“It sure is nice,” agreed Blake.  “And it’s lots more fun since we got this motor cycle,” for they had lately invested in the powerful vehicle on which they had made many trips about the surrounding country.

As Blake went to put the machine in the shed, which their farmer-landlord had allowed them to use, Joe turned to glance back along the road they had come.

The farmhouse was set up on a little hill, above the road, and a glimpse of the highway could be had for a long distance.  It was the sight of something coming along this thoroughfare that attracted Joe’s attention.

“What are you looking at?” asked Blake, returning after having put away the motor cycle.

“That horse and buggy.  Looks to me as though that horse was feeling his oats, and that the fellow driving him didn’t know any more about handling the reins than the law allows.”

“That’s right, Joe.  If he doesn’t look out he’ll have an upset, or a runaway.”

The vehicle in question was a light buggy; drawn by a particularly large and spirited horse.  Seated in the carriage, as the boys could see from their point of vantage, were two men.  Who they were could not be distinguished at that distance, but the carriage was rapidly coming nearer.

“There he goes!” suddenly cried Joe.

As his chum spoke Blake saw that one of the reins had parted, probably because the driver pulled on it too hard in trying to bring the restive steed down to a walk.

Once the spirited horse felt that he was no longer under control, save by one line, which was worse than none, he sprang forward, and at once began to gallop, pulling after him the light carriage, which swayed from side to side, threatening every moment to collapse, overturn, or at least be torn loose from the horse.

“There he goes!” yelled Joe again.

“I should say so!” agreed Blake.  “There are going to be some doings soon!”

This was evident, for the horse was running away, a fact not only apparent in itself, but heralded by the looks on the faces of the two occupants of the carriage, and by their frightened cries, which the wind easily carried to the watching Joe Duncan and Blake Stewart.

On the road below them, and past the boys, swept the swaying carriage in a cloud of dust.  As it was momentarily lost to sight behind a grassy knoll, Blake cried: 

“The broken bridge, Joe!  The broken bridge!  They’re headed right for it!”

“That’s right!” exclaimed his chum.  “How can we stop them?”

Once having recognized the danger, the next thought that came to the minds of Blake and Joe, trained for emergencies, was how to avert it.  They looked at each other for a second, not to gain a delay, but to decide on the best possible plan of saving the imperiled men.

“The broken bridge,” murmured Blake again.  “That horse will never be able to make the turn into the temporary road, going at the speed he is!”