"The best thing fer you, mebby, but not exactly the best thing fer myself, not hardly. Jest lay thar an' be as comfortable as ye can, bub. We'll git along fine if ye're only peaceable. I'm goin' ter let ye go, bumby."
"By and by? When will that be?"
"After them races are over in Phœnix."
Matt's freshly awakened brain was just beginning to get a grasp of the situation.
"This is Hawley's doing!" he cried. "He had me captured, there on the bank of the canal, and brought out here in his machine! This is his scoundrelly way for keeping me out of that bicycle-race. Who are you?" Matt asked angrily.
"Me?" grinned the cowboy; "oh, don't worry none about that. I'm only jest the feller that helps. Roll over an' go ter sleep. I'll sit up an' see that nothin' comes in ter pester ye."
"There's a way to take care of people like you and Hawley," threatened Matt. "If you want to save yourself trouble, you'll release me."
"Waal, I don't figger it jest that way, bub," drawled the cowboy. "To let ye go afore Saturday night would be a mighty short cut ter trouble fer yours truly."
"But I'm to ride in that bicycle-race to-morrow!"