RISING SUSPICIONS
The oncoming car soon reached the spot where Hugh, Bud and Blake were
stalled. Hugh threw up his arm as a signal that they would be greatly
obliged to the party in the lone machine if he would stop for a brief
time to hear their tale of woe, and either assist them, or at least give
advice.
The occupant of the little car was a dark-faced man of middle age with
what seemed to be a perpetual smile on his face, or was it a leer? Hugh
did not like his looks any too well, he confessed to himself. When
motorists are in trouble they have no business to find any fault with
the looks of a possible Moses who might lead them out of the wilderness.
Whether he is handsome or homely, pleasant-looking or a sour-visaged man
matters little if only he is accommodating.
“We’re in a mess, it happens, sir,” Hugh commenced saying.
“So I see,” sneered the man, looking suggestively at Bud’s grimy hands,
and then toward the stalled ramshackle car.
“Our knowledge of mechanics isn’t all it should be,” continued Hugh,
determined not to be daunted by this poor beginning, “and if you could
spare five minutes to take a look at the cause of our trouble, perhaps
you might tell us how to remedy the same. I’m sure we’d feel under heavy
obligations, sir.”
“We certainly would,” added Blake; “it’s of prime importance that we get
along just now, because we’re heading for the mobilization camp, on an
important errand, sir. Please oblige us, won’t you?”
He tried to throw all the pathos possible into his application. Hugh
thought the man was laughing in his sleeve, so to say. At any rate, he
failed to make the first movement toward getting out of his still
throbbing car.
As a general thing, motorists are most accommodating toward those in
distress. It seems to be a rule of the road that when the signal is
given, any one passing by must be adjudged next door to a criminal. A
fellow feeling makes all men who drive motors sympathize with one
another, for there is no telling just how soon they may themselves be in
dire need of the same help.
“Sorry to say I’m in a desperate hurry myself, boys,” snapped the man,
between his set teeth. “I’d like to help you, but any delay just now
might cost me a big amount in money. I reckon you’ll get her going, some
way or other. At the worst, you could let her drop back down the hill. I
think there’s a farmhouse up that little dirt road half a mile or so
where you could stay over-night. So I’ll have to push along and leave
you. Sorry, too, for I’d like to help you.”
With that he once more started along, and the three scouts stared after
him struggling under various emotions.
“The mean skunk!” gritted Bud. “I’ll fix my old engine if it takes a
leg. Course, he might have shown me a better way, but I’m coming along.”
Blake Merton was shaking his head as though some new thought had taken
possession of his mind.
“This means _something_, I tell you, Hugh!” he burst out with. “It isn’t
just one of those accidents that bob up now and then. That chap was
chuckling to himself all the while, just because he had come on us
stalled here.”
“What’s that?” asked Hugh, somewhat startled by such an assertion. “Why
should a stranger care whether a pack of scouts were held up with engine
trouble or not?”
“I’ll try and tell you, Hugh,” came the quick reply, as Blake’s eyes
snapped. “I didn’t think to mention it before because—well, so many
other things chased through my brain, you know. But this is the same
fellow I saw talking to Luther Gregory.”
“You mean the degenerate son of Uncle Reuben, the tough case he threw
over, and vowed never to have anything to do with again?” gasped Bud
Morgan, stopping when about to once more crawl under the stalled car.
“No other,” came the quick reply.
“Has he been seen again in Oakvale lately?” demanded Hugh. “I remember
that he got mixed up in some row, and his father paid the bill only on
condition that Luke promised to shake the dust of the home town off his
feet, and never show up again. If the slippery fellow hadn’t agreed to
this, Mr. Gregory was going to let the law take its course, for his
patience had reached the limit.”
“Listen,” said Blake, earnestly. “I saw Luke this very morning while
getting my little package, after leaving you fellows, and going home to
say good-bye to my folks. I, too, was surprised to set eyes on him,
knowing about that promise to stay away from Oakvale. He was talking
with that very man we just saw pass us. Hugh, they seemed to be on good
terms, for I saw them shake hands as if to bind some sort of bargain.
Then Luke discovered me, and gave the other a nudge. I thought that man
stared mighty hard at me as I passed, just like he meant to remember my
face. Now, I’m wondering what all that could mean.”
Hugh was silent for a brief spell. His mind was endeavoring to grapple
with the problem that confronted him.
“It seems almost too big a thing to be true, Blake,” he finally
remarked; “but if Luke Gregory could have in some way learned what his
father was meaning to do about making another will, and cutting Felix
out entirely, why, he might think it worth his while to plot so as to
keep you from seeing your cousin in Battery K.”
Bud Morgan whistled to indicate his deep interest in the matter.
“Now, I happen to know that Luke Gregory used to be a right smart sort
of a chap when he lived in Oakvale,” Bud observed. “I wager he’s up to
just that kind of a game. However he could have learned the news we’ll
never find out. He may have a spy among the servants in the Gregory
house, some one who used to care for him when he lived at home, and who
reported the interview his father had with Judge Marshall. Then, again,
it might be that same spy followed the lawyer, and saw him talking with
Blake here.”
“That’s pretty far-fetched,” admitted Hugh. “You must remember that it
was over the ’phone the judge asked Blake to come and see him. Possibly,
though, this spy in watching the lawyer’s house noticed Blake going in,
and guessed why he had been sent for. But, no matter, there seems to be
a chance that Luke _did_ know, and that he believes it to be to his
interest to prevent a meeting between Blake and Felix until the time set
has expired.”
“It might be,” mused Blake, “that Luke has never stopped hoping he might
yet be able to make up with his father, and that he thinks his first
move should be to get Felix out of the running. This, then, would be too
good a chance to be lost. He has started that man toward the camp,
knowing about our coming. So, now, we can understand why he seemed to be
grinning all the while.”
“It did seem to tickle him, seeing us stalled here, and likely to stay
for goodness knows how long,” admitted Bud, frowning.
Hugh took more stock in the theory the longer he considered it. Although
at first it may have seemed far-fetched, just as he had remarked,
“familiarity did not breed contempt” in this case.
“Well, there’s nothing to be done but, get our engine running again, if
we can,” he said, while Bud was hammering noisily under the body of the
car. “If, in the end, that fails, we’ll try and think up some other
scheme, for the more difficulties that crop up in our path, the more
stubborn we become.”
“Oh! thank you for saying that, Hugh!” exclaimed Blake. “I know mighty
well that when you’ve set your teeth, and start in to win, something is
bound to come from it. I was beginning to get discouraged, but, say,
that’s passing away now, and I seem to be drawing in my second wind.”
Just then there came a whoop from underneath the car.
“Cheer up, fellows!” called out a muffled voice.
“Do you think you’ve found out how to fix her up so she’ll work again,
Bud?” cried Blake, his face aglow with renewed hope.
“Watch my smoke, that’s all,” was the reassuring reply, followed by
additional pounding; and presently Bud wriggled out from his confined
quarters, a sight to behold, so far as face and hands and discolored
duster were concerned; but Hugh paid little or no attention to these
things, because he saw that a huge grin decorated the greasy countenance
of his chum.
Some more pottering followed. Then Bud gave the crank a few turns. There
was no response, and evidently the balky engine still declined to behave
itself. Nothing daunted, Bud tried a second, and then a third time. When
still once more he flirted with the crank there came a sudden roar, and
sure enough the car rocked under the pulsations of the conquered motor.
“Hurrah! you’ve done it, Bud, sure you have!” cried the happy Blake, as
he danced up and down in his excitement.
“Wait till I get these things back again, and wipe some of this mess
from my face and hands,” said the mechanic, “and then we’ll start right
up the hill with a push that can do next door to anything.”
“I really believe she’s working better than ever before,” suggested
Blake.
“Well, considering what I did in cleaning things up,” grinned Bud,
holding out his grimy hands, “that isn’t to be wondered at. She was
fairly clogged with dirt. Give me just another minute, boys, and then
we’ll be on the jump!”