uessed. The leading car slowed a trifle in
rounding a bend; as Carshaw careened into view a revolver-shot rang out,
and a bullet drilled a neat hole in the wind-screen, making a noise like
the sharp crack of a whip. Simultaneously came a scream!

That must be Winifred's cry of terror in his behalf. The sound nerved
him anew. He saw red. A second shot, followed by a wilder shriek, spat
lead somewhere in the bonnet. Carshaw set his teeth, gave the engine
every ounce of power, and the two chariots of steel went raging,
reckless of consequences, along the road.

There must be a special Providence that looks after chauffeurs, as well
as after children and drunkards, for at some places the road, though
wide enough, was so dismal with shadow that if any danger lurked within
the darkness it would not have been seen in time to be avoided.

"Drunkenness" is, indeed, the word to describe the state of mind of the
two drivers by this time--a heat to be on, a wrath against obstacles, a
storm in the blood, and a light in the eyes. Voles would have whirled
through a battalion of soldiers on the march, if he had met them, and
would have hissed curses at them as he pitched over their bodies. He
knew how to handle an automobile, having driven one over the rough
tracks of the Rockies, so this well-kept road offered no difficulties.
For five minutes the cars raged ahead, passed through a sleeping village
street and down a hill into open country beyond.

No sound was made by their occupants, whose minds and purposes remained
dark one to the other. Voles might have fancied himself chased by the
flight of witches who harried Tam o' Shanter, while Carshaw might have
been hunting a cargo of ghosts; only the running hum of the cars droned
its music along the highway, with a staccato accompaniment of
revolver-shots and Winifred's appeals to heaven for aid. Meantime, the
rear car still gained on the one in front. And, on a sudden, Carshaw was
aware of a shouting, though he could not make out the words. It was Mick
the Wolf, who had clambered into the tonneau and was bellowing:

"Pull up, you--Pull up, or I'll get you sure!"

Nor was the threat a waste of words, for he had hardly shouted when
again a bullet flicked past Carshaw's head.

Just then a bend of the road and a patch of woodland hid the two cars
from each other; but they had hardly come out upon a reach of straight
road again when another shot was fired. Carshaw, however, was now
cr