"You couldn't stop long enough to hitch on here and haul us out, could you, Mr. Holliday?" he asked ingratiatingly, as Rob stopped. "We can't get her started neither way. It's kind of mean to ask a fellow to onhitch, but there's accidents happen to all of us, ain't there?"
Rob glanced at the car. Its front wheels were stuck fast in the mudhole; moreover, the bank of the slough was so soft and deep that Joyce could not get power enough into the wheels to force the machine either forward or backward. Rob watched him twice crank the engine and throw open the lever. The car shook violently, but refused to move. It was safe where it was for some time.
"You ought to get a couple of heavy rails or fence-posts to pry up the front wheels and run her across."
"That's all right, but I don't see any lying round here, do you?" Joyce snapped angrily. Then he added in a more pleasant tone, "I'll make it worth your while to put your team in here. I've got business in town that can't wait."
"I'm sorry; so have I," answered Rob.
"Wouldn't twenty-five make it up to you? Here it is." Joyce pulled the gold pieces from his pocket.
Rob shook his head. "Business first, pleasure afterward," he said, as the team started ahead. "I'm late as it is. You can get a couple of planks over at the ranch yonder."
A little way down the road Rob glanced back. "Now for the last lap," he said. "If that motor will only be kind enough to sulk for half an hour longer, I think we can just about beat him, her or it by a neck. Hurray!"
"He hasn't started yet," Harry announced from time to time, looking back to see what progress their rival was making. "Why can't he stick where he is until we get there? The moment he manages to get his machine out of the mud he'll simply open everything and rush past us, and we'll not be in the race at all."