“Oh! well, the worst is yet to come!” grinned Bud Morgan. “You see, we’re going on the level now, and there happens to be some pretty tough old hills which have to be surmounted before we reach our haven. Hills can play hob with most old worn-out cars. I’m not boasting any yet, Blake, you notice; hold your horses, and we’ll see what happens.”
For some little time they continued to move along fairly well, and a number of miles were placed behind them. Indeed, they had even managed to climb several good-sized elevations; and, although once it seemed as though the machinery was about to give up with a last groan, clever Bud managed to pull the machine to the top of the rise, so that they could coast down the declivity, which they did in great style.
“She can run like a bird, once you cut the power off, and let her coast,” shrilled the enthusiastic pilot, as they continued to “scoot” along the level below.
“Whee! but look what’s ahead of us?” cried Blake, in an appalled tone.
“Oh! that hill isn’t half as bad as it seems,” Bud told him. “I’m going to take it on the run, and get to the top, all right, watch me!”
He made an heroic effort to accomplish the end he had in view, and, in fact, did manage to negotiate more than three-fourths of the climb. Then suddenly the engine gave up the ghost, and only through a frantic use of the brake did the pilot keep the car from starting backward down the steep incline.
“Well, here we are, held up!” he remarked, calmly; “it’s up to me to get busy and see what’s wrong.”
“I’ll help you to it, Bud,” Hugh told him, stripping off his coat, and donning one of the old linen dusters Bud had thoughtfully fetched along for just this purpose, since he suspected they would find good use for it.
They were a busy bunch for the next hour, the two boys most of the time working under the car and Blake hovering near, growing more and more anxious as the precious minutes slipped past.
“How far have we come, do you reckon, Hugh?” he asked once.