They came to a hill—a steepish kind of a hill, too—and they went over it without a change of gear. Motor Matt laughed exultantly.
"Took it on the high speed!" he cried. "A car that can do that is a corker."
On the opposite side of the hill, as they were scorching down with the speedometer needle playing around the fifty-eight mark, a team and wagon containing a farmer and his family were almost backed off the road. Matt tampered with the brakes, but the car was going too fast to feel the bind of the brake grip.
"Never mind!" cried Burton, from his place at Matt's side. "That outfit is going to the show to-night. If I see 'em, I'll pass 'em all in with fifty-cent chairs. Now, boy, hit 'er up. I've got to recover my property before night sets in, and this may be a long chase."
"Long chase!" yelped McGlory derisively from the tonneau. "How can it be a long chase when we're going like this? Hang on to your hair, Burton! Mile-a-minute Matt's at the steering wheel."
[CHAPTER XI.]
THE PAPER TRAIL.
The coils hummed merrily to the six-cylinder accompaniment. The wind whistled and sang in the ears of the three who were plunging along at a speed which was bound to get them somewhere in short order.
Then, as might be expected, something happened. It was no accident to the car. The road spread apart in two equally well-traveled branches, and Matt shut off and came to a stop at the forks.