THE CHASE ON THE MOTOR-BIKE
The boys felt the importance of their commission as they rode away from the camp on the motorcycle. They had no difficulty picking up the track of the autocar. It ran directly to the village and on through.
"Let's find out what the old car looks like," suggested Apple. "Maybe, too, they can tell us just how long ago it passed."
There was no difficulty in getting a description of the car—one enthusiastic person even went so far as to detail all the various articles advertised by J. Jervice for sale.
"How many people were riding?" asked Apple.
"A little man at the steering wheel and a big fellow perched up next to him."
"Didn't you see a boy on it?"
"No boy anywhere unless he was inside. Of course we couldn't tell about inside. It's jest like a wagon in a circus parade—nice paint on the outside an' the inside left to yore 'magination."
"Two men on the wagon—one a big fellow!" exclaimed Apple, as they left the fount of information. "We'll have to be pretty careful what we do."
"Sure will," agreed Chick-chick. "They got over an hour's start, so we'll have to go some—Hello, have they been stopping here?"
"Looks like it. There's marks that show a man got off the car."
"The big man," said Chick-chick. "Look where the tracks are headed, Apple. He's gone back to the village. Didn't get back on car at all. Good for us."
Chick-chick had correctly guessed. After J. Jervice and his car were safely through the village the big man had alighted.
"I'm goin' back to lie aroun' an' meet the other fellows," he said to Jervice. "You beat it along with your car. You can stop an' do a little tradin' when ye get to the next county. That'll prove you wasn't anywheer around if anythink should happen to-night. But be sure you git rid of the kid an' start back so's to git here by midnight."
Apple and Chick-chick took up the trail with renewed confidence now that they felt they had only Jervice to reckon with. They had seen him at the scout camp last Sunday and had no great respect for his dimensions or prowess.
It was late in the afternoon when first they saw the peddler's car in the road ahead.
"Let's trail along kind o' slow and watch him awhile," suggested Apple. "Maybe he'll be stopping somewhere."
As it happened this guess was well founded. Mr. J. Jervice had two reasons for stopping. One was that he wanted himself to be seen a good, long distance away from the bank, so that he could prove that he was far distant from that region if any robbery occurred. The other was a natural cupidity which sorely regretted the necessity of hurriedly passing prosperous farm houses where perfectly good money was all ready to exchange for his wares.
A mile further on a splendid house came into view. Everything about it spelled prosperity—its barns, and silos and windmills and fences all showed that the residents believed in having what they needed and had money to spend on their needs. The bait was irresistible. Mr. Jervice stopped his car at the side of the road, clambered down from his seat and went to lift the bars from the rear door.
Two boys on a motorcycle ditched their wheel a hundred yards away and crept cautiously up.
"He's going to the house to try to sell something," whispered Apple. "We must keep him from locking those back doors so we can look inside."
"We sure will," vowed Chick-chick.
Crouching in the bushes at the side of the road their pulses throbbed in great excitement as they observed that the peddler addressed some one inside the car. His tone was low so they did not catch the words, but they heard a mumble and saw his cruel laugh.
"We'll teach him to laugh," whispered Chick-chick.
"But supposing he shuts and locks that rear door before he goes up to the house."
"That's up to us. We'll watch him. If he locks it we must catch him as he goes through that orchard and get the key away."
They watched in great anxiety. Mr. Jervice closed the rear doors of his van and put the heavy bars in their slots, but, secure in the isolation of his surroundings, he did not apply the padlock. Wherein, Mr. Jervice committed a grievous error.
Scarcely was he concealed within the orchard than the two scouts rushed to the car, lifted the bar and swung back the door. There lay their new comrade, helplessly trussed and gagged, faint and weary with the close confinement, almost ready to collapse.
"Water!" he gasped, as Apple took the gag from his mouth. "Get me a drink."
Apple was able to supply him from his canteen, and even as he held it to the parched lips, Chick-chick was slashing the cords that had been drawn needlessly tight.
"I think I can manage this little old machine, I can," announced Chick-chick. "Apple, you can run my bike. Go back and get it."
"Rub my wrists where the cords cut, while he's gone," Glen begged. "That fellow that tied me up—he's a thief, that's what he is. He pulled 'em tighter just to see me wince."
He was too cramped to stand on his feet so Chick-chick kneeled down at his side to rub some circulation into his wrists and ankles. Suddenly a great noise of running was heard. Chick-chick looked out through the crack of the door.
"It's the peddler," he declared. "He's running like a bull was chasing him, he is. He's headed straight for the car."
"We'll give him a surprise," said Glen. "Probably he's run on to somebody who knows that he's a thief and they're after him. I'll just lie the way I was and you stand where the door will hide you."
Glen missed his guess in one important trifle. J. Jervice did not wait to be surprised. He was in such terror that he waited for nothing. He threw a pack in at the door, slammed it, dropped the bar in place with the incredible swiftness of long practice and in less than a minute had his motor cranked and the car in motion.
Coming up on the motorcycle a minute later Apple saw the car disappearing around a turn in the road, and wildly chasing it a puffing, panting old man, brandishing a heavy club.
The positions of the scouts were changed for the better, but they yet were a long distance from freedom. Instead of Glen tied and gagged in the car with Chick-chick and Apple following on the motorcycle, Apple now was following alone, while, imprisoned in the car, were both Glen and Chick-chick with the fortunate difference that the gag and bonds were removed.
"We're shut in," whispered Chick-chick. "Pretty mess I made of rescue, I did."
"No mess at all," said Glen. "I'm free now and ready for anything, or shall be when I get some circulation in my feet and hands. Can't move till then, anyway. What d'ye s'pose Apple's doing?"
"Following us along, Apple is, you bet. When he gets a chance he'll help us out, he will. Say, what's loose board here?"
"I don't know," replied Glen. "It's got a ring in it like it might be intended to be lifted up."
"Bet I know," said Chick-chick. "I reckon the transmission case is just below here, an' this is fixed to lift out so you can see transmission without crawling underneath."
"It wouldn't make a big enough hole to let us out, would it?" asked Glen.
"No, it wouldn't. But if I can get to that transmission I can stop car—won't run little bit."
"Could you start it again?"
"Depend on what I did to gears."
"Let's try it."
The board came up easily. Four bolts held the lid of the transmission case but were readily removed with Chick-chick's pocket wrench.
"Now we'll pack in something soft. Clog up the gears without breaking 'em."
"What good will that do—except make him mad."
"Help us out—it will. He isn't enough mechanic to find out why can't run. Off he goes town after help. Leaves us here do as we please. We know where trouble is. Fix it. Off we go."
There was plenty of soft material to feed into the transmission case. The car pulled unsteadily and stopped. The boys cautiously replaced the board in the floor and awaited developments. They could hear J. Jervice tinkering around, examining brakes and wheels and everything but the transmission.
"Hey, you!" he called after a few minutes. "You inside there! D'ye hear me?"
Then as it probably occurred to him that he could expect no great volubility from a gagged prisoner he continued:
"I've broke down an' I'm goin' to git help. When I bring a mechanic back don't ye try makin' no racket or it'll be the worse for ye."
The first positive assurance that he had gone was when Apple came up on the motorcycle, lifted the bar and opened the doors. It did not take them long to scramble out.
The world looked very beautiful to the eyes of Glen Mason after his hours of real peril and imprisonment. It was fine to be able once more to stretch out and shake loose every little muscle, to be able to draw in a long breath, just as deep as one wanted, free from the muffling of a foul mouth gag. The world was a good old place in which to live and surely Glen would henceforth try to live in it in an appreciable manner.
"Look here, fellows," said Chick-chick. "I know all about this old wagon. I can make it go ramblin' right along; handle it so it's perfectly tame an' gentle—take the bit nice an' stand 'thout hitchin'. What d 'ye say? Do we make the horsey go for Mr. Jervice?"
"You mean run away with it?" asked Apple. "That wouldn't be right, would it?"
"You don't know much 'bout this gang, Apple. Brick's been telling me. He's found out about 'em, Brick has. Regular band o' thieves, they are."
"Thieves!" exclaimed Apple. "No wonder they acted mean."
"No wonder. Wonder is they did no worse, it is. They think they're going rob Buffalo Center bank to-night. We'll show 'em, we will."
"Would taking their car away stop them?"
"It would be apt to hinder," said Glen. "I think Jervice carries their kit in his wagon and they depend on him to get their stuff hauled away."
"Take away their little old wagon sure will bother 'em."
"What would you do with it?"
"Turn it round. Run back to Buffalo Center and give sheriff."
"All right," agreed Apple. "You'll have to get busy if you want to get it back before dark. I suppose I'll have to ride the motor-bike."
"Reckon you're elected, Apple. Brick can't ride it, an' I can't run more 'n one at a time."
"Well, I'll not get far ahead of you. I'll keep you in sight, anyway."