“I took her off the scrap heap,” he declared proudly, “and while she doesn’t look up to much, she can certainly go some!” Billy’s interest was only perfunctory, however. He was still thinking about Chip and the Carson family. “Funny we didn’t see Bully around town, Clan. He usually sports around in his gay duds on Sunday, and runs an old car he bought second-hand. The colonel sticks to horses, but Bully likes to make an impression with his car.” “I guess Merry gave him a black eye last night,” said Clancy. “That may account for his failure to sport around. I guess the whole crowd is laying low and keeping quiet for the present.” Billy grunted, but relapsed into silence. The Orton road was a rough one, and after the first mile Clancy had to slow down a bit. They were going directly away from the railroad, and as they proceeded without seeing any trace of the garage car, they found that the country lost its prosperous aspect, and became a good deal rougher and wilder. More than once they passed rocky farms that had been abandoned years before, although the flowering orchards around Carsonville had proved that, with industry and skill, the country could be made productive. Mile after mile reeled off without any token of their quarry, other than tracks of auto tires in the road, which might have been left by any one of a dozen machines. At length they topped a rise and saw Orton itself, two miles farther on. It was a miserably small place, and Clancy’s heart sank. “There’d be an elegant place to hold Merry prisoner,” said Billy, pointing to a deserted farmhouse that stood back from the road to one side. It was the fifth place he had pointed out with the same idea, and Clancy grunted. “You’re off, Billy. I don’t believe Merry was ever in this jay town. There’s nothing to it but a blacksmith shop and a couple of stores.” “But don’t you think that’s what’s happened?” persisted Billy Mac. “No, I don’t. Chip may have been lured away, all right, but Colonel Carson has too much gumption to work that kind of a racket, according to my notion. No hotel here, is there?” “No,” said Billy anxiously. “We can find out if Merry was here by going to the smithy. The blacksmith lives just behind it.” Orton was not even large enough to be possessed of a church, it appeared. The little place seemed absolutely desolate in the Sunday afternoon quiet, but as the _Hornet_ drew up in front of the smithy, Clancy saw that the blacksmith was standing under an apple tree, watching them. Leaping out, the two hastened into the orchard behind the smithy, and proceeded to question the burly smith. “I couldn’t say,” he responded to their inquiries. “I’ve seen two or three machines go past, but didn’t pay much attention. Mebbe my wife did. Hold on a minute.” He turned and lifted a shout at the house in the rear. A tired-looking woman came forth, and made response that she had seen Bully Carson’s machine early that morning, but had not noticed the others.