“Oh, we only scared him away!” said Broswick.
“Pardon me, just a moment,” interrupted the professor, making a quick motion toward Nestor and picking something from his shoulder. “There, I have it. I am very much obliged to you.”
“What sort of game did ye git this trip?” asked the hunter, somewhat amused at the naturalist.
“A rare specimen of the fly that lives in the wool of wild goats,” replied the professor. “The insect is very valuable. It must have jumped from the goat to you.”
After a little consultation the party started off, the auto making a pace slow enough so the hunter’s horse could easily keep up. For several days the journey was continued, with no accidents to mar the way. The adventurers had reached well down into New Mexico by this time and had about one hundred miles farther to go before they could make the spur of the mountain and avoid going over the range.
One afternoon, following a good day’s run, Ned brought the machine to a stop below a little hill, where it was decided to spend the night, as the place was sheltered.
Jerry happened to glance to the rear, over the back trail, as he was getting out the supper utensils, and uttered a cry.
“What’s that?” he asked, pointing to a long line of men that were filing along a road that joined the main one about where the camp was to be made.
“Looks like a procession,” observed Broswick.