By going ahead and backing half a dozen times, Tom at last managed to get the touring car headed the other way. Then he put on speed once more and they raced off to where they had made the false turn.
But all this had taken time and as a consequence, although they ran along the other highway at a speed of nearly forty miles an hour, they saw nothing of the auto-stage which had gone on ahead.
"I guess this is Stockbridge," was Dick's comment, a little later, as they came in sight of a straggling village. Several buggies and farm wagons were in sight and likewise a couple of cheap automobiles, but nothing that looked like a stage.
"Has the auto-stage from Fernwood got in yet?" questioned Sam of a storekeeper who sat in a tilted chair under the wooden awning of his establishment.
"Yes, it got in some time ago," was the drawled-out reply of the storekeeper.
"Then has it gone on to Riverview?" queried Dick.
"Reckon it has, stranger."
"Do you know if any passengers got off here?" asked Tom.
"Anybody else?"