“I should say about seventeen miles,” the other replied, after mental figuring; “though that’s only a guess, because we don’t happen to have any way of telling. This car isn’t equipped with a cyclometer, you know, or any other thing that costs money. I’m surprised that the tires have held out so well.”
“That isn’t much more than one-third of the way to camp, either,” declared Blake, disconsolately. “I’m wondering what I could do in case, after all your work, you fail to coax the poor old engine into going again. It’ll be too bad if we get to the camp too late to carry that letter back to Uncle Reuben in time; for he is a terrible man to keep his word, and he’ll make that new will tomorrow night as sure as anything, unless he hears from Felix by sundown.”
“Well, if it comes to the worst,” Hugh told him, soothingly, “you could wire Uncle Reuben to hold up, and that a letter was on the way with an ample apology. I suppose you don’t have any doubt about Felix giving you such a letter, Blake?”
“No, I don’t, Hugh. Not that he cares so much about the old gentleman’s money, because, you see, he has some of his own coming to him in another year or so; but Felix is a good-hearted fellow, and really cares a heap for his guardian.”
Meanwhile, Bud Morgan was working with all his might, trying to locate and cure the engine trouble. Bud was a very determined fellow, as his chums had learned many a time in the past. Once he set his mind on accomplishing anything he would persist everlastingly at the job, even when it seemed next door to hopeless.
“I’m beginning to get on to it, boys, I want to tell you,” he finally said, as he crawled out from under the car so as to stretch his cramped limbs, and wipe the perspiration from his forehead with a bandanna that had once upon a time been a beautiful red, but was now sadly faded.
“But almost two hours have slipped by since our plug engine balked on us,” complained Blake Merton, painfully. “Not that I’m trying to rub it into you fellows, because both of you are doing the work, while a greenhorn like me has to sit around and grunt, and count the minutes. If only some other motorist would come along about now maybe he might be able to lend us a hand.”
“Wish to gracious one would show up,” sighed Bud. “What a fellow doesn’t know about pesky engines like this would fill a book. Another pilot might just happen to be familiar with this particular kind of trouble. ‘Many men, many minds,’ you remember. But don’t think I’m going to give it up. There’s a little of the old U. S. Grant about me, and I purpose ‘fighting it out on this line if it takes all summer.’”
“That’s a bully way of looking at it, Bud, and I give you lots of credit,” said Blake, shrugging his shoulders. “If we stick here until tomorrow I might just as well head back toward Oakvale, for all the good a visit to camp will do me.”
“Listen!” warned Hugh, holding up a finger.