Trio set out from Lannington. Gaines' big and clumsy Roadster was loaded
heavily. Freddy Perth at the wheel, Soapy at his side and Pickton buried
among baggage strapped on and around the rumble seat, they headed toward
Sagersgrove by the most direct route. Without mishap the little town of
Waterloo was reached by dusk and there the night was spent. Pickton had
so adroitly planned matters that Gaines registered at the village hotel
for the entire party. He meant also that Soapy should have entirely to
himself the pleasant task of settling the bill in the morning. But it
was not to be. Very unselfishly that young gentleman ventured the
supposition, when breakfast was over that, as he was furnishing the car
for the trip, his companions would probably be prepared to pay the
traveling expenses.

"Oh, whack 'em up all around," suggested Perth. "Thought that was
understood."

Pickton said nothing.

"Well, by George! I don't pay anybody's but my own!" growled Gaines. "If
anybody thinks I'm soft, they better think again."

This shot was so obviously intended for Pick that he flushed hot and
scarlet. "Sure! Everybody's to pay his own way!" he said. Rather
sheepishly he added, though: "We might have got breakfast cheaper along
the road somewhere."

And the foregoing dialogue but serves to illustrate the feeling that
existed among the three companions. The unity, mutual trust and generous
friendship which characterized all the relations of the Auto Boys with
reference to one another were wholly missing in the Chosen Trio. The
wonder is, indeed, that these three had remained together so long.

True, Soapy wanted someone for company and someone to operate the car
and to take care of it. Pickton had his own selfish end to serve by
making use of Gaines in such ways as he could and Perth--Fred would have
borne a great deal just for the sake of being around the Roadster.

Also, Fred liked both the other two, in a way. It was not his
disposition to find fault or to be over-critical at any time. It did not
so much as occur to him, for instance, that the uncomfortable rumble
seat, hemmed in with baggage, should be occupied by Soapy any part of
the time as the car chugged on noisily but at no mean speed, toward
Sagersgrove.

It lacked still two hours of noon when Eli Gouger, self-constituted
detective in Sagersgrove, beheld the heavy machine of the Chosen Trio
coming down the main street of that peaceful town. He looked again and a
sudden thought smote upon his brain. Then he acted.

Perhaps it should be explained that, following their uncomfortable
experience in pursuit of the Auto Boys through the Cowslip marshes, Mr.
Gouger had even less admiration for Marshal Wellock than he had
entertained before. And now, as he saw the strange automobile
approaching, he realized that it was traveling at a considerably higher
speed than the ordinances of the town permitted. Also he realized that
if Marshal Wellock chanced to see the law's violation by these young
strangers he would pounce upon them instantly.

In no mood was the marshal, of late particularly, to let any motorist
escape if there was the slightest reason for an arrest. The officer had
been made the butt of too much ridicule as a result of that chase that
ended with him head first in the mud to be in a very amiable temper. He
wanted only the excuse and he would clap into jail any strange
automobile user who entered the town.

Well aware of all this, and well aware that he, himself, detective
though he feign would be, was powerless to make an arrest, Mr. Gouger
hastily planned a deep and crafty plan. He would win for himself a
degree of glory which should make Marshal Wellock appear, in contrast,
a most negligent and inefficient officer, to say the least.

Frantically waving his arms, Mr. Gouger rushed into the street as the
strange car and its three passengers drew near. Pickton brought the
machine to a halt.

"You chaps will get arrested if ye don't watch out!" declared Mr.
Gouger, vehemently, a little irritated by Gaines' instant and by no
means polite inquiry, "What's hurting _you_?"

"Fact is, you've been speeding half way through town. I own a machine,
myself, an' I know. Maybe there's a warrant out for ye now," he
continued rapidly.

Pickton's jaw fell and Gaines felt a giving way inside as if his upper
and lower halves had suddenly parted company at the waist line.

"Guess--guess--we'd better not stop to talk about it then," said Freddy
Perth, brokenly, but with a sadly forced grin.

"Tell ye what, slip 'round here with me. Drive up slow. I'll get ye into
my barn an' a little later ye can slip out o' town," Mr. Gouger
suggested. There was a gleam in his eye, however, and a sort of internal
chuckle in his tones that would have been a warning had any of the Trio
noticed them.

"Well, blame it all! Show us _where_," growled Pickton, noticeably
bolder now. "Lead on!"--This with solemn, dramatic air that would have
been ridiculous had it not been so tragic.

Mr. Gouger wasted time in very few more words. Through an alley he
escorted the Trio, still in the car, to the yard at the rear of his own
modest, frame dwelling in a side street close by. Asking the lads to
leave their car partially screened from view beneath the low-branching
cherry trees, he invited them into a small, tightly-boarded cowstable.

"Stay in here a spell. I'll be back," grinned the would-be detective,
and suddenly stepping out he closed the door and locked it by means of a
large padlock attached to a chain. "Ye can consider yourselves under
arrest _right now_," sang out Mr. Gouger, then, in tones of triumph,
"I'll have the constable here right off an' ye can go before the 'squire
an' pay up. Don't be speedin' next time till ye know there's no
_detectives_ around."

The astonishment of Messrs. Gaines, Pickton and Perth may be more easily
imagined than successfully described. They did not suspect the purpose
and the reason for the imposition that had been practiced upon them, nor
did they realize that their captor had no authority to make an arrest
himself. He had taken this means of detaining them until he could summon
a constable, apparently, because he did not care to undertake the arrest
alone. Having no knowledge of Mr. Gouger's lack of admiration for
Marshal Wellock, of course, the lads ascribed the motives of that very
able disciple of Mr. Pinkerton entirely to a desire to share in the fine
to be imposed upon them.

These general conclusions the three boys reached in an extremely short
space of time. What should they do? The day was warm and the
tightly-closed stable was like an oven. In the cherry trees and along
the hedge, bordered by bachelor buttons, at the opposite side of Mr.
Gouger's back yard, the robins were twittering joyously. But their
lively notes awakened no responsive feeling in the hearts of the
imprisoned Trio.

Remotely possible is it, however, that, unnoticed though their music
was, the songsters exerted an influence upon the thoughts of Soapy
Gaines; or it may have been only a coincidence. At any rate, his spoken
words were--

"I'll be blamed, Pick, if you ain't a bird! Followed that duffer into
this trap like a pup trailing a meat wagon. Blame me, if you ain't a
real _bird_!"

Mr. Gaines' tones, it may be stated, were even less complimentary than
his language.

CHAPTER X

ADVENTURE BEFALLS THE CHOSEN TRIO

The stable's one window, composed of two small panes of extremely dirty
glass, admitted to the young gentlemen within a dingy light. The shed
was empty, save for the dirt and litter everywhere; but not one crack or
crevice could be seen to suggest a loose board and possible means of
escape. Clambering up to the little window, however, Freddy Perth
discovered that it was hooked inside and he lost no time in admitting
the air and sunlight.

"Can wriggle through here, all right, if we want to do it!" he exclaimed
in loud undertones.

"Get along then, quick!" ordered Pickton. "S'pose we're going to stay
here and get fined? You right after me, Soapy!"

Ordinarily Pick would have shown Gaines a very noticeable deference in
allowing him to go first; but this was a different situation. He even
resented Fred's being ahead of himself, and fumed irritably while that
young fellow was slowly struggling through the narrow opening.

With no ledge or projection of any kind on the outer wall to steady him,
Perth could only slip one foot and then the other through the window,
let his body follow and drop to the ground. He struck in the midst of a
wet and sticky heap of decaying weeds, garbage, tin cans, ashes and
broken crockery but fortunately, upon his feet.

More frightened than ever, now, he viewed impatiently Pickton's painful
efforts to force himself out of the stable by the same route, and his
eventual success.

"For pity's sake, Gaines, don't be all day!" admonished Pick fretfully,
when finally he had reached the ground in safety. "Let go, now! You're
all right! Hangin' on there like a crazy pinchin' bug!"

Thus pleasantly encouraged, Soapy had by this time his head and body
through the aperture, and was moved, yet loath, to let go his desperate
grasp upon the edges of the window's frame. Stupidly he had not advanced
feet first and in consequence there was but one chance in a thousand of
his being able to alight upon those extremities when he let himself
down. However the urgency of the situation as well as his friend's
caustic remarks determined him to make the effort and with a subdued
groan he pitched forward.

It was only as might be expected, under the circumstances, that when
Gaines sought to leap clear of the window and get his feet in under him,
he failed--failed wretchedly. His head plunged into a large, and sadly
decomposed pumpkin, carried out to the heap of refuse when Mrs. Gouger
had cleaned the cellar recently. His hands grasped only the wet,
decaying weeds and, unable to steady himself, he rolled on his back amid
the cans, the ashes and all that the rank heap contained.

If there was consolation for young Mr. Gaines in the fact that the
pumpkin had broken the force of his fall, he expressed it in a weird and
peculiar manner, as he struggled out. If he found reason to congratulate
himself that, beyond a mixture of pumpkin pulp and seeds upon his face
and in his hair, and sundry sorts of decomposed vegetation clinging to
his hands and arms and clothing, he was not injured, he did this,
likewise, in strangely excited, irritated language.

Perhaps he was thinking of other things than either consolation or
congratulations. Nevertheless he let Perth lead him quickly to the car,
half-blinded with the juices of the pumpkin in his eyes. Pickton had the
engine going, and Soapy was pushed and lifted into his seat with more
dispatch than ceremony. Even while Fred climbed up to the rumble the
automobile was put under way. Then out of the alley and down the side
street it lunged as if Eli Gouger were but a yard behind.

To follow the side streets to the city's outskirts, and avoid every
thoroughfare that looked like a principal artery of the town, was
Pickton's plan. For some distance he put on great speed, but later
heeded Perth's suggestion to go more slowly and so attract less notice.
And as even moderate driving would take one from center to circumference
of Sagersgrove in no great length of time, the Roadster was well into
the country within a quarter of an hour.

But on and on Pickton hurried. Whither he went he cared not, nor looked
to see where he might turn to left or right. He wanted only to leave
behind as far as possible the pursuers he believed would certainly be
coming on.

"We'll be at the south pole sooner than the Queensville race course at
this rate," Freddy Perth shouted, at last. "Head down the first likely
looking road west. Great guns! Things aren't so desperate as all this!"

Soapy Gaines, still bearing noticeable evidence in his hair and on his
clothing of his plunge from the window, but now able to see as usual,
vehemently acquiesced in Perth's suggestion.

"Never saw a man lose his head so!" he growled, with reference to
Pickton's frantic haste, regardless of direction. "We're after that Phil
Way outfit, don't you know it! Catch 'em about next year! Sagersgrove is
where we were going to get right behind 'em on the old pike!"

"A few miles west, then on the first thing that looks like a road, due
north, and we'll come to the pike," suggested Fred, more pleasantly. "We
can't help but recognize it, and the paper said Way's crowd took that
route. Keep a-going. If we don't stop for noon we won't have lost much
time, after all."

The still frightened travelers reached their looked-for road to the west
a mile further on. Often they had looked back, but now they paused and
scrutinized carefully the distant horizon in the direction they had
come.

An old black horse and buckboard and a small boy in charge of that
conveyance, which they had passed a few minutes before, were the only
objects in sight along the dusty, sunny road. Over in the pasture on the
right, some cows were feeding. In the wood lot on the left silence
reigned save for the vagrant breeze faintly rustling the leaves. From a
farmyard further down the road came indistinctly the cackling of a hen
in token of a new laid egg added to the world's food supply; but for
aught else within view or hearing the three lads might have been the
sole inhabitants of the country.

The general influence of the calm and quiet scene was beneficial to the
excited minds of Mr. Gouger's erstwhile prisoners. At a far more
moderate speed than they had lately traveled they now went forward
again, taking the road to the west. It pitched down a remarkably long,
stony hill, then crossed a broad valley. And as by following this route
the Trio escaped the necessity of taking a round-about way on the north
side of Sagersgrove, as the Auto Boys had done, to pass the streets torn
up for improvements, they really fared better than they thought.

Particularly was this true when, by mid-afternoon, they found themselves
on the hard, level surface of the old State pike, quite as Freddy Perth
had planned. What difficulties they escaped by missing the northern
route the Auto Boys used, and what danger of straying into the Cowslip
marshes they thus avoided, the travelers never discovered.

The fever of excitement accompanying their flight from the stable had
quite subsided as Fred and Pickton exchanged places, the former taking
the wheel preparatory to a long, steady run over the fine old pike.
Three objects were now kept constantly in view. One, to leave
Sagersgrove as far behind as possible before nightfall; another, to
discover a store or restaurant where provisions for a picnic supper
might be purchased, and the third to gain, if possible, certain
information as to whether the Auto Boys had passed that way. A camping
place for the night was a fourth but much later consideration, for it
had been decided to keep the car in motion until a late hour.

Years ago one would have found plenty of opportunities to purchase
either food or lodging along the still famous old road the boys were
traveling. At nearly every four corners was a tavern or some house whose
hospitality might be enjoyed for a moderate price. Frequent hamlets and
villages marked the way, also, and there quite elaborate entertainment
might be obtained at the inns. Very different did the Trio find the
situation, however--as different, almost, as the contrast between their
own conveyance and the stage coaches of old.

In one small settlement after another did either Perth or Pickton leave
the car to inquire for the provisions they wanted, but beyond crackers,
cheese and sometimes dry, hard cakes or cookies the general country
stores offered them, they found nothing.

"We would have brought some proper stuff to eat along if you two hadn't
been in such a frothy hurry!" growled Soapy Gaines, and as he spoke he
was busily consuming the last of a dozen bananas Fred had brought from
home.

But Mr. Gaines was not much given to self-denial or to a considerate
manner at any time. He had set his heart on cold ham or chicken, iced
tea and salad for his supper. The prospect of feasting on crackers and
cheese did not strike him at all favorably, hungry as he was. Being
pretty tired and having the mortification of his ridiculous plunge into
the decayed pumpkin still in his mind, as well, it may be said that he
was not the most agreeable of traveling companions.

And indeed, his mood showed little improvement as time passed. How much
of his more than usual ill-temper might be attributed to the humiliating
plunge from Eli Gouger's stable window, would be difficult to determine.
No doubt he thought much of it and so grew all the more irritable,
instead of passing the whole matter off with a laugh and then forgetting
it, as any sensible young fellow would have done.

But Gaines had not gathered in environment or training even a moderate
degree of good, sound sense. Perhaps he was not alone at fault, yet
right here it may be said that, clear through to the wretched and
unfortunate end of his connection with the present enterprise, he
maintained quite constantly an air either of bullying and grumbling or
utterly selfish indolence and indifference.

Freddy Perth and Pickton, as well, for that matter, were quite willing
to make a supper of such simple provisions as they could obtain at the
general stores, with the possible addition of milk, and maybe a pie or
fresh bread and butter from some farmhouse. But no extent of "soap," as
Perth called the wheedling talk and flattery Pick administered to
Gaines, would make that young gentleman agree. It was quite dark,
therefore, ere a town affording even moderately good hotel
accommodations was reached. There a stop for supper was made. Even then
Soapy found the iced tea and the salad not at all to his taste, but ate
hugely of the plainer fare.

A more important development of the hour spent in the hotel was the
certain knowledge gained that four lads in a heavily-laden touring car
had stopped to purchase some newspapers a couple of days earlier. The
news-stand clerk supplied this information quite frankly when asked if
such tourists had been noticed passing through. He added that there
would be many touring parties on the roads during the next week or more,
going to the Gold Cup races.

So certain was he in his own mind, indeed, that the boys before him were
bound for the big stock car contests (as he likewise had no doubt the
four earlier travelers had been) that unconsciously he overstepped the
truth in the report he gave. The young men who had passed on in advance
had _told_ him, he said, that they were _going_ to the races. He
_thought_ they had stated that they would stay in Queensville.

"Sure thing!" exclaimed Freddy Perth as the information gleaned was
discussed while the Roadster forged steadily forward again, a little
later. "Sure thing!" said he. "I didn't think there was much to that
'three stones piled one on top of another,' unless just marking the
place they are to have beside the race course. They'll go straight to
Queensville. If we keep going late to-night, we can be there by
to-morrow night ourselves."

Again Gaines gave it as his opinion that the Auto Boys had some business
venture, as well as the races in view. Again Pickton kept to himself his
thoughts on this subject--thoughts that were far from loyal to his
companions. Maybe it would have been better had he mentioned them. Maybe
it would have been better had he changed the plan that, in his heart, he
knew he had formulated even before this journey was fairly started.

It was a warm June night. Fireflies flashed and vanished in constant
succession over the field and along the roadsides. In the frequent
farmhouses the lights shone pleasantly through open doors and windows.
And always the gas lamps of the Roadster showed ahead a clear, smooth
course. The car was leaving the miles steadily behind. Under the
influence of the calm surroundings and the automobile's easy motion,
Soapy fell asleep. He had turned partially upon his side and rested his
head upon his arm thrown over the back of the bucket seat.

"We'll make camp when we find a good place," said Perth, at the wheel,
over his shoulder to Pickton, "Gaines is dead to the world."

"Blessed good thing! He'd insist on a feather bed or something, if he
wasn't," the person addressed made answer. "Don't know that I relish the
idea of sleeping out very much myself; but gee whiz! I haven't got the
price to hunt up hotels every time we want a meal or a bed, and neither
have you. And you take it from me, Soapy will want to borrow some money
from one of us before the week is over. I'll not give him a picayune!"

"Humph!" Perth responded, and that was all he did say. He didn't fancy
the change in Pickton's words and tone, now that Gaines would not hear.
But later he did add:

"It's camp out or nothing for me. That is what we planned to do and if
we don't find a place where we can do what cooking we have to do, I'll
get a room somewhere and pick up meals as best I can. Then if I run out
of money I'm going to get a job at something or another till the races
come off. Might as well see them, while we're there. Our chasing Phil
Way and his bunch isn't going to amount to anything anyway--nothing more
than that they won't be able to say they saw the Gold Cup and we
didn't."

"You stick to me, Fred. We'll make Gaines do as we all agreed. We are
going to find Worth and Way and those fellows and we're going to have
some fun with 'em. We can rough it just as well as they can and if
Gaines don't like it--"

"Oh, fiddle! You dream miracles and talk wonders! And it stops there,"
Perth exclaimed, but only half seriously. Then, "What you say is all
right, Pick, but you won't stand by it."

"By the old bean porridge pot, Perth! You're the most contrary monkey I
ever saw!" was Pickton's ejaculation. "I'll stand by every word I've
said!"

But whether he did or whether he didn't subsequent chapters will show.
For the present it is essential to state that beside a thick hedge,
where the ground was level and the grass deep--and very wet with dew, in
consequence--a camping place was found. Not one of the Auto Boys would
have chosen such a spot. There was no water near, no trees beneath which
the ground would be comparatively dry. The thorns of the hedge, also,
where dead branches had fallen, might be encountered just when one least
expected them.

No, Billy Worth or Phil, Paul or Dave would not have picked this place
even in the dark. Pickton and Perth would not have done so either, had
they possessed half the knowledge and experience the Auto Boys had
gained in matters of this kind.

It was eleven o'clock by Freddy Perth's watch. For an hour or more the
night air had felt quite cool, in the automobile, and thoughts of warm
blankets and sleep were pleasant ones as camp was established at the
point described, despite the objectionable features named.

Far back in Sagersgrove the town clock was striking the hour. Eli Gouger
turned restlessly in his sleep and half awakened. "Might have had two,
or maybe four dollars apiece out of 'em just as well as not, if that
good-for-nothing Petersby hadn't had to get his dinner 'fore coming with
me," he growled, as indeed he had been growling for some time. "Get his
dinner! The blamed calf! He's a great one to be a constable, he is!"

CHAPTER XI

MR. BLACKBEARD, THE GIANT

It was with much growling and sleepy sulkiness that Soapy Gaines crawled
down from his seat in the Roadster while Pickton and Fred were opening
camp equipage and making ready for the night. By the lamps of the car he
viewed their labors for a minute or two, drowsily grumbling the while,
then putting a light motor robe over his head and shoulders threw
himself on the grass heavily.

"Ow! Murder! I'm killed!" came frantic screams from young Mr. Gaines the
next instant. "Ow! I'm--I'm killed dead!"

If "killed" Soapy was, however--to say nothing of his being killed
"dead"--his actions were certainly extraordinary. He rolled over and
over, then jumped to his feet, again calling out in greatest distress
that he was "killed," and ending with the declaration in tones both loud
and angry, "Never saw such crazy idiots! Let me jump into thorns a yard
long and never say 'Look out!' Somebody'll get it for this, I'll bet,
now you see!"

As a matter of fact there had chanced to be a considerable heap of
thorny branches from the hedge buried in the tall grass at the precise
spot where Gaines had thrown himself. They found him out in several
places, piercing his back and legs painfully. And although his injuries
were, of course, not at all serious, he seemed somehow not to take this
fact into consideration.

He hopped about--"like a crazy war dance," Fred Perth muttered--then
frantically sought to examine the damage sustained by the glare of the
headlights. All the while he was saying things, some of which were not
exactly complimentary to those addressed, and vowing vengeance on
someone or something, he apparently did not know what.

Perth could scarcely suppress a laugh but Pickton was more in a mood to
express some very decided opinions as the two helped Gaines assure
himself that none of the thorns were still lodged in his flesh--an
assurance he seemed very reluctant to accept.

"Anyhow, it shows us we'll have to be right careful about the tires.
We'd have to pump _them_ up again," observed Perth with a grin.

But Soapy saw nothing funny in the remark and quite pointedly said as
much. And it was not until Pickton had explored a spot nearer the car,
on his own hands and knees, and so proved that it was wholly safe, that
the sadly spoiled member of the party could be persuaded to stretch
himself in a blanket there and so fall asleep.

In a little while the other two of the somewhat discordant, though
self-named "Chosen" Trio had done the same.

It was Friday night--the very evening on which a certain quartette of
other lads had selected their permanent camp in the western edge of the
Ship woods. Tom Pickton thought much of them, wondering where they were
and what progress they might have made by this time with the mystery of
the "three stones" as he lay gazing at the stars.

Very fearful was Thomas that ere their stopping place could be
discovered and their movements investigated, he would be too late--too
late to learn the secret of the Auto Boys' Quest. Or if not, indeed, too
far behind them to discover the real purpose of the lads' expedition, at
least too late to do some possibly successful exploring on his own
account. For this, particularly, did Pick have in mind. If there was
hidden treasure to be found, he had the right, he considered, to locate
the same if he could do so.

But Tom fell asleep at last resolving only for the present that an early
start must be made next morning and no pains spared to trace definitely
the movements of the young motorists whom he knew to be at least two
days in advance of the Roadster. And this resolution he carried into
prompt action.

It was just sunrise when he arose. Freddy Perth responded instantly to
his call. Gaines still slept and was left undisturbed while a tiny
gasoline stove was excavated from the depths of a bale of baggage and
breakfast preparations started. Perth had a long walk to obtain water,
but returned bringing some fresh eggs the kind farmer's wife had offered
him, as well; and when Soapy was at last summoned to arise he found
coffee boiling and the morning meal just ready.

A night's rest had improved the temper of the genial Mr. Gaines,
temporarily, at least. Although indulging in a deal of growling over the
lack of bathing facilities, which were, in fact, noticeably wanting, he
"felt like a lark." At least he said so, and perhaps he did. For a
creature of that description could hardly be expected to lend a hand at
packing baggage away, pumping up a tire from which considerable air had
escaped, or anything of the kind; and certain it is that Soapy did not.

The day's running of the Trio was through a wealthy farming section.
Often they stopped to inquire if the Auto Boys had passed that way, and,
as the well-loaded touring car and its four youthful passengers had been
noticed by many, they found in this well populated region no want of
information. Even after the pike was left behind and a sparsely settled
section encountered, it was still no task to learn at one poor dwelling
or another the direction the Auto Boys had traveled and the time, even
to the approximate minute, when they had passed.

The sight of an automobile was not a frequent occurrence in these parts.
The way the horses shied here, in contrast with the little heed they
gave the machines nearer the towns, was sufficient proof of this. The
people, too, had paid vastly more attention to the touring car, as they
also looked much more curiously at the Roadster here than had been the
case on more prominent thoroughfares.

So did the three lads find their spirits rising. Or, it might be more
accurate to say, so did two of them make such observation; for when the
prospect of simply crackers, coffee and cheese for lunch developed, Mr.
Soapy Gaines sank into a sullen rage which continued until evening. He
was like a volcano during such periods--smoldering constantly, but
emitting flame and fury at quite frequent intervals.

If any of the boys still seriously considered their flight from Gouger's
stable as likely to make them trouble, they did not show it. Fully
believing their captor to have been a properly authorized officer, they
understood their offense in escaping him to be much more serious than
the mere charge of exceeding a speed limit would be. Once Fred suggested
that it would have been better to have submitted to the arrest and paid
their fine, that they might have proceeded on without fear of further
molestation; but to this there came from Gaines so violent an eruption,
in answer, that he pursued the subject no further.

Very well did Fred know, however, that at any point along the road, at
any spot, whether they might be in Queensville or at the races, at any
time of night or day, the charge "fugitives from justice," might have to
be faced. Perfectly well did Pickton, also, understand this to be the
very unpleasant situation, though he grew boldly confident such
complications would not arise as Sagersgrove fell farther and farther to
the rear.

And on the whole it was extremely fortunate for the Trio that Eli Gouger
was far from being a regularly constituted officer of the law. It
certainly would have been an immense relief to the inner consciences of
Perth and Pickton had they known this. Perhaps it was because Soapy was
too positively stupid to comprehend the situation fully that, except for
the ridiculous part he had played in the affair, he would have
considered the escape from the barn as a particularly bright and clever
piece of work.

As nearly as the three boys could learn, they were within fifty miles of
Queensville when lights began appearing in the windows of the few
houses they passed, as twilight overtook them.

"Got to find beds sooner or later and why not in the first good camping
place?" Pickton suggested. "Cost less here than in town, even if we
reached there all right."

"Yes! See if you can't find a bloomin', thorny hedge and both of you
jump into it," came from Gaines, explosively.

    "'And when he saw his eyes were out, with all his might and main
    He jumped into the bramble bush and scratched 'em in again,'"

quoted Pickton with a laugh. For an hour he had been trying in vain to
rally Soapy into a better humor. But that young gentleman making no
response to this pleasant sally, Tom turned to Fred, on the rumble seat,
saying: "You try to get some eggs and ham and bread, or whatever you can
at the next house we come to and we'll go into camp right off. Blamed
pity, though, we didn't make Queensville."

"Blamed pity we didn't get bacon and dried beef--any old thing--at that
last cross-roads store, as I wanted to," was the answer. "I don't relish
walking into strange yards and nobody knows how many dogs ready to take
your leg off, any better than you do. And after dark, too!"

Nevertheless Fred did consent to try for provisions at the next dwelling
and succeeded in buying a loaf of heavy, dark bread, a chunk of salt
pork and a two-quart measure of potatoes. Moreover, the man of the
house, a great, swarthy, black-bearded fellow, returned with him,
volunteering to show the way to a suitable camping place.

Pickton was far from favorably impressed by the looks of the man or with
his deep, gruff voice. Gaines was plainly frightened. However, Fred
seemed to have become quite well acquainted with the stranger at once
and the two talked and walked together, as the man led the way forward.

Pickton drove up slowly, behind, and in a little while crossed a small
bridge spanning what appeared to be a nearly dry water course. But just
beyond this the party was conducted over another bridge, a small affair
of light timbers, erected over the wide, deep gutter at the roadside.
The heavy car caused the flimsy structure to sag threateningly, and
remembering the predicament following Mr. Gouger's leadership, Pick
liked less and less the piloting of the black-bearded stranger.

It was now entirely dark. The car's headlights showed no road
ahead--only the closely-cropped grass of a pasture with here and there
clumps of brush and weeds. It was a wild enough appearing place, indeed,
to have caused older men than these lads to look askance before
proceeding further.

"Right ahead here, bub! It's only a shortish piece," the stranger
called.

There was nothing for it but to follow or name a reason for not doing
so. Tom allowed the machine to creep forward, though Gaines whispered,
"We'll be murdered and robbed, that's what we'll be!" It was a real
relief to both when Perth's voice came back through the darkness a few
seconds later, "Come on up with the car. Here we are, and it's
first-class."

Almost immediately the headlights shone upon an open space under some
chestnut trees. It was at the foot of a steep rise of ground. Here the
small stream crossing the road, just below, formed a deep, narrow pool,
clear and cool. Fallen limbs and branches of a giant chestnut long since
dead and now dry as tinder, lay here and there, affording the finest
sort of firewood. The short, velvety grass beneath the thick foliage of
the living trees was like a lawn and in all respects the conditions
presented a splendid camp location.

"Ye'll want a fire the first thing," the black-bearded fellow said, and
at once collected an armful of the dry wood. "Now ye can peel yer taters
an' cook 'em like a ding-dang. Fry yer pork, too! Got a skillet?" said
he, as the bright blaze he started flamed up.

And upon being assured that everything needful was at hand, the
stranger bade the party good-night and strode away. A minute later his
heavy foot-falls upon the light wooden bridge over the ditch were heard.
And although by this time the boys were inclined to believe he meant
them nothing but kindness, it was a relief to have him out of sight and
hearing.

Late as it was, Fred proposed a hearty supper. All were hungry and
Gaines and Pickton found the suggestion quite agreeable, the latter
making the reservation, however, that he'd "be blamed" if he was going
to wash any dishes afterward. The remark was quite like Soapy, all
through. Also, much as he sniffed and, in Fred's language, "turned up
his nose" at the salt pork, he ate heartily, not to say greedily, of
that fare, though the meat and potatoes were scarcely more than half
cooked.

Whatever other faults he may have had, Pickton never objected to doing a
fair share of work. He fell to at the dish washing while Perth opened up
blankets for the night. The campfire was very cheerful, though the
gasoline stove of their outfit had been found more convenient for
cooking, for all three lads lacked a broad camping experience. So more
wood was brought to keep the fire blazing, and in all the odd chores
performed, necessary or otherwise, the sum total of Mr. Soapy Games'
contribution to the labor was the opening of his own suit case to find a
clean shirt he wished to put on in the morning.

Although their supper and a vigorous washing of dusty, dirty hands and
faces (which, quite contrary to precedent, followed rather than preceded
their repast), had made each member of the Trio more optimistic than
they had lately been, they still felt apprehensive concerning the
swarthy giant of a fellow on whose land they were. Fred insisted that he
meant only kindness, but when asked why the man should want to be more
than decently civil to utter strangers, he could only answer, "Good
Samaritan!"

All night long Pickton scarcely slept, so doubtful of Mr. Blackbeard's
seemingly good intentions was he. Gaines had merely said, "Well, you
fellows have got to keep your eyes open. I sleep sound as a bat and
would never wake up no matter what happened." Then he had growled a
great deal about the quality of his bed until at last he was snoring
tremendously.

Perth's confidence in the "Good Samaritan" gave him a sense of real
security and he dozed off quickly. And in the meantime Mr. Blackbeard
himself had returned to his homely, unpainted house and sat himself down
with Mrs. Blackbeard on the kitchen doorstep.

"Likely young fellers," said he. "Might have asked 'em into the house
but they'd probably rather sleep out. Beat's all where some folks get
all the money, Lizzie!" His tone was one of wonder, rather than
complaint. "Here's them snips of young shavers tearin' over the country
havin' a good time while you,--you that's worth a hay-rack load of 'em,
ain't got a fairly good go-to-meetin' gingham dress, an' won't have
till we sell the wheat that ain't hardly mor'n headed out yet. Beat's
all, don't it?"

"Well, well, it's all right, John! Everybody has their good times,
accordin' to their different ways an' means," the woman answered simply.
"We have ours an' plenty enough to be thankful for, every day of our
lives."

The whole of which goes to show that for every Eli Gouger in the world
there is somewhere a true and honest, manly man bringing the general
average up. Also, that big, generous hearts are often found in rough
exteriors, and some of earth's truest nobility dwelling in obscure
places. But--

"Gee Whiz! This is another day!" exclaimed Freddy Perth, several hours
later, sitting up suddenly to find the sunlight filtering in through the
chestnut branches.

And, quite remarkable as he seemed to think it, it was.

CHAPTER XII

DISCOVERED

It was Sunday morning in Camp Golden. The name had been bestowed by
Paul, always fond of the high-sounding or romantic. And although David,
with customary pessimism, proposed that the broad, shelving ledge be
called "Camp Golden--It's-Barely-Possible" instead, Jones' suggestion
was accepted; partly because no one cared, in particular; partly because
his name possessed euphony, if not positive significance.

Anyway, Sunday morning it was and breakfast of coffee, corn cakes and
bacon, with strawberries after, rather than before the principal part of
the meal, was just over. The Auto Boys, in various attitudes of ease,
made no immediate haste to clear away the dishes.

Paul Jones sat on a cushion on the ground, with legs crossed like a
tailor on his bench. Billy made himself comfortable, on a convenient
box, both hands clasped around an up-turned knee--a favorite attitude of
his,--while Phil and Dave in equally unconventional positions occupied
camp stools. Their places were at opposite sides of an old-time trunk
which, turned half over, served as a table. Newspapers--quickly disposed
of in the fire when soiled,--no need to _wash them_--did duty as a
tablecloth.

It was a cheerful, pleasant scene, there amid the shade and sunshine and
green leaves. A low tent was erected with its back to the rocky cliff at
the rear of the ledge. Here were accommodated two beds of hemlock twigs
spread upon the ground and covered with blankets, also a box which, in
addition to holding wearing apparel and the like, served as a kind of
center table. Its lid was pretty well littered with an assortment of
young gentlemen's belongings this morning--an odd mixture of neckties,
collars, socks, clothes-brush, shoe brush, a revolver, fishing tackle, a
hatchet and a bottle of olives. Larger items of wearing apparel hung on
a line along the tent's rear wall.

In the shallow cave shelves formed by building up broad, flat stones
like a series of steps, accommodated sundry tinware, dishes and canned
provisions. A perfect cooling system, made by diverting a part of the
water from the spring to a small excavation in the gravelly floor of the
cave, afforded proper storage for a crock of butter and a pitcher of
milk set down in the little pool. Here, also, a bucket of other
provisions of a perishable nature was similarly disposed. Not even the
famous spring-houses of early days could have been more serviceable or
delightful.

The campfire was placed not quite in front of the tent, as the custom is
if prevailing winds do not blow the smoke in, but quite to one side. It
was the width of the ledge, rather than the winds, however, which in
this instance made desirable the location chosen. It would not do for
Chef Billy to have to work at the extreme edge of the declivity that
broke sharply down to the valley below--the "jumping off place," Jones
called it.

The improvised table was almost directly in front of the tent, but
slightly toward the right, the fire being on the left. Still further to
the right was a rough shelter for the car made of poles with a tarpaulin
and sundry green branches spread over them. Here were stored, likewise,
a couple of axes--brought all the way from the Retreat in Gleason's
ravine--and numerous other tools, spades and a pickaxe included.

"And now we're so comfortably settled, the pity is it's Sunday, and--"

"And we told the folks we'd keep track of the days of the week, and they
sort of took it for granted from that that we'd observe the seventh,"
broke in Phil Way, finishing the sentence Billy Worth began. "Pretty
good day to write some letters home, for one thing. And those other
matters you may have in mind, such as certain things that have been in
the woods, all undisturbed for a good many years, will probably keep
till to-morrow."

"If there had just been a text announced we'd have had a regular sermon
already," quoth Paul Jones, with that inimitable grin that made his
plain, freckled face delightfully attractive.

"Why, if a text is all you want, I'll give you one," spoke Way
instantly. "It isn't from the Bible but is a good text, anyway. 'To
thine own self be true.' It means just this: That we should not, away
off here in the wilderness, and no fellow should when away by himself
anywhere, be any less decent and respectable than he would be where
everybody knows all that is going on. It means enough more than this,
but the point for us is that it is just as much Sunday here as it is at
home. We'll be civilized."

"Well, that is a sure-enough sermon and a pretty good one, too," said
MacLester, quite soberly. "We'll sing something, and it will be the
same as going to church, almost."

Dave liked singing at any time, it may be remarked parenthetically, and
his bass and Paul's tenor did make the vocal efforts of the quartette
very pleasing. So now they sang "America," "Lead, Kindly Light," "The
Old Oaken Bucket," "Onward, Christian Soldiers," and "Tenting on the Old
Camp Ground." And although it must be admitted that their selections
were of wide variety, they were all full of the spirit of love,
thanksgiving and kindness and certainly not the slightest irreverence
was intended if any there was.

"No, sir! We'll sing no more till the dishes are washed and the camp, to
say nothing of ourselves, put in some kind of order," announced Billy
Worth in answer to Dave's, "What else do we all know?" He began a rapid
collection of the tin plates, cups and the like, but suddenly paused.

"Automobile!" cried Paul at the same instant.

All four boys rushed to an extreme point of the ledge, which commanded a
partial view of the public road. Again the horn of a car sounded and
they were just in time to see a heavy roadster, laden with traps and
baggage and three lads of their own age as passengers, sweep over the
bridge and, more slowly, up the stiff rise beyond.

"Pickton and Gaines and Perth!" cried Worth in astonishment. "And--"

"What do you know about that?" demanded Mr. Paul Jones in similar tones;
and again he said, "What _do_ you know about that?"--not, apparently,
because he had reason to suppose that any of his friends had information
pertaining especially to the Chosen Trio, or even because he expected to
gain intelligence of any description. Perhaps he really looked for no
answer to his inquiry. (In which case it would be difficult to say just
why he made it.) At any rate he received none.

"Well, sir, I never thought they'd have the gumption to carry out their
scheme of following after us," was Phil's comment. "If they only knew
how close they were just a minute ago!"

"Wouldn't make much difference," observed MacLester, dryly. "They'll
locate us now, but if we keep our wits about us they won't locate
anything else."

"Nothing of the kind!" Worth ejaculated. "Their hustling by so fast is
good enough evidence that they think we are still on ahead somewhere.
They'll never think of this woods, but likely only of the races."

"Sure thing!" put in Paul Jones, in his very positive, opinionated way.
"Nothing to it but keep out of their sight. They'll go clear through to
Queensville, likely. In three days more the whole county around the race
course will be alive with strange automobiles. They'll never get a line
on us if we keep out of sight. Simply means we've got to watch them
some, though, so's to be sure _they_ aren't watching _us_."

"Maybe we _had_ better look into what they're doing," Phil acquiesced
and all heartily agreed. The fun of the situation, a hide-and-seek game
in automobiles with the whole vicinity of the Gold Cup race course--a
stretch of territory twenty-five miles in length and as many broad--as
the grounds of action, appealed instantly to each one.

The best part of it, too, was that the Chosen Trio were "It"--the ones
who must do the searching. The desirable side of the game, as the ones
who were hunted, had fallen to the Auto Boys. Believing as they did,
that their hiding place was reasonably secure against discovery, too,
and there being never a rule of play to require them to call out or give
any sort of clue to their whereabouts, the prospect became all the more
interesting to the lads as they talked it over.

One thing of which all four boys assured one another was that they had
too much at stake to incur any sort of risk of their camp being found.
Also, they were agreed, there must be no underestimating of the
resourcefulness and cunning of the Trio. It was really surprising that
the latter had succeeded so well thus far in finding the route the
Thirty traversed. Their evident perseverance in doing so was, as well,
ample indication of their serious intention to do all they
threatened--find out the meaning of the mysterious expedition and play
mischief with that undertaking generally.

All day Saturday the Auto Boys had spent in erecting their permanent
camp and in establishing connections for such part of their food supply
as they could best obtain from some farm. The latter had not been easily
accomplished. There was little cultivated land in the immediate
neighborhood of the great woods. The nearest farmhouse was a half-mile
away and the next one an equal distance beyond.

Unluckily, too, it had been found necessary to go to the second of the
farms in order to obtain milk. It would mean a two-mile tramp each
morning, there and back. Either this or a trip in the car, and on
account of the rough ground between the camp and the public road, the
latter method was hardly desirable, as a daily practice.

Aside from this inconvenience the young campers were highly pleased with
their location. They had yet to make arrangements for sending and
receiving mail, but this they had planned to do on Sunday afternoon.
Their letters home having been written, the most convenient grocery or
other source of general supplies discovered, and all the odd tasks
incident to getting settled cleared away, they would be ready on Monday
morning, they planned, to begin the long contemplated attack upon the
secrets of the great, silent woods.

But now had come the unexpected arrival of Messrs. Gaines, Pickton and
Perth much nearer these scenes than any of the four friends had supposed
they ever would be. It might make an entire revision of the program
necessary.

"As to that same, we shall see," said Billy Worth, looking up from the
letter writing on which, barring numerous interruptions, all were
engaged.

"How d'ye spell 'barnacles'?" demanded Paul Jones, insistently, the same
moment.

"Huh! Barnacles! I'll bet that's the Trio," laughed Billy.

"Lot Jones knows about barnacles," sniffed MacLester.

"That so? Listen to my letter: 'The insectivorous barnacles on the face
of nature'--meaning Gaines and his bunch, of course--'them would-be
cutaneous young billy goats'--meaning Gaines and the rest again--'have
hurled their preposterous physiognomy unfrequented and unbid into this
locality.'"

A merry laugh greeted Paul's conclusion and he grinned his own delight
with himself.

"Still, I bet he don't know what a barnacle is," persisted Dave with
good-natured derision.

"Why, you certain species of shell fish! What do you mean by your
insolence?" demanded Jones, with mock dignity. "Barnacles--from the
Latin word 'barn,' meaning a kind of stable, and the Greek word
'culls,' meaning an inferior kind of anything. Together, then,
barnacles--an inferior kind of stable, a--a pig sty, say? So there you
have it; but you might have let it go without forcing me to use such a
low word as 'pigs' in the presence of gentlemen, just to make myself
clear in your laborious mental processes."

Phil and Billy laughed at this sally but went on with their writing.
Dave must give one return shot, and it was:

"Jones, if words were water, you'd have been drowned long ago. The way
you flounder around in 'em makes me think of a tumble bug climbing
upstairs backwards."

Paul responded only with a solemn "Pooh! pooh!" as if he could not take
time to notice seriously any such childish prattle. And while it must be
admitted that there was nothing at all brilliant or elevating in the
exchange of youthful repartee that had taken place, who shall say that
both did not profit by it?

They had made each his thrust and parry and, give or take, without a
thought of losing temper. They had had a few seconds' practice in quick
thinking, which is always desirable. The whole difference between a
brain of snap and vim and one both slow and dull, is likely to lie in
practice in rapid, accurate work, or the lack of such training, rather
than in an original difference in capacity.

Yet it must not be supposed that even Paul and Dave were constantly in
an offensive and defensive attitude toward one another. That would never
have done at all. Sooner or later such a manner would have become
irritating. The tongue whose words are too frequently sharp, or by
constant habit, other than kind and considerate, will make trouble
inevitably.

By themselves Jones and MacLester rarely indulged in such exchange as
that of this morning. The fun of it was lacking when Phil and Billy were
not by to serve as an audience. Alone together, the two were harmonious
as could be. They were much more apt to differ at other times. An
instance when they did not, however, occurred directly after the verbal
contest lately recorded.

"We will make a run to Queensville, get a light lunch there and have
dinner in camp to-night," remarked Chef Billy, sealing the letter he had
written. He brought his fist down with a whack upon the envelope, not
for sake of emphasis but to make sure of the flap being fast.

"Aw, Bill! I'm most starved _now_!" protested Paul.

"Here, too!" MacLester urged. "Something in this air seems to make a
fellow want to eat all the time."

"Well, the point is, we've got to be starting. It's nearly noon," Worth
answered.

"Yes, that's so," Phil Way agreed. "Maybe we better have an egg sandwich
or something like that, all around, and it will do for now."

"Sure!" chirped Jones, emphatically. "Stuff will only spoil if we don't
eat it up."

"Risk anything spoiling around here," was Billy's earnest comment; but
he ordered that frying-pan and eggs be brought him forthwith, while he
proceeded to rake together the remnants of the fire.

The route to Queensville was, for the first part, straight ahead upon
the road bordering the Ship woods. Six miles distant, westerly, this
road effected a junction with a thoroughfare running to north and south.
Distant a mile or two, in the former direction, was the direct road to
Queensville. This and the north and south road were both a part of the
twenty-six-mile race circuit.

It was easy to locate the road to Queensville once Gilroy, with its one
general store, half dozen straggling dwellings, a church, a school and
blacksmith shop, was reached, for numerous automobiles were traversing
the course of the races in both directions. And how the Auto Boys
scanned every car! And what a collection of machines it was!--Runabouts,
roadsters and nondescript contrivances, the identity of the
manufacturers of which even Billy Worth could not determine. Some had
been rebuilt in one way, some another and some were of strictly home
production. But among all the cars, fine and otherwise, the lumbering
black and gray Roadster Mr. Soapy Gaines called his own, was not seen.

In a quiet side street of Queensville the four friends left the Thirty.
They were but a few steps from the main thoroughfare upon which the
business section was situated, and directly before them, as they turned
into the street was a sign: "Alameda Headquarters."

"Here's one of the likely cars, now," exclaimed Phil. "Jim Wilder,
cousin of our Mr. Wilder at home, drives her and he's great, they say!"
He would have added: "Let's see what they're doing," but already Billy,
Dave and Paul had hastened forward, bent on that very mission.

As the lads approached, the crowd about the entrance to the building
surged suddenly away and, waving his hand to all to stand back, a man in
overalls and jumper pulled the heavy door about and it swung shut with a
bang. The curious ones thus barred from further view of what was
within--the racing car and drivers, probably--formed an assemblage so
dense that those nearest the door were not visible to the Auto Boys, at
the edge of the gathering. But immediately the people began dispersing.
A minute later, through the thinning ranks, Paul Jones suddenly
discovered the Chosen Trio.

He had just time to whisper and, with his friends, slip back of a group
near the curbing when Gaines, Pickton and Perth passed at the inner side
of the walk. There appeared no room to doubt the Trio would go straight
forward and, when they were fairly beyond the crowd, Billy and Phil,
still watching them, stepped back into the open to get a better view.

The movement was unfortunate. Freddy Perth chanced to turn and his eyes
rested at once upon the lads. With a gay laugh he caught the hands of
Pickton and Gaines, wheeling them around. Pointing with his thumb, his
arm half outstretched:

"How do you _do-o-o_?" he called triumphantly to the crestfallen Way and
Worth.

"Hello!" Phil responded with a frown, but looking about as if to see how
Billy was bearing up, he was astonished to find himself alone.

CHAPTER XIII

AROUND THE GOLD CUP CIRCUIT

Phil's "hello!" was none too cordial, but glad under any circumstances
to meet someone from home, and quite overjoyed to show the Auto Boys
that the Chosen Trio were on the spot, Perth was hastening forward.

Again Way looked anxiously in all directions, trying vainly to learn
whence his friends had so mysteriously fled. No sight or sound of them
could he discover.

"Got your car running again sooner'n you expected, didn't you?" grinned
Freddy, coming close up. "When did you get in?"

"Not sooner than _we_ expected--sooner than _you_ expected, wasn't it?"
responded Phil. "Haven't been here long. You came in this morning."

"How'd you know?" Perth demanded with a searching look.

"Bird told me," Phil smiled. "Where you staying?"

"Ask the bird that, too!" grinned Freddy.

"Well, see you later. Be here for the races, I take it," Way laughed,
not at all put out by Perth's adroit reply to his own question. With a
little wave of the hand he walked quickly away; but a glance over his
shoulder a minute later assured him that Perth, Gaines and Pickton were
following not far behind. The latter two had loitered in the background
while the conversation with Fred was taking place.

If Phil was astonished to find himself so unexpectedly alone, it was
apparent that the Trio were scarcely less so. Perth was certain he had
seen Billy Worth at the same moment he had first seen Way. What had
become of Billy and where were Dave and Paul?

Phil, himself, would have given something at this particular moment to
have been able to answer these questions. Meanwhile it was obvious his
first task was to escape from the three who followed. Where was Gaines'
Roadster? If he could lead the Trio far enough from their car that they
would not have that means of pursuit, it might be that Billy and the
rest would come along in the Thirty, pick him up and thus enable all to
make their escape quite readily.

Acting on this thought, Phil turned into the first residence street
intersecting Main, the business thoroughfare. Even now he was but a few
blocks distant from where the Thirty had been left. Surely, he reasoned,
some one of his friends would be watching the direction he took. One of
them would manage, some way, to get into communication with him, even if
they did not come dashing up with the machine and effect his rescue.

Was it an instance of telepathy--the action of Billy's mind, or Paul's
or Dave's or of all three, upon Phil Way's--that caused the latter to
think of a sudden, rapid dash in the car, after the Trio had been led a
safe distance from their own machine, as a likely means of escaping
them? Such a thing is not impossible. It is not, indeed, improbable. And
yet, although stranger instances of thought transference have been fully
proved, it may have been after all only a coincidence that the plan that
came into Phil's mind was exactly the one Billy Worth suggested to Paul
and David and which they prepared to put into execution.

Very luckily had Worth made a dive into the crowd the moment he found
himself and Phil observed by Freddy Perth. Thinking Way followed, he
called with a quick gasp to MacLester and Jones and darted into an open
stairway. Quickly as they could the three ran up the steps into a narrow
hall on the second floor.

A window was open toward the street and Worth was not long in
discovering how to put it to good use. In dismay he saw, with Paul and
Dave peeping out over his shoulder, that Phil had fallen fairly into the
enemy's hands. He could not hear the words exchanged with Perth, but
realized how mystified Way was as he waved his hand and walked away.

"Of course they'll follow. Won't let him get out of their sight!"
ejaculated Billy. "We've got to make a grand rush in the machine and get
Phil away from them before they know what's happened."

"Just let him lead them quite a stretch away. Gaines' car is probably
right near here," Paul put in, eagerly.

The suggestion was adopted. Then Jones volunteered to keep Way and the
enemy both in sight while Billy and Dave brought the Thirty up.

Ten minutes later there was a sudden blast of a flying automobile's horn
in one of Queensville's quiet streets. In another instant the car had
slackened speed and a young man rushed from the sidewalk and climbed
aboard. Like a flash the machine sped forward again, followed by a
series of angry, disappointed yells from three other youths who also
dashed out from the sidewalk as if they had thought of going along.

A good many people observing the rather mysterious performance, as they
sat upon their lawns and porches, or strolled on the street, were
decidedly at a loss to know what to make of it all.

"Oh, I guess we're no wizards at all! No, nothing like that! No wizards
about us! Not at all!" chuckled Paul Jones in a perfect rapture of
delight. "No, we're no _wizards_!"

And although Philip, William and David expressed themselves in somewhat
different language, it was apparent that they, too, entertained pretty
much the same opinion as the highly elated Mr. Jones with regard to
their being "No wizards, at all," whatever that may signify.

Yet now that the Chosen Trio had been again outwitted and again left
behind, temporarily at least, there remained the problem of keeping well
beyond their sight and reach. To do this and to do it without permitting
those persistent young gentlemen to bar the Thirty from entering the
limits of Queensville was no small undertaking.

The town was of only a few thousand population, and even now when filled
with strangers and with strange automobiles from the larger cities near
by, it was apparent that at any moment the four friends appeared on the
principal streets they might expect to meet the very persons they most
wished to avoid.

MacLester emphatically declared himself in favor of letting the Trio "go
hang." If they "wanted to tag along clear to the Ship woods," he did not
care. They'd have principally their trouble for their pains. All they
might discover as to the object of the expedition and the camp in that
out-of-the-way place, would not, according to young Mr. MacLester's way
of stating it, "Make 'em wise enough to hurt 'em." Whatever the reports
they carried back to Lannington, no one would give them much credence
anyway, he declared.

But Phil Way sturdily opposed any such surrender. The original
determination to keep the real purpose of this long journey a secret
could not be abandoned now, he argued, without a practical admission
that Gaines and his followers had been too clever for them. Billy and
Paul stood resolutely with Way. Meanwhile the Thirty had been traversing
one dusty, unpaved street after another in the town's outskirts.

"They'll never be expecting to see us again to-day. Let's go back down
town. If we keep our eyes open, we'll see them first, and that's all
that's necessary," proposed Worth; and, being himself at the wheel, he
turned the car toward the business district.

From no source came an objection. In ten minutes the machine was again
standing just where it had been left before. Quite contrary to the
expectations of the boys, also, they saw nothing whatever of the Trio,
though they spent an hour looking about the little city and observing
the hundreds of visitors.

Some had come, it appeared, simply for the day, to see the preparations
for the great road races. Many were present because of a direct interest
in the contests in one way or another and would remain until all was
over. Racing drivers and the builders of their cars, automobile
salesmen, tire men, newspaper men from many cities--motoring enthusiasts
of a score of sorts and a hundred degrees of significance, from the
young fellow who expected to own a runabout some day to the engineer who
designed and would drive the most popular machine in the heavy car
race--they were on the streets, in the hotels, thronging everywhere.

On barns, fences, trees, posts--anything that offered a chance to drive
a nail, were signs, banners and all sorts of advertising matter. One
might find himself informed on one post that he must use "Heapa" oil or
be miserable for life. The very next post would tell him if he did not
use "Slickem" oil he'd be sorry forever. And as the really quite
conflicting announcements, admonitions, claims and assertions were in
great variety and multiplied many times by their frequent repetition,
any gentleman who might have set out to be guided by them would surely
have had a serious time of it and have landed in a padded cell
somewhere, sooner or later, undoubtedly.

In addition to the cosmopolitan character of the crowds--to say nothing
of the diversity of the advertising posters and signs--were the town's
decorations of flags and bunting everywhere. Then a band played on the
steps of the Court House, in the heart of the little city, and the
music, the chugging of engines, the confusion and excitement, the very
odors--for where is the real motoring enthusiast who dislikes the smell
of diffused gasoline fumes?--made a deep impression upon the Auto Boys.
It is very much to be feared, indeed, that they started for Camp Golden
at last much more intent upon seeing the races the following Saturday
than upon delving into the secrets of the Ship woods the following
morning.

By taking the longer route, followed by the race course, around to
Gilroy, in going home, the four friends finished a complete circuit of
the roads chosen for the stock car contest. In going to Queensville, it
will be remembered, they turned due north and later almost directly
west upon reaching the course, directly in front of the Gilroy
post-office. From Queensville they ran almost directly south, thence
east, northeast and north to Gilroy again.

The geographical situations of Camp Golden, Gilroy and Queensville the
reader should have well in mind. Let him imagine a series of country
roads forming a great, irregularly-shaped dipper. The handle is the road
passing the Ship woods. Where the handle joins the dipper itself, six
miles west of the Auto Boys' camp, is Gilroy, a crude little country
hamlet--no more. The rim of the dipper represents the roads making up
the racing circuit. Nearly half way around, to the right, that is,
north, thence west from Gilroy, is Queensville--twelve miles distant.
Continuing on around the rim is the little town of Chester, three miles
beyond Queensville.

The "Ambulance station,"--a desperately sharp curve--marks the turn of
the course to the east again, two miles further on. Then the edge of
the dipper becomes very irregular as the road winds in and out through a
wooded country, until at Far Creek Sawmill it strikes off due north.
Four miles ahead is Gilroy again, which hamlet, by this way around, is
fourteen miles from Queensville.

Much work had been done on the roads comprising the racing circuit to
put them in condition, and as Phil Way remarked, on the homeward trip
this Sunday afternoon, "There was certainly going to be some
excitement." Yet little he guessed how much more than excitement,
merely, was in store for himself and his friends.

"I'll bet there _is_," quoth Billy Worth, answering Way's remark. "It'll
be some exciting, for instance, about the time we meet Gaines' Roadster
somewhere around the track. That very choice Trio will be out every day,
more or less, and whether we go one way or the other, it will be pure
luck and nothing else if we don't come face to face with them some time
before the races are over."

And Billy's view of the matter was nothing if not plausible. There was
no way of reaching Queensville from the camp without following the
course of the proposed races. There was no cross road leading even in
the direction of that town. By a very long detour the result named might
possibly be accomplished, it was true, but it would be like going from
New York to Philadelphia by way of Albany and Harrisburg.

This Sunday afternoon it was most fortunate for the Auto Boys that they
chose to complete the circuit the races would follow, when leaving
Queensville for Camp Golden. Had they gone the other way a meeting with
the Trio would have been certain, for that select company of young
gentlemen spent several hours on the opposite side of the course vainly
watching.

Guided only by the direction the Thirty had taken after the rescue of
Phil Way, Gaines and his associates had set out in pursuit as rapidly as
possible. Until dark they haunted the road to the north and east. Their
utter lack of success was quite annoying.

In fact, Mr. Soapy Gaines became so irritated that his company could
scarcely be called enchanting; unless, indeed, one were possessed of the
peculiarity of enjoying being called a "crazy snapping turtle" and other
like names, not well chosen, at least, if intended as terms of
endearment. But as to Soapy's ruffled temper and conduct generally there
will be opportunity for observation later. At this moment attention
should return more directly to the Auto Boys.

"If we hadn't spent a whole half-day chasing around Queensville and back
again, we might have had a good walk in the woods and maybe we would
have found those three stones," growled Dave MacLester, toasting his
hands over the campfire, for the evening had come on quite cold.

"Never mind, little one, never mind! You'll feel better after you've had
your supper. Your poor, 'ittle tummy wants something. You'll feel
better pretty soon." This language in a soft, fatherly tone from Paul
Jones caused a smile. Even David smiled, too, for directly afterward
Chef Billy announced the evening meal.

It was a pleasant thing to sit before the glowing fire, enjoying toasted
crackers and toasted cheese after the major portion of the supper--baked
beans, baked potatoes and bacon, and coffee, of course--was over. It was
a pleasant thing to creep under the blankets in the tent, luxuriously
tired, an hour and a half later.

Most exquisitely pleasant was it, also, to lie snug and comfortable
listening to the tinkle of the little spring where the water flowed over
the miniature cataract leading to the cleverly devised cooling system,
and so to fall asleep at last.

CHAPTER XIV

AT THE CLARION RACING CAMP

The arrival of the Chosen Trio in Queensville did not occasion the
excitement in that small city that at least Mr. Gaines had anticipated.
Possibly there would have been a more noticeable interest had it not
been that strangers and strange cars had already become, on account of
the numbers present for the races, a drug on the market. Queensville
people had grown quickly accustomed to the presence of visitors. Beyond
a passing glance the lumbering Roadster and its passengers received
little notice, therefore.

Soapy had counted so much upon the demonstration of lively interest the
arrival of himself, his car and Pickton and Perth--whom he regarded as
a kind of body-guard--would occasion that to attract little or none of
such curious attention was a serious blow to his vanity.

The fault, Mr. Gaines in his own mind assured himself, lay in the very
ordinary appearance of his friends. He would have to let it be known, he
concluded, that he alone was the owner of the Roadster and that he, if
not those with him, was a person of quite some consequence.

It was with difficulty that Pickton and Perth prevailed upon Gaines to
do as they had originally agreed and look for quarters where they could
prepare most of their own meals and so incur no considerable expense.
This accomplished, they quite readily found a really desirable place of
the character desired. It was a vacant, one-story, white cottage.
Adjoining was a more pretentious house, the owner of both of which
dwellings was desirous of taking in what money he might while the influx
of strangers was on. For the moderate charge of five dollars for the
week he gave the Trio the use of the cottage for themselves and
permission to run their car into a shed in the rear of his own
residence.

The three lads might have been very comfortable--might have fared well
in all respects, in the situation presented, had Soapy been the least
bit favorably disposed toward "roughing it." With the gasoline camp
stove for their cooking, ample bedding, and water and similar
accommodations already in the cottage and at their disposal--why, under
the same conditions the Auto Boys, or any group of really congenial
young fellows, would have lived in a delightfully care-free way!

But Gaines did not like the bare floor and he did not like the absence
of such little conveniences as rocking chairs and electric lights. And
although Mrs. Gaston, wife of the owner of the property, and a most
pleasant, motherly old lady, sent over a mirror, a lamp, a small table
and three kitchen chairs for the accommodation of the boys, to say
nothing of a jar of canned peaches and a fresh rhubarb pie, Soapy
"hoped he wasn't an object of charity just yet awhile."

Or as Mr. Freddy Perth expressed it, he "simply turned up his long, thin
nose at the whole shooting match and acted like a beastly cad." Where
and how anything remotely similar to a "shooting match" came into the
situation may not be exactly clear. No doubt young Mr. Perth knew just
what he was talking about; but at any rate the words quoted, it should
be understood, were his own.

However, and notwithstanding Mr. Gaines' constantly expressed
dissatisfaction, Pick and Fred went ahead with the plan to make the
white cottage their headquarters for the week of the races. The location
was pleasantly convenient. Only four blocks distant was the main street
and the Crown Hotel. Here many of the racing car owners and drivers were
staying and here, also, the committee in charge of the contests had its
office.

Considerably disgusted with the failure again to find the Auto Boys and
out of sorts with himself and everyone else, Gaines went alone to the
hotel for his supper on Sunday night. Perth and Pickton enjoyed their
evening meal just as much without him, it is possible, at the cottage.
And though they attempted nothing more intricate in the culinary art
than boiling eggs, toasting bread and making coffee, they supplemented
this fare with fruit from the stand down on the corner and so managed
very well.

Soapy returned from the hotel to find the cottage uncomfortably cool and
Fred and Tom both in bed--because they were tired and because they were
warmer there. He sniffed contemptuously as he prepared to follow their
example. Growing still more sulky, he requested both his friends to bear
in mind who owned the car that brought them there. Even after he was in
bed, Gaines felt moved to declare that he didn't care where the Auto
Boys were or were not. He meant, he said, to enjoy the races.

He wanted to hear the hotel discussions, see the practice work and all
things incident to the contests. So far as he was concerned, he at last
concluded, "Worth and that bunch might run and jump off the edge of the
earth if they wanted to." Which feat, by the way, had the Auto Boys
known they had Mr. Gaines' free and complete permission to perform, they
would quite likely have been glad to undertake for his especial
accommodation, if for no other reason.

Now, although Mr. Tom Pickton was no better pleased with the temper
Gaines displayed than was Mr. Frederick Perth, the two did not
themselves become the firmer friends. Being fellow sufferers from
Soapy's disagreeable manner, it would have been quite natural that every
bond of friendship and sympathy between them should be strengthened. Yet
quite the contrary was true.

Pickton more than half believed Perth responsible for the fact that
Gaines had not invited him to supper at the hotel. Fred's somewhat
inferior clothing, and his general lack of a kind of swaggering style,
much affected by Soapy himself, made the latter ashamed to associate
with him. In this light, at least, Pickton viewed the matter. He
reasoned that Gaines went by himself because to invite one made it
necessary that he invite both the others. Thinking thus, he wished
fervently that Fred were some place else.

On the other hand, young Mr. Perth resented in his thoughts, if not in
words and actions, a certain secretive manner Pickton had shown more and
more of late. He resented still further Soapy's selfish and snobbish
conduct. So all in all, harmony and good-fellowship among the Chosen
Trio's members, never strong, never founded on the deep, mutual love and
respect that is the basis of all true friendship, was in a fair way to
disappear entirely.

Monday morning presented little change in the chilly atmosphere of the
white cottage. Soapy remained in bed until Perth called him to
breakfast--again toast, eggs and coffee. Meanwhile Pickton had brought
the Roadster around to the street in front, and after the morning
repast suggested a trip over the course. As Gaines and Fred both liked
this proposal, the feelings of all three toward one another became, for
the time, more pleasant.

Earnest, serious practice by the racing drivers began this Monday
morning and from four to ten o'clock the roads were closed against all
others. The Trio ran down in the Roadster to the banked curve just south
of Queensville to watch the work of the different cars and men. It was
at this point that the main grandstand was to be. Work on the structure,
rising in successive tiers of seats in rows hundreds of feet in length,
was now nearly completed. No charge for admission would be made before
the day of the races and from boxes for each of which, for the one big
day, the price would be fifty dollars, the three lads viewed the coming
and going of the machines and their crews.

A large, red car, stripped to the chassis, save for the hood, the low
seats and fuel tank back of them, made the most consistent record of
the morning. Repeatedly its driver covered the circuit at fifty-five
mile speed and did not exceed a minute's difference in time between one
lap and another.

This machine was the _Clarion_; Kemper, driver, and Allstop,
mechanician. It was a popular car and a favorite crew. Gossip at the
Crown Hotel was partial to Kemper and the _Clarion_ as winners in the
heavy car race.

A long, low, gray car with black lines--and known as the _Hare_, was
another of the "sure" winners, according to the forecast of those whose
wisdom was aired each day and night wherever crowds congregated in
Queensville. The identity of the _Hare's_ driver was the subject of
almost unceasing discussion. When out on the course or wherever he might
be seen, he wore invariably a head-dress that covered his face
completely. None could recognize him. On the entry list his name
appeared as "I. S. Mystery"--nothing more, and it is scarcely necessary
to add that a mystery he was. Cobert, his mechanician, was also
unknown. He wore no mask. His head-rigging left his face open to close
scrutiny; but he was silent always. He worked with Mr. "Mystery" as if
they read continuously each the thoughts of the other and had no need of
any other language.

The _Hare_, as a car, was known quite well enough. The manufacturers
were among the most prominent in America. As a factor in the heavy car
race, the machine was considered very important, as has been stated. So
much, however, depends upon the skill, experience and daring of the
driver in any such contest, that many and many a man would have given a
great deal to know who "Mystery" was, and where he and Cobert had
acquired their apparently perfect training.

Six other cars, including the Alameda, two Brights, a Henry and two
Wings completed the field for the big race. The light car contest was
but a minor affair and attracted little notice. Of the six machines just
mentioned, the Henry was looked upon as a bare possibility. The Brights
were not rated highly, though one of them, with Crane--a
long-experienced driver--as pilot, was counted upon as an interesting
"dark horse." The Wings were the product of unknown builders. One of the
wags at the Crown Hotel remarked that "the _pair_ of them might fly
_some_, but not very far at that." The Alameda was not considered at all
formidably, either, being practically unknown.

All the gossip concerning the different contestants he had heard about
the hotel Gaines repeated as being strictly first-hand intelligence, or
quite as if every word were a matter of his own personal knowledge, as
the Trio watched the Monday morning practice. Very well did Fred and
Pickton know where he had heard all he told them. That they secretly
resented his manner of superiority there can be no doubt; but their
interest in obtaining information was too lively to permit of their
failing to listen, and attentively.

By ten o'clock, all the racing cars had been taken home to their
respective stations, some in Queensville and some to headquarters
established in camps at convenient points adjacent to the course. With
the way now open to them, the Trio started in the Roadster for a trip
around the circuit, Pickton at the wheel.

"Oh, you!" called a voice from one of the tire supply pits directly in
front of the grandstand.

Perth answered, "Hello!"

"How far you going?" asked the first speaker, a brisk young man in a
suit of khaki. "Wonder if you'd just as soon take a couple of tubes over
to the Clarion camp for me?"

"Sure, Mike," said the by no means bashful Perth, though why he supposed
the name of the young man to be Michael--which, in fact, it truly was
not--is a problem. But anyhow, "Sure, Mike!" he said.

"Their camp is in a little grove just the other side of Chester. You'll
see a lane leading right back to their tent and a barn they have," the
chap in the khaki suit continued. "Give 'em these two tubes. They'll
know who sent 'em. You're the boys for me, all right!"

Gaines would have objected to taking the tubes aboard except for the
opportunity to see the Clarion headquarters. He did not like the way in
which Perth acted as spokesman. He so informed Fred a little later.
Again he requested him, also, and with some degree of earnestness, to
remember whose machine he was "banging around for the accommodation of
any Tom, Dick and Harry."

Perth smoothed matters over as best he could by saying, "Oh, Gaines,
let's be civilized!" but he held the two tire tubes in his own hands.
When the camp of the _Clarion_ was reached, he carried them personally
to the man who appeared to be in charge.

With the gentleman who received the tubes Perth found it quite easy to
become acquainted. He volunteered to assist as the stranger immediately
set about the work of inserting one of the new tubes in a tire. The
change was being made on a car kept at the camp for general purposes.
Fred's offer was accepted and he did his work right skillfully.

Gaines and Pickton looked on but gave no assistance. Later all three
were allowed to watch Kemper and Allstop making some adjustments on the
Clarion racer. A proud moment it was, too, when the famous driver nodded
to them in a friendly way.

"Much obliged for those tubes," he said, looking toward Fred. "It was
one on me that you were asked to fetch them. I intended stopping at the
tire control my last time around and forgot it."

"Don't mention it," said Perth.

It was odd, but the fact, nevertheless, that this very natural
conversation was the source of much irritation to Mr. Soapy Gaines.

"That Clarion car has no more chance," said he, when the Roadster was
again underway upon the course--"that Clarion car has no more chance of
winning than your grandmother. The thing's a heap o' junk and Kemper
couldn't drive a truck!"

"Fudge!" snorted Perth in an outburst of supreme contempt.

"Keep our eyes open and we might find Way's outfit," suggested Pickton,
anxious to prevent a clash and even more anxious, if the whole truth
were known, to locate the Auto Boys' camp.

Strangely enough Tom's proposal instantly interested Soapy very much.
Fickle and uncertain always, he now declared that, come what might, he
would find where Way and the rest were staying and what they were doing
in the locality, if it took all day.

CHAPTER XV

SECRETS OF THE WOODS

"Wiggle around some! Get your blood in circulation, and you'll be warm
enough!" ejaculated Billy Worth, rather forcibly.

His remark was aimed at Paul Jones, fussing and shaking, pretending to
be all in a shiver with the cold while he leaned half-dressed over the
campfire. "Might wiggle a little more wood up here. Can't afford to burn
up the back-log, just getting breakfast!" Billy added.

Worth had been up and fully dressed a quarter of an hour or more. With
Phil's help he had the morning meal actively in course of preparation.
It was but little later than sunrise. The air was still cool. Dave was
finishing his hasty toilet in the tent and Jones half-heartedly was
trying to do the same while crouching as close to the fire as he very
well could do without falling in.

"Great Scott, Bill!" protested Paul in answer to Worth's call for
firewood. "Great Scott and also gee whiz! I'll bet I've toted
twenty-seven cords of wood into this camp already, and we've been here
just two days. I hope if ever you are married your wife will be
descended from four generations of railroad firemen and your coal house
will be half a mile from where you live! I just do, by ginger!"

And although Paul's words were decidedly softened by his tone of
pretended personal injury and suffering, Billy called, "Gangway!" in a
manner far more peremptory than sympathetic in reply. Up he came rushing
with the coffee pot and, uncertain whether some of its cold contents
might not be intended for his bare shoulders, Paul sprang quickly to one
side. Quite sprightly then, he completed his dressing in almost less
time than it takes to say it, and until breakfast was announced gathered
and carried up firewood as if he had whole train-loads to collect and
only a day in which to do it.

On part of all the boys there was the liveliest activity this Monday
morning. At last and at last, after all their months of planning, after
all the preparations and their long journey they were ready to explore
the secrets of the vast Ship woods. All talk of the automobile races,
all thought of the Chosen Trio's pursuit, thus far so ridiculously
fruitless, were forgotten. True, Mr. Gaines and his loving friends were
in Queensville; and true, that small city lay almost twenty miles
distant. Still what do twenty miles count with an automobile at one's
disposal? Yet even this thought did not more than once occur to the four
chums.

"Three stones piled one upon another to mark the place." Once more the
Auto Boys found themselves repeating many times the words which had been
the means of bringing them to the great woods. Once more they speculated
upon the probability of being able, in all this broad expanse of
timbered hills and dales, to find that one small spot where years before
the marker of stones had been erected.

Their search, it had been decided long ago, should be pursued
systematically. To roam through and through the woods, going at random
in this or that direction, would almost certainly result in a complete
failure to locate the object of their trip. The danger of becoming
hopelessly lost, far in the forest's interior, was still another
excellent reason for keeping steadily within lines of march agreed upon
before starting.

"Remember," said Billy Worth, "that the bark has the most moss on the
north side of the trees. Remember--"

"Oh, fiddle, Billy! You remember that there'll be the hungriest
quartette around here to-night that you ever had to cook for," broke in
Paul Jones. "Nobody's going to get lost!"

"Well, you remember, young fellow, that you're to be back to camp in
time to go for milk before supper," cried out Dave MacLester.

There were other parting sallies as Dave and Billy started out in one
direction and Phil and Paul another. A last admonition from Way, that
regardless of all else, and no matter what was or was not discovered,
all four were to meet in camp again at six o'clock, marked the
separation of the two searching parties. Yet even these were not the
last words spoken. Dave MacLester just could not resist his customary
prediction of ill-luck.

"Bet a dollar, right now, nobody finds a thing!" he called loudly. But
by this time he and Worth were high up on the crest of the ridge rising
above the camp. Phil and Paul were some distance away, heading straight
up the valley of the stream below.

Any one chancing to observe the boys as they thus set out would surely
have found his curiosity aroused by their accouterment. Each party
carried an axe and spade. In the hollow of Phil Way's arm was also a
small rifle. Billy Worth carried in addition to his spade a rather
formidable looking revolver. Paul Jones carried a noonday lunch for
himself and Phil in a small box slung over his shoulder like a
knap-sack. Similarly MacLester bore refreshment for himself and his
partner for the day.

"Pretty good fun if we _don't_ find anything," Dave found himself
admitting almost before the echo of his prediction of failure had died
away.

And was he right? The air was just pleasantly cool. The fragrance of the
forest's tender new leaves was everywhere. No sound but the distant
cawing of crows, and somewhere to the right the chirp of a squirrel
broke the silence save for the rustling leaves underfoot. The very hush
of the woods was eloquent with sweet sentiments. The dogwood blossoms
seen at intervals, and more frequently the wake-robins and adder's
tongues, contributed their touch of beauty to enhance such gentle
thoughts and feeling.

Buoyant and happy, the one eager with expectation, the other less
confident but very willing to find himself a poor prophet, the two lads
moved steadily, watchfully forward. Billy and Dave had been assigned to
all that part of the forest lying to the north of Camp Golden and
between the edge of the hillside above the creek and a long since
abandoned logging road which penetrated deep into the woods a quarter of
a mile to the east. It would keep them very busy to cover the ground at
all thoroughly before night.

"No, this ain't the great woods, though! Oh, I guess it's hardly any
woods at all! Very poor woods! Oh, yes! Very poor day, too!" With this
and other similar declarations, equally dignified and polished, Paul
Jones expressed the delighted state of his mind at about the same time
Dave was mentioning his own pleasure to Worth.

Phil Way acquiesced in all of Paul's words, paradoxical as it may
appear, for he really denied them. "There never was a grander day; and
isn't it a dandy, big woods!" he said. "Just makes a man feel like
soaring, though never before so conscious of his littleness and
downright insignificance. Why! the creek! these old trees! They were all
here and ages old long before we were on earth! They'll be here long
after we are gone, too, Paul. But oh! it is fine to be with them--to
enjoy them!"

The course Way and Jones were taking was to the north through the
valley. Between the east bank of the creek and the foot of the hill lay
a strip of woods ranging from one hundred to three hundred yards in
width. This was to be the field of their searching as they progressed to
the extreme northern limits of the forest. Returning, they would
traverse carefully the broad, sloping hillside, broken here and there by
precipitous ledges. So would they reach camp again, and the more open
valley near it.

"'Three stones piled one on top of another!' It will be along the hill,
I'm thinking, that we'll finally find them," observed Paul thoughtfully
to himself. Then, impressed by what he considered the importance of this
conclusion, he called out the substance of it to Phil, for the two were
keeping some distance apart in order that the least possible bit of
ground should escape their scrutiny.

"Well, don't forget there's something more than three stones to look
for," Way answered. "If you find anything that looks interesting, sing
out. I'll do the same."

It was a valley of romantic interest the two boys were exploring. Here
the creek foamed and bubbled into "suds" over and around obstructing
rocks or driftwood. Again it rested in deep, narrow pools. Beyond, in
gentle ripples the water gained speed again to go tumbling on and on in
miniature falls of a thousand different shapes and sizes, where its
course was rough and broken.

Years and years ago the Indian knew this valley and its adjacent wooded
hills and low plateaus as a favored hunting place. Later white hunters
and trappers here sought and found wild game,--the deer, the bear, the
panther, the wolf, and even the beaver.

Pioneer settlers followed in their turn. For the latter, however, the
country was too broken by rocky ledges and hills. The more level and
fertile lands offered greater attractions for their husbandry, so they
carried their work of clearing, ploughing and planting elsewhere.

For years after the country all about had been quite opened up, wild
game continued to be found in the rough region now known as the Ship
woods. It continued thus to be a hunting place. Men traveled many miles
to try their skill as sportsmen there, finding pigeons, wild turkeys and
smaller game for a great while after the last deer and the last bear
were gone.

At noon Phil and Paul came together beside a considerable waterfall of
the creek. Seated on a great beech tree, partially uprooted by the
undermining of the stream and now lying across it, the two ate their
lunch. No reward for their searching had yet come to them. Through the
screen of leaves and low bushes they could see in the distance a
farmhouse. It meant that the road bounding the Ship woods on the north
was very near.

"Humph! Didn't think we _would_ find anything right off," observed Paul,
philosophically. "But it wouldn't surprise me if we'd have some luck
this afternoon." And a minute later, as if fortifying himself against
disappointment,--a really wise thing for anyone to do where the element
of chance is a factor--"Then again," said he, "it wouldn't _surprise_ me
if we _didn't_."

But although Paul had thus plainly stated that he was not to be
surprised at any event, the fact remains that he gave a most joyful yell
a couple of hours later, in answer to Phil's loud signal,--"Guess we've
found something!"

"Not the three stones, but something pretty good, though!" Way called
again, easily, as Jones bounded forward. "It's slippery elm! Twenty
trees if there's one!"

"Good enough!" Paul cried enthusiastically. "Wish it had been the other
thing but anyhow we wanted slippery elm, too! We haven't failed
entirely, have we, Phil?"

Delighted as could be, Jones frisked about like a colt while with his
axe Way trimmed from a tree before him a long strip of bark. Then again
and again he pulled off shreds of the inner fiber and tasted them.

"Let me see!" Paul demanded. He sank his teeth into the interior surface
of a piece of the bark. It was soft and moist and had a peculiarly
sweetish taste. In one's mouth it seemed to be melting away and in a
smooth, oily manner like butter.

"Gee! It's slippery, all right!" ejaculated Paul, seriously, his lips
screwed up like the mouth of a jug, his nose all wrinkled.

"No doubt at all about it being slippery elm," replied Phil confidently.
"Only trouble is, it's not the best season for gathering it. Ought to be
taken in spring when the sap is flowing. The inside of the bark is just
the slipperiest thing then you ever saw."

"Twenty-six cents a pound. I remember the quotation we saw in the paper
as if it were only yesterday," observed Jones delightedly. "S'pose there
must be just hundreds of pounds in the trees right around here, Phil.
Won't weigh so much when it's dry though!" he added, his spirits falling
slightly.

"Only the inner bark is good, but even at that," Phil returned with
satisfaction, "even at that, we could gather a perfect stack of it in
almost no time. Won't Billy and Dave be glad?"

Carefully noting all surroundings,--the distance from the creek, the
bare knob or point on the hill yonder and various other landmarks,--that
they might easily find the place again, the two boys in due time
continued on. With them they carried extensive samples of their
discovery and both watched eagerly for more trees of the same kind while
pushing forward. But they did not forget they had other things for which
to search. They cautioned each other they must be as painstaking as to
this as they had been before.

How Worth and MacLester had been faring meanwhile may be told more
briefly, though they were even more fortunate. That part of the woods
penetrated by them lay quite dry and high. There was less underbrush
than on the lower levels. The saws and axes of the logging crews had
scarcely touched this portion of the forest. All was in quite the same
wild state as it had been a hundred years before.

Dave and Billy came upon a shack of brush piled over some supporting
poles late in the afternoon. Some hunter had erected the shelter the
preceding winter, perhaps. In any event, with its bed of leaves and
abundant shade, it offered a good place to have lunch and to rest.
Leaving their tools here, then, the boys descended into a valley beyond
to find water. There was a small brook there but its bed was quite dry.

"Good thing we have that bottle of cold coffee," observed Billy. "It'll
do for now. We'll get water sometime, or--"

His sentence was never finished. Suddenly his eyes had fallen upon a
low, broad-leafed plant. He gazed steadfastly for a few seconds. Then
Dave saw what it was that had so unexpectedly arrested Worth's attention
and--

"Ginseng!" he exclaimed. "Sure it's ginseng! I've seen the cultivated
kind!"

"I just happened to catch sight of it! Wasn't watching out for anything
just then at all!" said Billy excitedly.

"And here's some more!" cried MacLester in similar tones.

"Here, too,--a lot more! Six dollars a pound for it! Hurrah for us!" And
Billy ran for a spade. He wanted to make sure the plants had the forked
roots usually characteristic of ginseng.

"Now, Bill Worth, don't you go to counting any chickens before they're
hatched!" answered Dave. "There'll be some drawback, somewhere."

It was quite like young Mr. MacLester to make just such a prediction.

Yes, David MacLester, some drawbacks to be sure, yet without this bed of
ginseng never would the joys experienced in "_The Auto Boys' Race_" have
been your happy lot.

THE END.

Rider Agents WANTED

Boys and young men everywhere are making good money taking orders for
"Ranger" bicycles and bicycle tires. You are privileged to select the
particular style of Ranger bicycle you prefer: Motorbike model,
"Arch-Frame," "Superbe," "Scout," "Special," "Racer," etc. While you
ride and enjoy it in your spare time hours--after school or work,
evenings and holidays--your admiring friends can be easily induced to
place their orders through you.

Factory to Rider

Every purchaser of a Ranger bicycle (on our factory-direct-to-the-rider
sales plan) gets a high-grade fully guaranteed model direct from the
factory at wholesale prices, and is privileged to ride it for 30 days
before final acceptance. If not satisfied it may be returned at our
expense and no charge is made for the use of machine during trial.

[Illustration: Choice of 44 Styles Colors and Sizes In the Ranger line]

Delivered to You FREE

We prepay the delivery charges on every Ranger from our factory in
Chicago to your town and pay the return charges to Chicago if you decide
not to keep it.

Easy Payments if desired, at a small advance over our special
Factory-to-Rider cash prices.

Parts For All Bicycles

In the Ranger catalog you will find illustrated bicycle cranks, cups,
cones, sprockets and a complete Universal Repair Hanger and Repair Front
Forks designed to fit any and every bicycle ever manufactured in
America. Complete instructions are given so that any boy can
intelligently order the parts wanted. You will also find repair parts
for all the standard makes of hubs and coaster-brakes and all the latest
equipment and novelties.

Tires at Factory Prices Share with us our savings in Trainload Tire
Contracts and the Samson, Record and Hedgethorn Tires get the best Tire
values in America at Wholesale Factory Prices.

Send No Money

But write us TODAY for the Big Ranger Book and particulars of our 30 Day
Free Trial Plan, wholesale prices and terms.

MEAD CYCLE COMPANY CHICAGO USA

SUMMER SNOW AND OTHER FAIRY PLAYS

By GRACE RICHARDSON

Finding there is a wide demand for plays which commend themselves to
amateurs and to casts comprised largely of children, Miss Richardson,
already well and widely known, has here given four plays which are
unusually clever and fill this need. They call for but little stage
setting, and that of the simplest kind, are suited to presentation the
year around, and can be effectively produced by amateurs without
difficulty.

PUCK IN PETTICOATS

By GRACE RICHARDSON

Five plays about children, for children to play--Hansel and Gretel, The
Wishing Well, The Ring of Salt, The Moon Dream, and Puck in Petticoats.
Each is accompanied by stage directions, property plots and other
helpful suggestions for acting. Some of the plays take but twenty
minutes, others as long as an hour to produce, and every one of the five
are clever.

HANDY BOOK OF PLAYS FOR GIRLS

By DOROTHY CLEATHER

Not one of the six sparkling plays between these covers calls for a male
character, being designed for the use of casts of girls only. They are
easily, effectively staged--just the sort that girls like to play and
that enthusiastic audiences heartily enjoy.