"We're ahead now, anyway," said he, with grim satisfaction. "That's a heap better than being behind."
Matt listened to the steady hum of the Comet's twin cylinders with an exultation he could not conceal. What had happened had been almost like snatching 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 no underhand work ahead of us, after this. We'll beat the news to Potter's Gap."
The trail slid away into the flat desert at the foot of the slope. As the boys wheeled across the sandy level, they cast a look backward at the brush-covered slope, to see if they could discover any traces of the red roadster and of their enemies.
The car was not in sight, but rising straight upward in the still air was a thin column of smoke. Suddenly the column was broken, and one, two, three balls of vapor floated aloft; then the straight, grayish plume was in evidence again; after a moment the smoke-balls reappeared and wound up the spectacle.
"Great Scott!" exclaimed Matt. "What sort of a performance do you call that, 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." A look of savage pride crossed Clipperton's face. "You know why I know," he added. "It was born in me."