“The wretch has stolen Myra!  I didn’t I think he would dare do that,” cried the woman.

Mrs. Dexter had never made any effort to secure a divorce from her worthless husband.  After he had abandoned her she had appeared in court and had had herself appointed sole guardian and custodian of little Myra.  Under the law, therefore, Dexter, if he stole Myra away from the mother, could be arrested and punished for abduction.

At this frantic moment, however, Mrs. Dexter was not thinking of punishments.  All she wanted was to get her child back in her own keeping.

“Isn’t it possible there’s a mistake?” demanded Greg of the dismayed housekeeper.  “The little one may have gotten up out of bed.  She may be in some other part of the house.”

“Not much!” interjected the housekeeper.  “The child’s jacket and coat are gone from a hook near by.”

After the first moment of fright Mrs. Dexter had raced upstairs; now she came down again.

“Myra’s really gone,” she cried, sobbing.  “And no one but Dexter would think of stealing her from me.  He has done it for spite - ­or as the means of extorting more money from me.”

“A man could hardly go through the streets carrying a child that didn’t want to be carried.  The child could cry out and attract attention,” guessed Dick.

“Myra wouldn’t cry out.  She would be cowed by her father’s threats.  She always was afraid of him,” wailed Mrs. Dexter.

“Are you going to appeal to the police?” Dick asked.

“I - ­I must.”

“Then you’re losing time, Mrs. Dexter - ­and there’s your telephone.  We boys will go out into the streets and see if we can find any trace - ­pick up any word.  When we came along there was a cab standing in front of the Grahams.  But I suppose that cab belonged to some of their visitors.”

“The Grahams have been out of town for the last few days,” broke in Mrs. Dexter.  “There has been no one at their house, except one old man who acts as care-taker.”

“Then Dexter may have had that cab waiting for him,” flashed young Prescott.  “Come along, fellows!  Let’s see what we can find out.”

Dave and Greg were at the street door ahead of their young leader.  None of the boys paused longer, for Mrs. Dexter was already at her telephone.

Out in the street the three Grammar School lads raced along the sidewalk until they reached the house of the Graham family.  The cab was gone.

“We can find that cab anywhere,” declared Dick.  “Any one else would recognize it.  It had one brown, or dark horse, and one gray horse.”

“I didn’t notice the driver,” stated Darrin.

“He was sitting inside the cab,” spoke up Greg.  “I didn’t get a good look at him, either.”

“Going to race on into Main Street?” asked Dave, as the three came to a street corner.

“Dexter would hardly drive right into the clutches of the police, would he?” pondered Prescott.  “No; I think it’ll turn out that he went the opposite way, out of town.”

Saying this, Dick headed for the outskirts of Gridley, still keeping along at a dog-trot.  Dave and Greg didn’t talk now; they were husbanding their store of “wind.”

After a short time all three boys had to slow down to a walk.  That “pain in the side,” which seizes all boys who try to run far without training and practice, had caught them.  Still, they moved along as fast as they could go.

“Excuse me, mister,” hailed Dick, halting the first man they met, who came strolling toward them, smoking a pipe, “have you seen a cab go by?”

“Yes.”

“Oldish cab?” broke in Dave.

“One gray horse and one dark or brown?” breathed Greg.

“Yep.”

“How long ago?” asked all three.

“’Bout two minutes ago.  Why?”

“Which way did it go?” breathed Dick anxiously.

“Why, the driver stopped me,” explained the man, taking out his pipe, “and asked if there was a drug store ahead in this part of the town.  I told him he’d find one on the next block, around the next corner to the left.  So -  - ­”

“Thank you!” came politely from three breathless boys, and off they started again on a trot.

“Any one sick?” called the man after them.  “Huh!  Curious how excited those boys are!”

“Two minutes!  I’m afraid horses will leave us far behind with that start,” groaned Dick.

Then they turned around the corner.  Ahead of them, in front of the little drug store, or rather, just past the entrance, stood the cab that occupied all their thoughts at the present time.

“There it is!” breathed Dick excitedly, as though forgetful of the fact that his chums had eyes also.  “Come along - ­over on the other side of the street - ­in the dark.”

In a twinkling all three lads had crossed stealthily to the further side of the little street.

“Oh, for a policeman!” appealed Dick.  “Or any full-grown man, who would listen to us and have the grit to give us a strong hand.”

“If Dexter has the little girl, and that’s his cab, what has he taken her into a drug store for?” whispered Dave.

“We don’t know that he has taken her into the store.  We don’t know anything until we see it,” was Dick’s answer.  “Dexter didn’t stop for a trifle.  He isn’t buying Myra a glass of soda, or anything like that.”

The three boys were stealing down the street, on the further side, keeping close in the shadow of the buildings.  They did not wish to risk being seen until they had had a chance for a good look at the cab and its possible contents.

Dick’s reason for crossing the street had been that he had first caught sight of the driver standing on the sidewalk beside the cab.  If he could get down close to the cab, and have that vehicle between himself and the driver, Dick hoped that he would have a chance to steal across the street and look inside the rig.

By good luck, combined with stealth, Dick, Dave and Greg succeeded in gaining a point on the street opposite the cab.

“Careful, now,” whispered Dick, “one bad move might spoil everything.”

On tip-toe they crossed.  At a point midway in the street they halted a brief instant.  From this point they could make out the unmistakable form of Ab.  Dexter at the back of the drug store, walking to and fro as if waiting for something.

No word was spoken.  Still on tip-toe the boys went on until they stood by one of the doors of the cab.

Dave and Greg made way for Dick to get up close and peer into the vehicle.

Young Prescott gave a start of exultation as he made out a little, wrapped-up human bundle huddled on the back seat.  It was little four-year-old Myra.  She had collapsed into a heap and was very softly sobbing to herself, wholly unaware of what might be passing outside.

On the further side of the cab, standing on the sidewalk, Dick caught sight of the man whom he presumed to be the driver.  The fellow was standing staring fixedly ahead.

“If he had been looking the other way he would have caught us coming down the street,” flashed through Prescott’s mind.

Then he turned, nodding swiftly, silently, at his companions.

They had found Myra, these Grammar School lads, but in a desperate fight, Dexter and the driver would prove overwhelming odds.  The pair of rascals could knock these youngsters senseless and whip up the horses for a dash.

What was to be done?

In sheer nervousness Dave Darrin began to try the handle of the cab door.  Then, understanding coming to him, Dave tried in earnest to see whether he could unfasten the door with out making the least noise.

All three of the lads realized that it was a ticklish moment.  Even Myra, if startled, might give the scream that would betray and defeat them.

Steadily Dave worked at his problem.  Dick and Greg, quivering, stood alertly on guard on either side of him.

Squeak!  That cab-door handle needed oiling sadly.  Even under Darrin’s cautious handling it gave forth a noise that sounded startling in the stillness.

“What’s that?” they heard the driver mutter, as he started.  Then came the sound of footsteps, as the driver wheeled and ran around behind the cab.

He was bearing down straight upon them!