“That’s so,” agreed Tom; “after all, if we get into Boston before dark it will be plenty of time. I do wish we hadn’t run across those fellows, though—or rather, that they hadn’t run across us. It’s made me feel rather uncomfortable.”
In accordance with Jack’s plan the three boys lingered on the woodland road for an hour or more, by which time they judged that the men would have got a good distance ahead. Then they resumed their journey. A short time later they passed through Compton and learned there that the yellow auto had passed through about an hour before.
“Looks as if they were going to Boston, too,” said Jack; “well, there’s one good thing, we know that they are ahead of us and not sneaking about trying to put up any tricks.”
As he had no wish to overtake the yellow car. Jack drove pretty slowly after they passed through Compton, which was set in the midst of quite a wild section of country, thickly wooded and hilly. The roads were fairly good, however, and the journey was without incident till suddenly, at a spot where a rough-looking track branched off from the main road, they were confronted by a sign:
“DANGER! ROAD CLOSED FOR REPAIRS.”
Underneath, in smaller letters, were the words, “Take This Road,” with a rudely painted hand pointing toward the wood road.
“That’s odd,” commented Jack, as he stopped the machine; “they didn’t say anything to us in Compton about the main road being closed.”
“It is queer, certainly,” mused Tom, who had got out of the car and was examining the sign; “and, see here, Jack, the paint on this is quite wet.”
“I wonder if this can be some trick,” pondered Jack seriously; “and yet if it isn’t, we might get into serious difficulties by sticking to the main road.”
He got out of the car and joined Tom on the roadside. An examination of the wood road followed. It was even rougher at a closer view than it had appeared to be at first. It was grass-grown, too, and evidently but little used. But Jack’s quick eyes soon noted something.