“Where is Tom?” demanded Dorothy.
But Mr. Prater had to tell the story in his own way. And it was an exciting one—to him! He had been awakened in the early hours of the morning and had seen an automobile standing in the road. Then he heard a squawking in the chicken pens. He had valuable feathered stock, and he got up in a hurry to learn what was afoot.
But the thieves would have gotten well away with their bags of feathered loot had it not been for Tom Moran, who was sleeping for the night in Farmer Prater’s barn.
“That red-headed feller is as smart as a steel trap,” said the farmer, admiringly. “I’ve been at him every time I’m in Dalton to come an’ work for me. But he wouldn’t.”
“What did he do?” asked Dorothy, interested for more reasons than one in any account of Tom Moran.
“Why, he jumped out of the hay, got ahead of the thieves, and leaped into their merchine before they reached it. It’s a self-starter—d’ye see? So he jest teched up the engine button, and started the merchine to traveling. Them fellers couldn’t git aboard, and they had to drop the sacks and run. I was right behind ’em with my gun, ye see, and I’d peppered ’em with rock salt if they hadn’t quit as they did—— Ya-as, sir-ree-sir!”
“And where did Tom go?” queried Tavia, breathlessly.
“Why, he brought the machine back, eat his breakfast, and went on his way. He didn’t say where he was goin’. I’ll wait for the owner of the ortermobile to show up an’ explain about his car, I reckon. Ain’t no license number on it.”
So that settled this trace of Tom Moran. He had disappeared again. Nobody near Mr. Prater had observed the red-headed man when he left for parts unknown. The girls and their friends had lots of fun scouring the neighboring country in the Firebird; but the young man whom Dorothy Dale wished to see so very much was as elusive as a will-o’-the-wisp!
And when they got back to town there was a letter about the very man himself addressed to the War Cry office, in regard to the advertisement that Dorothy had caused to be printed in that paper. The letter had gone to Glenwood and been forwarded to Dalton on Dorothy’s trail.