“What—what happened?” panted Bob, between thunder claps, as he peered ahead to see by the intermittent lightning what their position was.
“She’s almost over the brink—that’s what happened,” answered Jerry. “I don’t know whether she’s going to stay here or not. Get out, while you can, and we’ll decide what to do.”
“We’ve got a rope and a pulley,” volunteered Ned. “We may be able to haul her back on the road.”
“The first thing is to get out and save ourselves,” were Jerry’s next words. “Then we can talk about what to do. Open the side doors carefully, fellows, and step out as lightly as you can. The least jar may send her over.”
It was a perilous position, but the boys kept their heads. Jerry remained at the wheel, his hands gripping the wooden rim as though his very grasp could hold the ponderous car from slipping into the chasm revealed by the lightning flashes.
Then Ned on his side, and Bob on his, cautiously opened the doors of the tonneau, and stepped down. As soon as they were out from under the shelter of the canopy they were drenched by the pelting rain that stung their faces.
“All right?” asked Jerry, from his seat.
“All right,” replied Ned.
“Get some stones, then, to block the rear wheels,” directed the tall lad.