“No,” said Billy anxiously. “We can find out if Merry was here by going to the smithy. The blacksmith lives just behind it.”
Orton was not even large enough to be possessed of a church, it appeared. The little place seemed absolutely desolate in the Sunday afternoon quiet, but as the Hornet drew up in front of the smithy, Clancy saw that the blacksmith was standing under an apple tree, watching them.
Leaping out, the two hastened into the orchard behind the smithy, and proceeded to question the burly smith.
“I couldn’t say,” he responded to their inquiries. “I’ve seen two or three machines go past, but didn’t pay much attention. Mebbe my wife did. Hold on a minute.”
He turned and lifted a shout at the house in the rear. A tired-looking woman came forth, and made response that she had seen Bully Carson’s machine early that morning, but had not noticed the others.
“Bully Carson!” exclaimed Billy, in a low voice. “We’re on the trail, Clancy!”
Clancy considered. If they were to make inquiries through the place, it might be best to leave the Hornet here. Turning to the smith, he found that the latter sold gasoline to the few cars coming through the place, and arranged to leave the Hornet in his care.
Returning to the car, he brought it around behind the smithy, and with Billy made his way to the tree-bordered street. An instant later, Billy clutched his arm.
“I hear a car, Clan! It’s coming this way!”
The two friends stopped, the slow exhaust of a motor car coming clearly from ahead of them. The car came into sight, running slowly toward them. There was a single figure at the wheel.