"Then we'll have to make all the time we can at this end of the route. Open 'er up, Clip!"
Both boys opened the throttles and let the reserve power shoot through the machinery. The needle of Matt's speedometer indicated thirty-two miles an hour.
"Great!" cried Matt, after giving Clip the figures. "That little one-cylinder is just naturally humping herself, Clip. We've got five hours for the trip, but at this pace we could almost do it in three."
"Hard trail in the cañon, Matt. There'll be plenty of lost time there. What's the game, anyway?"
Matt explained as they dashed along. The excitement of the work ahead brought a glow to Clip's eyes.
"Fine!" he exclaimed. "Motor Matt, the Governor's Courier! You'll get through on time even if I can't."
"Whether you're in at the finish or not, Clip, we split that hundred dollars right in two in the middle. If we ever get started for Denver, old chap, the money will help."
"But that red roadster!" scowled Clip. "How did those roughs get next to this work of yours?"
"That's too many for me," answered Matt.
"They must have suspected something. They were there, in front of the capitol, waiting. Mighty queer!"