And now they had returned, anticipating a second session of their vacation.  They had brought a motor cycle with which to go about the pretty country surrounding Central Falls.

“For,” reasoned Blake, “we haven’t much time left this summer, and if we want to enjoy ourselves we’ll have to hustle.  A motor cycle is the most hustling thing I know of this side of an automobile, and we can’t afford that yet.”

“I’m with you for a motor cycle,” Joe had said.  So one was purchased, jointly.

It was on returning from a pleasant ride that our heroes had seen the runaway with which we are immediately concerned.  They were now speeding after the maddened horse dragging the frail carriage, hoping to get ahead of and stop the animal before it either crashed into the frail barrier, and leaped into the ravine, or upset the vehicle in trying to make the turn into the temporary road.

“There he is!” suddenly cried Blake.  The motor cycle, bearing the two chums, had made the curve in the road successfully and was now straightened up on a long, level stretch.  And yet not so long, either, for not more than a quarter of a mile ahead was another turn, and then came the bridge.

“I see him!” answered Joe.  “Can you make it?”

“I’m going to!” declared Blake, closing his lips firmly.

Every little bump and stone in the road seemed magnified because of the speed at which they were moving.  But Blake held the long handles firmly, and, once the curve was passed, he turned the rubber grip that let a little more gasoline flow into the carbureter to be vaporized and sprayed into the cylinders, where the electric spark exploded it with a bang.

“We—­are—­going—­some!” panted Joe.

“Got—­to!” assented Blake, grimly.

On swayed the thundering, rattling motor cycle.  The carriage top had either been let down, or some of the supports had broken, and it had fallen, and the boys could now plainly see the two men on the seat.  They had not jumped, but they had evidently given up trying to make the horse stop by pulling on the one rein, for the animal was speeding straight down the center of the road.

“We aren’t catching up to him very fast!” howled Joe into Blake’s ear, and he had to howl louder than usual, for they were then passing along a portion of the road densely shaded by trees.  In fact the branches of the trees met overhead in a thick arch, and it was like going through a leafy tunnel.

This top bower of twigs and branches threw back the noise of the explosions of the motor cycle, and made an echo, above which it was almost impossible to make one’s voice heard.

“Look out!” suddenly cried Blake.  “Hold fast!”

At first Joe imagined that his chum was going to make another curve in the road, but none was at hand.  Then, as Blake watched his chum’s right hand, he saw him slowly turn the movable rubber handle that controls the gasoline supply.  Blake was turning on more power, though now the machine was running at a higher rate than Joe or Blake had ever traveled before.