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The Motor Rangers Through the Sierras
The Motor Rangers Through the Sierras
CHAPTER I
INTO THE SIERRAS
"Say Nat, I thought that this was to be a pleasure trip?"
Joe Hartley, the perspiration beading his round, good-natured countenance, pushed back his sombrero and looked up whimsically from the punctured tire over which he was laboring.
"Well, isn't half the pleasure of running an auto finding out how many things you don't know about it?" laughingly rejoined Nat Trevor, the eldest and most experienced of the young Motor Rangers, as they had come to be called.
"V-v-v-variety is the s-s-spice – " sputtered our old friend William, otherwise Ding-dong Bell.
"Oh, whistle it, Ding-dong," interjected Joe impatiently.
"Phwit!" musically chirruped the stuttering lad. "Variety is the spice of life," he concluded, his hesitating manner of speech leaving him, as usual, following the puckering of his lips and the resultant music.
"That's no reason why we should be peppered with troubles," grumbled Joe, giving the "jack" a vicious twist and raising the rear axle still higher. "Here it is, only three days since we left Santa Barbara and I'm certain that I've fixed at least four punctures already."
"Well, you'll be a model of punctuality when – " grinned Nat aggravatingly, but Joe had sprung from his crouching posture and made for him threateningly.
"Nat Trevor, if you dare to pun, I'll – I'll – bust your spark plug."
"Meaning my head, I suppose," taunted Nat from a safe distance, namely, a rock at the side of the dusty road. "'Lay on, Macduff.'"