Chapter IX: 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!"