"Great news, fellows!" called Hen Condit, as he gave the salute on seeing that the assistant scout master was with the party on motorcycles.

"What's that you say, Hen?" shouted Toby, making a flying jump from his saddle that caused him to land plump on hands and knees before the road house.

"Here, hold on, what d'ye think you're doing, Toby Jones?" called Nat, who was showing a little more deliberation in dismounting. "Guess you're dreaming about aeroplanes and all such tomfoolery. Think you can fly, eh? Well, grow a pair of real wings first!"

Toby's pet hobby lay in the line of aeronautics. He was forever studying up the mysteries of bird motion, and had the records of all the leading aeroplane drivers at his finger tips, so that he could tell instantly what was the highest point as yet reached by a bird-man; the fastest flight made singly and with a passenger; the longest distance traversed without alighting, and lots of other similar facts in which the average boy might not be greatly interested.

He had several times made a gallant attempt to fly, but thus far the machines he had constructed lacked some essential quality. At any rate Toby had suffered pretty much as did the Darius Green of whom we older fellows used to read in our earlier days; and perhaps can still remember declaiming the story of a vaulting ambition that took a tumble from the old barn roof.

Elmer gained the doorway where Hen Condit, one of the later recruits in the Hickory Ridge troop, awaited him. Hen had only received his new uniform on the preceding day, and hence he felt as proud as a peacock. His chest had never before been known to have anything like the fine appearance that it now presented. And only that morning his doting father had remarked that joining the scouts had done more for the Condit son and heir than years of pleading and scolding had effected, in so far as making him stand up, and throw his shoulders back.

"Now, what's the news, Number Eight?" asked Elmer; for the boy in the doorway belonged to the Wolf Patrol, though a real tenderfoot, in that he had only qualified for the lowest rung in the ladder by learning how to tie a number of knots, learning what the requirements of a scout consist of, and similar things.

"I just had news from up the road, sir," said Hen, eagerly.

"Good news, or bad?" asked Elmer, just as if his eyes did not tell him that.

"Fine and dandy, sir," was the reply.

"Of course connected with the advance member of our immortal six?" Elmer continued.

"Sure." Hen forgot to add the term of respect now, for he was burning with impatience to disclose his knowledge.

"Where from?" asked the scout leader.

"Rockledge, which is, I find, about thirty-two miles from Hickory Ridge by the route marked out," answered Hen.

"That's right," muttered Toby, who had the map in his mind pretty accurately, because he and Nat had often scoured the country when their machines were newer and acted more decently.

"What was the report, Number Eight?" Elmer asked.

"One of our boys had just registered there. He was nearly half an hour ahead of the next contestant; though that one appeared to be Felix Wagner, the smart second baseman of the Fairfield nine!"

Elmer looked sober. He realized that the conditions seemed to be peculiarly fitted for the carrying out of the scheme which those four Fairfield plotters had arranged, and started up the road some time before to execute, if it was necessary, in order to help their man win.

A Hickory Ridge scout half an hour ahead of the fleetest of the rival organization! That would mean a Fairfield victory, providing the present leader could in some way be disqualified.

"Who was the first man?" he asked, feeling pretty confident as to what the answer would be.

"Lil Artha! He's doing the Hickory Ridge troop proud this day. We'll forgive a heap in the way of practical jokes if he only comes in away ahead of Felix," Hen observed, with the natural pride boys always take in their home-town doings.

"Hurrah for Lil Artha! Didn't I always say he would show them a clean pair of heels? Oh, he's a wonder at hiking and running! A three-bagger for most fellows lets Lil Artha score the circuit. Bully boy, Artha! Yes, we'll forgive everything if only he keeps this up and puts the Injun sign on Fairfield."

Somehow or other it seemed as though most of their concern lay in the possibility of the rival organization winning the laurels. No matter which of the six home scouts came in ahead, if only he could have the laugh on Fairfield!

"Half an hour ahead, you said, Number Eight?" Elmer pursued, as he turned the matter over in his mind and began to figure as to just how they should act in order to play the game right.

"That's what I got over the wire. If you want, you can call up Rockledge now, and perhaps they'll be able to give more information," Hen Condit answered.

"No need, I reckon. What we want to do now is to get busy," said Elmer.

His eye naturally turned toward the two old machines that were apt to prove so unreliable. And no doubt Elmer was compelled to once more debate within his mind whether it would be best for him to leave Nat and Toby far in the lurch, depending on his single arm to protect Lil Artha against the vandals who would ruin the great hike; or by suiting his pace to their progress, accidents and all, and have comrades to depend on in an emergency.

He quickly made up his mind to stick to them, for a while at least. If things grew to be too bad, he could say good-by and go whirling off at the rate of forty miles an hour.

Elmer was convinced that the fellows in the Fairfield car would hardly be likely to start doing things until darkness came. They would not want Lil Artha to see their faces, so that he could recognize them and later on accuse them when openly denouncing the miserable game.

"Send on the news to headquarters, Number Eight," he said, as he prepared to mount again; a movement that sent both Toby and Nat hurrying toward their machines, anxious to coax them into a fresh start.

"Shall I tell them that you were along, sir?" asked Hen, making the salute.

"Why, of course," said Elmer; "because they'll be anxious; you see, there's a nasty plot afoot to kidnap Lil Artha, and make him forfeit his place in the race, which would go to the next in line."

"And that happens to be Felix Wagner! Great governor! Now I know why you fellows are hitting up the pace! Give 'em one for me, Toby, won't you?" Hen bellowed after the three scouts; but they must have gone beyond earshot, for at least no one seemed to pay the slightest attention to his request.

It had been Elmer's first intention to make this trip on his wheel, like the other inspectors, even though his still sore foot would have rendered this a rather painful undertaking. Perhaps it was the knowledge of his disability that had caused the owner of the motorcycle to offer it to Elmer. At any rate the patrol leader was very glad to have it, since there was little labor needed in order to cover all the ground necessary.

Of course there was little chance for the trio of scouts to exchange words while they were spinning along on their motorcycles. The road was not all that could be desired, the heavy rain of the recent storm had washed it badly in places, so that they had to keep a sharp lookout for ruts.

Possibly there is nothing more exasperating to anyone riding a motorcycle than to find that he is in a deep rut. For a brief time he may be able to keep his proper balance; but presently he leans a trifle too much one way, the heavy machine strikes the side of the rut, and as a consequence there is a sudden dismounting; so that he feels himself lucky if he alights anywhere but on his head.

Knowing this, and feeling that the wabbly machines of his comrades were doubly dangerous under such conditions, Elmer always slowed down when he struck a poor streak of road.

Even then their advance was not free from thrills. Toby was the first to take a little header, because of thinking he could push through a rut that somehow seemed to have drawn him as with a magnet, even when he was fully determined that he would give it a wide berth.

He came down with quite a hard bang; and Nat, hearing the noise, and being just a little in advance, tried to twist his head around in order to discover what had happened to his companion in misfortune, when he, too, turned a complete somersault and landed in the midst of a big clump of thorny bushes that grew alongside the thoroughfare.

Of course, Elmer immediately stopped, and leaving his motorcycle, ran back to see whether either of them could be seriously hurt. First of all he laid hold on Nat, who was kicking his legs vigorously in the air, and bleating like a calf. After a little pulling, and working the prisoner of the bush to and fro, he managed to set him free.

"No bones broken, I hope, Nat?" asked Elmer, as the other started to dance up and down, rubbing his elbows, his shins, and every part of his anatomy he could possibly reach.

"Oh, I guess not, Elmer; but ain't I just a sight though?" groaned the other. "My face feels like it was marked with scratches like a map; and here's a big tear in my trousers. Got a safety pin, Elmer? Oh, dear, won't I look terrible!"

"Don't worry over it so much, Nat. Be a scout and show your grit. Those are only little scratches and will be gone in a few days. They're bleeding some now, of course, and feel bad. Let me wash them with some water from this brook, to take any poison out. How is it with you, Toby?" and Elmer turned upon the other unfortunate who came limping along just then, trundling his heavy motorcycle.

"Nothing much, I reckon, Elmer; got a lump about as big as a pigeon's egg on top of my coco; but this ain't the first time by a long shot. I'll be satisfied if only the upset didn't put my old ice wagon here out of commission." And Toby bent over to test the sparking of his machine after dropping the rest to the road.

It started off at a rattling pace, which fact seemed to tickle the owner very much indeed.

"Say, blest if I don't think that tumble must have just knocked it back into its old shape again!" he exclaimed in glee. "Haven't heard her take the spark like that for a year and more. Hoopla! Nat, give yours a try. Hope the same good luck fell your way."

However, such was not the case. Indeed, Nat's machine utterly balked, and refused to do anything. Even after Elmer had spent as much as fifteen minutes puttering over it he could not make it behave.

"I'll give it just one more try, Nat," he declared finally, "and then if it won't work, I'm afraid Toby and myself will have to leave you here. We've just got to get along now, or it'll all be too late."

"That's right, Elmer," declared the scout, manfully. "I'm not the one to kick on account of being sacrificed for the good of the troop. Lil Artha must be protected against these Fairfield bullies. And if I have to hang out here till after dark, why I'll just feel that I'm doing my little part of the work. But I hope you make it this time, Elmer, because I'd rather be along with you, and have an active share in the rush."

Once more did Elmer bend down over the motorcycle as it leaned against a tree. Two minutes later there suddenly broke forth a rattle of sharp reports and the rear wheel flew around at a dizzy pace.

"Good, good! You did it, Elmer! She's in the running again; and I won't have to camp out here on the road till some wagon comes along to pick me up." And filled with newborn pleasure, Nat proceeded to execute a hornpipe right then and there.

"Well, get along with you both, then; I'll overtake you in about three shakes of a lamb's tail," laughed Elmer, as he stepped off along the road to where he had left his motorcycle.

Ten seconds later the others, just about to start out, heard him calling aloud.

"He says, hurry, Nat," cried Toby, for a little bend in the road hid their chum from them; and not waiting to test their machines any further they were off.

They found Elmer running around, with his head bent low, as though he might be interested in the make of the roadbed.

"What is it, Elmer?" asked Toby, coming to a stop.

"My motorcycle has gone!" was the startling reply the scout leader made.