“I—I can’t do it!” he exclaimed almost in a whisper.
The Fire Bird was dashing along the steep incline. Ned clung firmly to the steering wheel, for though there was terrible danger ahead, it was also close at hand should the auto swerve from the path. His face was white, and Nat’s forced breathing sounded loud in the ears of the terror-stricken girls.
The bridge was but a few hundred feet away. The auto skidded along as if under power, though the gasolene was shut off.
“There’s a plank across the entrance! Maybe that will stop us!” cried Nat.
“Never in this world!” replied Ned, in despairing tones.
Dorothy was sending up wordless prayers, but she did not stir from her seat, sitting bravely still, and not giving way to useless terror. Nor did Tavia, once the first shock was over, for she saw how quiet Dorothy was, and she too, sank back among the cushions, waiting for the crash she felt would soon come.
“If some boards are only down!” murmured Ned. “Maybe I can steer—”
The next instant the Fire Bird had crashed through the obstruction plank. It splintered it as if it were a clothes pole, and, a moment later, rumbled out upon the frail, loose planking, laid length-wise across the floorless bridge, as a path for the repair teams.
“Oh! Oh!” shrieked the two girls in one breath.
Nat jumped up from his seat, and, leaning forward, grasped his brother by the shoulders.