"Against orders, I know," said Jack, leaning forward and speaking under his breath, "but look back there."
The dead pine-tree was still visible some four hundred yards away, but there was something fluttering from one of its branches—a piece of red flannel rag.
"A signal," said Fred, shortly, "and it means that somebody is after us—after that," and he pointed to the express bag. "We've got to go on, for some one is certainly behind us. We can't stay here and be gobbled up, and a rabbit could hardly get through that laurel scrub. Besides, there's just a chance that it doesn't mean anything, after all. We'll run ahead carefully, and if it comes to the worst, we'll cut everything loose and make a dash for it. There's nothing short of a rifle-bullet that can catch us."
"Let her go," returned Jack, briefly.
A quarter of a mile further, and the boys began to breathe easier. They were on Breakneck Hill now, and there was nothing suspicious in the look ahead. Half-way down, and as they swung around a curve Fred's heart suddenly seemed to leap up into his mouth. His eye had caught the momentary gleam of something moving in the thick foliage that bordered the road at the bottom of the hill. He recognized it in an instant—the silver mounting of a pistol. He turned and shouted to Jack.
"Crack! crack!" and Fred felt the wind of a bullet as it sung past. "Crack! crack!" but that was wider of the mark. The Happy Thought under full speed had bounded down the hill, and the danger-point was passed. He could hear faint shouts behind him and the short quick tramp of horses' hoofs. Was it possible that they had escaped?
With fingers tightly clutched on the handle-bars Fred kept the Happy Thought in the middle of the road. The road-bed was smooth and hard, but the front wheel was acting oddly. There was something that looked like a white patch on the tire, and, yes, there could be no doubt about it, it was leaking badly. Evidently the tire had been cut by a bullet, and in a few seconds more the air would be out of it. Just ahead was a curve which for the moment would put them out of sight; they must stop in time to take to the woods. In his excitement Fred put his hand behind him and shut off the oil. The Happy Thought stopped just around the curve, and Fred jumped off and looked around.
Jack and the express bag had disappeared.
In his bewilderment and dismay Fred hardly knew how he managed to get himself and the Happy Thought under cover before the pursuing horsemen swept by at a slashing gallop. There were four of them in all, heavily armed, and with their faces half concealed by clumsy masks. Fred recognized "Smooth Jim" in the leader of the party, and the sight was not reassuring, even though he was now looking at that gentleman's back. Half mechanically he got out his repair kit, and began to patch the leaking tire. "Where was Jack?" was the question that seemed to dance in letters of fire before his eyes. Could he be lying back there in the road with a bullet in his head? Was he a prisoner?
But wait a moment. If Jack was in their hands, why had he been chased? The money was in the bag strapped to Jack's back, and the money was what they were after. But wait again. Was he sure that the horsemen were pursuing him? Might they not have been making their own escape, having secured their booty? In that case Jack had been left behind, wounded or dead. There was but one thing to do, and that was to steal cautiously back and find out.