"Quick, Bob, your pistol," gasped Jack.
The boys always carried water pistols, loaded with strong ammonia water, when they went off on their motorcycles, and now they were to stand them in good stead. As Jack spoke, he jumped back, reaching for his pistol, which he carried in his back pocket, but before he could get it out the dog was upon him. Quickly thrusting forward his left arm, the dog caught him by the elbow, but the stout canvas, of which their jackets were made, prevented the sharp teeth from going through. By this time, Bob had his pistol out, and stepping forward, he shot the contents fairly into the face of the enraged beast. He let go his hold and with a loud yelp of pain, sprang backward, and began wildly clawing the dirt and leaves.
"Did he bite you, Jack?" asked Bob anxiously.
"Nope, nary a bite, you were too quick for him. But I think we'd better hike out of here. If there's anybody in that house, they must have heard that howl, and will likely investigate."
"That's right, you know we promised mother not to run any risks; come on."
Hastily they began to retrace their steps, but as there were no signs of pursuit, they soon slowed up a little.
"Don't believe there was a soul there," panted Jack, "but we found the house and that's one good job done anyhow, and I guess we'd better be content with that for today, but I would have liked to take a peep in that house."
By this time, they were in sight of the tree where they had left the wheels, but, when they hurried forward to drag them out, to their great consternation, no wheels were there.
"Jerusalem!" gasped Bob, "they're gone!"
"Well, what do you know about that?" echoed Jack. "If this isn't a pretty kettle of fish! Are you sure this was the place?"