“I don’t care. I’m going,” she said, with determination. “I wouldn’t miss this for a farm!”
“Hang on!” he cried, as the big car rumbled out of the barn.
The mechanism worked all right, and when they turned into the road the stolen motor car was not yet out of sight.
“And we won’t let it get out of sight,” Neale declared. “I just wish we’d run into that Sheriff Keech again. But he lives a long way from here.”
“Why, Neale!” laughed his girl companion, “he isn’t even sheriff over here. Don’t you remember that we’re in another county now?”
“Cracky! I’d forgotten that. Well, we’ve got no pull with the officers of the law in this county, perhaps; but neither has Saleratus Joe. I’m going to hang right to those fellows until there’s a chance of getting them arrested.”
For once Agnes was satisfied with the speed of the car. It roared along the road, jolting over the uneven spots, thundering over a wooden bridge which spanned a creek, finally shooting into the main highway to the railroad station, not a hundred yards behind the stolen car.
By this time the ugly man, who often looked around, was not laughing at the Corner House girl and her companion. Without doubt Saleratus Joe was driving the runabout at top speed; but the small car did not have the powerful engine that had been built into the larger car.
They passed nobody on the road—no vehicle at least. And that was a good thing, too; for almost any horse would have been frightened by the onrush of the two cars.
“What do you suppose they mean to do? Where are they going?” shouted Agnes in Neale’s ear.