On rushed the auto, gathering speed as it tore down the hill.
Suddenly the man on the hay-wagon awoke, and, looking back to ascertain the cause of all the noise behind him, saw the car bearing down on him.
“Stop it!” he shouted.
“I can’t!” yelled back Frank.
“Oh, we’ll all be killed,” cried Lathrop.
But the man was shouting something and pointing ahead.
“What’s he saying?” asked Billy through his chattering teeth.
“He says if we don’t stop we’ll all be killed. There’s a bridge ahead and only room for one vehicle on it.”
As Frank spoke, the boys saw the bridge, a narrow, wooden affair. The road widened a particle just before it reached the bridge. The arch spanned a quite wide creek, the water in which sparkled brightly in the moonlight. Dumb with alarm the boys sat helplessly in the onrushing auto. Frank gripped the wheel and desperately cast about for some way to get out of the difficulty.
Suddenly he almost gave a shout. To one side of the bridge he saw that the banks of the stream were low and sloped gently. It might be possible to run the auto across the stream that way.