“Do you mean the automobile?” asked Jerry.
“I reckon I do, if that’s what ye call it.”
“Yes, it’s our machine,” replied Jerry.
“Then if ye have any great love for th’ workin’ of it in the future, an’ any regard or consideration for it’s feelin’ ye ought t’ see to it.”
“Why so?”
“Nothin’,” drawled the cowboy as he carefully pared his nails with a big bowie knife; “nothin’ only Bronco Pete is amusin’ his self by tryin’ t’ see how near he can come to stickin’ his scalpin’ steel inter th’ tires!”
“Great Scott! We must stop that!” exclaimed Jerry, running from the hotel toward where the auto had been left in the street. The other boys and the professor followed.
They found the machine surrounded by quite a crowd that seemed to be much amused at something which was taking place in its midst. Making their way to the inner circle of spectators the boys beheld an odd sight.
A big cowboy, who, from appearances had indulged too freely in something stronger than water, was unsteadily trying to stick his big knife into the rubber tires.
“Here! You mustn’t do that,” cried Jerry, sharply, laying his hand on the man’s shoulder.