View source for The Motor Boys Across the Plains; Or, the Hermit of Lost Lake (Book 4)

<meta
  author="Young, Clarence"
  year_of_publication="1907"
additional_information="https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/43509/pg43509-images.html"
  genre="Fiction"
  journal="The Motor Boys Across the Plains: OR THE HERMIT OF LOST LAKE"
  page_range="1-248"
/>
<annotations>
===Preface/Chapter I. - Ramming an Ox Cart (1-10) ===
<paragraph keywords="accident, risk, animal">
<poem>
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="car model, nationality, West, navigation">
<poem>
PREFACE


Dear Boys:

Here it is at last—the fourth volume of "The Motor Boys Series," for which so many boys all over our land have been asking during the past year.

To those who have read the other volumes in this line, this new tale needs no special introduction. To others, I would say that in the first volume, entitled, "The Motor Boys," I introduced three wide-awake American lads, Ned, Bob and Jerry, and told how they first won a bicycle race and then a great motor cycle contest,—the  prize in the latter
being a big touring car.
Having obtained the automobile, the lads went west, and in the second volume, called, "The Motor Boys Overland," were related the particulars of a struggle for a valuable mine, a struggle which tested the boys' bravery to the utmost.
While in the west the boys heard of a strange buried city in Mexico, and, in company with a learned college professor, journeyed to that locality. The marvellous adventures met with are told in "The Motor Boys in Mexico."
Leaving the buried city, the boys started again for the locality of the mine, and in the present tale are told the particulars of some strange things that happened on the way. A portion of this story is based on facts, related to me while on an automobiling tour in the west, by an old ranchman who had participated in some of the occurrences.
With best wishes, and hoping we shall meet again, I leave you to peruse
the pages which follow.
CLARENCE YOUNG.
March 1, 1907.
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="sound, car part, technology, car model, passenger, driver">
<poem>
THE MOTOR BOYS ACROSS THE PLAINS

CHAPTER I

RAMMING AN OX CART

Mingled with the frantic tooting of an automobile horn, there was the shrill shrieking of the brake-band as it gripped the wheel hub in a friction clutch.
"Hi, Bob! Look out for that ox cart ahead!" exclaimed one of three sturdy youths in the touring car.
"I should say so! Jam on the brakes, Bob!" put in the tallest of the trio, while an elderly man, who was in the rear seat with one of the boys, glanced carelessly up to see what was the trouble.
"I have got the brake on, Jerry!" was the answer the lad at the steering wheel made. "Can't you and Ned hear it screeching!"
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="speed, topography, nationality, animal, pedestrian, accident, risk, car part">
<poem>
The auto was speeding down a steep hill, seemingly headed straight toward a solitary Mexican who was moving slowly along in an antiquated ox-drawn vehicle.
"Then why don't she slow up? You've got the power off, haven't you?"
"Of course! Do you take me for an idiot!" yelled Bob, or, as his friends sometimes called him, because of his fatness, "Chunky." "Of course I've shut down, but something seems to be the matter with the brake pedal."
"Have you tried the emergency?" asked Ned.
"Sure!"
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="sound, onomatopoeia, nationality, speed, animal, pedestrian, risk, car model">
<poem>
Toot! Toot! Toot!
Again the horn honked out a warning to the Mexican, but he did not seem to hear.
The big red touring car was gathering speed, in spite of the fact that it was not under power, and it bore down ever closer to the ox cart.
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="car part, sound, metaphor, nationality, pedestrian, animal, risk">
<poem>
"Cut out the muffler and let him hear the explosions," suggested Jerry.
Bob did so, and the sounds that resulted were not unlike a Gatling gun battery going into action. This time the native heard.
Glancing back, he gave a frightened whoop and jabbed the sharp goad into the ox. The animal turned squarely across the road, thus shutting off what small chance there might have been of the auto gliding past on either side.
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="risk, animal, passenger, driver, nationality, pedestrian">
<poem>
"We're going to hit him sure!" yelled Ned. "I say Professor, you'd better hold on to your specimens. There's going to be all sorts of things doing in about two shakes of a rattlesnake's tail!"
"What's that about a rattlesnake?" asked the old man, who, looking up from a box of bugs and stones on his lap, seemed aware, for the first time, of the danger that threatened.
"Hi there! Get out of the way! Move the cart! Shake a leg! Pull to one side and let us have half the road!" yelled Jerry as a last desperate resort, standing up and shouting at the bewildered and frightened Mexican.
"Oh pshaw! He don't understand United States!" cried Ned.
"That's so," admitted Jerry ruefully.
"Vamoose, is the proper word for telling a Mexican to get out of the road," suggested the professor calmly. "Perhaps if you shouted that at him he might—"
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="car part, accident, driver, speed, scenery, road condition">
<poem>
What effect trying the right word might have had the boys had no chance of learning, for, the next instant, in spite of Bob's frantic working at the brake, the auto shot right at the ox cart. By the merest good luck, more than anything else, for Bob could steer neither to the right nor left, because the narrow road was hemmed in by high banks, the machine struck the smaller vehicle a glancing blow.
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="accident, car part, animal, nationality, pedestrian, health, passenger, driver, dust">
<poem>
The force of the impact skidded the auto on two wheels up the side of the embankment, where, poking the front axle into a stump served to bring the car to a stop. The car was slewed around to one side, the ox was yanked from its feet, and, as the cart overturned, the Mexican, yelling voluble Spanish, pitched out into the road.
Nor did the boys and the professor come off scathless, for the sudden stopping of their machine piled the occupants on the rear seat up in a heap on the floor of the tonneau, while Bob and Jerry, who were in front, went sprawling into the dust near the native.
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="sound, nationality, animal, dust, accident, metaphor, car part, health">
<poem>
For a few seconds there was no sound save the yelling of the Mexican and the bellowing of the ox. Then the cloud of dust slowly drifted away, and Bob picked himself up, gazing ruefully about.
"This is a pretty kettle of fish," he remarked.
"I should say it was several of 'em," agreed Jerry, trying to get some of the dust from his mouth, ears and nose. "You certainly hit him, Chunky!"
"It wasn't my fault! How did I know the brake wasn't going to work just the time it was most needed?"
"Is anybody killed?" asked the professor, looking up over the edge of the tonneau, and not releasing his hold of several boxes which contained his specimens.
"Don't seem to be, nor any one badly hurt, unless it's the ox or the auto," said Ned, taking a look. "The Mexican seems to be mad about something, though."
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
By this time the native had arisen from his prostrate position and was shaking his fist at the Motor Boys and the professor, meanwhile, it would appear from his language, calling them all the names to which he could lay his tongue.
"I guess he wants Bob's scalp," said Jerry with a smile.
"It was as much his fault as mine," growled Chunky. "If he had pulled to one side, I could easily have passed."
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="nationality, health, animal">
<poem>
The Mexican, brushing the dust from his clothes, approached the auto party, and continued his rapid talk in Spanish. The boys, who had been long enough in Mexico to pick up considerable of the language, gathered that the native demanded two hundred dollars for the damage to himself, the cart and the ox, as well as for the injury to his dignity and feelings.
"You'd better talk to him, Professor," suggested Jerry. "Offer him what you think is right."
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
Thereupon Professor Snodgrass, in mild terms explained how the accident had happened, saying it was no fault of the auto party.
The Mexican, in language more forcible than polite, reiterated his demand, and announced that unless the money was instantly forthcoming, he would go to the nearest alcade and lodge a complaint.
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="law, nationality, animal, health, tree, accident">
<poem>
The travelers knew what this meant, with the endless delays of Mexican justice, the summoning of witnesses and petty officers.
"I wish there was some way out," said Jerry.
As the Mexican had not been hurt, nor his cart or ox been damaged, there was really no excuse for the boys giving in to his demands.
"Let's give him a few dollars and skip out," suggested Ned. "He can't catch us."
This was easier said than done, for the auto was jammed up against a tree stump on a bank, and the ox cart, which, the native by this time had righted, blocked the road.
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
But, all unexpectedly, there came a diversion that ended matters. Professor Snodgrass, with his usual care for his beloved specimens before himself, was examining the various boxes containing them. He opened one containing his latest acquisition of horned toads, big lizards, rattlesnakes and bats. The reptiles crawled, jumped and flew out, for they were all alive.
"Diabalo! Santa Maria! Carramba!" exclaimed the Mexican as he caught sight of the repulsive creatures. "They are crazy Americanos!" he yelled.
With a flying leap he jumped into his ox cart, and with goad and voice he urged the animal on to such advantage that, a few minutes later, all that was to be seen of him was a cloud of dust in the distance.
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="maintenance, tree, accident, scenery">
<poem>
"Good riddance," said Bob. "Now to see how much our machine is damaged."
Fortunately the auto had struck a rotten stump, and though with considerable force, the impact was not enough to cause any serious damage. Under the direction of Jerry the boys managed to get the machine back into the road, where they let it stand while they went to a near-by spring for a drink of water.
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
While they are quenching their thirst an opportunity will be taken to present them to the reader in proper form.
The three boys were Bob Baker, son of Andrew Baker, a banker, Ned Slade, the only heir of Aaron Slade, a department store proprietor, and Jerry Hopkins, the son of a widow. All three were about seventeen years of age, and lived in the city of Cresville, not far from Boston, Mass. Their companion was Professor Uriah Snodgrass, a learned man with many letters after his name, signifying the societies and institutions to which he belonged. 
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="pleasure, risk, equipment, speed, car model">
<poem>
Those who have read the first book of this series, entitled, "The Motor Boys," need no introduction to the three lads. Sufficient to say that some time before this story opens they had taken part in some exciting bicycle races, the winning of which resulted in the acquiring of Motor cycles for each of them.
On these machines they had had much fun and had also many adventures befall them. Taking part in a big race meet, one of them won an event which gave him a chance to get a big touring automobile, the same car in which they were now speeding through Mexico.
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
Their adventures in the auto are set forth at length in the second volume of the series entitled, "The Motor Boys Overland," which tells of a tour across the country, in which they had to contend with their old enemy, Noddy Nixon, and his gang. Eventually the boys and Jim Nestor, a miner whom they befriended, gained some information of a long lost gold mine in Arizona.
They made a dash for this and won it against heavy odds, after a fight with their enemies. The mine turned out well, and the boys and their friends made considerable money.
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="">
<poem>
The spirit of adventure would not drown in them. Just before reaching the diggings they made the acquaintance of Professor Snodgrass, who told a wonderful story of a buried city. How the boys found this ancient town of old Mexico, and the many adventures that befell them there, are told
in the third book, called "The Motor Boys in Mexico."
Therein is related the strange happenings under ground, of the sunken road, the old temples, the rich treasures and the fights with the bandits. Also there is told of the rescue of the Mexican girl Maximina, and how she was taken from a band of criminals and restored to her friends.
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="maintenance, animal, road condition, safety, nationality">
<poem>
These happenings brought the boys and the professor to the City of Mexico, where the auto was given a good overhauling, to prepare it for the trip back to the United States.
The boys and the professor, the latter bearing with him his beloved specimens, started back for civilization, keeping to the best and most frequented roads, to avoid the brigands, with whom they had had more than one adventure on their first trip. It was while on this homeward journey that the incident of the Mexican and the ox cart befell them.
</poem>
</paragraph>


<paragraph keywords="equipment, driver">
<poem>
Having slaked their thirst the boys and the professor went back to the auto where, gathering up the belongings that had become scattered from the upset, they prepared to resume their journey.
"Get in; I'll run her for a while," said Jerry.
"One minute! Stand still! Don't move if you value my happiness!" exclaimed the professor suddenly, dropping down on his hands and knees, and creeping forward through the long grass.
</poem>
</paragraph>