“It’s a mud hole,” exclaimed Bart Witherbee; “now we are stuck with a vengeance.”
“But what on earth is mud doing out in the middle of a dry desert?” demanded Lathrop.
“I dunno how it gits thar; no one does,” responded Bart; “maybe its hidden springs or something, but every year cattle git lost that way. They are walking over what seemed solid ground when the crust breaks, and bang! down they go, just like us.”
“But this is a trail,” objected Billy, “wagons must go over it.”
“No wagons as heavy as this yer chuck cart, I guess,” was Bart’s reply.
“We must signal the Golden Eagle of our plight,” was Lathrop’s exclamation.
“But the wireless mast is down,” objected Billy; “we can’t.”
“Consarn it, that’s so,” agreed Bart. “Well, we’ve got to signal ’em somehow. Let’s fire our pistols.”
The Golden Eagle seemed quite a distance off, but the lads got out their revolvers and fired a fusillade. However, if they had but known it, there was no need for them to have wasted ammunition, for Harry, through his glasses, had already seen that something was wrong with their convoy.
The aeroplane at once turned back, and was soon on the plain alongside the boys. By this time they had all got out and were busy dragging all the heavy articles from the tonneau so as to lighten it as much as possible. A long rope was then attached to the front axle and they all heaved with all their might. The auto did not budge an inch, however.