Tom Swift and His Motor Cycle

V >> Victor Appleton >> Tom Swift and His Motor Cycle

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Then, as he watched, Tom saw one of the men produce from under the
table a box, into which the model was placed. The papers were next
put in, and a cover was nailed on. Then the men appeared to consult
among themselves.

By their gestures Tom concluded that they were debating where to
hide the box. One man pointed toward the lake, and another toward
the forest. Tom was edging himself up farther, in order to see
better, and, if possible, catch their words, when his foot slipped,
and he made a slight noise. Instantly the men turned toward the
window, but Tom had stooped down out of sight, just in time.

A moment later, however, he heard some one approaching through the
woods behind him, and a voice called out:

"What are you doing? Get away from there!"

Rapid footsteps sounded, and Tom, in a panic, turned and fled, with
an unknown pursuer after him.

CHAPTER XXIV.

UNEXPECTED HELP

Tom rushed on through the woods. The lighted room into which he had
been looking had temporarily blinded him when it came to plunging
into the darkness again, and he could not see where he was going. He
crashed full-tilt into a tree, and was thrown backward. Bruised and
cut, he picked himself up and rushed off in another direction.
Fortunately he struck into some sort of a path, probably one made by
cows, and then, as his eyes recovered their faculties, he could
dimly distinguish the trees on either side of him and avoid them.

His heart, that was beating fiercely, calmed down after his first
fright, and when he had run on for several minutes he stopped.

"That--that must--have been--the--the man--from the boat," panted
our hero, whispering to himself. "He came back and saw me. I wonder
if he's after me yet?"

Tom listened. The only sound he could hear was the trill and chirp
of the insects of the woods. The pursuit, which had lasted only a
few minutes, was over. But it might be resumed at any moment. Tom
was not safe yet, he thought, and he kept on.

"I wonder where I am? I wonder where my motor-cycle is? I wonder
what I had better do?" he asked himself.

Three big questions, and no way of settling them; Tom pulled himself
up sharply.

"I've got to think this thing out," he resumed. "They can't find me
in these woods to-night, that's sure, unless they get dogs, and
they're not likely to do that. So I'm safe that far. But that's
about all that is in my favor. I won't dare to go back to the house,
even if I could find it in this blackness, which is doubtful. It
wouldn't be safe, for they'll be on guard now. It looks as though I
was up against it. I'm afraid they may imagine the police are after
them, and go away. If they do, and take the model and papers with
them, I'll have an awful job to locate them again, and probably I
won't be able to. That's the worst of it. Here I have everything
right under my hands, and I can't do a thing. If I only had some one
to help me; some one to leave on guard while I went for the police.
I'm one against three--no, four, for the man in the boat is back.
Let's see what can I do?"

Then a sudden plan came to him.

"The lake shore!" he exclaimed, half aloud. "I'll go down there and
keep watch. If they escape they'll probably go in the boat, for they
wouldn't venture through the woods at night. That's it. I'll watch
on shore, and if they do leave in the boat--" He paused again,
undecided. "Why, if they do," he finished, "I'll sing out, and make
such a row that they'll think the whole countryside is after them.
That may drive them back, or they may drop the box containing the
papers and model, and cut for it. If they do I'll be all right. I
don't care about capturing them, if I can get dad's model back."

He felt more like himself, now that he had mapped out another plan.

"The first thing to do is to locate the lake," reasoned Tom. "Let's
see; I ran in a straight line away from the house--that is, as
nearly straight as I could. Now if I turn around and go straight
back, bearing off a little to the left, I ought to come to the
water. I'll do it."

But it was not so easy as Tom imagined, and several times he found
himself in the midst of almost impenetrable bushes. He kept on,
however, and soon had the satisfaction of emerging from the woods
out on the shore of the lake. Then, having gotten his bearings as
well as he could in the darkness, he moved down until he was near
the deserted house. The light was still showing from the window, and
Tom judged by this that the men had not taken fright and fled.

"I suppose I could sneak down and set the motor-boat adrift," he
argued. "That would prevent them leaving by way of the lake, anyhow.
That's what I'll do! I'll cut off one means of escape. I'll set the
boat adrift!"

Very cautiously he advanced toward where he had seen the small craft
put out. He was on his guard, for he feared the men would be on the
watch, but he reached the dock in safety, and was loosening the rope
that tied the boat to the little wharf when another thought came to
him.

"Why set this boat adrift?" he reasoned. "It is too good a boat to
treat that way, and, besides, it will make a good place for me to
spend the rest of the night. I've got to stay around here until
morning, and then I'll see if I can't get help. I'll just
appropriate this boat for my own use. They have dad's model, and
I'll take their boat."

Softly he got into the craft, and with an oar which was kept in it
to propel it in case the engine gave out, he poled it along the
shore of the lake until he was some distance away from the dock.

That afternoon he had seen a secluded place along the shore, a spot
where overhanging bushes made a good hiding place, and for this he
headed the craft. A little later it was completely out of sight, and
Tom stretched out on the cushioned seats, pulling a tarpaulin over
him. There he prepared to spend the rest of the night.

"They can't get away except through the woods now, which I don't
believe they'll do," he thought, "and this is better for me than
staying out under a tree. I'm glad I thought of it."

The youth, naturally, did not pass a very comfortable night, though
his bed was not a half bad one. He fell into uneasy dozes, only to
arouse, thinking the men in the old mansion were trying to escape.
Then he would sit up and listen, but he could hear nothing. It
seemed as if morning would never come, but at length the stars began
to fade, and the sky seemed overcast with a filmy, white veil. Tom
sat up, rubbed his smarting eyes, and stretched his cramped limbs.

"Oh, for a hot cup of coffee!" he exclaimed. "But not for mine,
until I land these chaps where they belong. Now the question is, how
can I get help to capture them?"

His hunger was forgotten in this. He stepped from the boat to a
secluded spot on the shore. The craft, he noted, was well hidden.

"I've got to go back to where I left my motor-cycle, jump on that,
and ride for aid," he reasoned. "Maybe I can get the charcoal-burner
to go for me, while I come back and stand guard. I guess that would
be the best plan. I certainly ought to be on hand, for there is no
telling when these fellows will skip out with the model, if they
haven't gone already. I hate to leave, yet I've got to. It's the
only way. I wish I'd done as dad suggested, and brought help. But
it's too late for that. Well, I'm off."

Tom took a last look at the motor-boat, which was a fine one. He
wished it was his. Then he struck through the woods. He had his
bearings now, and was soon at the place where he had left his
machine. It had not been disturbed. He caught a glimpse of the old
mansion on his way out of the woods. There appeared to be no one
stirring about it.

"I hope my birds haven't flown!" he exclaimed, and the thought gave
him such uneasiness that he put it from him. Pushing his heavy
machine ahead of him until he came to a good road, he mounted it,
and was soon at the charcoal-burner's shack. There came no answer to
his knock, and Tom pushed open the door. The old man was not in. Tom
could not send him for help.

"My luck seems to be against me!" he murmured. "But I can get
something to eat here, anyhow. I'm almost starved!"

He found the kitchen utensils, and made some coffee, also frying
some bacon and eggs. Then, feeling much refreshed, and having left
on the table some money to pay for the inroad he had made on the
victuals, he started to go outside.

As our hero stepped to the door he was greeted by a savage growl
that made him start in alarm.

"A dog!" he mused. "I didn't know there was one around."

He looked outside and there, to his dismay, saw a big,
savage-appearing bulldog standing close to where he had left his
motor-cycle. The animal had been sniffing suspiciously at the machine.

"Good dog!" called Tom. "Come here!"

But the bulldog did not come. Instead the beast stood still, showed
his teeth to Tom and growled in a low tone.

"Wonder if the owner can be near?" mused the young inventor. "That
dog won't let me get my machine, I am afraid."

Tom spoke to the animal again and again the dog growled and showed
his teeth. He next made a move as if to leap into the house, and Tom
quickly stepped back and banged shut the door.

"Well, if this isn't the worst yet!" cried the youth to himself.
"Here, just at the time I want to be off, I must be held up by such
a brute as that outside. Wonder how long he'll keep me a prisoner?"

Tom went to a window and peered out. No person had appeared and the
lad rightly surmised that the bulldog had come to the cottage alone.
The beast appeared to be hungry, and this gave Tom a sudden idea.

"Maybe if I feed him, he'll forget that I am around and give me a
chance to get away," he reasoned. "Guess I had better try that dodge
on him."

Tom looked around the cottage and at last found the remains of a
chicken dinner the owner had left behind. He picked up some of the
bones and called the bulldog. The animal came up rather
suspiciously. Tom threw him one bone, which he proceeded to crunch
up vigorously.

"He's hungry right enough," mused Tom. "I guess he'd like to sample
my leg. But he's not going to do it--not if I can help it."

At the back of the cottage was a little shed, the door to which
stood open. Tom threw a bone near to the door of this shed and then
managed to throw another bone inside the place. The bulldog found
the first bone and then disappeared after the second.

"Now is my time, I guess," the young inventor told himself, and
watching his chance, he ran from the cottage toward his motor-cycle.
He made no noise and quickly shoved the machine into the roadway.
Just as he turned on the power the bulldog came out of the shed,
barking furiously.

"You've missed it!" said Tom grimly as the machine started, and
quickly the cottage and the bulldog were left behind. The road was
rough for a short distance and he had to pay strict attention to
what he was doing.

"I've got to ride to the nearest village," he said. "It's a long
distance, and, in the meanwhile, the men may escape. But I can't do
anything else. I dare not tackle them alone, and there is no telling
when the charcoal-burner may come back. I've got to make speed,
that's all."

Out on the main road the lad sent his machine ahead at a fast pace.
He was fairly humming along when, suddenly, from around a curve in
the highway he heard the "honk-honk" of an automobile horn. For an
instant his heart failed him.

"I wonder if those are the thieves? Maybe they have left the house,
and are in their auto!" he whispered as he slowed down his machine.

The automobile appeared to have halted. As Tom came nearer the turn
he heard voices. At the sound of one he started. The voice
exclaimed:

"Bless my spectacles! What's wrong now? I thought that when I got this
automobile I would enjoy life, but it's as bad as my motor-cycle was
for going wrong! Bless my very existence, but has anything happened?"

"Mr. Damon!" exclaimed Tom, for he recognized the eccentric
individual of whom he had obtained the motor-cycle.

The next moment Tom was in sight of a big touring car, containing,
not only Mr. Damon, whom Tom recognized at once, but three other
gentlemen.

"Oh, Mr. Damon," cried Tom, "will you help me capture a gang of
thieves? They are in a deserted mansion in the woods, and they have
one of my father's patent models! Will you help me, Mr. Damon?"

"Why, bless my top-knots," exclaimed the odd gentleman. "If it isn't
Tom Swift, the young inventor! Bless my very happiness! There's my
motor-cycle, too! Help you? Why, of course we will. Bless my
shoe-leather! Of course we'll help you!"

CHAPTER XXV.

THE CAPTURE--GOOD-BY

Tom's story was soon told, and Mr. Damon quickly explained to his
friends in the automobile how he had first made the acquaintance of
the young inventor.

"But how does it happen that you are trusting yourself in a car like
this?" asked Tom. "I thought you were done with gasolene machines,
Mr. Damon."

"I thought so, too, Tom, but, bless my batteries, my doctor insisted
that I must get out in the open air. I'm too stout to walk, and I
can't run. The only solution was in an automobile, for I never would
dream of a motor-cycle. I wonder that one of mine hasn't run away
with you and killed you. But there! My automobile is nearly as bad.
We went along very nicely yesterday, and now, just when I have a
party of friends out, something goes wrong. Bless my liver! I do
seem to have the worst luck!"

Tom lost no time in looking for the trouble. He found it in the
ignition, and soon had it fixed. Then a sort of council of war was
held.

"Do you think those scoundrels are there yet?" asked Mr. Damon.

"I hope so," answered Tom.

"So do I," went on the odd character. "Bless my soul, but I want a
chance to pummel them. Come, gentlemen, let's be moving. Will you
ride with us, Tom Swift, or on that dangerous motor-cycle?"

"I think I'll stick to my machine, Mr. Damon. I can easily keep up
with you."

"Very well. Then we'll get along. We'll proceed until we get close
to the old mansion, and then some of us will go down to the lake
shore, and the rest of us will surround the house. We'll catch the
villains red-handed, and I hope we bag that tramp among them."

"I hardly think he is there," said Tom.

In a short time the auto and the motor-cycle had carried the
respective riders to the road through the woods. There the machines
were left, and the party proceeded on foot. Tom had a revolver with
him, and one member of Mr. Damon's party also had a small one, more
to scare dogs than for any other purpose. Tom gave his weapon to one
of the men, and cut a stout stick for himself, an example followed
by those who had no firearms.

"A club for mine!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "The less I have to do with
machinery the better I like it. Now, Tom Swift is just the other way
around," he explained to his friends.

Cautiously they approached the house, and when within seeing
distance of it they paused for a consultation. There seemed to be no
one stirring about the old mansion, and Tom was fearful lest the men
had left. But this could not be determined until they came closer.
Two of Mr. Damon's friends elected to go down to the shore of the
lake and prevent any escape in that direction, while the others,
including Tom, were to approach from the wood side. When the two who
were to form the water attacking party were ready, one of them was
to fire his revolver as a signal. Then Tom, Mr. Damon and the others
would rush in.

The young inventor, Mr. Damon, and his friend, whom he addressed as
Mr. Benson, went as close to the house as they considered prudent.
Then, screening themselves in the bushes, they waited. They
conversed in whispers, Tom giving more details of his experience
with the patent thieves.

Suddenly the silence of the woods was broken by some one advancing
through the underbrush.

"Bless my gaiters, some one is coming!" exclaimed Mr. Damon in a
hoarse whisper. "Can that be Munson or Dwight coming back?" He
referred to his two friends who had gone to the lake.

"Or perhaps the fellows are escaping," suggested Mr. Benson.
"Suppose we take a look."

At that moment the person approaching, whoever he was, began to
sing. Tom started.

"I'll wager that's Happy Harry, the tramp!" he exclaimed. "I know
his voice."

Cautiously Tom peered over the screen of bushes.

"Who is it?" asked Mr. Damon.

"It's Happy Harry!" said Tom. "We'll get them all, now. He's going
up to the house."

They watched the tramp. All unconscious of the eyes of the men and
boy in the bushes, he kept on. Presently the door of the house
opened, and a man came out. Tom recognized him as Anson Morse--the
person who had dropped the telegram.

"Say, Burke," called the man at the door, "have you taken the
motor-boat?"

"Motor-boat? No," answered the tramp. "I just came here. I've had a
hard time--nearly got caught in Swift's house the other night by
that cub of a boy. Is the boat gone?"

"Yes. Appleson came back in it last night and saw some one looking
in the window, but we thought it was only a farmer and chased him
away. This morning the boat's gone. I thought maybe you had taken it
for a joke."

"Not a bit of it! Something's wrong!" exclaimed Happy Harry. "We'd
better light out. I think the police are after us. That young Swift
is too sharp for my liking. We'd better skip. I don't believe that
was a farmer who looked in the window. Tell the others, get the
stuff, and we'd leave this locality."

"They're here still," whispered Tom. "That's good!"

"I wonder if Munson and Dwight are at the lake yet?" asked Mr.
Damon. "They ought to be--"

At that instant a pistol shot rang out. The tramp, after a hasty
glance around, started on the run for the house. The man in the
doorway sprang out. Soon two others joined him.

"Who fired that shot?" cried Morse.

"Come on, Tom!" cried Mr. Damon, grabbing up his club and springing
from the bushes. "Our friends have arrived!" The young inventor and
Mr. Benson followed him.

No sooner had they come into the open space in front of the house
than they were seen. At the same instant, from the rear, in the
direction of the lake, came Mr. Munson and Mr. Dwight.

"We're caught!" cried Happy Harry.

He made a dash far the house, just as a man, carrying a box, rushed
out.

"There it is! The model and papers are in that box!" cried Tom.
"Don't let them get away with it!"

The criminals were taken by surprise. With leveled weapons the
attacking party closed in on them. Mr. Damon raised his club
threateningly.

"Surrender! Surrender!" he cried. "We have you! Bless my stars, but
you're captured! Surrender!"

"It certainly looks so," admitted Anson Morse. "I guess they have
us, boys."

The man with the box made a sudden dash toward the woods, but Tom
was watching him. In an instant he sprang at him, and landed on the
fellow's back. The two went down in a heap, and when Tom arose he
had possession of the precious box.

"I have it! I have it!" he cried. "I've got dad's model back!"

The man who had had possession of the box quickly arose, and, before
any one could stop him, darted into the bushes.

"After him! Catch him! Bless my hat-band, stop him!" shouted Mr.
Damon.

Instinctively his friends turned to pursue the fugitive, forgetting,
for the instant, the other criminals. The men were quick to take
advantage of this, and in a moment had disappeared in the dense
woods. Nor could any trace be found of the one with whom Tom had
struggled.

"Pshaw! They got away from us!" cried Mr. Damon regretfully. "Let's
see if we can't catch them. Come on, we'll organize a posse and run
them down." He was eager for the chase, but his companions dissuaded
him. Tom had what he wanted, and he knew that his father would
prefer not to prosecute the men. The lad opened the box, and saw
that the model and papers were safe.

"Let those fellows go," advised the young inventor, and Mr. Damon
reluctantly agreed to this. "I guess we've seen the last of them,"
added the youth, but he and Mr. Swift had not, for the criminals
made further trouble, which will be told of in the second volume of
this series, to be called "Tom Swift and His Motor-Boat; or, The
Rivals of Lake Carlopa." In that our hero will be met in adventures
even more thrilling than those already related, and Andy Foger, who
so nearly ran Tom down in the automobile, will have a part in them.

"Now," said Mr. Damon, after it had been ascertained that no one was
injured, and that the box contained all of value that had been
stolen, "I suppose you are anxious to get back home, Tom, aren't
you? Will you let me take you in my car? Bless my spark plug, but
I'd like to have you along in case of another accident!"

The lad politely declined, however, and, with the valuable model and
papers safe on his motor-cycle, he started for Shopton. Arriving at
the first village after leaving the woods, Tom telephoned the good
news to his father, and that afternoon was safely at home, to the
delight of Mr. Swift and Mrs. Baggert.

The inventor lost no time in fully protecting his invention by
patents. As for the unprincipled men who made an effort to secure
it, they had so covered up their tracks that there was no way of
prosecuting them, nor could any action be held against Smeak &
Katch, the unscrupulous lawyers.

"Well," remarked Mr. Swift to Tom, a few nights after the recovery
of the model, "your motor-cycle certainly did us good service. Had
it not been for it I might never have gotten back my invention."

"Yes, it did come in handy," agreed the young inventor. "There's
that motor-boat, too. I wish I had it. I don't believe those fellows
will ever come back for it. I turned it over to the county
authorities, and they take charge of it for a while. I certainly had
some queer adventures since I got this machine from Mr. Damon,"
concluded Tom. I think my readers will agree with him.

THE END

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