"All hands on deck!"
Ned Newton heard this hail from the depths of drowsy slumber as he turned over in his cot the next morning.
"What's the row?" he asked sleepily.
"All hands on deck!" repeated Tom. "Come on, if we're going to get started."
"What's the matter?" yawned Ned, parting the curtains and peering out. "Are you the little early bird after the earlier worm this morning?"
"Somewhat. But we've been loafing long enough. Let's get on the move if we're going to."
They washed, dressed and had breakfast, and then, having paid their garage bill and taken on a supply of gas and oil, they set out down the main road of Chesterport, having said good-bye to the girls the night before.
They were on the road to Branchville, beyond which was the beginning of the hills that rose to their limit in the peak known locally as Dismal Mountain.
"I hope we run across a batch of moonshiners, some train bandits, and half a dozen road agents!" declared Tom, as he grasped the steering wheel.
"Ah, ha!" mused Ned. "The little green bug is still biting him!"