“I mak’ heem two hunnerd an’ feety dollar.”
“You can’t have it at any price,” Bob snapped. The Frenchman still held the wheel by the saddle and now a flash of anger replaced the grin which had suffused his face.
“My name Pierre Harbaugh. I beeg man from up north. You no sell heem me, mebby I geet heem for nottin’, oui.”
“I don’t care a rap what your name is or how big you are. These wheels belong to us and they are not for sale and that’s all there is to it. So kindly take your hand off that saddle.” Bob’s eyes snapped as he gave the wheel a sudden strong pull.
The big Frenchman had been leaning heavily against the wheel at the moment and the sudden movement threw him off his balance and he fell full length on the ground.
“Come on quick,” Bob shouted to Jack, who was standing by his wheel a few feet away.
At the same instant he sprang into his saddle and threw over the switch and by the time the Frenchman was on his feet the two boys were hitting a lively pace up the road.
“Pleasant disposition that fellow’s got,” Jack said, as he drew up beside his brother as soon as they were well away from the hotel.
“And I reckon he’s got plenty of muscle to back it up with,” Bob grinned as he slackened his speed slightly. “Don’t think I’d care to meet him on a dark night.”
They reached Jackman about three o’clock and rode through the town without stopping. Several of the inhabitants looked with wonder as the boys rode slowly along the main street. They missed the usual putt-putt of the ordinary motor cycle.