revealed. He had his first full glance at it since it had
been delivered to him at the express office at Pleasantville, the
afternoon previous.

"It's all right," he said with satisfaction, after a critical
inspection. "There is the paster I slapped over the front. The trunk
could not have been opened without tearing that."

He got a good purchase on a handle and landed the trunk in the road.
Then he dragged it up to the barrier, removed a board, and, perspiring
and breathing hard, held it at the sheer edge of the decline and let it
slide.

The hand car was a light-running affair, well-greased, in pretty good
order, and he could readily observe was in constant use.

Upon it lay the clothing and dinner pails he had noticed from overhead.
They evidently belonged to workmen--but where were they?

"I can hardly wait to find out," declared Bart.

He pushed off the clothing and dinner pails and lifted on the trunk.

Then Bart made a depressing discovery--the hind gearing was locked with
a chain running from wheel to wheel.

This was unfortunate. Turning a heap of slate, he came suddenly and with
delight upon an open tool box.

It was a regular construction case, and full of shovels, crowbars,
pickaxes, sledges and drills. Bart selected a crowbar and his efforts to
twist and snap the chain resulted in final success. With a thrill of
satisfaction he sprang upon the car. The handles moved easily and
responsively to the touch.

A grumbling roar caused him to survey the sky, which had been dull and
lowering since noon.

"Storm coming," he murmured--"now for action!"

Bart started up the car. It ran as smooth as a bicycle. He was anxious
to get away from the face of the hill, not knowing how near the enemy
might be.

They were nearer than he fancied, for a sudden shout rang out, then a
chorus of them.

A piece of rock, hurled down from the crest of the hill, struck his
wrist, nearly numbing it. Glancing up, Bart saw the two Tollivers and
Lem Wacker getting ready to descend.

There was a sharp incline and a short curve not ten feet ahead. Bart
let the hand car drive at its own impetus.

"Stop!" yelled Buck Tolliver.

He held some object in his hand. Bart crouched by the side of the
pumping standard, and the hand car spun out on the tracks crossing the
valley, just as the thunder-storm broke forth in all its fury.

Bart's back was to the wind, and the wind helped his progress. As the
tracks led into the timbe