"What had we better do?" exclaimed Dave. "Follow the car or take a look into that old ramshackle building?" "Gee! Why, Billy may have been carried there--hark!" At this from Paul all listened intently. There were certainly queer sounds to be heard somewhere ahead. Phil dashed boldly forward, calling: "Dave, you go back and see which way that car went! Then come back to Paul and me. Get a hustle on now!" Paul, dashing on after Phil, heard Dave grunt a dubious acquiescence as he turned back towards the road. They could trust Dave. He was often doubtful, even dubious, but he had sharp eyes and good judgment in the main. A minute or so later Phil, followed closely by Jones, reached a more open space, though overgrown with straggly weeds and grass. "This must be the yard of the old inn," remarked Phil. "Look, Paul!" He was pointing where the woods trail on entering the yard showed distinct signs where some hard objects had been half dragged. It was as if boot-heels had dented the soft places in a steady imprint. Just then came sounds from inside the house that might have been grunts or groans of pain. Without a halt Phil dashed over the porch, where heavier weights had partially crushed the rotten flooring. Avoiding these places, the two boys--Phil still in the lead--entered a short hallway, where was a doorless opening that led into what once had doubtless been the tavern office. On the floor of the porch and hallway were fresh tracks, with the trail of shoe or boot-heels dragging along. The office room looked dark inside, though a couple of sashless windows let in some light which was, however, little more than shadowy gloom from the overhanging branches of the trees without. While they stared, listening, something stirred and scraped the dusty floor in a far corner, where a short counter toppled outward as if in danger of falling over. "What's that?" echoed Phil. "Is it anybody?" Muffled, jerky noises issued from the recess under the half tumbling counter. With an exclamation Paul darted forward, reached under the counter and felt an object that at once electrified the boy. "Let's pull it out, Phil!" he urged. "It may be--" Aided by Phil, Paul dragged forth a bound form, tied hand and foot with improvised shreds of cloth, the mouth tightly gagged with a couple of kerchiefs--in a word, Billy! "Why, Billy, you poor boy!" exclaimed Phil, whipping out his knife and in another minute releasing the cords that bound him and cutting loose the cruel gag that had been so tightly forced into the lad's mouth that the corners of his lips were bleeding. They bore him out of the porch to a grassy place, where with a sudden wriggle Billy sat upright, twisted his neck about, gulped a time or two, then stared at his comrades as if astonished. "D-didn't you hear me holler?" he asked. "But of course you didn't. Before I was half awake they had me down out of that car trying to gag and bind me." "Who, Billy? Just what do you mean?"