THE CAPTURE--GOOD-BY
Tom's story was soon told, and Mr. Damon quickly explained to his
friends in the automobile how he had first made the acquaintance of
the young inventor.
"But how does it happen that you are trusting yourself in a car like
this?" asked Tom. "I thought you were done with gasolene machines,
Mr. Damon."
"I thought so, too, Tom, but, bless my batteries, my doctor insisted
that I must get out in the open air. I'm too stout to walk, and I
can't run. The only solution was in an automobile, for I never would
dream of a motor-cycle. I wonder that one of mine hasn't run away
with you and killed you. But there! My automobile is nearly as bad.
We went along very nicely yesterday, and now, just when I have a
party of friends out, something goes wrong. Bless my liver! I do
seem to have the worst luck!"
Tom lost no time in looking for the trouble. He found it in the
ignition, and soon had it fixed. Then a sort of council of war was
held.
"Do you think those scoundrels are there yet?" asked Mr. Damon.
"I hope so," answered Tom.
"So do I," went on the odd character. "Bless my soul, but I want a
chance to pummel them. Come, gentlemen, let's be moving. Will you
ride with us, Tom Swift, or on that dangerous motor-cycle?"
"I think I'll stick to my machine, Mr. Damon. I can easily keep up
with you."
"Very well. Then we'll get along. We'll proceed until we get close
to the old mansion, and then some of us will go down to the lake
shore, and the rest of us will surround the house. We'll catch the
villains red-handed, and I hope we bag that tramp among them."
"I hardly think he is there," said Tom.
In a short time the auto and the motor-cycle had carried the
respective riders to the road through the woods. There the machines
were left, and the party proceeded on foot. Tom had a revolver with
him, and one member of Mr. Damon's party also had a small one, more
to scare dogs than for any other purpose. Tom gave his weapon to one
of the men, and cut a stout stick for himself, an example followed
by those who had no firearms.
"A club for mine!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "The less I have to do with
machinery the better I like it. Now, Tom Swift is just the other way
around," he explained to his friends.
Cautiously they approached the house, and when within seeing
distance of it they paused for a consultation. There seemed to be no
one stirring about the old mansion, and Tom was fearful lest the men
had left. But this could not be determined until they came closer.
Two of Mr. Damon's friends elected to go down to the shore of the
lake and prevent any escape in that direction, while the others,
including Tom, were to approach from the wood side. When the two who
were to form the water attacking party were ready, one of them was
to fire his revolver as a signal. Then Tom, Mr. Damon and the others
would rush in.
The young inventor, Mr. Damon, and his friend, whom he addressed as
Mr. Benson, went as close to the house as they considered prudent.
Then, screening themselves in the bushes, they waited. They
conversed in whispers, Tom giving more details of his experience
with the patent thieves.
Suddenly the silence of the woods was broken by some one advancing
through the underbrush.
"Bless my gaiters, some one is coming!" exclaimed Mr. Damon in a
hoarse whisper. "Can that be Munson or Dwight coming back?" He
referred to his two friends who had gone to the lake.
"Or perhaps the fellows are escaping," suggested Mr. Benson.
"Suppose we take a look."
At that moment the person approaching, whoever he was, began to
sing. Tom started.
"I'll wager that's Happy Harry, the tramp!" he exclaimed. "I know
his voice."
Cautiously Tom peered over the screen of bushes.
"Who is it?" asked Mr. Damon.
"It's Happy Harry!" said Tom. "We'll get them all, now. He's going
up to the house."
They watched the tramp. All unconscious of the eyes of the men and
boy in the bushes, he kept on. Presently the door of the house
opened, and a man came out. Tom recognized him as Anson Morse--the
person who had dropped the telegram.
"Say, Burke," called the man at the door, "have you taken the
motor-boat?"
"Motor-boat? No," answered the tramp. "I just came here. I've had a
hard time--nearly got caught in Swift's house the other night by
that cub of a boy. Is the boat gone?"
"Yes. Appleson came back in it last night and saw some one looking
in the window, but we thought it was only a farmer and chased him
away. This morning the boat's gone. I thought maybe you had taken it
for a joke."
"Not a bit of it! Something's wrong!" exclaimed Happy Harry. "We'd
better light out. I think the police are after us. That young Swift
is too sharp for my liking. We'd better skip. I don't believe that
was a farmer who looked in the window. Tell the others, get the
stuff, and we'll leave this locality."
"They're here still," whispered Tom. "That's good!"
"I wonder if Munson and Dwight are at the lake yet?" asked Mr.
Damon. "They ought to be--"
At that instant a pistol shot rang out. The tramp, after a hasty
glance around, started on the run for the house. The man in the
doorway sprang out. Soon two others joined him.
"Who fired that shot?" cried Morse.
"Come on, Tom!" cried Mr. Damon, grabbing up his club and springing
from the bushes. "Our friends have arrived!" The young inventor and
Mr. Benson followed him.
No sooner had they come into the open space in front of the house
than they were seen. At the same instant, from the rear, in the
direction of the lake, came Mr. Munson and Mr. Dwight.
"We're caught!" cried Happy Harry.
He made a dash for the house, just as a man, carrying a box, rushed
out.
"There it is! The model and papers are in that box!" cried Tom.
"Don't let them get away with it!"
The criminals were taken by surprise. With leveled weapons the
attacking party closed in on them. Mr. Damon raised his club
threateningly.
"Surrender! Surrender!" he cried. "We have you! Bless my stars, but
you're captured! Surrender!"
"It certainly looks so," admitted Anson Morse. "I guess they have
us, boys."
The man with the box made a sudden dash toward the woods, but Tom
was watching him. In an instant he sprang at him, and landed on the
fellow's back. The two went down in a heap, and when Tom arose he
had possession of the precious box.
"I have it! I have it!" he cried. "I've got dad's model back!"
The man who had had possession of the box quickly arose, and, before
any one could stop him, darted into the bushes.
"After him! Catch him! Bless my hat-band, stop him!" shouted Mr.
Damon.
Instinctively his friends turned to pursue the fugitive, forgetting,
for the instant, the other criminals. The men were quick to take
advantage of this, and in a moment had disappeared in the dense
woods. Nor could any trace be found of the one with whom Tom had
struggled.
"Pshaw! They got away from us!" cried Mr. Damon regretfully. "Let's
see if we can't catch them. Come on, we'll organize a posse and run
them down." He was eager for the chase, but his companions dissuaded
him. Tom had what he wanted, and he knew that his father would
prefer not to prosecute the men. The lad opened the box, and saw
that the model and papers were safe.
"Let those fellows go," advised the young inventor, and Mr. Damon
reluctantly agreed to this. "I guess we've seen the last of them,"
added the youth, but he and Mr. Swift had not, for the criminals
made further trouble, which will be told of in the second volume of
this series, to be called "Tom Swift and His Motor-Boat; or, The
Rivals of Lake Carlopa." In that our hero will be met in adventures
even more thrilling than those already related, and Andy Foger, who
so nearly ran Tom down in the automobile, will have a part in them.
"Now," said Mr. Damon, after it had been ascertained that no one was
injured, and that the box contained all of value that had been
stolen, "I suppose you are anxious to get back home, Tom, aren't
you? Will you let me take you in my car? Bless my spark plug, but
I'd like to have you along in case of another accident!"
The lad politely declined, however, and, with the valuable model and
papers safe on his motor-cycle, he started for Shopton. Arriving at
the first village after leaving the woods, Tom telephoned the good
news to his father, and that afternoon was safely at home, to the
delight of Mr. Swift and Mrs. Baggert.
The inventor lost no time in fully protecting his invention by
patents. As for the unprincipled men who made an effort to secure
it, they had so covered up their tracks that there was no way of
prosecuting them, nor could any action be held against Smeak &
Katch, the unscrupulous lawyers.
"Well," remarked Mr. Swift to Tom, a few nights after the recovery
of the model, "your motor-cycle certainly did us good service. Had
it not been for it I might never have gotten back my invention."
"Yes, it did come in handy," agreed the young inventor. "There's
that motor-boat, too. I wish I had it. I don't believe those fellows
will ever come back for it. I turned it over to the county
authorities, and they take charge of it for a while. I certainly had
some queer adventures since I got this machine from Mr. Damon,"
concluded Tom. I think my readers will agree with him.
THE END
End of Project Gutenberg's Tom Swift and his Motor-cycle, by Victor Appleton