"A good many years of 'em," muttered Rosie.
"I hear a train whistle!" shouted Billy, leaning toward Phil.
"I heard it," answered the boy calmly, beginning to tug at the brake wheel.
"Want any help?" asked Conley anxiously.
"No; you can't help me any." Phil had ceased twisting the wheel.
"What's the matter?"
"The wheels are slipping. The brakes will not hold them. If we are going to meet anything we might as well meet it properly," answered Phil calmly, whereupon he kicked the ratchet loose and spun the brake wheel about.
The car seemed to take a sudden leap forward.
Just then there came a rift in the clouds.
"Look!" cried Billy.