“Hold on!” he cried.
“What’s the matter—want to take another nag?” asked Nestor.
“No; but that is the horse I hired. I recognize him by the extra butterfly net I fastened to the saddle. I was afraid I might lose one. The other horse wasn’t mine.”
“Wasn’t yours?” fairly shouted the miner. “Then whose was it?”
“It must have belonged to the cowboys,” was the answer. “You see, I forgot all about my horse until I met you. Then I took the first animal I saw. I supposed, of course, it was mine.”
“Then you really were a horse thief after all,” said Ned, laughing, “though you didn’t know it.”
“And the cowboys were right, as far as they knew,” observed Jerry. “They saw you on one of their horses and naturally thought you stole it. However, it all came out right, and I guess I did the best thing when I rescued you, for they might have hanged you before the mistake was found out.”
The auto created no little surprise as it puffed through the western town, though a sign, “Gasolene for Sale,” exhibited in front of the drug store, indicated that machines sometimes paid a visit. The hotel where Professor Snodgrass was stopping was soon reached, and every one washed up and had supper.
The next morning, after a few minor repairs had been made to the auto, and the gasolene tank replenished, the travelers prepared to start away again. The professor was up to see them off.