The Auto Boys' Vacation Part 14

"What did your father think of it?"

"He never said, but when I spoke of it he drove along faster; but all he'd say was, 'Shucks!' I guess he don't more'n half believe in them ghosts nohow."

They laughed at this, but they noted that the timber grew thicker as the car glided at slow speed along the little used road. Finally Nan began pointing in a certain direction as the road curved, and a thicker growth of cedar, pine and other evergreens began not far away.

"It's somewhere in there," she said. "We'll glimpse some of the roof and walls presently."

Sure enough, as the car hummed along, through the thick foliage they glimpsed weather beaten walls and parts of a roof covered by roughly rived boards, with gaps here and there, and all brown with age. It looked as if it might be eighty to a hundred yards back from the mere wagon trail the road had now become.

"Shall we stop and take a look?" asked MacLester, gradually slowing up.

"It's bright, noonday sunshine and if there are any haants about, I reckon now's the time of day when they take a rest."

But as the car slowed down Nan's alarm began to increase. Phil watched her curiously. She did not look like a girl unduly afraid of ghosts, at midday especially. Yet it was plain enough to see that she was vaguely uneasy. After all, why stop now? They knew where the old tavern was and could begin their investigations later. Besides, they did not want outside witnesses.

"Better drive on, Davy," said Phil. "We must take Miss Nan home."

The girl's relief was evident at once when Dave increased the speed. In another minute or so the house was no longer visible. Paul, looking back, said half to himself:

"It's a cinch, Phil! By Ned! I'm going to see more of it before night, or bust a trace!"

"Ugh!" shuddered Nan. "You can't mean that you want to go back there, do you?"

"Why not? We're strangers round here and when we find something curious yet unknown, that scares off the folks that have lived by it for years, it's only natural to get our curiosity up to a point that we've just _got_ to do something."

The car sped on through the woods, then past open fields and soon they came up to a rather battered farmhouse with sundry outbuildings near it and stacks of hay which had been cut evidently from the neighboring marshes that jutted in and out of the timbered lands. At the gate Nan sprang down, and at the same time out came the farmer, followed by the same boy they had before seen on the hay-load.

Being invited inside, the boys entered the sitting-room, where two other men, garbed more like town dwellers, were seated. The farmer greeted the boys warmly, recalling to them their kindly behavior along the side-hill road a day or so before. At the same time the two men got up to leave, giving the farmer a modest price for their dinners and remarking that they might be back again shortly.

"Keep a bright lookout, Mr. Feeney. No knowing what you might run up against," one said and they were gone. After this the boys had a sociable chat with Feeney, who pressed them to stay all night.

"Shan't cost you a cent, boys, for you were good to us when Jack and Jill might have balked and dumped us over that bluff."

"Well, it is possible we may come back. But in the meantime we want to have a look round at the timber."

"Int'rested in timber, are ye? How'd ye come to meet up with Nan?"

The incidents connected with the Jersey bull were briefly related, Nan emphasizing how Phil had risked himself in her behalf and that they had kindly brought her home. This too pleased Feeney, who insisted more than before that they should stop with him while they were in the neighborhood.

"This is, in the main, a thick settled country, lads," said Feeney. "But right about here for a few miles there's hardly anybody but us really livin' here."

"It may be that we will take up your offer," remarked Phil. "But you must not let us stop here unless we pay you a fair price. If those men come back you'll hardly have room for more."

"Don't worry about that. We'll make room. Them men, I don't know what they be up to. They won't be back from Midlandville for a day or two, I guess."

With no definite promise to return the boys left, going along the road they had come with Nan, and on the way Phil busied himself in studying the pencilled map on the old envelope which had been given to Paul by Coster.

There was a square in the center marked "Tavern," doubtless the place the boys had seen that day through the thick timber growth. A straight line ran off in one direction to a point marked on the border of the map "south," followed by the note: "From Tavern half a mile." Close to this was a rude skeleton, with a black spot close by marked "treasure rock."

The skeleton of a tree had a huge split through the trunk, in which were the words "big split hemlock."

On the opposite edge of the map marked "north" was added "to railroad, half-mile." East and west through the center, lengthwise of the envelope, ran an irregular line close by the tavern, which was indicated by the word "highway."

The whole thing was simple and seemingly plain, and all they apparently had to do was to take a due south course from this building shown as the ghost tavern, for half a mile. Right near where they had paused when Nan was showing glimpses of the old building, they turned the car into a grove of young second-growth spruces and halted. They were now hidden from view from the road, that was clear.

"Can we leave this car here safely?" queried Billy dubiously.

"I doubt if it is safe," replied Dave, naturally cautious where the Big Six was concerned. "Billy, let's you and me flip a nickel to see who stays with the car. I ain't anxious to go that half mile; I _am_ anxious to know the car'll be here when we come back."

After some discussion there was a toss up and Dave won. Billy looked vexed.

"Aw, what's the use of anyone staying?" he growled. "The car's safe enough."

"What is the use of running risks?" rebuked Phil. "After what we went through back at Griffin we must take no more chances."

Worth resigned himself to the inevitable, but it was evident that he would much rather have gone with the others.

As the three boys disappeared Billy blinked a while, finally stretching out in the tonneau, pulling over himself Paul's big rug and--though he did not mean to--he soon fell asleep. The woods were unusually quiet; no wind, much shade, with a soothing buzz and hum of insects that was in itself conducive to drowsiness.

The other three, not deeming it necessary to actually visit the old tavern just then, took the compa.s.s with which Paul had provided himself and struck out due south.

"How will we know when we have gone half a mile?" suddenly questioned Paul. "It's too thick with underbrush to pace off so many yards. Say, how many yards in half a mile? Anyone know?"

"Seventeen-sixty in a mile," said Dave, drawing from his pocket one of those circular shielded tape measures. "Figure it out for yourselves."

"Eight hundred and eighty, you gander!" This from Paul, looking after Phil, who had gone on ahead with the compa.s.s. "Gimme hold of one end!

How long is the thing, anyhow?"

Stretched out, it seemed that the tape was ten yards long. With Paul linking a finger in the ring and Dave holding the circular shield, the boys began their march after Phil. Paul, breaking a twig when he came to a stopping place, would forge on again with Dave carefully following, keeping the line taut until Paul, stumbling, jerked the reel from Dave's hand and thereby created some confusion. Both had been keeping count of each ten yards, but there was a difference of one length of the tape between.

"Aw--why didn't you hold to your end? I tell you my count is right!"

"No, it ain't," was MacLester's reply. "What I know, I _know!_"

This difficulty finally adjusted, the pair resumed their march in Phil's wake, who had taken particular pains to leave a trail of broken branches so that the rest could follow. Going thus, they diligently but slowly kept on until Dave suddenly looked up, shouting:

"Eighty-eight lengths! We're there--eight hundred and eighty yards.

Hullo! What's become of Phil?"

No Phil was in sight.

CHAPTER XIII

THE KIDNAPERS

Phil, it appeared, was the only one to think out two reasons why there was little necessity for being exact about measurements. Coster had drawn his rough diagram on the envelope probably from memory. It was, according to Coster, somewhere near a half mile from the tavern to the split hemlock. The main thing was to keep the proper direction, if anything like strict obedience was due to the pencilled chart. Therefore he took upon himself the sole task of going south, and when he had convinced himself that he was somewhere in the neighborhood of that half mile, he began to look about for the big split hemlock.