He was not very much hurt, apparently, although from his flow of language his temper must have been severely injured. Besides, he had lost ten seconds—no very serious matter, considering the usual speed of the runabout—but Brisco was anxious for a rapid start and a quick finish for the chase.
As he yanked the lever savagely, the popping from up the road sounding like the rapid discharge of a Gatling gun. Motor Matt had turned the Red Flier with his customary celerity, and was off on the high gear with the muffler cut out.
"By thunder," howled the frantic Spangler, "oncet I ketch that Motor Matt I'll wring his neck fer him!"
"I'll help you," answered Brisco vindictively. There was a patch of skin gone from his forehead and a little dribble of red was flowing down his cheek.
"If they wasn't out o' sight," growled Spangler, "I'd pepper 'em."
"What's the use of peppering them?" scowled Brisco. "We'll climb right over 'em in less'n five minutes."
"Do it!" cried Spangler, as they shot ahead recklessly.
"Do what?" asked Brisco, just missing a boulder by a hair's breadth.
"Why, climb over 'em," snorted Spangler. "Run 'em down an' shove 'em inter the rocks! Let's hev a smash, with that young whelp right in the middle of it. He's made us trouble enough!"
"Don't be a fool, Spang!" returned Brisco. "If we ran into them we might smash the runabout. We've got use for this machine—after we clean up on Legree and this Motor Matt."