THE CHASE AND CAPTURE
For several moments the boys blinked owlishly in the strong light and
filling their lungs with sweet, fresh air, that seemed indeed like a
breath of new life after their long confinement in the close atmosphere
of the mine.
“Hah! This is great!” exhaled Dick, who had regained his nerve and
courage with his first breath of freedom. “I never would have believed
that simple fresh air could smell so good, and besides,” he continued,
“it’s a lot of satisfaction to know that we’re giving Slade a taste of
what he made us stand.”
Without unnecessary loss of time, the boys scouted around the house, and
among the scrub oaks they came upon the flivver.
“This is how Slade used my car last night,” growled Dave, as he pointed
to a crumpled fender. “I guess we’re lucky he didn’t wreck it entirely.”
“Slugger probably had a wild ride getting to a telephone,” remarked
Rogers. “He certainly got his gang together in quick time; I’ll say that
much for him.”
“We’d better follow Slade’s plan of getting to the nearest telephone,”
decided Ned. “We can call the authorities at Cleveland and let them come
out here to take charge of things from now on.”
“Sure! That’s the idea! And while we’re waiting for ’em, we’ll have time
to rustle some breakfast!” chirped Tommy Beals, his round face suddenly
regaining its customary cheerfulness.
“Before we go, let’s roll up this canvas and stow it inside,” suggested
Dick. “The secret is ours and maybe we can make some use of it later.”
It required but a few minutes to return the canvas to its niche in the
cellar, and after swinging the stone slab into place against the
possibility of prying eyes, the boys climbed into the car and set out
for Cedar Hollow, whose single gasoline station was adorned with the
blue bell of telephone service. While Ned was closeted in the booth, the
others, led by the resourceful Beals, foraged for food at a neighboring
farmhouse with such success that a plentiful breakfast of homely fare
was soon in readiness.
“There’s a squad of plain clothes men on the way,” reported Ned, as he
took his place at the table. “The chief didn’t more than half-believe me
when I told him we had trapped a gang of rum-runners. He’s from
Missouri, but we’re going to _show_ him!”
Had Ned realized the resourcefulness of Latrobe or taken into
consideration the latter’s intimate knowledge of the old mine and its
contents, he might have been a bit less confident regarding his ability
to make good his boast; but for the time being, he continued to eat his
breakfast in happy ignorance of what was, even then, taking place out at
Coleson’s.
Hardly had the meal been disposed of when a big, blue automobile whirled
into the little settlement and stopped with a squeal of brakes in front
of the gasoline station. A tall, official-looking man sprang to the
ground and advanced to meet the boys who came hurrying from the house.
“I’m Inspector Baker,” the newcomer introduced himself crisply. “Now
then, what’s this story about a gang of boot-leggers that you’ve got
locked in a cave somewhere out here?” and the officer ran his eye over
the group in a manner that boded ill, should it appear that he had been
trifled with.
“They’re not in a cave; they’re in the old copper mine out at
Coleson’s,” explained Ned, who in a few words detailed the main facts of
the situation.
“Latrobe and Miller, eh!” snapped the inspector. “That’s two of a gang
we’ve been hunting for a year. Casey’s another. I never heard of this
fellow Slade, but if he’s with ’em, that’s evidence enough. Let’s go!”
Only the roughness of the road, which slowed the speed of the blue car,
enabled Dave’s flivver to keep up with the official machine, but by
strenuous exertion the little car held its own against its big rival and
was only seconds behind when the latter came to a stop before the wide
porch of the Coleson house.
“There’s a secret entrance under the house and into the mine,” explained
Rogers, as the boys hastened toward the end of the house closely
followed by Inspector Baker and his men.
As they turned the corner of the building, Ned, who was in the lead,
stopped in his tracks and stared in astonishment at a pair of deeply
rutted marks which crossed the strip of sand between the house and the
woods. Everywhere the surface had been deep-trampled by hurrying feet
and the swinging stone slab that the boys had so carefully closed was
now wide open.
“Zowie!” gasped Dick. “They’ve got away!”
“What’s _that_?” demanded Inspector Baker. “What kind of a yarn is
this?”
By way of answer Ned could but point dumbly to the opening in the
foundation wall. Advancing cautiously, the officers reconnoitered the
aperture and crept into the cellar followed by the boys. A peculiar
acrid odor assailed their nostrils and a thin veil of smoke hung like a
bluish cloud above their heads. One of the men snatched a flashlight
from his pocket and by its rays revealed the heavy plank door wrenched
from its hinges and lying splintered and blackened on the ground.
“Blasting powder!” growled Inspector Baker, as he sniffed the tell-tale
odor.
“Latrobe knew more about this mine than anybody else!” cried Ned. “He
must have had a can of powder hidden somewhere down below!”
“They took most of the cases of whisky with ’em, too!” added Dick, who
had run half-way down the stairs, from which point he could get a view
of the small chamber beneath.
“I’m afraid it’s a clean get-away,” grumbled the inspector when, after a
brief examination, he led the way out of the cellar. “Those wheel tracks
show that the truck went around this end of the house, but that doesn’t
help us much.”
“They haven’t been gone but a few minutes!” cried Ned, excitedly. “Look!
The sand is still running into the deepest wheel ruts!”
“But in that case we would have met them,” began the officer.
“The old road!” cried several voices. “They’ve gone out by the old
wood-road!” Pausing an instant to swing shut the stone slab, the boys
made a rush for the flivver and sent it bouncing across the rough
stretch of pasture.
The big blue car was close behind, but when the wood-road was reached,
Inspector Baker insisted upon taking the lead. “Latrobe isn’t a fellow
to take any chances with,” he shouted. “If we overtake him there may be
trouble. You boys keep well behind us and out of danger!” and as he
flung this warning over his shoulder, the inspector forced the big car
into the narrow bush-lined road at a reckless speed.
Close behind came the flivver, taking every turn and twist of the
crooked track with all the skill that Dave Wilbur could muster and, in
complete disregard of orders to the contrary, keeping a scant ten yards
behind the big car.
Less than two miles of the difficult road had been traversed when the
truck was sighted ahead. Evidently its occupants were not expecting
pursuit, for they were traveling at a moderate pace suited to the
roughness of the way. As the roar of pursuing motors reached his ears,
Casey, who was at the wheel, sent his clumsy vehicle forward at the
limit of its speed.
“There’s Slade!” yelped Dick, as a turn of the road gave a glimpse of a
white-shirted figure clinging to the rear of the bouncing truck. Even as
Dick spoke, Slade was seen to heave one of the heavy cases of bottles
into the road directly in the path of the big blue car as it rounded the
curve.
With a ripping crash the automobile struck the obstruction knocking it
into a mass of wood and glass splinters through which the car smashed
its way, skidding wildly but regaining its equilibrium uninjured as the
road straightened. Mindful of his tires, Dave swung the flivver around
the wreckage and back into the road without much loss of distance.
“That was a clever trick!” cried Ned. “It may work next time!”
But before the attempt could be repeated, the fleeing vehicle had
reached the sharp curve, beyond which stood the old shack. Here the road
narrowed; and crowding the left side in an effort to make the turn, the
truck struck the pile of slabs, lurched crazily across the road, and
crashed head on against the old shanty, through which it plunged for
half its length. The boys had a glimpse of a white-shirted figure that
catapulted from the rear of the wrecked vehicle to fall face downward
among the weeds. It was up in an instant, and darting forward,
disappeared in the thicket.
With a shriek of its brakes the blue car slid to a stop, and as the
flivver drew up alongside, the boys saw Inspector Baker and his men rush
toward the shanty. Before they had covered half the distance, however, a
heavy explosion rent the air followed instantly by a sheet of flame. The
gasoline tank of the truck had taken fire and exploded, and in a moment
the shack was burning fiercely.
Dazed by the force of the collision and half-suffocated by smoke,
Latrobe and his two companions staggered from the cabin to be promptly
seized by the officers and hustled into the big car.
“We won’t be bothered again very soon by those three rascals,” remarked
Ned when the blue car had passed the barrier of vines and disappeared on
the highway beyond.
“No, and I guess Slade has had enough for the time being,” added Dick.
“At the rate he was traveling when I last saw him, he must be pretty
near the Rocky Mountains by now.”
“That’s the end of the old shack and the truck, too,” remarked Charlie
Rogers, as he stood watching the blazing heap of ruins.
“Yeah, that’s the finish,” agreed Dave Wilbur. “Truck, shanty, and Ned’s
black ants, all gone up in smoke,” he added with a prodigious yawn.
“What d’y’say we beat it for home and get a real sleep?”