[THE INDIAN SEEMED TO KNOW HOW TO OPERATE IT.]
“Who—ever—heard—of—an—Indian running—an—auto,” panted Ned.
“Running—away—with—one—you—mean,” said Jerry, his breathing labored.
Further and further away from the pursuing boys the auto went. It seemed hopeless to keep after it, but neither Jerry nor Ned would give up. They realized what it meant to lose their machine, though they could not understand how an Indian, in all his wild regalia, would think of getting into an auto.
Suddenly there sounded down the road the patter of hoof beats.
“Maybe that’s more Indians,” said Jerry turning around and slowing up in his running.
“No,” he added, “it’s Bob on the Indian’s pony. I wonder you or I didn’t think of that.”
“He couldn’t catch up with the auto if he had two ponies,” growled Ned.
“The only chance is that the gasolene may give out, or the sparker refuse to work, or that he may run into a sand bank,” lamented Jerry.
“And there don’t seem to be much chance of either taking place right off,” put in Ned. “Hark! What’s that?”