The Motor Rangers Through the Sierras. Goldfrap John Henry

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speedily overhauled the others, however, although Ding-dong gave him a stiff tussle. Reaching the finishing line, Nat looked back up the moonlit 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 impetus he had attained, the sudden shock caused him to soar upward into the air, as if he were about to essay a flight through space.

      Extending his arms spread-eagle fashion, the fleshy, stuttering youth floundered above the ground for a brief second, and then, as Joe dashed across the line he came down with a resounding crash. Flat on his face he 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 to tease the boy a bit in revenge for the fright he had given them, "but I never realized before that the complaint had spread all over you."

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

      "I guess we had better be getting back to the hotel," said Nat, "we want to get an early start to-morrow, so a good night's sleep will be in 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 the mountain-side above them. In fact, he now saw that a trail cut into the road above the point at which they stood. In their dash down the hill they had not noticed it. The other lads, who had also heard the voices, needed no comment to remain quiet.

      While they stood listening a figure appeared on the trail, walking rapidly down it. As the newcomer drew closer the boys recognized the features and tall, ungainly outline of the man with the black mustache – "Alkali Ike." He came forward as if with a definite purpose in mind. Evidently, he was not, like the boys, out for a moonlight stroll.

      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 – for such it seemed – replied to.

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

      CHAPTER V

      AN APPOINTMENT ON THE TRAIL

      "Something's up," whispered Joe, as if this fact was not perfectly obvious.

      "Hush," warned Nat, "that fellow who just came down the trail is the chap we noticed at supper."

      "Alkali Ike?"

      "Yes. That's what you called him."

      "He must have a date here."

      "Looks that way. If I don't miss my guess he's here to meet whoever is coming on horseback down that trail."

      "Are you going to stay right here?"

      "We might as well. I've got an idea somehow that these chaps are up to some mischief. It doesn't look just right for them to be meeting way off here."

      "That's right," agreed Joe, "but supposing they are desperate characters. They may make trouble for us."

      "I guess not," rejoined Nat, "we're well hidden in the shadow here. There's not a chance of their seeing us."

      "Well I hope not."

      But the arrival of the horsemen on the trail put a stop to further conversation right then. There were two of them, both, so far as the boys could see, big, heavy men, mounted on active little ponies. Their long tapaderos, or leather stirrup coverings, almost touched the ground as they rode.

      "Hello, Al," exclaimed one of them, as the black mustached man came forward to meet them.

      "Hello, boys," was the rejoinder in an easy tone as if the speaker had no fear of being overheard, "well, you pulled it off I see."

      "Yes, and we'd have got more than the express box too if it hadn't been for the allfiredest noise you ever heard at the top of the trail all of a sudden. It came just as we was about ter go through ther pockets of the passengers. Sounded like a boiler factory or suthin'. I tell you we lit out in a hurry."

      The speaker was one of the pony riders. As he spoke Nat gave Joe a nudge and the other replied with a look of understanding. The men who stood talking not a score of paces from them had taken part in the stage-robbery.

      The man on foot seemed immensely amused at the mention of the "terrible noise" his companions said they had been alarmed by.

      "Why, that was an automobubble," he laughed.

      "A bubble!" exclaimed one of the others, "what in the name of the snow-covered e-tarnal hills is one of them coal oil buckboards doin' in this neck of ther woods?"

      "Why, three kids are running it on a pleasure trip. The Motor Rangers, or some such fool name, they call theirselves. They hitched the bubble on ter ther stage and towed her inter town as nice as you please."

      "Did you say they called theirselves the Motor Rangers?" asked the other mounted man who up to this time had not spoken.

      "That's right, why?"

      "One of 'em a fat, foolish lookin' kid what can't talk straight?" asked the other instead of replying.

      Nat nudged Ding-dong and chuckled, in imminent danger of exposing their hiding place. It tickled him immensely to hear that youth described in such an unflattering manner.

      "Why yep. There is a sort of chumpish kid with 'em. For the matter of that all three of 'em are stuck up, psalm singin' sort of kids. Don't drink nor smoke nor nuthin'."

      "True for you. We're not so foolish," breathed Nat to Joe.

      "Why are you so anxious about 'em, Dayton?" asked the other rider who had remained silent while his comrade was making the recorded inquiries.

      "Cos I know 'em and I've got some old scores to even up with them," was the rejoinder. "Do you remember what I told you about some kids fooling us all down in Lower California?"

      "Yep. What of it?"

      "Well, this is the same bunch. I'm sure of it."

      "The dickens you say. Do they travel with much money about them?"

      It was the

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