"Sho!" exclaimed the man. "Ever'body 'pears ter be in a hurry this arternoon. I got jerked beef, crackers, an' all kinds o' canned goods, say nothin' erbout——"
"'Jerked' and crackers'll do," interrupted Clip. "We'll go in, Gregory. Get us a hand-out we can tote in our pockets."
"Sartain," answered Gregory.
The boys were not in the adobe house to exceed five minutes, and they wouldn't have been there to exceed three if Gregory had been a little more spry in his movements. Stuffing their crackers and dried beef into their pockets, they ran out of the house and to their machines. Scarcely taking time to look the motor-cycles over, they pulled them upright and got into the saddles.
Matt pedaled away, twisting on the gasoline and the spark. But the motor did not work—he was still pushing the machine ahead with the pedals. He halted to investigate and find out what was wrong, and at that moment a startled cry came from Clip.
Matt looked around. Clip was having the same trouble getting his motor-cycle started. But Clip had made another discovery which sent a shock of consternation through both him and Matt.
"Our gasoline-cans!" cried Clip. "Where are they?"
Then, for the first time, Matt saw that his reserve supply of gasoline had been removed from the head of the Comet. Clip's can had disappeared in the same mysterious manner. With a sudden, paralyzing thought, Matt examined the tank back of his saddle.
The tank was empty!
Doubling up his fists, Clip jumped for Gregory. The latter sprang back and stared at Clip in astonishment.