"Don't haul too hard at the start," begged Pete Barnaby. "If you do you may pull my car apart."
"We'll be careful," answered Dave. He turned to his chum. "Remember, Roger, we've got eighty horse-power hooked up here."
"I'll be on my guard," answered the senator's son. "But remember," he added to Pete Barnaby, "we are not to be responsible if the hauling breaks your car."
"I'll run that risk—only go slow," answered the man in trouble.
The rope had been made as long as possible, so that the stalled car could be drawn out of the ditch lengthwise instead of sidewise. The two cars in the road started up on low speed, and gradually the rope grew taut.
"Look out, everybody, in case that rope snaps!" cried Ben. "I once heard of a rope like that snapping and killing a house-mover."
"You are cheerful, I must say," was Sam's dry comment. Nevertheless, all were on their guard as the rope grew as tight as a string on a bow.
"She ain't moving yet!" cried Pete Barnaby. He stood by the side of his machine watching the rope closely.
Hardly had he spoken when there came a slow, sucking sound, as the wheels left their bed of soft mud. Then the racing machine moved forward slowly.
"Hurrah! she's coming!" cried Sam. "Put on a little more steam and you'll have her!"