he shook his head dolorously.

"It is of no use, Senor," he said to Frank, who had jumped from the
running board and stood beside him. "She is finish. 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. "I'll make this old bus go."

"Not so fast, Senor," said Remedios suavely, and seizing Frank's arm
he whirled the young fellow about.

Frank looked into the muzzle of a revolver which Remedios held leveled
at him.

CHAPTER X

A BRUSH WITH THE ENEMY

"Crack."

The explosion of a revolver shot.

"Wow."

A yell of pain.

Remedios seized his shooting wrist in his left hand and danced up and
down in the road, while his weapon fell to the ground.

Frank, who a moment before had been gazing into the leveled weapon of
the traitorous Mexican chauffeur, whirled about to face his friends in
the car.

Smoking revolver in hand, Jack Hampton stood upright in the front
seat. It was he who had fired the shot.

"I didn't touch him," cried Jack, "merely shot his revolver from his
hand. Jump in Frank, for here come the bandits."

With a rattle and roar the car of the bandits approached, not the
length of two city blocks away on the desert trail.

Frank took in the situation at a glance.

"Crank for your life," he ordered Remedios. "J