“No, there ain’t,” replied the veteran, “leastways, nothin’ except the old Holloway trail, and you can’t rightly call that a road. It’s most wiped out now, an’ jest leads plumb to nowhere.”
“Just the same,” exclaimed Dick, excitedly, “that’s just what has happened.” He explained hurriedly the race and its object, and ended by entreating the old plainsman to guide them to the road he had spoken of.
“Waal, all right,” exclaimed the old man, after a moment of hesitation, “I’ll go ye. But whareabouts in that gasoline buggy o’ yourn am I goin’ to sit? Thar don’t seem to be much room to spare.”
“You sit here,” exclaimed Tom, jumping out. “I’ll sit on the floor and hold on somehow. Let her go, Dick.”
Before the plainsman had fairly settled himself in the seat Dick had let in the clutch, and the car started away with a jerk, Dick steering according to directions given him by the old man as they went along. They plowed through the sand at a breakneck pace, Tom hanging on for dear life. Soon they came in sight of the railroad embankment, and Dick slowed down slightly. Their guide waved his arm to the right, and Dick wrenched the wheel around, causing the machine to skid wildly in the yielding sand. Their guide hung on desperately, but was heard to mutter something about “stickin’ to hosses after this.” Soon they reached the road that Bert had traversed the night before, and there, sure enough, were the marks of motorcycle tires. Their guide gave a whoop. “We’re close on his trail now,” he yelled, “give this tarnation machine a touch o’ the spurs, young feller.”
Dick followed out the spirit of this admonition, at any rate, and after ten minutes of furious driving they caught sight of the “Blue Streak.” A little further, and they could make out Bert’s recumbent form, apparently asleep.
“Well,” exclaimed Tom, heaving a sigh of relief as Dick reduced speed, “we’ve had all our worry for nothing, I guess.”
But the old plainsman was peering out from under his horny palm. “It’s almighty queer,” he muttered under his breath. “That young chap must be an all-fired heavy sleeper to sleep in broad daylight like that. Let’s get out an’ walk the rest o’ the way,” he continued, aloud.
Dick looked at him curiously, but did as he proposed, and brought the car to a standstill. They all got out, and Tom and Dick were going to make a dash for the sleeper, but their guide held them back. “Easy boys, easy,” he cautioned. “There’s somethin’ wrong here, an’ I’ve an idee I know what it is, too.”
“That’s whatever!” he exclaimed, when they had advanced cautiously a few steps further. “They’s a bunch o’ scorpions has crawled up on him durin’ the night to keep warm, an’ if he moves an eyelash they’ll sting him, sure. An’ ef they do——” he stopped significantly, and the two friends of the threatened man paled as they realized the full horror of the situation.