"That was all."
"Ever see the two men before?"
"No."
"What kind of a car was it?"
"Roadster. Looked like it could go."
Matt puzzled over this disquieting information all the way to Brigham's. They were held up about five minutes at the general store, buying a couple of two-quart canteens and having them filled with gasoline. When they left the Five Points and shot along Grand Avenue, each had a receptacle securely lashed to the head of his machine.
Thirty miles an hour was about the limit of Clip's motor-cycle. Clip had recently bought the machine of Ed Penny, and had equipped it with new tires, so that it was in a perfectly serviceable condition.
Twenty miles an hour for five hours would turn the trick. But that was too close figuring. The boys were a quarter of an hour late getting away. This time would have to be made up, and, besides that, Matt wanted to gain on the schedule so as to have a little leeway for possible accidents.
"How's the going between the Arizona Canal and Castle Creek Cañon, Clip?" queried Matt, as they whirled into the Black Cañon road.
"Fine to Frog Tanks," answered Clip. "From there to the cañon not so good. In the cañon it's mighty poor."