"Quick, your pistol, Tom!" cried Dick, suddenly.
"But the girls——" began the other.
"Don't shoot at the car, shoot at the tires," explained Dick. And then he whipped out his own weapon, got into range, and began to blaze away.
Each of the boys fired three shots. One hit the back lamp of the automobile, smashing the red glass, and another hit the differential case and glanced off. But the wheels remained untouched, and in a few seconds the big touring car was out of sight around a bend. The lads heard a scream from the two girls, and then all that reached their strained ears was the sound of the motor, growing fainter and fainter, until it died out altogether.
Dick and Tom felt sick at heart. They had been so near to rescuing the girls, and now they seemed as far off as ever! Each heaved a deep sigh.
"I suppose we can't follow them, with the bridge down," said Tom.
"We might ford the stream," said Dick. "But what would be the use of trying to follow on horseback? They know we are after them and they will put on all the speed possible."
"Well, what's to do next, Dick?"
"I don't know."
"I'm not going to sit still and do nothing."