ever knew. In nine cases out of ten it would have required more
effort to start the Hunkajunk touring model. But this was the tenth
case. In a frantic effort to stop the power, or perhaps in groping with
his hand, he pulled down the spark lever, and the six cylinder brute of
an engine awoke to life!

Out of the exhaust pipe in back poured the fatal volume of gaseous
smoke which spells death, horrible and suffocating, when locked and
barred doors and windowless walls enclose the wretched, gasping victim
as in a tomb.

CHAPTER X

A RACE WITH DEATH

In close confinement it is all over in a minute in these cases. The
victim is poisoned and suffocated like a rat in a hole. Surprising as it
may seem, this deadly poison works faster than its victim can act. And
with darkness for its ally the only hope lies in presence of mind and
quick action.

Pee-wee Harris was a scout. Laugh at him and make fun of him as you
will, he was a scout. He was at once the littlest scout and the biggest
scout that ever scouting had known. He boasted and bungled, but out of
his bungling came triumph. He fell, oh such falls as he fell! But he
always landed right side up. He could save the world with a blunder. And
then boast of the blunder.

He was not a motorist, he was a scout. Wrong or right (and he was
usually wrong), he was a scout. He was a scout with something left
over. Like a flash of lightning he jumped into the car and shut off the
switch, but the imprisoned air was already heavy with the deadly fumes
and his head swam. Shutting off the switch would not save him; nothing
would save him unless his mind and body acted together with lightning
swiftness.

Say that he made a "bull" of it in starting the engine, and you are
welcome to say that of him. But after that the spirit and training of
the scout possessed him. _You_, with all respect to you, would have died
a frightful death in that black prison.

Pee-wee Harris, scout, tore his handkerchief from around his cut finger,
unscrewed the cap of the radiator, dipped his handkerchief into the
hole, bit off two small pieces of the warm, dripping cloth, and stuffed
them into his ears. The wet handkerchief he stuffed into his mouth. And
so Scout Harris gained a few precious moments, _only a few_, in which to
make a desperate effort to find a way out!

You would have forgotten about the radiator full of water, I dare
say....

Roy Blakeley (Silver Fox Patrol and not in this stor