Nick Carter permitted himself a hasty glance up the long, rolling hill on his left. He could see, sharply outlined against the sky, the figures of six men on horseback, tearing along at full gallop, and some little distance ahead of the car.
“I should like to know what their game is,” he muttered.
Chick overheard, but he could not offer any explanation, so he held his peace.
Nick was going as fast as he dared with the car, and now, as he came to a more difficult part of the road, on account of its unevenness and the many stones strewn along, he reduced the speed materially.
“Say, chief!” called out Patsy. “We’re stopping!”
“Keep quiet!” put in Chick. “You don’t want to go over the edge, do you?”
Patsy did not reply, although, in his heart, he would have been willing to take a chance of that, rather than let the horsemen on the brow of the big hill make such good time against them.
For some time the car rolled on at a comfortable speed of twenty miles an hour, or thereabouts, and Nick Carter was taking it a little easier with the relaxing of the strain at the wheel.
Fast driving in an automobile is trying on the nervous system, as well as the muscles, and rest comes in proportion to the less number of miles per hour.
“Those fellows have gone, it seems!” remarked Patsy. “Guess they’ve given it up!”