Off he went. Joe held the handles firm, and his eye was fixed on that shining strip of steel along which—if he had luck—he would soon be speeding.
He opened up the throttle wide. He wanted speed and he needed it as quickly as he could get it, for on speed alone could he depend to keep the machine on the narrow steel path.
Joe heard a shout behind him, and, almost before he knew it, he was at the end of the runway and his front wheel was on the rail.
"So far so good!" thought Joe grimly. If he could only keep the machine there all would be well.
And then began such a ride as probably never before was witnessed. For Joe Strong, holding his machine with firm muscles, his nerves as quiet as only he knew how to make them, his eyes fixed on that shiny strip of steel, was driving his motor-cycle across the high trestle on a single rail.
Below him, at his right hand, was the deep valley, more than a hundred feet down. It was covered with trees and rocks, with here and there a grassy patch.
"If I fall on that side I hope I can pick out a bit of turf to land on," thought Joe. But he did not intend to fall.
Straight and true he held the front wheel. It needed no pressure on the handle bars. It would keep straight of itself now, for the motor-cycle was going at great speed. That alone would keep it in a true course if no pressure from Joe swerved it. And his hands were on the bars with as delicate a touch as a woman might have used.
In about half a minute Joe was out over the stream which the trestle spanned.
"This would be the best place of all to take a tumble," mused the lad. He knew if he did fall here he would at least have a chance for his life. For he could kick the machine away from him, and dive into the water. And he felt that it was not too high a fall to take with comparative safety if there was any depth at all to the stream.