“There goes my chance!” he said sorrowfully as he dismounted and pushed his machine from the track. “All our hope is in Bob now!”
No sooner was the second squad of riders out of the way than the third batch came hurrying on the track. They were lined up, the pistol cracked, and away they went. Ned and Jerry, who had found a good place to watch, strained their eyes for a sight of Bob.
“He’s close to the front!” cried Ned.
“No, he’s away to the rear,” said Jerry, and so it proved.
By some mischance Bob was third from the rear as the riders swept around on the first lap.
“He doesn’t look discouraged,” said Jerry. “Maybe he is running his motor slow, and trying to keep out of a pocket.”
“I hope so,” grunted Ned.
With the exception of two riders well to the fore, and Bob and two others in the rear, the contestants were pretty well bunched. For several laps no one gained an advantage. One man tried to steal up, but he was promptly pocketed and lost whatever chance he had.
“Why doesn’t Bob do something? There are only two miles more!” groaned Ned.
“Watch him!” cried Jerry suddenly. “I believe he’s been hanging back on purpose, so as not to get in a pocket.”