“He’s just doing this to taunt us!” exclaimed Jerry. “I have a good notion to take a shot at one of the tires with my revolver and scare him into stopping.”
“Don’t do it! You might kill him,” said Ned, “and you wouldn’t want to do that. But what does he mean by stealing the car, and then bringing it back?”
A few seconds later the auto drew up in front of the boys, who had come to a halt. With an ease that bespoke long experience the Indian brought the machine to a stop, and then, while the lads looked on, so full of wonder at the whole occurrence that they did not know what to say, the red man grunted:
“Heap fine wagon. Ugh! Indian like um, he buy um! How much?”
“Look here!” burst out Jerry, so angry that he hardly took note of what the red man had said. “Do you know you are a—”
Then a strange thing happened. Wrapping his blankets closely about him, and drawing himself up to his full height of over six feet, the Indian said calmly:
“I really beg your pardon for the unwarranted liberty I took with your car, but when I saw it standing out here, so far from civilization, I could not resist the temptation to take a ride. I trust you will overlook it.”
For a moment the boys were speechless, for the Indian they had supposed one from the half-wild plain tribes, and whose every appearance indicated that, had spoken in English as cultured as that of a college professor.
“What—why—when—where?” stammered Jerry, and the Indian burst into a laugh.
“I see I must explain,” he said. “I am not what I seem.”