Bert Wilson at the Wheel. Duffield J. W.

accident. How long do you think the race ought to be?”

      “How long is the track that you propose using?” inquired Mr. Hollis.

      “Why, it’s just one mile, isn’t it Ralph?” asked Mr. Thompson.

      “Yes, sir,” replied Ralph.

      “Well, it seems to me,” said Mr. Thompson, “that ten miles, that is ten full laps around the track, ought to be about right. Will that be satisfactory to you, Mr. Hollis?”

      “Yes, I can see no objection to that,” replied the latter, “what day shall we have the race?”

      “How would a week from today suit you?”

      “Let me see, that will be Tuesday, won’t it? I guess that will be satisfactory to all concerned. How do you boys feel about it?”

      They voiced a unanimous assent to these arrangements, and both sides started discussing the various chances and possibilities of the contest, but with perfect good humor and friendly feeling.

      It was now getting late, however, and the discipline of the camps could not be too much relaxed, even in the face of such an important event as this. Accordingly, hearty farewells were exchanged, and the visitors climbed into their big gray car.

      All the boys gathered around expectantly to note the behavior of the car when it started, and it must be admitted that even Bert Wilson’s expert eye could find no defect in the handling or running of the rival machine. Ralph started it smoothly and without a jerk, and soon all they could see of it was the angry gleam of its red tail-light.

      As they turned away to prepare for sleep, Jim remarked: “Aw, I bet we’ll have a walkover in that race.”

      Bert knew better, however, and was convinced that he would have to use every ounce of power that the “Red Scout” possessed to beat the “Gray Ghost.” But one thing he was sure of, and that was that whoever won it was going to be a mighty close race. He did not make the mistake of underrating his rival, as so many boys in his position would have done, but made up his mind to do the very best he could, right from the start.

      For a long time he stood staring at the “Red Scout,” and then raised its shining hood and patted the spotless cylinders.

      “I guess we can do it, old boy, but you will have to stand by me and work as you have never worked before,” he said, and gently lowered the hood and walked off toward his tent.

      CHAPTER V

      The Hoboes and the Bees

      Early in the morning the boys began to break camp and start for the new location. Groups of three or four were detailed by Mr. Hollis to accomplish certain tasks and they started to carry out his directions right merrily. Some were sent to store the provisions and cooking utensils; others to take down the tents and gather together their blankets and other bedding; still others got together the fishing tackle and all was done to the accompaniment of songs and jests and laughter, so that before they knew it everything was ready to dump into the old farm wagons they had hired for the purpose. When everything was packed in the wagon that would possibly go in, Mr. Hollis selected Tom to ride beside the driver and show him where to go.

      After the wagon had started off, some of the boys’ own personal belongings that were left over were put in the “Red Scout” and seven of the fellows scrambled in someway – trust boys to find room if there is any to be found – and started away after the wagon. They soon passed it and went on until they came to the turn in the road where the lake could be dimly seen through the trees. There Bert stopped and the boys got out, taking the packages with them. Shorty had been detailed to lead them to the lake and then to come back and wait for the farm wagon.

      Then Bert went back to pick up Mr. Hollis and Dick Trent who had stayed behind to see that nothing had been forgotten.

      On the way back he passed the wagon and hailed Tom with a “How are you getting along, old man?”

      “Pretty badly, I thank you. I wish Mr. Hollis had picked out somebody else for this job – someone who didn’t care if he spent hours getting nowhere,” Tom replied sourly.

      “Cheer up, the worst is yet to come,” laughed Bert. “Never mind, even the worst trials have to end some time,” he added consolingly and started off again while Tom looked enviously after the red car, now fast disappearing in the distance.

      When Bert reached the old camp site, now looking very bare and forlorn, he found Mr. Hollis and the boys waiting impatiently for him. Mr. Hollis and Dick got in, followed by six of the boys. Bert promised to come back for the rest right away and the “Red Scout” started off with its second load. In a little while, for Bert had found a second and much shorter road to the lake, they came once more to “Campers’ Crossing” as the boys had named it. There they found that the wagon had just arrived with its load, but the boys had delayed unloading it until Mr. Hollis should reach the scene of action. In a minute the Camp Master had taken charge and the boys were busy unloading and carrying everything to the camp.

      Once more Bert started back with the reliable “Red Scout” for his last load. When he got to the old camp the boys greeted him with the news that Jim Dawson had disappeared and couldn’t be found anywhere.

      “He was here just a few minutes ago,” said Steve Thomas. “But when I went to ask him a question just now he was gone. We have hunted high and low but we can’t find a trace of him.”

      Bert was troubled at first, but suddenly a thought struck him and his face lighted up as he exclaimed: “I think I can explain the mystery. Follow me, fellows.”

      He led them through a dense thicket to the side of a hill, covered with underbrush. Pulling a bush aside, he disclosed to the boys’ astonished gaze, a great, black hole which was evidently the mouth of a cave.

      “Come on out, Jim,” Bert called. “We don’t want to keep Mr. Hollis waiting too long, you know.”

      Jim Dawson was one of those hungry boys who never can get enough to eat, so, having discovered the cave one day, while chasing a butterfly, he had secretly brought food there in a tin box, so that if he chanced to get hungry, he always had something to eat at hand.

      Bert had discovered the cave and its secret long ago but he was not given to tale-bearing and so had kept his own counsel.

      As Bert spoke, a sound was heard inside the cave, and, in a minute, out came the culprit with an accusing piece of cornbread in his hand, blinking like an owl brought suddenly into the glare of the sun.

      At the look of complete surprise and dismay on his face the boys burst into a shout of laughter.

      “Oh, you lemon,” gasped Steve. “You full-sized lemon! How did you ever manage to get away with it?”

      “No wonder we have been short of grub, lately,” Dave said, holding his sides as if he were afraid he would burst.

      “Aw, I don’t see why you can’t leave a fellow alone,” said Jim, sulkily. “I only brought grub here that belonged to me.”

      “Don’t be sore, Jim,” Bert said, good-naturedly. “I wouldn’t have disturbed you if we hadn’t been in a hurry. That reminds me that we’ve wasted a good deal of valuable time, already. I guess we had better be getting along.”

      At that they all started back on the run and soon had Jim in such a good humor that he even told them how he had escaped being found out by a narrow margin many a time, and that nobody but Bert had even suspected the cave’s existence.

      They all piled into the “Red Scout” in a hurry because they feared that Mr. Hollis would worry on account of their prolonged absence.

      They arrived at “Campers’ Crossing” just in time to carry the last barrel of provisions. When they reached the new camp the boys were surprised to see how much had been done in their absence. The tents had been set up and from the mess tent came the clattering of utensils and the savory odor of creamed salmon on toast.

      Soon, the call to dinner was heard, and the boys all gathered around the table, chattering like magpies.

      “It