But almost before Joe realized it he had flashed over the water, and he was again speeding over the valley itself, with hard ground, rocks, stones and sharp-pointed trees beneath him.
Of course, in case Joe's machine did leave the rail he might fall on the other side. There would be comparative safety, save that he might be badly cut and bruised by the motor-cycle falling on top of him.
On and on he sped. True to the rail he held the front wheel. He was at the height of his speed now, and every second added to his safety, for the faster he went the nearer true to a straight line could he hold the machine.
"Almost over," thought Joe. A quick glance ahead showed him where the trestle came to an end. He had nearly made good his boast.
It was a good mile across the high trestle, and Joe said afterward that he made it in less than a minute. And he must have done so. That rate of speed was necessary in order to keep the machine straight.
Joe looked down. No longer did he see below him the open ties.
He was over the trestle!
He had done what he had said he would do, and crossed on the rail.
With a movement of the handle bars he sent the front wheel down on the cinder bed. He could ride on a broader path now. A little jar, as first one wheel and then the other left the rail, told him that his daring ride was over.
Joe slowed down, and turned to wave a reassuring hand to the crowd at the other end of the trestle. They waved their hands in return, and doubtless they cheered, though Joe could not hear them, as the wind was in the wrong direction.