THE SEARCH
Nat and Tavia got out the old _Fire Bird_ machine that had seen them
through many adventures in order to cover the ground with “full speed
ahead,” to use Nat’s own phrase.
“Something tells me our young wanderer may have strayed far afield,”
remarked Nat, as he manipulated things in preparation for the start. “We
shall need all the gas and ingenuity we have if we are to return the
kidlet before Dot discovers his absence.”
“He may only be playing in perfectly harmless fashion with his mates,”
remarked Tavia, as she gloried in the sting of the wind against her
face. “I probably am just scaring up trouble.”
“I hope so!” said Nat dubiously, and Tavia looked at him quickly.
“But you think not!” she said. “Am I right?”
“As always!” He smiled and then added gravely: “Roger is an obedient
lad, you know, and he has been told always to be in the house by five
o’clock. The fact that it is now approaching six and Roger still at
large seems ominous to me.”
“Nat, do you think—” began Tavia slowly, “do you think that Roger may
have gone to find Joe?”
“That’s just what he would be apt to do, good little sport that he is,”
said Nat, troubled eyes on the road ahead. “Poor Dot! I hate to think
how she will feel if we fail to bring back the bacon, in the shape of my
young cousin.”
“Where are you going, Nat dear?” asked Tavia, after a moment of silence.
“You seem to have some definite objective.”
“I have,” declared Nat, as he slowed down before an imposing white
house. “I am going to visit the home of every kid in the neighborhood
that Roger plays with. Then, if I fail to gain a clue, I haven’t the
faintest idea what to do next.”
“Never give up till you try,” urged Tavia. “Hurry, Nat—do! I feel as
though I were on pins and needles.”
“Not very comfortable,” returned Nat, grinning, as he swung his long
legs over the car door without bothering to open it.
Tavia watched him swing up the drive, ring the bell of the imposing
white house, and, a moment later, hold converse with the owner of it.
She knew by the manner in which he came back to her that the interview
had been disappointing.
“Nothing doing,” he said in response to her tacit question. “The lady of
the house, backed by the kid in there, says they haven’t seen our
youngster to-day.”
“The plot thickens,” murmured Tavia. “Poor Doro. What shall we tell
her?”
“Hold your horses, young lady,” Nat advised her. “We have several other
places to visit before we begin to give up hope. We’ll find him yet.”
Although they made a thorough canvass of all the homes in the
neighborhood which contained familiars, or possible familiars, of the
missing Roger, their quest was unsuccessful. No one seemed to have seen
the missing youngster that day, and Nat and Tavia were forced to admit
that, so far, their mission had failed.
“You are not going to give up yet, Nat?” cried Tavia quickly, as Nat
started to turn the nose of the _Fire Bird_ toward home. “Why, we have
not even _begun_ to look!”
Nat shut off the power and regarded his companion in perplexity.
“It seems to me we have made not only a beginning, but an ending, as
well,” he protested. “I can’t think of another place where the boy might
be, and I thought perhaps we had better go back and see if they have
heard anything at The Cedars. If he is back there, safe and sound, we
are having all our trouble and worry for nothing.”
“Oh, please don’t go back yet,” begged Tavia. “I have an idea, Nat,” she
added, with sudden eagerness. “If Roger has the notion that Joe has
taken a train from the North Birchlands station, what would be more
natural than for him to head stationwards himself?”
“Brilliant mind!” ejaculated Nat, manipulating the car into another
right-about-face. “We will proceed to the station immediately.”
“But not by the main road, Nat,” urged Tavia. “Through the woods, by
that old wagon road, don’t you remember?”
Nat regarded her as though he thought she might have gone temporarily
insane.
“But, my dear girl, why——” he began, but Tavia impatiently interrupted
him.
“Oh, you men are so stupid!” she cried. “You never can think of anything
without a map to help you. Can’t you see that Roger, hoping to escape
attention, would take the path through the woods, rather than go by the
main thoroughfare?”
“Yes, I can,” replied Nat. “But I am very doubtful as to whether we
shall be able to guide the old _Fire Bird_ through that same path you
mention. The wagon road is almost entirely overgrown with rank grass and
weeds, you know. It would be a clever trick to navigate it in the day
time, and now, as you can see for yourself, the twilight approaches on
rapid feet.”
“Then we will park the car and walk,” said Tavia imperiously. “Nat,
won’t you do this much for me?”
“My dear, I would do far more than that for you,” Nat assured her, and
Tavia’s bright eyes softened at his tone.
They turned the _Fire Bird_ in the direction of the woods, found the old
wagon road, and drove along it as far as they were able.
Then Nat helped Tavia to the rough ground and they started on a walk
that was more nearly a run. Having come this far, Tavia found herself
obsessed by the belief that there was urgent need of haste.
She would have rushed blindly on through the shadow-filled woods had not
Nat, at her elbow, gently restrained her, urging that she take her time.
“Nothing will be gained if you stumble over a root and break your leg,”
he told her, and Tavia replied indignantly that she had no intention of
being so foolish.
“I feel as though Roger were in danger of some sort, Nat,” she said,
during one of those pauses when they had sent their combined voices
echoing and reechoing through the woods. “I feel as though we ought to
run every step of the way.”
“And probably Roger is at The Cedars, enjoying his dinner by this time,”
rejoined Nat, as they started on again. “Don’t let your imagination run
away with you, my dear.”
Her nerves already on edge, Tavia was about to retort sharply but closed
her lips just in time. Nothing would be gained by quarreling with Nat.
They would only waste time.
They hurried on until they came out of the woodland and found themselves
almost upon the North Birchlands station.
They inquired of the agent at the ticket office whether a small boy had
come that way and the man replied in the negative.
Discouraged, they turned to go back the way they had come. They walked
on in troubled silence, wondering how they could break this bad news to
Dorothy.
“He may have wandered off into the woods and been unable to find his way
out,” suggested Tavia, and Ned agreed with her that he might.
“Although Joe and Roger know these woods like a book,” he added. “Roger
probably couldn’t get lost in them if he tried.”
“Anyway, we had better look around a bit,” Tavia insisted. “I am
dreadfully worried, Nat.”
Nat took her hand, and, like two children, they started into the denser
part of the woodland, calling as they went.
“It’s like hunting for a needle in a haystack,” Nat said at last, as
they paused to rest. “We might do this all night and still not be any
nearer finding Roger.”
“But, anyway, we can try, Nat,” Tavia persisted. “I can’t bear to go
back to Doro emptyhanded. She will be crazy.”
So they went on again, calling as they went, until the woods began to
grow really dark and even Tavia was almost ready to give up the search
for the time being.
“My one hope is that while we have been looking for him he has found his
way back to The Cedars,” she said, as they started slowly back toward
the weed-choked wagon road. “If he isn’t there I don’t know what we can
do.”
“Listen! I thought I heard something!” Nat checked her, a hand on her
arm.
Tavia paused obediently and in the almost eerie silence of the woodland
she could hear her heart throbbing.
“What do you mean?” she gasped. “I didn’t hear anything.”
“There it is again—over this way,” cried Nat, and began to run, pulling
the girl with him.