In the thin haze his form was outlined there, his shock of light hair jerking this way and that, as he tore off one shingle after another, and threw them to the ground.

He was racing now, as he had not raced before, and there was upon his square, homely face that look of uncompromising resolution which the soldier wears as he goes over the top with his bayonet fixed.
Leaping to the ground again he gathered up some half a dozen shingles, selecting them with as much care as his desperate haste would permit.
Then he hurriedly opened the leather tool case on his machine and tumbled the contents about until he found the roll of insulated wire which he always carried.
His next work was to split one of the shingles over his knee so that he had a strip of wood about two inches wide.

It took him but so many seconds to jab four or five holes through this, and adjusting it between two slopes of the power wheel so that it stood crossways and was re-enforced by the spokes themselves, he proceeded to bind it in place with the wire.

Then he moved the wheel gently around, and found that the projecting edge of wooden strip knocked against the mud-guard.
Hesitating not a second he pulled and bent and twisted the mud-guard, wrenching it off.

The wheel revolved freely now.