"Oh, no, it's only a gas well trying to find its way to the surface of the ground," was the dry comment. "Everybody out and to work!"
They leaped to the ground and soon saw that Sam's conjecture was correct. A sharp stone had cut into one of the front shoes, making a hole about as large in diameter as a slate pencil.
"Might know a thing like this would happen just when we were in a hurry," grumbled Dick.
"Never mind, now is our time to make a record," came cheerfully from Sam. He glanced at his watch. "Four minutes after two. Come on, let us see how quickly we can get that new tire on."
All threw off their coats and caps and set to work in the shade of some trees. While one jacked up the car, another worked to get off the damaged shoe and inner tube. In the meanwhile, the third got ready another shoe with an inner tube, and thus working hand in hand the three got the new tire in place and pumped up in less than ten minutes.
While Dick and Sam were putting away the tools, Tom walked a bit ahead on the road. He looked around a turn, and then came back much crestfallen.
"Well, I'm paid back for monkeying with those road-signs years ago," he announced. "The fellows who fixed that sign some distance behind us have got one on me. This is nothing but a woods road, and ends in the timber right around the bend."
"Which means that we have got to turn back and take the other road," put in Sam, quickly.
"That's it! Some fun turning around here," was Dick's comment. "It's about as narrow as it was on that road where they were doing the blasting."
"Oh, I guess I can make it," answered Tom; and then all got in the car once again.