"Take these Dakota roads, when they're neither too wet nor too dry, and they're hard to beat. We're going to lose time, though, going around the sloughs."
"Sloughs?" queried Matt.
"Just bog holes," went on Black. "They gully the prairie, here and there, have no inlet or outlet, and the water rises and falls in 'em like tides of the ocean. Queer, and I don't think the rise and fall have ever been explained. A wagon with high wheels can spraddle through, but low wheels and a lot of weight have to go round. But the car ahead will have to go around, too. There's one of the sloughs, just ahead. We'll begin going around it right here."
Having been for several years in the real estate business, selling farms up and down the Jim River, Black had an accurate knowledge of the country.
Three extra miles were added to the journey by going around the slough north of Parkhurst. But this was a whole lot better than taking a chance and miring down.
"Did you know Harry Traquair, Mr. Black?" Matt asked, when they were once more in the road and forging ahead.
"I did," answered Black, "and he was one of the finest fellows you ever met. Still, for all that, I thought he was a little bit 'cracked' on the flying-machine question. He was always of an inventive turn, and he built his first aëroplane in his head, up on his farm in Wells County, long before he ever came to Jimtown and built one of canvas, and spruce, and wire guys. The Traquairs have had pretty hard sledding for the last three years. Mrs. Traquair had all the faith in the world in her husband, but she was possessed with the idea that some accident was going to happen to him, and she was never around when he flew the aëroplane. Too bad Harry Traquair had to be killed just as he was about to give his machine the first government test."
"That's the way luck runs, sometimes," said Matt. "What town's that?" he added, as they whisked through another cluster of lights.
"Buchanan," answered Black. "Say, but we're coming! The next place is Pingree, then Edmunds, then Melville. After Melville we'll swoop into Carrington, the biggest town between Jamestown and the lake. Here's where I'm going to hit 'er up for the last ounce of power in her cylinders. Hold on to your teeth, everybody!"
More gasoline and a faster spark hurled the car onward in a way that made Ping chatter and hang to the rail behind the front seats.