"You're giving it to me! It may be a race with Death who—who knows?"
Matt pondered those words as well as he could with every faculty centered in the running of the car.
"You're mighty anxious to get yourself behind the bars, Bascomb," said he.
"Bars!" burst out the man. "What do I care for bars and stone walls at a time like this? Take me to the house where you left Ollie—the shortest way."
"Ollie?"
"The little girl. Didn't she tell you her name?"
"She said it was 'Rags.'"
A groan came from Bascomb's lips.
"That's what it's been for the two years I've been in Arizona. Now that everything was going to be different, this had to happen. Hit 'er up, King! Can't you do better?"
Every pound of power was purring in the cylinders. No motor ever made had run as sweetly, nor hurled a car over a road so surely and easily. The machinery responded instantly to the slightest touch.