"Can't we go after the thief?" suggested the agent, considerably worried, for he well knew that if the stolen cases were not recovered the loss would come out of his own pocket.

"Have you a horse and wagon?"

"Yes, and I can get it in five minutes."

"What direction did the thief take, do you suppose?"

The freight agent thought for a moment.

"It is my opinion that he either went over to Easton or else up the river."

"It is not likely that he went across the bridge," said Matt. "If it was this Paul Barberry he would be afraid to take that direction, fearing to meet me and my partner on our way here."

"Yes, that's so," put in Andy.

"Then he went up the river. There is quite a good road for a number of miles."

"Well, supposing you get your horse and wagon," said Matt impatiently.

"It will not do to waste time here."

"But what of the police?" questioned Andy.

"We can notify them when we come back--that is, if we are unsuccessful."

"All right; hurry up that wagon, then."

The freight agent at once disappeared around the corner of the building. He was gone nearly five minutes. When he returned he was leading a fine black horse, attached to a light road wagon.

"Brought you Flip, my fast trotter," he explained. "He ought to be able to overtake any bit of horseflesh in these parts."

"Well, we want a fast horse," replied Matt, as he sprang into the wagon without delay. He was quickly followed by Andy and the freight agent, and off they went at a spanking gait down the smooth road.

It was a fine day, cool and clear, and under any other circ.u.mstances both Matt and Andy would have enjoyed the drive. But just now they were filled with fears. Supposing they were unable to recover their turn-out and goods what then?

The partners looked at each other, and that look meant but one thing.

They must recover their property. Such a thing as failure was not to be countenanced.

At length Phillipsburg was left far behind, and they entered a somewhat hilly farming section. Presently they came to a farmhouse standing close to the road. There was an old countryman standing by the gate, smoking a pipe leisurely, and Matt directed the freight agent to draw rein.

"Good afternoon," said the young auctioneer politely. "I wish to ask you for a bit of information."

"Well, son, what is it?" returned the old countryman, removing his pipe from his mouth and gazing at all three curiously.

"Did an auction wagon pa.s.s this way a short while ago?"

"An auction wagon?"

"Yes, sir, a covered wagon, with the sign, 'Eureka Auction Co.,'

painted on the sides. It had a single white horse, with brown spots."

The old man's face lit up.

"Oh, yes; I saw that wagon," he replied.

"You did?" cried Andy. "We are very glad to hear it. Which way did it go?"

"Right up that way," and the countryman waved his hand to the northwest.

"Along the river still," said the freight agent. "I thought so."

He was about to drive on when Matt stopped him.

"Did you notice who was driving the wagon?" he called back.

"Yes, a tall man kind of shabbily dressed."

"Must be Barberry," muttered the young auctioneer.

"What's the trouble?" questioned the countryman curiously.

"The turn-out has been stolen, that's the trouble," replied the boy, and off they sped again, leaving the old countryman staring after them in open-mouthed wonder.

They turned from the main road, which about half a mile back had led away from the Delaware, and took the side road the old man had indicated. It was an uneven wagon track, and they went b.u.mping over rocks and stumps of trees in a most alarming fashion.

"He couldn't have gone far in this direction," muttered the freight agent ruefully. "Why, it is enough to break the springs of any wagon ever made."

"My idea is that he had an object in coming down here," responded Andy thoughtfully. "Is there any sort of bridge in the neighborhood?"

The agent shook his head.

"No."

"Or a place where the river might be forded?"

"Not now. The heavy rains have swollen the stream, as you can see. In real dry weather he might find a place to ford."

"Well, it's certain that if he came this way to merely get out of our reach he chose an awful way of doing it," remarked Matt, as a sudden lurch of the wagon sent him bouncing up into the air. "This is the worst riding I've struck yet."

"Worse than when Billy ran away?" questioned Andy, with a sudden gleam of humor.

"Well, hardly that," admitted the young auctioneer. "But that wasn't riding at all. That was a slap-bang, go-as-you-please trip, which didn't--hullo! look there!"

He motioned to the freight agent to draw rein and pointed to a deep track in a soft bit of ground ahead.

"It's the track of our wagon sure enough!" exclaimed Andy. "I could tell it out of a hundred."

"So could I, Andy. Follow that, please," went on Matt, to the agent.