When the long, low racing car was nearly up to the Mazeppa flier, a thrill ran through Kurt as he saw Pen step out on the running board. He forgot the boy’s danger as he divined her purpose.
The car closed in on the horse. The girl leaned far out, snatched the boy from the horse and climbed back into the car which now slowed up.
It was done in a second, so swiftly, so aptly that Kurt could only sit and gape with the sort of fore-knowledge that it must come out all right, as one gazes at a thrilling scene in a motion picture. When he came alongside the car, Gene looked up with a challenging grin. Francis, though pale and breathing quickly, wore a triumphant look. Pen’s expression was entirely normal.
Kurt tried to speak, but his voice was dry in his throat.
“I stuck on, didn’t I?” clamored Francis in satisfied tone.
Then Kurt recovered and began to reprimand the lad, but a certain sparkle in Pen’s eyes as she clasped the lad to her restrained him.
He turned upon Gene.
“Did you know she was going to do that?”
“Sure!” was the confident reply. “I knew she could do it.”
He flung Kingdon’s racer into motion and slid on down the white ribbon of road to the ranch, while Kurt’s little machine rattled and creaked and jolted along.