University of Virginia Library

CHAPTER I.
THE RIDERS OF THE MILE-A-MINUTE WHEELS.

"BETTER bring your motorcycle in under the trees, Hanky Panky, with the rest of our machines."

"Sure, Rod, I mean to do the same, after I get rested up a bit. That last run up-hill and down, was a swift one, believe me."

"But say, did any of you notice me turning a flapjack on the way; or taking one of my old-time headers; tell me that?"

"No, Rooster, you've struck your gait, all right, it seems, and away down in old Tennessee at that, where the going ain't such great shakes to boast of."

"Thank you, Josh; I'm doing my level best. But Elmer warned us before we started on this

trip to the South, that we'd likely have some hard bumps to knock up against."

"It was a ride on velvet, though, coming down through the Blue Grass country of Kentucky, near Lexington; own up to that, suh!" said the boy who seemed to be the Elmer in question; and whose voice had the indescribable musical quality that so frequently marks the native born son of Dixieland.

"That's all right, Elmer, but we've sure paid up for it, after climbing all sorts of hills, and polishing through bad roads ever since. My arms are sore with holding my machine in the middle of the track, and that's as true as my name's Josh Whitcomb."

There were five of the wanderers, all boys of about the same age; and as a rule sturdy of build, as though accustomed to outdoor sports that go to bring the hue of health to the cheeks.

Besides Josh Whitcomb, who seemed to be a rather impatient sort of a chap, there was Roderic Bradley, to whom the rest looked up to as a natural born leader, Elmer Overton, the Southern lad already mentioned; the one called "Rooster" by his chums, and whose real name was Christopher Boggs; and last of all, a nervous fellow going under the queer nick-name of "Hanky Panky," when at home he was registered on the roll of the high school as Henry Jucklin.

One of his favorite pastimes was the practice of

the Black Arts; for Henry aspired to be a magician, and already, in the estimation of his admiring chums, he could vie with the famous wizard, Hermann, in sleight of hand, freeing himself from ropes that had been wrapped around him and knotted; and all such things calculated to bewilder the average mind.

When he dazzled some of his mates with his expositions of transforming a handkerchief into a pocket-knife; or restoring one that he had apparently burned right before the eyes of the owner, he was accustomed to using certain phrases in which the words "hanky panky" occurred, and by degrees the boys had corrupted his former nick-name of Hank into this queer "handle."

These five lads belonged in the thriving town of Garland, situated not far from the center of the State of Ohio. Those who read the preceding volume of this series, and have thus already made their acquaintance, will recognize old friends in the owners of the up-to-date motorcycles that had been brought to a stop in this wild region of Tennessee.

For the benefit of any new readers it may be only fair to relate how these lads came to possess such costly toys, worth possibly a couple of hundred dollars each.

During a flood, when the river that ran past their home town was on a boom, they had discovered the wreck of a house floating down the swift current,

and upon this was a man, frantically waving his arms, and calling for help.

The boys had succeeded in rescuing the one who was in deadly danger, and who proved to be a rich old recluse named Amos Tucker, who, soured with the world for some reason or other, had lived almost alone.

Perhaps his nearness to death may have aroused the old man, and caused him to look at things in a different light; for to the great astonishment and delight of Rod and his four chums, there had come a notice one day that if they called at the freight station of the railroad they might each of them take away a splendid motorcycle that had arrived from the factory, charges all prepaid.

Of course they quickly suspected who had sent these wonderful presents, and upon interviewing the rich old man in his new home found that sure enough he had discovered how it was a dream with the boys to some fine day own such a machine for spinning over country roads; and in order to partly pay back the debt he felt he owed them, he had sent for the five latest models in motorcycles.

Nor was this all, for in the bank he had deposited to the order of Rod Bradley the magnificent sum of a thousand dollars, which was to be drawn upon from time to time, as their expenses for the care and maintenance of their machines, or a desire to take trips abroad, warranted.

When good fortune starts coming it often pours, and so it happened that Rod and his friends had been chiefly instrumental in following a pair of precious rogues who had broken into, and robbed the Garland bank, only a couple of weeks previous; and not only securing their arrest, but returning the stolen securities and cash intact.

For doing this they received a reward of five thousand dollars, which was split evenly with a farmer named Bijah Spruggins, who had rendered them great assistance in making the round-up.

So it may be readily seen that their treasury was full and overflowing, and that when Rod proposed they accompany their chum, Elmer Overton, who was bent on taking a flying trip down through Ohio and Kentucky, to his old home not a great distance from Chattanooga in southern Tennessee, every one of the others agreed to the plan, without a dissenting murmur; indeed, they were fairly wild about it, even Rooster, who was the poorest rider of the lot.

Possibly a word of explanation may not come in amiss regarding that strange cognomen that had been fastened upon the Boggs boy. Whenever Christopher felt in a happy frame of mind, or his team had accomplished something worth while, he invariably slapped his hands against his thighs, to make a sound like a rooster that has flown up on the upper rail of a fence flapping its wings, and then he would proceed to give the finest imitation of a crow

ever heard. Under the circumstances it was a foregone conclusion that his schoolmates would quickly forget he ever had such a name as Christopher; and from that day until the end of the chapter he must answer to the suggestive one of "Rooster."

They had not attempted anything like great speed while on the trip. Indeed, save when passing over those fine roads in the celebrated Blue Grass country in Central Kentucky such a thing would have been practically impossible; for as a rule they passed over very poor thoroughfares, where it seemed next to a miracle that the clumsy rider, Rooster, had not come to grief more than once.

Up to now they had managed to strike a town or village when night came on, and so found accommodations at a tavern. But this promised to be an experience of a different character; for Josh had discovered something wrong with his machine, that would necessitate immediate attention; and when Rod proposed that they camp out for a change, every fellow eagerly agreed.

They had come prepared for such an undertaking in-so-far as having the means for gratifying their desire for food went, though without tent or blankets. But then the weather was warm, and they could keep their camp- fire going, if they felt disposed.

And so Rod had halted them near a little stream that gurgled along the side of the road, and which

promised to supply water for their coffee. Each one had something securely hidden away in his bundle that, when brought to light, seemed to promise a fairly decent supper.

"Here's the coffee-pot, and inside of it a package of the best Java we could buy in old Cincinnati as we came through!" called out Josh, as he started to undo his package.

"And this frying-pan looks like it just wanted to get busy right away with these slices of fine juicy ham!" echoed Rooster.

Each of the others announced the finding of certain articles of food, which were placed near where the fire had already been kindled by Rod.

Soon the scene was a bustling one, with each of the boys trying to do what they could to hasten the cooking of supper -- all but Josh, who was kneeling alongside his motorcycle and apparently starting to get to work remedying the fault that had been giving him anxiety.

"Say, this is about as lonely a place as ever I saw," remarked Rooster, who was perhaps somewhat more timid than any of the others, though no coward, when it came right down to it.

"And we'd better keep some sort of watch to-night, I should say," declared Hanky Panky, as he tossed five apples up in the air, and kept them spinning in an endless procession from one hand to the other, until they seemed to be a part of a wheel.

"Because," went on Rooster, "them woods look like they might harbor a wildcat, or p'raps a moonshiner that'd take a fancy to our wheels."

"Which, the wildcat or the mountain-dew maker?" asked Elmer, laughingly.

Rooster was about to make some sort of witty reply, when suddenly a gruff voice which thrilled them through and through, called out:

"Every one of ye hold up yer hands right smart, now! I got ye kivered with me gun, and don't mean to stand for no nonsense. Hold 'em up, I tells yuh. 'Spect we-uns down hyah don't know revenues, w'en we sees 'em? Quick now, er I'll low tuh open up on yuh!"