View source for The Motor Boys Overland; Or, A Long Trip for Fun and Fortune (Book 2)

<meta
  author="Young, Clarence"
  year_of_publication="1906"
additional_information="https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/42748/pg42748-images.html"
  genre="Fiction"
  journal="The Motor Boys Overland: OR A LONG TRIP FOR FUN AND FORTUNE"
  page_range="1-228"
/>
<annotations>
===Preface/Chapter I. - An Automobile Race (v-9) === 
<paragraph keywords="speed, car, accident, skill, risk, pleasure, ">
<poem>
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="car, passenger, car model, car part">
<poem>
Dear Boys:
Here we have the second volume of “The Motor Boys Series,” a line of books relating to the doings of some bright and up-to-date youths, on wheels, at home and abroad.
In the first volume of the series, called “The Motor Boys,” the writer told how Bob, Ned and Jerry won several important races, including that which brought to them a much-wished-for prize, a grand touring car.
The car won, there was nothing to do but to take a long trip, and in this present book, “The Motor Boys Overland,” are given the particulars of a journey in the automobile to the great West. On the way the boys fall in with an old miner, who has the secret of a lost gold mine of great value. The lads decide to take the miner to the lost mine in their touring car, and the long and perilous journey among the mountains is begun. Enemies also hear of the wonderful lost mine, and then begins a wild race, to see who shall get there first and claim the riches.
This “Motor Boys Series” will be continued by a third volume, to be called “The Motor Boys in Mexico.” I earnestly hope the boys will find the stories to their liking. I can assure all it has been a pleasure to pen them, for the writer is something of an automobile enthusiast himself, and some of the experiences on the road have been taken from life.
Clarence Young.
March 22, 1906.
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="risk, speed, car part, animal, car, skill, rural, pleasure, passenger">
<poem>
CHAPTER I.

AN AUTOMOBILE RACE.


There was a whizz of rubber-tired wheels, a cloud of dust and the frightened yelping of a dog as a big, red touring automobile shot down the road.
“You nearly ran over him, Chunky!” exclaimed Jerry Hopkins, to the stout youth at his side.
“That’s what you did, Bob Baker!” chimed in Ned Slade, leaning over from the rear seat of the auto. “I thought you said you were an expert.”
“I didn’t come within five feet of the pup,” answered Bob Baker, giving the steering wheel a twist to avoid a chicken that scooted across the country road.
“Never mind—miss as good as a mile—we certainly are skating along—never say die—hit a dog, biff! bang! up in the air—down again—bust a tire—break your leg—kill the animal—off again—whoop!”
“Say, Andy Rush, if you’re going to talk as fast as that the first time Chunky speeds the machine, I’m going to get out!” cried Jerry, with a laugh. “There’s excitement enough without you making any more.”
“All right, fellows, I’ll keep quiet,” agreed Andy, who was a small, nervous chap, never still for a moment, and so full of energy that he talked, as Jerry sometimes said, “like a house afire.”
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="car part, tree, slowness, pleasure, speed, parking, gasoline">
<poem>
Bob leaned forward and pulled one of the levers. The auto slowed down, as the low-speed gear came into play, and bowled along under a stretch of shady trees.
“Fifteen miles in thirty minutes,” remarked the stout lad, pulling out his watch. “Not so bad for a starter, eh, Ned?”
“The machine certainly can go!” observed Jerry.
“I didn’t have the full-speed lever on, either,” remarked Bob, who was called “Chunky” by his companions, because of his fleshiness. He turned off the gasolene as the auto came under a large chestnut tree, and the four boys stretched out comfortably on the leather-upholstered seats.
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
There was Bob Baker, a lad of fifteen years, son of Andrew Baker, a rich banker; Ned Slade, sixteen years old, the only son of Aaron Slade, a department store proprietor, and Jerry Hopkins, the son of a widow, Mrs. Julia Hopkins.
These three were faithful chums, seldom apart. With them was a mutual friend, Andy Rush. All the boys lived in the village of Cresville, not far from Boston.
The three first named had, the week before the story opens, come into possession of a fine touring car, which they had won as the first prize of a motor-cycle meet, given by the Cresville Athletic Club, as related in the first volume of this series, entitled “The Motor Boys.”
In that was told how they had incurred the enmity of Noddy Nixon, a town bully, who had robbed the mill of Amos Judson of one thousand dollars, which crime the Motor Boys were instrumental in fastening on Noddy.
In consequence of the pending disclosure of his guilt, Noddy had fled from town, a short time before the races, in his father’s automobile. Bill Berry, a town ne’er-do-well, accompanied him. Not long after Noddy had fled in the terror of his guilt being found out, he sent back a letter threatening vengeance on the three boys, whom he accused as being responsible for the fact that he had to leave home.
But the Motor Boys, as they now called themselves, cared little for this in view of the pleasures they anticipated when they got the automobile. It had come in due time; a fine affair, with all the latest improvements and attachments, and was a car capable of making a trip almost anywhere.
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="skill, risk, driver">
<poem>
The company from whom the auto was purchased sent an expert out to Cresville with it, to instruct the boys in the running of the machine. They learned readily, and were soon able to make short trips on the country roads surrounding the village. This was the first time they had made an extended trip, and the drawing of lots had given Bob the chance to drive the auto, with the result that he nearly came to grief when the dog unexpectedly ran across the road.
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="car part">
<poem>
For about half an hour the three chums and Andy rested in the shade. It was a pleasant fall afternoon, and though the sun was warm there was a cool breeze.
“Whose turn to crank her up?” asked Bob, for, of course, it could not be expected of him, in charge of the steering wheel, to start the engine.
“I guess it’s mine,” came from Ned, with a sort of groan. His arm still ached from the previous turning of the flywheel.
“I’ll do it—lots of fun—first time I ever had a chance—let me—good for my muscle—whoop!” exclaimed Andy, bustling from the car.
“Oh, it’s good for your muscle, all right enough,” observed Ned. “Go on, I’ll not stop you.”
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="car part, gasoline, haptic, engine, risk, skill">
<poem>
It was harder work than Andy had anticipated, but he managed to give the crank a few turns and spin the heavy flywheel around. Bob switched on the spark, turned the gasolene into the cylinders, and soon there was a throbbing that told the engine had started. Andy jumped to one side and nearly toppled over.
“Did you think I’d run you down?” asked Bob.
“I don’t know anything about autos,” answered Andy.
“She can’t go until I connect the speed-gears,” explained Bob, with something of a superior air. “Hop in, Andy!”
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="speed, passenger, animal, risk, accident, onomatopoeia, slowness, traffic, rural">
<poem>
Andy climbed back to his rear seat, Bob threw the lever forward to first speed, and the car, moving slowly at first, but with increasing swiftness, started down the road.
“Look out for dogs!” advised Ned.
“We don’t want roast chicken for supper, so you needn’t bother to kill any,” came from Jerry.
“I can steer as good as either of you,” exclaimed the stout lad. “You nearly hit a man the other day, Jerry, and I guess you’ve forgotten, Ned, how you broke down one of Mr. Smith’s shade trees. I’m not as bad as that.”
Honk! honk! sounded down the road in the rear of the boys.
“Here comes another auto,” said Jerry. “Keep over to one side, Bob.”
Honk! honk! This time it was Bob who blew his horn to let the oncomers know some one was ahead of them. The noise of the approaching car sounded nearer.
“Better keep well over, Chunky,” advised Ned.
“I’m not going to give ’em more than half the road,” answered Bob, firmly. “If they want a race they can have it, too.”
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="car part, skill, speed, passenger, driver, gasoline, car model">
<poem>
He threw the third-speed clutch into place, and the boys’ car shot ahead so suddenly that Andy was nearly toppled out of his seat. The red auto dashed down the road.
Behind it, at a swift pace, there came a big, green affair, almost twice the size of the Cresville machine. It was going at a great pace, a lone man occupying the steering seat, and no one being in back. As the green car shot past the red one, the solitary rider gave three toots to his horn. Bob answered, and then, before the other boys could stop him he advanced his spark, turned on more gasolene, and was away after the green dragon like a streak of red fire.
“What are you going to do?” yelled Ned.
“See if I can beat him!” exclaimed Bob.
“You’re crazy! That’s a ninety horse-power car and ours is only forty!”
“I’m going to try,” repeated Bob, between his clenched teeth.
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="speed, skill, car part, gasoline, passenger, metaphor">
<poem>
It looked like a hopeless undertaking. The green car was a quarter of a mile ahead before Bob could get his machine speeded up. When he did, however, the new auto ran along swiftly and easily.
Bob shut off his power temporarily and then, with a quick yank, pulled the lever to full speed ahead. Then he turned on the spark and gasolene. The red auto seemed to double its already swift motion.
The car swayed from side to side, and the boys, except Bob, who had a firm grip of the wheel, were bounced up into the air, again and again. Bob had on big goggles, and, with head bent low, was watching the road like a hawk ready to pounce on a chicken.
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="car part, speed, gasoline">
<poem>
“We’re gaining on him!” he muttered, and he tooted the horn. Back a faint, answering blast came.
Indeed, it was evident that the red auto, though a smaller and less powerful machine, was creeping up on its rival. The lone chauffeur glanced back, saw the pursuing car, and turned on full power.
For a few moments he increased his lead. But Bob advanced his spark further, and turned on a trifle more of gasolene. The red auto once more leaped forward.
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
“We’ve got him!” cried Bob. “He can’t get another inch out of his, and I haven’t used the accelerator pedal yet. We’ll beat him!”
“If we don’t all break our necks!” exclaimed Jerry, holding to his seat.
“Terrible fast—takes your breath—shakes the liver-pin out of you—loosens all your teeth—great sport—smash the machine—never say die—don’t give up the ship—whoop!” yelled Andy, as he slid down to the bottom of the car, unable any longer to remain upright.
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="speed, dust, risk, car part">
<poem>
Slowly the red car crept up on the green one. The dust arose in clouds about both machines. The autos swayed from the terrific speed, but Bob held the wheel firm and was ready to shut off power and apply the emergency brake in a second. The man in front again glanced back, and did not seem to relish being passed by mere boys in a smaller car than his. He was making desperate efforts to draw away.
The distance between the machines lessened. Bob was watching his opportunity.
“Now we’ve got him!” he cried. “Here we go!”
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="speed, car part, tree, risk">
<poem>
He pushed down the accelerator pedal, used only to give a momentary burst of speed. The red car shot forward and the front wheels almost lapped the rear ones of the machine in the lead.
There was a slight turn to the road, just where Bob had decided to pass his rival. A clump of trees hid the view, excepting for a short distance ahead. Just as the boys’ auto was on the point of making the turn and passing the green one, Ned glanced up and gave a shout of terror.
Right in front was a load of hay, overturned in the road, and both cars, at full speed, were dashing straight for it!
</poem>
</paragraph>


</annotations>

=== Chapter II. - Ho for the West! (10-17) ===
<paragraph keywords="accident, navigation, skill">
<poem>
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="risk, animal, agriculture, car part, accident, car model, passenger">
<poem>
CHAPTER II.

HO FOR THE WEST!

“Put on the brake!” yelled Ned.
“Shut off the power!” shouted Jerry.
A frightened cry came from the farmer whose load of fodder had overturned in the road. He was unhitching his horses, and jumped to one side as he saw two big autos bearing down on him.
“You’re in for a spill, lads!” called the man in the green car. At that instant he applied his emergency brake and shut off the power. His car came to such a sudden stop that he was thrown from his seat, high into the air.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="car part, car model, skill, risk, passenger">
<poem>
Bob seemed unable, from the very terror of fright, to make a move to stop the auto he was steering, and clung to the wheel like grim death.
“Put on the brake!” yelled Ned again. “We’ll be killed!”
The load of hay was not ten feet in advance. Bob gave the wheel a sudden twist. The red car shot to one side, out into a ditch along the road. It skidded on two wheels, the boys were nearly thrown out, and bounced high in the air.
With another quick twist, Bob sent the car straight ahead. Then another turn of the wheel and he was back in the road again!
He had passed the obstruction, going between it and the green auto, and had reached the highway in safety after as daring a bit of steering as ever a boy undertook. Then he shut off the power and applied the brakes hard, the car coming to a stop with a groan and screech as the emergency band gripped the axle.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
“Whew! That was a close shave!” came from Jerry, as he drew a long breath.
“A little too near for comfort!” was Ned’s opinion.
“Bet your life!” was all Andy could say, his rapid fire of words failing to discharge this time.
“I thought it was the only thing to do,” remarked the stout steersman. “I was afraid to stop too suddenly, and I figured we just had room enough to get through. But I wouldn’t do it again.”
“Speaking of sudden stops, I wonder what has become of the man in the green car?” spoke Jerry. “We must go back and find out.”
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
The four lads leaped from their machine and ran back past the load of hay. The farmer was rapidly walking about in a circle, wringing his hands and crying:
“He’s killed! He’s killed! I know he is!”
With rather anxious hearts the boys hurried around to the other side of the big pile of dried grass. As they reached the place they saw a man attired in an automobile suit, with big goggles on, wiggle out from the mass of hay. He pulled several wisps from his hair and then saw the boys.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
“Did you shoot right through the pile and come out on the other side?” he asked.
“We ran around it,” explained Bob. “We beat you,” he added, not without pride.
“So I see. It came pretty near being the end of all of us. You’re a plucky lad. I don’t mind being beaten by you. I thought I had a good car, but yours is better.”
“Ours is much lighter; I guess that’s why we went ahead,” returned Jerry, willing to concede something to a vanquished rival. “But are you hurt?”
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
The man carefully felt of different parts of his body. Then he took off his goggles and looked over as much as he could see of himself.
“I don’t seem to be,” he said, finally, with a laugh. “It was like falling into a feather bed to land in that hay-pile the way I did. That’s all that saved me. I wonder how my machine stood the emergency brake.”
He examined his car carefully, and was apparently satisfied that no injury had been done by the sudden stopping of it.
“Where is he?” asked the farmer, suddenly appearing from behind the hay. “Is he dead?” And then he seemed to realize his error and joined in the laugh that followed.
“No, I’m not dead yet,” replied the owner of the green car. “Well,” he went on, “I must be going. Are you boys coming along? If you are, no more races.”
“We’ll have to go back to Cresville,” answered Bob. “We promised to return for supper.”
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
The man bade the boys good-by and soon the big, green dragon was throbbing down the road in a cloud of dust. The boys, finding they could not help the farmer in his trouble, got in their machine and, promising to send help from the first farmhouse they passed, they left the owner of the hay and were soon speeding toward Cresville.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
“Isn’t this glorious!” exclaimed Jerry, as the auto sped along. “I wish we could take a long trip.”
“Why can’t we?” asked Ned.
“We talked of a tour when we found we had a chance to get a car,” put in Chunky. “I for one would like to go out West.”
“Ho for the West!” piped up Andy. “Over the plains—herds of cattle—cowboys in chase—rattlesnakes and horned toads—sandy deserts—Indians—bang! Shoot ’em up! Lots of excitement—take me along—whoop!”
“Easy!” pleaded Jerry. “One thing at a time, Andy. Haven’t we had excitement enough for one day?”
“We ought to make a strike to go on a western trip, though,” spoke Ned, in serious tones. “Here we have a car that we could cross the continent in. Let’s speak about it at home. It can’t do any harm. Maybe the folks will let us go.”
“It’s worth trying for,” said Jerry. “What do you say, Chunky?”
“I’m with you,” replied Bob. “It will be the best sport ever. But wouldn’t we have to wait until next spring? It’s fall, and if we go West it may be very cold, with lots of snow soon.”
“We can bear off to the south,” said Jerry.
“Sure enough,” agreed Chunky.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
That night, when the automobile had been safely put away in the barn at Bob’s house, three anxious boys broached the subject to their respective parents. So insistent were they that it was not long before a general council was arranged. Mrs. Hopkins and Mr. Slade were induced to call at Mr. Baker’s house, where, with the three boys, the whole subject was gone over.
“I’m afraid it’s too much of an undertaking,” said Mr. Baker.
“That’s my idea,” agreed Mr. Slade, and Mrs. Hopkins nodded to indicate that that was her view.
The boys set up a chorus of pleadings. The parents had many objections. The distance was too great, the boys did not know enough about automobiles, they would lose their way and break down far from help. In fact, so many negative reasons were given that it looked as if the plan would not go through.
“Will you please wait ten minutes before you make a final decision?” asked Jerry, appealing to the trio of parents.
They agreed, wondering what he was about to do. Jerry got his hat and hurried from Mr. Baker’s house. In a little while he returned, all out of breath.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
“He’ll be here in five minutes,” said the boy.
“Who?” asked Mr. Slade.
“Mr. Wakefield.” Jerry referred to Horace Wakefield, an instructor at the Athletic Club, who was quite a friend of the boys, and who himself had recently purchased an automobile. He lived near Mr. Baker.
“What’s all this I hear about a trip to the West these boys are going to take?” asked Mr. Wakefield, a few minutes later, coming into the parlor where the conference was going on.
“You mean the trip they think they are going to take,” corrected Mr. Slade, with a laugh. “I suppose Jerry told you it was all settled.”
“To be honest, he wanted me to come over and settle it for him and his chums,” replied the instructor. “He said there was some doubt about the feasibility of making the trip.”
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
Mr. Baker explained how matters stood. He and the other parents were willing the boys should have a good time, he said, but did not want them to run into danger.
“Do you think they could make a trip away out West in their car?” asked Mr. Baker.
“From what I know of the boys, and from the build of their car, I have no doubt it could be done with perfect safety, as far as ordinary conditions are concerned,” said Mr. Wakefield. “Of course, there will be some few troubles, but none that cannot be overcome with a little work. I think the trip is perfectly possible. In fact, you know, autos have gone clear across the continent.”
“Then you think we ought to let the boys go?” asked Mr. Slade.
“I—think—you—ought to,” replied the instructor, with purposed deliberateness, smiling at the anxious lads.
“Hurrah!” yelled Bob, forgetting that he was in the house.
“Lucky I thought to go and get him,” spoke Jerry to Ned.
“I might add,” went on Mr. Wakefield, “that I am going to make a trip as far as Chicago. If you decide to let the boys go, they could accompany me that far, at least. It would be a good experience for them.”
“Oh, dad! Please let us go!” pleaded Bob.
“Yes, yes!” chimed in Jerry and Ned.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
There was a moment of silence, while the parents were gravely considering the matter. During it the boys could almost hear the beating of their own hearts.
“Well,” began Mr. Baker, “I’m willing, if the rest of you are.”
“I suppose I may as well say yes,” spoke Mr. Slade.
“Then the only thing left for me to do is to agree with the majority,” said Mrs. Hopkins, with a laugh.
“Westward ho!” fairly shouted Bob, and he began to do an impromptu jig until his father stopped him.
“We’ll take Andy Rush along,” said Ned, “and we’ll start the first of the week!”
“Hark! What was that?” asked Mr. Baker, suddenly.
Out on the night air sounded an alarm.
“Fire! Fire! Fire!”
</poem>
</paragraph>

=== Chapter III. - The Old Mill on Fire (18-25) ===
<paragraph keywords="risk,">
<poem>
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
CHAPTER III.

THE OLD MILL ON FIRE.

They all rushed to windows and looked out into the night. Off to the north a dull red glare lighted the sky.
“What is it?” asked Mr. Baker.
“I can’t see from here,” replied Jerry.
“Come on, fellows! Let’s go!” exclaimed Ned. He started for the door.
“Take the auto,” suggested Bob. “No telling how far off it is.”
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="risk, speed, animal, urban, city, pedestrian">
<poem>
The next instant the three boys were in the automobile shed, getting the machine ready for a start. The red glow in the sky increased. People began running past on their way to the fire.
There was a clatter and bang, a ringing of bells, and the one engine the town possessed, in all the glory of its brass and nickel plate, rushed past, as fast as the horses could drag it. The hose-cart followed.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="car part, engine, passenger, driver, speed, city">
<poem>
“Hurry up or we’ll miss the fun!” cried Ned to Bob, who was cranking the auto. Somehow, Chunky could not get the engine started. At last he succeeded and the boys climbed to their seats.
“It’s my turn to steer!” cried Jerry, and no one disputed him. He ran the car out of the side path, past the Baker home. On the stoop stood Mr. Slade, Mrs. Hopkins and Mr. Baker, watching the fire.
“Want to come along?” asked Ned.
“Let’s go,” exclaimed Mr. Slade, and he and Mr. Baker got their hats and were soon in the rear seat with Ned. Mrs. Hopkins, with a laugh, declined the trip. Jerry speeded the car ahead and soon was chugging on toward the fire, which was some distance outside of town.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
On the road the automobilists passed scores of men and boys who were running at top speed. In their excitement many were yelling at the top of their voices.
“Where is it?” asked Bob of a group of boys.
“The old windmill!” was the answer.
“The place where we found the box Noddy Nixon stole from Mr. Judson!” cried Jerry, turning to his companions. “Queer, isn’t it?”
“Maybe he got his toady, Jack Pender, to set the place afire so nothing would ever come out about it,” suggested Bob.
“Hardly,” ventured Jerry. “But what’s the trouble up ahead?”
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
In advance could be seen quite a crowd of people in a group about some object. Just then came a long-drawn-out whistle of a steam engine.
“The fire apparatus is stuck!” cried Ned. “The horses can’t pull it!”
“I always thought that machine was too heavy for two horses,” said Mr. Slade.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
The auto soon came up to the scene of the trouble. The fire-engine had sunk deep down in a rut of the road and, pull as they did, the horses could not budge it.
“Lay hold of the wheels, boys!” called the driver of the apparatus. “Everybody give a hand!”
Willingly enough the crowd tried to aid. But the roads were soft and the engine was heavy. It seemed bound to stick fast.
“Hold on!” cried Jerry. “Let us through, will you? I have an idea!”
The crowd parted, the attention of the men and boys being attracted from the stranded engine.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="passenger, pedestrian, engine, equipment, car part">
<poem>
“What are you going to do?” asked Mr. Baker.
“Give ’em a lift,” replied Jerry. “I say, have you a rope?” the boy called to the driver of the steamer.
“Yes!” was the reply. “But we need more than a rope to get out of here.”
“No, you don’t! I’ll show you!” shouted Jerry. He had brought the machine to a halt by throwing out the gear, but did not stop the gasolene engine. He quickly fastened the rope to the rear axle of the auto.
“Now tie the other end to the engine and we’ll pull you to the fire,” the boy said.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="animal, car part, equipment, slowness, mud, speed">
<poem>
The driver saw the feasibility of the scheme at once. He unhitched the straining horses, attached the cable to the pole and gave the word. Jerry threw on the clutch, there was a tightening of the rope and slowly but surely the engine was dragged from the mud hole. Then, once on solid ground, Jerry put on more speed, and, amid the cheers of the crowd, he started off at a swift pace, dragging the engine to the fire.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
The hose-cart had gone on ahead and was waiting for the steamer. Power was soon up in the apparatus, and soon two streams were directed toward the mill, which was now a mass of flames.
There was no chance of saving it, such a start had the fire gained, and, in fact, the loss would be small if it burned down, but the fire company could not let slip a chance of going to the blaze. So the crew continued to squirt water, though most of it did little good. However, there was plenty of excitement, which suited the boys.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
Those in the auto watched the old mill gradually being consumed. To the boys it brought a recollection of the time they had there made the final discovery of Noddy Nixon’s villainy, and had practically forced him to admit his guilt. At last the roof fell in, with a big shower of sparks, and the fire was practically out, though the steamer continued to pump water.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
“Let’s go home,” suggested Mr. Baker. “We’ve seen enough.”
“Oh, stay a while longer!” pleaded his son. “It’s a fine moonlight night and it will be fun going home later.”
“You boys can stay if you like,” said the banker, “but home’s the place for me, eh, Mr. Slade?”
The merchant agreed. So Jerry turned the auto toward Cresville and made a quick run, leaving Mr. Baker and Mr. Slade at their respective homes, and then he and the boys came back in the machine to the fire. They found most of the crowd gone, and the engine about to return to quarters.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
“Do you want us to trail along and pull you again if you get stuck?” asked Bob of the engineer.
“Well, you might come in handy,” was the answer. “We’re much obliged to you, boys.”
“Glad we were on deck,” said Jerry. “However, I guess you will not need us again,” and he sent the auto ahead at a good speed. “We’ll take a little ride before we go home,” he added to his chums.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="road condition, urban, nostalgia, night, season, car part">
<poem>
It was a bright moonlight night, rather warm for the close of September, and the road was a fairly good one, so the boys skimmed along, their thoughts on the western trip they were soon to make. For several miles they kept on. Suddenly Jerry yanked the levers and put on the brakes.
“What’s the matter?” asked Bob, as the auto came to a stop.
“There,” replied Jerry, pointing ahead.
The boys looked and saw, a little in advance, a tumble-down hut, from the window of which a light gleamed.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="night, car part, parking, road side">
<poem>
“That’s queer,” observed Jerry.
“What is, to see a light in a hut?” asked Bob.
“No; but in that particular one,” replied Jerry. “I came past there day before yesterday and I noticed that the place is almost ready to fall apart. No one can be living in it, and any one who is there at night with a light is there for no good purpose.”
“Let’s take a look,” suggested Bob.
Jerry shut off the power, took out the spark plug and the boys advanced cautiously, leaving the machine on one side of the road.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
“Maybe there are tramps in there who won’t like being spied on,” said Ned.
“Don’t make any noise,” was Jerry’s answer. “Be ready to run when I give the word.”
On tiptoes the boys drew near the hut. Suddenly Bob grabbed Jerry by the arm.
“What is it?” asked Jerry.
“Smell that?”
“Acetylene gas! Some one has been here with a gas lamp, and within a few minutes,” agreed Jerry, sniffing the peculiar odor.
“Isn’t that a motor cycle leaning against the building?” asked Ned.
“Sure enough!” said Jerry. “Go slow, boys.”
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
Walking like cats, they reached the window from which the light streamed. As they glanced inside they saw a sight that startled them.
Lying on a pile of rags in one corner of the bare room, in the glare of a candle, was an old man, with matted and unkempt hair and beard. His face showed pain and suffering. His clothes were old and ragged. But what attracted the attention of the boys was the fact that he wore about his waist a wide leather belt, with several compartments or pockets in it. The pockets were open and in them, as well as scattered on the floor in front of the man, were little piles of yellow, gleaming gold.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
“He’s a miner!” whispered Bob, hoarsely.
As the boys watched they heard the old man moan:
“Don’t rob me! Don’t take what little I have left! If I wasn’t sick and suffering no one would dare play this trick on Jim Nestor!”
The next instant the boys heard a sound from the farther corner of the room. Out of the semi-darkness came a figure. It stooped over the old miner. There was the sound of a blow, a deep groan—and then came darkness as the candle was extinguished.
Some one ran rapidly from the hut.
“Help! help!” called the miner, feebly. “Help! He’s robbed me!”
</poem>
</paragraph>

=== Chapter IV. - A Chase After a Rascal (26-33) ===
<paragraph keywords="night, moonlight, motorcycle, speed">
<poem>
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
CHAPTER IV.

A CHASE AFTER A RASCAL.

“After him!” cried Jerry. “Catch the miserable thief!”
“You and Bob chase him, whoever he is!” called Ned. “I’ll stay with the old miner here in the hut. He may be badly hurt.”
“Hurry back to the auto!” shouted Jerry. “We can catch the thief in that.”
As he spoke he looked ahead. A dark figure crossed the patch of moonlight in the rear of the hut. Then came a sound of a motor-cycle being started, and soon the chug-chug of the machine on the road told that the thief was escaping that way.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="engine, passenger, motorcycle, night, moonlight, speed">
<poem>
Jerry and Bob ran to the auto. In a trice Jerry had the engine cranked up. Bob jumped in, followed by his companion, and they put off down the road after the fleeing motor-cyclist, whom the moonlight plainly revealed.
“He can’t get away from us!” exclaimed Jerry. “We will overhaul him in a jiffy!”
But Jerry reckoned without knowing who he was after. He did not dare put on full speed, while the cyclist rashly had his machine going as fast as the explosions could follow one after the other. Besides, the thief had a good start with his light apparatus.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="speed, car part, motorcycle">
<poem>
But Jerry determined to make the capture. He threw in the second speed gear and in a little while had lessened the distance between the auto and the motor-cycle.
“I wonder who it is?” asked Bob.
“Maybe we can tell,” answered his chum. Jerry switched on the searchlight in the front of the auto. A dazzling pencil of illumination shot down the road.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="motorcylce, speed, plains">
<poem>
In the white glare the figure of the motorist stood out sharply, and the red motor he rode could be plainly seen. At the sight both boys gave a start.
“Jack Pender!” exclaimed Bob.
“As sure as guns!” cried Jerry. “We must catch him!”
He was about to take chances and put on the third gear, when Pender, on his cycle, suddenly turned from the main road, and took a path leading through the fields.
“That ends it!” exclaimed Jerry. “No use trying to follow him. Our auto isn’t built for ’cross-country riding.”
He slowed up, turned around, and, with a last glance in the direction Noddy Nixon’s former toady and friend had taken, sent the car back toward the lonely hut.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
Meanwhile, Ned, after his companions had started on the chase, had struck a match and lighted the candle in the cabin. He found the old miner, for such the boys correctly guessed him to be, lying unconscious in a corner. The belt, with the gold-dust was gone, though a few grains of the precious metal were scattered over the floor. Ned found a pail of water in the place. He bathed the old man’s head and poured some of the fluid down his throat.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
“Where am I? What happened?” asked the old man, opening his eyes. Then he passed his hand over his head. His fingers were stained with blood.
“You’re all right,” spoke Ned. “I’ll take care of you. What’s your name and where did you come from?”
“Don’t let him rob me!” pleaded the old miner. “I have only a little gold, but I need it. I know where there is more, much more. I’ll tell you, only don’t hit me again. I’m sick, please don’t strike poor Jim Nestor!”
“No one is going to hurt you,” said Ned, in soothing tones, but the old man did not seem to comprehend. Ned felt of the miner’s head, and found he had a bad cut on the back. He washed it off with some water and bound his handkerchief around it. This seemed to ease the old man, and he sank into a doze.
“Well, of all the queer adventures, this is about the limit,” spoke Ned, to himself.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
The boy glanced about the hut. There was nothing to throw any light on the strange happenings. The candle flickered in the draught from the open door, and cast weird shadows. The man breathed like a person in distress. Ned was about to bathe the wounded man’s head again, when the sound of the automobile returning was heard.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
“What luck?” asked Ned, running to the door. “Did you get him?”
Whereupon Jerry told of the fruitless chase after Jack Pender. The three boys entered the hut, and Ned told his chums what he had done to relieve the miner.
“He’s got a bad wound on the head,” he went on. “I guess Pender must have hit him. Jack probably came this way, saw the old man in here sick, and unable to help himself, and watched his chance to rob him. There must have been considerable gold-dust in that belt.”
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
Jerry stooped down and gathered a little from the floor.
“There is some mystery here,” he said. “I think we had better get a doctor for the old miner. After he gets better he may talk. I’d like to get my hands on Pender for a little while.”
“So would I,” chorused Ned and Bob.
“The question is, shall we take the old man back in the auto with us, or run back to town and bring out a doctor?” went on Jerry.
“I think we’d better go get a doctor and fetch him here,” was Ned’s opinion. “It might injure the old man to move him.”
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
This was voted the best plan. They made the unconscious miner as comfortable as possible on the bed of rags, placed the pail of water where he could reach it, and prepared to run back to town. Ned volunteered to stay with the miner until they returned, but Jerry advised against it, as the hut was on a lonely road.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="passenger, gasoline, maintenance">
<poem>
It did not take long to reach Cresville. Dr. Morrison was routed out of bed by the boys, and agreed to return with them in the auto, when the case had been explained to him.
“Just wait until I get dressed,” he said, “and pack up some instruments and I’ll be with you.”
While waiting, Jerry examined the auto to see that there was plenty of water and gasolene in the tanks. He found everything all right.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
While Dr. Morrison was making ready to relieve the sufferings of the miner in the hut, Jack Pender, on his motor-cycle, was still speeding on, to get as far away as possible from those in pursuit of him. When he turned from the road and cut across lots he thought very likely that the auto would not follow. But he was taking no chances, and, when he emerged into the highway again, about a mile farther on, he still ran his machine at full speed.
“That was a close call!” he exclaimed. “Who would ever have thought that those boys, the same ones who made all the trouble for Noddy, would be after me! I escaped just in time. I hope I didn’t kill the old man, though it was a hard blow I struck him!”
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
Pender slowed down his machine and listened. No sound of pursuit came to him on the quiet night air. He stopped alongside of the road, under a big oak tree.
“Guess I’ll light up and see how I made out,” he said to himself. He lighted his acetylene lamp and, standing in the glare of it, drew from his pocket the belt he had stolen from the old miner.
“Feels heavy,” he muttered. “Ought to be plenty of gold in it. Well, I need the money if I am to join Noddy. I must read his letter again.”
He pulled out a sheet of paper and began glancing over it.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
“Dated New York,” he said. “He says he’s having lots of fun and no end of larks with Bill Berry. I don’t care much for Bill, myself. He never was any good around town, and he’s a desperate man. Hum! let’s see!” He turned to the letter again. “‘Come and join me, Jack. We’ll go West and have a good time. Bring some money.’ Well, I’ve got the money, all right. Now to start West. I’ll ride the motor as far as the depot and take a train.”
Replacing the letter and the belt of gold in his pockets, Pender remounted his machine and started off down the road, dark shadows from the trees soon hiding him.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="passenger, slowness, safety, night">
<poem>
It was just about this time that Dr. Morrison had completed his preparations to visit the injured miner. The physician took a seat in the auto beside Bob, Ned and Jerry being in front, the latter steering.
“Now, don’t go too fast,” cautioned the doctor to Jerry. “You know I’m an old-fashioned man, and not used to making professional visits any faster than my horse, old Dobbins, can take me. I don’t want an upset.”
Jerry promised to be cautious. The moon had begun to go down, and it was no easy task steering along the shadowy road, but the boy managed it, and soon the deserted hut was reached.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
“Now to see what sort of a case I have,” spoke the doctor.
“I’ll bring one of the oil lamps,” said Jerry, unfastening a lantern from the dashboard, after stopping the automobile engine. “You can see to work by it.”
The boys and Dr. Morrison entered the hut. Jerry held the lamp up high to illuminate the place.
“Now I’m ready,” announced the physician. “Where is the patient?” and he opened his medical case.
In wonderment the boys gazed around the hut. To their astonishment, there was not the slightest sign of the wounded miner. He had disappeared!
</poem>
</paragraph>

=== Chapter V. - The Mystery of The Miner (34-41) ===
<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
CHAPTER V.

THE MYSTERY OF THE MINER.

“He’s gone!” exclaimed Ned.
“Are you sure he was here?” inquired the physician.
Of that the boys had not the slightest doubt, and they speedily convinced the medical man. The lantern was flashed in every corner of the hut, but there was not a sign of the miner.
“It’s rather queer,” commented Dr. Morrison, when he had listened to the details the boys gave him.
“Do you suppose some one came and carried him off?” asked Bob.
“More likely he was not as badly hurt as you supposed,” replied Dr. Morrison. “He may have been only stunned by a blow on the head. When he regained his senses he probably feared another attack, and so he hurried from the hut. Let me take the lamp.”
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
The physician flashed the lantern outside the door of the cabin, holding it close to the ground.
“I thought so,” he said. “See, there are a few grains of the gold-dust showing on the door sill, and here are more, farther along the path. The man has gone away, and has left a little golden trail.”
The physician attempted to follow it, but the yellow specks soon disappeared and there was no other clew.
“Depend on it, he has run away in fear,” said the doctor. “Rather disappointing, too. I believe he could tell a queer story. Who robbed him, I wonder?”
“It was——” began Bob, but a nudge from Jerry stopped him.
“We saw some one run from the hut,” explained Jerry. “We gave chase in the automobile, but the fellow cut across lots and we couldn’t follow.”
“I suppose I may as well go back,” announced the doctor. “There is no use staying here. I don’t believe the miner will return and solve the mystery for us.”
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
The auto was turned toward Cresville and a quick trip was made, the boys speculating among themselves on what might be revealed if the wounded man could be found.
The physician was left at his home, and then the boys began thinking of their beds, as it was growing late.
“Queer that both Noddy and Jack should turn thieves, isn’t it?” remarked Jerry.
“And that we should happen to be mixed up in both cases,” put in Ned. “I wonder if we will meet either of them again.”
If the boys could have looked into the future they would have seen that they were destined to soon encounter Noddy and Jack, and under the strangest of circumstances.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
The auto was put away and three tired boys were soon snoring in their beds. They were up bright and early the next morning and in consultation about the proposed trip to Chicago. They called on Mr. Wakefield to learn his plans.
He said he expected to start for the Windy City by way of New York, on Thursday. It was then Tuesday, and the boys realized that they had little time to spare in which to make their preparations.
The three parents, who had somewhat reluctantly given their consent to the project, were soon almost as enthusiastic as the boys. Stocks of clothing were looked over, money matters were arranged, and the boys packed their dress-suit cases with what they thought would do them on the trip. They were each given a fairly liberal allowance of funds.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="maintenance, equipment, passenger">
<poem>
Then the automobile was got ready. It was given a thorough overhauling, and an extra supply of tools, together with a full new set of tires, was provided. Andy Rush was told to prepare to go, it having been decided to take him as far as New York or Chicago, he having relatives in both cities.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="season, equipment, maintenance, car part, gasoline">
<poem>
At last the time came to start. It was a fine, crisp September morning, and the boys were up early enough to see the sun rise. The suit-cases had been strapped to the machine, tires were pumped up, there was plenty of water and gasolene in the tanks, the batteries were renewed, and every bit of machinery had been gone over carefully. Andy Rush, the night previous, had sent his things over to Bob’s house, from whence the trip was to be begun. Andy himself arrived right after breakfast.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
“Hurrah!” he shouted. “Here we go—all aboard—blow the horn—get out of the way—turn on the gasolene—off brakes—break the records—mile a minute—whoop!”
“You’ll have all the excitement you want for once, I hope, Andy,” said Jerry.
“Betcherlife!” exclaimed Andy, in one breath.
The boys piled into the auto; good-byes were called, over and over again. Then came a toot of a horn as Mr. Wakefield came up the road in his machine, a friend, who intended making the trip, accompanying him.
“All ready, boys?” he called.
“All ready!” replied Jerry, who was going to steer for the first stage.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="pedestrian, car model, speed, navigation, road condition, rural, pleasure">
<poem>
With a blaring of the automobile trumpets, a waving of hands from those who had gathered to see the start, and a chorus of cries, wishing every one good luck, the little party rode away.
Mr. Wakefield, who knew the road better than did the boys, took the lead. His car was of the same pattern as theirs and both machines were of equal speed. For several miles the two autos puffed along over the pleasant country roads.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="city, navigation, parking, pleasure">
<poem>
No attempt to make time was tried, and at noon the travelers found themselves in Providence, Rhode Island, that being the first stopping place Mr. Wakefield had decided on. The machines were run up in front of a quiet but good hotel, and every one was hungry enough to do full justice to the meal.
“How do you boys like it?” asked Mr. Wakefield at the table. “Do you think you can stand it as far as Chicago?”
They were all sure they could run the machine to San Francisco, if necessary, and Mr. Wakefield and his friend laughed at their enthusiasm.
“We have come about seventy miles without a mishap,” said Mr. Wakefield, “but there are many miles ahead of us yet.”
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="navigation, speed, scenery, rural, pleasure">
<poem>
After a short rest the journey was again taken up, and throughout the afternoon the autos were speeded along. The way was through a pleasant country, and the boys enjoyed the scenery and fresh air. Several times they stopped at farmhouses to get drinks of cold milk, and once a motherly-looking woman filled the boys’ pockets with newly baked doughnuts that were delicious.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
“We’ll spend the night in Norwich, Conn.,” said Mr. Wakefield, when the two autos were ready to start, after a momentary stop at a farmhouse.
“Norwich—Norwich! I know Norwich!” exclaimed Andy. “I saw it in a book once—years ago—I was a little fellow—man in the moon came down too soon to inquire the way to Norwich—went by the south—burnt his mouth—eating cold bean porridge!”
“You remember your nursery rhymes well,” said Mr. Wakefield, with a laugh, in which all joined.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="road condition, accident, car part, navigation">
<poem>
On and on chugged the autos. The afternoon waned to dusk and frequent signboards told that the distance from Norwich was constantly lessening. Mr. Wakefield was about half a mile in advance, on a straight, level road. Suddenly came a sound as of a pistol shot.
“Tire busted!” exclaimed Jerry, shutting off the power. Mr. Wakefield heard the noise and turned back.
“Accident?” he inquired.
Jerry explained that one of their inner tubes had blown out.
“Want any help?” asked the athletic instructor.
“We may as well begin now as any other time to mend our own breaks,” spoke Jerry. “You go ahead. We’ll catch up to you soon.”
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
“All right,” said Mr. Wakefield. He felt that it would be a good thing to accustom the boys to depend on themselves. So, telling them that the road to Norwich was now a straight one, and that the town was about ten miles off, he left them to their own devices.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="maintenance, car part, equipment, night, engine, passenger, driver">
<poem>
The boys started in on the not very easy task of taking off the heavy outer shoe and inserting a new inner tube, of which they carried a supply. It finally became so dark that they had to light the lamps to see to work. At length they were finished and the tools were put away.
The new tire was pumped up and the engine started. The boys took their seats, and, at Bob’s request, he was allowed to steer.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="slowness, night, oil, car part, gasoline, safety">
<poem>
“Go slow at first,” advised Jerry, “until we see how the new tube holds.”
Bob started off at first speed. It was now quite dark, but the oil and acetylene lamps gave a good light. All at once Bob, who was peering ahead, shut off the power with a jerk and put the brakes on hard.
“What’s the matter?” asked Jerry.
“Something in the road,” replied the steersman, pointing to a dark object.
The next instant three figures loomed up in the glare of the auto lamps.
“Climb out of that gasolene gig!” exclaimed a rough voice. “We’re hard up an’ we need help!”
</poem>
</paragraph>

=== Chapter VI. - A Hold-up (42-48) ===
<paragraph keywords="risk, pedestrian">
<poem>
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
CHAPTER VI.

A HOLD-UP.

“Who are you?” asked Jerry, boldly.
“Never mind who we are!” exclaimed the same voice. “Just git out of that choo-choo wagon an’ hand over what spare change you have.”
“Is this a hold-up?” demanded Ned.
“If it isn’t it’s a good imitation of one,” was the answer, accompanied by a laugh. “Come, now! Look lively!”
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
One of the men came around to the side of the auto and grabbed Bob by the arm. At the same time another of the tramp trio attempted to seize Jerry. Ned was in the rear seat.
“Let go of me!” exclaimed Jerry, striking at the man who had climbed up on the step of the machine. The boy’s blow fell on the man’s arm.
“Oh, that’s your game, is it?” cried the ruffian. He drew back his fist as though to fell Jerry.
“Help! help!” yelled Bob. He was being pulled from the car by the tramp who had grabbed him. It looked bad for the Motor Boys.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="car part, risk">
<poem>
Ned sprang up from the rear. He had been fumbling in a valise on the floor of the tonneau. He leaned forward over the front seat. In each hand he held some object, bright and shining, and he aimed them full in the faces of the two tramps on either side of the auto.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
“Take that!” Ned cried.
There was a sharp, hissing sound, a click, and the air was filled with a pungent odor.
“I’m killed! He’s blinded me!” yelled the tramp, who had grabbed Bob.
“Oh! oh! My head is blown off!” yelled the other ruffian.
Both of them toppled from the steps of the auto and rolled over and over in the road, screaming with pain and fright.
“And there’s one for you!” shouted Ned, taking aim at the tramp in front of the machine, and once more the hissing sound was heard.
“Wow!” cried the fellow, and, whirling around, he dashed off, full speed, down the road.
“Bully for you! Hit ’em again—knock ’em out—smash—bang—never say die—hear ’em yell—do it again—siss—boom—ah! Whoop!” cried Andy, standing on the seat and waving his cap.
The two tramps who had fallen to the road got up, and, still yelling in pain, followed their companion.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
“Start off!” exclaimed Ned to Bob. “I guess they won’t bother us again very soon.”
“What in the world did you do to them?” asked Jerry.
“Used an ammonia squirt-gun on each one,” said Ned.
He showed the boys two affairs that looked like small revolvers, only the ammunition was liquid spirits of ammonia, quite strong, contained in a rubber bulb in the handle. By pressing the bulb a fine stream of ammonia could be shot for quite a distance.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
“I saw ’em advertised in a magazine,” said Ned. “They were just the things for vicious dogs and men, it said, for they blind a person temporarily and make his face smart like sixty, but no permanent injury is done. I had ’em in my valise and I just happened to think of them when those chaps held us up.”
“Lucky you did,” commented Jerry. “I thought we were surely going to be robbed.”
“I guess they thought they were killed when they felt that ammonia,” said Bob. “Ned, you’re all right, that’s what you are!” he finished, heartily.
“I guess we’d better move along, or Mr. Wakefield may be worried about us,” suggested Jerry.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="car part, navigation, city, pleasure">
<poem>
So Bob threw the gear into place and the machine moved away. No further sign of the tramps was seen, and the boys reached Norwich without further incident. They found the hotel Mr. Wakefield had arranged to meet them at, and soon were eating a good supper. The adventure with the tramps was related, and Mr. Wakefield congratulated the boys on their pluck.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="city, navigation, speed, pleasure, safety">
<poem>
An early start was had next morning and good progress was made, so that by noon the travelers were in Waterbury, Conn., where dinner was eaten. Mr. Wakefield said that by swift traveling New York could be reached late that night, but he did not advise it. Instead, the night was spent in Danbury.
By noon the next day more than half the distance between their last stopping place and New York had been covered, and late that afternoon found the two autos speeding down Riverside Drive, leading to the metropolis. Not an accident had occurred since the hold-up by the tramps and the blowing out of the tire on the boys’ auto, and each one was congratulating himself that the trip was being made under the best of luck.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="slowness, accident, car part, animal, risk">
<poem>
The travelers were about opposite Grant’s tomb, and were moving along slowly, when suddenly, with a noise like a shot, one of Mr. Wakefield’s tires burst. A young woman, driving a spirited horse, was passing his auto at the time, and the animal, taking fright, took the bit in his teeth and bolted.
The young woman screamed in fright, lost her hold on the reins and clung desperately to the seat. There were no vehicles on the drive in that vicinity just then, excepting the two autos and the runaway.
“Quick!” cried Mr. Wakefield to the boys, as he brought his machine to a stop. “Take after her! There may be an accident! I can’t go on until I mend this break!”
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="skill, speed, animal, engine, sound">
<poem>
Ned was steering, and made a turn. Like a flash he threw on the third gear and the auto sprang forward like an unleashed hound. Bob, Andy and Jerry clung to the seats, while Ned steered the machine after the runaway horse.
The animal was now galloping at top speed, but the auto was creeping up on him. It made scarcely a sound, only a purring as the cylinders exploded, one after another.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="speed, animal, risk">
<poem>
“What are you going to do?” asked Jerry. “Go close enough so one of us can jump in the carriage?”
“Watch!” was all Ned replied.
Faster and faster went the auto. At length it passed the galloping steed, and the boys could see the young woman clinging in desperation to the seat. Then, as Ned steered the machine ahead of the horse, the boys saw what his plan was.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="skill, speed, animal, car part, risk, slowness">
<poem>
The animal was now directly behind the auto, coming on like the wind. Ned gave one glance back. Then he quickly threw the gears to first speed. So quickly was it done that the horse nearly rammed his nose into the rear of the tonneau. The animal did not think of dashing to one side and so passing the car. Instead he kept his place behind it.
Then Ned shut off the power and allowed the machine to drift along. The horse, seeing the obstruction continually in front of him, gradually reduced his speed, and finally, when the auto came to a stop, the animal did likewise.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
Jerry jumped from his seat and, running back, grasped the bridle. He spoke soothingly to the animal, and soon had him quieted. The young woman, pale and trembling, regained her composure.
“I’m so much obliged to you,” she said. “Really, I don’t know what possessed Dexter. He never was frightened at autos before. I’m a little ashamed of myself, too. I ought to have kept hold of the reins and I could have managed him.”
“Are you sure you will be all right now?” asked Jerry. “If not, one of us will go with you.”
“Oh, I can take care of him now,” replied the lady. “Dexter will be all right. I thank you boys very much,” she added, sweetly, and a moment later drove off.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="maintenance, car part, navigation, city, parking, night">
<poem>
The boys turned the auto around and speeded back to where they had left Mr. Wakefield. He had repaired the break in the tire in the meanwhile and was ready to proceed.
In a short time the travelers steered for the hotel, uptown, where Mr. Wakefield had engaged rooms for all. The machines were sent to a garage, and the boys prepared to wash up for supper. It was getting quite dark, and the electric lights in the streets were gleaming. Jerry was looking from the window of the sitting-room of the suite which the boys had on the third floor.
</poem>
</paragraph><paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
Suddenly he gave a start and cried:
“There he goes!”
“Who?” asked Ned.
“Noddy Nixon!” replied Jerry, dashing from the room.
</poem>
</paragraph>