sniff lately?" questioned Phil.

"One of the boys wrote that he had heard Nick had returned to the United
States. Personally, I haven't seen or heard from him since we met in
Europe--and I don't want to see him," added Dave, earnestly.

Toot! toot! came from behind the leading automobile, and a moment later
the second car ranged up alongside.

"Guess you folks are doing more talking than running!" cried Roger, with
a grin. "Here is where we show you the road!" And in a twinkling the
second car shot ahead, and was "hitting her up," as Ben expressed it, at
thirty miles an hour. Dave immediately turned on more speed likewise,
and over the smooth, straight road both machines spun.

"Oh, Dave, is it safe?" asked Jessie, with a little gasp, as the speed
increased.

"Yes,--as long as we are on the straight road," he answered. "We'll have
to slow down at the turn."

"I like to ride fast--but not too fast," said Lucy Basswood, Ben's
cousin, the other girl in the car.

The turn in the road was almost gained, and both machines had slowed
down once more, when there came a shrill, screeching whistle from
behind, and a racing car shot into sight, moving along with a great
noise, for the muffler had been cut out. All of the girls screamed in
fright, and instinctively Dave and Roger ran their cars as close to the
right side of the road as possible. Then, with a roar, the racing car
shot past, sending up a cloud of dust, and a shower of small stones,
one of which hit Laura Porter in the cheek, and another striking Phil in
the ear.

"Fellows that run that way ought to be arrested," was Roger's comment.

"Oh, I was so afraid we should be struck!" gasped Jessie, sinking back
into her seat with a white face.

"Did you recognize them?" asked Belle Endicott.

"I didn't have time to look," answered Roger. "I was busy getting out of
the way."

"Just what I was doing," added Dave. "I didn't want them to take off the
mudguard, or a wheel."

"I caught sight of one of the fellows," said Ben Basswood. "He looked
right at me as he passed."

"Who was it?" questioned several eagerly.

"Nat Poole."

"Nat Poole!" cried Dave. "Surely, he wasn't driving that racing car."

"No, he was in the rear, with another chap,--and two were on the front
seat. But I didn't recognize any of the others."

"I saw that machine in Crumville last week," said Laura. "I believe it
belongs in Lumberdale."

"I hope those fellows are not bound for Shady G