THE TELEGRAM
But if the motor boys thought they would soon catch up to those who had
stolen the _Comet_ they were doomed to disappointment. For the rest of
the day they drove the auto at top speed, but there was no sign of the
missing airship, nor could they get any news of it.
“We might as well put up for the night,” was Jerry’s opinion, as it
began to get dark. “We may pass it in the night, if we don’t. Andy,
we’ll take you to the station, and send you home. I’ll telegraph your
folks that you are coming, so they won’t be worried.”
“I wish I could come with you,” spoke the little chap.
But they knew it would be best for him to return, and after promising
him a ride in the _Comet_, when they should have recovered it, they
bade farewell to the excitable lad at the station. They put up at a
hotel in the town of Rodmead, which was about a hundred miles from
Cresville, the auto having made good time on her searching trip. After
supper the lads talked over their plans.
“It’s certain that we’re going in the right direction,” remarked Jerry,
“but when we’ll catch up to Noddy is another matter. I’m afraid it will
take some time.”
“If we could only send word on ahead, and have him stopped,” suggested
Bob.
“That’s a good plan!” exclaimed the elder lad. “I wonder we didn’t
think of it before. I’ll telegraph to several of the large cities that
are ahead of us, and ask if there’s any news of an airship having been
seen in their vicinity.”
“But will you wait here until you get answers?” inquired Ned.
“No,” responded Jerry, after a moment’s consideration. “We can ask that
replies be sent to us at different places ahead of us. For instance,
the next fair-sized town is Branchville, and the city beyond that is
Canton. We can telegraph to the chief of police in Canton, and ask that
a reply be sent to us to be called for at Branchville. See my plan?”
“It’s a good one,” commented Bob. It was at once put into operation,
and that night several inquiring messages were being clicked over the
wires, while the boys went to bed to rest up for the search that lay
before them.
They were on the road again, early the next morning, and while running
to Branchville kept a keen watch on the sky overhead. But the only
specks they saw were birds, and when they inquired for a telegram, and
were handed one, they had small hopes of any success. Nor was there any
news, the message from the Canton police chief being to the effect that
no airship had been sighted near there.
“Well, we’ve got several other places to hear from before night,”
remarked Ned hopefully. “Let’s get a move on us.”
“Yes,” agreed Jerry, “but we have several more messages to hear from
before night,” his tone, however, was not quite as confident as it had
been.
“Then let’s hit up the pace a little,” suggested Bob. “Maybe we can get
in all our telegrams before dark.”
“Yes, I think we can stand a little more speed,” said the steersman, as
he shoved over the gasolene lever, and advanced his spark. “We’ll hit
up the pace.”
“Be careful you don’t get caught for speeding,” cautioned Bob.
“Oh, I don’t believe any of the constables in this country township
have motorcycles with cyclometers on,” spoke Jerry, with a laugh. The
auto was now moving swiftly along, but at no illegal rate of speed.
However, it was not more than ten minutes after this that, as the lads
passed a cross road, they heard some one shout after them:
“Hold on there! You’re goin’ too fast!”
“Better slow up,” advised Ned, after a swift glance at the man who had
warned them. “There’s a fellow with a motorcycle, Jerry. Maybe he’s a
constable.”
“Oh, I guess not,” was the response, for Jerry was anxious to get the
next telegram, and the auto kept on.
“He’s coming after us,” announced Bob, when a backward glance had
showed him the man in pursuit. “He’s coming, Jerry!”
“I heard him,” was the reply, as the explosions of the smaller machine
sounded in the rear. “I hear him, but we’ll be out of this township
in a few minutes, and he hasn’t any jurisdiction in the next, where
they’re more liberal in the matter of speed laws.”
So on they kept, the man in the rear, on his motorcycle, calling to
them, at intervals, to stop.
“There,” announced Jerry, as he passed a mile post, “we’re out of his
territory now, and he can’t molest us.” But the motor cyclist still
came on, and, as Jerry slowed up, when nearing a curve, the man in the
rear, with a sudden burst of speed, swung his machine ahead of the
auto. Then, jumping off, after a quick stop, he placed himself right in
the path, so that Jerry was obliged to stop, to avoid running him down.
“I’ve caught you!” cried the man. “Maybe you’ll stop next time I yell
at you! You exceeded the speed limits, and you’re under arrest!”
“Who are you?” asked Jerry.
“I’m Constable Hedden of Analomick township, and you fellers was
running nigh onto forty miles an hour. I can tell, because I’ve got a
cyclometer that registers the truth. You’re under arrest, and you’ll
have to come before Squire Nashfell,” and the constable threw back his
coat, to display a large star on his vest. “That’s my authority,” he
added, proudly.
“Are you sure we were going too fast?” asked Jerry mildly, and his
chums were surprised at his manner.
“Of course I am. Can’t I tell by my register?”
“But we are out of your territory,” put in Ned. “You have no right to
arrest us in this township.”
“That’s all right,” said Constable Hedden. “You violated the speed law
in Analomick township, and I can arrest you wherever I catch you; and I
have you now!”
“Guess you didn’t think of that, Jerry,” remarked Bob in a low voice.
“Yes, I did,” answered the tall lad, in a whisper. “Just keep still,
and say nothing. You and Ned remain in the car. I’ll settle with this
fellow.” Then, addressing the constable, Jerry went on: “Well, what are
you going to do with us? We can’t walk back to the office of the Squire
with you, and leave our car here on the road. Can’t you trust us to
come back?”
“Not much! I got bit once, an’ I ain’t goin’ to again. I’ll ride back
with you to the Squire’s office, an’ prefer a charge against you.”
“What will you do with your motorcycle?” asked Ned, thinking he could
“stump” the constable.
“Oh, I’ll jest hide it here in the bushes,” replied the man with a
grin. Evidently he was well pleased with himself at having made such
a haul. “I’m all ready for you automobile fellers these days,” he
continued. “I can hide my wheel where no one will see it. Then, when
the court proceedings are over, you will have to bring me back here,
and I’ll get my machine.”
“Suppose we refuse?” asked Bob, who saw visions of a late, if not an
altogether postponed, supper.
“Oh, I guess you won’t dare refuse to obey an order of the court,” said
Mr. Hedden. “I’ve got you right, an’ the less trouble you make, the
better off you’ll be.”
“All right,” agreed Jerry, with an ease that surprised his chums. “Put
your machine in the bushes, and get in.”
“No monkey-business, now mind!” stipulated the constable. “If I catch
you tryin’ to run away from me, it’ll go hard with you!”
Jerry said nothing, but there was a faint smile around his mouth, as he
watched the constable carefully place the motor cycle in the bushes,
where it was well out of sight. Then, as Mr. Hedden came back, the tall
lad got out of the car, and began jacking up one of the front wheels,
raising it, however, only a little way from the ground.
“What’s the matter?” asked Ned, quickly.
“Keep still, and you’ll see,” answered Jerry. Then, when the constable
came out of the bushes that official asked, in some surprise:
“What’s the matter; got a puncture?”
“There might be,” answered Jerry cautiously, which was perfectly true.
There might have been, only there wasn’t.
The tall lad began a careful examination of the front wheel. He turned
it slowly around, and his face wore a puzzled air.
“I had a puncture myself, one day,” went on the official, “an’ it took
quite a while to find it.”
Jerry did not reply. He went to the tool box, and got a wrench. Then,
when he was applying it to one of the lugs that held the tire in place,
the tool slipped from his hand, and went some distance across the dusty
road.
“Oh, hang it!” exclaimed the lad, as if in distress, and he held one
hand in the other, as though he had hurt himself. Ned and Bob, in the
tonneau, looked on anxiously.
“I’ll get it for you!” cried the constable, desirous to be of some
service. Probably he was in a hurry to get his prisoners arraigned, and
fined, so he could collect his share.
The man with the big badge hurried across the road to where the wrench
had fallen. For an innocent wrench it had traveled quite a distance,
Ned thought.
No sooner was the man’s back turned that Jerry, with a quick motion,
sprang into the car. His hand sought the spark lever and swung it
over. The car could be “started on the spark” once it had been running
for some time, and this was one of those times. In an instant the
welcome explosions sounded, and, a moment later, Jerry threw in the
clutch. Forward shot the auto, the jack under the front wheel offering
scarcely any obstacle. It was left lying in the road while Jerry,
throwing in the second speed, was soon far down the road, leaving a
much-astonished constable staring after the auto and its occupants.
“Here you! Come back here!” he yelled. “That ain’t fair to git away
that way! It’s a trick! Come back here!”
“Not to-day!” shouted Jerry, as he increased the speed. “You arrested
us by a trick, and we got away by the same means. We’re even. Besides,
we weren’t exceeding the speed limit, and you know it,” which was the
truth.
The constable, his face distorted with rage, ran to the bushes where he
had left his motorcycle, but Jerry knew that long before he could get
it out, and in motion, the auto would be so far away that pursuit would
be out of the question.
“I guess we’ve seen the last of him,” commented Ned, with a laugh.
“That was a good trick, Jerry. I didn’t see what you were up to at
first.”
“Was there really a puncture?” asked Bob.
“Of course not,” answered Jerry. “I did that to gain time. Then I threw
the wrench across the road, hoping he’d go after it. I knew I could
start on three wheels, and that the jack wouldn’t stop us, for I only
raised it an inch from the ground. Well, we got out of that all right.
Now for the next telegram.”
Their next stop was at Varden, and the town they hoped to hear from was
Platville. They found a message awaiting them in the telegraph office.
Nervously Jerry tore it open.
“Any news?” asked Ned, anxiously.
“Yes,” answered Jerry. “The message reads: ‘Airship disabled about
three miles from here. May be yours.’ Fellows, I guess we’ve run down
Noddy Nixon!”