"Spang!" he whooped. "Where are you, Spang?"
"Here!" answered Spangler, appearing suddenly around the bend.
"What you been doing?" demanded Brisco.
"The dickens is ter pay, an' no mistake!" stormed Spang. "That young cub of a Motor Matt found out whar we'd cached the runabout, an' blamed if he didn't go in an' snake it right out from under Klegg's——"
"Thunder!" broke in Brisco. "Don't you reckon I saw the whelp? He was bearing down on me like a hurricane, slamming the runabout through for all she was worth."
"He went past here gally-whoopin'," answered Spang, "while I was makin' fer that hole in the hill. Come mighty nigh runnin' me down at that. I got out o' the way, faced around an' sent a couple o' bullets arter him, but the brat's too lucky ter stop any lead——"
"Depends on who throws the lead," snarled Brisco.
"I kin throw it with ary man that walks! But I didn't take time ter throw much. I calculated the runabout would come up ferninst you, Hank, afore it got out o' the valley, an' that King would have ter turn around an' chase back this way. So what does I do but begin pilin' stones whar they'd do the most good. Jest got enough down ter do the biz, an' went ter see what had happened ter Klegg. Great jumpin' sand-hills! What d'ye think that infernal kid done ter him?"
"What?" fumed Brisco.
"Doped him, by thunder! Doped him out er the same bottle we used last night! Klegg's up thar in the notch, dead ter the world!"