"And you didn't stop! A good thing for you, Motor Matt. You're beginning to trust me a little, and you'll not lose by it."
The afternoon sun was half-way down the sky. The gray desert sparkled and gleamed in front of the roadster, but behind it was blotted out by the dust of that mad flight.
And why they were racing, Matt did not know. "Hit 'er up! Hit 'er up!" was the constant cry of Bascomb.
In the narrow seat behind, Clip lurched, and swayed, and rattled the motor-cycles.
"Hang on, Clip!" yelled Matt. "We don't want to drop you off."
"Never mind me," roared Clip. "I'm in the seat about half the time. On the motor-cycles the other half. But you can't loose me."
They reached the Black Cañon road and went spinning into it, some of the wheels in the air. Down the old familiar Black Cañon road they shot, and fairly jumped the bridge at the canal.
"You're a wonder, Motor Matt!" cried Bascomb huskily. "I've seen driving, in my time, but never any like this!"
"If it's speed you want——"