The Motor Rangers Through the Sierras

by John Henry Goldfrap

  CHAPTER IV.

  MOTOR RANGERS TO THE RESCUE.

  "That came pretty near being like the time we collided with the haywagon 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 quiterecovered from the strain of those terrible moments when it seemed thatthey 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," saidDing-dong, as his contribution to the conversation.

  As Cal Gifford had said, the road was a gentle gradient between steepmountain ranges. Consequently, the towing of the coach was an easymatter. The two boys in the tonneau steered it by giving the pole apush or a tug as occasion required--much as they would have handledthe tiller of a boat. When the stage showed signs of coming ahead toofast Cal shoved the foot brake forward, at once checking the impetus.

  Quite a small crowd turned out to witness the strange scene as the twovehicles rolled into Lariat. The place was a typical western mountainstation. There was a small post-office, two or three rough housesand a hotel. In the heydey of gold mining, Lariat had been quite aflourishing place, but the hand of decay was upon it at the presenttime. The hotel, however, was, as Ding-dong noticed, apparently openfor business. At least several loungers arose from their chairs onthe porch, and came forward with exclamations of surprise, as the twoconveyances lumbered into town.

  Nat shut off power in front of the post-office and at the same timeCal applied and locked the brakes, bringing the stage likewiseto a standstill. The postmaster, a long, lanky Westerner, with amuch-patched pair of trousers tucked into boot tops, was already out infront of his little domain.

  "Ther horses be back in ther barn," he volunteered, as Cal looked athim questioningly. "They come galloping in here like a blue streak anhour ago."

  "Yep, bin held up again," Cal volunteered as the crowd gathered aboutthe stage, "and ef it hadn't been for these bubble boys here wewouldn't hev got inter town yit."

  "Take everything, Cal?" asked the postmaster.

  "Yep; stock, lock and barrel, as the feller says. Left us ourvallibles, though. I reckon they would have taken them if it hadn't binfor the noise this here gasolene giglet made as it come over ther hill.Thet scared 'em, and they galloped off, takin' ther plugs with 'em."

  "Consarn 'em! I reckon they're some of Col. Merced Morello's gang.They've bin active hereabouts lately. Jes heard afore you come in thetthey'd raided a ranch up north an' tuk two hundred head of stock."

  "Outrageous! Outrageous!" exclaimed the white-whiskered man, who hadbeen listening with an angry, red countenance, "why does not some onecapture them?"

  "Well, sir," rejoined the postmaster, "if you kin tell us whar ter find'em we'll furnish ther men to smoke 'em out. But up to date no oneain't bin able ter git a glimpse of 'em. They jes' swoop down and thenvanish ag'in."

  "They've got some hidin' place off in the mountins," opined Cal; "butyou can bet that the old colonel's foxy enough ter keep it close,wherever it is."

  "Betcher life," said one or two in the crowd who had heard.

  While this had been going on the Motor Rangers had been hard at workunhitching their car from the stage. In this operation they had beenconsiderably bothered by the crowd which, never having seen an autobefore, elbowed right up and indulged in comment and investigation.Ding-dong caught one bewhiskered old fellow in the very act ofabstracting a spark plug. The boy promptly switched on the current andthe investigator, with a wild yell, hopped backward into the crowd,wringing his hand.

  "The critter bit me," he explained to the crowd. Such was hisexplanation of the sharp electric shock he had received.

  The proprietor of the hotel now hastened up, and began urging thepassengers on the stage to stay the night in his hotel. Another stagewent on from Lariat, and after a run of sixty miles struck the railroadin the valley. This stage was to start in half an hour. After a hastymeal the white-whiskered man and his family, and several of the otherpassengers, decided to continue their journey. The boys, however, aftera consultation, came to the determination to spend the night at Lariat.

  Their first care had been to hunt up the blacksmith Cal had referredto, and to give into his hands the connecting rod. He promised to haveit welded as good as new by morning. This arranged, the boys saunteredback to the hotel just in time to watch the other stage pull out. On arear seat sat the white-whiskered man. He was still boiling, despitethe fact that the robbers had not harmed him or his family in any way.In fact, he occasionally simmered over.

  The last the boys saw of him he had gotten hold of a fat, good-naturedlittle man, who looked like a drummer, and they could hear frequentexclamations of "Bah!" coming back toward them, like the explosions ofa rapid-fire gun. A moment later the stage vanished behind a rocky turnin the road.

  Soon after the boys were called in to supper. Among the company at themeal was a tall man with a black mustache drooping down each side ofhis mouth in typical Western fashion.

  "He looks like the pictures of Alkali Ike," remarked Joe in anundertone as they concluded the meal and arose, leaving theblack-mustached man and the others still eating.

  Outside they found it was a beautiful night. The storm of the afternoonhad laid the dust, and the moon was rising brilliantly in the clear andsharp atmosphere peculiar to the high regions of the Sierras. In thesilvery radiance every rock and bush was outlined sharply. The roadlay between black curtains of mountainside, like a stretch of whiteribbon.

  "Let's go for a stroll," suggested Nat, as they stood about on theveranda wondering what they could do with themselves till bedtime.

  The other two were nothing loath, and so, without bothering to say aword to any one, the lads sauntered off down the road. The balmy scentof pines and the mountain laurel hung heavily in the air. Nat inhaledit delightedly.

  "I tell you, fellows, this is living," he exclaimed.

  "You bet," agreed Joe heartily.

  "T-t-t-that p-p-pie was f-f-fine," said the unpoetical Ding-dong,smacking his lips at the recollection of the dessert.

  "There you go," said Nat in mock disgust, "always harping on eating."

  "T-th-that's b-b-better-phwit--than eating on harpoons, isn't it?"asked Ding-dong, with a look of injured innocence.

  "I said harping on eating. Not harpoons on eating," retorted Nat.

  "Oh," said Ding-dong. "Well, don't wail about it."

  "Say, if you make any more puns I'll chuck you down into that canyon,"threatened Joe, pointing downward into a black abyss which, at theportion of the road they had now reached, yawned to one side of thethoroughfare.

  "You make me chuckle," grunted the incorrigible Ding-dong, avoiding thethreatened fate, however, by clambering and hiding behind a madronetree.

  "Tell you what I'll do," cried Nat suddenly.

  "Well, what?" demanded Joe, as Nat stopped short.

  "I'll run you fellows a race to the bottom of the hill."

  "You're on," cried Ding-dong from his retreat, and emerging immediatelythereafter, "don't bust your emergency brake though, or we'll have moretrouble."

  He peered ahead down the moonlit canyon, and noted that the road wasquite steep for a distance of about a quarter of a mile.

  The boys were all good runners and experts, in fact, at all branchesof athletics. Their blood fairly tingled as Nat lined them up and theystood awaiting the word "go."

  At last it came.

  Like arrows from so many bows the three boys shot forward, Ding-dongin the lead. How his stubby legs did move! Like pistons in their speedand activity. There was no question about it, Ding-dong could run. Fivefeet or so behind him came Joe and at his rear was Nat, who, knowingthat he was ordinarily a faster runner than either, had handicappedhimself a bit.

  He speedily overhauled the others, however, although Ding-dong gave hima stiff tussle. Reaching the finishing line, Nat looked back up themoonlit road. Ding-dong and Joe were speeding toward him neck and neck
.

  "Go it, Ding-dong!" yelled Nat, "come on, Joe."

  In a cloud of dust and small rocks the two contestants rushed on.Suddenly one of Ding-dong's feet caught in a rock, and at the impetushe had attained, the sudden shock caused him to soar upward into theair, as if he were about to essay a flight through space.

  Extending his arms spread-eagle fashion, the fleshy, stuttering youthfloundered above the ground for a brief second, and then, as Joe dashedacross the line he came down with a resounding crash. Flat on his facehe fell in the middle of the dusty road.

  "Pick him up," exclaimed Nat as he saw the catastrophe.

  Joe, who had by this time checked his speed, headed about after Nat,and started for the recumbent Ding-dong. As they neared his side,however, the lad jumped up with a grin on his rotund features.

  "Fooled you, didn't I?" he chuckled.

  "Goo--d gracious. I thought you had fractured every bone in your body,"exclaimed Nat.

  "Can't hurt me; I'm made of cast-iron," snickered Ding-dong.

  "I always knew that applied to your head," said Joe, determined totease the boy a bit in revenge for the fright he had given them, "but Inever realized before that the complaint had spread all over you."

  "I'd have won the race anyhow if I hadn't taken that tumble," retortedDing-dong, and as this seemed to be no more than the truth the othershad nothing to say in rejoinder.

  "I guess we had better be getting back to the hotel," said Nat, "wewant to get an early start to-morrow, so a good night's sleep will bein order."

  But the words were hardly out of his mouth before he stopped short.

  The boy had heard voices, apparently coming from the air above them.He soon realized, however, that in reality the speakers were on themountain-side above them. In fact, he now saw that a trail cut intothe road above the point at which they stood. In their dash down thehill they had not noticed it. The other lads, who had also heard thevoices, needed no comment to remain quiet.

  While they stood listening a figure appeared on the trail, walkingrapidly down it. As the newcomer drew closer the boys recognizedthe features and tall, ungainly outline of the man with the blackmustache--"Alkali Ike." He came forward as if with a definite purposein mind. Evidently, he was not, like the boys, out for a moonlightstroll.

  As he approached he stopped and listened intently. Then he gave a low,peculiar whistle. It was like the call of a night bird.

  Instantly, from the hill-side above them they heard the signal--forsuch it seemed--replied to.

  At the same instant whoever was on the hillside above began to advancedownward. The boys, crouching back in a patch of shadow behind achaparral clump, could hear the slipping and sliding of their horses'hoofs as they came down the rocky pathway.