THE LONE CHASE
A few yards short of his goal, his foot caught on something and Joe
measured his length with a force that almost drove the breath from
his body. Fortunately the fall had left him in a tangle of bushes,
and there he lay a moment and listened with fast-beating heart for a
rush of footsteps. But the only sound that came to him was that of low
voices from beyond the thin wooden wall a half-dozen feet away, and
after a cautious look about him he squirmed forward again. To reach
the nearer of the two windows he must make his way across the remains
of an abandoned mowing machine, and that task was no slight one if he
was not to proclaim his presence to those inside. But he managed it
presently and was crouching, his head close to the weathered boards,
listening to the voices. There were evidently at least two men in the
shed. One spoke harshly yet quite distinctly, the other emitted only
unintelligible mutterings.
“Kick the burlap over here, Jimmy,” said the first. A deadened metallic
sound followed, as though a length of pipe had fallen on a carpeted
floor. “There, that’s the last, ain’t it?” There came a creaking as
of carriage springs and the mutterings of the second worker. “Yeah,
I know,” went on the other, as if in response to a suggestion, “but
we’ve got to take a chance now and then, ain’t we? Get it covered up
good and there won’t be no trouble. Better change those number plates
next thing. Huh?” The mutterings came again and the voice which Joe
could understand broke in impatiently on them. “Oh, you give me a pain,
Jimmy! We’ve made the trip four times, ain’t we? And we got by all
right, didn’t we? Well, then, forget the crepe-hanging! Besides, this
is the last lot, I guess. They’re getting het up here. When they begin
offering rewards it’s a good time to move on. Huh? ... You and your
hunches. You’re always having ’em, Jimmy, and they don’t never come
true. Say, now, do they? Where’s those plates? All right, go ahead, and
I’ll finish the load off.”
Something that sounded like a hammer struck the floor with a bang and
footsteps scraped about. There was a grunt and then once more came the
noise of creaking springs. Joe, unable to restrain his curiosity any
longer, raised his head until his eyes topped the window-sill. The pane
was dusty and draped with cobwebs, and the interior of the shed was
shadowed, but after a second spent in accustoming his eyes to the gloom
within he found that he was looking at the back of an automobile which
was standing within some four feet of the rear wall. He was too low to
see within it, although the top was down. Nearer the floor, something
moved and the boy’s gaze lowered to a red-brown thatch of hair, to a
shoulder clad in greasy blue denim. A squeaking sound suggested a nut
being forced tight. One of the men, probably the one who mumbled, was
changing the rear number plate. The second man was not in sight, for
the automobile hid the rest of the shed from Joe’s view. The squeaking
ceased and suddenly the upper part of the worker’s body shot upward
within a few inches of Joe’s eyes and the boy dropped quickly below the
window.
“All set,” came the voice from inside. “Let’s eat and get going, Jimmy.
It’ll be dark in an hour. Huh? ... Oh, there ain’t no danger I’m telling
you! Ain’t we got a right to haul a load of furniture over to Casper?
Anyway, we’ll keep out of the town this time; take it along by the
river. The roads are rotten, but we can make ’em if we don’t hurry too
much. I’m aiming to get to Chi along about three-thirty. Best way’s to
get the car unloaded and in the yard before daylight. Come on, let’s
go.”
Joe listened intently. Footsteps crossed the floor, a door banged
shut, the barking of a dog came from nearer the house. A voice
called, “Slim! You, Slim!” The dog barked louder. Voices mingled, too
indistinct, however, for Joe’s understanding. A door slammed and quiet
reigned.
After a moment Joe slipped quickly back to the nearest apple tree
and, making himself as small as possible, stared thoughtfully through
the head-high crotch at the back of the shed. Low-hanging branches
concealed him and gathering twilight was already making objects
uncertain. Joe did some hard thinking during the next five minutes.
He wanted very much to see what was in that automobile in the shed,
but the risk would be great. Even if he managed an entrance through a
window there was the possibility of being caught by the sudden return
of one of the men. Getting out of a window in a hurry is not always
an easy matter. Besides, he reflected, he was practically certain
what he would find if he did investigate; as certain as a fellow
could be without actually seeing. He relinquished thought of further
investigation and considered, instead, how to circumvent the thieves.
For Joe was quite sure that they were thieves. He was quite sure
that he had found the headquarters of the gang who had been stealing
bicycles in Central City. As he figured it out, the members of the gang
stole the wheels and brought them out here to this deserted and almost
forgotten house and hid them away until they had enough to make a
load. Then they were placed in the automobile――having been, perhaps,
first taken down and compactly bundled in burlap――and transported
over the road to Chicago. How many there were in the gang he didn’t
know; three, at least――not counting Gyp! From what he had overheard,
it was plain that the men meant to make a start as soon as they had
eaten supper. Somehow, he must communicate with the police, and that
speedily. Once out of the town there were half a dozen roads they might
take, and while by telephoning ahead, they might be intercepted there
was always the chance that they might slip through. Whatever was to be
done should be done at once. Joe wondered if there was a telephone at
the Drayton house. He was pretty certain, though, that there wasn’t;
pretty certain, indeed, that in coming out here he had left the last
telephone pole well over a half-mile nearer town. Therefore the best
thing to do was to get to the nearest telephone as soon as possible and
call up the police station.
With a last look at the shadowy bulk of the shed, and tossing the
packet of meat away, he crept back through the orchard and climbed the
fence again. Beyond it, he sacrificed caution to speed and ran as fast
as the uneven ground would let him. As he had suspected, no telephone
wire entered the Drayton house, nor were there any poles in sight
along the road toward which he hurried. To his disgust, he mistook the
clump of bushes where he had hidden his bicycle and wasted more than
one precious minute finding it. At last, though, he was mounted and
pedaling hard over the lumpy, rutted road toward the distant city.
Twilight was coming fast now. He wondered how much time had elapsed
since he had heard the house door close behind the men. He had, he
figured, remained behind the shed a good minute before returning to
the orchard, and had spent perhaps five minutes beside the tree and
had probably consumed another five minutes in reaching the road and
finding his bicycle. Consequently some twelve minutes had already gone
by. If he got his telephone connection in another five minutes he would
be doing very well indeed, and by the time the alarm was given nearly
twenty minutes would have elapsed. In that time, reflected Joe, the
thieves might well eat a hurried supper and start off on their journey.
They had spoken of circling the center of the city and keeping along
by the river, and if they did the car must go slowly, for the roads it
would have to traverse were of dirt and little traveled, save for the
mile or so of parkway that finally led to the bridge. The bridge! That
was the place to watch for them! Then Joe’s sudden elation died a quick
death. The thieves would have their choice of three bridges, after
all, or, if they liked, could swing northward to Porterville and cross
the river by the ferry. As he sped along making far slower progress
than he desired, he watched anxiously for signs of a telephone. He had
already covered a half-mile, he was sure, and still no poles came to
sight. A suburban road, showing at long intervals a house of the poorer
sort, led off to the right, and Joe slowed down and considered. This
was the road the thieves would doubtless take if they held to their
plan of following the river in its curve around the city. But there
were no telephone poles on it and so it offered no attraction to the
boy, and he was getting up speed once more when, from behind him, came
the unmistakable roar of a motor. He looked back. Far down the road
over which he had come two white eyes of light bored into the half
darkness. Dismayed, Joe again slowed down, stopped, placed one foot on
the ground and, undecided, waited. The approaching car came nearer and
nearer, slowed a trifle and whisked its white orbs to the branching
road. There were two forms on the front seat and the back of the car
appeared to be piled high with furniture. Against the lighter sky Joe
caught the silhouette of table legs stretched pathetically, helplessly
upward. Then the car was gone.
What Joe did then was done without reflection. Probably if he had
paused long enough to reason he would have continued on in search of
the nearest telephone. Instead, however, he switched his bicycle about,
set feet to pedals again, thump-bumped to the corner and set off along
the strange road in pursuit of a tiny, dim red light.
The automobile was not going very fast now. It couldn’t and remain in
the road. Chuck-holes were frequent and in places the roadbed was a
soft and yielding mire of wet clay and loam. Joe almost came to grief
in one such place, and, perhaps fortunately, since what was almost a
tumble drew his gaze to the side of the road. At some not long distant
time an effort to sell house lots there had led to the building of
several blocks of concrete sidewalk. It had apparently never paid for
itself, since few houses had been built, but there it was, and it took
but an instant for Joe to reach it. After that for some four or five
blocks he sped at full speed, his foot on one side whisked by the
encroaching weeds, and saw to his delight that he had gained on the
more cautious car.
Then the concrete sidewalk gave out and he was forced back to the road,
but the red tail light was scarcely more than a block away from him and
he didn’t doubt that from now on, until the car left the city environs,
he would be able to hang on to it. He hoped to find a policeman to whom
he could give warning. Failing that, he could at least determine the
road taken by the thieves and so make more certain their capture.
Stone paving took the place of dirt and the automobile gathered speed.
But it was evident to Joe that the driver was seeking to avoid all
suggestion of flight. Even when still later, a stretch of rather worn
asphalt came the car did not speed up as the pursuer feared it would,
but trundled along at a brisk yet unhurried pace. Even so, however,
it drew gradually away from Joe until, at the end of the asphalt, it
had increased its lead to nearly three blocks. By then they were among
the factories, in a poorly lighted and, at the present hour, well-nigh
deserted part of town. A huge grain elevator loomed beside the way,
a black, gigantic specter in the early darkness. The bicycle bounced
over the tracks of a railway spur. Between the silent buildings a
steel-gray ribbon, reflecting an occasional light from the farther
bank, showed. The river had drawn close, and in another minute or two
Joe would know whether the car ahead meant to continue the swing about
the city to one of the three bridges or to turn at right angles and
take the Porterville road. As he struggled on, working desperately to
bring the bicycle back to its former place in the race, he searched
for the welcome sight of a dark blue uniform. Yet he saw none. If, he
reflected indignantly, he hadn’t wanted a policeman the street would
have been full of them! As it was, though, the corners were empty.
No gallant guardian of law and order swung a night stick under an
infrequent lamp post.
The railroad yard was beside him now, on his left hand, and the sounds
of shunting freight cars and of exhausting steam reached him. Beyond a
long freight house a swinging lantern made yellow arcs in the darkness.
Then, almost before he was aware of its proximity, the Porterville road
swung away from the cobbled thoroughfare and the red tail light of the
car ahead was whisked from sight.