"We want to make it in time to get some hunting at daylight," he observed in a tone which included the fellow at the service station who was just pocketing his money for the gas and oil.

"I think we can, with luck." Luck seemed to mean speed and more speed, The headlights bored a white pathway through the dark, and down that pathway the car hummed at a fifty-mile clip where the road was straight.

Johnny got thrills of which his hardy nerves had never dreamed themselves capable.

Riding the sky in the Thunder Bird was tame to the point of boredom, compared with riding up and over and down and around a squirmy black line with the pound of the Pacific in his ears and the steady beat of the motor blending somehow with it, and the tingle of uncertainty as to whether they would make the next sharp curve on two wheels as successfully as they had made the last.

Mercifully, they met no one on the hills.
There were straight level stretches just beyond reach of the tide, and sometimes two eyes would glare at them, growing bigger and bigger.
There would be a _swoo--sh_ as a dark object shot by with mere inches to spare, and the eyes would glare no longer.