sudden little chance had slipped away without helping his forlorn
cause a mite.

Three more miles or so had been passed over when suddenly there
flashed into his mind a brilliant idea that promised results. Just
ahead was a bridge over Juniper Creek, quite a good sized stream
that flowed into Harrapin River above Clifford.

Passing down the incline that led to the bridge, Frank managed to
make the car act wobbly, as though there might be something the
matter. And as it ran on to the boards of the bridge itself, he
brought it to a sudden stand.

"What's wrong here?" demanded Jim, angrily.

The engine had stopped working.

"I'll get out and see," observed Frank, suiting the action to the
word, and opening up the hood of the car.

"Don't you try to run away, son, if you know what's good for you,"
said the man, after Frank had used a wrench on the engine. "Try
cranking her again, and see if she refuses to work. There--hold
on, you fool--why, he's crazy, Bart!" for Frank had suddenly
whirled around, and taken a plunge over the side of the wooden
bridge into the cold waters of Juniper Creek!

[Illustration: FRANK HAD SUDDENLY PLUNGED OVER THE SIDE OF THE
BRIDGE.]