s hard on
transmission and brakes and tires, and started with a jerk that gave a
snap to the necks of his three companions, cutting out the muffler as
he shifted swiftly through the gears into direct drive. When the main
street was reached the reckless youth scarcely slowed down at all to
take the turn, and the car came near skidding into the gutter.

"Isn't he the careless creature!" laughed Snead. "He always drives
this way, and he's never had an accident."

Past Roger Eliot's home and the white Methodist church they whizzed,
the automobile gathering speed on the down grade and obtaining enough
momentum to carry it a considerable distance even though the power
should be cut off and the brakes applied sufficiently hard to lock the
rear wheels. With the discordant electric horn snarling a demand for a
clear road, the foolish young driver tore up the dust through the very
heart of the village, regardless of his own safety and absolutely
ignoring the safety or rights of others. The postoffice spun by on the
left; the machine shot across the small square; down the steepest grade
of the hill it flew toward the bridge.

Despite the fact that he pretended to be as serene and unconcerned as
his companions, who, perhaps, did not realize the danger, Herbert
Rackliff was not fully at his ease; for he knew that such driving
through a place where there were intersecting streets with blind
corners was folly indeed.

As the bridge was approached the road swung to the left. At the very
end of the bridge an old building cut off the view of the greater part
of the structure from any one approaching from the main portion of the
village.

The "bump" of which Newbert had given warning was struck with
sufficient force to send the boys bouncing from their seats, and the
shock seemed to disturb Foxhall's hold on the steering wheel, for the
car swerved unpleasantly. The young driver brought it back with a
yank, and then----

"Look out!" screamed Herbert, jumping up in the tonneau.

A woman of middle age, seated in a rickety old wagon, with a child on
either side of her, was driving a young and half-broken horse into
Oakdale. The young horse snorted, attempted to turn round, and then
began to back up, cramping the wagon across the bridge. The woman
struggled vainly with the reins, in a perfect panic of terror, and the
children screamed, clinging to her.

Foxhall knew he could not stop the car, and to his credit let it be
said