"That's what I counted on," Tom said. "We'll get out, even if we do fall."
But Tank A was not destined to fall. In another moment her entire weight rested on the novel and transportable bridge Tom Swift had evolved. Then, as the gripping ends of the girders sank farther into the soil, the tank went on her way.
Slowly, at half speed, she crawled over the steel beams, making progress over the creek and as safely above the water as though on a regularly constructed bridge.
On and on she went. Now her entire weight was over the middle of the temporary structures. If they were going to give way at all, it would be at this point. But they did not give. The latticed and triangular steel, than which there is no stronger form of construction, held up the immense weight of Tank A, and on this novel bridge she propelled herself across Tinkle Creek.
"Well, the worst is over," remarked Ned, as he saw the nose of the tank project beyond the farthermost bank.
"Yes, even if they collapse now nothing much can happen," Tom answered. "It won't be any worse than wallowing down into a trench and out again. But I think the spanners will hold."
And hold they did! They held, giving way not a fraction of an inch, until the tank was safely across, and then, after a little delay, due to a jamming of one of the recovery cables, the spanners were picked up, slid into the receiving sockets, and the great war engine was ready to proceed again.
"Hurrah!" cried Ned. "She did it, Tom, old man!" and he clapped his chum resoundingly on the back.
"She certainly did!" was the answer. "But you needn't knock me apart telling me that. Go easy!"
"Bless my apple pie!" cried Mr. Damon, who was as much pleased as either of the boys, "this is what I call great!"