The officer waved his club, and then, seeing the horses were snorting beneath the blows of the whip and badly frightened, he attempted to catch them by the bits. He made a miscalculation, slipped and fell.
Frank Merriwell’s heart leaped into his mouth, for it seemed that the wheels of the cab must go over the policeman. With all his skill it did not seem possible Merry could avoid the man’s fallen body.
He reined sharply to the right, hearing a cry of horror break from the lips of the driver. He bent to the left and looked down, although he was nearly flung from the seat.
What Frank saw brought a prayer of thankfulness and relief from his pale lips.
The policeman was not slow to realize his peril, and he rolled over once, getting far enough out of the way so that the wheels did not pass over him, although they brushed his clothes.
“All right!” laughed Frank, with a great burst of relief. “Close call, old chap; but a miss is as good as a mile.”
It was one of the desperate adventures of Frank’s life, as he well knew, for to be caught and stopped then meant certain disgrace and expulsion for all connected with the affair. Frank had realized this as soon as the policeman started toward them, and for that reason he had made the hustle of his life to get away with the kidnaped proctor.
On leaped the horses.
The driver began to demur.
“What in blazes does this mean?” he demanded. “Why are you snatching the reins from my hands? I can drive me own cab.”