bound for. How about the license tag? Gripping his unstable seat he
swayed forward and tried to see it just below him. In the dim light it
looked like a New York license. It must be the guy they were after all
right,--they had telephoned about a New York man--yet--_Cart_ had
a New York license on his car! He was living in New York now,--and
there must be lots of other guys--!

A kind of sickening thud seemed to drop through his mind down to the
pit of his stomach as he tried to think it out. His eyes peered into
the night watching every familiar landmark--there was the old pine
where they always turned off to go fishing: and yes, they were turning
_away_ from Economy road. Yes, they were going through Hackett's
Pass. A chill crept through his thin old sweater as the damp breath of
ferns and rocks struck against his face. His eyes shone grim and hard
in the night, suddenly grown old and stern. This was the kind of thing
you read about in novels. In spite of pricks of conscience his spirits
rose. It was great to be in it if it had to be. The consciousness of
Sabbath Valley bathed in peaceful moonlight, all asleep, of the
minister and his daughter, and Aunt Saxon, fell away; even the memory
of bells that called to righteousness--he was out in the night on a
wild ride and his soul thrilled to the measure of it. He fairly exulted
as he reflected that he might be called upon to do some great deed of
valor--in fact he felt he _must_ do a great deed of valor to
retrieve his self respect after having made that balk about the detour.
How did that guy get around the detour anyway? _Some guy!_

Hackett's Pass was far behind and the moon was going low when the car
stopped for a moment and a hurried consultation took place inside.
Billy couldn't hear all that was said, but he gathered that time was
short and the conspirators must be back at a certain place before