The next two laps the Ferrari and the Black Tiger passed by in the same position. Wisdom knew all Randy's racing tricks and could anticipate them. The spectators had forgotten the rest of the field, only a few lengths behind, to concentrate on the two lead cars. It became obvious that the Ferrari had a quicker getaway and so could make up distance lost on the corners. But at every bend in the course, the Black Tiger was on her tail, worrying her, seeking for an opening to get through and take the lead. Suddenly there was a roar from the crowd in the direction of Butcher's Bend. Woody looking over there could see what looked like a small cloud of smoke arising. Somebody spoke hurriedly to the flagman in front of him, and he stepped out onto the course waving a yellow flag. "What's the matter?" Woody asked, turning to Worm. "Accident," Worm shouted. "Somebody's hurt." 7 An ambulance, its siren screaming, sped down the track in the direction of Butcher Bend. It was back in a few minutes, drove through the pit area and out onto the main road. Then the announcer said over the loud-speaker, "We regret to say there has been an accident at turn number two. The Black Tiger, driven by Captain Randolph, went out of control, and Captain Randolph has been taken to the hospital. It is not thought that he is badly hurt. We'll let you know his condition as soon as we get a report--" Woody didn't wait to hear any more. "Let's go," he said to Worm and jumped into the Dodge. In all its life, Worm's venerable Dodge had never done more than thirty-five miles an hour, but on the trip to the San Diego General Hospital, it made forty-five, protesting at every revolution of its engine. When they got there, Woody had some difficulty convincing the receptionist they should be allowed to see Randy. "I can't do anything without the surgeon's permission," she said quietly though not without sympathy. "Surgeon," cried Woody, "is it that bad?" The receptionist gave a ghost of a smile. "Surgeons treat cuts as well as fractures and broken heads," she said. "You'll have to wait." They waited an agonizing hour without any news at all. Then a young doctor came through, and the receptionist left her desk and spoke to him. The doctor came over to them. "Are you relatives of Captain Randolph?" he asked. "Not relatives. Friends," said Woody. "We're his pit crew," said Worm. "We service his car when he's racing." "I see," said the surgeon. "Well, he says he has a daughter at this address. He'd like to see her. She's in San Diego apparently. Can one of you go and get her?" "I'll go," said Woody. "How is he, doc? Is he badly hurt?"