"I'll show you," and the boy reached for his cap. Going outside, he led them from the yard to a road running up a hill.
"Keep right on that till you get to the Blue Horseshoe," he said. "You can't miss it, because it's the only place around here."
They thanked the lad and hurried on. By this time it was quite dark and a few drops of rain had begun to fall.
"The Blue Horseshoe Tavern must be one of the old-time roadhouses that has had a revival of business since auto parties became popular," said Dick, as he and his brothers trudged along. "I wonder what those rascals will tell the proprietor?"
"Most likely the same old story—that dad is crazy," answered Tom. "That's Crabtree's favorite game."
They had just turned a curve in the road and come in sight of a low, rambling tavern, when they saw a big touring car of the enclosed pattern coming towards them. To avoid the machine, which was being driven rapidly, they leaped to the side of the road.
As the touring car came closer, they saw that two men sat on the front seat,—the driver and a man who had his hat pulled far down over his face and his coat collar turned up.
