ied Dick, suddenly.

"But the girls----" began the other.

"Don't shoot at the car, shoot at the tires," explained Dick. And then
he whipped out his own weapon, got into range, and began to blaze away.

Each of the boys fired three shots. One hit the back lamp of the
automobile, smashing the red glass, and another hit the differential
case and glanced off. But the wheels remained untouched, and in a few
seconds the big touring car was out of sight around a bend. The lads
heard a scream from the two girls, and then all that reached their
strained ears was the sound of the motor, growing fainter and fainter,
until it died out altogether.

Dick and Tom felt sick at heart. They had been so near to rescuing the
girls, and now they seemed as far off as ever! Each heaved a deep sigh.

"I suppose we can't follow them, with the bridge down," said Tom.

"We might ford the stream," said Dick. "But what would be the use of
trying to follow on horseback? They know we are after them and they will
put on all the speed possible."

"Well, what's to do next, Dick?"

"I don't know."

"I'm not going to sit still and do nothing."

"Neither am I, Tom. But what to do next I really don't know."

CHAPTER XXIV

AT THE SWAMP

"Where are they? Didn't you catch up to them? Who fired those shots?"

It was Sam who shouted the words, as he came up on a run, followed by
the aged negro.

"They got away," answered Dick, bitterly. "We were just a minute too
late!"

"Can't you go after them?"

"Not on horseback, Sam."

"And, if the horses were all right, look there!" cried Tom, and pointed
to the fallen bridge.

"Down! What did it, the auto?"

"Yes."

"Fo' de lan' sake!" burst out the negro farm hand. "De bridge hab gone
bust down! Say, how is we-all to git ober dat stream after dis?"

"I give it up," said Tom. "The authorities will have to rebuild it, I
guess."

"Nobudy ain't gwine to do dat, boss. Kase why? Kase dis road was built
fo' de mill an' de people wot lived heah. Now de mill ain't runnin' an'
de people moved away, da ain't much use fo' the road, an' nobuddy ain't
gwine to put up de bridge--an' Ike Henry, dat's me, has got to tote
things 'round by de udder road after dis!" he added ruefully.

"Well, we can't bother about the bridge," replied Dick. "The authorities
can fight it out with those fellows who are running the auto."

"But the shots?" queried Sam. He had dropped on a flat rock to rest.

"We trie