ON THE ROAD AGAIN.
Although Roy Sheldon and his friends were greatly relieved, and felt
duly thankful to the reporter who had concealed the "plucky wheelman's"
identity under a fictitious name, and thus prevented their trip from
being brought to a sudden end, they were none the less impatient to
take the road again, and their two days of enforced inactivity hung
heavily on their hands. It would not be prudent for them to call upon
their friends in the city, for, as Roy ruefully affirmed, they would
have to tell them the truth, and they might as well go home as to do
that. Concealment was the only thing left to them, but reading and
sleeping, with an occasional discussion of their recent experience,
were monotonous ways for healthy boys to pass the time. Roy's bruises
demanded a little of their care and attention, and before long he had
the satisfaction of knowing that his arm was not as lame as it had
been, and that his eyes were slowly resuming their natural color. But
it was two weeks before the wondering rustics ceased to turn and gaze
after him as he wheeled swiftly along the road.
Saturday morning came at last, and after a light breakfast the three
Columbias were brought from their dark closet and set in motion again.
Of course we--that is, my two companions and I--knew nothing of the
strange things that had taken place on the night we were put into our
closet for safe-keeping, and we were on the road at least a week before
we heard as much of the story as I have already told you. We were fully
two hundred miles from New London when we, most unexpectedly, heard
more of it, and back in Mount Airy when we heard the conclusion; so you
see I am not yet through with the events that grew out of Roy Sheldon's
visit to the city.
Saturday's run was short, for my master insisted that the doctor's
orders should be implicitly obeyed, but still it was a hard one. Before
they were fairly out of the city limits the sand that was "knee-deep"
obstructed their way, and made the young wheelmen cast longing glances
toward the tow-path which was in plain view. But the sight of several
groups of ragged urchins, some of whom tried hard and perseveringly to
get a stone up to them, and the knowledge that one of their number was
in no condition for a fight, if one was forced upon them, made them
keep to the highway.
"But I tell you we'll not do it on Monday for all the canalers in the
State," said Roy that night, when he and his companions dismounted
before the little inn that was to be their stopping place. "We are so
far out of the city now that we shall not see very many boats, and as
often as we come in sight of a settlement of shanties, we'll climb up
to the road and go around it."
The proprietor of the inn said he was used to the company of wheelmen,
and the bountiful supper he set before the boys proved that he was.
He gave them comfortable beds too, and on Monday morning showed them
a path by which they could take their wheels down to the bank of the
canal. It was much easier riding there than it was on the highway,
but, as the Omaha wheelman said, they found the "unspeakable mule"
there. They met a good many boats going into the city, and nearly
every one of them was towed by a span of these interesting creatures.
The boys dismounted and got out of the way as often as they saw them
coming, but the mules were not to be deceived or cheated out of a
stampede by any such shallow artifice as that. They saw the glittering
wheels, and that was enough for them. They invariably turned like a
flash and tore back along the path as though they were frightened out
of their wits, but always stopped their headlong flight just in time
to avoid being jerked into the canal. It seemed to me that reasonable
persons would have been satisfied with the precautions taken by the
boys to avoid trouble, but I soon learned that the boatmen were not
reasonable. They swore lustily, hurling their oaths at mules and
cyclists with perfect impartiality, and now and then a very angry
captain would order his steersman to "hold her clost in to the bank
so't he could jump ashore an' pitch them nuisances into the drink";
but when the boys heard such talk as that they mounted and sped lightly
along, leaving the captain to recover his good-nature as soon as he
got ready, and the driver to manage the mules in anyway he could.
By following this course, and by making a flank movement on every
"settlement of shanties" that hove in sight, they finally reached
Bloomingdale without doing very much riding in the sand.
They were now about a hundred and forty miles from home, and considered
their journey fairly begun. Leaving out their first night in New
London, they were more than pleased with their experience. Their health
was perfect, their brains, to quote from Roy Sheldon, were "as clear
as whistles," and they felt equal to any amount of hard work either on
the road or at the table. Taking timid women, skittish horses, foolish
mules, peppery canal-boat captains, combative boys and ugly dogs into
consideration, a trip like this had just enough of the exciting and
perilous in it to make it interesting.
Although my master and his chums longed to hear from home, they opened
the letters they found waiting for them in Bloomingdale with some
fear and trembling. As I looked at it, it did not seem possible that
adventures like Roy Sheldon's, and an exploit such as he had performed,
could be kept covered up for any length of time (I have been told that
such things have a way of "leaking out somewhere"), nor was it at all
probable that every one who heard of them would be as considerate of
Roy's wishes as the _Tribune_ reporter had shown himself to be. I
awaited the result with as much excitement as Roy Sheldon exhibited
when he seated himself on the porch in front of the hotel and opened
one of his mother's letters--the one that bore the latest date. I saw
him run his eyes over the closely written pages, and when he laid that
letter aside and picked up another, intending to read them in the order
in which they were written, I knew before he said a word that his fears
were groundless and that no return orders had been received.
"My folks don't suspect anything; how is it with yours?" said he,
gleefully. "Mother doesn't say a word about Peter Smith who was
shanghaied and jumped overboard to escape being carried to sea, and
that's all the evidence I want that she does not think I am that
identical Peter."
Thanks to the thoughtful reporter, who did not want Roy to be called
home although he _did_ want all the news the boy had it in his power
to give him, the truth was never suspected, and after a short rest the
young wheelmen turned their backs upon the tow-path and the pugnacious
youngsters who lived beside it, and struck out again, this time running
through a fine farming country, with just enough timber along the road
to break the monotony of the scenery, and afford them shade as often as
they felt inclined to take a breathing spell. They were not the only
cyclists on the road, as they found before they had left Bloomingdale
a dozen miles behind. They were wheeling along in Indian file at a
moderate pace, when Joe Wayring, who brought up the rear, was surprised
to hear a voice close to him say:
"If you have a mind to listen to it, I believe I can give you young
gentlemen a word of advice that may some day be of use to you." And
before Joe could turn his head, a tall stranger on a big wheel rode up
beside him. "Where have you come from and where are you going, if it
is a fair question?" he continued, after returning Joe's greeting. "I
judge from your bundles that you are on a trip; but I guess you haven't
been out very long, or else you followed a different route from mine,
for you are not half as dirty as I am."
This broke the ice, and in a few minutes the boys were on the best of
terms with the strange wheelman, who could not, however, give them
any "pointers" regarding their route, for he was going another way,
and besides he was depending entirely upon his road-book. He had been
out four weeks, but was on the way home now, weighed twenty pounds
more than he did when he set out, and felt strong enough to tackle any
dinner that was set before him. My master expressed his regrets because
the stranger was not going their way, and asked him what that word of
advice was he said he could give them.
"You wobble too much," said the wheelman, coming to the point at once.
"I have been following behind for the last mile or so, and took notice
of the fact that an eighteen inch plank would scarcely be wide enough
to cover your tracks."
"I've noticed that too," replied Roy, "but never thought it worth while
to take the trouble to ride any differently. What's the odds so long as
one has the whole road to wobble in?"
"None whatever," said the stranger, with a laugh, "only experts who
come on your track will think you are not at all careful as to your
style, or else they will put you down as new hands at the business. But
suppose you should come to a railroad bridge with only a single plank
laid down for one to walk upon. If you tried to run over it you would
go off sure; and it would be a job to dismount and carry your wheels.
Besides, when you got home you wouldn't like to confess that you had
done such a thing."
"But you see we haven't found any bridges of that sort in our way yet,
and we don't mean to," replied Joe. "Our plan is to follow the road and
keep clear of the tracks."
"That's the resolve I made when I set out, but I haven't held to it. I
am pretty well satisfied now that you are not very far from home."
"What makes you think so?"
"Because you don't seem to care anything for distance; but wait until
you have been in the saddle a week at a stretch, and you will be glad
to cut off all the miles you can. You will find that the railroad
generally follows the shortest route between two points, and if you
have made up your minds to stop for the night at a certain place, you
will want to get there the easiest way you can. That's the time you
will probably take to the track and find some of the bridges I spoke of
a minute ago."
The boys traveled several miles in company with the pleasant stranger
who, to quote once more from Roy Sheldon, "was just chuck full of good
stories and advice," and it was with much regret that they took leave
of him, saw him turn off from their route and continue his journey
alone. How often it happens that little things bring about great
events! You shall presently see what grew out of this short interview
which happened by the merest accident.
"From this day forward I mend my style of riding," said Joe Wayring,
when their chance companion had been left out of sight. "I never knew
before that a wheelman left traces by which an expert could judge of
his skill, but I know it now, and by this time next week I bet you
I'll be steady enough to ride a six-inch plank on top of the highest
railroad bridge in the country."
The others said the same, and from that moment began exercising more
care in the management of their wheels. If that stranger could have
come up behind them now, he would not have seen so many zig-zag tracks
in the road. But no doubt he would have laughed at them for so quickly
forgetting their resolve to "stick to the highway and steer clear of
the railroad tracks"; for that was just what they did. Before a week
had passed over their heads they began to realize that it required
a good many motions with the pedals to take them a day's journey,
and bring them to the place at which they had beforehand decided to
pass the night, that there was a good deal of sameness in wheeling,
in spite of the new scenes and new faces that were constantly coming
before them, and they were not so very long in learning by actual test
that "the railroad usually follows the shortest route between two
points." But, strange to say, they encountered but few cattle-guards,
no bridges or trestle-works, and the culverts were so well covered that
they scarcely knew when they passed over them. Except when following
these short cuts they adhered rigidly to the instructions laid down
in their road-book, but one day even that guide, which ought to have
been infallible, led them astray; and here is the passage that did the
mischief:
"After a good nooning among the Bergen shades a bee-line can be
struck for Dorchester, over a road with occasional patches of sand.
Luckily these patches can be avoided by making use of portages in
the shape of the ever-welcome cow-path, which winds off to the side
of the road most conveniently. The cow figures most usefully in
touring as a path-maker in districts where the road commissioners are
derelict. Also as a dispenser of a beverage which is the best of all
drinks anywhere, and especially on the road."
The guide-book also went on to say that at one place along the route
a cow-path led directly to a brook, at which the weary and hungry
wheelman might stop and cast a line with a more than reasonable
expectation of catching a good-sized trout for his dinner.
"We've struck it," said Arthur, who had read aloud the route for that
particular day before the three left their hotel in the morning.
"Here's the sand, and it's knee-deep too, as sand always is. Now, where
is the cow-path that leads to the brook?"
"Here's a path, but whether it goes to the brook or not, I can't
guess," answered Joe. "Let's try it, and see if it will take us to a
dispenser of that beverage, whatever it is, the book speaks of."
"It's milk," said Roy, smacking his lips. "I'd a little rather have it
off the ice, but I wouldn't refuse it warm just now, for I am thirsty
and hungry besides."
"That's nothing new," retorted Joe. "You've been that way ever since
we left home. Come on, fellows. Somebody has been through here, for the
most of the branches have been removed, and a log or two cut out of the
path."
"What is that welcome sound that comes faintly to my ears?" said Roy,
in a heavy voice, as he mounted his wheel and followed his leader
through the woods. "Is it what Byron calls the tocsin of the soul, the
dinner bell? No; it is a cow bell. Push on, Joe. Who's got a cup handy?"
Their first hard work was to locate the cow which wore the bell, and
their second to ascertain whether or not she would permit the boys to
approach her on short acquaintance. They had no trouble at all in going
straight to the little glade from which the bell sounded, for the path
took them to it. There were half a dozen cows in sight, but they were
evidently accustomed to having wheelmen intrude upon them, for they
merely looked at the boys and went on with their feeding. The three
bicycles were leaned against convenient trees, the cup Roy wanted was
quickly brought to light, and then Joe and Arthur began a cautious
stalking of the nearest cow.
"That's no way to do business," said Roy, who brought up the rear with
the cup in his hand. "Go straight up to her as if you had a secret to
tell her, for if you go to sneaking she'll get suspicious and dig out.
That's the way to do it, Joe. Now scratch her on the neck or behind the
horns, and I'll soon have a cupful of that beverage which is the best
of all drinks anywhere, and especially on the road. I declare, she's
as gentle as an old cow, and it's going to be a good deal easier than
I thought. Art, you had better lumber back to the bikes and bring two
more cups. We'll have a jolly tuck-out on milk while we are about it."
In a few minutes more three hungry and tired boys, each with a brimming
cup of rich country milk in one hand and a sandwich in the other, were
sitting on the ground under the shade of a spreading beech, enjoying a
substantial lunch and fervently thanking the author of their road-book
for his timely suggestions regarding cow-paths and the kindly animals
which made them. Of course it was much better than any lunch they ever
had at home, and they had but one fault to find with it; there wasn't
enough of it.
"I move that we let that trout brook alone," said Joe. "We are not so
hungry but that we can stand it until we reach the end of our day's
run, and besides, we can find better angling nearer home when we have
more time at our disposal."
"That's what I say," chimed in Arthur. "We've twelve miles farther to
go, and I am in favor of setting out at once; for the longer we stay
here the lazier we'll get. Let's follow the path until we get on the
other side of those patches of sand, and then make the pace hot and get
to Dorchester as soon as we can. We'll have to lie by to-morrow, for
it's going to rain."
The clouds certainly looked threatening, and the prospect of being
caught in a smart shower before they could reach the shelter of the
hotel at which they intended to stop for the night, was enough to put
energy even into Roy Sheldon, who was called the laziest boy in the
party. He didn't want to be put to the trouble of cleaning the mud
off his fine wheel before he went to bed; so he led the way at a brisk
gait, paying little or no attention to where he was going so long as
the path was smooth and plain, and the first thing he knew he was
brought up standing by a brush pile in front of him.
"This bangs me; now where's the trail?" was all he had to say about it.
"It has ended as nearly all trails do," replied Joe, quoting from one
of his favorite authors and trying to get a glimpse at the clouds
through the net-work of branches above his head. "It branched off to
right and left, grew dimmer and slimmer, degenerated into a rabbit
path, petered out in a squirrel track, ran up a tree and lost itself in
a knot-hole."
"But I don't think I shall go up to find it," answered Roy. "It will be
easier to take the back track."
And it was easier to say that than it was to do it, as Arthur Hastings
found when he came to make the attempt. When the line faced about he
became the leader, and before he had gone a dozen yards he found
himself at fault. The ground was so hard and so thickly covered with
leaves that their wheels left no trail that could be followed, and as
the bell had been left out of hearing they could not find the glade.
To make matters worse, all the signs seemed to indicate that the cows
which were pastured there had done nothing during the past year but
travel about from one end of the wood-lot to the other; for the trails
they had made were numerous, and twisted about in the most bewildering
way. In sheer desperation Arthur turned into every one he came to,
trundling his wheel beside him, and his companions blindly followed in
his wake.
"This will begin to get interesting if we don't get out pretty soon,"
said Joe, glancing at his watch. "Night is coming on apace and we're
twelve miles from shelter."
"But we are within easy reach of our blankets, matches and camp-axes,"
replied Arthur, "and if we have to sleep in the woods, it will not be
the first time we have done it."
"But we haven't a bite to eat," groaned the hungry boy of the party.
At last Arthur fell back to the rear and gave place to Joe Wayring,
who in his turn gave way to Roy; but one guide was about as good as
another, for all the best of them did was to lead his companions
farther from the road they wanted to find and deeper into the woods.
There were paths enough, otherwise they would have found it impossible
to walk as far as they did, for the bushes on each side were so thick
that they could not have carried their wheels through them. But the
difficulty was, those paths ran in every direction, and did not tend
toward any particular point of the compass. The woods grew darker every
minute, and at last, when they were beginning to talk seriously of
making a camp and going supper-less to bed, Roy Sheldon shouted out
that he could see daylight before him, and presently the three boys
emerged from the woods.
"I knew I could bring you out if you would trust to my superior
knowledge of woodcraft," said Roy complacently. "I tell you, you can't
lose me in any little piece of woods like this."
"But what sort of a place have you brought us to with your superior
knowledge?" exclaimed Arthur. "This isn't our road."
"I didn't say it was, my friend," was Roy's reply. "I simply said I had
brought you out of the woods."
"Only to lose us again," chimed in Joe. "This is a railroad."
"And a one-track concern at that," said Arthur. "Crooked as a ram's
horn, so that we can't see a train until it is close upon us, and
consequently dangerous. It's been raining hard here. The ditches on
each side are full of water."
"Which means muddy wheels to clean to-night in case a train drives us
off the track. Shall we try it?"
"Of course. But which end of the road will take us to our destination?
That's what I should like to know."
"Ask us something easy," answered Joe, as he lifted his wheel over the
ditch and placed it upon the track. "Dorchester must be at one end or
the other, but we'll have to go it blind. Which way shall we start?"
added Joe, who while he was speaking kept turning his wheel first up
and then down the track. "The majority rules."
"That way," said Roy.
"Come on then. Let's cover as many miles as we can while daylight
lasts. We'll have to touch a match to our lamps pretty soon."
It was fine wheeling on the hard road-bed, and Joe Wayring made the
pace hot enough to satisfy anybody but a professional racer; but fast
as he went, the darkness traveled faster, and when they had gone about
three miles, he suggested that the lamps ought to be lighted.
"These thick woods and high banks on each side shut out what little
light there is," said he, "and it is darker where we are than it ought
to be. We have never been this way before, and no one knows how soon we
may blunder into a cattle-guard and get a broken head without a chance
to see what hurt us."
Another start at a more moderate pace was made as soon as the lamps
had been lit, and by the time the fourth mile had been left behind, it
was as dark as a pocket. This was a new experience, and the boys did
not like it. Although they had often seen wheelmen running about the
streets when it was so dark they could not tell where they were going,
Joe and his chums had never tried to do it themselves, because they did
not like to trust so much to luck. A small stone or a stick which some
careless boy had left in the track might send them to the ground, and
my master was not fond of taking headers. Thus far he and his friends
had been very fortunate in avoiding any very serious falls, and they
did not care to run any risk of spoiling their record. But Joe came
within a hair's breadth of scoring a bad fall on this particular night.
Although he thought he was paying especial attention to the road close
in front of him, he was really paying more to the rippling of a brook
that flowed through a yawning gulf on his right hand, and at the same
time he was keeping a bright lookout for a locomotive headlight.
"That's an awful pokerish place over in there," Arthur remarked,
jerking his head sideways toward the ravine of which I have spoken,
"and the railroad seems to have been built on the very brink of it. Why
didn't the engineers cut out more of the hill on the opposite side and
put it farther--eh?"
A warning shout from Joe Wayring cut short Arthur's criticism, and
brought him and Roy to a sudden halt. There was a rock lying on the
track, and it was so large that it covered the rails on both sides.
Then followed that hurried consultation which I have recorded at the
beginning of my story. While it was going on Joe, with the aid of his
lamp, examined the face of the bluff, and could distinctly trace the
path made by the bowlder when it rolled down from the top, and the
others took a good look at the rock itself. Two things were plain to
them: The rock was on the track, and they could not muster force enough
to get it off. The first train that came along would find it there, as
well as a gulf of unknown depth ready to receive all the cars that were
tumbled into it.
"Suppose it should be a passenger train?" gasped Roy.
"Or an excursion?" added Arthur.
Something must be done, and that, too, with out the loss of a moment.