In a few minutes more the pair were on the way, Hiram Duff gazing after them anxiously.
"Don't forget to let me hear from you!" he called out.
"Songbird, this is terrible!" murmured Sam, as they drove on. "I wish Dick was here to advise me."
"He'll come as quickly as he can, don't worry about that, Sam. I only hope we catch Tom before he gets too far away."
About a mile was covered along the road leading to Hoopville, a small village, the single industry of which was the making of barrel hoops. Then they came to another farmhouse, where they saw a boy of fifteen sitting on a horse-block, whittling a stick.
"Hello, there!" called out Sam. "Say, I'm looking for a young fellow that passed here yesterday. Did you see anything of him? Here is his picture."
"Sure I saw him," answered the boy, after a glance at the photograph. "I drove him over to Morton's Junction."
"Drove him over to Morton's Junction?" repeated Sam. "When?"
"Yesterday afternoon. But we didn't git to the Junction till seven o'clock."
"Where did you go to?"