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Tom Swift and His Motor Cycle by Victor Appleton
CHAPTER XIII CAUGHT IN A STORM
The more Tom tried to reason out the cause of the men's actions, the more he dwelt
upon his encounter with the ***, and the harder he endeavored to seek a solution of
the *** puzzle, the more complicated it seemed.
He rode on until he saw in a valley below him the buildings of the town of
Centreford, and, with a view of them, a new idea came into his mind.
"I'll go get a good dinner," he decided, "and perhaps that will help me to think
more clearly. That's what dad always does when he's
puzzling over an invention."
He was soon seated in a restaurant, where he ate a substantial dinner.
"I'm just going to stop puzzling over this matter," he decided.
"I'll push an to Albany and tell the lawyer, Mr. Crawford.
Perhaps he can advise me." Once this decision was made Tom felt
better.
"That's just what I needed," he thought; "some one to shift the responsibility upon.
I'll let the lawyers do the worrying. That's what they're paid for.
Now for Albany, and I hope I don't have to stop, except for supper, until I get there.
I've got to do some night riding, but I've got a powerful lamp, and the roads from now
on are good."
Tom was soon on his way again. The highway leading to Albany was a hard,
macadam one, and he fairly flew along the level stretches.
"This is making good time," he thought.
"I won't be so very late, after all; that is, if nothing delays me."
The young inventor looked up into the sky.
The sun, which had been shining brightly all day, was now hidden behind a mass of
hazy clouds, for which the rider was duly grateful, as it was becoming quite warm.
"It's more like summer than I thought," said Tom to himself.
"I shouldn't be surprised if we got rain to-morrow."
Another look at the sky confirmed him in this belief, and he had not gone on many
miles farther when his opinion was suddenly changed.
This was brought about by a dull rumble in the west, and Tom noticed that a bank of
low-lying clouds had formed, the black, inky masses of vapor being whirled upward
as if by some powerful blast.
"Guess my storm is going to arrive ahead of time," he said.
"I'd better look for shelter." With a suddenness that characterizes summer
showers, the whole sky became overcast.
The thunder increased, and the flashes of lightning became more frequent and
dazzling. A wind sprang up and blew clouds of dust in
Tom's face.
"It certainly is going to be a thunder storm," he admitted.
"I'm bound to be delayed now, for the roads will be mucky.
Well, there's no help for it.
If I get to Albany before midnight I'll be doing well."
A few drops of rain splashed on his hands, and as he looked up to note the state of
the sky others fell in his face.
They were big drops, and where they splashed on the road they formed little
globules of mud. "I'll head for that big tree," thought Tom
"It will give me some shelter.
I'll wait there--" His words were interrupted by a deafening crash of thunder
which followed close after a blinding flash.
"No tree for mine!" murmured Tom.
"I forgot that they're dangerous in a storm.
I wonder where I can stay?" He turned on all the power possible and
sprinted ahead.
Around a curve in the road he went, leaning over to preserve his balance, and just as
the rain came pelting down in a torrent he saw just ahead of him a white church on the
lonely country road.
To one side was a long shed, where the farmers were in the habit of leaving their
teams when they came to service. "Just the thing!" cried the boy; "and just
in time!"
He turned his motor-cycle into the yard surrounding the church, and a moment later
had come to a stop beneath the shed.
It was broad and long, furnishing a good protection against the storm, which had now
burst in all its fury.
Tom was not very wet, and looking to see that the model, which was partly of wood,
had suffered no damage, the lad gave his attention to his machine.
"Seems to be all right," he murmured.
"I'll just oil her up while I'm waiting. This can't last long; it's raining too
hard."
He busied himself over the motor-cycle, adjusting a nut that had been rattled
loose, and putting some oil on the bearings.
The rain kept up steadily, and when he had completed his attentions to his machine Tom
looked out from under the protection of the shed.
"It certainly is coming down for keeps," he murmured.
"This trip is a regular hoodoo so far. Hope I have it better coming back."
As he looked down the road he espied an automobile coming through the mist of rain.
It was an open car, and as he saw the three men in it huddled up under the insufficient
protection of some blankets, Tom said:
"They'd ought to come in here. There's lots of room.
Maybe they don't see it. I'll call to them."
The car was almost opposite the shed which was dose to the roadside.
Tom was about to call when one of the men in the auto looked up.
He saw the shelter and spoke to the chauffeur.
The latter was preparing to steer up into the shed when the two men on the rear seat
caught sight of Tom.
"Why, that's the same car that passed me a while ago," said the young inventor half
aloud. "The one that contained those men whom I
suspected might be after dad's patent.
I hope they--" He did not finish his sentence, for at that
instant the chauffeur quickly swung the machine around and headed it back into the
road.
Clearly the men were not going to take advantage of the shelter of the shed.
"That's mighty strange," murmured Tom. "They certainly saw me, and as soon as they
did they turned away.
Can they be afraid of me?" He went to the edge of the shelter and
peered out.
The auto had disappeared down the road behind a veil of rain, and, shaking his
head over the strange occurrence, Tom went back to where he had left his motor-cycle.
"Things are getting more and more muddled," he said.
"I'm sure those were the same men, and yet- -"
He shrugged his shoulders.
The puzzle was getting beyond him.
>
Tom Swift and His Motor Cycle by Victor Appleton
CHAPTER XIV ATTACKED FROM BEHIND
Steadily the rain came down, the wind driving it under the shed until Tom was
hard put to find a place where the drops would not reach him.
He withdrew into a far corner, taking his motor-cycle with him, and then, sitting on
a block of wood, under the rough mangers where the horses were fed while the farmers
attended church, the lad thought over the situation.
He could make little of it, and the more he tried the worse it seemed to become.
He looked out across the wet landscape.
"I wonder if this is ever going to stop?" he mused.
"It looks as if it was in for an all-day pour, yet we ought only to have a summer
shower by rights."
"But then I guess what I think about it won't influence the weather man a bit.
I might as well make myself comfortable, for I can't do anything.
Let's see.
If I get to Fordham by six o'clock I ought to be able to make Albany by nine, as it's
only forty miles. I'll get supper in Fordham, and push on.
That is, I will if the rain stops."
That was the most necessary matter to have happen first, and Tom arising from his seat
strolled over to the front of the shed to look out.
"I believe it is getting lighter in the west," he told himself.
"Yes, the clouds are lifting. It's going to clear.
It's only a summer shower, after all."
But just as he said that there came a sudden squall of wind and rain, fiercer
than any which had preceded. Tom was driven back to his seat on the log.
It was quite chilly now, and he noticed that near where he sat there was a big
opening in the rear of the shed, where a couple of boards were off.
"This must be a draughty place in winter," he observed.
"If I could find a drier spot I'd sit there, but this seems to be the best," and
he remained there, musing on many things.
Suddenly in the midst of his thoughts he imagined he heard the sound of an
automobile approaching. "I wonder if those men are coming back
here?" he exclaimed.
"If they are--" The youth again arose, and went to the
front of the shed. He could see nothing, and came back to
escape the rain.
There was no doubt but that the shower would soon be over, and looking at his
watch, Tom began to calculate when he might arrive in Albany.
He was busy trying to figure out the best plan to pursue, and was hardly conscious of
his surroundings.
Seated on the log, with his back to the opening in the shed, the young inventor
could not see a figure stealthily creeping up through the wet grass.
Nor could he see an automobile, which had come to a stop back of the horse shelter--
an automobile containing two rain-soaked men, who were anxiously watching the one
stealing through the grass.
Tom put his watch back into his pocket and looked out into the storm.
It was almost over. The sun was trying to shine through the
clouds, and only a few drops were falling.
The youth stretched with a yawn, for he was tired of sitting still.
At the moment when he raised his arms to relieve his muscles something was thrust
through the opening behind him.
It was a long club, and an instant later it descended on the lad's head.
He went down in a heap, limp and motionless.
Through the opening leaped a man.
He bent over Tom, looked anxiously at him, and then, stepping to the place where the
boards were off the shed, he motioned to the men in the automobile.
They hurried from the machine, and were soon beside their companion.
"I knocked him out, all right," observed the man who had reached through and dealt
Tom the blow with the club.
"Knocked him out! I should say you did, Featherton!"
exclaimed one who appeared better dressed than the others.
"Have you killed him?"
"No; but I wish you wouldn't mention my name, Mr. Appleson.
I--I don't like--" "Nonsense, Featherton.
No one can hear us.
But I'm afraid you've done for the chap. I didn't want him harmed."
"Oh, I guess Featherton knows how to do it, Appleson," commented the third man.
"He's had experience that way, eh, Featherton?"
"Yes, Mr. Morse; but if you please I wish you wouldn't mention--"
"All right, Featherton, I know what you mean," rejoined the man addressed as Morse.
"Now let's see if we have drawn a blank or not.
I think he has with him the very thing we want."
"Doesn't seem to be about his person," observed Appleson, as he carefully felt
about the clothing of the unfortunate Tom.
"Very likely not. It's too bulky.
But there's his motor-cycle over there. It looks as if what we wanted was on the
back of the saddle.
Jove, Featherton, but I think he's coming to!"
Tom stirred uneasily and moved his arms, while a moan came from between his parted
lips.
"I've got some stuff that will fix him!" exclaimed the man addressed as Featherton,
and who had been operating the automobile. He took something from his pocket and
leaned over Tom.
In a moment the young inventor was still again.
"Quick now, see if it's there," directed Morse, and Appleson hurried over to the
machine.
"Here it is!" he called. "I'll take it to our car, and we can get
away." "Are you going to leave him here like
this?" asked Morse.
"Yes; why not?" "Because some one might have seen him come
in here, and also remember that we, too, came in this direction."
"What would you do?"
"Take him down the road a way and leave him.
We can find some shed near a farmhouse where he and his machine will be out of
sight until we get far enough away.
Besides, I don't like to leave him so far from help, unconscious as he is."
"Oh, you're getting chicken-hearted," said Appleson with a sneer.
"However, have your way about it.
I wonder what has become of Jake Burke? He was to meet us in Centreford, but he did
not show up."
"Oh, I shouldn't be surprised if he had trouble in that *** rig he insisted on
adopting. I told him he was running a risk, but he
said he had masqueraded as a *** before."
"So he has. He's pretty good at it.
Now, Simpson, if you will--" "Not Simpson!
I thought you agreed to call me Featherton," interrupted the chauffeur,
turning to Morse and Appleson. "Oh, so we did.
I forgot that this lad met us one day, and heard me call you Simpson," admitted Morse.
"Well, Featherton it shall be. But we haven't much time.
It's stopped raining, and the roads will soon be well traveled.
We must get away, and if we are to take the lad and his machine to some secluded place,
we'd better be at it.
No use waiting for Burke. He can look out after himself.
Anyhow, we have the model now, and there's no use in him hanging around Swift's shop,
as he intended to do, waiting for a chance to sneak in after it.
Appleson, if you and Simpson--I mean Featherton--will carry young Swift, I'll
shove his wheel along to the auto, and we can put it and him in."
The two men, first looking through the hole in the shed to make sure they were not
observed, went out, carrying Tom, who was no light load.
Morse followed them, pushing the motor- cycle, and carrying under one arm the
bundle containing the valuable model, which he had detached.
"I think this is the time we get ahead of Mr. Swift," murmured Morse, pulling his
black mustache, when he and his companions had reached the car in the field.
"We have just what we want now."
"Yes, but we had hard enough work getting it," observed Appleson.
"Only by luck we saw this lad come in here, or we would have had to chase all over for
him, and maybe then we would have missed him.
Hurry, Simpson--I mean Featherton.
It's getting late, and we've got lots to do."
The chauffeur sprang to his seat, Appleson taking his place beside him.
The motor-cycle was tied on behind the big touring car, and with the unconscious form
of Tom in the tonneau, beside Morse, who stroked his mustache nervously, the auto
started off.
The storm had passed, and the sun was shining brightly, but Tom could not see it.
>
Tom Swift and His Motor Cycle by Victor Appleton
CHAPTER XV A VAIN SEARCH
Several hours later Tom had a curious dream.
He imagined he was wandering about in the polar regions, and that it was very cold.
He was trying to reason with himself that he could not possibly be on an expedition
searching for the North Pole, still he felt such a keen wind blowing over his ***-
covered body that he shivered.
He shivered so hard, in fact, that he shivered himself awake, and when he tried
to pierce the darkness that enveloped him he was startled, for a moment, with the
idea that perhaps, after all, he had wandered off to some unknown country.
For it was quite dark and cold.
He was in a daze, and there was a curious smell about him--an odor that he tried to
recall. Then, all at once, it came to him what it
was--chloroform.
Once his father had undergone an operation, and to deaden his pain chloroform had been
used.
"I've been chloroformed!" exclaimed the young inventor, and his words sounded
strange in his ears. "That's it.
I've met with an accident riding my motor- cycle.
I must have hit my head, for it hurts fearful.
They picked me up, carried me to a hospital and have operated on me.
I wonder if they took off an arm or leg? I wonder what hospital I'm in?
Why is it so dark and cold?"
As he asked himself these questions his brain gradually cleared from the haze
caused by the cowardly blow, and from the chloroform that had been administered by
Featherton.
Tom's first act was to feel first of one arm, then the other.
Having satisfied himself that neither of these members were mutilated he reached
down to his legs.
"Why, they're all right, too," he murmured. "I wonder what they did to me?
That's certainly, chloroform I smell, and my head feels as if some one had sat on it.
I wonder--"
Quickly he put up his hands to his head. There appeared to be nothing the matter
with it, save that there was quite a lump on the back, where the club had struck.
"I seem to be all here," went on Tom, much mystified.
"But where am I? That's the question.
It's a funny hospital, so cold and dark--"
Just then his hands came in contact with the cold ground on which he was lying.
"Why, I'm outdoors!" he exclaimed.
Then in a flash it all came back to him-- how he had gone to wait under the church
shed until the rain was over. "I fell asleep, and now it's night," the
youth went on.
"No wonder I am sore and stiff. And that chloroform--" He could not account
for that, and he paused, puzzled once more. Then he struggled to a sitting position.
His head was strangely dizzy, but he persisted, and got to his feet.
He could see nothing, and groped around In the dark, until he thought to strike a
match.
Fortunately he had a number in his pocket. As the little flame flared up Tom started
in surprise. "This isn't the church shed!" he exclaimed.
"It's much smaller!
I'm in a different place! Great Scott! but what has happened to me?"
The match burned Tom's fingers and he dropped it.
The darkness closed in once more, but Tom was used to it by this time, and looking
ahead of him he could make out that the shed was an open one, similar to the one
where he had taken shelter.
He could see the sky studded with stars, and could feel the cold night wind blowing
in. "My motor-cycle!" he exclaimed in alarm.
"The model of dad's invention--the papers!"
Our hero thrust his hand into his pocket. The papers were gone!
Hurriedly he lighted another match. It took but an instant to glance rapidly
about the small shed.
His machine was not in sight! Tom felt his heart sink.
After all his precautions he had been robbed.
The precious model was gone, and it had been his proposition to take it to Albany
in this manner. What would his father say?
The lad lighted match after match, and made a rapid tour of the shed.
The motor-cycle was not to be seen.
But what puzzled Tom more than anything else was how he had been brought from the
church shed to the one where he had awakened from his stupor.
"Let me try to think," said the boy, speaking aloud, for it seemed to help him.
"The last I remember is seeing that automobile, with those mysterious men in,
approaching.
Then it disappeared in the rain. I thought I heard it again, but I couldn't
see it. I was sitting on the log, and--and--well,
that's all I can remember.
I wonder if those men--" The young inventor paused.
Like a flash it came to him that the men were responsible for his predicament.
They had somehow made him insensible, stolen his motor-cycle, the papers and the
model, and then brought him to this place, wherever it was.
Tom was a shrewd reasoner, and he soon evolved a theory which he afterward learned
was the correct one.
He reasoned out almost every step in the crime of which he was the victim, and at
last came to the conclusion that the men had stolen up behind the shed and attacked
him.
"Now, the next question to settle," spoke Tom, "is to learn where I am.
How far did those scoundrels carry me, and what has become of my motor-cycle?"
He walked toward the point of the shed where he could observe the stars gleaming,
and there he lighted some more matches, hoping he might see his machine.
By the gleam of the little flame he noted that he was in a farmyard, and he was just
puzzling his brain over the question as to what city or town he might be near when he
heard a voice shouting:
"Here, what you lightin' them matches for? You want to set the place afire?
Who be you, anyhow--a ***?"
It was unmistakably the voice of a farmer, and Tom could hear footsteps approaching on
the run. "Who be you, anyhow?" the voice repeated.
"I'll have the constable after you in a jiffy if you're a ***."
"I'm not a ***," called Tom promptly. "I've met with an accident.
Where am I?"
"Humph! Mighty funny if you don't know where you
are," commented the farmer. "Jed, bring a lantern until I take a look
at who this is."
"All right, pop," answered another voice, and a moment later Tom saw a tall man
standing in front of him.
"I'll give you a look at me without waiting for the lantern," said Tom quickly, and he
struck a match, holding it so that the gleam fell upon his face.
"Salt mackerel!
It's a young feller!" exclaimed the farmer. "Who be you, anyhow, and what you doin'
here?"
"That's just what I would like to know," said Tom, passing his hand over his head,
which was still paining him. "Am I near Albany?
That's where I started for this morning."
"Albany? You're a good way from Albany," replied the
farmer. "You're in the village of Dunkirk."
"How far is that from Centreford?"
"About seventy miles." "As far as that?" cried Tom.
"They must have carried me a good way in their automobile."
"Was you in that automobile?" demanded the farmer.
"Which one?" asked Tom quickly. "The one that stopped down the road just
before supper.
I see it, but I didn't pay no attention to it.
If I'd 'a' knowed you fell out, though, I'd 'a' come to help you."
"I didn't fall out, Mr.--er--" Tom paused.
"Blackford is my name; Amos Blackford." "Well, Mr. Blackford, I didn't fall out.
I was drugged and brought here." "Drugged!
Salt mackerel!
But there's been a crime committed, then. Jed, hurry up with that lantern an' git
your deputy sheriff's badge on. There's been druggin' an' all sorts of
crimes committed.
I've caught one of the victims. Hurry up!
My son's a deputy sheriff," he added, by way of an explanation.
"Then I hope he can help me catch the scoundrels who robbed me," said Tom.
"Robbed you, did they? Hurry up, Jed.
There's been a robbery!
We'll rouse the neighborhood an' search for the villains.
Hurry up, Jed!"
"I'd rather find my motor-cycle, and a valuable model which was on it, than locate
those men," went on Tom. "They also took some papers from me."
Then he told how he had started for Albany, adding his theory of how he had been
attacked and carried away in the auto. The latter part of it was borne out by the
testimony of Mr. Blackford.
"What I know about it," said the farmer, when his son Jed had arrived on the scene
with a lantern and his badge, "is that jest about supper time I saw an automobile stop
down the road a bit, It was gittin' dusk, an' I saw some men git out.
I didn't pay no attention to them, 'cause I was busy about the milkin'.
The next I knowed I seen some one strikin' matches in my wagon shed, an' I come out to
see what it was."
"The men must have brought me all the way from the church shed near Centreford to
here," declared Tom. "Then they lifted me out and put me in your
shed.
Maybe they left my motor-cycle also." "I didn't see nothin' like that," said the
farmer.
"Is that what you call one of them two- wheeled lickity-split things that a man
sits on the middle of an' goes like chain- lightning?"
"It is," said Tom.
"I wish you'd help me look for it." The farmer and his son agreed, and other
lanterns having been secured, a search was made.
After about half an hour the motor-cycle was discovered in some bushes at the side
of the road, near where the automobile had stopped.
But the model was missing from it, and a careful search near where the machine had
been hidden did not reveal it.
Nor did as careful a hunt as they could make in the darkness disclose any clues to
the scoundrels who had drugged and robbed Tom.
>
Tom Swift and His Motor Cycle by Victor Appleton
CHAPTER XVI BACK HOME
"We've got to organize a regular searchin' party," declared Jed Blackford, after he
and his father, together with Tom and the farmer's hired man, had searched up and
down the road by the light of lanterns.
"We'll organize a posse an' have a regular hunt.
This is the worst crime that's been committed in this deestrict in many years,
an' I'm goin' to run the scoundrels to earth."
"Don't be talkin' nonsense, Jed," interrupted his father.
"You won't catch them fellers in a hundred years.
They're miles an' miles away from here by this time in their automobile.
All you can do is to notify the sheriff. I guess we'd better give this young man
some attention.
Let's see, you said your name was Quick, didn't you?"
"No, but it's very similar," answered Tom with a smile.
"It's Swift."
"I knowed it was something had to do with speed," went on Mr. Blackford.
"Wa'al, now, s'pose you come in the house an' have a hot cup of tea.
You look sort of draggled out."
Tom was glad enough to avail himself of the kind invitation, and he was soon in the
comfortable kitchen, relating his story, with more detail, to the farmer and his
family.
Mrs. Blackford applied some home-made remedies to the lump on the youth's head,
and it felt much better.
"I'd like to take a look at my motor- cycle," he said, after his second cup of
tea. "I want to see if those men damaged it any.
If they have I'm going to have trouble getting back home to tell my father of my
bad luck. Poor dad!
He will be very much worried when I tell him the model and his patent papers have
been stolen." "It's too bad!" exclaimed Mrs. Blackford.
"I wish I had hold of them scoundrels!" and her usually gentle face bore a severe
frown.
"Of course you can have your thing-a-ma-bob in to see if it's hurt, but please don't
start it in here. They make a terrible racket."
"No, I'll look it over in the woodshed," promised Tom.
"If it's all right I think I'll start back home at once."
"No, you can't do that," declared Mr. Blackford.
"You're in no condition to travel. You might fall off an' git hurt.
It's nearly ten o'clock now.
You jest stay here all night, an' in the mornin', if you feel all right, you can
start off. I couldn't let you go to-night."
Indeed, Tom did not feel very much like undertaking the journey, for the blow on
his head had made him dazed, and the chloroform caused a sick feeling.
Mr. Blackford wheeled the motor-cycle into the woodhouse, which opened from the
kitchen, and there the youth went over the machine.
He was glad to find that it had sustained no damage.
In the meanwhile Jed had gone off to tell the startling news to near-by farmers.
Quite a throng, with lanterns, went up and down the road, but all the evidence they
could find were the marks of the automobile wheels, which clues were not very
satisfactory.
"But we'll catch them in the mornin'," declared the deputy sheriff.
"I'll know that automobile again if I see it.
It was painted red."
"That's the color of a number of automobiles," said Tom with a smile.
"I'm afraid you'll have trouble identifying it by that means.
I am surprised, though, that they did not carry my motor-cycle away with them.
It is a valuable machine." "They were afraid to," declared Jed.
"It would look *** to see a machine like that in an auto.
Of course when they were going along country roads in the evening it didn't much
matter, but when they headed for the city, as they probably did, they knew it would
attract suspicion to 'em.
I know, for I've been a deputy sheriff 'most a year."
"I believe you're right," agreed Tom.
"They didn't dare take the motor-cycle with them, but they hid it, hoping I would not
find it. I'd rather have the model and the papers,
though, than half a dozen motor-cycles."
"Maybe the police will help you find them," said Mrs. Blackford.
"Jed, you must telephone to the police the first thing in the morning.
It's a shame the way criminals are allowed to go on.
If honest people did those things, they'd be arrested in a minute, but it seems that
scoundrels can do as they please."
"You wait; I'll catch 'em!" declared Jed confidently.
"I'll organize another posse in the mornin'."
"Well, I know one thing, and that is that the place for this young man is in bed!"
exclaimed motherly Mrs. Blackford, and she insisted on Tom retiring.
He was somewhat restless at first, and the thought of the loss of the model and the
papers preyed on his mind.
Then, utterly exhausted, he sank into a heavy slumber, and did not awaken until the
sun was shining in his window the next morning.
A good breakfast made him feel somewhat better, and he was more like the
resourceful Tom Swift of old when he went to get his motor-cycle in shape for the
ride back to Shopton.
"Well, I hope you find those criminals," said Mr. Blackford, as he watched Tom
oiling the machine. "If you're ever out this way again, stop
off and see us."
"Yes, do," urged Mrs. Blackford, who was getting ready to churn.
Her husband looked at the old-fashioned barrel and dasher arrangement, which she
was filling with cream.
"What's the matter with the new churn?" he asked in some surprise.
"It's broken," she replied. "It's always the way with those new-fangled
things.
It works ever so much nicer than this old one, though," she went on to Tom, "but it
gets out of order easy." "Let me look at it," suggested the young
inventor.
"I know something about machinery." The churn, which worked by a system of cogs
and a handle, was brought from the woodshed.
Tom soon saw what the trouble was.
One of the cogs had become displaced. It did not take him five minutes, with the
tools he carried on his motor-cycle, to put it back, and the churn was ready to use.
"Well, I declare!" exclaimed Mrs. Blackford.
"You are handy at such things!" "Oh, it's just a knack," replied Tom
modestly.
"Now I'll put a plug in there, and the cog wheel won't come loose again.
The manufacturers of it ought to have done that.
I imagine lots of people have this same trouble with these churns."
"Indeed they do," asserted Mrs. Blackford. "Sallie Armstrong has one, and it got out
of order the first week they had it.
I'll let her look at mine, and maybe her husband can fix it."
"I'd go and do it myself, but I want to get home," said Tom, and then he showed her
how, by inserting a small iron plug in a certain place, there would be no danger of
the cog coming loose again.
"That's certainly slick!" exclaimed Mr. Blackford.
"Well, I wish you good luck, Mr. Swift, and if I see those scoundrels around this
neighborhood again I'll make 'em wish they'd let you alone."
"That's what," added Jed, polishing his badge with his big, red handkerchief.
Mrs. Blackford transferred the cream to the new churn which Tom had fixed, and as he
rode off down the highway on his motor- cycle, she waved one hand to him, while
with the other she operated the handle of the apparatus.
"Now for a quick run to Shopton to tell dad the bad news," spoke Tom to himself as he
turned on full speed and dashed away.
"My trip has been a failure so far."
>
Tom Swift and His Motor Cycle by Victor Appleton
CHAPTER XVII MR. SWIFT IN DESPAIR
Tom was thinking of many things as his speedy machine carried him mile after mile
nearer home.
By noon he was over half way on his journey, and he stopped in a small village
for his dinner.
"I think I'll make inquiries of the police here, to see if they caught sight of those
men," decided Tom as he left the restaurant.
"Though I am inclined to believe they kept on to Albany, or some large city, where
they have their headquarters.
They will want to make use of dad's model as soon as possible, though what they will
do with it I don't know."
He tried to telephone to his father, but could get no connection, as the wire was
being repaired.
The police force of the place where Tom had stopped for lunch was like the town itself-
-small and not of much consequence.
The chief constable, for he was not what one could call a chief of police, had heard
of the matter from the alarm sent out in all directions from Dunkirk, where Mr.
Blackford lived.
"You don't mean to tell me you're the young man who was chloroformed and robbed!"
exclaimed the constable, looking at Tom as if he doubted his word.
"I'm the young man," declared our hero.
"Have you seen anything of the thieves?" "Not a thing, though I've instructed all my
men to keep a sharp lookout for a red automobile, with three scoundrels in it.
My men are to make an arrest on sight."
"How many men have you?" "Two," was the rather surprising answer;
"but one has to work on a farm daytimes, so I ain't really got but one in what you
might call active service."
Tom restrained a desire to laugh. At any rate, the aged constable meant well.
"One of my men seen a red automobile, a little while before you come in my office,"
went on the official, "but it wasn't the one wanted, 'cause a young woman was
running it all alone.
It struck me as rather curious that a woman would trust herself all alone in one of
them things; wouldn't it you?" "Oh, no, women and young ladies often
operate them," said Tom.
"I should think you'd find one handier than the two-wheeled apparatus you have out
there," went on the constable, indicating the motor-cycle, which Tom had stood up
against a tree.
"I may have one some day," replied the young inventor.
"But I guess I'll be moving on now.
Here's my address, in case you hear anything of those men, but I don't imagine
you will." "Me either.
Fellows as slick as them are won't come back this way and run the chance of being
arrested by my men.
I have two on duty nights," he went on proudly, "besides myself, so you see we're
pretty well protected." Tom thanked him for the trouble he had
taken, and was soon on his way again.
He swept on along the quiet country roads anxious for the time when he could consult
with his father over what would be the best course to take.
When Tom was about a mile away from his house he saw in the road ahead of him a
rickety old wagon, and a second glance at it told him the outfit belonged to
Eradicate Sampson, for the animal drawing
the vehicle was none other than the mule, Boomerang.
"But what in the world is Rad up to?" mused Tom, for the colored man was out of the
wagon and was going up and down in the grass at the side of the highway in a
curious fashion.
"I guess he's lost something," decided Tom. When he got nearer he saw what Eradicate
was doing.
The colored man was pushing a lawn-mower slowly to and fro in the tall, rank grass
that grew beside the thoroughfare, and at the sound of Tom's motor-cycle the ***
looked up.
There was such a woe-begone expression on his face that Tom at once stopped his
machine and got off. "What's the matter, Rad?"
Tom asked.
"Mattah, Mistah Swift? Why, dere's a pow'ful lot de mattah, an'
dat's de truff. I'se been swindled, dat's what I has."
"Swindled? How?"
"Well, it's dis-a-way. Yo' see dis yeah lawn-moah?"
"Yes; it doesn't seem to work," and Tom glanced critically at it.
As Eradicate pushed it slowly to and fro, the blades did not revolve, and the wheels
slipped along on the grass. "No, sah, it doan't work, an' dat's how
I've been swindled, Mistah Swift.
Yo' see, I done traded mah ole grindstone off for dis yeah lawn-moah, an' I got
stuck."
"What, that old grindstone that was broken in two, and that you fastened together with
concrete?" asked Tom, for he had seen the outfit with which Eradicate, in spare times
between cleaning and whitewashing, had gone
about the country, sharpening knives and scissors.
"You don't mean that old, broken one?" "Dat's what I mean, Mistah Swift.
Why, it was all right.
I mended it so dat de break wouldn't show, an' it would sharpen things if yo' run it
slow. But dis yeah lawn-moah won't wuk slow ner
fast."
"I guess it was an even exchange, then," went on Tom.
"You didn't get bitten any worse than the other fellow did."
"Yo' doan't s'pose yo' kin fix dis yeah moah so's I kin use it, does yo', Mistah
Swift?" asked Eradicate, not bothering to go into the ethics of the matter.
"I reckon now with summah comin' on I kin make mo' with a lawn-moah than I kin with a
grindstone--dat is, ef I kin git it to wuk. I jest got it a while ago an' decided to
try it, but it won't cut no grass."
"I haven't much time," said Tom, "for I'm anxious to get home, but I'll take a look
at it." Tom leaned his motor-cycle against the
fence.
He could no more pass a bit of broken machinery, which he thought he could mend,
than some men and boys can pass by a baseball game without stopping to watch it,
no matter how pressed they are for time.
It was Tom's hobby, and he delighted in nothing so much as tinkering with machines,
from lawn-mowers to steam engines.
Tom took hold of the handle, which Eradicate gladly relinquished to him, and
his trained touch told him at once what was the trouble.
"Some one has had the wheels off and put them on wrong, Rad," he said.
"The ratchet and pawl are reversed. This mower would work backwards, if that
were possible."
"Am dat so, Mistah Swift?" "That's it.
All I have to do is to take off the wheels and reverse the pawl."
"I--I didn't know mah lawn-moah was named Paul," said the colored man.
"Is it writ on it anywhere?" "No, it's not the kind of Paul you mean,"
said Tom with a laugh.
"It's spelled differently.
A pawl is a sort of catch that fits into a ratchet wheel and pushes it around, or it
may be used as a catch to prevent the backward motion of a windlass or the wheel
on a derrick.
I'll have it fixed in a jiffy for you." Tom worked rapidly.
With a monkey-wrench he removed the two big wheels of the lawn-mower and reversed the
pawl in the cogs.
In five minutes he had replaced the wheels, and the machine, except for needed
sharpening, did good work. "There you are, Rad!" exclaimed Tom at
length.
"Yo' suah am a wonder at inventin'!" cried the colored man gratefully.
"I'll cut yo' grass all summah fo' yo' to pay fo' this, Mistah Swift."
"Oh, that's too much.
I didn't do a great deal, Rad." "Well, yo' saved me from bein' swindled,
Mistah Swift, an' I suah does 'preciate dat."
"How about the fellow you traded the cracked grindstone to, Rad?"
"Oh, well, ef he done run it slow it won't fly apart, an' he'll do dat, anyhow, fo' he
suah am a lazy ***.
I guess we am about even there, Mistah Swift."
"All right," spoke Tom with a laugh. "Sharpen it up, Rad, and start in to cut
grass.
It will soon be summer," and Tom, leaping upon his motor-cycle, was off like a shot.
He found his father in his library, reading a book on scientific matters.
Mr. Swift looked up in surprise at seeing his son.
"What! Back so soon?" he asked.
"You did make a flying trip.
Did you give the model and papers to Mr. Crawford?"
"No, dad, I was robbed yesterday. Those scoundrels got ahead of us, after
all.
They have your model. I tried to telephone to you, but the wires
were down, or something." "What!" cried Mr. Swift.
"Oh, Tom!
That's too bad! I will lose ten thousand dollars if I can't
get that model and those papers back!" and with a despairing gesture Mr. Swift rose
and began to pace the floor.
>
Tom Swift and His Motor Cycle by Victor Appleton
CHAPTER XVIII HAPPY HARRY AGAIN
Tom watched his father anxiously. The young inventor knew the loss had been a
heavy one, and he blamed himself for not having been more careful.
"Tell me all about it, Tom," said Mr. Swift at length.
"Are you sure the model and papers are gone?
How did it happen?"
Then Tom related what had befallen him. "Oh, that's too bad!" cried Mr. Swift.
"Are you much hurt, Tom? Shall I send for the doctor?"
For the time being his anxiety over his son was greater than that concerning his loss.
"No, indeed, dad. I'm all right now.
I got a bad blow on the head, but Mrs. Blackford fixed me up.
I'm awfully sorry---" "There, there!
Now don't say another word," interrupted Mr. Swift.
"It wasn't your fault. It might have happened to me.
I dare say it would, for those scoundrels seemed very determined.
They are desperate, and will stop at nothing to make good the loss they
sustained on the patent motor they exploited.
Now they will probably try to make use of my model and papers."
"Do you think they'll do that, dad?"
"Yes. They will either make a motor exactly like mine, or construct one so nearly
similar that it will answer their purpose. I will have no redress against them, as my
patent is not fully granted yet.
Mr. Crawford was to attend to that." "Can't you do anything to stop them, dad?
File an injunction, or something like that?"
"I don't know.
I must see Mr. Crawford at once. I wonder if he could come here?
He might be able to advise me. I have had very little experience with
legal difficulties.
My specialty is in other lines of work. But I must do something.
Every moment is valuable. I wonder who the men were?"
"I'm sure one of them was the same man who came here that night--the man with the
black mustache, who dropped the telegram," said Tom.
"I had a pretty good look at him as the auto passed me, and I'm sure it was he.
Of course I didn't see who it was that struck me down, but I imagine it was some
one of the same gang."
"Very likely. Well, Tom, I must do something.
I suppose I might telegraph to Mr. Crawford--he will be expecting you in
Albany--" Mr. Swift paused musingly.
"No, I have it!" he suddenly exclaimed. "I'll go to Albany myself."
"Go to Albany, dad?"
"Yes; I must explain everything to the lawyers and then he can advise me what to
do. Fortunately I have some papers, duplicates
of those you took, which I can show him.
Of course the originals will be necessary before I can prove my claim.
The loss of the model is the most severe, however.
Without that I can do little.
But I will have Mr. Crawford take whatever steps are possible.
I'll take the night train, Tom.
I'll have to leave you to look after matters here, and I needn't caution you to
be on your guard, though, having got what they were after, I fancy those financiers,
or their tools, will not bother us again."
"Very likely not," agreed Tom, "but I will keep my eyes open, just the same.
Oh, but that reminds me, dad. Did you see anything of a *** around here
while I was away?"
"A ***? No; but you had better ask Mrs. Baggert.
She usually attends to them. She's so kind-hearted that she frequently
gives them a good meal."
The housekeeper, when consulted, said that no tramps had applied in the last few days.
"Why do you ask, Tom?" inquired his father.
"Because I had an experience with one, and I believe he was a member of the same gang
who robbed me."
And thereupon Tom told of his encounter with Happy Harry, and how the latter had
broken the wire on the motor-cycle. "You had a narrow escape," commented Mr.
Swift.
"If I had known the dangers involved I would never have allowed you to take the
model to Albany."
"Well, I didn't take it there, after all," said Tom with a grim smile, for he could
appreciate a joke. "I must hurry and pack my valise," went on
Mr. Swift.
"Mrs. Baggert, we will have an early supper, and I will start at once for
Albany." "I wish I could go with you, dad, to make
up for the trouble I caused," spoke Tom.
"Tut, tut! Don't talk that way," advised his father
kindly. "I will be glad of the trip.
It will ease my mind to be doing something."
Tom felt rather lonesome after his father had left, but he laid out a plan of action
for himself that he thought would keep him occupied until his father returned.
In the first place he made a tour of the house and various machine shops to see that
doors and windows were securely fastened. "What's the matter?
Do you expect burglars, Master Tom?" asked Garret Jackson, the aged engineer.
"Well, Garret, you never can tell," replied the young inventor, as he told of his
experience and the necessity for Mr. Swift going to Albany.
"Some of those scoundrels, finding how easy it was to rob me, may try it again, and get
some at dad's other valuable models. I'm taking no chances."
"That's right, Master Tom.
I'll keep steam up in the boiler to-night, though we don't really need it, as your
father told me you would probably not run any machinery when he was gone.
But with a good head of steam up, and a hose handy, I can give any burglars a hot
reception. I almost wish they'd come, so I could get
square with them."
"I don't, Garret. Well, I guess everything is in good shape.
If you hear anything unusual, or the alarm goes off during the night, call me."
"I will, Master Tom," and the old engineer, who had a living-room in a shack adjoining
the boiler-room, locked the door after Tom left.
The young inventor spent the early evening in attaching a new wire to his motor-cycle
to replace the one he had purchased while on his disastrous trip.
The temporary one was not just the proper thing, though it answered well enough.
Then, having done some work on a new boat propeller he was contemplating patenting,
Tom felt that it was time to go to bed, as he was tired.
He made a second round of the house, looking to doors and windows, until Mrs.
Baggert exclaimed: "Oh, Tom, do stop!
You make me nervous, going around that way.
I'm sure I shan't sleep a wink to-night, thinking of burglars and tramps."
Tom laughingly desisted, and went up to his room.
He sat up a few minutes, writing a letter to a girl of his acquaintance, for, in
spite of the fact that the young inventor was very busy with his own and his father's
work, he found time for lighter pleasures.
Then, as his eyes seemed determined to close of their own accord, if he did not
let them, he tumbled into bed. Tom fancied it was nearly morning when he
suddenly awoke with a start.
He heard a noise, and at first he could not locate it.
Then his trained ear traced it to the dining-room.
"Why, Mrs. Baggert must be getting breakfast, and is rattling the dishes," he
thought. "But why is she up so early?"
It was quite dark in Tom's room, save for a little gleam from the crescent moon, and by
the light of this Tom arose and looked at his watch.
"Two o'clock," he whispered.
"That can't be Mrs. Baggert, unless she's sick, and got up to take some medicine."
He listened intently. Below, in the dining-room, he could hear
stealthy movements.
"Mrs. Baggert would never move around like that," he decided.
"She's too heavy.
I wonder--it's a burglar--one of the gang has gotten in!" he exclaimed in tense
tones. "I'm going to catch him at it!"
Hurriedly he slipped on some clothes, and then, having softly turned on the electric
light in his room, he took from a corner a small rifle, which he made sure was loaded.
Then, having taken a small electric flashlight, of the kind used by police men,
and sometimes by burglars, he started on tiptoe toward the lower floor.
As Tom softly descended the stairs he could more plainly hear the movements of the
intruder.
He made out now that the burglar was in Mr. Swift's study, which opened from the
dining-room. "He's after dad's papers!" thought Tom.
"I wonder which one this is?"
The youth had often gone hunting in the woods, and he knew how to approach
cautiously. Thus he was able to reach the door of the
dining-room without being detected.
He had no need to flash his light, for the intruder was doing that so frequently with
one he carried that Tom could see him perfectly.
The fellow was working at the safe in which Mr. Swift kept his more valuable papers.
Softly, very softly Tom brought his rifle to bear on the back of the thief.
Then, holding the weapon with one hand, for it was very light, Tom extended the
electric flash, so that the glare would be thrown on the intruder and would leave his
own person in the black shadows.
Pressing the spring which caused the lantern to throw out a powerful glow, Tom
focused the rays on the kneeling man.
"That will be about all!" the youth exclaimed in as steady a voice as he could
manage. The burglar turned like a flash, and Tom
had a glimpse of his face.
It was the ***--Happy Harry--whom he had encountered on the lonely road.
>
Tom Swift and His Motor Cycle by Victor Appleton
CHAPTER XIX TOM ON A HUNT
Tom held his rifle in readiness, though he only intended it as a means of
intimidation, and would not have fired at the burglar except to save his own life.
But the sight of the weapon was enough for the ***.
He crouched motionless.
His own light had gone out, but by the gleam of the electric he carried Tom could
see that the man had in his hand some tool with which he had been endeavoring to force
the safe.
"I guess you've got me!" exclaimed the intruder, and there was in his tones no
trace of the *** dialect. "It looks like it," agreed Tom grimly.
"Are you a *** now, or in some other disguise?"
"Can't you see?" asked the fellow sullenly, and then Tom did notice that the man still
had on his *** make-up.
"What do you want?" asked Tom. "Hard to tell," replied the burglar calmly.
"I hadn't got the safe open before you came down and disturbed me.
I'm after money, naturally."
"No, you're not!" exclaimed Tom. "What's that?" and the man seemed
surprised. "No, you're not!" went on Tom, and he held
his rifle in readiness.
"You're after the patent papers and the model of the turbine motor.
But it's gone. Your confederates got it away from me.
They probably haven't told you yet, and you're still on the hunt for it.
You'll not get it, but I've got you." "So I see," admitted Happy Harry, and he
spoke with some culture.
"If you don't mind," he went on, "would you just as soon move that gun a little?
It's pointing right at my head, and it might go off."
"It is going off--very soon!" exclaimed Tom grimly, and the *** started in alarm.
"Oh, I'm not going to shoot you," continued the young inventor.
"I'm going to fire this as an alarm, and the engineer will come in here and tie you
up. Then I'm going to hand you over to the
police.
This rifle is a repeater, and I am a pretty good shot.
I'm going to fire once now, to summon assistance, and if you try to get away I'll
be ready to fire a second time, and that won't be so comfortable for you.
I've caught you, and I'm going to hold on to you until I get that model and those
papers back." "Oh, you are, eh?" asked the burglar
calmly.
"Well, all I've got to say is that you have grit.
Go ahead. I'm caught good and proper.
I was foolish to come in here, but I thought I'd take a chance."
"Who are you, anyhow?
Who are the men working with you to defraud my father of his rights?" asked Tom
somewhat bitterly. "I'll never tell you," answered the
burglar.
"I was hired to do certain work, and that's all there is to it.
I'm not going to peach on my pals." "We'll see about that!" burst out Tom.
Then he noticed that a dining-room window behind where the burglar was kneeling was
open.
Doubtless the intruder had entered that way, and intended to escape in the same
manner.
"I'm going to shoot," announced Tom, and, aiming his rifle at the open window, where
the bullet would do no damage, he pressed the trigger.
He noticed that the burglar was crouching low down on the floor, but Tom thought
nothing of this at the time.
He imagined that Happy Harry--or whatever his name was--might be afraid of getting
hit. There was a flash of fire and a deafening
report as Tom fired.
The cloud of smoke obscured his vision for a moment, and as the echoes died away Tom
could hear Mrs. Baggert screaming in her room.
"It's all right!" cried the young inventor reassuringly.
"No one is hurt, Mrs. Baggert!" Then he flashed his light on the spot where
the burglar had crouched.
As the smoke rolled away Tom peered in vain for a sight of the intruder.
Happy Harry was gone!
Holding his rifle in readiness, in case he should be attacked from some unexpected
quarter, Tom strode forward. He flashed his light in every direction.
There was no doubt about it.
The intruder had fled. Taking advantage of the noise when the gun
was fired, and under cover of the smoke, the burglar had leaped from the open
window.
Tom guessed as much. He hurried to the casement and peered out,
at the same time noticing the cut wire of the burglar alarm.
It was quite dark, and he fancied he could hear the noise of some one running rapidly.
Aiming his rifle into the air, he fired again, at the same time crying out:
"Hold on!"
"All right, Master Tom, I'm coming!" called the voice of the engineer from his shack.
"Are you hurt? Is Mrs. Baggert murdered?
I hear her screaming."
"That's pretty good evidence that she isn't murdered," said Tom with a grim smile.
"Are you hurt?" again called Mr. Jackson. "No, I'm all right," answered Tom.
"Did you see any one running away as you came up?"
"No, Master Tom, I didn't. What happened?"
"A burglar got in, and I had him cornered, but he got away when I fired to arouse
you." By this time the engineer was at the stoop,
on which the window opened.
Tom unlocked a side door and admitted Mr. Jackson, and then, the incandescent light
having been turned on, the two looked around the apartment.
Nothing in it had been disturbed, and the safe had not been opened.
"I heard him just in time," commented Tom, telling the engineer what had happened.
"I wish I had thought to get between him and the window.
Then he couldn't have gotten away." "He might have injured you, though," said
Mr. Jackson.
"We'll go outside now, and look--" "Is any one killed?
Are you both murdered?" cried Mrs. Baggert at the dining-room door.
"If any one is killed I'm not coming in there.
I can't bear the sight of blood." "No one is hurt," declared Tom with a
laugh.
"Come on in, Mrs. Baggert," and the housekeeper entered, her hair all done up
in curl papers. "Oh, my goodness me!" she exclaimed.
"When I heard that cannon go off I was sure the house was coming down.
How is it some one wasn't killed?"
"That wasn't a cannon; it was only my little rifle," said Tom, and then he told
again, for the benefit of the housekeeper, the story of what had happened.
"We'd better hurry and look around the premises," suggested Mr. Jackson.
"Maybe he is hiding, and will come back, or perhaps he has some confederates on the
watch."
"Not much danger of that," declared Tom. "Happy Harry is far enough away from here
now, and so are his confederates, if he had any, which I doubt.
Still, it will do no harm to take a look around."
A search resulted in nothing, however, and the Swift household had soon settled down
again, though no one slept soundly during the remainder of the night.
In the morning Tom sent word of what had happened to the police of Shopton.
Some officers came out to the house, but, beyond looking wisely at the window by
which the burglar had entered and at some footprints in the garden, they could do
nothing.
Tom wanted to go off on his motor-cycle on a tour of the surrounding neighborhood to
see if he could get any clues, but he did not think it would be wise in the absence
of his father.
He thought it would be better to remain at home, in case any further efforts were made
to get possession of valuable models or papers.
"There's not much likelihood of that, though," said Tom to the old engineer.
"Those fellows have what they want, and are not going to bother us again.
I would like to get that model back for dad, though.
If they file it and take out a patent, even if he can prove that it is his, it will
mean a long lawsuit and he may be defrauded of his rights, after all.
Possession is nine points of the law, and part of the tenth, too, I guess."
So Tom remained at home and busied himself as well as he could over some new machines
he was constructing.
He got a telegram from his father that afternoon, stating that Mr. Swift had
safely arrived in Albany, and would return the following day.
"Did you have any luck, dad?" asked the young inventor, when his father, tired and
worn from the unaccustomed traveling, reached home in the evening.
"Not much, Tom," was the reply.
"Mr. Crawford has gone back to Washington, and he is going to do what he can to
prevent those men taking advantage of me." "Did you get any trace of the thieves?
Does Mr. Crawford think he can?"
"No to both questions.
His idea is that the men will remain in hiding for a while, and then, when the
matter has quieted down, they will proceed to get a patent on the motor that I
invented."
"But, in the meanwhile, can't you make another model and get a patent yourself?"
"No; there are certain legal difficulties in the way.
Besides, those men have the original papers I need.
As for the model, it will take me nearly a year to build a new one that will work
properly, as it is very complicated.
I am afraid, Tom, that all my labor on the turbine motor is thrown away.
Those scoundrels will reap the benefit of it."
"Oh, I hope not, dad!
I'm sure those fellows will be caught. Now that you are back home again, I'm going
out on a hunt on my own account. I don't put much faith in the police.
It was through me, dad, that you lost your model and the papers, and I'll get them
back!" "No, you must not think it was your fault,
Tom," said his father.
"You could not help it, though I appreciate your desire to recover the missing model."
"And I'll do it, too, dad.
I'll start to-morrow, and I'll make a complete circuit of the country for a
hundred miles around. I can easily do it on my motor-cycle.
If I can't get on the trail of the three men who robbed me, maybe I can find Happy
Harry." "I doubt it, my son.
Still, you may try.
Now I must write to Mr. Crawford and tell him about the attempted burglary while I
was away. It may give him a clue to work on.
I'm afraid you ran quite a risk, Tom."
"I didn't think about that, dad. I only wish I had managed to keep that
rascal a prisoner." The next day Tom started off on a hunt.
He planned to be gone overnight, as he intended to go first to Dunkirk, where Mr.
Blackford lived, and begin his search from there.
>
Tom Swift and His Motor Cycle by Victor Appleton
CHAPTER XX ERADICATE SAWS WOOD
The farmer's family, including the son who was a deputy sheriff, was glad to see Tom.
Jed said he had "been on the job" ever since the mysterious robbery of Tom had
taken place, but though he had seen many red automobiles he had no trace of the
three men.
From Dunkirk Tom went back over the route he had taken in going from Pompville to
Centreford, and made some inquiries in the neighborhood of the church shed, where he
had taken shelter.
The locality was sparsely settled, however, and no one could give any clues to the
robbers.
The young inventor next made a trip over the lonely, sandy road, where he had met
with the ***, Happy Harry.
But there were even fewer houses near that stretch than around the church, so he got
no satisfaction there.
Tom spent the night at a country inn, and resumed his search the next morning, but
with no results. The men had apparently completely
disappeared, leaving no traces behind them.
"I may as well go home," thought Tom, as he was riding his motor-cycle along a pleasant
country road. "Dad may be worried, and perhaps something
has turned up in Shopton that will aid me.
If there isn't, I'm going to start out again in a few days in another direction."
There was no news in Shopton, however.
Town found his father scarcely able to work, so worried was he over the loss of
his most important invention.
Two weeks passed, the young machinist taking trips of several days' duration to
different points near his home, in the hope of discovering something.
But he was unsuccessful, and, in the meanwhile, no reassuring word was received
from the lawyers in Washington.
Mr. Crawford wrote that no move had yet been made by the thieves to take out patent
papers, and while this, in a sense, was some aid to Mr. Swift, still he could not
proceed on his own account to protect his new motor.
All that could be done was to await the first movement on the part of the
scoundrels.
"I think I'll try a new plan to-morrow, dad," announced Tom one night, when he and
his father had talked over again, for perhaps the twentieth time, the happenings
of the last few weeks.
"What is it, Tom?" asked the inventor. "Well, I think I'll take a week's trip on
my machine.
I'll visit all the small towns around here, but, instead of asking in houses for news
of the *** or his confederates, I'll go to the police and constables.
I'll ask if they have arrested any tramps recently, and, if they have, I'll ask them
to let me see the 'hobo' prisoners." "What good will that do?"
"I'll tell you.
I have an idea that though the burglar who got in here may not be a regular ***, yet
he disguises himself like one at times, and may be known to other tramps.
If I can get on the trail of Happy Harry, as he calls himself, I may locate the other
men.
Tramps would be very likely to remember such a peculiar chap as Happy Harry, and
they will tell me where they had last seen him.
Then I will have a starting point."
"Well, that may be a good plan," assented Mr. Swift.
"At any rate it will do no harm to try.
A *** locked up in a country police station will very likely be willing to
talk. Go ahead with that scheme, Tom, but don't
get into any danger.
How long will you be away?" "I don't know.
A week, perhaps; maybe longer. I'll take plenty of money with me, and stop
at country hotels overnight."
Tom lost no time in putting his plan into execution.
He packed some clothes in a grip, which he attached to the rear of his motor-cycle,
and then having said good-by to his father, started off.
The first three days he met with no success.
He located several tramps in country lock- ups, where they had been sent for begging
or loitering, but none of them knew Happy Harry or had ever heard of a ***
answering his description.
"He ain't one of us, youse can make up your mind to dat," said one "hobo" whom Tom
interviewed. "No real knight of de highway goes around
in a disguise.
We leaves dat for de story-book detectives. I'm de real article, I am, an' I don't know
Happy Harry.
But, fer dat matter, any of us is happy enough in de summer time, if we don't
strike a burgh like dis, where dey jugs you fer panhandlin'."
In general, Tom found the *** willing enough to answer his questions, though some
were sullen, and returned only surly growls to his inquiries.
"I guess I'll have to give it up and go back home," he decided one night.
But there was a small town, not many miles from Shopton, which he had not yet visited,
and he resolved to try there before returning.
Accordingly, the next morning found him inquiring of the police authorities in
Meadton.
But no tramps had been arrested in the last month, and no one had seen anything of a
*** like Happy Harry or three mysterious men in an automobile.
Tom was beginning to despair.
Riding along a silent road, that passed through a strip of woods, he was trying to
think of some new line of procedure, when the silence of the highway, that, hitherto,
had resounded only with the muffled
explosions of his machine, was broken by several exclamations.
"Now, Boomerang, yo' might jest as well start now as later," Tom heard a voice
saying--a voice he recognized well.
"Yo' hab got t' do dis yeah wuk, an' dere ain't no gittin' out ob it.
Dis yeah wood am got to be sawed, an' yo' hab got to saw it.
But it am jest laik yo' to go back on yo' ole friend Eradicate in dis yeah fashion.
I neber could tell what yo' were gwine t' do next, an' I cain't now.
G'lang, now, won't yo'?
Let's git dis yeah sawmill started." Tom shut off the power and leaped from his
wheel. From the woods at his left came the
protesting "hee-haw" of a mule.
"Boomerang and Eradicate Sampson!" exclaimed the young inventor.
"What can they be doing here?"
He leaned his motor-cycle against the fence and advanced toward where he had heard the
voice of the colored man. In a little clearing he saw him.
Eradicate was presiding over a portable sawmill, worked by a treadmill, on the
incline of which was the mule, its ears laid back, and an unmistakable expression
of anger on its face.
"Why, Rad, what are you doing?" cried Tom. "Good land o' massy!
Ef it ain't young Mistah Swift!" cried the darky.
"Howdy, Mistah Swift!
Howdy! I'm jest tryin' t' saw some wood, t' make a
livin', but Boomerang he doan't seem t' want t' lib," and with that Eradicate
looked reproachfully at the animal.
"What seems to be the trouble, and how did you come to own this sawmill?" asked Tom.
"I'll tell yo', Mistah Swift, I'll tell yo'," spoke Eradicate.
"Sit right yeah on dis log, an' I'll explanation it to yo'."
"The last time I saw you, you were preparing to go into the grass-cutting
business," went on Tom.
"Yais, sah! Dat's right.
So I was. Yo' has got a memory, yo' suah has.
But it am dis yeah way.
Grass ain't growin' quick enough, an' so I traded off dat lawn-moah an' bought dis
yeah mill.
But now it won't go, an' I suah am in trouble," and once more Eradicate Sampson
looked indignantly at Boomerang.
>
Tom Swift and His Motor Cycle by Victor Appleton
CHAPTER XXI ERADICATE GIVES A CLUE
"Tell me all about it," urged Tom sympathetically, for he had a friendly
feeling toward the aged darky.
"Well," began Eradicate, "I suah thought I were gwine to make money cuttin' grass,
'specially after yo' done fixed mah moah. But 'peared laik nobody wanted any grass
cut.
I trabeled all ober, an' I couldn't git no jobs.
Now me an' Boomerang has to eat, no mattah ef he is contrary, so I had t' look fo'
some new wuk.
I traded dat lawn-moah off fo' a cross-cut saw, but dat was such hard wuk dat I gib it
up. Den I got a chance to buy dis yeah outfit
cheap, an' I bought it."
Eradicate then went on to tell how he had purchased the portable sawmill from a man
who had no further use for it, and how he had managed to transport it from a distant
village to the spot where Tom had met him.
There he had secured permission to work a piece of woodland on shares, sawing up the
smaller trees into cord wood.
He had started in well enough, cutting down considerable timber, for the colored man
was a willing worker, but when he tried to start his mill he met with trouble.
"I counted on Boomerang helpin' me," he said to Tom.
"All he has to do is walk on dat tread mill, an' keep goin'.
Dat makes de saw go 'round, an' I saws de wood.
But de trouble am dat I can't git Boomerang to move.
I done tried ebery means I knows on, an' he won't go.
I talked kind to him, an' I talked harsh.
I done beat him wif a club, an' I rub his ears soft laik, an' he allers did laik dat,
but he won't go. I fed him on carrots an' I gib him sugar,
an' I eben starve him, but he won't go.
Heah I been tryin' fo' three days now t' git him started, an' not a stick hab I
sawed.
De man what I'm wukin' wif on shares he git mad, an' he say ef I doan't saw wood pretty
soon he gwine t' git annuder mill heah. Now I axes yo' fair, Mistah Swift, ain't I
got lots ob trouble?"
"You certainly seem to have," agreed Tom "But why is Boomerang so obstinate?
Usually on a treadmill a horse or a mule has to work whether they like it or not.
If they don't keep moving the platform slides out from under them, and they come
up against the back bar." "Dat's what done happened to Boomerang,"
declared Eradicate.
"He done back up against de bar, an' dere he stay."
Tom went over and looked at the mill.
The outfit was an old one, and had seen much service, but the trained eye of the
young inventor saw that it could still be used effectively.
Boomerang watched Tom, as though aware that something unusual was about to happen.
"Heah I done gone an' 'vested mah money in dis yeah mill," complained Eradicate, "an'
I ain't sawed up a single stick.
Ef I wasn't so kind-hearted I'd chastise dat mule wuss dan I has, dat's what I
would." Tom said nothing.
He was stooping down, looking at the gearing that connected the tread mill with
the shaft which revolved the saw. Suddenly he uttered an exclamation,
"Rad, have you been monkeying with this machinery?" he asked.
"Me? Good land, Mistah Swift, no, sah! I wouldn't tech it.
It's jest as I got it from de man I bought it oh.
It worked when he had it, but he used a hoss.
It's all due to de contrariness ob Boomerang, an' if I--"
"No, it isn't the mule's fault at all!" exclaimed Tom.
"The mill is out of gear, and tread is locked; that's all.
The man you bought it off probably did it so you could haul it along the road.
I'll have it fixed for you in a few minutes.
Wait until I get some tools." From the bag on his motor-cycle Tom got his
implements.
He first unlocked the treadmill, so that the inclined platform, on which the animal
slowly walked, could revolve.
No sooner had he done this than Boomerang, feeling the slats under his hoofs moving
away, started forward. With a rattle the treadmill slid around.
"Good land o' massy!
It's goin'!" cried Eradicate delightedly. "It suah am goin'!" he added as he saw the
mule, with nimble feet, send the revolving, endless string of slats around and around.
"But de saw doan't move, Mistah Swift.
Yo' am pretty smart at fixin' it as much as yo' has, but I reckon it's too busted t'
eber saw any wood. I'se got bad luck, dat's what I has."
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Tom.
"The sawmill will be going in a moment. All I have to do is to throw it into gear.
See here, Rad. When you want the saw to go you just throw
this handle forward.
That makes the gears mesh." "What's dat 'bout mush?" asked Eradicate.
"Mesh--not mush. I mean it makes the cogs fit together.
See," and Tom pressed the lever.
In an instant, with a musical whirr, the saw began revolving.
"Hurrah! Dere it goes!
Golly! see de saw move!" cried the delighted colored man.
He seized a stick of wood, and in a trice it was sawed through.
"Whoop!" yelled Eradicate.
"I'm sabed now! Bless yo', Mistah Swift, yo' suttinly am a
wondah!" "Now I'll show you how it works," went on
Tom.
"When you want to stop Boomerang, you just pull this handle.
That locks the tread, and he can't move it," and, suiting the action to his words,
Tom stopped the mill.
"Then," he went on, "when you want him to move, you pull the handle this way," and he
showed the darky how to do it. In a moment the mule was moving again.
Then Tom illustrated how to throw the saw in and out of gear, and in a few minutes
the sawmill was in full operation, with a most energetic colored man feeding in logs
to be cut up into stove lengths.
"You ought to have an assistant, Rad," said Tom, after he had watched the work for a
while. "You could get more done then, and move on
to some other wood-patch."
"Dat's right, Mistah Swift, so I had. But I 'done tried, an' couldn't git any.
I ast seberal colored men, but dey'd radder whitewash an' clean chicken coops.
I guess I'll hab t' go it alone.
I ast a white man yisterday ef he wouldn't like t' pitch in an' help, but he said he
didn't like to wuk. He was a ***, an' he had de nerve to ask
me fer money--me, a hard-wukin' ***."
"You didn't give it to him, I hope." "No, indeedy, but he come so close to me
dat I was askeered he might take it from me, so I kept hold ob a club.
He suah was a bad-lookin' ***, an' he kept laffin' all de while, like he was
happy." "What's that?" cried Tom, struck by the
words of the colored man.
"Did he have a thick, brown beard?" "Dat's what he had," answered Eradicate,
pausing in the midst of his work. "He suah were a funny sort ob ***.
His hands done looked laik he neber wuked, an' he had a funny blue ring one finger,
only it wasn't a reg'lar ring, yo' know.
It was pushed right inter his skin, laik a man I seen at de circus once, all cobered
wid funny figgers." Tom leaped to his feet.
"Which finger was the blue ring tattooed on?" he asked, and he waited anxiously for
the answer. "Let me see, it were on de right--no, it
were on de little finger ob de left hand."
"Are you sure, Rad?" "Suah, Mistah Swift.
I took 'tic'lar notice, 'cause he carried a stick in dat same hand."
"It must be my man--Happy Harry!" exclaimed Tom half aloud.
"Which way did he go, Rad, after he left you?"
"He went up de lake shore," replied the colored man.
"He asked me if I knowed ob an ole big house up dere, what nobody libed in, an' I
said I did.
Den he left, an' I were glad ob it." "Which house did you mean, Rad?"
"Why, dat ole mansion what General Harkness used t' lib in befo' de wah.
Dere ain't nobody libed in it fo' some years now, an' it's deserted.
Maybe a lot ob tramps stays in it, an' dat's where dis man were goin'."
"Maybe," assented Tom, who was all excitement now.
"Just where is this old house, Rad?" "Away up at de head ob Lake Carlopa.
I uster wuk dere befo' de wah, but it's been a good many years since quality folks
libed dere. Why, did yo' want t' see dat man, Mistah
Swift?"
"Yes, Rad, I did, and very badly, too. I think he is the very person I want.
But don't say anything about it. I'm going to take a trip up to that strange
mansion.
Maybe I'll get on the trail of Happy Harry and the men who robbed me.
I'm much obliged to you, Rad, for this information.
It's a good clue, I think.
Strange that you should meet the very *** I've been searching for."
"Well, I suah am obliged to yo', Mistah Swift, fo' fixin' mah sawmill."
"That's all right.
What you told me more than pays for what I did, Rad.
Well, I'm going home now to tell dad, and then I'm going to start out.
Yesterday, you said it was, you saw Happy Harry?
Well, I'll get right after him," and leaving a somewhat surprised, but very much
delighted, colored man behind him, Tom mounted his motor-cycle and started for
home at a fast pace.
>
Tom Swift and His Motor Cycle by Victor Appleton
CHAPTER XXII THE STRANGE MANSION
"Dad, I've got a clue!" exclaimed Tom, hurrying into the house late that
afternoon, following a quick trip from where he had met Eradicate with his
sawmill.
"A good clue, and I'm going to start early in the morning to run it down."
"Wait a minute, now, Tom," cautioned his father slowly.
"You know what happens when you get excited.
Nothing good was ever done in a hurry." "Well, I can't help being excited, dad.
I think I'm on the trail of those scoundrels.
I almost wish I could start to-night."
"Suppose you tell me all about it," and Mr. Swift laid aside a scientific book he was
reading.
Whereupon Tom told of his meeting with the colored man, and what Eradicate had said
about the ***. "But he may not be the same Happy Harry you
are looking for," interposed Mr. Swift.
"Tramps who don't like to work, and who have a jolly disposition, also those who
ask for money and have designs tattooed on their hands, are very common."
"Oh, but I'm sure this is the same one," declared Tom.
"He wants to stay in this neighborhood until he locates his confederates.
That's why he's hanging around.
Now I have an idea that the deserted mansion, where Eradicate used to work, and
which once housed General Harkness and his family, is the rendezvous of this gang of
thieves."
"You are taking a great deal for granted, Tom."
"I don't think so, dad. I've got to assume something, and maybe I'm
wrong, but I don't think so.
At any rate, I'm going to try, if you'll let me."
"What do you mean to do?" "I want to go to that deserted mansion and
see what I can find.
If I locate the thieves, well--" "You may run into danger."
"Then you admit I may be on the right track, dad?"
"Not at all," and Mr. Swift smiled at the quick manner in which Tom turned the tables
on him. "I admit there may be a band of tramps in
that house.
Very likely there is--almost any deserted place would be attractive to them.
But they may not be the ones you seek. In fact, I hardly see how they can be.
The men who stole my model and patent papers are wealthy.
They would not be very likely to stay in deserted houses."
"Perhaps some of the scoundrels whom they hired might, and through them I can get on
the track of the principals." "Well, there is something in that,"
admitted Mr. Swift.
"Then may I go, dad?" "I suppose so.
We must leave nothing untried to get back the stolen model and papers.
But I don't want you to run any risks.
If you would only take some one with you. There's your chum, Ned Newton.
Perhaps he would go." "No, I'd rather work it alone, dad.
I'll be careful.
Besides, Ned could not get away from the bank.
I may have to be gone a week, and he has no motor-cycle.
I can manage all right."
Tom was off bright and early. He had carefully laid his plans, and had
decided that he would not go direct to Pineford, which was the nearest village to
the old Harkness mansion.
"If those fellows are in hiding they will probably keep watch on who comes to the
village," thought Tom.
"The arrival of some one on a motor-cycle will be sure to be reported to them, and
they may skip out.
I've got to come up from another direction, so I think I'll circle around, and reach
the mansion from the stretch of woods on the north."
He had inquired from Eradicate as to the lay of the land, and had a good general
idea of it.
He knew there was a patch of woodland on one side of the mansion, while the other
sides were open.
"I may not be able to ride through the woods," mused Tom, "but I'll take my
machine as close as I can, and walk the rest of the way.
Once I discover whether or not the gang is in the place, I'll know what to do."
To follow out the plan he had laid down for himself meant that Tom must take a
roundabout way.
It would necessitate being a whole day on the road, before he would be near the head
of Lake Carlopa, where the Harkness house was located.
The lake was a large one, and Tom had never been to the upper end.
When he was within a few miles of Pineford, Tom took a road that branched off and went
around it.
Stopping at night in a lonely farmhouse, he pushed on the next morning, hoping to get
to the woods that night.
But a puncture to one of the tires delayed him, and after that was repaired he
discovered something wrong with his batteries.
He had to go five miles out of his way to get new cells, and it was dusk when he came
to the stretch of woods which he knew lay between him and the old mansion.
"I don't fancy starting in there at night," said Tom to himself.
"Guess I'd better stay somewhere around here until morning, and then venture in.
But the question is where to stay?"
The country was deserted, and for a mile or more he had seen no houses.
He kept on for some distance farther, the dusk falling rapidly, and when he was about
to turn back to retrace his way to the last farmhouse he had passed, he saw a slab
shanty at the side of the road.
"That's better than nothing, provided they'll take me in for the night," murmured
Tom. "I'm going to ask, anyhow."
He found the shanty to be inhabited by an old man who made a living burning charcoal.
The place was not very attractive, but Tom did not mind that, and finding the
charcoal-burner a kindly old fellow, soon made a bargain with him to remain all
night.
Tom slept soundly, in spite of his strange surroundings, and after a simple breakfast
in the morning inquired of the old man the best way of penetrating the forest.
"You'd best strike right along the old wood road," said the charcoal-burner.
"That leads right to the lake, and I think will take you where you want to go.
The old mansion is not far from the lake shore."
"Near the lake, eh?" mused Tom as he started off, after thanking the old fellow.
"Now I wonder if I'd better try to get to it from the water or the land side?"
He found it impossible to ride fast on the old wood road, and when he judged he was so
close to the lake that the noise of his motor-cycle might be heard, he shut off the
power, and walked along, pushing it.
It was hard traveling, and he felt weary, but he kept on, and about noon was rewarded
by a sight of something glittering through the trees.
"That's the lake!"
Tom exclaimed, half aloud. "I'm almost there."
A little later, having hidden his motor- cycle in a clump of bushes, he made his way
through the underbrush and stood on the shore of Lake Carlopa.
Cautiously Tom looked about him.
It was getting well on in the afternoon, and the sun was striking across the broad
sheet of water. Tom glanced up along the shore.
Something amid a clump of trees caught his eyes.
It was the chimney of a house. The young inventor walked a little distance
along the lake shore.
Suddenly he saw, looming up in the forest, a large building.
It needed but a glance to show that it was falling into ruins, and had no signs of
life about it.
Nor, for that matter, was there any life in the forest around him, or on the lake that
stretched out before him.
"I wonder if that can be the place?" whispered Tom, for, somehow, the silence of
the place was getting on his nerves. "It must be it," he went on.
"It's just as Rad described it."
He stood looking at it, the sun striking full on the mysterious mansion, hidden
there amid the trees. Suddenly, as Tom looked, he heard the "put-
put" of a motor-boat.
He turned to one side, and saw, putting out from a little dock that he had not noticed
before, a small craft.
It contained one man, and no sooner had the young inventor caught a glimpse of him than
he cried out: "That's the man who jumped over our fence
and escaped!"
Then, before the occupant of the boat could catch sight of him, Tom turned and fled
back into the bushes, out of view.
>
Tom Swift and His Motor Cycle by Victor Appleton
CHAPTER XXIII TOM IS PURSUED
Tom was so excited that he hardly knew what to do.
His first thought was to keep out of sight of the man in the boat, for the young
inventor did not want the criminals to suspect that he was on their trail.
To that end he ran back until he knew he could not be seen from the lake.
There he paused and peered through the bushes.
He caught a glimpse of the man in the motor-boat.
The craft was making fast time across the water.
"He didn't see me," murmured Tom.
"Lucky I saw him first. Now what had I better do?"
It was a hard question to answer.
If he only had some one with whom to consult he would have felt better, but he
knew he had to rely on himself. Tom was a resourceful lad, and he had often
before been obliged to depend on his wits.
But this time very much was at stake, and a false move might ruin everything.
"This is certainly the house," went on Tom, "and that man in the boat is one of the
fellows who helped rob me.
Now the next thing to do is to find out if the others of the gang are in the old
mansion, and, if they are, to see if dad's model and papers are there.
Then the next thing to do will be to get our things away, and I fancy I'll have no
easy job."
Well might Tom think this, for the men with whom he had to deal were desperate
characters, who had already dared much to accomplish their ends, and who would do
more before they would suffer defeat.
Still, they under-estimated the pluck of the lad who was pitted against them.
"I might as well proceed on a certain plan, and have some system about this affair,"
reasoned the lad.
"Dad is a great believer in system, so I'll lay out a plan and see how nearly I can
follow it. Let's see--what is the first thing to do?"
Tom considered a moment, going over the whole situation in his mind.
Then he went on, talking to himself alone there in the woods:
"It seems to me the first thing to do is to find out if the men are in the house.
To do that I've got to get closer and look in through a window.
Now, how to get closer?"
He considered that problem from all sides. "It will hardly do to approach from the
lake shore," he reasoned, "for if they have a motor-boat and a dock, there must be a
path from the house to the water.
If there is a path people are likely to walk up or down it at any minute.
The man in the boat might come back unexpectedly and catch me.
No, I can't risk approaching from the lake shore.
I've got to work my way up to the house by going through the woods.
That much is settled.
Now to approach the house, and when I get within seeing distance I'll settle the next
point. One thing at a time is a good rule, as dad
used to say.
Poor dad! I do hope I can get his model and papers
back for him." Tom, who had been sitting on a log under a
bush, staring at the lake, arose.
He was feeling rather weak and faint, and was at a loss to account for it, until he
remembered that he had had no dinner. "And I'm not likely to get any," he
remarked.
"I'm not going to eat until I see who's in that house.
Maybe I won't then, and where supper is coming from I don't know.
But this is too important to be considered in the same breath with a meal.
Here goes."
Cautiously Tom made his way forward, taking care not to make too much disturbance in
the bushes. He had been on hunting trips, and knew the
value of silence in the woods.
He had no paths to follow, but he had noted the position of the sun, and though that
luminary was now sinking lower and lower in the west, he could see the gleam of it
through the trees, and knew in which direction from it lay the deserted mansion.
Tom moved slowly, and stopped every now and then to listen.
All the sounds he heard were those made by the creatures of the woods--birds,
squirrels and rabbits.
He went forward for half an hour, though in that time he did not cover much ground, and
he was just beginning to think that the house must be near at hand when through a
fringe of bushes he saw the old mansion.
It stood in the midst of what had once been a fine park, but which was now overgrown
with weeds and tangled briars.
The paths that led to the house were almost out of sight, and the once beautiful home
was partly in ruins.
"I guess I can sneak up there and take a look in one of the windows," thought the
young inventor. He was about to advance, when he suddenly
stopped.
He heard some one or some thing coming around the corner of the mansion.
A moment later a man came into view, and Tom easily recognized him as one of those
who had been in the automobile.
The heart of the young inventor beat so hard that he was afraid the man would hear
it, and Tom crouched down in the bushes to keep out of sight.
The man evidently did not suspect the presence of a stranger, for, though he cast
sharp glances into the tangled undergrowth that fringed the house like a hedge, he did
not seek to investigate further.
He walked slowly on, making a circuit of the grounds.
Tom remained hidden for several minutes, and was about to proceed again, when the
man reappeared.
Then Tom saw the reason for it. "He's on guard!" the lad said to himself.
"He's doing sentry duty. I can't approach the house when he's
there."
For an instant Tom felt a bitter disappointment.
He had hoped to be able to carry out his plan as he had mapped it.
Now he would have to make a change.
"I'll have to wait until night," he thought.
"Then I can sneak up and look in. The guard won't see me after dark.
But it's going to be no fun to stay here, without anything to eat.
Still, I've got to do it." He remained where he was in the bushes.
Several times, before the sun set, the man doing sentry duty made the circuit of the
house, and Tom noted that occasionally he was gone for a long period.
He reasoned that the man had gone into the mansion to confer with his confederates.
"If I only knew what was going on in there," thought Tom.
"Maybe, after all, the men haven't got the model and papers here.
Yet, if they haven't, why are they staying in the old house?
I must get a look in and see what's going on.
Lucky there are no shades to the windows. I wish it would get dark."
It seemed that the sun would never go down and give place to dusk, but finally Tom,
crouching in his hiding place, saw the shadows grow longer and longer, and finally
the twilight of the woods gave place to a density that was hard to penetrate.
Tom waited some time to see if the guard kept up the circuit, but with the approach
of night the man seemed to have gone into the house.
Tom saw a light gleam out from the lonely mansion.
It came from a window on the ground floor.
"There's my chance!" exclaimed the lad, and, crawling from his hiding place, he
advanced cautiously toward it. Tom went forward only a few feet at a time,
pausing almost every other step to listen.
He heard no sounds, and was reassured. Nearer and nearer he came to the old house.
The gleam of the light fell upon his face, and fearful that some one might be looking
from the window, he shifted his course, so as to come up from one side.
Slowly, very slowly he advanced, until he was right under the window.
Then he found that it was too high up to admit of his looking in.
He felt about until he had a stone to stand on.
Softly he drew himself up inch by inch. He could hear the murmur of voices in the
room.
Now the top of his head was on a level with the sill.
A few more inches and his eyes could take in the room and the occupants.
He was scarcely breathing.
Up, up he raised himself until he could look into the apartment, and the sight
which met his eyes nearly caused him to lose his hold and topple backward.
For grouped around a table in a big room were the three men whom he had seen in the
automobile.
But what attracted his attention more than the sight of the men was an object on the
table. It was the stolen model!
The men were inspecting it, and operating it, as he could see.
One of the trio had a bundle of papers in his hand, and Tom was sure they were the
ones stolen from him.
But there could be no doubt about the model of the turbine motor.
There it was in plain sight. He had tracked the thieves to their hiding
place.
Then, as he watched, Tom saw one of the men produce from under the table a box, into
which the model was placed. The papers were next put in, and a cover
was nailed on.
Then the men appeared to consult among themselves.
By their gestures Tom concluded that they were debating where to hide the box.
One man pointed toward the lake, and another toward the forest.
Tom was edging himself up farther, in order to see better, and, if possible, catch
their words, when his foot slipped, and he made a slight noise.
Instantly the men turned toward the window, but Tom had stooped down out of sight, just
in time.
A moment later, however, he heard some one approaching through the woods behind him,
and a voice called out: "What are you doing?
Get away from there!"
Rapid footsteps sounded, and Tom, in a panic, turned and fled, with an unknown
pursuer after him.
>
Tom Swift and His Motor Cycle by Victor Appleton
CHAPTER XXIV UNEXPECTED HELP
Tom rushed on through the woods. The lighted room into which he had been
looking had temporarily blinded him when it came to plunging into the darkness again,
and he could not see where he was going.
He crashed full-tilt into a tree, and was thrown backward.
Bruised and cut, he picked himself up and rushed off in another direction.
Fortunately he struck into some sort of a path, probably one made by cows, and then,
as his eyes recovered their faculties, he could dimly distinguish the trees on either
side of him and avoid them.
His heart, that was beating fiercely, calmed down after his first fright, and
when he had run on for several minutes he stopped.
"That--that must--have been--the--the man-- from the boat," panted our hero, whispering
to himself. "He came back and saw me.
I wonder if he's after me yet?"
Tom listened. The only sound he could hear was the trill
and chirp of the insects of the woods. The pursuit, which had lasted only a few
minutes, was over.
But it might be resumed at any moment. Tom was not safe yet, he thought, and he
kept on. "I wonder where I am?
I wonder where my motor-cycle is?
I wonder what I had better do?" he asked himself.
Three big questions, and no way of settling them; Tom pulled himself up sharply.
"I've got to think this thing out," he resumed.
"They can't find me in these woods to- night, that's sure, unless they get dogs,
and they're not likely to do that.
So I'm safe that far. But that's about all that is in my favor.
I won't dare to go back to the house, even if I could find it in this blackness, which
is doubtful.
It wouldn't be safe, for they'll be on guard now.
It looks as though I was up against it. I'm afraid they may imagine the police are
after them, and go away.
If they do, and take the model and papers with them, I'll have an awful job to locate
them again, and probably I won't be able to.
That's the worst of it.
Here I have everything right under my hands, and I can't do a thing.
If I only had some one to help me; some one to leave on guard while I went for the
police.
I'm one against three--no, four, for the man in the boat is back.
Let's see what can I do?" Then a sudden plan came to him.
"The lake shore!" he exclaimed, half aloud.
"I'll go down there and keep watch. If they escape they'll probably go in the
boat, for they wouldn't venture through the woods at night.
That's it.
I'll watch on shore, and if they do leave in the boat--" He paused again, undecided.
"Why, if they do," he finished, "I'll sing out, and make such a row that they'll think
the whole countryside is after them.
That may drive them back, or they may drop the box containing the papers and model,
and cut for it. If they do I'll be all right.
I don't care about capturing them, if I can get dad's model back."
He felt more like himself, now that he had mapped out another plan.
"The first thing to do is to locate the lake," reasoned Tom.
"Let's see; I ran in a straight line away from the house--that is, as nearly straight
as I could.
Now if I turn around and go straight back, bearing off a little to the left, I ought
to come to the water. I'll do it."
But it was not so easy as Tom imagined, and several times he found himself in the midst
of almost impenetrable bushes.
He kept on, however, and soon had the satisfaction of emerging from the woods out
on the shore of the lake.
Then, having gotten his bearings as well as he could in the darkness, he moved down
until he was near the deserted house.
The light was still showing from the window, and Tom judged by this that the men
had not taken fright and fled. "I suppose I could sneak down and set the
motor-boat adrift," he argued.
"That would prevent them leaving by way of the lake, anyhow.
That's what I'll do! I'll cut off one means of escape.
I'll set the boat adrift!"
Very cautiously he advanced toward where he had seen the small craft put out.
He was on his guard, for he feared the men would be on the watch, but he reached the
dock in safety, and was loosening the rope that tied the boat to the little wharf when
another thought came to him.
"Why set this boat adrift?" he reasoned. "It is too good a boat to treat that way,
and, besides, it will make a good place for me to spend the rest of the night.
I've got to stay around here until morning, and then I'll see if I can't get help.
I'll just appropriate this boat for my own use.
They have dad's model, and I'll take their boat."
Softly he got into the craft, and with an oar which was kept in it to propel it in
case the engine gave out, he poled it along the shore of the lake until he was some
distance away from the dock.
That afternoon he had seen a secluded place along the shore, a spot where overhanging
bushes made a good hiding place, and for this he headed the craft.
A little later it was completely out of sight, and Tom stretched out on the
cushioned seats, pulling a tarpaulin over him.
There he prepared to spend the rest of the night.
"They can't get away except through the woods now, which I don't believe they'll
do," he thought, "and this is better for me than staying out under a tree.
I'm glad I thought of it."
The youth, naturally, did not pass a very comfortable night, though his bed was not a
half bad one.
He fell into uneasy dozes, only to arouse, thinking the men in the old mansion were
trying to escape. Then he would sit up and listen, but he
could hear nothing.
It seemed as if morning would never come, but at length the stars began to fade, and
the sky seemed overcast with a filmy, white veil.
Tom sat up, rubbed his smarting eyes, and stretched his cramped limbs.
"Oh, for a hot cup of coffee!" he exclaimed.
"But not for mine, until I land these chaps where they belong.
Now the question is, how can I get help to capture them?"
His hunger was forgotten in this.
He stepped from the boat to a secluded spot on the shore.
The craft, he noted, was well hidden.
"I've got to go back to where I left my motor-cycle, jump on that, and ride for
aid," he reasoned. "Maybe I can get the charcoal-burner to go
for me, while I come back and stand guard.
I guess that would be the best plan. I certainly ought to be on hand, for there
is no telling when these fellows will skip out with the model, if they haven't gone
already.
I hate to leave, yet I've got to. It's the only way.
I wish I'd done as dad suggested, and brought help.
But it's too late for that.
Well, I'm off." Tom took a last look at the motor-boat,
which was a fine one. He wished it was his.
Then he struck through the woods.
He had his bearings now, and was soon at the place where he had left his machine.
It had not been disturbed. He caught a glimpse of the old mansion on
his way out of the woods.
There appeared to be no one stirring about it.
"I hope my birds haven't flown!" he exclaimed, and the thought gave him such
uneasiness that he put it from him.
Pushing his heavy machine ahead of him until he came to a good road, he mounted
it, and was soon at the charcoal-burner's shack.
There came no answer to his knock, and Tom pushed open the door.
The old man was not in. Tom could not send him for help.
"My luck seems to be against me!" he murmured.
"But I can get something to eat here, anyhow.
I'm almost starved!"
He found the kitchen utensils, and made some coffee, also frying some bacon and
eggs.
Then, feeling much refreshed, and having left on the table some money to pay for the
inroad he had made on the victuals, he started to go outside.
As our hero stepped to the door he was greeted by a savage growl that made him
start in alarm. "A dog!" he mused.
"I didn't know there was one around."
He looked outside and there, to his dismay, saw a big, savage-appearing bulldog
standing close to where he had left his motor-cycle.
The animal had been sniffing suspiciously at the machine.
"Good dog!" called Tom. "Come here!"
But the bulldog did not come.
Instead the beast stood still, showed his teeth to Tom and growled in a low tone.
"Wonder if the owner can be near?" mused the young inventor.
"That dog won't let me get my machine, I am afraid."
Tom spoke to the animal again and again the dog growled and showed his teeth.
He next made a move as if to leap into the house, and Tom quickly stepped back and
banged shut the door. "Well, if this isn't the worst yet!" cried
the youth to himself.
"Here, just at the time I want to be off, I must be held up by such a brute as that
outside. Wonder how long he'll keep me a prisoner?"
Tom went to a window and peered out.
No person had appeared and the lad rightly surmised that the bulldog had come to the
cottage alone. The beast appeared to be hungry, and this
gave Tom a sudden idea.
"Maybe if I feed him, he'll forget that I am around and give me a chance to get
away," he reasoned. "Guess I had better try that dodge on him."
Tom looked around the cottage and at last found the remains of a chicken dinner the
owner had left behind. He picked up some of the bones and called
the bulldog.
The animal came up rather suspiciously. Tom threw him one bone, which he proceeded
to crunch up vigorously. "He's hungry right enough," mused Tom.
"I guess he'd like to sample my leg.
But he's not going to do it--not if I can help it."
At the back of the cottage was a little shed, the door to which stood open.
Tom threw a bone near to the door of this shed and then managed to throw another bone
inside the place. The bulldog found the first bone and then
disappeared after the second.
"Now is my time, I guess," the young inventor told himself, and watching his
chance, he ran from the cottage toward his motor-cycle.
He made no noise and quickly shoved the machine into the roadway.
Just as he turned on the power the bulldog came out of the shed, barking furiously.
"You've missed it!" said Tom grimly as the machine started, and quickly the cottage
and the bulldog were left behind.
The road was rough for a short distance and he had to pay strict attention to what he
was doing. "I've got to ride to the nearest village,"
he said.
"It's a long distance, and, in the meanwhile, the men may escape.
But I can't do anything else.
I dare not tackle them alone, and there is no telling when the charcoal-burner may
come back. I've got to make speed, that's all."
Out on the main road the lad sent his machine ahead at a fast pace.
He was fairly humming along when, suddenly, from around a curve in the highway he heard
the "honk-honk" of an automobile horn.
For an instant his heart failed him. "I wonder if those are the thieves?
Maybe they have left the house, and are in their auto!" he whispered as he slowed down
his machine.
The automobile appeared to have halted. As Tom came nearer the turn he heard
voices. At the sound of one he started.
The voice exclaimed:
"Bless my spectacles! What's wrong now?
I thought that when I got this automobile I would enjoy life, but it's as bad as my
motor-cycle was for going wrong!
Bless my very existence, but has anything happened?"
"Mr. Damon!" exclaimed Tom, for he recognized the eccentric individual of whom
he had obtained the motor-cycle.
The next moment Tom was in sight of a big touring car, containing, not only Mr.
Damon, whom Tom recognized at once, but three other gentlemen.
"Oh, Mr. Damon," cried Tom, "will you help me capture a gang of thieves?
They are in a deserted mansion in the woods, and they have one of my father's
patent models!
Will you help me, Mr. Damon?" "Why, bless my top-knots," exclaimed the
odd gentleman. "If it isn't Tom Swift, the young inventor!
Bless my very happiness!
There's my motor-cycle, too! Help you?
Why, of course we will. Bless my shoe-leather!
Of course we'll help you!"
>
Tom Swift and His Motor Cycle by Victor Appleton
CHAPTER XXV THE CAPTURE--GOOD-BY
Tom's story was soon told, and Mr. Damon quickly explained to his friends in the
automobile how he had first made the acquaintance of the young inventor.
"But how does it happen that you are trusting yourself in a car like this?"
asked Tom. "I thought you were done with gasolene
machines, Mr. Damon."
"I thought so, too, Tom, but, bless my batteries, my doctor insisted that I must
get out in the open air. I'm too stout to walk, and I can't run.
The only solution was in an automobile, for I never would dream of a motor-cycle.
I wonder that one of mine hasn't run away with you and killed you.
But there!
My automobile is nearly as bad. We went along very nicely yesterday, and
now, just when I have a party of friends out, something goes wrong.
Bless my liver!
I do seem to have the worst luck!" Tom lost no time in looking for the
trouble. He found it in the ignition, and soon had
it fixed.
Then a sort of council of war was held. "Do you think those scoundrels are there
yet?" asked Mr. Damon. "I hope so," answered Tom.
"So do I," went on the odd character.
"Bless my soul, but I want a chance to pummel them.
Come, gentlemen, let's be moving. Will you ride with us, Tom Swift, or on
that dangerous motor-cycle?"
"I think I'll stick to my machine, Mr. Damon.
I can easily keep up with you." "Very well.
Then we'll get along.
We'll proceed until we get close to the old mansion, and then some of us will go down
to the lake shore, and the rest of us will surround the house.
We'll catch the villains red-handed, and I hope we bag that *** among them."
"I hardly think he is there," said Tom.
In a short time the auto and the motor- cycle had carried the respective riders to
the road through the woods. There the machines were left, and the party
proceeded on foot.
Tom had a revolver with him, and one member of Mr. Damon's party also had a small one,
more to scare dogs than for any other purpose.
Tom gave his weapon to one of the men, and cut a stout stick for himself, an example
followed by those who had no firearms. "A club for mine!" exclaimed Mr. Damon.
"The less I have to do with machinery the better I like it.
Now, Tom Swift is just the other way around," he explained to his friends.
Cautiously they approached the house, and when within seeing distance of it they
paused for a consultation.
There seemed to be no one stirring about the old mansion, and Tom was fearful lest
the men had left. But this could not be determined until they
came closer.
Two of Mr. Damon's friends elected to go down to the shore of the lake and prevent
any escape in that direction, while the others, including Tom, were to approach
from the wood side.
When the two who were to form the water attacking party were ready, one of them was
to fire his revolver as a signal. Then Tom, Mr. Damon and the others would
rush in.
The young inventor, Mr. Damon, and his friend, whom he addressed as Mr. Benson,
went as close to the house as they considered prudent.
Then, screening themselves in the bushes, they waited.
They conversed in whispers, Tom giving more details of his experience with the patent
thieves.
Suddenly the silence of the woods was broken by some one advancing through the
underbrush. "Bless my gaiters, some one is coming!"
exclaimed Mr. Damon in a hoarse whisper.
"Can that be Munson or Dwight coming back?" He referred to his two friends who had gone
to the lake. "Or perhaps the fellows are escaping,"
suggested Mr. Benson.
"Suppose we take a look." At that moment the person approaching,
whoever he was, began to sing. Tom started.
"I'll wager that's Happy Harry, the ***!" he exclaimed.
"I know his voice." Cautiously Tom peered over the screen of
bushes.
"Who is it?" asked Mr. Damon. "It's Happy Harry!" said Tom.
"We'll get them all, now. He's going up to the house."
They watched the ***.
All unconscious of the eyes of the men and boy in the bushes, he kept on.
Presently the door of the house opened, and a man came out.
Tom recognized him as Anson Morse--the person who had dropped the telegram.
"Say, Burke," called the man at the door, "have you taken the motor-boat?"
"Motor-boat?
No," answered the ***. "I just came here.
I've had a hard time--nearly got caught in Swift's house the other night by that cub
of a boy.
Is the boat gone?" "Yes. Appleson came back in it last night
and saw some one looking in the window, but we thought it was only a farmer and chased
him away.
This morning the boat's gone. I thought maybe you had taken it for a
joke." "Not a bit of it!
Something's wrong!" exclaimed Happy Harry.
"We'd better light out. I think the police are after us.
That young Swift is too sharp for my liking.
We'd better skip.
I don't believe that was a farmer who looked in the window.
Tell the others, get the stuff, and we'll leave this locality."
"They're here still," whispered Tom.
"That's good!" "I wonder if Munson and Dwight are at the
lake yet?" asked Mr. Damon. "They ought to be--"
At that instant a pistol shot rang out.
The ***, after a hasty glance around, started on the run for the house.
The man in the doorway sprang out. Soon two others joined him.
"Who fired that shot?" cried Morse.
"Come on, Tom!" cried Mr. Damon, grabbing up his club and springing from the bushes.
"Our friends have arrived!" The young inventor and Mr. Benson followed
him.
No sooner had they come into the open space in front of the house than they were seen.
At the same instant, from the rear, in the direction of the lake, came Mr. Munson and
Mr. Dwight.
"We're caught!" cried Happy Harry. He made a dash far the house, just as a
man, carrying a box, rushed out. "There it is!
The model and papers are in that box!" cried Tom.
"Don't let them get away with it!" The criminals were taken by surprise.
With leveled weapons the attacking party closed in on them.
Mr. Damon raised his club threateningly. "Surrender!
Surrender!" he cried.
"We have you! Bless my stars, but you're captured!
Surrender!" "It certainly looks so," admitted Anson
Morse.
"I guess they have us, boys." The man with the box made a sudden dash
toward the woods, but Tom was watching him. In an instant he sprang at him, and landed
on the fellow's back.
The two went down in a heap, and when Tom arose he had possession of the precious
box. "I have it!
I have it!" he cried.
"I've got dad's model back!" The man who had had possession of the box
quickly arose, and, before any one could stop him, darted into the bushes.
"After him!
Catch him! Bless my hat-band, stop him!" shouted Mr.
Damon.
Instinctively his friends turned to pursue the fugitive, forgetting, for the instant,
the other criminals.
The men were quick to take advantage of this, and in a moment had disappeared in
the dense woods. Nor could any trace be found of the one
with whom Tom had struggled.
"Pshaw! They got away from us!" cried Mr. Damon
regretfully. "Let's see if we can't catch them.
Come on, we'll organize a posse and run them down."
He was eager for the chase, but his companions dissuaded him.
Tom had what he wanted, and he knew that his father would prefer not to prosecute
the men. The lad opened the box, and saw that the
model and papers were safe.
"Let those fellows go," advised the young inventor, and Mr. Damon reluctantly agreed
to this.
"I guess we've seen the last of them," added the youth, but he and Mr. Swift had
not, for the criminals made further trouble, which will be told of in the
second volume of this series, to be called
"Tom Swift and His Motor-Boat; or, The Rivals of Lake Carlopa."
In that our hero will be met in adventures even more thrilling than those already
related, and Andy Foger, who so nearly ran Tom down in the automobile, will have a
part in them.
"Now," said Mr. Damon, after it had been ascertained that no one was injured, and
that the box contained all of value that had been stolen, "I suppose you are anxious
to get back home, Tom, aren't you?
Will you let me take you in my car? Bless my spark plug, but I'd like to have
you along in case of another accident!"
The lad politely declined, however, and, with the valuable model and papers safe on
his motor-cycle, he started for Shopton.
Arriving at the first village after leaving the woods, Tom telephoned the good news to
his father, and that afternoon was safely at home, to the delight of Mr. Swift and
Mrs. Baggert.
The inventor lost no time in fully protecting his invention by patents.
As for the unprincipled men who made an effort to secure it, they had so covered up
their tracks that there was no way of prosecuting them, nor could any action be
held against Smeak & Katch, the unscrupulous lawyers.
"Well," remarked Mr. Swift to Tom, a few nights after the recovery of the model,
"your motor-cycle certainly did us good service.
Had it not been for it I might never have gotten back my invention."
"Yes, it did come in handy," agreed the young inventor.
"There's that motor-boat, too.
I wish I had it. I don't believe those fellows will ever
come back for it. I turned it over to the county authorities,
and they take charge of it for a while.
I certainly had some *** adventures since I got this machine from Mr. Damon,"
concluded Tom. I think my readers will agree with him.
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