It could hardly be called a ride. It was more like a fall through space.
Naturally, such a fierce gait could not last long. Matt was at the base of the mountain before he fairly realised it, and the Comet was plunging away on a mesa toward a V-shaped cut in a ridge.
He had time now for a quick look rearward. The Great Dane was not in sight. All Motor Matt had to show for the perilous encounter on the cliffside was his torn sleeve, a few bruises, and an uncomfortable remembrance.
As if to make up for the worrisome struggle through the cañon and the snail's pace toward the top of the divide, Matt had now a fine, hard road under him and plenty of room.
How much time he had lost he did not know, but that down-grade had put his schedule many minutes to the good. He was going a mile a minute now, and he was still gaining on the miles lost in the cañon.
As he closed in on the V-shaped opening in the ridge, he slowed down, to make a preliminary survey of the country ahead. The road led on through the bottom of the "V," and Matt suddenly took note of a man on horseback, directly in front of the charging Comet. The horse, frightened by the motor-cycle, was bucking and leaping sideways at the roadside.
"What place is this?" shouted Matt, as he swung past.
"Potter's Gap!" answered the man.
The boy's heart gave a bound, and he shut off and stopped the Comet within a dozen yards. Facing about, he waited for the horseman to spur his prancing mount closer.
"That's another o' them darned new-fangled machines that folks keep inventin'," remarked the man. "Where'd ye come from, kid, an' what's yer bloomin' hurry? The way ye was shootin' along, it looked as though ye'd git to where ye was goin' purty nigh before ye started. Whoa, blast ye!" he added to his horse. "If I had time, I'd make ye eat oats off'n that two-wheeled thing-um-bob."