“It grows dark early in among the mountains,” remarked Andy. “If the land was level, it would be light enough.”
On they went, passing through several little hamlets. At each of these places they inquired about the auction wagon, and were told that it had passed through, the man driving at almost top speed.
“He is going to get away as far as he can before he puts up for the night,” said Andy. “I do not believe we will catch him until we reach the place at which he is stopping.”
“My trotter is not used to this sort of thing,” said the freight agent. “He is beginning to play out.”
“At the next town we reach we can hire a horse,” said Matt. “And you can go back if you wish. There is no telling how long this chase may last.”
“I ought to be back attending to business,” was the agent’s reply. “My clerk can hardly take my place. Would you two be willing to go on alone?”
“Certainly,” returned Andy.
The next place, a village of perhaps twenty or thirty houses and half a dozen stores, was soon reached. There was a small tavern, and they drove up to this. Alighting, Matt ran inside and questioned 196 the half a score of loungers concerning the auction wagon.
Every man in the place shook his head. The wagon had not been seen in the village. Nearly all of the men had just come in from work, and every one said that had the wagon been on the main road at all he would have seen it.
Matt listened with a sinking heart, and as Andy came in he grasped his partner by the shoulder.