The Maillard was less than a quarter of a mile away when Miss Vale
caught the rapid series of explosions once more. With a quick glance
ahead, she threw the lever forward and the car tore along at a
breathless rate. Fences ran by in a giddy staggering line; trees
seemed merged into one tangle of branches; the dust arose in solid
towers behind her. However, she held to this but a scant five minutes;
her breath was short when she decreased the power; the hands upon the
wheel shook a little, but her head was held erect, her face was still
purposefully set forward.
Above the decreasing hum of her car, came the swift, brave shocks of
the motor cycle. But, if there was a dread that fell to tightening at
her heart, she showed it little. The Maillard still bore swiftly on;
she did not once turn her head.
A little further on there came into view a post with a series of
white, pointing sign-boards, that indicated a cross-roads. When still
a hundred yards from this the car stopped once more; again the Italian
flew by; again he vanished, this time around a bend beyond the
cross-roads. But once hidden by the bend, he stopped and got down;
the smile again appeared upon his face, the brilliant teeth shone
good-naturedly.
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