CHAPTER VI.
SURMOUNTING THE DIFFICULTY.
While this clash was going forward between the rancher and Clip, Matt'smind had been busy. The result of his thinking forced the conclusionthat Gregory was innocent of any underhand work.
First, the rancher seemed to be alone at the ranch. If that wasreally the case, then there had been no one belonging to the placeto interfere with the machines. Furthermore, some knowledge of themechanism of the motor-cycles had been necessary in order to strip themachines of their gasoline in the short space of time in which thework had been done. It was not to be supposed that any confederate ofGregory's could have had this knowledge.
"Hold up, Clip," said Matt, dropping a hand on his chum's arm. "You'reon the wrong track. I'm sure Gregory didn't do this, or have any one doit."
"There wasn't any one else," flared Clip. "If Gregory didn't do it, heknows who did."
"The red roadster may have stopped farther along the trail, and oneof the men may have come back. Have you got any gasoline, Gregory?"inquired Matt.
"Nary, I ain't," answered the rancher. "That's what them other twofellers wanted ter know."
Clip cast a quick look at Matt.
"Mebby they're running short themselves," said Clip. "They foundGregory didn't have any. Then they made a dead set at ours."
"Or," went on Matt, "those fellows may have asked Gregory just to makesure we couldn't get a fresh supply from him when they had taken whatwe had. We'll go on for a while and use the pedals."
"We've lost out," cried Clip angrily. "Just at the start, too. Nicething for you to tell the governor."
Matt looked gloomily at his watch, then started off with all the speedhe could throw into the pedals. But the weight of the machinery, nowsuddenly useless, pulled him back.
His hopes were down, way down. His mysterious enemies had scored atelling stroke at the very start-off.
"What time is it, Matt?" asked Clip, in a discouraged tone, toilingalong beside his chum.
"Twenty-five minutes of two," was the answer.
"We've got three hours and twenty-five minutes to go sixty-five miles!"Clip laughed gruesomely. "We couldn't do it in two days, at this rate."
While the boys were talking they came to a long slope that ran downwardthrough a thick chaparral of greasewood, palo-verde, and ironwood. Theroad twisted serpentlike to avoid rough ground. From somewhere in thethicket below a muffled _thump_, _thump_, _thump_ came up to them, asthough some one was wielding an ax.
"What's that?" queried Matt, looking at Clip.
"Mexican wood-cutters, I reckon," was the response.
The boys went on down the slope, coasting at a rapid gait. Half-waydown the descent, a turn brought them into the proximity of anautomobile, and so suddenly that they had to clap on the brakes inorder to avoid a collision.
The car was a red roadster. It was at a standstill in the middle of thetrail, and neither of the two men was near it.
Astounded at this stroke of luck, Matt and Clip, for a moment, coulddo no more than stare at each other. The blows of the ax, off in thechaparral, were louder in their ears now, and they could hear a mumbleof voices.
"Wow!" gasped Clip. "Am I dreaming? Can I believe what I see? Say,Matt, this is too blamed good to be true!"
Matt, getting quick control of his wits, had been running his eyes overthe roadster. One of the rear tires was flat. On the ground near theflattened tire lay a new one, just taken out of the brackets that hadsupported it.
"Well, well, this _is_ luck!" breathed Matt, getting off his machineand hurrying to the automobile. "A tire blew up on them. They haven't ajack along, and they've gone into the brush to cut a couple of piecesof ironwood, in order to lift the axle and get on a new tire."
"They may be back----"
"Sure, and we've got to hustle." Matt was already on the running-board."Here are our canteens," he went on excitedly, picking both of thegasoline-cans out of the rumble. "And they're full, too," he added."Take one, Clip, and empty it into your gasoline-tank."
It was a time for action rather than words. The chopping had ceased inthe chaparral, but the talking was still going on, and, from the soundof it, the two men were not as yet coming any nearer.
"We're using up our reserve supply," said Clip, while they wereemptying the canteens into the tanks.
"We'll fill the canteens again out of the car-tank," returned Matt, "ifwe have time."
"Bully!" chuckled Clip. "Then let the rest of the gasoline out into theroad. Give 'em a dose of their own medicine. It'll serve 'em right."
Clip was a lad of quick temper. The Indian blood in his veinsundoubtedly lay at the root of this, but the resentment he felt atbeing looked down upon by some of the Phoenix boys who regarded themixed blood as a taint had had a good deal to do with it.
Had Matt not interfered at the well, Clip would certainly have set uponGregory, for rarely did Clip's temper allow him time to reason a matterout. This reprisal against the two men who had the roadster, however,had already taken form in Matt's mind before Clip had suggestedit. By stranding the car in the desert, thirty-five miles from agasoline-filling station, Matt could clip the claws of his enemies andrender them harmless.
The moment the _Comet's_ tank had been filled and capped, Matt carriedthe canteen to the motor-car and proceeded to replenish it out of thesupply belonging to his two enemies.
Then, while he was filling Clip's canteen, Clip was busy making Matt'sfast to the head of the _Comet_. Both boys were so hard at work thatthey did not notice the sound of voices had died out in the chaparral.As Matt stepped back from the motor-car and finished screwing the capon the canteen, a man jumped out into the road. The man was carrying asix-foot length of ironwood. With a yell of anger, he hurled the heavystick straight at Matt.
Matt dodged, and the timber just grazed his head.
"Jem!" whooped the man; "this way--on the jump!"
Running around the front of the automobile, Matt made a rush for hismachine, at the same time yelling to Clip to get into the saddle andmake off with a rush.
The man, darting around the rear of the roadster, started to planthimself in Matt's way. Matt feinted as though he would pass on theright side. When the man had thrown himself in that direction, Mattplunged by on the left, whirling the canteen by the strap and strikinghis enemy a fierce crack on the side of the head.
The man toppled over against the automobile. By then Matt had reachedthe _Comet_. Still hanging to Clip's canteen, he jerked the motor-cycleaway from the bushes, got into the saddle, and started the pedals. Cliphad already started, but was going slow and looking back to see if hishelp would be needed.
Jem, the driver of the roadster, crashed through the bushes just as the_Comet_ was getting under its own headway. He carried an ax and anotherpiece of freshly cut ironwood.
"That's King!" whooped Jem's companion. "Stop him! You've got to stophim!"
Clip flung back a taunt. Matt, as the _Comet_ gathered speed like amettlesome racer, wondered how Jem was going to cover the fast-wideninggap and do anything to stop either of the motor-cycles.
The next moment he understood what the last resource was the two menwere going to fall back upon.
There came a "pop" like an exploding fire-cracker, and a bulletwhistled past Matt's ear. Bending lower over the handlebars, he openedthe throttle with a twist of his left hand. The road was down-hill andthe _Comet_ was going like a thunderbolt.
In about two seconds Matt had caught up with Clip; then, in an instantmore, both boys were screened from their enemies by a turn in the road.