iver.

"I don't see," growled Hank in an undertone to his brother, "why we
would take any risk riding under that grass."

"You leave this affair to me," retorted Buck. "If the kid gets through
all right, then we're all right, aren't we?"

"I suppose so."

"And we've got to wait as we agreed--for Wacker."

Bart had just turned into the main road. At the mention of that ominous
name, the young express agent brought the whip down upon the horse's
flanks with a sharp snap.

CHAPTER XX

BART ON THE ROAD

"Get up!"

The rig that Bart was driving sped along the dusty country road at a
good sharp pace.

The young express agent was undergoing the most vivid mental
perturbation of his career.

He kept whistling a jolly air, with a sidelong glance observed that his
recent companions had turned back towards their camp in the clearing,
and then, dropping his assumption of the reckless young adventurer,
stared seriously ahead and began to figure out the situation in all its
details.

What had come about was quite natural and ordinary: the Tollivers were
anxious to get further away from the scene of their recent crime, to a
safer and more obscure haunt than the open camp in the woods.

They dared not take the journey in the day time, as they did not wish to
be seen by anyone and Bart coming along, they had caught at the idea of
sending him on with the wagon and its load.

If Bart got through in safety, they could assume that the hunt for the
missing trunk was not very active, or had been started in some other
direction.

Bart had comprehended that they could take a short cut to the old mill.
He had actually laughed to himself at the ease with which he had
obtained possession of the trunk, until they had mentioned that ominous
name: Lem Wacker.

"They are going to wait for Wacker!" murmured Bart, as he urged on the
horse. "That means that they expect him soon, for they calculate on
being at the old mill as soon as I can make it by road. When he does
come, and they tell him about me, he's sure to guess the truth. Then
it's three to one--get up!"

Bart did not allow the horse to lag, but his best pace was a poor
shambling trot. All the time Bart thought deeply and practically.

"I have decided," he spoke definitely after a quarter of an hour. "I
shall turn to my left the first road I come to. The B. & M. does not
touch short of eight miles from here, but somewhere to the southeast is
Clyde Station. Once