JOSIAH SOMES ON THE WARPATH
Dan Speedwell had gone back to Riverdale with his young friends in a
much disturbed state of mind. That anybody should be mean enough to have
tried to utterly ruin the racing car which he and Billy had bought of
Maxey Solomons, not only angered Dan, but hurt him. Like his brother he
suspected who the person was who had chopped down the derrick, and sent
it crashing over the edge of the cliff to the bank of the river.
It was eleven o’clock when he reached home. He and Billy were usually
astir before three each morning, and with the younger boy absent Dan
would have all the milking and other chores to do by himself. He did not
propose to arouse his father until about time to start with the milk
wagons for Riverdale.
He put away his motorcycle, took his axe and a lantern, and started for
the small woodlot that was a part of the Speedwell farm. That day, when
cutting the two timbers that had now fallen over the cliff beside the
river road, Dan had marked several other oak trees of practical use in
this emergency.
“We’ll not go to school in the morning,” decided the older brother; “but
we’ll rig another derrick and get that car out upon the road before more
harm is done.”
Dan went along the county road to the bars and climbed over them into
the few acres of timber Mr. Speedwell owned. He had been hunting ’coons
and ’possums on many a night and was not afraid to fell a tree by
lamp-light. He cut away some of the brush, chose the direction in which
he wished the tree to fall, and set to work with the axe.
The reverberating blows rang through the wood, and the chips flew. Dan
was not alone a sturdy youth; he was a good woodsman. In five minutes
the tree fell with a crash that could have been heard afar. And as the
echo of it died away our hero was aware of a swiftly approaching sound
along the highroad. It was the throbbing of an automobile, and now a
horn sounded:
“Honk! honk! honk!”
“Joy-riders,” muttered Dan, preparing to trim the tree. “Hello! they’re
slowing down.”
The throbbing of the car ceased. The boy was near the edge of the wood
and heard voices in a moment. Some of the occupants were getting out of
the car.
“Hello in there!” shouted a voice. “What luck have you had, brother?”
“They think I’m hunting,” exclaimed Dan. “And I declare! I believe that
is Mr. Armitage. It sounds just like his voice.”
Dan Speedwell picked up his lantern and walked toward the road. For a
second time the jolly voice hailed him:
“Hello! Who’s there? Where’s the dogs?”
“I haven’t any dogs, and I’m not hunting,” explained Dan, coming out to
the bars.
“Hullo!” rejoined the same voice. “Isn’t that young Speedwell?”
“I thought I recognized your voice, Mr. Armitage,” said Dan.
“And Mr. Briggs is here. This is the car you took a ride in Saturday
night, young man,” and the gentleman laughed. “How are you? I hear
Josiah Somes tried to mix you and Mr. Briggs’ car up with the robbery of
the Farmers’ Bank.”
“He did indeed,” admitted Dan.
“I’m glad to see you again, boy,” said Mr. Briggs, likewise leaning out
of the tonneau. “Some of our boys and hired men started out an hour ago
after ’coons. Have you heard or seen anything of them?”
“No, sir. I reckon they went over toward the swamp. We only own a small
piece of these woods, and the ’coons and ’possums have been driven all
away to the swamp side.”
“There!” exclaimed Mr. Armitage, “I told you I was sure we were taking
the wrong road, Briggs.”
“And we’ve got to go clear around by Meadville to find a road fit to
drive this machine over!” exclaimed his friend.
“No, sir,” said Dan, quickly. “You can go into town and turn at
Peckham’s Corner. There’s a good road going into the swamp which
branches from the Port Luther turnpike.”
“I know it!” cried Mr. Armitage. “I remember now.”
“Sure you can find it, Tom?”
“We—ell——”
“Do you know the way, Henri?” asked Mr. Briggs, of the Frenchman at the
wheel.
“No, Monsieur,” replied Henri, quickly. “I am not what you call familiar
with the ways.”
Dan could not help offering. Besides, his whole body tingled for another
ride in the swift, easy-running car. And Henri might let him run the
machine again!
“I can go with you, Mr. Armitage,” he said, quickly. “We can run around
to the swamp in half an hour—at night. You won’t mind traveling fast.
And the road back here passes within half a mile of our house, although
there is no cross-road—not even a wood-team path. I can walk from the
turnpike to our house in less than ten minutes.”
“Say, that’s kind of you, Speedwell,” said Mr. Briggs. “But it’s late.
Your folks will expect you home.”
“They’re abed. I wasn’t really expecting to go to sleep to-night,” said
Dan, laughing. “You see, we have to milk early, and Billy is away. I
have his share of the work to do, too.”
“I am afraid we are imposing on you,” said Mr. Armitage.
“No, sir.”
“Perhaps the boy is itching to get in Henri’s place again,” laughed the
owner of the maroon car.
“Yes, sir; that’s it,” admitted Dan, with a broad smile.
“Jump aboard, then,” said Mr. Briggs. “If Henri wants you to show him
how to properly handle a six-cylinder Postlethwaite, why you may do so.”
The Frenchman’s little, waxed mustache shot up toward his eyebrows in a
smile, and he slid over and allowed Dan to take the steering wheel of
the motor car. The boy laid his axe on the footboard and turned down his
lantern and put that in a secure place, too. Then, with a hand on the
gear lever and another on the wheel, and his foot on the clutch pedal,
he brought the beautiful car into motion as easily as Henri himself
could have turned the trick.
“You are going to make one fine chauffeur,” whispered Henri, in Dan’s
ear. “That was magnificent!”
There was nobody else on the road. They came down into Riverdale as
swiftly—and almost as silently—as a cloud shadow chasing across a
wheat-field. The town street lights were quickly in view. They came
within sight of Peckham’s Corner, just above the Court House.
And there—right in the roadway—suddenly flashed a lantern. It gyrated
curiously, as though the bearer of the lamp was dancing from side to
side. And those in the car heard a raucous voice shouting.
“What’s the matter here?” demanded Mr. Briggs, as Dan began to reduce
speed.
“Look out, Speedwell!” warned Mr. Armitage. “There’s a rope stretched
across the road.”
“It’s right at Josiah Somes’ house,” exclaimed Dan.
“Is that fellow going to hold us up?” demanded Briggs.
“Josiah must be on the war-path,” chuckled Mr. Armitage. “He’s out
holding up automobilists so as to fill the coffers of the local ’Squire
and his own pockets.”
Dan was obliged to shut off power and brake hard. The heavy car barely
stopped in season.
“Surrender!” yelled the voice of Mr. Somes. He bore the lantern in one
hand, and a revolver of the largest size in the other, and he waved both
of these indiscriminately.
“What’s the matter with you?” demanded Mr. Briggs, wrathfully.
The constable evidently did not recognize the gentleman. He continued to
paw the air and make threatening gestures with his weapon, as he
shouted:
“Hold up your hands! Pile out of that car! I swear I got ye now, ye
robbers, you! Move lively!”
“Say! who do you think you are speaking to?” demanded Mr. Armitage.
“You can’t fool me,” declared the constable wildly. “They jest
telephoned me to stop ye. Ye robbed Colonel Sudds of jewelry and money
this very night. But I know ye done more than that. You are the fellers
that robbed the Farmers’ Bank on Saturday, and I’m goin’ t’ march ye t’
jail for it!”