“If only the team could get a snapshot of us now, they’d kid us for the rest of our natural lives,” remarked Jim.
“You said it,” agreed Joe. “But now,” he added more soberly, “just let’s take a look at what it was that so nearly killed us or crippled us for life.”
They made their way to the mass of timber in the road. At first Jim thought that it might have fallen off some wagon, unknown to the driver. But a closer examination showed that this was an error. The timbers were piled in a way that could have been done only by human hands, and what made this certain was the fact that rocks had been placed on either side to prevent the logs from slipping. It was a formidable barrier, and if the car had dashed into it at the rate it was going, the occupants would almost certainly have been killed.
“Whoever put those timbers there meant harm,” said Joe solemnly, when the examination had been completed.
“It looks that way,” agreed Jim. “Whoever did it was a scoundrel who ought to be in jail.”
“It might have been the work of a crazy man,” suggested Joe.
“As crazy as a fox,” rejoined Jim, looking squarely into his chum’s eyes.
“What do you mean?” asked Joe, in some perplexity.
“I mean,” said Jim, carefully weighing every word, “that the man who put that mass of timber there was just as sane as you or I. I mean that he intended that some one should be seriously hurt. I’ll go even further. That man meant to injure Joe Matson, whom he hated with a deadly hatred.”