The Motor Rangers Through the Sierras. Goldfrap John Henry

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СКАЧАТЬ found ourselves lookin' inter the muzzles of as complete a collection of rifles as you ever saw."

      "Un dey tooked avay der horses by der oudtside," put in the German tourist. "Oh, I schall have me fine tales to tell ven I get me pack by der Faderland."

      "The Dutchman's right," said Cal. "The onnery skunks unhitched our plugs and scampered 'em off up the trail. I reckon they're in their barn at Lariat by this time."

      "Oh, dear, and we'll have to walk," cried the young lady, bursting into tears.

      "And I haf vot you call it, a oatmeal? – py my pig toe," protested the German.

      "I guess you mean a corn, Dutchy," laughed Cal.

      "Vell, I knowed it vos some kindt of cereal," was the reply.

      "Seems a shame to see that purty critter cry, don't it?" said Cal, nodding his head sidewise toward the weeping young lady.

      "This is an outrage! An outrage, I say!" her white-whiskered father began shouting. "Why were those highwaymen not shot down? Why didn't somebody act?"

      "Well, pod'ner, you acted up fer sure," grinned Cal. "Am I mistaken or did I hear you say you'd give 'em five thousand dollars for your life?"

      "Bah!" shouted the white-whiskered man. "It was your duty sure to protect us. You should have fired at them."

      "I'd hev bin a hull lot uv use to yer then, except fer funeral poposes, wouldn't I?" inquired Cal calmly.

      "Bah! sir, bah!" sputtered the angry old gentleman.

      "Good thing ther h'aint no mounting lions 'round," drawled Cal. "They might think we wuz an outfit of sheepmen by all the bah-bahing we be doin'."

      "But how is my daughter to get to Lariat, sir?" begged the elderly lady. "She hurt her foot in getting off the stage."

      "Well, ma'am," said Cal, "supposing yer man yonder takes a try at carryin' her instead of wasting wind a-bahing?"

      "Voss iss diss bah? Maybe I get a picture of him?" asked the German, bustling up excitedly with his camera all ready for business.

      "Oh, sir, my husband was excited. He didn't know what he was saying," exclaimed the elderly lady clasping her hands.

      "There, ma'am, don't take on. I was only a-having my bit of fun," said Cal. "Maybe when these boys get their gasoline catamarang fixed up they'll give us a ride."

      "But they cannot take all of us, sir," cried the lady, beginning to weep afresh.

      "There, there, ma'am, never mind ther irrigation – I mean 'Weep not them tears,'" comforted Cal. "Anyhow, you and your daughter can get a ride."

      "But my husband – my poor husband, sir."

      Cal turned with a grin at a sudden noise behind them. The white-whiskered man had now turned his wrath on the unfortunate German.

      "Out of my sight, you impudent Teuton," he was shouting. "Don't aggravate me, sir, or I'll have your blood. I'm a peaceable tourist, sir, but I have fought and bled in my time."

      "Must hev bin bit by a mosquito and chased it," commented Cal to himself as the lady hastened to console her raging better half, and the little Dutchman skipped nimbly out of harm's way.

      "What yo' bin a-doing to ther ole bell-wether, Dutchy?" inquired Cal.

      "I ask him if he blease tell me vere I can get a picture of dot Bah, und he get madt right avay quvick," explained the Teuton.

      While all this had been going on among the tourists and Cal, the other passengers, mainly mountaineers, had stood in a group aside talking among themselves. In the meanwhile, the Motor Rangers had been examining the damage to their car. They found that the connecting rod working the band of the emergency brake had snapped, and that a blacksmith would be needed to weld it. Cal, who had strolled up in time to hear this decision, informed them that there was a blacksmith at Lariat.

      "And a good 'un, too," he volunteered.

      The stage driver then made a request for a ride on behalf of the young lady and her parents.

      "Me and the Dutchman and the rest kin hoof it," he remarked. "It ain't above five mile, and down grade, too."

      "A steep grade?" asked Nat, with some appearance of interest as Joe finished unbolting the loose ends of the broken rod.

      "No, jest gentle. It runs on 'bout this way all down into Lariat."

      "Well, then," said Nat, with a smile, "I'll save you all the trouble of walking."

      "How's that, pod'ner? We kain't all pile in the hold of that benzine buggy."

      "No; but I can give you a tow."

      "What, hitch my stage on ahind your oleomargerinerous gas cart?"

      "That's it."

      "By the big peak of Mount Whitney, that's an idee!" exclaimed the delighted stage driver, capering about and snapping his fingers like a big child. "Wait a jiffy, I'll explain it all to Bah-bah and the rest."

      This was soon done, and the Motor Rangers in the interval attached a rope to the rear axle of the car and in turn made it fast to the front of the stage. The pole of the latter vehicle was then led over the tonneau of the auto and Joe and Ding-dong deputed to steer. From the driver's box of the stage Cal worked the brake.

      An experimental run of a few yards was made, and on the gentle grade the plan was found to work perfectly, the auto towing the heavy stage without difficulty.

      "Now, then, all aboard the stagemotebubble!" shouted Cal, and a few minutes later all the passengers, delighted with the novelty of the experience, had piled on board. All delighted, that is, except the white-whiskered man.

      "All aboard that's a-goin' ter get thar!" bellowed Cal, fixing him with a baleful eye.

      "Bah! Bah!" sputtered the white-whiskered one indignantly, nevertheless skipping nimbly on beside his wife and daughter.

      But there came a fresh delay.

      "Holt on, blease! Vait! I vish a photegrift to take him!"

      "Ef yer don't hurry up Dutchy," shouted Cal, "you'll hev a picter of yerself a-walking inter Lariat."

      But the photo was taken without delay, and amid a cheer from her overjoyed passengers, the stage, which moved by such novel means, rumbled onward on its way to Lariat.

      CHAPTER IV

      MOTOR RANGERS TO THE RESCUE

      "That came pretty near being like the time we collided with the hay wagon in Lower California," commented Joe, as the auto got under way, with her cumbersome tow rattling along behind.

      "Yes, only this time we didn't hit," laughed Nat, who had quite recovered from the strain of those terrible moments when it seemed that they must go crashing into the stage.

      "A m-m-m-miss is as g-g-g-good as a m-m-m-mile any day," said Ding-dong, as his contribution to the conversation.

      As Cal Gifford had said, the road was a gentle gradient between steep mountain ranges. Consequently, the towing СКАЧАТЬ