by another route. Now, Potter's Gap is a hundred miles from Phœnix, and unless I can find a courier who will get a letter into Burke's hands by five o'clock this afternoon, the Dangerfield gang will escape into Mexico."

The governor's eyes sought a clock on the wall.

"It lacks fifteen minutes of noon," said he. "If you can get started by twelve o'clock, you will have just five hours to make a 'century' run—and a rough run it will be for a part of the way. Can you make it?"

A large map of Arizona hung near the clock. Matt stepped toward it.

"Can you show me, Mr. McKibben," he asked, "how I'll have to go to reach Potter's Gap?"

"Sure, Matt," answered the sheriff, getting out of his chair and drawing his finger over the map as he talked. "This here's the Black Cañon road out of Phœnix—you know that pretty well by this time, I reckon. The road forks this side of the Bluebell Mine, and you take the fork. That leads you to Frog Tanks and Castle Creek Cañon. You go up the cañon to a point five miles north of Hot Springs; there you'll find a trail leading up the right-hand wall of the cañon and over the divide to Potter's Gap. The hard part of your trip will come getting over the divide."

"Any place on the trail where I can get gasoline?" asked Matt. "The Comet's tank will only hold enough for about seventy-five miles. If I can't get any on the way, I'll have to take some with me. Won't have to bother with oil. The oil-tank holds a quart, and that will keep me going for two hundred miles."

"Better take some gasoline along and make sure," said McKibben. "You might be able to get some at Hot Springs, or at Frog Tanks; but there's a doubt, and you can't be in doubt of anything on this trip."

"Very well, sir."

"Think you can find your way all right?"

"It looks easy on the map, but I might take Clipperton along. He knows the country like a book, and he's got a motor-cycle of his own now. His machine is a one-cylinder, and not as fast as the Comet, but if I see Clip can't keep the pace, I can leave him behind."

"It's all right to take one of your chums with you, King," put in the governor; "in fact, it may be a mighty good thing for you to have some one else along. If Dangerfield and his men are captured, it means that they will spend a good long time in the penitentiary; and if they find out you are carrying word to Burke that will keep them from reaching Mexico, they'll do everything in their power to stop you."

"How'll they find out, sir? I'll keep ahead of the news all the way."

"That's what I'm hoping you'll do; but this Dangerfield gang is well organized, and the fact that they've discovered Burke and his posse are laying for them at Potter's Gap proves they're keeping track of things."

The governor whirled around to his desk and picked up an envelope.

"I'll not keep you any longer," said he, "for you have little enough time for your 'century' run as it is. Here are the instructions which you are to deliver to Burke. Put the letter away safely."

Matt opened his leather jacket and tucked the letter into the inside pocket.

"Did you find out all this from Juan Morisco, Mr. McKibben?" he asked.

The sheriff nodded.

"That scar on Juan's face gave him away," said he. "How's the girl?"

The sheriff's eyes widened when he heard the report.

"She won't say a word about herself, or about Juan Morisco," went on Matt.

"Can't blame her for that," said the sheriff.

It was plain that Morisco had told the sheriff something about Rags, and Matt would have liked to hear what it was. Time was pressing just then, however, and he had no wish to talk any longer.

As he was about to leave the room, the governor caught his hand, shook it heartily, and wished him luck.

"I have confidence in your ability to take care of yourself, King," said he; "if I hadn't, I shouldn't allow you to make this venture under any consideration. Keep a sharp look-out for trouble, that's all, and put the Comet through for all she's worth."

"I'll get your letter into Burke's hands, Governor Gaynor," declared Matt, "by five o'clock. Good-by, sir."

As he left the office the clock was striking twelve.

"He'll do it, too," declared McKibben.

A few moments after the door closed behind Matt, the secretary presented himself. He wore a troubled air.

"What's the matter, Jenkins?" queried the governor.

"Perhaps nothing, sir," answered Jenkins; "but when young King came in to see you, there was a rough-looking man loafing around the hall. After I had sent King into your office, I saw the man through the window. He was hurrying down the walk in front, and I watched until he got into a motor-car—a high-powered roadster. There was another man in the car, and I'm sure they exceeded the speed-limit as they broke away from the curb."

The governor, with a trace of consternation, turned on the sheriff.

"What do you think of that, McKibben?" he asked.

McKibben laughed easily.

"You're letting this Dangerfield business get on your nerves, governor," said he. "What could that chap who was loafing in the hall discover just by seeing King come in here?"

"He might have been friendly toward the Dangerfield gang, and he may have made a guess as to why King had come here——"

"Nothing to it, governor, take it from me. Motor Matt will pull down that hundred just too easy for any use. A dollar a mile for that 'century' run looks pretty good to him, I'll bet. Don't lose any sleep about him. He'll be back here some time to-morrow, chipper as usual and a hundred to the good. He's the bank that gets my gilt, no discount on that."

CHAPTER V.

THE RED ROADSTER.

As Matt hurried out of the capitol building he found Clip at the curb, waiting for him. Clip's motor-cycle was leaning against a hitching post, and there was an ominous look on Clip's swarthy face—a look that somehow reminded one of his grim Indian ancestors, for Clip was proud of the fact that one of his grandparents had been a full-blood native of the soil.

"What's on?" he asked, as Matt rolled the Comet off the walk and into the street.

"I've got to do a hard 'century' in five hours," answered Matt, "and you're to go with me as long as you can keep up."

A gleam of satisfaction darted through Clip's eyes.

"I was looking for your machine," said he. "Where'd you leave it, Matt?"

"Left it at the steps, in charge of the janitor. Didn't intend to give any one a chance to tamper with it. How's your gasoline-tank, Clip?"

"Full."

"Plenty of oil?"

Clip nodded.

"Same here," went on Matt. "We've got to carry two quarts more of gasoline with us, and we'll pick it up at Brigham's."

Brigham's was a general store in the "Five Points," and on the boys' direct course to the Black Cañon road. The machines were soon hustling through Washington Street as fast as the speed regulations would allow.

"Going up Castle Creek Cañon?" asked Clip, while he and Matt were gliding along side by side.

"How'd you know that, Clip?" returned Matt.

"Then it's true," muttered Clip darkly. "By thunder!"

The quarter-blood's manner was full of mysterious foreboding.

"What's true?" came from Matt sharply.

"A red automobile stood in front of the capitol. Was there when I came up. A rough-looking fellow was in the driver's seat. Another tough-looking man ran out of the building and jumped into the red car. 'Motor Matt's carrying a message,' I heard the second man say to the driver. 'Castle Creek Cañon, Jem, on the high speed.' Trouble ahead, Matt," Clip added.

Matt was astounded.

"Was that all you heard, Clip?" he asked.

"That was all."

"Ever see the two men before?"

"No."

"What kind of a car was