The board came up easily. Four bolts held the lid of the transmission case but were readily removed with Chick-chick's pocket wrench.
"Now we'll pack in something soft. Clog up the gears without breaking 'em."
"What good will that do—except make him mad."
"Help us out—it will. He isn't enough mechanic to find out why can't run. Off he goes town after help. Leaves us here do as we please. We know where trouble is. Fix it. Off we go."
There was plenty of soft material to feed into the transmission case. The car pulled unsteadily and stopped. The boys cautiously replaced the board in the floor and awaited developments. They could hear J. Jervice tinkering around, examining brakes and wheels and everything but the transmission.
"Hey, you!" he called after a few minutes. "You inside there! D'ye hear me?"
Then as it probably occurred to him that he could expect no great volubility from a gagged prisoner he continued:
"I've broke down an' I'm goin' to git help. When I bring a mechanic back don't ye try makin' no racket or it'll be the worse for ye."
The first positive assurance that he had gone was when Apple came up on the motorcycle, lifted the bar and opened the doors. It did not take them long to scramble out.
The world looked very beautiful to the eyes of Glen Mason after his hours of real peril and imprisonment. It was fine to be able once more to stretch out and shake loose every little muscle, to be able to draw in a long breath, just as deep as one wanted, free from the muffling of a foul mouth gag. The world was a good old place in which to live and surely Glen would henceforth try to live in it in an appreciable manner.