He missed.

His heart sank and he was like ice as he risked another.

The little high-power bullet struck and blew the tire off the wheel.

Nash's car lurched, skidded into the bank not thirty yards away.
With a bound Kurt started for it, and he was there when Nash had twisted out of his seat and over the door.
"Far enough! Don't move!" ordered Kurt, presenting the rifle.
Nash was ghastly white, with hunted eyes and open mouth, and his hands shook.
"Oh it's--Kurt Dorn!" cried a broken voice.
Kurt saw the girl fumble with the door on her side, open it, and stagger out of his sight.

Then she reappeared round the car.