“Hurrah!” he cried, “now, old boy, we’ll try it again.”
He still felt rather dizzy, but the sun was getting low, and he knew he would have to “go some” to reach the next town before dark. He hastily put his tools away, and in a short time was speeding along again, nothing daunted by the accident. Presently the road improved, a sure sign that he was approaching a settlement. Soon he could make out the low houses of the little prairie town before him and he increased his speed, “splitting the air” like a comet.
He reached the village without further trouble, and was soon solacing himself for the strenuous day he had gone through with the best dinner the resources of the town could provide.
[CHAPTER XI]
The Flaming Forest
Early on the morning of the eighth day of the trip, Bert crossed the line into Oklahoma. He found little difference in the roads he encountered, most of them being of a very poor description. But by this time he was used to all sorts of going, and could listen without laughing, when one of the natives, in a fit of enthusiasm, would speak of some atrocious path as a “highway.”
Of course, in isolated instances some village or town had inaugurated a “good roads” movement, and then Bert found nothing to complain of. But as a rule the roads were inferior, and he found fast travel practically impossible.