"I've got it! Water in the carbureter!"

"Right-o!" confirmed Dray, in another moment. "The spray mixed with the gas--dashed over into the air in-take valve. Moral, go slow, for water sometimes is fatal, even in a good cause!"

"Shame to spoil the race," said Ed; "we were just warming up."

"It's all right," commented Denny, "and a good lesson. I never knew myself that too much speed would do the like of that. Well, I must be off doin' some ch.o.r.es. I've been a-galavantin' most of the day, and the fishes of Crystal Bay are not educated to come up to me door yet.

Thank you for the sport. It was fine," he concluded, genially.

"Indeed you must come along again," Cora urged. "This was only a baby-trial. We will want to be going out on the deep soon; then you must come along."

"Thank you, very kindly," Denny called, as he started off. "The deep is a bad place for young 'uns, I can tell you. Better stick around sh.o.r.e."

"Tell us what is the matter, Lottie," demanded Bess, for Lottie had not yet recovered her self-possession.

"Oh, I guess I had a chill," she evaded, glancing at Cora.

"And the mere sight of a couple of strange men startled her," Cora added. "I have warned her there may be lots of strange men around Crystal Bay."

"But not the same strange men every time," Lottie put in. This gave a clue to her fright. The men who had secluded themselves under the Lonely Willow that morning had appeared again, this time in the vicinity of the girls' bungalow, now known as the "Motely Mote."

CHAPTER VII

IN THE MOTELY MOTE

"Do you young ladies realize that we have the cares of housekeeping on our shoulders?" asked Cora, from a ma.s.s of boxes and bags, not to mention trunks, in the alleged living room of the Mote.

"Oh, let us forget it--do," begged Bess. "I always hate the summertime when it brings dishes and things."

"It's good for you," affirmed Marita. Bess did know that hard work is considered "good" for stout persons.

"Maybe, but it is not pleasant," Bess answered, flinging herself upon the improvised couch, a matter of hammocks and blankets, still bearing baggage checks and tie-ropes.

"But our housekeeper has given notice," announced Cora. "And I don't wonder. Not one has been on time for a single meal since we arrived.

But I must say, I wish she had stayed until the stuff was all unpacked. It's dreadful on the hands," and she looked at hers ruefully.

"Why not ask the boys to help?" asked Lottie, who was doing her best to press her damp clothes by stretching the most important of them over Belle's trunk, and holding them there with two suitcases. "If I had not gotten these things wet I should have been glad to unpack, but if I leave them this way over night I shall never be able to wear them again."

"If you knew the boys as well as we do," Bess put in, "you would know what their help means. They would insist upon trying on every article of clothing they unpacked; wouldn't they Cora?"

"Something like that, Bess, if they did unpack at all. But, seriously, if you will give me a little help to drag these empty trunks to the porch, I will tell you of a plan I have evolved. Of course we cannot remain this way without a chaperone."

"Isn't it perfectly silly?" complained Belle. "As if we were not all capable of taking care of ourselves."

"Oh, I don't know about that," objected Cora. "I have noticed that in case of emergency, when some strange man happens to poke his nose in at the window, we are all rather glad to acknowledge we are mere babes."

"And also when we meet them under willow trees," Marita reminded the boastful ones. "I am sure I agree with Cora that we need a chaperone, and perhaps a policeman or two."

The girls paused in dragging the baggage toward the front door.

"Just the same," Marita went on, "Lottie was frightened to-day and she only heard a strange man say, 'They call them the motor girls.' As if that was anything terrifying."

"But it was the way they said it," Lottie protested. "They just peered at us--and----"

"Now, Lottie," said Cora, "you have an idea that everyone who looks at us 'peers' at us. For my part I was rather flattered by their attention. You see the fame of the motor girls is spreading. But let me now make my proposition," and she settled down on the rug that was intended to cover the floor--some time.

"Let her 'prop'!" cried Belle.

"Well, you know our little friend, Freda, has lost some property; that is, her mother and herself have lost a certain claim to it. This little colony around here is fairly bristling with the prosperity implanted in it by such thrifty men as was Freda's grandfather, but in spite of that, strangers come in, make a big fuss about riparian rights, and government laws, and property claims and, in so doing, pretend to discover a flaw in a t.i.tle that for years has been considered perfectly clear." She paused, for Bess had opened her mouth twice, and this time Cora wanted to hear what she had to say.

"We heard some women talking about that to-day," said Bess, "and they said it was a shame to take a homestead from Mrs. Lewis. They were not whispering their opinions, either."

"So it is a shame," Cora said, "and if we can, in any way, help to get the truth established, we will surely have a good reason to remember this holiday."

"How?" queried Marita. "We don't understand anything about land, and deeds, and lawyers."

At this everyone but Marita laughed. She was not acquainted with the daring deeds of the motor girls, as that was what they had undertaken and accomplished in the past.

"You see, Marita dear," Cora explained, "because we seem such harmless babies we are able to get information that others, considered more dangerous, might not have access to. Now, let me continue. There are men around here, members of some sort of a land company, who are trying to get hold of certain papers. We don't know whether they exist or not, but in our own quiet, girlish way----"

Here she was interrupted with a burst of mocking laughter. "Your quiet girlish way," repeated Belle. "Why, Cora, I do believe if you thought you could get the better of that land company you would take the _Chelton_, and go--pirating! Wouldn't it be great to go out on a dark night, steam up the bay, watch for other boats, listen to the smugglers----"

"Oh, Belle," put in Lottie, "that's not the way in books. We would have to go out and get kidnapped, and then, when in the cave, we would hear the plot of the men who were going to steal the old homestead."

"Hurrah!" cried her hearers.

"Lottie for captain of the kidnapped," suggested Cora. "Now, Lottie, when it gets good and dark you are to go out under the biggest tree on the place and await your captors."

"h.e.l.lo there! Anybody home?"

"The boys!" gasped Belle. "Now what about having wasted our time? Come in!"

"Nice of you to ask us," groaned Jack. "Say, we are dead and buried, and the will is now being read. Somebody broke into our larder and stole the grub. Have you any to put out at interest?"

"Stole your eatables!" exclaimed Marita.

"Well, you could scarcely call it that," replied Jack, espying an undamaged orange on the window sill, and making a lunge for it. "We did intend to eat the stuff, but it was just plain grub--not eatables."

"Jack, haven't you boys had your supper?" asked Cora.

"We are on a diet," explained Jack. "Wallie had the crackers, Ed nabbed the dried beef--he's the biggest and needs the most, you know--and I got the pickles. Then we followed directions, and each drank three sips of pure spring water. But the trouble arose when Dray came in. He said he was to have milk--doctor's orders. We didn't have any but 'pretense' milk, so Dray is now out looking for a cow."

Just then the sound of approaching footsteps was heard.

"They come!" announced Jack. "I was merely the herald. Have you made out the menu, Cora dear?"