A STRANGE DISCOVERY
Great excitement was caused in the Fayetville court-house when the boys
arrived with the scribbled note from Deputy Sheriff Wilson, and the news
that the posse was, even then, on the trail of the bank robbers. The
sheriff himself came out of his office to talk to the boys, asking them
for all the details they could give him.
“Guess I’d better send some more deputies to help Nick and Bert,” said
the county official. “Those robbers are desperate fellows, and now they
have a car it’s going to be harder to catch them.”
“They not only have a car, but they’ve got the things we were going to
camp with,” lamented Chot.
“Well, as long as they didn’t take us—and Ruddy, we ought to be glad,”
laughed Rick.
“That’s right,” said the sheriff. “They are desperate characters. No
wonder they were suspicions of you when you came on them in the storm.
But they were quick to see that their best plan was to let you in, allow
you to sleep and then sneak off in your car. However, we’ll get ’em all
right. I’ll telephone to all the places around here to be on the watch.
Just give me a description of Mr. Campbell’s machine so I can let other
sheriffs and police officers know what to look for.”
Between them Rick and Chot supplied a good description, even to the
numbers on the license plates, and this information was soon being sent
broadcast by telephone and telegraph.
“Well, do you boys want to sit around here and wait for Mr. Campbell to
come back?” asked Sheriff Hart, “or what do you want to do?”
“Mr. Wilson said something about going to his house,” began Rick, “and
if we could—”
Just then the telephone in the sheriff’s office, where this talk was
taking place, began ringing violently.
“Hello—hello!” cried the sheriff as he snatched off the receiver. He
listened intently, saying, meanwhile—“yes—yes! Good! I hope you do! Yes,
they’re here! I’ll send them up!”
He turned to the boys.
“That was Nick Wilson,” he said as he hung up the receiver. “He says
they haven’t got any trace of the robbers yet, but they hope to, soon,
and he says to tell you to go on up to his house and eat. I’ll telephone
Mrs. Wilson you’re coming.”
“How do you get there?” asked Rick, for they were in a strange town.
“I’ll take you up in my car,” the sheriff offered. “Nick wants me to
tell his wife he won’t be home to dinner. And that will be a good
opening for me to suggest that you boys can take his place at the
table,” he added with a chuckle.
“I guess we’re willing,” said Rick, smiling, and Chot did his share.
On the way to the home of the deputy sheriff, Chot suggested that
something had better be done about putting a permanent warning at the
broken bridge, and the sheriff promised to attend to that.
Mrs. Wilson proved to be a motherly woman, after the boys’ own hearts.
She made them warmly welcome, and soon became as friendly with Ruddy, as
the red setter was with her.
“And oh, boy! What a dinner we had!” said Rick afterward with a grateful
sigh to his chum. “Didn’t we?”
“I’ll tell the knives and forks!” echoed Chot with a grin.
The boys began to fear that time would hang rather heavily on their
hands that afternoon, as the dinner hour came and went and there was no
word from Mr. Campbell. They accepted the invitation of the sheriff to
come to the court-house for a while, there to await possible word of the
capture of the robbers.
But as the afternoon wore on, and there was no news of any account, save
that those in pursuit were still on the trail, following different
clews, the boys decided that it would be more fun to wander off by
themselves.
“Take a trolley ride,” advised the sheriff. “The trolley goes several
miles out into the country. You can scout around there and come back
when you get ready. I reckon you’ll have to stay here all night, anyhow,
for, even if we do get Mr. Campbell’s car back he won’t hardly want to
start off without having it looked over. Those robbers’ll drive it
hard.”
This seemed good advice and the boys took it. Very likely Mr. Campbell
would not want to start right out again, even if those in pursuit were
lucky enough to overtake, or find the robbers where they might be
hiding.
Promising to come back to Mrs. Wilson’s house, where they were invited
to remain for the night, Rick and Chot started off on the suburban
trolley line. To his howling regret Ruddy could not accompany the boys,
but was tied up in a shed at the Wilson home. However the red setter was
somewhat reconciled to his lot when Mrs. Wilson provided him with plenty
of bones to gnaw. Dogs, especially of Ruddy’s size, were not allowed on
trolley cars.
“Well, we certainly are running into a bunch of things,” remarked Chot
to his chum as they went riding out through the pleasant country—for it
was very pleasant, fresh and delightful after the rain.
“We sure are!” agreed Rick. “Are you glad you came?” He leaned over and
punched Chot playfully in the ribs.
“Am I? Say, you couldn’t beat it! And think of what’s ahead of us,
Rick!”
“What do you mean?” Rick turned and looked at his chum.
“I mean out at Uncle Tod’s camp.”
“That’s right. There’ll be lots to do there. I wish I knew just what he
wants of us.”
“Maybe he just did it so we could have a good vacation.”
“No, it’s more than that,” Rick declared. “He wouldn’t start off the way
he did unless there was something up—and something queer, too. I’d like
to know what it is.”
“So would I,” agreed Chot. “I hope waiting around like this won’t spoil
it.”
“I hope not,” murmured Rick. “Anyhow it’s a nice day.”
And it certainly was. The sun was warmly shining, rapidly drying up the
mud puddles left by the recent storm. It was warm, but not hot and the
boys thoroughly enjoyed the trolley ride through the green country which
lay outside of Fayetville, a prosperous city in the midst of a rich
farming community.
“How far do you boys want to go?” asked the conductor, as he came in to
collect the fourth or fifth fare, the boys could not remember which, for
the line was divided into zones, and the fare was taken up for each one.
“Oh, we’re just riding for fun,” explained Rick.
“To sort of kill time,” added Chot.
“Is there anything to see around here?” Rick wanted to know. “I mean a
waterfall, or anything like that?”
“Well, there’s a sort of cave about a mile from here,” the conductor
said. “It’s off the main road and it’s quite a curiosity. Sometimes on
Saturdays picnic parties go there, but not many during the week. It’s
about a mile from the trolley.”
“Let’s go there,” proposed Rick to his chum. “Can we get a car back to
Fayetville before night?” he inquired.
“Oh, yes,” answered the conductor. “We run every half hour up to seven
o’clock and every hour after that. I’ll tell you where to get off.”
The ride seemed more enjoyable now that the boys had a definite object
in view, and they eagerly awaited word from the conductor when to alight
and start across the fields and through a patch of woods, on a short cut
to the cave, a local curiosity.
“Here you are, boys!” finally called the puller of the bell rope, as the
car came to a stop amid the squeaking of brakes. “Just follow the path
and you can’t miss the cave. There’s a wagon road that goes up to it,
but that’s longer. You can come back the same way you go, as the cars
always stop here about on the even hours and half hours so you’ll know
how to time yourselves.”
“Thanks,” murmured Rick and Chot and they struck into a field of daisies
and buttercups which they must traverse, as well as a patch of woods,
before reaching the cave.
“Crackie, but this is great!” exclaimed Chot as he ran and jumped on the
springy turf.
“Nothing better!” agreed Rick, and he turned a hand spring in the
abundance of his good feeling. Then Rick saw something down in the grass
which he began pulling up and chewing.
“What is it?” asked Chot.
“Sheep sorrel,” was the answer. “I like a bit of sour stuff.”
“So do I,” agreed his chum, and soon they were chewing the tender light
green leaves of the sorrel, a plant not unlike the Irish shamrock in
shape of foliage, but quite different in character.
A little of this “sour grass,” however, was enough for the boys, and
they looked for other things with which they were familiar. They crossed
the field, and before striking into the woods came to a sluggish brook.
“’Tisn’t big enough to have a swim in,” said Chot, regretfully.
“No, and doesn’t look clean enough,” added Rick. “But there’s some sweet
flag,” he went on eagerly. “Let’s pull some.”
In a place where the brook widened out into a swampy place grew tall
spears of green, not unlike the foliage of “cat tails,” those brown
drum-sticks that many persons gather for ornaments. However these green
spears were of a different character, for their roots formed the
medicinal _calamus_, called by country folk “sweet flag.” _Calamus_ has
a pleasant taste, though it is rather biting if taken in too great
quantity. The root, dried, is often used in medicine, and old-fashioned
people used to carry a bit in their pockets to nibble.
When I was a boy I would gather sweet flag, cut the roots into thin
sections and bake it in the oven with sugar. It was better this way,
though too much of it was not good for one.
Rick and Chot pulled some of the green stalks and ate the tender inner
part that was not as strong as the actual root itself. They also found
watercress, but this was not good without salt and they passed it by.
In the woods they discovered sassafras and birch bark, nibbling some of
each and they also saw a lone crow which mournfully cawed at them,
reminding Rick of the crow Ruddy had once found in the wood disabled,
which black bird Rick had taken home and tamed, naming it “Haw Haw.”
Finally the boys emerged from the wood and came to a lonely road, which
did not show signs of much travel.
“This must be the road where the cave is,” suggested Chot.
“I guess so,” agreed Rick.
They walked along it for about a quarter of a mile, following the
trolley car conductor’s directions, and then turned into a gully, up
which, they had been told, was the cave.
And, as they turned into this gully, or gulch the boys saw in the soft
earth of the road, the marks of automobile tires.
“Look! Look at that!” cried Chot excitedly.
“They’re just like the tires on Mr. Campbell’s car,” added Rick.
Eagerly they ran on, turning into the rocky and weed-choked road that
led from the main highway into the gulch. And they had no more than
swung around the turn than they made a strange discovery.
For there, in front of them, was an automobile turned on its side. And
it needed but a second glance to make them aware that it was Mr.
Campbell’s car. It bore his license plates, and among the baggage
spilled from it were the boys’ valises.
[Illustration: In front of them was an automobile turned on its side.]