[CHAPTER III.
A DEMON IN CONTROL.]
“Get out of that, pard! Get out!” McGlory was wild with apprehension, and sprang up and down at the roadside and waved his arms. “The way that car acts would make the hair stand up on a buffalo robe! What are you staying there for?”
“I’m trying to guess how that happened,” said Matt.
“Then stop guessing. You can guess till you’re black in the face and you’ll still be up in the air. Cut loose from that bubble wagon—that’s your cue and mine.”
“There’s a reason for the car acting as it does,” declared Matt, “and I’m going to get down to the bottom of the mystery. We might just as well put in a little time right here. It’s not a very long run to the Malvern Country Club, and we can waste another half hour without missing your appointment.”
“If you took my advice,” muttered McGlory, “you wouldn’t touch that machine with a ten-foot pole.”
There was a determined look on Matt’s face as he leaped into the road and began an exhaustive examination. He could find nothing wrong; nevertheless, he went over the ignition system carefully, step by step; then he took the carburetor to pieces, ran pins through the spray nozzle and sandpapered the float guides; and, after that, he went under the car, broke the gasoline connections and drew wires through the tubes.
The cowboy heaved a long breath of relief as Matt reappeared from under the car.
“Find anything out of whack, pard?” McGlory asked.
“Not a thing,” answered the mystified Matt.