Billy, in the touring car, watched tremulously and waited. From his appearance, he was plainly expecting that the white car would turn a few cartwheels and perhaps land upside down in the middle of the road with Matt and McGlory underneath. But nothing of the sort happened. Car No. 1313 moved off in the direction of Krug’s as nice as you please--moved on a hair line, with none of the distressing wabbling which characterized its previous performance with its owner at the wheel. The cowboy gathered confidence. Looking behind, he waved his hat at Billy. “Don’t whistle till you’re out of the woods!” yelled Billy. He shouted something else, but his words faded out in the increasing distance. “Speak to me concerning this!” laughed McGlory, straightening around in his seat. “This little old chug cart is a false alarm, after all. It seems to understand that there’s a fellow in charge who knows the ropes up and down and across. Fine!” “We’ll see the owner of the machine at Krug’s,” said Matt, “and get his address.” “But he can’t have the runabout till we’re done with it,” protested McGlory. “I should say not! We’ve sent Billy home, and that leaves us only this car to take us back. Ah, there’s Krug’s! We’ll stop for a few minutes.” Matt tried to stop, but he couldn’t. He went through all the motions for cutting off the flow of gasoline and switching off the spark. The clutch was out, but the engine still had the car, and the engine wouldn’t stop. An automobile was just coming out of the sheds. The runabout came within an ace of a head-on collision. Fortunately the steering gear still worked, and Matt scraped mud guards with the other car and he and his cowboy chum bounded on along the road. McGlory yelled frantically. “Jump!” he cried; “let the old contraption run its blooming head off!” But Matt wouldn’t jump, and he wouldn’t let his chum go over the flying wheels. Dazed and bewildered, he bore down on the brake. The speed slackened, but they were half a mile beyond Krug’s before the car made up its mind to stop. Then McGlory tumbled out, while Matt sat astounded, his arms folded over the steering wheel and such a look on his face as the cowboy had never seen there before. CHAPTER III. A DEMON IN CONTROL. “Get out of that, pard! Get out!” McGlory was wild with apprehension, and sprang up and down at the roadside and waved his arms. “The way that car acts would make the hair stand up on a buffalo robe! What are you staying there for?” “I’m trying to guess how that happened,” said Matt. “Then stop guessing. You can guess till you’re black in the face and you’ll still be up in the air. Cut loose from that bubble wagon--that’s your cue and mine.”