e
demonstrated what you _could_ do, if--"

I risked both our lives to glance at her. "This joke," I said, "is going
to Osage. I want to marry you, and you know it. The Lord and this car
willing, I'm going to. Still, if you really have been deceived in my
intentions, and insist upon going back, I shall stop, of course, and give
you back to your father. But you must do it now, at once, or--marry me."

She gave me a queer, side glance, but she did not insist. Naturally
I didn't stop, either.

We shot out into the open, with the windings of the pass behind, and then
I turned the old car loose, and maybe we didn't go! She wasn't a bad
sort--but I would have given a good deal, just then, if she had been the
_Yellow Peril_ stripped for a race. I could hear the others coming up, and
we were doing all we could; I saw to that.

"I think they'll catch us," Beryl observed maliciously. "Their car is a
sixty h.p. Mercedes, and this--"

"Is about a forty," I cut in tartly, not liking the tone of her; "and just
plain American make. But don't you fret, my money's on Uncle Sam."

She said no more; indeed, it wasn't easy to talk, with the wind drawing
the breath right out of your lungs. She hung onto her hat, and to the
seat, and she had her hands full, let me tell you.

The purr of their motor grew louder, and I didn't like the sound of it a
bit. I turned my head enough to see them slithering along
close--abominably close. I glimpsed old King in the tonneau, and Weaver
humped over the wheel in an unpleasantly businesslike fashion.

I humped over my own wheel and tried to coax her up a bit, as if she had
been the _Yellow Peril_ at the wind-up of a close race. For a minute
I felt hopeful. Then I could tell by the sound that Weaver was crowding up.

"They're gaining, Mr. Carleton!" Beryl's voice had a new ring in it, and
I caught my breath.

"Can you get here and take the wheel and hold her straight without slowing
her?" I asked, looking straight ahead. The trail was level and not a bend
in it for half a mile or so, and I thought there was a chance for us.
"I've a notion that friend Weaver has nerves. I'm going to rattle him, if
I can; but whatever happens, don't loose your grip and spill us out.
I won't hurt them."

Her hands came over and touched mine on the wheel. "I've raced a bit
myself," she said simply. "I can drive her straight."

I wriggled out of the way and stood up, glancing down to make sure she was
all right. She