"Seems likely to me that they may have gone west,—away out through Sagersgrove and beyond," observed young Mr. Perth, after a minute or two, a self-complacent twinkle in his eye.
"About as likely as a muley cow having horns, eh, Gaines?" Pick answered.
"Or a—or a dog or anybody else having 'em," Soapy responded, lamely.
"Well, of course I never did know anything about it, and of course you two do know all about it. Still, when you get through with all this stuff you've said over and over ever since Tuesday, till honestly I'm sick of hearing it, just read that!"—and Perth held out the newspaper, his finger indicating the important item. There was triumph unlimited in his manner.
"Aw, let's see!" growled Pickton, doubtingly. Perth's self-satisfied smile irritated him. He took the paper and, Soapy peering over his shoulder, both read the item through.
"Humph! May be them and it may not," was Pick's comment.
"Don't be a hogshead! It's them all right," Gaines answered brusquely. "Why, they're two hundred miles away by this time!"
"Yes, sir! And they're headed for the Gold Cup road races at Queensville," put in Perth, quickly. "That's just where that old State pike goes. I remember seeing the map!"
Reluctantly Pickton admitted that the tourists mentioned in the newspaper dispatch must be Phil Way's party. Inwardly he denounced his luck that he himself had not been first to discover the news. Reluctantly, too, he admitted that the four chums were apparently headed for the Gold Cup automobile races,—a series of road contests over a twenty-six mile course, scheduled for Saturday of the following week. However,—"Don't see, though, what that mystery of the 'three stones piled up to mark the place,' that they seem to make so much of, has to do with races," he persisted.
"Maybe they're going to have a lunch stand at the track. Maybe they rented space for it by mail and had three stones piled up so's they'd know their place when they got there. Just like that bunch, figuring to earn some money!"