dlaugh say?"

Merriwell laughed at the super's foolish fears.

"Mr. Bradlaugh knows us better than you do, Mr. Pardo," he answered,
"and he'll say you did just right to let us have the machines and take
up the chase where we dropped it at the cyanide tanks."

Merry, astride his wheel, was cranking with the pedals. The engine began
to pop and sputter and was finally crooning its steady song of speed.
Clancy had likewise turned his own engine over.

"I wish you luck, anyhow," said Pardo.

"We'll find that golden trail of yours, Pink," joked Clancy, "and bring
you one of the nuggets as a souvenir."

"Just bring back your scalp, Red," answered Ballard. "That's all the
souvenir I want."

Frank dropped a foot and give his Machine a hunch forward. The pneumatic
tires touched ground, the iron rests folded up automatically, and he
started through the gloom toward the trail that led to Pete Loco's. A
moment later Clancy darted after him.

CHAPTER V.

ON TO HAPPENCHANCE.

The boys were not long in discovering that the two motor cycles they
were riding were fine machines. With the searchlights boring long holes
in the dark, Merry and Clancy seemed fairly to fly over the trail. It
seemed to them as though they had hardly started before the mass of deep
shadow which marked the location of Loco's adobe lay almost in front of
them on the right.

The house was dark. Frank, after getting out of the saddle, examined his
watch under the lamp.

"Ten o'clock," he announced to Clancy. "The Loco family must all be in
bed, Clan."

"Rout some one out, Chip," said Clan, "and see if you can pick up any
news. While you're doing that I'll skirmish around and see if there is a
recently ridden horse at Pete's hitching pole or in his corral."

Frank crossed the open space that lay between the road and the adobe and
drummed on the front door with his knuckles. After two or three attempts
he succeeded in arousing some one who demanded to know what was wanted.

"I want a word with Pete Loco." Frank called.

The door was unbolted and drawn open, revealing a swarthy-visaged man in
shirt and trousers, holding a candle.

"What in blazes d'ye want?" asked the man with the candle in no very
pleasant tone. "I'm Pete Loco."

"Any visitors staying with you to-night, Mr. Loco," Frank inquired.

"I reckon not! Think this here's a hotel?"

"I'm looking for a prospector named Porter. The last we saw of him he
was coming in this direction.