"Shucks, you don't say so!" exclaimed Nat. "Whatever in the wide world do you think can have happened to him?"
"Perhaps he's been bit by a mad dog!" suggested Toby.
"Might a' been a rattlesnake; I've heard tell about lots of the critters being found up this way. One man used to hunt 'em just for the skins and the rattlesnake oil he got. Some people say it's mighty fine for rheumatism; and athletes use it a heap. Say, Elmer, what d'ye think?" Nat went on.
"Oh, nothing like all that stuff," chuckled the other. "Henry has just sprained his ankle, I reckon, and is getting it bound up. That eliminates all the Fairfield contestants but one—Felix Wagner."
"And him the most dangerous of the bunch!" muttered Toby.
"How does it come on, Elmer; think you can get it fixed? Gee, I hope so, because I'd sure hate to drop out now!" said Nat.
"It's going to be all right; just give me three minutes more, and I'll have it in shape for a long run," came the reply.
"Oh, that sounds good to me!" declared Nat; "because I do want to be in at the finish"; and secretly behind Elmer's back he doubled up his fist, showed it to Toby and the two conspirators grinned and nodded, as though they had their minds fully made up as to what they meant to do if the chance opened.
Elmer knew what he was saying when he made that promise. By the time the three minutes were up he handed the motorcycle over to its owner.
"There you are, Nat; give the engine a tryout," he said.