"If it is I'm going to
hang back until I see which way he's headed. No use running any more
risks."
Almost at that moment a puff of wind blew some of the dust to one
side. Tom had a glimpse of the man on the puffing machine.
"It's the same chap!" he exclaimed aloud; "and he's going the same
way I am. Well, I'll not try to catch up to him. I wonder what he's
been doing all this while, that he hasn't gotten any farther than
this? Either he's been riding back and forth, or else he's been
resting. My, but he certainly is scooting along!"
The wind carried to Tom the sound of the explosions of the motor,
and he could see the man clinging tightly to the handle-bars. The
rider was almost in front of Tom's house now, when, with a
suddenness that caused the lad to utter an exclamation of alarm, the
stranger turned his machine right toward a big oak tree.
"What's he up to?" cried Tom excitedly. "Does he think he can climb
that, or is he giving an exhibition by showing how close he can come
and not hit it?"
A moment later the motor-cyclist struck the tree a glancing blow.
The man went flying over the handle-bars, the machine was shunted to
the ditch along the road, and falling over on one side the motor
raced furiously.
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