TOM ON THE TRAIL
In spite of the fact that his sister thought it hard that Tom Cameron had not returned to the stalled auto by dark, the lad was having no easy time.
In the first place, he had not run a mile on the road to Severn Corners when he stepped on a pebble, turned his ankle sharply, and had to hobble the rest of the way at a much slower pace than he had expected.
All the time, too, Tom was troubled about the uncertainty of there being at the Corners any repair shop. He knew it was a small settlement. At most, the repair garage would be very small, and perhaps the mechanic a mere country "jack-of-all-trades," who would fumble the job.
To obtain a car to drag his own into the town was beyond the boy's hopes, and when he came at last to a comfortable looking farmhouse some half a mile that side of the settlement, he determined to see if he could not obtain a pair of horses from the farmer, to get the car to the hamlet.
He approached the back door of the house without seeing anybody about. It was already growing dark, he had hobbled so slowly on the road. As he stepped upon the porch, Tom heard a sudden furious barking inside the house.
"Welcome to our city!" he muttered. "If nobody's at home but that savage beast, I'm likely to fare about as Roberto did at that farmhouse 'way back on the road by Culm Falls."
But he ventured to rap upon the door. It was one of those old-fashioned doors which opens in two parts. The upper half swung outward, but the lower remained bolted.
Lucky for Tom Cameron this was so. A great, shaggy beast, with gleaming fangs and slobbering jaws, appeared over the ledge, scratching with his strong claws to get out at the intruder.
"What do you want?" demanded a shrill voice from somewhere behind the excited brute. "We ain't got nothin' for tramps."
"I should say you most certainly had something for tramps, Madam," said Tom, when he could make himself heard. "Any tramp would run from that fellow."
"I don't see you running. But you better," advised the woman, who was thin-faced, scant of hair, and had a voice about as pleasant as a whip-saw going through a knot.
"But I am not a tramp, I assure you, Madam," said Tom, politely.
"Huh! ye look it," declared the woman, without any politeness at all.
And the boy did look rather dilapidated. He had gotten more than a little wet in the first of the shower, and he had pawed around among the "internal arrangements" of the balky auto to such purpose, that he was disheveled and oil-streaked from head to foot.
"I'm in disguise just now, Ma'am," laughed Tom, cheerfully. "But really, I have not come begging either food or lodging. Is your husband at home?"
"Yes, he is. And he'll be here in a minute and chase ye off the place—ef ye don't scat at once," said the woman, sourly. "He wouldn't hold back this dog, now, I tell ye."
"Please believe me, Madam," urged Tom, "that I am better than I appear. Our car broke down on the road yonder, and I have come to see if I can hire a team of horses to drag it into the Corners."
"Car? What kind of a car? Ain't no railroad here," she said, suspiciously.
The dog had barked himself breathless by now and they could talk a little easier. Tom smiled, as he replied:
"Huh! why didn't ye say so?" she demanded. "Tryin' to fool me. It's bad enough ter drive one o' them abominations over people's roads, but tryin' to make out ye air on a train—though, land o' Goshen! some of ye make 'em go as fast as airy express I ever see. Wal! what about your ortermobile?"
"It's broken down," said Tom, feeling that he had struck the wrong house, after all, if he expected help.
"I'm 'tarnal glad of it!" snapped the farmer's wife. "Nuthin' could please me better. Las' time I went to town one o' them plagued nuisances come hootin' erlong an' made the old mare back us clean inter the ditch—an' I broke a dozen an' a ha'f of aigs right in the lap of my new bombazeen dress. Drat 'em all, I say!"
"I am very sorry, Ma'am, that the accident occurred. But I can assure you I was not the cause of it," Tom said, quietly, and stifling a great desire to laugh. "I wish only to get your husband to help me with his team—and I will pay him well."
"Huh! what d'ye call well?" she demanded. "A boy like you ain't likely to have much money."
Thus brought to a "show down," Tom promptly pulled out his billcase and opened it in the light that streamed out of the doorway. The woman could see that he carried quite a bundle of notes—and that they were not all single dollar bills!
"Land o' Goshen!" she ejaculated. "Where'd you steal all that money, ye young ruffian? I thought there was suthin' mighty bad about you when I fust set eyes on ye."
This was a compliment that Tom Cameron had not been looking for! He was certainly taken aback at the woman's words, and before he could make any response, she raised her voice and began to shout for "Sam!"
"Crickey!" thought the boy, "I hope Sam will have a better opinion of me than she does, or I'm likely to get into trouble."
He began to back off the porch, and had his ankle not pained him so, he certainly would have set off on a run. Perhaps it is well he did not try this, however, for the woman cried:
"You move a step off'n thet platform before Sam Blodgett comes an' I'll open the lower ha'f of this door and let the dawg loose on ye!"
Then she bawled for her husband again, and pretty soon a shouted response came from the direction of the barns. Then a lantern flickered and swung, and Tom knew the man was coming toward the house.
He appeared—a short, heavy-set man, barefooted, and with a pail of milk in one hand and the lantern in the other.
"What's the matter, Sairy?" he demanded.
"Who's this?"
"Thet's what I wanter know," snapped the woman. "It 'pears like he's one o' these runaway boys ye read about in the papers—an' he's stole some money."
"I haven't either!" cried Tom, in some exasperation. "I don't have to steal money—or anything else, I hope. I showed her that I had some money, so that she would believe I could pay you for some work I wanted done——"
"What work?" interposed the farmer.
Tom told him about the stalled auto and what he wanted.
"How much'll ye give?" shot in the farmer, right to the point.
"What do you ask to drag the machine to town—to the Corners, I mean?"
"If it's where ye say it is, ten dollars!"
"All right," agreed the boy. "Your wife knows I have the money. I'll pay you when we get to the Corners."
"I know ye got the money," said the woman. "But I don't know how ye got it. And if you've got an ortermobile, too, I bet ye stole that!"
"You hesh up, Sairy," advised Mr. Blodgett. "No need of your sp'ilin' a trade. Gimme my supper. I'll hafter eat b'fore I go with ye, young man."
"Oh, all right," sighed Tom, remembering how the girls must be very much frightened by this time.
The man tramped into the house with the milk and the lantern. Neither he nor his wife asked Tom inside—or mentioned supper to him. The woman put it steaming on the table and Tom—like the dog—might stand and look on.
At last the farmer was finished. "Guess the team's eat by now," he remarked, and came out with the lantern hung on his arm. All this time the dog had had "fits and starts" of wanting to get at Tom and eat him up. Now he slipped past his master and ran at the visitor with a savage growl.
The boy had no idea of being made the supper of the brute, no matter how hungry Fido might be. So he kicked out and barely touched him. Instantly the brute set up a terrible "ki-yi-ing!" and shot off the porch and disappeared into the darkness. Evidently the Blodgetts kept the animal for its bark, for it did not have the pluck of a woodchuck!
"Come on," advised Sam, as the woman began to rail again. "She's wound up an' ain't likely to run down again for a week. You sure you wanter pay ten dollars for this job?"
"I'm sure I will pay that for it, whether I want to or not," declared Tom, with confidence.
"Aw right. We'll be movin'. Maybe another shower by'm'by, an' I sha'n't wanter be out in it."
"We'll go just as fast as you want to," said Tom, hobbling along to the stables. "I won't keep you back, Mr. Blodgett."
"You're lame, I see," said the man, not unkindly. "You kin straddle one of the hosses if you like."
Tom was glad enough to do this, and in a few minutes they were going back over the dark track Tom had come, the harness jingling from the horses' hames, and Mr. Blodgett trudging sturdily along by the animals' heads.
They came to the top of the ridge from which the stalled car had last been seen by Tom. "There are the lights!" he cried.
He was glad to see them. They shone cheerfully in the dark, and he had no idea that the girls were in any trouble.
But when they got down to the bottom of the hill there was neither sign nor sound of the two girls. Tom shouted at the top of his voice. He searched the car all over for some written word. He saw that the girls had carried off only their own personal belongings and nothing else.
What could it mean? Surely no thieves had come this way, or the car would have been stripped of everything portable, and of value. At least, so it seemed to Master Tom. He was not wise enough to suspect that the goods in the car had been left alone to mislead him. The Gypsies had been after bigger game than a few dollars' worth of auto furnishings.
"Come now!" exclaimed Sam Blodgett. "I can't wait here all night. I only agreed to drag the car ter town."
"But where could those girls have gone? My sister and Ruth Fielding?"
"Ye ain't payin' me ter be no detectif," drawled the man. "Come! Shell I hitch on?"
"Oh, yes! I don't know what else to do," groaned the boy. "I've got to get the car fixed first of all. Then I will find help and follow the girls."
The farmer was as unsympathetic as a man possibly could be. He started the car and let Tom ride in it. But he had no word of advice to give about the absent girls.
Perhaps, like his wife, he believed that Tom was not honest, that the car was stolen, and that Tom's companions were mythical!
They rolled into Severn Corners at ten o'clock. Of course, in a hamlet of that kind, there was scarcely a light burning. Tom had learned from Blodgett that the local blacksmith sometimes "monkeyed with ortermobiles that come erlong busted."
So he had the farmer draw the car to the door of the blacksmith shop.
"Sim lives right next door, there," said Blodgett, preparing to depart. "Mebbe ye kin wake him up an' convince him he'd oughter mend yer contraption in the middle of the night. But Sim Peck is constable, too, so mebbe ye won't keer ter trouble him," and the farmer drove away with a chuckle.
This news was, however, important to Tom. A constable was just about the man he most wanted to see. It had dawned on the boy's mind that his sister and Ruth had gotten into trouble, and he must find help for them.
The street of the village was dark. This was one of the nights when the moon was booked to shine, but forgot to! The town fathers evidently lit the street lights only when the almanac said there was to be no moon.
Tom removed one of the headlights and found his way to the door of the cottage next to the smithy. There was neither bell nor knocker, but he thundered at the panel with right good will, until he heard a stir in a chamber above. Finally a blind opened a little way and a sleepy voice inquired what he wanted.
"Are you the blacksmith, sir?" asked Tom.
"Huh? Wal! I should say I was. But I ain't no doctor," snarled the man above, "and I ain't in the habit of answering night calls. Don't ye see I ain't got no night bell? Go away! you're actin' foolish. I don't shoe hosses this time o' night."
"It's not a horse," explained Tom, near laughter despite his serious feelings. "It's a motor-car."
"Naw, I don't shoe no ortermobile, neither!" declared the man, and prepared to close the blind.
"Say, Mister!" shouted Tom. "Do come down. I need you——"
"If I come down thar, I won't come as no blacksmith, nor no mechanic. I'll come as the constable and run ye in—ye plaguey whipper-snapper!"
"All right," cried Tom, fearing he would shut the blind. "Come down as constable. I reckon I need you in that character more than any other."
"I believe ye do!" exclaimed the man, angrily. "If you air there when I git on my pants, you'll take a walk to the callaboose. None o' you young city sports air goin' to disturb the neighborhood like this—not if I know it!"
Meanwhile, Tom could hear him stirring around, tumbling over the chairs in the dark, and growling at his boots, and otherwise showing his anger. But the boy was desperate, and he stood still until the man appeared—tin star pinned to his vest.
"Wal, by gravey!" exclaimed the blacksmith-constable. "Ain't you a reckless youngster ter face up the majesty of the law in this here way?"
Tom saw that, after all, the constable was grinning, and was not such an ill-natured fellow, now that he was really awake. The boy plunged into his story and told it with brevity, but in detail.
"Why, I see how it is, youngster," said the man. "You're some scart about your sister and that other girl. But mebbe nothing's happened 'em at all."
"But where have they gone?"
"I couldn't tell you. We'll make search. But we've got to have something to travel in, and if it don't take too long to fix your auto, we'll travel in that."
Of course, this was good sense, and Tom saw it, impatient as he was. The constable laid aside the vest with the badge of office upon it, and the blacksmith proceeded to open his forge and light a fire and a lantern. Then he listened to Tom's explanation of what had happened to the car, and went to work.
Fortunately the damage was not serious, and the blacksmith was not a bad mechanic. Therefore, in an hour and a half he closed the smithy again, removing his apron, and the constable donned his vest and got into the car beside the troubled Tom.
"Now let her out, son!" advised the official. "You've got all the law with ye that there is in this section, and ye kin go as fast as ye please."
Tom needed no urging. He shot the repaired car over the road at a pace that would have made his sister and her chum scream indeed!
Once at the bottom of the hill where the car had been stalled, they stopped and got out, each taking a lantern by the constable's advice. Blodgett and his horses had done their best to trample out the girls' footsteps, but there had been no other vehicle along the road, and the searchers managed to find footprints of the girls at one side.
"Sure them's them?" asked Mr. Peck.
"You can see they are not the prints of men's shoes," said Tom, confidently.
"Right ye air! And here's another woman's shoe—only larger. They went away with some woman, that's sure."
"A woman?" muttered Tom, greatly amazed. "Whoever could she be—and where have they gone with her?"