“No use!” exclaimed Bob, when convinced that their efforts were fruitless. “We’ll have to get something to smash in the door.”
The boys looked around them, and Bob’s eyes lighted on a heavy joist that had been left there by some workmen on the railroad near by.
“The very thing!” cried Bob, picking up one end. “Here, Joe, grab it up near the other end and we’ll use it as a battering ram.”
Joe was stooping to comply when a horrified cry came from Jimmy.
“Fire!” he shouted. “The automobile’s on fire!”
Joe and Bob followed the direction of Jimmy’s pointing finger, and their hearts seemed to stand still as they saw a line of fire leaping along the car from the broken gasoline tank.
And while they stood gazing at the awful menace, it may be well, for the benefit of those who have not read the preceding volumes of this series, to tell who the boys are and trace their adventure up to the time this story opens.
All the boys were residents of the town of Clintonia, a prosperous, wide-awake community, pleasantly located on the banks of the Shagary River, about a hundred miles away from New York City. Bob, who was about sixteen years old, was the son of the leading druggist of Clintonia, a man much respected by his fellow citizens and a foremost figure in civic activities. Bob was a general favorite because of his frank and sunny nature and his straightforward character. The elder people liked him, and among the younger element he was the natural leader, ever to the front in baseball, football and other youthful sports. He was tall for his age, of dark complexion and with eyes that always looked straight at one without fear or favor. His courage had been tested too often to admit any doubt of its quality. He was cool and resourceful, and never avoided trouble, though he did not go out of his way to find it.
His closest chum and companion was Joe Atwood, fair-complexioned and blue-eyed, who, though he resembled Bob in being manly and likable, had a hot temper that often got him into trouble and would have done so oftener had it not been for the cooler disposition and counsel of Bob. Joe’s father was a prosperous physician of the town. The two boys were inseparable.
They were not exclusive, however, and had as congenial companions two slightly younger boys, Herb Fennington and Jimmy Plummer. Herb’s father kept the largest general store in town. Herb could scarcely be described as a chip off the old block, for while his father was industrious, Herb dearly loved his ease, and would have passed work by without a greeting if he had met it on the street.