[CHAPTER II.]
MOTOR MATT'S FOES.
Motor Matt was in his room at the Clifton House. Late that afternoon he and Carl had arrived in Denver in the Red Flier, having brought Mr. Tomlinson, the owner of the car, and Gregory, Mr. Tomlinson's driver, from Santa Fé. Matt had been in charge of the touring-car for several weeks, having taken it in hand at Ash Fork, Arizona.[A] He and Carl had brought it alone as far as Santa Fé, where they had been joined by Mr. Tomlinson and Gregory.
[A] See Motor Stories No. 5, 6, and 7.
The boys had had numerous adventures on the long trail, and not only they, but the car as well, had been placed in considerable peril. Now, however, the dangers were past, the car—owing to Matt's careful handling—had been placed in the garage in as good condition as when it had come into the young motorist's hands, and everybody was pleased—Mr. Tomlinson exceedingly so.
The extra luggage belonging to the boys had been checked to Denver from Santa Fé, and directly after supper Matt had sent Carl to the railroad station with the checks.
Matt, lounging in his room and waiting for Carl to return, thought his chum was taking a long time to do his errand. The expressman brought the grips, but no Carl came with them.
It was half-past ten before Carl came in. There was a bruise on the side of his face, his clothes were covered with dust and dirt, and he was puffed up like an angry robin.
"Great Scott, Carl!" exclaimed Matt, taking the Dutch boy's sizing with a quick glance; "did you have to have a fight with the baggage-smasher in order to get the grips? You look like you'd had a scrap!"