"See, I was right!" screamed the woman. "Bandits! Bandits! Oh, Henry—save me!"
Wildly she clung to him, as Stoddard mounted the running-board, but before he could make another move, Professor Prescott gasped out:
"The Cossacks! Quick!"
And jumping down, he wheeled to face the two leering Russians, not forty feet down the road. Pistols levelled, they were advancing stolidly.
Stoddard half-raised his own weapon, then turned to see if the car was within range of the return fire it would bring. It was—but not for long.
With a furious chattering of bands, as Henry gave it the gas, the decrepit vehicle gained the top of the hill and disappeared from view down the far slope, and the last thing he saw of it was a dusty plate flapping under its tail-light.
It was a Texas license!
Then, turning back, he lifted his automatic; but it was too late. The Cossacks were on them.
In answer to a guttural command, he dropped the weapon and raised his hands, as the professor had already done.