If Motor Matt loved one thing more than another, it was a good, clean fight for supremacy, such as the one that now confronted him and his friends. There was a zest in such a struggle, and the pleasure of winning out against odds, in a good cause, was its own reward.
As he whizzed along the wooded road, mechanically steering the wheel while his mind busied itself with other things, he was confronted suddenly by a rail held breast-high across his course. It was impossible to turn out at that point, and Matt had to shut off the power and jam down hard on the brake.
He caught a glimpse of a silent form at each end of the rail, and then, as he halted, of half a dozen other forms rushing out at him from the bushes on each side of the road.
In another moment he was caught and dragged from the motor cycle.
[CHAPTER V.]
AN ORDER TO QUIT.
This unexpected attack, coming so suddenly, had taken Matt at a disadvantage. He fought as well as he could, in the circumstances, but there were too many against him.
There were eight of his foes, all told, and Matt was carried into the timber at one side of the road and dropped unceremoniously in a small cleared space. Bounding to his feet, he stood staring about him.
His eight enemies had formed a narrow circle, hemming him in. They were all young fellows, well dressed, and carried themselves with an air of firmness and determination. The face of each was covered with a handkerchief, which left only the eyes visible.