CHAPTER VII.
SMOKE-SIGNALS.
"Thunder!" muttered Clip, as the breakneck pace was slackened a little."Just made it, Matt. By the skin of our teeth. And we didn't dump theirgasoline into the road, either. They'll be after us just a-smoking whenthey get that new tire on."
"We're playing in great luck, Clip, to get off as well as we did,"answered Matt. "Here, take your two quarts of gasoline."
Clip took the canteen and hung the strap over his handlebars.
"We're ahead now, anyway," said he, with grim satisfaction. "That's aheap better than being behind."
Matt listened to the steady hum of the _Comet's_ twin cylinders with anexultation he could not conceal. What had happened had been almost likesnatching victory from certain defeat.
"How much time did we lose?" asked Clip.
"It's two o'clock," answered Matt, juggling his watch with one hand.
"And we're in the lead. That makes a heap of difference. There'll be nounderhand work ahead of us, after this. We'll beat the news to Potter'sGap."
The trail slid away into the flat desert at the foot of the slope. Asthe boys wheeled across the sandy level, they cast a look backward atthe brush-covered slope, to see if they could discover any traces ofthe red roadster and of their enemies.
The car was not in sight, but rising straight upward in the still airwas a thin column of smoke. Suddenly the column was broken, and one,two, three balls of vapor floated aloft; then the straight, grayishplume was in evidence again; after a moment the smoke-balls reappearedand wound up the spectacle.
"Great Scott!" exclaimed Matt. "What sort of a performance do you callthat, Clip?"
Clipperton's face was ominous as he answered:
"Smoke-signals. Those two back there must belong to Dangerfield's gang.They were telling some of the rest of the gang that we're coming." Alook of savage pride crossed Clipperton's face. "You know why I know,"he added. "It was born in me."
Motor Matt had been the first true white friend Clipperton had everhad. Perhaps that was because he had looked for the worth and manlinessin the depths of Clip's nature, and had found more than any one elsehad ever taken the trouble to hunt for. Clip's ancestry was a rawwound, principally because there were some who took malignant pride innever allowing it to heal; and yet he was defiantly proud of it.
"I wish I had had a little of the same kind of knowledge born in me,Clip," said Matt generously, and Clip threw him a grateful look, andhis surliness vanished.
"See there!" cried Clip abruptly, pointing toward a range of dim bluehills to the north. "The signals were read. They're being answered."
A long way off, but perfectly plain in the clear air, arose a column ofsmoke. It was broken into little clouds, just as the other had been,and when it disappeared it vanished as quickly.
"How do they do it, Clip?" asked Matt.
"A fire of green wood and a wet blanket. That's all. There's FrogTanks," and Clip indicated a cluster of adobe walls and thatched roofs,midway between them and the point where the answering signals had shownthemselves.
It was twenty minutes after two when the boys wheeled through thelittle Mexican settlement. There was no sign of the red roadster behindthem, but, for all that, they were expecting trouble on account of thesmoke-signals.
"Two hours and five minutes on the road," cried Matt, "and we'reforty-five miles from Phoenix. We're still ahead of the schedule, Clip."
"The worst part of the road's ahead," said Clip briefly. "Here's wherewe begin to strike it."
Just at that moment the trail dipped into a rocky ravine and climbed asteep bank on the opposite side. There was no water in the ravine, butthe rocks were jagged and sharp, and they had to use much care to savetheir tires. With all the reserve power thrown into the machinery, the_Comet_ made hard work of the hill. Clip had to get off and drag hismotor-cycle up by hand.
For a mile beyond the ravine the trail was heavy with sand. Matt beganto appreciate the difficulties ahead of him and to worry a little aboutthe outcome. Clip noticed the serious look that crossed his chum's face.
"Don't fret," said he. "The canyon won't be as bad as this. The bed ofthe canyon is hard enough. What makes it a tough trail is the bouldersbrought down in the freshets. That automobile couldn't get up the canyonat all. You and I can go around the rocks. There's the opening into thegulch. Just ahead."
At the edge of the flat Matt saw a high, rocky ridge. The ridge wasbroken by a notch, and the road crawled through the opening and intothe defile.
The sides of the notch were steep, and the boys rode through it insingle file, Matt taking the lead. When they were about half-waythrough, a crash broke on their ears, followed by a rumbling sound thatgrew swiftly in volume.
A yell of warning came from Clip.
Matt had just time to catch a glimpse of a rock rushing down the sideof the notch. In a trice he speeded up the _Comet_ and leaped forwardtoward the canyon, sand and loosened pebbles dropping all around him.
From behind him came a ringing shock. With his heart in his throat heshut off the power and clamped on the brake, stopping so suddenly thathe was nearly thrown over the front wheel.
When he turned to look around, the rumbling had ceased. Clip's machinelay on its side, with a twisted and bent rear wheel, and Clip himselfwas just rising from the ground.
"Are you hurt, Clip?" Matt asked, bracing the _Comet_ against a boulderand running back.
Clip was frantic with rage and disappointment. One look at his machinewas enough to tell him that he was out of the race.
"Those smoke-signals did it!" he snorted angrily, lifting his eyes tothe slope of the notch wall. "Some one loosened a rock. The skulkingcoyote! It's a wonder we weren't killed."
Matt saw the stone. It was round, water-worn, and as big as a barrel.Evidently it had caught Clip's machine just as it was all but out ofthe way. The impact had whirled it around and bent and twisted thewheel.
"Nothing but a repair-shop can ever fix that," said Matt, almost asmuch disappointed as his chum was. "What'll you do, Clip?"
Clip did not answer. He had seen something up the steep slope thatbrought a snarl of anger to his lips and sent him clawing andscrambling up the rocks.
Matt ran after him. If there was to be a fight with any of theDangerfield gang, Matt was determined not to let Clip go into it alone.
The climb was a hard one, but the hard, well-trained muscles of the twoboys made record work of it.
Twenty feet up the wall was a shelf. Clip was over the edge of theshelf first, having had the lead of Matt in the start. As Matt crawledover, he saw a roughly dressed man scurrying to get up the wall at theback of the shelf.
Clip jumped for the man, clutched his feet, and pulled him down. Atorrent of imprecations, in some unknown tongue, burst from the man'slips. Throwing up his hands, he caught Clip about the throat, and thetwo rolled over and over, struggling desperately.
They would have gone over the edge of the shelf and rolled and boundeddown the wall, had not Matt, quick to note his chum's danger, dartedfor the fighters to grab and hold them back.
Catching the man by the shoulders, Matt flung him sideways, on hisback. The fellow had a knife in his hand, and made a vicious stab atMatt's breast. Clip, by a quick movement of his lithe body, caught theman's wrist and held the weapon back. Then, while all three were ontheir knees on the rocky shelf, a strange scene was enacted. Clip andthe man stared at each other with startled eyes. The fight went out ofeach of them in a flash. An expression of amazement crept into theirfaces, and along with Clip's astonishment came a tinge of bitterness.
"What's the matter?" queried Matt, getting to his feet.
Neither Clip nor the man spoke a word. There was a clatter as the knifedropped on the shelf.
The man was tall and wiry. His face was even more swarthy than Clip's,his eyes were small and piercing, his hair was straight and black, andthere were rings in his ears. He wore moccasins and buckskin leggings,and a dingy-blue flannel shirt, open a
t the throat.
Both the man and Clip got up slowly.
"_Tio! Tio mio!_" said Clip, in a hoarse whisper.
A slow grin worked its way into the man's face. From the edge of theshelf he looked down to where the disabled motor-cycle was lying.
Then he said something in a language Matt could not understand, andtook a step toward Clip, with hand outstretched. Clip muttered andstruck the hand aside. The man did not appear very much cast down bythis lack of courtesy, but bent over coolly and picked up his knife.Returning it to his belt, he folded his arms, leaned back against thewall at the other side of the shelf, and studied the two boys curiously.
Clip clenched his hands as some strong emotion swept through him. Thenabruptly he stepped toward the man and began speaking. What he saidMatt could not understand. The words came swiftly, fairly tripping overeach other. That Clipperton was upbraiding the man there was no doubt;but why he should do that, or why either of them should act in thequeer manner they were doing was a puzzle.
Clip's fierce words seemed to make an impression on the man. The grinfaded from his lips and a more serious expression took its place. Assoon as he could break into the torrent of Clip's talk, the man spoke.He spoke for a full minute, and Matt pricked up his ears as he heardthe name of Dangerfield mentioned.
When the man had finished, Clip said something in a sharp tone andstarted down the slope, beckoning Matt to follow. The man came to theedge of the shelf and watched them as they slipped and scrambled to thetrail, but he made no move to follow.
"Smoke-signals," said Clip, in his usual terse fashion. "They got usinto this fix. And brought me a big surprise. But it may be a help toyou, Matt, in the long run."
Clip's face was moody, although his words were spirited enough.
"What in the wide world is that fellow?" queried Matt. "What sort of ahold have you got over him, Clip?"
"There's a chain of men watching Castle Creek Canyon," said Clip, notseeming to hear Matt's question. "The smoke-signals are passed on. Fromthe other side of Frog Tanks, they reach Dangerfield, at Tinaja Wells.Some of the gang are laying for you above here. You'll have to go onalone. Think you can find the way?"
"It's right up the canyon, isn't it, until I get to the trail that leadsover the right-hand wall?"
"Yes. Take the first trail that leads over the wall. You can't gowrong. While daylight lasts," and a cunning look rose in Clip's eyes,"there'll be more smoke-signals coming from here. I'll be back of them._And they'll help you through._"
Clip turned and led the way to the boulder where Matt had left the_Comet_.
"You'd better hike, Matt," said he. "You can't lose any more time."
"But who's that ruffian, Clip?" asked Matt again, as he got into thesaddle.
"That ruffian"--there was mocking bitterness in Clip's voice, as hespoke--"is my uncle. He's a half-breed. His name is Pima Pete. He's oneof the gang. He didn't recognize me when he rolled that stone down thehill. We haven't seen each other for two years."
Clip whirled around, as though he would make off without another word.Matt was dumfounded. He recovered himself, however, in time to callsharply:
"Clip!"
Clipperton turned and saw Matt holding out his hand. "Can't you saygood-by, pard, and wish me luck?" asked Matt.
Clipperton hesitated a moment, then rushed forward, caught Matt's hand,and wrung it fervently. But he could not trust himself to speak.
Another minute and Motor Matt was in Castle Creek Canyon, headed north.
Motor Matt's Century Run; or, The Governor's Courier Page 7