"Look out!" suddenly cried Blake. "Hold fast!"

At first Joe imagined that his chum was going to make another
curve in the road, but none was at hand. Then, as Blake watched
his chum's right hand, he saw him slowly turn the movable rubber
handle that controls the gasoline supply. Blake was turning on
more power, though now the machine was running at a higher rate
than Joe or Blake had ever traveled before.

With a jump like that of a dog released from the leash, the motor
cycle seemed to spring forward. Indeed Joe must needs hold on, and
as he was not so favorably seated as was his chum, it became a
matter of no little trouble to maintain a grip with his legs and
hands.

"We--sure--are--going--some!" muttered Joe. But he did not open
his mouth any more. It was too dangerous at the speed they had
attained. A jolt over a stone, or a bit of wood, might send his
teeth through his tongue if he parted his jaws. So he kept quiet.

Ahead of them the carriage swayed and swerved. The horse was a
speedy one, but no creature of bone, blood, muscles and sinews can
distance a fire-spitting and smoke-eating machine like a motor
cycle. The distance was gradually being cut down.

But now, just ahead of them, was the curve, immediately beyond
which was the broken bridge, and also the temporary one, shunting
off at a sharp angle from the main highway.

"Look out! Hold on!" once more cried Blake, speaking in quick