A few yards short of his goal, his foot caught on something and Joe measured his length with a force that almost drove the breath from his body. Fortunately the fall had left him in a tangle of bushes, and there he lay a moment and listened with fast-beating heart for a rush of footsteps. But the only sound that came to him was that of low voices from beyond the thin wooden wall a half-dozen feet away, and after a cautious look about him he squirmed forward again. To reach the nearer of the two windows he must make his way across the remains of an abandoned mowing machine, and that task was no slight one if he was not to proclaim his presence to those inside. But he managed it presently and was crouching, his head close to the weathered boards, listening to the voices. There were evidently at least two men in the shed. One spoke harshly yet quite distinctly, the other emitted only unintelligible mutterings.

“Kick the burlap over here, Jimmy,” said the first. A deadened metallic sound followed, as though a length of pipe had fallen on a carpeted floor. “There, that’s the last, ain’t it?” There came a creaking as of carriage springs and the mutterings of the second worker. “Yeah, I know,” went on the other, as if in response to a suggestion, “but we’ve got to take a chance now and then, ain’t we? Get it covered up good and there won’t be no trouble. Better change those number plates next thing. Huh?” The mutterings came again and the voice which Joe could understand broke in impatiently on them. “Oh, you give me a pain, Jimmy! We’ve made the trip four times, ain’t we? And we got by all right, didn’t we? Well, then, forget the crepe-hanging! Besides, this is the last lot, I guess. They’re getting het up here. When they begin offering rewards it’s a good time to move on. Huh? ... You and your hunches. You’re always having ’em, Jimmy, and they don’t never come true. Say, now, do they? Where’s those plates? All right, go ahead, and I’ll finish the load off.”

Something that sounded like a hammer struck the floor with a bang and footsteps scraped about. There was a grunt and then once more came the noise of creaking springs. Joe, unable to restrain his curiosity any longer, raised his head until his eyes topped the window-sill. The pane was dusty and draped with cobwebs, and the interior of the shed was shadowed, but after a second spent in accustoming his eyes to the gloom within he found that he was looking at the back of an automobile which was standing within some four feet of the rear wall. He was too low to see within it, although the top was down. Nearer the floor, something moved and the boy’s gaze lowered to a red-brown thatch of hair, to a shoulder clad in greasy blue denim. A squeaking sound suggested a nut being forced tight. One of the men, probably the one who mumbled, was changing the rear number plate. The second man was not in sight, for the automobile hid the rest of the shed from Joe’s view. The squeaking ceased and suddenly the upper part of the worker’s body shot upward within a few inches of Joe’s eyes and the boy dropped quickly below the window.

“All set,” came the voice from inside. “Let’s eat and get going, Jimmy. It’ll be dark in an hour. Huh? ... Oh, there ain’t no danger I’m telling you! Ain’t we got a right to haul a load of furniture over to Casper? Anyway, we’ll keep out of the town this time; take it along by the river. The roads are rotten, but we can make ’em if we don’t hurry too much. I’m aiming to get to Chi along about three-thirty. Best way’s to get the car unloaded and in the yard before daylight. Come on, let’s go.”

Joe listened intently. Footsteps crossed the floor, a door banged shut, the barking of a dog came from nearer the house. A voice called, “Slim! You, Slim!” The dog barked louder. Voices mingled, too indistinct, however, for Joe’s understanding. A door slammed and quiet reigned.

After a moment Joe slipped quickly back to the nearest apple tree and, making himself as small as possible, stared thoughtfully through the head-high crotch at the back of the shed. Low-hanging branches concealed him and gathering twilight was already making objects uncertain. Joe did some hard thinking during the next five minutes. He wanted very much to see what was in that automobile in the shed, but the risk would be great. Even if he managed an entrance through a window there was the possibility of being caught by the sudden return of one of the men. Getting out of a window in a hurry is not always an easy matter. Besides, he reflected, he was practically certain what he would find if he did investigate; as certain as a fellow could be without actually seeing. He relinquished thought of further investigation and considered, instead, how to circumvent the thieves. For Joe was quite sure that they were thieves. He was quite sure that he had found the headquarters of the gang who had been stealing bicycles in Central City. As he figured it out, the members of the gang stole the wheels and brought them out here to this deserted and almost forgotten house and hid them away until they had enough to make a load. Then they were placed in the automobile—having been, perhaps, first taken down and compactly bundled in burlap—and transported over the road to Chicago. How many there were in the gang he didn’t know; three, at least—not counting Gyp! From what he had overheard, it was plain that the men meant to make a start as soon as they had eaten supper. Somehow, he must communicate with the police, and that speedily. Once out of the town there were half a dozen roads they might take, and while by telephoning ahead, they might be intercepted there was always the chance that they might slip through. Whatever was to be done should be done at once. Joe wondered if there was a telephone at the Drayton house. He was pretty certain, though, that there wasn’t; pretty certain, indeed, that in coming out here he had left the last telephone pole well over a half-mile nearer town. Therefore the best thing to do was to get to the nearest telephone as soon as possible and call up the police station.

With a last look at the shadowy bulk of the shed, and tossing the packet of meat away, he crept back through the orchard and climbed the fence again. Beyond it, he sacrificed caution to speed and ran as fast as the uneven ground would let him. As he had suspected, no telephone wire entered the Drayton house, nor were there any poles in sight along the road toward which he hurried. To his disgust, he mistook the clump of bushes where he had hidden his bicycle and wasted more than one precious minute finding it. At last, though, he was mounted and pedaling hard over the lumpy, rutted road toward the distant city.

Twilight was coming fast now. He wondered how much time had elapsed since he had heard the house door close behind the men. He had, he figured, remained behind the shed a good minute before returning to the orchard, and had spent perhaps five minutes beside the tree and had probably consumed another five minutes in reaching the road and finding his bicycle. Consequently some twelve minutes had already gone by. If he got his telephone connection in another five minutes he would be doing very well indeed, and by the time the alarm was given nearly twenty minutes would have elapsed. In that time, reflected Joe, the thieves might well eat a hurried supper and start off on their journey. They had spoken of circling the center of the city and keeping along by the river, and if they did the car must go slowly, for the roads it would have to traverse were of dirt and little traveled, save for the mile or so of parkway that finally led to the bridge. The bridge! That was the place to watch for them! Then Joe’s sudden elation died a quick death. The thieves would have their choice of three bridges, after all, or, if they liked, could swing northward to Porterville and cross the river by the ferry. As he sped along making far slower progress than he desired, he watched anxiously for signs of a telephone. He had already covered a half-mile, he was sure, and still no poles came to sight. A suburban road, showing at long intervals a house of the poorer sort, led off to the right, and Joe slowed down and considered. This was the road the thieves would doubtless take if they held to their plan of following the river in its curve around the city. But there were no telephone poles on it and so it offered no attraction to the boy, and he was getting up speed once more when, from behind him, came the unmistakable roar of a motor. He looked back. Far down the road over which he had come two white eyes of light bored into the half darkness. Dismayed, Joe again slowed down, stopped, placed one foot on the ground and, undecided, waited. The approaching car came nearer and nearer, slowed a trifle and whisked its white orbs to the branching road. There were two forms on the front seat and the back of the car appeared to be piled high with furniture. Against the lighter sky Joe caught the silhouette of table legs stretched pathetically, helplessly upward. Then the car was gone.

What Joe did then was done without reflection. Probably if he had paused long enough to reason he would have continued on in search of the nearest telephone. Instead, however, he switched his bicycle about, set feet to pedals again, thump-bumped to the corner and set off along the strange road in pursuit of a tiny, dim red light.

The automobile was not going very fast now. It couldn’t and remain in the road. Chuck-holes were frequent and in places the roadbed was a soft and yielding mire of wet clay and loam. Joe almost came to grief in one such place, and, perhaps fortunately, since what was almost a tumble drew his gaze to the side of the road. At some not long distant time an effort to sell house lots there had led to the building of several blocks of concrete sidewalk. It had apparently never paid for itself, since few houses had been built, but there it was, and it took but an instant for Joe to reach it. After that for some four or five blocks he sped at full speed, his foot on one side whisked by the encroaching weeds, and saw to his delight that he had gained on the more cautious car.

Then the concrete sidewalk gave out and he was forced back to the road, but the red tail light was scarcely more than a block away from him and he didn’t doubt that from now on, until the car left the city environs, he would be able to hang on to it. He hoped to find a policeman to whom he could give warning. Failing that, he could at least determine the road taken by the thieves and so make more certain their capture.

Stone paving took the place of dirt and the automobile gathered speed. But it was evident to Joe that the driver was seeking to avoid all suggestion of flight. Even when still later, a stretch of rather worn asphalt came the car did not speed up as the pursuer feared it would, but trundled along at a brisk yet unhurried pace. Even so, however, it drew gradually away from Joe until, at the end of the asphalt, it had increased its lead to nearly three blocks. By then they were among the factories, in a poorly lighted and, at the present hour, well-nigh deserted part of town. A huge grain elevator loomed beside the way, a black, gigantic specter in the early darkness. The bicycle bounced over the tracks of a railway spur. Between the silent buildings a steel-gray ribbon, reflecting an occasional light from the farther bank, showed. The river had drawn close, and in another minute or two Joe would know whether the car ahead meant to continue the swing about the city to one of the three bridges or to turn at right angles and take the Porterville road. As he struggled on, working desperately to bring the bicycle back to its former place in the race, he searched for the welcome sight of a dark blue uniform. Yet he saw none. If, he reflected indignantly, he hadn’t wanted a policeman the street would have been full of them! As it was, though, the corners were empty. No gallant guardian of law and order swung a night stick under an infrequent lamp post.

The railroad yard was beside him now, on his left hand, and the sounds of shunting freight cars and of exhausting steam reached him. Beyond a long freight house a swinging lantern made yellow arcs in the darkness. Then, almost before he was aware of its proximity, the Porterville road swung away from the cobbled thoroughfare and the red tail light of the car ahead was whisked from sight.