It was a fine day, and the adventurers breathed in great whiffs of the pure air as their car dashed along. They passed through one or two small settlements, but inquiries failed to develop any traces of Noddy and his companions.
“They may be going straight over the mountains,” said Nestor. “Well, even if they do I think we’ll beat them in the race for the mine. Mountain climbing is mighty onsartin’ in one of these machines.”
But, had they only known it, Noddy and his gang were not aiming for the mountains, and were but a little way in advance of our friends. However, the Motor Boys soon learned, to their cost, where their enemy was.
It was well along in the afternoon, and dinner had been eaten at a rude shack of a hotel in a small village, that the auto was skimming along, due south. Off to the right were the foothills of the mighty Rocky Mountains, while to the left was a vast rolling plain. Jerry was steering, with Bob on the seat beside him, while in the rear were the others, Professor Snodgrass busily engaged in sorting over some of his specimens.
All at once a low, rumbling sound was heard.
“Is that thunder?” asked Ned.
“Can’t be,” replied Nestor. “There’s not a cloud in the sky.” Then he stood up and glanced behind him.
“Great Scott!” he yelled. “Put on all the speed you’ve got!”
“What’s the matter?” asked Jerry.
“Matter?” shouted the miner. “There’s a herd of stampeded cattle coming straight for us. If they’re not turned aside they’ll go over us like a locomotive over a fly! Quick! Turn over toward the hills! Maybe we can escape them!”