is practically a wilderness and the automobile would have settled beyond recovery in the swamp but for the merest accident of assistance being quickly obtained. The touring party the officers were after had encamped on a ridge of high land a half-mile beyond and responded to the cries for aid. Wellock and Gouger were able to drag themselves out of the marsh and the car of the tourists pulled their automobile out when only the seat remained above mud. Marshal Wellock was saved the necessity of arresting his rescuers for it developed that his suspicion that the youths had stolen their car was unfounded. The four strangers had themselves taken the marsh road by mistake. They were piloted to the State pike by the officers."

Having read this interesting item through twice, the second time very slowly and thoughtfully, Freddy Perth again listened to the conversation of Pickton and Gaines. They still discussed the possible whereabouts of the Auto Boys.