Although there was no necessity for great speed, the boys were anxious to get their errand accomplished and deposit the model safely in Boston. Then, too, Jack was looking forward, on his return, to making Mr. Peregrine’s invention practicable.

The day was pleasant. The sun shone down hotly, but the two lads in the auto did not notice the heat as they rushed along smoothly in the big machine. They passed through Pokeville at a good rate of speed. So fast, in fact, that they did not notice a man with a red beard who was lounging in front of the hotel. But if they did not see him, he took due note of them.

“There go those two kids,” he muttered; “wonder where they are off to now. It might be a good thing to follow them. I’ve got a scheme. I’ll call up Peregrine’s house and find out where they are going. It may turn out to be worth while taking after them.”

In accordance with this resolve the red-bearded man entered the hotel and closeted himself in a telephone booth. Adopting a feigned voice he represented himself as a friend of Jack’s, and asked where the boy had gone. Mr. Peregrine who, like most inventors, was rather unworldly, immediately replied that the boys had gone on a trip to Boston on important business.

“To Boston,” exclaimed the man to himself, as he hung up the receiver; “if that’s the case, I’ll wager it’s got something to do with the vanishing gun. Hold on a minute! By Jove, I recollect now that Peregrine’s patent lawyer has offices in that city. It’s ten to one that those boys are going there on some business connected with him.”

He lost no time in finding his companion, who was puffing at a black cigar and reading the morning paper. He hastily told him what he had seen, and suggested that they take after the boys at once in the yellow auto.

This plan was soon put into execution, and although they had not much hope of overtaking the lads, the two men reasoned that possibly some accident might favor them. At any rate, they knew that the rich men who employed them to keep track of Mr. Peregrine’s affairs would want to know of the object of this Boston trip, which was clearly an important one.

The bridge which had halted the boys the day before was repaired by this time, and the Flying Road Racer crossed the rather flimsy temporary affair without difficulty. About half a mile beyond the road turned sharply. As the boys swung around this turn they almost ran into the midst of quite an assemblage of men and horses and gaily painted wagons. In a flash Jack realized that they were probably in for some trouble, for he had no difficulty in recognizing this outfit as being the traveling circus from which they had rescued Ralph.

The road was too narrow to turn around in. There was nothing to do but to keep on. Jack hastily told Ralph to conceal himself under a pile of wraps in the tonneau, and with a beating heart he sounded the electric horn, hoping that the circus wagons would turn out and he could get through without difficulty.

But, as ill luck would have it, the rear wagon was driven by the very man with whom they had had the trouble, and beside him sat the fellow who had wielded the whip. They looked around at the sound of the horn and recognized the two lads in a flash. Their next move was to turn their wagon deliberately across the road, effectually blocking the thoroughfare. Then the be-diamonded man shouted to those ahead:

“Say, boys! Here’s the two kids that stole Ralph. Don’t let ’em get away till we’ve evened things up.”

Jack had, of necessity, stopped the Flying Road Racer when the wagon was pulled across the road. He was conscious of a sharp feeling of alarm as the two men clambered down from the wagon and were joined by half a dozen others, all hard-featured, bad-looking men.

“Now we’ve got you where we want you,” growled the big man, shaking his fist vindictively at Jack; “get down out of that benzine buggy and give up your watches and money. Then I’m going to give you the worst hiding you ever had in your lives.”

“I’m not so sure of that,” rejoined Jack, with a calmness he was, in reality, far from feeling; “let us get past, please.”

“Ho! ho! ho! so you think you’re going to get off scot free, do you? Well, you’re mistaken, you young jackanapes. Come on now, get out of that rig.”

As he spoke the man came close to the side of the Flying Road Racer and began tugging at Jack’s arm. But he had hardly laid hands on him before an astonishing thing occurred—astonishing to the ruffian, that is.

Jack’s fist shot out swiftly, and with considerable force. The next instant the fellow, who had been hit fairly between the eyes, staggered back and, tripping on a rock, fell over.

But his companion of the day before, who still wielded a whip, sprang forward from the other side of the machine and aimed a blow at Jack from behind. Tom caught the fellow’s wrist as it descended, and twisted it till he yelled with pain. An angry murmur ran through the crowd of circus men. Several of them detached themselves from the main body, and made an onslaught on the Flying Road Racer.

The boys defended themselves valorously; but there is little doubt that the battle would have ended in their defeat, if it had not been for a sudden happening that diverted the attention of the showmen.

This was nothing more nor less than a shout from some of the men who were lingering about the more distant wagons.

“Old Wallace has escaped!” they cried at the top of their lungs.

At the same instant the boys saw the huge, tawny form of a big lion launch itself from one of the forward wagons. Men scattered and ran right and left, the two fellows who had attacked the boys being among the first to make off.

The lion, having gained the ground, stood stock still for an instant, lashing his tail angrily. The creature seemed undetermined what to do. In the meantime the entire assemblage of showmen had vanished. Not one remained on the scene. The horses attached to the wagons began to rear and plunge in terror.

As for the boys, they were fairly paralyzed for a moment; but not for long. The escape of the lion had caused the horses attached to the wagon which had been drawn across the road to swing inward in alarm. This left a clear passage ahead for the Flying Road Racer.

Jack’s mind was made up in a flash. Putting on full power he drove the big car ahead. The lion saw it coming and gave an angry roar, and was about to spring at the boys when the front of the speeding machine struck the great brute. With a howl of pain and fright the creature rolled over helplessly, pawing the air with its claws, but with all the fight taken out of it.

Ralph, who had crawled out of his place of concealment as the car moved forward, fairly gasped when he saw what had happened.

“That’s old Wallace, the man-eating lion,” he exclaimed; “they got him cheap because of his bad disposition.”

“Well, I guess his disposition is considerably quieted down by this time,” laughed Jack, as the chastened king of the jungle went limping off down the road.

“The same thing applies to that bunch of circus men, I guess,” chimed in Tom.

All three of the lads had to laugh as they saw the lately belligerent show folks decamping down the road at a lively rate. They did not return till Wallace had wandered off across some meadows. The lads learned later that the lion was killed by a farmer the next day as it was attacking some cows, and that the circus men had to pay heavy damages. However, at the time, they did not linger in the vicinity, but resumed their journey as speedily as possible.

Ralph was pale and trembling from his narrow escape, and he had good reason to be, for it is easy to guess what his fate would have been if he had come once more into possession of the rascally circus crew.

Before long they came to a point where the road forked. A signboard standing there directed travelers to Compton, five miles, and Wynburg, three miles.

“I guess we’ll go through Compton,” decided Jack, taking the road that turned to the right, “it’s a little longer way round, but it’s a better road.”

Their way now lay under a high arch of interlacing tree boughs that met above the track. It was cool and pleasant, and when they reached a little brook the three lads decided to get out and eat some of the sandwiches and pie they had brought with them. They made a merry meal of it there under the trees, washing down their lunch with water from a small spring which supplied the brook.

They had just finished and were thinking of resuming their journey, when a sudden sound broke into the stillness of the woodland road—a series of sharp puffs.

“It’s an auto,” exclaimed Jack, who readily recognized the sounds.

“And it’s coming this way, too,” decided Tom.