gently with his
knuckles.

"Of course we'll be careful," began Fred.

"In course you mean to be," interrupted Mr. Simmons, gravely; "but I
know what boys are, and you're awful careless about your receipts."

Fred blushed as he remembered an entry on the Tuesday book for which
they had somehow neglected to obtain the necessary signature that
acknowledged delivery.

Mr. Simmons slipped the package in the express bag, locked it, and
handed it to Jack. "Good-by and good luck," he added, "and be sure you
get your receipt."

The bag with its precious freight was quickly strapped to Jack's back,
and a few moments later the Happy Thought was ploughing down the dusty
road at twenty miles an hour.

The distance to the copper-works was a trifle over thirty miles, but at
least twelve miles of it was steady up-hill work. Once across Razor-Back
Ridge, it was better travelling, and the Happy Thought generally made
the whole trip in a few minutes over two hours. The road was reasonably
smooth and hard, but the afternoon sun was hot, and the boys thought
longingly of the cool woods that covered the further side of the ridge.
However, the Happy Thought pushed steadily along, and they had nothing
to do but to keep her on her course.

"Fifteen minutes late," said Fred, as they slid gently over the summit,
and slowed down to oil the working parts. "But it's an easy run, now,
and we'll be in Coppertown by half past three--that is, if nobody stops
us on the way," he added, with a short laugh.

"But you don't think--" exclaimed Jack, looking up.

"Of course I don't; but there may be more persons than one who know of
the money that's going through to-day. There isn't a house between here
and Coppertown, and you know that 'Smooth Jim' broke jail ten days ago,
and is with his gang again."

Jack looked disturbed.

"But I don't expect to see the gentleman, and anyway we can run if we
can't fight--eh, old girl?" and Fred gave the Happy Thought an
affectionate pat as he sprang into his saddle.

"I suppose it's what we're carrying that makes me feel nervous," thought
Fred, as they rolled smoothly along in the cool dense shadow of the
beech-wood. "There's half-way," he muttered a few moments later, as a
blasted pine-tree flashed past. "We are doing better now, and the
machinery is working like a watch. That was a great improvement to
muffle the sound of the exhaust; we run along as quietly as a cat
walking on velvet."

There was a to