As the car took the hill it was shadowed for some distance by large trees, which not only shut off their view of the pass, but prevented the soldiers seeing the car until it was comparatively near.
Nick Carter’s pistol was ready to his hand in the right pocket of his overcoat, and his two assistants had their weapons in their fingers.
What Phillips was doing was his own business, but there was a determined expression in his usually stolid face which promised well when the clash should come.
There was a dip toward the pass, too, so that the car was out of sight until it reached the brow of the last hill—always supposing it had not been sighted from the rise on which the boy’s home stood.
“We’ll coast down this one,” observed Nick. “If we can crash right through those fellows without having to stop and fight them, it will save time!”
“Bully!” roared Patsy. “Tear into them!”
Nick Carter switched off his power with a touch of the magneto key. Then, with his gears taken off, so that they were in neutral, he let the car surge down the long slope by its own momentum.
There was no noise from the big machine save for the faint rasp of the wide nonskid tires on the road.
Faster and faster it shot along, until, as they reached a speed of more than a mile a minute, the immense body began to sway from side to side in a way that made Phillips’ teeth chatter, as he clung to the side.
Chick and Patsy were too much interested in the prospect of a fight to care how fast they were going.