is hill country. It rained two days ago."

She had steadily increased the speed again until the indicator kept
constantly around the forty-five mile mark. The speed was terrific and
made conversation almost impossible.

"Hadn't you better rest? You must be tired," he screamed above the
noise of the car.

"Arms are cramped," she replied, without lifting her eyes from the road
ahead. "We'll take gas at Hedgeport and walk around. We will lunch
somewhere near Hilton. We'll be over the worst of the road then."

"I wish I could help you," called McCarthy, after a long silence.

She shook her head, and, after the car had throbbed up the next incline
and was sailing, hawklike, down the opposite side, she said:

"You'll need your strength for the game. There's Hedgeport now."

Before them, set on the hillside, lay the little city. It seemed as if
the houses grew by magic as they rushed upon it. They flashed past a
few market wagons, passed another auto chugging along busily, and
slackened the pace as the car rolled upon the brick pavements and
toward the heart of the city.

"A hundred and thirty-one miles in a little over three hours," said
McCarthy, elated. "That leaves us one hundred and four miles and more
than four hours to make it in. We've won."

"The road has been perfect," Betty Tabor said. "For the next fifty
miles it is marked bad."

She turned quietly to ask questions of the mechanician, who was
overhauling and examining every part of the machine, and examining the
feed pipes. Another man was filling the tanks and using oil
plentifully.

"My hands and wrists are cramped and numb," she remarked, turning to
McCarthy.

"Let the man drive the rest of the way. He knows the road," he urged.

"And leave me--to miss the game?" she asked. "Not much. Rub my hands,
please."

She extended her strong, firm hand and McCarthy, bending over it,
massaged and slapped it vigorously.

"Don't break it, please," she said, laughing. "Take the other one."

"Both," he whispered, his voice full of meaning.

"All ready," announced the garage keeper. "I think she'll stand it
now."

"It's 11.10," said McCarthy. "If we get there by three."

"If we get there at all," she said, "even if you are late, you can get
into the game."

For five miles they sped along over perfect roads, then suddenly a long
stretch of new macadam loomed ahead. For three miles they lurched and
struggled, and were free again, but