“Hurrah!” cried Andy the next morning, bursting into the room where the three chums had slept. “Hurrah! It’s a fine day! Rain all stopped—sun shines—sorry to see you fellows go—come again!”
“Take it easy,” advised Jerry. “We’re very much obliged to you, Andy, for providing this fine shelter for us. Wish you were going along.”
“So do I—can’t though—got to stay here another week—help run the farm—maybe I’ll be a farmer some day—whoop!”
In spite of the storm, which had been an unusually severe one, the roads were in fairly good shape. Now and then a stretch would be reached where speed had to be slackened but, by picking their way, the machines were pushed along at a good rate. Huntsville was reached in about two hours, and the boys left their machines in charge of a store keeper while they walked about the town viewing the sights.
There was not much to be seen, and they had come more for the sake of saying they had ridden the distance than from any other reason. Purchasing a few souvenirs for the folks at home, and buying some sandwiches in case they might not find a convenient eating place, the boys prepared for the return trip.
“We’ll take a little different way on our back trip,” said Jerry. “I know a road that goes past a fine waterfall that’s worth seeing.”
The falls were about fifty feet high, and, with the jagged rocks over which the water flowed, and the trees on either side, made a picture well worth beholding.
The boys stopped for half an hour, watching the leaping, falling water, which possessed a peculiar fascination. Then, as they still had most of their trip before them, Jerry suggested they had better start.
They had not yet turned into the road leading to Cresville, from which they had diverged in order to visit the falls, when riding along a rather lonely stretch of the highway, the boys came in sight of a white house, with no other residences near it. As they came opposite a man suddenly ran from the front door. He seemed greatly excited.
“Stop!” he called to the boys. “Stop, for Heaven’s sake.”
There was so much anguish in his tone that the boys knew something must have happened.
“What is it?” asked Jerry, riding up to the front gate and dismounting.
“It’s my wife! She has just been taken very sick and I’m all alone here. I need a doctor, but I dare not leave her to get one, and I have no one to send. I saw you coming down the road and I thought maybe you would help me!”
“Of course we will,” replied Jerry heartily. “Where does the doctor live? I’ll ride after him.”
“His house is about two miles from here,” said the man. “It’s the first one after you cross the white bridge. Oh! Hurry, and tell him to be quick! I’m afraid my wife is dying! Tell him to come to Mr. Johnson’s! Oh! What shall I do!” and the unfortunate man showed so much distress that the hearts of the boys were touched.
“Don’t worry,” Jerry advised. “I’ll make good time. Ned and Bob will stay with you. Maybe they will be of some help.”
Springing into the saddle, Jerry started his machine and soon had it going at a good rate. Because of the condition of the roads, which were not in the best of shape, he dared not push the motor to the limit. Ned and Bob followed the man into the house, willing to do what they could.
Meanwhile Jerry rode on. A turn of the road soon hid the lonely farm house from sight. The grade was up hill for a way, and the machine did not make such good time.
“I must hurry,” reasoned the boy. “I hope I find the doctor at home.”
In a few minutes Jerry had come to the top of the hill. At the foot of the slope, which was about half a mile in extent, the boy saw a white bridge, that spanned a narrow but swift running stream.
“Here goes!” cried Jerry. He was about to coast at half speed down the hill when a voice suddenly called:
“Stop!”
“I can’t!” shouted back Jerry. “I’m hurrying for the doctor!”
The boy turned to see who had warned him, and saw a farmer hurrying across the field toward him. Something in his manner caused Jerry to dismount.
“You can’t get across the bridge!” cried the man. “It’s broken. If you ride down that hill you’ll be killed! I stopped you just in time!”
Jerry felt his heart sink.
“The rains made the creek rise,” explained the man. “The farther span of the bridge was carried away last night. There’s a sign just this side of it warning people, but if you rode down on that lickity-split thing I knew you’d never see the sign until it was too late.”
“I’m much obliged to you,” said Jerry. “But I must cross that stream. A lady back there,” pointing in the direction he had come, “is dying. I’m after the doctor.”
“That’s bad,” said the man. “But I don’t see how you’re going to do it.”
“Is the missing span of the bridge too wide for me to jump across?” asked Jerry, a sudden idea coming into his head.
“It’s fifteen feet,” replied the man. “That’s too much for you I reckon. And if you didn’t make it you’d be killed, for the current is very swift, and the creek is full of rocks.”
“Can’t we get planks and bridge the gap?” asked the boy in desperation. “Something must be done.”
“I’m on my way to get men to mend the break now,” the man said. “But it will take some time.”
“Isn’t there another bridge near here?”
“Not one within five miles either way,” was the answer. “I’m very sorry, my boy. Is the sick woman any relation of yours?”
“No, her husband stopped me as I was riding past the house with my two chums, and begged us to hurry after a doctor.”
“Well, I’ll go after some planks,” said the man, “but it may take two hours to get ’em here. I’ll have to hunt for ’em.”
Slowly Jerry rode his motor down to the white structure that spanned the now swollen and swiftly running stream. As the man had said the last span of the bridge, on the side farthest from Jerry, had been carried away. It was the part which had extended from the shore to the stone abutment.
The boy carefully examined the ruined bridge. There were planks on the floor, but they were firmly spiked down, and none of them seemed long enough. To leap the gap was a feat beyond Jerry’s ability, though a professional jumper might have done it.
“If the stream wasn’t so swift I could swim it,” the boy murmured. “But it’s too risky. Besides, even if I get over, I wonder how the doctor is to come back? Though I guess I can manage that. He can bring some planks with him, and walk over on them. That part will be all right if I can only get across.”
But Jerry had to admit that the problem was a difficult one to solve. He looked at the bridge with sorrow in his heart as he thought of the man waiting anxiously for the doctor.
“I simply must get across!” exclaimed the boy.
As he walked to the edge of the structure, looking in vain for a plank that would serve, Jerry noticed a strange trick that the water had played. In tearing away the far span the timbers that remained resting on the stone abutment had been loosened. This caused the middle of what was left of the bridge to sag, or dip down to considerable degree.
All at once a daring thought came to Jerry. He looked at the sagging bridge, at the gap where the span was missing, and at the angry waters that swirled between him and the other shore. Then he turned and looked back at the hill which came to an end right at the bridge.
“I have it!” cried the boy, his eyes shining with excitement. “If I only dare do it! I will do it!”
He hurried back to where he had left his motor cycle. He started it in motion and rode slowly back up the hill which he had just descended. Any one seeing him, and not knowing his plan might have thought he had given up in despair. But Jerry was not that kind of a boy.
When he looked at the broken and sagging bridge he had suddenly thought of a trick he had seen performed in a circus that had exhibited in Cresville. This was where a man on a bicycle had started down a steep incline of boards to accomplish what was billed as “A Leap For Life!” The incline was broken about three-quarters of the way down, making a gap. Just before the gap was reached there was a dip, or curve in the incline. Across the gap the incline was continued at a slight angle.
The principle on which the feat was performed was, that the man on the bicycle, rushing down the incline, would get momentum enough to shoot across the gap. To prevent the wheel and rider from falling from the attraction of gravitation while it was flying across the space, the end of the incline was curved upward. This served to shoot the machine and man into the air, and overcame, for the time necessary to speed across the gap, the pull of the earth.
And, in a crude way, Jerry saw before him all the elements that went to make up the trick as it is performed in many circuses.
The hill made the incline. The sag in the middle of the bridge, and the little rise at the further abutment, gave the necessary upward curve that would throw Jerry and his motor far enough into the air to prevent him tumbling into the stream. The missing span was the gap corresponding to the one in the inclined plane of boards, and the road on the farther shore would make a good landing place.
“I guess I can do it as well as that man in the circus!” exclaimed Jerry. “It’s a risk, I know, but I can’t stay here and wait two hours for that man to bring the planks.”
He was soon at the top of the hill. He looked around to see if any one was in sight to aid him in case he failed. But the roads were deserted.
“I must put on full speed,” thought the boy. “I’ll need all the momentum I can get.”
He turned his machine to face down the slope. For a moment he hesitated as he looked at what was before him. But, steeling his heart, and uttering a short prayer, he leaped into the saddle.
“Here I go!” thought Jerry. He turned the motor to full speed, and soon was racing down the hill at a fearful pace. “There’s no stopping now!” he murmured.
How the wind sang in his ears! The motor fairly hummed beneath him, and the big tires threw up a shower of mud. On and on rushed the boy! Nearer and nearer he came to the broken bridge. He heard a shout behind him but he dared not turn to see who it was.
He was twenty feet from the spot where the road ended and the bridge began. He wanted to shut his eyes, but he knew he must guide the motor with a firm and steady hand. He gripped the steering bars with all his might. There was a whizz as the rubber tires struck the wooden planking of the bridge. Jerry felt himself going down as he reached the sagging middle of the broken structure.
Then, like a stone fired from some ancient catapult, he felt his machine rise under him, shoot up into the air, and sail across the gap.
For one instant Jerry looked down at the black swirling waters below him. Then with a terrific thud he felt himself land on the road across the missing span.
He had made the leap for life and succeeded!
So swiftly was the machine going that even the shock of the landing in the road beyond the broken bridge did not check it. On and on it rushed until Jerry, whose breath had been almost shaken from him by the concussion, turned off the power.
“But I must not stop!” cried the boy. “I’m safely across, and I’ve got to get the doctor!”
So turning on the power again he sent the motor flying down the road. Three-quarters of a mile further he came to the first house. There was a sign on it:
Dr. John Rand.
“Is the doctor in?” gasped Jerry, barely able to stand as he leaped from his machine and rang the bell which was answered by a woman.
“Yes, right in his office,” was the answer.
“Tell him he’s wanted at once! Mrs. Johnson is dying!”
“But I can’t get across the bridge; it is broken,” said Dr. Rand, who had come from his office in time to hear Jerry’s message.
“I got across,” exclaimed the boy. “Quick, doctor! You must hurry! Take a long plank along and you can get over the gap!”
“But if I did get across, how am I to get my horse over? He can’t walk a plank,” objected the medicine man. “It will take a long time for me to walk to Mrs. Johnson’s.”
Once more it looked as if Jerry had failed.
“I don’t see how I can get there in time to be of any service,” Dr. Rand went on. “I’ll start and walk of course.”
“I have a better plan!” cried Jerry suddenly. “Hitch up your horse, and bring two planks along.”
“But, my boy, you can’t get a horse and carriage across on two narrow planks.”
“I’m not going to try,” responded Jerry. “Please do as I say, doctor. We must lose no time. Get the planks and hitch up, please. I’ll get you over the bridge.”
Soon the rig was ready. The boards stuck out ahead and behind the carriage, in which the doctor seated himself with his driver. While the boy rode his machine to the bridge the doctor urged the horse to a gallop, and soon the structure was reached.
“Now what is your plan, Jerry?”
“I’ll show you, sir. Quick, get out the planks and lay them over the gap.”
The driver soon had the two boards in position. They formed a narrow and not very steady temporary bridge over where the black water showed below the missing span.
“Can you walk across, doctor?” inquired Jerry.
“I guess so, my head is pretty steady,” was the reply.
“Then cross, and I’ll follow with my machine,” said the boy.
It took the doctor but a few seconds to cross the planks, carrying his medicine case. Then Jerry, pushing his machine on one plank, and walking on the other, joined the physician.
“Tell your driver to come back for you in about two hours,” suggested Jerry. “If the lady is going to get better I guess you can safely leave by that time.”
“Well, you seem to have the matter all planned,” said the doctor smiling, as he called the order to his driver. “But still I don’t see how I am to get to Mrs. Johnson’s unless I walk.”
“You’re going on my motor cycle,” said Jerry. “You can stand on the back step, and hold on to me. This machine will carry two.”
“All right,” agreed the physician. “I must take the risk, I guess.”
“Well, you won’t be taking any more of a risk than that youngster did, doc,” interrupted a voice, and the man who had warned Jerry came up. He had several planks with him.
“I watched him shoot across that gap,” he went on, “and it made me shiver. I thought sure he’d be killed. I hollered at him to wait, as I had some planks, but I guess he didn’t hear me.”
“I heard somebody, but I couldn’t stop,” Jerry said.
“And do you mean to say you leaped across that missing span?” asked the doctor.
“That’s what he done, doc,” said the man. “It was as nervy a thing as I ever seen, and I never seen it outside of a circus.”
“It wasn’t anything,” said Jerry modestly. “I had to get across, and that was the only way. But we are wasting time. Come on, doctor.”
So, with a nervous dread in his heart, the physician got on the rear step, and clasped Jerry about the shoulders.
“Give us a start,” Jerry asked of the countryman, for the boy found it hard to pedal the machine up grade with the added weight of his passenger.
The shove gave the motor start enough so that Jerry could turn on the power, and then he rode off, bearing the much-needed physician. In a comparatively short time they reached the Johnson house.
“Oh, I’m so glad you came, doctor!” exclaimed the woman’s husband. “I’m afraid you’re too late though.”
“We’ll see,” said the physician cheerfully, as he dismounted from the rather uncomfortable step and hurried into the house.
While the doctor found that Mrs. Johnson was in much pain and suffering, he soon discovered that she was not in danger of immediate death, though her symptoms were alarming enough to cause herself and her husband much fear. The physician was able to afford some relief, and in about an hour the woman was much better, and, so the physician said, on the road to recovery.
“But I only got here just in time,” the physician remarked. “If she had suffered from such great pain much longer it would have weakened her heart so that the results might have been serious. You owe a great deal to this brave boy, Mr. Johnson. Only for him, and for his ingenuity in getting me here, the case might have had a different ending.”
“I realize that,” said the man, “and I can’t thank him enough. The other two boys aided me also. I don’t know what I would have done without them. They helped me heat water and in other ways. I am sure I’ll never forget it.”
After seeing that his patient was as comfortable as possible the physician said he would return home.
“I’ll send you as far as the bridge in a carriage,” proposed Mr. Johnson. “That is if one of these boys can drive you and bring the rig back. I don’t feel like leaving Mrs. Johnson yet.”
“I’ll drive,” volunteered Ned.
So he hitched up a horse and soon the doctor was ready to go, saying he would call again the next day.
“You boys had better stay here all night,” invited Mr. Johnson. “I’ll be glad to have you, and it’s so late now you can’t get to Cresville.”
“What will our folks say?” asked Bob. “You know they might worry if we didn’t come home.”
“There is a telegraph station not far from my house,” put in Dr. Rand. “A message can be sent to Cresville from there.”
So it was arranged. Ned drove the doctor back, and found that in the meantime the bridge had been repaired so that the passage was safer, though a horse could not be driven over it. The physician promised to send the message to the boys’ parents, and, leaving Ned, Dr. Rand walked across the planks, got in his own carriage and drove home, while Ned made his way back to Mr. Johnson’s.
The sick woman continued to improve and soon was much better. Mr. Johnson secured the services of some women neighbors who were brought to his house by Ned in the carriage, and arrangements were made for the boys to spend the night.
The next morning Mrs. Johnson was so much better that she insisted on sitting up and having a talk with the three boys, whose coming was so fortunate for her. She had high praise for them, especially for Jerry, who blushed like a girl.
“I hear you all come from Cresville,” said Mrs. Johnson. “Isn’t that where a mill was robbed not long ago?”
“Some one took one thousand dollars from Mr. Judson’s place,” answered Ned, wondering what was coming.
“I think the thieves must have got some of my money.”
“Your money? What do you mean?” asked Ned. “I thought it was all Mr. Judson’s.”
“It was. I mean that I paid a bill at the mill the afternoon of the night the robbery took place. Mr. Judson took my money, together with some other that he had in a box, and locked it all in the safe. It was quite late, and he said that he would not have time to go to the bank.”
“Oh!” cried Ned. “Then some of the money you paid was taken, for it was the very money that Mr. Judson didn’t take to the bank that was stolen.”
“Then there ought to be a clue to the thief,” went on Mrs. Johnson.
“How?” asked Jerry.
“Because with the money I paid was a queer looking bill,” said the woman. “It was from some Massachusetts state bank, instead of a national note, and it had a funny mark on it.”
“Do you remember what that mark was?” asked Ned, while the other boys waited in breathless silence.
“I remember it very well,” said Mrs. Johnson. “There was a monogram of three letters. I recall them very distinctly because they were the initials of my brother’s name. He is dead, so of course he could not have put them on the bill, but some one with the same initials did.”
“And what were the letters?” asked Jerry.
“They were H. R. C.,” was the answer.
The boys, who recalled the initials on the queer bill that Paul Banner had received from Noddy Nixon, were too startled to reply. They did not know what to say.
“That certainly ought to furnish a clue,” said Jerry at length, making a sign to Ned and Bob to say nothing. “But the police do not know that; or, if they do, they have made nothing of it.”
“I think I’ll write and tell them,” said Mrs. Johnson. “It seems a shame for Mr. Judson to lose all that money.”
“Perhaps that would be a good plan,” Jerry said quietly. “What was the value of the queer bill?”
“It was a ten dollar note,” replied Mrs. Johnson.
After some further conversation the boys, finding there was nothing more they could do, decided they had better start for home. They were prevailed on, however, to remain for dinner and, shortly after that meal, the doctor having come in the meanwhile and pronouncing Mrs. Johnson out of danger, the three chums motored to Cresville, where they arrived at dusk.
“Well, things seem to be narrowing down,” said Ned the next day, when he called on Jerry. “Rather odd, that information about the queer bank bill coming out, wasn’t it?”
“It certainly was,” agreed Jerry. “I want to get another look at the note Paul has. Suppose I hunt him up this afternoon?”
“Good idea,” commented Ned.
Accordingly Jerry looked up the dapper “Polly,” and, after a general conversation, managed to turn the talk to odd coins and bank bills.
“Do you remember that queer bill you showed me one day, not long ago?” asked Jerry.
“I do,” replied Paul.
“Have you got it yet?”
“No, my dear boy, I have not,” answered Paul, lighting one of his perfumed Egyptian cigarettes.
“What—what did you do with it?” asked Jerry, fearing lest the clue he hoped for had gotten away from him.
“I—humph! That’s queer, I forget now what I did do with it. Oh, yes! I remember now. Some young chap, a friend of yours I guess, asked me to sell it to him. He said he thought there was a premium on it. He gave me eleven dollars for it. I made one dollar, so I was satisfied. You know you said you were going to see if the bill had any value, but I guess you forgot it.”
“I did, for a fact,” said Jerry, sorry now he had not remembered to do as he had promised. “But who has the bill now?”
“I forget the boy’s name I sold it to,” Paul said in reply, “but he talks very fast, is always in a hurry, and doesn’t seem to have time to breathe.”
“Andy Rush, I’ll bet a cooky,” cried Jerry.
“That’s the name. I thought first it was Andy Hurry, but I remember now, it was Rush. It’s the same thing.”
“Pretty nearly,” agreed Jerry. “Well, I’ll be going I guess.”
In due time Andy Rush returned from his visit to his aunt. Jerry heard of his home-coming and soon hunted up the rapid chap.
“Did you get home all right?” burst out Andy as soon as he caught sight of Jerry. “My but that was a storm—wish you could have stayed with me—I had jolly fun—the horse ran away with me—I got chased by a bull—fell in the ditch—sprained my wrist, and got kicked by a cow—whoop!”
“I say Andy,” broke in Jerry, anxious to get on the subject that interested him, “have you a queer bank bill that you got from Paul Banner?”
“I have!” exclaimed Andy. “I gave him a dollar extra for it. I thought it might be valuable—no go—bill is just like any other—no premium—I’m out a dollar—too bad!”
“I’ll buy it from you for just what you gave for it,” said Jerry eagerly. “I want it for a particular purpose. Will you sell it?”
“I sure will!” cried Andy. “I don’t like to lose money—here it is—glad you spoke—I would have spent it in a week.”
Jerry, who happened to have the necessary amount with him, passed eleven dollars over to Andy, and received the odd ten dollar note.
Bidding the boy who was always in a hurry a good-bye Jerry left. As soon as he was where he could not be observed he examined the bank note closely. It tallied exactly with the description given by Mrs. Johnson, just as Jerry had expected it would from his former view of it.
When Ned told his father of the latest developments Mr. Slade said he would take the matter under advisement. At his direction Jerry handed over the queer bill, Mr. Slade paying what the boy had expended for it.
“I will keep it,” said the merchant, “until the time comes to use it. Meanwhile you boys had better say nothing about the matter.”
It was three days later when the chums, having gone for a short ride on their motors, stopped one afternoon at a little wayside refreshment booth, where the proprietor had cakes, candy, ice cream and soda water for sale.
While the boys were eating their refreshments in the shade of a canvas awning the owner of the stand had put up, a horse and carriage, rapidly driven, passed along the road.
The driver pulled his beast up quickly as he came opposite the booth, and jumped out.
“Hi, Bill,” he called to his companion, who was in the carriage. “Come here and we’ll wet our whistle. I’m as dry as a chip.”
“It’s Noddy Nixon, and Bill Berry is with him!” exclaimed Jerry. “I hope they don’t bother us.”
“You’re not afraid, are you?” asked Ned.
“Not a bit, but I don’t want a row here.”
Noddy did not appear to notice the three boys. He ordered some lemon soda in a blustering tone, and when he paid for it pulled out quite a roll of bills.
“Where’d you get all the money?” the boys heard Bill ask Noddy.
“Oh, I had a little and Jack Pender loaned me the rest,” said Noddy with a laugh. “Jack’s a soft mark. He’d give me all he had.”
“I wish I could find some one as accommodating,” said Bill with a chuckle, as he drained his glass.
“Come on!” cried Noddy. Then he cast a look over to where the chums were sitting. He started to walk toward them and seemed about to say something.
“Keep quiet!” the boys heard Bill advise Noddy, at the same time grasping him by the arm. “Don’t raise a row with those cubs again. They know too much now!”
“All right!” growled Noddy. “I’d like to punch their heads, though.”
Then he and Bill got in their carriage and drove away at a rapid pace.
“Punch our heads!” muttered Bob. “I’d like to see him try it. He’s always talking of it. Why doesn’t he do it?”
“I guess he knows it wouldn’t be healthy,” said Jerry.
“We must begin track work,” said Jerry one afternoon, when the three chums, having been out on a spin, stopped beneath the shade of a road-side tree. “A week from to-day the races take place.”
“I think we are all in pretty good trim, and so are the machines,” ventured Bob.
“That part’s all right, Chunky,” came from Ned, “but what we want is track work, as Jerry says. Nothing like getting right on the ground. Besides, we have been speeding on a wide road, where we have all the room we want. It will be different when there are twenty riders on a narrow track, each one wanting to get inside.”
Ned and Bob agreed that it would be the very thing needed. Accordingly the next morning, early, saw the three boys at the track of the Cresville Athletic Club. Though it was little more than eight o’clock the chums found about a dozen riders with their motors “warming-up” on the banked oval. The explosions of the numerous gasolene engines sounded like a miniature battle.
“If any one challenges you to a little sprint, accept it,” said Jerry to Ned and Bob, “but don’t attempt to win.”
“Why not?” asked Ned, always ready to take sides.
“Tell you later,” was all Jerry had time to say, for just then two young men rode up to our heroes.
“What do you fellows say to a little sprint for a few miles around the track,” inquired one young man, who wore a blue sweater.
“Just a practice warm-up,” put in the other, who was attired in a pair of pink racing trousers. “It’s rather dull going around this way, you know.”
“We don’t mind a little race,” said Jerry. “Just for fun, however.”
“Of course. What sort of a start do you prefer, flying or from a standstill?”
“Flying will suit us,” Ned put in.
“All right. Come on, we’ll ride around once together, line up at the judge’s stand, and make a four-mile circuit.”
This was agreeable to the boys and they prepared for the start with their unknown rivals. They all came up to the line opposite the judges’ stand in good formation.
“Go!” shouted the youth in the blue sweater.
Each contestant turned more power into his motor and the machines whizzed around the track in good time. It was easy to see that the two strangers were trying to get a “line” on the speeds of the motors of the three chums.
Both of the youths who had been so anxious for the sprint watched with eager eyes every motion of Bob, Ned and Jerry. But the latter, under the direction of Jerry, did not operate their motors at top speed. This was what the strangers wanted. They desired to see just how fast the machines of the Cresville boys could go, so as to know what sort of competitors they would have when the big event came on.
All the efforts of the two schemers to get either of our three heroes to “make pace” for them failed. Bob, Ned and Jerry just went around easily, sometimes taking the lead, and again dropping behind. The impromptu race was finally ended with the motors running about three-quarters speed, and Jerry and Ned just a little in the lead.
“You two win!” cried the youth in the blue sweater. “Pretty good machines you have there.”
“They’ll do,” agreed Jerry, determined that the strangers should not find out that they had been suspected. “And we went at a pretty good clip, while it lasted.”
“No doubt,” commented the lad in the blue sweater. Plainly the two plotters were disappointed. They had not succeeded in taking the speed-measure of the three chums.
The track was now well filled with those practicing for the coming race. More than a score were scooting around on their machines. Few motors were as fine and complete as those of the three chums and not many had the double cylinder improvement.
“Shall we go around again?” asked Ned.
“I think we’d better,” counseled Jerry. “That sprint was nothing. What we most need is to ride in a big crowd and not lose our nerve when we think there is going to be a collision.”
“I hope there will be no smash-ups,” came from Bob. “If I thought that I wouldn’t go in.”
“There will not be any if you are careful,” advised Jerry. “Just keep your wits about you and mind your steering. Poor steering is responsible for more accidents than anything else.”
“What do you suppose those two chaps wanted to see how fast we could go for?” asked Bob.
“They wanted to know just what sort of opposition they might count on,” replied Jerry.
“I don’t think those fellows gained much,” said Ned.
“Me either,” commented Jerry. “Another thing we must look out for is a ‘pocket.’”
“What’s that?” asked Bob, who was not very well up on racing terms.
“You’ll see in a minute,” said Jerry.
He speeded up his motor. At the sound of the quicker explosions there were hasty glances at the youth on the part of many strangers. Jerry was off down the track in a trice. The next instant a dozen riders had taken after him, anxious to see what his machine could do. But Jerry was too wise to be caught.
He pretended to be trying to get more revolutions from his motor, but, in reality he was throttling down the gasolene and advancing the spark, which made the reports quicker but which did not increase his speed.
The bunch of a dozen riders soon surrounded Jerry. He continued to speed away, but in a few moments he found himself in the apex of a “V” shaped gathering of contestants. They were ahead and on either side of him; a veritable pocket, from which there was no way out so close were the riders bunched. As soon as Jerry would try to pass any one the others would crowd in front and prevent it.
Finally Jerry shut off the power of his machine, and with a laugh at the efforts of those who thought they were fooling him, he came to a halt, and dismounted.
“Smart kid, that,” commented one of the older riders. “Up to snuff!”
“Thinks he is,” growled the youth in the blue sweater. “He and those other two with him fooled me a while ago. I couldn’t get a rise out of him.”
“Now you see what a pocket is,” said Jerry as he joined his chums. “If you get into one do your best to ride out, or you’ll lose the race, providing the others stick together and have made up their mind to let one of their number win.”
The practice continued for some time. A little before noon there was a stir at the track entrance and a motor cycle, painted a bright red on every available space shot on the track. The loudness of the explosions told that it was a machine of high power, and it attracted considerable attention.
“There’s a faster machine than ours,” called Jerry.
“Yes, and do you see who’s riding it?” asked Ned.
“No. Who?”
“Jack Pender.”
“Is that Noddy’s machine painted over?”
“No, it looks like a new one,” said Ned. “Yes, it is a new one,” he added as he got a closer view of the motor which swept by at that instant.
“If he goes in the race we’ll have to look sharp if we want our touring car,” Jerry remarked.
Jack Pender did not seem to care to have anything to say to the three chums, and neither did they seek to speak to the bully’s toady. Bob, Ned and Jerry rode together around the track for several minutes, while Jack occasionally passed them, making swift speed.
“Guess I’ll go off and get some dinner,” Jerry announced finally. He was opposite the gate by which riders left the track and steered for it. He looked and saw Jack coming toward him, but noted that the latter would, in the natural course of events, pass behind him.
“Look out there! What’s the matter with you?” cried Jack in sudden anger. Jerry glanced around in time to see the rider of the red machine steering directly for him, having left his course to do so. A collision was imminent, and only by a skillful handling of his machine did Jerry so manage that Jack only struck the rear wheel with his front one.
“What are you trying to do?” cried Jerry.
“What are you up to?” retorted Jack. “You got right in my way!”
“And I say you deliberately left your path to try and run me down!” cried Jerry.
“It’s false!” exclaimed Jack, getting off his motor.
“It is not, and I’ll leave it to any one who saw it,” spoke Jerry sharply. He was very angry.
“That’s right; you had plenty of room to pass him,” said a quiet dark man, who had been making several rounds of the track. “I don’t know either of you, but the man on the red machine is to blame.”
“Mind your own business!” snapped Jack.
“Look here, my young friend,” said the dark man, as he got off his machine and came close to Jack. “I would advise you to be a little more careful of your language and your conduct. You were either foolishly or deliberately careless in this matter. This track is for gentlemen, remember.”
“What affair of yours is it?” asked Jack with a growl.
“I am one of the directors of the club, and I will most certainly make it my affair, if necessary.”
Jack had nothing more to say, and turned off the track with his loud-puffing machine.
“Did he damage your motor any?” asked the man of Jerry.
“I guess not,” was the answer.
“If you want to make a complaint to the club I will be a witness for you,” went on the director of the organization.
“No, I had rather drop it now,” replied Jerry. “I thank you, just the same.”
“He and Noddy make a nice team, don’t they?” inquired Ned, he and Bob having followed Jerry from the track.
“Well, I suppose it comes natural for them to be mean,” replied Jerry. “The only thing to do is to avoid trouble, but not to give in too much.”
“I wonder if he is going in the race with that red machine? If so we’ll have to hustle,” commented Ned.
“That’s what races are for,” said Jerry, with a smile.
It was on Saturday, when they had once more gone to the track for practice, that the boys had another encounter with Noddy Nixon and Jack Pender. The three chums had been making several rounds, and, as it was rather warm, had left the oval and gone to lie down in the shade of some trees. Their machines they had left in the rear of the club house, not far away.
“Do you know what I think we ought to do?” asked Bob as he reclined at length in the grass, chewing a straw.
“What new plan have you on foot now, Chunky? A scheme to get some one to race for you, or an arrangement to get out of training?” asked Jerry.
“Neither one,” was the reply, “but I think we ought to begin to think of what we will do with our touring automobile.”
“Wait until one of us wins it,” advised Ned. “We don’t stand any better chance than a dozen others.”
From off in the distance there sounded the loud explosions of an approaching motor cycle.
“That’s Noddy’s machine,” said Jerry. “I hope he doesn’t come around here bothering us.”
The noise sounded nearer and, in a few minutes Noddy rode up on his cycle. He got off, ran his machine close to where the three chums had stored theirs, and then came to where Bob, Ned and Jerry were taking their ease.
“You fellows going in the race?” asked Noddy, in rather more friendly tones than he was in the habit of using to those he did not care for.
“We expect to,” answered Jerry.
“And you think you’ll all win, I s’pose?” went on the bully, in a sneering tone.
“One of us hopes to take a prize,” said Jerry, preserving a calm voice.
“You haven’t any of you one chance in a hundred,” said Noddy decidedly. “Some of the best motor cyclists in the country are going in the race.”
“I guess we stand as good a chance as any one,” put in Ned. “This isn’t like bicycle riding. A great deal depends on the machine, and we have good ones.”
“I tell you none of you can win.”
“You wait and see,” advised Jerry.
“Do you want to back your opinion with any money?” asked Noddy. “If you do, say the word and I’ll bet you any amount.” He pulled out quite a roll of bills.
“We don’t bet,” returned Jerry quietly.
“Oh! I suppose you’re afraid you’ll lose,” came with a sneer.
“No, it isn’t that,” went on Jerry, looking the bully square in the eye. “We don’t bet on principle, but we do think we’ll win, and, if we did bet it would not be with you, Noddy Nixon.”
“Do you mean to say I’m not good enough to bet with?” demanded Noddy, advancing toward Jerry.
“I didn’t say that, but you can take my remark any way you choose,” replied Jerry.
“And I’ll take it that you want to insult me!” exclaimed the bully.
“Very well.”
“And I allow no one to insult me without paying for it,” proceeded Noddy, in a blustering tone. “You’ll have to fight me.”
“Look here!” exclaimed Jerry. “You seem to want to pick a quarrel, Noddy Nixon. Let me tell you I’m not afraid of you. I don’t want to fight, but, if I have to you’ll be the first to cry ‘quits.’ I’m not anxious to fight, but I’m not going to run away.”
“Nor I!” cried Ned and Bob.
“You can fight us all, one after the other,” suggested Ned.
“You mind your own business; I wasn’t talking to you,” called Noddy, now thoroughly angry.
“The business of one of us is the business of all of us,” replied Jerry with a laugh. “Better be careful Noddy.”
The bully growled out something in reply, and cast a glance over his shoulder. He gave a start as he did so, and then, turning quickly made off on his machine. Jerry looked in the direction Noddy had peered.
“We’d better be getting over to our machines,” said Jerry suddenly. “I thought I saw some one moving about near them.”
“Only boys watching to see how they work,” said Bob, who felt too comfortable to move.
“I’m going over to see who they are, though. Looks like a pretty big boy, and I don’t want my machine put out of gear when the race is only four days off.”
“That’s so, those youngsters might get something out of kilter,” agreed Ned, springing up.
He and Jerry went over to where the motors had been left. The cycles were surrounded by a crowd of small boys, but, as Jerry had remarked, one of the lads seemed to be well grown. Suddenly the group of youngsters parted and a tall youth came from their midst. He glanced in the direction of Jerry and Ned, and then, with a quick motion, broke into a run. He hurried around the corner of the club house and, the next instant there came the sound of a motor cycle in motion. A second later a red machine was observed moving off in the distance.
“That was Jack Pender!” cried Jerry.
“That’s who it was!” agreed Ned. “And he was up to some trick, I’ll bet.”
“If he’s damaged my machine he’ll pay for it,” vowed Jerry.
The two boys, who were joined by Bob in a little while, reached their machines. The crowd of small lads who had not gone watched the three chums as they made a careful examination of their wheels.
“That fellow said he was fixing them,” volunteered a little boy in short trousers.
“What fellow?” asked Ned.
“The one that just went away from here. He had a wrench and screw driver and he was doing something to the engine.”
“Who was he?” asked Jerry, wanting to make sure.
“I know! It was Jack Pender!” exclaimed another of the small boys.
Jerry was the first to finish the examination of his motor.
“Well, he’s fixed mine all right!” he exclaimed, straightening up. “He’s taken off part of the carburetor and the motor is no good until I get a new one.”
“He’s done the same thing to mine!” cried Ned, just discovering the damage which had been done.
“And to mine,” added Bob.
“Boys, this is very serious,” said Jerry when he had drawn his two chums out of hearing of the group of small boys. “The machines can’t run without those parts.”
“But can’t we easily get them?” asked Bob.
“We could in New York, or Boston or some large city,” said Jerry. “But have we time to send? To-day is Saturday, the race takes place Thursday. We can’t get word to any supply store until Monday morning, and it’s a question whether we would receive the parts in time.”
“We can telegraph,” said Bob.
“Even that takes time. Jack Pender laid his plans well for this trick. He means to keep us out of the race!” Jerry said.
“Can’t we get the parts in Cresville?” asked Bob.
“Not a store keeps them that I know of,” replied Jerry. “I’m afraid we’re done for. Most likely Pender broke the parts and threw them away.”
“No, we’re not done for!” exclaimed Ned.
“Why not?”
“Because I’ll ride into Boston to-night and get the new parts!”
“But none of our machines can be run,” objected Bob.
“I’ll borrow Mr. Wakefield’s,” said Ned. “He’ll lend it to me when I tell him how the case stands!”
“Hurrah!” exclaimed Bob. “You’re the stuff Ned!”
“I doubt if you can do it,” objected Jerry. “There is no moon to-night, and the roads are hard to find.”
“I’m going to try,” insisted Ned. “Jack Pender shall not keep us out of the race if I can prevent it!”
“Well, hurry and find Mr. Wakefield,” urged Jerry. “There’s no time to lose. Bob and I will see to your machine and you can start at once.”
Ned found Mr. Wakefield, the athletic instructor, in the gymnasium of the club house. The boy hastily told him of the trouble, not however mentioning Jack’s name.
“And, Mr. Wakefield,” said Ned, in great distress, “if we can’t get those carburetor parts we can’t race.”
“I’ll do all I can to help you,” said Mr. Wakefield. “Take my machine and welcome.”
Ned really had quite a task before him. It was a long ride to Boston, and there would be no moon. Besides the roads were not of the best. It was after four o’clock when he secured Mr. Wakefield’s machine, and a half hour was lost in oiling it up, and seeing that it was in shape for the lengthy trip.
“I do not know whether to let you go or not,” said Mr. Slade, when Ned broached the subject to him.
“I really must go, father,” and Ned spoke so earnestly that Mr. Slade was more than half persuaded.
“Well, I suppose it is hard to have to think of giving up the race,” he said at length. “And it seems to be the only way to do. So you may go, but be very careful.”
“I will,” promised Ned.
He prepared himself for the trip, and was about to start from his house, where he had taken Mr. Wakefield’s machine, when Bob and Jerry came along. They had wheeled their motors to their houses, and brought Ned’s with them.
“Are you off?” asked Jerry.
“Just ready to start,” was the reply.
“You ought to be able to get the parts in any automobile store,” said Jerry. “The only bad feature of the trip will be coming home. I wish I was going along.”
“Well, I haven’t any time to lose,” said Ned, “so here goes!”
He leaped into the saddle, started the machine off by means of the pedals and soon was puffing down the road.
The start was made about half past five o’clock, on a pleasant afternoon. The sun shone through a hazy mist, and, though it had been warm, it was cooler now. Because it was of an earlier pattern, Mr. Wakefield’s machine was not as speedy as any of the boys’, and Ned realized he would have to be longer on the journey than if he had his own fast motor.
“But I’m in luck to be able to get any machine at all,” he said to himself.
For the first ten miles Ned had no trouble, as he was familiar with the road. He had been riding over an hour when he came to a small village which, he learned by inquiry, was thirty miles from the big city.
He rode out of the little town, and then, coming to a place where several roads branched off was puzzled which one to take, as there was no sign posts. No house was near and no one seemed to be traveling.
“I’ll take the middle road,” thought Ned. “It’s trusting to chance, but it’s all I can do.”
He had ridden perhaps four miles when he met a farmer driving a bony horse attached to a dilapidated wagon. Poor, thin and old as the horse was it seemed frightened at the sight of the machine, and inclined to rear on its hind legs and bolt.
“Is this the road to Boston?” asked Ned, knowing he had little time to waste in talk, however pleasant it might be.
“Wa’al ye kin git to it this way, but it’ll take ye a long time. Ye’re going in a opposite direction. Ye’d oughter taken the left hand road back there at the forks.”
“Thanks,” said Ned, briefly, turning his machine in readiness to go back and take the right road.
“Hold on! Maybe I can make some kind of a trade with ye for that threshing machine ye got!” called the old man, but Ned, with a friendly wave of his hand, started back to regain the right road.
He resolved to be more careful next time in taking roads where there was more than one. So, when he again reached places where the highways diverged he waited until some one came along, or he went back to the last house he had passed, and inquired.
He rode on for two hours longer. It was getting a little dusky now because of the clouds, and Ned began to fear he was in for a storm. He wished he was at his destination, for, if worst came to worst, he could stay in Boston all night, and start back in the morning. But he soon saw evidences that he was nearing some large city. Houses became more frequent, and every now and then he would pass through some settlement or good sized suburb. Then, off in the distance, he descried the Hub City.
“There’s Boston!” he cried. “Now for an automobile or motor store.”
Getting on to good roads he speeded his machine up as fast as it would go, which was not overly rapid, and was soon riding through the streets of the historic city.
He kept his eyes open, and presently saw an automobile shop. The man was just closing up.
“Wait a minute!” called Ned. “Hold on! I want to get something!”
“You’ll have to be quick,” said the man.
Ned lost no time in telling what he desired.
“Here’s what you want,” said the dealer. “We got some new ones in to-day.”
“Thanks,” said Ned fervently, as he paid for the articles. He stowed the precious parts safely away in his pockets. Then he began to think of supper. It was nearly ten o’clock, but he found a small restaurant open, and made a hasty meal. Then, lighting his own acetylene gas lamp, which he had brought along in place of the oil affair Mr. Wakefield carried, the boy prepared for his homeward trip.
This was a very different thing from riding along in the afternoon and early evening. If he was in doubt of a road he could find plenty of persons to ask. But after dark every one seemed to go to bed, as he noticed when he passed from the immediate Boston suburbs into the country. Several times Ned had to get off his machine and, with his lamp for a torch, hunt around for a sign post to tell him which road to take.
Once he came to where three roads divided. He could find no friendly pointing finger to tell him which one to take, and there was not a house in sight. The last residence he had passed was half a mile back. He did not relish going on the wrong highway until he met some one to set him right, nor did he want to retrace his journey.
“If only some one would come along now,” he murmured.
By dint of making inquiries at many farm houses Ned managed to cover about twenty miles of his homeward trip. Then, as it grew later, the friendly lights that shone from the lonely road-side residences went out, and Ned began to think his trip was going to be a rather unpleasant one at the close, although it was still fairly clear. He did not like to awaken people up to ask them about the road, and it was evident that nearly every one in the country had gone to rest.
It was very dark. His gas lamp gave a brilliant thread of light directly in front of him, but that was all. It was quiet, also, save for the chug-chug of his motor. Now and then an owl would hoot, and the sound, strange and weird, seemed to chill Ned’s blood, though he knew what it was.
Once again the old trouble of coming to two roads, and not knowing which to follow, confronted him. It was close to midnight, and the country was so deserted that for the last two miles he had not passed a house. Nor did he know how far in advance he might have to go before reaching one.
“Shall I go to the right or left?” Ned asked himself. “I’ll trust to luck, I’ll toss a stone up, and take the road it falls nearest to.”
He had dismounted from his wheel, and, standing at the fork of the roads, tossed a pebble into the air. It fell on the left path.
“The left it is!” He got on his machine, rode about a quarter of a mile, and then, with a loud noise his rear tire burst. It came with such suddenness and gave Ned such a shock that he nearly tumbled from the motor.
“Here’s luck!” he exclaimed. He quickly discovered that the break was a bad enough one to mend in daylight to say nothing of attempting it in the darkness.
“I guess I’m booked to stay here all night,” the boy said. “If I could find a farm house near by I’d ask to stay there.”
But he did not feel like pushing the heavy motor along the road in a search.
“It’s warm, and I can stay out all night,” Ned thought. “I’d like to get in shelter though.”
He paused in the middle of the dark road and looked about him. Off to the left were fields.
“Looks like a lot of hay in that meadow,” he told himself. “If it is that will be just the thing to crawl into and go to sleep.” He walked closer and peered at the dark objects that had attracted his attention. He climbed the fence, and discovered that his surmise was right.
Pulling and hauling the motor he got it through the bars. Then, selecting a big mound of the fragrant dried grass, Ned made a hole in it, crawled in, curled up and, in spite of his queer bed, was soon sound asleep.