Even before his uncle had spoken Dave had pressed down both feet hard, thus putting on the foot-brake and releasing the gear-clutch. Now his hand shot over to the emergency brake, and this came up with all the power at his command. But the grade was downward, and the road slippery from the rain, and instead of stopping, the touring-car went on, sliding through the mud and over the rocks until it was practically on top of the tree. Then came a jar that threw everybody forward. The steering-wheel saved Dave, but his uncle's elbow struck the windshield, cracking it in several places. "Look, we've run into a tree!" "Did the lightning hit the machine?" "Say, Roger, take yourself off my feet; will you?" This last cry came from Phil, who was huddled up in a corner of the tonneau. "It isn't me, it's the handbag, Phil," gasped out Roger, who hung partly over the front seat of the touring-car. "Anybody hurt?" questioned Dunston Porter quickly, as soon as the shock had come to an end. "I--I--think I am all right, Uncle Dunston," panted Laura. "But dear me! wasn't it awful?" "I thought I was going to fly right over Dave's head," wailed Jessie, who had come up behind the youth with a great thump. "Oh, Dave, did I hurt you?" "Knocked a little of the wind out of me, Jessie; that's all," he answered. "But I won't mind that if only you are not hurt." "Say, that was some stop, believe me!" was Phil's grim comment, as he managed to straighten up and look ahead. "Stuffed mackerel! what did we try to do, Dave--climb a tree?" "No. We tried to take a running jump and go over it," replied Roger, with a faint attempt at humor. "Sound the horn, Dave, as loudly as you can!" cried his uncle, quickly. "We must warn the others." And thus admonished, Dave put his finger on the button of the electric horn and held it down for some time. Looking backward, those in the Wadsworth car soon saw the Basswood machine come into sight and then slow down. The heavy clap of thunder was now followed by another fierce downfall of rain, while the sky grew blacker than ever. In the midst of this outburst the second touring-car came slowly forward. "Did the lightning strike you?" yelled Ben. "No. But we had a close call of it," answered Mr. Porter. "It hit this tree when we were less than one hundred and fifty feet away. Then the tree came down as you see, and we ploughed right into it." "Phew! That's some escape!" was Mr. Basswood's comment. "Anything broken?" "We don't know yet," answered Dave. He alighted from the car, and his uncle did likewise. An examination showed that one of the mudguards in front had been badly bent, and that a headlight had snapped off, but beyond this, and the windshield, the big touring-car seemed to be undamaged. "I'm thankful it's no worse," remarked Dunston Porter. "It's too bad the light had to go," returned Dave. "It will make running at night rather dangerous until we can get it fixed."