It was a short spin, but the joy of it was not to be described. Every part of the superb mechanism worked to perfection. Matt tried it on the turns, tried it on a straightaway course, tried it in every conceivable manner he could think of, and the machine answered promptly and smoothly to his every touch. When he returned to the major and Mike, Matt's face was glowing with happiness and excitement. "How does she run?" asked the major. "It's the slickest thing on wheels!" returned Matt enthusiastically. "I never saw anything finer." "How would you like to own her?" Matt had got down from the saddle and Mike was steadying the machine. The major's words staggered the lad. "Own her?" cried Matt; "I?" "Why not?" The major leaned toward him and dropped a hand on his shoulder. "The _Comet_ goes to the winner of the bicycle-race. You can own her, King, if you want to!" CHAPTER VIII. THE RABBITT'S FOOT. Major Woolford wanted Matt in that bicycle-race. He hadn't any idea why the boy hung back at the try-out, or why he was thinking of leaving town, but in showing him the prize that went to the victor he had played a trump card. Matt's bosom swelled as he eyed the beautiful machine, and his mind circled about ways and means for staying in Phoenix until the Phoenix-Prescott athletic meet. What Matt had received for his bicycle, together with what little money he already possessed, was barely sufficient to land him in Denver. If he stayed on in Phoenix, and used up some of this money for living-expenses, he might have a motor-cycle when he was ready to leave the place, but how was he to get to Denver? Even as he put the question to himself, quick as a flash the answer came: "Ride the _Comet_ to Denver, to Chicago, to New York--wherever you want to go!" The idea electrified the boy. "I'll be in that race, major," he cried, turning to the president of the athletic club, "_and I'll win the prize_!" "Sure you will!" exclaimed the delighted major. "I reckoned you'd stay as soon as you saw what the prize was to be. A lad who likes motors as well as you do wouldn't let a machine like that get away from him." "Who races for Prescott?" asked Matt. "A local celebrity called Newton O'Day. Perry beat O'Day in the bicycle-race last year, and although I hear O'Day has developed a phenomenal burst of speed since then, I shouldn't wonder if Perry could repeat the trick." "Then you don't really need me, major?" said Matt.