The two lads had set out from Camwell an hour before. Purchasing such a lengthy list of articles as their orders called for had proved no light task. To their annoyance, too, the magnitude of their purchases and the way in which they hastened from store to store, had caused quite a stir in Camwell, a small manufacturing place mainly devoted to the production of steel and similar industries.
In fact, at six o’clock, the hour at which the factories suspended the work of the “day shift,” a small crowd had followed them from one place of business to another. The bolder ones in the crowd had even made inquiries as to their business. The boys had, of course, answered evasively, and flattered themselves that no one in Camwell was aware of their identity. They were careful in the extreme to avoid any reference to the object of their purchasing expedition—or foraging raid, it might almost be called. But, nevertheless, both had been glad when their car chugged merrily out of Camwell, leaving behind a residue of rumor concerning the descent on that uneventful town of “the millionaire kids.”
As the car came to a halt at the roadside, both boys listened intently. At first there was no repetition of the sound that had caused Jack’s exclamation.
Then suddenly it came again, a weird sort of moan.
“Sounds like some one in pain,” ventured Tom.
“It does,” agreed Jack, “perhaps some one has been struck by a car; or——”
He broke off abruptly as a figure sprang from the dark bushes at the side of the road opposite the barn.
“Hullo, who’s that?” hailed Jack.
“Hullo, yourself,” came back a rough voice in reply; “who are you?”
“Two boys in a big hurry. What’s the trouble here?”