The car was tobogganing down the slope as though entirely out of control. The rear wheels skidded crazily and several times the car was almost directly across the road, sliding sideways, and when it did regain the ruts it shot ahead with breath-taking speed.
Almost any second the boys expected the roadster would leave the slippery clay and either shoot across the ledge into space or crash into the rocky wall at the left.
Somehow, luck was with them. Luck and Frank's quick work at the unreliable wheel saved them from disaster.
The car gained the level ground, settled into the ruts, and went speeding on at a more reasonable rate. The lads now breathed more easily.
"Looked like our finish, that time," observed Joe.
"I'll say it did! I wouldn't have given a nickel for our chances when we were about half way down the hill."
"Well, a miss is as good as a mile. We're still alive."
"And the old boat is still rolling along. When we get back I'm going to have that steering wheel fixed. It very nearly cost us our lives."
On through the storm the Hardy boys drove, until at last they reached the place where they had parked on the previous night. There was no one in sight as they drove out onto the grass, and Frank turned off the engine and switched out the lights. Quickly, they scrambled out, raised the lid of the locker, and got inside.
The locker was warm and dry. The boys were comfortable enough, aside from being somewhat cramped, and they could hear the rain roaring down on the top of the roadster as the storm grew in violence.