It had taken Fred some ten minutes to mend the tire and come to this conclusion. At the point where he had made his way into the thicket a small brook, locally called a "branch," crossed the road, and he had been sitting on its bank. As he rose to his feet he happened to glance upstream. There was something floating down with the current. Only a piece of bark. But stop! The little craft carried a miniature mast made from a hazel twig, and in the cleft at its top there was something white—a bit of folded paper.
A signal! A message! Fred watched it eagerly as it came nearer. Twice it grounded against an overhanging branch, but the current swung it clear again. A moment more, and it was in his grasp. A note, and in Jack's handwriting. Fred tore it open.
"Make no noise. Don't go out on road. There is a scout on each side of you. I am a hundred yards upstream with a sprained ankle. Can you get the H. T. up here without noise? Have a plan.
"Jack."
A few minutes later and Jack was telling his story. He had been pitched off his seat by a sudden lurch just as the Happy Thought began her headlong rush down the hill, but had alighted unhurt in a clump of laurel. Seeing that Fred had safely run the gauntlet, he had made his way into the scrub and worked cautiously down the hill, keeping parallel with the road. On coming to a little bluff that overhung the stream he had caught sight of Fred in his covert by the road-side, and also of the horsemen who had started in to beat the bushes. A shout would have betrayed them both. He must creep down and give Fred warning. Unfortunately, in descending the bluff he slipped and sprained his ankle. Capture seemed certain. And then came a brilliant thought. The water that flowed past him also ran by Fred. Might it not carry the warning message? The rest you know.
Jack had spent the time in making for himself a rough pair of crutches, and was now able to hobble along.
"A quarter of a mile further upstream there's an old wood-road," he went on, in answer to Fred's eager query. "I can manage to take care of myself if you can get the machine up there. The road will take us straight into Coppertown, and we'll save the money yet."
It was difficult work up the stony bed of the branch, but it was finally accomplished, and the Happy Thought was again under way, though at a reduced speed, for the wood road was not in very good repair. Three, five, ten miles, and the boys began to breathe freely. It looked as though fortune had turned in their favor at last.
"It seems to have grown hazy," said Fred, a few moments later, "and the sky and the sun are as yellow as gold."
"My eyes are smarting," returned Jack, with a cough. "I believe it's smoke; and look there!"