CHAPTER XX DOWN HILL
"You'd never suspect it was there; would you?"
"Not at first glance."
"And unless we meet with some one who was as clever as the amateur detective that Poe tells about, who looked in the simplest place for the letter instead of in the hardest, we'll be safe," said Paul.
The three chums had just finished carrying out their little plan. Back of the mirror there stuck, half-way out, an envelope bearing in large type the name of an auto firm. It was obviously an envelope meant to contain a circular, but into it Dick had slipped the important papers.
"We'll leave,'em there until we go to sleep in some hotel," he explained, "and then I'll hide them somewhere in the room. But I'm not going to carry them about with me."
"You couldn't come to a wiser decision," declared Paul. "Did you get a new road map?"
"Yes, and a better one than our lame friend took. I'll have a joke with Uncle Ezra when I see him again. I'll send him a bill for two maps, and he'll wonder what's up."
"I don't want to say mean things about your relatives, Dick," began Innis, "but——"
"Go as far as you like!" interrupted the young millionaire. "You can't hurt my feelings by saying anything about Uncle Ezra. What is it?"
"Well, I was just going to remark that he had an awful lot of nerve to try to stop you from saving this Wardell's fortune. Don't you think so yourself?"
"I do, Innis. But you must remember that my uncle is a peculiar man. Money is more to him than anything else. He hates to see it 'wasted,' as he calls it, though I believe in enjoying the good things that money can buy—to a limited extent, of course. But, no doubt, Uncle Ezra feels that he is doing right, that he is well within the law, and that he has a claim on this man's fortune, though I think he got it away from him by unfair means. Or, rather, he is going to try to get it away from him. But he won't if I can stop him."
"That's the way to talk, Dick! But how can your uncle think it is right to send men to search your auto for papers?"
"I suppose because my uncle thinks he has a right to the papers."
"Maybe so," agreed Paul. "But say, if we're going to reach Plattsville by night, we'd better get a move on."
They had come to a halt a little way out of the town, not far from Buffalo, where they had bought a new road map, and secured the envelope into which the legal papers were slipped. They had abandoned the plan of going to Hazelton, when they found out the trick that had been played on them, and were now counting on making Plattsville in time to stay just outside it over night. They did not travel after dark, unless it was to reach some predetermined point of their journey, and on this occasion, as there was no good hotel in Plattsville, they had voted to sleep in the big auto.
Once more they started off, Paul driving, while Dick and Innis overhauled the stores in the "kitchen," in preparation for getting a meal in case they did not find a good restaurant in the next town.
"The beauty of this way of traveling," said Innis, "is that you can do as you please. If you want a course dinner you can get it—if not in one town, then in another. Or if you want simple grub, it's here ready for us."
"That's right," agreed Paul. "It was mighty white of Dick to ask us along."
"I'm sure I was only too glad to have you," said the latter. "I wouldn't have gone alone for a farm; would we, Grit?" and the bulldog barked his answer.
"I guess you're hungry," went on Dick. "Innis, open some of that canned chicken."
"What! Are you going to eat so near supper time?"
"I am not. It's for Grit."
"Shades of Uncle Ezra! What would he say if he were here? Canned chicken for a dog! Oh, the sinful waste!"
"That's just what Uncle Ezra would say if he were here," laughed Dick. "And I half wish he was, so I could tell him what I think of him.
"But there! It's best to keep peace in the family if you can. Uncle Ezra is trying to ruin a young man, financially, and I'm trying to save him. It may come out even in the end, and that will be all right. There you are, Grit!" And the bulldog barked in delight as Dick gave him a generous helping of canned chicken.
"That makes me hungry," called Paul, from the steering seat.
"We'll soon be at Plattsville," answered Dick. "Say, you are hitting up the pace, all right!" he exclaimed, as the big car swung around a curve and careened down the straight road.
"This is a good place to make time," answered Paul.
"Don't get caught in one of those speed traps the old constable was telling us about," warned Innis. "I don't want to waste good money on some justice of the peace."
"I'll be careful," promised Paul, and he slowed down a bit.
They found a good restaurant in Plattsville, and so decided they would not get their own supper, as they were rather weary with the day's journey. The big auto was left outside, and to keep the curious crowd that gathered from going inside it, Dick locked the doors. The legal papers were left in plain sight, and while perhaps an older person might not have taken that risk, the boys thought they were doing the best thing.
Grit was allowed to roam about while the travelers were eating, and later, after Dick and his chums had gone up the street a little way, to buy some things they needed, they missed the dog.
"Why, where is Grit?" asked Dick, as they got in the auto again, to drive to the outskirts of the town, where they decided to "camp" for the night.
"I haven't noticed him since coming from the restaurant," said Paul. "I took it for granted that he was following us."
"So did I," said Innis.
Dick leaped from his seat and went back. There was no sign of his pet, and the waiters said the bulldog had gone out after them.
Dick looked up and down the street. Not far from the restaurant was a stable, setting back some distance, and reached by an alley.
"Maybe he's in there," suggested Paul. "It may remind him of the barracks at Kentfield Academy."
"Maybe," assented Dick. "I'll take a look."
As he neared the stable he heard the muffled barking of a dog. A burly man sauntered out of a shed and demanded:
"Whatcher want here?"
"Have you seen anything of a bulldog?" asked Dick.
"Naw."
"That sounds like my dog barking."
"Aw, that's me own pup. He's allers barking."
Something in the man's manner made Dick suspicious.
"Would you mind letting me see him?" he asked, quietly. "Perhaps my dog got in there by—er—mistake."
"Naw, he ain't there. An' dis is private property—see? You'd better vamoose!"
"I think I'll take a look just the same," insisted Dick. He glanced about and saw that Paul and Innis were coming into the alley. "Reinforcements," thought Dick.
"Did you locate him?" called Paul.
"I think so."
The surly man came forward.
"Hi, Bill!" he called to some one in the shed he had left. "Here's a couple of fresh guys that need lookin' after."
"Oh, we can look after ourselves; thank you," said Dick. Then, raising his voice, he called sharply:
"Here, Grit! Hi, old man!"
A perfect chorus of barks answered him. The young millionaire sprang toward the stable, but before he could reach the door there was the sound of a rattling chain, that seemed to snap. Then came a choking gurgle, and the next moment the door burst open and Grit, leaping and bounding, rushed out.
"Grit!" called Dick.
The dog barked an answer, and then, trailing the broken chain after him, made a rush at the surly man.
"Look out!" called Paul. "If he gets hold of you——"
The man did not stop to hear the rest of the warning. With a leap he made for the shed he had left, pushing his companion before him, and slamming the door shut in time to cause Grit to bound fiercely up against it.
"He's a lucky chap," murmured Innis, while the dog leaped and bounded about the closed portal, barking with rage.
"Here, Grit!" called Dick.
His pet, after a moment of hesitation, and a longing look at the shut door, came to him limping.
"The brutes!" exclaimed Dick, as he saw where his dog had been kicked. "I've a notion to have them arrested."
"It will only make a lot of trouble, and delay us, to testify against them," said Paul. "Let's get out of here."
"I guess that's best," assented Dick. "They tried to keep my dog, though. But you were too much for 'em; eh, Grit?"
The bulldog nearly turned himself inside out trying to wag his short tail, and fawned about his master and the latter's chums.
A crowd had collected at the alley entrance, and through it the boys pushed their way, the assemblage giving respectful room to Grit, who was in no gentle humor. It was plain that the stablemen, seeing a valuable dog, had enticed Grit into the barn—no hard task, since he was fond of horses—and had tried to prevent Dick from recovering his pet.
But all's well that ends well, and soon the trio, with Grit on the seat of honor in front, were speeding to the outskirts of the town, where the auto was drawn to one side of the road, and preparations made to spend the night.
They were off early the next morning. Cleveland was their next big city, and in accordance with Dick's plan they changed their route slightly, taking seldom-traveled roads to throw off any spies whom Uncle Ezra might send after them.
Shortly before noon something occurred which nearly put an end to their journey. They had come through a bad stretch of roads and had ascended a steep hill, at the other side of which, according to a local guide, began a good highway.
"Then we can make some speed!" exclaimed Dick. "We've been crawling all morning."
He was at the wheel, and as he started to descend the slope he looked to see that the brake levers were clear. There were three on the big car—the ordinary foot-pedal brake, a hand one for hard stops, and an emergency that locked all four wheels.
The Last Word started down the slope, and half way to the bottom something snapped.
"What's that?" cried Innis.
"One of the brakes, I'm afraid," answered Dick.
The car gathered speed. The young millionaire had shut off all power and was coasting. Now he reached for the emergency brake, but the handle was loose in his hand.
The hill was steep—the car heavy, and it was acquiring speed. The foot and ordinary hand brake were powerless to check it.
"We're running down hill!" cried Innis.
"That's what we are," agreed Dick, grimly.
As they flashed past a house a man rushed out.
"Look out for that bridge!" he cried, pointing to the foot of the slope. "It's weakened by a flood. You'll never get over it if you hit it that fast!"
His words died away as the car rushed on down hill, Dick vainly trying to check its speed by the two brakes still in commission.