ack, keep him covered."

As the Mexican sprang to the crank, and started turning, Frank leaped
to the driver's seat of the flivver and manipulated throttle and
spark. With a clatter the engine turned over and began to race.

Closer came the bandits, their car slowing down as it approached.

Jack leaned far over the windshield, his weapon leveled at Remedios.

"Up on the hood," he shrieked. "Up with you, or I'll shoot you full of
holes."

Remedios threw himself sprawlingly over the hood.

The bandits' car had slowed almost to a stop, four or five lengths
away. Frank released the hand brake, pressed the clutch into low with
his foot, and shot ahead.

Shifting the clutch into high, Frank opened the throttle wide and the
old rattletrap seemed fairly to leap ahead, its wheels spurning the
ground. The lights of the other car which had theretofore seemed
dimmed were switched to full brightness. Before the blinding glare in
his eyes, Frank involuntarily ducked his head.

As his eyes left the road, the car swerved. A shot rang out from the
car of the bandits, ripping high and doing no damage.

"Look out, Frank. Swing her over," cried Jack in alarm.

Shouts of panic rose from the car of the bandits, too.

Too late.

There was a crash, the flivver lurched, then sped on. As rapidly as
possible Frank brought it to a stop and then stood up to look back and
view the damage.

Mr. Temple and Bob, in the rear seat, already were on their feet. Jack
stood beside Frank, peering into the shadows behind. The moon was in
its first quarter, low down and shed only a faint radiance. But even
by the wan light, it could be seen that something dire had happened to
the car of the bandits. It stood sideways across the road, leaning
drunkenly to one side. And to the ears of the boys came groans from a
number of dark figures in the road.

Gabby Pete, temporarily forgotten by the boys in the excitement,
galloped up, cheerful voiced.

"As neat a trick as ever I see," he cried approvingly to Frank. "You
tuk off their hind wheel jest like a knife cuttin' butter. They're
tumblin' around in the road, a half dozen of 'em. Hey, look out." And
Gabby Pete bent low on his horse as a bullet whistled overhead.
Another and another followed, and there were shouts of vengeance, and
imprecations.

"They're a-comin' to," cried Gabby Pete, slapping Angel Face on the
flank, so that the horse leaped forward with a snort. "I'm on my way."
And he disappea