"Keno! And we've landed with both feet right in something that seems worth while. The second man is trying a bluff—but if he had known Motor Matt better he might have saved himself the trouble."
"We'll keep our eyes skinned, all the same," said Matt. "If it's really a bluff, we won't lose anything by being careful; while if it isn't, we'll have a lot to gain."
"Correct. An ounce of prevention is worth a ton of cure."
The road, although it twisted back and forth between rocky hills, was smooth and even. Both motor-cycles worked to perfection, and the boys went spinning along at a leisurely clip, keeping a sharp watch all around them.
At the town-pump, in Wickenburg, they stopped for a drink, then struck out for Skull Valley, where the railroad had an eating-house at which they had planned to get supper. They were still wary, although the prospect of trouble seemed to be growing more and more remote.
Chub, overconfident as usual, was just exulting over the way they had "called the bluff" of the unknown writer of the second note, when trouble materialized like a bolt from the blue.
It was at a place where the road-bed was like asphalt, although crooked as a snake, and edged on both sides with rocky hills.
In passing a gap between two of the hills Matt heard sounds that aroused his apprehension. He might have been mistaken, but he thought he heard a scrambling of hoofs.
"Hit her up, Chub," said he, in a low voice. "Did you hear a noise on the left of the road? I did, and I don't like it."
Just as the two machines forged ahead at increased speed, a shout came from behind the boys: