"All right then."
"I'll put on the chains," cried the chauffeur, and brought out the anti-skidding chains for the rear wheels. The boys got the colored man to assist him, and the chains were soon adjusted. Then the car was backed out of the garage and the three Rovers leaped inside.
"Now, don't lose a minute," said Dick.
"I won't. But we are taking chances on this road, sir, I can tell you that."
It was still raining steadily, and the highway was a mass of oily mud,—a splendid compound upon which to skid. On and on rushed the touring car at a rate of speed varying from twenty to thirty-five miles an hour.
"I could eat this road up if it was dry," shouted the chauffeur. "The machine is good for fifty miles an hour."
"Well, don't climb a tree, or a stone wall," cautioned Dick, grimly.
Ordinarily the Rover boys might have been anxious because of such wild riding, but now every thought was centered on their father. How he was faring, and would they be able to rescue him?
Twice the touring car made dangerous lurches to one side, once fairly brushing some trees which lined the roadway. But the driver stuck
