Vaguely Matt wondered why the poison in his veins had not already rushed to his brain and paralyzed him into inaction. He was feeling as strong as ever, and as able to effect a safe landing without danger to the people on the show grounds.
That was the thing he had set out to accomplish, and it was the thing he would do.
Freed of Le Bon's weight, the Comet was more manageable.
With steady hand and cool, unshaken judgment, he laid the Comet parallel with the road, glided downward with a rush, shut off the power, and touched the hard ground squarely between the guard ropes.
The jar of the landing was hardly perceptible, and Matt stepped out of the car, to be grabbed by McGlory and to see Burton, dismounted and anxious, at his side.
"The cobra——" began Matt.
"Killed," struck in Burton.
"Did it bite any one in the crowd?"
"No; every one was out of the way, and the fall itself nearly did the business for the reptile."
"Then get a doctor for me," said Matt, showing a trickle of blood on his wrist. "That's the cobra's mark."