"No chance!" Bud chuckled into the 'phone. "Not a chance in the
world, chief. They'll be right there where I left 'em, unless
some car comes along and gives 'em a tow. And if that happens
you'll be able to trace 'em." He started to hang up, and added
another bit of advice. "Say, chief, you better tell whoever gets
the car, to empty the gas tank and clean out the carburetor and
vacuum feed--and she'll go, all right! Adios."
He hung up and paid the charge hurriedly, and went out and down
a crooked little lane that led between bushes to a creek and
heavy timber. It did not seem to him advisable to linger; the San
Francisco chief of police might set some officer in that village
on his trail, just as a matter of precaution. Bud told himself
that he would do it were he in the chief's place. When he reached
the woods along the creek he ran, keeping as much as possible on
thick leaf mold that left the least impression. He headed to the
east, as nearly as he could judge, and when he came to a rocky
canyon he struck into it.
He presently found himself in a network of small gorges that
twisted away into the hills without any system whatever, as far
as he could see. He took one that seemed to lead straightest
toward where the sun would rise next morning, and climbed
laboriously deeper and deeper into the hills.
Pages:
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80