great excitement was caused in the fayetville court-house when the boys arrived with the scribbled note from deputy sheriff wilson, and the news that the posse was, even then, on the trail of the bank robbers. the sheriff himself came out of his office to talk to the boys, asking them for all the details they could give him.
“guess i’d better send some more deputies to help nick and bert,” said the county official. “those robbers are desperate fellows, and now they have a car it’s going to be harder to catch them.”
“they not only have a car, but they’ve got the things we were going to camp with,” lamented chot.
“well, as long as they didn’t take us—and ruddy, we ought to be glad,” laughed rick.
“that’s right,” said the sheriff. “they are desperate characters. no wonder they were suspicions of you when you came on them in the storm. but they were quick to see that their best plan was to let you in, allow you to sleep and then sneak off in your car. however, we’ll get ’em all right. i’ll telephone to all the places around here to be on the watch. just give me a description of mr. campbell’s machine so i can let other sheriffs and police officers know what to look for.”
between them rick and chot supplied a good description, even to the numbers on the license plates, and this information was soon being sent broadcast by telephone and telegraph.
“well, do you boys want to sit around here and wait for mr. campbell to come back?” asked sheriff hart, “or what do you want to do?”
“mr. wilson said something about going to his house,” began rick, “and if we could—”
just then the telephone in the sheriff’s office, where this talk was taking place, began ringing violently.
“hello—hello!” cried the sheriff as he snatched off the receiver. he listened intently, saying, meanwhile—“yes—yes! good! i hope you do! yes, they’re here! i’ll send them up!”
he turned to the boys.
“that was nick wilson,” he said as he hung up the receiver. “he says they haven’t got any trace of the robbers yet, but they hope to, soon, and he says to tell you to go on up to his house and eat. i’ll telephone mrs. wilson you’re coming.”
“how do you get there?” asked rick, for they were in a strange town.
“i’ll take you up in my car,” the sheriff offered. “nick wants me to tell his wife he won’t be home to dinner. and that will be a good opening for me to suggest that you boys can take his place at the table,” he added with a chuckle.
“i guess we’re willing,” said rick, smiling, and chot did his share.
on the way to the home of the deputy sheriff, chot suggested that something had better be done about putting a permanent warning at the broken bridge, and the sheriff promised to attend to that.
mrs. wilson proved to be a motherly woman, after the boys’ own hearts. she made them warmly welcome, and soon became as friendly with ruddy, as the red setter was with her.
“and oh, boy! what a dinner we had!” said rick afterward with a grateful sigh to his chum. “didn’t we?”
“i’ll tell the knives and forks!” echoed chot with a grin.
the boys began to fear that time would hang rather heavily on their hands that afternoon, as the dinner hour came and went and there was no word from mr. campbell. they accepted the invitation of the sheriff to come to the court-house for a while, there to await possible word of the capture of the robbers.
but as the afternoon wore on, and there was no news of any account, save that those in pursuit were still on the trail, following different clews, the boys decided that it would be more fun to wander off by themselves.
“take a trolley ride,” advised the sheriff. “the trolley goes several miles out into the country. you can scout around there and come back when you get ready. i reckon you’ll have to stay here all night, anyhow, for, even if we do get mr. campbell’s car back he won’t hardly want to start off without having it looked over. those robbers’ll drive it hard.”
this seemed good advice and the boys took it. very likely mr. campbell would not want to start right out again, even if those in pursuit were lucky enough to overtake, or find the robbers where they might be hiding.
promising to come back to mrs. wilson’s house, where they were invited to remain for the night, rick and chot started off on the suburban trolley line. to his howling regret ruddy could not accompany the boys, but was tied up in a shed at the wilson home. however the red setter was somewhat reconciled to his lot when mrs. wilson provided him with plenty of bones to gnaw. dogs, especially of ruddy’s size, were not allowed on trolley cars.
“well, we certainly are running into a bunch of things,” remarked chot to his chum as they went riding out through the pleasant country—for it was very pleasant, fresh and delightful after the rain.
“we sure are!” agreed rick. “are you glad you came?” he leaned over and punched chot playfully in the ribs.
“am i? say, you couldn’t beat it! and think of what’s ahead of us, rick!”
“what do you mean?” rick turned and looked at his chum.
“i mean out at uncle tod’s camp.”
“that’s right. there’ll be lots to do there. i wish i knew just what he wants of us.”
“maybe he just did it so we could have a good vacation.”
“no, it’s more than that,” rick declared. “he wouldn’t start off the way he did unless there was something up—and something queer, too. i’d like to know what it is.”
“so would i,” agreed chot. “i hope waiting around like this won’t spoil it.”
“i hope not,” murmured rick. “anyhow it’s a nice day.”
and it certainly was. the sun was warmly shining, rapidly drying up the mud puddles left by the recent storm. it was warm, but not hot and the boys thoroughly enjoyed the trolley ride through the green country which lay outside of fayetville, a prosperous city in the midst of a rich farming community.
“how far do you boys want to go?” asked the conductor, as he came in to collect the fourth or fifth fare, the boys could not remember which, for the line was divided into zones, and the fare was taken up for each one.
“oh, we’re just riding for fun,” explained rick.
“to sort of kill time,” added chot.
“is there anything to see around here?” rick wanted to know. “i mean a waterfall, or anything like that?”
“well, there’s a sort of cave about a mile from here,” the conductor said. “it’s off the main road and it’s quite a curiosity. sometimes on saturdays picnic parties go there, but not many during the week. it’s about a mile from the trolley.”
“let’s go there,” proposed rick to his chum. “can we get a car back to fayetville before night?” he inquired.
“oh, yes,” answered the conductor. “we run every half hour up to seven o’clock and every hour after that. i’ll tell you where to get off.”
the ride seemed more enjoyable now that the boys had a definite object in view, and they eagerly awaited word from the conductor when to alight and start across the fields and through a patch of woods, on a short cut to the cave, a local curiosity.
“here you are, boys!” finally called the puller of the bell rope, as the car came to a stop amid the squeaking of brakes. “just follow the path and you can’t miss the cave. there’s a wagon road that goes up to it, but that’s longer. you can come back the same way you go, as the cars always stop here about on the even hours and half hours so you’ll know how to time yourselves.”
“thanks,” murmured rick and chot and they struck into a field of daisies and buttercups which they must traverse, as well as a patch of woods, before reaching the cave.
“crackie, but this is great!” exclaimed chot as he ran and jumped on the springy turf.
“nothing better!” agreed rick, and he turned a hand spring in the abundance of his good feeling. then rick saw something down in the grass which he began pulling up and chewing.
“what is it?” asked chot.
“sheep sorrel,” was the answer. “i like a bit of sour stuff.”
“so do i,” agreed his chum, and soon they were chewing the tender light green leaves of the sorrel, a plant not unlike the irish shamrock in shape of foliage, but quite different in character.
a little of this “sour grass,” however, was enough for the boys, and they looked for other things with which they were familiar. they crossed the field, and before striking into the woods came to a sluggish brook.
“’tisn’t big enough to have a swim in,” said chot, regretfully.
“no, and doesn’t look clean enough,” added rick. “but there’s some sweet flag,” he went on eagerly. “let’s pull some.”
in a place where the brook widened out into a swampy place grew tall spears of green, not unlike the foliage of “cat tails,” those brown drum-sticks that many persons gather for ornaments. however these green spears were of a different character, for their roots formed the medicinal calamus, called by country folk “sweet flag.” calamus has a pleasant taste, though it is rather biting if taken in too great quantity. the root, dried, is often used in medicine, and old-fashioned people used to carry a bit in their pockets to nibble.
when i was a boy i would gather sweet flag, cut the roots into thin sections and bake it in the oven with sugar. it was better this way, though too much of it was not good for one.
rick and chot pulled some of the green stalks and ate the tender inner part that was not as strong as the actual root itself. they also found watercress, but this was not good without salt and they passed it by.
in the woods they discovered sassafras and birch bark, nibbling some of each and they also saw a lone crow which mournfully cawed at them, reminding rick of the crow ruddy had once found in the wood disabled, which black bird rick had taken home and tamed, naming it “haw haw.”
finally the boys emerged from the wood and came to a lonely road, which did not show signs of much travel.
“this must be the road where the cave is,” suggested chot.
“i guess so,” agreed rick.
they walked along it for about a quarter of a mile, following the trolley car conductor’s directions, and then turned into a gully, up which, they had been told, was the cave.
and, as they turned into this gully, or gulch the boys saw in the soft earth of the road, the marks of automobile tires.
“look! look at that!” cried chot excitedly.
“they’re just like the tires on mr. campbell’s car,” added rick.
eagerly they ran on, turning into the rocky and weed-choked road that led from the main highway into the gulch. and they had no more than swung around the turn than they made a strange discovery.
for there, in front of them, was an automobile turned on its side. and it needed but a second glance to make them aware that it was mr. campbell’s car. it bore his license plates, and among the baggage spilled from it were the boys’ valises.
