“Bully Carson!” exclaimed Billy, in a low voice. “We’re on the trail, Clancy!” Clancy considered. If they were to make inquiries through the place, it might be best to leave the _Hornet_ here. Turning to the smith, he found that the latter sold gasoline to the few cars coming through the place, and arranged to leave the _Hornet_ in his care. Returning to the car, he brought it around behind the smithy, and with Billy made his way to the tree-bordered street. An instant later, Billy clutched his arm. “I hear a car, Clan! It’s coming this way!” The two friends stopped, the slow exhaust of a motor car coming clearly from ahead of them. The car came into sight, running slowly toward them. There was a single figure at the wheel. “By gracious, it’s Bully!” cried McQuade excitedly. The car rolled toward them at a slow pace. “Get ready to jump her,” ordered Clancy, in a tense voice. “What you going to do?” “We’ll do a little kidnaping on our own hook, Billy. Watch out, now!” CHAPTER XXIII. THE THIRD DEGREE. Carson was evidently quite unsuspecting. Possibly he did not see the two figures that waited at the roadside. At all events his car rolled slowly past the smithy, and, as it came opposite to their waiting place, Clancy nudged Billy and leaped forth. He believed in doing a thing thoroughly, when he _was_ doing it. Consequently, as he saw Bully twist around in his seat with a start of alarm, Clancy gave him no chance to increase his speed, but put all his energies into a flying leap. A cry broke from Carson, but he was too late. Clancy rose in the air like a bird and struck full against him, driving him down at once. The two fell in a confused tangle under the steering wheel, while the car went slowly along the road. Meantime, Billy Mac jumped to the running board and piled into the tonneau. He leaned over the back of the front seat. Before he could lend assistance, the two figures came erect, and Clancy shoved Carson bodily over into the tonneau. “Keep him there, Mac,” he ordered. “What you going to do?” gasped Billy. “No time to talk,” said Clancy, jumping to the steering wheel. “Throw a robe over that fellow’s head! Sit on him, you chump!” Carson, indeed, was rising to the occasion. He had landed in the tonneau on his head and shoulders, and was squirming upright, letting out wild yells as he did so. The peace of the Sabbath was being terribly shattered. Billy Mac saved the day by adopting Clan’s suggestion. Seizing the heavy blanket that did duty for an auto robe, he threw it over Carson’s head, managed to evade the waving fists, and plumped himself on top of the big fellow. Carson was forced to the floor of the car, which had leaped into speed under Clancy’s touch. Billy McQuade being a chunky fellow for his age, made no light weight, and Carson’s bellows for help were stifled.