It was nearly a mile from the council rock to the road on which the
club was to meet Lon Gates on his return from the Ridge; and as the
afternoon was well advanced the boys made a forced march of it. All of
them were panting from a dog-trot across the last field, when they came
to the highway, and saw the Parker car approaching at a leisurely pace.
So, when Lon pulled up and grinned at them cheerfully, evidencing no
desire for haste, none of them was in a hurry to climb into the machine.
“What did you think of the pond?” Lon inquired. “And how’s the modern
improvements progressin’? Gettin’ to be quite meetropolitan, eh?”
Sam laughed. “We could see a lot of building going on, but we didn’t
notice a crowd, Lon. Fact is, we stayed on the other side of the lake.”
“Stumbled on a bully place and tied up there,” Step contributed.
Lon wagged his head sagely. “Reckon you made the best pick, at that.
As I remember it, the pootiest side of the pond is across from the
syndicate’s land. And there used to be a big rock----”
“Scooped out toward the water--like part of a saucer, you know?” Poke
broke in.
“That’s the feller.”
“Well, it’s there yet.”
Lon’s eyes twinkled. “Do tell! And yet I don’t know as it’s so
surprisin’, rocks havin’ a way o’ stayin’ put. Set a good example for
folks, don’t they? But, as I was sayin’, I remember that old rock and
the fishin’ we used to have jest opposite it--bass, mostly. And up back
a piece was a spring. I tell you, boys, if I was goin’ campin’ at the
pond, that’s jest about where I’d tie up.”
“It did seem to be a good place, and I’d----” Sam began, but paused in
mid-sentence. “Why--what’s that?”
Everybody had heard the sounds which had caught Sam’s attention. Up
the road, in the direction from which Lon had come, something was
happening, something extraordinarily and violently noisy. There was a
succession of reports; then a broken and uneven rattle; then another
series of explosions, louder than before and evidently nearer.
“Great Scott! It must be a machine-gun!” gasped Step.
“If it is, we’ll have to duck,” said Herman Boyd. “The thing’s coming
this way.”
“And here it is!” cried Poke.
[Illustration: SOMETHING SHOT INTO VIEW]
Something shot into view, a black something which was raising a
tremendous cloud of dust and which was traveling at reckless speed.
Lon shouted a warning to the boys to stand aside, threw on his power,
and steered his car far into the ditch. As he did so, it was as if a
roaring cyclone swept past. The noise of it deafened the club, the dust
it sent swirling in clouds choked them, its velocity dazed them. That
the cause of the commotion was an automobile they realized, but none of
them had an idea what manner of car it might be, or, indeed, how many
passengers it carried.
Lon steered back into the road.
“All aboard, everybody!” he called. “There’s a feller that’s findin’
the goin’ too good to last. Let’s follow and see if we can pick up
enough o’ the pieces to tell what kind of a machine ’twas.”
No second invitation was needed. The boys swarmed into the touring car.
“Hurry!” Sam urged. “That fellow’s in trouble now. You can’t hear his
engine any more.”
It was quite true. The loud reports had ceased abruptly; there were no
sounds from beyond the bend in the road where the speeding driver had
vanished.
Lon gave his young friends an excellent exhibition of how fast a
careful chauffeur can go, on occasion. But he had not far to go--less
than a quarter-mile, in fact. Then he was throwing on his brakes, and
whistling shrilly as he did so.
The other car--or what was left of it--was across the ditch. It lay on
its side, with its front axle jammed against a boulder. The cover of
the hood had been torn off, and the engine was exposed. The leather top
was in ribbons; the cushions had vanished. One back wheel lay against
the stone wall bordering the road.
“Jee-ru-salem!” Lon exclaimed. “I’ll bet a lot o’ things happened to
the citizen managin’ that joy ride, and happened all of a sudden! But
where is he?”
As if in answer a figure raised itself beyond the wall. Lon drew a long
breath of relief.
“Say, but I thought he must ’a’ been killed, sure for sartain! It’s an
amazin’ mercy he’s got a leg left to stand on!”
With that, Lon was out of the car, and striding to the stranger’s aid,
the boys pressing closely behind him. But, as the event proved, there
was very little for them to do.
The man--he was a tall, gaunt person with a wisp of chin beard--seemed
to have come to no great bodily harm, though his clothing was ripped
and torn, his hat was missing, and the sole of one of his shoes flapped
like a loose slipper when he moved. From the clump of brush, into which
he had been projected, and which mercifully had broken the force of
his fall, he limped forward, a step at a time, pausing to bend a knee,
test an elbow, or otherwise investigate the extent of his injuries. Lon
tried to offer him a supporting arm, but was waved back.
“No; let me stand on my own feet, Mister--kinder a luxury I find it to
be able to,” said the man. “Say, but we must ’a’ been goin’ some!”
“All o’ that--and then a little more,” Lon assured him.
The man rubbed his eyes. “I dunno’s I happen to know you folks, but I
cal’late you’re the crowd I passed a rod or so back.”
“Call it a couple o’ forty-rods.”
“Well, mebbe. There was sort of a blur side of the road, but I’d got
other things to think about. And say! was we touchin’ ground anywhere
when we went by you?”
“Not as I noticed,” Lon told him.
The man nodded. “She was a goer, all right, that machine! But she
wa’n’t no lady’s drivin’ car. Feller that let me have her said that,
and, by gum, he hit it!”
“Looks that way,” Lon agreed. “But don’t you belong over Waterville
way? And ain’t your name Haskins? ’Tis, eh? Thought I’d seen you
before.”
“Oh, I’m Jabe Haskins, sure enough,” said the other. “Don’t wonder you
didn’t recognize me fust-off. Guess I must have aged twenty years
while I was shootin’ over that stun wall. You see, I was wonderin’
which of the fifty-seven possible ways I’d hit when I landed; but
pshaw! I was clean off the track, for I hit all of ’em. Guess that’s
what saved my neck--kinder distributed the shock, y’know. But I’ll
never again be the man I was! Whew! but I’m all one ache, and dented
from one end of me to the other!”
“Course, if you want to over-speed----” Lon began, but Haskins cut him
short.
“’Twa’n’t what I wanted to do, Mister, but what that blessed machine
did. Bolted, she did! Took the bit in her teeth, and went it for keeps!
Fust time I’d been runnin’ her, y’see. Jest swapped for her. Turned in
a hoss and somethin’ to boot and----”
It was Lon’s chance to interrupt. “I’m placin’ you now for sure. Done a
lot o’ hoss tradin’, hain’t you, in your time?”
“Yep--that’s my reg’lar line. But I got ambitious and wanted to try my
luck with one of them chug-chugs. So we settled a trade, we did, and
t’other party showed me how to set her goin’, and I climbed aboard and
started out to give her a warmin’-up jog, as you might say. But look
here, Mister! we hit a race gait right off, and the more I tried to
pull her in, the more we touched only the high places. So all I could
do was to hope to hold the track and wait for her to run down--which
also she didn’t. Say, what do you s’pose was the matter? Feller I got
her from--he’s a left-hander, he is. That make any difference, would
it, in her riggin’? All I know is, when I pressed a jimcrack, she
jumped; and when I quit that and started in on something else, she
jumped harder. Wa’n’t half-broke, she wa’n’t!”
Lon stepped back and inspected the wreck in the ditch.
“Dunno’s I can quite place this machine,” he said presently. “Strange
make to me. Never saw one like it before.”
“Good reason--there ain’t no other like her. Only one made and then
they bust the mold. Leastwise, that’s what the party said.”
“Umph!” said Lon. He was still looking closely at the car, which
was--or had been--a runabout or roadster, with a single seat, very high
backed, and a peculiarly lumpy, box-like construction at the rear.
Mr. Haskins took a few limping steps, groaning slightly. It was plain
enough that, while he had escaped broken bones, he must be sorely
bruised. He glared for a moment at the ruins.
“Party allowed he built her himself,” he explained. “Let on he--he
assembled her himself--yes, that’s what he called it, assembled. Got
tired of takin’ other folks’ dust on the road, so he figgered on givin’
her plenty of power--and, by gum, he done it! He was makin’ his brags
about the engine--said ’twa’n’t the ordinary automobile style, but a
special high-speed affair, that’d been meant for one of them flyin’
machines--hey, what’s the matter, sonny?”
The question was due to a sudden movement by Poke, who in new eagerness
to examine the motor, almost upset Mr. Haskins.
Poke made no reply. Mr. Haskins, having recovered his balance, resumed
his observations:
“Wal, I reckon I was givin’ a pooty fair imitation of flyin’, myself.
But ’twa’n’t no business for a man of my age and habits to be in--I
see that before we’d gone a hundred yards. And now see what’s happened
to the pair of us--me and the machine both! And to think that I gave
something to boot in makin’ the trade!”
“Threw in a horse, too, didn’t you?” queried Lon.
Mr. Haskins grinned wryly. “I sure did! That ain’t what hurts, though.
The hoss--wal, I didn’t give no guarantee with him; but the money--say,
that was real money, and I might as well ’a’ thrown it to the birds!
And what have I got to show for it? Jest a junk heap in a ditch that
ain’t wuth haulin’ home.”
Poke, who had been peering at the motor, straightened his back, seemed
to be about to speak, changed his intention, and moved slowly away from
the car. As he passed Step, he touched his arm. Sam in a moment more
saw the two, with their heads together, conferring earnestly.
Lon made a leisurely circuit of the wreck, inspecting it from all
points of view. Mr. Haskins sat down on the ground, and resumed
investigation of his contusions.
“When they get through stickin’ court plaster on me, I’ll be wuss off
than a tattooed man in a show,” he announced gloomily. “Talk about
barbed wire! ’Tain’t got nothin’ on a good, healthy thorn bush, when
you dive in, head fust!”
“We’ll take you to a doctor,” Lon offered. “Whenever you’re ready we’ll
start.”
Mr. Haskins, with a groan or two, gained his feet.
Poke left Step, and hurried to Sam.
“Say, got any money?” he whispered. “Quick! Let me have all you’ve got!”
Sam mechanically dug a hand into his pocket. “I--I’ve only some change,
Poke. How much do you need? And what do you need it for?”
Poke groaned as soulfully as Mr. Haskins had groaned. “Oh, but you
always have money, Sam!” he urged. “Look and make sure!”
Sam’s hand came out of his pocket. It held a half-dollar, a dime, and a
few pennies.
“There’s my cash,” he said. “Count it for yourself.”
Poke was a picture of despondency. “’Tisn’t enough--it can’t be enough.
I’ve got to have some dollars, anyway.”
“What for?” Sam asked curiously.
Poke clutched his arm. “You know the fix I’m in--about debts, I mean? I
owe all you fellows.”
“Nonsense!” said Sam sharply. “We’ve told you over and over again to
forget it.”
There were times when the plump Poke could assume an air of melancholy
dignity. He had it now, as he said:
“I can’t forget it. You wouldn’t, and couldn’t, if you were in my
shoes.”
“Well?” said Sam inquiringly. Poke’s debts, as earlier accounts of the
affairs of the Safety First Club have related, followed an unhappy
episode, in which a costly vase was destroyed. With the help of his
chums, Poke had paid the bill, but the contributions had taxed their
resources.
“Well, I mean to pay you fellows back, and I think I see a way to do
it. I’ve told Step, and he’s strong for the scheme.”
“Oh, is he?” Sam’s tone was not enthusiastic; Step was more likely to
be a sympathizer than a coolly calculating counselor.
“You bet he is! And Step’s all right.”
“Of course he is--he means well. But what’s the idea?”
“The bulliest ever! It’s the chance of a lifetime! But I say, Sam!”
Mr. Haskins was limping toward the Parker car. “Sam, I can’t let him
go till I find out if the thing can be worked. But, if you haven’t any
money, who in the crowd has?”
“Lon might have some. He generally----”
Poke waited to hear no more. He sprang to Lon, caught his sleeve, began
to plead with all his eloquence:
“Do me the biggest favor a fellow ever asked you to do! Lend me some
money. I’ll pay you back, sure, and I’ll be your friend all my days.
Oh, but I’m in dead earnest, ’deed I am!”
“Does look that way,” Lon admitted. “But what do you want money for,
out here? How you goin’ to manage to spend it?”
Poke dropped his voice, but Mr. Haskins and Sam heard as well as Lon.
“I want to buy that motor.”
“What! That mess?”
“Yes; I’ve got a scheme. I want it.”
“Heh?” Mr. Haskins had turned, and was hobbling back. “Heh? thinkin’
of buyin’ that engine, be you? What’ll you give?”
“How much will you sell it for?”
“Hundred dollars,” said Mr. Haskins promptly. “Hundred--and dirt cheap
at that. That ain’t no common, ordinary machine, young man.”
Poor Poke’s face lengthened. “Oh, a hundred?” he repeated faintly.
“Altogether too much!” Lon said with decision.
Mr. Haskins shot him a wrathful glance but spoke smoothly:
“Oh, call that a fust askin’ price. And, seein’ as how we’re all
friends together, and how the machine’s a little jolted, as you might
say, suppose you say what you think’s a fair offer.”
Lon turned to Poke, and saw the eagerness in his eyes. He took out an
old-fashioned wallet, opened it, extracted a couple of bills.
“Poke,” he said, “I guess you’ve sot your heart on this foolishness. If
you have--wal, I ain’t no connooshur on relics, and I dunno the goin’
price o’ curios, but I don’t mind lendin’ you a dollar or two.”
“If you’re lookin’ for speed, young man,” Mr. Haskins urged, “you won’t
have to look no further. You seen me and you seen how I was goin’ it,
when I wa’n’t half tryin’. And fifty dollars ain’t so wuss when----”
“Oh, fifty’s too much,” Poke said hastily.
“It’s dirt cheap,” Mr. Haskins insisted.
Lon glanced inquiringly at Sam, grunted, and somewhat ostentatiously
prepared to return the bills to the pocketbook. Poke blanched, but of
all concerned Mr. Haskins appeared to be most deeply affected. There
was something like a sob in his voice as he said:
“Oh, come now! ’Tain’t good luck to start a trade and stop this way.
And a good, enterprisin’ youngster can have a lot of fun playin’ with a
crackerjack engine like this, and so----”
“I don’t want it to play with,” Poke objected with dignity. “And all I
care for is the motor; the rest of the machine would be of no use to
me.”
Mr. Haskins was watching Lon and the disappearing bills.
“Say, make me a bid, if you don’t like the askin’ price,” said he. “I
ain’t hoggish, and I allers did fancy doin’ favors for folks that
treat me right.”
“And that hoss you swapped for the car wa’n’t so much of a hoss, after
all, come to think of it,” suggested Lon shrewdly.
Mr. Haskins grinned. “I swan! but maybe there’s something to that, too.
Still, he could stand up and keep goin’.”
“That’s more’n you can say for the machine,” Lon remarked pointedly.
Mr. Haskins bent over the wreckage for another brief inspection.
“Huh! She does seem to be kinder generally foundered-like,” he
admitted. “And you say you don’t care for the hide and hoofs, eh? The
body and wheels, I mean? Wal, what’ll you give?”
Poke caught Lon’s eye. For the life of him he couldn’t explain how he
seemed to read a message there.
“Te-ten dollars,” he faltered.
Mr. Haskins groaned more dismally than he had groaned because of his
bodily hurts.
“Ten dollars,” Poke repeated--firmly this time; for now he read
distinct encouragement in Lon’s glance.
Mr. Haskins shook his head, but with no marked vigor.
“It’d be robbin’ the poor, that price!” he objected.
Lon again produced the bills. “One five and another five,” he counted.
“That’s right, ain’t it?”
“It’s wuss’n highway robbery, but I--I dunno----” said Mr. Haskins, and
drew nearer.
Lon extended the money. “Goin’--goin’----” he began.
“Gone!” cried Mr. Haskins, and snatched the bills. “Done--it’s a trade!”
“And with plenty o’ witnesses,” Lon added emphatically. Then he turned
to the trembling and excited Poke.
“The engine’s yours, though I ain’t got a ghost of a notion what you
want the junk for.”
Mr. Haskins tittered. “Te he, te he! Mebbe he’s jest takin’ a flyer.”
Then Poke smiled, and the smile was curiously full of meaning.
“You’ve said it for me,” quoth he, very cheerily.