"See! There's a ford at one side of the bridge!" and Dick nodded his head toward a place where the road over the structure branched off, dividing; one side going down a slope into the stream of water, and up again on the other side, to join the highway past the bridge. This path was used by those who wished to water their horses, or swell their dried wagon-wheels. It was also a ford in case the bridge was out of commission for heavy loads, as at present.
"What's your game?" cried Innis.
"I'm going to try to send the auto down that ford-road," replied the young millionaire. "It's soft and sandy. If I can make the change the soft dirt may clog the wheels enough, and slacken our speed, so that we can get over the creek safely. It's worth trying—in fact, it's the only thing we can do. Hold on!"
Nearer and nearer to the bridge thundered the big car. The man with the red handkerchief had leaped out of the way now, fearing the collapse of the structure. But Dick did not intend to trust himself to the weakened beams and king-braces.
Narrowly watching the road where it forked into the ford, or crossing, Dick swerved the steering wheel ever so little at a time. A sudden change in the course, he knew, would mean an overturned auto, and possibly serious injury to all of them.
"That's it! That's the way to do it!" cried the man who had waved a warning. "The water isn't very deep!"
"I hope not," murmured Dick. "Hold hard, boys!"
With tense face he watched the path before him. His hands were gripped on the steering wheel so hard that it seemed as though he had no fingers at all—as if they were all in one. The car thundered on. It vibrated and trembled. The brakes that had been set—exclusive of the broken one—were bringing forth a shrill protest from the axle bands.
"I—I guess you'll make it, Dick!" shouted Paul.
"It won't be from lack of trying, anyhow," agreed Innis.