“Good thing she’s not more weight in her,” Lathrop thought to himself as these convulsive leaps occurred.
So terrific was the speed, it was like traveling on the back of a whirlwind, if such a thing can be imagined.
“There’s no stopping now,” thought Lathrop, as with a brief prayer on his lips the huge machine hustled onward like a shot from a cannon. On and on it dashed.
Showers of rocks hurled upward from its wheels were blurred discs at the pace they were making.
And now the bridge and the dark gap loomed right in front of him.
Clenching his teeth tightly, the boy gripped the steering wheel till the varnish came off on his hands. He felt the machine bound forward onto the narrow span—felt it sag beneath the unaccustomed weight.
Everything grew blurred. All he thought of now was clinging to that steering wheel to the end.
His hat had flown off long ago—torn from his head by the wind generated by the awful speed.
And now the gap itself was there. Seen momentarily, dark, forbidding—a door to death.
Suddenly, just as it seemed he was about to be plunged into the depths, the boy felt the huge machine rise under him as lightly as if it had been a feather.