From the bushes along the road
sprang several ragged, masked figures. Each one, aiming his
weapon at Tom, said in a low voice, that could not have been
heard by the driver of the hay wagon:
"Slow up your machine, young feller! We want to speak with you,
and don't you make a loud noise, or it won't be healthy for you!"
"Why of all the-!" began Mr. Damon, but another of the footpads
leveling his weapon at the eccentric man growled:
"Dry up, if you don't want to get shot!"
Mr. Damon subsided. Discretion was very plainly the better part
of valor. Tom had shut off the current. The load of hay continued
on ahead. Tom thought perhaps the driver of it might have been in
collusion with the thieves, to cause the auto to slow up.
"What do you want with us?" asked the young inventor, trying to
speak calmly, but finding it a hard task, with a revolver pointed
at him.
"You know what we want," exclaimed the leader, in a low voice.
"We want that cash you got from the bank, and we're going to have
it! Come, now, shell out!" and he advanced toward the automobile.
CHAPTER XX ON TIME
Close around the electric auto crowded the members of the
hold-up gang.
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