And of all of the things of which Pee-wee was “absolutely positive” the thing of which he was the most positive was that two thieves connected with the “crime wave” were riding away in Mr. Bartlett’s big Hunkajunk “touring model” and carrying him (a little scout model) along with them.

What should he do?  Being a scout, he took council of his wits and decided to write on a page of his hikebook a sentence saying that he was being carried away by thieves, giving his name and address, and cast this overboard as a shipwrecked sailor puts a message in a bottle.  Then someone would find the message and come to rescue him.

But with what should he weight his fluttering message, so that it would fall in the road?  Pee-wee was a scout of substance and had amassed a vast fortune in the way of small possessions.  He owned the cap of a fountain pen, a knob from a brass bedstead, two paper clips, a horse’s tooth, a broken magnifying glass, a device for making noises in the classroom, a clock key, a glass tube, a piece of chalk for making scout signs, and other treasures.  But these were in the pockets of his scout uniform and could be of no service to him in his predicament.

The only trinket which he had was the fragment of a sandwich.  Having reduced this, by a generous bite, to one-half its size, he wrote his note as well as he could without moving too much.  One deadly weapon he had with him and that was a safety pin.  With this he now pierced the piece of sandwich to the heart, linking it forever with that note written tremblingly in a moment of forlorn hope and utter darkness, under the kindly concealment of the buffalo robe.

On the opposite page is the note and how it looked.

Having cast this last message out upon the road he withdrew his arm cautiously back under the robe and lay as nearly motionless as possible, prepared for the worst.

If he should never be heard of again, it would seem both touching and appropriate, that this memento of him should be a morsel of food (which he loved) fastened with a safety pin which was the weapon that he always carried.

[Illustration:  [Handwritten note] I am being kidnapped by thieves who are stealing Mr. Bartlett’s car.  I don know where I am.  If anybody find this please take it to my house Bridgeboro Walter Harris Scout Br]

CHAPTER VII

LOCKED DOORS

Like the ground-hog, Pee-wee did not emerge again until the occasion was more propitious.  For fully an hour the car ran at high speed which afforded him some hope that the strong arm of the law might intervene.  But the strong arm of the law was apparently under its pillow in delicious slumber.  Not a snag did those bloody fugitives encounter in their flight.

At last the car slowed down and Pee-wee could feel that it was turning into another road.  His unwitting captors were evidently either nervous or sleepy, for they talked but little.