“Maybe I’ll find the team, but I’ll bet the wagon is strung all along the road,” the girl answered. “You’ll have to pay me damages.” “This is the fellow who will have to stand the damage,” said Chick, indicating Spark. “What’s his name, an’ where does he put up?” “That’s too much for me.” “Well,” said the girl, with a snap of her jaws, “they’ve lynched people in this country for doin’ less than he done.” With that, she marched off and never turned a backward look. Chick laughed a little, although he admitted to himself that it was pretty tough luck. “Here, Patsy,” he said, “run after her and give her this twenty. That will soothe her feelings, I guess.” Patsy chased after the girl and gave her the money. “She was tickled to death,” he said, when he got back; “the old rattletrap wasn’t worth any more than the scrap iron that was in it; so it was bargain day for her, all right. I wonder what’s keeping Nick?” “Clancy’ll kill him,” spoke up Cricket. “Don’t you believe it,” returned Patsy. “While we’re waiting,” said Chick, “we’ll get things in shape for the return trip.” He was looking at the rear, right-hand tire, which hung to the wheel as flabby as a rag. “Nick made a dead-center shot,” said Patsy. “It’s a bad puncture, and I doubt if we can repair it.” “You don’t have to repair it,” put in Spark, who was thinking of getting to a doctor in the shortest possible time. “There’s an emergency tire under the front seat. Use that.” Chick brought out the tire, and also a force pump. The machine was then “jacked up” with a couple of stout fence rails, the old tire taken off and the new one put on and inflated. Hardly was this bit of work accomplished, when a boy came galloping up on horseback. He was a red-headed boy, and was laboring under so much excitement that it was all he could do to talk. “Big fight down to the blacksmith shop!” he finally managed to articulate. “Who was doing the fighting?” asked Chick. “Couple o’ fellers. Geewhilikins, but you never seen anything like it!” “Was either of the men killed?” “Naw; but one of ’em was purty nigh. I was told tew come here an’ have yeou come right down.” “We’ll come,” said Chick. Turning to Patsy, he added: “You get in the electric machine with your man, and I’ll run this one.” “You bet,” returned Patsy. In less than a minute they were all aboard and ready for the start. “How far away is the blacksmith shop, my lad?” asked Chick. “‘Baout a mile. Say, I want to stand here an’ see yeou start them thingumbobs.” “All right.” When the gasoline engine began to pound and the machine to move, the horse thought it had about all it could stand. With a snort, and a flirt of the head, the animal took down the road for home, the boy yelling “Whoa!” at every jump. It was a quick run which the two autos made to the blacksmith shop, for both Chick and Patsy were not a little worried over the boy’s story.