“All right,” the operator answered. “I think you’ll have company down there too.” “What do you mean?” Dick asked. “Well, I can’t tell all I know,” the operator replied; “but I think you’ll not be the only reporter in Shamong to-night.” “Oh, it’s like enough,” Dick laughed. “We generally travel in flocks. I wish you would tell me where I can find somebody to drive me down there.” “Do you see that big white house with the green blinds?” and the operator pointed down the street. “That’s Dr. Townsend’s house. The doctor’s son has a horse and buggy for hire, and I guess he’ll drive you down.” But the doctor’s son, when Dick found him, seemed anything but anxious to drive to Shamong that night. The roads were bad, he said, and the night would be dark and his horse was lame and the buggy needed mending, and there were a dozen other excuses. The more Dick urged, the more excuses were made. “I’ll drive you down there for five dollars,” the young man said at last; and it was evident from his tone that he considered that so high a price that it would put an end to the matter. “Hitch him right up!” Dick answered. “I’m in a hurry to get there.” The young man went out and returned in a few minutes to say that the horse was ready. He went to a little stand in the room, opened the drawer and took out a very small revolver and made a great show of loading it. “I never travel at night without being armed,” he said, evidently to convince Dick that it would be useless to try to murder and rob him on the road. “It’s a good plan,” Dick coolly replied; “neither do I.” That drive from Whiting’s to Shamong was an experience that Dick long remembered. The road was a mere track through the pine woods, with trees growing so close to the ruts that there was barely room for the passage of the buggy. The young man drove so fast that Dick expected every moment that one of the hubs would strike a tree and he be sent sprawling over the horse’s back. He reached Shamong safely, however, and went directly into the station and telegraph office, the only building in the little hamlet that showed any sign of life, except the hotel across the way. The livery bill was paid and the doctor’s son headed his horse for Whiting’s without waiting for further developments. “You’re looking for the chief, are you?” was the operator’s greeting to Dick as the latter stepped into the stuffy little office in which a dozen young countrymen with pipes and cigars in their mouths were gathered. “Well, you’ll have to go on five miles farther to find him, for he’s out at Mr. Waite’s place.” “Five miles farther!” Dick exclaimed. “And who is Mr. Waite, and what is the chief doing at his place?”