round a curve. To his vision was disclosed a
plunging horse and a small, fair-haired atom of a boy clinging to his
neck. There was a forward plunge and the horse thundered on like mad along
a narrow slant of road with never a slackening of speed.

Kurt cranked up for pursuit, but his crude craft was not built on speed
lines, and he saw the distance fast eaten up between him and the frenzied
horse. Then, with tiger swiftness, Kingdon's car, a motor of make, passed
him, Gene at the wheel, Pen beside him. The sight gave him no hope. They
could doubtless overtake the horse, but they could not stop him and if
they could, the boy would be thrown.

Pen's clear young voice came like a clarion call:

"Stick tight, Francis! Burr-tight! We'll get you all right."

Gene steered the car to the cliff side of the road to prevent the peril of
a plunge by the horse.

When the long, low racing car was nearly up to the Mazeppa flier, a thrill
ran through Kurt as he saw Pen step out on the running board. He forgot
the boy's danger as he divined her purpose.

The car closed in on the horse. The girl leaned far out, snatched the boy
from the horse and climbed back into the car which now slowed up.

It was done in a second, so swiftly, so aptly that Kurt could only sit and
gape with the sort of fore-knowledge that it must come out all right, as
one gazes at a thrilling scene in a motion picture. When he came alongside
the car, Gene looked up with a challenging grin. Francis, though pale and
breathing quickly, wore a triumphant look. Pen's expression was entirely
normal.

Kurt tried to speak, but his voice was dry in his throat.

"I stuck on, didn't I?" clamored Francis in satisfied tone.

Then Kurt recovered and began to reprimand the lad, but a certain sparkle
in Pen's eyes as she clasped the lad to her restrained him.

He turned upon Gene.

"Did you know she was going to do that?"

"Sure!" was the confident reply. "I knew she could do it."

He flung Kingdon's racer into motion and slid on down the white ribbon of
road to the ranch, while Kurt's little machine rattled and creaked and
jolted along.

"He'll be sore at coming in after the black flag," chuckled Gene. "Kurt
ain't used to being second, but I don't often get a chance at this car."

Kurt didn't come up to the house all that day until long after the dinner
hour. He found Pen alone in the invitingly-furnished sitting room, the
amber light from a shaded lamp bringing o