cars, flying over the track.

"We're too late," said Paul.

"Not yet," answered Cora. "We can take a shorter route, even if
they can go faster than we can."

She was already running on third speed, and the motor was taking
about all the gasolene it could use. She adjusted the spark to give
the best service, and now, as an additional means of inducing speed,
she cut out the muffler. The explosions of the motor played a tattoo
on the dusty road.

"I'm going to turn here!" cried Cora as she swung around a corner.
"Look out!"

Paul needed no warning, for he was an expert autoist. The machine
skidded a bit and tilted somewhat, but was soon flying down the
straight, level stretch.

"I cannot understand why Sid Wilcox wants to run in a cross-country
race--and for nothing," said Cora.

"Because he knows I want the place. He hates me and wants to make
trouble for me."

"Is that so? Then we have a double reason for beating him. And I
think we'll do it. His train has to wait for the accommodation to
pass it at the junction. We'll gain on him there."