"Hi, Jim! here he is! Come back! He's going to leave us in a hole! Head him off up the road there! Hurry, Jim, hurry!" The climbing man could hardly finish shouting, so short was he of breath; but perhaps it may have been the absolute necessity for prompt action that forced him to continue the balance of the sheer ascent. The answering cries of his companion welled up from somewhere down along the side of the stream, and the crash of his plunging footsteps could be heard as an evidence that he understood the danger menacing them. As Bart pulled himself up alongside the approach to the bridge he saw a boyish figure spring into the fore part of the damaged car. Then came a series of quick pulsations that announced the fact of the machine working, as if nothing had ever been the matter. "He's going off with it, Jim! Stop him! He's carrying our stuff with him! Head him off! Puncture a tire for him! Give him a shot, Jim!" howled to the thoroughly demoralized Bart, starting to stagger after the retreating automobile himself, with his hands extended, as though he would fain seize hold upon it. "Good-bye, fellows; your cake is dough!" shouted the one who sprawled in the front seat of the car and guided its destinies. Frank had purposely thrown on considerable power in making his start, for he knew what if ever there was need of haste it was right then and there. Jim was running ahead there, with the intention of cutting him off, and little though he had seen of the gentleman, he felt that he had no desire to prolong the acquaintance further. Now the friendly moon could no longer hold back behind that floating black cloud, and with her first appearance Frank turned an anxious face toward the spot where a violent agitation in the brush announced the presence of the running Jim. "Hold up there, boy! Put on the brake, or I'll----" but the rest was unheard, for Frank had dropped as low as he could in the front of the car, though still keeping his hands on that guiding wheel. He heard the sharp discharge of a weapon, thrice repeated. His heart seemed to come up almost in his throat, for this thing of being under fire was a new experience for the young athlete. Perhaps the man had tried to simply puncture the tire, although this would in the end delay their departure. Frank never knew the truth in connection with the firing. Then, in another second or two, he realized that he had passed beyond the zone of danger, with a clear road ahead of him! "Hurrah!" He could not help giving vent to his delight in this one shout. Just half a mile further on another road branched off from the one he was flying over. He remembered that by a circuitous way it would eventually take him to Columbia, passing through first the village of Stagers, and then a larger place known as Plattville.