“I haven’t the least idea that they will; they are modest men, doubting their own ability. You will have to argue pretty hard to talk them into taking the responsibility.”
“We’ll find a way!” Alex insisted.
This was the third night of the trip to the mouth of the Pecos, the Rambler having been tied up the two previous nights because the gasoline tank had sprung a leak and there were no filling stations within reach.
CHAPTER XXIII
WHAT CAME OF A RAMBLE ON SHORE
The boat was only a short distance from the mouth of the Pecos when the discovery was made that the propeller had ceased to operate. The boat was drifting in the rather swift current.
Clay threw out the anchor and turned to Alex with a look of inquiry on his face.
“Shall we let her drift?” he asked. “It’s not far to the town of Viaduct, which is at the mouth of the Pecos. It is likely that we can get a supply of gasoline there.”
“Perhaps we had better wait until daylight,” argued Alex. “We can then get a good night’s sleep.”
“Not much!” Clay returned. “I don’t know how much sleep you want, but it appears to me that two nights ought to be enough!”