Great Hike; or, The Pride of the Khaki Troop

by Burt L. Standish

  CHAPTER VIII.

  TWENTY-SEVEN MILES FROM HICKORY RIDGE AND HOME.

  "LOOK at the silly guy, will you! Thinks he can run away from aforty-mile-an-hour engine! I like his nerve, now!" exclaimed Nat.

  "But Elmer's eating up the distance like fun!" cried Toby, dancing upand down in his great excitement. "Think of my old machine behaving sodecent, would you! Why, she runs as smooth as grease--better than whenshe was new! There! He's closing in on him now like hot cakes. Watchwhat happens, Nat!"

  They stood there in the road, with their eyes glued on the little comedythat was happening not a great distance away.

  The tramp knew from the loudness of those rapid-fire explosions that thespeeding motorcycle must be rapidly overhauling him. No need to turn hishead any longer to size up the situation, which in his mind was becomingacute.

  "He's going to skip out!" shrieked Nat, suddenly.

  "Sure thing!" echoed Toby. "Look at him dragging his big trilbies alongthe road to slow up. Hope he don't run slap into a tree though, and bustthings higher'n a kite!"

  "There he goes! Hoopla!" shouted Nat.

  They saw the tattered thief suddenly bring the motorcycle to a stop, orat least what looked like it from a distance. Then he fell over on theground, and rolled into the bushes, as if only too anxious to get outof the reach of the owner, before he could lay hands on him.

  Elmer shut off power and applied the brake, for he quickly came to astop close by the spot where his machine lay.

  "Chase after him, Elmer! Get him!" yelled Nat, as he and his comradestarted to hasten along the road, Nat apparently forgetting that hemight as well make use of his machine, if so be it would answer hisdemand.

  But it looked as though wise Elmer saw no reason why he should get mixedup with a rough hobo, simply to satisfy his desire for revenge. Heseemed to be bending over the motorcycle, as though investigating theextent of damages it might have sustained in being so hastily dropped onthe hard road.

  "Here, what's the reason we can't get along in style?" demanded Toby."Hit up your old ice wagon, and I'll hitch on behind that far."

  "Sure thing!" remarked Nat, as if the idea had never once occurred tohim, he was so busy thinking of how he would like to lay hands on thethief.

  After several attempts the machine decided to be good; and as itstarted, Toby managed to hang on in some fashion, until presently theyarrived on the scene.

  Elmer had raised his motorcycle and started the engine going, afterdropping the rest at the rear, so that the back wheel could spin in theair.

  "Seems to work all right!" declared Toby.

  "Glad to say there's been no damage done, except a dent in the gas tank,and that can be easily pounded out later on," Elmer declared, as heheaved a sigh of relief.

  "Are we going to let that hobo get off so easy; or do we chase afterhim?" asked Nat, glaring around at the neighboring woods, in the depthsof which no doubt the object of his anger was snugly ensconced, watchingto see what they would do.

  "No use trying to get hold of him," remarked Elmer. "Forget it, andlet's bump along the road. He just saw a chance to steal something thathe really had no use for, and couldn't hold back. It's all right now,and no damage done. Get ready to start, fellows!"

  In another minute they were speeding away, possibly much to the reliefof the concealed tramp, who had begun to fear that he had stirred up ahornet's nest, and was likely to get stung pretty badly.

  Ten minutes later, with all three machines humming merrily, they flittedpast a roadside tavern.

  "See that?" called Elmer over his shoulder to Toby, who was next inline.

  "The road house, d'ye mean?" answered the other.

  "Second signing station, fourteen miles, about, from Hickory Ridge,"Elmer said.

  "But you didn't make any move to stop," remarked Toby.

  "No need," came the reply. "We wouldn't be apt to pick up any later newsthan what Hen Condit gave us. And we want to make all the time we can.Been enough delay already."

  "But perhaps there won't be any more, from my machine anyhow, Elmer.She's going like a greased pig. That shake-up must have been just whatthe old buster needed." Toby bawled, knowing to what the other referredwhen he mentioned hold-ups.

  Nat was trailing along in the rear, but coming apparently with no signof another balk; although doubtless he lived in perpetual fear ofsomething new springing a surprise on him. A motorcycle, once it getsto acting queer, can establish a reputation for opening up new avenuesof trouble second to none.

  "Hey, look ahead!" called Toby, presently, after they had coveredanother long distance of quite a number of miles.

  Elmer, upon doing so, discovered that a couple of fellows occupied themiddle of the road, and seemed to act as though they meant to staythere, no matter what came along.

  As the motorcycle squad rushed toward them, Elmer had no greatdifficulty in recognizing Landy's cousin, George Robbins, and one of theFairfield crowd, Angus McDowd.

  They had their arms locked, and seemed on the best of terms with theworld in general, though their steps had a tottery look, as Natexpressed it.

  Finding themselves left far in the rear, these two had apparently madeup their minds not to bother about who won the great hike; but to stickto each other, and take things as easy as they could.

  Hearing the sputtering of the several machines, they looked back andwaved their hands, evidently recognizing Elmer in the lead. Then theystepped to one side of the road so as to let the procession pass.

  Elmer threw out his hand so as to warn Toby to slow up, as he meant todo that same, and did not wish to take the chances of being run down.

  "How far are we from home?" shouted both the walkers, as Elmer cameclose.

  "About twenty miles," he replied, for he had anticipated such aquestion, and prepared himself to meet it promptly.

  "Is that all?" called Angus McDowd, who looked pretty much "all in."

  "What's the news; who's ahead, Elmer?" called George, as the motorcyclepassed.

  "Lil Artha at last accounts, by a long lead!"

  "Bully for Lil Artha!" both trampers shouted; for Angus was so tiredhimself that he really cared very little who won.

  "How far ahead of us, hey?" shouted George.

  "Only about thirteen miles, George," answered Toby as he flitted pastwith a fresh start.

  "Oh, won't poor old Landy feel sore when he hears how the hope of thePhilander Smiths has gone aglimmering!" mocked Nat, as he, too, went by.

  George made a quick motion with his hand as though throwing something athis tormentor; then his care-free laugh floated after them.

  About three miles farther along the road they discovered another sight.

  "What's going on there?" shouted Toby, who again hung rather dangerouslyclose in the rear of the leader, because he wanted a chance to exchangeremarks from time to time.

  "Looks like a breakdown, and that's a fact," Elmer replied.

  "That's right," called Toby immediately. "It's Tom Cropsey, and he'strying to put a plug in his tire. He's got a puncture, and that endedhis run as inspector."

  The boy looked up as they drew near, and shook his head even as hegrinned.

  "All in, I reckon, Elmer, can't seem to fix her!" he called, as thescout leader flashed past.

  Possibly he would have been glad if they had stopped in order to assisthim repair the obstinate break; but Elmer had other fish to fry justthen, and time was too valuable to waste in gaining a recruit who couldnever keep up with them for even half a mile.

  So they presently saw the last of poor Tom, marooned so far away fromhome, and with night coming on apace.

  Elmer knew that they might expect to overtake some of the others at anyminute now, and every time he turned a bend he looked closely to see ifthere were not figures on the road ahead.

  Nor was he mistaken.

  A few more miles, and he saw a lone pedestrian manfully strugglingonward, with a stout stick, which he had stopped to cut, assisting him.At first E
lmer thought it was an old man hobbling along, until coming upon the party, the other wheeled.

  "Hello, Jack, old fellow! making a game push for it, eh?" called Elmer,who had slowed down considerably, so as to give the contestant a cheeryword to encourage him in persisting.

  "Wow, but I guess I'm pretty near the limit, Elmer," answered the other,who turned out to be Jack Armitage. "How far have I come since morning,hey?"

  "About twenty-four miles," answered Elmer, as he passed.

  "Gee, is that all? Thought it was near fifty!" lamented the scout, as hewaved his cane at both Toby and Nat as they went by and doubtless castan envious look at the machines that were carrying them over the groundso easily, while he was completely done up, and ready to cry quits.

  "Next!" shouted Nat, who was really enjoying this thing of overhaulingthe various used-up walkers more than anything that had come his way fora long time; it is always so nice to spin along on a wheel, or amotorcycle, or in a car, and _pity_ the poor fellows who have to walk!

  "Well, there he is, right beyond," said Toby over his shoulder.

  "Who under the sun is it?" demanded the rider in the rear, whose viewwas somewhat obstructed by his companions.

  "Blest if I know; looks a little like our Ty Collins!" Toby shot back.

  "It is Ty; anybody ought to recognize that old red sweater of his,"Elmer announced; "and he's got a fine stone bruise on his foot, if thatlimp means anything!"

  The contestant stepped out of the road as they drew near. He stiffenedup to salute, game to the last, and chasing away the look of pain thathad been on his boyish face.

  One of his shoes was held in his hand, and he had been walking along inthis way, determined not to give up until the last gasp.

  "Better throw up the sponge, Ty," called Elmer, who had the authority toorder anyone out of the race who in his judgment was unfit to continuefurther.

  Ty's face told that he welcomed this command, as it released him fromall further responsibility, and he could retire with good grace.

  "What'd I better do, Elmer?" he called out.

  "Station four just ahead; stay there to-night. Some one come for you inmorning!" the scout leader shouted back.

  "All right, I will. Hello! Toby, and you ditto, Nat. Who's winning? Thatfast Fairfield fellow, Wagner, passed me a long time ago, going strong."

  "Oh, Lil Artha is miles ahead of him!" replied Nat.

  "Hurrah for the pride of Hickory Ridge troop! Bully for Lil Artha!" theyheard Jack whoop as they sped onward.

  Thus one by one they were fast picking up the contestants who werespread out along the road to Little Falls, covering many miles from theleader to the fellow far in the rear, the Hope of the Philander Smiths.

  "There's the other bicycle boy, Phil Dale!" shouted Toby a little later,after they had passed the tavern which had been selected as the fourthstation.

  "And he's near played out, too. Look at him wabble, would you! Wow, hecan't do many more miles at that rate!" Nat yelled.

  Elmer gave a salute to warn the rider they were coming and wanted halfthe road. As he swept past Phil called out something, but Elmer failedto catch what he said, the others also went whooping by, no one havingthought to slow down.

  And so both inspectors as well as a number of the played-out contestantshad been overhauled. They were now fast coming to the point where acrisis would be waiting for them. Twenty-seven miles from Hickory Ridgeand evening close at hand, when the miserable plot of the Fairfieldschemers could be put into play!