Tom did not answer. He penetrated the underbrush, noting where the broken branches had been bent upright after the forced entrance of the car, the better to hide it. The young inventor was seeking some clew to discover the owner of the machine. To this end he climbed up in the tonneau and was looking about when some one burst in through the screen of bushes and a voice cried:
"Here, you get out of my car!"
"Oh, is it your car, Andy Foger?" asked Tom calmly as he recognized his squint-eyed rival. "I was just beginning to think it was. Allow me to return your wrench," and he held out the one he had picked up near the log. "The next time you drag trees across the road," went on the lad in the tonneau, facing the angry and dismayed Andy, "I'd advise you to post a notice at the top of the hill, so persons riding down will not be injured."
"Notice—road—hill—logs!" stammered Andy, turning red under his freckles.
"That's what I said," replied Tom coolly.
"I—I didn't have anything to do with putting a log across any road," mumbled the bully. "I—I've been off toward the creek."
"Have you?" asked Tom with a peculiar smile. "I thought you might have been looking for the wrench you dropped near the log. You should be more careful and so should Sam Snedecker, who's
