CHAPTER III.
NEWS FROM THE WEST
The track was a half-mile one, and, as the length of the race was five miles it would be necessary to make ten laps or circuits. The course was in the shape of an ellipse, with rather sharp turns at either end, where the contestants, if they did not want a spill, or a bad skid, must slacken their pace. It was on the two straight stretches that speed could be made.
At the report of the pistol Noddy’s car shot off as an arrow from a bow, the explosions of the cylinders sounding like a small battery of quick-firing guns in action. But the others were after him, the five cars bunched together, that of the motor boys a little behind the other four.
“We’ve got to catch him, Jerry,” whispered Bob.
“Easier said than done,” replied Jerry, as he shoved the gasolene lever over a trifle, and advanced the spark, thereby increasing the speed of the car. “Noddy’s got a powerful machine.”
“They should have had a handicap on this race,” said Tom Jennings, the young man whom the hotel clerk had asked to be a fourth passenger in the motor boys’ car, so that the conditions of the contest would be met. “It’s not fair to have a high power auto race one of two cylinders.”
“Ours has four,” spoke Ned. “Of course its not as up-to-date as Noddy’s is, but—”
“We’ll beat him!” exclaimed Bob. “We’ve done it before and we can do it again.”
“I’m afraid not,” went on Tom. “That big green car of his will go ahead of anything on this track.”
And so it seemed, for Noddy was spinning around the course at fearful speed, his car looking like a green streak.
“Let’s see how he takes the turn,” suggested Bob. “He’ll have to slow up if he doesn’t want a spill.”
Noddy was wise enough to do this, though even at the reduced speed at which he went around the bank, his rear wheels skidded rather alarmingly.
But Jerry was not idle during this time. As he found his car responding to the increase of gasolene and the advanced spark, he shoved the levers still further over. The auto shot forward, distancing the yellow car immediately in front of it, passing one with an aluminum body and closely approaching a purple auto which was behind Noddy.
Suddenly a loud explosion sounded back of the motor boys.
“There goes a tire!” exclaimed Bob.
“Hope it isn’t one of yours,” said Tom.
“If it was you’d be sliding along the track on your face instead of sitting here,” responded Bob. “No, it’s one on the aluminum car. She’s out of the race,” he added as he gave a quick glance back. A few minutes later there was another noise—a crashing sound—and the motor boys, by a quick glance, saw that the rearmost car in the race had, by injudicious steering, been sent through a frail fence which surrounded the track. The radiator was broken and, though no one was hurt the car was put out of business. That left but four cars—Noddy’s green one, the yellow, the red one of the motor boys’, and a purple affair. They were speeding along in that order, and, a few seconds later something went wrong with one of the cylinders of the purple machine, leaving but three contestants. Then the yellow car shot ahead of the red one containing the motor boys.
By this time one circuit of the track had been completed, and a start made on the second lap.
“Think we’re catching up?” asked Bob, as Jerry cautiously fed the engine a little more gasolene.
“Well, we’re holding our own,” was the answer of the steersman, “and I think we’re catching up to the yellow car again. If we pass that I’m not so sure but what we can come in a close second to Noddy.”
“I don’t want to come in second,” spoke up Ned. “I want to beat him.”
“So do I,” replied Jerry, “but it’s not going to be so easy. Our car’s doing well, but we can’t expect wonders of it.”
“The race isn’t over until you’re at the finish tape,” said Tom Jennings. “Keep on, boys, I’d like to see that Nixon chap beaten. He thinks he owns the earth.”
For two miles there was no change in the position of the cars. Then slowly, very slowly, Jerry saw that his red machine was overtaking the yellow car. Inch by inch it crept up, the steersman of the rival car doing his best but failing to get more speed out of the engine.
“Too bad we have to pass you!” cried Jerry, as he careened past the yellow machine.
“That’s all right,” sung out the steersman good-naturedly. “Beat that other one, if you can.”
“We’re going to try!” yelled Ned, above the noise of the exploding cylinders.
They were on a straight stretch then and, as Noddy looked back and saw the red car closer to him than it had been before, he put on more speed. His green auto shot forward but Jerry still had something in reserve, and he let his machine out another notch.
“He’s got to slow up for the turn!” cried Ned. “Maybe we can pass him!”
“Yes, but we’ve got to slacken up too, if we don’t want a spill,” replied Bob.
“That’s so,” admitted Ned.
Noddy did slow up, but not much, and his car skidded worse than at any time yet. It looked as if it was going over, and a cry from the spectators showed that they, too, anticipated this disaster. But, with a sharp wrench of the steering wheel, Noddy brought the car back toward the center of the track.
Jerry swung around the turn at reduced speed, and, because of the chains, his machine did not skid more than a few inches.
“Good thing you have those chains on,” commented Tom. “They may come in handy at the finish.”
“That’s what I put them there for,” answered Jerry.
For another mile there was little change in the relative position of the cars of Noddy and the motor boys. Jerry thought he had cut the bully’s lead somewhat, but he still felt that he was far from having a good chance to win the race. Still, he was not going to give up.
“Two laps more and it’s all over,” said Bob, as they began on the final mile. “Can’t you hit it up a bit more, Jerry?”
“I’ll try.”
Just a degree faster came the explosions of the cylinders of the red car. But also, still faster, came the reports from Noddy’s auto. He was not going to be beaten if he could help it.
Around the two machines swung, the yellow car having given up and dropped out. There was a confused shouting from the spectators, and Bob could distinguish cheers for the red auto.
“We’ve just got to win!” he cried. “Win, Jerry! Win!”
Try as he did, by “nursing” the engine, Jerry could not gain an inch on Noddy’s car. The red machine was fifty feet behind the green one, both going at top speed. Only an accident, it seemed, could make the motor boys win.
As they swung into the last lap Ned cried:
“Noddy isn’t going to slow down for the turn!”
“Neither are we!” cried Jerry fiercely. “Quick boys! All of you get out on the inside step! Crouch down! That will help hold us as we go around the bank, or, otherwise, we’ll go over.”
They all knew what he meant. By hanging out on the runboard or step, nearest the inside of the track, more weight would be added to that side of the car. It was what automobilists call “shifting the center of gravity,” and aids in preventing spills.
Giving one glance to see that the boys were in their places, Jerry grasped the steering wheel firmly, and sent the car at the dangerous turn at full speed. Noddy was doing the same, but he had not thought of having any of his passengers hang out on the step.
“Look out now, boys!” called Jerry, as they took the turn.
“Swing out as far as you can, boys, but hang down low!” called Tom Jennings, who had been in races before.
Even with this precaution, and aided as they were by the chains on the rear wheels, the red car skidded or slewed so that Jerry thought it was going over. But it did not. By the narrowest margin it kept on the bank.
Not so, however, with Noddy’s green dragon. As soon as his car struck the turn it began to skid. He would not shut off his power, but kept on the high gear, and with the engine going at top speed.
There was a cry of alarm, and then the green car left the track, mounted the bank, slid over the top, and came to a halt in a pool of mud and water on the other side of the field. It went fifty yards before Noddy could stop it.
“Go on! Go on!” yelled Ned. “We win! We win!”
Jerry had all he could do to hold the steering wheel of his slewing car, but, by gripping it desperately, he swung it into place, and the red machine started up the home stretch, crossing the tape a winner, for it was the only car left on the track.
A burst of cheers greeted it, and men crowded up to shake hands with the plucky boys.
“Glad you beat the ‘mud lark,’” said the owner of the yellow machine, thus giving Noddy’s car a name that stuck to it for some time. “That Nixon chap thought he was going to walk over every one. You taught him a much-needed lesson.”
Nothing was talked of in the hotel that night but the race, and the motor boys were the heroes of the occasion. Noddy did not appear, and it was learned that he had to hire men and teams to get his car out of the mud.
The motor boys started for home the next day, and thought they were going to make it in good time, but they had a tire accident on the road, when about twenty-five miles away, and decided to stay in the nearest village over night, as they had no spare shoe for the wheel.
As they left their car by the roadside, and tramped into the town, to send word to the nearest garage, they saw a cloud of dust approaching.
“Here comes a car,” said Bob. “Maybe we can get help.”
As the machine drew nearer they saw that it was painted green, and, a moment later, Noddy Nixon had brought his auto to a stop, and was grinning at them.
“Had a break-down, eh?” he asked. “That’s a fine car you have, ain’t it?”
“We can beat you!” exclaimed Ned.
“Yes you can! Not in a thousand years if I hadn’t gone off the track! Want any help? Well, you’ll not get it, see? Bye-bye! I’ll tell ’em you’re coming,” and, with an ugly leer, the bully started off.
“I wouldn’t take help from him if I had to walk ten miles without my supper,” said Bob firmly, and that was a strong saying for the stout youth.
The motor boys found a good hotel in the village, and the next day, when their car had been repaired, they resumed their journey, arriving at home about noon.
“There’s some mail for you, Jerry,” said Mrs. Hopkins, as her son came in, after putting the auto in the barn. “It’s from California. I didn’t know you knew any one out there.”
“Neither did I, mother. We’ll see who it’s from.”
He tore open the letter, read it hurriedly, and gave a cry of mingled delight and surprise.
“It’s from Nellie Seabury!” he said. “She says they are in lower California, traveling about, looking for a good place to stay at for a few months for their father’s health. When they locate she wants—that is Mr. Seabury—wants us to come out and see them. Oh, I wish I could go—I wish we could all go!”
“Perhaps you can,” suggested his mother with a smile. “California is not so far away. But I suppose you’ll have to wait until next vacation.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” admitted Jerry. “And that’s a long ways off—a long ways.”
“The time will soon pass,” said his mother. “But tell me about your auto trip. Did you have a good time?”
“Fine, and we beat Noddy Nixon in a great race.”
“I wish you wouldn’t have anything to do with that young man,” said Mrs. Hopkins. “You have nothing but trouble when you do.”
“I guess he’ll not want much more to do with us,” returned Jerry. “We manage to beat him every time. But I must go find the boys. This will be great news for them—this letter from the Seabury family.”
“I thought it was from—Nelly.”
“So it is—but it’s all the same,” answered Jerry with a blush.