“Sufferin’ cyclones!” exclaimed McGlory, keeping close watch of the
road behind; “after that jolt it would be a wonder, pard, if something
didn’t go wrong with the motor. By rights, considering what this car
has gone through, it ought to be a scrap heap.”
Matt adjusted one of the battery wires, then crawled under the car
with a wrench. The cowboy could hear him at work; but he could hear
something else, too, and that was a patter of hoofs and a grind of
wheels.
“Horse and buggy coming, Matt!” he called. “Miles and Barney are hot
after us. I took Miles’ gun away from him, and I can use it, if you say
so.”
“Not on your life, Joe!” Matt answered, crawling from under the car and
looking back over the road. “That would complicate the affair. We’re
not to do any fighting, but just show our heels. We’re on the defensive
entirely--remember that.”
The horse, driven by Miles, was coming at a gallop.
“I don’t see what they want horses and buggies at that big house for,”
growled McGlory. “Automobiles go with a place like that--and when the
family’s in Europe, the bubble-wagons ought to all be in a Boston
garage. Will the motor work now, Matt, or have we got to use our heels?”
The car started. The motor was still somewhat out of order, but gave
the car a speed that easily carried it away from the horse and buggy.
“I reckon we’ll get clear, pard,” observed McGlory, albeit with an
anxious, questioning note in his voice.
“We’ll kill the engine again,” answered Matt, “if we keep running it
while it’s out of order.”
“Then, kill it, but get as far away from Miles and Barney, and as near
a telegraph office, as you can, before we have to take to the woods.”
“I don’t know anything about this country,” said Matt. “What is the
nearest town in this direction, Joe?”
“I’ve been trying to think of that ever since we got through the gates,
and headed this way, but I can’t seem to remember, pard.”
“It’s poor policy, Joe, to run the engine to a standstill. Everything
may depend on the car before we get out of these woods.”
The motor was rapidly going from bad to worse. Matt stopped suddenly,
threw on the reverse, and backed the car into the bushes.
“What’s that for?” asked the cowboy.
“I’m hoping Miles and Barney will pass us, and give us a little time to
do some more tinkering,” replied Matt.
“Even if that rig does pass us, we can’t follow it.”
“We can go the other way, Joe. I think the nearest town is in that
direction, anyhow.”
“Do you mean to pass that house again?”
“Why not? I don’t think there are enough men left at the place to
interfere with us.”
Matt got down and began pulling up the bent bushes in front of the car.
While he was at work, the galloping horse could be heard, and he drew
back hastily, and knelt down to see what happened.
There was no occasion for alarm. Miles and Barney dashed past without
giving so much as a glance in the direction of the motor boys.
“Good enough!” exclaimed McGlory. “There’s the chance you wanted, Matt.
Can I do anything to help you fix the car?”
“Two of us can shorten the work a whole lot,” said Matt.
He showed McGlory what to do, and for ten minutes both boys were
busy. At the end of that time, Matt announced that he was fairly well
satisfied with the repairs.
“There’s enough gasoline and oil to take us fifty miles,” he added.
“In other words,” said the cowboy, “we can go clear to Boston, if we
have to. What time is it, pard?”
“Nine o’clock.”
McGlory was startled.
“Nine o’clock!” he repeated. “We’ve got to have a telegram on the wires
by ten. Let’s pull out and hit the high places.”
There was no indication, so far as the boys could see, that Miles and
Barney had discovered the trick which the boys had played on them. If
the two men were coming back, they were still a good way off.
The steady hum of the motor, when Matt started it, filled the boys
with delight. There did not seem any doubt but that the machine would
perform every duty demanded of it. Matt put on the high speed, and they
darted back over the course which they had recently covered.
As they drew near they watched anxiously for some sign of those who
still remained at the house. No man showed himself, however, and the
car flung past the wrecked gates and bore away northward.
“Miles and Barney are welcome to catch us--if they can,” exulted
McGlory, who was riding in front with Matt.
The wind of the motor boys’ flight whistled and sang in their ears, and
the engine continued to hum merrily and steadily. There was a good deal
of rattling, for the mudguards and footboards were loose, but the motor
itself was working as well as the day it had come from the factory.
“Sanders must have gone with Tibbits and Dimmock,” remarked Matt.
“There was quite a party of pirates in that other car,” said McGlory.
“Did you ever see Miles or Barney before we broke out of the house,
Joe?”
“I never saw Barney, Matt, but Miles was the fellow who brought Tibbits
and me from New York.”
“You must have had quite a set-to with Miles in the hall.”
“Speak to me about that!” laughed McGlory. “Miles was one surprised
man, and don’t you forget it, pard. The skirmish was short, and I
reckon it was the tray of chuck that did the work for the shuffer. He
got the hot coffee full in his face, and when he fell back he dropped
his revolver. I hit him once, just to give me time to pick up the gun,
and then I made for the front door. If that had been locked----”
McGlory winced.
“But it wasn’t,” said Matt. “I heard you rush out of the house, and I
got to the hall door just in time to see Miles going after you. He gave
you quite a run, didn’t he?”
“I ran till I was black in the face, Matt, doubling back, dodging
around flower beds, and getting mixed up with all kinds of
horticultural arrangements. Gee, man, but that’s a fine old place to be
used by such a gang!”
“It will cost a hundred or two to repair those gates.”
“And two or three hundred, I reckon, to get this car back in its usual
shape.”
“More than that, Joe. I don’t think five hundred will repair the car as
it was before we used it for a battering-ram.”
“That ten thousand in bullion is costing the tinhorns pretty dear,”
commented the cowboy.
“They’ll not be paying anything for damages. If Miles owns this car,
he’s the one that foots this part of the bill.”
The cowboy laughed.
“I’ll bet Miles pretty near had an attack of heart failure when he saw
you aiming the car at those iron gates, and giving it full speed ahead!”
“We can understand why Miles is so eager to catch us, I think,”
answered Matt.
McGlory’s thoughts went off on another tack.
“About what time was it, do you think,” he asked, “when Tibbits and his
gang left the house, last night?”
“I didn’t look at my watch,” said Matt. “How long had I been asleep
when you awoke me?”
“About two hours.”
“Then it was nearly midnight when the car pulled out.”
“How long would it take that outfit to reach New York?”
This was rather an important point. Up to that moment, Matt had not
given it much thought.
“I should think,” said he, after a little reflection, “that the trip
would take eight or ten hours. The car would have to hit a smart clip,
at that, and keep it up.”
“Then Tibbits and his gang couldn’t reach the city before nine or ten
o’clock?” queried McGlory.
“I don’t think they could.”
“I reckon there’s plenty of hope, yet,” and the cowboy heaved a long
breath. “There’s a house, Matt,” he added abruptly. “We’re getting out
of the woods.”
“We’ll probably see a town pretty soon. Wonder what the speed limit is
through the villages in this part of the country?”
“Never mind the speed limit, pard. Keep her wide open.”
Five minutes more of rapid traveling saw the houses thicken along the
road. People began to be seen, and two or three machines were passed.
“Better slow down,” a passenger in one of the cars called to the boys
as they scurried past. “They’ll nab you in Leeville if you don’t.”
Matt thought the advice good, and heeded it.
The disreputable appearance of the red car excited a good deal of
curiosity. McGlory, too, came in for a fair share of guying. He had on
the dress suit, of course, and, although he had lost the white cap, he
still wore the apron.
“I’ve been too excited to think about the apron,” he laughed, removing
the object, and casting it into the road. “I’m wearing this dress suit,
I reckon, at the wrong end of the day, but I can’t get rid of that for
a while yet.”
Neither of the boys had a hat, but that fact was of minor importance.
A turn in the road brought them into the outskirts of a village. The
road itself formed the main street of the place, and while the boys
were jogging at a very leisurely gait toward the huddle of store
buildings, a man in a flannel shirt and with his trousers tucked in his
boot tops, jumped across the road, dragging a rattling chain behind him.
One end of the chain was fastened to a tree, and before the battered
car reached the man, the other end had been similarly secured.
“Sufferin’ blockades!” cried McGlory, as Matt shut off the power and
put on the brake. “What’s the matter with that Rube?”
The man who had manipulated the chain advanced upon the boys from his
side of the road, a badge of authority in the form of a tin star. At
the same moment, another man descended upon the car from the opposite
side of the pike.
“This looks as though it might prove interesting,” muttered Matt. “What
do you want?” he called to the man with the star.
“My name’s Hawkins,” snapped the officer, “and I’m town constable. You
two fellers are pinched.”
“Pinched?” echoed McGlory. “Why, neighbor, we weren’t going eight miles
an hour.”
“I don’t keer a blame how fast ye was goin’,” proceeded the constable
aggressively. “That ain’t why ye’re arrested. Got a telephone message
from the old Higbee place, sayin’ as how two fellers, answerin’ your
description, had stole a motor car. Hiram an’ me’ll jest git in an’
ride with ye to the lockup.”
Telephone! The motor boys had entirely forgotten that modern, everyday
convenience.
They had been trapped in Leeville--and a telephone message had turned
the trick!