“That’s what we are,” spoke Jerry. “The auto is going back on us.”
The car did seem to be dragging, and there was no excuse for it in the condition of the road, which was a fine level one.
“The car needs repairing,” said Jerry, “and the way I have to run it isn’t the best thing in the world for it.”
“Do you think they’ll catch up to us?” asked Bob.
“I’m afraid so,” muttered Jerry. “We are going the limit now.”
The thunder of the horses sounded nearer and the shouts of the pursuing gang came more plainly on the morning breeze. The auto coughed and wheezed, seeming like a man who has run far and is about to collapse. The explosions became less frequent, and finally one of the cylinders ceased to work altogether, leaving only three in commission.
“Now we’re in for it!” muttered Jerry, as, by a hasty glance back he saw the men spurring their horses on.
“You’d better give up!” one of the gang shouted.
“Not yet, you scoundrels!” cried Jerry, as he advanced the sparkling lever to the final notch. This seemed to be the last straw to the auto engine, for with a dismal snort it stopped short.
“This settles it,” muttered Ned grimly. “We are done for.”