"No, the woods back of the town, Sam. Say, that's one on me,—as bad as that countryman's struck-by-lightning corner," and Tom grinned, too.
On and on swept the flying machine, the boys watching every rod of the winding road below. Once Tom gave a cry, as they saw a turnout at a distance. But it proved to be nothing but a tinware peddler's wagon. On the ground lay various pieces of tinware, scattering over a distance of fifty feet.
"Look at that!" cried Sam. "He must have had an accident."
"Say, maybe that auto struck his wagon," exclaimed Tom.
"It looks that way," was Dick's comment.
"Shall we land and question him?"
"What's the use? We know the machine came this way. That's enough for the present. We don't want to lose a minute more than is necessary."
"Say, we were chumps that we didn't telephone ahead from Beechwood!" cried Sam. "We might have had that auto stopped when it went through Shepleytown."
"It couldn't be done, for there is no line from Beechwood to Shepleytown," answered Dick. "The line only runs the other way."
The route was now over a dense woods and the boys had to sail slowly, for fear of passing the automobile while the latter was running under the overhanging trees. Once they saw something that looked like an automobile and Dick had to sail in a circle and come back, to make sure. But it proved to be only a two-seated carriage; and they passed on.