Whether there was any one in his vicinity, or not, he did not take time to discover. Reaching the front of the car—which, by good luck, was pointing in the direction of the pike—he grabbed frantically at the crank, and gave it a heave.
Chuff, chuff, chuff-chuff! The sputter died impotently. Manipulating the switch, and the lever controlling the fuel supply, he tried again. This time the engine was successfully “turned over,” and took up its cycle.
“Hi, there!” called a voice from the direction of the stables. “Stop, I tell ye!”
Matt had no time for the approaching man, but leaped into the car, and was off. A detonation sounded above the noise of the laboring motor, and something whistled viciously past Matt’s ear.
But, by then, the lad’s blood was hot for success, and he would have dared anything.
Like a thing of life the red car leaped around the corner of the house, taking a sharp curve with two wheels in the air. Only a short distance separated the fleeing car from the gate, but between the gate and the car was one of the guards. Matt knew at a glance it was not Barney. The chances were that it was Miles.
“Halt!” yelled the man.
“Get out of the way,” shouted Matt, “or I’ll run over you!”
The man got out of the way, hurling himself from the road barely in the nick of time. He did not appear to be armed; at any rate, no lead followed Matt.
But where was McGlory? Matt had no sooner begun to worry about his chum than the cowboy, breathless from running, staggered from behind a clump of lilac bushes and flung up his hands.