g about, Hal sprang to his feet and
climbed into the front seat, where the chauffeur was making heroic
efforts to keep the car steady, a stream of blood the while pouring from
a wound in his head.

"Give me the wheel!" cried Hal, as the car lurched from one side of the
road to the other, at the imminent risk of turning over.

He climbed in front of the chauffeur and his strong hands grasped the
steering wheel just as the man's body relaxed and he fell back
unconscious.

Bullets were still flying thick and fast, but the range was too great now
for accurate shooting. Still, there was always the chance that one of the
leaden messengers would hit Hal and end disastrously the career of the
flying machine.

Without even checking the speed of the auto, Hal called to Chester:

"The chauffeur is badly wounded. Pull him into the rear of the car!"

"Slow down!" came the answer. "We can't pull him from beneath you while
going at this terrific speed."

"Slow down nothing!" shouted Hal. "We don't want to be captured after
this. You'll have to pull him out!"

It was no small task, this driving a flying automobile, while a man in
whose lap he was almost sitting was being pulled from under him by hands
from behind.

Once Hal lost his balance. Throwing out one hand, he grasped the side of
the car, and that alone saved him and his friends, too, for that matter.

The car swerved to one side of the road, and just at that instant a sharp
curve came into view.

With a desperate effort Hal regained his balance, steadied the
machine, and, without even trying to slacken his speed, took the curve
on two wheels.

"Whew!" he muttered to himself. "That was a close shave!"

By this time the body of the chauffeur had been pulled into the back of
the car, and Hal slid into his seat.

"Are you all right?" came Chester's voice from the rear.

"All right now," replied Hal.

"You can slow down a bit," shouted Lieutenant Anderson. "We are out of
range. We are safe enough now."

"We are safe from bullets, but we are not safe from pursuit," Hal called
back. "Do I keep to this road?"

"Yes," came the reply, "if you don't run into a ditch or a
telegraph pole."

"Oh, I'll run it, all right; and I'll run it on the road, too," Hal
answered grimly. "I've made a record on a worse road than this."

"Is the chauffeur badly hurt?" he called back after a few minutes.

"No, I don't think so," replied the French captain's voice. "Just a
scalp w