Jim had been thrown against the windshield and his hands were cut by the flying glass. Joe had clung desperately to the wheel, and though badly shaken up, had sustained no injury.
Without waiting to see the extent of the damage, the truck had gone on at breakneck speed. By the time the young men had leaped to the ground, the truck had vanished around a turn in the road.
Joe and Jim looked at each other, pale with anger.
“Are you hurt, Jim?” asked Joe, as he saw the blood on his comrade’s hands.
“Only scratches,” was the reply. “And I’m so thankful I’m not dead that I don’t mind little things like that.”
“It’s almost a miracle that we’re not lying at this moment at the bottom of the ravine,” said Joe, soberly. “What do you think of those fellows? Did you ever see such reckless driving?”
“It wasn’t reckless,” declared Jim, grimly. “It was deliberate. That fellow was trying to run us down.”
“What?” exclaimed Joe.
“Just that,” reiterated Jim. “Did you see the man who was driving?”