all in spite of his efforts, letting a guy get taken this way without
even a chance to put up a fight. Where was that gun? He reached his
hand into his pocket and was steadied by the feeling of the cold steel.
Then he knew that the men were in the car and were about to start. They
had dumped the owner into the back seat and were going to carry him off
somewhere. What were they going to do? He must find out. He was
responsible. He hadn't meant to let anything like this happen. If
everything wasn't going to be on the square he might have to get into
it yet. He must stick around and see.

The men were having a whispered consultation over the car. They were
not used to that kind, but a car was a car. They tried to start it with
nervous glances down the road. It jerked and hissed and complained but
began to obey. The wheels were beginning to move. In a flash it would
be gone!

Billy scrambled noiselessly up the bank behind the car, his move well
covered by the noise of the engine. With a quick survey of the
situation he tucked himself hastily into the spare tire on the back,
just as the car gave a lurch and shot forward down across the tracks.
He had all he could do to maintain his position and worm himself into a
firmer holding for the first minute or two, and when he began to
realize what he was doing he found his heart beating like a young trip
hammer. He slid a groping hand into his pocket once more for
reassurance. If anything really happened he had the gun.

But his heart was heavy. Things had not gone right. He had planned to
carry this thing through as a large joke, and here he was mixed up in a
crooked deal if ever there was one. The worst of it was he wasn't out
of it yet. He wished he knew whose car this was and where they were