As they had planned, the run home was made by moonlight. This
necessitated that they walk with their machines until the good road was
gained, below the lumber camp.

"I wonder whether those two tramps hit the high places, and got out of
this neighborhood for keeps?" Bluff was saying, after they had mounted
and were bowling along merrily toward town.

"The chances are that way. That tramp printer must be a bad sort of
chap, it seems to me, and if Hank keeps along in his society I can see
his finish," answered Jerry over his shoulder.

They had not made more than a mile when once more Frank gave a quick
toot of his horn that brought the little procession up in a hurry.

"What ails us now?" demanded Bluff.

"Frank's bending over something in the road, as sure as you live!"
called Will.

"Tell me about that, will you! Seems as if our lively times haven't
stopped yet. It never rains but it pours, fellows. Hi! Frank, what's the
matter? Say! Would you believe it? There's a man lying in the road!"

Jerry made haste to push his heavy motorcycle forward so as to reach the
side of his kneeling chum.

"It's Hank Brady, boys, and he seems to be in a bad way. Something has
happened to him since we saw him last," said Frank, looking up.