THE RIVAL BICYCLISTS;

OR,

FUN AND ADVENTURE ON THE WHEEL.

By CAPTAIN RALPH BONEHILL, Author of “Gun and Sled,” “The Young Oarsmen of Lakeview,” “Leo the Circus Boy,” etc., etc.

CHICAGO: M. A. Donohue & Co.

Copyright, 1897. BY W. L. Allison Co.

THE RIVAL BICYCLISTS.

CHAPTER I. OFF ON THE WHEEL.

“What do you say to a ride to Greenpoint and back to-night, Dick?”

“That suits me, Joe.”

“It will be full moonlight, and the ride over the valley road will be elegant.”

“True enough. When shall we start?”

“As soon as we have had supper.”

The two speakers were Dick Burns and Joe Johnson.

Dick Burns was the only son of the leading lawyer in Lockport. He was a bright fellow of seventeen, and a bicycle rider of no mean ability.

The other boy was Joe Johnson, the hero of the present tale.

At the time of which we write Joe was not quite fifteen years of age. He had been born in a little[2] town in Ohio called Rayford’s Run, but ere he was seven years old his parents moved to Lockport, where Mr. Johnson obtained employment in a large carpet works.

Joe attended the village school and had a host of friends. Every one liked the young fellow because he was so straightforward and honest in all he did. “You can trust Joe to do it,” was a common expression among his schoolmates.

Just three months before the opening of this story Joe had become the proud possessor of a bicycle. It had cost a neat little sum of money, but he had earned every dollar of it himself by doing odd jobs during off hours from school and home duties.

Joe was very proud of his wheel, and he soon learned to ride exceedingly well.

“Keep on, Joe, and you’ll become an expert,” said Dick to him one day.

“I wouldn’t like anything better,” returned Joe promptly.

That evening, long before the sun went down, the moon came up full and clear.

Dick Burns ate his supper as soon as he could and then hurried around to Joe’s house.

“Joe!”

“Coming!” was the reply from the woodshed.[3] “Just wait till I put this wood in the box behind the kitchen stove.”

Having finished his evening chores, Joe came out with his wheel.

He wore a neat suit his mother had made for him, and cut a nice figure as he rode away by Dick Burns’ side.

As the two wheeled through the village they met pretty Carrie Burns, Dick’s sister.

Joe tipped his hat and stopped to chat with her a few minutes.

There was a tall, slim boy who saw this and scowled deeply from behind a pile of boxes at the corner grocery. This boy was Lemuel Akers, and he was Joe’s one enemy.

On one occasion Lemuel had given Joe the lie direct in school, and, much to his astonishment, had been knocked down for doing it.

There had been a short fight, and Joe had shown that he was clearly the stronger boy of the two, even though he was much smaller than Lemuel.

The tall boy hated Joe greatly, and was watching his chances to “get square,” as he termed it.

He did not attack Joe openly, but, instead, waited to do some mean trick behind Joe’s back.

“Going off for a ride, eh?” muttered Lemuel Akers, as Joe and Dick proceeded on their way.[4] “I would like to make trouble for him while he is gone! I wonder if I can’t think of something.”

All unconscious of what was going on in Lemuel’s mind, Joe pushed on his pedals and made a spurt.

“Catch me, Dick!” he called, and a lively race took place, and was kept up until the outskirts of the place for which they were bound were reached.

Greenpoint was a fine town on the edge of a great lake, and here the two boys took a half-hour’s rest, while Dick, who always had pocket money, treated to soda water.

The rest over, Dick proposed that they return home by a different route.

“Let us go up Bacon Hill,” he said. “We have got lots of time, and coasting down the other side will be simply immense.”

“It’s pretty risky coasting on that hill in the moonlight,” replied Joe.

“Oh, it’s all right. I was over the road only two days ago and it is in prime condition.”

“All right, come on. I can’t bear to rest any longer.”

Off they went again, but this time not so fast, as there was a long and rather steep hill to climb.

The top reached, they stopped just a minute to look over the surrounding landscape, bathed in the white light of the full moon, and then started on[5] the down grade leading to the Pentaco River, and back to Lockport.

A single push on the pedals was sufficient. The grade was not great, but it was enough, and with their feet up on the coasters they went flying down the long stretch, gaining additional speed as they advanced.

“Fine, eh?” cried Dick Burns.

“Immense!” yelled Joe, who was in the lead. “Come on!”

“I’m coming,” was his reply.

But try his best, Dick could not quite reach Joe.

Over a mile was passed without the least accident, and then, far beyond, the two saw the river winding along and sparkling in the pale light.

On the other side of the stream there was another hill, so the “fly” would have to end at the bridge.

“Now for a grand finish!” called out Joe. “Catch me, if you can, Dick!”

“I’m coming!” sang out his companion again.

Nearer and nearer they came to the river, Joe still well in advance.

Suddenly both boys saw something which made their hearts fairly leap into their throats.

The bridge was down!

That very afternoon the workmen had torn down[6] the wooden structure, to replace it soon with one of iron.

The boys had ridden along so fast that neither had noticed the several notices posted up that the river could not be crossed on this road.

“The bridge is gone!” groaned Dick Burns.

Joe said nothing.

It was impossible for the bicyclists to stop on that downward grade.

Almost before they could think, they were within twenty feet of the river.

It was a rock-bound mountain torrent, not deep, but highly dangerous.

A fall from the road into it, at the speed at which they were going, would certainly mean death.

Could the two boys escape?

CHAPTER II. OUT OF A PERILOUS SITUATION.

Joe and Dick had to think and act quickly, for they were going at such speed that another second must decide their fate.

“To the right!” yelled Joe.

There was no time to say more.

He switched off, and at the same time threw his whole weight over.

The wheels of his bicycle slid along the road several yards, and it was only Joe’s skill that prevented him from taking the nastiest kind of a header.

Then he ran upon some planking from the torn-away bridge.

Dick tried to follow his lead, but was not so fortunate. He flew off his machine, and when Joe stopped, Dick went sailing directly over his head.

Both finally found themselves mixed up in a mass of planks and beams.

At first Joe could scarcely collect his thoughts.[8] His clothing was much torn, and his left arm had been badly wrenched.

Dick Burns was unconscious.

Joe thought for the instant his friend was killed, and in his horror forgot all about his own bruises.

He picked Dick up and laid him down on the near-by grass. Then Dick stirred slightly, and Joe knew he was still alive.

He ran down to a pool and got some water in his cap, with which he bathed Dick’s face. He also rubbed his chum’s wrists.

Finally he had the satisfaction of seeing Dick open his eyes with a deep sigh.

“Dick, are you hurt?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I hit my chest.”

“Maybe you broke a rib or two?”

“I don’t know.”

It was fully fifteen minutes before Dick felt like sitting up.

By that time he felt sure that no bones had been broken. But he was so sore he could not think of riding home.

“We will have to go back to Greenpoint, and I would give out inside of a mile,” he said.

“If I could get a wagon we might drive home,” said Joe.

[9]They talked the matter over, and finally our hero started off to hunt up a wagon.

He knew a number of farmers in the district, and felt pretty certain he could get a turnout from one or the other of them, especially when he made known that he wanted to take home Lawyer Burns’ son, who had been hurt.

Joe’s wheel, strange to say, had sustained no damage outside of a few bent spokes, and now he went off on the machine, leaving Dick sitting on the old bridge lumber.

“Come back as soon as you can, Joe.”

“Of course, Dick.”

The river was soon left out of sight, and Joe turned into a by-road, lined on either side with heavy trees.

Beneath, the trees formed an archway, which in the heat of the day gave a grateful shade to travelers.

But now, in spite of the moonlight, it was very dark here, and Joe had to slacken his speed for fear of going into a hole or striking a stone.

“I don’t want another trip-up,” he thought, as he pedaled along. “One such in a month is enough.”

Our hero was very thankful that he had escaped a plunge into the river.

[10]Halfway to the house he was bound for the lad heard the sounds of voices coming from the roadside.

“I’m dead hungry, Gimpy,” he heard in the rough voice of a tramp. “Wot yer got fer supper?”

“Dare ain’t nuthin’ but a couple o’ handouts, Jimmie,” was the reply from a second tramp.

“Dat won’t do fer me. Say! Dare’s a big henhouse up at dat farm I just passed.”

“I know it.”

“Suppose we rake in a chicken or two? Da will go fine after wot we’ve had.”

“Dat’s so.”

“Dare ain’t nobuddy around der place but an old man an’ an old woman, and da’ll be going ter bed soon.”

“Well, I’m wid yer.”

Joe listened to this conversation with keen interest. He had stopped behind a big tree and had heard every word spoken.

He knew the farmhouse to which the two tramps referred. It was the very place for which he was bound.

The farmer’s name was Josiah Arkley, and he lived on the place with Susan, his sister.

They kept no hired help, and the farm was a good quarter mile from any other.

[11]It would be an easy matter for the tramps to rob Josiah Arkley’s henhouse, for the old man and his sister always retired early.

Besides, the old pair were both slightly deaf, and it was not likely that they would hear the disturbance among the fowls.

As silently as a cat Joe left the vicinity. Once out of earshot of the tramps, he sped along to the Arkley farmhouse as fast as his wheel would carry him.

As he had surmised, the place was dark, for the old couple had long before gone to bed.

It took a deal of hammering on the front door to arouse Josiah Arkley.

“Who’s there?” he demanded, as he popped his head out of an upper window.

“Joe Johnson, Mr. Arkley.”

“And what brings you here, Joe?” asked the old farmer in surprise.

“Two things, sir. Come down as soon as you can, please.”

“I will.”

The window was shut down and all became quiet again.

Soon a light appeared below, the door was thrown open and Joe entered the farmhouse, taking his[12] wheel with him. He found both of the old folks had dressed and come down.

“Now, what’s up, Joe?” asked the old man in a trembling voice.

“Well, in the first place, two tramps are on their way here to rob your hen roost.”

“Land sakes alive!” burst out Susan. “You don’t mean it, Joe?”

“Wait till I get my gun,” went on Josiah.

He ran into the kitchen and returned with an old-fashioned blunderbuss which was loaded and ready for use.

In a few words Joe told of the conversation he had overheard, to which the farmer and his sister listened with interest.

“I’ll fix ’em,” muttered Josiah.

He turned out the light and led the way to the shed built on the side of the kitchen.

From here a good view of the chicken-house, not a hundred feet away, could be obtained.

Joe looked out of the window over the old man’s shoulder.

“Here they come!” he whispered, for the two tramps had just leaped a side fence.

The intruders separated, and while one remained on guard, the other made a tour around the house.

Apparently satisfied that they were not observed,[13] the two tramps sneaked back toward the chicken-house.

In this building old Josiah Arkley kept about two dozen prize fowls.

He did not believe in owning many, but what he did have were of the best, many of them being worth three and four dollars apiece for breeding purposes.

The sight of the tramps excited the old man very much, and it was with difficulty that Joe and old Susan kept him from shooting down the would-be offenders without warning.

“Why don’t you capture them and take them to jail?” suggested Joe.

“I can’t capture two men alone.”

“I’ll help you,” said Joe.

“So will I,” added Susan Arkley.

The two latter at once armed themselves.

Joe procured Josiah Arkley’s heaviest cane, which was little short of being a club.

Old Susan brought forth a broom—an old one which was worn down to a hard stub at the end.

In the meanwhile one of the tramps had pried the padlock from the chicken-house door.

Now one of them stood by the open door while the other went inside.

[14]“Come on!” whispered Josiah Arkley, and he led the way out of the house.

Silently the three sneaked along by the well and dairy until within six yards of the fowl-house.

“You villains, throw up your hands or I will shoot!” suddenly cried Josiah Arkley.

The tramps were dumfounded for the minute. Then the one at the door began to yell.

“Dere’s onto us, Gimpy!”

“Stand still, do you hear?” cried old Josiah.

“Not much!” howled the fellow called Jimmie. “I ain’t doin’ time dis summer!” and he started to run.

Bang! went the blunderbuss, and the tramp received a dose of shot in his leg and fell groaning beside the dairy.

Then out came the second tramp. Joe rushed at him and struck him with the club.

The tramp turned on our hero, and a second later both were rolling over and over on the ground.

CHAPTER III. JOE IS ACCUSED OF A CRIME.

The tramp did not mean that he should be captured. The summer was at its height, and during this portion of the year tramps hate to be sent to jail.

In the winter they do not mind it so much, for then they are assured of a warm place to stay and enough to eat.

But Joe had made up his mind to capture the tramp.

He held on with a great grip, and in vain the vagabond tried to shake him off.

“Let me git after him with the broom!” shrieked Susan Arkley, dancing about.

While Joe was struggling old Josiah Arkley went after the tramp who had been shot.

This fellow was full of rage, and now he threatened to injure the farmer’s head with a rock.

It promised to be a lively time all around.

[16]But Joe soon settled matters, so far as it concerned the man with whom he was wrestling.

He broke loose, and then the fellow received a blow in the face that made him shriek with pain.

In the meantime Josiah Arkley had struck the other tramp with the end of the blunderbuss. Susan had followed with half a dozen whacks from the broom, and now the chap was pleading for mercy.

“Give a feller a show ter live!” he groaned. “Oh! me head! Don’t hit me agin!”

“Now, Susan, stand guard over him till I git a rope,” went on old Josiah.

He disappeared into the barn and soon came out with ropes and old bits of harness. With these the tramp was secured, hands and feet.

“Good for you, Joe,” exclaimed the old farmer, when he saw what our hero had accomplished.

“Bind him, too, Mr. Arkley.”

“Sure, Joe, sure,” was the reply, and soon the second tramp was a prisoner.

Both were dragged into the barn and there bound fast to rings in separate stalls.

The old farmer would take no chances of their escaping while he went to notify the authorities.

The tramps in custody, Joe told the farmer about the accident at the bridge.

[17]Josiah Arkley at once agreed to let Joe have his large farm wagon and a team.

This would give the two boys plenty of room for themselves and their bicycles.

“You can put the team up in Mr. Burns’ barn, and I’ll be over for it to-morrow,” said the farmer.

This was agreed to, and Joe drove off, taking Josiah Arkley with him until the turn in the road beyond the heavy trees was reached.

Then the farmer left him to walk to the next village for a constable, while Joe turned the team toward the river.

Our hero found Dick where he had left him.

“You have been gone a long time, Joe,” cried Dick. “I thought you were never coming back.”

“That’s so; I had something happen that I didn’t look for,” returned Joe.

And as he helped Dick into the wagon on the top of a number of blankets, he told his friend of what had occurred. Dick was much astonished.

“It’s a good job done to capture those tramps,” he remarked. “Father says the law against them isn’t half strong enough.”

Joe piled the two bicycles on the back of the wagon. Dick’s was sadly bent and would have to be sent away for repairs.

[18]“Never mind,” said the lawyer’s son. “I am very thankful we both escaped with our lives.”

“And so am I,” said Joe with a shudder, as he started the team off.

On they jogged slowly until the few lights of the town appeared in sight. By this time Dick was much fatigued, and Joe had to drive slower than ever.

When they turned into the Burns garden the house door opened and the lawyer came out.

“Hullo! I thought it was Dick returning,” he called out.

“It is I, father,” replied the son. “We’ve been in a smash-up.”

At once the lawyer came down, and soon his wife and Carrie Burns followed.

Dick was helped out of the wagon and almost carried into the house, where he was made comfortable on his bed.

Dick told the lawyer about the team, and Mr. Burns willingly consented to keep it over night.

“And I’ll pay Mr. Arkley, too,” he said.

Joe put the team up and was on the point of leaving, when a man rushed up to the house.

It was Simon Pepper, the village watchmaker. He kept a small store on the main street, filled with watches, clocks, and cheap jewelry.

[19]“Ha! I have you!” he cried, running up to Joe and catching our hero by the arm.

“What’s the matter, Mr. Pepper?” asked Joe in surprise.

“You know well enough what’s the matter,” fumed the watchmaker. He was a little man and of a very excitable nature.

“I must say I haven’t the slightest idea,” returned Joe.

“Indeed!” was the sneering return. “Maybe you haven’t been around my shop.”

“I was around there yesterday to get our clock.”

“Exactly; and you asked me about my highest-priced jewelry, too.”

“I asked about the jewelry. I want to save up and get my mother a pin for her birthday.”

“Just so, just so. And you took that key, you rascal!”

“What key?”

“You know well enough. Oh, you are a smart boy, Joe Johnson, but you can’t play any such trick on me.”

And in his rage Simon Pepper shook his fist in Joe’s face.

“Mr. Pepper, won’t you explain yourself?” put in Mr. Burns curiously.

“Of course, of course, Mr. Burns, in a minute![20] But I can’t stand it to have this young rascal act so cool about it! Just as if he didn’t know a word!”

“And I don’t know a word,” added Joe promptly.

“Well, maybe you’ll know more when you are behind the bars! Do you hear? Behind the bars! I came to see Mr. Burns about the case.”

“A case against Joe?” asked the lawyer.

“Precisely, Mr. Burns.”

“What has he done?”

“Done enough to send him to State’s prison for ten years.”

“Impossible!”

“It is false!” burst from Joe’s lips. The lad could scarcely believe his ears.

“It ain’t false; it’s true. Yesterday he was in my store and stole the key to the back door. To-night he has been in there and robbed me of nigh on to a hundred dollars’ worth of jewelry. I’m going to have him arrested, and then I’m going to get a warrant and search his home.”

“I never stole a thing in my life!” ejaculated Joe.

“I can prove it, boy, I can prove it! Do you know why? Because I found your knife back of the very showcase that was robbed. You used that knife to throw the catch back on the lock. Don’t you dare to deny it, or attempt to run away!”

CHAPTER IV. JOE DECLARES HIS INNOCENCE.