“Maybe we’ll see you when we get to Thunder Mountain,” suggested Jerry.
“And if the place where that chest of gold was lost is anywhere near Tinny’s mine, we might have a look for it,” remarked Bob.
“Better not count on that! You’ll only be disappointed. Of course I can show you the spot where the coach went over the cliff, but there’s no use looking for the gold. It was just the end of everything!”
The boys let it go at that for the time being. And, truth to tell, they did not have a chance to consider it any further just then, for there came a sudden interruption to their thoughts in the shape of a small but very excited lad who had driven to the scene of the fire in a rattling little car. Out he sprang, jumping over the fence, and, approaching the Motor Boys, he gasped:
“Say—why didn’t you stop for me—I like fires—I could help put ’em out—good on ladder work—anybody killed—say there’ll be a piece in the paper about this—how’d it start—were any of you burned—somebody said a woman jumped from a window—has the engine stopped——”
“Yes, and you’d better stop, Andy Rush, if you don’t want to blow up!” laughed Jerry, as he gently placed a hand over the small lad’s mouth, thereby preventing the further outflow of words that came bubbling out, fairly tripping each other up, so excited was Andy.
He was an old friend of the trio of lads who had had so many adventures together, and more than once Andy had accompanied them. He was a good little chap, true and stanch, but he had a habit of getting excited easily, and, when he did, he talked so fast and so brokenly that his conversation was all dots and dashes—mostly dashes.
“Oh—fire’s all out, is it—too bad—wish I’d gotten here sooner!” exclaimed Andy, in disappointed tones. “I hurried all I could—after I heard about it—jumped into Bachman’s flivver—had a puncture—didn’t stop—came right along—here I am—whoop!”
“Do you mean to say you took the butcher’s auto?” asked Ned, as he noted what car the small lad had.
“Sure! It was standing in front of his shop. He wasn’t using it—so I hopped in—he won’t care—we get our meat of him, anyhow. I’ll have the puncture fixed—maybe I can do it myself—you’ve got your dad’s new car, haven’t you, Bob? Maybe you have a tire repair outfit—come on—give me a hand—gee, but I’m sorry the fire’s out!”