"Wow!" he shouted. "Yous ought t' seen dat! Spang has been holdin' on t' de seat wit' bot' hands, but he let go wit' one t' fire at us. De runabout jumped sideways an' he lost his pepper-box overboard. Come clost t' goin' hisself! Say, I wisht he had!"
The runabout was devouring the distance in remarkable style. It was now only twenty-five feet behind, and so near that the sand and pebbles kicked up by the flying rear wheels of the red car struck in the faces of Brisco and Spangler.
Spangler lowered his head. Brisco jerked the goggles down over his eyes.
"Stop!" he roared, "or I'll run into you!"
Honk, honk! tooted Matt defiantly.
Brisco swore and gritted his teeth. With his temper at fever heat, what did he care how he injured the runabout just so he evened his score with Motor Matt?
Closer and closer came the runabout. Josh measured the decreasing distance with his eyes.
"Ten feet! Five, Matt, five! She's up t' us, now—look out!"
Not knowing what was to happen, Josh curled over the back of the seat and hung on with both hands.
There was a slight jar, followed by a sudden slewing on the part of the runabout, a quick lessening of speed and the whirr of a racing engine.