"I can do it, Dave," was the reply. "But, at the same time, if you think it would be safer, take the wheel. I must own up that I'd rather be on a horse or behind one than steering a car like this in such a storm."
Dave squeezed himself into the driver's seat, and a moment later they were off again over the plateau of the hill, and then down the other side.
The wind was blowing as furiously as ever, and now from a distance came the low rumble of thunder.
"O dear! What is that?" cried Laura.
"I guess it was thunder, but I don't think it will amount to anything," returned Roger.
The bottom of the hill gained, they traversed a narrow valley for a distance of seven or eight miles. Then came another climb over a winding highway, which at certain points was filled with loose stones and dirt.
"Be careful, Dave. We don't want to do any skidding," cautioned the youth's uncle.
"I'm watching out all I can," was the grim reply. Dave was bending over the steering-wheel, trying his best to see through the windshield. "I guess I'll have to open it a little," he went on, nodding in the direction of the glass.
"I'll do it for you," answered Dunston Porter, and threw out the upper side of the shield.
By this means Dave was able to get a clear vision of the roadway directly in front of the machine. But the opening of the windshield let in considerable of the driving rain.