The girl, far gone with fright, was swaying dangerously in the saddle.
"Steady!" cried Motor Matt, reaching for the head of the runaway horse.
His outstretched hand caught the piece of flying rein. It was his right hand he had to use, and he doubled the rein about the palm twice. Then a twist of the left handle-bar caused the Comet to slow down, and he pulled back on the bit.
The frenzied horse, however, was not to be stopped so easily. Lurching ahead with a fresh leap, he dragged Matt from the machine, and carried him, a dead weight, for a dozen yards.
Matt hung like grim death to the piece of rein, and his hundred and thirty pounds finally brought the horse to a standstill. As Matt floundered to his feet, the girl toppled into his arms—and the horse jerked loose and went on.
But Matt was not concerned about the horse. The girl was saved, and that was enough for him.
Dizzy and weak, he staggered with her to the roadside and laid her down beside an irrigation-ditch. Hearing some one behind him, he turned and saw a buckboard containing a man and woman. The man had halted the rig, and was handing the reins to the woman. The woman was leaning from the seat and peering anxiously at Matt and the girl over the side of the vehicle. The man sprang down and hurried toward Matt.
"Finest thing I ever saw!" declared the man. "That girl might have been killed if it hadn't been for you. Say, you're a plucky piece, and——" The man stopped and stared. "Why, hello!" he went on. "You're Motor Matt, the lad that won the bicycle-race at the park a few days ago. Say, Malindy," he called to the woman, "this is Motor Matt. You've heard about him. He's the boy that won the race from O'Day, of Prescott."
"The young woman, Silas!" returned the woman. "Was she hurt?"
"She's only fainted, I think," said Matt.