OVERHAULING THE THIEF.
Matt, headed in the direction of the canal and Phœnix, set the pace. It was a fast one, and Chub was blowing before they had covered a hundred yards.
"If you want me to travel with you," puffed Chub, "you'll have to be a little less hasty. What's the good, anyhow? Those motor-cycles are going a dozen feet to our one."
Matt pulled down to a dog-trot in order to explain and to give Chub a chance to get back his wind.
"You're wrong, Chub," said he. "Even at this rate, we're traveling faster than the motor-cycles, or at least as fast."
"The thieves can't be in much of a hurry to get away."
"No one is riding the motor-cycles. There are only two motor-cycle tracks leading this way, and we made 'em ourselves when we rode to the Bluebell."
"Mebby the thieves went the other way?"
"No tracks on the other part of the road at all."
Chub dropped his eyes to the road and scanned it as he jogged along. The marks left by the pneumatic tires of the motor-cycles could be clearly seen; and on either side of them was a heavier mark.
"Put me wise to it, Matt. Has a wagon been along here since we got to the Bluebell?" gasped Chub.
"A broad-tired freight-wagon from some of the mines," added Matt. "There were four horses hitched to it and it was going to Phœnix."
"Oh, slush!" exclaimed Chub admiringly. "You've hit it off straight as a die, Matt. Why, thick-headed as I am, I can count the hoof-tracks of the horses and see which way they were headed, now that you've given me the tip. But what has the freight-wagon got to do with the machines?"
"The wagon stopped close to the house on the Bluebell," went on Matt. "I could tell that by the way the hoof-tracks were all cluttered up. And then, too, around the place where the wagon stopped there were boot-marks. It's a cinch the freighter took our machines."
"It can't be that freighter is graftin' on his own hook, Matt, an' yet I'm a Navajo if I can see how Hawley ever put it up to have him run off with the wheels. I don't believe the gambler is keepin' track of us as close as all that."
"The freighter has the two machines," averred Matt. "Why he took 'em needn't bother us very much just now; we know they're in his wagon, and that's the principal thing. It's up to us to get the motor-cycles back. A four-horse freight-wagon, even when it's empty, can't travel very fast. About all we've got to do is to outrun the gait of a walking horse. The faster we beat it, the quicker we reach the wagon."
"It looks good to me," said Chub. "Say, I would have been up in the air, wouldn't I, if you hadn't been along? But for this mix-up in the hills, you'd have been starting for Denver."
"I was going to start for Denver to-morrow," returned Matt, "but I'm not particular about a thing like that, Chub, when my friends need me."
"True to your friends always, eh?" said Chub, his blue eyes glistening. "No wonder Motor Matt makes a hit with everybody."
"And connects with a few hits himself, now and then," added Matt dryly. "How about another spurt, Chub? That wagon didn't have much the start of us, and when we get to the top of the next 'rise,' I think we ought to see it."
"Spurt away! My legs are too short for sprinting, but I'll work 'em the best I can."
Elbows close to his sides, head up and shoulders back, Matt dug out once more. Chub rambled along beside him and bounced up the slight ascent. From over the "rise," and before they reached the top of it, the boys could hear the creaking of a heavy wagon, and the hoarse voice of a driver swearing at his horses. A few moments more and they were looking breathlessly down on the freighting outfit, trekking slowly Phœnixward and not more than a hundred feet from where they were standing.
There was one red-shirted, rough-looking man on the driver's seat—just one. The freighter had a long black-snake whip, and was snapping it about the ears of the leaders. But what appealed to the boys most was what they saw in the rear of the wagon.
From their elevated position they were able to look down into the high box of the vehicle. Evidently the freighter was going "empty" into Phœnix after supplies for some mining-camp; but there was more in the box than there had been when it started from the mine, for the two motor-cycles were there, lashed with ropes to the sides of the high box.
"There he is!" panted Chub, "and thank our stars there's only one. But if he gets hostile—and if he happens to have a gun——"
"Peaceful freighters are not carrying guns," said Matt, "and if he gets hostile—well, there are two of us."
"Sure," cackled Chub, "and if we have a set-to, Matt, you can count on me to make a noise like a prize-fighter, anyhow."
The freighter's conscience did not appear to trouble him in the least, for he was not paying the slightest attention to the trail behind him. With one foot on the brake, he was whoa-hawing his four-horse team and talking like a pirate.
Matt and Chub ran swiftly down the slope. When they were close to the wagon, Matt swerved to pass around it and get to the heads of the horses, while Chub, getting suddenly reckless, jumped up on the end of the "reach" and slammed into the end gate.
The noise Chub made drew the freighter's attention. The man turned and gave a savage yell when he saw Chub.
"Git off'n thar, you!" he whooped, and with the words his long whip leaped backward in a sinuous coil.
Snap!went the lash, like the report of a pistol, and Chub tumbled into the road, holding both hands to the side of his throat.
Matt's temper began to mount at the brutal way Chub was treated. The incident, while unpleasant for Chub, afforded Matt time to pass the man and gain the heads of the leaders of the team.
"Stop!" he shouted, grabbing the bits of the horses and pushing them back on the "wheelers."
The freighter had already clamped the brake-shoes to the wheels, so that the wagon, although on a slope, did not run down on the wheel-horses. Taking his attention from Chub, the man turned in the seat and glared at Matt.
"Git away from them hosses!" he shouted, jumping to his feet, with the whip in his hand. "Git away, I tell ye, or I'll snap out one o' yer eyes with this here whip-lash. I kin do it—don't you never think I can't."
"You'd better cool down," cautioned Matt, his gray eyes glimmering, "if you don't want to get into more trouble than you can take care of."
"I ain't goin' ter take none o' yer back-talk, nuther," whooped the man. "Le'go them bits!"
He began lifting the handle of the whip, preparatory to using the lash.
"You've got two motor-cycles in the back of your wagon," said Matt, keeping wary watch of the freighter, "and they belong to my chum and me. What business have you got taking them off?"
"Belong to you, eh? Well, I reckon not. Young Perry told me they belonged ter him an' a pard o' his,an' he tucked a dollar bill inter my hand fer takin' 'em ter town."
Matt was astonished at this piece of information.
"Where did you see Perry?" he demanded.
"I don't know as I got ter palaver with you, but I don't mind sayin' that young Perry was on a hoss clost ter the house on the Bluebell as I come by. He stopped me an' told me ter take in the machines, jest as I was tellin' ye. Now, drop them bits, or thar's goin' ter be trouble."
"Say," called Matt earnestly, "you've been fooled. Perry don't own those machines, but was—-"
"Perry's a friend o' Hawley's, an' Hawley is a friend o' mine," roared the freighter, "an' I'm takin' his word agin' your'n. Git away from thar. Last call!"
Matt did not get away. A second more and the whip-lash leaped at him between the heads of the leaders. Quick as a flash he ducked to one side, and the lash snapped harmlessly in the air. Then, as the lash flickered for an instant on the neck-yoke, Matt executed another quick move. Reaching out, he caught the end of the writhing whip firmly, and gave it a jerk, in the hope of pulling it out of the freighter's hands.
What happened was more than Matt had expected.
The whip did not come away, but the freighter was toppled out of the wagon-box and took a header earthward alongside the off wheel-horse.
He gave a convulsive movement and then became quiet.
"You've killed him, Matt!" cried Chub frantically.
"Rot!" flung back Motor Matt, hurrying around to where the freighter was lying and hauling him away from the hoofs of the horses. "He's just stunned, that's all. Jump into the wagon, Chub, and untie the wheels. When you're ready, I'll help you get them into the road. Sharp's the word now, old chap. I'll watch the freighter while you're working with the machines."
Chub, chuckling to himself over the neat way fortune was coming to their aid, once more climbed into the wagon.
Matt, noticing a movement on the part of the freighter that told of returning consciousness, drew his big, ham-like hands behind him and twined the whip-lash about the wrists.
It was well Matt took this precaution, for, a moment after the tying was completed, the man's eyes opened.
"Tryin' ter kill me, was ye?" he snarled.
"Not at all," said Matt coolly. "I was trying to take the whip away from you, and you fell out of the wagon."
"All ready, Matt!" called Chub.
Matt whirled away from the freighter, to help Chub get the motor-cycles down. Hardly were the two machines on the ground, when the boys heard the freighter yell and saw him charge toward them. It had been impossible for Matt to tie his hands securely with the whip, and he had freed himself and was hustling toward the rear of the wagon, to intercept the boys and prevent them from getting away.
"Quick, Chub!" yelled Matt. "Get into the saddle and let your machine out for all it's worth. We've lost too much time as it is."
There followed a wild scramble, a half-dozen revolutions of the pedals, and then the motors began to work. The two machines glided up the slope, leaving the baffled and swearing freighter far behind.
BACK TO THE BLUEBELL.
"Nothin' hard about that!" gloried Chub, taking a look over his shoulder from the top of the "rise." "Mister Man had a little surprise-party sprung on him that trip. Now it's down-hill—see us scratch gravel here! You're the clear quill, Matt. The way you worked through that trick was some fine!"
"Luck," answered Motor Matt. "It's bound to come a fellow's way now and then. Tie something around the side of your throat, Chub. That whip-lash knocked off a piece of skin."
"Felt like it had knocked off my head, at first. I'll tie it up when we get back to the Bluebell."
"What's the good of stopping at the Bluebell? Dace Perry is somewhere ahead of us on a horse. You heard what the freighter said about Perry?"
"There didn't any of that get away from me, Matt. Gee! but that was somethin' of a jolt. If Perry smashed that wireless machine in Phœnix, he didn't waste any time coverin' the twenty miles between there and the Bluebell."
"He must have reached the mine while we were down in the workings, looking for Delray. He saw the two motor-cycles leaning against the wall of the house, and he didn't have to guess very hard to know who was around. The freighter came along just at the right time—for Perry."
"Funny thing to me, Matt, that Perry didn't slash the tires."
"Probably he didn't have any too much time. Besides, he might have thought we could fix the tires, while if the motor-cycles were sent on to Phœnix, we'd be a lot worse off than if we had the crippled machines."
"Hawley's mighty clever—and don't you let that get past your guard for a minute! Whenever he lays out to do a thing, he's right on the job from start to finish. What d'you suppose he's sent Dace Perry out here for?"
"The way I size it up, Hawley wants to get some word to Jacks. Perry must have been on his way to the hills when he stopped off at your place, Chub, and smashed the wireless instruments. The way we got hold of that letter on the bridge has raised trouble with Hawley's plans, and now he's rushing things for a quick finish. That means that we've got to hustle, too, if we save the 'strike' for the McReadys!"
"Well, I guess we can. You're a reg'lar whirlwind, Matt, when you start the gasoline and switch on the spark. I'm not built for rapid work, but I guess I'll do with you for pacemaker. But see here, why didn't we pass Perry on the road? He left Phœnix before we did, and got to the Bluebell behind us—and he had to come the Black Cañon road."
Matt had been thinking of that.
"It's a cinch we had to pass him, Chub," said he, "and we probably did it in the hills this side of the canal. If he saw us coming, it would be easy for him to duck out of the way among the rocks."
"That's what he did!" declared Chub. "He had some reason to expect we'd be at the Bluebell."
"And after helping load our machines into the wagon," continued Matt, "he spurred off to find Jacks and tell him we were on the way with the location notices." A grave look crossed Matt's face. "Something's going tohappen at the 'strike,' and we better not stop at the Bluebell any longer than it takes to snatch up our coats."
They were now close to the Bluebell again, and were surprised to see a man run out of the house and wave a hand in their direction.
"It's Del!" cried Chub. "He's got back from wherever he was just in time to miss the fun."
"He's making a dead set for us," added Matt, "and is bringing our coats."
"Great glory!" exclaimed the watchman, as he drew near the place where the boys had stopped, "I've been doing a pile of guessing ever since I picked up these coats. What did you leave 'em for?"
"We haven't got much time to talk, Del," answered Matt. "While we were in the mine looking for you, Dace Perry rode up on horseback, and a man in a freight-wagon happened along at the same time. Perry hired the man to carry our machines to Phœnix, and Chub and I sprinted after him and got them back. That's how we happened to leave our coats."
"Well, I'm blamed!" muttered Delray. "There's been a lot of strange doings around here. This morning, while I was off to the spring getting some water, some one sneaked into the house and smashed the wireless instruments. What's goin' on, anyhow? Why should Dace Perry try to take the motor-cycles away from you? Same old grouch, or is it something new?"
"Have you heard anythin' from dad, Del?" put in Chub anxiously.
"No. Was he expecting to drop in here?"
"I got a letter from him sayin' he might, just to send me a wireless message. He's five miles northwest of here," and Chub went on briefly to tell of his father's "strike," the impending trouble with Jacks, and what Hawley was trying to do.
"That gambler seems to be botherin' you boys a whole lot lately," remarked Delray. "If you've got those location blanks, Chub, you and Matt'd better hike right on and help your father out of his difficulty before it gets any worse. And keep your eyes open, too. You've both had experience with Hawley, and know the kind of a man he is. If I can help you any here, count on me."
"We'll pull right out, Del," answered Chub. "Where were you when we were going through the mine?"
"Taking a littlepasearthrough the hills, trying to see if I could locate the scoundrel that smashed the wireless instruments. You know how to get to the old pack-trail?"
"I was over part of it with dad once."
"Then hustle—and don't forget to keep your eyes skinned. I've got a gun in the house if you'd like to borry it."
The boys were away before the last suggestion reached them, and Matt did not think it worth while to turn back.
About a quarter of a mile north of the Bluebell, at a place where the Black Cañon road ran through a smallbarranca, the boys came to the old pack-trail. A gully cut through the walls of thebarrancaat a sharp angle, and the pack-trail followed the bottom of the depression.
"Here's where we leave the main road, Matt," announced Chub. "That old trail ain't much more than a bridle-path, an' I don't know what sort of work our machines are going to make on it, but we'll go ahead and see."
"Sure," said Matt. "If Perry could get over the pack-trail on a horse, I guess we can get over it on our wheels."
"I'll take the lead," went on Chub, turning into the gully. "I don't know such a terrible lot about the trail, Matt, but I've been over a little of it, and that's more than you have."
"All right, Chub," assented Matt, falling behind. "Keep a good watch ahead. If you see Jacks blocking the path, don't run into him, that's all."
The old trail had never been used for wagons, but had been exclusively given over to pack-burros. Consequently it was narrow, and there were places where bunches of cactus grew so close that the boys had to leave their saddles and trundle their machines past by hand, in order to keep the sharp spines from puncturing the tires.
When the cactus bunches ceased to bother, the pack-trail swung into rocky ground, and the boys had to do some hair-raising stunts in following a bit of shelf with a sheer drop of thirty or forty feet on one side of them and a straight up-and-down wall on the other.
At last the trail climbed over a ridge and into easier ground. Huge piles of rocks flanked both sides of the way, but the going was smooth and level.
While they were passing through this strip of country, Matt suddenly heard voices behind him and to the left of the trail. The voices came from a considerable distance, and were muffled and indistinct, but Matt heard them plainly enough.
"Chub!" he called in a guarded tone, "ride around that pile of rocks on the left. Some one's coming behind us and we'd better wait and see who it is."
Without pausing to ask any useless questions, Chub swerved from the trail and guided his motor-cycle around the heap of boulders referred to by Matt. Matt followed him, and they screened themselves and their wheels as well as they could and peered curiously back along the trail.
TOO LATE!
As the boys breathlessly watched, they saw a burro emerge from among the rocks on the left of the trail. There was no load on the burro's back, and the shaggy little animal was being driven by two ruffianly-looking men. One of the men had a club, and every once in a while he would reach over and hit the burro a heavy blow. The burro would flinch and leap ahead; then, apparently forgetting what had happened, would lag again and the blow would be repeated.
"The brute!" muttered Chub.
"Two brutes besides the burro," whispered Matt, "if I'm any judge of faces. Listen!"
The men had headed the burro along the trail, and would soon pass the point where Matt and Chub were hiding. They continued to talk as they approached. Evidently they were well pleased over something, for occasionally one of them would give a hoarse laugh.
"Hawley ort ter pay me well fer this," said one ofthe scoundrels. "You git half the claim, Jacks, purvidin' Hawley don't beat ye out o' it, but I'm only gittin' what I airn."
"Don't ye be in no takin', Bisbee, erbout Hawley beatin' me out o' my share in the 'strike,'" replied Jacks. "He's an' ole fox, but he ain't no more of a fox'n what I am."
"Waal, I kin split on his game if he don't treat me right," scowled Bisbee; "I kin tell about smashin' that machine at the Bluebell this mornin', on my way out yar, an' I kin tell about what we done at the ole Santa Maria, with——"
At that interesting point the two rascals passed out of ear-shot. Chub, awed by what they had heard, stared excitedly at Matt.
"One of 'em was Jacks!" he muttered; "the four-flush with the club was the prospector who was threatenin' dad with trouble!"
"And the other's name is Bisbee," said Matt, "and he came out here this morning and smashed that wireless apparatus on his way. Hawley didn't lose much time getting busy after Perry gave him that letter!"
"They're goin' after dad now, that's a cinch!" exclaimed Chub. "Let's follow 'em right up, Matt, an' have a hand in what happens—that is, if anything is goin' to happen. I guess dad and you and me can take care of those two handy boys, all right."
By that time the two men and the burro were well out of sight, and the boys, mounting their machines, started slowly after them, working laboriously at the pedals, so that their presence in the vicinity might not be betrayed by the volleying of explosions.
As they proceeded, the rocks gradually disappeared from the sides of the trail and the country flattened into a level mesa. To the astonishment of Matt and Chub, nothing was to be seen of the two men on this level stretch.
"Where'd they go?" queried the puzzled Chub, stopping his machine for a few words with his chum.
"They must have left the trail again, back somewhere among the rocks," replied Matt.
"Then maybe we're off the track," suggested Chub anxiously. "If Jacks and Bisbee were going to the scene of dad's 'strike,' why——"
"We're not off the track," interrupted Motor Matt. "Look over there, Chub!"
Matt pointed as he spoke. Chub, following his chum's finger with his eyes, saw a dun-colored peak rising to the left of the trail, and half-way up the side of the uplift, the sun glimmered on a couple of intersecting lines that formed a cross.
"The white cross!" whispered Chub. "We're headed right, Matt, and no mistake. But where in Sam Hill are Bisbee and Jacks? If they weren't coming here, wherewerethey goin'? Put me wise."
"Let's stop fretting about Bisbee and Jacks. The fortune of the McReadys lies over there, at the foot of that peak, and now's our chance to cinch it."
The words sent a thrill through Chub. Once more he remembered what this "strike" might mean to his father, and Susie and himself. Their years in Arizona had been lean enough, and all of them had felt the bitter pinch of poverty. Now, suddenly, Fortune had shown them her smile, and if they were to profit by it, they must beat down the evil schemes of the gambler. Hawley and his confederates alone stood between the McReadys and the goal toward which the prospector had been struggling for so long.
With a bounding heart Chub turned from the trail and headed straight for the white cross on the peak.
"It takes you to ginger a fellow up, Matt!" cried Chub. "Dad's claim is almost in sight, and it won't be long before we're racing back to Phœnix with a location notice. I was beginnin' to feel discouraged, an' that's a fact, but I'm right on my toes now and sure we're goin' to win. Hurrah for the McReady strike!"
There was no trail where the boys were riding, but the ground was smooth and level and there was nothing to prevent them from making good speed. Only a quarter of a mile lay between the pack-trail and the claim, and the distance was soon covered.
"There are the monuments!" called Chub, waving his hand.
Matt looked ahead and saw a collection of stones. There were five of these piles, four standing at the corners of an oblong square, and marking the limits of the claim. In the center of the square was a heap as large as two of the others, and Chub kept on toward it.
As Matt followed, he saw that this large heap of stones had a short pole protruding from the middle. A board was fastened to the top of the pole, and there was a square, white paper tacked to the board.
When Chub reached the center monument he tumbled off his motor-cycle in the midst of a rude little camp. A pack-saddle lay on the ground, and near it was a canvas-wrapped bundle. A pile of wood was heaped near some smoke-blackened stones, and to one side were a dingy coffee-pot and a skillet.
"Dad's camp!" muttered Chub. "He bunked right down by his center monument and was bound Jacks shouldn't get the best of him. Plucky old dad!" Chub's voice trembled a little. "He's fought hard for this, Matt—nobody, not even Susie and me, knows how hard."
"It's a long lane, Chub," said Matt, "that has no turning. Hard luck can't dog a fellow always. Is that your father's pack-burro?"
Chub looked in the direction Matt was pointing. Off beyond the confines of the claim, a burro was grazing on the mesquit-bushes. A small spring was close by. The burro was hobbled so that he could not stray far from the camp.
"Sure enough!" laughed Chub; "that's old Baldy himself. When we come into our money, we'll put Baldy in a gold barn and let him stuff his old hide with patent breakfast-food."
"Maybe Baldy'll like that," laughed Matt, "and maybe he won't."
"Anyhow," grinned Chub, "he looks like he could stand a little stuffing with just plain hay. He's helped dad through the hills for the last five years—the two of them have gone thirsty and hungry together, and knocked into more hardships and out of them again than anybody'll ever know. But right here's where they win. Look at that 'blow-out,' will you, Matt?"
By "blow-out," Chub meant a lot of white quartz that was littering the ground in every direction. He picked up a piece and held it under Matt's eyes. The stone was flecked with little yellow grains.
"Gold!" cried Chub; "the rock's just full of it. Say, it's a wonder this claim's laid here as long as it has. I'll bet that dozens of prospectors have been around it—but it was dad that found 'er! Whoop-ee!"
Chub jerked off his cap suddenly and hurled it into the air; then, in the excess of his joy, he caught hold of Matt and whirled him around and around in the wildest kind of a dance.
But there were some things about the situation which Matt couldn't understand. He hated to throw any cold water on Chub's effusive spirits, and yet he knew that they ought to probe to the bottom of the situation.
"Where's your father, Chub?" Matt inquired, as his chum let loose of him.
"Why, he must have set out for Phœnix to file the duplicate location notice," replied Chub, sitting down on the side of the rock pile. "You see, Matt, that letter was five days gettin' to us. Hawley had it for a day, and the Mexican must have had it longer than he admitted, or else dad was wrong in his dates when he wrote it. I guess dad got tired waiting for me to come out, and so he began to scratch gravel for Phœnix on his own hook."
Matt was wondering why Jacks and Bisbee had appeared so delighted during their talk on the pack-trail. From their manner, and what they had said, he had got the idea that they had accomplished something for Hawley.
"I thought your father didn't have any location blanks," went on Matt, "and that he wanted you to come and bring them."
"He must have found some blanks somewhere," returned Chub.
"Did he have a horse with him, besides the burro?"
Chub stared.
"Why, no, Matt," said he. "Prospectors don't ride. They just walk, an' drive their pack-burros ahead of them."
"Your father only had one burro?"
"That's all. What's buzzin' around in your nut, anyway, Matt?"
"I'm wondering why your father should pull out for Phœnix and leave old Baldy behind. He wouldn't walk all the way to town, would he, and leave the burro and his camp-truck here?"
The words startled Chub. A look of alarm drove all the joy out of his freckled face.
"Oh, slush! That's me, all right!" he muttered. "I'm goin' off half-cocked, as per usual. There's a whole lot of things I'm forgettin'. For instance, that talk we overheard between Jacks and Bisbee. That lacked a good deal of being encouraging to the McReadys. And then, again, where's Dace Perry? He ought to be around here somewhere, but I'm not seeing much of him. Anyhow," and Chub looked up at the board on top of the pole, "dad found his location notice somewhere, and we can't be euchred out of the claim."
"Look at the notice, Chub," suggested Matt. "See what sort of a name your father gave the claim."
"I'll make a guess that it's 'McReady's Pride,' or 'McReady's Hope,' or something like that," said Chub, climbing to the top of the rock pile.
Hanging to the pole, he brought his eyes close to the notice. Matt saw his hands grip the pole hard, while a cry of savage disappointment escaped his lips.
"What's wrong?" asked Matt.
Chub looked down dazedly at his chum.
"Why—why," he faltered huskily, "dad didn't put up this notice at all. The claim is named the 'Pauper's Dream,' and the locators are down as 'Jacks and Hawley.'"
"Jacks and Hawley?" echoed Matt.
"Yes," roared Chub, grabbing the notice and jerking it fiercely off the board, "the gambler's won out on us, Matt. Jacks has put up his notice, and some one is now on the way to Phœnix to file a duplicate."
Chub tumbled off the rock pile, sat on the ground at the foot of it, and covered his face with his hands.
"We got here, old fellow," said Chub brokenly, "but we got heretoo late!"
A wave of consternation rolled over Matt.
He had been fearing that something was wrong, but up to this moment he hadn't entertained the least notion that Hawley's dastardly plans had already succeeded.
"And the worst of it is, Matt," whispered Chub, looking up, "we don't know anything about dad. What have they done with him?"
HELD AT BAY.
"Don't worry about your father, Chub," said Matt. "Hawley will steal this claim if he can, but it's a cinch he'll do it in such a way the law can't get a hold on him. Your father has been trapped in some way, in order to get him off the claim so Jacks could put up his own location notice. You can be sure, though, that Jacks hasn't done anything very desperate. Brace up, old chap!"
"I can't," groaned Chub. "It's back to the woods for me. The gimp has all been taken out of me. Everybody in Phœnix always has a joke to crack at the McReadys. They call dad a 'rainbow-chaser,' and say he never can find any pay-rock the way he potters around. And now he's lost this chance! Maybe we'll never get another."
"Look here, Chub," said Matt, walking over to his chum and pulling him to his feet, "you're not a quitter and never have been. Don't try to be one now. Pull yourself together and face the music.There's a chance yet!But you're not going to help that chance any by acting like this."
"Chance?" repeated Chub dully, lifting his hopeless, freckled face to Matt's.
"Yes. You've got two location notices. Fill 'em out. Tack one on that board in place of the one you just pulled down, and we'll hustle the other one to the recorder's office in Phœnix."
"It's too late, I tell you!" insisted Chub. "Don't you understand what's been done? Jacks tacked his own notice up, and Perry is already on the way to Phœnix with a duplicate."
"Perry hadn't started, up to the time we got here," pursued Matt quickly. "If he had started, he'd have had to pass us. But suppose he did; suppose he has two hours the start of us—why, he's riding a horse that has already done twenty-five miles to-day, and amotor-cycle can beat him out!"
Matt's hopefulness and splendid confidence electrified Chub.
"You're a chum worth having if any one asks you," he burst out. "You're right, Matt; there is a chance yet, and this is no time to pull off any baby-act. I wasrattled, that's all. The idea that a fortune had side-stepped the McReadys had got onto my nerves. Give me a pencil. Hanged if I don't jump dad's claim myself, just to save it from Jacks and Hawley."
Chub was now all energy and determination. Sitting down on the rocks once more, he took two folded blanks from his pocket and laid them over a smooth, flat stone in front of him.
"We'll call this claim the 'Make or Break,'" he went on, taking the pencil from Matt and beginning to fill in the blank spaces; "it's in the Winnifred Mining District, and it's located by Mark McReady."
"Hold up, Chub," interposed Matt, "before you write your name down as the locator. You're several years this side of twenty-one. Would that make any difference?"
"It might," said Chub thoughtfully. "It'll be safer to put in dad's name, and then we'll be sure not to get stung. I'll fill out the two of them; then, while I'm tacking one to the board, you can take the other and make a getaway for Phœnix."
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm goin' to hang around here an' look for dad. You'll make a quicker run to town than you would if I was along with that one-cylinder machine, anyhow."
Matt, whose mind was busy with the conversation he and Chub had overheard between Jacks and Bisbee, evolved a sudden idea.
"Is there a mine around here called the Santa Maria?" he asked.
"Seems to me I've heard of an old, played-out proposition by that name," answered Chub. "Why?"
"Do you remember what Bisbee said to Jacks while they were coming along the pack-trail? 'I can tell what we done at the old Santa Maria.' Those were his words, Chub, and I've got a hunch that that's the place to go and look for your father."
"Bully!" said Chub. "You've got more horse-sense in a minute, Matt King, than Reddy McReady has in a year. Get ready to hike, old chap. I'll have this for you in about a minute."
"I'll go over to the spring and get a drink," answered Matt, "and then I'll turn theCometloose."
The spring was some little distance away from the center monument where Chub was doing his writing. Matt hurried toward it, gave old Baldy a friendly slap as he passed him, and then went down on his knees at the edge of the rocky pool.
Matt was feeling tolerably easy in his mind. He knew what theCometcould do, and in order to help his friends, the McReadys, he would make the miles spin out from under the pneumatic tires as they had never done before.
It is usually at just such a time as that, when one feels as though he is about to accomplish something really worth while, that the unexpected bobs up to play hob with all his well-laid plans.
While Matt was on his knees, refreshing himself with the cool spring-water, a wild yell came from Chub. Matt was on his feet in a jiffy, and whirled just in time to see Chub take a header from the rock pile.
He must have finished filling out the notices and climbed to the top of the center monument to tack one of them to the board, when the unexpected arrived.
Matt saw Jacks on top of the stone heap, and it was he who had given Chub the shove that landed him on his hands and knees at the bottom of the pile. Chub got up angrily, and gathered in a scrap of paper that had dropped beside him; then he turned and faced the prospector, who was roaring and shaking his fist.
"What d'ye mean, ye red-headed whelp, by tamperin' with my location notice? Tryin' ter jump this here claim, hey? Waal, you scatter, an' do it quick! If ye don't, I'll kick ye clean off'n the map!"
Jacks was not the only enemy that had come to work havoc with the plans of Matt and Chub. Bisbee was there, also, and so—to Matt's intense amazement—was Dace Perry.
Perry was standing beside a saddle-horse. The animal had been ridden hard and was plainly far gone with fatigue.
Jacks and Bisbee, it now seemed to Matt, had gone off somewhere among the rocks to meet Perry. Jacks probably had pitched a camp near-by, where he had stayed while watching Chub's father; and, naturally, it would be to this camp that Perry would go to meet the ruffian. Having joined forces, all three of the plotters had advanced covertly upon Matt and Chub.
Matt ran forward, to place himself shoulder to shoulder with Chub. Perry saw him coming, and called Bisbee's attention to him.
"You stay whar ye aire!" yelled Bisbee.
As he gave the warning he lifted his hand, and Matt saw the sun glimmer on a piece of blued steel.
"Git over thar ter whar yer friend is," ordered Jacks, from the top of the stone pile. "We mean bizness right from the drop o' the hat, young feller, an' if that red skelp o' your'n is of any valley to ye, ye'll jump mighty prompt whenever I tune up!"
Chub held his ground, however, and Matt continued to come on.
"You're a pack of thieves," clamored Chub, "that's what you are! You're trying to steal this claim away from my father, but we're going to fool you."
"Ye're McReady's son, aire ye?" yelped Jacks. "Waal, now, McReady tried ter steal this claim away from me, an' when I git back, along comes you an' makes a similar kind o' break. Git away from here! My mad's up, an' I'm li'ble ter do ye damage. What's that ye got in yer hand? Grab it away from him, Bisbee, then kick him off'n the claim."
Bisbee executed a rush in Chub's direction, but Matt was close enough by then to push out a foot and throw the ruffian heavily.
Bisbee, swearing furiously, arose to his knees and leveled the weapon he still clutched in his fingers. Before he could use it, Jacks had scrambled down from the rock pile and caught his wrist.
"None o' that, Bisbee!" said Jacks. "So long as the young whelps don't try ter interfere with us."
Matt and Chub ran back a few steps.
"It's the location notice, Matt," Chub whispered, "that I wanted you to take to town."
"Give it here, Chub," returned Matt, and took the paper and thrust it into the breast of his leather coat.
"It's a location notice!" sang out Perry. "I heard McReady tell King it was. Better take it away from him."
"I know a trick wuth two o' that," laughed Jacks hoarsely. "Kin you ride one o' them new-fangled bicycles, Perry?"
"Yes," replied Perry.
"Then pick out the best 'un an' ride fer Phœnix with that notice o' mine."
Perry gave an exultant laugh and jumped for theComet. Matt started forward.
"Keep away from that machine, Perry!" he cried.
"Draw a bead on him, Bisbee," said Jacks. "If he tries ter keep Perry from gittin' away, you know what ter do."
The gleaming weapon arose to a level with Bisbee's wicked little eyes, and Matt halted uncertainly. The pounding of theComet'smotor was already in his ears, and Perry was starting for the pack-trail.
While Matt stood there, wondering what he could possibly do, theCometdid something it had never done before. With a wheezy sputter, it stopped dead, refusing to answer the frantic twists Perry gave the handle-bars.
"Thought ye said ye could run it?" scoffed Jacks.
"Something's loose or broken," replied Perry, leaping from the saddle and letting the machine drop. "The other belongs to Ed Penny and I know it better. I'll take that."
A few moments later he was on the other motor-cycle and scurrying toward the trail. Jacks turned on Matt and Chub with a taunting laugh.
"I reckon you won't file no location notice ahead o' Jacks an' Hawleythistrip!" he yelled.
A DARING ESCAPE.
There had been so many ups and downs for Chub during the few hours he and Matt had been fighting for the claim that his discouragement now took a philosophical turn.
"There goes our last chance, Matt," said he, with a grim laugh. "It's what they call stealing your own thunder, ain't it, when a swift bunch of toughs act like that?"
Matt was mad clear through. His eyes snapped vindictively as he watched the exultant ruffians.
"The recorder closes his office in Phœnix at six o'clock?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Then Jacks has played his trump card. The only way that location notice could be got to Phœnix in time to be recorded to-day was by sending Perry on the motor-cycle. When we left Delray, he said something about lending us a gun. I don't believe in guns, as a general thing, but if we had borrowed Delray's we could have met these scoundrels in their own way."
Matt's voice was low, but it throbbed with a fierce desire to do something—anything—which might still win the day for the McReadys.
"The biggest steal on record, that's what it is!" breathed Chub.
"You could prove it in any court in the country, Chub. With your father's testimony, and ours, you'll have a good case against Jacks and Hawley."
"It takes money for lawsuits," said Chub bitterly, "and the McReadys have been living from hand to mouth for more years than I care to think about. There's no use talking about a legal fight, Matt. Possession is nine points of the law, and the man who files his location notice first always holds the ground. We'll just sponge the 'Make or Break' off the McReady slate right now. For the rest of it, all I'm worrying about is dad."
"If you fellers hev got through with yer confab," shouted Jacks, "ye'll jest turn face-about an' jog fer that scooped-out place in the foot o' the hill, right behind ye."
Matt looked around. The spot mentioned by Jacks was a jagged notch among the rocks, twenty-five or thirty feet long by a dozen wide, and with precipitous walls on all sides, except, of course, at the opening in front.
"What are you driving us into that hole in the rocks for?" demanded Matt.
"We like yer comp'ny so all-fired well," answered Jacks, with a hoarse laugh, "that we're goin' ter keep ye with us all night. Arter it gits dark, we kin hang onter ye easier if ye're bottled up in that cut-out."
"You're a nice pair of grafters—I don't think," flared Chub. "Somebody's goin' to settle for this business, and the more you pile it on the more you'll pay."
"We're able ter pay all we'll have ter," grinned Jacks, "but jest now you're follerin' my orders,sabe? Chase 'em in, Bisbee," he added, to his companion.
"Shoo!" said Bisbee, and started forward, waving his weapon.
"You're a couple of cowards!" yelled Chub, doubling up his fists. "You wouldn't dare shoot!"
"Come on, Chub," said Matt quietly, taking his chum's arm and leading him into the notch. "We'll have our innings later."
"But I don't want to be hung up in here all night," demurred Chub. "There's no tellin' what kind of a fix dad is in. We ought to be hunting for him."
"Don't fret. They've left your father so he'll be all right until you can find him, even if you can't take up the hunt until to-morrow. Just let 'em think their bluff is working, that's all."
Bisbee, with the revolver on his knees, had taken up his position at the front of the notch. From this position, even after it grew dark, he would be able to keep the boys from emerging from the cut-out.
Matt and Chub sat down on a couple of stones and leaned back against the steep wall behind them. Through the opening they could look out toward the claim and see Jacks taking Perry's horse to the spring. Saddle and bridle were stripped from the horse, and the animal was secured with a long rope and picket-pin. After taking care of the horse, Jacks went back to McReady's camp, started a fire, and began getting supper.
"Consarn 'em!" growled Chub, "they're taking everything in sight."
"We'll not make any kick," answered Matt, "so long as they give us our supper. I feel as though I'd been through a famine. Besides, we need food for our night's work."
He dropped his voice, to make sure Bisbee could not hear.
"Night's work?" echoed Chub. "About all the work we'll do to-night, Matt, will be to sit on these boulders and try to sleep."
"That's where you're wrong. When it's dark enough,and everything's quiet, I'm going to climb out of here, fix up theComet, and take this location notice to Phœnix."
"Shucks! What's the use? Even if you succeeded, you couldn't reach town before to-morrow. The other notice will have been recorded long before then."
"I'll not say we're beaten until the recorder himself tells me it's too late."
Admiration for his chum rose in Chub's eyes, although he shook his head hopelessly.
"That's your style, Matt—you never seem to know when you're down and out. How're you goin' to get out of here?"
Matt called Chub's attention to one of the side walls of the notch. There was more of a slope to the wall there than anywhere else, and Matt had already marked out his foot and hand holds, fixing half a dozen projecting stones and two or three straggling bushes firmly in his mind.
"In broad day," said Chub, "that climb would be hard enough, but at night you'd be sure to fall and break your neck. Cut it out."
"I'm going to make a getaway to-night," declared Matt firmly.
"Why couldn't the two of us get the better of Bisbee? We could drop on him during the night, and if we worked it right, that gun of his wouldn't cut any figure."
"I'd thought of that," said Matt, "but I've got to skirmish around the camp a little, you know, and tinker with theComet. All that will have to be done secretly. My way's the best, I think."
"You'll have to excuse little Chub from prancing up that precipice. He thinks too much of his neck to risk it on any such fool stunt."
"When I'm ready to go I'll set up a yell. That will draw Bisbee and Jacks after me, Chub, and you can walk out of this hole in the hill as neat as you please."
That ended their talk for a while. Just then Jacks came to the opening of the notch, and set down a tin cup of coffee and a plate of soaked hardtack and fried bacon.
"Ye'll hev ter eat out o' the same dish an' drink out o' the same cup," said he. "This hotel's kinder short on plates an' cups. Howsumever, I don't reckon ye're anyways partic'ler."
He withdrew with a jubilant flourish, and the two chums fell to on their food. After it was eaten, both of them felt a hundred per cent. better.
Night comes suddenly in that part of the Southwest. One minute it is daylight, and almost the next the stars are out and the coyotes yelping.
As night advanced a deep quiet fell over the captives and their captors. The horse and burro could be heard tramping around the spring, but these sounds, and the occasional bark of a coyote, were all that broke the stillness.
Bisbee, sitting by the entrance into the notch, was as upright and silent as a black statue. Jacks, with a blanket under him, was lying across the entrance and snoring. Midnight was passed and the hour had come for Matt to make his attempt, so he reached over and touched his chum on the shoulder.
"I'm off, old chap!" he whispered, his lips close to Chub's ear. "I've tied my shoes together by the laces and they're hanging around my neck—I can climb better and make less noise in my stocking-feet."
Chub reached out his hand and wrung Matt's fervently.
"I think it's foolish for you to try to get that notice to Phœnix, old chum," he answered, "but I appreciate what you're tryin' to do for the McReadys, just the same. If ever a fellow was true to his friends, it's a cinch that it's Motor Matt."
"I hate to pull out and leave you, Chub," went on Matt, "but there's only one motor-cycle, you know, and, besides, you can't leave here until you find out about your father."
"That's all to the good. We've got to separate. Good-by and good luck."
"Be ready to run when you hear me yell," finished Matt. "So-long, Chub."
It was as dark as a pocket in the notch, and Chub could not see Matt as he moved noiselessly across to the other wall. Presently, by straining his ears, Chub could hear muffled sounds—a sifting downward of sand, the faint crunch of a loose stone under a stockinged foot, a stifled breathing, as of some one working hard and trying to work quietly. Steadily the sounds mounted up and up. Chub, holding his breath, fixed his eyes on the blank darkness and waited. He almost fell off his boulder when he saw the blurred form of Bisbee lean forward, and heard him call:
"What ye doin' in thar, you two?"
"What's the matter with you?" retorted the quick-witted Chub. "We're tired out and want to sleep. Move over a little, Matt," he added, as though speaking to his chum, "you're takin' up more'n your half of the wall."
The blurred form straightened again, and once more Chub began to breathe. The sounds on the wall had ceased, and Chub began to count the seconds and mentally to check off the minutes.
Five minutes—ten—fifteen. Chub wasn't at all sure he was reckoning the time properly, but he began wondering what had become of his chum. The opposite side of the notch was the slope of the hill itself, and only child's play for Matt to get down. If he had got down, where was he?
Chub reckoned up fifteen minutes more. His nerves were in rags and he was imagining all sorts of wild things, when a booming shout came from the distance.
"Good-by, Jacks! You thought you had us, but you've got another guess coming!"
Bisbee leaped to his feet with a yell. Jacks broke off his snores suddenly and lifted himself up.
"What's the matter?" he demanded.
"Them kids hev got away!" cried the startled Bisbee.
A clatter of hoofs, rapidly receding in the direction of the pack-trail, could be heard.
"They've took the hoss!" yelped Jacks. "Consarn 'em, anyways! Why didn't ye watch, hey? Come on! Mebby we kin stop 'em yit!"
Bisbee and Jacks scampered off into the shadows, talking and snarling at each other as they ran. Chub, losing no time, laughed softly to himself and hurried out of the notch.
It tickled him to think that Motor Matt's daring had won out, even though there wasn't much hope of his getting to Phœnix in time to save the claim. But why had Matt taken the horse? Chub had been expecting the explosions of a gasoline motor rather than the patter of hoofs.
A HARD JOURNEY.
There were few better athletes than Matt King, and he was in the pink of condition. It was a matter of pride with him to keep himself at all times fit and ready for whatever fate threw his way.
But scaling that steep wall, under the double necessity of doing it effectively and making little noise, was one of the hardest things he ever attempted. He had kept vividly in his mind the path he had mapped out, and the upward climb was merely the working out of a problem that he had already solved in theory; but he had to work out the problem in the dark, and to grope with his feet for the projecting stones and with his hands for the bushes.
At last, with every muscle tingling and his breath coming hard through his tense lips, he drew himself over the crest of the wall. Here he paused for a moment's rest, and to put on his shoes. There was cactus on the hill-slope, and he didn't want to hamper himself by picking up a bunch of fish-hooks in his unprotected feet.
When near the top of the wall he had heard Bisbee's demand to know what was going on, and he had chuckled at Chub's response. Chub's ready wit, it might be, had made the escape successful.
Once in his shoes, Matt stole down the slope and made his way to the center monument on the claim. TheCometwas lying just where Perry had let it drop. How Matt was to fix the machine in the dark he did not know, but he had had an idea that the motor-cycle had "bucked" because Perry did not understand just how to operate it.
His first disappointment came as he knelt down by the machine and detected a heavy odor of gasoline. After a minute or two of groping about, he made the startling discovery that the gasoline-tank was empty. The cap that closed the opening into the reservoir had become loosened in the fall, and all the gasoline had trickled out.
Here was a difficulty, and no mistake. Matt remembered having seen a gasoline-stove at the Bluebell, but he was under the impression that Delray didn't use the stove very much. If there was no gasoline to be had at the mine, then Matt would have to keep on to the Arizona canal, and try to get some at the first ranch he came to. There was no use now in looking for the trouble that had cut short Perry's flight on theComet—that could be attended to later. What Matt had to do was to figure on getting a hundred-and-fifty pounds of mechanism to the Bluebell mine. To pedal the machine that distance, over the rough pack-trail with its sharp rocks and cactus, and at night, was a task he did not care to think about.
It was then that the idea of taking the horse appealed to him. The horse could carry both him and the machine, providing he used judgment in stowing theCometon the animal's back.
Having made up his mind to get over the difficulty in this way, Matt raised the machine and trundled it toward the spring. To his satisfaction, he gathered that everything was serene in the vicinity of the notch. Not a sound reached him from there. If he had been nearer, perhaps he might have heard the resonant snores of the sleeping Jacks.
When he had come close to the horse, Matt laid the motor-cycle down and went up to the animal, whispering and stroking his neck to prevent a startled snort or jump. With his knife he cut the picket-rope off close to the pin, and after twisting the rope about the horse's lower jaw, in lieu of a bridle, he cut the rope again. This gave him not only enough for a bridle, but also some twenty feet of lashing for theComet.
To hang the machine from the horse's back so that it would ride without injury to its mechanism was the next problem Matt had to solve. This was accomplished by first passing a loop of rope through the forks, and then drawing the machine up by the front with the rope over the horse's back.
Naturally, the horse objected to this unusual procedure, and a good part of the half-hour required by Matt in effecting his escape was consumed in getting the horse accustomed to his strange burden.
After the front of theComethad been swung into place and fastened, Matt repeated the operation with the back of the machine and drew the rear wheel off the ground. The right pedal and toe-clip dug into the horse's ribs and caused a good deal of shying and side-stepping. But the interfering pedal had an advantage as well as a disadvantage, inasmuch as it braced the machine away from the horse's side and gave Matt room on the animal's back. His position, once he was astride the horse, was far from comfortable, but he thought he could make shift, at least, to ride until he had left the camp well behind.
Heading the horse toward the trail, he shouted his good-by to Jacks at the top of his lungs, and then urged the horse into a gallop with his heels and the end of the rope hackamore. TheCometslipped, and plunged, and rattled, but Matt supported it with one hand and let the frightened horse take his own gait.
He heard Jacks and Bisbee chasing after him, but was soon so far away that these sounds of pursuit were lost in the distance. A little later he turned into the pack-trail, and the most difficult part of his night journey lay ahead of him.
Matt could have hidden his machine away among the rocks and left it there while he galloped on to Phœnix. There would have been nothing to gain by this move, however, except an easier ride to the Bluebell. The office of the recorder would not be open for business before eight o'clock the next morning, and Matt had plenty of time to reach his destination. If he could get a supply of gasoline at the mine, and found that theCometcould be easily repaired, he would leave the horse with Delray and get back to town on the motor-cycle.
Before Matt had gone far along the pack-trail the difficulties of his position on the horse's back became so great that he was forced to dismount and walk. Even though he could have ridden comfortably, he would soon have been obliged to fall back on his own feet anyway. The trail was rough and hard to follow when it could be plainly seen, and now, when it twisted and turned through black arroyos and clung to the edge of half-hidden chasms, progress could only be safely made by going slowly and carefully.
Leading the horse by the rope, Matt picked out the course with the utmost care. Once he lost the trail and was all of two hours finding it again; then the lashings of theCometgave way suddenly, and the rear wheel dropped, causing the horse to give a frightened jump that nearly took him over the edge of a steep descent.At the most difficult part of the trail, where it ran along a shelf gouged out of the cliffs, Matt had to unship the wheel and swing it from the other side, in order to keep it from colliding with the rocks and being broken.
Before thebarrancaand the Black Cañon were reached, a quivering line of gray had run along the tops of the eastern hills. Morning was at hand, and Matt, who had been working like a Turk through the dark hours, was not yet at the Bluebell!
"TheComethas made me a heap of trouble," he muttered, "but I'll take the kinks out of the old girl when we get to the Bluebell, and then there'll be clear sailing all the way to town. It's about time I struck a streak of luck, seems to me. If Delray has any gasoline——"
Matt broke off the remark suddenly, wincing as he thought of an added jaunt of five miles to the canal, leading the horse or pedaling a heavy motor-cycle. If luck ever did anything for him, he hoped it would show itself at the Bluebell.
The sky was bright with coming day when Matt turned into thebarranca, and the sun was up when he came in sight of the house and derrick at the Bluebell. There was some one on foot in the road, far away toward the canal. When Matt drew up by the house he saw that the approaching man was Delray.
"I wonder if Del is still gadding about looking for the fellow who smashed the wireless instrument?" thought Matt, setting to work unloading theComet.
But it was something else that had taken Delray abroad that morning. He came, puffing, just as Matt got theCometon the ground.
"Well, by thunder!" exclaimed the watchman. "What's the matter with the machine? Where's Chub? Say, but I've had the duse of a time!"
Delray mopped his face with a handkerchief and looked excited, and curious, and a little bit chagrined.
"First off, Del," said Matt, "have you got any gasoline? Don't tell me you haven't! It's the one thing I need just now more than anything else."
"That's right," cried Delray, surprising Matt with a fresh show of excitement, "if you ever needed gasoline, you need it now. But I don't think I've got a drop. Haven't used the gasoline-stove for a month, and it seems to me the can was empty when I last tried it. But wait; we'll make sure."
Delray darted into the house. In a moment he came rushing back with a can.
"There's some here, but I don't know how much," said he.
"Bully!" exclaimed Matt. "A quart will take me to Phœnix on the high speed."
He began working while he kept up a flow of talk.
"Chub's in the hills, looking for his father, who's mysteriously missing from the claim. Jacks and a rascal named Bisbee held us up yesterday afternoon while Perry got away on Chub's wheel. Jacks and Bisbee tried to keep us bottled up in a hole in the rocks all night; but we managed to get away. Chub's going to look around for his father, and I'm going to take his father's location notice to Phœnix. Seen anything of Perry?"
"Seenanything of him?" muttered Delray; "well, I should say I had! He came puffing along here yesterday afternoon, on Chub's motor-cycle, and I jumped for the road and headed him off. He tried to run me down, but I grabbed him. Why, he was all night in the house with me. He begged me to let him go, and tried to bribe me, but I was thinking of Chub and held onto him. About half an hour ago Tom Clipperton rode up on horseback. He was looking for you and Chub. I stepped out to talk with him, and while I was explaining the situation, we heard the popping of that motor-cycle, and saw Perry darting along the road. I had a rope on Perry's hands, and how he ever got rid of it is more'n I know. Clipperton took after him just a-smoking, but he might as well have tried to chase a lightning express-train on a hand-car. I ran down the road a ways, and was just coming back when I saw you."
All this set Matt's nerves to tingling. Here was an unexpected stroke of luck. Perry had been held up all night at the Bluebell! Even though he had got away, there was a chance to overtake him. Matt flung down the can, adjusted the needle-valve of the gasoline shut-off which he had found out of order, and tried the motor. She took the spark finely, and was apparently in as good shape as before she had "bucked" with Perry.
"Bully for you, Del!" cried Matt. "Perry leads me by half an hour?"
"Yes; but that's a whole lot, and——"
Matt did not hear the rest. He was off down the road, with the cylinders sweetly purring and the rubber tires kicking up a cloud of dust.
The fatigue of his night work dropped from him, and he felt as fresh and fit as though he had had his usual amount of rest and sleep.
Once more his face was set toward Phœnix, and he felt equal to anything.