"Ter-day, bub, not ter-morrer. That bicycle-race is ter-day, since it's some little past midnight. We passed the fag-end o' Friday clost ter an hour ago. Yep, I understood ye was goin' ter race with O'Day at four o'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 a particle o' difference, seein' as how ye can't help yerself. Good night, bub. I'll jest set here an' smoke an' doze an' make shore that nothin' don't happen. The man as got me ter do this was powerful pertickler about that." There was nothing to be gained by talking with the fellow--Matt was not slow in making up his mind to that. The terrible pains he had felt when he had first opened his eyes were leaving him slowly, and this afforded him some comfort. Turning a little in order to make his position more easy, he closed his eyes and fell to thinking. When he went to that place on the canal to meet Clipperton he had walked 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 the trap was sprung. There were things about that challenge of Clipperton's which he did not understand, and probably never would understand until some one of his enemies explained the matter to him. But, with the passing of recent events, fresh light was thrown upon the story told by Welcome Perkins. If Matt could not get back to Phoenix before 4 o'clock, Saturday afternoon, Perry would ride against 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 he did worry over was Major Woolford's disappointment, and the fact that the _Comet_ would go to O'Day--and go to him unfairly. Besides, Matt had set his heart on having the _Comet_ for his own, and all his future plans clustered about his ownership of that splendid machine. He must get away, he _must_! By hook or crook he was in duty bound to get back to Phoenix in time for the bicycle-race, and to confront Hawley and Perry and foil their villainous plans. But how was he to escape? Carefully he began tugging at the ropes about his wrists. They were discouragingly tight, and he soon discovered that he could do nothing with them. While he was racking his brain in an endeavor to think of something that would serve his turn, the craving of his tired body for rest and sleep gradually overcame him and his thoughts faded into slumber. When he opened his eyes again it was broad day. The sun must have been two or three hours high, for its beams were shining in through an opening in the eastern wall that had once served as a window.