"Never be afraid," advised the chauffeur. "I am Wampus, an' I am
here!"

Admitting that evident truth, our tourists were not greatly reassured.
Wampus could not tell where the road might lead them, for he did not
know, save that it led by devious winds to Parker, on the border
between Arizona and California; but what lay between them and that
destination was a sealed book to them all.

The car was heavy and the road soft; so in spite of their powerful
engines the car was not making more than fifteen miles an hour. A
short ride brought them to a ridge, from the top of which they saw a
huddle of buildings not far distant, with a near-by paddock containing
a number of ponies and cattle. The buildings were not palatial, being
composed mostly of adobe and slab wood; but the central one, probably
the dwelling or ranch house, was a low, rambling pile covering
considerable ground.

The road led directly toward this group of buildings, which our
travelers at once guessed to be "Hades Ranch." Wampus slowed down and
cast a sharp glance around, but the land on either side of the trail
was thick with cactus and sagebrush and to leave the beaten path meant
a puncture almost instantly. There was but one thing to be done.

"Pretty good road here," said Wampus. "Hold tight an' don't get scare.
We make a race of it."

"Go ahead," returned Uncle John, grimly. "If any of those scoundrels
get in your way, run them down."