The Secret Of The Lost Tunnel Part 5

"He might not have come out of it alive," Joe said, "but if he did, I think he'd have gone in the direction Frank indicated."

"True enough," the officer said.

55, "Then let's follow that trail!" Joe exclaimed.

"Remember one thing," General Smith said. "A good soldier makes the most of natural cover. Bing-ham would have made his way behind trees, boulders, along depressions in the ground, and behind slight rises to afford protection from the artillery. Well, let's start!"

"Gosh," Chet said, "I never thought of that. I think I'd go in a beeline just as fast as I could!"

"What a target you'd be!" Joe remarked as they started on the once harrowing trail which Bingham might have taken.

Frank led the way, and the general nodded approvingly as the boy picked a route which provided the least exposure to cannon which years before had thundered from the ridge across the valley.

"You're a natural soldier, Frank," the officer said, smiling.

The trek was hot and arduous. Finally they came to the bank of Rocky Run.

"I think Bingham would have followed the stream here," Frank surmised.

"Right," the general agreed. "He'd put the water between him and those daredevil hors.e.m.e.n of Old Mud Fox."

"Why did they call him Mud Fox?" Chet asked. "Did he look like a fox?"

56 "Not at all. He was a very mild-looking gentle man about five feet tall, but as wiry and foxy as any cavalryman who ever lived. One night he led his men across a mud flat that n.o.body else dared enter, and attacked a much larger enemy force. He cut down half of them and captured the others. That's when he got his nickname."

Joe whistled. "We could use a fox in this case right now."

"Hey!" Chet shouted suddenly. "There's a bridge Bingham could have hidden under 1"

"Let's investigate it," Joe suggested as they came in sight of a span which carried the main highway over the Rocky Run. "Only that's a concrete bridge. It must have been built long after the Civil War."

"So it was," the officer concurred. "But there was an old bridge around here somewhere. My grandfather ordered it destroyed to stop the main drive of the enemy."

By this time the four were within a stone's throw of the span. Suddenly a black sedan whizzed over it, the driver glancing down in surprise at the three boys and the officer. Its brakes jammed on, bringing the automobile to a screeching halt out of sight of the searchers.

"Maybe it's the game warden," Chet said nerv 57 ously. "I'll bet he thinks we're fishing and wants to see our licenses."

"More than likely it's the fellow who tried to wreck our car," Frank said. "Well, I'm going to get a look at him." him."

He made his way up the side of a steep embankment to the edge of the bridge. Just as he spotted the back of the man's head, the car's gears meshed furiously, the back wheels spun, and the automobile streaked down the highway with a roar! There was no license plate on the back of the car.

CHAPTER VIII.

The Peculiar Professor.

"where do you suppose the car was going?" Joe asked as he and the others reached the top of the embankment.

General Smith looked down the road and squinted, as if looking at a road map in his mind's eye.

"The road comes to a fork up there a way," he said, pointing. "One branch runs past the Beaure-gard Smith plantation."

Frank whistled. "I'll bet Dr. Bush was in that car, and he's on his way to the plantation!"

"Let's hurry there!" Joe exclaimed.

"It's a long way rrom here," the general warned. "And a long hike back to our car."

"One of us can go for the car," Joe said.

"Let me," Chet offered. "My feet are tired. Besides, maybe I can stop along the road to buy some food."

Frank grinned. "Okay. Here are the keys. If we don't get to the plantation before you do, pick us up on the road."

Frank, Joe, and the general set off down the road toward the plantation. When they came to the fork, they took the left one and were halfway to the old Civil War farm of the Smith family when a horn blew behind them.

"I'll bet that's Chet," Joe said.

His guess was right. Soon the Hardy coupe rolled to a halt.

"I thought you got lost," Joe remarked as he and the others got into the car. "What happened?"

"Nothing," Chet replied. "I just stopped at that little store near the museum. Here. Have some candy."

He thrust a bar into the hands of Frank and Joe, then he turned to the officer.

"Will you have some, sir?" Chet asked self-consciously.

"Thank you. I'd like it."

Chet grinned. "I didn't know whether generals ate the stuff or not."

"I guess all men have a sweet tooth," the officer 60 said, smiling. "Besides, soldiers eat candy before a battle to get extra energy."

"Is that so?" Chet asked, looking askance at the officer. "I'll take my candy some other way."

Frank winked at Joe. "You may need it for battle right now, Chet. Never can tell what may happen if we run into Dr. Bush at the plantation."

"Here's the place now," the officer remarked before Chet had a chance to reply. A lane led to the right.

Chet eased the car off the shouLier of the road and into a rutted trail overgrown with veeds. There was no sign of the black sedan or any evidence that a car had recently entered the lane.

"This was a fine place once," General Smith said, "Those boxwoods over there are all that's left of a wonderful garden which stretched from the road to the mansion. Father had pictures of the old place."

"Where was the mansion?" Frank asked.

"We're coming to the spot now. Pull over to the side here, Chet."

The boy stopped the coupe alongside a low, crumbling wall.

"Look over there," the officer continued, extending his arm in a gesture toward a group of large oak trees which seemed to form a military phalanx. "That's where the big white house stood."

61 The ruins of the old place were scarcely visible through the tall gra.s.s and brush, which acted as the scar tissue of time to cover the wounds left by the war. The four got out of the car and pushed through the weeds toward the place. Suddenly Joe b.u.mped his shins against an obstacle.

"Ow! What's this?"

Reaching over, he pushed the gra.s.s aside from a brownstone hitching post, which had been broken off at the base.

"This must have been near the front door."

"Right." The officer held his two hands parallel in front of him. "The steps to the front portico were right here. They led into the beautiful center hall of one of the most picturesque mansions in the whole South."

Chet wagged his head, "And look what's left now."

"Nothing," General Smith remarked sadly. "Nothing but ghostly memories."

"And a cache full of gold somewhere around here," Joe reminded him, turning his thoughts to the work at hand. "General Smith, has the cellar of this place been searched?"

The officer looked intently at the ma.s.s of overgrown rubble before them and mopped his brow with a handkerchief. "It has been searched at one time or another by two generations."

62 "And they found nothing?"

"Not a thing. That's why somebody has been digging elsewhere on the plantation trying to find the gold."

"I don't think we ought to begin any digging until we have exhausted every other clue,"

Frank remarked.

"That's the trouble," General Smith said, a perplexed frown wrinkling his brow. "There are no clues." no clues."

"I don't agree, sir," Frank said. "There probably are clues, but they haven't been found."

The general looked at the boy for a moment. Then little commas of humor appeared at the corners of his mouth. "I'm glad to see you've got a mind of your own. Just like your dad!

What's your idea, Frank?"

"Investigate the old museum. We might find a battlefield relic that would provide a clue.

Maybe Bingham hid the bandoleer some place in the old building, and it hasn't been found yet."

"Good logic," General Smith agreed after a pause. "I can see you're a better detective than I am."

Joe grinned. "You can't live with Dad all your life without learning something about sleuthing."

"Let's go to the museum immediately," Frank continued. Then, seeing a distressed look on Chet's face, he added, "I mean after lunch."

63 They made their way back to the coupe and drove to Centerville, past green fields of tobacco which bordered either side of the road.

"I think maybe you boys can do a better job at the museum without me," the officer said when lunch was over. "I have a little business to attend to in town, anyway."

Chet, who was sleepy from having overeaten, would have liked to take a nap, but the boys urged him to accompany them. Half an hour later they drove up to the museum. Frank parked, and they entered the front door of the erstwhile farmhouse headquarters.

"Just think," said Frank in awe, "once old General Smith and his staff walked through this door just as we're doing."

"Makes me feel kind of spooky," Chet remarked.

Inside the doorway the boys were halted by an old Negro wearing a gray uniform similar to the Civil War uniform of the Confederate Army. He had a kindly, wrinkled face, surmounted by a halo of snow-white hair.

"Yo' visitors?" he asked.

"Yes," Frank said. "We'd like to look over relics of the Battle of Rocky Run."

"Yo' can look all round de place," the old man said with a flourish of his hand as he sat down again. "It's full o' stuff dey dig up from de battlefield."

64 Frank noticed a small sign stating that the museum was a private one run by the county historical society and that a small admission was charged. Frank paid for the three of them.

The boys stood for a moment taking in their surroundings. The pungent, musty odor which clung to the large room made them conscious of their intrusion into things of a bygone era.

Pictures of famous battle scenes and historic plantations covered three walls, while a huge fireplace with its carved mantel took up most of the remaining wall.

"This place sure is old," Joe remarked, gazing at the hand-hewn rafters.

"I guess it's well over two hundred years," Frank said. "Look at those wide floor boards, full of cracks."

"This must be all there is to the museum," diet spoke up. "No other rooms."

Frank already had walked to one of the exhibits, "Look at these pistols," he said, bending over a table to examine a collection of many shapes and sizes.

The old weapons seemed harmless enough as they lay on a velvet cloth with a little card under each one describing the piece and the place where it had been found.

"They probably fell from the hands of dying soldiers," Frank said reverently.

65 "Don't talk like that," Chet said uneasily. "It gives me the creeps."

"Here's something that'll interest you," Joe said io io his stout friend. "Some Civil War his stout friend. "Some Civil War photographs."

The boys turned their attention to the wall, where half a dozen rare old pictures showed a local encampment just before the battle of Rocky Run.

"Don't forget we're looking for a clue to the old bandoleer," Frank remarked.

"You'll not find a clue here!"

The words boomed from behind the boys. They whirled around to face the speaker.