“Well, they’ve let out another notch, all right!” called Hanky Panky, from his position in the rear.
“And believe me that’s some racer of a car they’re running!” exploded Josh; “why, it can give us a run for our money, try as we may to get away.”
Rod had already discovered this, though saying nothing as yet. He knew that it was not safe to put Hanky Panky to a severe test, for the other was apt to get a little rattled, and while going at a mad pace any sort of accident was likely to be serious.
They continued to speed along at this merry clip for a brief time longer. Then the rear guard reported that the pursuing car seemed to be holding its own.
“Hadn’t we ought to go faster, Rod?” he besought the leader; “I know you’re only holding in on account of me, but forget that, won’t you?”
But Rod knew better than that. He was aware of his chum’s failing, and dared not risk too much. There had been times in the past when he allowed the limit of speed to be taken, but always with serious misgivings.
“Leave it to me, Hanky,” he called out encouragingly; “I’ll fix up a game that will cook their goose for them.”
“Sure you will, Rod,” replied the other at the top of his voice, for the trio of machines made considerable racket as they pushed along in close formation.
Sometimes the dust raised by their passage completely hid the pursuing red car; then a little puff of wind would waft it away, so that the motorcycle boys could easily see the object of their concern.
Past humble homes of the Belgian peasants they rushed. Ducks and chickens and dogs had to get out of the way in great style in order to avoid being run over. This was one of the things Rod had in mind when deciding not to increase their speed any further; a squawking hen has been the cause of a “spill” with many an unlucky motorcyclist; and every one has noticed how persistently “Biddy” will try to cross the road despite the peril, if her home happens to be on the other side.