“What do you make of the weather, Nat?” Joe Hartley turned to Nat Trevor as he spoke, and scanned the face of the young leader of the adventure-seeking Motor Rangers with some anxiety. But the stout and placid Joe’s unwonted look of apprehension found no reflection on the firm countenance of Nat Trevor, who stood as steadily at the wheel of the Nomad as if that sixty-foot, gasolene-driven craft was not, to use Joe’s phrase of a few moments before, pitching and tumbling “like a bucking broncho.”
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