which the wind easily carried to the watching Joe Duncan and Blake
Stewart.

On the road below them, and past the boys, swept the swaying
carriage in a cloud of dust. As it was momentarily lost to sight
behind a grassy knoll, Blake cried:

"The broken bridge, Joe! The broken bridge! They're headed right
for it!"

"That's right!" exclaimed his chum. "How can we stop them?"

Once having recognized the danger, the next thought that came to
the minds of Blake and Joe, trained for emergencies, was how to
avert it. They looked at each other for a second, not to gain a
delay, but to decide on the best possible plan of saving the
imperiled men.

"The broken bridge," murmured Blake again. "That horse will never
be able to make the turn into the temporary road, going at the
speed he is!"

"No, and he's probably so frightened that he'll not try it,"
agreed Joe. "He'll crash right through the barrier fence, and--"

He did not finish his sentence, but Blake knew what his chum
meant.

About half a mile beyond the farmhouse the road ran over a bridge
that spanned a deep and rocky ravine. About a week before there