It was with much growling and sleepy sulkiness that Soapy Gaines crawled down from his seat in the Roadster while Pickton and Fred were opening camp equipage and making ready for the night. By the lamps of the car he viewed their labors for a minute or two, drowsily grumbling the while, then putting a light motor robe over his head and shoulders threw himself on the grass heavily.

"Ow! Murder! I'm killed!" came frantic screams from young Mr. Gaines the next instant. "Ow! I'm—I'm killed dead!"

If "killed" Soapy was, however—to say nothing of his being killed "dead"—his actions were certainly extraordinary. He rolled over and over, then jumped to his feet, again calling out in greatest distress that he was "killed," and ending with the declaration in tones both loud and angry, "Never saw such crazy idiots! Let me jump into thorns a yard long and never say 'Look out!' Somebody'll get it for this, I'll bet, now you see!"

As a matter of fact there had chanced to be a considerable heap of thorny branches from the hedge buried in the tall grass at the precise spot where Gaines had thrown himself. They found him out in several places, piercing his back and legs painfully. And although his injuries were, of course, not at all serious, he seemed somehow not to take this fact into consideration.

He hopped about—"like a crazy war dance," Fred Perth muttered—then frantically sought to examine the damage sustained by the glare of the headlights. All the while he was saying things, some of which were not exactly complimentary to those addressed, and vowing vengeance on someone or something, he apparently did not know what.

Perth could scarcely suppress a laugh but Pickton was more in a mood to express some very decided opinions as the two helped Gaines assure himself that none of the thorns were still lodged in his flesh—an assurance he seemed very reluctant to accept.

"Anyhow, it shows us we'll have to be right careful about the tires. We'd have to pump them up again," observed Perth with a grin.

But Soapy saw nothing funny in the remark and quite pointedly said as much. And it was not until Pickton had explored a spot nearer the car, on his own hands and knees, and so proved that it was wholly safe, that the sadly spoiled member of the party could be persuaded to stretch himself in a blanket there and so fall asleep.

In a little while the other two of the somewhat discordant, though self-named "Chosen" Trio had done the same.

It was Friday night—the very evening on which a certain quartette of other lads had selected their permanent camp in the western edge of the Ship woods. Tom Pickton thought much of them, wondering where they were and what progress they might have made by this time with the mystery of the "three stones" as he lay gazing at the stars.

Very fearful was Thomas that ere their stopping place could be discovered and their movements investigated, he would be too late—too late to learn the secret of the Auto Boys' Quest. Or if not, indeed, too far behind them to discover the real purpose of the lads' expedition, at least too late to do some possibly successful exploring on his own account. For this, particularly, did Pick have in mind. If there was hidden treasure to be found, he had the right, he considered, to locate the same if he could do so.

But Tom fell asleep at last resolving only for the present that an early start must be made next morning and no pains spared to trace definitely the movements of the young motorists whom he knew to be at least two days in advance of the Roadster. And this resolution he carried into prompt action.

It was just sunrise when he arose. Freddy Perth responded instantly to his call. Gaines still slept and was left undisturbed while a tiny gasoline stove was excavated from the depths of a bale of baggage and breakfast preparations started. Perth had a long walk to obtain water, but returned bringing some fresh eggs the kind farmer's wife had offered him, as well; and when Soapy was at last summoned to arise he found coffee boiling and the morning meal just ready.

A night's rest had improved the temper of the genial Mr. Gaines, temporarily, at least. Although indulging in a deal of growling over the lack of bathing facilities, which were, in fact, noticeably wanting, he "felt like a lark." At least he said so, and perhaps he did. For a creature of that description could hardly be expected to lend a hand at packing baggage away, pumping up a tire from which considerable air had escaped, or anything of the kind; and certain it is that Soapy did not.

The day's running of the Trio was through a wealthy farming section. Often they stopped to inquire if the Auto Boys had passed that way, and, as the well-loaded touring car and its four youthful passengers had been noticed by many, they found in this well populated region no want of information. Even after the pike was left behind and a sparsely settled section encountered, it was still no task to learn at one poor dwelling or another the direction the Auto Boys had traveled and the time, even to the approximate minute, when they had passed.

The sight of an automobile was not a frequent occurrence in these parts. The way the horses shied here, in contrast with the little heed they gave the machines nearer the towns, was sufficient proof of this. The people, too, had paid vastly more attention to the touring car, as they also looked much more curiously at the Roadster here than had been the case on more prominent thoroughfares.

So did the three lads find their spirits rising. Or, it might be more accurate to say, so did two of them make such observation; for when the prospect of simply crackers, coffee and cheese for lunch developed, Mr. Soapy Gaines sank into a sullen rage which continued until evening. He was like a volcano during such periods—smoldering constantly, but emitting flame and fury at quite frequent intervals.

If any of the boys still seriously considered their flight from Gouger's stable as likely to make them trouble, they did not show it. Fully believing their captor to have been a properly authorized officer, they understood their offense in escaping him to be much more serious than the mere charge of exceeding a speed limit would be. Once Fred suggested that it would have been better to have submitted to the arrest and paid their fine, that they might have proceeded on without fear of further molestation; but to this there came from Gaines so violent an eruption, in answer, that he pursued the subject no further.

Very well did Fred know, however, that at any point along the road, at any spot, whether they might be in Queensville or at the races, at any time of night or day, the charge "fugitives from justice," might have to be faced. Perfectly well did Pickton, also, understand this to be the very unpleasant situation, though he grew boldly confident such complications would not arise as Sagersgrove fell farther and farther to the rear.

And on the whole it was extremely fortunate for the Trio that Eli Gouger was far from being a regularly constituted officer of the law. It certainly would have been an immense relief to the inner consciences of Perth and Pickton had they known this. Perhaps it was because Soapy was too positively stupid to comprehend the situation fully that, except for the ridiculous part he had played in the affair, he would have considered the escape from the barn as a particularly bright and clever piece of work.

As nearly as the three boys could learn, they were within fifty miles of Queensville when lights began appearing in the windows of the few houses they passed, as twilight overtook them.

"Got to find beds sooner or later and why not in the first good camping place?" Pickton suggested. "Cost less here than in town, even if we reached there all right."

"Yes! See if you can't find a bloomin', thorny hedge and both of you jump into it," came from Gaines, explosively.

quoted Pickton with a laugh. For an hour he had been trying in vain to rally Soapy into a better humor. But that young gentleman making no response to this pleasant sally, Tom turned to Fred, on the rumble seat, saying: "You try to get some eggs and ham and bread, or whatever you can at the next house we come to and we'll go into camp right off. Blamed pity, though, we didn't make Queensville."

"Blamed pity we didn't get bacon and dried beef—any old thing—at that last cross-roads store, as I wanted to," was the answer. "I don't relish walking into strange yards and nobody knows how many dogs ready to take your leg off, any better than you do. And after dark, too!"

Nevertheless Fred did consent to try for provisions at the next dwelling and succeeded in buying a loaf of heavy, dark bread, a chunk of salt pork and a two-quart measure of potatoes. Moreover, the man of the house, a great, swarthy, black-bearded fellow, returned with him, volunteering to show the way to a suitable camping place.

Pickton was far from favorably impressed by the looks of the man or with his deep, gruff voice. Gaines was plainly frightened. However, Fred seemed to have become quite well acquainted with the stranger at once and the two talked and walked together, as the man led the way forward.

Pickton drove up slowly, behind, and in a little while crossed a small bridge spanning what appeared to be a nearly dry water course. But just beyond this the party was conducted over another bridge, a small affair of light timbers, erected over the wide, deep gutter at the roadside. The heavy car caused the flimsy structure to sag threateningly, and remembering the predicament following Mr. Gouger's leadership, Pick liked less and less the piloting of the black-bearded stranger.

It was now entirely dark. The car's headlights showed no road ahead—only the closely-cropped grass of a pasture with here and there clumps of brush and weeds. It was a wild enough appearing place, indeed, to have caused older men than these lads to look askance before proceeding further.

"Right ahead here, bub! It's only a shortish piece," the stranger called.

There was nothing for it but to follow or name a reason for not doing so. Tom allowed the machine to creep forward, though Gaines whispered, "We'll be murdered and robbed, that's what we'll be!" It was a real relief to both when Perth's voice came back through the darkness a few seconds later, "Come on up with the car. Here we are, and it's first-class."

Almost immediately the headlights shone upon an open space under some chestnut trees. It was at the foot of a steep rise of ground. Here the small stream crossing the road, just below, formed a deep, narrow pool, clear and cool. Fallen limbs and branches of a giant chestnut long since dead and now dry as tinder, lay here and there, affording the finest sort of firewood. The short, velvety grass beneath the thick foliage of the living trees was like a lawn and in all respects the conditions presented a splendid camp location.

"Ye'll want a fire the first thing," the black-bearded fellow said, and at once collected an armful of the dry wood. "Now ye can peel yer taters an' cook 'em like a ding-dang. Fry yer pork, too! Got a skillet?" said he, as the bright blaze he started flamed up.

And upon being assured that everything needful was at hand, the stranger bade the party good-night and strode away. A minute later his heavy foot-falls upon the light wooden bridge over the ditch were heard. And although by this time the boys were inclined to believe he meant them nothing but kindness, it was a relief to have him out of sight and hearing.

Late as it was, Fred proposed a hearty supper. All were hungry and Gaines and Pickton found the suggestion quite agreeable, the latter making the reservation, however, that he'd "be blamed" if he was going to wash any dishes afterward. The remark was quite like Soapy, all through. Also, much as he sniffed and, in Fred's language, "turned up his nose" at the salt pork, he ate heartily, not to say greedily, of that fare, though the meat and potatoes were scarcely more than half cooked.

Whatever other faults he may have had, Pickton never objected to doing a fair share of work. He fell to at the dish washing while Perth opened up blankets for the night. The campfire was very cheerful, though the gasoline stove of their outfit had been found more convenient for cooking, for all three lads lacked a broad camping experience. So more wood was brought to keep the fire blazing, and in all the odd chores performed, necessary or otherwise, the sum total of Mr. Soapy Games' contribution to the labor was the opening of his own suit case to find a clean shirt he wished to put on in the morning.

Although their supper and a vigorous washing of dusty, dirty hands and faces (which, quite contrary to precedent, followed rather than preceded their repast), had made each member of the Trio more optimistic than they had lately been, they still felt apprehensive concerning the swarthy giant of a fellow on whose land they were. Fred insisted that he meant only kindness, but when asked why the man should want to be more than decently civil to utter strangers, he could only answer, "Good Samaritan!"

All night long Pickton scarcely slept, so doubtful of Mr. Blackbeard's seemingly good intentions was he. Gaines had merely said, "Well, you fellows have got to keep your eyes open. I sleep sound as a bat and would never wake up no matter what happened." Then he had growled a great deal about the quality of his bed until at last he was snoring tremendously.

Perth's confidence in the "Good Samaritan" gave him a sense of real security and he dozed off quickly. And in the meantime Mr. Blackbeard himself had returned to his homely, unpainted house and sat himself down with Mrs. Blackbeard on the kitchen doorstep.

"Likely young fellers," said he. "Might have asked 'em into the house but they'd probably rather sleep out. Beat's all where some folks get all the money, Lizzie!" His tone was one of wonder, rather than complaint. "Here's them snips of young shavers tearin' over the country havin' a good time while you,—you that's worth a hay-rack load of 'em, ain't got a fairly good go-to-meetin' gingham dress, an' won't have till we sell the wheat that ain't hardly mor'n headed out yet. Beat's all, don't it?"

"Well, well, it's all right, John! Everybody has their good times, accordin' to their different ways an' means," the woman answered simply. "We have ours an' plenty enough to be thankful for, every day of our lives."

The whole of which goes to show that for every Eli Gouger in the world there is somewhere a true and honest, manly man bringing the general average up. Also, that big, generous hearts are often found in rough exteriors, and some of earth's truest nobility dwelling in obscure places. But—

"Gee Whiz! This is another day!" exclaimed Freddy Perth, several hours later, sitting up suddenly to find the sunlight filtering in through the chestnut branches.

And, quite remarkable as he seemed to think it, it was.