But his joy was short-lived. The thief had not given up yet. He scrambled to his feet and returned to the motorcycle, righted it, and leaped into the saddle. The machine, evidently undamaged, bounded forward again.
However, the accident had given the Hardy boys a chance to make up ground and they had gained considerably. In a few moments they reached the beginning of the rough section of the road and the fugitive was no more than two hundred yards ahead.
The two motorcycles lurched and bounded over the bumpy surface. Frank saw that the thief was not a first-class driver. He seemed to be having a great deal of trouble keeping the stolen machine on the road and did not dare travel at high speed.
As for himself, he saw that he would have to take chances. He shouted to Joe, "Hang on!" and let the motorcycle out as much as he dared.
It was a rough ride. More than once it seemed as though they would crash, but they steadily gained on the fugitive.
The man looked behind. He saw that he had no hope of reaching the highway.
The stolen motorcycle came to a stop. The rider leaped out into the road and ran toward the ditch. Beyond it there was a fence and a high bank of trees. Through the ditch and over the fence scrambled the fugitive. He looked back again just as the Hardy boys drew up beside the abandoned machine and then disappeared among the trees.
The boys were at first inclined to follow, and Joe dashed toward the ditch in pursuit. But Frank's better counsel prevailed.
"Let him go," he said. "We'd never find him in that underbrush, and he might just double back to the road again and clear out on the motorcycle. We've got the machine back. That's the main thing."
Reluctantly, Joe came back.