"It ought to be a cinch to trace her," remarked Ned, as the two young men hurried on, their weariness and hunger forgotten in the excitement of the chase.
"Yes, for a way, anyhow," agreed Tom. "But we may not always have soft dirt roads like this to retain the marks. Though I don't believe there are any concrete stretches in this neighborhood," and he motioned toward Dismal Mountain, up the trail of which the House on Wheels clearly had been driven.
"The ground will be soft for a couple of days after this rain, and we can keep on following," suggested Ned.
"They may get too far ahead of us to leave us a Chinaman's chance," said Tom, with a sigh. "Remember, we're walking, and if the House only crawled it could do ten miles to our one. Besides, they may run her down off this mountain and onto a hard road, and then the tire marks won't be one, two, six!"
On they splashed in the rain and darkness. The road taken by the House on Wheels, as evidenced by the tire marks, led up the mountain and the deserted house, with its gloom, its secrets and its spying eyes, was soon left in the rear of the young men who pressed on, now and then flashing their torches to make sure they were still on the right trail.
"Hark!" exclaimed Tom suddenly, when they had been thus going for several minutes.
"What is it?" asked Ned, coming to a halt.
"Let's listen and try to hear the motor," suggested the young inventor. "I have an idea those fellows, whoever they are, won't push the machine too hard. They may run her only a little way and then lay over for the night."
Accordingly, the two stood there with the rain dripping on them, listening. But the only sounds that came to their ears were those of the storm—the wind and rain, the clattering of tree branches, and the swish of wet leaves.
"No use trying to hear anything," stated Ned, after a pause.