"Jake, you can lambaste me if I ever saw the likes," replied Anderson. "But it looks bad. Let's rustle after that car."
As Anderson clambered into his seat once more he looked dark and grim.
"Catch that car ahead," he tersely ordered Nash. Whereupon the driver began to go through his usual motions in starting.
"Lenore, what do you make of this?" queried Anderson, turning to show her a small cake of some gray substance, soft and wet to the touch.
"I don't know what it is," replied Lenore, wonderingly. "Do you?"
"No. An' I'd give a lot—Say, Nash, hurry! Overhaul that car!"
Anderson turned to see why his order had not been obeyed. He looked angry. Nash made hurried motions. The car trembled, the machinery began to whir—then came a tremendous buzzing roar, a violent shaking of the car, followed by sharp explosions, and silence.
"You stripped the gears!" shouted Anderson, with the red fading out of his face.
"No; but something's wrong," replied Nash. He got out to examine the engine.
Anderson manifestly controlled strong feeling. Lenore saw Jake's hand go to her father's shoulder. "Boss," he whispered, "we can't ketch thet car now." Anderson resigned himself, averted his face so that he could not see Nash, who was tinkering with the engine. Lenore believed then that Nash had deliberately stalled the engine or disordered something, so as to permit the escape of the strange car ahead. She saw it turn off the long, straight road ahead and disappear to the right. After some minutes' delay Nash resumed his seat and started the car once more.