THE BREAK IN THE ROAD.
Several days before, when Matt had been planning to start for Denver
on his motor-cycle, he had bought an auxiliary gasoline-tank. The tank
that came with the machine was attached behind the saddle, and held
five quarts, sufficient for a run of 75 to 100 miles. The auxiliary
tank was attached to the top tube, and its tubes and connections were
so arranged that it could be used independently of the tank behind.
With both tanks filled, the _Comet's_ radius of action was increased
at least 75 miles--enough to carry the machine half-again as far as
Prescott.
Matt had never experienced any trouble with the _Comet_. As a rule,
common sense and ordinary thoughtfulness are enough to keep any good
motor-cycle on the road without repair bills. The _Comet_ was always
as spick and span as when it came from the factory, for Matt groomed
the machine as he would have groomed a race-horse, and cleanliness is
one of the first points to look after if a machine is to travel right.
On his return from a trip he never failed to go over the motor-cycle
with wrench and pliers, to inject a few squirts of kerosene into the
warm cylinders, and to "turn over" the engine a few times. He was busy
making a final survey of the _Comet_ when Chub pounded up on Clip's
machine. A canteen, lashed to the head of the one-cylinder, showed that
Chub had been thoughtful enough to secure a reserve supply of gasoline.
"All ready?" sang out Matt.
"Ready's whole family," answered Chub.
Two minutes later the boys were skimming north along the Cave Creek
road. Beyond the outlying canal they struck the hills, and here Matt
instructed Chub a little in nursing his machine--not to open the
muffler when there was no real necessity, to let the burned oil out
of the motor base at least once every fifty miles, and to cut off the
power when descending hills in order to cool and help the engine.
They were well into the hills before Matt told Chub about the second
letter, and showed it to him.
"Thunder!" exclaimed Chub. "It must be a swift bunch we're up against.
But I guess they're four-flushin'. Anyhow," he grinned, "I'm not scared
so you can notice it."
"It makes me think," said Matt, "that there's something in that first
note, in spite of Short's opinion."
"Sure," answered Chub. "That first note is lookin' better and better
to me. Different fists worked on those two letters. The last one must
have been jotted down by a fellow who'd been through the eighth grade,
anyhow. How do you size 'em up?"
"It's all guesswork, Chub, but my guess is that some party intends
giving us a tip, and that another one found it out, and is trying
to backcap the first man. The tip must be important, or the second
man wouldn't try to keep us away from Prescott. To follow the thing
farther, the second man may be one of the two who held up Fresnay."
"Keno! And we've landed with both feet right in something that seems
worth while. The second man is trying a bluff--but if he had known
Motor Matt better he might have saved himself the trouble."
"We'll keep our eyes skinned, all the same," said Matt. "If it's
really a bluff, we won't lose anything by being careful; while if it
isn't, we'll have a lot to gain."
"Correct. An ounce of prevention is worth a ton of cure."
The road, although it twisted back and forth between rocky hills, was
smooth and even. Both motor-cycles worked to perfection, and the boys
went spinning along at a leisurely clip, keeping a sharp watch all
around them.
At the town-pump, in Wickenburg, they stopped for a drink, then struck
out for Skull Valley, where the railroad had an eating-house at which
they had planned to get supper. They were still wary, although the
prospect of trouble seemed to be growing more and more remote.
Chub, overconfident as usual, was just exulting over the way they had
"called the bluff" of the unknown writer of the second note, when
trouble materialized like a bolt from the blue.
It was at a place where the road-bed was like asphalt, although crooked
as a snake, and edged on both sides with rocky hills.
In passing a gap between two of the hills Matt heard sounds that
aroused his apprehension. He might have been mistaken, but he thought
he heard a scrambling of hoofs.
"Hit her up, Chub," said he, in a low voice. "Did you hear a noise on
the left of the road? I did, and I don't like it."
Just as the two machines forged ahead at increased speed, a shout came
from behind the boys:
"Stop! Stop, or we'll shoot!"
Matt and Chub stole a quick look behind. Two horsemen were in the road,
and one of them was armed with a rifle.
"Faster!" cried Matt. "Get around the next turn!"
There was no need of a spur for Chub. His idea that the writer of that
second note was "four-flushing" had proved to be a dream, and he was
coaxing his motor-cycle to the limit.
_Bang!_
The sharp report echoed and reechoed through the hills, and a spurt of
dust shot up between the two racing wheels.
"They're shooting at our tires!" called Matt.
"If they'll give us about a minute more," answered Chub, doubled over
his handle-bars, "they can blaze away all they please. They've got to
haul up if they do any straight shooting, and while they're standing
still we're getting into the distance. If---- Wow!"
Chub broke off with a startled yell. One of the bullets had passed
altogether too close to him for any sort of comfort.
The next moment the shoulder of a hill intervened between the boys and
the marksman. They were safe for the moment, but, above the noise of
their machines, they could hear a flurry of pounding hoofs.
"They mean business, all right," said Chub grimly, "but if they've a
notion they can overhaul us on a couple of cayuses, they've got another
guess coming."
"Look!" shouted Matt suddenly; "there, ahead!"
Chub stared, and instinctively a shout of despair escaped his lips.
Ahead of the boys was a long, straight slope. At the foot of the slope
there was a break in the road, a gap crossing it at right angles and
seven or eight feet wide.
"There were planks across that gap!" cried Chub. "Those scoundrels
have taken them away. They've got us, Matt!"
For a moment Motor Matt did not answer. He was gazing sharply at the
break. The chasm seemed deep, even if it was not very wide, and was
evidently the course of a small stream. Just before the edge of the
gap was reached, heavy freighting over the road had hollowed out the
road-bed.
A daring idea took form in Matt's mind.
"We'll get across!" he cried.
"How?" gasped Chub.
"That hollowed-out place--our machines will be thrown upward at the
other side of it--_they'll leap across_!"
Chub's heart almost stood still. He was brave enough, but he did not
understand the possibilities of the situation so well as Matt, and the
attempt to hurl their motor-cycles across the gap looked like the worst
kind of recklessness.
"Give her every ounce of power, Chub!" shouted Matt. "Head straight for
the gap and keep the middle of the road. Watch me; I'll take it first."
The _Comet_ was a much faster machine than the one Chub was riding. Up
to that moment Matt had been holding back in order to stay alongside
his chum; but now, in order to demonstrate the feasibility of the
fearful leap he had suggested, he opened the throttle and forged into
the lead.
Chub, every faculty centered in his handle-bars, saw Matt duck downward
into the hollow, shoot upward, spin through the air as though launched
from a catapult, then alight on the opposite side of the break a good
four feet from the edge. What was more, the _Comet_ did not seem to
mind the leap any more than a spirited horse would have done, and
started on up the road in excellent style. Matt, however, halted and
turned back.
There were some doubts in his mind about Chub. Clip's motor-cycle
wasn't a very late machine and might not be able to duplicate the
_Comet's_ performance. Far up the slope the horsemen could be seen
racing after the boys at top speed. There was nothing else for it, Matt
knew, but for Chub to take his chance.
Down into the hollow went Chub, then up and out, the one-cylinder's
wheels spinning in mid-air. Down he came, safe by a scant margin, and a
breath of relief rushed through Matt's lips.
Baffled shouts came from the horsemen. Matt's hopes were dashed
somewhat by sounds which told him Chub's machine was beginning to
misfire.
"Use your pedals!" shouted Matt. "Open the throttle, Chub!"
Matt knew that the jolt the machine had had was probably the cause of
the misfiring. The jar had perhaps caused the carburetter-float to
stick, thus interrupting the regular flow of gasoline.
Opening the throttle did not seem to help. Matt, watching the horsemen,
saw them getting ready to take the gap at a leap. To delay much longer
would surely mean capture.
"Hold down the priming-pin for a second!" yelled Matt.
He was making ready to go back to Chub's assistance, when the motor
took hold in proper shape, and Chub, white and worried but mightily
relieved, came gliding along.
"I'm a regular mutt in a pinch like that," said he. "Lost my head
completely, and wouldn't have known the first thing to do if you hadn't
yelled."
"Let 'er out again," returned Matt. "We'll leave those two scoundrels
behind, now, for good and all. The main thing is to get out of
rifle-range while they're leaping the gap."
Side by side the chums plunged away. Looking behind them, just before
they took a turn, they saw the two horsemen swinging into the air and
taking the leap safely.
"We'll lead 'em now," gloried Chub, "clear into Skull Valley, if they
want to follow!"