Part 17 (1/2)

”Has a party of automobile folks come in here since eight o'clock?” he asked of the man at the desk.

”Yes,” replied the clerk, turning over one page of the big book.

The boys' hearts gave a sort of jerk--it must be their girls, of course.

”Have they registered?” went on Jack. ”Were there three cars, and a number of girls?”

The man looked down the list of names.

”Here they are,” he said, indicating some fresh writing on the page.

Jack scanned it eagerly.

Then he looked at Ed and Walter.

”Not them!” he almost gasped. ”We have got to turn back!”

”Make sure they have not come in, and are on some porch,” said Ed.

”They may not have had a chance to get into the office.”

But all inquiries failed to give any clue to the lost party, and, without waiting for any refreshments, the almost exhausted young men cranked up their muddy cars, and started off again over the very road they had just succeeded in safely covering.

”We've got to have more s.p.u.n.k if we intend to find them,” said Ed, for Jack seemed too overcome to speak. ”Why, they may be snug by some farm-house fire, actually enjoying the situation.”

”I hope so,” faltered Jack. ”But next time I'll _go along_--not after them,” and he threw in high gear, advanced the spark and then they fairly flew over the turnpike, back to the fork that must have hidden the secret of the turn in the road.

CHAPTER XV

BOYS TO THE RESCUE

Never had a ride seemed so treacherous. Sharp turns threatened to overturn the cars and the brakes, on slippery hills, were of little use. Fortunately the engines of both machines were in perfect running order and in spite of the bad conditions of the roads the _Comet_ and the _Get There_ pegged along, through mud and slush, sometimes sinking deep in the former, and ploughing madly through the latter.

”I thought I saw a light,” said Ed to Walter, after a period of hard driving.

”Where?” asked the pilot of the _Comet_.

”To the left--what place can that be?”

Jack's attention was called to a distant but faint gleam, and, presently, the runabouts had left the main road, and were chugging through the heaviest track they had yet encountered. They turned in between what seemed to be tall gate-posts.

”Why--this is--a graveyard!” exclaimed Jack, as the headlight fell on a shaft across a tall monument.

”Well that's--something, over there,” declared Ed. ”And I--see it--move!”

He slackened the speed of the car.

”Now for real ghosts!” Walter could not refrain from remarking, although the situation was far from rea.s.suring.

”This is a cemetery, all right,” went on Jack. ”What's the use of us ploughing over--graves? Let's get out. We took the wrong turn, I guess.”