A FRIEND RATHER THAN AN ENEMY There was only one way in which I could hope to get in--through the back.

That was an exceedingly ticklish job, yet I had tackled many a ticklish job before during the two years of my scouting service, and the knowledge of danger was merely the prick of a spur.

The rusty buckles holding the flap in place resisted the grip of my fingers, and, opening a knife with my teeth, I cut the leather, severing enough of the straps so the entire flap could be thrown back, yet holding it down closely to its place until I was ready for action.

Through a narrow opening I could perceive a dim outline of the driver.

He was at the right of the seat, leaning forward, so as to peer out from under the hood, loosened reins in one hand, a whip in the other.