"Sure!" they shouted in reply, and the motors hummed and throbbed under the strain.
For the first few miles the roads were good, and speedy time was made, so that Dick ceased some of his worry lest they arrive too late. Then a sandy stretch was encountered, and the motors whined out a protest, but they kept on.
"Think you can do it?" asked the captain of the man in charge. Dick and the team and substitutes, together with his father, were in the first machine.
"Oh, we'll do it," was the reply, and Mr. Simpson's voice had a confidence he did not altogether feel. It was no small responsibility, for it was a desperate race against the fleeting minutes and hours.
After the sand, came a good piece of highway, and then a stiff hill, but the trucks made it safely and at fair speed.
"We'll do it!" announced Mr. Simpson after about two hours. "There's one long hill now after this one we're climbing and then we can coast down into Mooretown."
"Good!" cried Dick, and he felt some of the strain of anxiety leaving him.
A few minutes later, when the foremost auto had reached the crest of the rise, the driver of the truck containing Dick and the team remarked, as he pointed ahead:
"There's Mooretown, but you can't see the cadet football field yet."
"Oh, I guess they'll be there expecting us," replied the young captain.