Tom Swift and His Motor Cycle

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"Dat's a pretty shebang youse has."

"Yes, it's very fair," admitted Tom, who was not yet breathing
easily.

"Kin youse go far on it?"

"Two hundred miles a day, easily."

"Fer cats' sake! An' I can't make dat ridin' on de blind baggage;
but dat's 'cause I gits put off so much. But say, is youse goin' to
let me have dat quarter? I need it, honest I do. I ain't had nuttin'
t' eat in two days."

The man's tone was whining. Surely he seemed like a genuine tramp,
and Tom felt a little sorry for him. Besides, he felt that he owed
him something for the unceremonious manner in which he had knocked
the fellow down. Tom reached his hand in his pocket for some change,
taking care to keep the machine between himself and the tramp.

"Are youse goin' far on dat rig-a-ma-jig?" went on the man as he
looked carefully over the motor-cycle.

"To Albany," answered Tom, and the moment the words were out of his
mouth he wished he could recall them. All his suspicions regarding
the tramp came back to him. But the ragged chap appeared to attach
no significance to them.

"Albany? Dat's in Jersey, ain't it?" he asked.

"No, it's in New York," replied Tom, and then, to change the
subject, he pulled out a half-dollar and handed it to the man. As he
did so Tom noticed that the tramp had tattooed on the little finger
of his left hand a blue ring.

"Dat's de stuff! Youse is a reg'lar millionaire, youse is!"
exclaimed the tramp, and his manner seemed in earnest. "I'll
remember youse, I will. What's your name, anyhow, cully?"

"Tom Swift," replied our hero, and again he wished he had not told.
This time he was sure the tramp started and glanced at him quickly,
but perhaps it was only his imagination.

"Tom Swift," repeated the man musingly, and his tones were different
from the whining ones in which he had asked for money. Then, as if
recollecting the part he was playing, he added: "I s'pose dey calls
youse dat because youse rides so quick on dat machine. But I'm
certainly obliged to youse--Tom Swift, an' I hopes youse gits t'
Albany, in Jersey, in good time."

He turned away, and Tom was beginning to breathe more easily when
the ragged man, with a quick gesture, reached out and grabbed hold
of the motor-cycle. He gave it such a pull that it was nearly torn
from Tom's grasp. The lad was so startled at the sudden exhibition
of vindictiveness an the part of the tramp that he did not know what
to do. Then, before he could recover himself, the tramp darted into
the bushes.

"I guess Happy Harry--dat's me--has spoiled your ride t' Albany!"
the tramp cried. "Maybe next time youse won't run down poor fellers
on de road," and with that, the ragged man, shaking his fist at Tom,
was lost to sight in the underbrush.

"Well, if that isn't a queer end up," mused Tom. "He must be crazy.
I hope I don't meet you again, Happy Harry, or whatever your name
is. Guess I'll get out of this neighborhood."

CHAPTER XII.

THE MEN IN THE AUTO

Tom first made sure that the package containing the model was still
safely in place back of his saddle on the motor-cycle. Finding it
there he next put his hand in his pocket to see that he had the
papers.

"They're all right," spoke Tom aloud. "I didn't know but what that
chap might have worked a pickpocket game on me. I'm glad I didn't
meet him after dark. Well, it's a good thing it's no worse. I wonder
if he tried to get my machine away from me? Don't believe he'd know
how to ride it if he did."

Tom wheeled his motor-cycle to a hard side-path along the old road,
and jumped into the saddle. He worked the pedals preparatory to
turning on the gasolene and spark to set the motor in motion. As he
threw forward the levers, having acquired what he thought was the
necessary momentum, he was surprised that no explosion followed. The
motor seemed "dead."

"That's queer," he thought, and he began to pedal more rapidly. "It
always used to start easily. Maybe it doesn't like this sandy
road."

It was hard work sending the heavy machine along by "leg power," and
once more, when he had acquired what he thought was sufficient
speed, Tom turned on the power. But no explosions followed, and in
some alarm he jumped to the ground.

"Something's wrong," he said aloud. "That tramp must have damaged
the machine when he yanked it so." Tom went quickly over the
different parts. It did not take him long to discover what the
trouble was. One of the wires, leading from the batteries to the
motor, which wire served to carry the current of electricity that
exploded the mixture of air and gasolene, was missing. It had been
broken off close to the battery box and the spark plug.

"That's what Happy Harry did!" exclaimed Tom. "He pulled that wire
off when he yanked my machine. That's what he meant by hoping I'd
get to Albany. That fellow was no tramp. He was disguised, and up to
some game. And he knows something about motor-cycles, too, or he
never would have taken that wire. I'm stalled, now, for I haven't
got another piece. I ought to have brought some. I'll have to push
this machine until I get to town, or else go back home."

The young inventor looked up and down the lonely road, undecided
what to do. To return home meant that he would be delayed in getting
to Albany, for he would lose a day. If he pushed on to Pompville he
might be able to get a bit of wire there.

Tom decided that was his best plan, and plodded on through the thick
sand. He had not gone more than a quarter of a mile, every step
seeming harder than the preceding one, when he heard, from the woods
close at his left hand, a gun fired. He jumped so that he nearly let
the motor-cycle fall over, for a wild idea came into his head that
the tramp had shot at him. With a quickly-beating heart the lad
looked about him.

"I wonder if that was Happy Harry?" he mused.

There was a crackling in the bushes and Tom, wondering what he might
do to protect himself, looked toward the place whence the noise
proceeded. A moment later a hunter stepped into view. The man
carried a gun and wore a canvas suit, a belt about his waist being
filled with cartridges.

"Hello!" he exclaimed pleasantly, Then, seeing a look of alarm on
the lad's face, he went on:

"I hope I didn't shoot in your direction, young man; did I?"

"No--no, sir," replied the youthful inventor, who had hardly
recovered his composure. "I heard your gun, and I imagined--"

"Did you think you had been shot? You must have a very vivid
imagination, for I fired in the air."

"No, I didn't exactly think that," replied Tom, "but I just had an
encounter with an ugly tramp, and I feared he might be using me for
a target."

"Is that so. I hadn't noticed any tramps around here, and I've been
in these woods nearly all day. Did he harm you?"

"No, not me, but my motor-cycle," and the lad explained.

"Pshaw! That's too bad!" exclaimed the hunter. "I wish I could
supply you with a bit of wire, but I haven't any. I'm just walking
about, trying my new gun."

"I shouldn't think you'd find anything to shoot this time of year,"
remarked Tom.

"I don't expect to," answered the hunter, who had introduced himself
as Theodore Duncan. "But I have just purchased a new gun, and I
wanted to try it. I expect to do considerable hunting this fall, and
so I'm getting ready for it."

"Do you live near here?"

"Well, about ten miles away, on the other side of Lake Carlopa, but
I am fond of long walks in the woods. If you ever get to Waterford I
wish you'd come and see me, Mr. Swift. I have heard of your father."

"I will, Mr. Duncan; but if I don't get something to repair my
machine with I'm not likely to get anywhere right away."

"Well, I wish I could help you, but I haven't the least ingenuity
when it comes to machinery. Now if I could help you track down that
tramp--"

"Oh, no, thank you, I'd rather not have anything more to do with
him."

"If I caught sight of him now," resumed the hunter, "I fancy I could
make him halt, and, perhaps, give you back the wire. I'm a pretty
good shot, even if this is a new gun. I've been practicing at
improvised targets all day."

"No; the less I have to do with him, the better I shall like it,"
answered Tom, "though I'm much obliged to you. I'll manage somehow
until I get to Pompville."

He started off again, the hunter disappearing in the woods, whence
the sound of his gun was again heard.

"He's a queer chap," murmured Tom, "but I like him. Perhaps I may
see him when I go to Waterford, if I ever do."

Tom was destined to see the hunter again, at no distant time, and
under strange circumstances. But now the lad's whole attention was
taken up with the difficulty in which he found himself. Vainly
musing on what object the tramp could have had in breaking off the
wire, the young inventor trudged on.

"I guess he was one of the gang after dad's invention," thought Tom,
"and he must have wanted to hinder me from getting to Albany, though
why I can't imagine." With a dubious shake of his head Tom
proceeded. It was hard work pushing the heavy machine through the
sand, and he was puffing before he had gone very, far.

"I certainly am up against it," he murmured. "But if I can get a bit
of wire in Pompville I'll be all right. If I can't--"

Just then Tom saw something which caused him to utter an exclamation
of delight.

"That's the very thing!" he cried. "Why didn't I think of it
before?"

Leaving his motor-cycle standing against a tree Tom hurried to a
fence that separated the road from a field. The fence was a barbed-
wire one, and in a moment Tom had found a broken strand.

"Guess no one will care if I take a piece of this," he reasoned. "It
will answer until I can get more. I'll have it in place in a jiffy!"

It did not take long to get his pliers from his toolbag and snip off
a piece of the wire. Untwisting it he took out the sharp barbs, and
then was ready to attach it to the binding posts of the battery box
and the spark plug.

"Hold on, though!" he exclaimed as he paused in the work. "It's got
to be insulated, or it will vibrate against the metal of the machine
and short circuit. I have it! My handkerchief! I s'pose Mrs. Baggert
will kick at tearing up a good one, but I can't help it."

Tom took a spare handkerchief from the bundle in which he had a few
belongings carried with the idea of spending the night at an Albany
hotel, and he was soon wrapping strips of linen around the wire,
tying them with pieces of string.

"There!" he exclaimed at length. "That's insulated good enough, I
guess. Now to fasten it on and start."

The young inventor, who was quick with tools, soon had the
improvised wire in place. He tested the spark and found that it was
almost as good as when the regular copper conductor was in place.
Then, having taken a spare bit of the barbed-wire along in case of
another emergency, he jumped on the motor-cycle, pedaled it until
sufficient speed was attained, and turned on the power.

"That's the stuff!" he cried as the welcome explosions sounded. "I
guess I've fooled Happy Harry! I'll get to Albany pretty nearly on
time, anyhow. But that tramp surely had me worried for a while."

He rode into Pompville, and on inquiring in a plumbing shop managed
to get a bit of copper wire that answered better than did the
galvanized piece from the fence. The readjustment was quickly made,
and he was on his way again. As it was getting close to noon he
stopped near a little spring outside of Pompville and ate a
sandwich, washing it down with the cold water. Then he started for
Centreford.

As he was coming into the city he heard an automobile behind him. He
steered to one side of the road to give the big car plenty of room
to pass, but it did not come on as speedily as he thought it would.
He looked back and saw that it was going to stop near him.
Accordingly he shut off the power of his machine.

"Is this the road to Centreford?" asked one of the travelers in the
auto.

"Straight ahead," answered the lad.

At the sound of his voice one of the men in the big touring car
leaned forward and whispered something to one on the front seat. The
second man nodded, and looked closely at Tom. The youth, in turn,
stared at the men. He could not distinguish their faces, as they had
on auto goggles.

"How many miles is it?" asked the man who had whispered, and at the
sound of his voice Tom felt a vague sense that he had heard it
before.

"Three," answered the young inventor, and once more he saw the men
whisper among themselves.

"Thanks," spoke the driver of the car, and he threw in the gears. As
the big machine darted ahead the goggles which one of the men wore
slipped off. Tom had a glimpse of his face.

"Anson Morse!" he exclaimed. "If that isn't the man who was sneaking
around dad's motor shop he's his twin brother! I wonder if those
aren't the men who are after the patent model? I must be on my
guard!" and Tom, watching the car fade out of sight on the road
ahead of him, slowly started his motor-cycle. He was much puzzled
and alarmed.

CHAPTER XIII.

CAUGHT IN A STORM

The more Tom tried to reason out the cause of the men's actions, the
more he dwelt upon his encounter with the tramp, and the harder he
endeavored to seek a solution of the queer puzzle, the more
complicated it seemed. He rode on until he saw in a valley below him
the buildings of the town of Centreford, and, with a view of them, a
new idea came into his mind.

"I'll go get a good dinner," he decided, "and perhaps that will help
me to think more clearly. That's what dad always does when he's
puzzling over an invention." He was soon seated in a restaurant,
where he ate a substantial dinner. "I'm just going to stop puzzling
over this matter," he decided. "I'll push an to Albany and tell the
lawyer, Mr. Crawford. Perhaps he can advise me."

Once this decision was made Tom felt better.

"That's just what I needed," he thought; "some one to shift the
responsibility upon. I'll let the lawyers do the worrying. That's
what they're paid for. Now for Albany, and I hope I don't have to
stop, except for supper, until I get there. I've got to do some
night riding, but I've got a powerful lamp, and the roads from now
on are good."

Tom was soon on his way again. The highway leading to Albany was a
hard, macadam one, and he fairly flew along the level stretches.

"This is making good time," he thought. "I won't be so very late,
after all; that is, if nothing delays me."

The young inventor looked up into the sky. The sun, which had been
shining brightly all day, was now hidden behind a mass of hazy
clouds, for which the rider was duly grateful, as it was becoming
quite warm.

"It's more like summer than I thought," said Tom to himself. "I
shouldn't be surprised if we got rain to-morrow."

Another look at the sky confirmed him in this belief, and he had not
gone on many miles farther when his opinion was suddenly changed.
This was brought about by a dull rumble in the west, and Tom noticed
that a bank of low-lying clouds had formed, the black, inky masses
of vapor being whirled upward as if by some powerful blast.

"Guess my storm is going to arrive ahead of time," he said. "I'd
better look for shelter."

With a suddenness that characterizes summer showers, the whole sky
became overcast. The thunder increased, and the flashes of lightning
became more frequent and dazzling. A wind sprang up and blew clouds
of dust in Tom's face.

"It certainly is going to be a thunder storm," he admitted. "I'm
bound to be delayed now, for the roads will be mucky. Well, there's
no help for it. If I get to Albany before midnight I'll he doing
well."

A few drops of rain splashed on his hands, and as he looked up to
note the state of the sky others fell in his face. They were big
drops, and where they splashed on the road they formed little
globules of mud.

"I'll head for that big tree," thought Tom "It will give me some
shelter. I'll wait there--" His words were interrupted by a
deafening crash of thunder which followed close after a blinding
flash. "No tree for mine!" murmured Tom. "I forgot that they're
dangerous in a storm. I wonder where I can stay?"

He turned on all the power possible and sprinted ahead. Around a
curve in the road he went, leaning over to preserve his balance, and
just as the rain came pelting down in a torrent he saw just ahead of
him a white church on the lonely country road. To one side was a
long shed, where the farmers were in the habit of leaving their
teams when they came to service.

"Just the thing!" cried the boy; "and just in time!"

He turned his motor-cycle into the yard surrounding the church, and
a moment later had come to a stop beneath the shed. It was broad and
long, furnishing a good protection against the storm, which had now
burst in all its fury.

Tom was not very wet, and looking to see that the model, which was
partly of wood, had suffered no damage, the lad gave his attention
to his machine.

"Seems to be all right," he murmured. "I'll just oil her up while
I'm waiting. This can't last long; it's raining too hard."

He busied himself over the motor-cycle, adjusting a nut that had
been rattled loose, and putting some oil on the bearings. The rain
kept up steadily, and when he had completed his attentions to his
machine Tom looked out from under the protection of the shed.

"It certainly is coming down for keeps," he murmured. "This trip is
a regular hoodoo so far. Hope I have it better coming back."

As he looked down the road he espied an automobile coming through
the mist of rain. It was an open car, and as he saw the three men in
it huddled up under the insufficient protection of some blankets,
Tom said:

"They'd ought to come in here. There's lots of room. Maybe they
don't see it. I'll call to them."

The car was almost opposite the shed which was dose to the roadside.
Tom was about to call when one of the men in the auto looked up. He
saw the shelter and spoke to the chauffeur. The latter was preparing
to steer up into the shed when the two men on the rear seat caught
sight of Tom.

"Why, that's the same car that passed me a while ago," said the
young inventor half aloud. "The one that contained those men whom I
suspected might be after dad's patent. I hope they--"

He did not finish his sentence, for at that instant the chauffeur
quickly swung the machine around and headed it back into the road.
Clearly the men were not going to take advantage of the shelter of
the shed.

"That's mighty strange," murmured Tom. "They certainly saw me, and
as soon as they did they turned away. Can they be afraid of me?"

He went to the edge of the shelter and peered out. The auto had
disappeared down the road behind a veil of rain, and, shaking his
head over the strange occurrence, Tom went back to where he had left
his motor-cycle.

"Things are getting more and more muddled," he said. "I'm sure those
were the same men, and yet--"

He shrugged his shoulders. The puzzle was getting beyond him.

CHAPTER XIV.

ATTACKED FROM BEHIND

Steadily the rain came down, the wind driving it under the shed
until Tom was hard put to find a place where the drops would not
reach him. He withdrew into a far corner, taking his motor-cycle with
him, and then, sitting on a block of wood, under the rough mangers
where the horses were fed while the farmers attended church, the lad
thought over the situation. He could make little of it, and the more
he tried the worse it seemed to become. He looked out across the wet
landscape.

"I wonder if this is ever going to stop?" he mused. "It looks as if
it was in for an all-day pour, yet we ought only to have a summer
shower by rights."

"But then I guess what I think about it won't influence the weather
man a bit. I might as well make myself comfortable, for I can't do
anything. Let's see. If I get to Fordham by six o'clock I ought to
be able to make Albany by nine, as it's only forty miles. I'll get
supper in Fordham, and push on. That is, I will if the rain stops."

That was the most necessary matter to have happen first, and Tom
arising from his seat strolled over to the front of the shed to look
out.

"I believe it is getting lighter in the west," he told himself.
"Yes, the clouds are lifting. It's going to clear. It's only a
summer shower, after all."

But just as he said that there came a sudden squall of wind and
rain, fiercer than any which had preceded. Tom was driven back to
his seat on the log. It was quite chilly now, and he noticed that
near where he sat there was a big opening in the rear of the shed,
where a couple of boards were off.

"This must be a draughty place in winter," he observed. "If I could
find a drier spot I'd sit there, but this seems to be the best," and
he remained there, musing on many things. Suddenly in the midst of
his thoughts he imagined he heard the sound of an automobile
approaching. "I wonder if those men are coming back here?" he
exclaimed. "If they are--"

The youth again arose, and went to the front of the shed. He could
see nothing, and came back to escape the rain. There was no doubt
but that the shower would soon be over, and looking at his watch,
Tom began to calculate when he might arrive in Albany.

He was busy trying to figure out the best plan to pursue, and was
hardly conscious of his surroundings. Seated on the log, with his
back to the opening in the shed, the young inventor could not see a
figure stealthily creeping up through the wet grass. Nor could he
see an automobile, which had come to a stop back of the horse
shelter--an automobile containing two rain-soaked men, who were
anxiously watching the one stealing through the grass.

Tom put his watch back into his pocket and looked out into the
storm. It was almost over. The sun was trying to shine through the
clouds, and only a few drops were falling. The youth stretched with
a yawn, for he was tired of sitting still. At the moment when he
raised his arms to relieve his muscles something was thrust through
the opening behind him. It was a long club, and an instant later it
descended on the lad's head. He went down in a heap, limp and
motionless.

Through the opening leaped a man. He bent over Tom, looked anxiously
at him, and then, stepping to the place where the boards were off
the shed, he motioned to the men in the automobile.

They hurried from the machine, and were soon beside their companion.

"I knocked him out, all right," observed the man who had reached
through and dealt Tom the blow with the club.

"Knocked him out! I should say you did, Featherton!" exclaimed one
who appeared better dressed than the others. "Have you killed him?"

"No; but I wish you wouldn't mention my name, Mr. Appleson. I--I
don't like--"

"Nonsense, Featherton. No one can hear us. But I'm afraid you've
done for the chap. I didn't want him harmed."

"Oh, I guess Featherton knows how to do it, Appleson," commented the
third man. "He's had experience that way, eh, Featherton?"

"Yes, Mr. Morse; but if you please I wish you wouldn't mention--"

"All right, Featherton, I know what you mean," rejoined the man
addressed as Morse. "Now let's see if we have drawn a blank or not.
I think he has with him the very thing we want,"

"Doesn't seem to be about his person," observed Appleson, as he
carefully felt about the clothing of the unfortunate Tom.

"Very likely not. It's too bulky. But there's his motor-cycle over
there. It looks as if what we wanted was on the back of the saddle.
Jove, Featherton, but I think he's coming to!"

Tom stirred uneasily and moved his arms, while a moan came from
between his parted lips.

"I've got some stuff that will fix him!" exclaimed the man addressed
as Featherton, and who had been operating the automobile. He took
something from his pocket and leaned over Tom. In a moment the young
inventor was still again.

"Quick now, see if it's there," directed Morse, and Appleson hurried
over to the machine.

"Here it is!" he called. "I'll take it to our car, and we can get
away."

"Are you going to leave him here like this?" asked Morse.

"Yes; why not?"

"Because some one might have seen him come in here, and also
remember that we, too, came in this direction."

"What would you do?"

"Take him down the road a way and leave him. We can find some shed
near a farmhouse where he and his machine will be out of sight until
we get far enough away. Besides, I don't like to leave him so far
from help, unconscious as he is."

"Oh, you're getting chicken-hearted," said Appleson with a sneer.
"However, have your way about it. I wonder what has become of Jake
Burke? He was to meet us in Centreford, but he did not show up."

"Oh, I shouldn't be surprised if he had trouble in that tramp rig he
insisted on adopting. I told him he was running a risk, but he said
he had masqueraded as a tramp before."

"So he has. He's pretty good at it. Now, Simpson, if you will--"

"Not Simpson! I thought you agreed to call me Featherton,"
interrupted the chauffeur, turning to Morse and Appleson.

"Oh, so we did. I forgot that this lad met us one day, and heard me
call you Simpson," admitted Morse. "Well, Featherton it shall be.
But we haven't much time. It's stopped raining, and the roads will
soon be well traveled. We must get away, and if we are to take the
lad and his machine to some secluded place, we'd better be at it. No
use waiting for Burke. He can look out after himself. Anyhow, we
have the model now, and there's no use in him hanging around Swift's
shop, as he intended to do, waiting for a chance to sneak in after
it. Appleson, if you and Simpson--I mean Featherton--will carry
young Swift, I'll shove his wheel along to the auto, and we can put
it and him in."

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