Although there was no necessity for great speed, the boys were anxious
to get their errand accomplished and deposit the model safely in Boston.
Then, too, Jack was looking forward, on his return, to making Mr.
Peregrine’s invention practicable.
The day was pleasant. The sun shone down hotly, but the two lads in the
auto did not notice the heat as they rushed along smoothly in the big
machine. They passed through Pokeville at a good rate of speed. So fast,
in fact, that they did not notice a man with a red beard who was
lounging in front of the hotel. But if they did not see him, he took due
note of them.
“There go those two kids,” he muttered; “wonder where they are off to
now. It might be a good thing to follow them. I’ve got a scheme. I’ll
call up Peregrine’s house and find out where they are going. It may turn
out to be worth while taking after them.”
In accordance with this resolve the red-bearded man entered the hotel
and closeted himself in a telephone booth. Adopting a feigned voice he
represented himself as a friend of Jack’s, and asked where the boy had
gone. Mr. Peregrine who, like most inventors, was rather unworldly,
immediately replied that the boys had gone on a trip to Boston on
important business.
“To Boston,” exclaimed the man to himself, as he hung up the receiver;
“if that’s the case, I’ll wager it’s got something to do with the
vanishing gun. Hold on a minute! By Jove, I recollect now that
Peregrine’s patent lawyer has offices in that city. It’s ten to one that
those boys are going there on some business connected with him.”
He lost no time in finding his companion, who was puffing at a black
cigar and reading the morning paper. He hastily told him what he had
seen, and suggested that they take after the boys at once in the yellow
auto.
This plan was soon put into execution, and although they had not much
hope of overtaking the lads, the two men reasoned that possibly some
accident might favor them. At any rate, they knew that the rich men who
employed them to keep track of Mr. Peregrine’s affairs would want to
know of the object of this Boston trip, which was clearly an important
one.
The bridge which had halted the boys the day before was repaired by this
time, and the Flying Road Racer crossed the rather flimsy temporary
affair without difficulty. About half a mile beyond the road turned
sharply. As the boys swung around this turn they almost ran into the
midst of quite an assemblage of men and horses and gaily painted wagons.
In a flash Jack realized that they were probably in for some trouble,
for he had no difficulty in recognizing this outfit as being the
traveling circus from which they had rescued Ralph.
The road was too narrow to turn around in. There was nothing to do but
to keep on. Jack hastily told Ralph to conceal himself under a pile of
wraps in the tonneau, and with a beating heart he sounded the electric
horn, hoping that the circus wagons would turn out and he could get
through without difficulty.
But, as ill luck would have it, the rear wagon was driven by the very
man with whom they had had the trouble, and beside him sat the fellow
who had wielded the whip. They looked around at the sound of the horn
and recognized the two lads in a flash. Their next move was to turn
their wagon deliberately across the road, effectually blocking the
thoroughfare. Then the be-diamonded man shouted to those ahead:
“Say, boys! Here’s the two kids that stole Ralph. Don’t let ’em get away
till we’ve evened things up.”
Jack had, of necessity, stopped the Flying Road Racer when the wagon was
pulled across the road. He was conscious of a sharp feeling of alarm as
the two men clambered down from the wagon and were joined by half a
dozen others, all hard-featured, bad-looking men.
“Now we’ve got you where we want you,” growled the big man, shaking his
fist vindictively at Jack; “get down out of that benzine buggy and give
up your watches and money. Then I’m going to give you the worst hiding
you ever had in your lives.”
“I’m not so sure of that,” rejoined Jack, with a calmness he was, in
reality, far from feeling; “let us get past, please.”
“Ho! ho! ho! so you think you’re going to get off scot free, do you?
Well, you’re mistaken, you young jackanapes. Come on now, get out of
that rig.”
As he spoke the man came close to the side of the Flying Road Racer and
began tugging at Jack’s arm. But he had hardly laid hands on him before
an astonishing thing occurred—astonishing to the ruffian, that is.
Jack’s fist shot out swiftly, and with considerable force. The next
instant the fellow, who had been hit fairly between the eyes, staggered
back and, tripping on a rock, fell over.
But his companion of the day before, who still wielded a whip, sprang
forward from the other side of the machine and aimed a blow at Jack from
behind. Tom caught the fellow’s wrist as it descended, and twisted it
till he yelled with pain. An angry murmur ran through the crowd of
circus men. Several of them detached themselves from the main body, and
made an onslaught on the Flying Road Racer.
The boys defended themselves valorously; but there is little doubt that
the battle would have ended in their defeat, if it had not been for a
sudden happening that diverted the attention of the showmen.
This was nothing more nor less than a shout from some of the men who
were lingering about the more distant wagons.
“Old Wallace has escaped!” they cried at the top of their lungs.
At the same instant the boys saw the huge, tawny form of a big lion
launch itself from one of the forward wagons. Men scattered and ran
right and left, the two fellows who had attacked the boys being among
the first to make off.
The lion, having gained the ground, stood stock still for an instant,
lashing his tail angrily. The creature seemed undetermined what to do.
In the meantime the entire assemblage of showmen had vanished. Not one
remained on the scene. The horses attached to the wagons began to rear
and plunge in terror.
As for the boys, they were fairly paralyzed for a moment; but not for
long. The escape of the lion had caused the horses attached to the wagon
which had been drawn across the road to swing inward in alarm. This left
a clear passage ahead for the Flying Road Racer.
Jack’s mind was made up in a flash. Putting on full power he drove the
big car ahead. The lion saw it coming and gave an angry roar, and was
about to spring at the boys when the front of the speeding machine
struck the great brute. With a howl of pain and fright the creature
rolled over helplessly, pawing the air with its claws, but with all the
fight taken out of it.
Ralph, who had crawled out of his place of concealment as the car moved
forward, fairly gasped when he saw what had happened.
“That’s old Wallace, the man-eating lion,” he exclaimed; “they got him
cheap because of his bad disposition.”
“Well, I guess his disposition is considerably quieted down by this
time,” laughed Jack, as the chastened king of the jungle went limping
off down the road.
“The same thing applies to that bunch of circus men, I guess,” chimed in
Tom.
All three of the lads had to laugh as they saw the lately belligerent
show folks decamping down the road at a lively rate. They did not return
till Wallace had wandered off across some meadows. The lads learned
later that the lion was killed by a farmer the next day as it was
attacking some cows, and that the circus men had to pay heavy damages.
However, at the time, they did not linger in the vicinity, but resumed
their journey as speedily as possible.
Ralph was pale and trembling from his narrow escape, and he had good
reason to be, for it is easy to guess what his fate would have been if
he had come once more into possession of the rascally circus crew.
Before long they came to a point where the road forked. A signboard
standing there directed travelers to Compton, five miles, and Wynburg,
three miles.
“I guess we’ll go through Compton,” decided Jack, taking the road that
turned to the right, “it’s a little longer way round, but it’s a better
road.”
Their way now lay under a high arch of interlacing tree boughs that met
above the track. It was cool and pleasant, and when they reached a
little brook the three lads decided to get out and eat some of the
sandwiches and pie they had brought with them. They made a merry meal of
it there under the trees, washing down their lunch with water from a
small spring which supplied the brook.
They had just finished and were thinking of resuming their journey, when
a sudden sound broke into the stillness of the woodland road—a series of
sharp puffs.
“It’s an auto,” exclaimed Jack, who readily recognized the sounds.
“And it’s coming this way, too,” decided Tom.