AROUND THE GOLD CUP CIRCUIT
Phil's "hello!" was none too cordial, but glad under any circumstances
to meet someone from home, and quite overjoyed to show the Auto Boys
that the Chosen Trio were on the spot, Perth was hastening forward.
Again Way looked anxiously in all directions, trying vainly to learn
whence his friends had so mysteriously fled. No sight or sound of them
could he discover.
"Got your car running again sooner'n you expected, didn't you?" grinned
Freddy, coming close up. "When did you get in?"
"Not sooner than _we_ expected--sooner than _you_ expected, wasn't it?"
responded Phil. "Haven't been here long. You came in this morning."
"How'd you know?" Perth demanded with a searching look.
"Bird told me," Phil smiled. "Where you staying?"
"Ask the bird that, too!" grinned Freddy.
"Well, see you later. Be here for the races, I take it," Way laughed,
not at all put out by Perth's adroit reply to his own question. With a
little wave of the hand he walked quickly away; but a glance over his
shoulder a minute later assured him that Perth, Gaines and Pickton were
following not far behind. The latter two had loitered in the background
while the conversation with Fred was taking place.
If Phil was astonished to find himself so unexpectedly alone, it was
apparent that the Trio were scarcely less so. Perth was certain he had
seen Billy Worth at the same moment he had first seen Way. What had
become of Billy and where were Dave and Paul?
Phil, himself, would have given something at this particular moment to
have been able to answer these questions. Meanwhile it was obvious his
first task was to escape from the three who followed. Where was Gaines'
Roadster? If he could lead the Trio far enough from their car that they
would not have that means of pursuit, it might be that Billy and the
rest would come along in the Thirty, pick him up and thus enable all to
make their escape quite readily.
Acting on this thought, Phil turned into the first residence street
intersecting Main, the business thoroughfare. Even now he was but a few
blocks distant from where the Thirty had been left. Surely, he reasoned,
some one of his friends would be watching the direction he took. One of
them would manage, some way, to get into communication with him, even if
they did not come dashing up with the machine and effect his rescue.
Was it an instance of telepathy--the action of Billy's mind, or Paul's
or Dave's or of all three, upon Phil Way's--that caused the latter to
think of a sudden, rapid dash in the car, after the Trio had been led a
safe distance from their own machine, as a likely means of escaping
them? Such a thing is not impossible. It is not, indeed, improbable. And
yet, although stranger instances of thought transference have been fully
proved, it may have been after all only a coincidence that the plan that
came into Phil's mind was exactly the one Billy Worth suggested to Paul
and David and which they prepared to put into execution.
Very luckily had Worth made a dive into the crowd the moment he found
himself and Phil observed by Freddy Perth. Thinking Way followed, he
called with a quick gasp to MacLester and Jones and darted into an open
stairway. Quickly as they could the three ran up the steps into a narrow
hall on the second floor.
A window was open toward the street and Worth was not long in
discovering how to put it to good use. In dismay he saw, with Paul and
Dave peeping out over his shoulder, that Phil had fallen fairly into the
enemy's hands. He could not hear the words exchanged with Perth, but
realized how mystified Way was as he waved his hand and walked away.
"Of course they'll follow. Won't let him get out of their sight!"
ejaculated Billy. "We've got to make a grand rush in the machine and get
Phil away from them before they know what's happened."
"Just let him lead them quite a stretch away. Gaines' car is probably
right near here," Paul put in, eagerly.
The suggestion was adopted. Then Jones volunteered to keep Way and the
enemy both in sight while Billy and Dave brought the Thirty up.
Ten minutes later there was a sudden blast of a flying automobile's horn
in one of Queensville's quiet streets. In another instant the car had
slackened speed and a young man rushed from the sidewalk and climbed
aboard. Like a flash the machine sped forward again, followed by a
series of angry, disappointed yells from three other youths who also
dashed out from the sidewalk as if they had thought of going along.
A good many people observing the rather mysterious performance, as they
sat upon their lawns and porches, or strolled on the street, were
decidedly at a loss to know what to make of it all.
"Oh, I guess we're no wizards at all! No, nothing like that! No wizards
about us! Not at all!" chuckled Paul Jones in a perfect rapture of
delight. "No, we're no _wizards_!"
And although Philip, William and David expressed themselves in somewhat
different language, it was apparent that they, too, entertained pretty
much the same opinion as the highly elated Mr. Jones with regard to
their being "No wizards, at all," whatever that may signify.
Yet now that the Chosen Trio had been again outwitted and again left
behind, temporarily at least, there remained the problem of keeping well
beyond their sight and reach. To do this and to do it without permitting
those persistent young gentlemen to bar the Thirty from entering the
limits of Queensville was no small undertaking.
The town was of only a few thousand population, and even now when filled
with strangers and with strange automobiles from the larger cities near
by, it was apparent that at any moment the four friends appeared on the
principal streets they might expect to meet the very persons they most
wished to avoid.
MacLester emphatically declared himself in favor of letting the Trio "go
hang." If they "wanted to tag along clear to the Ship woods," he did not
care. They'd have principally their trouble for their pains. All they
might discover as to the object of the expedition and the camp in that
out-of-the-way place, would not, according to young Mr. MacLester's way
of stating it, "Make 'em wise enough to hurt 'em." Whatever the reports
they carried back to Lannington, no one would give them much credence
anyway, he declared.
But Phil Way sturdily opposed any such surrender. The original
determination to keep the real purpose of this long journey a secret
could not be abandoned now, he argued, without a practical admission
that Gaines and his followers had been too clever for them. Billy and
Paul stood resolutely with Way. Meanwhile the Thirty had been traversing
one dusty, unpaved street after another in the town's outskirts.
"They'll never be expecting to see us again to-day. Let's go back down
town. If we keep our eyes open, we'll see them first, and that's all
that's necessary," proposed Worth; and, being himself at the wheel, he
turned the car toward the business district.
From no source came an objection. In ten minutes the machine was again
standing just where it had been left before. Quite contrary to the
expectations of the boys, also, they saw nothing whatever of the Trio,
though they spent an hour looking about the little city and observing
the hundreds of visitors.
Some had come, it appeared, simply for the day, to see the preparations
for the great road races. Many were present because of a direct interest
in the contests in one way or another and would remain until all was
over. Racing drivers and the builders of their cars, automobile
salesmen, tire men, newspaper men from many cities--motoring enthusiasts
of a score of sorts and a hundred degrees of significance, from the
young fellow who expected to own a runabout some day to the engineer who
designed and would drive the most popular machine in the heavy car
race--they were on the streets, in the hotels, thronging everywhere.
On barns, fences, trees, posts--anything that offered a chance to drive
a nail, were signs, banners and all sorts of advertising matter. One
might find himself informed on one post that he must use "Heapa" oil or
be miserable for life. The very next post would tell him if he did not
use "Slickem" oil he'd be sorry forever. And as the really quite
conflicting announcements, admonitions, claims and assertions were in
great variety and multiplied many times by their frequent repetition,
any gentleman who might have set out to be guided by them would surely
have had a serious time of it and have landed in a padded cell
somewhere, sooner or later, undoubtedly.
In addition to the cosmopolitan character of the crowds--to say nothing
of the diversity of the advertising posters and signs--were the town's
decorations of flags and bunting everywhere. Then a band played on the
steps of the Court House, in the heart of the little city, and the
music, the chugging of engines, the confusion and excitement, the very
odors--for where is the real motoring enthusiast who dislikes the smell
of diffused gasoline fumes?--made a deep impression upon the Auto Boys.
It is very much to be feared, indeed, that they started for Camp Golden
at last much more intent upon seeing the races the following Saturday
than upon delving into the secrets of the Ship woods the following
morning.
By taking the longer route, followed by the race course, around to
Gilroy, in going home, the four friends finished a complete circuit of
the roads chosen for the stock car contest. In going to Queensville, it
will be remembered, they turned due north and later almost directly
west upon reaching the course, directly in front of the Gilroy
post-office. From Queensville they ran almost directly south, thence
east, northeast and north to Gilroy again.
The geographical situations of Camp Golden, Gilroy and Queensville the
reader should have well in mind. Let him imagine a series of country
roads forming a great, irregularly-shaped dipper. The handle is the road
passing the Ship woods. Where the handle joins the dipper itself, six
miles west of the Auto Boys' camp, is Gilroy, a crude little country
hamlet--no more. The rim of the dipper represents the roads making up
the racing circuit. Nearly half way around, to the right, that is,
north, thence west from Gilroy, is Queensville--twelve miles distant.
Continuing on around the rim is the little town of Chester, three miles
beyond Queensville.
The "Ambulance station,"--a desperately sharp curve--marks the turn of
the course to the east again, two miles further on. Then the edge of
the dipper becomes very irregular as the road winds in and out through a
wooded country, until at Far Creek Sawmill it strikes off due north.
Four miles ahead is Gilroy again, which hamlet, by this way around, is
fourteen miles from Queensville.
Much work had been done on the roads comprising the racing circuit to
put them in condition, and as Phil Way remarked, on the homeward trip
this Sunday afternoon, "There was certainly going to be some
excitement." Yet little he guessed how much more than excitement,
merely, was in store for himself and his friends.
"I'll bet there _is_," quoth Billy Worth, answering Way's remark. "It'll
be some exciting, for instance, about the time we meet Gaines' Roadster
somewhere around the track. That very choice Trio will be out every day,
more or less, and whether we go one way or the other, it will be pure
luck and nothing else if we don't come face to face with them some time
before the races are over."
And Billy's view of the matter was nothing if not plausible. There was
no way of reaching Queensville from the camp without following the
course of the proposed races. There was no cross road leading even in
the direction of that town. By a very long detour the result named might
possibly be accomplished, it was true, but it would be like going from
New York to Philadelphia by way of Albany and Harrisburg.
This Sunday afternoon it was most fortunate for the Auto Boys that they
chose to complete the circuit the races would follow, when leaving
Queensville for Camp Golden. Had they gone the other way a meeting with
the Trio would have been certain, for that select company of young
gentlemen spent several hours on the opposite side of the course vainly
watching.
Guided only by the direction the Thirty had taken after the rescue of
Phil Way, Gaines and his associates had set out in pursuit as rapidly as
possible. Until dark they haunted the road to the north and east. Their
utter lack of success was quite annoying.
In fact, Mr. Soapy Gaines became so irritated that his company could
scarcely be called enchanting; unless, indeed, one were possessed of the
peculiarity of enjoying being called a "crazy snapping turtle" and other
like names, not well chosen, at least, if intended as terms of
endearment. But as to Soapy's ruffled temper and conduct generally there
will be opportunity for observation later. At this moment attention
should return more directly to the Auto Boys.
"If we hadn't spent a whole half-day chasing around Queensville and back
again, we might have had a good walk in the woods and maybe we would
have found those three stones," growled Dave MacLester, toasting his
hands over the campfire, for the evening had come on quite cold.
"Never mind, little one, never mind! You'll feel better after you've had
your supper. Your poor, 'ittle tummy wants something. You'll feel
better pretty soon." This language in a soft, fatherly tone from Paul
Jones caused a smile. Even David smiled, too, for directly afterward
Chef Billy announced the evening meal.
It was a pleasant thing to sit before the glowing fire, enjoying toasted
crackers and toasted cheese after the major portion of the supper--baked
beans, baked potatoes and bacon, and coffee, of course--was over. It was
a pleasant thing to creep under the blankets in the tent, luxuriously
tired, an hour and a half later.
Most exquisitely pleasant was it, also, to lie snug and comfortable
listening to the tinkle of the little spring where the water flowed over
the miniature cataract leading to the cleverly devised cooling system,
and so to fall asleep at last.