“Here!” answered Kelly, coming forward.
“Got a car we can use for a trip back to the city?”
“Only the runabout this young fellow came in.”
“I’m a Piute,” growled McGlory, “if I want to fool with destruction by ridin’ in that.”
“I feel the same way, McGlory,” said Levitt, “but we’ve got to get to New York. If there’s no other car we’ll have to chance that one.”
“Sufferin’ trouble!” groaned McGlory. “It takes Pard Matt to get any kind of service out of that old flugee. You can’t handle it, Levitt. I saw the kind of work you made of it. Can’t we get a rig to take us to the railroad station?”
“There are no rigs here,” answered Levitt. “It’s either the runabout—or travel afoot.”
“I’m a cowpuncher, and a cowpuncher ain’t built right for footwork. Well, let’s chance old Death and Destruction. We’ve got to be at that meeting, and we’ve five hours to get there. If the runabout don’t go backward more than it does ahead, I reckon we can make it.”
Levitt seemed as dubious over the attempt to ride in the runabout as was McGlory.
“Sure,” remarked Kelly, “she looks like a nice, easy-ridin’ little car. I’ve cleaned her, and oiled her, and pumped her full of fuel, and she ought to travel.”