“I think it’s the same man I suspect of other things,” was the reply. “I’m going to find out.”
“Are we stuck, Tom? Can’t we go on and rescue Ned?” Mr. Damon inquired.
“Oh, yes, we can go on, but we can’t make much speed. I’ll have to run in third. Fourth and fifth gears are all chewed up.” It was because of its five selective speeds that the electric runabout was such a wonderful machine.
“Whoever did this made a little mistake,” chuckled Tom, for he had a saving sense of humor. “If they’d fixed it so the screw driver dropped into the lower gears we never could have started again once we stopped. As it is, we can go on, but we can’t make speed.”
It did not take him long to cut out the two higher gearing mechanism attachments, and then the runabout proceeded again. Even at the lowered rate its speed was better than that of many gasoline automobiles. And in due time the head of the slope was reached. Before the searchers lay Cherry Valley which, they hoped, contained the Smith place and the captive Ned Newton.
“Now, Tagg, show us the field where you saw the kite come down,” requested Tom when they were driving along a level road.
“It’s about a mile farther on,” the tramp said, looking about for landmarks. “Yes, just about a mile.”
This distance was soon covered, and when the car was stopped Tagg led the way into the field and showed where he had built a fire to roast ears of corn. The blackened ashes and the remains of his feast proved that, so far, he had spoken the truth. Then he showed just where he had picked up the broken kite, and some fragments of the brown-bag paper which bore Ned’s message were found among the hills of corn.
“It looks as if we were on the right track,” said Mr. Damon.
“I hope so,” murmured Tom. “Now to locate the Smith place.”