Something inside of him said, "Now," and the voice sounded like Randy's. Woody stomped on the accelerator and pulled over to the right. He went by the Mercedes in a flash and found a sharp corner ahead. He braked again, changed down to second, and hit the accelerator once more. The rear end of the Black Tiger slewed around as he turned the steering wheel. But she straightened out like a champion and was off down the straightaway in a second. In his rear-vision mirror Woody caught a glimpse of the Mercedes he had just passed. It was gaining on him. Ahead was a sharp hill, and he could not remember what was beyond. He left the car in second and accelerated. The Black Tiger roared, breasted the top of the hill, and there ahead were three cars in a huddle, braking for what must be a sharp bend. On either side of the track, perhaps ten feet from the shoulder, were pine trees, with barricades of hay bales among them. There was no room to get through the cars ahead, and the Mercedes was now pressing on his tail. Woody braked and skittered around the corner on the heels of the three cars. Then he saw, just for a second, a gap in them. It was about a foot wider than the Black Tiger. No more. "Here goes," Woody said to himself and opened the throttle. The effect was as if a jet engine had been added to the Black Tiger's power plant. She literally leaped through the gap. There was a slight bump, and he knew that he had touched the rear fender of one of the cars. But other than that he got away clear. The Mercedes that had been challenging him was left in the melee of cars he had just passed. Ahead now the road was straight but ran over a series of hills. Woody recalled that stretch and knew that there was perhaps three-quarters of a mile of it with a series of S-bends, followed by a hairpin at the end. "Give her the gun," the voice inside him said again. It was still Randy's voice. Woody opened the throttle, his foot pressed to the floor board, and the Black Tiger flung down the track. Woody looked at his speedometer. One hundred and ten, one hundred and twenty, one hundred and thirty. He saw a Jag ahead and flashed past so close he could, for a second, feel the warmth of the other's exhaust. He was doing a hundred and forty plus when he entered the S-bends and braked down. On the first bend, the Black Tiger nearly turned over. She seemed to crouch over on her side, and Woody's foot slipped off the accelerator. But then she recovered, veered a little under his unsteady hands at the wheel, and shot off for the next bend. Woody decided to straighten that one out. He would cut the corners on it and take the risk that there might be a car ahead hidden from him. There wasn't a car ahead, but on the third of the S-bends, which lay just over the top of a hill, there was one right in the spot he was aiming at.