Joe. "He'll crash right through the barrier fence, and--"

He did not finish his sentence, but Blake knew what his chum
meant.

About half a mile beyond the farmhouse the road ran over a bridge
that spanned a deep and rocky ravine. About a week before there
had been an accident. Weakened by the passing of a heavy traction
threshing engine, it had been broken, and was ruled unsafe by the
county authorities.

Accordingly the bridge had been condemned and partially torn down,
a new structure being planned to replace it. But this new bridge
was not yet in place, though a frail, temporary span, open only to
foot passengers and very light vehicles, had been thrown across
the ravine.

The danger, though, was not so much in the temporary bridge, as in
the fact that the temporary road, connecting with it, left the
main and permanent highway at a sharp curve. Persons knowing of
the broken bridge made allowances for this curve, and approached
along the main road carefully, to make the turn safely into the
temporary highway.

But a maddened horse could not be expected to do this. He would
dash along the main road, and would not make the turn. Or, if he
did, going at the speed of this one, he would most certainly
overturn the carriage.

The main highway was fenced off a short distance on either side of
the broken bridge, but this barrier was of so frail a nature that
it could not be expected to stop a runaway.

"He'll crash right through it, run out on the end of the broken
bridge and----"

Once more Joe did not finish.

"We've got to do something!" cried Blake.

"Yes, but what?" asked Joe.

"We've got to save them!" cried Blake again, as he thought of the
two men in the carriage. He had had a glimpse of their faces as
the vehicle, drawn by the frenzied horse, swept past him on the
road below. One of the men he knew to be employed in the only
livery stable of Central Falls, on the outskirts of which he and
Joe were spending their holiday. The other man was a stranger.
Blake had only seen that he was a young man, rather good-looking,
and of a foreign cast of countenance. Blake had momentarily put
him down for an Italian.

"The motor cycle!" suddenly cried Joe.

"What?" asked Blake, only half comprehending.

"We might overtake them on the motor cycle!" repeated his chum.

A look of understanding came into Blake's eyes.

"That's right!" he cried. "Why didn't I think of that before,
instead of standing here mooni