"Reckon it's just ahead now; I remember that big tree we passed comin' out," replied the uninjured one of the precious pair. "All right. Don't let the kid get past. Seems to me he's some slippery. I seen his face somewhere before," grunted the sufferer. "Course you did. He was the feller that captained them boys this morning in the game we watched while waitin' for our chance," said the other. "He was, hey? Well, you want to keep your eye on that boy, then, mark me. They told me some high-colored yarns about him at the inn." Frank was not in the least elated over hearing himself praised. In truth, just then he was wrestling with the puzzling problem presented by his strange situation. What "chance" did the man called Bart refer to? Who were these mysterious men, and what did they have in the bottom of the tonneau that seemed so precious in the eyes of the fellow who was badly hurt? He could, for the time being, forget his severe injuries to make inquiries concerning this package, hence it must be of considerable value. Were they thieves? If this was indeed the new machine belonging to Bones' father, it looked suspicious, to say the least. What could he do? They wanted him to take them somewhere, and in a hurry, too; were they in full flight, desirous of getting to a certain place before the pursuit became too fierce? If Frank shivered while considering these momentous things, it could hardly be wondered at. The situation was one to give concern to the bravest man, and, after all, he was but a boy, though possessed of more than the average courage for one of his years. "There's the road on the left, kid!" suddenly exclaimed Bart. "I see it, sir," replied the young pilot of the damaged car, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible, in the hope that the two men might not suspect that he had guessed their secret. "Be sure and turn in; and be careful not to upset us," continued the other. "Yes," said the wounded fellow, quickly, "one accident is more'n enough for me, to-night. Hey, that's a good sweep around, youngster; I see as you know your business all right. Now, are we headin' straight for Fayette?" "Yes, sir," replied Frank, readily. "How far is that away from Columbia?" "Twelve miles, about, sir, as the road goes," answered the new chauffeur. "We strike the railroad at Fayette, don't we?" continued Bart, eagerly. "There is one there, but not the same that comes to Columbia," and when he said that Frank was certain that one of the men chuckled; it must have been Bart, for the wounded fellow was in no mood for merriment, what with his groans and grunts that signified pain. "That's right. And we're glad to hear it. Wouldn't give a cent for a chance to ride back to your slow old town. New York's good enough for us, hey, Jim." "It sure is, if I ever live to get there. Wish there happened to be a doctor on this here road somewhere," said the second traveler.