Page:Arthur Stringer--The House of Intrigue.djvu/274

256 us, of mounting hills and going down them again, of crossing bridges and rocking over car-rails.

I woke up with a start as we went speeding through a sleepy-looking little town. I woke up to the repeated crack of a revolver, for, as I found out later, we'd nearly run down a rube constable who tried to stop us by shooting at our tires. I remember wakening and staring at the man beside me, bent so intently over the wheel. For a moment I thought it was Bud Griswold. Then my Hero-Man himself called out for me to sit low, in case one of that village policeman's pot-shots should accidentally come my way.

I realized, as I sat there blinking up at him, that I'd at least been under fire, that I'd heard bullets whistle by my ears and that thereafter I could look upon myself as a veteran.

The whole situation, in fact, struck me as being so absurd that I suddenly began to laugh. The man at my side was plainly disturbed at that laugh. As we were well out in the open country again, he slowed down the car and gave me a quick side-glance over his shoulder.

"So you're one too!" I said, as I sat staring through the rain-drops crawling like worms down the wind-shield.