“But will you wait here until you get answers?” inquired Ned.
“No,” responded Jerry, after a moment’s consideration. “We can ask that replies be sent to us at different places ahead of us. For instance, the next fair-sized town is Branchville, and the city beyond that is Canton. We can telegraph to the chief of police in Canton, and ask that a reply be sent to us to be called for at Branchville. See my plan?”
“It’s a good one,” commented Bob. It was at once put into operation, and that night several inquiring messages were being clicked over the wires, while the boys went to bed to rest up for the search that lay before them.
They were on the road again, early the next morning, and while running to Branchville kept a keen watch on the sky overhead. But the only specks they saw were birds, and when they inquired for a telegram, and were handed one, they had small hopes of any success. Nor was there any news, the message from the Canton police chief being to the effect that no airship had been sighted near there.
“Well, we’ve got several other places to hear from before night,” remarked Ned hopefully. “Let’s get a move on us.”
“Yes,” agreed Jerry, “but we have several more messages to hear from before night,” his tone, however, was not quite as confident as it had been.
“Then let’s hit up the pace a little,” suggested Bob. “Maybe we can get in all our telegrams before dark.”
“Yes, I think we can stand a little more speed,” said the steersman, as he shoved over the gasolene lever, and advanced his spark. “We’ll hit up the pace.”
“Be careful you don’t get caught for speeding,” cautioned Bob.
“Oh, I don’t believe any of the constables in this country township have motorcycles with cyclometers on,” spoke Jerry, with a laugh. The auto was now moving swiftly along, but at no illegal rate of speed. However, it was not more than ten minutes after this that, as the lads passed a cross road, they heard some one shout after them:
“Better slow up,” advised Ned, after a swift glance at the man who had warned them. “There’s a fellow with a motorcycle, Jerry. Maybe he’s a constable.”
“Oh, I guess not,” was the response, for Jerry was anxious to get the next telegram, and the auto kept on.
“He’s coming after us,” announced Bob, when a backward glance had showed him the man in pursuit. “He’s coming, Jerry!”