“My eye!” Billy ejaculated soberly. “We’ve done it this time, Chip!”
“Then we’d better undo it,” snapped Merriwell, rousing himself. He pointed across the marshy land to the opposite bend of the road.
“Come along, Billy! We can cut straight across over there, and beat the horse to it. He’s forced to go clear around the bend.”
“Practical lesson in geometry,” murmured Billy, with a resigned look at the boggy strip. “The shortest distance between two points is a straight line. Go ahead, old man, I’m with you. Hope the buggy will still be with the horse when it gets there!”
Chip Merriwell leaped across the road, Billy close behind him. They vaulted the rail fence on that side, and set off across the marsh land at the best possible speed.
It did not seem that Billy McQuade’s hope would be fulfilled. The runaway had by this time reached the central point of the curve, and the driver’s efforts seemed to have no effect, for the buggy was careering and bouncing as if ready to smash up at each wild leap.
Merriwell took a glance over his shoulder, and increased his speed. But it was difficult to cover the ground rapidly; pools of water lay here and there, the soft grass and soaked soil sucked at every step, and only by jumping from tussock to tussock could progress be made.
The two runners made it, however. They were nearly across the neck of sunken land when Merriwell heard a startled cry from his friend, and glanced around.
He was just in time to see the driver flung from the buggy!
With a thrill of fear that his carelessness had brought about an irreparable injury, Chip Merriwell dashed forward. The horse was almost upon him as he scrambled up and swung himself across the fence, but the frightened beast had no time to swerve. Taking a few long running steps, Merry flung himself sideways and caught at the bridle.