"In der plate box," was the astonishing reply.
"Good heavens, you are shot in the stomach?" cried Joe.
"No, but seferal of my plates have been smashed, Ach Himmel voss misfordune."
"I suppose you thought that plate box meant about the same thing as bread basket," grinned Nat, turning to Joe, as they sped forward. A ragged fire followed them, but no further damage to car or occupants resulted. Herr Muller's horse, in the emergency, behaved like a veteran. It trotted obediently behind the car without flinching.
"Bismark, I am proudt off you," smiled his owner, after the damage to the plate box had been investigated and found to be not so serious as its owner had feared.
"We must have drawn out of range," said Cal, as after a few more desultory reports the firing ceased altogether.
"I hope so, I'm sure," responded Nat, "I tell you it's a pretty mean feeling, this thing of being shot at by a chap you can't see at all."
"Yep, he jes' naturally has a drop on you," agreed Cal. "Wonder how them fellers trailed us?"
"Simple enough," rejoined Nat, "at least, it is so to my way of thinking. They didn't trail us at all. They just got ahead of us."
"How do you mean?" asked Cal, even his keen wits rather puzzled.