One day they were talking of bicycle riding, when the young Englishman shook his head slowly. "No more riding for me," he said. "I have had enough and to spare of it. I once came close to losing my life in England through it—when I was out with a friend named Rexwell. I'll never forget that adventure."
"Tell us of it!" shouted several of the boys at once; and sitting in a cozy corner of the deck, Robert Menden told his story as follows:
"Rexwell and I were two days out from Orelle in the heart of England. We were following the smooth, winding road which leads from Paxton to Riley's, and which crosses the K. T. & B. railway at half a dozen or more points.
"Rexwell had proposed the bicycle tour, as being different from the ordinary run of outings, and as I was on the lookout for excitement of any sort, I eagerly agreed to join him in a trip to last the best part of a week, never dreaming of all that was to follow in the shape of a close shave from death.
"We both rode our favorite wheels, which, fortunately, were of the same make, thus doing away with the possibility of any dispute regarding the superiority of either. To our handle bars we had strapped a decidedly limited amount of baggage; our pocketbooks were sufficiently filled to meet all wants in that direction, and as both of us were in the best of health and free from worldly care, we went speeding along the highway in the best of spirits.
"'Sixteen miles to Midland Cut,' sang out Rexwell, as he slowed up at a guideboard placed where a wagon trail crossed the road. 'We ought to be able to make that by supper time with ease.'
"'It looks to me as if there was a hill back of yonder woods,' I replied, as I took a long look ahead.
"'It can't be much of a climb, or we would see it over the treetops, Bert. We'll soon know,' he went on, as he forged ahead by an extra spurt, giving me some quick work on the pedals to catch up to him.
"It was a little after four in the afternoon, or evening, as the residents of some localities termed it. The fore part of the day had been somewhat oppressive, the usual southwest breeze having died down by ten o'clock, leaving the glaring sun its full sway. Now I noticed a dense mass of clouds creeping and rolling up from over to our right, and drew Rexwell's attention to it.
"'By Jove! that looks as if we were going to have a storm, Robert,' said he. 'Those clouds are rolling up fast, too. We must strike shelter before we get wet to the skin.'