The auto containing the Rover boys rounded the corner on two wheels, and then Jack put on as much speed as he dared while leaving the town. Far ahead on the road leading southward they could see another auto streaking along, leaving a trail of smoke and dust behind.
“We’ve got to catch them before they reach Barret’s Crossroads,” declared Jack. “If we don’t we won’t know which way they went.”
The crossroads to which he referred was about a mile and a half distant. Here the road branched in three directions, one heading south and another slightly to the east and the third slightly to the west. The middle highway ran uphill and the two other roads through a stretch of dense woods.
For the first half of the distance the oldest Rover made good time, the speedometer registering between forty and forty-five miles per hour. But then, as they approached a small side road, a load of hay came into view and a few seconds later blocked the highway entirely.
“Hurry up there, you!” shouted Jack, and his cousins repeated this cry. But the old farmer who was driving the load was either deaf or did not care for what they said. He paid not the slightest attention, and seemed to enjoy taking his time in getting around the corner. And even then he blocked the highway so completely that Jack had to drive around and partly into a ditch where for a few seconds the automobile was in danger of overturning.
“Gee, he’s a peach for politeness!” was the way Fred expressed himself.
“The auto ahead is out of sight!” groaned Randy. “Step on it, Jack!”
His cousin did “step on it” with the result that for a few minutes the speedometer registered between forty-five and fifty miles per hour, which was a terrific speed, especially when the unevenness of the highway was taken into consideration. Once or twice they struck small hollows and stones and bounced up and down in a most alarming fashion.
“Watch yourself, Jack! We don’t want to be turning somersaults,” cautioned Andy.
“I’ve got her under control—don’t worry,” was the quick reply.