Frank set his mind to the task. From the several recent trips up and down the river he began to put together the knowledge he had gained.
Standing steadfastly at the wheel, his entire being now put into this purpose of catching the man on the Speedaway, Frank Allen cut off every inch in the bends and around the islands that could possibly be cut.
“Better be careful, old boy,” called Lanky, as Frank made one close shave past a bank at a bend in an effort to cut off distance.
“Can’t—right now.” Frank smiled as the spirit of this race seized full control of him. He was determined, more than ever, to catch the Speedaway!
Taking a long chance at losing some of the space that he felt he had gained, he suddenly cut off the engine and listened.
They were nearer! They were gaining rapidly! There was no doubt of it now.
The lights of Columbia came in sight on the far side of the river. Their engine was running full tilt and the Rocket was bounding forward like a smoothly running race-horse.
“We’ll catch him right in front of the town!” called Lanky Wallace as he swung the searchlight about the river.
“Hope so. It’ll make things easy. But maybe he has a gun,” suggested Frank.
“Couldn’t have, unless it was on the boat. The chief’s men disarmed them,” laconically replied Lanky.