Part 21 (1/2)

”What for?” asked his comrade, quickly. ”I'd get him to take a look at this arm, that's what.”

”Huh! dangerous business, Jim. Don't you think of it 'less it's just positively necessary. Delays might cost us dear. There's going to be a big h.e.l.lo when our old friend gets out of that sleep.”

Frank realized that the men were apparently getting to that point where they cared little how much he knew. They evidently meant to make such use of him as seemed necessary. Once he thought that it might be a good thing if he pretended to lose control of the car, just as Jim had evidently done. Then he changed his mind, and for two very good reasons.

In the first place, there was always the risk of being hurt himself in the consequent collision with a tree. Frank could not forget that his duty was to keep himself in good condition, so long as his school looked to him to lead his team to victory in the triangular series of football contests. Then, again, he seemed to feel that it would be cowardly to desert the post into which a strange accident had thrust him.

Better stick it out until something cropped up whereby he could make at least a try to defeat the purposes of these two rogues. He had heard enough to want to know more. Probably they would not seek to injure him so long as he made no positive move toward interfering with their game, whatever that might be.

They were talking again. Once more he strained for hearing in the hope of picking up further clues that would enlighten him with regard to their aims.

”It's the safest way, Bart. If they can't get word to Fayette till mornin', we can give 'em the laugh. You've just _got_ to do it,” said the wounded man, with a degree of force that marked him as the head of the expedition.

”All right, if you say so, Jim. I'd a done it up the other road, if you hadn't banged us into that tree. Say when,” replied the other, who was moving about as though doing something.

Frank managed to take a swift look over his shoulder. It only puzzled him the more, for Jim seemed to be fastening something about the lower part of his legs. What could he want leggings for?

And what could it be that Jim insisted he should do?

”I know of a doctor about two miles further on here,” Frank said, thinking that it might delay matters some if they concluded to stop over; at least give him a chance to either escape, or render the machine useless for further flight.

”You do, eh? Well, tell us when we get there, and p'raps I might make up my mind to hold over a bit. Are you ready, Bart?” said the heavier man.

”Yes. As well here as anywhere,” came the reply.

”Bring her to a stop, kid; here, alongside this telegraph pole.

That's good. Now, Bart, do it!”

Frank felt more than curious to know what the men had in mind. As soon as the car came to a stand the lighter man, who had not been hurt in the accident, jumped rather clumsily from the tonneau.

Frank noticed this with surprise, for up to now he had looked upon the other as rather agile. Could he have been injured after all, and was just beginning to feel the effect of his headlong plunge into the bushes?

Judge of his utter amazement when he saw Bart at once seize hold of the nearby telegraph pole and begin to climb up with a series of st.u.r.dy kicks that apparently glued each foot in succession to the pole. Frank no longer wondered, for he knew that the man had been strapping a pair of lineman's climbing spurs to his legs when bending down in the tonneau of the stolen car!

CHAPTER XVII

A DESPERATE REMEDY

”All right, Bart?” called out the man in the car, as the other seemed to have reached the cross-bars far up the pole, over the lower of which he threw a leg, after the confident manner of one accustomed to such antics.

”Sure. It was dead easy,” came floating down from above.

”Then get to work, and make a clean job of it. Look here, boy, don't you be thinkin' of leavin' us in the lurch just now. I ain't fit to run this shebang, so we need you, and need you bad. I reckon you know what this is, don't you?” and the fellow showed something that glistened like steel in the mellow moonlight.

Frank could not help feeling a little chill; still, he, was not given to showing the white feather easily.

”Of course I do. It isn't the first time I've seen a revolver,” he managed to say, with a nervous little laugh.

”All right, then; don't get gay, and make me ugly, or something might happen. Hey! Bart, why don't you get busy?” raising his voice again.