They swayed to and fro. The tough was of husky build and his gorilla-like arms were possessed of great strength. The door of the car flew open and the pair staggered from the running board into the roadway. They rolled about, fighting and struggling, while the man who had been hit with the wrench took occasion to deliver a vicious kick at Frank. A sudden twist, however, brought the other man into range at the moment and he received the kick that was intended for the boy.
But the Hardys were outnumbered. Joe was quickly overcome and the other pair would soon have beaten Frank into submission but for a surprising interruption.
Down the roadway came a clattering and roaring, and around the other car came plunging an ancient and decrepit Ford with an enormous negro at the wheel. Beside him sat another colored man, and the pair gazed at the struggle before them, with mouths agape and eyes staring. Then the negro driving the car brought it to a stop and clambered down, picking up the car crank as he went.
“You’s the speeders what run oveh mah chickens!” he roared, bearing down on the two toughs who were grappling with Frank. He dealt one of them a hearty rap on the back of the head with the crank, and the fellow bolted forthwith. Reinforcements had arrived, and he judged that the fight would soon be over. He raced for the car parked across the road and scrambled into the front seat.
The two colored men rushed into the battle with enthusiasm. The three toughs in the other car had, it appeared, deliberately driven their automobile into a flock of chickens at the side of the road near the negro’s farm farther down the road. Revenge, therefore, was sweet.
In a very short time the fight was at an end. The toughs broke and fled, regained their car, and were soon careering down the road. As for the young man who had brought the Hardy boys into this trap, he managed to get his own car started, shook off his attackers, and the automobile plunged forward.
“Let them go,” said Frank, picking himself up out of the ditch.
“Ef dey runs oveh any moah of mah chickens, Ah’ll folley ’em fum heah till Doomsday,” declared the big negro.
“You certainly showed up in the nick of time,” said Joe, brushing off his coat. “They had us beaten two to one.”
“White trash!” declared the other colored man. “Ah knows ’em. Dey jes’ pool room toughs.”
“How come dey lays foh yoh ’way out heah?” asked the big man curiously.
“The chap driving the touring car was going to drive us out to a town called Greendale so we could get a train back to Chicago,” Frank explained, and telling the man where they had got into the automobile. “He turned down this road, and then we met the other three waiting for us. They all jumped us at once.”
“Dey ain’t no trains pass through Greendale!” declared their rescuer. “Ef yoh wait deah foh a train foh Chicago yoh’ll wait yeahs and yeahs, and even den yoh won’t get no train.”
“We’ll have to go back to that town then,” said Joe.
“Dat’s wheah we’s gwine. Get in dis yere flivver and we’ll drive yoh back to de railway.”
Glad to have gotten out of the scrape thus easily, the Hardy boys clambered into the rickety Ford and the two colored men resumed their seats in front.
“Soon’s I see dat cah acrost de road I knowed it was de same cah dat run down mah chickens!” declared the driver. “And w’en I sees dem fightin’ wid yoh boys Ah knowed dey wasn’t up to no good and Ah knowed whut side Ah was gwine to take. And Ah took it.”
“Yessah, we sho put de run on dem!” chuckled his companion.
“A mighty good thing for us that you showed up when you did,” Frank declared. “That gang were trying to kidnap us.”
“How come?”
“They’ve been trying to keep us from catching a train to the West, and they mighty nearly got away with it that time.”
“Well, dey won’t ha’m yoh no moah—not so long as yoh is in dis autymobile,” the big negro assured them. And, as the car bounded along onto the main highway, the Hardy boys discussed the trap into which they had been so cleverly led.
“It’ll teach us to beware of strangers from now on,” Frank said. “Evidently one lesson isn’t enough.”
“If a stranger says so much as ‘Hello’ to me after this I’ll yell for the police.”
“Perhaps not that bad,” and Frank grinned. “But we know now that there is a plot on foot to keep us from reaching the West, and we’ll have to be on our guard.”
“I’m more anxious than ever to get to the West now. It looks as if we’re heading into some real excitement.”
“We’ve had more than we bargained for already.”
In a short time the automobile came within sight of the town the boys had left but a little while before, and after warmly thanking their two rescuers and slipping a five-dollar bill into the hands of the big driver, who beamed with gratification and delight, the Hardy boys settled down to wait for the night train back to Chicago. They were bothered by no more encounters with strangers, and after an almost interminable wait the train arrived.
“One day lost on our journey,” remarked Frank, as the train pulled away from the station and headed northward.
“It could have been worse. If those fellows had captured us we’d have likely been held prisoners in some out-of-the-way place for ever so long.”
“That’s true, too. Well, we won’t take any more chances. When we get to Chicago we’d better change our names and our appearance too, if we can manage it. If these chaps are on the lookout for us they won’t stop now that we’ve escaped from them twice. We can’t be too careful.”
Joe agreed that his brother’s idea was a good one, and for the rest of
