Bert drew a long breath.

"No," he said, and there was a world of sympathy and understanding in his tone, "I don't."

CHAPTER XVI

DESPERATE CHANCES

Bert's stay at the pleasant seaside hotel was limited to a few hours only, but he gained incalculable refreshment from the short rest. It was with regret that he could not spend more time there that he took leave of the proprietor, and repaired to the motorcycle store where he had left the "Blue Streak" to have some very necessary work done on it. The engine had not been overhauled since starting from New York, and the cylinders were badly incrusted with carbon. He had left directions for this to be sc.r.a.ped out, and when he reached the shop expected to find his machine waiting for him in first-cla.s.s condition. What was his chagrin therefore, when, on entering the place, the first thing he saw was the "Blue Streak" in a dismantled condition, parts of it strewn all over the floor.

He hunted up the proprietor, and indignantly asked him why the machine was not ready according to promise.

"I'm very sorry," the man told him, "but as one of the mechanics was sc.r.a.ping the front cylinder it dropped on the floor, and when he picked it up he found it was split. So we can't do anything with the machine until we get a new cylinder."

"But haven't you got a machine in the place you could take a cylinder from, and put it on my machine?" asked Bert. "I can't afford to be held up here for a day while you send away for a new part."

"There isn't a machine in the place that would have a cylinder to fit yours," said the proprietor; "if it had been a rear cylinder, it would have been easy enough to give you another, because we could take one off a one-cylinder machine that would fit. But, as it happens, I haven't a twin cylinder machine in the place."

"But how long will it take to get the new one here?" asked Bert.

"About half a day, I should say," replied the other.

"Half a day!" echoed Bert, and his heart sank. "Why, if I lose that much time here it probably means that I'll lose the race. Do you realize that?"

"I don't see what we can do about it," replied the proprietor, shrugging his shoulders. "I'll get the cylinder for you the first minute I can, but that's the best I can do."

Bert saw that there was no use arguing the matter. He walked out of the place without another word, but with a great bitterness in his heart. All his days of heartbreaking riding--the hardships he had undergone--the obstacles he had faced and overcome--all these things were in a fair way of being set at nought because of the carelessness of a stupid mechanician. The thought almost drove him frantic, and he hurried along the pavement, scarcely noticing where he was going. At last he collected his thoughts somewhat and pulled himself together.

Looking about him, he saw that he was not far from the postoffice, and it occurred to him that there might be a letter for him from Tom or d.i.c.k.

With this thought in mind he entered the postoffice, in one corner of which there was also a telegraph station.

Walking up to the window, he inquired if there was any mail for Bert Wilson.

"No," said the functionary behind the grating, "but there's a telegram just come in for a party of that name. Bill!" he called, to the telegraph operator, "here's Mr. Wilson now, him that you just got the telegram for."

"Oh, all right," replied the operator, "here you are, sir. I was just going to send it up to your hotel."

"Much obliged," said Bert, and tore open the yellow envelope.

"Ride fast," it read, "have just heard Hayward is within three hundred miles of San Francisco. Hurry."

The slip of yellow paper dropped from Bert's nerveless fingers. Three hundred miles away. Why, Bert was as far from San Francisco as that himself, with mountainous roads still before him, and his machine out of commission!

If he could only do something, anything, that would be a relief. But he was absolutely helpless in the grasp of an unforeseen calamity, and all he could do was to pray desperately for the speedy arrival of the new cylinder.

He hastened back to the repair shop, and found that in his absence everything, with, of course, the exception of the front cylinder, had been put together. "We've done all we can," the proprietor a.s.sured him.

"A few minutes ago I called up the agents in Clyde and they said that their man was on the way with it. So it ought to get here early this afternoon."

"Well," declared Bert grimly, "I'm not going to stir out of this place till it does come, let me tell you."

He waited with what patience he could muster, and at last, a little before two o'clock, the long-awaited cylinder arrived. With feverish haste Bert fastened it to the motor base himself, too impatient to let anybody else do it. Besides, he was resolved to take no chances of having _this_ cylinder damaged. Ten minutes later the last nut had been tightened, and the "Blue Streak" was wheeled out into the street. Now that the heartbreaking waiting was over, Bert felt capable of anything.

As he vaulted into the saddle, he made a compact with himself. "If my machine holds out," he resolved, "I will not sleep again until I reach San Francisco;" and when Bert made a resolution, he kept it.

He scorched through the streets of the town regardless, for the time being, of local speed ordinances. In a few minutes he was out on the open road, and then,--well, the "Blue Streak" justified all the encomiums he had ever heaped upon it. Up hill and down he sped, riding low over the handlebars, man and machine one flying, s.p.a.ce-devouring unit. The day drew into dusk, dusk changed to darkness, and Bert dismounted long enough to light his lamp and was off again, streaking over the smooth road like a flying comet. At times he slowed down as he approached curves, but was off again like the wind when he had rounded them. Sometimes steep hills confronted him, but the speeding motorcycle took them by storm, and topped their summits almost before gravity could act to slacken his headlong speed. Then the descent on the other side would be a wild, dizzy rush, when at time the speedometer needle reached the ninety mark.

But the country became more mountainous after a while, and Bert encountered hills that even the "Blue Streak" was forced to negotiate on low speed. This ate up gasoline, and about midnight Bert, on stopping a moment to examine his fuel supply, found that it was almost exhausted.

Fortunately, however, about a mile further on he reached a wayside garage. He knocked repeatedly, but received no answer.

"Just the same, I've got to have gasoline," thought Bert, and acted accordingly. With a screwdriver he pried open a window, and, filling a can from a barrel, returned to his machine and filled the tank. Then he replaced the can, and left the price of the gasoline in a prominent place.

"Needs must when the devil drives," he thought, "and I simply had to have that juice."

And now he was once more flying through the night, the brilliant rays from his lamp dancing and flickering on the road ahead, and at times striking prismatic colors from rocky walls as the road pa.s.sed through some cut. Mile after mile pa.s.sed back under the flying rider and machine, but still they kept on with no sign of slackening. Gradually dawn broke, misty and gray at first, but then brightening and expanding until the glorious light of full day bathed the hills in splendor. And then, as Bert looked up and around, slowing down so that he could the better drink in the glorious scene, he beheld, at a great distance, the roofs and towers of a great city, and knew that it was San Francisco, the golden city of the West. Sixteen days since he left New York and the goal toward which he had struggled so bravely was at hand!

But even now there was no time to be lost. At this moment, Hayward might also be approaching the city, and Bert was too wise to risk failure now with the prize so nearly within his grasp. He started on again, his mind in a whirl, and all thought of fatigue and exhaustion banished. The road was bordered by signs indicating the right direction, and in less than an hour Bert was riding through the suburbs of San Francisco.

Bert's entrance into the city was signalized by a display of the wildest enthusiasm on the part of a big crowd that had turned out to meet the winner. The details of the thrilling transcontinental race in which he had been engaged had received their due share of s.p.a.ce in the big dailies, and his adventures and those of the other contestants had been closely followed by every one possessing a drop of red blood in his veins.

Bert was totally unprepared for such a reception, however, and it took him by surprise. He had been through many adventures and had encountered many obstacles, but had pulled through by dint of indomitable will and pluck. But, as he afterward confessed to Tom and d.i.c.k, he now felt for the first time like running away. But he soon abandoned this idea, and chugged slowly along until at last he was forced by the press of people about him to stop.

When he dismounted he was deluged by a flood of congratulations and good wishes, and was besieged by a small army of newspaper men, each anxious to get Bert's own account of the race. It was some time before he could proceed, but at last he started on, surrounded by a contingent of motorcycles, ridden by members of local clubs. They went slowly along, until in due time they reached the city hall. Bert was ushered into the presence of the mayor, who received him with great cordiality, and after a few words read the letters Bert handed him.

"Well, Mr. Wilson," he said, when he had mastered their contents, "I am certainly glad to know you, and I only wish you were a native of this State. We need a few more young men of your sort."

"I'm much obliged for your good opinion, your Honor, I'm sure," replied Bert, and after answering many questions regarding his trip, took his departure.

Returning to the street, he mounted his machine, and, still accompanied by the friendly motorcyclists, proceeded to the hotel at which he had arranged to stop during his stay in San Francisco. Of course, Tom and d.i.c.k were there to meet him, and hearty were the greetings the three comrades exchanged.

"It hardly seems possible that I've won at last," said Bert. "I wasn't sure that Hayward hadn't beaten me in, until I heard the crowds cheering."

"Oh, you won, all right," d.i.c.k a.s.sured him, "but you didn't have much time to spare. I just heard somebody say that Hayward got in not five minutes ago. I'll bet he nearly went crazy when he heard that you'd beaten him in spite of his crooked work."

"Well, when I learned what kind of a fellow he was, I just _had_ to beat him," said Bert, with a smile.

d.i.c.k and Tom took charge of his machine, and stored it safely in the local agency, where it was immediately hoisted into the show window and excited much attention.

By the time they returned to the hotel, Bert had answered the questions of a number of newspaper men, taken a much-needed bath, and dressed.

In his well-fitting clothes, that set off his manly figure, he looked a very different person from the dusty, travel-stained young fellow he had been but a short time before, and he was delighted to feel that for a little while he was "out of uniform."

But Tom and d.i.c.k immediately collared him, and, as he professed himself "fresh as a daisy," took him out to see some of the town. They had not gone far before they were recognized by one of the riders who had formed Bert's "Bodyguard" during his ride to the mayor's office. He introduced himself as John Meyers. Nothing less than their immediately paying a visit to his club would satisfy him, they found, so at last they gave in and told him to "lead on."

The other laughingly complied. "It isn't far from here," he a.s.sured them, "and if you like our looks we'll be glad to have you stay to dinner. After that, if you're not too f.a.gged, a few of us will be glad to take you around and show you the sights. We're all proud of it, and we want visitors to see it."

"That programme listens good," replied Bert, "and we're 'on,' as far as the dinner goes. After that, though, I think I'll be about ready to turn in. I was riding all last night, and I feel like sleeping without interruption for the next week."