a vehicle it would have
been a magnificent course for automobiles. But the weeds and the dusty
flowers and the mesquite boughs and arms of cactus brushed the car as it
sped by.

Faster, faster, faster! That old resistless weight began to press
Madeline back; the old incessant bellow of wind filled her ears. Link
Stevens hunched low over the wheel. His eyes were hidden under leather
helmet and goggles, but the lower part of his face was unprotected. He
resembled a demon, so dark and stone-hard and strangely grinning was he.
All at once Madeline realized how matchless, how wonderful a driver was
this cowboy. She divined that weakening could not have been possible to
Link Stevens. He was a cowboy, and he really was riding that car, making
it answer to his will, as it had been born in him to master a horse. He
had never driven to suit himself, had never reached an all-satisfying
speed until now. Beyond that his motive was to save Stewart--to
make Madeline happy. Life was nothing to him. That fact gave him
the superhuman nerve to face the peril of this ride. Because of his
disregard of self he was able to operate the machine, to choose the
power, the speed, the guidance, the going with the best judgment and
highest efficiency possible. Madeline knew he would get her to Mezquital
in time to save Stewart or he would kill her in the attempt.

The white, narrow road flashed out of the foreground, slipped with
inconceivable rapidity under the car. When she marked a clump of cactus
far ahead it seemed to shoot at her, to speed behind her even the
instant she noticed it. Nevertheless, Madeline knew Link was not putting
the car to its limit. Swiftly as he was flying, he held something in
reserve. But he took the turns of the road as if he knew the way was
cleared before him. He trusted to a cowboy's luck. A wagon in one of
those curves, a herd of cattle, even a frightened steer, meant a wreck.
Madeline never closed her eyes at these fateful moments. If Link could
stake himself, the others, and her upon such chance, what could not she
stake with her motive? So while the great car hummed and thrummed,
and darted round the curves on two wheels, and sped on like a bullet,
Madeline lived that ride, meant to feel it to the uttermost.

But it was not all swift going. A stretch of softer ground delayed
Link, made the car labor and pant and pound and grind through gravel.
Moreover, the cactus plants assumed an alarming ability to impede
p