"Do you know the way?" asked the clerk.
"Only from verbal description," was the reply, "but we can find it."
"I'm off duty," the clerk said, "and I know every inch of the way. I was reared in the mountains west of the short ridge. I'd like a little adventure, too!" he laughed.
"What about the mules?" asked Jimmie, determined that Uncle Ike should be cared for.
"Get them into a barn, quick," said the chief, sharply. "We must be off."
When Jimmie came back the clerk and Jack were crowded into one seat in the rear machine, while a vacant seat in the front car was waiting for him. The party was off with a snort of motors and faint cheers from the little crowd which had gathered.
The river road was fairly good, and in an hour they were at the foothills, around the south end of the short ridge. The driver drew up there, and in the clear air, from the north came the sound of galloping horses.
"Get out and under cover, boys!" the chief commanded.