He knew. But knowing as he did, he was overcome by the horror. Such a thing turned loose upon the earth! He had lost many hours; he had but a few hours remaining. The thought gave him sudden energy. He seized Winters by the arm.
“To the first town, Bob. To the first town—an aerodome.”
There was speed in that motor for all its decades. Winters turned about and shot out in a lateral course parallel to the great chasm. But for all his speed he could not keep back his question.
“In the name of Heaven, Charley, what did it? What is it?”
Came the answer; and it drove the lust of all speed through Winters:
“Bob,” said Charley, “it is the end of the world—if we don’t make it. But a few hours left. We must have an airplane. I must make the mountain.”
It was enough for Wild Bob. He settled down. It was only an old runabout; but he could get speed out of a wheelbarrow. He had never driven a race like this. Just once did he speak. The words were characteristic.
“A world’s record, Charley. And we’re going to win. Just watch us.”
And they did.
There was no time lost in the change. The mere fact of Huyck’s name, his appearance and the manner of his arrival was enough. For the last hours messages had been pouring in at every post in the Rocky Mountains for Charley Huyck. After the failure of all others many thousands had thought of him.