SAFELY AWAY
"They're going to go soon, if they go at all. Likely would have started
to-day, as MacLester said, if their machine hadn't played out," said Tom
Pickton, when on this Monday evening he and Perth were leaving Gaines at
his home. "We'll watch 'em to-morrow, all right!" declared Mr. Pickton
earnestly.
And now if Pick is as good as his word, if he and his fellow
conspirators are really watching the Auto Boys, as another day comes, it
is an interesting and busy scene that falls upon their gaze.
Phil Way is looking over every part of the Thirty's oiling system. "It's
too bad we had to put the faithful old machine in the humiliating plight
of being towed in, even if there never was a thing the matter with
her," says he.
"And you ought to've seen Phil! Never saw him appear so broken up!
Honest, I just hurt from holding in when the three of them drove by us,
as if they thought they were 'it,' hollering out, 'Give ye a lift?' in
that sarcastic way of Pick's! And when they were 'way past, maybe I
didn't laugh!"
Paul Jones was the speaker, strapping a suitcase to the car's running
board as he talked. Billy Worth and Dave MacLester were occupied in the
rearrangement of a lot of other baggage, the canvas of a tent among the
rest, in the tonneau. The car stood just outside a large frame building
in the rear of the Yorkshire House, the principal hotel of Littleton.
A combined livery stable and garage was this frame structure, if one
judged by appearances, for it housed both horse-drawn vehicles and
automobiles. Of the latter there were three--two runabouts and a light
touring car. The Auto Boys' machine appeared to have been kept here
over night. By their further conversation it was evident, too, that the
young gentlemen themselves had remained over night in the Yorkshire
House, and into that hostelry they repaired a few minutes later for an
exceptionally early breakfast.
"Too early for any earthly use. I don't see no sense in it," the not
fastidiously tidy cook of the establishment stated at least five or six
times to the maid who waited on table; and who, it may be added, quite
agreed with him until she found a nickel tied in the corner of each
napkin after the very early guests had left. As a matter of fact, it was
exactly five o'clock.
And now again, if Mr. Thomas Pickton, still sound asleep in his bed at
home, had been watching the Auto Boys, as he had stated would be
faithfully done to-day, he would have saved himself and friends a rather
humiliating disappointment at a later time. But, as has also been
plainly indicated, Pick, with all his hawk-like eyes, saw nothing of
what was taking place, and as Freddy Perth and Soapy Gaines were not a
whit more wide awake than he at this hour of five A. M., the well-laden
Thirty with its four owners aboard purred merrily westward, farther and
farther from the small town of appropriate name, and farther yet from
Lannington.
"Guess they have to get up in the morning some to get ahead of us,"
observed Mr. Paul Jones, with a sigh of satisfaction. And it would
certainly appear that he was right, though he did rub his eyes
considerably and though his sigh stretched out to the extent of a great
yawn only a few seconds later.
Thus was the _Auto Boys' Quest_ under way at last. Away back at the
great, empty farmhouse where Grandfather Beaman once lived, the first
plans for this trip had been laid. Those of you who have read _The Auto
Boys' Outing_ will recall the circumstances. You will remember the days
of zestful fun and tranquil rest the lads had, following the solution of
the mystery of the strange characters on Grandfather Beaman's wooden
leg, the disclosure of Jonas Tagg's evil designs and the discovery of
the identity of "Little Mystery."
And do you recollect the pleasant evenings on the old front door step?
There it was that the trip to the great Ship woods was first suggested,
and there it was that the solemn agreement, making the whole expedition
a secret, was entered into.
Going back a little farther, it will not be necessary to remind readers
of _The Auto Boys_, the first story of this series, that for purely
business reasons the four friends had made it a practice not to talk
publicly of their joint ventures. Even the "Retreat" in Gleason's
Ravine, was known to few outside the immediate families of the boys.
Just how they had managed, as the "Young American Contract Company," to
acquire their automobile and start the passenger service to Star Lake,
with all the exciting adventures resulting therefrom, was, likewise, a
subject the young men did not publicly discuss, although of course the
main facts had in time become quite commonly known.
One reason the four chums were so successful in confining within the
limits of their respective households and to their very nearest friends
knowledge of their plans and undertakings was that there was nothing of
the braggart in any of them. Phil Way, usually the leader in their
various ventures, whether for purposes of fun or business, was a tall,
slender, brown-haired, clear-eyed and mild-mannered chap. At the time of
the history herein related he is well past fifteen years of age. His
father is a physician, by no means rich, but in very comfortable
circumstances.
Billy Worth, fun-loving and jolly, but an earnest young fellow, too, is
a little younger than Phil and in general appearance quite his opposite,
being short and stout. Yet let none suppose that that stocky frame of
his carries an ounce of anything but bone, muscle and good, red
blood--good, red blood that glows in his cheeks, and helps to place
that alert, snappy expression in his twinkling brown eyes. So much for
William Worth, Junior. William Worth, Senior, it may be stated, is
engaged in machinery manufacturing.
A member of this quartette of friends I am sure you will like is Paul
Jones--slight, slender, audacious. He has been in long trousers less
than a year. He wears his motor cap far back on his head and rakishly
low on one side. His sandy hair, thus quite prominently exposed to view,
is in a more or less tousled condition a greater part of the time. Of a
care-free disposition is young Mr. Jones, however, and the rumpled state
of his hair bothers him not at all. It was brushed this morning, and,
"Goodness, gracious! Can you expect a man's hair always to be just so?"
Why, probably not. Then again, a good deal depends on the "man."
Forgive a great deal to Paul. If he lacks something in general
refinement and polish as compared to the other boys, it is because his
advantages have not equaled theirs. Being an orphan, he has missed much
his friends have received, though Mrs. Wilby, his sister, and John
Wilby, her husband, have given the otherwise homeless lad the best their
limited time and means afford.
Dave MacLester is of still another type. Nearly as tall as Phil, he is
much heavier. He lacks the power of quick perception and quick movements
common to his three friends, but outranks any one of them in strength.
He is a dark-haired chap of Scotch descent and if he is just a little
slow, he is at least sure. His fault, if fault it may be called, is a
certain moodiness of disposition, apt to reveal itself at times in his
hopeless, pessimistic view of things. Maybe it would be more accurate to
describe this characteristic as his misfortune. He is at fault in regard
to it only to the extent that he neglects or fails to strive against his
naturally gloomy or irritated mental condition, and, so eventually grow
entirely away from it.
One interesting fact about all the boys is the bond of union among them.
Petty differences have arisen scores of times, of course; wordy
disputes have occurred less frequently; but for a long, long time the
four have been almost inseparable, both in work and in play, their
unwritten motto being, "the best interests of one are the best interests
of all." Unselfishly every pleasure is shared, and uncomplainingly in
every task and duty each fellow does his share.
The escape from the watchful eyes of Soapy Gaines and his followers with
the car and its load of baggage for this present expedition was brought
about only because each one of the four worked in faithful harmony with
the general plan. What this plan was, has already become apparent.
That the towing in of the Thirty to Knight & Wilder's garage was but a
pretense to throw the Trio off their guard, you have probably guessed
from the beginning. It would be interesting, perhaps, to hear at length
how Billy and Dave rushed the automobile to the home garage upon
receiving word by 'phone that the Gaines party had been lured into the
ball game and forgetfulness, but more important matters are waiting.
Let this part of the history be summed up briefly, then, by recording
only the bare facts that, with the help of Paul, who did not remain at
the baseball park, it will be remembered, Worth and MacLester loaded the
automobile with camp outfit and baggage and were safely beyond the city
all within two hours.
By a circuitous route, avoiding the streets most used for motor traffic,
the three reached the country roads. Here, too, they chose the least
traveled thoroughfares until fully ten miles had been placed between
them and Lannington.
Even by the longer route, Littleton, nearly forty miles distant, might
have been reached before dark; but to attract the least possible notice
they lingered in little frequented roads, and ran quietly into the
Yorkshire House garage and stable just after sundown. So was the car,
laden down with the evidences of an extensive expedition, and well
calculated to attract much notice, housed for the night.
The three boys believed they had been observed by not one person likely
to mention having seen them--at least to anyone from whom, directly or
indirectly, the Trio would obtain intelligence of their movements. They
told Phil as much, and with evident satisfaction, when they met him upon
his arrival by suburban trolley car, later in the evening.--And now
another day had come. The Auto Boys were in the best of spirits as they
left the lately risen sun and Littleton in their rear.
"'Westward the Star of Empire takes its way,'" quoted Billy Worth,
waving his cap zestfully, as the automobile bowled smoothly along,
MacLester at the wheel.
"Takes its Way and also its Worth, and MacLester and Jones," shouted
Paul, with that expansive grin which never failed to bring a smile from
any sort of person disposed to be half-way good-natured.
"Say, Jones, they've hung people out in the Ship woods country for
horse-stealing, and that's hardly a misdemeanor compared to such
downright atrocities as you perpetrate! Goodness! That was bad!"
declared Dave. He always did like to have a fling at Paul. "The best pun
is horrible, but a poor one!--"
"What did you say about the 'breast bone' Mac?" shouted Jones, from the
tonneau, with admirable pretense of having caught but two words and
caught neither of those correctly, as the car whizzed forward. Then,
almost without pause, "Yes, I like the white meat, too!" he sang out.
"White meat? Don't mention it! I'm positively starving," Worth put in,
and in a twinkling the whole conversation changed to the subject of the
noonday lunch and what the car's larder afforded. Paul's hearing
improved very greatly, at once, by the way.
"Why, we have a cheese-box full of cold ham and buns and baked beans and
pickles and a cake and cheese and pie and--" Jones enumerated; then
MacLester, quickly going forward with the inventory, as Paul paused for
breath, added:
"Sardines, bananas, olives and potato chips, and I'll bet half the stuff
will spoil on our hands."
"Risk it!" Phil Way observed in the tone of one who speaks from
experience. And somewhat later when a halt was made for luncheon,
weighty evidence was presented that if any risk whatever existed it was
extremely slight. The very hour appropriated to a noonday purpose was
strong testimony--not yet eleven o'clock. However, breakfast had been
extremely early, it will be remembered.
With a great deal more haste than ceremony, the roadside repast being
finished, dishes and food were packed away again and the automobile sent
once more bounding forward. Nearly fifty miles onward lay the little
town of Sagersgrove and here the Auto Boys expected to receive
information direct from Lannington concerning the movements of Gaines,
Pickton and Perth.
How much or how little those young gentlemen may have discovered by this
time, and what their intentions might be, were matters of marked
interest to the chums who had so cleverly outwitted them. They were more
than pleased with themselves, therefore, that their foresight had
prompted the making of arrangements with Mr. Knight to send a telegram
to Sagersgrove to be received upon reaching there.
That Knight & Wilder shared the secret of the four boys it is almost
needless to say. Even to knowledge of the destination and the real
purpose of the journey the garage proprietors had been taken into
confidence. They were good, reliable friends, to begin with, and as the
location of the Ship woods was remote from sources of automobile
supplies, it might be necessary to send to them for repairs. And as both
men had shown a lively interest in the enterprise now under way, it was
quite certain Mr. Knight would not fail to have news of some kind
awaiting the travelers at the point agreed upon.
Meanwhile the probable and possible discoveries of the Chosen Three and
what their ultimate plans would be were discussed over and over again.
Even if Gaines and his followers should learn the direction the Thirty
had taken--even if they chanced upon the discovery that the party had
spent the night in Littleton--they would still be unable to so much as
guess the direction taken next.
Again, even if the Trio had any knowledge of the great Ship forest they
would have no reason for supposing the four friends to be bent on
reaching that wilderness. All the information the Gaines crowd had, so
far as known, and the thing which so seriously pricked their curiosity,
was that sentence they had somehow overheard, "Three stones piled one on
top of another to mark the place."
"They could connect that and the big woods if they knew where we were
heading for; but by itself the talk of the three stones gives them
nothing to go by," urged Billy Worth. He had put the same thought into
slightly different words at least a half-dozen times before and the
others had done no less. But there was no cause to doubt his reasoning.
"Three stones piled one on top of another" might be used to mark many
and many different sorts of places. They might be in town. They might be
in the country, in pasture or meadow; beside a lake in the valley, or on
the summit of the hills. Again, what reason why they might not be in the
heart of a great forest?
The Ship woods comprised such a forest. Its very name was derived from
the fact that for long years great timbers for ship building purposes
had been cut there. In one part or another of its vast expanse men were
at work the whole year through, sawing, chopping, hewing. A single
"stick" from the forest's depths might measure more than one hundred
feet in length by three feet or more each way, in thickness. Perhaps
four teams of horses would be used to haul such a piece of timber out of
the woods and to the railroad siding where it was loaded for
transportation to the owners' mills, many miles away.
The fact that those who owned the forest did live a long distance from
it, naturally left the vast tract in the hands of only such men as were
employed in cutting the big "sticks." And as the latter were little
interested in anything more than the trees that would do for their
purposes, the woods was for the most part regarded as pretty nearly
public property. That is to say, no one so much as thought of asking
permission to go there, to camp, to hunt, to pick blackberries, or
anything of the kind.
Nor was anyone expected to do so, for that matter. The boss timber man
and the crews which handled the saws, and axes, the heavy chains, the
canthooks and all the paraphernalia of their hard, hard work, asked no
questions of trespassers. They warned hunters against leaving campfires
burning and against dropping lighted matches in the leaves. They would
permit no one to chop into or otherwise injure a tree which might make
"timber" then or later; but in general the occasional stranger who
visited these wilds was as free to come to hunt, to fish, to build a
brush shack or camp, or to gather firewood, herbs or poles or bark--to
do almost as he pleased in short--and as free to go away again, as he
would have been in the unclaimed forest of a new country.
All this information and much more the Auto Boys had gathered. Plans for
their trip had been under way all winter. In imagination they had often
pictured the wild, rugged scenery of the locality. Working and talking
together, they had built for themselves a kind of aircastle on the banks
of the swift, cold and rock-strewn stream skirting the edge of the big
woods, in which, at least figuratively, they lived. They had seen
themselves in their tent, the automobile in a shelter close by, and a
little fire lighted to drive mosquitoes away, many and many an evening
together, while still the snow lay deep and the tinkle and gurgle of
the swift-flowing stream were smothered beneath the ice.
Possibly it is true that in anticipation there is more pleasure than in
realization, yet few people actually believe it. Certainly Phil Way and
his friends did not. They had anticipated a lot of fun in this tour now
under way at last, but one of its merriest features they had not
foreseen at all. This was the keen delight they had in having given
Gaines, Pickton and Perth the slip so nicely. Indeed, their
self-satisfaction over this incident was quite beyond measure, and Dave
MacLester found no support whatever when he advanced a supposition that
the telegram to be picked up in Sagersgrove would say the Chosen Ones
were in pursuit and probably not far behind.
"Anyhow, we'll know all about it in about two and a half flicks of a
bobolink's tail," said Billy Worth, "for if that church spire up over
the trees yonder isn't Sagersgrove, I'm blind."
Fortunately, then, for young Mr. Worth's eyes, the spire rising above
the banks of green a half mile beyond, was that of the Methodist church
of the town he named. In a very brief time it had been reached, also,
and from a very neat and clean old gentleman, who might have been the
preacher himself, although he was mowing the small church lawn, the lads
inquired their way to the telegraph office.
Fortunately, again, it was not at all difficult to find one's way about
in Sagersgrove. The telegraph office was in the wing of the operator's
home, "down the street two blocks, then turn to your left two blocks--a
little brown house, set low to the ground. You'll see the white and blue
sign."
Three minutes later Phil Way emerged from the side door of the identical
house the old gentleman described. He held up to expectant view a yellow
envelope, then opened the same, and, one foot on the running board, read
in a low tone:
To Phil Way and Party, Sagersgrove.
Know you have gone. Don't know where. Rushing around crazy.
"Wow!" yelled Paul Jones, with cheery emphasis. Which expression,
although seeming to betray no very great depth of intellect, or to
communicate any very particular intelligence, did appear to express the
feelings of the Auto Boys to a nicety.