As the road curved, struck a short straightaway, then curved again, the town swept vividly into view and again as quickly vanished.
At the most desperate part of the trail a rock had crumbled from the wall and rolled to the edge of the chasm. There it lay, almost under the nose of the rushing car.
The boy cast a despairing look into Motor Matt's set, determined face. All he saw was a swift gleam of the gray eyes.
Crash!
The car, skilfully guided so that it touched the inward side of the boulder, forced it from the edge and sent it bounding and smashing downward into the gulf.
A sharp breath tore through the boy's lips. Confidence again took possession of him. After that escape, what difficulty could come up that Motor Matt was not able to conquer?
Matt seemed to be made of steel. With one foot on the brake and both hands on the wheel, he kept rigidly to his work.
"How're they making it behind, Josh?" he called.
The boy knelt in his seat and looked back up the steep incline.
Fortune was riding with Brisco that day. But for that he must have been hurled from the trail in a dozen places.