CHAPTER XV.
THE FLIGHT OF THE "COMET."
Matt King was on his mettle. Phoenix was sixteen miles away, and hehad, as he figured it, forty minutes to get there and make his way tothe park. Could he do it? He _could_ and WOULD!
The presence of Hawley in his crack machine added an element of danger,but Matt knew in his soul he could slide away from the motor-car as ajack-rabbit slips clear of a bounding greyhound.
He saw the dust-fog of the coming car as he whirled past the forks ofthe road. It was jumping at him with terrific speed, and he saw thechauffeur and the cowboy in front of the big machine and Hawley in thetonneau, standing and leaning over their heads in his excitement anddetermination.
If Matt got clear, Dirk Hawley stood to lose a lot of money; and totouch the gambler in his pocketbook was to touch him in his tenderestspot.
Matt laughed as he rushed onward. He felt that the race was his,barring accidents; and the _Comet_ was brand-new, and careful handlingmade accidents a remote possibility.
Seven horses were purring in the cylinders, whirling the racing tires,and showing heels such as seven horses never showed before. The steadymurmur of the machine filled Matt's heart with exultation. He wasflying, and the tires seemed scarcely to touch the ground they covered.Cactus, rock, greasewood brush shot toward him and were lost behind.
At the start he was four miles from the bridge over the Arizona Canal;now the bridge lay before him at the foot of a long slope with a slightcurve at the end. In two minutes he would be there!
As the dust was left behind, he saw a dim figure standing by thebridge. Then he remembered what Penny had said about Hawley droppingone of his passengers at that point, and a sudden fear shot throughMatt's nerves. The man waved his hand, ducked downward and disappearedunder the canal. In the space of a breath, almost, he reappeared anddashed back toward the roadside. Then on Matt's startled ears thereburst the dull _boom_ of an explosion. Under his eyes the bridge seemedto rise up and drop back into the canal.
Matt slowed down, his heart in his throat and his nerves in rags.Hawley had left that man behind to blow up the bridge, well knowingthat Matt could not pass the chasm on his motor-cycle, and that thenearest bridge he could reach was miles away.
The whirr of the car behind him grew loud and louder in his ears, andabove it came yells of triumph. Dazed and feeling himself all butbeaten, Matt nevertheless continued on toward the wrecked bridge.
The next moment he saw something that aroused his hopes. One stringerwas left, spanning the gulf from bank to bank--a square timber thatoffered possibilities, albeit dangerous ones. A nail in the stringerwould mean a bursted tire! Even a sliver might cause damage that wouldstop the _Comet's_ flight. Gritting his teeth Matt speeded up themachine, tore down the slope and took the end of the timber at a bound.
The motor-car was close and he dared not look behind him. Every facultyhad to be centered upon that narrow, dangerous path over which he wasrushing at perilous speed. He could not see what the cowboy was doing,nor know how a scant forty feet of rope fell short, for the cowboy,past master at throwing the lariat, had leaned forward over the longbonnet and made a cast.
"A thousand dollars if you stop that boy!" Motor Matt heard this yelledfiercely in Hawley's voice, and behind him the noose fell short!
If there were nails or slivers in that square timber, the rubber tiresmissed them. Matt gained the opposite side of the canal and sped up thebridge approach. The man who had set off the explosion leaped into theroad, swinging his arms and shouting; then very suddenly he leaped outagain, for the hundred-and-fifty-pound motor-cycle was coming towardhim at deadly speed. Matt was abreast of the man and beyond him in thespace of a heart-beat, and he stole a quick look behind.
Dirk Hawley had overreached himself. His evil machinations had resultedin destroying the bridge, but he had foiled himself and not the daringyoungster who had taken a bold risk and crossed the gap. The motor-carwas at a dead stop on the other side of the canal, and a baffled groupof three surrounded it and called wild words to the man on the otherside.
A loud laugh escaped Matt's lips and dwindled behind him in a mere wispof sound. He was safe! Now his race was against time alone.
Fortunately there were few travelers on the Black Canyon road. Thetraveling for that part of the day had mostly been done, and peoplefrom all the ranches were at the park. He had to slow down and turn outfor a Mexican wood-hauler, and the few other people he passed gave hima wide berth and watched wonderingly as he whizzed by.
Alfalfa-fields sped past him, and the cottonwood-trees lining theroadside ditches trooped behind so quickly that they became a mereblur. The road was like asphalt and rubber tires never had better going.
Like a dart Matt hurled onward, minute after minute, ranch-houses doingstrange dances as he met and left them. Before he fairly realized it hewas turning into Grand Avenue and plunging along beside the street-cartrack. Into the Five Points he whirled, striking pavement thatappreciably increased his gait. The stores seemed deserted, and onlyhere and there could a man be seen on the streets. A yellow cur prancedyipping out at him, then whirled with his tail between his legs and ranhowling from the monster that devoured distance with the combined speedof a dozen dogs.
Turning into Washington Street, Matt found himself with a straight-awaystretch clear to the park. There was more travel here, for this wasthe main thoroughfare of the town. Every store and shop was dressed inbunting. Matt must have been recognized as he raced, for everything gotout of his way, and more than one cheer went up as he flickered by.
In passing the Court House Plaza he caught the time from the face ofthe big clock. Six minutes of four! He opened her out a little more,and the _Comet_ ate up the miles as she had not yet done. Mile-a-minuteMatt! He was true to the name, now, and Phoenix had never beentraversed from end to end as he was doing it.
Presently he was in the outskirts of the city, another minute and hewas close to the park fence, another and he had slowed down for thewagon-gate. The man on duty there recognized him and leaped aside.
"Hoop-a-la!" roared the man, waving his hat. "In with you! Not a minuteto spare."
Toward the race-course he guided the _Comet_. Everywhere the edge ofthe great oval was black with people. Like wild-fire the word traveled,"King is coming! Here comes King! Bully for King!"
Close to the dressing-rooms Matt pulled up. The major was there, Chubwas there, Susie was there--and Perk. They _knew_ he would arrive, andthey had everything ready.
"Oh, you!" howled the delighted Chub, throwing his arms about Matt andpulling him out of the saddle. "King of the Motor Boys, that's what youare."
Susie grabbed him and, in her excitement, landed an ecstatic kiss onhis dusty face.
"Motor Matt!" she cried, waving the high-school colors. "_Now_ willPrescott High be good?"
"Shade o' Gallopin' Dick!" yelled Welcome, doing an odd war-dance onhis wooden pin. "He's my pard, he is! Watch me soothe my turbulent soulwith a grip o' his honest pa'm."
Matt was torn from the selfsame grip by Major Woolford.
"You're the boy!" said the major. "No time to lose, for the starter iscalling the men for the race. Here's your wheel. No time to change yourclothes, but you can peel off your coat. McReady, help with his shoes."
Matt threw off his cap and coat. Chub had unlaced one shoe and Susiethe other. Matt kicked out of them and into lighter foot-gear. Then,with time for hardly a word, he grabbed the racing-wheel that waswaiting for him, and made his way to the track.
"Matt King is entered to race for Phoenix in the one-heat one-milebicycle contest," the starter was yelling through a megaphone. "As Kingis not here, and as, according to the rules, the race starts at foursharp, Phoenix substitutes her second choice, Dace----"
"_King is here!_"
It was the booming voice of Major Woolford, just crossing the track totake his place in the judges' stand.
Simultaneously with the words, Matt, in his nondescript racing-attire,made his wa
y along the track toward the tape.
There followed a breathless pause. Although the word had gone aroundthat King was coming, the Prescott rooters tried to treat it as acanard. They didn't want King.
Dace Perry, as Matt walked toward him, reeled back from his machine.His face went white as death, and a hopeless look arose in his eyes.Without a word he caught his machine by the handle-bars and made forthe paddock. His thunderstruck adherents, Spangler, Drake and theothers, were waiting to offer what consolation they could give.
Following the breathless pause, a veritable roar went up from the grandstand and all around the track. It was a Phoenix roar, of course, andit was Phoenix people who stood on their seats, threw up hats and shookcanes and handkerchiefs. The high-school boys, clustered together,let loose with their triumphant yell. Colors were waved--Phoenixcolors--and the flags of Prescott High were temporarily retired.
"King, King, King-King-King!" chanted Phoenix High, in unison.
"Oh, he ain't so much!" came a feeble wail through a megaphone. "Holdyour shouting until after the race!"
"Drown him!" whooped Phoenix. "Send him to the asylum! Back, back tothe padded cell!"
O'Day took Matt's sizing with a troubled eye, then clenched his teeth.He would do his best--but he had doubts. A half-confidence is worsethan no confidence at all.
"Buck up, O'Day!" implored the Prescott rooters. "You can do the trick!Don't let him throw a scare into you. _He's ridden twenty miles and hemust be about all in!_"
That last was the key-note. When O'Day heard it he brightened. Matt wasin from a trying trip, just in, and he had to go the round on a poundof crackers and cheese! But Prescott didn't know him.
The two racers took their places, hugged by a couple of men at thesaddles.
"All ready?" _Bang!_
Matt was hurled down the track. For the first time since he had leftClip and Penny his feet were busy, more than busy.
Motor Matt; or, The King of the Wheel Page 15
