THE CHASE ON THE MOTOR-BIKE
The boys felt the importance of their commission as they rode away from
the camp on the motorcycle. They had no difficulty picking up the track
of the autocar. It ran directly to the village and on through.
"Let's find out what the old car looks like," suggested Apple. "Maybe,
too, they can tell us just how long ago it passed."
There was no difficulty in getting a description of the car--one
enthusiastic person even went so far as to detail all the various
articles advertised by J. Jervice for sale.
"How many people were riding?" asked Apple.
"A little man at the steering wheel and a big fellow perched up next to
him."
"Didn't you see a boy on it?"
"No boy anywhere unless he was inside. Of course we couldn't tell about
inside. It's jest like a wagon in a circus parade--nice paint on the
outside an' the inside left to yore 'magination."
"Two men on the wagon--one a big fellow!" exclaimed Apple, as they left
the fount of information. "We'll have to be pretty careful what we do."
"Sure will," agreed Chick-chick. "They got over an hour's start, so
we'll have to go some--Hello, have they been stopping here?"
"Looks like it. There's marks that show a man got off the car."
"The big man," said Chick-chick. "Look where the tracks are headed,
Apple. He's gone back to the village. Didn't get back on car at all.
Good for us."
Chick-chick had correctly guessed. After J. Jervice and his car were
safely through the village the big man had alighted.
"I'm goin' back to lie aroun' an' meet the other fellows," he said to
Jervice. "You beat it along with your car. You can stop an' do a little
tradin' when ye get to the next county. That'll prove you wasn't
anywheer around if anythink should happen to-night. But be sure you git
rid of the kid an' start back so's to git here by midnight."
Apple and Chick-chick took up the trail with renewed confidence now that
they felt they had only Jervice to reckon with. They had seen him at
the scout camp last Sunday and had no great respect for his dimensions
or prowess.
It was late in the afternoon when first they saw the peddler's car in
the road ahead.
"Let's trail along kind o' slow and watch him awhile," suggested Apple.
"Maybe he'll be stopping somewhere."
As it happened this guess was well founded. Mr. J. Jervice had two
reasons for stopping. One was that he wanted himself to be seen a good,
long distance away from the bank, so that he could prove that he was far
distant from that region if any robbery occurred. The other was a
natural cupidity which sorely regretted the necessity of hurriedly
passing prosperous farm houses where perfectly good money was all ready
to exchange for his wares.
A mile further on a splendid house came into view. Everything about it
spelled prosperity--its barns, and silos and windmills and fences all
showed that the residents believed in having what they needed and had
money to spend on their needs. The bait was irresistible. Mr. Jervice
stopped his car at the side of the road, clambered down from his seat
and went to lift the bars from the rear door.
Two boys on a motorcycle ditched their wheel a hundred yards away and
crept cautiously up.
"He's going to the house to try to sell something," whispered Apple. "We
must keep him from locking those back doors so we can look inside."
"We sure will," vowed Chick-chick.
Crouching in the bushes at the side of the road their pulses throbbed in
great excitement as they observed that the peddler addressed some one
inside the car. His tone was low so they did not catch the words, but
they heard a mumble and saw his cruel laugh.
"We'll teach him to laugh," whispered Chick-chick.
"But supposing he shuts and locks that rear door before he goes up to
the house."
"That's up to us. We'll watch him. If he locks it we must catch him as
he goes through that orchard and get the key away."
They watched in great anxiety. Mr. Jervice closed the rear doors of his
van and put the heavy bars in their slots, but, secure in the isolation
of his surroundings, he did not apply the padlock. Wherein, Mr. Jervice
committed a grievous error.
Scarcely was he concealed within the orchard than the two scouts rushed
to the car, lifted the bar and swung back the door. There lay their new
comrade, helplessly trussed and gagged, faint and weary with the close
confinement, almost ready to collapse.
"Water!" he gasped, as Apple took the gag from his mouth. "Get me a
drink."
Apple was able to supply him from his canteen, and even as he held it to
the parched lips, Chick-chick was slashing the cords that had been drawn
needlessly tight.
"I think I can manage this little old machine, I can," announced
Chick-chick. "Apple, you can run my bike. Go back and get it."
"Rub my wrists where the cords cut, while he's gone," Glen begged. "That
fellow that tied me up--he's a thief, that's what he is. He pulled 'em
tighter just to see me wince."
He was too cramped to stand on his feet so Chick-chick kneeled down at
his side to rub some circulation into his wrists and ankles. Suddenly a
great noise of running was heard. Chick-chick looked out through the
crack of the door.
"It's the peddler," he declared. "He's running like a bull was chasing
him, he is. He's headed straight for the car."
"We'll give him a surprise," said Glen. "Probably he's run on to
somebody who knows that he's a thief and they're after him. I'll just
lie the way I was and you stand where the door will hide you."
Glen missed his guess in one important trifle. J. Jervice did not wait
to be surprised. He was in such terror that he waited for nothing. He
threw a pack in at the door, slammed it, dropped the bar in place with
the incredible swiftness of long practice and in less than a minute had
his motor cranked and the car in motion.
Coming up on the motorcycle a minute later Apple saw the car
disappearing around a turn in the road, and wildly chasing it a puffing,
panting old man, brandishing a heavy club.
The positions of the scouts were changed for the better, but they yet
were a long distance from freedom. Instead of Glen tied and gagged in
the car with Chick-chick and Apple following on the motorcycle, Apple
now was following alone, while, imprisoned in the car, were both Glen
and Chick-chick with the fortunate difference that the gag and bonds
were removed.
"We're shut in," whispered Chick-chick. "Pretty mess I made of rescue, I
did."
"No mess at all," said Glen. "I'm free now and ready for anything, or
shall be when I get some circulation in my feet and hands. Can't move
till then, anyway. What d'ye s'pose Apple's doing?"
"Following us along, Apple is, you bet. When he gets a chance he'll help
us out, he will. Say, what's loose board here?"
"I don't know," replied Glen. "It's got a ring in it like it might be
intended to be lifted up."
"Bet I know," said Chick-chick. "I reckon the transmission case is just
below here, an' this is fixed to lift out so you can see transmission
without crawling underneath."
"It wouldn't make a big enough hole to let us out, would it?" asked
Glen.
"No, it wouldn't. But if I can get to that transmission I can stop
car--won't run little bit."
"Could you start it again?"
"Depend on what I did to gears."
"Let's try it."
The board came up easily. Four bolts held the lid of the transmission
case but were readily removed with Chick-chick's pocket wrench.
"Now we'll pack in something soft. Clog up the gears without breaking
'em."
"What good will that do--except make him mad."
"Help us out--it will. He isn't enough mechanic to find out why can't
run. Off he goes town after help. Leaves us here do as we please. We
know where trouble is. Fix it. Off we go."
There was plenty of soft material to feed into the transmission case.
The car pulled unsteadily and stopped. The boys cautiously replaced the
board in the floor and awaited developments. They could hear J. Jervice
tinkering around, examining brakes and wheels and everything but the
transmission.
"Hey, you!" he called after a few minutes. "You inside there! D'ye hear
me?"
Then as it probably occurred to him that he could expect no great
volubility from a gagged prisoner he continued:
"I've broke down an' I'm goin' to git help. When I bring a mechanic back
don't ye try makin' no racket or it'll be the worse for ye."
The first positive assurance that he had gone was when Apple came up on
the motorcycle, lifted the bar and opened the doors. It did not take
them long to scramble out.
The world looked very beautiful to the eyes of Glen Mason after his
hours of real peril and imprisonment. It was fine to be able once more
to stretch out and shake loose every little muscle, to be able to draw
in a long breath, just as deep as one wanted, free from the muffling of
a foul mouth gag. The world was a good old place in which to live and
surely Glen would henceforth try to live in it in an appreciable manner.
"Look here, fellows," said Chick-chick. "I know all about this old
wagon. I can make it go ramblin' right along; handle it so it's
perfectly tame an' gentle--take the bit nice an' stand 'thout hitchin'.
What d 'ye say? Do we make the horsey go for Mr. Jervice?"
"You mean run away with it?" asked Apple. "That wouldn't be right, would
it?"
"You don't know much 'bout this gang, Apple. Brick's been telling me.
He's found out about 'em, Brick has. Regular band o' thieves, they are."
"Thieves!" exclaimed Apple. "No wonder they acted mean."
"No wonder. Wonder is they did no worse, it is. They think they're going
rob Buffalo Center bank to-night. We'll show 'em, we will."
"Would taking their car away stop them?"
"It would be apt to hinder," said Glen. "I think Jervice carries their
kit in his wagon and they depend on him to get their stuff hauled
away."
"Take away their little old wagon sure will bother 'em."
"What would you do with it?"
"Turn it round. Run back to Buffalo Center and give sheriff."
"All right," agreed Apple. "You'll have to get busy if you want to get
it back before dark. I suppose I'll have to ride the motor-bike."
"Reckon you're elected, Apple. Brick can't ride it, an' I can't run more
'n one at a time."
"Well, I'll not get far ahead of you. I'll keep you in sight, anyway."