“Then the good road ends at Cullomburg?” said Dave.
“That’s right, mister. An’ the last half-mile into town ain’t none too good at that.”
“And the side-roads are all poor, too?”
“Yes, sir, every blame one o’ them. We ought to have ’em fixed up, but the folks aroun’ here don’t want to pay the taxes for doin’ it.” And then the farmer with the load of hay rattled on down the road.
“Well, the trail seems to be shortening,” announced Dave, as they continued on their way up a steep grade where he had to throw the clutch into second gear. “If that car couldn’t use the road beyond Cullomburg and couldn’t use any of the side-roads, those rascals must be hanging out somewhere on this road between Frytown and Cullomburg.”
They were passing up a rocky bit of the roadway when suddenly there came a loud report from one of the back tires. Dave turned off the power and put on the hand-brake, and they came to a stop.
“A blow-out,” he announced laconically.
“I was thinking we might get something of that sort after what that farmer said,” answered the senator’s son. “Well, it’s all in the day’s work, Dave. We might as well get out and see how much damage has been done.”
The cut in the back tire was not a large one, and at first they thought to use the same tire again by putting in a patch. Then, however, Dave changed his mind, and said he would put on another shoe.
“The tube might blow out through the patch just when we wanted to use the car the worst way,” he said. “If we have to, we can fall back on this old shoe later on.”