A daring plan rushed through the cowboy's head. Why not crank up the automobile's engine and rush down the ravine?
There was a chance that he could reach the road. If Grattan or Pardo got in his way, he could run them down; if they drew off to one side and fired at him, he could trust to luck.
"Nothing venture, nothing win!" muttered the reckless cowboy, and pushed through the vines and bushes and jumped for the front of the car.
An angle of the ravine hid Grattan and Pardo. One look made McGlory certain on this point, and another look showed him the rough surface which the automobile had to get over. There was a fine chance to blow up a tire or come to grief against a jutting rock, but the cowboy had staked everything on a single throw, and he was not to be frightened by difficulties.
He gave the crank a couple of turns, and the engine answered with a fierce sputter and an increasing rattle of explosions.
That sound, if Grattan and Pardo were near enough to hear, advertised plainly what McGlory was about. He lost not a moment in scrambling into the driver's seat and getting the car to going.
The automobile started with a jump, and lurched and swayed over the uneven ground like a ship in a storm. Bending to the steering wheel, McGlory nursed the car onward with the spark.
The machine rounded the turn. The road was in plain view—but so were Grattan and Pardo.
Consternation was written large in the faces of the two thieves. The car was being hurled toward them, plunging and buck-jumping as it met the high places, and the two men had to throw themselves sideways to clear the path.
"Stop!" roared Grattan, drawing a revolver.