The bridge which had halted the boys the day before was repaired by this time, and the Flying Road Racer crossed the rather flimsy temporary affair without difficulty. About half a mile beyond the road turned sharply. As the boys swung around this turn they almost ran into the midst of quite an assemblage of men and horses and gaily painted wagons. In a flash Jack realized that they were probably in for some trouble, for he had no difficulty in recognizing this outfit as being the traveling circus from which they had rescued Ralph.
The road was too narrow to turn around in. There was nothing to do but to keep on. Jack hastily told Ralph to conceal himself under a pile of wraps in the tonneau, and with a beating heart he sounded the electric horn, hoping that the circus wagons would turn out and he could get through without difficulty.
But, as ill luck would have it, the rear wagon was driven by the very man with whom they had had the trouble, and beside him sat the fellow who had wielded the whip. They looked around at the sound of the horn and recognized the two lads in a flash. Their next move was to turn their wagon deliberately across the road, effectually blocking the thoroughfare. Then the be-diamonded man shouted to those ahead:
“Say, boys! Here’s the two kids that stole Ralph. Don’t let ’em get away till we’ve evened things up.”
Jack had, of necessity, stopped the Flying Road Racer when the wagon was pulled across the road. He was conscious of a sharp feeling of alarm as the two men clambered down from the wagon and were joined by half a dozen others, all hard-featured, bad-looking men.
“Now we’ve got you where we want you,” growled the big man, shaking his fist vindictively at Jack; “get down out of that benzine buggy and give up your watches and money. Then I’m going to give you the worst hiding you ever had in your lives.”
“I’m not so sure of that,” rejoined Jack, with a calmness he was, in reality, far from feeling; “let us get past, please.”
“Ho! ho! ho! so you think you’re going to get off scot free, do you? Well, you’re mistaken, you young jackanapes. Come on now, get out of that rig.”
As he spoke the man came close to the side of the Flying Road Racer and began tugging at Jack’s arm. But he had hardly laid hands on him before an astonishing thing occurred—astonishing to the ruffian, that is.
Jack’s fist shot out swiftly, and with considerable force. The next instant the fellow, who had been hit fairly between the eyes, staggered back and, tripping on a rock, fell over.