CHAPTER VI

THE HOLD-UP

Dashing over the country roads, the motor girls sent their machines

ahead at fast speed, unwilling to stop to light up, and anxious to make

the town before the twilight faded into nightfall.

Suddenly Cora, who was in the lead, grabbed the emergency brake and

quickly shut off the power.

"What's that?" she asked. "Something straight ahead. Don't you see

it, Hazel?"

Hazel stood up and peered into the gathering darkness.

"Yes; it looks like an auto. Perhaps some one got disabled, and had to

leave the machine," she replied.

"Perhaps," returned Cora, going along carefully.

"It is an auto," declared Hazel presently, as they were almost upon the

object in the roadway.

"The auto stage!" exclaimed Cora. "Don't be frightened, Hazel," she

hurried to say. "Paul is not in it. He must have gone on with the

mail."

Hazel sank down in the cushions and covered her eyes. Somehow she

could not bear to look at the deserted auto stage.

The other girls were coming along cautiously--they saw that something

was the matter.

The standing machine was directly in the road; it instantly struck Cora

that this was strange. Who could have been so careless as to leave an

unlighted auto in the roadway, and night coming on?

She turned her wheel to guide the Whirlwind to one side, and then

stopped. Bess was next, and she shut off the power from the Flyaway.

"What is it?" asked Bess anxiously. Belle did not venture to leave the

machine, but Hazel had bounded out of the Whirlwind almost before Cora

had time to stop it.

"Oh," exclaimed Hazel, "there are Paul's gloves. Where can he be?"

"Perhaps playing a trick on us," suggested Cora, although she had

little faith in the possibility. "I am sure he would not go far off

and leave this expensive machine here."

By this time all the other girls had reached the spot, and were now

deliberating upon the abandoned auto. Suddenly a call--shrill and

distinct--startled them.

"That's Paul!" shrieked Hazel, turning instantly and dashing off in the

direction from which the voice had come. Cora, Bess, Maud and Cecilia

followed her. Over the wet fields, through briars and underbrush the

girls ran, while the call was repeated; this time there being no

possibility of mistake--it was Paul shouting.

Breathless, the girls hurried on. With a sister's instinct Hazel never

stumbled, but seemed to get over every obstacle like some wood sprite

called to duty.

"Oh, I'm all right, girls! Take your time!" came the voice in the

woods.

"All right!" repeated Hazel in uncertain tones.

"Oh, look!" shrieked Cecilia. "Didn't I tell you it was a joke? Look!"

What a sight! There, sitting on something like a stool, with a big

cotton umbrella opened over his head, his eyes blinded with something

dark, and his hands and feet made secure, was Paul Hastings, the

chauffeur of the auto stage.

"Whatever does this means?" asked Cora, hurrying to Hazel, who was now

madly snatching the black silk handkerchief from her brother's eyes.

"A prisoner of war," replied Paul rather unsteadily. "Glad you came,

girls--there, sis, in my back pocket, you will find a knife. Just cut

those carpet rags off my feet and hands."

Cecilia found the pocket knife, and, more quickly than any boy might

have done it, she severed the bonds, and Paul stretched out--free.

"Well," he exclaimed, "this is about the limit!"

"Did the boys do it?" asked Cora.

"Boys! Not a bit of it," replied Paul. "It was a regular hold-up.

And the mail! I must get that, if they have left it on the road. Did

you see the car? Is it all right?"

"It appeared to be," said Cora. "It was the car that brought us to a

standstill. It's in the middle of the road."

Paul shook himself as if expecting to find some damage to limb or

muscle. Then he turned toward the open path.

"Tell us about it," demanded Cecilia. "Wasn't it a joke?"

"Joke!" he reiterated. "Well, I should say not! Would you call it a

joke to have two masked men jump in front of a running car, and flash

something shiny? Then to have them climb in, cover my eyes and tell me

I would be all right, and not to worry!"

"Oh," sighed Hazel, "I felt something would happen to you, Paul, dear.

You must give up this position."

"Well, we will see about that," he replied. "Perhaps I won't have

anything to say about it--if the mailpouch is gone."

"Then they brought you out here?" asked Cecilia, determined to hear all

the story.

"Carried me like a baby," replied Paul, "and in sheer humane

consideration they put me near the road, so that my call might be

heard."

"And the umbrella?" asked Cora.

"Oh, they went to a barn for that. It was raining, and my polite

friends did not want me to take cold."

His tone was bitterly cutting; taking cold would evidently have been of

small account to him.

"And they sat you upon that log?" put in Maud.

"Like any ordinary bump," he rejoined. "I never knew the misery of a

bump on a log before."

"And, you are not hurt?" Hazel pressed close to his side and looked up

lovingly at the tall boy.

"Not in the least--that is, physically. But I am seriously hurt

mentally."

Cora could not but recognize how handsome Paul was. The excitement

seemed to fire his whole being, and throw some subtle human

phosphorus--a light from his burning brain certainly brightened in his

eyes and even in his cheeks.

"Come along, girls," he said hurriedly. "Never mind the paraphernalia.

Some lonely goat might like the rags. Let's get out on the road."

His anxiety was of course for the mail. That leather bag meant more to

him than the mere transference of Uncle Sam's freight--it meant his

honor--his position.

Over the rough fields the girls followed him. Hazel clung to his hand

like a little sister indeed, while the others were content to keep as

close as the uncertain footing would allow.

Presently they reached the road, then the stage coach. The other

girls, who had not run to Paul's rescue, were standing around

breathless.

Paul jumped into the car--thrust his hand into the box under the floor,

where he always put the government pouch.

He brought up the mailbag.