THE AUTO IN DIFFICULTIES.
As Bart had expected, the boys were troubled no more that night,
although there was naturally little enough sleep for any one. It was
soon after daybreak and they were at breakfast when, across the plain,
at the foot of the spur on which they were encamped, the boys saw a
detachment of horsemen riding rapidly toward them. Through the glasses
the boys speedily made them out as United States cavalrymen. They were
advancing at a smart trot, and soon reached the boys’ camp.
“Good-morning,” said the officer at their head, “you seem to be
breakfasting quietly enough, but you might not be taking it so easy if I
were to tell you that several Indians have gone off the reservation and
have managed to secure enough bad whiskey to make them very dangerous.”
“I guess, captain, that we had a bit of a run-in with your Indians last
night,” said Frank, with a quiet smile.
“What? Why, God bless my soul, they are very bad men; it’s a wonder any
of you are alive. How did it happen?”
Frank detailed the happenings of the night, being frequently interrupted
by the officer’s exclamations of amazement. He regretted, though, that
they had been so badly scared, as he anticipated a long journey before
he crossed their trail again.
The attention of the captain and his troopers was then attracted by the
aeroplane. They had read in the papers that found their way to the lone
desert post of the great flight, and were much interested in the boys’
story of their adventure. The officer told them that he, himself, was
much interested in aerial navigation and had constructed several
experimental craft. He expected, he said, to be detailed by the
government before very long to undertake an important expedition. His
ambition was to reach the South Pole, just as his fellow officer,
Commander Peary, attained the northernmost pinnacle of the earth.
After a little more conversation, the officer, who said his name was
Captain Robert Hazzard, and the boys parted with many warm expressions
of friendship. The whole company of troopers, however, waited till the
aeroplane had soared into the air, and the auto chugged off beneath it,
before they wheeled their wiry little horses and started off on the long
weary chase after the Indians.
As the boys in the auto spun along over the level expanse of prairie,
which, except where the rough road traversed it, was overgrown with
sage-brush and cactus plants, the car came to a sudden stop. Then,
without any warning, it plunged forward and seemed to drop quite a few
feet.
Billy, who was driving, instantly shut off power, and gazed back in
amazement. The auto was sunk to its hubs in mud. There was no doubt
about it. The substance in which it was stuck was unmistakable mud.
“It’s a mud hole,” exclaimed Bart Witherbee; “now we are stuck with a
vengeance.”
“But what on earth is mud doing out in the middle of a dry desert?”
demanded Lathrop.
“I dunno how it gits thar; no one does,” responded Bart; “maybe its
hidden springs or something, but every year cattle git lost that way.
They are walking over what seemed solid ground when the crust breaks,
and bang! down they go, just like us.”
“But this is a trail,” objected Billy, “wagons must go over it.”
“No wagons as heavy as this yer chuck cart, I guess,” was Bart’s reply.
“We must signal the _Golden Eagle_ of our plight,” was Lathrop’s
exclamation.
“But the wireless mast is down,” objected Billy; “we can’t.”
“Consarn it, that’s so,” agreed Bart. “Well, we’ve got to signal ’em
somehow. Let’s fire our pistols.”
The _Golden Eagle_ seemed quite a distance off, but the lads got out
their revolvers and fired a fusillade. However, if they had but known
it, there was no need for them to have wasted ammunition, for Harry,
through his glasses, had already seen that something was wrong with
their convoy.
The aeroplane at once turned back, and was soon on the plain alongside
the boys. By this time they had all got out and were busy dragging all
the heavy articles from the tonneau so as to lighten it as much as
possible. A long rope was then attached to the front axle and they all
heaved with all their might. The auto did not budge an inch, however.
In fact, it seemed to be sinking more deeply in the mud.
“We’ve got to do something and do it quick,” declared Bart, “if we
don’t, the mud hole may swallow our gasolene gig, and then we’d die of
thirst afore we could reach a settlement.”
They desperately tugged and heaved once more, but their efforts were of
no avail.
“I’ve got an idea,” suddenly exclaimed Frank; “maybe if we hitch the
_Golden Eagle_ to the rope it will help.”
“It’s worth trying, and we’ve got to do something,” agreed Bart. “Come
on, then. Couple up.”
The rope was attached to the lower frame of the _Golden Eagle_, and
while they all hauled Frank started up the engine of the aeroplane. For
a second or so the propellers of the _Golden Eagle_ beat the air without
result, then suddenly the boys’ throats were rent with a loud “Hurrah,”
as the auto budged a tiny bit. Not far from the trail were the ruins of
an old hut. Several stout beams were still standing upright amid the
debris.
“Hold on a bit,” shouted Bart suddenly.
He seized up an axe from the heap of camp kit that had been hastily
thrown on the ground and started for the ruins. In a few minutes he was
back with four stout levers.
By using these, they managed to raise the auto still more, and wedge the
wheels under with other bits of timber obtained from the demolished hut.
Then the aeroplane was started up once more, and this time the auto,
with a loud cheer, was dragged clear of the treacherous hole.
“We’ll just stick up a bit of timber here to warn any one else that
comes along,” declared Bart, as he fixed a tall timber in the ground
where it would attract the attention of any traveler coming along the
road.
Soon after this, a start was made, and the aeroplane and the auto made
good time across the blazing hot plain. All the afternoon they traveled
until Billy Barnes fairly cried out for a stop.
“I’m so thirsty I could die,” he declared.
“Then get a drink,” recommended Bart Witherbee, indicating the zinc
water tank under the tonneau seat.
“It’s empty,” said Lathrop. “I tried it a little while ago.”
“Empty,” echoed Witherbee, his face growing grave. “Here, let’s have a
look at that map, youngster, and see where’s our next watering place.”
Billy Barnes, with a look of comical despair, handed it over. “I’ll have
to wait for a drink of water till we get to a town, I suppose. What do
you want the map for, Bart?”
“Fer that very reason—ter see how soon we do get to a town. I’d like a
drink myself just about now.”
He perused the map for a minute in silence. Then he looked up, his face
graver even than before.
“Well, she can go sixty miles or better, but I’m afraid of heating the
engine too much if we travel at that pace,” responded Billy, who was at
the steering wheel.
“Well, we’ve got to hustle; it’s most a hundred miles to Gitalong, and
that’s the nearest town to us.”
“Nonsense, Bart,” exclaimed Lathrop, pointing to another name on the
wide waste, which on the map represents sparsely settled New Mexico,
“here’s a place called Cow Wells.”
“No, thar ain’t,” was Bart’s reply.
“There isn’t?”
“No.”
“But here it is on the map.”
“That’s all right; maps ain’t always ter be relied on any more than
preachers. Cow Wells has gone dry. I reckon that’s why they called it
Cow Wells. Everybody has moved away. It used ter be a mining camp.”
“Are you sure it’s abandoned?” asked Billy in a trembling voice.
“Sartain sure,” responded Bart. “I heard about it when I come through on
my way east.”
“Then we can’t get a thing to drink till we reach Gitalong?”
“That’s about the size of it,” was the dispiriting reply of the old
plainsman.