lowed across the
fields. He lost them in the middle of a field that was marshy where
the automobiles left the road and rock-dry at the middle and further
side. After a half-hour's maneuvering he ordered the driver to go back
to the road.

"Maybe they done the same thing--turned round an' come back,"
suggested the chauffeur. "Hello, what kind of a rig is that?" he added
as a wagon appeared around a bend in the road.

The peculiar thing about the "rig" was that while it was a tongued
wagon with whiffletrees for two horses, there was only one horse. The
driver, a bearded farmer, was urging the patient animal on, although it
was impossible for it to do more than plod in its awkward harness.

"What's the matter?" called Bassett, cheerily, as the machine drew
alongside and stopped.

"I dunno," replied the farmer, shaking his grizzled bead. "Ef I was a
young feller like you I'd go right off an' find out."

"I'll go right away; what's up?"

"I dunno. I ain't knowed anythin' like it in this part o' the country
in fifty year. First, down yonder on the old river road I meets a
autymobile, with a man drivin' it and somethin' alive an' movin' lyin'
in a blanket by his feet. I ain't got more'n a half mile back from
there when I finds a fine young feller, with his good clothes--what
he's got left--tore to pieces, no shoes, or hat on him, an' his head
bleedin' bad from cuts. 'Where are they? Did you see a autymobile?'
he yells at me. I tells him what I had saw, an' he takes my off hoss
there an' goes gallopin' up the road."

"What road?" cried Bassett.

"Ye circle this here field an' climb the hill, then take the first
turn."

"Which way?"

"West, if you don't want ter jump in the river."

"What, we're back at the river," gasped Bassett.

"That's about my luck. The balloon's gone over the river; it's in New
York, and some Harlem reporter is leading it down to his office on a
leash to have it photographed, and I'm--I'm hoodooed, that's all."

"I dunno," said the farmer, "but ef ye ast me, I'd say that feller in
the autymoble was makin' for the woods beyond Quirksborough. It's
lonely up through there, an' he had somethin' in that there machine
that he wanted to keep lonely, I'm guessin'."

Bassett motioned to the driver to go on. "We might as well see what it
is; the balloon's gone home for supper," he said bitterly.

In five minutes they reached the turn where the farmer had last seen
Harry Marvin disap