“I thought it was the only thing to do,” remarked the stout steersman. “I was afraid to stop too suddenly, and I figured we just had room enough to get through. But I wouldn’t do it again.”
“Speaking of sudden stops, I wonder what has become of the man in the green car?” spoke Jerry. “We must go back and find out.”
The four lads leaped from their machine and ran back past the load of hay. The farmer was rapidly walking about in a circle, wringing his hands and crying:
“He’s killed! He’s killed! I know he is!”
With rather anxious hearts the boys hurried around to the other side of the big pile of dried grass. As they reached the place they saw a man attired in an automobile suit, with big goggles on, wiggle out from the mass of hay. He pulled several wisps from his hair and then saw the boys.
“Did you shoot right through the pile and come out on the other side?” he asked.
“We ran around it,” explained Bob. “We beat you,” he added, not without pride.
“So I see. It came pretty near being the end of all of us. You’re a plucky lad. I don’t mind being beaten by you. I thought I had a good car, but yours is better.”
“Ours is much lighter; I guess that’s why we went ahead,” returned Jerry, willing to concede something to a vanquished rival. “But are you hurt?”