Hugh busied himself in starting the car going.  He knew considerable about mechanics, as most boys of the present generation do, since automobiles have become so very common.  Running it out of the garage Hugh bade Horatio “hop aboard,” which that worthy did without a second invitation.

“Better get Thad first of all, I reckon,” suggested Hugh, as though he might even have figured out how best to save themselves from any unnecessary delay; “then we can clip around to Julius Hobson’s place, and pick up Owen last on our way out of town.”

The program suited Horatio first class.  Indeed, he had such perfect confidence in Hugh that anything the other said carried conviction along with it.  It is a fine thing for any boy to have aroused such a spirit of trust in the minds of his comrades that they look up to him as a sort of natural leader, and obey his slightest wish without hesitation.  But Hugh bore his honors with humility, and never attempted to display the attributes of a czar.

Great was the astonishment of Thad Stevens when he found two excited fellows demanding that he bundle up and go with them for a night ride up to the abandoned quarry that had gained such a bad reputation among the country folks residing roundabout.

The story was partly told in rapid-fire style, enough of it, at least, to cause Thad to bounce into his heavy coat, and provide himself with a lantern.  He expected to become better informed from time to time as they pushed along the road.

Next came Julius Hobson.  They found him at home also, and, of course, he was duly worked up on hearing how poor K. K. had never returned home from his run over the long course of fifteen miles.  When he heard that they needed lanterns Julius produced a new electric flashlight which he had received for a birthday present, and Hugh said it would do very well as an additional means of illumination.

Last of all they stopped at the home of Owen Dugdale, the dark-faced lad who lived with his grandfather in a big house, and about whom there had at one time been quite a little halo of mystery hanging. ["The Chums of Scranton High on Deck.”]

Again was the main fact mentioned concerning the necessity for a searching party starting forth to find poor K. K. Owen did not have to be urged to join the bunch; indeed, he showed himself eager to accompany them.

“I can fetch a lantern, if you want me to, Hugh,” he observed; “and say, do you know I’m of a mind to carry my new shotgun that I had given to me just last month, when Grandfather concluded I was old enough to want to go hunting.  If we have to chase all around through that place there’s so many queer stories told about we might as well be fixed so as to protect ourselves.”

“Huh!” snorted Horatio Juggins, skeptically, “I’ve always heard that ghosts don’t mind ordinary birdshot any more’n an alligator would.  But then fetch it along, Owen; it’ll no doubt make us feel a little better when we find ourselves up in that terribly lonely tract of country.  And who knows but what there might be a stray wildcat abroad in those woods.  Such things have been heard of, and I even saw the skin of a whopper shown in the market.”