He had no need to announce his arrival. The unmuffled exhaust did that for him. As he approached the cabin from which the light emanated, he could see the whole family grouped on the doorstep, peering into the night, for by now it was quite dark.
The head of the house was a little in advance of the others, and as Bert and the “Blue Streak” approached the door he stepped forward.
“Wall, stranger, what kind of a contraption do you-all reckon to have thar?” he drawled, gazing curiously at the palpitating motorcycle.
Bert shut off the motor before he replied.
“Why,” he said, “that’s my motorcycle, and it’s one of the best friends I have. I took the wrong road a way back, I guess, and I was just going to camp out over night, when I saw the light from your window. If you can put me up for the night you’ll be doing me a big favor.”
“Not another word, son,” replied the big mountaineer, “come right in an’ set down. You look nigh dead beat.”
“I am about all in,” confessed Bert. “I’ll leave my machine right here, I guess.”
“Shore, shore,” said the big Kentuckian, “I reckin thar ain’t nobuddy within a hundred miles hereabouts that could make off with the blamed machine ef he had a mind to. Hosses is considerable more common in these parts. The pump’s around the side of the house ef you ’low to wash up,” he continued, as an afterthought.
“All right, thanks,” replied Bert, “I’ll be with you in no time.” He disappeared in the direction indicated, and soon returned, much refreshed by a thorough sousing under the pump.