Matt thought of Dashington. In spite of Dashington's rapid past, there was something about the young fellow that was attractive, and Matt was beginning to like him.
It would have been a sad commentary on the course of events if Dashington was to be shot down just on the threshold of a better career.
In order to signal to his friends the location of the car, Matt honked loud and long.
Again came a rifle shot, this time much closer, and Matt heard the whistle of the ball through the air.
That meant, if it meant anything, that Dashington was coming toward the road, and that Whistler and Bangs were following him and shooting as they came. Matt dared not stop the car, for there would be no time to crank up and he did not dare trust the engine to take the spark, even after a short stop.
Presently, to Matt's anxious ears came a crashing of bushes and a sound of hard breathing. The noise came from a little way ahead, and he drove the car forward at a faster speed.
He could hear voices now, coming out of the recesses of the timber—the voices of Whistler and Bangs lifted excitedly.
"There he goes, Whistler!"
"Nail him, then, Bangs! He's got the loot and is trying to make a getaway with it."