"Let go!" shouted Matt. Then, suddenly freeing his hands, he struck the deluded Irishman a quick blow.
O'Grady's hands relaxed for an instant. That instant gave Motor Matt his opportunity, and he tore himself free.
About the same moment, Legree, hatless, angry, and chagrined, came running out of the office.
"Where's Brisco?" he demanded.
Just then the question was answered by Brisco himself. The runabout, leaping around the corner of the hotel, shot toward the road, a mocking laugh from Brisco trailing out behind.
"Not this time, Legree!" called Brisco, over his shoulder. "Look out for me, from now on—you and Motor Matt!"
The runabout was headed westward. In the rumble behind, lying partly over the rumble-seat, was a dust-coat. It undoubtedly belonged to Brisco, and he must have thrown it aside while attending to the automobile, a few minutes before.
While Motor Matt and Legree stood staring at the receding car, the coat lifted a little and a hand was waved.
"Great Scott!" cried Matt; "it's that boy."
Legree, far from showing any consternation, leaned against the wall of the building and laughed softly.