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It was slowly borne in upon me that our car had been going, by the speedometer, at forty miles an hour and that the antelope were actually beating us. It was an amazing discovery, for I had never dreamed that any living animal could run so fast.
Finally she pushed the shield forward, and, leaning over the front seat, stared at the tiny dash-light. The finger of the speedometer oscillated gently over the figure sixty, and she dropped back with a gasp. They had been running thus for a long time. Merkle roused to say, "Is this too fast for you, Miss Knight?" She laughed nervously. "N-no. I'm sorry I woke you."
Our speedometer now shows more than seven hundred and we've another day to go at least one hundred and thirty miles. And we haven't even had a tire accident. We're having a delightful journey only this country yields neither vegetables nor fruits, and I have to live on oatmeal. They spell it p-o-r-r-i-d-g-e, and they call it puruge. But they beat all creation as carnivorous folk.
There were at least a thousand of them, and their yellow bodies seemed fairly to skim the earth. I was shouting in excitement, but Coltman said: "They're not running yet. Wait till we begin to shoot." I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw the speedometer trembling at thirty-five miles, for we were making a poor showing with the antelope.
"Well, I suppose they'll try it some day," said Jack, "but not right away. How much farther do we have to go?" Frank glanced at his chart and then at his speedometer. "About fifteen miles," was his reply; "and then we'll be there too soon." The lad was right. It was not three o'clock when the hydroplane came to the spot the lads had selected to descend. "Well, here we are," said Frank.
Thus, by consulting his speedometer, John was able to figure out with a fair degree of certainty what allowances he should make from dead reckoning in order to strike their destination or rather, we should say that Tom, as John's aid, did most of this figuring, for a pilot generally has his hands full in guiding his steed.
"Dick, why is it he didn't use all his rockets at first instead of gradually increasing the power this way?" "If you were operating the ship, Morey, you'd understand. Look at the speedometer a moment and see if you can figure it out." "Hmmm 4.5 miles per second buzzing right along but I don't see what that good Lord! We never will get him at this rate! How do you expect to get him?"
There had been never a word spoken until they had come to the gate which had closed behind Terry on the way out. Old man Packard had looked at speedometer, clock and obstruction. Terry had seen his hands tighten on his wheel. "Set tight an' hang on," he had commanded sharply.
Cole announced with enthusiasm. At luncheon the committee reported progress. Cole had seen James Cunningham's car. It was a sedan. He had had it out of the garage all afternoon and evening and had brought it back just before midnight. The trip record on the speedometer registered ninety-two miles. From his pocket Kirby drew an automobile map and a pencil.
The temptation was too great to be resisted even though there was a strong possibility that we might be stalled in the desert with no gas. The ground was smooth and hard, and our speedometer showed forty miles an hour. We soon began to gain, but for three miles he gave us a splendid race. Suddenly, as we came over a low hill, we saw an enormous herd of antelope directly in front of us.
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