LITMIR.BIZ

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happening there, for while many of the parents of the young ladies owned such machines, Glenwood was far away from home and so were the autos.

      Edna Black, called Ned Ebony, and regarded as Tavia’s most intimate friend, insisted that Tavia looked like a little brown sparrow, as she flew off, with the streamers of her brown veil flying like wings. Molly Richards, nick-named Dick, and always “agin’ th’ government” like the foreigner in politics, declared that the girls “were not in it” with the boys, for, as she expressed it, “girls always do look like animated rag-bags in an automobile.”

      “Boys just put themselves on the seat and stay put,” she announced, “but girls – they seem to float above the car, and they give me the shivers!”

      “All the same,” interrupted Cologne, “the damsels manage to hang on.”

      “And Dorothy was a picture,” ventured Nita Brant, the girl given to “excessive expletive ejaculations,” according to the records of the Nick Association, the official club of the Juniors.

      So the Fire Bird, with its gay little party, flew over the hills of Glenwood. Dorothy was agreeably surprised to find her cousins just as good natured and just as boy-like as they had been when she had last seen them, and they, in turn, complimented her on her improved appearance.

      “You look younger though you talk older,” Ned assured Dorothy, with a nice regard for the feminine feeling relative to age.

      “And Tavia looks – looks – how?” stammered Nat, with a significant look at his elder brother.

      “Search me!” replied the other evasively, determined not to be trapped by Nat into any “expert opinion.”

      “Beyond words!” finished Nat, with a glance of unstinted admiration at his companion.

      “Bad as that?” mocked Tavia. “The girls do call me ‘red head’ and ‘brick-top.’ Yes, even ‘carroty’ is thrown at me when I do anything to make Ned mad. You know that’s the girl,” she hurried to add, “the girl – Edna Black – Ned Ebony for short, you know. She’s the jolliest crowd – ”

      “How many of her?” asked Ned, pretending to be ignorant of Tavia’s school vernacular.

      “Legion,” was the enthusiastic answer, which elastic comment settled the question of Edna Black, for the time being, at least.

      The roads through Glenwood wound up and down like thread on a spool. Scarcely did the Fire Bird find itself on the top of a hill before it went scooting down to the bottom. Then another would loom up and it had to be done all over again.

      This succession of steep grades, first tilting up and then down, kept Ned busy throwing the clutches in and out, taking the hills on the low gear, then slipping into full speed ahead as a little level place was reached, and again throwing off the power and drifting down while the brakes screeched and hummed as if in protest at being made to work so hard. The two girls, meanwhile, were busy speculating on what would happen if an “something” should give way, or if the powerful car should suddenly refuse to obey the various levers, handles, pedals and the maze of things of which Ned seemed to have perfect command.

      “This reminds me of the Switch-back Railway,” remarked Nat, as the machine suddenly lurched first up, and then down a rocky “bump.”

      “Y-y-y-es!” agreed Ned, shouting to be heard above the pounding of the muffler. “It’s quite like a trip on the Scenic Railway – pretty pictures and all.”

      “I hope it isn’t dangerous,” ventured Dorothy, who had too vivid a remembrance of the narrow escape on a previous ride, to enjoy the possibility of a second adventure.

      “No danger at all,” Ned hastened to assure her.

      “A long hill at last!” exclaimed Nat, as the big strip of brown earth uncoiled before them, like so many miles of ribbon dropped from the sky, with a knot somewhere in the clouds. “A long hill for sure. None of your dinky little two-for-a-cent kinds this time!”

      “Oh!” gasped Dorothy, involuntarily catching at Ned’s arm. “Be careful, Ned!”

      Ned took a firmer grip on the steering wheel, as he finished throwing out the gear and shutting off the power, while the spark lever sent out a shrill sound as he swung it in a segment over the rachet.

      The hill was not only remarkably steep, but consisted of a series of turns and twists. Down the grade the car plunged in spite of the brakes that Ned jammed on, with all his force, to prevent a runaway. He was a little pale, but calm, and with his steady hands on the wheel, clinging firmly to it in spite of the way it jerked about, as if trying to get free, he guided the Fire Bird down, the big machine swerving from right to left, but ever following where the lad directed it.

      As they swung around a turn in the descending road a clump of trees obstructed the view for a moment. Then the car glided beyond them, gathering speed every moment, in spite of the brakes.

      “The creek!” yelled Tavia in sudden terror, pointing to where a small, but deep stream flowed under the road. “There’s the creek and the bridge is broken!”

      The water was spanned by a frail structure, generally out of order and in a state of uncertain repair. It needed but a glance to show that it was now in course of being mended, for there was a pile of material near it. Work, however, had been temporarily suspended.

      Then, there flashed into view a warning signboard announcing that the old planking of the bridge had been taken up to allow the putting down of new, and that the bridge was impassable. The four horror-stricken occupants of the car saw this at a glance.

      “Stop the car!” cried Tavia.

      “Can’t!” answered Ned hoarsely. “I’ve got the emergency brake on, but it doesn’t seem to hold.”

      “It’s all right,” called Nat. “I saw a wagon go over the bridge when we were on our way to the school this afternoon.”

      “But it crossed on some loose, narrow planks!” Tavia gasped. “I saw them put the boards there yesterday when we were out for our walk! I forgot all about them! Oh! Stop the car! We can’t cross on the planks! We’ll all be killed!”

      Ned leaned forward, pulling with all his strength on the brake handle, as if to force it a few more notches back and make the steel band grip tighter the whirring wheels that were screeching out a shrill protest at the friction.

      “I – I can’t do it!” he exclaimed almost in a whisper.

      The Fire Bird was dashing along the steep incline. Ned clung firmly to the steering wheel, for though there was terrible danger ahead, it was also close at hand should the auto swerve from the path. His face was white, and Nat’s forced breathing sounded loud in the ears of the terror-stricken girls.

      The bridge was but a few hundred feet away. The auto skidded along as if under power, though the gasolene was shut off.

      “There’s a plank across the entrance! Maybe that will stop us!” cried Nat.

      “Never in this world!” replied Ned, in despairing tones.

      Dorothy was sending up wordless prayers, but she did not stir from her seat, sitting bravely still, and not giving way to useless terror. Nor did Tavia, once the first shock was over, for she saw how quiet Dorothy was, and she too, sank back among the cushions, waiting for the crash she felt would soon come.

      “If some boards are only down!” murmured Ned. “Maybe I can steer – ”

      The next instant the Fire Bird had crashed through the obstruction plank. It splintered it as if it were a clothes pole, and, a moment later, rumbled out upon the frail, loose planking, laid length-wise across the floorless bridge, as a path for the repair teams.

      “Oh! Oh!” shrieked the two girls in one breath.

      Nat jumped up from his seat, and, leaning forward, grasped his brother by the shoulders.

      Then what followed was always a mystery to the four who had an involuntary part in it. The front wheels took the narrow planks, and clung there as Ned held the steering circle

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