This machine was the _Clarion_; Kemper, driver, and Allstop, mechanician. It was a popular car and a favorite crew. Gossip at the Crown Hotel was partial to Kemper and the _Clarion_ as winners in the heavy car race.

A long, low, gray car with black lines--and known as the _Hare_, was another of the "sure" winners, according to the forecast of those whose wisdom was aired each day and night wherever crowds congregated in Queensville. The ident.i.ty of the _Hare's_ driver was the subject of almost unceasing discussion. When out on the course or wherever he might be seen, he wore invariably a head-dress that covered his face completely. None could recognize him. On the entry list his name appeared as "I. S. Mystery"--nothing more, and it is scarcely necessary to add that a mystery he was. Cobert, his mechanician, was also unknown. He wore no mask. His head-rigging left his face open to close scrutiny; but he was silent always. He worked with Mr. "Mystery" as if they read continuously each the thoughts of the other and had no need of any other language.

The _Hare_, as a car, was known quite well enough. The manufacturers were among the most prominent in America. As a factor in the heavy car race, the machine was considered very important, as has been stated. So much, however, depends upon the skill, experience and daring of the driver in any such contest, that many and many a man would have given a great deal to know who "Mystery" was, and where he and Cobert had acquired their apparently perfect training.

Six other cars, including the Alameda, two Brights, a Henry and two Wings completed the field for the big race. The light car contest was but a minor affair and attracted little notice. Of the six machines just mentioned, the Henry was looked upon as a bare possibility. The Brights were not rated highly, though one of them, with Crane--a long-experienced driver--as pilot, was counted upon as an interesting "dark horse." The Wings were the product of unknown builders. One of the wags at the Crown Hotel remarked that "the _pair_ of them might fly _some_, but not very far at that." The Alameda was not considered at all formidably, either, being practically unknown.

All the gossip concerning the different contestants he had heard about the hotel Gaines repeated as being strictly first-hand intelligence, or quite as if every word were a matter of his own personal knowledge, as the Trio watched the Monday morning practice. Very well did Fred and Pickton know where he had heard all he told them. That they secretly resented his manner of superiority there can be no doubt; but their interest in obtaining information was too lively to permit of their failing to listen, and attentively.

By ten o'clock, all the racing cars had been taken home to their respective stations, some in Queensville and some to headquarters established in camps at convenient points adjacent to the course. With the way now open to them, the Trio started in the Roadster for a trip around the circuit, Pickton at the wheel.

"Oh, you!" called a voice from one of the tire supply pits directly in front of the grandstand.

Perth answered, "h.e.l.lo!"

"How far you going?" asked the first speaker, a brisk young man in a suit of khaki. "Wonder if you'd just as soon take a couple of tubes over to the Clarion camp for me?"

"Sure, Mike," said the by no means bashful Perth, though why he supposed the name of the young man to be Michael--which, in fact, it truly was not--is a problem. But anyhow, "Sure, Mike!" he said.

"Their camp is in a little grove just the other side of Chester. You'll see a lane leading right back to their tent and a barn they have," the chap in the khaki suit continued. "Give 'em these two tubes. They'll know who sent 'em. You're the boys for me, all right!"

Gaines would have objected to taking the tubes aboard except for the opportunity to see the Clarion headquarters. He did not like the way in which Perth acted as spokesman. He so informed Fred a little later.

Again he requested him, also, and with some degree of earnestness, to remember whose machine he was "banging around for the accommodation of any Tom, d.i.c.k and Harry."

Perth smoothed matters over as best he could by saying, "Oh, Gaines, let's be civilized!" but he held the two tire tubes in his own hands.

When the camp of the _Clarion_ was reached, he carried them personally to the man who appeared to be in charge.

With the gentleman who received the tubes Perth found it quite easy to become acquainted. He volunteered to a.s.sist as the stranger immediately set about the work of inserting one of the new tubes in a tire. The change was being made on a car kept at the camp for general purposes.

Fred's offer was accepted and he did his work right skillfully.

Gaines and Pickton looked on but gave no a.s.sistance. Later all three were allowed to watch Kemper and Allstop making some adjustments on the Clarion racer. A proud moment it was, too, when the famous driver nodded to them in a friendly way.

"Much obliged for those tubes," he said, looking toward Fred. "It was one on me that you were asked to fetch them. I intended stopping at the tire control my last time around and forgot it."

"Don't mention it," said Perth.

It was odd, but the fact, nevertheless, that this very natural conversation was the source of much irritation to Mr. Soapy Gaines.

"That Clarion car has no more chance," said he, when the Roadster was again underway upon the course--"that Clarion car has no more chance of winning than your grandmother. The thing's a heap o' junk and Kemper couldn't drive a truck!"

"Fudge!" snorted Perth in an outburst of supreme contempt.

"Keep our eyes open and we might find Way's outfit," suggested Pickton, anxious to prevent a clash and even more anxious, if the whole truth were known, to locate the Auto Boys' camp.

Strangely enough Tom's proposal instantly interested Soapy very much.

Fickle and uncertain always, he now declared that, come what might, he would find where Way and the rest were staying and what they were doing in the locality, if it took all day.

CHAPTER XV

SECRETS OF THE WOODS

"Wiggle around some! Get your blood in circulation, and you'll be warm enough!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Billy Worth, rather forcibly.

His remark was aimed at Paul Jones, fussing and shaking, pretending to be all in a shiver with the cold while he leaned half-dressed over the campfire. "Might wiggle a little more wood up here. Can't afford to burn up the back-log, just getting breakfast!" Billy added.

Worth had been up and fully dressed a quarter of an hour or more. With Phil's help he had the morning meal actively in course of preparation.

It was but little later than sunrise. The air was still cool. Dave was finishing his hasty toilet in the tent and Jones half-heartedly was trying to do the same while crouching as close to the fire as he very well could do without falling in.

"Great Scott, Bill!" protested Paul in answer to Worth's call for firewood. "Great Scott and also gee whiz! I'll bet I've toted twenty-seven cords of wood into this camp already, and we've been here just two days. I hope if ever you are married your wife will be descended from four generations of railroad firemen and your coal house will be half a mile from where you live! I just do, by ginger!"

And although Paul's words were decidedly softened by his tone of pretended personal injury and suffering, Billy called, "Gangway!" in a manner far more peremptory than sympathetic in reply. Up he came rushing with the coffee pot and, uncertain whether some of its cold contents might not be intended for his bare shoulders, Paul sprang quickly to one side. Quite sprightly then, he completed his dressing in almost less time than it takes to say it, and until breakfast was announced gathered and carried up firewood as if he had whole train-loads to collect and only a day in which to do it.

On part of all the boys there was the liveliest activity this Monday morning. At last and at last, after all their months of planning, after all the preparations and their long journey they were ready to explore the secrets of the vast Ship woods. All talk of the automobile races, all thought of the Chosen Trio's pursuit, thus far so ridiculously fruitless, were forgotten. True, Mr. Gaines and his loving friends were in Queensville; and true, that small city lay almost twenty miles distant. Still what do twenty miles count with an automobile at one's disposal? Yet even this thought did not more than once occur to the four chums.

"Three stones piled one upon another to mark the place." Once more the Auto Boys found themselves repeating many times the words which had been the means of bringing them to the great woods. Once more they speculated upon the probability of being able, in all this broad expanse of timbered hills and dales, to find that one small spot where years before the marker of stones had been erected.

Their search, it had been decided long ago, should be pursued systematically. To roam through and through the woods, going at random in this or that direction, would almost certainly result in a complete failure to locate the object of their trip. The danger of becoming hopelessly lost, far in the forest's interior, was still another excellent reason for keeping steadily within lines of march agreed upon before starting.

"Remember," said Billy Worth, "that the bark has the most moss on the north side of the trees. Remember--"

"Oh, fiddle, Billy! You remember that there'll be the hungriest quartette around here to-night that you ever had to cook for," broke in Paul Jones. "n.o.body's going to get lost!"

"Well, you remember, young fellow, that you're to be back to camp in time to go for milk before supper," cried out Dave MacLester.

There were other parting sallies as Dave and Billy started out in one direction and Phil and Paul another. A last admonition from Way, that regardless of all else, and no matter what was or was not discovered, all four were to meet in camp again at six o'clock, marked the separation of the two searching parties. Yet even these were not the last words spoken. Dave MacLester just could not resist his customary prediction of ill-luck.

"Bet a dollar, right now, n.o.body finds a thing!" he called loudly. But by this time he and Worth were high up on the crest of the ridge rising above the camp. Phil and Paul were some distance away, heading straight up the valley of the stream below.

Any one chancing to observe the boys as they thus set out would surely have found his curiosity aroused by their accouterment. Each party carried an axe and spade. In the hollow of Phil Way's arm was also a small rifle. Billy Worth carried in addition to his spade a rather formidable looking revolver. Paul Jones carried a noonday lunch for himself and Phil in a small box slung over his shoulder like a knap-sack. Similarly MacLester bore refreshment for himself and his partner for the day.

"Pretty good fun if we _don't_ find anything," Dave found himself admitting almost before the echo of his prediction of failure had died away.

And was he right? The air was just pleasantly cool. The fragrance of the forest's tender new leaves was everywhere. No sound but the distant cawing of crows, and somewhere to the right the chirp of a squirrel broke the silence save for the rustling leaves underfoot. The very hush of the woods was eloquent with sweet sentiments. The dogwood blossoms seen at intervals, and more frequently the wake-robins and adder's tongues, contributed their touch of beauty to enhance such gentle thoughts and feeling.

Buoyant and happy, the one eager with expectation, the other less confident but very willing to find himself a poor prophet, the two lads moved steadily, watchfully forward. Billy and Dave had been a.s.signed to all that part of the forest lying to the north of Camp Golden and between the edge of the hillside above the creek and a long since abandoned logging road which penetrated deep into the woods a quarter of a mile to the east. It would keep them very busy to cover the ground at all thoroughly before night.

"No, this ain't the great woods, though! Oh, I guess it's hardly any woods at all! Very poor woods! Oh, yes! Very poor day, too!" With this and other similar declarations, equally dignified and polished, Paul Jones expressed the delighted state of his mind at about the same time Dave was mentioning his own pleasure to Worth.

Phil Way acquiesced in all of Paul's words, paradoxical as it may appear, for he really denied them. "There never was a grander day; and isn't it a dandy, big woods!" he said. "Just makes a man feel like soaring, though never before so conscious of his littleness and downright insignificance. Why! the creek! these old trees! They were all here and ages old long before we were on earth! They'll be here long after we are gone, too, Paul. But oh! it is fine to be with them--to enjoy them!"

The course Way and Jones were taking was to the north through the valley. Between the east bank of the creek and the foot of the hill lay a strip of woods ranging from one hundred to three hundred yards in width. This was to be the field of their searching as they progressed to the extreme northern limits of the forest. Returning, they would traverse carefully the broad, sloping hillside, broken here and there by precipitous ledges. So would they reach camp again, and the more open valley near it.

"'Three stones piled one on top of another!' It will be along the hill, I'm thinking, that we'll finally find them," observed Paul thoughtfully to himself. Then, impressed by what he considered the importance of this conclusion, he called out the substance of it to Phil, for the two were keeping some distance apart in order that the least possible bit of ground should escape their scrutiny.