Then Bart made a depressing discovery—the hind gearing was locked with a chain running from wheel to wheel.
This was unfortunate. Turning a heap of slate, he came suddenly and with delight upon an open tool box.
It was a regular construction case, and full of shovels, crowbars, pickaxes, sledges and drills. Bart selected a crowbar and his efforts to twist and snap the chain resulted in final success. With a thrill of satisfaction he sprang upon the car. The handles moved easily and responsively to the touch.
A grumbling roar caused him to survey the sky, which had been dull and lowering since noon.
"Storm coming," he murmured—"now for action!"
Bart started up the car. It ran as smooth as a bicycle. He was anxious to get away from the face of the hill, not knowing how near the enemy might be.
They were nearer than he fancied, for a sudden shout rang out, then a chorus of them.
A piece of rock, hurled down from the crest of the hill, struck his wrist, nearly numbing it. Glancing up, Bart saw the two Tollivers and Lem Wacker getting ready to descend.
There was a sharp incline and a short curve not ten feet ahead. Bart let the hand car drive at its own impetus.
"Stop!" yelled Buck Tolliver.