The spark plug,
she is on the--what you call it?--the bum." And with an air of
finality, he closed the cover. At the same moment he turned to peer
anxiously down the road ahead, whence came now on the still twilight
the thudding hoofbeats of a galloping horse, rapidly growing louder.
His mechanical instincts awake, however, Frank paid no attention to
the approaching horseman. He had again lifted the cover, as Remedios
turned away, and, lighted match in one hand, was twisting at a spark
plug with the other.
"Shucks," he cried, withdrawing his head, "that Number One plug wasn't
screwed in tightly enough, that's all. I'll bet she'll go now, just
the way I tightened her by hand. And if I only had a pair of
pliers----"
At that moment, the galloping horseman dashed up alongside, pulling
his horse back on his haunches. It was Gabby Pete, his hat gone, his
face red with excitement. Far over he leaned to call to the astonished
occupants of the car.
"Bandits," he cried hoarsely. "Greasers. Comin' in an auto. I come
back to warn you." And facing about he pointed to where a cloud of
dust behind him on the desert road indicated a rapidly oncoming car.
"Grab that crank," cried Frank to Remedios, and he sprang for the
driving wheel.
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