One of the men broke away and crawled toward the plunger box. Our car was now in the middle of the bridge.
Over and over rolled the men, the dog doing his best to help his master. The man who had broken away reached toward the plunger.
With a shout he pushed it down.
. . . . . . .
Our car had just cleared the bridge when we were startled by a terrific roar behind us. It was as though a thousand tires had blown out at once. Elaine shut off the engine automatically and we looked back.
The whole bridge had been blown up. A second before we had been in the middle of it.
As the explosion came, the men who had been struggling in the thicket, paused, startled, and stared out. At that instant the old farmer saw his chance. It was all over and he bolted, calling the dog.
Along the road to the bridge he ran, two of the men after him.
"Come back," growled the leader. "Let him go. Do you want us all to get caught?"
As the farmer ran up to the bridge, he saw it in ruins. But down the road he could see Elaine and myself, sitting in the car, staring back at the peril which we had so narrowly escaped. His face lighted up in as great joy as a few moments before it had showed despair.