  For several moments the boys blinked owlishly in the strong light and filling their lungs with sweet, fresh air, that seemed indeed like a breath of new life after their long confinement in the close atmosphere of the mine. “Hah! This is great!” exhaled Dick, who had regained his nerve and courage with his first breath of freedom. “I never would have believed that simple fresh air could smell so good, and besides,” he continued, “it’s a lot of satisfaction to know that we’re giving Slade a taste of what he made us stand.” Without unnecessary loss of time, the boys scouted around the house, and among the scrub oaks they came upon the flivver. “This is how Slade used my car last night,” growled Dave, as he pointed to a crumpled fender. “I guess we’re lucky he didn’t wreck it entirely.” “Slugger probably had a wild ride getting to a telephone,” remarked Rogers. “He certainly got his gang together in quick time; I’ll say that much for him.” “We’d better follow Slade’s plan of getting to the nearest telephone,” decided Ned. “We can call the authorities at Cleveland and let them come out here to take charge of things from now on.” “Sure! That’s the idea! And while we’re waiting for ’em, we’ll have time to rustle some breakfast!” chirped Tommy Beals, his round face suddenly regaining its customary cheerfulness. “Before we go, let’s roll up this canvas and stow it inside,” suggested Dick. “The secret is ours and maybe we can make some use of it later.” It required but a few minutes to return the canvas to its niche in the cellar, and after swinging the stone slab into place against the possibility of prying eyes, the boys climbed into the car and set out for Cedar Hollow, whose single gasoline station was adorned with the blue bell of telephone service. While Ned was closeted in the booth, the others, led by the resourceful Beals, foraged for food at a neighboring farmhouse with such success that a plentiful breakfast of homely fare was soon in readiness. “There’s a squad of plain clothes men on the way,” reported Ned, as he took his place at the table. “The chief didn’t more than half-believe me when I told him we had trapped a gang of rum-runners. He’s from Missouri, but we’re going to show him!” Had Ned realized the resourcefulness of Latrobe or taken into consideration the latter’s intimate knowledge of the old mine and its contents, he might have been a bit less confident regarding his ability to make good his boast; but for the time being, he continued to eat his breakfast in happy ignorance of what was, even then, taking place out at Coleson’s. Hardly had the meal been disposed of when a big, blue automobile whirled into the little settlement and stopped with a squeal of brakes in front of the gasoline station. A tall, official-looking man sprang to the ground and advanced to meet the boys who came hurrying from the house. “I’m Inspector Baker,” the newcomer introduced himself crisply. “Now then, what’s this story about a gang of boot-leggers that you’ve got locked in a cave somewhere out here?” and the officer ran his eye over the group in a manner that boded ill, should it appear that he had been trifled with. “They’re not in a cave; they’re in the old copper mine out at Coleson’s,” explained Ned, who in a few words detailed the main facts of the situation. “Latrobe and Miller, eh!” snapped the inspector. “That’s two of a gang we’ve been hunting for a year. Casey’s another. I never heard of this fellow Slade, but if he’s with ’em, that’s evidence enough. Let’s go!” Only the roughness of the road, which slowed the speed of the blue car, enabled Dave’s flivver to keep up with the official machine, but by strenuous exertion the little car held its own against its big rival and was only seconds behind when the latter came to a stop before the wide porch of the Coleson house. “There’s a secret entrance under the house and into the mine,” explained Rogers, as the boys hastened toward the end of the house closely followed by Inspector Baker and his men. As they turned the corner of the building, Ned, who was in the lead, stopped in his tracks and stared in astonishment at a pair of deeply rutted marks which crossed the strip of sand between the house and the woods. Everywhere the surface had been deep-trampled by hurrying feet and the swinging stone slab that the boys had so carefully closed was now wide open. “Zowie!” gasped Dick. “They’ve got away!” “What’s that?” demanded Inspector Baker. “What kind of a yarn is this?” By way of answer Ned could but point dumbly to the opening in the foundation wall. Advancing cautiously, the officers reconnoitered the aperture and crept into the cellar followed by the boys. A peculiar acrid odor assailed their nostrils and a thin veil of smoke hung like a bluish cloud above their heads. One of the men snatched a flashlight from his pocket and by its rays revealed the heavy plank door wrenched from its hinges and lying splintered and blackened on the ground. “Blasting powder!” growled Inspector Baker, as he sniffed the tell-tale odor. “Latrobe knew more about this mine than anybody else!” cried Ned. “He must have had a can of powder hidden somewhere down below!” “They took most of the cases of whisky with ’em, too!” added Dick, who had run half-way down the stairs, from which point he could get a view of the small chamber beneath. “I’m afraid it’s a clean get-away,” grumbled the inspector when, after a brief examination, he led the way out of the cellar. “Those wheel tracks show that the truck went around this end of the house, but that doesn’t help us much.” “They haven’t been gone but a few minutes!” cried Ned, excitedly. “Look! The sand is still running into the deepest wheel ruts!” “But in that case we would have met them,” began the officer. “The old road!” cried several voices. “They’ve gone out by the old wood-road!” Pausing an instant to swing shut the stone slab, the boys made a rush for the flivver and sent it bouncing across the rough stretch of pasture. The big blue car was close behind, but when the wood-road was reached, Inspector Baker insisted upon taking the lead. “Latrobe isn’t a fellow to take any chances with,” he shouted. “If we overtake him there may be trouble. You boys keep well behind us and out of danger!” and as he flung this warning over his shoulder, the inspector forced the big car into the narrow bush-lined road at a reckless speed. Close behind came the flivver, taking every turn and twist of the crooked track with all the skill that Dave Wilbur could muster and, in complete disregard of orders to the contrary, keeping a scant ten yards behind the big car. Less than two miles of the difficult road had been traversed when the truck was sighted ahead. Evidently its occupants were not expecting pursuit, for they were traveling at a moderate pace suited to the roughness of the way. As the roar of pursuing motors reached his ears, Casey, who was at the wheel, sent his clumsy vehicle forward at the limit of its speed. “There’s Slade!” yelped Dick, as a turn of the road gave a glimpse of a white-shirted figure clinging to the rear of the bouncing truck. Even as Dick spoke, Slade was seen to heave one of the heavy cases of bottles into the road directly in the path of the big blue car as it rounded the curve. With a ripping crash the automobile struck the obstruction knocking it into a mass of wood and glass splinters through which the car smashed its way, skidding wildly but regaining its equilibrium uninjured as the road straightened. Mindful of his tires, Dave swung the flivver around the wreckage and back into the road without much loss of distance. “That was a clever trick!” cried Ned. “It may work next time!” But before the attempt could be repeated, the fleeing vehicle had reached the sharp curve, beyond which stood the old shack. Here the road narrowed; and crowding the left side in an effort to make the turn, the truck struck the pile of slabs, lurched crazily across the road, and crashed head on against the old shanty, through which it plunged for half its length. The boys had a glimpse of a white-shirted figure that catapulted from the rear of the wrecked vehicle to fall face downward among the weeds. It was up in an instant, and darting forward, disappeared in the thicket. With a shriek of its brakes the blue car slid to a stop, and as the flivver drew up alongside, the boys saw Inspector Baker and his men rush toward the shanty. Before they had covered half the distance, however, a heavy explosion rent the air followed instantly by a sheet of flame. The gasoline tank of the truck had taken fire and exploded, and in a moment the shack was burning fiercely. Dazed by the force of the collision and half-suffocated by smoke, Latrobe and his two companions staggered from the cabin to be promptly seized by the officers and hustled into the big car. “We won’t be bothered again very soon by those three rascals,” remarked Ned when the blue car had passed the barrier of vines and disappeared on the highway beyond. “No, and I guess Slade has had enough for the time being,” added Dick. “At the rate he was traveling when I last saw him, he must be pretty near the Rocky Mountains by now.” “That’s the end of the old shack and the truck, too,” remarked Charlie Rogers, as he stood watching the blazing heap of ruins. “Yeah, that’s the finish,” agreed Dave Wilbur. “Truck, shanty, and Ned’s black ants, all gone up in smoke,” he added with a prodigious yawn. “What d’y’say we beat it for home and get a real sleep?” |
|
