outstretched chin.

Foam flecked the beast's neck and shoulders. It was evident that
the horse had been running for some distance, yet its speed was
still that of the thoroughly frightened runaway.

The road at the point where the animal had passed Custer was cut
from the hillside. At the left an embankment rose steeply to a
height of ten or fifteen feet. On the right there was a drop of a
hundred feet or more into a wooded ravine. Ahead, the road
apparently ran quite straight and smooth for a considerable
distance.

Barney Custer knew that so long as the road ran straight the girl
might be safe enough, for she was evidently an excellent horsewoman;
but he also knew that if there should be a sharp turn to the left
ahead, the horse in his blind fright would in all probability dash
headlong into the ravine below him.

There was but a single thing that the man might attempt if he were
to save the girl from the almost certain death which seemed in store
for her, since he knew that sooner or later the road would turn, as
all mountain roads do. The chances that he must take, if he failed,
could only hasten the girl's end. There was no alternative except to
sit supinely by and see the fear-crazed horse carry its rider into
eternity, and Barney Custer was not the sort for that role.

Scarcely had the beast come abreast of him than his foot leaped to
the accelerator. Like a frightened deer the gray roadster sprang
forward in pursuit. The road was narrow. Two machines could not have