But, alas! as the redoubtable owner of Buck Bradley's Unparalleled, etc., Wild West uttered these words, there came a sudden loud report. _Bang_! "Christopher! They're firing from ambush!" yelled Pete, jumping two feet up from his seat in the tonneau. "Worse than that, consarn the luck!" growled Bradley, "thet rear tire's busted agin." "Can't you run on a flat wheel?" asked Ralph anxiously. "Not over these roads, son. We wouldn't last ten minutes. Hey you, chaffer! Get out an' fix it, willyer?" "I'll try, sir," said the man, bringing the bumping, jolting car to a stop. "Try, sir?" echoed Buck indignantly. "Didn't you tell me, when I hired you, thet you was a first-class, A number one chaffer?" "Sure I did," was the indignant reply, as the driver knelt in the dust and began examining the tire carefully. "But you can't fix a puncture in a jiffy." "This one is a-goin' ter be fixed in a jiffy," rejoined Buck ominously, "or there'll be a punctured chaffer 'round here." As he spoke, the proprietor of the Wild West Show moved his great bulk in the forward seat, and produced a heavy-calibred revolver, that glistened in the starlight. "Get busy!" he ordered. "Y-y-y-y-yes, sir," stuttered the chauffeur, who had been hired in San Antonio, before the show crossed the border, and found itself in the country of the insurrectos. "Maybe I can give him a hand--I know something about cars," volunteered Ralph. "Then help him out, will yer son?" puffed the red-faced Buck Bradley. "It's my private opinion," he went on, in a voice intended to be confidential, but which was merely a subdued bellow, "that that chaffer of mine couldn't chaff a chafing dish." Ralph took one of the oil headlights out of its socket, and, taking it to the back of the car, found the chauffeur scratching his head over the tire. "What's the trouble?" asked Ralph. "Why, you see, sir," stammered the chauffeur, "I don't just exactly know. I think it's a puncture, but----" "Say, aren't you supposed to be a chauffeur?" inquired Ralph disgustedly. "Waal, I run a taxicab onct," was the reply, in a low tone, however, "but that's all the chauffering I ever done. You see, I went broke in San Antone, and----" "All right; all right," snapped Ralph impatiently. "Say, you people, you'd better get out of the car, while I tinker this up." "Is it a bad bust-up?" puffed Buck Bradley, clambering out. "I only bought ther car a week ago, and I've spent more time under it than in it, ever since." "It's not very bad--just a little blow-out," announced Ralph, who had been examining the wheel. "Got a jack and an emergency kit?" "Sure!" snorted Buck Bradley. "Here, you excuse for a chaffer, git ther hospital outfit, and hurry up." "Please, sir, I--I forgot the emergency kit," stuttered the new chauffeur. "You forgot! Great Moses!" howled Buck. "Have you got the jack, then?" "Yes, sir."