The reverberating blows rang through the wood, and the chips flew. Dan was not alone a sturdy youth; he was a good woodsman. In five minutes the tree fell with a crash that could have been heard afar. And as the echo of it died away our hero was aware of a swiftly approaching sound along the highroad. It was the throbbing of an automobile, and now a horn sounded:
“Honk! honk! honk!”
“Joy-riders,” muttered Dan, preparing to trim the tree. “Hello! they’re slowing down.”
The throbbing of the car ceased. The boy was near the edge of the wood and heard voices in a moment. Some of the occupants were getting out of the car.
“Hello in there!” shouted a voice. “What luck have you had, brother?”
“They think I’m hunting,” exclaimed Dan. “And I declare! I believe that is Mr. Armitage. It sounds just like his voice.”
Dan Speedwell picked up his lantern and walked toward the road. For a second time the jolly voice hailed him:
“Hello! Who’s there? Where’s the dogs?”
“I haven’t any dogs, and I’m not hunting,” explained Dan, coming out to the bars.
“Hullo!” rejoined the same voice. “Isn’t that young Speedwell?”