Once more assuring the garage proprietor that any losses he might incur
would be made good, Clancy opened up the _Hornet_ and started for the
railroad station.
“Colonel Carson owns a lot of land over toward Orton,” stated Billy
gloomily. “He’s mixed up in this somewhere, you can believe me!”
Clancy grunted, but made no reply. When they reached the railroad
station they had no difficulty in finding the combination agent and
telegraph operator.
“Morning, Mr. Martin!” sang out Billy. “Did you get a wire for Mr.
Merriwell about seven this morning?”
“Not me, Billy,” returned the agent. “Was he expecting one?”
“Not that we know of, but he got one,” exclaimed Clancy. “Are you sure
that none came in this morning or last night?”
“Nobody here last night, and nothing has come this morning.”
The operator regarded them with curiosity.
“Did you say Merriwell got a telegram, Billy?” he asked.
“No, I said so,” snapped Clancy. “He certainly got a telegram this
morning, and if it didn’t come through you, it’s a mighty queer thing!”
“Yes, I reckon it is,” returned the agent calmly. This merely
exasperated the red-headed chap.
“Well it’s a darned funny thing,” he exclaimed, “that telegrams can be
received here without the telegraph operator knowing it!”
“Ain’t no message come this morning,” declared the agent again, and
with a nod to Billy, he turned and went back into his place of business.
For a moment the two friends were at a loss what to do. It was quite
evident that Chip Merriwell had been called away to Orton by some
important affair, yet this agent declared that no message had arrived
for him!
“I guess we’ll go back and grill those fellows over again,” said
Clancy, starting the _Hornet_. “We want to make sure about this
telegram business.”
“It’s easy enough to send a fake message,” suggested Billy Mac.
“We’ll soon see, then.”
Returning to the hotel, they questioned the clerk anew. By this time he
was in enough anxiety to speak out fully, and stated emphatically that
he had seen the telegram, and that Merriwell had mentioned it.
“I guess that settles it, Clan,” exclaimed Billy, with a gloomy
countenance. “He got a message, all right, but it didn’t come through
the station agent.”
“Do you suppose that Colonel Carson or his son had a hand in it?”
“Sure I do! Only, what’s their reason? Do you think they tried to get
Merry where they could beat him up?”
“From what I saw of the colonel,” said Clancy thoughtfully, “he
wouldn’t go into anything so raw as that, old man. Bully tried it and
got all that was coming to him last night. Granted that Chip was lured
away, there are some folks who would have a decidedly good reason to
keep him out of sight for a day or two.”
“Who?”
“Some of the Franklin Academy crowd. I may be doing him an injustice,
but I’d be more apt to blame Bob Randall than the Carsons, Billy.”
Billy Mac stared in open disbelief.
“Randall? But why should he try to keep Chip away from Fardale?”
“Because he wants to pitch in Monday’s game against Franklin. It looks
to me as if Randall was trying for the place Ted Crockett will leave
vacant. If he won the Franklin game he’d be a popular hero----”
“Cut out this foolishness, Clan!”
Billy Mac leaned forward earnestly. He was a staunch friend of
Merriwell’s, but he had seen Bob Randall at his best, and both liked
and admired the fiery, handsome Southerner.
“You’re away off. Bob Randall isn’t that sort, not by a good deal.
He doesn’t like Chip particularly, but it’s an honorable, open-faced
dislike, and it won’t last. If he knew anything like this was going
on, he would be the first one to warn Chip. No, if there’s any one to
blame, Clancy, it’s the Carsons.”
The red-haired chap nodded. He was quick to recognize that his words
might have been an injustice to Randall, whom he did not know at all
well. Moreover, if anything was wrong it was no doubt inspired by Bully
Carson or his father.
“Yes, Billy, I got a bit out of perspective there, I reckon. Randall or
the Franklin crowd wouldn’t be down here. Well, our best plan will be
to hit for Orton and see if Merry’s car got disabled.”
By dint of inquiries they soon found that there was but one road to
Orton, and that if they took it there was no chance that they could
miss Merry. Clancy was for going to call on Colonel Carson and putting
it up to him straight, but Billy Mac persuaded him to adopt the more
sensible course of taking the road to Orton and tracing up Merriwell.
“Let’s go up to your house, then,” said Clancy, “and load up with some
rations. Chip may be pretty hungry when we find him, and there’s no
knowing how long we’ll be gone. Besides, we’d better tell your mother
nothing of what we suspect. No use worrying her, Billy.”
This was sound argument, and when they arrived at the McQuade home they
said nothing of their uneasiness. Clancy stated that Chip had been
called over to Orton very unexpectedly, and that they were going over
to meet him, and might possibly proceed on to Fardale without returning.
So, loading the _Hornet_ with their belongings and a generous amount
of Mrs. McQuade’s toothsome edibles, the two started out on the trail
of Frank Merriwell, junior. Once outside of town, Clancy opened up the
_Hornet_ and showed what she could do.
“I took her off the scrap heap,” he declared proudly, “and while she
doesn’t look up to much, she can certainly go some!”
Billy’s interest was only perfunctory, however. He was still thinking
about Chip and the Carson family.
“Funny we didn’t see Bully around town, Clan. He usually sports around
in his gay duds on Sunday, and runs an old car he bought second-hand.
The colonel sticks to horses, but Bully likes to make an impression
with his car.”
“I guess Merry gave him a black eye last night,” said Clancy. “That may
account for his failure to sport around. I guess the whole crowd is
laying low and keeping quiet for the present.”
Billy grunted, but relapsed into silence.
The Orton road was a rough one, and after the first mile Clancy had
to slow down a bit. They were going directly away from the railroad,
and as they proceeded without seeing any trace of the garage car, they
found that the country lost its prosperous aspect, and became a good
deal rougher and wilder.
More than once they passed rocky farms that had been abandoned years
before, although the flowering orchards around Carsonville had proved
that, with industry and skill, the country could be made productive.
Mile after mile reeled off without any token of their quarry, other
than tracks of auto tires in the road, which might have been left by
any one of a dozen machines. At length they topped a rise and saw Orton
itself, two miles farther on. It was a miserably small place, and
Clancy’s heart sank.
“There’d be an elegant place to hold Merry prisoner,” said Billy,
pointing to a deserted farmhouse that stood back from the road to one
side. It was the fifth place he had pointed out with the same idea,
and Clancy grunted.
“You’re off, Billy. I don’t believe Merry was ever in this jay town.
There’s nothing to it but a blacksmith shop and a couple of stores.”
“But don’t you think that’s what’s happened?” persisted Billy Mac.
“No, I don’t. Chip may have been lured away, all right, but Colonel
Carson has too much gumption to work that kind of a racket, according
to my notion. No hotel here, is there?”
“No,” said Billy anxiously. “We can find out if Merry was here by going
to the smithy. The blacksmith lives just behind it.”
Orton was not even large enough to be possessed of a church, it
appeared. The little place seemed absolutely desolate in the Sunday
afternoon quiet, but as the _Hornet_ drew up in front of the smithy,
Clancy saw that the blacksmith was standing under an apple tree,
watching them.
Leaping out, the two hastened into the orchard behind the smithy, and
proceeded to question the burly smith.
“I couldn’t say,” he responded to their inquiries. “I’ve seen two or
three machines go past, but didn’t pay much attention. Mebbe my wife
did. Hold on a minute.”
He turned and lifted a shout at the house in the rear. A tired-looking
woman came forth, and made response that she had seen Bully Carson’s
machine early that morning, but had not noticed the others.
“Bully Carson!” exclaimed Billy, in a low voice. “We’re on the trail,
Clancy!”
Clancy considered. If they were to make inquiries through the place,
it might be best to leave the _Hornet_ here. Turning to the smith, he
found that the latter sold gasoline to the few cars coming through the
place, and arranged to leave the _Hornet_ in his care.
Returning to the car, he brought it around behind the smithy, and with
Billy made his way to the tree-bordered street. An instant later, Billy
clutched his arm.
“I hear a car, Clan! It’s coming this way!”
The two friends stopped, the slow exhaust of a motor car coming clearly
from ahead of them. The car came into sight, running slowly toward
them. There was a single figure at the wheel.
“By gracious, it’s Bully!” cried McQuade excitedly.
The car rolled toward them at a slow pace.
“Get ready to jump her,” ordered Clancy, in a tense voice.
“What you going to do?”
“We’ll do a little kidnaping on our own hook, Billy. Watch out, now!”