Part 20 (1/2)

”Well,” said Bert, who by this time had recovered from his first astonishment, ”that's all the more reason why we should win. We simply can't let ourselves be beaten now, that's all there is about it.”

But there was no time for further speculation, as Mr. Hollis was seen approaching them, and it was evident the race must soon begin.

Bert ran the ”Red Scout” around to a small shed in back of the grandstand, and he and d.i.c.k made their final preparations. These consisted in taking off the hood, or bonnet, altogether, and removing the exhaust pipes from the motor. As Bert had already explained to d.i.c.k, this was done to eliminate any back pressure from the exhaust gases. Under ordinary conditions, this makes such a small difference in the power of a car that it can hardly be said to count, but in a race every ounce of power is required. This is done on every racing car, and that is why the explosions make such loud, sharp reports when the car is in action.

It need hardly be said that every boy in Mr. Hollis's troop, except poor Fred, was present, and many were the anxious looks cast at Bert and d.i.c.k to see, if possible, how they felt about the outcome of the race. Both had been trained to have control of their feelings, however, and so outwardly they appeared to be very calm.

This was far from being the real state of their feelings, and both felt as though their hearts had suddenly become too large and were trying to get out between their ribs. They realized that it was not only their own reputation that would suffer if they were defeated, but the whole camp was involved. What would Mr. Hollis think of them if the other boys were victorious? What would the boys who had such blind confidence in them and the ”Red Scout” do or say if the ”Gray Ghost” won?

Such thoughts were demoralizing, however, and neither Bert nor d.i.c.k entertained them any longer than they could help. Into both their faces came that stern, resolved look that all the boys had seen at times and come to love, and in the minds of Tom and the others all doubts as to the final result vanished.

Meanwhile, Mr. Thompson's troop had been giving the ”Gray Ghost” its final touches, and now, at the sound of a mellow whistle, both Bert and Ralph cranked their motors.

None of the boys had ever heard the unm.u.f.fled exhaust of a racing car before, and at the savage roar that now issued from both cars all the boys fell back several steps with scared faces. As soon as they realized that the gasoline tank had not exploded, nor any other equally awful thing occurred, they came forward and tried to ask questions, but in the confined shed they could hardly hear the sound of their own voices.

Slowly the fire-spitting monsters were backed out of the shed, and their respective drivers swung them around and on to the track. They were greeted by a wave of cheering both from the boys and from the a.s.sembled farmers, and more than one burly countryman who had come to the ”kids'

racket” under protest was seen to sit up straight and open his eyes wide.

No doubt many of them had expected to see a rather tame affair, and in fact few of them had ever seen an automobile race, or knew the tremendous speed of which a good car was capable, or realized the cool head and steady nerves required to control the condensed power of forty horses traveling at a speed of close to a mile a minute.

However, they were soon to experience a few of the thrills attendant on such an occasion. The two leaders had been holding a consultation, and now they approached the vibrating, eager cars.

Mr. Hollis was forced to shout to make himself heard above the din of the exhausts. ”It is understood,” he said, ”that this race is to be run from a standing start, and is to be for a distance of ten miles, or ten laps around the track. The cars must line up on the tape that we have stretched in front of the grandstand, and at the report of my pistol they are to start, each driver getting away as best he can. We have drawn lots for the choice of position, and the 'Gray Ghost' won, and is to have the inside position. Mr. Thompson and I will act as judges. Is that perfectly clear?” to Bert and Ralph.

”Yes, sir,” they both responded, and proceeded to manoeuvre their cars into the appointed positions.

Mr. Hollis and Mr. Thompson took their places in the grandstand, part of which the boys had been directed to reserve for them.

By this time the cars were in position, each one with its front wheels resting on the strip of white tape. The ”Gray Ghost” had a decided advantage to start with, as it is evident that in any race the car that has the inside position, that is, the part of the track nearest to the center of the field, has a slightly lesser distance to travel than the car on the outside, and in a close race every few feet count.

But now there was a breathless hush over the grandstand, and all eyes were on Mr. Hollis's hand, holding the pistol aloft. Bert and Ralph were bent over their levers, every muscle tense, and nerves stretched to the breaking point.

Crack! went the pistol. With a mighty roar, and the blue flames spitting from the exhaust ports, the two great machines bounded forward, and almost with one movement Bert changed the gears from first to second, from second to high. At every change the willing car leaped ahead with ever-increasing momentum, and Bert felt a wild thrill run through his body as he realized the vast force beneath him, subject only to his control.

The ”Gray Ghost” had made almost as good a start, however, and now, although the ”Red Scout” had a slight lead, the inside position began to tell, and the ”Gray Ghost” gained a trifle.

d.i.c.k, who had been looking back over his shoulder, now turned to Bert and yelled excitedly in his ear, ”Sock it to her, Bert! Give her the gas! They're gaining on us!”

They had now covered the first lap, and the speedometer hand on the ”Red Scout's” dashboard registered a speed of fifty miles an hour. Bert knew he could do better than that, but remembered Mr. Hollis's instructions not to take any unnecessary chances. The machine was working beautifully, and a wave of pride surged over him as he thought that this was largely due to the care and work he had bestowed upon it.

But now the ”Gray Ghost” was ranging alongside--ahead--

”Give her a pump full of oil, d.i.c.k,” yelled Bert to his friend, and opened the throttle a trifle wider.

The machine answered like a thing of life. The wind whistled in their ears, the track seemed a mere gray blur racing away behind them, and the mighty speed song of the ravening motor was like music in their ears.

Faster and faster they flew, the two cars keeping pace side by side, and the speedometer hand creeping up--up.

Fifty-two, fifty-three, fifty-six! it registered, and the flying cars seemed barely to touch the ground. On the straight stretch in front of the grandstand they gathered such speed that at the turns the rear wheels skidded, throwing up showers of dirt, and the drivers were forced to slow down a little or the machines would surely have collided.

Up to that time neither car had a decided advantage, but now they had covered the eighth lap, and both crews realized that the time had arrived to call on the racing engines for their final and greatest effort.