Various were the comments after this had been done.

“Talk to me about your good fellows!  That Martin Mabie stands in a class of his own,” observed Jerry.  “Think of him offering to take us into the mountains for weeks, and see that we have the time of our lives!  And he warns us not to mention the word money to him unless we want to break up the game.  I sure am anxious to shake hands with that same friend of old Jesse.”

“I move we start up there right now and see Jesse.  The day is fine, and when can we spare the time better?” suggested Will, who secretly wanted just another chance to try a snapshot of the queer cabin which the trapper occupied.

“Second the motion!” cried Bluff eagerly.

“I’m some cramped, myself, from sitting so long in that canoe.  Perhaps a run on our motorcycles might give me relief.  So I say go,” came from Jerry.

Frank himself believed it would be a good idea.  He knew that once they started making preparations for their Western trip nothing was apt to tear them away.

“All right, boys.  It’s going to be a full moon to-night.  Suppose we stop over and have a parting supper with Jesse?  He’d be dreadfully tickled at the notion.  Tell your folks at home, and meet me at the Forks in not more than half an hour.”

Frank hustled the others out of the boathouse, locked the door, and then the four chums hastened to their various homes.

Ere the half hour was up they came together at the forks of the road, just out of Centerville.  Frank was first on hand, as usual, but even laggard Will showed up on time, camera and all.

In single file, and with a little space separating them, they started off, the motors soon popping merrily as the boys entered into the spirit of the occasion.

The air was fresh as they sped along the dusty road.  The leader was ever ready to signal a slow-down in case they met a farmer with a load of hay, going to market, or any other vehicle.  This was rendered necessary because the cloud of dust might blind the eyes of those who came after, and a collision be the result.

In this fashion they arrived at the lumber camp, which was deserted at this time of year.  From there on the pace had to be slowed down, for the road was only used by logging teams, and hardly suitable for motorcycles.

They were plugging along, each keeping his eyes open for obstacles apt to present themselves, such as roots cropping up above the surface, when the leader gave a sudden toot upon the little horn attached to his machine that warned the others a stop was imperative.

CHAPTER II

THE MOTORCYCLE THIEVES

“What’s gone wrong, Frank?” demanded Bluff, dropping off his seat.

“In luck again, for I’d have banged up against that big root if Frank hadn’t given the signal just then,” chuckled Will, holding up his machine.