CHAPTER XII.
COOL VILLAINY.
It was several hours before Matt regained consciousness. His firsttangible feeling was one of nausea. Opening his eyes, he found himselfin a bare little room, lighted by a candle planted in its own drippingson the hard earth floor.
Matt's hands and feet were tied, and his limbs felt terribly numb andcramped. As his wits slowly returned, he began to note his surroundingsmore in detail.
The walls of the room were of adobe clay, but they had caved in inseveral places and parts of the thatched roof had fallen to the floor.The litter of clay and tule thatching had been brushed aside to leavethe center of the room clear.
On the floor near Matt lay his leather cap. Close to the sputteringcandle, squatting tailor-fashion, a doubled elbow on one of his kneesand a black pipe in his fingers, was a resolute-looking man in cowboyclothes. Alongside of him lay a broad-brimmed hat and a coiled riata.
"Where am I?" called Matt.
The man turned his grizzled face in Matt's direction.
"Oh, ho!" he chuckled. "Come back ter earth, have ye? I was allowin' itort ter be time. Whar be ye? Why, ye're in a desarted Mexican _jacal_in the foot-hills o' the Phoenix Mountains, about twenty miles from thecapital of Arizony Territory. Anythin' else ye're pinin' ter know?"
"Who brought me here?" demanded Matt.
"You was brought in one o' them hossless kerriges, bub. That was a hulllot o' style, now, wasn't it? I've heern tell that lots o' people paysfive dollars an hour ter ride in them benzine buggies, but you got yerride fer nothin'. Ain't ye pleased?"
"This is no time for foolishness," said Matt. "I was dragged away fromPhoenix against my will, and the best thing you can do is to take theseropes off me and let me go."
"The best thing fer you, mebby, but not exactly the best thing fermyself, not hardly. Jest lay thar an' be as comfortable as ye can, bub.We'll git along fine if ye're only peaceable. I'm goin' ter let ye go,bumby."
"By and by? When will that be?"
"After them races are over in Phoenix."
Matt's freshly awakened brain was just beginning to get a grasp of thesituation.
"This is Hawley's doing!" he cried. "He had me captured, there on thebank of the canal, and brought out here in his machine! This is hisscoundrelly way for keeping me out of that bicycle-race. Who are you?"Matt asked angrily.
"Me?" grinned the cowboy; "oh, don't worry none about that. I'm onlyjest the feller that helps. Roll over an' go ter sleep. I'll sit up an'see that nothin' comes in ter pester ye."
"There's a way to take care of people like you and Hawley," threatenedMatt. "If you want to save yourself trouble, you'll release me."
"Waal, I don't figger it jest that way, bub," drawled the cowboy. "Tolet ye go afore Saturday night would be a mighty short cut ter troublefer yours truly."
"But I'm to ride in that bicycle-race to-morrow!"
"Ter-day, bub, not ter-morrer. That bicycle-race is ter-day, since it'ssome little past midnight. We passed the fag-end o' Friday clost ter anhour ago. Yep, I understood ye was goin' ter race with O'Day at fouro'clock p. m. But ye've changed yer mind about that."
"I haven't changed my mind," answered Matt desperately.
"Then somebody else changed yer mind fer ye, which don't make aparticle o' difference, seein' as how ye can't help yerself. Goodnight, bub. I'll jest set here an' smoke an' doze an' make shore thatnothin' don't happen. The man as got me ter do this was powerfulpertickler about that."
There was nothing to be gained by talking with the fellow--Matt was notslow in making up his mind to that. The terrible pains he had felt whenhe had first opened his eyes were leaving him slowly, and this affordedhim some comfort. Turning a little in order to make his position moreeasy, he closed his eyes and fell to thinking.
When he went to that place on the canal to meet Clipperton he hadwalked into a trap--but it was not a trap of Clipperton's setting.Hawley--and Perry, perhaps--had, as usual, used Clipperton as a tool.Matt was positive of this from the way Clipperton had acted when thetrap was sprung. There were things about that challenge of Clipperton'swhich he did not understand, and probably never would understand untilsome one of his enemies explained the matter to him.
But, with the passing of recent events, fresh light was thrownupon the story told by Welcome Perkins. If Matt could not get backto Phoenix before 4 o'clock, Saturday afternoon, Perry would rideagainst O'Day--and Major Woolford's club would lose the bicycle-race.Incidentally, Hawley's scheming would enable him to win a lot of money.
The betting part of Hawley's schemes Matt cared little about. What hedid worry over was Major Woolford's disappointment, and the fact thatthe _Comet_ would go to O'Day--and go to him unfairly. Besides, Matthad set his heart on having the _Comet_ for his own, and all his futureplans clustered about his ownership of that splendid machine. He mustget away, he _must_! By hook or crook he was in duty bound to get backto Phoenix in time for the bicycle-race, and to confront Hawley andPerry and foil their villainous plans. But how was he to escape?
Carefully he began tugging at the ropes about his wrists. They werediscouragingly tight, and he soon discovered that he could do nothingwith them. While he was racking his brain in an endeavor to think ofsomething that would serve his turn, the craving of his tired bodyfor rest and sleep gradually overcame him and his thoughts faded intoslumber.
When he opened his eyes again it was broad day. The sun must have beentwo or three hours high, for its beams were shining in through anopening in the eastern wall that had once served as a window.
"Mornin', bub," drawled the voice of the cowboy. "Had a fine snooze,didn't ye? An' ye jest woke up in time fer grub. I've had my snack, an'I kin give my hull attention ter passin' ye yours."
The cowboy began fishing some crackers and cheese out of a paper bag.
"Can't you take the ropes off my hands while I eat?" asked Matt.
"Waal, I'd like ter, mighty well, seein' as how I'm the most obligin'feller by natur' you most ever set eyes on, but I give my promise thatI wouldn't take them ropes off'n yer hands until sundown. 'Course yewouldn't have a feller go back on his word, would ye?"
There was no satisfaction to be got out of the fellow, and Matt wasobliged to wriggle to a sitting posture and have his jailer feed him.From time to time the cowboy would press a canteen of water to his lips.
Matt had a good appetite and he ate heartily, feeling that if he founda chance at attempting anything he could not do his best on an emptystomach.
"Thar ain't much variety to this here grub," apologized the cowboy,"but thar's plenty of it an' it does me proud ter see ye eat so hearty.I'm twicet as glad ter see ye chipper as I would be ter see ye down inthe mouth."
"I try to be a good loser," said Matt.
"That's you! Bicycle-races ain't all thar is in this world."
"What time is it?"
"I ain't got no watch, but I kin figger purty clost by the sun."Stepping to the doorway the cowboy cast a critical glance at thecabin's shadow. "Half-past eleven, bub," he went on, turning back intothe room, "is what I make it."
A thrill of dismay passed through Matt's nerves. Half-past elevenand the bicycle-race, the last event on the list, was to be at fouro'clock! Only four hours and a half! And there was Matt, a prisoner,and twenty miles from Phoenix!
"You seem to be a pretty good fellow," said Matt eagerly, "and why isit you can help Hawley in this cool villainy of his? That bicycle-racemeans a lot to me! I don't know how much Hawley is paying you to keepme here, but if you will let me go, and give me a few weeks to pay it,I will double the money."
The cowboy shook his head. "I'm some pecooliar, thataway," he observed."When I give my word I'll do a thing, you can bank on it I'm right tharwith the goods. Now, if ye had a million, which it ain't in reason aboy yore age would have, an' if ye offered me half of it, I'd shorespurn yer money. When I hire out I goes ter the highest bidder, an' Isticks thar like a wood-tick ter a yaller dog. Sorry, bub, but that'sthe way I stack up.
"
There was no beating down the cowboy's resistance. He was there to dothe work Hawley had paid him for, and nothing could swerve him fromwhat he believed to be his duty.
Apparently not caring to have any further conversation with Matt, thecowboy began walking back and forth in the room, whistling to himselfand now and then humming a snatch of song. Finally he sat down, pickedup his coiled riata and began braiding the brushy end of the rope andoverlaying it with twine.
The minutes passed. For a time Matt tried to count them, his heart allthe while growing heavier and heavier. This was a time when it was hardindeed to be a "good loser."
There was a tremendous rivalry between the two athletic clubs--arivalry in which the separate towns that claimed them took activepart. In the contests the year before the Prescott club had got thebetter of the Phoenix club in the matter of points. Phoenix had won theone-mile dash, the broad jump, the bicycle-race and the hammer-throw,but Prescott had cleaned up all the other events. Matt knew how eagerthe major was to have Phoenix get the better of the rival town, and theloss of the bicycle-race, which counted high in the final summing-up,might turn the scale in favor of Prescott.
In his mind, as he lay helpless there on the floor of that abandoned_jacal_, the boy pictured the throngs of people moving along WashingtonStreet toward the park. He heard the horns, the megaphones, the band,and he saw the white and blue of Phoenix High waving defiance to thered and white of Prescott High. Above everything came the school yells,and he stifled the groan that rose to his lips. He ought to be there,and he was twenty miles away! Yes, it _was_ hard to be a good loser.
The cowboy must have divined something of what was going on in Matt'smind, for, as he laid aside his repaired riata and got up, he lookedtoward Matt.
"I'm sorry, bub, honest," said he, "but thar ain't a pesky thing I kindo except watch ye till sundown. Why, I ain't even got a hoss here.It's clost to two o'clock, now, an' if ye was loose ye couldn't git terPhoenix in time fer that bicycle-race."
Matt made no reply. He could not trust himself to speak. The cowboypicked up the water-canteen and tried to drink, but the canteen wasempty.
"I'm goin' ter the spring, bub," he remarked, starting for the door."It ain't fur, an' I'll be back in a few minits. I'm dryer'n the deserto' Sahary, an' I reckon you wouldn't mind havin' a drink neither."
With that he left the room and vanished around the wall of the hut.Matt could hear his thin-soled, high-heeled boots crunching the sand ashe moved away.
It was then that something happened which fairly took Matt's breath.A face appeared in the door--a swarthy face set sharply in lines thatsuggested a fierce strain and failing strength. Two gleaming blackeyes looked in at the boy on the floor. The next moment a dusty formstaggered into the room, reeled across the floor to Matt and went downon its knees.
"Clipperton!" whispered Matt, scarcely knowing whether he was awake ordreaming.
Without a word Clipperton began cutting at the ropes with a jack-knife.Slash, slash. It was quickly done, the severed coils falling fromMatt's wrists and ankles.
"Come!" breathed Clipperton huskily. "Time is short. The man will beback."
Matt was groggy on his feet. Clipperton, none too steady himself,contrived to support him to the door. Once outside they startedhurriedly across the bare hills, Matt speechless with the wonder of itall.