"Go back to the bridge, and cross over here."
"All right. Keep right after him. The moon's going to come out again right soon. If you see him, give him a shot to make him stop!" and shouting in this vein, Bart turned to retrace his steps back to the bridge.
He was somewhat out of wind by the time he had half mounted the abrupt bank that served as the base for one end of the bridge. All at once he heard a sound that electrified him. It was the cranking of the car!
"Hi, Jim! here he is! Come back! He's going to leave us in a hole! Head him off up the road there! Hurry, Jim, hurry!"
The climbing man could hardly finish shouting, so short was he of breath; but perhaps it may have been the absolute necessity for prompt action that forced him to continue the balance of the sheer ascent.
The answering cries of his companion welled up from somewhere down along the side of the stream, and the crash of his plunging footsteps could be heard as an evidence that he understood the danger menacing them.
As Bart pulled himself up alongside the approach to the bridge he saw a boyish figure spring into the fore part of the damaged car. Then came a series of quick pulsations that announced the fact of the machine working, as if nothing had ever been the matter.
"He's going off with it, Jim! Stop him! He's carrying our stuff with him! Head him off! Puncture a tire for him! Give him a shot, Jim!" howled to the thoroughly demoralized Bart, starting to stagger after the retreating automobile himself, with his hands extended, as though he would fain seize hold upon it.
"Good-bye, fellows; your cake is dough!" shouted the one who sprawled in the front seat of the car and guided its destinies.
Frank had purposely thrown on considerable power in making his start, for he knew what if ever there was need of haste it was right then and there. Jim was running ahead there, with the intention of cutting him off, and little though he had seen of the gentleman, he felt that he had no desire to prolong the acquaintance further.