He bent all his energies to the task of peering ahead, and assisting the chauffeur keep track of the road, in which they were likely to meet some sort of obstacle at almost any moment.
“Seems pretty clear just now!” Rob ventured to say as they fairly flew along at the rate of almost a mile a minute, the old car doing nobly when Ralph turned on every particle of power.
“Yes, it is, but we’re apt to meet a wagon coming to market any old time!” the other shot back at him, never taking his eyes from the road ahead even for a second.
Rob understood. He knew that farmers coming to sell their produce or hay in the local markets were likely to start away from home during the night so as to be in the square before peep of dawn. Yes, there was always a chance that they would meet one or more of these “hayseeds,” as Sim always called the honest tillers of the soil, perhaps asleep on his load; though such a thing was hardly possible with all that brilliant illumination in the sky, as though the world were coming to an end; and, besides, the muttering roar that sounded like a battle, Rob thought.
The headlights were none too brilliant, though answering ordinary purposes. Rob could have wished they were twice as strong, since that would have given a longer range, and they could distinguish any vehicle on the road much further away.
Around certain bends in the road they swung with a vehemence that almost took Rob’s breath away. He had told Ralph to make the utmost speed, and the other was taking his words literally. Several times Rob almost thought they would skid, and bring up in a heap; but owing partly to good luck as well as Ralph’s superior knowledge of the pilot’s duties, they always managed to avoid this particular disaster.
It was utterly impossible for Rob to count the passage of time. He was aware of the fact that it would take them at least twelve minutes, perhaps more, to make the trip, even when going at this mad pace. Counting the same back, and a short delay while securing the dynamite and the battery, it must be something like half an hour that they would be away from town.
He wondered whether that would seal the doom of Wyoming. The fire was being urged on with feverish haste by that compelling wind, and it was only a question of so much time before it reached the connecting link between the mill part of the town and that section where the conflagration already raged.
Well, they would do all in their power to carry out their plan; if they failed, in spite of everything, no blame could be attached to them. A scout need not reproach himself if he has conscientiously done his duty; the rest has to be left to a higher power than his will.
“Look out! I see something ahead!” suddenly snapped Rob, as they turned a bend, mostly on two wheels.