Mr. Temple and Bob, in the rear seat, already were on their feet. Jack
stood beside Frank, peering into the shadows behind. The moon was in
its first quarter, low down and shed only a faint radiance. But even
by the wan light, it could be seen that something dire had happened to
the car of the bandits. It stood sideways across the road, leaning
drunkenly to one side. And to the ears of the boys came groans from a
number of dark figures in the road.
Gabby Pete, temporarily forgotten by the boys in the excitement,
galloped up, cheerful voiced.
"As neat a trick as ever I see," he cried approvingly to Frank. "You
tuk off their hind wheel jest like a knife cuttin' butter. They're
tumblin' around in the road, a half dozen of 'em. Hey, look out." And
Gabby Pete bent low on his horse as a bullet whistled overhead.
Another and another followed, and there were shouts of vengeance, and
imprecations.
"They're a-comin' to," cried Gabby Pete, slapping Angel Face on the
flank, so that the horse leaped forward with a snort. "I'm on my way."
And he disappeared into the darkness.
"We're on our way, too," cried Frank, opening the throttle and
pressing down the clutch, as more bullets whistled overhead. "Give 'em
a shot, Jack, and everybody stoop down.
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