“Funny we didn’t see Bully around town, Clan. He usually sports around in his gay duds on Sunday, and runs an old car he bought second-hand. The colonel sticks to horses, but Bully likes to make an impression with his car.”
“I guess Merry gave him a black eye last night,” said Clancy. “That may account for his failure to sport around. I guess the whole crowd is laying low and keeping quiet for the present.”
Billy grunted, but relapsed into silence.
The Orton road was a rough one, and after the first mile Clancy had to slow down a bit. They were going directly away from the railroad, and as they proceeded without seeing any trace of the garage car, they found that the country lost its prosperous aspect, and became a good deal rougher and wilder.
More than once they passed rocky farms that had been abandoned years before, although the flowering orchards around Carsonville had proved that, with industry and skill, the country could be made productive.
Mile after mile reeled off without any token of their quarry, other than tracks of auto tires in the road, which might have been left by any one of a dozen machines. At length they topped a rise and saw Orton itself, two miles farther on. It was a miserably small place, and Clancy’s heart sank.
“There’d be an elegant place to hold Merry prisoner,” said Billy, pointing to a deserted farmhouse that stood back from the road to one side. It was the fifth place he had pointed out with the same idea, and Clancy grunted.
“You’re off, Billy. I don’t believe Merry was ever in this jay town. There’s nothing to it but a blacksmith shop and a couple of stores.”
“But don’t you think that’s what’s happened?” persisted Billy Mac.
“No, I don’t. Chip may have been lured away, all right, but Colonel Carson has too much gumption to work that kind of a racket, according to my notion. No hotel here, is there?”