long the trail at a rate of about fifteen miles an hour. "I think if a
fellow tried to make real speed with it it would fall to pieces."

"Sounds to me as if it needed oiling," ventured Spouter.

"Yes, it needs oiling, and new springs, and a new engine, and a new
chassis and a few other things, and then it would be quite a good car,"
answered Jack, with a grin.

The two lads in the car had covered less than a mile, and the others were
coming up behind them, when they saw a man running toward them and waving
his arms wildly.

"Hi there! Stop!" called out the man. "Stop, I tell you! If you don't
stop I'll have the law on you!"

As soon as he saw the man Jack slowed up and came to a standstill by the
side of the fellow. He was a tall, lean man of about fifty, with a
strangely wrinkled and sallow face and long, drooping, reddish mustache.
He had a pair of greenish-brown eyes that seemed to bore the boys through
and through as he gazed rather savagely at them.

"What do you mean by running off with my car?" he demanded, as he shook
his fist at the lads.

"Is this your car?" questioned Jack.

"You know well enough it's my car!" blustered the man. "And I demand to
know what you mean by running away with it!"

"We didn't run away with it," answered Spouter.

"Yes, you did!"

"We did not!" put in Jack. "We found it back there on the plains running
around all by itself."

"What? You expect me to believe such a story as that?" exclaimed the tall
man, glaring at them more ferociously than ever. "Running around by
itself! How could it be doing that? You took it from where I left it, up
by the trees yonder!" and he pointed to a quantity of tall timber some
distance away.

By this time the other boys were coming up, bringing with them the two
unused horses. The man gazed at them in surprise and also noted the two
steeds that were not being used.

"Maybe you're telling the truth and maybe you ain't," went on the man
sourly. "I'd like to git at the bottom of this." Thereupon the boys
related what had taken place and Spouter mentioned the fact that his
father was the owner of Big Horn Ranch.

"Oh, then you're Mr. Powell's son, eh?" cried the man. "Are you the boy
who went to Colby Hall with my nephew, Lester Bangs?"

"Is Lester your nephew?" queried Spouter. And as the man nodded shortly,
he added: "Then you must be Mr. Jarley Bangs?" and again the man nodded.

"I think you ought to thank our chum here, Jack Rover, f