In another instant the whole party was in the auto and Jerry yanked the levers to full speed ahead. Off the car shot, Jerry steering for an opening in the circle of Indians.
With wild yells the redmen watched the auto glide away. They fired shots at it, and one Indian hit Broswick, but the wound was only a slight one.
“Here comes your horse!” shouted Bob, glancing behind, and, sure enough, Broswick’s steed was galloping after the swiftly moving auto as though he was on the race track.
In a little while the adventurers left the Indians behind and were at a safe distance from any bullets. The hunter’s horse, too, kept running, and got away.
“Well, we didn’t bargain for this when we left home,” remarked Jerry, as he slowed up the machine after an hour’s run.
“I should say not,” put in Bob. “Being attacked by Indians was the last thing I ever thought of.”
“You’re out in the wild an’ woolly West,” observed Nestor. “You’ll see stranger things before you get through.”
“I’d like to see something to eat right now,” came from Bob.
“There goes Chunky,” said Ned. “He’s always as hungry as he was at home.”