“It’s only a joke,” decided Cap. “Come on, we’ve got to use our brains against these fellows, and maybe we can turn the tables on them. First we’ll go on to town, and see if any of them really are at the hotel. We may get a line on them there.” But there was no trace of any one at the hostelry who might, by any stretch of the imagination, be considered as of those who had a part in the kidnapping. “Back to school,” ordered Cap. “We’ll see if there’s anything doing there.” It did not take long to learn that no hazing was going on that night, and that none of the various school societies were engaged in any pranks, and when it was made clear that neither Mersfeld nor North had been out of their rooms, they were absolved from the half-suspicion that pointed to them. “But Bill’s gone,” said Pete blankly. “Yes, and it’s up to us to find him,” decided Cap. “I guess to-morrow—” “By Jove, to-morrow is the date for the big Freshman game with Tuckerton!” exclaimed Whistle-Breeches. “You know how they protested against him. I’ll bet a cookie, without a hole in it, that—” “Say no more!” burst out Bob Chapin, with a tragic gesture. “The plot is laid bare! Tuckerton has our hero! On to the rescue!” But it was too late to do anything that night, though probably had the college authorities been appealed to they would have permitted further search. However our friends preferred to work out the problem themselves. Meanwhile poor Bill was being rapidly carried away, whither he knew not. All that he was aware of was that a cloth had been wound around his head and face to prevent him from seeing or from crying out. Then he was bundled into an auto, and the car was speeded up. Bill tried to listen and catch any sounds that might indicate where he was being taken, but Borden, who wanted to make speed had the muffler cut out and the only noise the pitcher heard was that made by the machine. It was a rough road over which he was being taken, and the car swayed and pitched from side to side, tossing Bill about. When he first felt himself grabbed by his unknown assailants he had tried to struggle away from them, but they had skilfully wound ropes about his legs and arms, and now, bundled up as he was in one corner of the gasoline vehicle, he tried in vain to free himself. But the ropes held. At length, however, lack of air, by reason of the cloth being too tightly drawn over his head, caused the unlucky lad to give utterance to a muffled appeal. “I say, you fellows don’t want me to smother; do you?” he demanded. “No, of course not,” came the cool answer. “If you’ll promise not to make a row we’ll take off some of the horse blankets. How about it?” Bill listened intently. He did not recognize the voice. He was minded to return a fierce answer, that he would suit himself about calling for help, but he recalled that in many cases discretion is the better part of valor. So, rather meekly, he made answer: “I’ll be good, kind Mr. Highwayman!”