courtesy of the digital library@villanova university (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction no. may , five cents motor matt's daring rescue or the strange case of helen brady [illustration: _step lively, mate! cried dick as motor matt assisted the girl into the car._] _street & smith, publishers, new york._ motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction _issued weekly. by subscription $ . per year. entered according to act of congress in the year , in the office of the librarian of congress, washington, d. c., by_ street & smith, _ - seventh avenue, new york, n. y._ no. . new york, may , . price five cents. motor matt's daring rescue; or, the strange case of helen brady. by the author of "motor matt." contents chapter i. the disappearance of helen brady. chapter ii. the important letter. chapter iii. by the old quarry. chapter iv. a queer situation. chapter v. pete and whipple make a capture. chapter vi. brady's proposition. chapter vii. a surprise at hooligan's. chapter viii. the trouble at the air ship. chapter ix. back to the canal. chapter x. brady returns--with hot news. chapter xi. the mansion on the river. chapter xii. the fight. chapter xiii. daring work. chapter xiv. helen's ordeal. chapter xv. the capture of pete and whipple. chapter xvi. conclusion. a fall to fortune. tip for rabbit hunters. characters that appear in this story. =matt king=, concerning whom there has always been a mystery--a lad of splendid athletic abilities, and never-failing nerve, who has won for himself, among the boys of the western town, the popular name of "mile-a-minute matt." =carl pretzel=, a cheerful and rollicking german lad, who is led by a fortunate accident to hook up with motor matt in double harness. =dick ferral=, a canadian boy who has served his time in the king's navy, and bobs up in the states where he falls into plots and counter-plots, and comes near losing his life. =hector brady=, a convict who breaks prison to wreak vengeance upon two members of his former band. =helen brady=, hector brady's daughter, who helps motor matt. =whipple and pete=, two members of hector brady's old band of air-ship thieves who are engineering a treacherous plot aimed at brady. it is against them that brady has vowed vengeance--and a queer twist of circumstances causes brady to ask aid of motor matt in order that the scoundrels may be captured and helen rescued. =hooligan and his wife=, scoundrelly caretakers in charge of a mansion in river forest. =harris=, a policeman of south chicago who aids motor matt in his work against the bradys. =burton and sanders=, two police officers from la grange, ills., who assist harris and motor matt and his friends in the daring rescue of helen brady. chapter i. the disappearance of helen brady. "your name king?" "yes." "you de feller dey calls motor matt?" "you've struck it." "chee! i seen yer mug in de poipers an' i t'ought yous must be de feller. i'm de kid wot woiks f'r hagenmyer, an' here's a letter dat he told me t' give t' yous." motor matt and dick ferral had been sunning themselves in front of the balloon house, a little way out of the town of south chicago. a youngster of ten or eleven had climbed the roadside fence and made his way toward the big, shed-like building in the centre of the swampy meadow. of the two boys, the youngster had instinctively picked out matt, had halted in front of him, and had started the foregoing colloquy. he finished by taking a letter out of his pocket and passing it over to the young motorist. "yous has been doin' a lot o' t'ings here in dis little ole burg," grinned the youngster, as he started back toward the road, "an' i wants t' go on record as sayin' yous is class a, an' all t' de good." "much obliged," laughed matt. the kid from hagenmyer's waved his hand, then turned around and made his way briskly toward the fence. "who's this hagenmyer, mate?" queried ferral, drawing closer to his chum and looking at the latter curiously. "he's the fellow that bought this balloon house from brady," explained matt. "that was before the police found out that brady was a thief, but brady knew the discovery was coming, so he got rid of everything he owned in south chicago." "what business has hagenmyer got with you?" "we'll know in a minute, dick." matt tore off the end of the envelope and pulled out the enclosed sheet. he gave a low whistle as he read; then, after he had finished, he passed the letter over to ferral. the communication ran as follows: "motor matt: my workmen will begin tearing down the balloon house to-morrow morning. it will be necessary, therefore, for you to remove your air ship sometime this afternoon or to-night. "isidore hagenmyer." a look of satisfaction crossed ferral's face. "that means we've got to trip anchor and bear away," said he. "i'm not sorry. we've been hung up here for two weeks, old ship, and what good has it done us?" "not much, that's a fact," answered matt discontentedly. "hagenmyer has held off on tearing down the balloon house for that length of time, just to give us a safe place to keep the hawk. we can't blame him for getting busy on the old shed to-morrow morning." "well, our movable canvas shelter is ready, and stowed in the car. we can use that, now that the shed is to be taken away from us." "the canvas is not a safe shelter, by any means, dick." "it's the only one we can use on our fly from here to new york. you won't try to stay here any longer, will you?" "i hate to leave without learning something about helen brady. that girl has done a lot for us, pard, and it looks kind of heartless for us to pull out without doing what we can to settle the mystery of her disappearance." "but what can we do, mate, if the detectives are all aback and not able to find a trace of her? miss brady went to visit friends on archer avenue, chicago; she was there three days while her father, hector brady, was being tried and railroaded to the penitentiary; then, the fourth day after miss brady goes to archer avenue, she suddenly vanishes, and not a trace of her can be found. no matter how you overhaul the situation, it's queer, and i'm inclined to think that the girl's brother, hector brady, jr., has spirited her away. either that, or else the girl went away with her brother of her own free will. if brady, jr., is mixed up in this, matey, what right have we got to interfere? looks like a family affair." although matt's brow wrinkled perplexedly, yet his eyes gleamed resolutely, as he replied: "we know young brady is a crook, just like his father, dick, and if there wasn't something wrong, helen would not have left her friends without giving some explanation. i don't care whether brady, jr., is mixed up in the affair or not, i intend to discover what's happened, and to give the girl help if she needs it. if it hadn't been for helen, you and i would never have been able to chase brady, sr., over into michigan, capture him, and get our air ship back. we mustn't forget what we owe helen brady, and that she's entitled to our aid if she needs it." "right-o, messmate!" returned ferral heartily. "the girl helped us get back the hawk, but that's the least of what she did. if it hadn't been for her, the pair of us would have gone to davy jones, right here in this old balloon house.[a] i'm for doing everything we can for her, but if the police can't do anything, i don't see where we come in." [a] see motor matt weekly no. , "motor matt's hard luck; or, the balloon-house plot." matt was gloomily silent for a little while, turning his helplessness over and over in his mind. "well, dick," he finally answered, "something may turn up." "but we can't wait for it. hagenmyer will be jerking the old shed down over our heads if we don't slant away sometime between this and morning." "i'm hoping that telegram from the lestrange people may result in something. that letter they have for me may be from helen brady." matt took the message from his pocket and read it over again. it was from the people for whom he had been driving a racing automobile, and had been received about eleven o'clock that morning. it merely stated that they had received a letter for matt, that it was marked "important," and that they would hold it until matt told them what to do with it. the young motorist had immediately sent his dutch pard, carl pretzel, to chicago after the letter. "perhaps you're right, matey," said ferral. "anyhow, we'll know as soon as carl gets back. he ought to be here by eight bells of the afternoon watch. hello!" and here ferral's eyes wandered to the road, "who's that steering this way? he's coming full and by, and seems to be in a hurry." matt stared in the direction indicated by his chum. carl had not had time to get to chicago and back, so he knew it could not be him. as the hurrying figure drew closer, and became more distinct, it resolved itself into the form of a man in blue and brass buttons. "harris!" exclaimed matt. "that's right!" agreed ferral excitedly; "harris, or i'm a fiji! he's got something mighty important stowed away in his locker, or he wouldn't be bearing down on us at that gait." harris was a member of the south chicago police force, and was a good friend of motor matt. "perhaps he's got something to tell us about helen brady!" cried matt, starting up. "if he has, then the news couldn't come at a better time." while harris was climbing the fence, both boys started across the swampy ground to meet him. "howdy, matt!" called the officer, jerking a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his perspiring face. "hello, ferral. pretty hot day for a fast walk, and i didn't let any grass grow under me." "what's the trouble, harris?" queried matt. "there's plenty, i'm telling you. i guess we'll have to put another detail of officers on guard at this balloon house; if we don't, you lads are liable to get done up and lose the hawk." "how's that?" demanded ferral. "why, that pesky brady has escaped from the 'pen' at joliet, and----" "escaped?" echoed matt. "well, sink me!" exclaimed ferral. "why, he made his brags that the 'pen' couldn't hold him." "that fellow's as slippery as an eel," went on harris. "he's been at large for two days, and the prison authorities have kept it quiet, hoping they'd be able to bag him; but they failed to catch him, and now it's got into the papers. i wonder if you understand what that means to you, matt?" and here the officer fixed a significant look on the young motorist. "brady swore he'd get even with matt," spoke up ferral. "that's it," said harris, "and he's the sort of fellow that don't say things just to hear himself talk. he's been out of the 'pen' two days, and i'd like to bet something handsome he's been thinking of motor matt and the air ship ever since he got clear of the stone walls and the iron bars. i rushed out here as soon as i could, to warn you boys to look out for yourselves, and for the hawk." "brady will have enough to do keeping his liberty," remarked matt; "he won't have any time to bother with me." "that's where you're wrong, matt, according to my notion. you know how anxious brady has been, every time the law got after him, to get hold of the air ship. with the hawk, he can snap his fingers at all the detectives and police officers, and it's a cinch he'll come this way. some of the rest of the gang may be helping him. you know pete, whipple, grove, and brady, jr., are still at large. you don't want to have another balloon-house plot worked on you, so i think you lads had better pull out, and go east, if that's where you're headed for." "but i don't want to leave until i can learn something about helen brady!" protested matt. "you can't help the girl any," continued harris. "who knows but some of her father's gang are mixed up in her disappearance? if it comes to that, who knows but the girl is with her father now? you can't afford to have any more dealings with that gang, matt. besides, you owe it to the authorities to take the hawk where there won't be any possibility of brady's getting hands on her. if he gets the hawk, he'll never be captured; if he doesn't get the air ship, he can't possibly keep from getting laid by the heels." the officer's position was logical. matt's disappointment on helen brady's account was keen, but events seemed to be shaping themselves so that he and his friends would have to leave south chicago that afternoon, whether they wanted to or not. chapter ii. the important letter. "it looks as though we'd have to get away from here this afternoon, harris," said matt. "hagenmyer just sent us word he's going to begin tearing down the balloon house in the morning." "good!" exclaimed the officer, with satisfaction. "this old roost can't be knocked to pieces any too quick. it has witnessed many a lawless act on the part of brady and his gang, and if these old walls could speak they'd tell us of many a crime. are you and your chums going to try to get to new york with the hawk, matt?" "yes." "it's quite a long trip. i know, from experience, that the hawk will do well on a short voyage, but will she hold out for such a long journey as that?" "i don't see why she won't, if she's carefully handled." "but in bad weather? you can't figure on having sunshine and mild breezes all the way, you know, matt. i've never seen the hawk tried out in a stiff gale." "if the gale was too strong, we'd have to come down, anchor, and put up our canvas shelter." "if anyone could make a success of such a flight, i guess you're the boy. will you help out the authorities by taking the hawk so far away that brady can't have any designs on her?" "of course, harris," said matt, "we'll do whatever you think is right, but before we leave i think we ought to do something for helen brady." "the chicago police are hard at work on her case, and you can trust them to do whatever can be done." "well," went on matt, "we'll have to stay here until carl gets back from the city. he's gone there after an important letter, and i've a hunch it may be from miss brady." harris opened his eyes at this, and matt explained about the telegram from the lestrange people. the officer shook his head. "there's not much ground for thinking that letter is from miss brady," said he. "probably it's some one who has heard about your air-ship work, and wants to hire the hawk, or to charter her. what you've been doing in the aeronautical line, matt, has aroused a good deal of interest all over the country. it's the first time, so far as i know, that an air ship has ever been used practically. first, brady used the hawk in his thieving operations, and next you used her to bring two of the gang and some of their booty from willoughby's swamp. your last exploit, in which you made an air-ship trip across lake michigan in jerrold's machine, the eagle, captured the hawk and returned safely with her, seems to have caused more talk than anything else you have done. no, you can take my word for it, that important letter is from some enthusiast who wants to buy the hawk, or to hire her. if you lads wanted to sell the air ship, you could realize at least four times what you paid for the craft. not a bad 'spec,' eh?" "she ain't for sale, messmate," spoke up ferral. "she may be for sale, after awhile, but we want to have a little fun with her first. eh, matt?" "that's right, dick," answered matt. "aside from the fun, too, i want to learn all i can about the air-ship business. you never can tell when knowledge of that kind will come handy." "there you are!" laughed harris. "you never saw a boy with such a grasping disposition whenever there's anything to be learned. i'm going to stay right here with you and make myself comfortable until carl gets back from chicago. you've got me all worked up about that letter, and i'll have to see what it amounts to." the officer peeled off his long coat and made himself at ease on a box in the shade of the balloon house. "it beats all," he remarked, after a pause, "how brady ever succeeded in getting out of the 'pen.'" "haven't you heard how he accomplished that?" queried matt. "the details haven't been given out--even the newspapers haven't got them. if brady ever got another chance at you, matt, he wouldn't halt at any halfway measures. he's right in laying his capture, and most of his troubles, to you, and we all know that he has a disposition like a rattlesnake. you've got to look out for him." matt would have given a good deal to know just how much harris was thinking of his safety, and just how much he was considering the help the authorities would receive by having the hawk removed from that part of the country. he put the question point-blank, and the officer averred that he was thinking entirely of the recapture of brady. "is the hawk in shape for a get-away?" he asked. "she's been ready for a week," replied the young motorist. "there's enough gasoline in the tank to carry her at least three hundred miles, and we have a reserve supply stowed in the car that will carry her that much farther. the bag is full of gas, and mr. jerrold has equipped us with a balloonet, or inner bag, that will keep the buoyancy the same in any temperature. the balloonet is filled with something of his own invention--a vapor of some sort that contracts as the gas in the outer bag expands, and that expands as the gas contracts. not only that, but mr. jerrold gave the bag a coat of some sort of varnish which makes it almost proof against leakage, and we figure that we could travel some thousands of miles before it would be necessary to visit a gas plant." "jerrold is a mighty good friend of yours, matt," observed harris. "it's not everybody he'd give the benefit of his own inventions." "he's one of the greatest men of the age," declared the young motorist, with enthusiasm, "and he's doing more to put aëronautics on a commercial and practical basis than any other inventor in the country." for an hour or two harris and matt talked on technical points connected with air ships, and the two finally went into the balloon house so that matt could point out the improvements which his friend, jerrold, had helped make in the hawk. most of all this was worse than greek to ferral, and he yawned as he listened, and remained behind when his chum and the officer went inside the huge shed. leaning against the board wall behind him, ferral dozed, and it was only when a shout reached him from the road that he realized that carl was coming. when ferral turned his gaze in the direction from which the shout had come, carl was just clambering over the fence. "ahoy, matt!" yelled ferral, starting to his feet, and wide awake on the instant. "here's our dutch raggie! it's hard on the stroke of eight bells and he's made the round trip just as i thought he would." in response to the hail, matt and harris came hurrying out of the shed. by that time carl was half way between the road and the balloon house. "did you get the letter all right, carl?" asked matt, as soon as the dutch boy had come close. "you bed my life!" whooped carl. "don'd i chenerally ged vatefer i go afder, matt?" "it isn't often you fall down, and that's a fact." "it wasn't much of a job, anyhow," laughed ferral, "going after something that was waiting for you." "i vent so kevick as i got pack," continued carl, drawing the letter from his pocket, "und dot's vere i shine. motor matt say for me to do somet'ing, und i do him like chain lighdings. dere you vas. he's atressed to misder motor matt, care oof der lestrange garage, und down in vone gorner iss der vort 'imbortant.' my nerfs vas all in some flutters to know vat iss on der insite." matt took the letter and tore it open; then, for the benefit of harris and ferral and carl, he read it aloud. "'motor matt: you are a friend of helen brady's, and the writer knows that she is in grave peril. she can be rescued, but it can only be by means of your air ship, the hawk, and the work will have to be done quietly. i am one of the detectives from headquarters, and my attention is so completely taken up with the case that i can't leave where i am to call and see you personally, but if you want to help rescue the girl, you will follow these instructions: "'between la grange and the town of gary, not many miles from south chicago, there's an abandoned stone quarry. you can't miss it, as it is on the drainage canal, and the limestone in the bottom of the quarry will look like a white patch on the earth from the air ship. bring the hawk to the quarry at ten o'clock to-night, descending on the edge of the canal. i will be there to meet you. don't come before night, for, if the hawk is seen, we will have all our trouble for our pains. and keep mum about what you are doing, for if you were to talk, the information might reach those who have the girl in charge and thus prevent our success. can i count on you? i am figuring that you will receive this letter tuesday, and come to the quarry tuesday night; but, if you don't receive this until wednesday, come wednesday night. dave glennie.'" "egol!" muttered harris. "that's a peculiar letter, and no mistake. but it rings true. besides, i know glennie, and he's the best detective at the city headquarters." "i had hoped that this might be from miss brady herself," said matt. "the girl is probably where she can't write. glennie knows what he's about. he has asked you to come and told you how to get to the place, so if you want to help miss brady, matt, you'll go." "will you come along with us, harris?" harris shook his head. "it wouldn't do for me to butt in on a bit of work that glennie's pulling off--it would look too much as though i was trying to 'hog' some of the honor. glennie would resent it, and he'd be perfectly right in doing so. he has laid his plans and the thing for you to do is to help carry them out." "but you know the country better than any the rest of us. we'll be able to find the quarry, all right, when we get over it, but it may bother us some to find la grange. you see, we'll have to work at night, and----" "that will be easy, matt," interrupted harris, "if you find the canal and then follow it until you get to the quarry. i'll show you how to reach the canal, and after that you will have plain sailing." the officer gave the instructions. after he was through, the finding of the quarry seemed a simple enough matter. it was eight o'clock in the evening before the boys got the hawk out of the shed for the start. harris had stayed with them up to that time. he watched while the young motorist and his chums got into the car and glided upward to a humming accompaniment of the motor's cylinders. "good-by and good luck!" yelled harris, in answer to the parting hail that came to him from the dusky blot overhead. harris, after he had returned to headquarters to report, called up the chicago police department. it was merely by an afterthought and not because he anticipated finding anything wrong. "this is harris, of south chicago, talking," said he, as soon as his call was answered. "where's dave glennie?" "right here in the office, harris. if you----" harris staggered back and almost dropped the receiver. "what!" he demanded. "glennie's here in the office," repeated the man at the other end of the line. "if you want to talk to him i'll call him." "you bet i do want to talk to him! tell him to hustle to the phone." glennie must have "hustled," for in less than a minute he was at the phone, saying hello, and asking what was wanted. "did you write a letter to motor matt and send it to him in care of the lestrange garage, there in chicago?" "what would i want to write a letter to motor matt for?" demanded the detective. "i'll keep it quiet, if you did. all i want's to get at the truth." "i've given you the truth, harris." "you've been working on that helen brady case, haven't you?" "sure, but my hands are in the air. everybody's hands are in the air. it's the strangest case you ever heard of, and there's absolutely no trace----" harris tossed the receiver onto the hooks and staggered away from the phone. what sort of underhand work was going on? motor matt and his chums were running right into trouble, and harris realized that he had helped to start them on the way. "an automobile!" he muttered, hurrying out of the headquarters' building. "i've got to have a fast one and get to that old quarry before ten o'clock. egol, this is the worst thing i ever went up against!" chapter iii. by the old quarry. traveling by night in the hawk was not a new experience for motor matt and his chums. when they had crossed the lake from grand haven, after the capture of hector brady, they had come by night. at that time they had had the moon to light their course, but on this trip to the old quarry the moon was new and they had to depend upon the stars. as the night advanced, the stars grew brighter and they were able to distinguish the different features of the landscape below them. all was in shadow, more or less, but groves of trees were darker than the open stretches, and the highways were whitish lines dividing the country in squares. a cluster of lights marked the situation of a village, and stray gleams from below showed where the farm houses were located. "i'd radder travel mit a air ship," remarked carl, "dan any odder vay vat i know. it vas fine, und dot's all aboudt it." "right-o, matey," answered ferral. "i used to think there was nothing like a good ship and a skipper's breeze to make a fellow in love with life, but strike me lucky if there's anything on the seas to compare with this. we can not only shift our course by putting the helm down or up, but we can dive through the air like a porpoise in the water, and then we can climb up like a blooming whale that wants to spout. i'm an air sailor from this on, as long as the hawk's afloat. sell her? not for joseph! not if some lubber was to offer us four times what we paid for her. eh, matt?" "it's all right to hang onto the craft until we get at all the ins and outs of this air-ship business," replied the king of the motor boys from his place among the levers, "but if we can't make some money out of the hawk after that, i'll have to unload my interest in her, dick, and get busy with something more profitable. carl and i, you know, haven't any rich uncles to stand behind us. we have to work like sam hill for all we get." "dot's right," agreed carl. "i haf vorked all my life like sam hill, but i don'd got sooch a derriple sighdt now. oof i shday hooked oop mit matt, dough, i bed you someding for nodding i come oudt on der dop." "aye, aye," cried ferral heartily, "motor matt's the boy to win. but i'm not going to let my rich uncle do everything for me. when we get through with the hawk i'm going to quebec and get back in the king's service. nothing like the navy. my uncle wants to see me amount to something in the service, and he stands ready to give me a boost, but i told him to let me alone and watch me work my way up. i was captain of the after gun crew on the old _billy ruffian_, and----" ferral broke off suddenly, leaned over the rail and peered downward. "i'm a fiji, matt," he went on, "if i don't think we're close to the canal. cock your eye over the side, carl, and take a look." "vell," said carl, after a careful survey, "it vas a mighdy shtraight rifer oof it vasn't der canal." "put your helm over, matt," went on ferral, "for here's where we take a fresh tack." matt took a look for himself, then shifted the steering rudder so as to turn the hawk to the left, and at right angles with the course she had been following. "now then, fellows," said he, "keep your eyes skinned for the old quarry. they're all limestone quarries, in this part of the country, and the one we're looking for ought to show as white as a strip of macadam road." for half an hour they whirred along, a moving blot against the stars. it was carl who first discovered the quarry. "i t'ink i haf seen der blace, verral," said he. "look, vonce, off der on der righdt." ferral stared in the direction indicated. "you've hit it, mate," averred ferral. "there's the old quarry, matt, and it lies to the right of the canal. there's a railroad track in between." "well, we'll get down by the canal, opposite the quarry," said matt. "if the detective, glennie, is anywhere around, he'll be on the lookout for us and won't be slow reaching the place where we land." "i can see a couple of trees close to the bank of the canal, matt," announced ferral, "and if we could drop in between them it would be a good berth, and give us a fine place in which to moor the hawk." "guide me to the place," returned matt, "and be sure you don't land us in the top of one of the trees." "turn her about two points to port," went on ferral, keeping his keen eyes below as he gave the direction. "there you are--steady as she is. now tilt her--gently, gently!" matt depressed the steering rudder, keeping the vertical planes rigid as they were. when the hawk had attained the proper slant to bring her to an even keel between the two trees, ferral gave the word. matt slowed the propeller and they glided easily downward. "now then," called ferral, "straighten her out." the nose of the air ship immediately swung upward, and she glided in between the trees. matt cut off the power, and carl jumped out on one side and ferral on the other, each with a rope. the trees stood about forty feet apart, with cleared ground in between, and the propeller had hardly come to a standstill before carl and ferral had the mooring ropes securely fastened to the tree trunks. matt leaped over the rail and began looking about him through the semi-gloom. "there's some one bearing this way from the direction of the railroad track," said ferral, in a low tone. "he's coming in a hurry, too." matt turned his eyes in the direction of ferral's pointing finger. a dark figure could be seen rapidly approaching. as the man drew nearer, the starlight struck a vague flash from buttons on the front of his coat. "looks like a man in uniform," remarked matt, stepping out from under the shadow of the trees. "hello!" he cried. "is that you, glennie?" "that's who it is, king," came a husky answer. "glad you got that letter in time to get here to-night. if you hadn't come before to-morrow night it might have been too late." "sink me!" muttered ferral. "seems like i'd heard that voice before." "me, too," seconded carl; "dere vas some familiar rings mit it." matt likewise had a vague notion that he had heard the voice before, although he could not tell where. the man came steadily onward and, when he halted within a few feet of the boys, they could see that he was in uniform, and wore a cap with gold braid. there was lettering on the cap, but it was too dark to read it. the collar of the man's coat was turned up about his ears, and the cap was pulled down over his forehead. "you're dave glennie, are you?" queried matt. "sure," was the answer, but there was a shifty undernote in the voice which still further aroused matt's suspicions. "who did you think i was? i've been watching by this old quarry for two or three days, and when i sent that letter to you i had to get a boy to post it in la grange. didn't dare to leave here myself. if you--thunder! what's the matter with you?" matt, with a quick move, had leaped at the man and jerked off his cap. "brady!" he shouted. "help here, boys!" he grabbed brady by the shoulders, and both of them fell to the ground. "prady!" gasped carl. "vell, vat do you t'ink oof dot! prady! und ve t'ought all der time he vas a tedectif! ach, plazes, vat a surbrise!" ferral, appreciating the necessity of quick action, did not stop to say anything. running to matt, he helped him hold brady on the ground. presently, carl came, and the three boys soon had the escaped convict helpless. brady's fall had caused his coat to come open. under it matt saw a lighter suit of prison stripes. "brady put the uniform on over the prison clothes," panted matt. "he's clever as ever," returned ferral, "but what's his dodge?" "look a leedle oudt for some oof der odder members oof der gang!" fluttered carl. "meppy dis is anoder drap." "trap nothing!" protested brady. "get off of me, you fellows, and give me a chance to talk. i've got something to say that will open your eyes. if you want to help my girl, now's your chance--but i've got to go with you." chapter iv. a queer situation. brady had made no resistance. when attacked by matt, he had allowed himself to be overborne without a struggle. the young motorist, however, was well acquainted with brady's treacherous nature and thought he was playing a part. paying no attention to his request to be left free for a talk, matt continued to keep tight hold of him. "get a rope, carl," said he. "on der chump!" answered carl, starting at once for the car. "i'm not putting up any fight, king," spoke up brady; "you can see that, and it ought to be proof that i haven't any hostile intentions. do you suppose i'd have come here alone if i'd wanted to rough things with you?" "there's never any telling what you'll do," answered matt. "you're full of tricks, brady; not only that, but you're an escaped convict. you're playing some kind of a game, but you're not going to catch us, i can tell you that." brady fell silent. when carl got back with the rope he allowed himself to be tied. "now," said he, as he lay helpless on the ground, "if you're satisfied, we can talk." considering the temper he had, he showed a most remarkable command of himself. "i haven't any objections to talking with you," returned matt, "but nothing you can say is going to keep us from handing you over to the police. carl," and here he turned to his dutch chum, "you go to the other side of the trees and keep a sharp watch for some of the rest of the gang. and you, dick," he added to ferral, "keep your eyes skinned on this side. it won't do to let pete or whipple sneak up on us while brady is holding our attention." "ve fool him vonce oof he dries dot," said carl, moving away to the position assigned him. "right-o," agreed ferral. "we know too much about brady to let him pull the wool over our eyes." as brady lay bound, matt went through his pockets, looking for a weapon. his search was unsuccessful. brady laughed harshly as the lad drew away with empty hands. "you'll not find any shooting irons about me, king," said he. "why, i haven't so much as a pocket knife in my clothes. that's more proof that i didn't come here with any hostile intentions against you and your friends." "where did you get that uniform?" asked matt sternly. "it belongs to one of the guards at the prison." "he gave it to you and helped you get away?" "not much he didn't. i knocked him over the head, got into his uniform and walked out of the 'pen.' that's how i made my get-away." "when you were sent up you said you'd get clear and play even with me." "i've made up my mind to play even with somebody else, and want you to help me with the hawk." the audacity of this proposition staggered matt. "you must be crazy, brady," said he, "if you think i'd help you in any of your underhand schemes. you came here and wrote that forged letter?" "i came directly here from the prison," replied brady, with the utmost frankness, "and have been hiding in that deserted stone quarry. just as i told you, i wrote that letter and ran the risk of discovery by getting a boy to bring me an envelope and a sheet of paper, and then to take the letter to la grange and mail it." "why did you use dave glennie's name?" "because i thought it would bring you, and i didn't think of anything else that would fetch you this way." "well, you overreached yourself. instead of making us your prisoners, we have turned the tables on you; and we're going to get you away from here before the rest of your gang show up." "they'll not show up," declared brady, "and i didn't get you and your friends here to make any trouble for you." it was a queer condition of affairs--so queer, in fact, that matt would not take any stock in it. "what did you bring us here for?" he asked incredulously. "to help my girl," replied brady, in a voice that seemed perfectly sincere. "she has helped you a good many times, king, and i supposed you would be willing to do something for her." "i would do anything for miss brady, but i don't think that you, even though you are her father, have her best interests at heart. when you were captured, over in michigan, you swore you would get even with your daughter, just as you would with me." "a few days have made a different man of me, king. i got a letter while i was in prison, telling how the girl had been spirited away from the home of her friends, in chicago. i know who did that, and i know why it was done. helen needs help--she must have it soon--and if you won't come with me and help me with the hawk, there's no telling what will happen to the girl. it was to do what i could for her that i escaped from the 'pen,' that i have been hiding and starving in that old quarry, and that i wrote that letter and got you here. good heavens, boys, do you think i'd have taken all these chances unless there was the biggest kind of a demand on me?" brady was terribly in earnest, but he was so shifty and full of tricks that matt could not have any confidence in him. "your change of heart is too sudden to be sincere," said he. "you've played fast and loose with me ever since i first met you, brady." "i know that what i have done is against me," went on brady, with an odd, pleading note in his voice, "but just now i have hazarded everything on a single throw, and if you refuse to trust me you'll regret it--on helen's account. i tell you she's in danger. of course you can load me into the hawk and take me back to south chicago, but when the worst happens to the girl you're going to be sorry." matt pondered the subject for a few moments. there was nothing he wouldn't have done for helen brady, but her reprobate father was not the one to show him his duty in that direction. "where are pete and whipple?" he asked. "they're hiding in la grange, but they don't know anything about where i am. it's those black-hearted scoundrels who are making all the trouble for helen." the old fierceness crept into brady's voice. "i'll get even with the whelps if i hang for it!" he cried. "they can't turn against me without footing the bill! they ought to be in the 'pen' and i'll land them there before i go back myself. we can do this, king, and we can save the girl--if you will only help me. don't take me back to south chicago until we have captured pete and whipple and saved helen! i know i have been tricky with you, and that you have just cause to suspect my motives now, but i declare to you solemnly that all i ask is a chance to get even with pete and whipple and to take helen out of their hands." "miss brady was spirited away by pete and whipple?" asked matt, his nerves quivering at the very thought. "yes, and they're keeping her a prisoner now. if you----" just here carl came running out from the shadow of the trees. "dere vas two fellers coming dis vay from der canal," he cried excitedly, "und dey vas coming on der run. ve haf got to do somet'ing un do it kevick!" "it's a trap, after all!" exclaimed matt. "ferral, you and carl pick up brady and hustle him over to the car. get ready to cast off and make a swift start from here. look alive, now, or we'll be head over heels in the trouble harris was afraid would come our way." as matt spoke, he ran toward the trees and the air ship, intending to cast off the mooring ropes himself. his foot struck against something, which he found to be a piece of a dead branch from one of the trees. he possessed himself of the club, with the intention of using it if he was interfered with in his work. carl and ferral realized the necessity of quick action. grabbing up brady by the feet and shoulders, they hustled him toward the hawk. when they dumped him into the car, matt had already cast off one rope and was working frantically with the other. "here's the hawk, by thunder!" bellowed an exulting voice from the gloom. "what do you think of this for luck? we got ter capture the air ship, pete! it won't do to let such a chance get away from us." the hoarse voice came closer and closer, and matt heard a scramble of running feet. "dere dey are!" cried carl. "it vas pete und vipple! vat a luck, und--" there came the impact of a blow. among the shadows under the trees matt saw carl, who had been standing by the rail of the car, suddenly hurled backward. he had been struck down by one of the two scoundrels--pete or whipple--it was impossible to tell which. "pipe to quarters!" came the voice of ferral as he leaped to carl's assistance. "all hands repel boarders! look out for yourself, matt!" just then matt had his own hands full and could not pay any more attention to what was going on by the car. one of the two ruffians, seeing him in the gloom, leaped in his direction. there was a bluish flash, followed by a sudden report. matt dropped backward. "i've got king, pete!" jubilated the voice of whipple. "we'll have everythin' our own way, now! don't let them others git the best o' ye afore i git there." whipple, however, was mistaken. he had not "got" matt. his bullet had sped wide, and matt had merely tumbled backward to pick up the club which he had dropped while working at the rope. as whipple continued to rush forward, the young motorist sprang up, whirled the bludgeon, and let it drop on the scoundrel's head with all his strength. whipple gave a howl of pain, threw up his hands, and staggered back. matt pressed the robber hard, and another blow felled him where he stood. whirling away, matt rushed back to help his two chums. carl had not yet recovered himself sufficiently to be of any use, and ferral was having a little more than he could manage. "take him from behind, whipple!" panted pete, thinking matt was his confederate. the next moment pete saw his mistake. rightly surmising that something had happened to his pal, and not caring to run the risk of being captured, pete whirled and took to his heels. "keelhaul me, mate," cried ferral, "but that was a tight squeak. where's the other swab?" "i was lucky enough to bowl him over, and----" "my heart was in my throat when i heard that shot! i thought sure you had got your gruel." "never mind that, now. get into the car and turn over the engine. i'll finish casting off that other rope and we'll get out of here. there's more of the gang at large and they may be skulking around in this vicinity. hurry up, dick!" matt rushed back to where he had had his encounter with whipple. the scoundrel had vanished, having probably recovered his wits, and made off after pete. this made the situation more critical for matt and his friends. the two scoundrels were armed, and it would be only a matter of a few minutes before they rejoined each other and renewed the attack. working swiftly, matt released the rope from the tree, threw it into the car, and bounded after it. everything was ready, and all he had to do was to jump into the car, switch the power into the propeller, and lift the steering rudder. in another moment, the hawk had glided upward and away into the night. chapter v. pete and whipple make a capture. "consarn it!" cried whipple, overtaking pete as he was legging it for the canal, "what ye runnin' fer?" "fer the same reason you are, i reckon," replied pete. "them three kids was too much fer us. i thought i heerd ye yell that ye'd put king down an' out?" "i thought i had," and whipple exploded a savage oath and fondled the side of his head, "but the cub come back at me with a sand bag, or somethin', an' i seen more stars than what ye can find overhead. fer about half a minit i was clean knocked out. when i come ter myself ye had made a run of it, an' i trailed after ye. we got a chance yet, d'ye hear? purty idee if two huskies like us can't git the best o' three kids like them." "that king is more kinds of an eel than i know how ter mention," replied pete. "the way he wriggles around an' gits out o' tight corners is some surprisin'. had we better go back there, whipple? it wouldn't do fer us ter git captured; an' then, considerin' what we're workin' fer in la grange, it would be foolish ter take any chances." "chances!" growled whipple. "we've got guns an' them kids haven't. where do the chances come in? pull yer six-shooter an' come on. i'm going ter git even for that whack king give me on the head. an' we want that air ship. it's jest the thing we need. don't be a fool, pete." with this final adjuration, whipple, weapon in hand, started back toward the trees. pete, likewise prepared for emergencies, hurried after him. before they had covered half the distance that separated them from the trees, however, they saw the black shape of the air ship shoot upward and vanish in the darkness toward the north. whipple's rage and disappointment were so keen that he gave way to a torrent of piratical language, storming around until pete called him to a halt with a show of temper. "what good does that do? king an' his pals have hiked out, an' mebby it's a good thing fer us that they did. stop yer swearin' an' let's go on to the ole quarry an' take a look fer brady." stifling his anger, whipple strode on to the trees and peered over the scene of the recent encounter. "yes," he growled, "king has showed us his heels ag'in, but it ain't a good thing fer us noways that he got clear. what d'ye s'pose he was doin' here?" "i pass. i ain't no mind reader, whipple." "no, i reckon ye ain't; an' ye ain't got any too much good, common sense, neither. mebby king's got a tip that the girl's at la grange, an' he's come over in this direction lookin' fer us. did ye ever think o' that? if our game's been tipped off, we're li'ble ter find ourselves in a hard row o' stumps." "who's goin' ter tip off our game?" demanded pete. "them chicago detectives ain't been able ter find out a thing." "mebby they have, but that confounded matt king is the sort o' cat we never know which way he's goin' ter jump. if that kid wasn't stringin' us, i'll bet money the feller that got him ter git writin' material, an' then ter take a letter to the la grange postoffice, addressed ter king, was brady." "why should brady be writin' ter king? he hates him down ter the ground." "brady would do anythin' ter beat our game." "then, if ye're so sure brady's in the ole quarry, let's find him an' have it out with him, right here." "that's the thing fer us ter do--only thing we _can_ do, now." the two men started out of the shadow of the trees in the direction of the railroad track and the quarry. a wagon road followed the track, and before they had reached the road, the _chugetty-chug_ of an automobile, rapidly approaching, struck on their ears. "get back ter the trees!" muttered whipple. "here comes an automobile, an' it won't do fer us ter be seen." they scrambled back into the dark shadows of the trees. crouching there, they waited and watched. the automobile was coming at a good clip along the road, and could be seen to contain two men. to the surprise and consternation of pete and whipple, the machine slowed to a halt just between the trees and the track. "thunder!" gasped pete; "that move don't mean any good ter us. i don't like the way things is movin' ternight. what d'ye think them dubs is up to?" "shut up an' listen!" whispered whipple. "they're talkin', an' mebby we can find out what their game is." "there's the old quarry, on the right, graydon," one of the men was saying, "and there's the canal on the left. right around in here is where that air ship ought to be." "maybe we're too late, harris," answered the man addressed as graydon, "and that the game has been pulled off." "i hope not. if anything has gone wrong with king and his friends, i'm to blame. get out and cross the track to the quarry. look around there and see if you can find anything of the boys. if you can't, my hands will be in the air, and i won't know the first thing to do. while you're nosing around the quarry, i'll walk over toward the canal. if anything has gone wrong with motor matt, i'll bet hector brady is back of it." all this, which was plainly heard by whipple and pete, rendered them anything but easy in their minds. they knew harris, the energetic officer from south chicago, and his activities while helping motor matt had left memories anything but pleasant. and then, too, the mention of brady had set the two scoundrels to guessing. "we'd better duck while we've got time," whispered pete. "wait!" returned whipple roughly. "we've got ter find out what's up--it may mean success or failure fer that game we're workin' at la grange." "how ye goin' ter find out anythin' more? them fellers have quit talkin'." "they've quit talkin'," answered whipple darkly, "but they haven't got away from here yet. stick right where ye are, pete, an' watch." graydon had got out of the automobile and started across the railroad track. it was only a moment or two before he was blotted out of sight. harris had likewise climbed out of the car and was starting slowly in the direction of the canal. as the officer advanced, whipple pulled pete behind one of the trees. "leave it ter me," he whispered savagely. "harris is comin' this way an' i'll take care o' him. we've got a score ter settle with that dub, anyway." "i won't stand fer no desperate work, whipple," warned pete. "we're tangled up a-plenty as it is." "you stand by an' keep yer mouth shut!" ordered whipple. "we got ter nab harris an' make him do some more talkin'. hist, now! he's comin' close." the officer, greatly worried on account of matt and his friends, and utterly unconscious of lurking danger, was making straight toward the trees, evidently intending to pass between them on his way to the canal. as he drew nearer, he kept his head moving from side to side, plainly hoping to discover something. scarcely breathing, the two fugitives waited for him. whipple, catching his revolver by the barrel, leaped out from behind the tree just as harris came abreast of him. at that instant the officer's head was turned away. he heard the noise of the spring and whirled--but too late. whipple brought the butt of his revolver down on the officer's head with stunning force. harris, without a word, flung up his hands and crumpled in an insensible heap to the ground. "look here, whipple," cried the exasperated pete, "if ye've done fer him i'm goin' ter quit ye, right here." "i haven't done fer him," scoffed whipple, "only jest laid him out so'st we can handle him." "what ye goin' ter do?" "take him ter la grange an' find out what he knows. we'll use the automobile." "that's plumb foolish! he'll git next ter the whole game, then he'll have us dead ter rights." "if i'm figgerin' this thing right, some 'un's next ter our game as it is, an' we've got ter take the girl an' move. the automobile'll come in handy fer us, an' when we pull out we can leave harris behind. i've run the engine in the hawk, an' i know enough about motor cars ter run that machine. hurry up! we want ter git away from here afore that other dub comes back from the quarry." harris, breathing heavily and still unconscious, was picked up neck and heels and rushed to the car. "you git in behind with him," said whipple, as the officer was placed in the tonneau, "an' i'll git in the driver's seat. we'll pass up lookin' fer brady in the quarry fer now. i reckon harris can tell us all we want ter know." the two scoundrels got into the car, whipple pausing first to crank up the engine. turning the car around the other way, he headed along the back track, gradually speeding up the motor. the rascals had had one backset, but this move seemed likely to more than make up for it. chapter vi. brady's proposition. "how do you feel, carl?" asked matt, when the hawk was safely clear of the ground and swinging easily along through the night. "i feel like my headt vas as pig as a parrel," answered carl. "py shiminy, dot vas a svipe vat i got. i see pooty ret lights aroundt me, und i don'd know somet'ing ondil lader." "it's a cinch, matey," spoke up ferral, "that brady laid that trap, and that we only got out of it by the skin of our teeth." "what do you say to that, brady?" asked matt. "it's mighty unfortunate--for me," replied brady, from the bottom of the car. "i laid a trap, king, but not that kind. what i wanted, was to talk you into helping me rescue helen. i don't know yet how whipple and pete managed to show up there when they did. they didn't see me, and they don't know now that you've captured me." "as soon as we can get to south chicago," said matt, "we'll tell harris those fellows are here. this is the first clue the police have had as to where they are." "a good night's work, mate," said ferral, "strike me lucky if it ain't. harris will be all ahoo when we tell him that it was brady who wrote that letter." "don't take me back to south chicago just yet," pleaded brady, struggling to a sitting posture and leaning against the rail at the side of the car. "if pete and whipple are away from that shanty in la grange, this will be a good time to get helen." "he talks mit two tongues vorse as any feller vat i know," remarked carl. "he thinks he can keep on fooling us," scoffed ferral. "listen to me, that's all i ask," pursued brady, desperately earnest. "pete and whipple, helped by a man named hooligan, got the girl away from her friends in chicago, and----" "how did they do it?" interrupted matt. "hooligan met helen on the street, and told her that her brother, hector brady, jr., was sick and wanted her to come to him at once. helen knew the police were looking for my son, just as they were for the other members of my gang who had escaped the officers, and she did not dare to go back to her friends and tell them where she was going. hooligan told her it wouldn't be necessary for her to say anything, as she could get back to archer avenue in the afternoon. hooligan took helen by train to river forest, a suburb of chicago, and not far from la grange. he's care-taker during the summer for a house in river forest, hooligan is, and he took the girl there. the moment the girl reached the house, whipple and pete made a prisoner of her, and turned her over to mrs. hooligan. when it became night, helen was taken to a house owned by the hooligans in la grange--and helen has been there ever since. last night i was in la grange and i spotted the house, but the gang were too many for me and i didn't dare try to rescue helen alone. i had already thought of you and the hawk, king, and i knew we could turn the trick if i could only get you to help." the facts were surprising--providing they were the facts--and brady's knowledge of them was equally mystifying. "how did you learn all this, brady?" demanded matt. "grove got the news to me while i was in prison. whipple and pete tried to ring him in on the deal, but grove wouldn't stand for it. a pretty decent sort of a grafter, grove is, but he's done with crooked work and has gone to california to lead a different life. my son, at last accounts, was in new york. by this time he's off for foreign parts. it is due to you, king, that my gang has been scattered like this, and there was a time, not many days ago, when all i asked was to be free just long enough to settle my score with you. but this strange affair of helen's has changed all that. i'm thinking more of getting even with whipple and pete than i am of getting even with you. as for helen, i can see now that the girl meant well, although what she has done has made a convict of me." the convict was always a well-spoken man, and plainly a man of education. this, perhaps, had made him a more dangerous criminal than he would otherwise have been. somehow, matt was deeply impressed by his words. the young motorist's desire to help helen brady probably influenced him to pay some attention to his prisoner's words. "you're right in saying this is a strange case, brady," said matt. "the strangest part of it is why whipple and pete should go to all this trouble. what are they trying to do?" "i've made up my mind to tell you the whole of it, king," returned brady. "during my thieving operations around south chicago i picked up quite a lot of valuable property. you got some of it back, but not the biggest part. i hid that away, to a place known only to me, and wrote down instructions for finding the place, and stowed the memorandum under a loose brick in the house at lake station, where helen stayed for awhile after you got the hawk away from me in willoughby's swamp. if anything happened to me, i intended to tell hector, jr., where the instructions were hidden, have him get the plunder, turn it into cash, and hire lawyers to get me out of trouble. while i was waiting for my trial, there in south chicago, i sent the letter to hector, jr. he had left town and the letter fell into helen's hands. she opened it, went to lake station and got the memorandum. in some way, whipple and pete found out about it, and they engineered the abduction before helen could turn the paper over to the police--as i know she intended doing." a great rage welled up in brady as he went on. "those two treacherous hounds want to get the plunder, and they will keep helen a prisoner until they can make her tell where the stuff is concealed, for i imagine she destroyed the paper after reading it. that's why i want to play even with them! it was for that alone that i struck down the prison guard, got into his uniform, and escaped from the 'pen.' if you'll help me, king, i've got a proposition to make to you--and you'll find that i stand by it." "what's your proposition?" asked matt. where brady had put the spoil of his many robberies had long been a mystery to the authorities, and brady's recital, although one of the strangest matt had ever heard, was logical, and bore the stamp of truth. "it's this," went on brady, visibly gratified because the young motorist seemed inclined to fall in with his plans; "help me rescue helen and place whipple and pete in the 'pen.' if you will do that, i will go back to joliet and finish my term, and you can rely on helen to tell where the plunder is cached. but if anything has happened to those written instructions, and helen can't tell, i'll give the information to you and you can have the stuff dug up and returned to the people from whom it was taken. i can't say anything fairer than that." this was queer talk for hector brady. motor matt could hardly believe his ears. and yet, he was offering little. he had already been recaptured, so his return to joliet was a foregone conclusion; and helen, it was almost certain, knew the location of the caché, and it might be considered that the stolen property would be returned without any of brady's help. that whipple and pete could wrest the location of the caché from helen, matt could not believe. he knew the girl's determination too well. "he iss trying to make some fools oudt oof us," remarked carl. "don'd listen to him, matt." "that's the sizing i give his talk, mate," seconded ferral. "he's a bad one, and couldn't tell the truth on a bet." "haven't you any gratitude for what helen did for you?" demanded brady. "if it hadn't been for her, you would have lost this air ship." "that's the least of it," said matt gravely. "miss brady saved ferral's life and mine, at the time of that balloon-house plot of yours, brady. you want to take the hawk to the place in la grange where hooligan and his wife live?" "to the place where they live when they're at home," answered brady. "they only stay there in the winter. during the summer they're taking care of that house in river forest." "they're making fine use of that river forest house!" exclaimed matt. "but they can't be there now, if they've got helen at the place in la grange." "mrs. hooligan has charge of helen, and whipple and pete are there with her. hooligan himself is at river forest." "what sort of a two-faced scoundrel is this hooligan, that he helps criminals in such work?" "he happens to be pete's brother." "that doesn't excuse him." "probably he's figuring on getting a share of the stuff pete and whipple are hoping to find. there's enough of the loot to make them all pretty comfortable. if you hadn't butted into my affairs, king, i could have sailed away in the hawk and taken life easy for the rest of my days." "the proper way to work this," said matt, after a moment's reflection, "is to take you to south chicago, brady, leave you there, and pick up harris and two other officers. then you can tell us where to go and we'll have whipple, pete and the two hooligans behind the bars before daylight. and miss brady will be safely rescued." "that won't do at all," protested brady. "in the first place, that will make too much of a delay at a time when every moment may count; and, in the next place, i'll have to be along to tell you where to moor the air ship and point out the house." "he has got somet'ing oop his sleeve more as he lets oudt," answered carl. "go shlow a leedle, matt; dot's der vay vat i feel aboudt it." "right-o," agreed ferral. "even though there is a little delay, matt, it's better to go to south chicago and pick up harris than to let brady lead us into a mare's nest." brady showed signs of exasperation. "i don't believe you want to do anything for helen!" he growled. "yes, we do," said matt, "and we're going to la grange at once; but we're going to leave those ropes on you all the time, brady, and i'll reconnoitre hooligan's house and find out if your yarn is straight goods before we sail in there and get ourselves into possible trouble." "that suits me," and brady floundered to his knees and looked over the rail. for a long time he peered downward, evidently getting his bearings. "make a half turn to the left," said he, "and speed up the engine. i'll stay right here and tell you exactly where to go. you'll never regret making this move, king. all i have to gain is the satisfaction of rescuing helen brady and getting the stripes on whipple and pete." matt, full of wonder at the way events were falling out, turned the air ship in the direction indicated by brady and increased the speed of the propeller. chapter vii. a surprise at hooligan's. instructed by brady, who knelt on the floor of the car and watched keenly as they traveled through the air, matt brought the hawk down in a vacant lot back of a high billboard. the houses in the neighborhood were dark, as it was after midnight, and the vague bulk of the gas bag, looming over the top of the billboard, would hardly have claimed the attention of any chance passerby on the sidewalk. at that hour, too, there were not liable to be any travelers in the street. the hawk carried no lights, and the only noise she made in descending was caused by the low murmur of the cylinders. the craft was moored to the supports of the billboard, on one side, and to a heavy wagon on the other. the wagon was a truck, and it was evidently the owner's custom to leave it over night in the lot. "i got the lay of the land when i came in here from the quarry," explained brady, in a low voice, "and i had just such an emergency as this in mind. directly across the alley is hooligan's house. if you want to reconnoitre, king, go ahead, but i'd advise you to be careful, for whipple would be quick to use a knife or a revolver on you if he got the chance." "i'll look out for whipple," answered matt confidently. "the chances are, you know, that they're not there. we left them out by the canal, and i don't think they have had time to get here yet, if they walked out to the old quarry." "we don't want to take any chance, matt," said ferral, "of those two swabs getting next to us here. there'd be a pretty kettle of fish if they find us, use their guns, and then make off with the air ship--and brady." "while i'm gone," returned matt, impressed with ferral's reasoning, "you and carl will have to be on your guard. you'd better go to the end of the billboard, carl, and watch the street. you can keep your eye on the alley, dick. if pete and whipple happen to show up before i get back, and you think the hawk is in any danger, cut loose and sail away--never mind me. you can hover around and pick me up later." "i don'd like dot, matt," said carl. "meppy i pedder go mit you, hey? you vill be in more tanger as der air ship, i bed you." "i'm not going to get into any danger, and it's the hawk we've got to be sure of beyond everything else. you remember how anxious harris was to keep her out of the hands of any of brady's gang? well, we don't want to lose the hawk, and we don't want to cheat justice by letting pete and whipple get hold of her. i don't think there's much chance of the scoundrels showing up, but it's well to be on the safe side. if mrs. hooligan is alone there, when i come back i'll have miss brady; then we can get a policeman or two and have them lie in wait for pete and whipple when they come. i see how, if luck is with us, we can wind this whole matter up, right here. brady's advice was good in having us come directly here without losing any time. now, i'm----" matt paused. to his ears there came the popping of a motor just getting into action. the noise was followed by a steady hum of cylinders, getting down to work. the hum grew low in the distance and finally died out. "dere's a pubble!" muttered carl. "in the street on the other side of hooligan's," said matt. "it's getting so you can hear automobiles at any time of the day or night." "but hooligan's house faces a street where no one lives that's able to own an automobile," spoke up brady. "somebody else who doesn't live on the street is going through." "the machine had stopped. when we heard it it was just starting. besides, it's a poor street, and no machine would come that way unless the driver blundered into the thoroughfare. i don't like it. hurry up, king, and find out what's going on, if you can." matt lost no more time, but gained the alley, climbed a rickety fence on the other side, and stood in the back yard of the hooligan home. the house was a small, one-story affair, shabby even in that faint light, and the back yard was waist high with weeds. it was quite plain that hooligan's being away in summer was a bad thing for his home place. matt approached the house cautiously and went completely around it. there was no light anywhere, and no sounds came from within. "mrs. hooligan has probably gone to bed," he thought. "if i was absolutely sure that pete and whipple had not got back, i'd rap on the door and try to get in in that way." while it seemed reasonable to suppose that the two rascals were still absent from the place, yet matt did not want to run the risk of trouble by pounding on the door for mrs. hooligan. to get a policeman might have been the best plan, but matt was none too sure of his ground, inclined though he was to put implicit faith in brady's information. "i'll get in, if i can, and look around," he finally concluded. "the hooligans might have a case against me for house-breaking, but i'll take a chance. besides, if what brady says is true, we've got a bigger case against the hooligans than they can possibly get against me." softly he tried the front door. as he had imagined, it was locked. then he tried the kitchen door, but with no better result. after that he passed completely around the building endeavoring to raise one of the windows. the windows, like the doors, were secured. this seemed strange, inasmuch as it was a warm night and just the time windows should be open to admit the air. with his pocket knife matt succeeded in pushing aside the fastening between the upper and lower sash of a window at the side of the house. he listened for a moment to see if his work had been detected by anyone in the building. hearing nothing to arouse his apprehension, he pushed up the window and climbed into the dark room beyond. silence reigned all around him. taking a match from his pocket, he struck it and surveyed the room. it was a bedroom. the bed was not disturbed, although the coverlet and pillow bore the imprint of a human form, as though some one had lain down on it for a few minutes' rest. from a nail in the wall hung an article which at once attracted matt's attention. it was a small gray shawl, and he at once recalled it as a shawl which he had seen helen brady wear. here was fresh proof that hector brady had told the truth. undoubtedly the girl had been in that house, and that that was the room set aside for her use. but where was she? softly matt opened a door and stepped through into the kitchen. there was a pile of dirty dishes on a table, and other evidences that the kitchen had been recently used. but there was no one there, and no sounds came to matt to tell him that there was anyone, apart from himself, in the house. an open door admitted him into what was undoubtedly the main living room. there was some disorder apparent, as though those who had been in the house had left hastily. a heavy disappointment ran through the young motorist. helen brady had been there, but she had been taken away! he was too late. while he stood in the centre of the living room, a flickering match in his fingers, he heard something that sent his pulses to a faster beat. a faint sound as of stifled breathing came to him. there was one more room he had not examined, and it opened off the one in which he was standing. the choking respiration apparently reached him from this unseen chamber. what lay beyond the closed door he did not know, but he had gone too far to retreat. if pete and whipple were there, and if they were waiting for him---- but that thought did not dismay him. he was thinking of helen brady, and hoping against hope that she was still in the house. he let the match flicker out and, in the darkness, stepped to the door and pushed it open. the breathing was more distinct, but, apart from the person who caused the sound, there was no one else in the room. matt lighted another match, and started back with an astounded exclamation. on the floor, almost at his feet, lay harris! he was bound, wrist and ankle, and a handkerchief gag was twisted between his jaws. the policeman's wide-open eyes were rolling, and he was doing his utmost to talk. as soon as he had recovered himself somewhat, matt stepped to a washstand and lighted a lamp that stood there; then, going down on his knees, he proceeded to free the officer of his bonds and the gag. "great scott!" were the officer's first gasping words as he sat up and raised both hands to his head, "how, in the name of all that's good, do _you_ happen to be here?" "i was just going to ask you the same question," answered the bewildered matt. "never had such a big surprise in my life!" "nor i, either. i came here looking for helen brady, but i thought there was no one at home, and i got through a window. how did you come here?" "i was brought here by pete and whipple," was the astonishing reply. "brought here by pete and whipple?" echoed matt. "why, we left them out by the canal and the old quarry." "left them there, eh? what happened to you, matt? i was scared stiff, on your account, back there in south chicago. after you left, i called up police headquarters in the city and asked after dave glennie--just thought i'd make sure i hadn't sent you into trouble. glennie himself answered the phone. he hadn't written you any letter and didn't know a thing about that proposed meeting. i got graydon, another officer, and we hustled off in an automobile. couldn't find you at the quarry, and while graydon was looking for you in one direction, and i was nosing around in another, i was keeled over by whipple. the two scoundrels stole the automobile and brought me here. i don't know what the nation graydon will think, or---- ouch, my head! there's a lump on it as big as my fist, and it feels as though it had been hit with a sledge hammer. but it's good for sore eyes to see you, matt, and to find out that you didn't get into trouble. if you----" a wild shout came muffled from the distance. it was carl's voice, and evidently something was going wrong at the air ship. "that's carl!" exclaimed matt. "come on, harris. i've got to get out of here and see what's up. i left carl and dick with the hawk in a vacant lot on the other side of the alley." without waiting to explain further, matt whirled and dashed from the room. chapter viii. the trouble at the air ship. when carl and ferral went on guard duty, brady, still bound, was left in the car of the hawk. from the deep gloom of the billboard, carl watched both ways--kept his eye on the street for possible signs of pete and whipple, and looked occasionally toward the car to make sure that brady was keeping quiet. carl always claimed to have "hunches" when anything was going wrong. he had a good many "hunches" when nothing ever went wrong, but rarely had anything to say when his dismal forebodings failed to make good. however, when his "hunch" struck him shortly before a bit of hard luck, he was sure to brag about it. one of the shivery feelings which carl supposed to be a "hunch" had been on him ever since they had started from the balloon house. instead of finding dave glennie, the city detective, by the old quarry, the chums had run into hector brady; and, right after that, they had had an encounter with pete and whipple, and had got away by a narrow margin. this amount of trouble ought to have been sufficient for any ordinary "hunch," but it did not satisfy carl's. the shivery feeling still held him in its grip, and he was looking for something else to strike matt, and ferral, and himself. ferral, finding everything quiet in the alley, strolled around by the end of the billboard. carl was so busy looking for trouble that he did not see his chum coming. when he heard his step, close behind him, carl jumped about ten feet. "ach, vat a cholt!" he murmured, recognizing the low laugh that greeted him when he turned around. "you hatn't ought to do dot, verral," he went on reproachfully. "you come pooty near shcarin' me oudt oof a year's growt'." "what ails you, old ship?" queried ferral. "i never saw you in such a taking before. there must be something wrong with your top hamper." "i don't know abudt dot," said carl, "aber i bed my life somet'ing pooty bad iss going to habben mit us. i got der feeling in my pones--leetle didicums valkin' all droo me--lettle spookishness feelings like vat i can't tell hop, shkip und chumping oop my shpine. yah, himmelblitzen, dot's der t'ing vat i feels, und it makes me vant to yell righdt oudt. you efer haf dot, verral?" "from your description," chuckled ferral, "i don't think anything of that kind ever crossed my hawse. it must be an awful feeling, carl." "ach, vorse as dot! i vas a rekular drouple parometer. schust vatch me und you can alvays tell schust ven hardt luck is going to shdrike modor matt und his bards. now, ve vill ged some more do-nighdt, i tell you dose." "what sort of trouble will it be?" "i don'd know dot, aber i bed you matt is mixed oop in it. i ditn't pelieve dot he ought to haf svallowed all dot talk prady gif him. anyvay, you see how matt dook it down, und here ve are, und dere iss matt ofer der alley--und der teufel knows vat vill habben pecause oof it, i don'd." "that old raggie of ours, carl, generally knows what he's about. it ain't often that he gets fooled." "don'd i know dot? he iss der greadest feller dot efer vas, aber der pest oof dem vill make a misblay vonce und oggasionally. matt ought to haf let me go along mit him. he has peen gone a goot vile now, und he may be in drouble alretty for all dot ve know." "matt can keep out of trouble easier than any fellow you ever saw," answered ferral. "sure! aber i vish dot you vould go ofer py der alley und lisden pehindt der house. see oof you can hear anyt'ing vat lisdens like drouple." "i'll go you, carl," said ferral, "not because i don't think matt's not able to take care of himself, but just to ease up a bit on your nerves. i never saw a fellow that liked to fight better than you do, and it's main queer you'll let a foreboding of trouble get you on the mat like that." "der forepoding iss der whole drouple; oof der fighdt vould come on mitoudt dot, i vouldt be habby. yah, so. it's der uncerdainty oof vat iss coming vat hurts." with an amused laugh, ferral strolled off toward the alley. carl watched him vanish into the deeper shadows cast by the sheds and other buildings, and then allowed his eyes to swerve toward the car of the air ship. the dutch boy had cast an apprehensive look toward the car a score of times without seeing anything. this time, however, he saw something, and that was the figure of a man jumping over the rail. with a wild yell he rushed toward the car. the man, running like a deer, came directly toward him, and carl planted himself firmly and made ready to use his fists. as the running form came closer, carl made it out to be brady. the escaping prisoner lurched to one side in order to give carl a wide berth. "no, you don'd!" cried carl, and threw himself in front of brady. the latter, by a dexterous move, put out a foot and tripped the dutch boy, sending him heels over head. while carl was getting up, he saw brady disappearing around one end of the billboard. "what's run afoul of you, mate?" demanded ferral, hurrying to the scene. "prady!" answered carl excitedly. "he has proken loose mit himseluf und run avay!" carl at once started on the trail, darting around the end of the billboard and plunging into the street. once in the thoroughfare, he was puzzled to know which way brady had gone. the fellow was out of sight and hearing, and all carl could do was to make a guess and plunge away. he guessed wrong, and after he had run two blocks he made up his mind that he would go the other way and raced back. in front of the billboard he was stopped by matt, ferral and some one else. it was too dark for carl to see who the third man was. "hold up, carl!" called matt, grabbing him, "there's no use whaling around like that." "prady has got avay!" cried carl. "so dick was telling us. it's hard luck, and i can't understand it." "did you have brady?" demanded the third member of the party. "vell, oof it ain'd harris!" murmured carl. "vere dit you come from?" harris had no time, just then, for useless talk. "yes," said matt, "we had brady. he was a prisoner in the air ship, and he loosened his ropes and made a break for his freedom. i'm all at sea and can't make head or tail of it." "if he's in this town," proceeded harris, "he can be captured, but we'll have to call on the police authorities here. however, now that brady's got away, that can wait a few minutes. tell me all about how you found him." matt went over the event of brady's capture at some length, telling briefly what brady had told him and how he and his chums had come to bring the hawk to the vacant lot near hooligan's. it was the first chance since matt had found harris in the house that the two had had to talk. harris, as might be supposed, was amazed. "a queer move for brady to make," muttered the officer. "a big change must have come over him since he went to the 'pen.' the last thing he said to me, when he started for joliet, was that he'd get even with motor matt if it was the last thing he ever did. either he's playing some deep game, or else he's experienced a remarkable change of heart." "it's a deep game he's playing, i guess," said matt ruefully. "if not, why did he try to get away?" "well, he gave you a lot of information, and gave it to you pretty straight. that don't tally very well with his desire to make you trouble. there's something about all this i can't understand." "brady was quite a little worked up over that automobile we heard, in front of hooligan's, mate," put in ferral, with a sudden thought. "that was the automobile that brought graydon and me from south chicago," explained harris. "pete and whipple ran off with it. they used the machine to bring me to hooligan's, and then loaded the old woman and the girl into it, got in themselves, and tore away." "do you know where they went?" asked matt. "no. whipple told me, just before he left the house, that i could stay where i was and starve to death, for all he cared. and i guess that might have happened if it hadn't been for you, matt. all this tallies with what brady told you, and makes the whole affair look as though he was playing on the square." "but he bolted!" exclaimed matt. "that goes to show that he had something up his sleeve that we don't know anything about." the puzzled officer rubbed his bruised head thoughtfully. "well, you've got me," he observed finally. "i can't explain it. it will be a good scheme for you boys to get away from here as soon as you can. if pete and whipple should show up and lay hands on the hawk----" "how can they do that if they went off in the automobile?" "that's right, too. i'm reasoning like a crazy man, which shows how badly rattled this thing has made me. suppose you go back to those two trees near the quarry and wait there for me? they say that lightning never strikes twice in the same place, so probably the hawk will be safer there than anywhere else. while you're there you might keep an eye out for graydon. i'm going to call on the police authorities here and get men out hunting for brady. no matter what his game is, he has got to be located. and that automobile has got to be recovered. graydon and i borrowed it, and i'd hate to have to put up three thousand for it in case it's wrecked or got away with for good. you might go along with me, carl. i may have use for you." at such a time the dutch boy would rather have stayed with matt and ferral. however, a word from matt decided him, and he and the officer hurried off together. the other two boys, very much disheartened over the way events had fallen out at hooligan's, unmoored the hawk and started back toward the quarry. well beyond the edge of town, ferral, who was on the lookout in the forward part of the car, saw something to which he called matt's attention. the object was a light, almost directly underneath them, waving back and forth as though to attract their attention. "hello, down there!" called matt. "who are you?" "graydon," came the answer. "is that you, king?" "yes." "well, come down and take me aboard. i've had a deuce of a time. there's a whole lot been going on that's got me queered." "he's not the only one that's queered," muttered ferral as matt turned the nose of the hawk earthward. "watch sharp, dick," said matt. "if there's more than one man there, tell me before it's too late for us to get away. i'm looking for trouble everywhere to-night." chapter ix. back to the canal. "there's only one man down there, mate, so far as i can see," announced ferral presently. "he's waving a bunch of burning grass on the end of a stick." "is he an officer?" "he's got on a policeman's uniform." "then i guess it will be safe for us to go down." the descent continued, and the hawk hovered above the place where graydon was standing. "don't bring that fire near the air ship, graydon!" matt called. "put it out and then come alongside and we'll help you into the car." the officer did as directed, and was soon in the air ship with matt and ferral. the young motorist started on again toward the canal. "it was a big surprise to me to see this air ship," said graydon. "harris was scared to death thinking something had happened to it, and to you boys. we rushed out here from south chicago in an automobile, and----" "we know all about that, graydon," interposed matt. "you do?" cried graydon. "who told you?" "harris." "now where in the blazes did you see harris? he halted the automobile in the road and asked me to get out and take a look through the old quarry. when i got back to the road again the car was gone, and so was harris. i've been at sixes and sevens ever since. why did harris pull out and leave me?" "he didn't go of his own free will, graydon. he was knocked down and carried in an unconscious condition to a house in la grange," and matt briefly explained what had happened. graydon's amazement was keen. "well, what do you think of that!" he exclaimed. "here i've been pottering around in the vicinity of that old quarry for two hours, wondering where harris was, and why he didn't show up. i got the notion that maybe he had seen some one and had given chase, and that perhaps he'd come back. after two hours of waiting and looking, i gave up and started for la grange. then i saw the air ship, and now you tell me the automobile has been stolen, and that harris is scurrying around la grange, hunting for the machine and for hector brady! i suppose i ought to be there with him." "you might just as well go on with us, graydon," said matt. "we're going back to the quarry and harris is coming there as soon as he finishes his work. you'll probably find him a whole lot quicker if you go with us than if you keep on to la grange." "i'm willing enough to go with you," answered graydon, "because i'm tired out. i've had footwork enough to-night to last me for a week." "what did you find in the old quarry? anything?" "i found a place where somebody had camped--a sort of a den under an overhang of limestone. but there wasn't any one in the quarry." "that must have been the place where brady has been hanging out." "so you captured him and he got away from you! well, he's about as slippery a crook as you'll find in eleven states." the two trees by the canal were soon reached, and the hawk was moored just as she had been the other time. graydon, after turning over his revolver to matt, stretched out in the bottom of the car with his rolled-up coat under his head and was quickly snoring. but there was not to be much sleep for matt or ferral that night. it might be, as harris had said, that "lightning never struck twice in the same place," but the two lads were not taking any chances. armed with graydon's revolver they felt equal to any emergency that might confront them, but to close their eyes seemed out of the question. they patrolled the ground in the vicinity of the two trees. this was more as a precaution to keep themselves awake than anything else. "too blooming bad we just missed getting miss brady away from that outfit," muttered ferral. "if we'd got to hooligan's half an hour sooner, we might have rescued the girl." "we can't tell what would have happened," returned matt. "those scoundrels had the automobile--don't forget that--and they didn't stop at hooligans very long after they got there from the quarry." "long enough, anyhow, so that we could have grabbed the machine if we had known about it. now there's no telling where pete and whipple have taken the girl. with that automobile, they may be thirty miles from here, by now." "it will be easier to find them with the automobile than if they had got away without it. they'll have to keep to the best roads, and harris can telegraph all over this part of the country. every automobile will be closely scanned, and if pete and whipple get away they'll be a whole lot more clever than i think they are." "they'll only use the old flugee by night, mate. during the daytime they will hide away somewhere." "well, i think the chances are good for the whole party being captured. helen brady has done so much for us, though, that i would like to have had a hand in rescuing her." "i'm tagged onto the same rope, old ship! but i guess it don't make much difference how helen brady gets away from pete and whipple, just so she _does_ get away. that guff about the memorandum in the lake station house, and the buried treasure, was a fine yarn for the marines. i'm a fiji if that brady hasn't got a keen imagination." "i'm taking a whole lot of stock in that yarn myself, dick." "oh, my eye! say, matey, where's your head? why, brady just threw that treasure business into the story to make it more catchy." "i don't think so. we know that pete and whipple lured helen brady away. why should they do it if it wasn't to get hold of that buried loot? brady's explanation is the only reasonable one, and it rings true, to me." "why did he get up and dust if he was playing square with us? didn't he say he'd give himself up if you'd head the hawk for la grange and help rescue the girl? nice way he's got of giving himself up! why, he tripped anchor the minute he got a chance, knocked carl over and took a slant for the open. he's got a good offing by now, and i'm betting we never see him again. according to my notion, he stands a better chance of steering clear of the law than do pete and whipple. brady can give any the rest of his old gang cards and spades when it comes to headwork." "i don't know why it is, dick," said matt, "but somehow i've got a lot of confidence in brady's doing as he said he would. he's hungry to revenge himself on pete and whipple for their attempt to steal the buried plunder, and making the girl help them. brady, if i know him, will go a long way to get even with a man." "he's tried jolly hard to get even with you, but you've just naturally boxed the compass all around him." "well, he's let up on me now." "don't be so cocksure of that, my hearty. he let up on you while he could use you and the hawk. after he accomplishes what he set out to do, if he ever does, there may be a different story." "i've got a good deal of confidence in him," insisted matt. "everything's quiet around here, dick," he added, "and you might as well turn in and catch your forty winks. i'll stand guard alone. if anything goes wrong--which i haven't the least idea will be the case--you'll hear this gun begin to talk and can flock to the place where you're needed." "i guess i will do a caulk, mate, for i'm mighty dozy; but i'll only take the nap on one condition." "what's that?" "why, that you go below yourself after i do my own stretch off the land. i'll wake up in time to give you a chance before sunrise." "i'll agree," laughed matt, "providing you wake up." ferral selected a spot under one of the trees and spread the canvas shelter matt had stowed in the car for the protection of the air ship. with his coat for a pillow, and the canvas between him and the ground, he was off to the land of nod in record time. from that on, matt had a lonely and fruitless vigil. a passenger train went past on the railroad, but that was the only event that came to relieve the monotony of two hours' sentry duty. at the end of the two hours, when, as matt judged, it was nearly four o'clock, ferral stirred himself and arose. "it's my turn-to, mate," said he. "give me the revolver and below with you." "how did you manage to wake up?" queried matt, as he passed over the weapon. "practice, i guess. if a fellow fixes it in his mind that he's going to wake up at a certain time, he can usually do it. anyhow, that's the case with me. but ease off on your jaw tackle, matey. you're wasting valuable time. we've been through a lot of excitement and you must be tired. harris and carl will probably be here before you have the chance to get as much of a snooze as i had." matt walked over to the improvised bed under the tree and dropped down. he was hardly flat on his back before he was sound asleep; and it didn't seem to him that he had more than closed his eyes before a yell from ferral brought him to his feet. but some time had passed since matt had laid down. the sun had risen, and it was broad day. there was the roar of an approaching train in matt's ears, and ferral was pointing excitedly toward the cars and shouting: "look there, mate! what do you think of that? brady, or i'm a fiji!" chapter x. brady returns--with hot news. "that's right! blamed if it ain't brady!" this from graydon, who had also been aroused by ferral's alarm. crowding close to the two boys, the officer stood gazing with them toward the train. it was a freight train and was coming from chicago. just opposite the old quarry there was a stiff up-grade, and the freight had slackened speed. hanging to an iron ladder on the side of one of the box cars, still wearing his stolen uniform, was hector brady. he was looking toward the three by the tree, and when he saw he had caught their eye he waved his hand. "give me that revolver!" cried graydon. "i'll guarantee to pick him off that ladder with a single shot." the policeman reached to take the weapon from ferral's hand, but matt caught it away before graydon could get his hands on it. "wait," said matt coolly. "you don't want to kill brady, graydon. he's liable to be useful to us." "useful?" scoffed the officer excitedly. "why, the scoundrel is defying us. he's planning to ride past and----" "you're wrong," interrupted matt. "brady is a good ways from being a fool. if he had wanted to get past us he wouldn't have shown himself like he's doing. ah! what did i tell you?" while matt was talking, brady had suddenly thrown himself from the train at a point where the ground was almost on a level with the rails. he kept his footing like a cat, faced around and started coolly in the direction of matt, carl and graydon. "talk about surprises," mumbled graydon, "why, that fellow is full of 'em. what's he up to now, i wonder? it don't make any difference what his game is, right here is where he gets into a pair of darbies. keep that revolver handy, king." graydon drew a pair of handcuffs from his pocket. brady gave them a contemptuous glance as he halted within a few feet of matt. "you don't need to put those things on me," said he. "i could have got away if i had wanted to--but i didn't want to. i made a bargain with king, and there's too much at stake for me to break it. that's why i'm here." "now that you're here," returned graydon brusquely, "you'll consider yourself my prisoner." "not your prisoner, officer, but king's. he's the one who captured me." "you got away from king and----" "no, i didn't. i was on parole." a cool smile wreathed itself about brady's lips. "that's all it amounted to, king," he added to matt. "when i slipped away from the air ship, last night, i was intending all the time to come back to you. i've found out something, and if you make the most of my information it must be acted upon at once." "what have you found out?" asked matt. "i've discovered where pete and whipple went with helen." "well, strike me lucky!" muttered ferral. "you're a queer combination of crook and honest man, brady, douse me if you're not! you come back and give yourself up, when you know it means the 'pen' for you." "when the warden finds out what i've done," said brady, "it will mean favorable mention, and several months of good time. they'll forget, at the prison, the way i knocked over the guard and borrowed his uniform. but to come back to our mutton, as the english say, when i heard that automobile in front of hooligan's, last night, i got the notion that those two members of my old gang had made a getaway. i was about as sure of it as i was that i was lying on the bottom of the air-ship car, with my ropes so loose that all i'd have to do to get clear was to pull out my hands. after you started for the house, king, i watched my chance, freed my hands and then took the rope from my ankles. i couldn't explain where i was going, because you wouldn't believe me, and i knew that dutch pard of yours, or the sailor, either, wouldn't believe me. so i just hiked out. i had an idea where pete and whipple had gone, but i wanted to make sure of it. that's what i've done." "where are they?" inquired matt. "river forest." then it began to dawn on matt that the schemers had fallen back on hooligan. "they've gone----" "you're quick at a guess, now i've dropped the hint," interrupted brady. "yes, they've gone to the house where hooligan is acting as caretaker. the family's away for the summer, and hooligan is able to do about as he pleases there. it's a mansion, and a fine one, but it's a safe bet that the hooligans won't be taking care of the place another year. the family's abroad, i understand, and they wouldn't feel very easy if they knew what sort of a gang was staying in the place." "where's the house?" went on matt, his excitement growing. "it's a big, flat-topped mansion close to the river, just below the town. it's owned by a man named caspar----" "i know the place!" exclaimed graydon. "i've seen it a dozen times. it stands at a good distance from any other house, and is one of the show places of river forest. you're right, brady. mr. caspar would be mightily put out if he knew how his home was being used." "well, that's where pete and whipple, two of my old gang, have taken my daughter," went on brady. "they're there now, and so are the hooligans. but there's no telling how long they'll be there. it's up to you officers to get busy and make the most of my tip. i want you to capture those two traitors who have been trying to cheat me out of the stuff i stole, and have cached away--and who are trying to make my daughter help them. i want you to rescue the girl. that's your part of the bargain, matt," he added, turning to the young motorist. "i don't care what's done with the hooligans, for they don't concern me, but i want to see pete and whipple at hard labor alongside of me in the 'pen,' and every time they look at me i want them to remember that it was brady who put them where they are!" a look of demoniacal hate convulsed brady's face. if any one had doubted the genuineness of his desire for revenge upon pete and whipple, that look would have settled it. "we'll get them," averred graydon, "but first we'll make sure of you." he stepped forward with the handcuffs, and brady put out his wrists. "i'm king's prisoner, not yours, remember," said he, with a hard laugh, "and you'll put it in your report that i helped you capture pete and whipple. now don't lose any more time. those two men are pretty clever, and you'll have to nab them quick if you want to be sure of them." by a most opportune circumstance, a two-seated carriage containing harris and two other officers, and carl, came whipping along the road at that moment. carl and harris stared in open-mouthed amazement when they saw brady. then they tumbled from the carriage and raced for the little group by the trees. "where did you capture brady?" demanded harris. "he captured himself," replied matt. "dropped off a freight train and gave himself up." "the dickens he did!" "vell, donnervetter!" put in carl. "for vy you knock me ofer to ged avay den, oof you come pack?" "i had pressing business, dutchy," said brady, rattling the gyves, "and didn't want you to interfere with me. you'd better let graydon take me to la grange in that carriage, harris, and then on to south chicago. i've done about all i can, and you officers are to do the rest. you can go to river forest in the air ship, along with matt, and those other two officers can sail along with you. you may need even more help, for pete and whipple are strongly entrenched." "pete and whipple?" echoed harris blankly. "i've located them, and told matt and the rest where to go. caspar's house, in river forest----" "you know the house, don't you, harris?" queried graydon. "like a book," replied harris. "but tell me more about this before i----" "you've got to hurry, i tell you!" cried brady, with angry impatience. "the scoundrels are all there, and my girl is there with them. king can explain to you as you travel along." "is that automobile there?" asked harris. "i didn't see it, but it must be there if the rest are in the house. hurry up and get started. your nearest course is to follow the railroad track. better land in the timber and surround the house before you let pete and whipple know you're anywhere in the neighborhood. if you have to shoot, shoot straight." there was a deadly menace in the last words which did not escape those who heard them. "you're a bloodthirsty scoundrel!" muttered harris. "my word's as good as my bond, though," laughed brady cynically, "in a case like this." "you'd better take him to la grange, graydon," said harris, "and then on to south chicago. can you manage the team and brady, too, as far as the town?" "sure," replied graydon confidently. "hand me that gun, king." matt returned the weapon to its owner, and harris, graydon and brady walked toward the carriage and the two waiting officers. while harris and graydon were explaining the work ahead to the men in the carriage, matt and his chums hurried to the air ship and began making the craft ready for the task before her. there was still plenty of gasoline in the receptacle, but matt, out of his reserve supply, filled the tank full up. by the time harris and the other two officers reached the air ship, everything was in readiness. the la grange men were somewhat fearful of trusting their lives in the craft, but harris laughed away their fears and they took the places in the car to which matt assigned them. the burden now placed upon the hawk was about as great as she could carry. the car was somewhat crowded, but matt succeeded in making a neat ascension, and at one hundred feet from the ground he turned the craft to an even keel and steered her along a line parallel with the railroad track. "first time i ever went after a couple o' thieves in an air ship," observed burton, one of the la grange men. "and it'll be the last time, for me," added sanders, the other one, with a frightened gasp as the car careened. "the ground is good enough for sanders, any old day." chapter xi. the mansion on the river. the hawk, flying low over a populous country, attracted a good deal of attention. people--men, women and children--came out of their houses to stare and wonder. probably most of them had read, in their daily papers, of the exploits of motor matt and his air ship, so the dirigible gas bag did not take them wholly by surprise. some of those on the ground started to follow the craft, looking up and shouting as they ran. "we don't want a gang of curious people trailing us clear to river forest," growled harris. "speed her up, matt." "this is fast enough for me," observed sanders. "i guess i'd be a lot easier in my mind, too, if you'd keep her close enough to the ground so i could tumble out if anything slips a cog." "no cog ever slips," replied harris, "with king in charge of the engine. he knows what he's doing, every time and all the time." "vell, you bed my life!" cried carl. "he iss my bard, too, und i mighdt schust as vell haf peen mit him und der hawk, harris, as running aroundt mit you in la grange. vat ve dit vasn't nodding. ve hat to come pack py modor matt to findt oudt vat vas going on." "no dream about that, either," said harris grimly. "we did a lot of telegraphing, in la grange, but even that was lost time if brady has given us a proper steer." matt had thrown more power into the propeller. in spite of her heavy load the hawk was making about twenty miles an hour. the wind was behind her, what little there was, and that helped. "now that we're going in good shape, matt," said harris, "tell me what brady said." "dick will do that, harris," answered matt. "i want to give my whole attention to the engine." ferral gave the three officers and carl the gist of brady's information. "first time on record, i guess," commented burton, "that a crook like brady ever walked right back into the 'pen.'" "it's a cinch that he wouldn't have walked back, either," observed harris, "if he hadn't been so hungry to land pete and whipple in the same place. we're coming close to river forest now, matt," the officer added, taking their bearings with a critical eye, "and we've got to be careful not to arouse the curiosity of the townspeople. that line of timber, over there, marks the course of the river. caspar's house is about a mile to the right. you'd better turn from the railroad and strike across country. and you'd better keep as low as you can, so the woods will screen our approach to the house. if whipple, or pete, should see us, they might try to clear out in that automobile." the turn at right angles to their course carried the hawk across farming land and toward a point of the woods near which, harris stated, the caspar mansion was located. in order to keep the timber between the air ship and the house, matt dropped so low that the bottom of the car only safely cleared the fences. "blamed if you can't do about whatever you want to with this machine!" exclaimed burton enthusiastically. "i've read about the hawk, and about jerrold's air ship, the eagle, but i hadn't no idee they'd been figured down to such a fine point." "the time is coming," said matt, "when people will own air ships just as they own automobiles now." "not me," averred sanders. "the time'll never come when i trust my neck to a few cubic feet of gas and a motor. the solid ground'll do me for quite a spell yet." "better come down at the edge of the timber, matt," counseled harris, indicating a favorable spot. "there's a place where you can moor her to a fence post on one side and to a telephone pole on the other. you'll have to look out for the wires." "you can't pass under 'em!" cried sanders, in trepidation. "then we'll jump over them," said matt coolly, and the slant he gave the car in making the "jump" caused all hands to hang on for dear life to keep from being spilled out. the manoeuvre, however, was effected in the neatest kind of style, the hawk skimming over the topmost wire, and changing her course during the descent so that, when matt brought her to an even keel on the surface of the ground, she was parallel with the telephone line and just between the farm fence and one of the poles. sanders scrambled out with an exclamation of thankfulness. "if we go back with any prisoners," said he, "we'll not travel by air ship." "not by _this_ air ship, anyhow, mr. sanders," laughed matt, "for her passenger capacity is limited." harris helped put the mooring ropes in place. "it won't do to leave the car unguarded, matt," said he, when the air ship was safely fastened. "i don't think there's anything to be feared from those in the house, for we're going to keep them busy, but some one might happen along and get to tampering with the machinery." "i'll leave ferral and carl to look after the craft," returned matt. "as for me, though, i want to go along with you and see if everything at the house is as we expect to find it. if helen brady is going to be rescued, i want to have a share in the work." "come along, then," said harris, starting off through the woods. "oof you findt anyvone vat iss spoiling for a fighdt," carl called after them, "send him dis vay, oof you blease. i t'ink i vas spoiling for vone meinseluf." "never mind him, mates," laughed ferral; "just let him spoil. carl's too full of fight for his own good, anyhow." only a short stretch of timber lay between the advancing party and the house. when they came upon the premises, they approached from the rear. the house was large and had an old-fashioned mansard roof. the main part of the structure was three stories in height. there was an addition at the back that terminated at the lower part of the second story. the grounds were extensive, and entirely surrounded by an iron fence. a large stable filled in the back part of the yard. most of the windows of the house were boarded up, although here and there was one that had not been closed. there was no barricade at the rear door. "post yourself at the kitchen door, sanders," said harris, "and watch the rear of the house and give some attention to the side. i'll place burton at a front corner, so he can watch the other side and the front. matt isn't armed, so he can come with me while i try to rout out the gang, but keeping well behind and looking out for trouble." sanders placed himself at the kitchen door, revolver in hand, and the other three moved off around the house to the front. burton, as already indicated by harris, was placed at a front corner, where he could not only command the entrance but the side sanders had not been instructed to look after. "the lower windows are all boarded up on the first floor, so i guess there won't be any getaways through them," commented harris. "about the only points it is absolutely necessary to watch are the doors at front and rear. neither of those has been boarded over." harris, as he finished, started up the broad front steps. when he was halfway up, the front door suddenly opened and a tall man showed himself. the man was neither pete nor whipple, although his face slightly resembled pete's. the moment the man saw harris, climbing upward with his drawn revolver, he started back. the policeman made a dash upward, but the door was slammed in his face. "they know what we want," muttered harris, "and it looks like they were going to fight. that fellow must have been hooligan. well, i don't want to smash in mr. caspar's front door, so we'll try persuasion. we've got the rascals bottled up, and it won't do them any good to resist. if----" the crack of a revolver rang out, and a whiff of smoke eddied upward from one of the barricaded front windows. the bullet whistled uncomfortably close to harris' head, and even matt heard the sing of it, although it must have missed him by a foot or more. "down, matt!" shouted harris, throwing himself over the rail at the side of the steps and dropping under the protection of the foundation of the veranda. "get into safer quarters, my lad," he went on, as the young motorist landed beside him. "the rascals have loopholes in those window barricades. i wonder what they hope to gain by such work?" "hello, you!" called an angry voice, muffled in tone, from behind the boards where the shot had been fired. "hello, yourself!" shouted harris, peering out from his place of concealment. "what do you mean by firing at us?" "ye're trespassin' on mr. caspar's ground," went on the man in the house, "an' i'm here to protect the property. clear out!" "we're officers of the law," cried harris, "and you're giving refuge to a couple of fugitives from justice. is your name hooligan?" "what of it?" came the defiant response. "well, if you are," proceeded harris, "i'll give you just five minutes to open that front door and shove your brother, pete, and his pal, whipple, out onto the veranda. after we have taken care of them, we'll have you send the girl. i guess you know what we want. the quicker you obey me, hooligan, the better it will be for you." "i know my business," continued the angry voice, "an' if ye don't git off these grounds ye'll never live to git off." "that's a game two can play at, hooligan," answered harris coolly. "we're going to get the people we've come for if we have to batter in the door." "yes, ye will!" whooped another voice, which matt plainly recognized as whipple's. "ye'll never git us alive." "that's whipple, harris," whispered matt. "glad to know you're there, whipple," shouted harris grimly. "now we know we're on the right track. you and pete have got five minutes to come out and give yourselves up." "ye got a picter of us comin' out!" taunted the voice. "we can shoot--ye'll find that out--but, if ye press us too close, it's goin' to be worse for the girl. if ye'll clear out an' let us go, we'll let her go; if ye won't clear out, then it'll be a case o' up-sticks with helen brady." matt's heart sank like lead. the scoundrels had the girl with them, and they were seeking to make her safety their protection. how far would they carry their murderous threats? the young motorist's blood ran cold as he thought of helen brady's danger. chapter xii. the fight. harris had looked at his watch when he called out to whipple that five minutes would be allowed him and pete to give themselves up. "while we're waiting to see what they do, inside there," the officer said to matt, "you go around and tell sanders the fellows are showing fight, and warn him to be on his guard." matt made his way to the corner of the house under the protection of the veranda. burton, at the first shot from inside, had got behind a tree from which he could command the front entrance and the side of the building he had been instructed to watch. the young motorist, without being fired at, gained the rear door and told sanders what had happened around in front. sanders had heaped up a little pile of stove wood in the form of a breastwork, and was crouching behind it. "i heard that shot," said he, "and made up my mind we was goin' to have brisk work. there ain't no trees handy, around here, so i did the next best thing an' fortified my position with stove wood. you bet i'll be on the lookout, king! if any man tries to come through that door, i'll drop him in his tracks. i don't know what them skunks think they can do, actin' in this way. we could keep 'em boxed up in there fer a week, if we wanted to, and they're bound to lose out in the end." leaving sanders to watch and wait for developments, matt started back toward the front of the house. seeing a garage that caspar had built for his car, the idea struck him to move over in that direction and look for the stolen automobile. he found the door of the garage locked. as he turned away from it, he saw a square framework of oak planks leaning against the barn. probably the framework was four feet square. what it had been used for matt could not guess, but his quick brain instantly devised an idea. dragging the framework along with him, he reached the front of the house and found harris just snapping his watch and returning it to his pocket. the south chicago man was standing near the tree with burton. "the five minutes are up," he remarked, "and here's where we've got to do something. what are you bringing there, matt?" he asked. "a portable fort," replied matt. "you've got to get to the front door, harris, and you don't want pete and whipple making a target of you while you're doing it. after you get close up to the door they won't be able to reach you with their bullets." "egol, that's a bright idea! but how's one man going to manage the thing?" "i'll go along with you. between the two of us i guess we can handle it." holding the framework on edge, matt and harris crouched behind it; then, keeping it upright and hauling it along with them, they started across the front of the house toward the steps. weapons cracked from the boarded-up windows, and leaden missiles _chugged_ into the stout oak planks. the bullets could not penetrate the heavy oak, and consequently they did no damage. reaching the steps, matt and harris lifted the framework upward a step at a time and finally gained the recess containing the front door. here they stepped from behind the barricade, and the officer laid hands on the knob and shook the door violently. "open!" he cried; "open in the name of the law!" a taunting laugh from within was his only answer. "i hate to do any damage to this fine building," said harris, "but we've got to get in if the scoundrels won't come out. i'll try to smash the lock." placing the muzzle of his revolver against the key-hole, he pulled the trigger. the bullet tore its way through the lock, and once again the officer essayed to open the door. but it defied his efforts. "there must be a bolt in addition to the lock," said he, disappointed. "if we smash in here we'll have to use a battering-ram, and i don't want to do that except as a last resort. we'll look for a ladder and make an attack on one of the windows." when he and matt started down the steps with their movable framework, they came nearly getting caught by a drop fire. the shooting was done from the second-story windows, and the bullets came over the top of the oak shield. fortunately no harm was done, and matt and harris tilted the screen so as to cover the tops of their heads. just as they reached the bottom of the steps, a fierce yell came from the rear of the house, followed by sounds of firing. "sanders is in trouble!" cried burton, starting to run around the side of the building. "while some of those inside were holding our attention at the front door, an attempt was made to get out at the back." "you stay here, burton!" shouted harris. "they may be trying to draw all of us around behind while they get through the front entrance. watch the door like a hawk, and i'll go around and help sanders." matt trailed after harris as he hotfooted it for the back yard. they found sanders leaning over the top of his woodpile, covering the rear door with his revolver. "what's the matter?" demanded harris. "nothin' now," sanders answered grimly. "it's all over. one of 'em pulled the kitchen door open an' was plannin' to make a break. i discouraged the attempt an' the man jumped back and slammed the door." harris leaped to the door, put a bullet into the lock and then tried to push into the house. but this door, like the one in front, had other fastenings than the lock, and the attempt was fruitless. harris beat a retreat as soon as he found out the effort could not succeed. several bullets followed his retreat, coming from the windows, and one of them pierced his helmet and flung the head-piece to the ground. "they're getting real savage," remarked sanders grimly. "if they don't look out they'll hurt somebody." "it will make it all the worse for them, if they do," snapped harris, his temper rising with each succeeding failure to get into the house. "we'll get a stick of cordwood and smash in this back door." there was a pile of cordwood near the garage, and harris ran and got a heavy, four-foot section of elm. matt jumped to help him. "you'd better take sanders' gun and stay behind the woodpile, matt," said harris, "and let sanders and me do this. there'll be more shooting and----" "sanders will watch the door better than i can," broke in matt, laying hold of one end of the heavy stick. "all right," acquiesced harris, and they ran at the door. the shooting continued, but it was plain that the men in the house were not in good range, for their ammunition was wasted. the end of the stick of wood crashed into the door and set it to shaking. a second blow still further loosened it, and a third sent it smashing inward. the giving 'way of the door under the impact threw both harris and matt from their feet, and the two of them, with the stick, tumbled into the kitchen. matt, quick as a cat to regain his feet, saw whipple and pete bearing down on harris with clubs. the officer lay on the floor, half stunned. grabbing him by the feet, matt jerked him back to safety, followed by a torrent of oaths from the two fugitives. the door slammed. while harris was getting to his feet, pete and whipple could be heard piling things against the door on the inside. "wow, this head!" exclaimed harris, lifting one hand to his temples. "it hasn't got over that first jolt, yet, and here it gets another. and we didn't gain much, at that." "we haven't got a strong enough force to rush into the house," said sanders. "if it hadn't been for king, harris, you'd have been captured by those fellows, and then burton and i would have had to send for help before we could do anything more. you've got to be more careful, or the gang will escape in spite of us." "i'm beginning to see that, myself. but we can't lay around here with our hands in our pockets. if----" "hist!" interrupted matt, in an excited whisper. "don't look up, harris. miss brady is on the roof and just looked over and waved her hand." "great scott!" muttered harris. "what do you think that means?" "it means that she has been able to free herself, in some way, and get to the top of the house. now's our chance to rescue her and get her out of this fighting." "how's it to be done? there ain't ladders enough to reach to the roof, and pete and whipple wouldn't give us a chance to use them even if there were." "we can't use ladders, and we can't let any of those in the house know by our actions that there's anyone on the roof. the instant they think miss brady is up there, they'll make a rush for the top of the house and drag her back inside. don't look up, whatever you do." "but we've got to get the girl off the roof, in some way." "i'll use the air ship----" "that's a scheme for your life!" exclaimed harris. "but while i'm using the hawk," went on matt, speaking quickly, "you and sanders and burton must contrive to keep everyone in the house occupied on the lower floor." "we can do that. we'll blaze away at the boards at the windows. that will keep their attention below." "you'd better go and tell burton what our plan is. if he should see miss brady he'd be liable to yell to us, and that would let pete and whipple know what's up." "they'll probably suspect something when they see the air ship coming." "i don't think so. besides, if you keep them busy enough, the chances are that the hawk won't be seen." "if you _are_ seen, matt, you'll surely be shot at--and the hawk's a pretty big target. if a bullet is put into the gas bag, or if one smashes into the motor, you and the girl may be killed." "i think i can make it," said matt resolutely. "anyhow, i'm going to try." "good luck to you!" returned harris warmly. "i'll go at once and put burton next." while the officer moved toward the front of the house, matt started for the rear of the yard on his way back to the air ship. chapter xiii. daring work. when matt had got outside the iron fence and just within the screen of timber, he turned. helen brady, bareheaded and plainly just from the interior of the house, stood at the edge of the roof, following matt with her eyes. matt waved his cap to her, and this was the first intimation the girl had had that she was seen. she fluttered her hand in response and then stretched out both arms appealingly. matt nodded his head vigorously, to signify that her appeal was understood, and that it would be answered; then he pointed through the woods in the direction of the air ship. helen turned her head to look in the direction indicated. from her elevated position she must have been able to see the gas bag of the hawk over or through the tops of the trees. looking back to matt, she waved one hand and nodded. matt placed a finger on his lips and waved toward the house in an endeavor to make the girl understand that she must be very careful, so as not to let her captors know where she was. again helen nodded her head, and accompanied the movement with a gesture that plainly requested him to hurry. he replied in pantomime that he would be as quick as possible, then whirled and dashed through the timber. carl and ferral were walking about and talking impatiently. at sight of matt they both started toward him. "what happened, matey?" cried ferral. "carl and i have been all ahoo, over here, listening to the shooting and trying to guess what was going on. have you captured the----" "no time to talk, pards," cried matt, running to the air ship and beginning to make her ready. "dick, you jump in here with me. carl, i can't take you along. there's brisk work ahead and the hawk must not carry any more passengers than will be necessary. cast off one of the ropes. you cast off the other, dick." it was easy to tell, from matt's manner and words, that something of vital importance was in prospect. "i von't be in der vay, matt," pleaded carl, hustling with one of the mooring ropes. "i vill make meinseluf so shmall as bossiple und----" "two are all that can go," broke in matt decidedly. the engine was popping and sputtering as carl and ferral threw in the ropes. "vat's der madder, anyvay?" asked carl, swallowing his disappointment with a wry face. "helen brady is on the roof of the house. the scoundrels are below, fighting with the officers, and don't know she is on the roof. if we hurry, we can get there and rescue her." while matt was talking, ferral had got into the car. matt switched the power into the propeller shaft and the hawk glided upward. when the car cleared the tops of the trees, matt brought the air ship to a level. "look sharp, dick," called matt, his face set and determined. "we've got to win out, this time. if we don't, there's no telling what will happen to the girl. whipple has already threatened her, in case the officers don't leave the house. can you see miss brady?" matt's position, in the rear of the car, rendered it impossible for him to see much of what lay ahead. "there she is, matey!" cried ferral. "she sees us coming. there's an open skylight in the roof which shows how she got to the top of the house." "any of the men on the roof?" "no." "good! how are we headed?" "just right. hold to the course as you are." "are we high enough?" "plenty." "it won't do to hit the edge of the roof, you know, and if we're too high, we may skim clear over the house before we can drop down." "just as you are now, matt, you'll come over the building three or four feet in the clear. there's a chimney, and if you can drop beside that, i'll stand ready to take a twist of the mooring rope about it. the wind's freshening, and if there isn't something to hold to we're liable to be blown off the roof before we can get the girl aboard." "you take care of that part of it. steer me so as to come onto the roof close to the chimney." it was necessary for matt to hurry, yet he could not drive the hawk ahead swiftly because of the necessity of making a quick halt on the comparatively small space of the roof top. harris, burton, and sanders had been keeping up a brisk fire ever since matt had left to go for the air ship. none of them seemed to be looking up or paying any attention to what matt and ferral were doing. this, of course, was for the purpose of keeping the presence of the air ship a secret from those in the house. but, in some way, the secret got out. abruptly the fire from the house slackened, and then ceased altogether. as matt shut off the power and glided over the edge of the roof, he caught a glimpse of whipple's astounded face in a second-story window which had not been boarded up. when the air ship vanished over the edge of the house top, whipple disappeared from the window. "they're onto you, matt!" roared harris, from below. "you'll have to hurry, if you win. from the sounds we hear, everybody is climbing for the roof." matt and ferral remained perfectly cool. the situation was a ticklish one, and if their labors were crowned with success they would have to keep their heads and not make any misplays. ferral stood at the edge of the car, holding a loop of one of the mooring ropes in his hands. "turn her, mate!" he cried. the power having already been shut off, the hawk was proceeding only under the headway given by the now dormant motor. this was sufficient not only to turn her, but also to carry her downward so that the bottom of the car swept the roof. as they passed one of the chimneys, ferral dropped the loop of the rope over its top, and laid back. his pull halted the air ship. in a twinkling, matt was over the rail and standing beside the car. he held out his hand to the girl, and she ran toward him, with a cry of joy and thankfulness. at that precise moment, matt, out of the tails of his eyes, saw a head appearing through the open skylight. grasping helen's arm, he hurried her toward the air ship. "step lively, mate!" cried dick, as matt assisted the girl into the car. no matter how swiftly matt hurried, it was certain that the man coming through the skylight would reach the roof in time to interfere with the two boys before they could get away. matt realized that, and so did ferral. the man, who was now head-and-shoulders above the roof top, was whipple, the most desperate member of the gang. whipple, who was undoubtedly amazed to see helen all but rescued when, quite likely, he supposed her safe in some room below, gave a bellow of rage and fury. "that'll do you, king!" he roared. "ye're not goin' ter hike off with the girl in any such way as this!" leaning against the side of the opening, whipple rested his elbows on the roof and took careful aim at motor matt with his revolver. others were flocking toward the roof on the stairway below whipple, but he blocked the way. matt and helen were in the car, and it seemed certain that whipple's shot was to be effective, he was taking so much care to get a good aim. but the shot was not fired, principally because ferral became suddenly active. seizing a loosened brick from the top of the chimney, the young sailor hurled it with all his force. whipple was struck in the shoulder, and the impact of the missile hurled him from his foothold and down upon those under him. as he vanished from the skylight, a clamor of startled voices came back through the opening, accompanied by a clatter of men falling down the stairs. "that's something i owe you, dick," remarked matt, settling into his chair among the levers. "you don't owe me anything, old ship," answered ferral. "i'll have to do something like that several times before you and i come on anything like an easy bow-line. but take care of the ship, or she'll founder." in order to grab the brick from the chimney, and throw it, ferral, had to let go of the rope by means of which he was holding the hawk against the wind. with the rope loosened, the uncontrolled air ship drifted off the roof and was bobbing around, some fifty feet above ground, the sport of the breeze. there was imminent danger of her coming to grief, either against the cupola of the stable, or in the tops of the trees. swiftly matt got the motor to going, and as the hawk took the push of the propeller, she once more became manageable. this was in the nick of time, too, for as the craft glided upward the bottom of the car rustled through the branches of one of the trees. "hurrah!" cheered harris, from below. "well done, motor matt!" "bully boy!" applauded sanders. "never saw anything neater!" whooped burton. "go back to where you were before," called harris, his voice faint in the distance, "and wait till we finish this job. it won't be long, now, till we get the scoundrels." "sink me," muttered ferral, breathing hard, "those officers don't know how well we did. they couldn't see the top of the house from the ground, and they didn't know whipple was looking at us over the end of a gun." "matt," said helen, in a quivering voice, "i don't know how i ever can repay you for what you've done, or----" "repay us!" cried ferral. "why, miss brady, i guess you're forgetting what you've done for matt and me." "it's a big relief, helen," said matt, "to get you out of the clutches of that gang. it's the best stroke of work the hawk ever did." "right-o," agreed ferral enthusiastically, "and it was right and proper that the craft, manned by us, should save miss brady. if it hadn't been for her, we wouldn't have had the hawk. oh, this is a pretty square old world, after all. don't you think so, old ship?" chapter xiv. helen's ordeal. inside of half an hour after matt and ferral had left carl with the hawk, they had the air ship back in her old moorings. carl had hurried through the woods and watched proceedings from the ground as well as he could. when he saw the hawk returning to her old berth, he followed her back, bursting into sight from the timber just as matt and ferral had finished securing the mooring ropes. "shake hants mit me!" bellowed carl, rushing to grip matt's hand, then passing to ferral, and then to helen brady. "dot vas der pootiest t'ing vat i efer saw done, yah, so helup me! air ships can do t'ings vat nodding else vas aple, und der strangeness oof it fills me mit vonder and surbrises. miss prady, you vas a lucky girl! und matt vas lucky, und so vas verral. i'm der only unlucky feller in der punch, pecause i don'd vas along to helup in der rescue. matt cut me oudt oof der game. anyvay, i'm glad dot everyt'ing come oudt like vat it dit. dell us aboudt vat habbened mit you, miss prady." helen, seated in matt's chair in the car, was leaning back, her eyes on the faces of the three lads. ferral climbed up on the fence and sat down on the top board, and matt leaned against the telephone pole. carl sat down on the ground near the car. "that's a good notion our dutch raggie has just overhauled, miss brady," seconded ferral. "we'd all like to hear that yarn. there's nothing better we can do, just now, as we haven't any guns and can't help harris and the officers." "go on, helen," said matt. "we know something about what happened to you, but not all." "where did you find out anything?" queried the girl. "i was never more surprised in my life than when i saw you with the officers near the house." "we'll tell you that later," answered matt. "your experiences first." "well," began the girl, "after i went to visit my friends in archer avenue, a letter came for my brother. i have been worried about my brother for a long time, for he would be honest if it was not for my father's evil influence." the girl's lip quivered, but she fought down her rising emotion and went on. "i opened the letter. it was from my father and asked hector to go to the house at lake station, where i lived for a while, and get a paper which he would find under a loosened brick in the basement wall. the brick was marked with a cross. "hector, as i knew, had left the city, so i concluded to go to lake station and get the paper myself. i was wondering what it was all about. i found the paper, and it gave the location of a spot in willoughby's swamp where some of the goods stolen by my father had been concealed. father wanted the plunder turned into cash so that the best lawyers could be hired to keep him out of the penitentiary. i decided at once that i would turn the paper over the chief of police in south chicago, and i had left my friends' house to start for there when a man stopped me on the street. "the man's name was hooligan, and he told me that my brother had not gone to new york at all, but had given it out that he was going merely as a 'blind' for the police. my brother, hooligan told me, was lying very ill in a house in river forest, and wanted to see me. i concluded to put off going to south chicago until next day, and to go and see hector. "hooligan took me to that house, from which you just rescued me, and there i was made a captive by pete and whipple, and turned over to the care of mrs. hooligan. i surmised, at once, why i had been spirited away. pete and whipple had found out about the paper i had secured, and they wanted to get the stolen property for themselves. and there i was with the paper! you see, i had started for south chicago with it, and had it in my pocket. i remembered the instructions, and i tore the paper into little bits, when mrs. hooligan wasn't looking, and threw the pieces down a register into one of the furnace pipes. "when whipple and pete came and demanded the paper, i told them truthfully that i didn't have it. they said that, even if i didn't have the paper, they knew i could remember the instructions for finding the buried spoil, and ordered me to repeat them. i refused, and for two days they gave me nothing to eat, and only a little water to drink. whipple said he would starve me to death if i didn't tell." "the scoundrel!" muttered matt darkly. "vorse as dot!" wheezed carl wrathfully, "ach, mooch vorse!" "the whole lot ought to be lashed to a grating and flogged with the cat," growled ferral. "i was at mrs. hooligan's house in la grange at that time," continued helen. "pete and whipple had taken mrs. hooligan and me to la grange on the night of the day i was captured. we went in a closed carriage. "mrs. hooligan was with me all the time, and there never was a moment when she wasn't watching. sometimes she treated me kindly, and sometimes she was cross and violent. she drank a good deal, and whenever she was under the influence of liquor she was always quarrelsome and hard to get along with. "i got so weak and sick without food that pete and whipple must have become afraid i would die without telling them what they wanted to know. anyhow, they began to give me something to eat, but kept me tied to a chair nearly all the time, coming to see me two or three times a day and threatening what they would do if i continued obstinate. but i made up my mind that i would let them kill me before i would say anything about where that plunder had been buried. that, i had decided, should go back to its rightful owners." "you were a brave girl to hang out for your principles like that," put in matt. "it does take a little courage, sometimes, to do what is right," returned the girl, "but when your conscience approves, that makes it easy. i lost track of the time, while i was at mrs. hooligan's house, in la grange, and it seemed as though months must have passed; then, suddenly, i heard an automobile stop in front of the place, last night, and mrs. hooligan and i were bundled into it and taken away. "i was brought back here, and early this morning whipple told me that they were tired of bothering with me, and that if i didn't tell them what they wanted to know before night i should never leave the house alive. "mrs. hooligan had been keeping me in a room on the top floor. she had been drinking more or less all night, and she acted so savage toward me that i began to believe pete and whipple had told her to put me out of the way. mrs. hooligan, i imagined, was drinking to get up her courage. if that was the reason, though, she went too far, for she drank so much that she became stupefied and fell asleep with her head on a table. "i was bound to a chair, but i succeeded in freeing myself of the cords. at about that time i heard a commotion downstairs, and a sound of shooting. hope arose in me, and i made my way to the roof of the building, with the intention of letting those below know where i was. i can't tell you how surprised i was when i saw motor matt and mr. harris. i did not dare call out, for fear my voice would be heard by whipple and pete, but it was not long before i knew that matt had seen me and had made his plans for a rescue. the rest, you know. i have had a terrible experience, but it is a satisfaction to think that the plans of pete and whipple failed, and that they did not find out what they wanted to know. now, matt," and helen fixed her gaze on the young motorist, "you can tell me how you were able to discover where i was." all the chums had a hand in the telling. helen was amazed when she learned how her father had been instrumental in bringing matt and his friends to her aid--amazed as well as overjoyed. to her, it indicated a change of heart in her father, as pleasant to her as it was unexpected. barely had the three boys finished their part of the explanation, when the pounding of a motor came to them from the direction of the road that followed the railway track. "vat's dot?" cried carl, as all became suddenly attentive. "only an automobile," replied matt, smiling. "you've heard them before, carl." "vell, i bed you," answered carl, "aber my nerfs vas on edge, schust now, und i peen imachining all sorts oof t'ings. meppy dot vas---" at that point, carl was interrupted by harris and burton, bursting into sight from the edge of the timber. "that air ship, matt!" cried harris, "we want to use her in a hurry." "eferyt'ing goes mit a rush, seems like," said carl curiously. "vat's oop, now, harris?" "pete and whipple have got away in the automobile, and we must follow them." "the hawk is fast for an air ship," said matt, "but she's not fast enough to catch an automobile." "she's the only thing we have to give chase with," spoke up burton, "and we've got to do our best with her, or let whipple and pete get away." "and we've got to get the automobile back," stormed harris. "hustle up, matt! the automobile may break down, or something else may happen to give us a chance to overhaul her. we'll try, anyway. miss brady had better stay here--one of the boys can remain to look after her." "that's your job, dick," said matt, busily unmooring. "we'll come back here for you after we see how the chase comes out." "hoop-a-la!" tuned up carl, fluttering around the car. "here's ver i ged a shance ad some oxcidement." helen got out of the car as soon as the ropes were cast off, and matt, carl, harris, and burton jumped in. a twist of the right hand got the machinery to going, and a jerk of the left gave the steering rudder the proper angle. rising swiftly, the hawk turned her nose toward the wagon road. from their high elevation, harris, burton, and carl were able to see the automobile, far in the distance and making along the la grange road. "turn her to the right, matt!" cried harris, "and we'll bear away in the direction of la grange. it may be a hopeless chase, but we've got to do what we can." "tough luck if those scoundrels get away, after all the trouble they've caused," muttered burton. "and it will be tough on me," said harris, "if i can't get back that automobile!" chapter xv. the capture of pete and whipple. there was one big advantage the hawk had over the automobile, and it was presently to make itself manifest to all in the air ship. the road which the fleeing robbers had taken was a very rough one, and a few moments after they had been sighted by those in the hawk, whipple and pete turned into another road, which ran at right angles with the one along which they had first started. "they're not headed for la grange, that's a cinch," commented burton. "they're looking for better going," said harris, "but that road they've taken is rougher than the one they just left." "when they get to the end of the second road," went on burton, "they'll be on a turnpike, with a bed like asphalt. then, if something about the automobile doesn't break, it will be good-by to our hopes of----" "what are you doing, matt?" asked harris suddenly. matt had shifted the course of the hawk. "i've just realized what an advantage we have over the automobile," laughed the young motorist. "roads don't bother us any, and fences, hills, and swamps don't exist for us. i'm cutting off a corner, harris. if the going on that cross road is as rough as i think it is, we'll overhaul the automobile." "fine!" cried harris, clapping his hands. "nodding can shtop a air ship ven it vants to go some blace," grinned carl. "nothing but the wind," said matt. "we've got a good, smart breeze right behind us, and we're making every bit of thirty miles an hour. hear the motor! it runs as sweet as any machine i ever heard. but how did those fellows come to give you the slip like they did, harris? they must have had to leave the house and get to the garage before they could make a run with the automobile." "well," grunted harris, "they did all of that. we made a bobble, that's all. after you got away with the girl, burton and i concluded to rush things to a finish. with that end in view, we carried that stick of cordwood around in front and smashed in the front door. then we rushed into the house. we heard some one running up the stairs, so we chased after, and finally found ourselves in the top story. there was no one there, except a hag of a woman, stupefied with drink, in one of the rooms. "the skylight was open, and burton and i bounded up, thinking our men had taken to the roof. but there was only one man on the roof, and that was hooligan. he had made all that noise just to get us to follow him. he surrendered, and while he was doing it, burton and i looked down and saw pete and whipple hopping around and getting that automobile out of the garage. they were out of pistol range, and it didn't take burton and me more than a minute to understand that we had been lured to the roof in order to give whipple and pete a chance to save their bacon. "we ran down and out at the kitchen door. there we stumbled over sanders, tied hand and foot and lying on his woodpile. the two scoundrels had paid him their respects to that extent. leaving sanders, we rushed around the house, and saw the automobile spinning through the gate. then we went after the hawk, on the run. we're coming close to that other road, matt," harris added excitedly, "and pete and whipple haven't seen us, yet. they're pounding the life out of that car! i hope to thunder they don't wreck it. the road is awful." the crossroad was rifled with ruts and "thank-ye-ma'ms." over these the automobile was lurching and swaying, and not making more than fifteen or twenty miles an hour. the hawk came over the road almost directly above the motor car. "halt!" roared harris, leaning from the rail and aiming his revolver downward. "you're at the end of your rope, whipple, you and pete, and you might as well surrender. if you don't, we'll shoot." both scoundrels looked upward, and both, as might be expected, began to swear. pete continued looking up, but whipple recklessly threw on more speed. the automobile jumped forward like a horse suddenly lashed. at the same moment the wheels on one side went down into a deep rut, and pete, whose eyes were still aloft, was hurled over the side as though from a catapult. he landed on head and shoulders close to the roadside fence, and, instead of getting up, he straightened out and lay quiet. "he's killed!" cried burton. "don't you believe it," answered harris. "he's too tough to be killed by a fall like that. drop lower, matt," the officer added to the young motorist, "and let burton get out and take care of pete. after that, we'll go on in pursuit of whipple." it took about two minutes to land burton. pete was still lying prone and silent as the la grange man rushed toward him. while the hawk was rising and forging onward after the automobile, those aboard her saw burton raise himself upon completing a swift examination of pete. burton waved a hand reassuringly, then dropped the hand into his pocket and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. "i was sure pete was all right," said harris, turning his eyes ahead. "that was an easy capture for burton--an easier one than i think we'll have." "vell," observed carl, "i don'd know aboudt dot. der pubble is acting oop mit itseluf. it has shtopped, und vipple iss like some crazy mans, drying to make it go." what carl had said was the truth. directly ahead, the automobile was at a complete standstill, with whipple pulling and hauling frantically at the levers. "now we'll land him!" exulted harris. "straight ahead, matt." whipple, despairing of getting the car into usable condition, suddenly sprang into the road and started for the fence. he was climbing the fence, when matt shut off the power and halted about twenty feet over his head. harris' revolver was trained full on the fugitive. "now, then," yelled the officer, "either give up or take the consequences." "it's your play," answered whipple, turning around and sitting on the top board. "throw your six-shooter into the road!" ordered harris. whipple jerked the gun from his pocket and cast it from him, with a hoarse laugh. "it ain't any good," said he. "there ain't a loaded shell in the cylinder, an' no more ter put in. if it hadn't been fer that, harris, i wouldn't have come so easy. i could have slammed a bullet inter the machinery o' that air ship an' put it out o' the runnin'." "i thought it was queer," remarked harris, "that pete or whipple didn't use their revolvers. get down closer to the ground, matt. better tie up to the fence, for i'd like to have you take a look at the automobile and see what's the matter with it." carl helped in the landing so that harris could give his entire attention to whipple. all of them breathed easier when they heard a pair of handcuffs snap around whipple's wrists. the air ship was moored so the wind could not drive the gas bag against anything in the road, and matt went forward to the automobile. after a few moments' examination, he turned away with a laugh. "she's badly shaken up, isn't she?" inquired harris anxiously. "doesn't seem to be, harris," replied matt. "she has stood the rough handling she has had remarkably well." "i don't know much about drivin' a car," admitted whipple, "an' ye can bet i was puttin' her through fer all she was worth. i was certain nothin' had busted, an' i couldn't understand what made her stop." "the gasoline tank was empty," said matt. "you can't run a motor without fuel." "hang it all!" snorted whipple, "an' there was a bar'l o' the stuff right there in caspar's garage!" "you were in too big a hurry to get away to make any use of the gasoline supply," said harris. "it wasn't that. i jest didn't know enough, that's all, an' this is how i'm payin' fer my ignorance." "we'd have captured you, anyway, whipple," declared harris. "well, ye wouldn't have done it if it hadn't been fer king an' the hawk. he's busted up brady an' all his gang, an' it's a good thing fer him the darbies are on my hands this minute." "i'll take whipple back to where we left burton and pete, matt," said harris, "and if we can get a supply of gasoline from some farmhouse, we'll hike for south chicago in the automobile." "i can help you out, harris," answered matt. "i've an extra supply of gasoline in the air ship. wait a minute and i'll get you ready for the trip home." in a few moments matt had strained enough gasoline into the motor car's tank to carry her a hundred miles. after that, he and carl waited for harris to get into the car with his prisoner and start back toward the place where burton and pete had been left. the automobile moved off with everything working perfectly. "i'll see you in south chicago, matt," harris called over his shoulder. "we mustn't forget poor sanders, either." "we haven't any balloon house to go to now," matt answered, "so we can't stay in south chicago very long." "dot vinds oop der whole game, bard," remarked carl. "vipple und pete vas der vorst oof der olt gang, nexdt to prady, und dey vas now down und oudt. miss prady has likevise peen rescued, und eferyt'ing iss lofely und ve can now go on mit ourselufs py new york." "we'll have to go somewhere," said matt. "an air ship is something of a white elephant when you haven't a proper place in which to keep it. this wind is increasing, and the sky is clouding up. looks like a storm, to me, and we'd better hurry and pick up carl and miss brady and make a run for south chicago." the sky certainly looked threatening, and the boys made haste to get the hawk in the air and to head her back toward the caspar mansion. they had a hard struggle, for the wind was dead against them, and they could make scarcely more than five miles an hour. getting ferral and helen aboard the car was ticklish business, because of the increasing wind, but it was finally accomplished and the hawk scooted away toward south chicago. chapter xvi. conclusion. "scoot" is the only word that would fittingly describe the hawk's return to her home port. a thirty-mile wind was directly behind her, and the propeller--which it was necessary to keep going in order to make the air ship fairly manageable--still further helped her along. part of the time, as the three chums figured it, they were dashing through space at the rate of a mile a minute. overhead the skies had become black and threatening, and an occasional flash of lightning and roll of distant thunder told the boys what they were presently to expect. that was the first time they had ever been in such a wind with the hawk, and the first time a storm had ever threatened them while aloft. even matt, stout hearted as he was, felt a qualm of dread as he saw how the air craft flung onward by sheer force of the wind. it was not more than twenty minutes from the time they left river forest until they sighted the grimy chimneys of south chicago. "what're we going to do with the hawk, mate?" shouted ferral. "if the balloon house hasn't been too badly dismantled," matt answered, "we'll put the hawk in there until the storm blows over." by the time matt had finished speaking, they were hard upon the big shed. but hagenmyer's men were even then at work. the roof of the structure was gone, and its usefulness as a shelter, of course, went with roof. "py shinks," bellowed carl, "i don'd like der looks oof t'ings! ve got to do somet'ing mit der air ship, but vat it iss? dell me, somepody!" "we'll try jerrold!" said matt. "he keeps the eagle in that big back yard of us, and perhaps he can help us out with the hawk." "drop down in the yard, anyhow," suggested ferral, "and take chances." dropping down in such a gale was hazardous business. how matt ever executed the manoeuvre as safely as he did he could not have told, for a good many things had to be done, and done quickly. he flung the hawk downward full fifty feet before he reached the confines of jerrold's big back yard. the air ship had to slide sixty feet down the void, and in sliding those sixty feet the wind carried her over more than the fifty feet necessary to clear jerrold's high board fence. the bottom of the car struck the ground with a jolt that tipped carl out heels over head. carl had been standing ready with one of the mooring ropes, and he still clung to it. ferral went out on the other side with another rope. meanwhile, the hawk was lurching sideways and bounding up and down in a most terrific manner, lifting the car at each leap and pounding it on the surface of the ground. fortunately for matt and his friends, jerrold and his assistant, payne, were close by, making the fastenings of their own air ship secure. they rushed to the assistance of carl and ferral, and succeeded, between all four of them, in getting the mooring ropes in place. jerrold thereupon brought four more ropes from his workshop, and the hawk was likewise lashed with these. matt's canvas shelter was then brought out, unfolded and put in place over the gas bag. this task had no sooner been completed than the rain began to come down in torrents. thankful that they had reached a safe haven in the very nick of time, helen, brady and matt and his friends went into jerrold's house and watched the rain pouring from the windows. * * * * * it was not until the day after their difficult landing in jerrold's yard that matt and his friends, accompanied by helen brady, paid a visit to the office of the chief of police. brady had already been taken back to joliet, and pete and whipple were penned up in cells, awaiting trial. "they'll go up, all right," said the chief, "and brady will have the pleasure of seeing the two members of his old gang in the same institution where he is at hard labor." "what about the hooligans, chief?" queried matt. "harris, burton, and sanders had their hands full with pete and whipple," replied the chief, "and they were not able to look after the caretaker and his wife. they telephoned the river forest authorities, though, and some officers went there. they found the place deserted. hooligan and his wife, fearing to be called to account for their rascality, had fled, and left the mansion to take care of itself. the river forest police put some one else in charge of the place, and have cabled to the caspars, in paris. the la grange officers are watching the hooligan house in that town, and when the caretaker shows up there he will be captured." justice seemed to have failed in the matter of the hooligans, but possibly it was only deferred. their home was still in la grange, and, sooner or later, one or both of them would return there. "i just received a telegram from the detail i sent to willoughby's swamp," went on the chief. "to look for the loot?" asked matt, turning his eyes on helen. "yes." "i didn't know helen had told you where the stuff was hidden." "she wrote out the instructions on the back of an old letter i had in my pocket, matey," spoke up ferral, "while she and i were waiting for you and carl to come back with the hawk. she gave the instructions to sanders, and he turned them over to harris when he and burton, with their prisoners, came after him in the automobile." "that was the way of it," continued the chief. "the detail went out last night, in the rain, because we did not think it well to have any delay in such an important matter. here's what the telegram says." opening a yellow slip, which had been lying on his desk, the chief read aloud the following: "'plunder found. there's a raft of it. will bring it in by train, under guard.'" "dot's fine!" cried carl. "und der peoble vat geds der shtuff pack vill haf to t'ank miss prady for dot." "they have already had to thank my father for losing the property, in the first place," said helen sadly, "so they won't feel very grateful to me. and it's not right they should," she added. "yes, it is," said the chief kindly. "you've played a noble part all through these troubles which the law has had with your father, miss brady, and your faithfulness in standing firmly for what you thought was right, has won universal recognition and gained you many friends. what will you do now?" "i think i shall go to my mother's sister, who lives in new york," replied helen. "she has always wanted me to come and live with her. she is alone in the world and needs somebody for a companion." "you couldn't do better," said the chief approvingly. "by the way," and here he whirled to his desk and drew a yellow envelope from one of the pigeonholes, "here's another message, and it's for you, matt. it came yesterday, and, as you know, this is the first chance i have had since then to deliver it." wondering who the telegram could be from, matt opened it, read it over to himself, laughed, and then read it aloud. "'will guarantee you one thousand dollars a week to come here and give exhibitions with your air ship. deflate it and forward by express, and come by train. wire me if you accept.'" "well, what do you think of that!" exclaimed the chief. "vone t'ousant tollars a veek!" jubilated carl. "py shinks, ve vill haf morgan und rockyfeller backed off der map! vone t'ousant a veek! binch me, somepody." "where's it from, matey?" asked ferral, with suppressed excitement. "from atlantic city, new jersey," answered matt. "big summer resort," observed the chief. "the people who go there can afford to have what they want, and pay well for it. what name's signed to the message, matt?" "kitson steel pier company." "well, it must be all right," said the chief. "anyhow, the kitson steel pier company show a whole lot of sense in advising you to deflate the gas bag and ship the air ship by express. that's a whole lot better than trying to fly there, and butting into such storms as we had last night. what message are you going to send to atlantic city, matt?" "'terms accepted; start at once.'" ferral tossed up his hat delightedly, and carl floundered to his feet and began shaking hands all around. "we'll go to atlantic city by way of new york," matt went on, with a glance toward the girl, "and see miss brady safely in the hands of her aunt." "good idea!" approved the chief heartily. helen lifted her eyes to matt's, and then reached out impulsively and caught his hand. the end. the next number ( ) will contain motor matt's peril; or, cast away in the bahamas. carl as buttinsky--the moving-picture man makes a queer move--warm work at the "inlet"--prisoners on a submarine--through the torpedo tube--the cape town mystery--off for the bahamas--an accident--matt and his chums go it alone--the air ship springs a leak--wrecked--luck, or ill-luck--a move and a countermove--motor matt's success--a few surprises--matt takes townsend's advice. motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction new york, may , . terms to motor stories mail subscribers. (_postage free._) single copies or back numbers, c. each. months c. months c. months $ . one year . copies one year . copy two years . =how to send money=--by post-office or express money-order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. at your own risk if sent by currency, coin, or postage-stamps in ordinary letter. =receipts=--receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. if not correct you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once. ormond g. smith, } george c. smith, } _proprietors_. street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york city. a fall to fortune. "i say, mother, mr. carey's going to take me to the balloon ascent. isn't it good of him?" mrs. keen turned to the kindly faced, bearded man who had followed her son into the cottage kitchen. "it is most kind of you, mr. carey. clifford has been longing to go ever since he heard about professor starley. but"--sadly--"i couldn't even find the necessary quarter for admission." "won't you come, too, mrs. keen?" said carey cheerily. "do you no end of good." she shook her head. "no, i won't come," she said gently. "but perhaps you will come back to tea with us afterward." carey said he would gladly do so, and he and clifford started for the fair ground, from which the famous aëronaut, professor starley, was going to make an ascent by balloon and a drop by parachute. "wish your mother had come, cliff," said mr. carey, as they walked up the street. "wish she had, too," echoed the boy. "but she never goes anywhere now. tell you the truth," he went on, lowering his voice, "i believe she's afraid of any of our old friends recognizing her. you're the only one we keep up with." "oh, but that's foolishness!" "i've told her so lots of times," declared clifford. "but you know it's pretty hard to come down from a nice house to a cottage like that. not that i care," he hastened to add. "but it's tough for mother. fancy her having to do all the cooking! and she's got no nice clothes like she used to have before dad was drowned." mr. carey shook his head gravely. "she's always fretting about him," he said. "i don't wonder. it was a terrible business altogether. and what made it worse was leaving her almost penniless." he paused. "cliff, do you know i've always suspected that that fellow moise didn't treat your mother squarely?" "have you, mr. carey?" cried the boy eagerly. "d'you know, i've often thought the same thing myself. seems a bit queer, after dad had always had lots of money, that old moise should swear there was nothing left except about five hundred dollars. don't you think there's something awfully queer about moise's face? he never looks at you straight." "i've noticed that myself," said the other dryly. "but here we are. we'll talk about this again some other time." the crowd was tremendous. all dunthorne seemed to have turned out. as they worked their way through the masses of people clifford keen could see over their heads the great varnished globe swaying in the breeze. clifford was not the sort to be content with a back seat. he wormed his way through the packed throng till he reached the very front row, where a number of volunteers were holding the mooring ropes. the breeze was brisking, and the balloon tugged and leaped like a live thing. "here, sonny, catch a hold!" came a quick voice as a powerfully built man in tights and spangles caught sight of the boy's eager face. "don't let go till i tell you. mind!" clifford seized the rope delightedly. starley sprang back into the open space underneath the balloon. the balloon had no car, only a trapeze. on this starley seated himself, holding the side ropes tight with both hands. the parachute, clifford noticed, was fastened up against the side of the balloon. "now, gentlemen, when i give the word i want you all to release the cords at the same instant. the wind makes----" at that very moment came such a gust that starley's speech was cut short. the balloon came whirling over almost on top of clifford, and two men who had hold of the same rope let go and sprang out of the way with shouts of alarm. "cowards!" muttered clifford, holding on tighter than ever. he knew nothing whatever of the lifting power of a balloon. next instant as the gust passed the balloon came back with a jerk to the perpendicular, and clifford was swung completely off his feet. before he could realize what had happened or make up his mind to let go he was far above the heads of the crowd. from the whole fair ground rose an extraordinary sound--a deep groan. it was this that first made the boy realize the extreme peril of his position. nineteen boys out of twenty finding themselves dangling at the end of a rope in mid-air would have let go at once, and, of course, been smashed to atoms. clifford happened to be the twentieth. the first thing he did was to crook his right leg in the rope, the second to shut his eyes in order to arrest the horrible dizziness which made his head swim like seasickness. the next thing he was conscious of was a quiet voice from above. "say, sonny, can you climb up here?" clifford looked up. the aëronaut, seated on the crossbar about ten feet above him, was looking down with a cool expression, which helped to restore clifford's confidence. "i'll try," he answered. "come right along, then. don't get flustered. it's just as easy as climbing a tree. and say, you keep looking at me. don't look down." "all right," replied clifford briefly, and started to swarm up the rope. he was rather indignant at starley's suggestion as to his getting flustered. up to the time of his father's death he had always meant to be a sailor. he prided himself he could climb and stand heights as well as most chaps. all the same, he wished the rope wouldn't swing so. to climb a cord that is describing great arcs in mid-air is rather different from swarming one in a school playground. "that's first class," said starley encouragingly. "keep a good grip with your legs. come on." he held out an encouraging hand. clifford found time to marvel at the airy ease with which the aëronaut balanced on the thin bar of the trapeze, holding by one hand only. another yard, and strong fingers clutched his collar. next moment he was seated beside starley on the trapeze. at first this was almost worse than the rope. for the life of him the boy couldn't help looking down, and it gave him a curious shock to see men like black insects crawling among toy buildings, and little carriages moving down streets no wider than a window sill. for a moment his head reeled, and he felt that horrible impulse to let go and fling himself down. starley's strong arm was round him. "all right, sonny, you'll get over that in a jiffy. when you feel fit again we must hold a council of war." "i'm all right," declared clifford, half angrily. he was savage with himself for giving way. "what are we going to do now?" "that's just the trouble," replied the american with a dry smile. "it beats me to know how we're going to get back to the solid." "can't we both go down in your parachute?" starley shook his head. "she'll take my weight, and not ten pounds more. if we both hung on to her we'd rip the stuffing out of her, and there'd just be a splash to show where we hit the floor." clifford glanced at his companion with startled eyes. "there's worse than that, sonny," went on the other. "you see, this isn't like a balloon that'll come down just when you like by pulling a valve cord. she's just an old thing i use for these descents, and trust to pick up wherever she happens to fall." "then you and i can't go down together?" said clifford sharply. starley shook his head. "what'll happen, then?" "we'll go on up till we freeze and can't hold on any longer and drop off, or else the balloon'll bust, and we'll both come down a bit too quick for the good of our health." "is there nothing else we can do?" cried the boy. "there's just one other chance," replied the aëronaut. "if you've got the pluck to take the parachute, i'll climb up in the netting and put my knife through the cover of the balloon. if i rip her enough she'll come down all right." "that wouldn't be fair," returned clifford sharply. "you take the parachute. i'll stick to the balloon." starley hesitated a moment. "have you got the nerve to climb up there"--pointing aloft--"and cut the cover?" "yes," said clifford firmly. "reckon he'd be safer that way," muttered the man to himself. then, aloud: "if you can do it you'll be safe enough, sonny. safer by chalks than if you take the parachute. it's an ugly job, anyway you look at it, but the parachute's the worst for a beginner. the jerk when she opens pretty near takes the arms out of you, and we're up all of three thousand already." he pulled out a big clasp knife, and handed it to clifford. "let's see you up on the ring before i let loose," he said. "you'll feel a bit safer so long as you haven't got to climb it alone. but look sharp. we're still rising, and the wind's carrying us pretty sharp." clifford took the knife, slipped it into his coat pocket, and, clutching the side rope of the trapeze, set his teeth and began to climb. for a horrid moment the ghastly dizziness clutched him again. but he set his teeth, and swore he would not give way to it. starley's weight kept the rope taut, and it was easier to climb than the other had been. at last he was clinging to the iron ring of the parachute, with the great globe of varnished silk immediately above him. "are you right, sonny?" cried the aëronaut, looking up. "yes," called back clifford with a cheeriness he was far from feeling. then as he swung a leg over the ring and pulled himself up sitting, both hands clutching the netting, he saw starley lean over and grasp the rope of the parachute. "rip her well, and as high up as you can. and hang on till she reaches the ground," were starley's last words of advice. then he gave the parachute rope a sharp jerk, there was a slight ripping sound, and the man dropped like a plummet toward the distant earth. the balloon, relieved of his weight, made an enormous bound upward. for a full thirty seconds the boy clung there, unable to do anything but watch starley shooting down into the awful depths below. he gave a gasp of relief as the parachute at last opened like an umbrella, and went sailing away earthward as gently as a feather. then he got out his knife. "now for it," he muttered bravely. by this time the balloon was nearly a mile above the earth, and the breeze had long ago carried it clear of the town. it was sailing over what looked to clifford like a patchwork quilt of little fields and woods and farmsteads, with here and there the silver ribbon of a river. the whole position was so amazing that clifford found it sheerly impossible to believe that one brief half hour before he had been one of those ants that he now saw crawling at such an enormous depth beneath him. clinging here close to the side of the balloon envelope the boy felt safer. he had something more or less solid to hold on to. he was so interested and excited that for the moment he almost forgot about the knife. it was the cold that brought him to himself again. down below it had been a warm if breezy september afternoon. up here clifford, in thin summer clothes, was rapidly chilling to the bone. his fingers were already blue. he looked at them blankly. "if i don't hurry up they'll be too stiff to use the knife," he said half aloud. he opened the knife with his teeth, and, taking a long breath, stabbed boldly at the silk. the blade flashed through with a ripping sound, and gas gushed out in such volumes that clifford, half suffocated, was forced to hastily abandon his position and clamber a little way round out of reach of the rush. learning by experience, he reached as high as he could stretch, and made a long, sideways gash, then dropped hastily back to the ring. "that's done it!" he cried delightedly. for the cut was followed by a long, hissing tear. the envelope had split for several feet, and the lower part was rapidly crumpling like a burst bladder. he glanced down. it looked exactly as if fields and houses were rushing up to meet him. the balloon was dropping at tremendous speed. at the same time clifford noticed that the shadow of the balloon was swishing across the fields at almost the pace of an express train. he had dropped into a swift air current, and the rapidly deflating balloon was actually traveling at more than thirty miles an hour. a small town loomed below, with a tall factory chimney sticking spike-like from its centre. "if i hit that i'm a gone coon," muttered the boy, but the balloon passed far above its smoking summit, and swirled away over villas and gardens toward a wood. clifford saw people looking up, heard shouts of surprise and alarm, but he was past it all in a minute and swinging down toward the wood. a fresh spasm of fright seized him as he saw the tall trees bending in the gale. but the balloon scudded just above their leafy tops, and swooped toward a large square building, which lay in its own grounds surrounded by a high brick wall. even in the one flashing glance he caught of the place there was something sombre and forbidding about it. the tall gray walls, the barred windows, the dark elms, and the heavy shrubbery. now the balloon was flying straight for the outer wall. with a shout of alarm clifford scrambled wildly into the netting. just in time. with a loud clang the iron ring struck the top of the wall. it caught a second, the whole envelope heeled over, the branches of a thick yew tore clifford from his hold, and the last thing he remembered was the thump with which he reached the ground. a face was the first thing clifford caught sight of when he opened his eyes again. such a face! huge, dull, heavy, with deep, sunken eyes, which shone out with a lurid light from under cavernous eyebrows. they were fixed upon the boy with such a beast-like glare that clifford, sick and shaken with his heavy fall, could only lie and gaze and vaguely wonder whether he was awake or dreaming. gradually as his senses came back he realized that he was lying on a grassy path, and the owner of the eyes, a tall, powerfully built man, was sitting on a moss-grown log leaning over him. but who and what he was, and why he glared in this ghastly fashion, never attempting to offer help, clifford could not imagine. the fixed stare was slowly hypnotizing him. he made an attempt to roll out of reach of the horrible eyes. instantly a long arm shot out, and fell on his shoulder with a grip painful in its vise-like strength. "you'll do," said the owner of the eyes in a queer, hoarse voice. "do what?" muttered the boy faintly. "to kill," replied the man in the coolest tone imaginable. "oh, i must be dreaming!" thought clifford. but the painful grasp on his shoulder was good proof he was doing nothing of the sort. "nice and young and tender!" said the brute, licking his leathery lips. he let go of clifford's shoulder, and suddenly produced from his pocket an ordinary table knife. clifford saw with a shudder that its blade had been ground to razor-like keenness. the man ran a finger along the sharp edge--ran it so carelessly that the thin steel ripped the skin, and blood dropped to the grass. at the sight of the blood his dull face turned to a mask of fury, and he sprang to his feet with a howl resembling that of a wild beast hungry for its food. the movement broke the spell. clifford bounded to his feet, and, ducking just in time to escape a vicious stab, ran for dear life toward the house. with a scream of balked fury the man was after him. bruised and shaken as he was, clifford had never in his life before run so fast. at first he gained a little, but presently the long legs of his pursuer began to tell, and he heard the hot panting so close behind that each moment he expected to feel the sharp steel buried in his back. the path ran right up under the blank windows of the silent house. reaching the angle, clifford swerved wildly to the right. a figure was standing by the door. with a wild yell of "help!" clifford dashed toward it. to his horror it vanished, slamming the door in his face. once more clifford dodged, and reached an opening in the thick shrubbery which bordered the drive. as he dashed in among the trees his foot caught in a root, and down he came with a crash that knocked the remaining breath out of him. his pursuer was so close that he could not stop, and, tripping over the boy, went over on his head, burying his knife deep in the ground. at the same moment a gaunt, middle-aged man with a gray beard and hair burst out of the thick bushes alongside, and hurled himself upon clifford's assailant. clifford, scrambling wildly to his feet, saw the big man struggling to rise. he was howling with rage, and in his bull-like fury was throwing the other about like a feather. clifford glanced round. a dead branch lay close by. it was the work of an instant to snatch it up and bring it with all his force across the great head of his would-be murderer. "well done!" cried the gray-bearded man, as the other straightened out and lay still. "i've often told them that prynne was dangerous. but how did you get here?" he turned, and for the first time caught sight of clifford's face. for a moment the two stared at one another in an amazement beyond any description. then staggering back, with face white as chalk, the elder man muttered, "clifford!" "father!" replied the boy, unable to believe his eyes. at this moment footsteps crunched on the gravel of the drive. the gray-bearded man recovered himself. "they're coming," he hissed in a tense whisper. "don't let on you know me. moise put me here. tell carey." it was all he had time to say before a wandering man burst upon them. "what's up here?" he cried gruffly. then, catching sight of clifford, "and what are you doing here?" "dropped in a balloon," retorted clifford sharply. the man's tone was most offensive. "this brute"--pointing to the insensible man--"tried to kill me. he must be mad." the warder burst into a hoarse guffaw. "mad--of course he's mad. they're all mad here." then like a thunder clap the truth burst on clifford. his scoundrelly partner had immured his father in this horrible place. the boy blazed with fury. it was all he could do to keep down the rage which consumed him. but he did it. he turned to the warder. "the sooner i'm clear of the place, the better i shall be pleased," he said. "perhaps you'll kindly show me the way out." "the sooner you're out the better, my lad," returned the man with an ugly grin. he led the way to a tall iron-spiked gate, unlocked it, and, with a sigh of intense relief, clifford found himself on the highroad. that the first passer-by told him he was eighteen miles from home, every step of which he would have to tramp, hardly made the slightest impression on the eager excitement with which clifford looked forward to the release of his father. * * * * * three days later mr. keen and his wife met once more. as for moise, when he found that his villainy was discovered, he took what ready cash he could lay hands on, and vanished with all speed. clifford is never tired of hearing his father tell of the shipwreck and the injury to his head, which gave his ex-partner the opportunity to declare him mad, and imprison him under a false name in the private asylum from which he was so wonderfully rescued. since his liberation mr. keen has made use of a part of his recovered fortune to force an investigation of the methods employed in the private asylum. and the owner of the house with the barred windows found himself in such extremely hot water that he followed moise's example and cleared out of the country. tip for rabbit hunters. a west duluth man says he has the newest and best way to catch rabbits. he finds a creek running through a swamp and follows it until he comes to a place where the rabbit tracks are thick. then he scrapes the snow off a large surface of the ice and piles bark and wood in the middle of the space. in the evening just after dark he lights the fire and leaves the spot. in the morning he comes back with a pack sack and picks up the rabbits. how does he get them? it is this way: when the rabbits see the fire they get curious and go out on the ice. they sit around gazing at the flames until the fire goes out, never noticing that the surface of the ice has melted, and after the heat subsides they find they are frozen to the ice and unable to move. the man comes around with a club in the morning and kills the rabbits. latest issues motor stories the latest and best five-cent weekly. we won't say how interesting it is. see for yourself. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. --motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. --motor matt's century run; or, the governor's courier. --motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the "comet." --motor matt's mystery; or, foiling a secret plot. --motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear. --motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto. --motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward. --motor matt's air-ship; or, the rival inventors. --motor matt's hard luck; or, the balloon house plot. --motor matt's daring rescue; or, the strange case of helen brady. --motor matt's peril; or, castaway in the bahamas. tip top weekly the most popular publication for boys. the adventures of frank and dick merriwell can be had only in this weekly. =high art colored covers. thirty-two pages. price, cents.= --frank merriwell's great work; or, getting the right start. --dick merriwell's mind; or, the ideal of manhood. --dick merriwell's "dip;" or, the mysterious movements of a hat. --dick merriwell's rally; or, making a fighting finish. --dick merriwell's flier; or, the champions of the ice. --frank merriwell's bullets; or, a steady nerve and a sure hand. --frank merriwell cut off; or, the result of the great spring rise. --frank merriwell's ranch boss; or, big bruce and the blossoms. --dick merriwell's equal; or, the fellow with the flying feet. --dick merriwell's development; or, the all-around wonder. --dick merriwell's eye; or, the secret of good batting. --frank merriwell's zest; or, the spirit of the school. --frank merriwell's patience; or, the making of a pitcher. --frank merriwell's pupil; or, the boy with the wizard wing. --frank merriwell's fighters; or, the decisive battle with blackstone. --dick merriwell at the "meet"; or, honors worth winning. nick carter weekly the best detective stories on earth. nick carter's exploits are read the world over. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --the moving picture mystery; or, nick carter's blindest trail. --the tiger-tamer; or, nick carter's boldest strategy. --a strange bargain; or, nick carter's dead-shot circus case. --the haunted circus; or, nick carter lays a ghost. --the secret of a private room; or, nick carter makes an experiment. --a mental mystery; or, nick carter on a difficult trail. --the sealed envelope; or, nick carter's search for a lost fortune. --the message in blue; or, nick carter's clue to a vast conspiracy. --a dream of empire; or, nick carter and the queen of conspirators. --the detective's disappearance; or, nick carter is saved by adelina. --the midnight marauders; or, nick carter's telephone mystery. --the child of the jungle; or, nick carter's ingenious ruse. --nick carter's satanic enemy; or, the case of an easy mark. --three times stolen; or, nick carter's strange clue. --the great diamond syndicate; or, nick carter's cleverest foes. _for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address on receipt of price, cents per copy, in money or postage stamps, by_ street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york =if you want any back numbers= of our weeklies and cannot procure them from your newsdealer, they can be obtained from this office direct. fill out the following order blank and send it to us with the price of the weeklies you want and we will send them to you by return mail. =postage stamps taken the same as money.= ________________________ _ _ _street & smith, - seventh avenue, new york city._ _dear sirs: enclosed please find_ ___________________________ _cents for which send me_: tip top weekly, nos. ________________________________ nick carter weekly, " ________________________________ diamond dick weekly, " ________________________________ buffalo bill stories, " ________________________________ brave and bold weekly, " ________________________________ motor stories, " ________________________________ _name_ ________________ _street_ ________________ _city_ ________________ _state_ ________________ adventures of a boy genius motor stories most five-cent weeklies are founded upon the adventures of boy wonders who perform all sorts of impossible feats and who never act or talk as a boy really does. this is displeasing to the intelligent boy of the present day, who is better educated, and who, consequently, demands more logical reading than the old-time boy did. the boys who want to learn something from what they read, as well as to be interested by it, will never find another publication that will satisfy them so well as motor stories. "motor matt" is not an impossible boy character. he is simply a youth who has had considerable training in a machine shop where motors of all kinds were repaired, and who is possessed of a genius for mechanics. his sense of right and wrong is strongly developed, and his endeavors to insure certain people a square deal lead him into a series of the most astonishing, but at the same time the most natural, adventures that ever befell a boy. buy the current number from your newsdealer. we feel sure that you will be just as enthusiastic about it as the fifty thousand other boys throughout the united states have become. here are the titles now ready: no. .--motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. no. .--motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. no. .--motor matt's century run; or, the governor's courier. no. .--motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the "comet." no. .--motor matt's mystery; or, foiling a secret plot. no. .--motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear. no. .--motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto. to be published on april th no. .--motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward. to be published on april th no. .--motor matt's air-ship; or, the rival inventors. to be published on april th no. .--motor matt's hard luck; or, the balloon house plot. to be published on may d no. .--motor matt's daring rescue; or, the strange case of helen brady. to be published on may th no. .--motor matt's peril; or, cast away in the bahamas. =price, five cents= at all newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, by the publishers upon receipt of the price. _street & smith, publishers, new york_ transcriber's notes: added table of contents. bold is represented by =equal signs=, italics by _underscores_. in this text version, oe ligatures are expanded to oe; the ligatures are retained in the html version. retained inconsistent/unusual spellings in dialect (e.g. "leetle" vs. "lettle"). retained inconsistent hyphenation (e.g. "passerby" vs. "passer-by"). page , added missing footnote reference (original text had footnote, but no matching asterisk). changed ? to ! in "howdy, matt!" page , changed "techincal" to "technical" ("talked on technical points"). page , changed "mat" to "matt" ("mit matt, dough"). page , changed comma to period at end of "binch me, somepody." courtesy of the digital library@villanova university (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction no. may , five cents motor matt's hard luck or the balloon house plot [illustration: "this way, dick" yelled motor matt as he struck down one of the ruffians.] street & smith publishers new york motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction _issued weekly. by subscription $ . per year. entered according to act of congress in the year , in the office of the librarian of congress, washington, d. c., by_ street & smith, _ - seventh avenue, new york, n. y._ no. . new york, may , . price five cents. motor matt's hard luck or, the balloon-house plot. by the author of "motor matt." contents chapter i. an old friend. chapter ii. a trap. chapter iii. overboard. chapter iv. rescued. chapter v. buying the "hawk." chapter vi. matt scores against jameson. chapter vii. at the balloon house. chapter viii. the plot of the brady gang. chapter ix. carl is surprised. chapter x. helen brady's clue. chapter xi. jerrold gives his aid. chapter xii. grand haven. chapter xiii. the line on brady. chapter xiv. the woods by the river. chapter xv. brady a prisoner. chapter xvi. back in south chicago. the red spider. pigeon-whistle concerts. characters that appear in this story. =matt king=, concerning whom there has always been a mystery--a lad of splendid athletic abilities, and never-failing nerve, who has won for himself, among the boys of the western town, the popular name of "mile-a-minute matt." =carl pretzel=, a cheerful and rollicking german lad, who is led by a fortunate accident to hook up with motor matt in double harness. =dick ferral=, a canadian boy and a favorite of uncle jack; has served his time in the king's navy, and bobs up in new mexico where he falls into plots and counter-plots, and comes near losing his life. =helen brady=, hector brady's daughter, who helps motor matt. =hector brady=, a rival inventor who has stolen his ideas from hamilton jerrold. his air ship is called the hawk and is used for criminal purposes. brady's attempt to secure motor matt's services as driver of the hawk brings about the undoing of the criminal gang. =hamilton jerrold=, an honest inventor who has devoted his life to aëronautics, and who has built a successful air ship called the eagle. =jameson=, a rich member of the aëro club, who thinks of buying the hawk. =whipple=, =pete=, =grove=, =harper=, members of brady's gang who carried out the "balloon-house plot," which nearly resulted in a tragedy, and finally proved the complete undoing of hector brady. =ochiltree=, an ex-convict whose past record nearly got him into trouble. =harris=, a policeman of south chicago who aids motor matt in his work against the bradys. =dennison and twitchell=, police officers of grand haven, michigan, who take a part in the final capture of brady. chapter i. an old friend. "py chimineddy!" muttered carl pretzel to himself, starting up on the couch, where he had been snatching forty winks by way of passing the time. "vat's dot? der voice has some familiar sounds mit me. lisden vonce." a loud, jovial voice floated in through the open window, a voice with a swing to it that set carl's nerves in a flutter. "'in cawsand bay lying, and a blue peter flying, all hands were turned up the anchor to weigh, there came a young lady, as fair as a may-day, and modestly hailing, the damsel did say: "'"i've got a young man there, d'ye hear? bear a hand there to hoist me aboard or to bring him to me: which his name's henry grady, and i am a lady, just come down to purwent his a-going to sea."'" the roaring song had come closer and closer. by then it was almost under the open window. jumping from the couch, carl ran across the room and looked out. a youth of seventeen or eighteen, wearing a sailor rig and with his hat cocked over one eye, was lurching along with both hands in his pockets. behind him trailed four or five hoodlums, bunched close together and talking among themselves. "here's where i quit you, you lubbers," said the young sailor, halting at the steps leading up to the boarding-house door, and turning to the hoodlums. "a messmate of mine berths here, and i'm going to drop in on him and have a bit of a chat over old times. 'bout ship, the lot of you, and make a good offing. i don't like the cut of your jibs any too well, anyhow. slant away, slant away." the sailor backed up against a post at the bottom of the steps. "say, yous ole webfoot," said one of the hoodlums, "loosen up, can't yous, an' fork over the price o' a drink, all around?" the fellow shambled closer to the sailor and held out one hand with an expectant grin. "not a bob will i give you for a tot of drink," answered the sailor, "for i'll be keelhauled if you don't look as though you'd already been topping the boom too much for your own good, but i'll loosen up, as you call it, for a good meal all around." his hand went into the pocket of his trousers and he drew out a big roll of bills. a greedy gleam darted into the hoodlum's eyes as he glimpsed the bundle of money, and those at his back pushed closer together, nudging each other in the ribs and pointing while the sailor's head was bent. suddenly the rascal who had acted as spokesman for the rest made a leap and a grab. "avast there, you loafing longshore scuttler!" yelled the young tar. "what sort of a beachcomber's trick do you call that?" the hoodlum had whirled, the roll in his hands, and was making off as fast as his legs could carry him. the sailor sprang after him, but the rest of the thieving pack jumped in his way and began using their fists, hoping to give their pal the necessary time to get clear with the money. carl pretzel, with an angry shout, withdrew from the open window, dashed from the room, down the stairs and out at the front door. without paying any attention to the sailor and those with whom he was tussling, the dutch boy rushed past the struggling group and made a bee line after the thief. carl was too fat for a swift sprinter, but the thieving hoodlum was handicapped by a game leg, and carl was able to overhaul him slowly. looking over his shoulder in order to take in the situation behind, the thief saw the dutch boy, and redoubled his efforts to get away. an alley lay just ahead, and the thief turned into it. carl plunged after him, but when he got into the alley, the fellow with the money had mysteriously vanished. "dot's a funny t'ing!" panted carl, coming to a halt and peering around. "vere dit he go mit himseluf?" garbage barrels and boxes lined the alley on both sides. carl started onward again, peering sharply behind each garbage receptacle as he advanced. suddenly he discovered the man he was looking for, crouching behind a big box. carl was a little way beyond the box before he caught sight of the thief. "dere you vas!" he yelled, as he faced about. "now i ged you, und i dake avay vat you got--yah, so helup me!" he rushed at the thief, and the latter got up, squirmed around the end of the box, and leaped for the side of a shed whose wall stood flush with the alley. the shed had a square opening, about four feet from the ground, for convenience in unloading wood. the thief had his eye on the opening. if he could get into the shed, he probably reasoned, he could run through into the back yard of the house, gain the street in front, and so, undoubtedly, evade his fat pursuer. but he didn't make it. by the time he was half through the opening, carl was close enough to grab his thrashing feet, and he hung onto them like grim death. "how you like dot, hey?" jubilated the dutch boy. "you findt oudt, py shimmy, dot it don'd vas so easy to ged avay mit money dot don'd pelong mit you. oof you shkin oudt, you leaf your feet pehind, und oof you don't come pack indo der alley, den i pull you in two. how vas dot for some fixes?" "wot's de matter wit' yous?" came the angry, muffled voice from inside the shed. "le'go 'r i'll kick a hole in your face!" "you vill i don'd t'ink," puffed carl, still hanging to the feet. "gif oop der money, you dinhorn, oder i turn you ofer py der bolice und you go to der lockoop." the hoodlum made no move to return the money, but continued to struggle wildly. with a firm hold on each ankle, carl laid back and pulled for all he was worth; but the thief had caught hold of something inside and all carl's pulling didn't get him an inch toward the alley. while the whole matter was at a deadlock, the thief half in half out of the shed, and carl tugging fruitlessly, the young sailor appeared at the end of the alley. taking quick note of the situation at the shed, he gave a yell and bore down in that direction. "well, strike me lucky, old ship," cried the young tar, "this is my busy day and no mistake. is that the duffing son of a flounder that got away with my wad?" "he iss der feller, verral," panted carl. "he don'd vant to come out oof der vood shet." "hang onto his pins, matey," was the answer, "and i'll fix him." the sailor pushed his hands through the hole, grabbed the hoodlum by the throat, and exerted a steady pressure. this manoeuvre was successful. half strangled, the thief's clutching fingers relaxed their hold, and the sailor and carl, between them, managed to drag him back into the alley. "now, you pirate," cried the sailor, dropping down on the captive, "where's that money? that was a raw play you made and you might have pulled it off if it hadn't been for my mate, here. d'you want to go below, in irons? where's the roll?" "look in his bocket vonce," suggested carl. "i'll kill you fer dis!" fumed the hoodlum. "stow that!" growled the sailor. "i've a knife at the end of my lanyard, but there's nothing about this that calls for cold steel. drop down on his feet, carl, and that will hold him steady while i go through his clothes." while the dutch boy sat on the hoodlum's feet, the sailor was able to push his hands into the thief's pockets. the roll was found and appropriated, and both boys leaped up. the hoodlum floundered erect. "i'll git even fer dis!" he scowled. "yous can't run in dat kind of a play on nifty perkins an' make it stick." "bear away!" cried the sailor angrily. "maybe that'll help you," and he gave the villainous scoundrel a kick that sent him two yards on his way toward the street. the hoodlum turned to shake his fist, and mutter a threat, then started off at a run. when he reached the street, the rest of his pals joined him. for a time they hung about the alley entrance, apparently trying to make up their minds whether it would be wise to attack the sailor and carl in force. "donnervetter!" cried carl. "dot looks like a shance for some scrappings. i don'd vas looking for drouple, aber you bed somet'ing for nodding dot i don'd dodge any. come along mit yourseluf, verral! led's gif dem fellers hail golumby." "cut away!" shouted the young sailor. "the swabs that ran foul of me bolted as soon as you crossed that other chap's hawse. i'd like to square my score with them." but the hoodlums did not wait. carl and the sailor looked altogether too war-like. by the time the two boys reached the end of the alley, the street rowdies had taken to their heels. "a jolly fine lot they are!" cried the sailor contemptuously. "you saved my roll for me, carl. haven't had time to shake your hand before, but i can do it now to the king's taste. your flipper, mate!" carl gripped the sailor's hand. "vat a surbrise it iss!" he exclaimed. "i don'd haf time to say mooch aboudt dot, eider, aber ven i heardt you singing mit yourself, und looked oudt oof der vinder und saw dot you vas tick verral, i ketched my breat' a gouple oof times. vere you come from, tick?" "from denver, messmate," answered dick ferral. "my uncle supplies me with plenty of money, but just the same i'd hate to lose that roll. he made me a present of it when i started for quebec. but where's my old raggie, motor matt? i stopped off here in chicago just to see him. got his address from the lestrange automobile people, and i'm fair hungry to grip his fin, once more. i'll never forget what matt king did for me--and my uncle won't, either." "he don'd vas in chicago schust now, tick," said carl. "he vill be pack in two or dree tays, meppy. anyhow, oof he don'd come pack py do-morrow, meppy ve go oudt vere he iss, und see him? vat you t'ink oof dot?" dick ferral's disappointment was keen, and he showed it plainly. "how far is he from here, carl?" he asked. "only a leedle vays. it iss in a blace vat dey call sout' chicago." "what's matt doing out there?" "vell, ve hat some ructions oudt dere--a mighdy high olt time, you bed you. look at here vonce. ven you read somet'ing, den you vill know more." carl pulled a newspaper out of his pocket and held it under ferral's eyes, indicating a certain paragraph with his finger. what ferral read was this: "for sale--the practicable air ship, hawk, fully equipped with gasoline motor, rudders, propellers, and almost new gas bag. apply to chief of police, south chicago, illinois." chapter ii. a trap. "well, sink me!" muttered dick ferral, staring at the newspaper paragraph. "have they really got so they can navigate the air like they do the water? i've heard of such things, but i didn't know they'd made a success of them." carl threw back his shoulders and puffed out his chest. "vell, modor matt und me ve haf sailed der sky mit der air ship," said he. "matt sailed in der hawk, und i sailed in der eagle. ditn't you hear about dot? vy, it vas in der bapers." "i haven't looked at a paper for a week," returned ferral curiously. "how did you and matt happen to go up in an air ship?" "it vas like dis, tick. matt und me vas oudt peyond sout' chicago taking some spins in a pubble, ven along comes a runavay air ship, und----" "a runaway air ship?" interrupted ferral incredulously. "tell that to the marines, carl!" "dot's righdt," insisted carl. "der air ship vas running avay mit two fellers vat don'd know how to use him, see? matt und me shtopped it mit a rope vat vas tragging on der groundt, und der rope proke avay und der air ship vent on, aber vone oof der fellers in der car tropped somet'ing oudt oof his bocket, vich matt und i picked oop. vell, dot roll oof bapers pelonged mit anoder feller vat hat hat dem shtolen, und ve hat a mighdy oxciding time gedding dem pack. matt vas carried off in der air ship to a svamp in intiana, und i followed him dere in der eagle, und matt turned der tables on der fellers vat run avay mit him, und come pack mit two oof der roppers."[a] [a] see no. of the motor stories, entitled, "motor matt's air-ship; or, the rival inventors." "well, keelhaul me!" exclaimed ferral. "i'd give my eyeteeth to be able to take a sail in an air ship. how much do they want for this one?" his hand wandered to his pocket, where he had replaced the roll of money. "dey vant so mooch as dey can ged," said carl. "why is the chief of police of south chicago selling it?" "prady, der feller vat owned it, vas a t'ief. some oof vat he shtole vas prought pack by matt, und der air ship iss going to be soldt to pay a leedle to some oof der odders vat don'd ged der goots pack." "what's matt doing?" "he shows der air ship off to fellers vat come to see how it vorks. he is heluping der bolice, und dey gif him den tollars a day for flying aroundt mit it." "strike me lucky!" exclaimed the impulsive ferral, slapping carl on the shoulder, "do you think two thousand plunks would buy the craft, carl?" "nix, verrai, i don'd. oof two t'ousandt vouldt puy her, den matt vould haf owned her pefore now. he vants der hawk vorse as anypody you efer see." "couldn't we rake up enough between us to buy her?" cried ferral. "if matt knows about her, and if she'll sail successfully, i wouldn't like anything better than to go from chicago to quebec by the air-ship route. what a high old jinks that would be!" "pully!" exclaimed carl, as highly elated over the prospect as was ferral. "king und verral, oof der air-ship limidet line! ach, vat a habbiness oof it couldt come oudt like dot." "king, ferral & pretzel," said ferral. "you'll be in on the deal, carl." "fife tollars' vort," returned carl. "dot's all der money vat i got." "we'll let you in on the deal just to have you along. matt will be captain, i'll be mate, and you'll be the crew." "py shinks," chuckled carl, "i vould make a fine crew." "does the hawk handle easily?" "so easy as i can't dell! you pull a t'ing und she goes oop, den you pull anoder t'ing und she comes down, und you viggle her aroundt mit some more t'ing--i don'd know vat. aber matt can vork her so shlick as nodding. say, verral, matt can make dot air ship turn some handt-shprings in der cloudts, und----" "avast there, carl! i'll bet matt can handle the craft, all right, even if he can't make her do any hand-springs. do you suppose she'll be sold before we get out to south chicago?" "vell, i hope nod. meppy ve go righdt avay, hey?" "sure! the quicker we go, the more chance we will have to get the hawk. if we----" the boys had been walking slowly back to the boarding house, and ferral suddenly broke off his words and came to a halt. "oh, hang it," he went on, "i'm due for a sail on the lake at one o'clock. merrick, a nice chap i met on the train coming from denver, invited me to go with him, and i said i'd meet him across the lake street viaduct right after dinner. i hate to cut away from merrick like that." "vy nod ged him to sail us as near sout' chicago as he can go?" suggested carl. "den meppy ve ged off der poat und dake der shdreed car?" "right-o!" cried ferral. "that's what we'll do. how long before you can be ready, carl?" "schust so kevick as i can go up py my room und ged dot fife tollars oudt oof der pureau trawer." "that's the ticket! but you don't need any money, old ship, while you're with me. i've got plenty for the two of us." "anyvay, tick, i got to vash oop a leedle, und prush my clothes----" "so've i. those swabs handled me a bit rough, although they didn't leave many marks on me." ferral was completely carried away with the idea of buying the air ship, and he could talk of nothing else while he and carl were smoothing the kinks out of their personal appearance, and riding downtown on the car. it was nearly one o'clock and they did not have any time to stop at a restaurant for dinner. but neither of the lads thought of anything to eat--and that was what carl had a habit of thinking of at the right time, and between times, so it will be understood how the prospect of securing the air ship dazzled him. a little sailing craft was bumping against the wharf at the lake end of the viaduct. although a small boat, yet she had a cuddy forward, a cockpit aft, and was as spick and span as snow-white canvas, clean decks, and polished brasswork could make her. a young fellow, rather loudly dressed, was leaning against one of the posts to which the sailboat was moored. he was smoking a cigarette, and, at sight of ferral, ran up to him with outstretched hand. "ahoy, my gay sailorman!" he cried. "i had a kind of hunch that you'd go back on me, and wouldn't show up." "whenever i say i'll do a thing," replied ferral, catching the other's hand heartily, "i lay my course in that direction. but i'm in a rush to get to south chicago. do you suppose you can take us somewhere near there?" "take you anywhere, old chap," returned the other. ferral presented carl. the dutch lad was not very much taken with ferral's friend. there was something about him that rubbed carl's fur the wrong way. however, carl did not pay much attention to this vague distrust. he was thinking of the hawk, and hoping that he and ferral would reach south chicago in time to buy the air ship before she was sold to anybody else. carl, more than anyone else, knew how motor matt was longing to own the hawk, and how badly disappointed he was to think he had not the money to buy her. dick ferral had dropped into the affair at just the right time. the name of the sailboat was the _christina_, and her skipper was a heavy-jawed norwegian by the name of erickson. there was something about captain erickson that carl did not like, and the swede who helped the skipper sail the _christina_ did not appear to any better advantage. yet the idea of buying the air ship had put carl's nerves in a twitter, and he gave little heed to his vague suspicions. merrick, ferral and carl got aboard the _christina_, the swede cast off the bow moorings, the skipper hauled up the mainsail and jib, and then the swede threw on the stern rope and jumped aboard. there was a fine breeze, and the little boat tripped out through the harbor in the direction of the government pier. ferral and carl went forward and seated themselves on the top of the cabin. merrick lingered in the cockpit to talk with erickson, who had the wheel. the swede was farther forward, setting another of the jibs. "how long you knowed dot merrick feller, tick?" queried carl. "about a day and a half. why?" "his looks don'd make some hits mit me; und i don'd like der norvegian or der svede, neider." ferral laughed. "why, carl," said he, "you can't smoke a fellow's roll on such a short acquaintance." "i ged some hunches ven i see vat i don'd like, und i got all kindts oof hunches, righdt now, dot somet'ing is crooked. meppy dot merrick feller shmokes your roll--der vone vat you got in your bocket." "belay, carl! you'll like merrick after you know him a little better. i'll admit he's not exactly my style, but he's no beachcomber. if anything happened, why, there's two of us to three of them, and we could put up a pretty stiff set-to. but south chicago and the hawk loom pretty large in my glass, just now, and i haven't got time to think of much of anything else." just at that moment a doubled-up form pushed out of the cuddy into the cockpit. as the form straightened, and turned around so as to face forward, carl went off the cabin at a jump and gave a yell. "prady!" he gasped; "prady, or i vas a geezer!" chapter iii. overboard. carl's yell drew the attention of all those on the boat. brady leaned over the top of the cabin and laughed huskily. merrick dropped his mask and joined triumphantly in brady's laugh. the norwegian and the swede stared blankly for a minute, and then went stolidly on about their work. "brady!" muttered ferral, squaring around on the cabin so as to get a good look at the man in the cockpit. "is he the swab that carried matt off in the air ship, carl?" "sure he iss der feller!" averred carl. "i vould know him any blace. ach, himmelblitzen, i toldt you i hat some hunches, verral!" "i've made a monkey's fist out of this," growled ferral, "and i'm a fiji if i can understand the thing yet. the way this brady falls afoul of us don't look like a happenchance, and yet i can't make anything else out of it. ahoy, there, merrick! stow that grinning and give me the lay of this business." "merrick's real name is brady," explained the outlaw in the cockpit--and outlaw he was, having been a fugitive from justice ever since matt had navigated the hawk away from the swamp and into south chicago. "he's my son, hector, jr., and i'm proud of the way he worked this deal," brady continued, still laughing as though the affair was a huge joke. ferral was bewildered. "you're a thief, are you," said he, struggling to get the matter clear in his head, "and the fellow who met me on the train, and said his name was merrick, is your son?" "that's the how of it," returned brady. "then i'm free to say," cried ferral, "that i don't like the how of it. 'bout ship and takes us back to the wharf. i'm a bit particular about the company i keep." "well, you've got a picture of us letting you go after we've been to all the trouble to get you here. we'll put you ashore somewhere to the north, my bantam, but before we do that we'll frisk you for that bundle of long green you've got in your pocket. the hawk's for sale, and i'm counting on buying her." the more carl heard and saw, the more puzzled he became. it didn't seem like an accident the way ferral had met brady, jr., on the train, and yet the two bradys must have taken a long look ahead in order to bring about the situation in which ferral and carl now found themselves. their plots, however, had centred about ferral, and carl had merely blundered into them. "i'll hear from you, merrick," said ferral sharply. "what have you got to say about this?" the _christina_ had passed through the break in the government pier and was breasting the heavier waves in the open lake. the pier behind was rapidly receding. there were a score of fishermen on the piles, but they had become mere dots, almost out of sight and entirely out of hearing. carl looked around for a glimpse of some other boat. there was a smudge of smoke from a steamer, off on the watery horizon to eastward, and well to the south could be seen the upper sails of a schooner, but these were the only craft in sight, and they were too far away for any practical benefit. "there's nothing much to say," answered hector, jr., as calmly as though he had been talking about the weather. "i was running a hand book on the denver races, but got a wire from dad that he was in trouble. you happened to be on the same train that brought me to chicago, and when you flashed that roll on me, and i remembered that i was nearly strapped and that dad needed money, i figured on how i could annex such a nice fat wad of the long green. you wouldn't play cards, you wouldn't drink, and there wasn't anything else i could do but make this sort of a play. i put dad next as soon as i could get to him. he didn't think you'd show up to take the sail, but i told him that you had said you would, and that i believed you were the sort of a fool who always did what you said. i reckon i was right, eh, dad?" and hector, jr., came forward and leaned over the top of the cabin beside his worthy father. "bright boy, son," said the elder scoundrel approvingly. "we've got you, younker," went on brady, sr., again facing ferral. "we're too far from land for you to swim ashore, and i'm giving you credit for too much sense to try a trick like that. it was a bit of a surprise to me to see that dutchman trailing along after you, but"--and here a black scowl crept over the man's face--"i've got a bone to pick with him and that meddling whelp, motor matt. the dutchman won't get away from us so easily as you will, ferral, i can promise you that. and before motor matt is many days older, i'll show him what it means to cross brady's path." hector brady, like his son, was a fair-spoken villain, but none the less dangerous for all that. as he ceased talking, he started to step from the cockpit to the aisle of deck between the cabin top and the sailboat's side. "'vast, there!" roared ferral, twitching at the lanyard about his neck and bringing out a sheath knife. "keep your offing, both you sharks, or you'll find a knife between your ribs. you've got us out in the lake, but you haven't my money yet, and you're not going to cut up rough with my raggie here. i got him into this mess, and i'm going to see him out of it." a boat hook, dropped by the skipper when he was pushing the nose of the boat away from the pier, lay on the deck close to carl's feet. he bent down and picked it up. "oof he makes some foolishness mit me," averred carl, "you bed my life i vill haf somet'ing to say aboudt dot meinseluf. i had some hunches all der time," he harped ruefully. brady, sr., did not come out of the cockpit just then. "there are four of us against you," said he sternly, "and if you've got as much sense as i give you credit for, you'll not resist. all i want of you, ferral, is your money. if what you told my son is true, your uncle is a rich man. he'll give you another roll for the asking and never miss it. are you a pard of king's?" "i'm all that," declared ferral. "i owe motor matt a debt i can never repay." "and i owe him one i'm going to repay," said brady, with a black look. "he stole my air ship from me, and i've got to buy it back. it's no more than justice that i take part of the money from you--if you're such a good pal of king's. i didn't think, any more than hector, that the thing was going to fall out like this, but my luck must be taking a turn for the better." "skipper," shouted ferral, looking at the norwegian over the heads of the two bradys, "put about and take us ashore! these scoundrels are trying to rob me." the skipper, however, only returned a stolid look. "you'll be hauled over the coals for this!" threatened ferral. carl had been on the point of saying something, but off toward the west and south, over the stern of the sailboat, he beheld an object that amazed him and aroused a faint hope. the object seemed to hang in the sky like a black cylinder. it was the hawk, there could be no possible doubt about that, but was the hawk sailing out over the lake or merely traveling over the city of chicago? so far away was it that carl could not tell whether it was coming or going. could it be possible that motor matt was bringing the air ship in the direction of the _christina_? it seemed too much of a coincidence to be true, and yet it was hardly stranger than the circumstances which had enveloped ferral in the net spread by the two bradys. carl, although the discovery of the air ship stretched his nerves to tightest tension and filled him with fluttering hope, kept the news of his discovery to himself. if the hawk was really heading lakeward, brady, if he knew it, might realize the possibilities of escape which it would afford the two boys and take measures to keep the _christina_ away from the air ship. "no one is going to be hauled over the coals, ferral," said brady. "when we put you ashore, it will be in a place from which it will take you a good long while to get back to chicago. before you get back, i'll have a man buy the hawk, and i and my friends will make a quick getaway to parts unknown. the hawk means liberty for me, for i can't dodge around on the ground and keep clear of the police much longer. are you going to hand that money over, or have we got to take it away from you?" shifting his sheath knife to his left hand, ferral drew the roll of bills from his pocket and stowed it snugly in the breast of his blue shirt. "if you get this money you'll have to take it," said he defiantly, "and if that two-faced sea cook you say is your son comes too close to me, i'll get him on the point of this dirk." covertly, carl was watching the round swaying speck in the heavens. that it was round, proved that he was looking toward the end of the gas bag, which, seen lengthwise, would have been of cigar-shaped proportions; and the fact that the object was growing larger by swift degrees, proved that it was coming closer to the sailboat. "enough of this foolishness," scowled brady, drawing a revolver and leveling it at ferral over the end of the cabin. "take that money out of your shirt and throw it this way. if you make a miss throw and land it in the lake, i'll plug you for that just as quick as i would for not throwing it at all. it's up to you," he added warningly, "and i'm not going to wait all day." carl, in the moment of silence that intervened, suddenly hurled the boat hook with all his strength. the move was entirely unexpected on brady's part, and he was caught unawares. the handle of the hook struck his arm a violent blow, knocking the weapon out of his fingers and dropping it overboard. a yell of rage went up from brady. "kick off your shoes, tick," whispered carl excitedly. "ven i gif der vort, chump indo der lake. i know vat i know, und i dell you it vas all righdt. do schust vat i say, aber don'd say somet'ing." the presence of the air ship was unknown to everyone on the sailboat except carl. to ferral it looked like suicide to jump into the lake, with no other boat anywhere in sight. "i'll kill you for that!" bawled brady to carl. the dutch boy paid no attention. he had already kicked off his shoes and pulled off his coat. holding his coat in his hand, he leaped to the top of the cabin and began waving it frantically. the bradys, the norwegian and the swede swept the surface of the lake with their eyes. even then their glances fell too low to give them a glimpse of the hawk. ferral had got rid of his shoes, although he was still reluctant about taking to the water. carl did not give him much time to consider the matter, but grabbed him by the arm and, when the little craft heeled to a strong gust of wind, pulled him overboard. chapter iv. rescued. all those on the _christina_ were astounded at the move made by the two boys. "leave 'em in the water for a while!" shouted brady, sr. "i guess that'll take the ginger out of 'em. don't be in any hurry, captain, about turning around." the captain could not have turned very quickly, even if he had wanted to. with all sail set, the _christina_ was driving through the water at race-horse speed. it would take time, and she would inevitably have to get a long way from the boys before she could be put about. both carl and ferral were good swimmers and had little difficulty in keeping themselves afloat, hampered though they were with their wet clothing. "we're in for it now, carl!" gurgled ferral. "that sailboat will put about and we'll be hauled aboard--then that swab of a brady will have us just where he wants us." ferral rose in the water, shook his head to clear his eyes, and peered after the _christina_. "they're coming around now," he added. "led dem come aroundt all vat dey blease," sputtered carl; "matt vill pull us oudt oof der vet pefore dey ged here." "matt?" echoed ferral. "look oferheadt vonce, tick." ferral took a look upward. rushing toward that part of the lake and swooping downward like a huge bird was an air ship. the strange craft was almost upon him and carl. two men were leaning over the guard rail of the car on each side; both held coiled ropes in their hands, and one of them was shouting instructions to matt, who was in charge of the motor. the _christina_ was forging along on the back track, the bradys well forward and clinging to ropes while they watched the manoeuvres of the hawk. it must have been apparent to them that the hawk would pick up the boys before the _christina_ could come anywhere near them. splash! splash! two ropes dropped in the water just as the hawk, with a graceful, gliding motion, came to an even keel some fifteen or twenty feet above the surface of the lake. the whirling propeller lessened its speed and the air ship hovered over the water. "grab the ropes!" shouted a voice from the hawk's car. it was a useless suggestion, for the ropes had already been caught. "can you climb up?" called one of the men. "it isn't safe to bring the air ship any closer to the water." climbing the rope was easy for ferral. hand over hand he lifted himself upward, was caught by the man and pulled over the rail and into the car. but carl was no sailor, and every time he tried to climb the rope he slid back into the water again. "hang hard," shouted the man in the car, "and we'll pull you up." the _christina_, by then, was quite close. carl had hardly been lifted clear of the water before the crack of a revolver rang out. brady, jr., had passed his own revolver to his father, and the latter was pecking away at carl as he gyrated under the car of the air ship. "keep a firm hold on that rope!" cried the man in the car. "we've got to ascend and get away from that sailboat." the nose of the hawk tilted sharply upward, the propeller whirred at steadily increasing speed, and the air ship bore swiftly away with the dripping form of the dutch boy swinging underneath. crack! crack! came the reports from brady's revolver. carl, however, was not a good target, and, besides, brady had to fire from the pitching deck of the _christina_. all the bullets flew wide, and before brady could fire more than three shots the air ship was out of range. the dutch boy's position was in no wise comfortable for his nerves. the hawk was steadily mounting toward the clouds, and carl was swaying underneath like a pendulum. as soon as the air ship was out of pistol range of the _christina_, however, hands were again laid on the rope and carl was jerked up to the car and pulled to safety. "well, great spark plugs!" cried the voice of motor matt. "of all the brain twisters i ever ran up against, this takes the banner! where did you come from, dick? and how does it happen carl is with you?" matt was in a chair at one end of the open space in the middle of the car, his hands on the levers that worked the mechanism and controlled the motor. ferral, wet as a drowned rat, was sitting up on the floor of the car, his back against the rail. across from him was carl. in the other end of the car were the other two passengers. one of these wore the uniform of a policeman. ferral's novel situation filled him with wonder. his eyes were darting all around him, above at the swelling gas bag, around him at the machinery, the propeller, the rudder and space, and below him at the heaving expanse of water. "well, strike me lucky," he breathed, "but all this seems like a dream. am i doing a caulk, and imagining i'm wide awake? if i am, pinch me, somebody." "you're not asleep, old chap," laughed matt, "if that's what you mean by 'doing a caulk.' where did you come from?" "denver. i'm on my way to quebec. heard you were anchored in chicago and stopped off there to see you. couldn't find you at home, but i did find carl." "how in the world did you and carl happen to be on that sailboat?" went on matt. "and why did you jump overboard?" "carl pulled me overboard," replied ferral. "it vas healthier for us in der vater dan it vas on der poat," put in carl, slapping at his wet clothes. "aber i vouldn't haf pulled verral oferboardt oof i hatn't seen der hawk skyhootin' along toward us. ach, dot vas pully! how you habben to be vere you vas schust ven ve needet you, bard?" "mr. jameson"--and matt nodded toward the passenger forward with the officer--"is thinking of buying the hawk, but he wanted to try her out with a good long flight and to see if she would be perfectly safe over water. so we sailed over chicago and headed into the lake. we saw that sailboat, but didn't pay much attention to her until harris saw some one waving something on her deck. then, thinking we were being hailed, we laid a course for her. as we came closer, we saw two persons jump into the water. that was our cue to get closer to the lake and pick you up. but what was the matter on that boat? you haven't told me yet." ferral ran one hand into the front of his shirt and fished out his water-soaked roll of greenbacks. "that's what caused the trouble," said he. "brady wanted the money." "brady?" motor matt looked questioningly at carl. "yah, so," spoke up carl. "it iss der same prady vat you hat sooch a time mit, ofer py villoughpy's svamp." "what do you think of that, harris?" cried matt, looking at the officer. "if brady is on that boat," returned harris, showing a good deal of excitement, "we ought to tip somebody off and have him captured." "we'll turn back toward chicago," said matt. "meantime, carl, you and dick tell us all about how you got into that fix. hurry up with the yarn. if we're to do anything toward capturing brady, we haven't much time to lose." carl and ferral went over their recent experiences. matt's wonder grew as he listened. it was strange the way events had fallen out and brought the three chums together just in time to avert a robbery--perhaps a tragedy. "it's main queer, mate, don't you think?" queried ferral, when the details had all been given. "queerest thing i ever heard of!" avowed harris. "i knew brady had a son, but i hadn't a notion where he was, or what he was doing. looks as though young brady was a chip off the old block." "it's a lesson for me," remarked ferral ruefully, "never to pick up a fellow on his own showing. the queerest part of the whole business was my meeting young brady on the train, walking right into the trap he had set for me and his father was going to help him spring, and towing carl along." "we're coming close to the shore, king," called jameson. matt stole a look over the side. "take out your notebook and pencil, harris," said he, drawing back, "and write a note. address the memorandum to the police department and say that hector brady and his son are off the government pier in a sailboat called the _christina_, and that if the scoundrels are captured, a tug better put off at once." harris scribbled the note. when it was finished, matt had him tie the small sheet of paper around a bolt taken from the tool box. "we'll fly low over the park near the art building," said matt, "and you yell to the first policeman you see, harris, and drop the note." there was no need of yelling to attract anybody's attention in the park, for every person was looking upward at the air ship. harris was not long in sighting an officer, and his own uniform demanded the officer's respectful attention. the note was dropped, and those in the air ship could see the policeman pick it up, untie the sheet of paper and read the communication. before the hawk got out of sight of the park, matt and the rest had the satisfaction of seeing the policeman wave his hand to signify that he understood, and then hurry off toward the lake. "i guess that will cook brady's goose for him," muttered harris complacently. "are you satisfied with the hawk, mr. jameson?" inquired matt. "i never imagined that an air ship had been invented which could be manoeuvred as you have manoeuvred this one," said jameson. "i'm so well satisfied with the hawk that i will give three thousand for her." carl gave a gasp and stared at ferral, only to find that ferral was already looking at him. were matt and ferral to lose the air ship, after all? chapter v. buying the "hawk." "an air ship's a hard thing to sell," observed harris; "about as hard, i should say, as a white elephant. your offer, jameson, is the best one we've had, so far, and i shouldn't wonder if you'd get the hawk. what are you going to use her for?" "for a pleasure craft," was the answer. "i'm a member of the aëro club and i'm tired of just plain ballooning. i want to climb around through the air wherever i take a notion, and not wherever the winds choose to carry me." "you won't make any mistake buying the hawk at three thousand," said matt, a disappointed look on his face. "if i had that much to spare, mr. jameson, you'd never get her." "vell, matt," spoke up carl, "oof you vant somepody to helup you oudt mit more money, vy----" just then carl caught an expressive look shot at him by dick. the sailor shook his head. carl couldn't understand why he was saying more than he ought to, but bit off his words. dick felt sure that if jameson knew there was some one else to bid over him, he would increase his bid, and run it up until it would be impossible for matt and dick to consider the purchase. jameson was undoubtedly a man of wealth, and able to go any length in gratifying his hobby for air ships. matt, of course, did not know what ferral and carl had at the back of their heads, for no mention had yet been made of ferral's desire to joint matt in the purchase of the air ship. the return to south chicago was quickly made, the wind being behind the hawk and helping her onward. the aëronauts descended at brady's old balloon house, in a swamp field in the outskirts of south chicago. two police officers were constantly on guard at the balloon house to keep anyone from tampering with the air ship. after the craft had been safely stowed in its quarters, matt, carl, ferral, harris, and jameson set off toward town. carl and ferral were in a sorry plight and in urgent need of dry clothes and hats and shoes, but they were not thinking of their own comfort. the danger of losing the air ship was causing them a vast amount of worry. "i'll take you fellows to a clothing store," said matt, as they came into the town, "and fix you out so you'll look respectable. everybody is looking at you as though you were a couple of freaks." "belay that--for awhile," returned ferral. "take us to a hotel, or anywhere else where we can have a talk." "you can talk better if you're in dry clothes," said matt. "don'd you t'ink dot for a minid," palpitated carl, with an apprehensive look at jameson. the signs were plain enough to matt that ferral and carl had something they wanted to tell him. at the place where they left harris to pursue his way to police headquarters, jameson likewise broke away. "you'll hear from me sometime this afternoon, harris," said jameson, "and when i come around i'll bring a certified check for three thousand with me." "you'll have to deal with the chief," answered harris, "and he's acting under instructions from the court. i suppose your offer will take the hawk, but i can't make any promises." "people are not falling over themselves to buy the air ship," laughed jameson, "and i guess my offer is the best one you'll ever get. see you later." matt took his chums to the hotel at which he had been stopping while in south chicago. as soon as carl and ferral got inside the hotel office, they grabbed hold of matt and hustled him toward some chairs in a corner of the room where they could have a private talk. "you fellows have got something on your minds," laughed matt. "i've seen that for quite a while. what is it?" "how'd you like to own the hawk yourself, mate?" asked ferral. "i'd like it fine," answered matt, his gray eyes brightening. "if i had more money than i knew what to do with, i'd buy the hawk just to play with it." "jameson offers three thousand," went on ferral. "if you and i offered thirty-five hundred, and hustled the deal right through before jameson had a chance to overbid us, we'd get the old flugee, eh?" "sure!" said matt. "but where's the thirty-five hundred to come from?" "well, i've got two thousand damp dollars in this roll. if you can scrape up the other fifteen hundred, pard, we'll go halvers on the buy and own the hawk together." matt started forward in his chair. no one knew how motor matt longed to own that air ship. carl thought he knew, but he didn't. it was a passion with matt, almost a mania, but he had held it under control by his iron will. matt had his way to make in the world, and what little money he had in the bank had come by hard knocks. would it be wise to put it into such a thing as an air ship? "you've got a wealthy uncle, dick," said the young motorist, "and i don't suppose he cares a picayune what you do with your money. but it's different with me. i've got to invest what little capital i have where it will bring returns." "it vill pring redurns oof you pud der money in der air ship, matt," fluttered carl. "you can make ascensions at shtate fairs, und a lod oof t'ings like dot." "and maybe we can sell the hawk, when we are through with her," put in ferral, "to the united states government for a whole lot more than we paid for her. "und oof der gofermendt don'd vant der hawk," said carl, "den meppy you can sell her py some feller like chameson for more as you pay." "keelhaul me!" exclaimed ferral, struck by a sudden thought. "they're offering all kinds of prizes now for air-ship flights. we can get into some of them, mate, and make more money than we ever dreamed of! come, old ship! don't look as though you'd lost half a sovereign and found a sixpence. say the word and we'll go navigating the sky for all there is in it. it's a first-chop game, you take it from me." "i thought you were going to quebec?" queried matt, with a twinkle in his eyes. "that's where i was bound for, but it makes no odds how long it takes me to get to the place. besides, when i'm ready to pull out for the river st. lawrence and the gulf, why can't i sail there in the hawk?" matt was thoughtful. it was not his habit to jump into any new undertaking blindly, and there was something mighty alluring about this air-ship proposition. "i'll have to give up my job with the lestrange people," said he, "and there's a future to that." "future?" repeated ferral. "aye, mate, there's a prospect that you'll go into a smash, one of these days, and break your neck. racing an automobile is risky business." "maybe it's not so dangerous as running an air ship, at that," laughed the young motorist. "vell, anyhow," said carl, "you don'd make some collisions in a air ship oxcept mit der clouds. air ships ain'd so blendy like pubbles." "i'll go you, dick!" cried matt suddenly, reaching out his hand to grab ferral's. "but," he added, "it will have to be an even thing. you put in seventeen hundred and fifty and i'll put in the same amount. that will make each of us a half owner." "three times three and a tiger!" exulted ferral, pulling the roll of bills out of his pocket and counting off the water-soaked notes. "there's your seventeen hundred and fifty, matey," and he thrust the money into his chum's hand; "now, slant away for the place where you pay it over, and be sure you get ahead of jameson." "there's plenty of time for that," answered matt, smiling at ferral's impatience. "jameson said he would happen in on the chief sometime during the afternoon. why, it wasn't more than a half hour ago that we left him." "a whole lod oof t'ings can habben in haluf oof an hour," said carl. "go on, bard, und finish oop der teal. i von't be easy in my mindt ondil i know dot you und ferral own der hawk. himmelblitzen, vat a habbiness dot vill be. captain matt, oof you blease, oof der air ship hawk, sailing from eferyvere und going der same blace. hoop-a-la! i vas so gay mit meinseluf as i don'd know. be jeerful, be jeerful!" with that, carl jumped up and began a war dance around the office. he looked like a crazy man, shoeless and hatless, and with his tow hair standing out all over his head like an albino's. ferral was every whit as delighted over the prospect as was carl. he had to do a little jubilating himself, so he got up and began a hornpipe. "i'll get out of here," laughed matt, starting for the door, "before you fellows are pinched for escaped lunatics. if i was around, the officers might nab me, too. get some decent clothes while i'm away." with that, he started for the office of the chief of police. on his way to headquarters, he passed a bank. just before he reached the bank, he saw jameson come hastily out the front door and hurry to a cab that was waiting beside the walk. "police headquarters," matt heard jameson call to the driver of the cab. a suspicion darted through matt's brain. jameson, having secured his certified check, was losing little time putting through his deal for the hawk. had his remark about dropping in on the chief sometime during afternoon been merely a "bluff"? there was no other cab in sight, and several long blocks lay between matt and the chief's office. jameson was bound to reach police headquarters before matt could possibly arrive there. for a minute, matt stood in front of the bank, racking his brains; then, as a swift counterstroke came to him, he darted across the street to a corner drug store. chapter vi. matt scores against jameson. what matt had in mind when he raced across the street was the telephone booth in the drug store. he would call up the chief on the telephone. the chief was a good friend of matt's. in fact, motor matt, because of the plucky and successful work he had done, stood pretty high with the south chicago police department. after a hurried examination of the telephone directory, the young motorist called up the chief's office. "hello!" said he. "is chief raymond there?" "yes," some one answered at the other end of the wire. "want to talk with him personally?" "got to, and right away." "he's busy just now. leave your message and i'll see that he gets it." "can't. this is important and i'm in the biggest kind of a hurry. tell the chief matt king--motor matt--wants a word with him." "oh! is that you, matt? why didn't you say so at the start off? this is harris. couldn't you recognize my voice?" "is mr. jameson there, harris?" "he's just gettin' out of a cab, in front--i can see him through the window." "well, please call the chief; i want to talk to him before jameson gets a chance." a low whistle floated along the wire. "all right," answered harris. it seemed to matt as though he waited in that hot telephone box for an hour, although it could not have been more than a minute or two. he was now as eager to get ahead of jameson in the deal for the hawk as were ferral and carl. finally the chief's voice came over the phone. "howdy, matt. what can i do for you?" "i want to buy that air ship, chief," answered matt. "great scott, boy! you haven't any money to throw away, have you?" "i should say not, but----" "well, forget it. you'd have about as much use for that flying machine as a pig for two tails. just wait a second--here's jameson, the fellow you had out in the hawk, waiting to talk with me. i'll call you up in a few----" "no, wait a minute," cried matt. "jameson's got three thousand he's going to pay for the hawk. i'll give thirty-five hundred, and put half the amount in your hands inside of fifteen minutes. the rest will be here as soon as i can get it from chicago." "i'm not going to let you squander your money in any such fool way," was the chief's astonishing response. "i've got your best interests too much at heart, my lad." "look here," and matt's voice took on a steely note, "i'm not so young, chief, that i don't know what i'm doing. i can see a good many chances to make money with the hawk, and if you keep me from getting the air ship you'll be cutting a big hole in my prospects. besides, you've got to sell to the highest bidder, and i'm giving you five hundred more than jameson offers. not only that, but only part of the purchase money is mine. i've got a partner in the deal, and----" from a click and a sudden silence on the wire, matt knew that "central" had cut him off. throwing the receiver onto the hooks, he rang the bell frantically. after two or three minutes, "central" answered him, begged his pardon for cutting him off, and once more gave him the chief's office. harris answered the phone again. "where's the chief, harris?" asked matt. "in his private room, matt, talking with jameson," came the officer's reply. "well, i'm coming right over there," said matt. "please find out if the chief will see me when i arrive. you can tell me when i reach headquarters." "i guess he'll see you, all right." matt entered the big stone building in less than ten minutes. harris met him with a wide and wondering grin. "you've bought something, matt," said he. "how do you know?" queried matt. "jameson just left, and he was considerably worked up. he said he hadn't any idea that you were bidding over him, and that he had stood ready to offer five thousand for the hawk before letting the machine get away from him." "what did the chief say?" "why, that if you didn't show up inside of fifteen minutes, with half the purchase money, jameson could have the air ship." the young motorist drew a long breath of relief. "well," said he, "right here is where i deliver the goods." he walked into the chief's office, and found that official smoking a cigar. "here's the money, chief," said matt, laying the bills down on the table. "i can give you a check for the balance, or i'll go to chicago and get the cash." "i suppose you know what you're doing, matt," returned the chief, "but i'll be hanged if i do. first off, you'll have to have a place to keep the hawk, and you know brady sold that old balloon house before he skipped out, and the place is to be pulled down in a few days." "i've figured out how i can have a light canvas shelter made and carry it along in the car," said matt. "but what are you going to do with the machine?" went on the chief curiously. "give exhibitions at state and county fairs, compete for aëronautical prizes, perhaps, and after i and my partner have had all the fun we want to with the hawk, we'll sell it to the government." "you're buying a pig in a poke, matt, but that's your lookout. the hawk is yours, and i guess i know you well enough to take your check. when do you want possession?" "this afternoon or to-morrow morning." "better make it to-morrow morning. it will take this afternoon to get the necessary papers from the court." "all right, then. will you let your officers guard the hawk until to-morrow morning?" "i'll keep two men at the balloon house until you show up there to claim your property." "thank you, chief. just give me a receipt for that cash and the check saying the money is in payment for the air ship hawk and that i'm to have the necessary papers completing the transfer as soon as you can get them." this business formality was quickly carried out, and when matt left the chief's office, his chicago bank account looked as though it had been sandbagged. but matt had the chief's agreement in his pocket, and his heart was light and his hopes buoyant. carl and ferral were waiting for him in the hotel office. "the hawk belongs to us, dick," announced matt, and both carl and ferral began to rejoice. "we've got to take possession to-morrow----" "the quicker the better!" cried ferral. "what are we going to do with the machine?" "do?" gasped ferral blankly. "why, fly in it, of course! navigate the skies." "we can't be in the skies all the time. we'll have to come down once in awhile, for gasoline, if for nothing else, and for gas. where are we going to keep the hawk while she's on the ground?" "hitch her to a tree," suggested ferral. "it's easy enough to find moorings for such a craft." "but, if there's a storm, the hawk will have to be protected." "py shinks," muttered carl, "dere iss more to der pitzness as vat i t'ought." ferral had bought a new outfit of shoes, hats, and clothes for himself and carl. ferral's sailor rig was being dried and pressed, and he had managed to pick up a sailorman's hat, in lieu of the one he had lost on the _christina_. matt's logical remarks impressed ferral quite as much as carl. "well," said he, with a grim laugh, "owning an air ship ain't all beer and skittles. the best thing for us to do is to keep traveling with it. at night, we'll berth the thing in some farmer's barn, and we'll spend the day fanning along through the air." "there are plenty of barns big enough to house the hawk," returned matt, "but i don't know where you'll find a barn, in the whole country, with a big enough door to take it in. and when you talk about traveling, dick, where'll we go?" "oh, anywhere, mate, it's all one to me until i'm ready for quebec." "it costs money to travel by air ship. we've got to buy oil and gasoline, and gas, too, now and then. wherever we travel, we've got to have the idea of profit in mind. how about going to new york and hiring the air ship to some one out on coney island?" "fine-o!" applauded ferral. "you're overhauling the right idea, at last, messmate. i knew we could trust you to do that." "pully!" cried carl. "ve vill show off der machine at goney islandt, und make so mooch money ve von't know vat to do mit it. hoop-a-la!" just then a bell boy came hurriedly up to matt. "you're wanted on the phone," said he. "police headquarters is callin' fer you." matt and his chums had a distressful feeling that something had gone wrong with the air-ship deal, and that the chief was calling up to tell matt to come back and get his money. all three of them hurried to the telephone booth. while matt was talking, carl and ferral hung about the door of the booth, wrestling morbidly with their doubts and fears. "the air ship is still ours," laughed matt, as he came out of the booth, "but grove, one of the gang that worked with brady, and who was captured and in jail here awaiting trial, has escaped. what's more, the chicago police haven't been able to find that sailboat and catch the bradys. the chief here thinks grove has gone to join hector brady, and that----" matt paused. "go on, mate," urged ferral. "and that carl and i had better look out," finished matt, "or brady and his gang will put us out of the way." "dey vill haf more as dey can do keeping oudt oof der vay oof der bolice deirselufs," said carl, "to bodder mit us, matt." "that's the way i size it up, carl," returned matt. "besides, if brady and his gang want to find us, after to-morrow morning, they'll have to get hold of another air ship." but, even then, the cunning brady was engineering a plot which was to strike matt and his chums like a bolt from the blue. chapter vii. at the balloon house. late that afternoon matt and carl went into chicago on the train. the young motorist had to sever his connection with the lestrange people, who were the eastern representatives of the jarrot automobile company, for whom matt had won the borden cup during the recent kansas race. while matt was at the office of the lestrange company, carl was to go to the boarding house, settle their bill, and get their baggage. meanwhile, dick ferral went to the balloon house to keep watch over the hawk with the two officers on guard there. the lestrange people were more than sorry to lose matt's services. there was no driver who could get more speed out of a racing car than motor matt, and it was largely his driving that had won the five-day race at the coliseum for the jarrot car. matt agreed, before he left the lestrange offices, that if ever he drove in another race, he would give the lestrange and jarrot people first chance to secure his services. then, with his back pay in his pocket, he made his way to the twelfth street station, met carl with the luggage, and they returned to south chicago. matt and carl went to the hotel to stay all night, and the two officers who had been on duty at the balloon house, having been relieved by a fresh detail, came in about nine in the evening and informed matt that ferral was going to stay at the balloon house until morning. "verral is afraidt der machine vill fly avay mit itseluf," chuckled carl. "it's all right to be on the safe side," said matt. "i guess that there won't be anything happen to the hawk, with two policemen and dick to look after her." "sure nod," agreed carl. "vere vill ferral shleep?" "there's a small sleeping room in the back of the big shed. brady used to spend his nights there when he had the air ship under the roof. there's a fixture in the room for supplying the hawk with illuminating gas. brady used to manufacture hydrogen, but since the police department has had charge of the air ship, the supply of gas has come from the city gas works. oh, dick will be comfortable enough, out there, and when we join him in the morning we'll take his breakfast along." it was the intention of the three chums to start on their long journey to new york the following morning. matt had bought a compass and a number of maps covering the country they would cross. for a long time he sat up, studying the maps and figuring on the towns at which they would stop during their flight. it was nearly midnight when he went to bed, and carl had been snoring for several hours. both boys were up bright and early. they ate a hearty breakfast, and matt had a meal packed away in a box for dick. it was about half-past six when they were ready to start for the balloon house, and matt suddenly remembered that the papers completing the transfer of the air ship had not come from the chief. "i'll go on out to the balloon house with my satchel and the box of grub for dick," said matt, "and you go to police headquarters, carl, and ask the chief for the papers he was to get for me. if the chief isn't there yet, see harris. it may be you'll have to go to the chief's house." "all righdt," answered carl, "schust so you don'd fly avay und leaf me." "you can bet we won't do that, carl. we'll wait until you get there before we start." the two chums separated in front of the hotel, carl walking rapidly toward police headquarters, and matt turning toward the outskirts of the town and striding away in the direction of the black smoke from the rolling mills. ferral, once more in his sailor rig, was out in front of the balloon house, and gave a yell when he saw matt coming down the road. matt dropped the satchel and lunch box over the fence at the roadside, jumped after them, and then started across the swampy stretch of ground. "ahoy, old raggie!" whooped ferral, whose enthusiasm seemed to have grown during the night. "our ship's pulling at her cables, just as though she's as anxious to get away as we are. where's carl?" "i sent him to the police department after those papers the chief was to get for us," replied matt. "here's some breakfast for you, dick. better get on the outside of it as soon as you can. by the way, haven't you some luggage in chicago you'll want to get?" "i sent all my luggage through to quebec. when i travel, matt, i always travel light. mighty nice of you to remember my 'scran,'" ferral added, as he took the box matt handed him. while he was eating, the two officers came around the end of the building. "our orders was to pull out as soon as you got here, king," said one of them. "you're goin' to leave purty soon, anyhow, ain't you?" "just as soon as we can get the hawk out of the shed. our dutch pard will be here by that time." "i'd like to stay and see you off, but the old woman'll have my breakfast ready, an' there's always a row if i don't get there while it's hot. good-by, an' good luck to you." "the same to you, officer." the policeman started off toward the road, and matt went around to the front of the balloon house to open the doors. the doors comprised almost the whole end of the building, and when they were open, the interior of the shed was well lighted by the sun. the hawk seemed fit and ready for any work she might be called upon to do. as matt looked at the great swaying bag, the light car and its trim machinery, he experienced a pride in the air ship he had never before known. this was because the hawk belonged partly to him, now. while in the balloon house, the air ship was not moored with ropes, but was weighted down with sand bags hung to the under side of the car. a pull of a lever would release all the sand bags. there was a supply of gasoline in the shed, and also a small amount of oil. matt filled the gasoline tank and the oil tank, saw that all ropes belonging to the car were safely stowed, and that propeller and steering rudder were working properly. by the time he had finished his survey, ferral had got through with his breakfast and had joined him. "see anything of carl, dick?" asked matt. "he wasn't in sight when i came in," replied ferral. "probably the chief wasn't at his office and carl had to go to his house. he'll be along pretty soon, though. it's a fine morning for the start. hardly a breath of air stirring." matt stowed his maps and compass in a little locker close to the driver's chair. "we've got to have a compass, eh?" grinned ferral. "it's just as well to have one," said matt. "and charts! keelhaul me, mate, but this is just like putting to sea in a ship." "it's about the same thing." "only when we make landfall we drop to it. but what's the good of the charts? we'll be off soundings all the time, and no danger of bouncing up on a reef." "it's a good thing to keep track of the towns we pass. if we need gas, we want to be able to figure on reaching a town big enough to supply it." "right-o, mate. i'll lay a month's pay your head's level on the whole business, and that you've figured out everything connected with the cruise. are we going to follow the railroad?" "not much, dick! we're going to strike a bee line for where we want to go. that's the beauty of traveling in an air ship. you don't have to go around a mountain, or hunt for a place to cross a stream." "strike me lucky, mate," jubilated ferral, rubbing his hands, "i'm mighty glad i stopped over in chicago to see you, and that we were able to get our hooks on this air ship. the way the thing fell out, it seems like that was how it was meant to be. everything that's happened has steered us both for the hawk. if i hadn't dropped into that trap brady, jr., laid for me, i wouldn't have been out in the lake; and if you hadn't come along in the hawk, just when you did, i couldn't have saved my money; and if you hadn't picked me up, money and all, that other lubber would have got ahead of us and grabbed the air ship. oh, we've been main lucky, all around." "what will your uncle say," quizzed matt, "when you write him you have bought an interest in an air ship?" "bless the old chap! why, matey, anything i do is all right for uncle jack. if i'd bought a menagerie, or a steam calliope, the old boy would have clapped me on the shoulder and said i'd done well." "well," laughed matt, "that's mighty nice--for you. suppose we get the hawk out of the shed? by the time we do that, carl ought to be here." "aye, aye, my hearty! how do you go to work to warp the craft out of her berth? you'll have to tell me what to do, until i can learn the ropes." "all we've got to do," said matt, "is just to take hold of the car and pull the air ship through the door. these sand bags hold her steady. be careful, though, that the gas bag don't strike the side of the door. it would cost us a lot of money, and delay us for a week or two, if we were unlucky enough to rip the fabric." by working carefully, the boys got the front part of the hawk through the end of the shed and into the open air. matt was at the front of the car, and ferral was at the rear. while the young motorist bent to his work, he heard a noise as of running feet. straightening himself quickly, he whirled around. four roughly dressed men were rushing at him from the corner of the shed. the rascals were plainly hostile, as their clinched fists and their scowling faces proved. one of the scoundrels, who was within arm's length of matt, halted and aimed a blow at him. matt deftly evaded the blow. by then the others were near enough to take part in the set-to. "this way, dick!" yelled motor matt, as he struck down one of the ruffians. chapter viii. the plot of the brady gang. the attack of the four men had been engineered with a suddenness that took matt's breath. the men were not common hoodlums, although they looked the part, but all four of them were men whom matt recognized. they were all members of the brady gang. one was grove, who had escaped from the south chicago authorities on the preceding afternoon; another was harper, who used to drive the hawk for brady when the air ship was in his possession; another man was pete, and the fourth was whipple. matt had seen a picture of harper in the "rogues' gallery" in the chief's office, and he had had no difficulty in recognizing the rascal at a glance. harper had been with grove at the time some blue prints were stolen from hamilton jerrold, another inventor of air ships, living in south chicago. but harper had been hurt in jerrold's house and had not got away in the air ship, which the thieves had used to help them commit their robbery. pete and whipple had been with brady in a rendezvous in willoughby's swamp, near lake station, indiana. matt had had some exciting dealings with grove, pete, and whipple, and knew them fairly well. ferral, hearing matt's cry and the rush of feet, had run out of the shed and around the front of the car. as quickly as he could, he leaped to matt's assistance. but what could the two boys accomplish against four husky men, all desperately determined to carry out the plot they had formed? officers of the law were hunting for all of them, and if they did not succeed in their nefarious work, it would not be many hours before they saw the inside of a prison cell. matt king never fought better than he did then. he had struck down whipple, and had thrown himself at pete. about the same time, ferral engaged grove. grove had science as well as strength, and was keeping ferral pretty well occupied. whipple, wild with fury, staggered to his feet. he was behind matt, and ferral, out of the corner of his eye, saw him preparing to strike. "look out, mate!" warned ferral. "there's a big swab behind you!" but the warning came too late. whipple's ham-like fist reached matt's head, and the young motorist staggered and flung up his arms. again the enraged whipple aimed a blow, but matt dropped to one side, and the fist only grazed his shoulder. pete, however, had been watching his chance. throwing himself forward, he dealt a fierce blow with his fist that toppled matt to the ground. harper, meantime, had come up behind ferral and successfully carried out the same manoeuvre that had been made use of by whipple. both boys were brutally knocked off their feet. the moment they were down, harper fell on ferral and pete dropped on matt, when whipple turned on grove. "go ter the side o' the shed, grove," said he, "an' keep yer eyes skinned along the road. if ye see anyone comin', jest let out a yell." "what's the use of fooling around here any longer?" demanded grove. "we've got the car, and all we have to do now is to get into her and let the police look up at us." "do as i tell ye!" bawled whipple. "our work ain't done yet. the ole man told us what ter do with king, an' we're goin' ter do it. he's played hob with brady's plans, an' the ole man is crazy ter git even. t'other chap, bein' with king, 'll have ter stand fer the same dose." grove, muttering to himself, moved off toward the corner of the balloon house. whipple, hurrying to the car, took out a coil of rope. it was not heavy rope, but fine and pliable. cutting off four pieces of the rope, whipple went to matt. the young motorist was still dazed from the blows he had received, and it was not difficult for pete to hold him while whipple tied his wrists at his back and his feet at the ankles. thereupon whipple passed to dick and secured him in the same way. "anyone in sight yet, grove?" whipple asked as he straightened up. "no," replied grove. "well, keep yer eyes peeled. we're a good ways from bein' through." he turned to harper and pete. "lay holt o' the car, you two," he ordered, "an' pull the hawk clear o' the shed. mind ye don't let the gas bag tech the sides o' the door." "this ain't the first time i've helped with the hawk," said harper. "i reckon i know how ter handle her as well as anyone." harper and pete managed to get the air ship out of the shed without injury. this left the opening into the shed clear. "you two," whipple went on to pete and harper, "pick up that other feller an' kerry him in. i can handle king, all right." the way whipple handled matt was to grab him by the collar and drag him through the door and the length of the shed. at the end of the big room he opened a door and pulled matt into a small chamber not more than ten feet square by as many high--hardly more than a big box. there was a window in one wall, and two cots at each side. halting in front of one of the cots, whipple picked matt up in his arms and dumped him upon the narrow bed. "put your kid on the other cot," ordered whipple to harper and pete. ferral was lifted and placed as the leader of the gang had directed. matt had been conscious of every move that was made, although his mind had not been at all clear. by the time he had been placed on the cot, however, his faculties were as keen as ever, in spite of the pain he suffered on account of his rough treatment. "what are you trying to do, whipple?" he demanded, turning his head so he could look directly into the face of the leader of the gang. "what we're tryin' ter do we've as good as done," was the fierce answer. "we're undoin' the thing you done a week er more ago. the perlice are after us, on account o' you, an' we're goin' ter make a getaway in the hawk." "the hawk belongs to me and my friend, on the other cot." "how d'ye figger that out? i reckoned the hawk belonged ter brady." "brady is a thief. he stole a lot of stuff, and the hawk was sold to help pay back the losses of some of the people who were robbed." "oh, ho!" laughed whipple, huskily, "that's the way of it, eh? an' you an' yer chum bought the hawk?" "yes. if you steal her you'll get into trouble--a lot more trouble than you're in already. i guess you've got more now than you can take care of." "an' it was you as made the trouble fer us!" cried whipple, with a black scowl, stepping closer to matt and shaking a fist in his face. "but you're right at the end o' your rope, my buck. brady never fergits a feller who crosses his plans like you done. arter we leave here it won't be you that makes the trouble fer us." "is brady in this?" queried matt, seeking information. "he's on deck, you bet, an' we're goin' ter pick him up close ter willoughby's swamp; then we're goin' ter cross the lake an' come down in a place where we'll be safe fer a spell. while we got the hawk we're safe from the perlice, all right, but we got our operations ter attend to." "more robbery, i suppose." "suppose what ye blam' please, ye'll never be able ter tell anyone what ye're hearin' from me now. what we're goin' ter do to you an' yer chum'll teach others ter let hector brady an' his gang alone. if i----" just then a shrill whistle came to the ears of those in the little room. "listen to that!" exclaimed pete, in consternation. "somebody's comin'!" gasped harper. "if we don't make a run out of this we'll be nabbed." whipple jumped to a gas bracket against one of the rough board walls. it was not an ordinary bracket, but had a wide mouth to which a piece of hose could be attached. this had been used by the police officials to replenish the gas in the silk envelope of the hawk. with one jerk of his hand whipple turned the gas full on. "get out!" he called to the two with him. pete and harper tumbled through the door into the shed. whipple hurried after them but paused a moment on the threshold to give a wild, taunting laugh. "that's what brady told us ter do," said he, savagely, "an' we've done it. git clear o' this, if ye can!" with that, whipple slammed the door. the fate to which the murderous scoundrel had consigned the two boys was a fearful one. even as the door closed, matt could smell the odor of gas pouring into the small room and poisoning the air. "dick!" he called. "can you hear me? do you know what has been going on?" "aye, aye, old ship," came from ferral. "we're bound for jones', as straight as we can go. we've lost the hawk, and probably we've lost our lives. hard luck!" "hard luck!" exclaimed matt. "why, dick, it's the hardest luck i ever had come my way. but there's a chance." "what sort of a chance, mate? i can't see any." "grove, one of the gang, was left outside to watch. he was to whistle if anyone came along the road. didn't you hear him give the warning? if anyone is coming, we can bring them here. use your lungs, pard! yell for all you're worth! our lives may depend on it!" fighting frenziedly to free themselves of the ropes about their hands, the boys shouted at the top of their voices for help. they could feel the vitiated air of the room bringing their breath short and hard, and they knew that their voices were getting feebler by degrees. desperately they continued to call, hoping against hope that they would be heard, and that some one would come to their aid before it was too late. chapter ix. carl is surprised. carl, when he left the hotel to call on the chief in accordance with motor matt's instructions, left his satchel in care of the clerk. in going to the balloon house, after he had transacted his business at police headquarters, he would have to return past the hotel, and by leaving the satchel he would not have to bother with it during his call on the chief. it was very early, too early for the chief to be in his office. nor was harris at headquarters. no one there knew of any papers that had been left for matt. carl was disappointed, for he was in a hurry to rejoin his friends at the balloon house. nevertheless, matt had told him to be sure and see the chief, and so carl inquired his way to that official's house. when he arrived at the house, carl found that the chief had left and gone to headquarters; so the disgusted german turned around and made his way back to the chief's office. the head of the department had not yet arrived there, having been delayed somewhere on the road. carl had to wait half an hour. when the chief finally came, carl got to him at once and asked about the papers. "they're here, all right," smiled the official. "i would have sent them to matt last night, only i was so busy trying to find that escaped prisoner, grove, that the matter slipped my mind. you lads are going to start off in the air ship, are you?" "sure," answered the impatient carl, "oof i efer ged dose bapers and meet matt like vat he saidt. i don'd vant dem fellers to go off mitoudt me." "oh, i guess they won't do that! where are you going?" "py new york. anyhow, dot vas our bresent indentions." "new york? great scott! do you think that----" "i vas in a pig hurry, chief," interrupted carl, wildly. "you see, i haf peen more as an hour looking for you, und i vas vay late meeding matt und tick. oof you vill blease handt ofer dose bapers, i vill shlide oudt so kevick as bossiple." the chief pulled a sealed envelope from a pigeonhole in his desk and handed it to carl. "there you are," said he. "if matt hears anything about brady, or the rest of his gang, tell him to be sure and let me know." "he vill do dot, you bed you. he iss as anxious to haf brady captured as anypody." "he ought to be. brady will do everything he can to get even with matt for the havoc matt has played with the gang. and that's what leads me to believe matt may see something of him. tell your friend that----" but carl waited for no more. he had already lost more time than he could well afford. bolting out of the chief's office, he made a rush for the hotel. there he secured his satchel and started along the road toward the rolling mills. the drops rolled off carl's face as he hurried. as soon as he struck the beginning of the road that ran past the swampy meadow, he kept his eyes in the direction of the balloon house. it was several minutes before he sighted the big building, and then it was far off and could be seen only indistinctly. swiftly he drew nearer and nearer. as the building came more prominently into view, he was able to make out the air ship, swaying in front. "dey haf got der hawk oudt oof der house!" he muttered. "dey're alretty to go, und dey vas only vaiting for me." even as carl was congratulating himself on the fact that he was not going to be left behind, he was astounded to see the hawk move upward and away from the balloon house. he was still so far away that he could not see those in the car, and a terrific fear shivered along his nerves. "himmelblitzen!" he groaned, "i vouldn't haf t'ought it bossiple! dey vas leafing me in der lurch. modor matt, der pest friendt vat i efer hat, iss skyhooting avay mitoudt his dutch bard! vat iss der meaning oof dot?" for a few moments carl stood rooted to the ground. then he had an idea. "meppy matt und tick vas coming pack tovards town to pick me oop!" he murmured, and continued to stand still and watch. but the hawk did not turn around and come in carl's direction. on the contrary, it kept moving off toward the south and west. "ach, vat a pad pitzness!" groaned carl. "matt!" he yelled, as loud as he could, starting to run along the road and waving his satchel as he went, "vy don'd you vait for your dutch pard, matt? haf you gone back on me?" if carl's voice had been strong enough to reach a mile, his yelling might have ascended to the ears of those in the car. as it was, however, carl might as well have shouted into the empty air. but he was excited, and hardly knew what he was about. when he came opposite the balloon house he hardly gave it a look; and he was making so much noise himself that he was unable to hear the calls coming from the small addition in the rear of the big shed. on and on along the road went carl, keeping up his frenzied pace. he got beyond the big mills, and then, after he had got past the smoke from their huge chimneys, he saw that the air ship had disappeared. utterly dejected, and tired out with his hard run, he sat down on a rock near the roadside. "i nefer vouldt haf t'ought dot oof modor matt," he wheezed mournfully. "all along i haf hat some hunches dot i vouldn't ged avay in dot air ship py new york. vell, vell! der pest friendt vat i efer hat has vent pack on me, und i vas a shdray dutchman mit fife tollars in my bocket und no blace to go." while carl mused in this lugubrious strain, a girl came toward him along the road. her clothes were dusty, and her face was haggard. she was pretty, in spite of her weariness and her coarse clothes, and there was a dauntless gleam in her dark eyes. when she came close to carl she paused. carl pulled off his hat. "vas you in some drouples, too, miss?" he asked. "oof you vas, den ve ought to be some pooty goot gompany. misery lofes gompany, dey say, und i vas so full oof misery as i can't dell." the girl stared at him wonderingly for a moment. "are you acquainted with the country around here?" she asked. "i ought to know it, but i never came into south chicago before by this road." "vell, i know somet'ing aboudt it," replied carl. "for vy do you make dose inkviries?" "i'm looking for the balloon house where they keep the air ship called the hawk," was the astounding reply. carl leaped off the stone as though he had been touched by a live wire. "sure i know dot!" he cried. "vat for do you vant to know?" "i must hurry and get there," answered the girl. "i've walked a long ways, and i'm pretty tired, but i've got to reach the balloon house." "der hawk don'd vas dere any more," said carl. the girl clasped her hands. "you mean to say that the hawk has been taken away so soon?" "vell, she don'd vas oxactly daken. you see, der bard vat i hat has gone pack on me und he skyhooted off mit der hawk, leafing me behindt." "when was this?" asked the girl, excitedly. "schust a leedle vile ago. ter hawk only schust got oudt oof sight. couldn't you see it? oof you hat looked oop you vould sure haf seen der air ship." "oh," cried the girl, tearfully, "then i'm too late! and i tried so hard to get here. i hadn't any money, you see, and i had to walk." "how far haf you valked?" "all the way from lake station." "ach, chimineddy! dot vas too pad, i bed you. who you vas? i haf fife tollars, und you can haf dot." carl pulled the crumpled bill out of his pocket and tried to push it into the girl's hand. but she would not take it. "no, no," said she. "my name is helen brady, and i----" carl grew rigid. his amazement was growing. "vy," he cried, "den you vas prady's daughter, eh? der vone vat heluped modor matt ged avay from villoughy's svamp mit der hawk dot time he prought two oof der gang indo sout' chicago?" "yes, yes," returned the girl. "i am the same helen brady who helped motor matt. if the air ship is gone from the balloon house, then it wasn't matt who sailed away with her, but four of my father's men." carl was electrified. "ach, i ditn't t'ink my olt bard, modor matt, could dreat me in sooch a vay as dot!" he exclaimed. "vat has pecome oof matt und verral?" "oh, i don't know," answered the girl. "i'm afraid that some awful trouble has come to them. we must hurry to the balloon house and see." "yah, you bed you!" cried carl. "meppy i can gif you some helup on der vay? you vas more tired as me--und you valked from lake station! himmelblitzen! vat you t'ink oof dot! a leedle girl like you valk all der vay from lake station! come, und ve vill got togedder py der palloon house." carrying his satchel in his left hand, with his right carl grasped the girl's arm and helped her along the road. they did not proceed at a very rapid pace, but they walked much faster than the girl could have done had she been compelled to go on alone. "vat iss der drouple, anyvay?" asked carl. "vy you vas valking to der palloon house?" "there is a plot," answered the girl, "a plot to steal the air ship and to do some harm to motor matt. matt helped me, that time he took the air ship away from the swamp, and i want to help him. but i'm afraid i'm too late, too late." the girl's voice and manner all convinced carl that there was something very serious the matter. the theft of the air ship would have been bad enough, in itself, but there was a chance that harm had befallen matt. excited and anxious, carl toiled on along the road, helping the girl and keeping his eyes on the balloon house, just as he had done when he had approached it from the direction of town--only he was even more wildly anxious now than he was then. chapter x. helen brady's clue. matt remembered the awful moment when he felt his senses leaving him, when the interior of the bare little room swam on his sight and was blotted out in a black mist. after that he could remember nothing until he opened his eyes in the bright sunlight, and saw the strangely familiar face of a girl bending over him. for a brief space his clearing senses grappled with the situation helplessly; then, as the clear outer air drove from his lungs the poison he had been breathing, his faculties regained their normal condition. "helen brady!" he mumbled, sitting up. "yah, you bed you!" whooped carl, from a little distance away. "dot vas helen prady, matt, und oof it hatn't peen for her, you und tick vould haf peen goners. helen prady is a pooty fine girl, you bed you. i dake off my hat to her any tay as you can findt in der veek. miss prady," and carl directed his admiring gaze at the girl, "allow me to make some remarks dot you vas a brick--und not a goldt brick, neider. she valked all der vay from lake station, matt, to safe you und tick!" carl was near ferral, who was likewise sitting up in front of the balloon house, only a little way off. "sink me, mate," cried ferral, "but we had a close call of it. we shook hands with davy jones--just about--and then miss brady and carl pulled us away from him." "i'm all twisted up about this," said matt, rubbing a hand across his eyes in a dazed way. "i'm all ahoo over it myself," put in ferral. "i'm glad i'm alive, but i can't understand how miss brady got here and helped us out of that scrape." "tell dem aboudt it, miss prady," urged carl. "you haf tone a mighdy fine t'ing, und matt und tick ought to know all aboudt it." "ever since you got away from willoughby's swamp with the hawk, matt," said helen, "i have been staying in lake station. my father, and pete, and whipple got out of the swamp by a secret way they knew about, very soon after you left. dad gave me some money and told me to find a place to stay in lake station. he was terribly ugly to me, and i was glad that i was going to be free from him for a while. there was a woman in the village who had some furnished rooms to rent, and i rented them and stayed there. i didn't see anything of dad until last night. i was in the other part of the house, visiting the woman who owned it, and when i went back to my rooms i saw a light shining through a window between the edge of the curtain and the sill. i listened and heard voices--then i knew that dad had found the place where i was staying, and had come there. "there was a way to get into the cellar, and i got into it and crept up a stairway without being heard. by sitting at the top of the stairs i could listen and hear all that was said. "whipple was in the room with dad, and they were talking over a scheme for getting hold of the hawk. officers of the law were hunting them, and, if they did not have the air ship, they felt that they would not be able to avoid arrest for very long. "whipple told dad how grove had managed to escape from the south chicago police, and dad told whipple how he had been out in a sailboat with my brother, and how they had tried to get some money from a young fellow my brother had met on the train, and how motor matt, with the hawk, had come along just in time to prevent the robbery. after that, my father said he and my brother had the sailboat set them ashore. my father had come to lake station, and had sent my brother to tell whipple to come to the same place. and that was how the two happened to meet in my rooms. "whipple, pete, and harper had been in hiding in willoughby's swamp, and that was the place to which grove came when he made his escape. "my father knew that the hawk was being kept by the police in the old balloon house, and that two officers were constantly on guard to see that no harm came to the machine. it was also known that motor matt was spending a good deal of time at the balloon house and running the air ship for the officers. "dad's plot centred about the balloon house. it was a risky plot, but dad told whipple they would all have to take desperate chances if they hoped to succeed in stealing the hawk and getting away in her. whipple agreed with dad, and they arranged between them that whipple, grove, harper, and pete were to get close to the balloon house in the early morning, steal the hawk, and sail away. if they were successful, they were to stop at the marsh for dad; and if they captured motor matt, whipple was to put him, securely bound, in the back room, behind the shed, and turn on the gas there." the girl shivered, and an expression of horror crossed her face. "i can't begin to tell you," she half sobbed, "how terribly i felt. motor matt had helped me, and i could not bear to think that my own father was--was----" helen paused, and it was a moment before she could recover herself and go on. "at first," she continued, "i thought of running into the room where dad was and begging him not to let whipple harm motor matt. but a little thought showed me that such a course would be foolish. not only would dad not listen to me, but he would probably make me a prisoner, so as to keep me from interfering with his plot. i had no money left, and the only thing i could do was to walk to south chicago, and try to get there before the plot was carried out. i got my hat--it was in a bedroom easily reached from the cellarway--and i started. "i walked miles and miles through the darkness, and at last i was so tired i had to sit down and rest. then i got up and started on again. every little while i would sit down for a few minutes. but i did not dare to stop very long, for fear i would not get to south chicago in time. "morning came, and i guided myself by the smoke from the rolling mills. just as i was about to give out entirely, i met carl." the girl turned her eyes toward the dutch boy. "und it vas a pooty goot t'ing dot miss prady met me schust ven she dit. i vas feeling pooty plue mit meinseluf, you bed you. you see, matt, it vas like dis: afder fooling aroundt und losing more dime as i vanted to, i got dose bapers from der chief. den i come pack py der hodel, get my sadchel, und hurry kevick along der roadt to der palloon house. ven i see der blace, oop goes der hawk in der air, und i t'ink, py shiminy, dot matt hat got tired oof vaiting und hat gone off py new york mitoudt his dutch bard. vell, meppy it vas some foolishness, aber i shaced afder dot air ship so fast as i couldt. sure i couldn't ketch der hawk, aber i vas oft my headt und ditn't shdop to t'ink. i schust run, und yelled, und got vay past der palloon house ven i med miss prady. as soon as she say a few t'ings, den i know dot it vasn't matt vat vent avay mit der hawk, but dot prady gang; und as soon as she say a few t'ings more, den i ged some vorries aboudt matt und tick. ve come pack py der palloon house togedder, miss prady und me, und ve go to dot leedle room pehindt der blace, und, whoosh! sooch a odor vat shtruck us in der faces ven ve obened der door. "vell, dere vas my bard, modor matt, lying shdill on der cot on vone site, und my odder bard, tick verral, lying shdill on der cot on der odder site. ve hat some vildness mit us ven ve t'ink you vas gone oop der shpout, aber ve turned off der gas, got you oudt oof der room und indo der glear air, und pooty kevick, pympy, you refifed. ach, it vas some habbiness for bot' oof us ven ve see dot!" matt and dick had listened to all this with deep interest. what most impressed them was the courage and determination shown by helen brady. matt reached out and clasped her hand. "you saved my life and dick's," said he, with feeling, "and that is something we'll never forget." "not if we live to be a thousand years old!" declared ferral. "you're a brave lass, miss brady, and i've an uncle who won't forget what you've done, either." "i only did what i thought i ought to do," said helen. "it was merely undoing a wrong of my father's, and it was no more than right that i should do what i could." "ach, matt," piped up carl, "aber you vas blaying in some hardt luck! und shdill, mit all dot, vasn't it pooty fine dot you got oudt oof dot tight blace mit your life, you und tick?" "right-o, matey!" agreed ferral heartily. "matt and i, between us, have lost the hawk, which means thirty-five hundred, in cold cash, but, all the same, we ought to shake hands over it and call ourselves well off." matt grabbed dick's hand. "shake!" said he. "a fellow never has such a run of hard luck but he can think a little and see where it might have been a whole lot worse." a puzzled look had come into helen's face. "how was it, matt," she queried, "that you and your friend lost so much money?" matt explained about the purchase of the air ship. as helen listened, her look of wonder changed to one of distress. "i am sorry!" she said, with a pang of deepest regret. "i know where dad and the rest have gone, though, and if you wanted to follow them, you might be able to get the air ship back." the information startled all three of the boys. "you know that?" cried matt, his face brightening. "yes. they are going to cross the lake to grand haven. there's a man in grand haven that dad knows. his name is ochiltree, dave ochiltree. dad is going to see him. i don't know where the rest will be with the hawk, but no doubt you could find out from ochiltree." "it's a clue, and a good one!" said matt. "we will follow it, helen." "aye, that we will!" exclaimed ferral. "you bed you!" averred carl. "sooch a goot luck as dot iss vat ve vas looking for. meppy ve follow der clue und get der air ship pack, den make anoder shtart for new york, hey?" an idea came suddenly to matt. leaping to carl, he grabbed him by the arm. "the eagle," said he, speaking rapidly, "has chased the hawk before. why not call on hamilton jerrold?" carl gave an exultant yell and tossed his cap. "dot's der fery t'ing, matt!" he declared. "oof dere iss enyvone in der whole vorldt as vouldt like to do modor matt a goot durn, it iss dot feller jerrold! led us go to him righdt avay, ad vonce, mitoudt losing some more dime!" chapter xi. jerrold gives his aid. "you've got me in a monkey's fist again," spoke up ferral. "what's all this about the eagle and hamilton jerrold?" "don'd you rememper, tick," said carl, "i toldt you aboudt dot odder feller in sout' chicago vat hat inventioned an air ship? his ship iss der eagle, und----" "aye, aye, mate, now i rise to you," interrupted ferral. "fine idea, that of chasing one air craft with another. the only point is, will this man jerrold let matt take his air ship?" "dot feller vouldt do anyt'ing for matt," averred carl. "matt got pack der plue brints for him, und he t'inks der king oof der modor poys iss der greadest feller vat efer habbened." "the quicker we can see jerrold," suggested matt, "the sooner we shall know whether or not he can help us. not only that, but i've got to report the theft of the air ship to the police." "who loses der air ship?" queried carl. "der bolice, oder matt und tick?" "matt and dick," answered ferral. "we had bought the machine, and if it had been stolen no more than a minute after the money had been turned over, we would still have been the ones to lose it. i don't know what sort of case you're in, matt, but i've got a head that feels as big as a barrel. if i could soak it awhile in cold water i think it would do it good." "my head was pretty near knocked off my shoulders," answered matt, "and then to inhale all that gas on top of the pounding, gave us a whole lot to stand. work is what we need, dick. if we can get busy we'll forget our troubles." the doors of the empty balloon house were closed, matt and carl gathered up their satchels, and they started back toward south chicago, ferral helping helen brady over the road. "some beople vill be surbrised ad seeing us come in valking mit ourselufs," observed carl, "ven ve vas going to rite der odder vay in der hawk. ve nefer know vone minid vat iss going to happen der next." this remark of carl's was generally agreed to. "what are you going to do now, helen?" asked matt, dropping alongside the girl and ferral. "your father has gone away and left you, and you will have to do something for yourself." "i know it," answered the girl. "what has become of your brother?" "i don't know where he has gone. he may go across the lake with dad, or he may stay in chicago. when dad talked with whipple, i didn't hear him say what hector was to do." "it's a good thing your father has left you, helen," said matt, "and if all i hear about your brother is true, i hope he won't come around to bother you." a sad look crossed the girl's face. with her father and her brother both criminals, her position was forlorn, indeed. "i have friends in chicago," said she, "and i could go and stay with them for a time." "that's the thing to do," approved matt. taking two ten-dollar bills from his pocket, he forced them into the girl's hand. "you've got to take the money," said he. "sometime, if you feel as though you ought to, you can pay me back, but don't let the debt bother you." "here," called ferral, diving into his own pocket and bringing up some money, "i'm in on this." "und me, too," said carl. "i vill dake five tollars' vort'." helen thanked all the boys, with tears in her eyes, but matt's was the only money she would take. "this will be enough for my immediate needs," said she, "and while i am staying in chicago, i can arrange to get something to do." by that time the little party was well into south chicago. the satchels were returned to the hotel, and carl was left with helen, to take her to a restaurant where she could get something to eat, and then to put her aboard a train for chicago. after that, carl was to make his way to jerrold's house. matt and dick, when they left their dutch chum and the girl, hurried to police headquarters. when the chief saw matt, he threw up his hands. "did your air ship give out on you?" he asked. "i thought you were well on your way to new york by this time." what matt had to say about the air ship nearly took the chief's breath. then, when he realized all that recent events meant, his temper got the better of him. "i've got a fine force of roundsmen and detectives," said he sarcastically, "when a pack of scoundrels we're looking for can pull off a trick like that right in the outskirts of town!" matt eased the chief's anger somewhat by telling him of the clue they had received as to brady's whereabouts, and he explained how he and his friends were going to get jerrold's air ship and follow the clue across the lake. "now that sounds mighty good," said the chief, a flicker of hope crossing his face, "and of course the south chicago police department ought to be represented in the expedition. suppose i send harris, in plain clothes, along with you? he knows st. jo, benton harbor, grand haven, and all those places across the lake like a native. he'll be a help. unless i'm mightily mistaken, this man ochiltree is an old-time crook, and has served a term or two in the 'pen.' anyhow, his name is familiar to me. but you boys are in a hurry and i won't detain you. go on to jerrold's. i'll have harris get into civilian's clothes and join you there." fifteen minutes later, matt and dick were at the inventor's rambling old house. hamilton jerrold himself answered matt's ring, caught him by the hand with the utmost cordiality, and ushered him and ferral into the sitting room. "it does my eyes good to see you again, matt," beamed jerrold. "you've been making some fine flights with the hawk for the police department. jupiter, but you're a wonder when it comes to handling anything that's driven with an explosive engine." matt flushed and made a deprecatory gesture. "it seems, mr. jerrold," said he, "that i never call on you except when i'm in trouble." the inventor took fresh interest. "you're in trouble now?" he asked, showing a good deal of concern. "i'm in the hardest kind of luck," went on matt, and he proceeded to explain how he and ferral had bought the hawk, and how brady had executed his balloon-house plot, stolen the machine, and almost caused a tragedy. hamilton jerrold had been himself entangled with brady and knew just what kind of a scoundrel he was. his experience with brady had left much bitterness in its wake, and jerrold was eager to do whatever he could to bring the leader of the brady gang to justice. apart from his own feelings in the matter, jerrold felt that motor matt had a claim on him. "the hawk," said jerrold, "is a good machine, but the eagle is a better one. we can cross the lake in the eagle and land wherever you want to, and it is needless for me to say, my boy, that both the air ship and myself are at your service." "thank you, mr. jerrold," returned matt gratefully. "is the eagle ready for use?" "during the last week payne and i have been improving her, and we did the very last tap on the car yesterday. all we have to do is to fill the tanks and put a little more gas in the bag--inside of an hour we can start." the boys accompanied jerrold into the back yard, where he had the air ship under a canvas shelter. payne, jerrold's assistant, was working around the car. as soon as jerrold had told payne what was wanted, the latter began making the eagle ready. "this is a great town for flying machines," remarked ferral, as he watched the operation of getting the craft ready for a voyage. "jerrold has done a whole lot toward solving the problem of aërial navigation," said matt. "it was his work that made the hawk as good as it is. you see, brady used to work for jerrold, and he stole most of his ideas for the hawk from the eagle." "a regular skull-and-cross-bones pirate, that brady," muttered ferral. "i hope we can lay him by the heels and cut short his lawless career." while the eagle was being made ready, harris and carl arrived together on the scene of operations. harris wore civilian clothes and looked like anything but a police officer. "well," said he, rubbing his hands, "this reminds me of that other time, matt, when carl and jerrold and i went chasing the hawk in order to get hold of you. i hope we'll have better success this trip than we had before." "ve vill," declared carl. "matt iss mit us, now, und dot means dot ve vill haf more luck. he iss der lucky poy, all der dime." "i don't know about that, carl," laughed matt a little grimly, "my luck seems to have taken a turn." "did you look after miss brady, carl?" queried ferral. "vell, i bed you. she hat a good meal, und den i pud her apoardt a drain for der city. she vanted me to say to you dot she vas mooch opliged." "we're under more obligations to her than she is to us," went on ferral. "kind of strange, it strikes me, that she should be willing to give us a tip about her father." "you wouldn't think it strange, dick," said matt warmly, "if you knew the girl better. she knows that her father, if he is not captured, will go on and on in crime until he does something that will earn him more than a mere prison sentence. she wants him captured, and the hawk taken away from him. that was her plan when brady captured me and held me a prisoner in willoughby's swamp. but she wouldn't leave her father when i came away. she considered it her duty to stay with him up to the very last moment. it's a good thing for her that her father went away like he did. now helen can look out for herself, and do it with a clear conscience." "all ready, friends," called jerrold. "step into the car and we'll start for michigan." payne was not to go with the searching party. jerrold, matt, carl, harris, and ferral were to be the passengers. all climbed aboard and took the places to which jerrold assigned them. jerrold himself was to run the motor, but he had matt near by to "spell" him now and then. carl and ferral were to act as lookouts, and were placed as far forward as the car would allow them to go. ferral's position was almost opposite matt's. the stability of the air ship depended a good deal on its "trim," and the positions taken by the passengers at the start were to be kept throughout the trip. weighted bags at each end of the cigar-shaped envelope were used for giving the required angle for rising or falling. the pull of a lever drew in the bag at the forward point, and the eagle inclined upward. payne had already pulled aside the top of the canvas protection. "all ready," said he. the motor was started, and presently the power was switched into the propeller. the air ship took the push and arose slowly and easily into the air. "ve're off!" shouted carl. "i hope, py shinks, nodding goes wrong und ve come down in der lake. verral und i haf peen in der lake vonce, und it don'd vas any fun, i tell you dot." chapter xii. grand haven. jerrold soon demonstrated the fact that the eagle was a much faster craft than the hawk. as already stated, there was scarcely any wind, so the eagle had practically no adverse air current to contend against. pointing the air ship east by south, jerrold tuned up the engine, and the speed they made was marvelous. they could form a tolerable idea of the swiftness of their flight by watching the surface of the earth, some five hundred feet below them. "she's certainly a swifter craft than the hawk," remarked ferral. "i will improve the hawk for you," said jerrold, "so she will be just as swift as the eagle." "oof ve efer ged der hawk pack, vich ve don'd know," struck in carl. "we _must_ get her back," averred matt. "the biggest trouble with air ships equipped with gasoline," continued jerrold, "is the fact that the slightest change in the temperature affects the buoyancy. even a cloud over the sun will cause the gas to contract, and the difference in heat thrown off by the sun at morning and noon will expand the gas and also disturb the equilibrium. now i have an improvement that remedies that. it consists of a smaller bag inside the gas bag, filled with a vapor of my own invention. when the buoyancy of the outer bag decreases, that of the inner bag increases, and _vice versa_. that gives us a unit of buoyancy which is always the same, and leaves the propeller free to carry us in any direction." "greadt!" cried carl. "i don'd ondershtand vat you vas gedding ad, aber i bed it vas somet'ing fine. ach!" and he looked downward, "here ve go ofer der lake. i hope dere iss some ships all along der vay, so dot oof anyt'ing habbens ve can trop down ondo vone oof dem." "don't worry about our dropping into the water, carl," smiled jerrold, "for there is absolutely no danger of that." in an hour the eagle was out of sight of land. the sails of one or two schooners could be seen far away on the horizon, but they were too far off to be considered "company." as the eagle plowed on and on through the sunny air, with never a hitch or a sign of anything going wrong, carl's fears slowly subsided and he took delight in this novel experience of crossing a large body of water. for a time, matt relieved jerrold at the motor. so far as the young motorist could see, the eagle handled as easily as the hawk; besides that, there were points of superiority about her, in addition to speed, as compared with the brady air ship. for three hours the eagle was over the lake, and then ferral, with a shout, announced: "land ho, messmates, right under our fore foot!" harris examined the shore line, critically. a little later, when they were nearer, he turned to jerrold. "we're a bit south of grand haven," said he, "about two miles, i should judge. i can see the cottages on the trolley line that follows the lake shore." jerrold was about to shift the steering rudder so as to point the eagle directly for the town, when matt interposed. "it strikes me," said matt, "that it would be better for us to land outside the town and go in on the trolley. if we took the eagle over the place, the whole town would be out to see us. that would make it impossible for us to take this ochiltree by surprise, and might give brady and his gang a chance to clear out." "that's a level-headed suggestion," declared harris. "an air ship arouses everybody's curiosity, and if brady and his gang saw us, or heard about us, they'd know at once that we were on their track with the eagle. make a landing on the lake shore, jerrold. that ought to be easy, as the beach is clear of obstructions and covered with good white sand." "it's never hard for me to make a landing with the eagle," said jerrold. "i can come down anywhere, and ascend from anywhere." he took a look over the side. "right ahead looks like an excellent place," he went on, as he drew back. "the trees run right down to the beach, and there are no houses near. that means that our descent will be screened, and that we'll not arouse so much curiosity as we would if we alighted in a more populous place." instructed by carl, ferral, and harris, jerrold brought the air ship to rest on the beach without the slightest difficulty. "now to call on this fellow ochiltree," said harris briskly, as he stepped out of the car. "we can't all go, and i'd suggest that carl stay here with jerrold and watch the car while matt, ferral, and i call on the police department here and see if we can find out where ochiltree lives." carl's face fell. if there was going to be any trouble, he had hoped that he would have as big a part in it as any of the rest of them. ferral, noting carl's long face, clapped him on the back. "don't go into the doldrums, my hearty," cried ferral. "if brady and his gang should find out that the eagle is here, you and jerrold may have more trouble on your hands than the rest of us." carl brightened visibly. "py shinks," said he, "i hatn't t'ought oof dot. aber you bed you can drust us to dake care oof der eagle." without waiting longer, harris led matt and ferral through the timber and to the tracks of the trolley line. they had not long to wait before a car came along, headed toward grand haven. apparently, neither the conductor nor the motorman had seen the descent of the eagle, for they had nothing to say about the air ship. "we're playing in great luck, right at the start-off," said harris, in a low tone. "in how many places in this country, do you think, could an air ship come down without having a curious crowd around it inside of five minutes? not many, i'll bet; and yet, here we make a landing in the midst of a summer resort and not so much as a dog comes out to bark at us." "a good thing for us, too," returned ferral. "if there's anything to be accomplished in grand haven, we can do it, for all the odds are in our favor." "exactly," said harris. "that's the point i was trying to make." in ten minutes they reached grand haven, and in fifteen minutes they were at police headquarters, and harris was having an interview with the head of the department. harris was not long with that official, and when he came out he took a chair between matt and ferral. "prospects are bright," said he. "the chief here knows all about ochiltree, and says he's a shady character and has a record. we've got to wait for a few minutes for a plain-clothes man who is going with us to call on the party." "did the chief say anything about another air ship?" asked matt. "i was coming to that," went on harris. "yes, another air ship was seen crossing over the town about two hours ago. everybody was out to look at it, and the chief says there were four or five men in the car." "that would be whipple, pete, harper, and brady," put in matt. "that's the way i had figured it out. young brady wasn't picked up by the other four that got the hawk away from you at the balloon house. it would be a great piece of work if we could capture the whole gang." just then a small man, with a restless black eye and a beak-like face, pushed up to where harris and the boys were talking. "my name's dennison," said he. "the chief has told me what you wanted, and i'm to take you to ochiltree's place." harris gave dennison his name and introduced matt and ferral. "we hadn't better lose much time," suggested dennison. "the fellow we're looking for is usually at home this time of the day." "the quicker we can wind this up, the better," said harris. "lead the way, dennison, and we'll be right behind you." the course they followed took them across the river and then along the opposite bank in the direction of the life-saving station. there, in a patch of scrub, they came upon a small, shanty-like house. as a precautionary move, dennison went around to the back door, and left harris and the boys to present themselves at the front. it was well this precaution was taken. although harris rapped and pounded, no one answered his summons for several minutes. when a voice was finally heard from within the house, it was dennison's. "come in, harris," he called. "if the front door's locked, come around to the back of the house." the front door, however, was not locked. harris and the boys opened it and walked in. they found dennison, revolver in hand, standing in front of a sulky, black-whiskered man, who was sitting in a chair. "he didn't like your looks," explained dennison, "and so he wouldn't open the door. on the contrary, he tried to get away by the rear of the house, and so ran into me. all that looks suspicious, on the face of it." "i'm tryin' ter do an honest turn," growled ochiltree, "an' you cops keep naggin' me. it's a wonder i don't go wrong, when ye're all expectin' me to." "what did you try to duck by the back way for?" demanded dennison. "i ain't anxious fer callers," was the sullen response. "has brady been here to see you?" "brady?" queried ochiltree. "who's brady?" "come, ochiltree, that won't go down. you haven't forgotten your old friend brady, have you?" "never heard o' such a feller. if he's----" matt, who had been looking curiously around the room, glimpsed some one through the front window, stealthily approaching the house. "hist!" the young motorist whispered, turning to harris. "here comes harper, now." ochiltree began to squirm uneasily in his chair. "luck again!" muttered harris exultantly. "keep ochiltree covered, dennison, and be sure he doesn't open his mouth to call a warning. i'll take care of harper. he's one of the gang and can give us a line on brady." harris stole noiselessly to the door. matt likewise crowded up close to it on the other side. the instant harper rapped, harris flung the door open, and he and matt grabbed the astounded caller and dragged him into the room. chapter xiii. the line on brady. harper's astonishment was so profound as to be ludicrous. naturally he could not recognize harris, even as being a policeman, but he could hardly fail to be astounded at seeing matt and ferral. with a revolver in his hand, harris drove harper into a chair beside ochiltree. "what--what's the meanin' o' this?" asked harper, in faltering tones, his bewildered eyes roaming from matt to ferral, and then to ochiltree. "you'll find out the meaning of it before you're many minutes older," answered harris, with a snap of the jaw. "why, you murderous hound," he went on, "how can you look at king, there, and at his friend, ferral, and find the nerve to put such a question? i suppose you've forgotten how you tied these two lads, put them in the little room back of the balloon house, and then turned on the gas?" "it wasn't me done that," protested harper. "it was you, just as much as it was whipple or pete. the law won't make any fine distinctions, i can tell you, when it comes to playing even for that bit of dastardly work. you're in a hard row of stumps, harper. i don't know as anything can be done to help you, either, but if you show a disposition to help us, it won't hurt you any." "nothin' happened to them two kids," growled harper, recovering a little of his courage, "an' i knew all the time they'd get clear." "use the soft pedal!" warned harris. "you didn't have any such notion. anyhow, the law will handle you almost as it would if both boys had been smothered to death. it wasn't anything to your credit that they got out of that room alive. but you're not the main object of our expedition. where's brady?" "who told you where we was?" asked harper, ignoring the question. "some one gave us the tip, and that's enough for you to know. where's brady?" "i don't know where he----" "yes, you do!" the muzzle of harris' revolver was pushed closer to harper's face. he cringed away from it with a frightened look in his eyes. "don't get careless with that," he whined. "i'm not goin' to run away." "you're right you're not. it wouldn't do you any good if you did try. where's brady? i'm not going to ask you many times." "who're you?" demanded harper. "what right you got to ask me things like that?" "i'm an officer from south chicago," and harris pulled back his coat and showed the badge pinned to his vest. "and i," spoke up dennison, going through the same movements, "am a grand haven officer. you're nigged good and plenty, my man. if you know when you're well off, you'll help rather than hinder this game we're playing." harper cast an appealing look at ochiltree. the latter met the look savagely. "what ye lookin' at me fer?" he snapped. "i don't know you--never seen ye before in my life. ye can see what trouble ye've got me in by comin' here. take him away an' jug him," ochiltree added, turning to harris. "he's nothin' ter me, an' i'd like ter have ye git him out o' this house as soon as ye kin." "we'll jug the two of you, ochiltree," answered dennison grimly, "until we find out just where you stand in this business." ochiltree relapsed into his chair with a black scowl. this byplay between ochiltree and the officer did not serve to make harper any more easy in his mind. "are you going to tell us anything about brady?" demanded harris. "i'm waiting." "what's it goin' to mean to me?" asked harper, wishing to drive some sort of a bargain on his own account. "it may help you, but i'm making no promises." harper bowed his head and, for a moment, thought the matter over. evidently he made up his mind that he was cornered, and that it would be well for him to take a chance at doing something for himself. "what do you want to know?" he queried. "where is brady?" repeated harris. "he's out on the trolley line that leads toward grand rapids." "is the hawk there?" "yes. something went wrong with the hawk's motor, and brady sent me after ochiltree while he was tinkering with the machinery." "sent you after ochiltree, did he?" echoed harris. "why was that?" "give it up. i guess brady was plannin' to have ochiltree help him to steer clear of the law." "consarn you!" flared ochiltree, glaring at harper. "what ye tryin' ter git me inter this thing fer? i'll admit i useter know brady," he went on, turning to dennison and harris, "but i ain't had a thing ter do with him fer years. why he comes to me now, like this, is more'n i know." "it looks bad for you, ochiltree," commented dennison. "i know that," scowled ochiltree, "an' all because o' this mutt. he's doin' his best ter ring me in on the deal, but i'll swear i ain't got a thing ter do with it." "we'll find that out for ourselves." "how far is the hawk from town?" queried harris, again taking up his line of questioning with harper. "about two miles," was the prisoner's answer. "how'll we know the place when we get to it?" "there's a broken oak close to a platform where the cars stop to take on an' let off passengers. ye can't miss the place. get off at the platform and walk to the right, straight into the timber." "was brady to wait there until you and ochiltree joined him?" "yes." "how long will it take brady to repair the hawk?" "he figured on a couple of hours." "who's with him?" "pete and whipple." "no one else?" "no." "what's become of hector, jr.?" "he's gone east. brady thought hector, jr., had better cut out of chicago after what happened on the lake." "i see." harris turned to dennison. "we've got a good line on brady," he continued. "we'll take harper and ochiltree to the lockup, and then we'll pick up another officer and go to the platform by the blasted oak, and----" "i know the place," broke in dennison. "i've passed it a dozen times on the way to grand rapids. the quicker we pull off the rest of this the better." "my notion to a t, y, ty." harris snapped a pair of iron bracelets about harper's wrists, while dennison gave the same delicate attention to ochiltree. "i'm blamed if i can understand why ye're treatin' me in this way," growled ochiltree. "your actions are suspicious," replied the grand haven officer. "i can't keep crooks from callin' on me," protested ochiltree. "well, you'd better," was the significant response. "come along, ochiltree, and come peaceably." ferral walked on one side of ochiltree, and matt walked on one side of harper. with this escort, the two prisoners were removed from the house, taken across the river and conducted to police headquarters. if success was to attend the rest of the officers' movements, there was no time to be lost. the two prisoners had been paraded through the town, and there was the possibility that the news of their arrest might reach brady and his men in advance of the arrival of harris and dennison. another officer was secured. while the three plain-clothes men were waiting for the car, harris endeavored to persuade matt and ferral to go back to the eagle and leave the rest of the work to him, and dennison, and the other officer. "keelhaul me if i cut adrift at this stage of the game," answered ferral. "why, it's just beginning to get exciting." "i feel the same way, harris," spoke up matt. "if brady does any shooting, matt," answered harris, "you can gamble that it will be in your direction. the scoundrel has got it in for you, and he'll take any chance to play even, no matter what it costs him." "i'll look out for myself," said matt confidently. "besides, harris, you're overlooking one important point. "what's that?" "suppose brady hasn't got the hawk in shape. it would be necessary for some one that understands a gasoline motor to lay hold and finish the job. who could do that, if i wasn't along?" there was a brief silence, broken at last by dennison. "the youngster is right," said he. "perhaps he'll be needed." "what's more," averred ferral, "matt and i own the hawk, and it's right and proper that we should be there to look after it. if there's any shooting, you fellows see that the air ship isn't hurt." "we'll do our best to look after the hawk," answered harris, "but we can't forget that the capture of brady and his men is our principal business." "here comes the car," announced dennison. "tumble aboard and we'll start off on the last lap of the chase." chapter xiv. the woods by the river. there was a wait on a siding, a little way out of town, for another car from grand rapids to pass on the single track of the trolley system. five minutes were lost, and ferral fretted and fumed. "take it easy, son," said harris soothingly. "we're on the way, you know, and a little wait like this isn't going to make much of a difference." "it might, matey," answered ferral. "a whole lot can happen in five minutes." at last the car got under headway again and rushed over the remaining distance. "i'd better get off alone," suggested dennison, just as the car began slowing up for the platform. "if brady has anyone watching the platform, the fellow won't know but that i'm ochiltree, or some one sent by ochiltree and harper. the rest of you go on a little way, get off, and double back. show your badge to the conductor, harris, and he'll let you off anywhere." this was a good idea, and dennison deserved credit for thinking of it at the last moment. the success of the whole plan might depend upon the ruse. dennison debarked on the platform, and, when the car pulled out, those still aboard saw him stepping off the planks and pushing into the timber that grew close up to the stopping place. matt and ferral, as the car went on, saw the broken oak at the end of the platform. it was a plain enough landmark and not easily to be passed or mistaken. "harper is playing square with us, matey," remarked ferral, pointing to the tree. "it looks that way, dick," agreed matt. "here's where we get back our air ship," jubilated ferral. "sink me, though, but the loss of that flugee gave me a scare." "we haven't got it back yet, old chap." "i know that, but i feel in my bones that we're going to. i----" just then the car began to slow down. harris had got out of his seat, with the other officer, and had gone back to the conductor. evidently the badges worn by the two men had caused him to slow down the express car for a halt in defiance of rules. the boys, heeding a call from harris, got up and ran back along the aisle. they jumped off, after the two officers, and the car resumed its course to grand rapids. but there was a mighty curious conductor on the rear platform. as long as the car remained in sight of the four who had debarked, he looked back and wondered what was up. "we'll go back quietly," said harris. "the river is just over there, and the woods lie between it and the trolley line. we'll get to the river bank and follow it back. that ought to bring us out close to the place where the hawk landed. follow me, twitchell," he added to the other officer, "and you boys," he finished, "come along behind twitchell. quiet's the word." harris darted into the timber, which bordered the track closely. the underbrush had evidently been cleaned out, so that the timber had the appearance of a grove. on one of the trees, near the track, matt saw a big white sign bearing the words, "lots for sale." the river, as it proved, was hardly more than a stone's throw from the trolley track. turning along its bank, harris led the way back toward the vicinity of the broken oak and the platform. they all knew they had not far to go, but they were startled at the suddenness with which harris turned on them before they had followed the river bank for more than two or three minutes. "i can see the hawk," whispered harris. "she's just ahead. and brady is there--and dennison, too. they're talking. i can't see pete or whipple, and those rascals may be laying low to carry out some black plan of brady's--but we'll see about that. come along, and keep behind the trees as much as you can." as harris turned about, he drew his revolver. twitchell likewise got out a weapon. then the party separated, and each advanced from tree to tree. it was not long before matt and ferral, who were advancing near each other, were able to get a good look at their air ship. the hawk had descended in a cleared space hard by the river, and seemed to be in good condition. she was moored to the ground with two ropes at the front and rear of the car, the ropes being tied to trees. coming a little closer, the boys were able to see brady and dennison. brady had his coat off and his shirt sleeves rolled up. he was holding a heavy wrench in his hand and had evidently been working with the motor when dennison presented himself. the two men were talking, and matt and ferral were able to hear what passed between them. "what did you say your name was?" inquired brady, evidently distrustful. "gammon," answered dennison. "i'm a pal o' ochiltree's." "where's harper?" "he stayed behind at ochiltree's house." "why was that? i told harper to come and to bring ochiltree with him." "i'll tell ye the why of it, brady. ye see, the perlice are watchin' ochiltree good and hard, an' if he was seen comin' here with harper, the two of 'em might be follered. ochiltree got word ter me ter come an' put the situation up to you, an' to tell ye that he an' harper 'u'd be along when it got dark, as it wasn't safe ter come in broad day." "i see," muttered brady, studying dennison with his gimlet eyes. "harper said ye had two more men with ye," went on dennison, playing his game easily and evidently edging closer for a chance to lay hold of brady and make him a prisoner. "where are they?" "they're off watching the platform. i reckon they'll be along in a minute. prob'ly they followed you, and----" at that precise moment, pete and whipple broke out of the timber. they came up directly behind dennison and laid hands on him before he could make a move to defend himself. "what you doing?" yelled brady, leaping forward. "grabbing an officer," said whipple, with an oath. "his name's gammon, all right, an' the talk he was givin' ye, brady, was pure gammon, an' nothin' else." "how's that?" brady's voice, as he put the question, was hard and metallic, and he measured dennison with glistening eyes. "why," explained whipple, "when he got off'n the keer we seen some 'un else through a winder. i'm a sinner if it wasn't matt king. now, whatever was king doin' on that keer? by rights, he ort ter hev got shuffled out o' the game, across the lake in that balloon house. but he didn't, an' here he is, travelin' on the same keer with a feller as says his name is gammon, an' that he comes from ochiltree." dennison, as he was held helpless in the hands of pete and whipple, was studying the timber covertly, but none the less anxiously. "what have you got to say for yourself?" cried brady, advancing threateningly upon dennison. matt and ferral had been wondering why harris and twitchell had not shown themselves. unable to hold back any longer, the boys dashed forward. the noise they made drew the instant attention of brady, whipple and pete. "there's king now!" yelled pete. in a twinkling, brady dropped the wrench and drew a revolver. a sharp, incisive note echoed through the woods and across the river. matt felt the wind of the bullet as it passed his face. "look out, matey!" bellowed ferral. "duck for a tree! you're not armed, and can't take any chances. he's going to shoot again." but it was not necessary for matt to get behind a tree. before brady could fire another shot in his direction, harris and twitchell rushed upon the scene. "drop your guns!" cried harris sternly. "stand right where you are! you're our prisoners!" brady, however, was made of sterner stuff. a prison cell was yawning to receive him, and he knew it. whipple and pete, astounded by this sudden demonstration, paused undecided. their fingers relaxed, and dennison leaped away from them. "treachery!" roared brady; "harper has sold us out! fight for it, boys!" dennison, being nearer brady than any of the rest, jumped for him. he tried to draw his revolver, but it stuck in his pocket. brady had leveled his weapon at point-blank range, and only motor matt's quickness, at that moment, saved the officer's life. matt, watching the fight breathlessly, had instinctively picked up a stone. now, seeing dennison's danger, he hurled the stone at brady with all his strength. the missile sped true, struck brady's arm with terrific force and caused the revolver to drop. with wild yells, harris and twitchell rushed forward to capture brady and his two men. but pete and whipple, not knowing the extent of the forces against them, thought best to trust their liberty to their heels. whirling around, they darted into the timber, leaping from tree to tree as they ran in order to screen themselves from any bullets that might be sent after them. the bullets came fast and thick, but evidently without doing any damage, for whipple and pete did not slacken pace. brady, swearing like a pirate, turned on dennison like a madman, grabbed him about the waist and, with a tremendous display of strength, held the officer in front of him. still swearing, he began backing into the timber, with the intention of making his escape as pete and whipple had done. seeing that he would be likely to effect his purpose, matt and ferral doubled around behind him and suddenly hurled themselves upon him from the rear. brady fought like a tiger. matt could not have believed that one man possessed so much strength. dennison, whose temper was fiercely aroused by the turn events had taken, jerked loose from brady and turned to help the boys. harris and twitchell, seeing that brady was as good as captured, took after pete and whipple. chapter xv. brady a prisoner. matt, ferral and dennison were not long in getting the whip hand of hector brady. as matt and the officer held him down, dennison called to ferral to get a rope. ferral got a rope from the car and the desperate thief was finally secured, wrist and ankle. even then he continued to struggle and roar his defiance of his captors. "you might as well calm down," cried dennison, picking up the revolver which matt's missile had knocked from brady's hand. "your goose is cooked, brady, and there's no use tiring yourself out." after a few moments brady seemed to realize this. "you've got me, but you won't keep me," he snarled. "if you can get away from us," replied the officer, "you're welcome to your liberty. but you won't get away. i had too close a call at your hands to let you do that." "who in the fiend's name are you?" "a plain-clothes man from the grand haven police headquarters." "did you get this tip from harper?" "harper couldn't help himself. he and ochiltree are in the lockup." dennison turned to matt and grabbed his hand. "if it hadn't been for you, king," said he, "i'd have been laid out. you were quick as a cat and as certain as fate. i never met your kind before, and it does me good to shake hands with you. i'm mighty glad," he added, with a grin, "that we couldn't persuade you to stay behind, in grand haven." "that's the way this raggie of mine does things, dennison," remarked ferral, looking at matt admiringly. "he's chain lightning when he turns himself loose." "the best part of it all is," observed matt, anxious to change the subject, "no harm has happened to the air ship." throwing off his coat and cap, matt lost not a moment in diving into the machinery. he could see nothing wrong, and he "turned over" the engine and set it to going. it worked perfectly. "if you're looking for trouble," growled brady, turning his head to follow matt's movements, "you won't find any. i've fixed the motor--just got through with it when this cop in plain clothes showed up. if i'd known who he was----" and brady finished with a diabolical light in his eyes that told plainly what he would have done. "pass it up," said dennison curtly; "you came within an ace of getting me, as it was." "king balked me again, just as he has been doing right along," went on brady fiercely. "i'd willingly have gone to joliet for life if i could have nicked him. he's the cause of all my troubles." "bully for king!" applauded dennison. "the more i hear of him the higher he stacks up with me." "who put you next to where i was going, king?" demanded brady. "never mind about that," replied matt, getting into his coat and cap again. "we've captured you, brady, and that's enough for you to know." "captured, but not sent up," qualified brady. "nor i won't be sent up. i'll live and have my liberty until i can settle accounts with motor matt and some more of you fellows." "let him rave," laughed dennison. "that's the only thing he can do, and it won't hurt anybody." "if it was that girl of mine that tipped me off to you and harris," went on brady, "she's one of those who'll come in for a fair share of the trouble i'm going to turn loose. nice kind of a daughter she is! it's been the grief of my life that she never was more like hector, jr." matt listened to this in amazement, and his heart sickened as he turned away. at that moment, harris and twitchell came hurrying back. "where are the other two?" cried dennison. "i'd give a bunch of pay if i knew," answered harris, very much put out. "we couldn't locate them, and the thing for us to do, dennison, is to get back to headquarters and use the telegraph and the telephone." he hurried forward to brady's side. "you're in michigan," said he, "and you're wanted in illinois. will you waive requisition?" "waive nothing!" shouted brady. "all you get out of me you'll fight for." "personally," said harris contemptuously, "i don't care a toss-up. we've got you, brady, and we've got you right. by staying in michigan until requisition papers are put through you're only delaying a game that can have only one termination." "well," was the scowling response, "we'll wait for the termination. maybe somebody will get fooled before we're at the end of this." harris turned away to matt and ferral. "twitchell, dennison and i," said he, "will take brady to grand haven and put him in the lockup with harper. they'll both stand out for requisition, and they'll have to be left on this side of the lake until our governor can get the case before the michigan executive. have you looked over the hawk, matt?" "yes." "much tinkering to be done on her?" "brady had already fixed the motor so that it works as well as ever." "then you and ferral had better get aboard and make a getaway to the place where jerrold and carl have the other air ship. as soon as i finish my work in grand haven, i'll join you and we'll all go back to south chicago together. your hard luck has certainly taken a turn for the better, matt, and we want to make sure that you don't have any more backsets. whipple and pete are loose in the timber, and i'll bet they'd give their eyeteeth to be able to capture the hawk. we want to keep them from doing that, or from trying it. we'll take brady back on the trolley, but before we start i want to see you well away in the hawk." "it won't take us more than a couple of minutes to get under way," returned matt. "all aboard, pard," he added to ferral. "get into our air ship, old chap, and we'll go on a still hunt for carl and jerrold and the eagle." "aye, aye, captain matt," laughed ferral, getting into the car. matt followed him aboard and settled himself in the driver's seat. "cast off the ropes, harris, you and dennison," called matt. harris was familiar with that part of the work, and he and dennison soon had the air ship unmoored and the cables in the car. the river offered a clear stretch for rising, and matt turned the hawk in that direction. the motor began to pop and then to settle down to a steady hum. matt manipulated the steering rudder, switched the power into the propeller, and the hawk arose gracefully accompanied by the cheers of the officers. but no cheers came from brady. with baleful eyes he watched the hawk's departure. "that's the second time you've taken my air ship away from me, king," he roared. "the next time----" "there'll never be a next time," cried harris. "you're down and out, brady, and you'd better begin to realize it." up and up mounted the hawk, the river lying below her like a silver ribbon, entangled among the greenery of the trees. off to the west sparkled the waters of the lake, and in between the hawk and the shore lay grand haven, cottages and farms, all spread out like a map. "getting a bird's-eye view of a scene is a heap finer than looking at it from the ground," observed ferral, leaning over the hawk's rail and feasting his eyes on the panorama below. "we're in good trim to enjoy looking down at the landscape from the hawk," laughed matt. "right-o, matey," answered the young sailor. "i'd about given up ever taking another ride in the hawk. we're thirty-five hundred to the good by this afternoon's work." "that's the least of what we have accomplished," said matt. "the capture of brady is a bigger thing than the recovery of the air ship." "i guess that's right," said ferral, "but i'm sorry those other two beachcombers got away. they'll be making trouble for some one later." "harris will get quick action over the telegraph and telephone," said matt, "and the chances are good for the overhauling of pete and whipple." "i hope so, and that's a fact. say, i'll bet carl and jerrold will be surprised when they see the hawk coming for their part of the beach." "keep a good lookout, dick, and let me know when you sight the eagle. this is unfamiliar territory to me, and your eyes will have to guide us." "as i get the bearings," said ferral, leaning over the rail and peering ahead, "we ought to be about east by north of where we want to land. when we took the trolley we went east." "that's right," returned matt. "keep your gaze south and west, and you ought to be able to pick up the eagle." a few moments later ferral sighted the swaying bulk of the other air ship. "bear to the left a little, matt," said he, "and we'll come down right where we want to go. i can see jerrold and carl standing on the beach and looking up at us. i'll bet they're wondering whether we're in the car, or whether brady and his gang are the passengers." "wave something at them," suggested matt. "we don't want to scare them." ferral waved his handkerchief. this calmed the fears of carl and jerrold, if they had had any, and ferral reported that they were waving their hats. a few moments later matt engineered an easy landing, and the hawk was moored within a dozen yards of the eagle. chapter xvi. back in south chicago. there was some great rejoicing on carl's part when he learned what had happened in grand haven and out along the trolley line to grand rapids. "ach, aber dot all sounds too goot to be droo!" exulted the dutch boy. "i vish i hat peen dere during der fragas. ferral vas fooling mit me ven he saidt dot jerrold und i mighdt haf more drouples as der resdt oof you. dere don'd vas any tanger oof dot at any stage oof der game. prady gaptured! hoop-a-la! aber der pest oof all iss dot der hawk is pack vere she pelongs, und dot pooty soon, pympy, modor matt, tick ferral und carl pretzel vill sail avay mit demselufs py noo york. der palloon-house plot ditn't vork oudt like prady t'ought." "it would have worked out just as he planned," said matt, "if it hadn't been for helen brady." "yah, so! miss prady safed der tay for all oof us. ven ve shdart for noo york now, matt? oof ve vaid too long, den meppy dose odder two fellers, vipple und pete, vill hatch some more plots. i don'd like dot. der kevicker vat ve get avay, der pedder all aroundt." "carl's got the marlinspike by the right end, old ship," said ferral to matt. "that may be," answered matt, "but i think we ought to find out something more about what helen brady intends doing before we leave chicago." "right-o!" agreed ferral. "i was forgetting about that. she's mighty independent, though, and i doubt whether she'll let us do much to help her." "that's one of the things i like about helen brady." matt went over the hawk and found that she would need more gasoline before the trip back across the lake was attempted. jerrold was also wanting a supply, and he and matt, leaving carl and ferral in charge of both air ships, started for the nearest house to find out where they could get the fuel of which they stood in need. they found that gasoline was used for cooking, and for manufacturing gas for lighting, in the house where they inquired. the man who owned the place kindly offered to let the air ship owners have all they needed. in less than an hour matt and jerrold were back and filling their gasoline tanks. a little later harris reached the scene. the sun was down and darkness was coming on. "i couldn't get away any quicker," explained harris. "i am leaving everything in good shape here, though. harper is willing to go back to south chicago without any requisition papers, but i thought it best to let him stay and take him across the lake at the same time we took brady." "i should think that would be better," agreed matt. "harper is ready to turn states' evidence against the gang in the hope of getting a light sentence," went on harris. "he claims to know where some more stolen property has been secreted, so i suppose there will be a few happy people in south chicago if he proves that he knows what he's talking about." "the law will deal lightly with harper, i suppose," put in jerrold, "if he does all that." "i guess so, but the law will not let him off scot free. harper will go to the 'pen,' but he won't get anywhere near the sentence that brady will." "how long will brady go up for?" "that's hard to say, but it will be long enough to keep him out of mischief for twenty or thirty years." "what is going to be done with ochiltree?" asked matt. "nothing. ochiltree will be kept in the lockup until the officers in this part of michigan have had a chance to capture whipple and pete. after that, ochiltree will be turned loose." "what are the chances for capturing whipple and pete?" "good. we have used the wires in every direction, and also coupled a description of grove with the descriptions of the other two." "why, shiver me," cried ferral, "i hadn't thought about grove! what became of him, harris?" "harper says that grove was put down on the lake shore, just before brady and the rest started across. i don't know how true that is, and i'm just telling you what harper told me. but harper's information has panned out straight goods, so far. he says that grove showed signs of weakening, and that brady, in a temper, cut loose from him. it may be that grove will join whipple and pete, somehow, and i thought it well to telephone and telegraph his description along with the others. but what are we going to do, jerrold? wait here until morning?" "i don't think we'd better," said jerrold. "the night bids fair to be as calm as the day has been, and we can cross the lake easily enough by moonlight. if we wait until to-morrow we may have a high wind, and perhaps a storm. air ships, and flying machines of every sort, ought to be under cover in a time like that. we'd better make the most of the good weather. don't you think so, matt?" "you know more about air ships than i do, mr. jerrold," answered matt, "but, from my brief experience with the hawk, i think a storm would be bad business for an air ship. i've weathered out storms in balloons, but it's possible, with just a plain gas bag, to get above the clouds and the tempest. you can't safely do that with machines like ours." "well," said harris, "if we're going to south chicago to-night, the quicker we start the quicker we'll get there. i'll confess i'm not in love with the idea of hanging out on this beach all night with these two air ships. we can't tell what might happen, with grove, and pete, and whipple at large." "then," said jerrold, "we'll pull out at once. you start first, matt, and we'll follow." "i'll ride mit my bards," said carl, "und harris can come mit you, misder jerrold." the ropes were cast off and matt manoeuvred the hawk upward and out above the lake. when they had got a good "offing," as ferral described it, those in the car could look back and see the dark, weird shape of the eagle flinging itself upward against the lighter background of sky. what little wind there had been, during the day, had gone down with the sun, and perfect silence, save for the lapping of the waves, reigned on every hand. the eagle soon overhauled the hawk, and side by side the two air ships made toward the illinois shore. could anyone in a boat have seen the air ships, the sight presented would have been strangely exciting. the spectacle would have been prophetic, too, of man's coming command of an element heretofore out of his reach. as time passed, the moon arose as if out of the water, and a scene of weird beauty unrolled to those aboard the hawk and the eagle. "i vould radder be a sailor oof der air dan oof der sea," remarked carl, breaking a silence during which all hands had been enjoying their novel surroundings. "why so, carl?" came across from the eagle, in the voice of harris. "pecause," said carl, "you got four vays to go insteadt oof two. in a sea ship, you don't vas aple to go oop und town." "once in awhile, matey," laughed ferral, "a sea ship goes down." "yah," averred carl, "und she shdays town. go on mit dot song vat you vas singing mit yourseluf, tick, der dime vat you vas coming py der poarding house to see matt. it vas a pooty fine song, i tell you dot." ferral had a fine voice, and he at once broke into "in cawsand bay lying," and followed it through from start to finish. harris thereupon tuned up, and when he got through carl piped out in german. this singing was kept up, off and on, during the entire trip across the lake. it was decided, just as the air ships were hoving over south chicago, that matt and his chums should take the hawk to the balloon house and stow her away there. harris would go on to jerrold's place in the eagle, and then send a couple of policemen from headquarters to watch the hawk until the boys were ready to leave. this programme was carried out without a break. it was about three o'clock in the morning when the boys got their sand bags in place along the bottom rail of the car and towed the hawk into her old berth. half an hour after that a detail of two officers arrived and went on guard. matt, ferral and carl went into the small room at the back of the balloon house, and two of them took possession of the cots and the third had a bed made for him on the floor. it was carl who stretched out between the two cots, and it was he who remarked, just before he dozed off to sleep: "you fellers came pooty near daking a long shleep here, hey?" "stow it, matey!" cried ferral. "i'll be dreaming about that now." "ach, donnervetter!" returned carl, "dere iss pedder t'ings as dot to tream aboudt, ferral. for insdunce, tream oof der vay matt shtruck some shtreaks oof hardt luck, und den turned der hardt luck to goot atvantage py gedding prady gaptured." "and recovering the hawk," added matt. "there's a silver lining to every cloud, dick." "there's never a flat foot nor a shellback but will tell you same thing, messmate," agreed ferral heartily. "good night, or good morning, whichever you want. i'm ready to take my stretch off the land, and here goes." two minutes later the fateful old balloon house was steeped in silence. the end. the next number ( ) will contain motor matt's daring rescue or, the strange case of helen brady. the disappearance of helen brady--the important letter--by the old quarry--a queer situation--pete and whipple make a capture--brady's proposition--a surprise at hooligan's--back to the canal--brady returns with hot news--the mansion on the river--the fight--daring work--helen's ordeal--the capture of pete and whipple. motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction new york, may , . terms to motor stories mail subscribers. (_postage free._) single copies or back numbers, c. each. months c. months c. months $ . one year . copies one year . copy two years . =how to send money=--by post-office or express money-order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. at your own risk if sent by currency, coin, or postage-stamps in ordinary letter. =receipts=--receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. if not correct you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once. ormond g. smith, } george c. smith, } _proprietors_. street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york city. the red spider. "this," said phil clode, setting down his bag, "is the limit!" having given vent to which expressive remark, he laughed to himself and gazed round upon the most desolate scene that it had ever been his fortune to behold. behind him stood a small, wooden erection, not unlike an enlarged run, which was, however, dignified by the name of station. for the rest, a clove-brown plain stretched away to infinity, marred only by the shining ribbons of the railway track and an occasional clump of cactus or greaseweed. "the limit," the boy repeated solemnly. "hullo! there's a man, or something very like one. i will get a line on to his vicinity, and try to extract a little useful information." picking up his grip, he hustled over to where a specimen of the cowboy genus had lounged from behind the station, leading a broncho that looked rather the worse for wear. phil, as he approached, saw that a bag branded with the sign "u. s. mail" was slung over the beast's saddle, and his eyes brightened. he knew that even in that deserted region of colorado any servant of uncle sam's could be trusted. "say," he sang out. "can you give me any notion where i am, mister? i was told to get off at silver bridge, and here i am right enough, but i can't see much sign of the town." "you on foot?" the other returned with undisguised astonishment. "you must be stark----" "broncho waiting for me at silver bridge," phil interrupted shortly. he had urgent reasons for not wishing to talk about his private affairs. "so?" the man muttered with a sidelong glance. he had a pleasant face, rough but good humored, and the lad took to him instinctively. "you're an easterner, ain't yeh?" "yes, and proud of it." "that's all right. i'm from the east, too, only i've been here so long that yeh wouldn't think it. i guess yeh'd better hop up behind me, pardner. betsy's a game chicken--she's carried three before now." "you going to silver bridge, then?" phil queried as the cowboy stroked the unprepossessing broncho fondly. "i should smile. i'm cattle tender to the ore-crushing plant there." phil received this information with a start, but made no remark. in silence he mounted behind the man, who gave his name as idaho bart, and felt with some surprise the plain bumping rapidly away beneath them, as the broncho, becoming a bunch of throbbing muscles, pounded eastward with the regularity of tirelessness of a steam engine. the mail rider did not seem disposed to let the silence continue. out west curiosity about another man's affairs is usually the signal for gun play, but idaho bart proceeded to break the rule by a series of interrogations of the most pointed and particular description. phil clode, however, was old for his years, and he met him at every point, giving a false name, and a reason for his arrival at silver bridge that was so obviously wide of the truth that the mail carrier, having turned in the saddle to fix him with a twinkling eye, emitted a short laugh, and relapsed into taciturnity. this muteness remained undisturbed until they were in sight of silver bridge, the big ore-crushing town, the shares of which, back in wall street, were at a premium. it appeared suddenly as they topped a swelling hill that surrounded two sides of the city like a wall, and phil surveyed it with the curiosity of first acquaintance. it reminded him of a battle ship out of action--of something titanic which is wrapped in incongruous slumber. though only midday, not a sound rose from the vast collection of shacks and wooden buildings. the mighty ore crushers and distributors were idle, the men lounged listlessly round the two hotels, and the river swirled past unstained by the red of washed metal. the river? in those two words lay the tragedy--the reason of the inaction that spelled ruin to thousands, including the canvas-coated men who diced and gambled and swore in the saloons. for the river was now a mere meandering stream, and the power that worked the mills was gone, leaving the great plant worse than useless, for it would cost more than it was worth to entrain it to any place where there would be the likelihood of a buyer. "looks pleasant, i don't think," idaho bart said bitterly as he watched phil's keen, dark eyes glancing over the drowsy, deserted streets, splashed golden by the afternoon sun. "two weeks ago yeh would have opined that yeh were back in new york. busy? i guess we had got the fountain of youth faded to a harlem ash can, when it came to hustling." "and now the river's gone," the boy rejoined quietly. his remarks were all couched to extract information without giving any in return. "say, that's a right hook on the jaw of truth! it's a lead-pipe cinch that this is about the most mysterious thing that ever gave a whole layout brain storm. the river stopped in the night, and we woke up to find this here dribble. the men are going to pike out, if there don't come a change 'fore saturday." phil muttered something to himself. "why don't you find out what has dammed the source of the river?" he asked a moment later. "say, yeh are a young green-growing thing, all ready canned and labeled!" bart sniggered. "do you know that the source of silver river is up in black cañon?" "what of that?" queried phil ingenuously. "oh, come off! this ain't the season for spring chickens, i reckon. i only know of three men what have been into black cañon, and come out alive. two o' them were engineers belonging to the united states reclamation service, and they had the time of their lives. the other was a indian, and went in to escape the posse that was trailing him for hoss stealing. he said afterwards that he wished he'd stopped and been lynched." phil made no reply to these revelations, for they were now in the main thoroughfare of silver bridge, and the ore-stained men were lounging up with a tumultuous outcry for the mail. they also bestowed upon the boy the benefit of their rather doubtful wit, but, finding that they got rather better than they sent, soon betook themselves back to the enticements of the saloons, leaving idaho bart to take the few official letters up to the office. "say, kid, where are yeh going?" he drawled as he strode away with the loping movement peculiar to the riders of the plains. "to mr. allsoner," phil returned carelessly, keeping pace with him. he made a clucking sound in his cheek. "if yeh are after a job, yeh'd better carry your store clothes away along the shining homeward track right now," he said poetically. "old allsoner's hoppin' mad, and he'll have yer scalp before yeh could say teddy." "i don't want a job," was the irritating reply, and phil grinned as he noted the other's mystification. the office of mr. allsoner, general manager of clode's silver bridge reducing company, limited, was not an imposing structure. in fact, it might well have been taken for a stack of damaged firewood by the uninitiated, but phil clode did not make this mistake. suddenly shouldering his way ahead of idaho bart, he entered the office at a run, and disappeared into the manager's private office--the most sacred spot in the whole townstead--with a coolness that left the two clerks in the outer department absolutely petrified. mr. allsoner, however, was far from being petrified, and he had already used more adjectives than could be found in any dictionary before he looked up, started as though he could scarcely believe the evidence of his senses, and ejaculated: "phil clode!" "yes, it's me," was the ungrammatical rejoinder. "father's got to keep his eye on the market, or we'd go up in a balloon before an hour was through, and there was nobody else to come. mr. allsoner, there's treachery afloat." the keen-eyed business man uttered an exclamation of wonderment, and then, rising, locked the door. "spit it out," he said tersely. "you know our river is stopped." "i do." "it's been dammed purposely." the manager had just seated himself, but he leaped up again at these quietly spoken words. "nonsense! the source is in black cañon." he made his rejoinder with an air of finality, as though there was no room left for argument. "nevertheless, father overheard a conversation between two wall street brokers that convinced him that they have paid some bad man to dam the river for a time. it's a certainty, not guesswork." mr. allsoner stared at him in bewilderment. "i may be dense, phil, but i fail to see what good damming our river would do to anybody." "you are dense," smiled the boy. "don't you see? silver bridge river runs dry. panic in wall street, and two-hundred-dollar shares sold in bucketfuls, and bought by the men who have had the river dammed. then, after, say, a month, when they've got control of every share in the market, down comes the river again, up go the shares to top notch, and they've netted a cool million." silence reigned for a minute, while the manager reviewed this startling idea. then he murmured "jove!" in the tone of one seeing visions. "you couldn't tell me who's working the rig, could you?" he asked facetiously. the realization that the stoppage was only temporary acted like a tonic. "the boys would give him a lively time, if they got their fingers in his wool. it would be a case of the nearest telegraph pole." "the man mentioned," phil answered in a cautious whisper, "was nicknamed red spider." "what! by heavens, you are right! red spider is an outlaw half-breed, horse stealer, cattle runner, murderer, and everything else abominable. he is known to have a cache up in the hills, too." "then catch red spider before eleven o'clock to-morrow. at that hour there is a meeting, and the state of affairs here will become public property. the river must be running before then." "there isn't a man here that will go into the black cañon, and i don't blame them," the manager declared hopelessly. "it's certain death." "what red spider can do we must do." "he's discovered some secret way. besides, a cross between an omaha indian and a mexican produces something tougher than a white man." "i start at midnight," said phil clode, strolling toward the door. it was a few minutes after midnight when phil clode rode out of the town. he was alone. as one man the ore workers had jeered at the idea of attempting to penetrate into the famous black cañon. they had already been as far as possible, and found the river unstopped. it had failed at its source, they argued. such things had been heard of before. mr. allsoner did not agree with this latter conclusion, but he was entirely convinced that any attempt to enter the cañon would be futile, and he did not scruple to tell phil so. the boy, however, although he pretended to accept the manager's decision as final, secretly determined to make an attempt at solving the mystery single-handed. he knew that the failure to resume operations on the morrow would mean ruin to his father, and with the impetuosity of youth he stigmatized the ore workers as a pack of "superstitious grandmothers." once out of sight of the camp, he urged his game little steed to a gallop, and set off to where the mountains rose stark and flat against the mauve-colored rim of the horizon, keeping his course by the dried river bed that led the way into the very heart of black cañon. after about an hour's hard riding the track grew even too steep for the broncho, and phil, tethering the animal to a rock, made his way forward on foot. gradually the walls of rock rose up and encompassed him, leaving only a strip of sky faintly seen above his head, and the stillness became so unearthly that he paused occasionally to cast a stone down a chasm for the mere pleasure of hearing it rattle. arrived at the entrance of the cañon, he halted and surveyed the way for a few minutes. as allsoner had told him, the river--now a morass of horrible mud--entirely filled the gulch from side to side, rendering progress without a boat an impossibility. the dam controlling the flow, however, was built half a mile farther up, and this was reached by a species of aërial railway, built on the plan of the old overhead switchbacks, with a car slung to a double rope, worked by block and pulley on the return journey. it was certainly not an inviting mode of progression, but phil did not falter. setting his teeth, he grasped the iron ladder that led up to the summit of the first trestle, and mounted steadily. by the time that he reached the top the wind was shrieking in his ears with demoniac fury, and the trestle seemed to sway bodily before the furious gusts, although only a mild and gentle breeze could be felt in the cañon below. buttoning his fluttering jacket tightly around him, he stepped nervously on to the flat, swaying car, and fumbled with the two hooks that held it in place, being secured to a couple of iron rings in the top corners. with a sudden swoop the frail craft left its moorings, and phil found himself spinning at a dizzy speed through space. presently the slope became less steep, and as his conveyance slackened speed he was able to look about him. not that there was much to be seen, even though the moon rendered it nearly as light as day. before him the ropes ran on in an everlasting stream, and on each side nothing was visible but the walls of rock, smoothed in places by human handiwork to allow of the passage of the traveling cradle. occasionally the car would almost stop as it passed with a shock over the platform of one of the trestles, and phil found that, by clutching the railings at the proper moment, he could arrest it without feeling any particular strain. he had closed his eyes, and was almost enjoying the rush through the scented night air, when he felt a sudden shudder run through the car, as if it had struck against something. opening his eyes hastily, he peered round, and then a terrified cry rose to his lips. the swaying cradle had a new passenger, in the shape of a picturesquely garbed mexican, who glared upon the boy with fierce wolfish orbs, fiery and bloodshot, as he flourished a long-barreled revolver in his face. phil did not need to inquire who the stranger was. he guessed, and rightly, that it was red spider, the outlaw of the plains, who stood before him. "carajo!" the man hissed gutturally, thrusting the firearm forward until it snicked the boy's nose. "whose baby are you? why are you here? answer, or over the side you go!" leaning forward, he seized phil's wrist in a vise-like grip, and forced him slowly toward the edge of the car. "come to that, who are you?" the boy retorted pluckily. "you've got less right than i have to be here, i guess." the half-breed's teeth grated with fury at this impertinence. "i am left here to guard the trestle railway," he yelled, with a curse. "and my duty is to shoot brats who have no business here!" he pushed the revolver into phil's face, gradually forcing him nearer and nearer to the edge of the vibrating car. "you find so many boys trying to steal rides on the trolleys, don't you?" that worthy choked, keeping his wits by a mighty effort of will. he could see that they were rushing rapidly toward the last platform, and, if he managed to cling on till then, he might manage to escape, hopeless as it seemed. reaching out as the red spider made a vicious lunge, he caught hold of one of the iron crossbars that secured the car to the rope, and held on like grim death. the outlaw, with a shriek of fury, lifted his revolver, and his finger was pressing upon the trigger when the last platform stopped their progress with appalling abruptness. phil, clinging desperately as he was, narrowly escaped being flung off, and the mexican, unprepared for the impact, literally hurtled through the air. over the boy's head he flew, spread-eagled and screaming, and went down--down--down, with the swiftness of a shot bird, and disappeared into the purple mists that veiled the bottom of the cañon from sight. a crash, a single soul-appalling scream, and red spider had vanished forever from the sight of men. sick at heart, phil clode lay for a few minutes without tempting to move. then he rose cautiously, and, keeping his eyes averted from the dreadful cañon, commenced the descent. before he had reached the bottom all his natural courage had returned, and he pressed on with renewed energy, inspired by the idea that the outlaw might have left some trail which would lead to his hiding place. it was black as within a tomb now, for the rocky walls towered up and up higher than the eye could reach. the track was no more than a smear along the face of the cliff, and phil began to realize the difficulties that he was to encounter as he proceeded inch by inch, clinging on with teeth and hands, with a thousand-foot drop waiting below. the path, too, grew narrower, and he was just about to relinquish his herculean task in despair when he saw a gleam of light--lantern light--searing the eternal glooms like a streak of fire, and not twenty yards ahead of him as he rounded a sharp bend. in another minute red spider's secret lay revealed. a square of rock, fitted with powerful hinges, had been opened inward, and the lantern set in the entrance as a guiding light when the outlaw returned. beyond, the path grew so narrow that it was a human impossibility to scale it; below, until the mysterious catastrophe of its cessation, lay the river, sliding and thundering in cascades and waterfalls, and usually fifty feet or more deep. phil realized that the passage of black cañon was a thing to be dreamed of, and not attempted. taking up the lantern, he set off at a brisk pace up the sandy tunnel at the entrance of which it was placed, keeping his eyes open for pitfalls and fissures. the passage led to the right, and perceptibly upward, and ere long he found himself walking parallel with what had once been the river. after an hour's hard walking he came suddenly into a spacious cave, and found himself gazing once more at the oozing river bed, and at--red spider's dam! yes, there it was, a great mass of blocks of stone, walling the cañon from side to side, and cunningly diverting the foaming water into a subterranean stream that had been uncovered and channeled for the purpose. picks and ropes, and blocks of stone, were strewn around in every direction, and just over the mouth of the underground river hung a platform of planking supported by countless ropes, and loaded with a ton or more of cut rock. phil was not long in doubt as to its use. with a little bubbling cry of joy he produced his clasp knife, and went to work busily to hack the ropes in twain. a score of them were severed, when an ear-splitting crack made him start hastily back. next instant the whole load of rock fell with a mighty crash, completely blocking the entrance to the subterranean stream that had been draining the life from the river. something had to give way, and red spider's cunningly constructed dam was directly in the path of the river as it swelled, and rose, and bellied upward. then, with a roar louder than any thunder, it broke the barrier away, and hurled itself into black cañon with irresistible fury, to race and tumble down to where the silver bridge reducing company's plant was waiting to sully its foaming waters with the red stain of the ore. pigeon-whistle concerts. a traveler in eastern lands tells the following little story of the chinese and their most unique pigeon whistles. "one of the most curious expressions of emotional life in china is the application of whistles to a flock of pigeons. these whistles, very light, weighing hardly a few grammes, are attached to the tails of young pigeons soon after their birth, by means of a fine copper wire, so that when the birds fly the wind will blow through the whistles and set them vibrating, thus producing an open-air concert, for the instruments in one and the same flock are all tuned differently. on a serene day in peking, where these instruments are manufactured with great cleverness and ingenuity, it is possible to enjoy this aerial music while sitting in one's room. "there are two distinct types of whistles--those consisting of bamboo tubes placed side by side, and a type placed on the principle of tubes attached to a gourd body or wind chest. they are lacquered in yellow, brown, red, and black to protect the material from destructive influences of the atmosphere. the tube whistles have either two, three, or five tubes. in some specimens the five tubes are made of ox-horn instead of bamboo. the gourd whistles are furnished with a mouthpiece, and small apertures to the number of two, three, six, ten, and even thirteen. certain among them have besides, a number of bamboo tubes, some on the principal mouthpiece, some arranged around it. these varieties are distinguished by different names. thus a whistle with one mouthpiece and ten tubes is called 'the eleven-eyed one.'" latest issues brave and bold weekly all kinds of stories that boys like. the biggest and best nickel's worth ever offered. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --madcap max, the boy adventurer; or, lost in the land of the mahdi. by frank sheridan. --always to the front; or, for fun and fortune. by cornelius shea. --caught in a trap; or, the great diamond case. by harrie irving hancock. --for big money; or, beating his way to the pacific. by fred thorpe. --muscles of steel; or, the boy wonder. by weldon j. cobb. --gordon keith in zululand; or, how "checkers" held the fort. by lawrence white, jr. --the boys' revolt; or, right against might. by harrie irving hancock. --the mystic isle; or, in peril of his life. by fred thorpe. --a million a minute; or, a brace of meteors. by weldon j. cobb. --gordon keith under african skies; or, four comrades in the danger zone. by lawrence white, jr. --two chums afloat; or, the cruise of the "arrow." by cornelius shea. --in the path of duty; or, the fortunes of officer dan deering. by harrie irving hancock. --a bid for fortune; or, true as steel. by fred thorpe. --a battle with fate; or, the baseball mascot. by weldon j. cobb. --three brave boys; or, adventures in the balloon world. by frank sheridan. motor stories the latest and best five-cent weekly. we won't say how interesting it is. see for yourself. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. --motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. --motor matt's century run; or, the governor's courier. --motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the "comet." --motor matt's mystery; or, foiling a secret plot. --motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear. --motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto. --motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward. --motor matt's air-ship; or, the rival inventors. --motor matt's hard luck; or, the balloon house plot. --motor matt's daring rescue; or, the strange case of helen brady. --motor matt's peril; or, castaway in the bahamas. tip top weekly the most popular publication for boys. the adventures of frank and dick merriwell can be had only in this weekly. =high art colored covers. thirty-two pages. price, cents.= --dick merriwell's "dip;" or, the mysterious movements of a hat. --dick merriwell's rally; or, making a fighting finish. --dick merriwell's flier; or, the champions of the ice. --frank merriwell's bullets; or, a steady nerve and a sure hand. --frank merriwell cut off; or, the result of the great spring rise. --frank merriwell's ranch boss; or, big bruce and the blossoms. --dick merriwell's equal; or, the fellow with the flying feet. --dick merriwell's development; or, the all-around wonder. --dick merriwell's eye; or, the secret of good batting. --prank merriwell's zest; or, the spirit of the school. --frank merriwell's patience; or, the making of a pitcher. --frank merriwell's pupil; or, the boy with the wizard wing. --frank merriwell's fighters; or, the decisive battle with blackstone. --dick merriwell at the "meet"; or, honors worth winning. _for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address on receipt of price, cents per copy, in money or postage stamps, by_ street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york =if you want any back numbers= of our weeklies and cannot procure them from your newsdealer, they can be obtained from this office direct. fill out the following order blank and send it to us with the price of the weeklies you want and we will send them to you by return mail. =postage stamps taken the same as money.= ________________________ _ _ _street & smith, - seventh avenue, new york city._ _dear sirs: enclosed please find_ ___________________________ _cents for which send me_: tip top weekly, nos. ________________________________ nick carter weekly, " ________________________________ diamond dick weekly, " ________________________________ buffalo bill stories, " ________________________________ brave and bold weekly, " ________________________________ motor stories, " ________________________________ _name_ ________________ _street_ ________________ _city_ ________________ _state_ ________________ adventures of a boy genius motor stories most five-cent weeklies are founded upon the adventures of boy wonders who perform all sorts of impossible feats and who never act or talk as a boy really does. this is displeasing to the intelligent boy of the present day, who is better educated, and who, consequently, demands more logical reading than the old-time boy did. the boys who want to learn something from what they read, as well as to be interested by it, will never find another publication that will satisfy them so well as motor stories. "motor matt" is not an impossible boy character. he is simply a youth who has had considerable training in a machine shop where motors of all kinds were repaired, and who is possessed of a genius for mechanics. his sense of right and wrong is strongly developed, and his endeavors to insure certain people a square deal lead him into a series of the most astonishing, but at the same time the most natural, adventures that ever befell a boy. buy the current number from your newsdealer. we feel sure that you will be just as enthusiastic about it as the fifty thousand other boys throughout the united states have become. here are the titles now ready: no. .--motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. no. .--motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. no. .--motor matt's century run; or, the governor's courier. no. .--motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the "comet." no. .--motor matt's mystery; or, foiling a secret plot. no. .--motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear. no. .--motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto. to be published on april th no. .--motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward. to be published on april th no. .--motor matt's air-ship; or, the rival inventors. to be published on april th no. .--motor matt's hard luck; or, the balloon house plot. to be published on may d no. .--motor matt's daring rescue; or, the strange case of helen brady. to be published on may th no. .--motor matt's peril; or, cast away in the bahamas. =price, five cents= at all newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, by the publishers upon receipt of the price. _street & smith, publishers, new york_ transcriber's notes: added table of contents. italics are represented with _underscores_, bold with =equal signs=. replaced oe ligatures with oe for the text edition (they are retained in the html version). page , changed "who" to "whose" ("whose past record") and changed "motor mart" to "motor matt" ("who aids motor matt"). page , added missing italics to "helped the skipper sail the _christina_." page , changed "gratfying" to "gratifying." page , changed "dutsy" to "dusty" ("clothes were dusty"). page , changed "intrrupted" to "interrupted" after "now i rise to you." page , changed "wtih" to "with" ("with the regularity of tirelessness"). courtesy of the digital library@villanova university (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction no. april , five cents motor matt's air ship _or_ the rival inventors [illustration: _motor matt, as he drove the air ship steadily against the wind, kept close watch of the captured aeronauts._] _street & smith publishers new york_ motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction _issued weekly. by subscription $ . per year. entered according to act of congress in the year , in the office of the librarian of congress, washington, d. c., by_ street & smith, _ - seventh avenue, new york, n. y._ no. . new york, april , . price five cents. motor matt's air-ship; or, the rival inventors. by the author of "motor matt." contents chapter i. capturing an air-ship. chapter ii. a queer "find." chapter iii. the balloon house. chapter iv. the kettle continues to boil. chapter v. hoyne street. chapter vi. carl investigates. chapter vii. jerrold, brady's rival. chapter viii. jerrold's gratitude. chapter ix. aboard the hawk. chapter x. willoughby's swamp. chapter xi. a foe in the air. chapter xii. brady changes his plans. chapter xiii. into the swamp. chapter xiv. a desperate chance. chapter xv. a daring escape. chapter xvi. the end of the mid-air trail. the big cypress. characters that appear in this story. =matt king=, concerning whom there has always been a mystery--a lad of splendid athletic abilities, and never-failing nerve, who has won for himself, among the boys of the western town, the popular name of "mile-a-minute matt." =carl pretzel=, a cheerful and rollicking german lad, who is led by a fortunate accident to hook up with motor matt in double harness. =hamilton jerrold=, an honest inventor who has devoted his life to aeronautics, and who has built a successful air-ship called the eagle. =hector brady=, a rival inventor who has stolen his ideas from hamilton jerrold. his air-ship is called the hawk and is used for criminal purposes. brady's attempt to secure motor matt's services as driver of the hawk brings about the undoing of the criminal gang. =whipple, needham, grove, harper and pete=, members of the brady's air-ship gang of thieves. =helen brady=, hector brady's daughter, who helps motor matt. chapter i. capturing an air-ship. "py shiminy grickets! vat do you t'ink oof dot! see dere vonce, matt. a palloon, or i vas a lopsder! und vat a funny palloon it iss." motor matt and his dutch chum, carl pretzel, were sitting by a quiet country roadside, in the shade of some trees. drawn up near them was a light touring-car. the boys were several miles out of the city of chicago, from which place they had started about the middle of the forenoon, and they had halted in that shady spot between hammond and hegewisch to eat the lunch they had brought with them. carl had just finished the last piece of fried chicken when, happening to look skyward, he saw something that brought him to his feet with a jump. as he called to his chum, he pointed with the "drum-stick," at which he had been nibbling. matt's surprise was nearly as great as carl's, and he likewise sprang up and gazed at the air-ship, which was coming toward them from the north and east, making smart headway against the wind. "great spark-plugs!" exclaimed matt. "that's the first air-ship i ever saw." "vat's der tifference bedween a palloon und a air-ship?" asked carl. "well, you can navigate an air-ship with the wind or against it, while a balloon is at the mercy of every current that blows. a round gas-bag and a basket is a balloon, carl, but when you add a gasolene-motor and a propeller you have an air-ship." "dot's blain enough. der air-ship iss sky-hootin' dis vay to peat four oof a kindt. say, it looks like a pig cigar. vat a funny pitzness! und you nefer seen vone pefore, matt?" "i never saw one that would travel successfully. this one, though, seems to be going in good shape." "you haf seen palloons meppy?" "more than i can count," said he. "i've been up in balloons a dozen times. when i was in the berkshire hills they used to have races, and start from pittsfield. that's where i began making ascensions." carl dropped his wondering eyes to matt for a moment. "you vas der plamedest feller!" he exclaimed. "you haf tone more t'ings as any feller i ever see, und you nefer say nodding ondil it shlips oudt, like vat it toes now." motor matt made no answer to this. just then his attention was completely absorbed by the air-craft. as near as he could judge, the cigar-shaped gas-bag was more than a hundred feet long. beneath the bag was suspended a light framework. midway of the framework was an open space, containing a chair in which sat the man who was handling the motor. out behind the driver the framework tapered to a point, and at the end of this rearmost point was the whirling propeller. the glittering blades caught the sun in a continuous sparkling reflection, which made the air-ship appear to be trailed by a glow of fire. forward of the cockpit, or open space, was the motor. a rail ran around the cockpit. there were two men in the car--the one in the driver's seat and another in front of him, leaning over the rail. this second man seemed to be looking at the two boys, and to be waving his hand and giving directions to the driver. along the side of the gas-bag matt was able to read the name "hawk," printed in large letters. the hawk was about a hundred feet above the surface of the earth. a long rope depended from the car, and twenty or thirty feet of it dragged along the ground as the car moved. "vat's der rope for, matt?" inquired carl. "if that was an ordinary balloon," replied matt, "we'd call the rope a guide-rope. usually the guide-rope helps to save gas and ballast. when you want a balloon to go up, you know, you throw out sand; when you want it to come down, you let out gas. that trailing rope acts as ballast. when the gas expands, and the ship wants to rise, part of the rope that trails is lifted from the ground and throws more weight on the car; and when the gas contracts, and the car shows a tendency to descend, more of the rope falls on the ground and takes just that much weight off the car." "dot's as clear as mud!" "i can't understand why they've got a drag on the air-ship," muttered matt. "i supposed the propeller and the steering-blades were enough to send such a craft wherever it was wanted to go." as the hawk came nearer, matt's trained eyes and ears convinced him that the driver of the air-ship was a poor motorist. evidently he did not understand the engine he was handling. the air-ship zigzagged erratically on its course, and the long bag ducked upward and downward in a most hair-raising manner. on top of that, matt could hear one of the cylinders misfiring. the hawk's drag-rope was trailing along the roadway. first it was on one side of the road, and then on the other, following the irregular swaying and plunging of the car. "come on, carl!" called matt, turning and running for the automobile. "if that rope strikes our car it may damage it. we've got to fend it off." "dose air-ship fellers vas mighdy careless!" answered carl, hurrying after his chum. "dot rope mighdt knock town fences, und preak vinders, und do plendy more tamages." "there isn't power enough at the other end of it to do much damage," matt answered, posting himself at the rear of the automobile and watching the advancing rope with sharp eyes. by that time the hawk was almost over the boys' heads. the rope, of course, was dragging far out behind, and the trailing part of it bid fair to pass the car well on the right. "hello, there!" shouted the man at the rail of the hawk, leaning far over and making a trumpet out of his hands. he seemed to be excited, for some cause or other. "hello yourseluf, vonce!" called back the dutch boy. "keep a leedle off mit your rope--ve don'd vand it to make some drouples for us." "the air-ship's out of control," the man shouted. "we can't stop the motor and the ship's running away! grab the rope, hitch it to your automobile and tow us back to south chicago. we'll give you a hundred dollars for your trouble. be quick!" "i like his nerf, i don't t'ink!" growled carl. "he vants to run off mit us und der pubble, und----" "we can tow the air-ship, all right," cried matt, "providing we can get the rope fast to the automobile. we'll have to take a half hitch with the trailing end of the rope around a tree, and bring the air-ship to a stop." matt started for the rope. as he bent down to lay hold of it, the car gave a lurch sideways and the rope was whisked out of his hands and was thrown directly against carl's feet. carl grabbed it. at the same moment the air-ship took an upward leap, on account of the weight which carl had taken off the car. this leap flung carl into the air. he turned a frog-like somersault, hands and feet sprawled out, and came down with a thump, flat on his back. "whoosh!" he yelled, a good deal more startled than hurt, sitting up on the grass and shaking his fist at the bobbing craft overhead, "you dit dot on burpose! vat's der madder mit you, anyvay? vat for----" carl forgot his fancied grievance watching motor matt. the latter, making another leap at the rope as it settled back again after overturning carl, succeeded in laying hold of it. he had the rope by the end, so that when he picked it up none of the weight was taken from the ship, and carl's disastrous exploit was not repeated. "wrap it around a tree!" yelled the man at the air-ship's rail; "take a half-hitch around a tree!" the man might just as well have saved his breath. that had been motor matt's plan, all along, and even as the aeronaut was shouting his instructions matt was jumping for the nearest tree. the young motorist had little time to make the rope fast. the whirling propeller was driving the hawk onward against the wind at a fair rate of speed. had there been no opposing wind, matt would not have had time enough for the work ahead of him. "come on, carl!" he shouted. the dutch boy stopped watching and made haste to lend a hand. matt was already at the trunk of the tree, but the rope had traveled onward so rapidly that he had less than a yard of it in his hands to work with. throwing himself on the opposite side of the tree, matt laid back on the end of the rope. at that moment carl reached his side, dropped near him and likewise took a grip on the free end of the drag. "it's der fairst time," panted carl, "dot i efer heluped make some captures mit an air-ship. shinks! look at dot, vonce!" the driving propeller had forced the hawk to the end of its leash. the boys, with only a half wrap of the rope around the trunk, felt the quick pull, but easily controlled it. the pull was steady, but, inch by inch, they worked more and more of the rope around the trunk until there was enough to make a knot. "dot's der dicket!" exulted carl, scrambling erect. "ve've got her tied like a pird mit vone foot. now how ve going to ged her hitched ondo der car?" "we'll have to find out what's the matter with the motor, up there," answered matt, "and see if the power can't be shut off." as he spoke, he got to his feet and walked down the road to a point directly under the air-ship. chapter ii. a queer "find." both passengers in the air-ship were now leaning over the rail of the suspended car. "hitch us on to your automobile," shouted the one who had been doing the driving, "and tow us back to south chicago." the offhand way in which the man spoke proved that he was lacking on the practicable side of his nature. "that's a whole lot easier said than done," matt called back. "it was only by a happenchance that we got your drag-rope tied to the tree. if you've got an anchor-rope up there, throw it down and we'll make it fast to the car before we cast off the other." "that's the only long rope we've got," answered the man. "well," went on matt, "you ought to be able to see what sort of a job we're up against. your motor is pulling hard on the rope, and the moment we take the rope from the tree it will be jerked out of our hands. don't you know how to run a gas-engine?" "i know how to start a gas-engine," was the amazing response, "but i don't know how to stop it." "py shiminy grickets!" whooped carl, "you vas a nice pair to shtart off mit a gasolene-air-ship. you vas in luck nod to make some landings on chupiter, mars or to hit a comic." matt likewise thought it was an odd situation, but believed it would be well to get the two helpless aeronauts down on terra firma before asking for an explanation of their predicament. "do either of you know what the gasolene-tank is?" he asked. the heads disappeared within the car for a moment, then one reappeared over the railing. "yes, we've found that, all right," said the man. "and the carburettor--do you know where to look for that?" "is that the thing that makes the spark?" carl let off a howl of derision. "ach, du lieber, vat a ignorance! der carpuretter makes der gas, dot makes der exblosions in der cylinter, dot moofs der biston dot makes der bropellor go 'roundt. i know dot meinseluf, efen dough i vasn't so pright like modor matt." "there's a pipe leading from the gasolene-tank to the carburettor," continued matt, "and there's a valve which should be worked by a lever. close that valve and you'll shut off the supply of gasolene. when you do that, the motor will stop, and we can work down here to better advantage." the head disappeared again and the car rocked and swayed as the two men scrambled around in it. their ignorance, however, increased rather than lessened the difficulty. the misfiring of the one cylinder ceased and the motor took up its humming rhythm at an even faster speed. the fresh impetus of the propeller put a harder pull on the rope, and the strain bore sudden and unexpected results. with a yell of dismay the driver of the machine leaned over the rail of the car. he had thrown off his hat and his coat was unbuttoned. "we're making it worse!" he cried. "i wish to thunder you could come up here and----" just then the drag-rope, which could not have been properly fastened to the car, let go and dropped earthward in sinuous coils. the man doubled farther over the rail in a futile and foolish effort to lay hold of it. something fell from the pocket of his coat, fluttered through the air and landed in the top of a tree. matt noted the flight of the fallen object only incidentally, for the major part of his attention was taken up with the actions of the car. the steering rudder had become elevated, and the air-ship started at a tremendous clip toward the clouds. the two aeronauts could be seen rushing around the car like mad. while the two boys watched, the rudder was brought down to a level; but something else had gone wrong, for the machine could not be maneuvered. swiftly the air-ship diminished to a mere speck in the southern sky, and then vanished altogether. carl turned a blank look at matt and gave a long whistle. "dot proofs, matt," said he, "dot id don'd vas goot pitzness to monkey mit t'ings you don'd know nodding aboudt. oof dose fellers run into a shooding shdar dere vill be some fine smash oops." "why they ever ventured up in the air-ship, knowing so little about how to manage it, is a mystery." matt gave his head an ominous shake. "vat vill pecome oof dem?" queried carl. "if they can get the steering rudder to working, they can drive the air-ship to the ground. anyhow, the supply of gasolene will have to give out, in time, and then they may be able to come down." "dere iss somet'ing crooked aboudt dose fellers. oddervise, dey vouldn't be vere dey are." "did you see something drop from the driver's pocket, carl?" "nix. iss dot vat habbened?" "yes. it landed in the top of that tree, over there." "meppy ve ged holt oof der t'ing und find oudt somet'ing aboudt who dose fellers vas, und for vy dey vent off for a fly mitoudt knowing how to manach der flyer?" matt proceeded to the foot of the tree in whose branches the fallen object had alighted. lifting his gaze upward, he peered sharply into the foliage. "i see it," he announced, pointing. "und me, too," said carl. "it vas vite, und round, like a punch oof bapers rolled oop. how ve ged him down, hey? meppy ve t'row some shticks ad him?" suiting his action to the word, carl picked up clubs and stones and hurled them upward in an endeavor to dislodge the object. finding that these efforts were unsuccessful, matt threw off his coat and hat and climbed the tree. the roll of papers was lodged far out in the fork of a branch. standing on the branch, he jumped up and down on it and jarred the roll loose. carl caught it deftly as it fell. "hoop-a-la!" he yelled; "here she vas, matt. come down a leedle vile ve look him ofer." in a few moments matt was again on the ground. the roll, which carl immediately handed to him, he found to contain a number of sheets wrapped compactly in a piece of white paper. "i guess we'll open it and not stand on any ceremony," said matt. "sure!" exclaimed carl. "for vy nod?" "it's not exactly the right thing to do. they're not our papers and we haven't any business tampering with documents that belong to some one else. under the circumstances, though, and considering that the whole affair of the air-ship is a strange one, and that we may be able to help the two men in some way through the information the roll may contain, we'll have a look at it." going back to the place where they had eaten their lunch, the boys sat down and matt opened the little bundle. a dozen blue prints of mechanical tracings were revealed. in the center of the roll was a sealed envelope, bearing no address or writing of any sort. "dere's nodding aboudt der plue prints to helup us know somet'ing," said carl. "oben der enfellup, matt." "no," returned matt, "we can't do that. that would be going a little too far." "vell, ve got to do somet'ing oof ve findt oudt who dose fellers vas." "we'll wait, and give them a chance to claim their property." "how dey vas going to glaim it, hey? dey didtn't dell us who dey vas, und ve ditn't dell dem our names." "we know the air-ship came from south chicago. i don't believe there are very many air-ships in that place, and if we inquire around a little we ought to be able to find out who owns the hawk." "righdt you vas! somevay, matt, you always know vat to do ven eferypody else iss guessing. shall ve ged indo der car und go pack to der pig city py vay oof sout' chicago?" "that's our cue. if we can discover who owns the hawk we'll leave these papers there for him." matt rolled up the envelope and the papers and stowed them safely away in his pocket. "i know dere vas some niggers in der vood-pile, all righdt," averred carl. "two fellers vouldn't go off mit an air-ship dey don'd know how to run oof eferyt'ing vas like it ought to be." "there may be a whole lot of sense in what you say, carl," replied matt, "and then, again, the explanation of the queer layout may be extremely simple. don't get to imagining things, old chap, but coil up that rope and throw it into the car. we'll carry it back to south chicago and leave it at the same place we leave this roll of blue prints." while carl was coiling up the rope, matt gave his attention to the automobile. when carl arrived and threw the rope into the tonneau, matt was busy with the crank. presently they were in the car and headed back along the return course. hardly had they got under good headway, however, when a flurry of dust showed in the road ahead of them. as the wind blew the dust aside, a horse and buggy with two men broke into view. in accordance with the rules of the road, matt slowed down to make sure the horse did not take fright at the automobile. the horse was going at a run, and the men seemed to be excited. the one who was driving drew rein as the rig came alongside the car. "say," shouted the men, "did you boys see an air-ship anywhere in this vicinity?" "yes," answered matt. "it was going south." "then we're on the right track?" "so far as we know; but the air-ship was unmanageable and----" the men in the buggy did not wait to hear any more. the driver began plying his whip and the horse again leaped onward. "who were those two men?" yelled matt, anxious for a little information. "thieves!" came the answer, as rig and passengers once more vanished in a cloud of dust. chapter iii. the balloon house. "yah!" shouted carl. "vat i dell you, matt? i knew dere vas somet'ing der madder! dem two fellers vas t'ieves, und dey haf shtole der air-ship. py shinks, dey haf got demselufs indo drouple, und it vas goot enough for dem. vat you going to do?" matt had begun turning the machine in the road. when he had pointed it the other way, he started off at a swift pace on the trail of the two men in the buggy. "we'll try and overhaul those two fellows," answered matt, "and tell them what we know. the information we've picked up may be valuable to them." "dey don't vas endidled to it," averred carl. "vy ditn't dey shtop und ask us somet'ings? anyvay, how can dey ketch a flying machine mit a horse und puggy? you mighdt as vell dry to ketch a sky rocket mit a papy carriage." "the hawk will have to come down," said matt, "and if those men are anywhere near it when it hits the earth they'll be able to recover the machine and catch the thieves." "oof der machine hits der eart' so hardt as vat i t'ink, it von't be vort' nodding, nor der t'ieves neider." "there's a chance that the rascals will come down safely. if those men in the buggy had had their wits about them, they'd have hitched their rig to the fence and have jumped into the automobile. we could have hustled them over the ground four times as fast as they were going." a few moments later the boys reached a place where the road branched. the horse and buggy were not in sight along either road. "vich vay now?" queried carl. "it's all guesswork," answered matt, "but it's always a pretty good plan to keep to the right," and, with that, he drove the car along the right-hand branch. after five minutes of fast running, they had not overtaken the rig and it was still not to be seen anywhere ahead. the boys knew they had been traveling three or four times as fast as the two men were going, and that, if they were on the right track, the men should have been overtaken long before. disappointedly, matt halted the car and turned it in the other direction. "no use, carl," said he. "those men must have taken the left-hand fork instead of the right. they're too far away, now, for us to think of finding them. we'll hike for south chicago." "dot's der pest t'ing dot ve can do," returned carl. "ve'll find der owner oof der hawk und gif him der trag-rope und der bapers." "we won't find him. he must have been one of those two men in the buggy. probably we can find where he lives, though, and turn the rope and the papers over to some one who will give them to him." "meppy ve pedder take der shtuff to der bolice, hey? oof der fellers vas t'ieves, dot enfellup mighdt gif der bolice a line on dem." "there's something in that, too," muttered matt. "we'll try to find the owner of the hawk, though, before we call on the police." an hour later, the boys came into south chicago along a turnpike that passed the rolling mills. a man on a motor-cycle was just coming out of a fenced enclosure near one of the mills, and matt halted him for the purpose of making a few inquiries. from his looks, the man was of some consequence in the steel rail plant, and probably was well-informed as to affairs in south chicago. "do you know of any one around here that has an air-ship?" asked matt. the question was something of a novelty, and the man laughed as he rested one foot on the ground and balanced his motor-cycle upright. "i suppose air-ships will be thicker'n hops, one of these days," said he, "but just now they're about as seldom as hen's teeth. i understand there are a couple of men here who are working at air-ships--one of them came to the mills to see if he couldn't get some aluminum castings. he's got a balloon house about a quarter of a mile down the road, on the left. drop in there and maybe you'll find the man--and the ship, too." matt thanked the man and followed him slowly as he sputtered off into town. the balloon house, which was plainly visible from the road, was a long, high shed, and occupied a solitary position in the midst of a marshy field. the doors in one end of the shed, arranged in a series and reaching from ground to roof peak, were open. leaving the automobile at the roadside, the boys climbed a fence and made their way across the flat ground to the big house. on reaching the opened doors, one glance showed them that there was no air-ship in the shed. on the earth floor, along one side of the great room, were two or three work benches and a litter of wood and metal scraps. there was also, in the farther end of the chamber, a number of small tanks, presumably used for the manufacture of hydrogen gas. as the boys stood in the doorway, two brawny men showed themselves from behind these tanks. they wore greasy overclothes and their sleeves were rolled up. "get out of here!" yelled one of the men. "we don't allow any reporters around this shebang." "we're not reporters," answered matt, standing his ground. "do you keep an air-ship here?" "well, that's what this big shed is for." the two men came closer to the boys, one of them filling and lighting a cob pipe as he approached. "is the name of it the 'hawk?'" went on matt. "right again," said the man who had been doing the talking. his eyes were like gimlets, and bored their way into matt through narrow slits. "who's the owner of the hawk?" asked matt. "i'm the owner, and my name's hector brady. if jerrold has sent you here----" "i don't know any one by the name of jerrold. who is he, and why should he send me here?" the sharp little eyes continued to study matt. "before i say anything more," answered brady, "you'd better tell me a little about yourself." "i don't know as that's necessary, or----" "you'd know how necessary it is if you were inventing machines and trying to keep your appliances a secret. i'm not the only man in south chicago that's perfecting an air-ship. a fellow named jerrold has cut into the same game, and he has some one nosing around here a good share of the time, trying to get wise to something. if jerrold has sent you here----" "he hasn't," broke in matt. "i don't know jerrold from adam." "what's your name?" "king, matt king." brady gave a jump. "you don't mean to say you're the young western phenomenon the lestrange people have brought to chicago to run in that five-day automobile race that's turned on at the coliseum to-morrow?" "i'm one of their racers," answered matt. "they have four more in the race besides me." "well, by thunder!" brady stood off and regarded matt as though he was a natural curiosity. "why, you're no more than a kid! they had your picture in the paper, after that kansas race, but you're a heap younger than i thought. i guess you've forgotten more about gasolene-motors than a whole lot of people ever knew." "oh, it isn't so bad as that. i came here to do you a good turn, mr. brady, and i can't see the sense of raking up my past history. your air-ship has been stolen, hasn't it?" "stolen?" brady gave another startled jump. "not that anybody knows of. why? what put that in your head?" matt was "stumped." he looked blankly at carl and found that carl had turned an equally blank look at him. "where is the hawk now?" queried matt. "she went out on a trial spin with three men in the car. expect her back any moment." there was a shifty look in brady's face, and he spoke in a fashion that aroused matt's suspicions. "then the hawk wasn't stolen and you didn't send two men with a horse and buggy to look for her?" queried matt. "we saw the air-ship, but there were only a couple of men in the car and the machine was out of control. we tried to stop the craft by means of the drag-rope, but the rope broke loose and the hawk got away. one of the men on board dropped a roll of papers out of his coat-pocket and we picked it up." brady looked at the other man. the glances they exchanged were significant, and both swore softly. "here's a purty kettle o' fish!" growled the fellow with the pipe. "what dy'ye s'pose has happened, brady?" brady muttered something unintelligible, and whirled to matt with a scowl. "that roll of papers belongs to me," said he. "just pass 'em over, king." "i don't know whether i ought to give them to you, mr. brady, or to the police," answered matt, making no move to take the roll from his pocket. "police!" exclaimed brady. "what the blazes are you talking about? the fellow on that car was working for me, and the papers belong to me." "then you ought to be able to identify the roll," proceeded matt, coolly. "what did it contain, mr. brady?" "just papers." "typewritten-papers?" "well, yes, some of them were typewritten." "how were they tied up? in a piece of yellow paper?" "that's it. hand 'em over. it's queer they got lost out of the car in that way, but mighty lucky you picked 'em up." "i guess you're thinking of the wrong roll," said matt, coolly. "the one you've described isn't the one we found." "whether the description is right or wrong, the papers are mine, and i'll have 'em!" brady, in sudden temper, hurled himself at matt. the other man, taking his cue from brady, jumped for carl and grabbed him by the arm. "hoop-e-la!" tuned up carl. "be jeerful, eferypody! here's somet-ing vat ve ditn't oxbect!" and, with that, the dutch boy began struggling and using his fists. chapter iv. the kettle continues to boil. both matt and carl were well skilled in the art of self-defense. matt, perhaps, was a shade more adept in the use of his fists. neither of the lads, however, had been looking for violence, and the sudden attack of brady and the other man had taken them by surprise. the two men had plenty of muscle, and brady was desperately determined to secure the roll of papers. the very fact that he was using force to accomplish his designs proved that he was not entitled to the papers. for that reason, matt was determined to keep them away from him at all costs. "hold the dutchman, pete!" puffed brady, hanging to the collar of matt's leather coat and trying to get one hand into the inside pocket. "quiet, dutchy," threatened pete, as he and carl swung back and forth across the big shed. "i'll strangle ye if ye ain't peaceable. ye ain't got no sense, roughin' things up like--wow!" at that instant, carl landed a telling blow on the point of pete's chin. a bushel of shooting-stars must have danced in front of pete's eyes, for the jolt hurled him backward and caused him to claw the air in an attempt to keep his balance. he was not more than an instant getting the whip-hand of himself, and when he came out of his brief daze he was as mad as a hornet. "i'll kill ye for that!" he yelled, and picked up a heavy hammer that lay on the floor. pete was between carl and the open end of the shed; he was likewise between carl and matt and brady. the struggle had carried pete and the dutch boy down toward the middle of the balloon house. matt, out of the tails of his eyes, saw the dangerous position in which pete's temper was placing carl. the young motorist had been successfully fending off the attempt of brady to get into his coat pocket; now, thinking carl might need him, he undertook more aggressive measures. an empty box, which had evidently been used as a seat, stood just within the big door. with a sudden lurch, matt heaved himself against brady and knocked him backward over the box. as brady felt himself falling, the instinct to save himself caused him to let go of matt. the instant the young motorist found himself with the free use of his fists, he let drive at brady and still further helped him over the box. with a roar of anger, brady doubled up on the floor. matt whirled and darted for pete, reaching that scoundrel just in time to catch the arm that was whirling the heavy hammer. the hammer was wrenched away, and matt cast it against the wall of the balloon house. "cut for it, carl!" cried matt. "run for the road!" "you bed my life!" wheezed carl. "dis blace don'd vas gedding fery comfordable." brady was picking himself up from the floor as the boys rushed past with pete in hot pursuit. "get those papers!" yelled brady. "i'll git that dutch kid if it costs me my life!" whooped pete. brady rushed after pete, and there was a chase across the marshy meadow toward the road. carl was chunky of build and not nearly so good in a sprint as was matt. matt was in the lead on the rush from the balloon house, but, anticipating that carl might have further trouble with pete, he slackened his pace. it was well that he did so. pete was steadily gaining on carl and would undoubtedly have overtaken him had matt not executed a quick move with an empty salt barrel that lay in the line of flight. at the right moment, matt rolled the salt barrel in front of the enraged pete. pete's shins slammed against it, then he dropped on it and plowed up the mucky soil with the top of his head. so far as the set-to was concerned, it was settled right there, brady being so far in the rear that the boys were able to clear the fence and get into the automobile before he could come anywhere near them. as a matter of fact, brady gave up the fight as soon as he had witnessed pete's mishap with the barrel. as the two chums glided away toward the more thickly settled part of south chicago, they could look back and see brady assisting the disgruntled pete to an erect position. the barrel had been smashed, and brady was scraping the mud off pete with one of the staves. "how you like dot, hey?" gloried carl, standing up in the automobile and shaking his fist. "you vill know pedder der next time dan to make some foolishness mit modor matt und his bard. yah, yah, yah!" carl wanted to be as tantalizing as he could, but the automobile was getting too far away. sinking down in the seat beside matt, the dutch boy chuckled blithely. "dis has peen a pooty fine leedle trip, matt," he observed, "und has peen full oop mit oxcidement oof a nofel kindt, yah, so helup me. dot's vat i like. i'll bed my life dose fellers t'ink dey vas fell on mit a brick house. vat's der madder mit prady, anyvays?" "there's something queer about that air-ship affair," answered matt, thoughtfully. "the two men who rode past us in that buggy said the pair in the car were thieves, but brady didn't know anything about the hawk's being stolen. brady said, too, that there ought to have been three men in the car instead of two. the one who was missing may have been the driver. that would account for the poor work the other two were making with the engine." "ve can make some guesses," said carl, shaking his head, "aber ve don'd know nodding. dot roll oof bapers don'd pelong to prady. vell, oof dot's der gase, whose bapers vas dey?" "that's a conundrum." "vill you dake dem py der bolice?" "i've been thinking of that, and i believe i'll talk with mr. harkrider before i do anything more. he'll tell us just what to do, and i'm sure his advice will be good. you see, carl, we're not entitled to the papers any more than brady is, when you come to figure the thing down to a fine point. if the fellow who lost them out of the car turned up and claimed them, we'd have to give them to him." mr. harkrider was superintendent for the lestrange manufacturing company, the eastern representatives of the jarrot automobile company of st. louis. following the borden cup race, in kansas, matt had entered the services of the jarrot people, and they had sent him to chicago to take part in the five-day race at the coliseum. while waiting for the race to start, matt and carl had had the use of any machine they wanted in the lestrange garage, so they had put in their time riding around the city and out into the suburbs. that is how they happened to be on the road beyond south chicago at the time the hawk was running away with the two aeronauts. unusual experiences always seemed to gravitate toward matt, and this air-ship affair was one of the most novel that had ever come his way. what it was leading up to, he did not know, but it was evident there was a whole lot more to the matter than appeared on the surface. after a quick and uneventful run into chicago, matt drove the automobile into the lestrange garage and asked for mr. harkrider. to his disappointment, mr. harkrider had left for the day and would not return to the garage until the following morning. "well," said matt, as he and carl left the garage and proceeded toward their boarding house, "i guess the delay won't make much difference. i'll be busy with the race to-morrow, but you can take the papers, carl, and do with them whatever mr. harkrider advises." it was nearly supper time, and after the boys had had a wash, and a good meal, they went up to their room. close to eight o'clock, just as they were getting ready for bed, a rap fell on the door. matt answered the summons and found a boy with a telegram. the young motorist had been receiving a great many telegrams, since his kansas victory, and supposed the message must be from some motor-car manufacturer who wanted to secure his services. but he was destined to a surprise. the telegram had been sent to the lestrange garage, and by the foreman there forwarded to the boarding place. "matt king, care lestrange company, chicago: "come immediately to twenty-one-naught-nine hoyne street, south chicago. important matter relative to runaway air-ship. i will pay your expenses. "hamilton jerrold." "more aboudt dot air-ship pitzness," muttered carl. "who vas dot jerrold feller?" "he must be the man that brady told us about," said matt. "jerrold seems to be a rival of brady's, in this air-ship matter, and the message looks like a good clue. it won't do any harm to follow it up, anyhow." "dere iss somet'ing about dot vat i don'd like," demurred carl. "i got some hunches dere iss underhandt vork afoot." "i know there's underhand work going on," said matt, "but we've been rung in on the deal and have got to see it through. i'm curious to learn more about the affair." "meppy dot same curiosidy vill make you some drouples," suggested carl. "you can't haf dot, ven der racing iss on do-morrow." "the jarrot people have several good men in the five-day race, so it won't make much difference if i'm not one of the drivers. anyhow, i don't intend to be all day in south chicago." "it don'd look righdt for you to go pack dere alone," grumbled carl. "i vouldn't be easy a minid." "i am not going alone," laughed matt. "you're going along, carl." the dutch boy brightened at once and had no more objections to offer. "ach, dot's tifferent! ve vill shdart ad vonce. how ve go? on a pubble?" "no, we'll take a railroad train. i don't want to go fooling with a car at this time of night." "is dere a train ve can ketch?" "lots of them. south chicago is a suburb, and we can leave here every half hour. we ought to be back by midnight." without debating the matter further, the boys started forthwith. chapter v. hoyne street. hoyne street was easily found. a number of blast furnaces stood so near the house the two chums were looking for that the flames from their tall chimneys lighted up the surroundings so brilliantly that they were able to read the number over the door. the house was a two-story frame structure. the gas and smoke from the neighboring iron mills had shriveled and scorched everything in that part of the town. even by night, and under the glow of the furnaces, hoyne street had a dismal and dreary appearance. no. was set well back from the sidewalk. two branching wings, in front, made the house look like a deserted manufacturing plant. this impression was heightened by several broken windows. there were no lights in the windows other than the reflected glare from the high chimneys. "whoosh!" muttered carl, as he and matt came close to the front of the house and read the number. "dot's der blace, matt, aber it don'd look pooty goot to me. der feller vat lifs dere don'd got enough money, i bed you, to pay for sending dot delegram. der hen oof drouple iss aboudt to hatch somet'ing." "it may be," answered matt, who likewise had a queer premonition of trouble, "but we've come this far and i'm going to see the thing through. if anything goes wrong in that house it will be on account of that roll of blue prints. i'll leave the roll with you, carl, and you can stay outside. i won't be in the house more than fifteen minutes at most." "vell, you look a leedle oudt, matt, dot's all. oof somet'ing goes wrong mit you, led off a yell und i vill come gallywhooping." "i don't think anything will go wrong with me if i haven't those papers in my pocket." carl shivered. "chee, but der leedle fires on der chimneys iss prighdt. somet'ing aboudt dis blace gifs me a creepiness oof der skin. be jeerful, be jeerful! don'd shday in dere longer as den minids, matt, oder i vas likely to t'row fits." "i'll come out as soon as i can, carl," answered matt. "don't fret. i'm able to take care of myself in a pinch." "oof you see der pinch fairst, yah, i bed you! aber oof der pinch come ven you don'd vas looking, den vat?" matt laughed as he turned away, climbed a short flight of steps and drummed on the front door. he had to rap three or four times before his summons was answered. a light showed itself through a fan-shaped transom over the door, and a hand could be heard fumbling with a rusty bolt. in a minute or so the door was drawn open and a girl stood revealed. she carried a lamp with a smoked chimney, and one of her slender hands protected the flame from the draft. she was eighteen or nineteen years old, and, in spite of her coarse calico gown, she was extremely pretty. her prettiness, however, was not what impressed matt. the first thing he noticed was that the hand shielding the lamp was trembling. lifting his eyes to the girl's face, he observed that she wore a frightened look. "does mr. jerrold live here?" matt asked. the girl stared at him; her lips moved, but no sound came through them. matt repeated the question. "y-y-yes," faltered the girl. "my name's king," answered matt. "mr. jerrold sent me a telegram and asked me to come here to-night." the girl leaned forward eagerly as though she would say something. before she could speak, if she had intended to, a sound as of some one moving in the darkness behind her, caused her to draw back. "please come in," she said breathlessly. matt entered the hall. the girl closed the door behind him and then, with the lamp shaking in her hand, led him into a room off the hall. the room was evidently a parlor, although its furniture was meager and shabby. "please sit down," said the girl, placing the lamp on a table. "mr. b--mr. jerrold will be here in a few moments. would you like to read while you're waiting?" matt started to decline, but the girl had already picked up a book from the table, opened it and was handing it to him. he looked at her in astonishment. from her frightened face his eyes fell to the book that was quivering in her hand. there was an appeal in her manner which caused him to take the book. "thank you," said he. the book was opened at the fly leaf. on the leaf was written the following: "you are trapped. i would have warned you, if i could, but he would have killed me. now you are in the house, you can't get away. do whatever you are told to do and all will be well. lay the book back on the table, and don't let any one know what you have read here." matt was astounded. trapped! and he had walked into the trap with his eyes wide open! who was the girl and why had she run the risk to warn him? and what good was her warning to do if he did not take advantage of it and make his escape? "now you are in the house, you can't get away." he read those words again, and after he had read them he looked about the room curiously. there were two windows in the room and they were screened with thick curtains. matt, however, could see no one. if the trap had been sprung where were the ones who had sprung it? he realized that if he made an attempt to get out of the house now, those who had entrapped him would immediately conclude that the girl had given him a warning. thus he would not only fail to get away, but would bring punishment upon the girl for her attempt to help him. "do whatever you are told to do and all will be well." he read that over again and made up his mind that he would follow the advice. he laid the book back on the table, and, just at that moment, the girl re-entered the room. "i have read that book," said he. "here's a newspaper," said she. as she held the paper in front of him she pointed to an article, evidently intending that he should read it. the girl was a mystery to matt. from her manner there was no doubt about her being anxious to do whatever she could to shield him. leaving the paper in his hands, she walked over to the table, opened the book and deftly extracted the fly leaf. then she vanished from the room once more. matt drew his chair closer to the table so that he could get the full benefit of the dim light. the first thing he noticed was that the paper was a week old. it was a chicago daily. the column to which the girl had called his attention was headed, "burglaries continue! astonishing series of robberies in south chicago are still kept up! thieves make off with loot and leave not a clue behind! police authorities baffled! latest victims hartz & greer, jewelers!" here followed an account dealing with a number of mysterious burglaries, but matt, because of the danger in which he found himself, did not give the article the attention he would otherwise have done. he did wonder, however, why it was that the girl had pointed out the article to him. while he was wondering, a step sounded in the hall and a form showed itself in the hall door. the man was brady! matt sprang up. brady came into the room with an easy air and gave vent to a short laugh. he was quite a different looking man when out of his greasy overclothes, but there was no doubting his identity. matt's fist had left a bruise on the side of brady's face, and the spot was covered with a square of court-plaster. "surprised?" queried brady, dropping into a chair. before seating himself he was careful to draw the chair in front of the hall door. "were you the one who sent me that telegram?" asked matt. "guilty!" was the chuckling response. "you were expecting to meet jerrold, eh? i was a little in doubt as to whether you'd bite at the bait, but took a chance. you're a mighty accommodating young fellow, king. why, you came all the way out here, at this time of night, just to give jerrold those papers! didn't it strike you as being a little bit queer that jerrold should have asked you to come and see him when it was his business to go and see you? and then, again, how did you think jerrold got hold of your name and address? oh, well, you've a lot to learn yet, my lad." "i'm learning you pretty fast, brady," said matt. "you have fooled me, but you've gained nothing by it." "i think i have," was the other's cool reply. "you'll not get that bundle of papers." "no? haven't you got them with you?" "i left them where they'd be safe." "then you suspected there was something a little off-color about that telegram?" "yes." "plucky boy! nevertheless, you dropped into my trap, and that's the main thing. those papers cost me a good deal of scheming, and if you were really thoughtful enough to leave them in a safe place, i'm mighty sorry." "you can search me," said matt, "if you're not willing to take my word." "i'll search you quick enough." "then hurry up; i want to get away from here." "those papers are not the whole of it," went on brady. "i want to make you a proposition, king. i need a motorist for the hawk, and i think you'd about fill the bill. how would five hundred a month strike you?" "five thousand a month wouldn't strike me. in the first place, mr. brady, i don't like your methods and wouldn't work for you at any price; and, in the next place, i am already in the employ of the lestrange people." "you'll work for me all right whether you like my methods or not." there was an ugly look in brady's eyes and an ugly note in his voice. "you're just the sort of youngster i need, and now that i've got a grip on you i don't intend to let you get away." "it takes two to make that sort of a bargain!" matt had edged around toward one of the windows with the intention of making a break through the door. brady got up. "what are you waiting for, pete?" he called. matt turned a quick gaze about him, wondering from which direction pete was to appear. then, quick as a lightning flash, the curtain behind him gave way and fell in smothering folds over his head and shoulders. two brawny arms encircled him like the jaws of a vise. he fought with all his strength, and tried to yell to carl. but one effort was as ineffectual as the other. pete and brady had him between them, and he was utterly powerless. chapter vi. carl investigates. carl hated a "waiting" game. if there was anything going on, he liked to be right in the midst of it. on top of all this, he was vaguely suspicious of everything connected with that telegram. when matt went up and knocked on the door of the house, carl was hoping the summons would not be answered; but when the door opened, and matt disappeared inside the house, carl's real worries began. pacing back and forth on the walk, the dutch boy impatiently counted the seconds and checked off the minutes. no sound came from the building, and, after the light had vanished from the hall, not a ray was to be seen at any of the windows. "i t'ink, py shiminy," muttered carl to himself, "dot der fifdeen minids vas oop. vell, i count off fife more schust for goot measure. after dot, oof matt don'd come, i vill make some infestigations." owing to the lateness of the hour, and the obscure section of the town through which that part of hoyne street ran, no one passed the front of the house. carl's solitary vigil was not relieved by the sight of any chance traveler. mentally he checked off another five minutes. during the counting he fancied he heard a noise in the house, but it was so muffled and indistinct he could not be sure. matt did not show himself, and carl started his investigations. his first move was to run up the steps and pound on the door. although he made enough noise to wake the entire neighborhood, he couldn't bring anybody to the entrance. he tried the knob, but found the door fastened. then he hurled his weight against the door in the hope of breaking it in. the door must have been in better repair than the rest of the house, for it withstood his attack with scarcely a shiver. carl's temper was always pretty close to the surface, and his failure to get into the house caused him to forget his forebodings on matt's account and to get good and mad on his own. "i vill find matt oof i haf to preak down a vinder!" fumed carl, jumping down from the steps and starting to run around the side of the house. "hello, there!" shouted a voice most unexpectedly from the sidewalk. "what're you up to, hey?" carl halted and looked around. in the glow of the furnace fires he saw a man standing in front of the house. "vat iss it your pitzness?" he snapped. "i'm going to ged indo dot blace oof i haf to preak holes in it!" "i'll make it my business, quick enough!" called the other. "come here, and be quick about it." there was authority in the voice, and the command was accompanied by a backward sweep of the hand under a long coat. when the hand reappeared, there was a glimmering object clutched in the fingers. the light also glimmered on two rows of buttons on the speaker's coat. "ach, du lieber!" muttered carl. "you vas an officer, hey?" "come here, quick!" ordered the man. "tell me where that balloon came from. it seemed to rise from around in this vicinity somewhere." by that time, carl had reached the walk. the officer pointed upward, and carl's eyes, following the finger, saw an air-ship clearly outlined against the glow of the blazing chimneys. the cigar-shaped gas-bag and the pendent car stood out plainly. the front end of the air-ship was pointed upward, and it was vanishing swiftly into the night. "himmelblitzen!" gasped carl. "dot vas der hawk! it must be der hawk!" "hawk, eh?" returned the officer. "what do you know about it? the thing seemed to rise up in the air from around here." "iss dot so?" cried carl, excitedly. "vell, i ditn't see him, und dot's righdt. i vas drying so hardt as anyt'ing to ged indo der house." "i heard you tryin' to break in the door. don't you know it's against the law to do that?" "i don'd care for der law! my bard vent indo dot house und left me to vait. ven i vait plendy long enough for him und he don'd come, den i make some infestigations. no vone answers my knock on der door, und for vy iss dot?" "you say a friend of yours is in the house?" "sure! don'd i vas delling you?" "when did he go in?" "haluf oof an hour ago--all oof dot." the officer began questioning carl and got from him pretty near the whole of the affair--matt's name and occupation, the experience with the air-ship in the early part of the afternoon, nearly everything concerning the roll of papers, the receipt of the telegram, and the night visit of the boys to south chicago. this policeman was an intelligent member of the force, and he at once concluded that here was a matter which called for official investigation. "we'll get into the house and find out about your friend," said he. "your yarn is a queer one, but has the true ring, and it's evident there's shady work of some kind going on." "shaty vork? vell, you bed you! vere iss matt? dot's vat i vand to know vorse as anyt'ing else. i ditn't vant him to go in dere, anyvay, aber ven he makes oop his mindt to do somet'ing, den it vas as goot as done und vat i say don'd cut some ice." "if he's in there we'll get him," said the officer, decidedly. as a preliminary to more drastic operations, he went up to the door and pounded on it with his night-stick. the summons, although several times repeated, was not answered. thereupon the policeman and carl, throwing their united weight upon the door, burst the bolt from its fastenings and tumbled into the hall. the darkness of the interior was relieved only by the glare of the furnaces coming in at the transom. silence reigned everywhere. "i don'd like der looks oof t'ings," muttered carl, forebodingly. "dere don'd vas anypody ad home now, aber ven matt come in dere vas plendy oof people here. vat toes it mean, officer?" "we'll try and find out what it means." there was an electric dark lantern at the policeman's belt. taking the lantern in his hand he switched on the light and sent a bright gleam into every nook and corner of the hall. no sign of matt, nor of any of the occupants of the house, was revealed. there were only two or three rooms furnished on the lower floor, and none at all on the floor above. every part of the house was searched, and the last place of all to pass under the policeman's and carl's scrutiny was the shallow basement. it was evident to both searchers that people had been in the house up to a very recent moment, for in one of the first-floor rooms there remained an odor of tobacco smoke, but there was no living person anywhere in evidence. "don'd dot peat ter tickens?" murmured carl. "matt come in der front door, und he ditn't come oudt oof it. oof he vas daken away it must haf peen py der pack oof der house. meppy ve pedder haf a look ad der pack yardt?" "wait a minute," answered the officer. bending down he picked some object off the floor and examined it under the rays of the lantern. an exclamation of surprise and wonder fell from his lips. "vat it iss?" queried carl. "here's the biggest kind of a find!" was the response. "thunder! this must be my lucky night." "how you figger dot?" "this is a canvas bag." "yah, i see dot, aber it ditn't pelong by matt und it don'd dell us nodding aboudt vere he vas." "it's marked 'hartz & greer, jewelers,'" went on the policeman, his voice shaking with excitement. "that's a firm doing business right here in south chicago, and their store was burglarized mysteriously a little more than a week ago. some fifteen thousand dollars' worth of jewelry and diamonds were taken, and this," the officer shook the canvas bag, "_this_ is the first clue any one has found to the robbers!" "shiminy grismus!" muttered carl. "dis must haf peen der blace vere der t'ieves hat deir hang-oudt. aber dot don'd got some interest for me. vat i vant to know iss, vere iss modor matt? dis pitzness iss gedding on my nerfs aboudt like dot odder time ven he tissabeared schust pefore der cup race. shtick der pag in your bocket, officer, und led's haf some looks at der pack yardt." the policeman, now wrapped heart and soul in the hunt, put the bag away in the breast of his coat. the door leading into the back yard, as they had already discovered, was unlocked. the rear premises were enclosed by a high board fence, and the beacons that capped the neighboring chimneys lighted the enclosure sufficiently so that the lantern was not needed. there was a very perceptible odor of gasolene in the back yard. the moment carl sniffed it, he gave vent to a stifled yell and grabbed the policeman's arm with both hands. "what's to pay now?" demanded the policeman. "der air-ship!" gasped carl. the officer threw a startled look at the sky. "no, no, it ain'd oop dere," went on carl. "it vas in dis pack yardt--yah, so helup me! der gasolene used in der modor make der shmell. don'd you ondershtand? dey filled der tank here, und shpilled some oof der gasolene! dose fellers haf run off from dis blace mit matt, und dey have dook him along. ach, himmelblitzen, vat a luck!" chapter vii. jerrold, brady's rival. "thunder!" cried the policeman, catching the dutch boy's drift, "you're right, as sure as my name is sam harris! your friend went off in that air-ship." "he ditn't vent," protested carl, in a temper, "he vas dook." "well, he was carried off in the thing, no matter whether he went of his own free will or was taken by force. if we each of us had a pair of wings we might follow the flyin' machine, but we ain't got 'em, so we'll have to do what we can on the ground." "dere iss a palloon house oudt on der roadt py der rolling mills," suggested carl. "meppy der hawk vas dere. dot's vere prady keeps him ven he ain'd sky-hootin' t'roo der clouds. meppy ve go und take a look at der palloon house, eh?" "i know the place, and it won't do any harm to go there and look--but the fellow who ran off with your friend would be foolish to drop down there." "vell, foolish or nod, ve look efery blace vat ve can." the balloon house was not a great way from that part of hoyne street, and harris and carl reached it after a cross-lots walk of five minutes. they found the great doors open, but there was no air-ship in the place and no one on watch around it. furthermore, an examination of the interior showed that an extensive clean-up had been made of the various tools which matt and carl had seen in the place during the afternoon. everything of value had been removed. carl explained all this for the officer's benefit. "it's a cinch the owner of the air-ship has changed his headquarters," commented harris. "brady, you say, the fellow's name is? well, he's an inventor. one of his inventions is a patent 'jimmy'--which, of course, he wouldn't dare to patent. we've been watching his air-ship operations, here in south chicago, but they seemed straight and legitimate enough." "do you know dot feller, hamildon jerrold?" asked carl. "sure, i know him. he's all right, jerrold is, although everybody looks on him as a harmless sort of crank." "he don'd lif in dot blace vere der chimney fires iss?" "no; he hangs out in a different part of town." "den, you see, it vas a put-oop chob all aroundt. it vas prady, i bed you, vat sendt dot delegram, got matt in a drap, und den flew off mit him in der hawk. meppy ve make a call on jerrold?" "i'll call up the department and report," said harris, "so they can send another man on my beat while i'm fooling around on this case." they hurried back into town and the officer unlocked one of the lamp-post boxes and reported to headquarters. "all right," said he as he rejoined carl. "now we'll put in the rest of the night, if we have to. if brady has had a hand in the robberies that have been going on here, this is liable to be good and profitable work for me." jerrold lived almost a mile from the place where harris had done his telephoning. he had a large, rambling old house set far back in a dense mass of trees and shrubbery. "he's a good deal of a hermit," explained harris, as he and carl proceeded along the walk to the front door. "a harmless old skate, but he's pretty broad between the eyes, at that." it was after midnight, and, as might be supposed, the house was dark. a knock on the door brought a night-capped head from an upper window. "who's down there?" demanded a voice. "is it you, payne?" "no, mr. jerrold," answered harris, "it's a police officer. i've come to see you on important business." "have you found the hawk?" cried jerrold; "did you get back the plans those rascals stole from me?" "come down and let us in," said the officer. "we want to talk with you." "wait a minute." the head was withdrawn and the window dropped. a little while later, the front door opened and jerrold showed himself, carrying a candle. carl recognized him as one of the two men who had been pursuing the hawk in the buggy. "don'd you know me, misder jerrold?" asked carl. the inventor stared at him and shook his head. thereupon carl explained where and when they had met. jerrold's brows wrinkled in a frown. leading his callers into a small sitting room he asked them to sit down. "what do you know about this fellow brady, jerrold?" asked harris, by way of getting at the business in hand. "i know he's a scoundrel!" declared jerrold with emphasis. "he's a good mechanic, though, and in spite of his shady record i took him on here to help me build my air-ship, the eagle. after he had been with me for a while, i found he was stealing my ideas and building an air-ship of his own. then i discharged him. since then he's been attending to his own operations and i have been attending to mine. there are several important points about my machine, though, which brady has been anxious to discover. he has tried to bribe payne, the man who works for me, to give up a set of my blue prints, and he has tried to get them in other underhand ways. at about eleven o'clock, yesterday, three of brady's men tried out-and-out robbery. that safe was forced"--jerrold pointed to a small steel safe in one corner of the room--"and the roll of blue prints taken out. payne and i were in the workshop at the time. we had just put the finishing touches to the eagle and were inflating the bag for a trial. i heard a suspicious sound from the house and ran into this room. one of the thieves had just cleared an open window, another was getting out and the third was making ready to go. i had a wrench in my hand and i hurled it at the man in the room. he dropped without a groan. payne came, just then, and we went after the other two. brady's air-ship was waiting for them in the rear of the house, and the two robbers got into it and were away before we could catch them. payne and i got a horse and buggy, as quick as we could, but by that time the air-ship was no more than a speck in the sky, off to the south. we followed, keeping the course the air-ship had taken. the men aboard didn't seem to know how to handle the craft very well, and i was hoping some accident would happen, that the craft would come down and that i would be able to get back my blue prints." jerrold halted for a little, his face flaming with anger and indignation. "i haven't my patents, yet," he went on, in a few moments, "and haven't even been able to establish a caveat, so, you see, if brady should get ahead of me at the patent office he would snatch a fortune out of my hands. for," and here the inventor threw back his head with laudable pride, "i claim to have invented an air-ship that can be used for commercial purposes--the first machine of the kind that will successfully navigate the air against the strongest wind that blows. but if that scoundrel brady takes from me the fruits of my toil, i shall be ruined!" jerrold's body slumped forward in his chair, and he crouched there in an attitude of extreme dejection. "where's the fellow you knocked down with the wrench?" asked harris, his professional mind dealing with the more practicable aspects of the case. "when payne and i got back to the room, after pursuing the other two rascals to the hawk," answered jerrold, "the man had vanished. i suppose he recovered from the effects of the blow and took himself off." "he vas der feller vat drove der modor in der hawk," explained carl, "und ven he vas pud down und oudt, der odder fellers made poor vork oof triving der machine. aber dot ain'd vat i got on my mindt, schust now." carl pulled the roll of blue prints from his pocket. "dere, misder jerrold," said he, "iss vat you lost. take it mit der gombliments oof modor matt--my bard who iss gone i don'd know vere. oof you hat shtopped a leedle in der puggy, und toldt us vat i haf heardt schust now, den, by shinks, you vould haf got der bapers pack a long dime ago." a cry of delight broke from jerrold's lips. for a moment he stared at the roll, then swooped down on it with both hands, caught it away from carl and began removing the wrapper with trembling fingers. "here they are, here they are," he crooned joyfully, pawing the blue prints over and counting them, one by one; "they're all here, and----" he stopped short and stared blankly at the envelope, which had fallen out of the blue-prints and dropped on the carpet. "what's that?" asked harris. "i don't know," replied jerrold; "it's nothing of mine and wasn't in the safe, to my recollection, at the time the blue prints were taken." "well, it may be yours, for all that. if it was in the roll, it stands to reason it must have been in the safe. better open it. probably you can tell from the contents whether it is yours or not." harris picked up the envelope and handed it to jerrold. the latter took it from him with a puzzled expression on his face. "i'm pretty sure this isn't mine," said he, turning the envelope over and over. "well, you've got to be absolutely sure," returned harris. jerrold, thus urged, tore open the envelope, drew out the sheet and cast his eyes over it. "no," he declared, "it doesn't belong to me. the thieves must have put it in with the blue prints." "let's have a look at it," said the officer. drawing closer to the candle, harris proceeded to read the letter. while he read, his face brightened and a look of surprise and exultation rose in his eyes. "another clue, and a hot one!" he cried. he whirled on carl. "with this as a guide," he went on, "it's dollars to doughnuts we can trace your friend and get him away from that scoundrel, brady!" "ach, vat a habbiness!" expanded carl. "readt it oudt to me, harris, und be kevick ad it." chapter viii. jerrold's gratitude. "the letter," explained harris, "was written by brady, and was evidently entrusted to the men in the hawk for delivery to some one else. it's full of pointers, and a slicker bit of evidence it would be hard to find. and to think how it dropped into the hands of motor matt! the whole affair sounds like a 'pipe.'" "tell me about that!" cried jerrold, his shock of joy having passed and left him leisure for other things. "who is this motor matt, and how did he happen to get hold of the blue prints?" "ve vill go ofer dot lader, misder jerrold," said carl, impatiently. "schust now, dough, i vant to hear vat der ledder say. readt him oudt, harris! i vas so uneasy ofer it i don'd vas aple to sit shdill." "it's addressed to a man called whipple," went on harris, "and here's the way it runs: "'grove, needham and harper, with one of my improved jimmies, are going to make another try for those blue prints of jerrold's. if they get them--and i think they can, for our plans are well laid--they'll carry the papers to willoughby's swamp in the hawk and leave them with you. we will quit our operations in south chicago, clean out the balloon house (i have already sold the building for old lumber) and make our future headquarters in the swamp. it will be safer there. after we improve the hawk according to jerrold's plans, we will have a ship in which we can go anywhere, and with which we can do anything. all we need is a competent motorist--harper's good enough for an amateur, but we need a professional. i'll try and bring one with me, when i come. meanwhile, until i show up at the swamp, i want you to take good care of the blue prints. "'h. b.'" a great light dawned on carl during the reading of the letter--a light so strong that it left him blinking. "py chimineddy," he gurgled, "i know now vy dot prady run off mit matt! he say in der ledder dot he vants some brofessional to run dot air-ship. vell, matt knows more as anypody aboudt modors, und so prady dook him off. vat a high-hantet pitzness! und prady has captured a hornet oof he dit pud know it! he vill t'ink he has a handtful ven he dries to make matt vork for him." "from this," proceeded harris, waving the letter, "it seems that brady had already laid his plans to quit south chicago. in the letter, over his own signature, he admits sending three of his men to steal the blue prints. by a chance, and owing to the course of events in keeping the driver of the air-ship from getting away with the other two thieves, this roll and the letter dropped into the hands of motor matt. undoubtedly, motor matt has been taken to willoughby's swamp." "und vere iss dot?" asked carl. "i know about the swamp," went on harris, "for i helped some chicago officers run down a couple of escaped prisoners there, once. it's a bad hole, but there is a sort of island in the middle of it that has been the resort of criminals for a good many years. to get through the water, and mud, and tangled bushes to the island is a hard job for any one who has to go on foot. still, it can be done. brady and his men, of course, can use the hawk, and all they have to do is to sail through the air and drop down where they want to go. the difficulties of the swamp won't bother them at all. the place is about four miles from lake station, indiana." "vell," said carl, eagerly, "led's go dere. der kevicker vat ve go, der kevicker vat ve can helup matt. he iss my bard, und he needs me now." the dutch boy got up and started for the door. bounding from his chair, jerrold overtook him and grabbed his arm. "wait!" he commanded, "i've only got a faint grasp of the situation, but from what i can figure out you're going to need me. first, though, i want to hear all about this motor matt. he has done a whole lot for hamilton jerrold, and jerrold is a man who always tries to pay his debts. tell me how the blue prints got into the hands of motor matt." "aber ve vas in a hurry!" cried carl. "villoughpy's svamp iss a goot vays off, und----" "you'll save time in the end by losing a little here and now," averred jerrold, drawing carl to a chair and pushing him down into it. "go on! give me the whole of it, between you, and be quick." there was a compelling note in the inventor's words and manner, that demanded attention. carl yielded and struck into an explanation of the events of the preceding afternoon. whenever his impatience led him to skip any of the details, harris, who recognized the advantage of letting jerrold know everything, picked up the ignored detail and made carl go over it. jerrold's interest and excitement increased as he listened. when carl described how he and matt had fought with brady and pete at the balloon house and kept them from getting the blue prints, jerrold clapped his hands and shouted "bravo!" and when carl told of the bogus telegram that had brought the boys to south chicago, jerrold's face clouded with indignation and anger. "motor matt," declared jerrold, when carl had finally finished, "has done a lot for me, and he's going to find that hamilton jerrold knows how to be grateful. i agree with harris that there is hardly a doubt but that brady has taken young king to willoughby's swamp. brady wants the young motorist for the hawk, and intends to have him, whether or no. according to harris, the swamp's a difficult place to get at for those not equipped with an air-ship. that's where i come in. this way, friends!" with that, the inventor caught up his candle and led the way through the house and out at a back door. by then it was nearly three o'clock, and the very darkest part of the night. a gust of wind blew out the candle, which had been about as effective as a glow-worm, and the three were left at the foot of the rear steps staring at a fluttering expanse of canvas. the canvas formed a sort of v-shaped tent, long and high and secured with many guy-ropes. because of the darkness it was difficult to get any kind of an idea as to the size of the tent, but that was a minor point. "i'll have to get a lantern," said jerrold. "wait a minute." "i've got a dark lantern, jerrold," interposed harris, "and i guess that will do." "fine!" exclaimed jerrold, as harris switched on the current and swung the beam of light around him. "this way," the inventor added, and ducked through the end of the tent. in the gloomy interior a weird sight was disclosed--something so new and novel as to send an uncanny sensation along the nerves of carl and harris. here was another cigar-shaped gas-bag, and another suspended car. the car itself was stationary, but the bag, because of the drafts that surged through the tent, was bobbing and swaying like some monster, anxious to be unleashed. the flickering gleam from the dark lantern could only disclose a part of the air-ship at a time. "ach," muttered carl, "dot makes my nerfs shake und shake like anyt'ing. sooch a horrible t'ing vat it iss!" "that's because you're not familiar with such a craft," said jerrold. "payne and i have worked over it for years, and only yesterday saw the completion of our labors. it was six o'clock last night before the bag was fully inflated. we had to use common illuminating-gas, too, and the not more buoyant hydrogen. i have called the air-ship the 'eagle,' and if you sweep that light along the side of the bag you will see the name." this was a bit of byplay that took time and was utterly needless, but a great pride throbbed in the inventor's words, and even the smallest detail of the air-ship was fraught with the utmost importance to him. "everything about the craft," jerrold went on, "is of the very best. the motor is the lightest, strongest and most powerful ever constructed. the car will carry half a dozen, easily. sand-bags are suspended from each end of the gas-bag. when i pull in the sand-bag at the front end, the equilibrium is displaced, the bag points upward, and the propeller forces the air-ship to rise. so, when i wish to descend, i pull in the sand-bag at the rear point of the bag. when both bags are hanging loose, the eagle swims in the air on an even keel. now, the steering rudder, which also helps in maneuvering the ship, is a little idea of my own and----" "ach, hang der shdeering rutter!" broke in carl, impatiently. "harris und i haf got to go afder matt und ve can't vait aroundt here any longer. ve haf got to go py dot svamp, und----" "exactly!" broke in the inventor. "the eagle, fully inflated and with a tank full of gasoline, is waiting for a trial spin in the morning. i have the honor to propose that we use the craft now, proceed to willoughby's swamp and rescue motor matt. that will save time, and a whole lot of hardships in forcing your way through mud and water and tangled brush in order to reach the island." harris had already gathered the inventor's idea, even before he began putting it into words; carl, however, had not anticipated the suggestion, and he was dazed by it. "you mean to dake us py der svamp in der eagle?" he asked, in some trepidation. "yes." "ach, himmel! i nefer rode mit a air-ship. vill i be seasick py it?" "i don't think so. you see, i have never navigated an air-ship myself, but i'll bank on the eagle doing its work. i can run the engine." "vat oof it shouldt durn oopside town mit us vile ve vas a mile in der air?" "i'll guarantee it won't do that." "vell, vedder or nod," said carl, "i am going afder my bard. oof der tangers vas greadt, i take dem; und oof dey vasn't so greadt, den i take dem, too. matt vouldt do more as dot for me, yah, i bed you!" harris was also afflicted with doubts. "the ground has always been good enough for me, jerrold," said he, "and whenever i get my feet off it and go up any distance i have a bad case of vertigo. if i should get dizzy and fall off the car----" "you won't," interrupted the inventor; "people never get dizzy in balloons." "you're sure it won't tip over and spill us out?" "positive." "you don't know much about it yourself, you know, having never been up in it." "that scoundrel, brady, has used the hawk with fair success, and the hawk is modeled on the same lines as the eagle, only the eagle has improvements which brady was not able to get hold of and put on his own machine. shall we go to the rescue of motor matt? come, my friends, time is flying." "und ve ought to be flying, too," said carl, now eager to make the ascension. "i'll take a chance," observed harris. "good!" applauded jerrold. the next moment he had vanished in the darkness and could be heard pulling at some ropes. in less than a minute the entire top of the tent fell away, revealing the stars. "get into the car," said jerrold, "there, just forward of the driver's seat." with the aid of his lantern harris picked out the place where he and carl were to stow themselves, and they climbed into the car as directed. immediately after that, jerrold got over the rail and took his seat at the levers. it was impossible to see just what he was doing, but the clank of a lever came from his vicinity and slowly the front of the gas-bag began to point upward. "now we're ready," called the inventor. the popping of a motor began and gradually gathered into a swift murmur. "and now we're off," added jerrold. "stay right where you are and don't change your positions unless i tell you." the whir of the propeller started, and the house and shrubbery began slipping away from under those in the car. "ach, du lieber!" gasped carl. "der eart' vas falling avay from us. i vill say my brayers forvarts, packvarts und sidevays, oof it vill helup any." "i've got a bad case of rattles, myself," admitted harris. "but it's for your pard, my boy." "you bed my life!" returned carl, "aber i never dit anyt'ing pefore for dot bard oof mine dot dook so mooch nerf as vat dis toes. i vill shud my eyes, und you dell me, blease, ven ve reach der svamp!" chapter ix. aboard the hawk. taken at a disadvantage and with two brawny ruffians ranged against him, motor matt was unable to make any defense. as he lay on the floor, head and shoulders still swathed in the window-curtain, one of his antagonists held him while the other bound his hands and feet with a rope. he was then lifted and carried for some distance. naturally he could have no idea where or in what direction he was being carried. a few steps were descended and he heard a door softly closed. the cool air of outdoors laved his hands--he was sensible of that, although the hot stuffiness of the curtain prevented the night air from reaching his face. he was lifted over something, he did not know what, and laid down in cramped quarters. a conversation was going on around him, but in tones so low he was not able to distinguish the words. he fancied that he heard the girl's voice, although his head was so muffled he could not be sure. presently the unmistakable explosions of a motor came to him. "brady is taking me away somewhere in an automobile," he thought, and wondered where carl was that he could not see the machine. a moment later he felt a gentle, swaying motion as though he was being gently swung in a hammock. several minutes passed, and then brady's voice spoke, in a tone so loud that matt was able to hear what he said. "take the curtain off his head, pete, and untie him. it's time he took hold here. keep your revolver handy for use in case he gets obstreperous. he's full of ginger and will have to be tamed." matt felt some one working at his cords. they were stripped away quickly, and the curtain whisked from his head. he jumped up, the floor under him swinging with the quick move and almost upsetting him. "careful, there!" warned brady. "where do you think you are, anyhow?" matt was dumfounded. overhead was the long gas-bag of the hawk. in front of him, at the mechanism of the machine, sat a dusky form which he recognized as belonging to brady. brady's hands were on the levers. with a shout of anger matt jumped toward brady, the car lurching and swaying with his frantic movements. "stand where ye are!" came the husky, threatening voice of pete, from behind. "do as i tell ye, king, or i'll shoot." matt turned around. standing with his back braced against an upright timber that held the car to the oval ring under the gas-bag was brady's burly assistant. he held a dark object in his hand and matt knew it must be a revolver. "where are you taking me?" demanded matt. "turn around this way," said brady. "now that you know what'll happen to you if you get too hostile, maybe we can have a bit of a talk together." "don't shoot!" implored a feminine voice; "i don't want to have any shooting, dad!" the voice came from a bundle on the floor, close to where pete was standing. by looking sharply, matt was able to see a white, ghost-like face hovering against the rail. the girl had been brought along with them! matt was glad, for her sake, that he had not got into a rough-and-tumble with brady. without seeming to pay the girl more than passing attention, the young motorist turned toward the man in the chair. "well?" said he, crisply. "what have you got to say about this, brady? i guess you could be arrested for what you've done, all right." brady laughed. "how's a policeman coming up here to get at me?" he asked. "an air-ship is a great thing for a fellow who wants to turn a few tricks in spite of the law." "that's your game, is it? well, what have you to gain by running off with me? i told you i didn't have that roll of papers." "i'm out the blue prints, but i'm in a good motorist. i'll not be able to improve the hawk according to jerrold's plans, but i guess i've got hold of a driver that's good enough to make up for most of the improvements." "if you think i'm going to drive this car for you," said matt, "you're away off in your calculations." "that's what you think now, but you'll change your tune before long," said brady, easily. "i know this air-ship pretty well, and i installed the motor. all it needed for that was a good machinist and a good inventor. i'm not a good driver, though, and i've picked you for the job. the offer i made back at the house goes. five hundred a month. pretty good pay, eh, for a boy of your age?" "i don't care how much you offer, brady. as i have already told you, no amount of money could hire me to work for you. you're a scoundrel, clear through. what you've done to-night proves it. "bear a little to the left, brady!" called pete, who was evidently on the lookout. "you're getting too far to the north." brady moved one of the levers, and the ease and certainty with which the air-ship swung to the new direction brought matt's admiration uppermost. never had he been able to resist the lure of untried machinery, and here was an experience so novel that it carried him out of his troubled environment, so to speak. for a moment, suspended in that starlit void and swimming noiselessly through the night, he yielded himself to the fascinations of the new experience. "how powerful a motor have you?" he asked. "ten horse-power," answered brady, "and it weighs forty pounds." "how do you steer the machine up and down, and right and left?" "that's where i've got the bulge on jerrold. one rudder with two cross-section planes does all of that. this lever here--i don't know whether you can see it or not from where you stand--gives the up and down 'dip' to the rudder that makes the machine rise or fall. by moving the lever right or left, the air-ship turns in the corresponding direction." "take me back," ordered matt, "and land me at the place where you took me from." "you've got a picture of me doing that!" scoffed brady. "now that i've caught you, i'm going to keep you, see? you're just the sort of a lad i need in my business. grove and needham, when they finally got back to south chicago with the air-ship, told me all about you. if i'd known what i do now at the time you called at the balloon house, i'd have taken a different tack." a muttered imprecation came from pete. he was thinking of his fall over the barrel. "those fellows got back without breaking their necks, did they?" queried matt. "just about. when they told me what had happened, i sent off that telegram." "we might just as well look this thing square in the face, brady," said matt. "you've acted the part of a scoundrel in your dealings with me, and you haven't gained anything by it. if you don't turn back and put me down in south chicago, i'll make more trouble for you than you can well take care of." "i'll take my chances on that, my bantam. i like your spirit, and we're going to get along fine. just cast in your lot with mine, and i'll make a rich man out of you. in the hawk we can travel all over this continent, from hudson bay to patagonia. where men never went before, we can go. no mountain range is so high that we can't cross it, and no desert is so barren that we can't wing our way comfortably over it." matt stared at the dark figure in the chair. if any honest man had talked to him in that way, the young motorist would have been tempted to become an aeronaut, for he could see plainly the possibilities of a serviceable air-ship; but as for brady, he was a criminal, and that cut him off from any consideration on matt's part. the young motorist sank down on his knees and looked over the side of the car. they were perhaps a thousand feet in the air. houses, villages, dark expanses of timber and lighter stretches of meadow swept past them, moving out from under the car like a dark panorama. driving an automobile at speed was like flying, but here was flying itself. the new sensation gripped matt and thrilled him in every nerve. "how are we heading, pete?" called brady. pete was leaning over the opposite side of the car, looking forward. "i'm jest tryin' to git my bearin's, brady," he answered. "it's so pesky dark it's hard to make out jest where we are." matt stole a look at pete's back. the hand gripping the revolver lay on the rail. by one quick move matt could have snatched the weapon. as the idea swept through his mind he cautiously changed his position. just then a soft hand rested on his and he saw the girl's face pressed close. "don't do anything desperate!" she whispered, imploringly. "do whatever dad says--it will be better for you. when we get to where we're going, i'll help you escape, and----" "i think, brady," called pete, "that ye're still too fur to the north. better shift a leetle more to the left. i won't be sartin, though, that i'm right." "i ought to be there on the lookout," answered brady. "come here, king, and take the engine." the girl's words had influenced matt powerfully. on top of that was the alluring prospect of handling a new machine. "i'll take the engine for a while, brady," said he, getting up, "but you're to remember i'll not hire out to you." "all i ask is for you to handle the motor," replied brady. "you'll come to your oats quick enough, i'll gamble on that. you watch king, pete," he added to the other man, "and make sure he sends the hawk where i tell him to. if he tries to send her anywhere else, you know what to do." "that's no josh," answered pete. brady left the chair and went forward. matt dropped into the vacant seat and began studying the various levers with his groping hands. chapter x. willoughby's swamp. pete kept his weapon prominently displayed, and through the gloom matt could see the ruffian's arm partly lifted as though ready on the instant to bring the firearm into use. this alert attitude on pete's part, however, was more for show than for anything else--at least, matt so regarded it. brady was not anxious to go to desperate extremes with matt, especially since he wanted him as driver for the air-ship. brady, taking up a position where he could peer ahead, was scanning the dim landscape sharply. "swing her to the left!" he called. matt instantly applied the steering lever. instead of swinging to the left, however, the hawk made a half-turn to the right. up came the revolver. with a sharp cry, the girl reached up and caught pete's arm. "to the _left_, i said!" roared brady. "you'll have to give me the chance to learn the machine," answered matt, coolly, as he continued working the lever and brought the hawk around to the proper course. "these levers are new to me. when we steer an auto we do it with a wheel." "i thought ye knowed all about motors," jeered pete. "i know something about motors," replied matt, "but not the first thing about air-ships." as near as matt could judge, they were proceeding at a speed of something like thirty miles an hour. he speeded up the engine a little and was surprised at the smoothness with which it worked. the propeller hummed in a low, husky drone that was quite different from the song of the cylinders. he moved the steering lever backward a couple of notches. immediately the rudder was tilted and the hawk began to climb upward. "stop that!" yelled brady. "we're high enough. what are you trying to do?" "learning the machine," answered matt, and threw the lever forward. the front end of the gas-bag tipped downward, and the air-ship slid toward the earth with a suddenness that almost threw brady over the rail. "that'll do you!" he whooped. "get her on a level again, and be quick about it. you can handle the machine, all right, and i don't want you to do anything but what you're told." "all right," said matt quietly. for five minutes longer they continued to swim onward through the air. a long string of lights shot across the gloomy landscape below them, and a whistle came upward from the earth with startling distinctness. "there goes a train, whistlin' fer lake station," remarked pete. "we'll be over the town in a minute," said brady, "and then it won't be long until we get to the swamp." "what swamp?" asked matt. "never ye mind," was pete's surly rejoinder. "ye're here to obey orders an' not ask any fool questions." "i don't think it very foolish for a fellow to ask where he's being taken." "mebby not, but ye ain't findin' anythin' out, see?" matt had been doing a good deal of guessing about carl. what would his chum do? what was he doing then? he felt pretty sure that carl would get into the house and go through it from cellar to roof. but matt knew that carl had a good sensible head in cases of emergency. now and again the dutch boy's temper was apt to make trouble with his reasoning, but in the long run carl could always be counted on to do the right thing. so matt was not worrying very much about his chum. carl would take good care of the blue prints and ultimately they would find their rightful owner. "ha!" exclaimed brady, suddenly, "there's the signal! i'll go back and take charge of the motor while we make the landing, pete, and you take the lookout." matt gave place to brady and then stood at the rail, watching developments curiously. below the air-ship was a great splotch of black shadow, stretching away on all sides as far as the eye could reach. evidently this was the swamp. the hawk was sailing across the swamp toward a big fire that glowed in the distance. with brady steering and pete directing, the hawk approached closer and closer to the fire. "drop 'er, brady!" pete presently called; "we're close on the island." the nose of the air-ship ducked downward and, for perhaps twenty seconds, she raced earthward; then brady diminished the speed of their descent by slow degrees. matt, braced on the sloping floor of the car, watched the fire apparently come up toward them. a little later he was able to make out three human figures against the firelit background below, and a bare little plateau took vague form under his eyes. he watched the landing keenly, and noted how brady suddenly shifted the steering rudder so as to bring the hawk on an even keel, the lower supports of the car just grazing the ground. the three figures by the fire ran close. "how's everything, brady?" cried a voice. "finer than silk," called back brady. "stand by to catch the ropes, you fellows." the murmur of the motor ceased, the revolving propeller came to a stop, and pete flung out two ropes, one on each side of the car. the ropes were caught by the men on the ground, a bight of each was thrown around a stout stake driven into the earth at an angle, and the air-ship was drawn down and safely moored. matt was now able to understand why brady had taken his place as driver for the landing. not only was the method of making a landing new to matt, but there was also danger, unless one was familiar with the place, of scraping the trees that covered the swamp and hemmed in the cleared space called the "island." matt started to spring over the rail of the car. "stop, king!" cried brady. "you don't want to make a bolt for the timber and get mired in the swamp, do you? just remember you're still under orders. take him to the roost, needham, you and whipple. better tie him up until he gets used to the place and to our society. he's a bit strange, here, and none too willing to stay." "did you bring the loot, brady?" called one of the men. "sure! this is moving-day with us and you didn't think i was going to leave all that stuff on hoyne street, did you? get out of the car, king," he went on, to matt. "whipple and needham will take care of you." two of the three men had stepped to the side of the car. in the light of the fire, which was blazing at a safe distance from the air-ship, matt discovered that needham and grove had been the two aeronauts who had had such hard luck with the hawk during the preceding day. needham, who, with whipple, was facing matt and waiting for him to get over the air-ship's rail, gave a husky laugh. "we got out of that scrape, all right," said he, "even if we did lose our drag-rope." "and you got me into another scrape," said matt. "you fellows will pay for this!" "chirp low, young feller," warned whipple, catching him by the arm as he gained the ground; "your cue is to make friends with us an' not bluster about what ye're goin' ter do. there's five husky men here, an' we're all surrounded by a swamp that would mire ye up ter the eyes if ye tried ter git through it. oh, i reckon ye won't git away ter make any of us pay fer anythin'! this way, an' step lively." with needham and whipple on each side of him and hanging to an arm, matt was led across the open space, past the fire, and to the door of a small, roughly built shanty. a little way off there was another building, fully as small but apparently somewhat better built. "this here's the roost," announced whipple, "an' it's where ye're ter pass the rest o' the night. come in, an' come peaceable." it was part of matt's plan, hastily formed on the air-ship just after the girl had spoken to him, to accept passively whatever came his way--at least for a time. the girl had said that she would help him escape, and there was that about her which had awakened his confidence. not only that, but there was also something in the girl's face that had aroused his sympathy. she had a history, he was sure, and one that was far from pleasant. there were five cots in the "roost," and matt was told to lie down on one of them. "harper used to sleep there," remarked needham, as matt stretched himself out on the hard bed, "and the deuce only knows where poor old harper is now. you're taking his place, king, and so it's only right you should have his cot." it was on matt's tongue to say that needham had another guess coming, but he held his peace. he would not show too much of the hostile side of his feelings until he had had a chance to talk with the girl. "what's the use of tying me," expostulated matt, as ropes were being put in place around his wrists and ankles, "if it's impossible for me to get away?" "orders," answered whipple, curtly. after matt was made secure, whipple and needham went out of the hut. the young motorist had had a trying day, and even his exciting situation was powerless to keep the sleep from his eyes. he dozed off, while his thoughts were trying to straighten out the queer tangle in which events had bound him. he roused up for a moment when pete, whipple, needham and grove came into the hut and dropped down on their cots, but almost immediately he went to sleep again. it seemed as though he had hardly closed his eyes the second time before he was awakened by a light hand pressed upon his forehead. the other cots in the room were empty, it was morning, and the girl was standing beside him. "i have brought your breakfast," said she, in a low voice. "we can talk a little, but will have to be quick. dad, or some of the men, may come in here at any second! there's a lot that you've got to know, and----" she was interrupted by the sharp explosion of a firearm outside. stifling a cry, she whirled from the cot and ran to the open door. chapter xi. a foe in the air. "what is it?" asked matt, struggling up on the cot. no revolver had caused the report he had heard. from the sound he knew that a rifle had been fired. a babel of excited voices now came to him from without, accompanied by sounds of running feet diminishing rapidly in the distance. then came another report, and another, both from a more distant point than the first. the girl stepped through the doorway and was looking upward. "take off these ropes!" called matt. "let me get out there and see what is going on!" the girl turned and reentered the hut. her face wore an expression of the utmost concern. "no," said she, "i can't release you just now. if dad was to come and find that i'd set you free, he would suspect me at once and that would spoil my plans." "but what was the cause of that shooting?" persisted matt. "there's another air-ship over the island----" "another air-ship?" echoed matt. "yes. it must be jerrold's, although how he ever found out where dad was is more than i know. dad and the rest were shooting at the air-ship with rifles." "i'll bet it's somebody who's come looking for me!" exclaimed matt. "if your father and his gang should kill anybody----" "they won't," interrupted the girl, confidently; "dad knows better than to do anything of that kind. they'll try to put a bullet or two into the gas-bag of the air-ship and frighten jerrold away." "go and take another look," said matt, anxiously. "see what they're doing." the girl glided to the doorway again. "the other air-ship is moving off," the girl reported, with a measure of relief in her voice, as she came back. "i think the bullets must have injured the propeller, or some of the machinery, for the air-ship is moving very slowly and seems to be in trouble." "did you see how many were aboard?" "there were three in the car--one of them was jerrold, and he was managing the motor." "the other two," asked matt, eagerly, "do you know who they were?" "one of them was in uniform, and looked like a policeman. the other was short and thick-set and looked like a german." "carl!" exclaimed matt, jubilantly. "good old carl! how did he ever find out where i was, i wonder?" "i'll bet dad is trying to guess the same thing," said the girl. "he'll be badly cut up over this. but it's no more than he ought to expect," she added. "whenever a man breaks the law he'll have to pay for it, sooner or later." "what has your father been doing?" asked matt. "i came to talk with you about that. while i'm giving you your breakfast, i'll tell you my plans. dad, and all the rest except whipple, are off in the swamp, somewhere, keeping track of jerrold's air-ship, and that will give us a chance." matt swung his bound feet over the edge of the cot, and while he sat there the girl drew a chair close and began giving him his breakfast. "dad has been doing a lot of criminal things," said the girl, "and all he built that air-ship for was to make it easy for him to rob people and get away without being found out. didn't you guess that when i showed you that article in the paper? i thought you might." "i've been mighty thick-headed," answered matt, between mouthfuls, "and i never thought the thing through that far. possibly it's because so much has been happening to me since i went into that place on hoyne street." "it's nearly broken my heart having dad act like he's been doing," said the girl, her lips quivering. "if mother had lived she'd have kept dad straight, but when she died dad just seemed to go to the dogs. he has tried to make the people in south chicago think he was just an honest inventor, but, even at that, he stole all his ideas from jerrold. that balloon house, that he built out of some of the proceeds of his first robbery, was put up for what they call a 'blind.' with a big house like that, out in plain sight, dad felt that everybody would think his work was open and aboveboard. when he committed any robberies, the hawk was taken from the shed in the dead of night, and harper would steer it for the place they were to rob. the blackest kind of a night was always selected, and only flat-topped buildings were robbed. you see, the air-ship would alight on the roof, and dad and the rest would break into the building from the top. when they left they always went in the same way they came, and the police were puzzled because they could not find any clues in the lower part of the buildings." "it was a slick scheme," commented matt. "that's the way hartz & greer's place was robbed," proceeded the girl. "dad and the rest got fifteen thousand dollars' worth of goods from hartz & greer, and for more than a week the stuff has been hidden in that house on hoyne street. but now dad has left south chicago for good and all. he's afraid the police are beginning to suspect him, and that jerrold might try to do something on account of those stolen blue prints." it was perfectly plain to matt that the girl's recital of these crimes, in which her father had played the leading part, was anything but easy for her. she was talking from a sense of duty, and matt honored and admired her for the stand she was taking. "it doesn't seem possible," said he, gently, "that brady is your father." "but he is," she answered brokenly, "and he has brought shame and disgrace on me. but what could i do? dad knows how i feel about his actions, and he has watched me and kept me away from other people ever since he began his stealing. when you came to the house, last night, it was the first chance i have had to tell what i know. i overheard dad and pete planning what they were going to do if you came, and--and i hoped you would come, although i knew you would never leave the house until you were taken away as dad's prisoner. i felt sure, though, that i could help you to escape, and i feel even more sure of that now than i did before." "what is your name?" asked matt, his eyes full on the girl's face. "helen," she answered. "what are your plans, helen?" he asked. "my plan," she went on, "is for you to get away from the swamp in the hawk, and to take the stuff stolen from hartz & greer with you. that will stop everything, for dad will be perfectly helpless without the air-ship. then, too, you can return the stolen diamonds and jewelry to hartz & greer, and that will go far toward righting one wrong. when you are back in south chicago, you can send the police here and--and they can capture dad and the rest." matt had finished eating and the girl had put aside the dishes. suddenly she broke down and hid her face in her apron. for a few moments she sobbed convulsively. small wonder her feelings overcame her! in carrying out her ideas of right and justice, she had planned to give her own father into the hands of the law. "you're a noble girl, helen!" declared matt. "but how am i to get away in the air-ship and to take the stolen property with me?" "you already know how to run the machine," said the girl, recovering herself a little and looking up, "and when the right time arrives i will come here and take off your ropes. as for the stolen property, i will see to it that that is put in the car before you start. there will be danger in what you do, but, from what i have heard, you know how to win out in spite of it." "i will run any risk to get away from here," returned matt, gravely, "but when i go you must go with me. this is no place for you--with such a thieving gang!" "i must stay here," the girl said resolutely. "even though i am sending my father to prison i want to be with him to the last. if something isn't done," she continued passionately, "he will go on and on, constantly from bad to worse, and perhaps some time"--her face blanched as she spoke--"he might receive worse than a prison sentence. it is the only way to save him." it was clear that helen brady had spent much time in thinking out and planning her present course, and how much mental anguish and bitterness of spirit her conclusion had cost her, only she could know. "i am ready to do whatever you want me to," said matt, "and if you think it best to stay here, all right. i still believe, though, you ought to leave this place with me." "no, no," she replied firmly. "i have thought it all out a dozen times, and i have made up my mind as to what it is right for me to do. you must get away from here in the air-ship. with the hawk taken away from him, dad will be helpless." "haven't you any friends or relatives to whom you could go?" asked matt. "i have relatives on my mother's side, but they won't have anything to do with dad or me--simply because dad is what he is. they have asked me to leave dad and come to them, but i know my place and what it is right for me to do." a brief silence fell between the two, during which matt turned the queer problem over in his mind. "when do you think your plan can be carried out?" he asked presently. "it has got to be soon, if at all," she answered. "i don't know what effect this appearance of jerrold's air-ship over the swamp will have on dad, but i hope it won't interfere with my plans. we'll have to wait a little while and see. whipple is watching the hawk now, and----" just at that moment a heavy step was heard outside. a man appeared in the doorway, stared in at matt and the girl for an instant, and then strode into the hut. the man was brady, and his face was black as a thundercloud. "what're you doing here so long?" he cried angrily to the girl. "clear out! i've got something i want to talk over with king." with a supplicating look at her father, the girl got up and passed out of the hut. chapter xii. brady changes his plans. "you've played the devil with me, and no mistake!" scowled brady, whirling on matt the moment the girl was gone. "i don't see how you make that out," said matt. "you're the one that's made all the trouble, brady." brady's little eyes glittered as they rested on matt. for a few moments he paced angrily back and forth across the hut. "how in thunder," he cried suddenly, "did jerrold ever manage to get a line on me? he was over the swamp, a short time ago, with his air-ship, and he'd have landed here if we hadn't driven him off. jerrold knows where i am, and he has the means of getting to the island. we've crippled his craft, though, and he's had to haul off for repairs. while he's gone, i've got to change my plans, somehow, and be ready for him when he comes back. that dutch kid who was with you at the balloon house yesterday was in the car of the air-ship, and there was also a policeman along. how did that come?" "you know as much about it as i do, brady," replied matt. "i disappeared from that hoyne street house, last night, and i suppose my chum has been getting clues about me and following them up. that's the kind of a lad he is." "where did he get any clues that would bring him out here?" "give it up." brady took a few more turns across the room, presently halting in front of matt. "you didn't bring that roll of blue prints to hoyne street, last night," said he. "where did you leave it?" "left it out in front of the house," grinned matt. brady started. "in front of the house?" he echoed. "yes." "cached?" "certainly." "under the sidewalk?" "no; in the pocket of my dutch pard." brady stared incredulously. then he swore. "that dutchman was out in front all the while you were in the house?" matt nodded. "he came with me from chicago. i got to thinking there might be a trap in the house, and that some one was there who wanted the blue prints, so i made up my mind that it would be a wise move to leave carl out in front, and to let him keep the roll." "that chum of yours must have seen the hawk when she climbed out of the back yard," growled brady, "but how in the fiend's name was he able to get jerrold and the eagle and follow us? it was dark, and we had a long start of them." "one guess is as good as another," said matt, calmly. "i told you you'd get yourself into trouble if you tried to make a prisoner of me. the best thing you can do now is to send me back to south chicago in the air-ship." "think i'm a fool?" snarled brady. "it may be that you're all that stands between me and my men and capture. i'll hang onto you, king, and i'll let that dutch pard of yours know that if jerrold don't keep away from this swamp with his air-ship you're going to connect with your finish. it's neck or nothing with me, now, and i'll go any length to keep myself out of the 'pen.' i've laid out a fine campaign for the hawk, and i don't intend to have all my plans nipped in the bud, right at the start-off." "i suppose," said matt, scathingly, "that your campaign is one of robbery, and that you're going to make a pirate ship out of the hawk?" "that's where you put your finger on the right button!" declared brady. "i'm going to be a freebooter, and take my toll wherever i can find it. it's easy to swoop down on a lot of spoil, pick it up and make off with it. and what can the law do?" he laughed mockingly. "policemen will have to have wings to get anywhere near me." "and that's what you wanted me for, is it?" cried matt, indignantly; "to drive the hawk around through the air and help out your villainous plans! i would let you kill me first." "rot! i'm going to stick to my original intentions, but there's got to be something of a change in my immediate plans. we've all got to pull out of here and to take what plunder we've got cached in the swamp. the hawk will have to make three or four trips, and they must be made before jerrold and his air-ship can interfere with us. if jerrold fixes up his air-ship and comes back, we'll just tell him what will happen to you if he lingers in the vicinity of the swamp. i'm banking on that to send him packing again, and to keep him out of sight until i can make a change of base. you'll go away on the hawk's first trip, and it will probably be only half an hour before you can start." brady started for the door, but halted before he reached it and faced around. "either one of two things happened to put that dutchman and jerrold on my track," said he. "either harper has been caught, and has told what he knows, or else a letter i gave needham to deliver to whipple, here in the swamp, has fallen into the hands of the police. it don't make much difference, though, how jerrold got next to our hang-out. the main thing is that he knows where we are, and that you will be put in a mighty tight corner if he keeps on trying to make trouble for me. that's about all, king. i want you to understand what you're up against and be ready for whatever happens. i'm not going to have my plans knocked galley-west just as i'm on the point of launching them." with another black scowl, expressive of his savage determination, hector brady strode out of the hut. matt was beginning to understand why helen preferred to see her father in prison rather than free to carry out his campaign of lawlessness. possessing a practical air-ship like the hawk, brady could commit untold depredations and snap his fingers in open defiance of the law. the young motorist shuddered to think of the scoundrel's comprehensive plans, and of the part he had intended to make his prisoner play in them. helen's reasoning was logical, and the expedient she had suggested was as simple as it was effective. by taking the hawk away from brady she would make it impossible for him to follow out his nefarious schemes. the beautiful simplicity of the countercheck aroused matt's admiration. but how was the countercheck to be brought about? the appearance of jerrold's air-ship over the swamp had made doubly difficult the work the girl was counting upon having done. not only that, but the coming of the eagle had increased matt's peril. there was no doubt in the young motorist's mind but that brady would go to any extreme in order to keep himself and his companions from being captured. all these different aspects of the situation floated through motor matt's mind swiftly. two or three minutes after brady had left the hut, and while matt was still considering the problem that confronted the girl, helen herself stole in through the door. her face was haggard, but her eyes were bright and full of resolution. "you shouldn't be here," protested matt. "your father suspected something when he found you with me a little while ago and ordered you away. what if he should come back and see you here again?" "i don't think he'll come back, but i've got to take the risk, even if he does." the girl spoke quickly and steadily and made her way swiftly to matt's side. "dad has changed his plans--i was listening to all he said, out there at the back of the hut. he's going to use the hawk to take us all away from the swamp, and _you're going to go on the hawk's first trip_! that means that we must do what we can, at once. if we fail now, everything is lost." she was breathlessly eager, but her calmness at such a moment surprised matt. lifting her hands she took a small poniard from the bosom of her dress, bent down and severed the cords that secured matt's hands. then, with one downward stroke of the keen blade, she freed his feet. "where are your father and the rest of the men?" asked matt. before she answered, helen glided to the door and took a cautious look outside. "some of the stolen goods have been hidden among the bushes of the swamp," said she, returning to matt. "you are to be sent away with the loot, on the first trip, and dad himself will have to take you. he, and everybody except whipple, have gone to the swamp. whipple has a rifle and is guarding the hawk. whatever we do, matt, we've got to do in a hurry. the bag of goods taken from hartz & greer is behind this hut," she pointed to an unglazed opening in the rear wall as she spoke. "while the rest are in the swamp, i will go to the hawk and talk with whipple, getting around on the other side of him so that his back will be in this direction. while i am holding his attention, you will creep up on him from behind and, between us, we will try and get the rifle. it's a desperate chance, but we will do the best we can." "you're a brave girl, helen!" declared matt. "i'm doing what i think is right, and that always helps a person's courage. i'm more worried about you than i am about myself. if anything should go wrong--if anything should happen to you because of the help you are giving me----" for the first time her voice faltered. matt reached out and caught her hand reassuringly. "don't fret about me," said he. "there won't be any trouble about my getting the best of whipple, with you to help. is the hawk all ready for a flight? i mean is there plenty of gasoline in the tank, and plenty of oil?" "yes, dad has seen to that. so far as the air-ship is concerned, it is ready to carry you quickly and safely out of the swamp. now i will steal out of the hut and talk with whipple." once more she started for the door. hardly had she reached it, however, when she drew back with a gasp of consternation. turning, she beckoned to matt. "too late!" she whispered, her voice sharp with anguish and disappointment. "oh, why have they come just at this time!" matt glided quickly to her side and peered out through the half-opened door. what he saw was well calculated to discourage him and the girl. chapter xiii. into the swamp. needham, pete, grove and brady had not been long carrying out their work of recovering the cached goods. they were returning from the edge of the bushy timber, ascending the slight elevation of the "island" on their way to the hawk, each bearing an armful of plunder. in his stealings, brady had not bothered with bulky articles but had confined himself to "lifting" smaller and richer loot. the stuff was all in small sacks. as the men walked past the "roost" on their course to the air-ship, matt and the girl withdrew from the door to avoid being seen. through a crack in the wall, however, they were able to keep close track of what went on. on reaching the hawk, the bundles were deposited on the ground. whipple, leaning on his rifle, stood watching while the bags were heaped up at the side of the air-ship. for a few moments the villainous crew had their heads together in close and earnest conversation. now and again their eyes were lifted aloft, evidently on the alert for some sign of the eagle. brady, it could be seen, did most of the talking. suddenly, after a sharp scrutiny overhead, brady whirled around and started for the hut. "he's coming after you!" half sobbed the girl. "what's the reason i can't escape through that window in the rear wall," asked matt, hurriedly, "and take refuge in the swamp?" the idea seemed to electrify the girl. "i hadn't thought of that," she whispered, catching his arm and starting for the window. "the back of the hut is close to the trees and bushes on this side of the island, and i know something about the reefs of dry ground running through the swamp in the vicinity of this place. come!" she added; "we must hurry." her despair had vanished in a flash, and her steadiness and resolution had all come back. she climbed through the window and, as matt followed, she was picking up a small bag that had stood close to the rear wall. without speaking, and once more clasping his arm, she hurried him into the tangled bushes that came up to within a few feet of the hut. there, screened by a dense thicket, they paused to note further developments. their position, of course, rendered it impossible for them to see the front of the hut, but they were so close they could hear brady's oath of astonishment and alarm when he discovered that matt was missing. the next moment brady could be seen rushing around the side of the hut and a little way in the direction of the group standing beside the hawk. "he's gone!" roared brady. "the cub's got loose and skipped!" the rest were roused into frantic activity. "i'll sw'ar he didn't git out while i was watchin' the hawk," cried whipple. "anyways, he can't be fur off." "hustle around!" fumed brady. "get into the swamp, every man-jack of you, and find that whelp wherever he is. i wouldn't have him get clear for a thousand, cold!" all the gang forthwith became exceedingly busy. they darted off in various directions, and brady himself, accompanied by grove, started for the side of the island from which matt and the girl were watching. "we'll have to get away from here!" breathed the girl, turning. "follow me, matt, and be careful where you step. if you're not careful, you may find yourself mired in the swamp." "trust me for that," answered matt. "i'll carry this," he added, taking the bag from the girl's hands. the swamp, into which they were now headed, presented a matted tangle of undergrowth growing among the trees. through the bushes could be seen a glimmer of stagnant water, and the whole place seemed as dank and loathsome as a tropical jungle. the girl picked her way carefully, parting the bushes ahead of her and stepping from hummock to hummock. finally they reached a little bare uplift of dry earth, and halted to listen. they could hear nothing of pursuit, and the girl drew a long breath of relief. "dad don't know that i've explored this swamp," said she. "i have lived on the island for nearly six months--dad used to keep me here while he was doing his thieving in south chicago, so i wouldn't be able to tell what i know and give him away, i guess." she sank down on the flat piece of turf for a few moments' rest. the ground, although dry, shivered under them as they moved, and seemed every moment as though about to give way beneath their weight and let them down into the morass. "this is a treacherous-looking place," remarked matt, peering off into the trees and bushes that hemmed them in on every side. "it's all of that," replied the girl. "it would be easy for a person to get lost." "not easy for me, as i know it too well." "if i can get away in the hawk," went on matt, after a brief silence, "this will make it necessary for you to go with me." "why?" she queried, lifting her wide, dark eyes to his. "can't you understand? your father and his men will discover that you are not on the island, and they will suspect that you helped me out of the hut. what will your father do when he finds that out?" a shiver swept through the girl's slight form. "i suppose he will half kill me," she answered. "but i shall stay with him. i am his daughter, and it's my duty to be with him to the end." "you mustn't be foolish," said matt, inclined to get out of patience. "you're carrying your idea of duty to your father altogether too far." "i've thought it all out," she answered firmly, "and my mind is made up. please don't try to argue with me. it may not be possible for you to get away in the air-ship now," she added, with a sigh of regret. "if you can't, i will try and get you through the swamp. i don't know anything about it, though, after we get a little away from the island." "then," proceeded matt, not giving up his argument that helen brady should go away with him, "your father will be madder than ever when he finds out you have taken the goods stolen from hartz & greer." "that's what i expect, but it's right that the stuff should be returned. a person ought to have principles, matt, and i don't think a person amounts to much if he or she can't stand a little suffering on account of their principles." "that's right, too," muttered matt. "there's fifteen thousand dollars' worth of diamonds and jewelry in that bag," helen went on, "and hartz & greer have offered a reward of twenty-five hundred to any one who will return the property." "that money will go to you," said matt, promptly. "it's right that it should. look at the risks you're taking to have it put into the hands of its rightful owners again! some time, helen, you will be rid of your father, and then the money will come handy." she was gazing at him steadily, and there was something of rebuke in her eyes. "you don't mean that, matt," said she, quietly. "why not?" he demanded. "would it be right for me to take a reward for returning property my own father had stolen?" matt was amazed by the simple directness of the girl's reasoning. and she was right, entirely right. nevertheless it took one of fine character to reason and to act as the girl was doing. "if you succeed in getting away with the bag," helen continued, "i want you to give it back to the rightful owners. tell them it comes from hector brady's daughter, and that she hopes they will not be too hard on her father." "you bet i'll tell them," said matt. "what's more, i'll get through this swamp on foot, if i have to, and i'll consider it a mighty fine thing to lug the bag along and turn it over to hartz & greer." "i felt sure you'd help me," murmured the girl. "there was something in your face that told me you could be depended on the moment i looked at you at the door of that hoyne street house." "then the impression was mutual," said matt. "if i hadn't read honesty in your face, along with a desire to help me, i'd have made a rush out of that room in the hoyne street place the moment i read your warning on the fly leaf of the book." "it was well you didn't do that. you'd have been caught. pete was behind the window curtain all the time. that was why i had to write what i wanted you to know, and call your attention to it indirectly. if you had----" the girl was interrupted by a distant rustle of bushes. stifling the words on her lips, she sprang erect. "dad's coming this way," she whispered. "i don't think he has the least idea where we've gone, but he seems to be blundering in the right direction. we'll have to hurry on." once more they resumed their flight, matt carrying the bag and carefully following in his companion's footsteps. the way became increasingly difficult, and the bushes even denser than they had been at the point where they had entered the swamp. then, too, the hummocks which offered them foothold became farther apart so that it was necessary to leap almost blindly through the brush in getting from one to another. occasionally they halted and listened, but were unable to hear any sound behind them to indicate that brady and grove were still on the right track. just as matt was congratulating himself that they had again eluded their pursuers, a cry from the girl, muffled but full of distress, reached him. between him and her a screen of bushes intervened, and the cry had come a moment after she had taken a headlong plunge through the leafy tangle. not knowing what could have happened, and fearing the worst, matt shifted the bag to his other arm, drew his leather cap well down over his forehead so that the visor would protect his eyes, and leaped boldly after the girl. by good luck, rather than by any calculation on his part, he landed on a shaking hummock, and found that helen had plunged into the watery morass. dropping the bag, he reached down, grasped her about the waist and dragged her from the clutching grip of the swamp. "we'll have to go back," were the girl's first words, as he held her on the narrow foothold. "why?" he asked. she waved her hand in the direction toward which they were going. an open space, clear of trees and bushes, lay before them--a veritable quagmire with not a place in all its extent where they could set their feet. they would have to go back! with brady and grove on one side of them, and this impassable bog on the other, it looked as though they had been caught between two fires. chapter xiv. a desperate chance. once more the girl was plunged into despair. "we'll have to give up," she whispered, tearfully. "we have tried hard, but luck is against us. for several minutes we have been traveling over ground i know nothing about. when i saw that open stretch of swamp, my heart failed me and i fell off the firm ground. you see what a horrible place this is, matt!" "isn't there any way to get around to the other side of the island?" he asked. "yes, we could have done that, but i was trying to take you as far as i could toward the other edge of the swamp." "we'll have to give that up, now, and work our way around the island." "in going back," faltered the girl, "we may meet dad and grove!" "we must take the chance," he answered; "there's nothing else for it." "and in going around the island," proceeded the girl, dejectedly, "we may meet some of the others who are looking for us." "that's another risk we will have to run. come on," he continued, picking up the bag. "i'll lead the way back." "you've got a way about you," said helen, "that gives a person courage." "a fellow would be a pretty poor stick," returned matt, "who couldn't keep his nerve with a girl like you to help him." helen's dress was torn by the bushes, and her hands and face were scratched and bleeding; but she seemed to mind her physical discomforts very little, so eager was she to have matt's escape prove successful. listening intently for any sounds made by brady and grove, matt and the girl started back over the course they had recently covered. they had not gone far when the sounds they feared came to them. as they stood together and listened, they could hear brady and grove talking back and forth. their voices, and the crashing of the bushes, were growing rapidly in volume, and proved that they were coming closer. the girl began to tremble. matt pressed her hand reassuringly. off to the right of the course they had been following his quick eye detected a foothold among the matted bushes. he pointed it out to his companion. "get there, quick!" he whispered. she leaped for the spot at once, and he was not slow in following her. then, crouching down, they peered through the thicket. brady came jumping into sight, clutching a revolver in his hand. "i'm positive i heard something ahead, grove!" he cried. "it must be king, then," answered grove, floundering along in the rear. "he's been makin' a better hike of it through this blasted swamp than i ever thought he could." "there's an open stretch farther along," went on brady, grimly. "that'll stop him, and we'll have him in a few minutes." brady leaped out of sight, and grove likewise jumped past and vanished. the girl had scarcely breathed while the two men were so close to them. "now we've got a chance," whispered matt. "while they're going on toward that open part of the swamp, we'll get back toward the island and double around it." "we won't have to go far, now," rejoined the girl, her hopes rising, "before we can turn to the right and start around the island." matt continued to lead the way back, making the best time he possibly could. when the girl called softly to him, he stopped. "here's where we turn," said she. "i'd better go ahead from now on." he waited for her to gain his side, then followed as she continued to make her way onward through the bewildering tangle. time and again matt, if alone, would have lost his bearings, but helen, being on familiar ground, was never for one moment at a loss. their one fear now was that they should encounter some of the others who were searching, but they heard nothing to cause them the slightest uneasiness. at last, after half an hour of tiring work, helen drew to a halt. "we're about opposite the place where the air-ship is moored," said she. "that's where we want to be," answered matt. "make for the edge of the island, helen, as close to the air-ship as you can get." once more the girl started off. the bushes thinned perceptibly as they came closer and closer to the solid ground. this rendered the going easier, and it also enabled matt and the girl to make less noise in getting through the undergrowth. in nearing the island they redoubled their caution, and when they finally reached a spot from which they could look out and take in the situation in the vicinity of the "roost" and the air-ship, they congratulated themselves on the care they had exercised. they were not more than a dozen feet from the place where the hawk was secured. two rifles were leaning against the car, and two of the men--grove and needham--were sitting on the ground, occasionally looking aloft. brady, whipple and pete were no where in sight. "we must have crippled that air-ship of jerrold's pretty badly," needham was saying. "if king hadn't made this delay for us, the hawk would have been well away on her first trip." "that kid is a slippery customer," growled grove. "the old man is riled for fair over the way he's cuttin' up." "what's the use o' botherin' with him? the thing to do is to cut out o' this an' leave king in the swamp." "i reckon brady'd do that, if it wasn't for the bag of loot king seems to have taken along with him." both men had thrown off their hats, and grove was nursing a number of scratches on his face and hands. "we had a rough time of it," said he, "an' the old man sent me back to find out if any of the rest had had any success. if king had been found, i was to fire a signal-shot with one of the rifles." "hang the luck, anyhow!" snorted needham. "it was the worst thing brady ever done when he tangled up with king. the lad has a will of his own, an' i knew well enough he'd never take hold an' help us out runnin' the motor." "king has got more backbone than any fellow of his age i ever saw, and that's a fact. the girl must have helped him. and that's another place where brady has been lame, all along. he ought to have sent the girl away, somewhere. she hasn't got any business hanging out with a gang like this." while matt had been watching and listening, he had been turning over several plans in his mind. here was a chance, albeit a desperate one, for getting hold of the air-ship. he turned to the girl. "helen," he whispered, "i'm going to see if i can't capture the hawk." "you can't," she returned, fearfully. "grove and needham are armed and--and they'll shoot." "they can't shoot if i get hold of those rifles first," went on matt, still speaking in guarded tones. "how will you do that?" "their backs are toward us. i'll creep as close to the hawk as i can, then, if they hear me, as they probably will, i'll make a rush for the guns." the girl was silent for a moment. "there's nothing else to be done," she whispered, at last. "count on me, matt, to do whatever i can to help." "you keep back, helen," he counseled. "if i succeed in getting the guns, i won't need your help; if i don't, your help would do little good. here i go." slowly and cautiously matt crept out of the bushes. the car of the air-ship was between him and the men, and this served to screen him, up to a certain point; but the two rifles were leaning against the opposite side of the car, and in order to lay hold of them he would either have to go around the long framework, or else cross the car. he made up his mind to take the latter course. without being discovered, he managed to reach the side of the car; then, just as he was rising to step over the rail, needham caught sight of him. with a wild yell needham gained his feet. the yell brought grove up like a shot. for an instant, the two rascals were paralyzed by the unexpected appearance of matt. their moment of inaction afforded the young motorist just the opportunity he needed. flinging himself into the car, and across it, he snatched the rifles away from the rail, just as the hands of grove and needham were outstretched to take them. one of the weapons he flung behind him. "nail him!" cried grove; "down him, before he gets a chance to shoot!" needham, no less than grove, realized the necessity of capturing matt. matt, however, had no intention of using the remaining rifle on either of the two men; neither did he have it in mind to let them get away, or rough-handle him. as the two rushed forward, matt flung the rifle to his shoulder, and his gray eye sparkled menacingly along the barrel. "keep off!" he warned, swaying the muzzle of the gun back and forth so as to keep both men under it; "keep away from me and stand right where you are! i mean business, right from the drop of the hat, and you fellows might as well understand it." chapter xv. a daring escape. the menace of the steady gray eye and the swaying gun muzzle were enough for grove and needham. "here's a go!" growled needham, casting a yearning look around him toward the timber. "i'm going to make a 'go' of it, all right," averred matt, grimly, "no two ways about that. what are you doing with your right hand, needham?" needham's hand had wandered toward his hip. matt was watching both scoundrels so sharply that not a move they made escaped him. needham brought his hand around in front of him. "what are you trying to do, king?" queried grove, evidently seeking to gain time and give brady, pete or whipple a chance to come on the scene. "i'm trying to get away from this place," replied matt, "and i've not much time to waste in talk. i guess you know that fully as well as i do." still keeping the rifle trained on the two men, he climbed out of the car to the ground. "now," he went on, "i'll tell you fellows what you're to do, and then we'll be able to work quicker. you will both get into the car, and get in together so that i can cover you more easily with this one gun. needham will then place his back against the upright timber that helps suspend the car from the hoop--and mind you take the timber farthest from the driver's seat. on the bottom of the car there's a coil of small rope. with that, grove will tie needham to the upright. is that clear?" "why, what the blazes----" began grove, but matt cut him short. "there's no time for talk, i tell you!" he called, sharply. "brady and the other two may show up here, and i'm going to have this work done before that happens." "but----" "get into the car!" matt's finger flexed ever so slightly upon the trigger of the gun. the watchful eyes of grove and needham detected the movement and both made haste to tumble into the car. "i'd give a farm to know what you've got up your sleeve," growled needham, as he backed slowly against the upright timber. "move more quickly," warned matt, "or you'll find what i've got in this gun. i used to be in arizona, and i know how they deal with matters of this sort down there. they're not in the habit of wasting so many words as i'm doing. pick up that rope, grove," he added, "and get busy with it. mind you tie hard knots! no fast-and-loose plays at this stage of the game." grove was a bit languid in his operations, and as he worked he gave more attention to the quarters from which brady, pete and whipple might be expected than he did to the tying of needham. "grove," called matt, sternly, "i'm not going to bother much more with you! move faster, and pass some of that rope around needham's arms. i don't want his hands left free. pull the coils tighter." after a fashion, grove got his comrade tied. "will that do you?" he demanded, gruffly, turning to glare at matt. "that will answer. now turn your back to needham's." "say, by thunder i'm not going to stand for----" "_turn your back!_" matt shoved the muzzle of the rifle toward grove's breast, and the man made haste to place himself against the upright piece of the car's framework. it was matt's intention, then, to drop the rifle and proceed with the tying of grove himself, but the girl suddenly appeared and climbed into the car. "i'll do the rest, matt," said she, picking up the loose end of the rope. matt had planned to have the girl remain in the thicket, taking no part in his operations; but she had different ideas. grove and needham both glared at the girl. "the old man will make you sorry for this!" fumed grove. "i expect he will," replied the girl. "he has made me sorry for a lot of things lately." around and around the bodies of the two men helen coiled the rope. then, when she had come to the end of it, she made it fast with a knot. pausing a moment after she had finished, she drew a revolver out of needham's hip-pocket and dropped it on the driver's seat. "you had better have that in your own hands, matt," said she, quietly. "it will be easier to handle than the rifle." "don't get out of the car, helen," called matt, as the girl was about to climb over the rail. "you can't stay here after this." "i can and i must." her resolve to remain with her father was unshaken; but there was a bright light in her eyes which matt had not seen there before. evidently the success that was attending matt's plans to get away with the air-ship had lifted a grievous load from her spirits. walking around the car, helen picked up the bag which they had taken with them into the swamp. "this must go with you, matt," she continued, pushing the bag under the driver's seat, "along with the rest of the stuff piled up on the ground there." while she was on that side of the car she cast off the mooring-rope and flung it into the air-ship. matt dropped the rifle and released the rope on the other side. the hawk was now in readiness to take to flight. with nothing to hold it, the gas-bag began to feel the effects of the wind that was blowing and to move about in answer to the faint gusts. but it rode on an even keel, for its buoyancy had to be accelerated by the propeller before it would rise, or could be maneuvered. the girl had started toward the bags, heaped up on the ground. before she could reach them, however, a loud yell from the opposite side of the island caused her to halt in consternation. "dad!" she cried, wildly; "he's coming!" "brady! this way, quick!" the clamoring whoops went up from needham and grove as they struggled fiercely to free themselves. matt, seeing that there was not an instant to be lost, leaped into the car and tilted the steering-rudder at an angle which would carry the air-ship upward. "come along!" he shouted to the girl as he started the engine. "get into the car, helen!" "hurry, hurry!" screamed the girl, running directly away from the car and in the direction of brady and pete, who were making for the hawk at a run. a pang of regret ran through matt at the thought of leaving helen brady behind to bear the brunt of her father's anger; but there was no time for argument. he started the propeller, and the hawk began to move up the airy incline toward the tops of the trees that walled in the edge of the "island." the struggles of matt's two prisoners became desperately frantic. so violently did they wrestle with their bonds that the car tipped and swayed dangerously. matt had no time to give to them, just then, being wholly wrapped up in the maneuvering of the hawk. he gave the rudder a further tilt, throwing the air-ship to an angle that caused grove's feet to slip from under him, so that only the support of the rope and the upright held him to his place. "shoot!" he bellowed. "why don't you blaze away at him, brady?" brady had evidently held his fire, hoping to get the air-ship back without injury; and, even now, as his rifle and pete's began to crack murderously, the target of their bullets was matt. two or three of the leaden spheres zipped past matt's head, missing him by the narrowest of margins. strangely enough, however, matt was more worried about the harm the bullets might do the gas-bag, or the machinery, than he was about any damage they might do him. faster and faster he speeded up the engine, and the hawk raced toward the clouds. she cleared the tops of the trees, gained the clear sky, and, at a height of five hundred feet, was brought to an even keel. then, and not till then, did matt venture a look below. he was just in time to catch one fleeting glimpse of those he had left behind on the "island." what he saw aroused his anger and indignation. helen, still true to her resolve to help matt, had seized hold of her father's rifle and was struggling to keep him from using it. the minute figures were strangely clear, and matt saw brady lift his fist and strike the girl down. then the tops of the trees interposed and cut off the unpleasant sight. matt faced about, a steely glint in his gray eyes. "here's a fine lay out!" grove was clamoring, far gone with chagrin and baffled rage. "one kid, single-handed, captures two of us and runs off with the air-ship, right under the noses of brady and the rest! oh, well, we're entitled to all we get out of this. we don't deserve anything better." "you'll get something more than you expect," said matt, picking up the revolver and pushing it into his pocket, "if you don't stop squirming around like that. it's hard to steer when you're rocking the car in such a fashion. you fellows are my prisoners, so make the best of it." "yes," growled grove, "and us two aeronauts will have a fine tale to tell when you take us where you're going to. you've stolen this car. that'll cook your goose for you." "brady," answered matt, "can have his air-ship back whenever he wants to show up and claim it." there followed a brief silence, during which matt noted that the wind was brisk, and from the north, and exulted over the speed the hawk developed in the teeth of it. needham was first to break the silence. "if i had my hat, and was able," said he, craning his head around to get a look at matt, "i'd take it off to you." the lad in the driver's seat made no response. he was hurrying toward south chicago. where was the eagle? the skies in every direction were clear and the other air-ship was nowhere to be seen. motor matt, as he drove the air-ship steadily against the wind, kept close watch of the captured aeronauts. chapter xvi. the end of the mid-air trail. the failure of carl, harris and jerrold to make a landing on the "island" has already been recorded. they had seen the hawk, moored at one edge of the cleared space, and they had seen brady and the others; but, of course, it had been impossible for them to see anything of matt. the young motorist, at that time, was bound hand and foot and lying on the cot in the hut. with bullets flying around them and threatening injury to the eagle, it was not policy to remain hovering over such a nest of desperate scoundrels very long. "we'll get out of here," cried harris, angrily, "and come back with men and guns enough to give those fellows a taste of their own medicine. don't let any harm come to the air-ship, jerrold. we're going to need her, later." just as harris finished speaking, a bullet slapped into the motor and the machinery at once began to go wrong. "too late," responded jerrold grimly; "they've already nipped us." "py chimineddy," roared carl, "i vish i hat somet'ing vat i could shoot mit ad dem fillains!" limping and staggering, jerrold managed to urge the eagle out of harm's way. "she won't drop on us, will she?" asked harris, looking anxiously downward at the tree-tops. "no," replied jerrold, "the gas-bag is uninjured, so we can't fall; and the motor is working, too, after a fashion, and that enables us to make a slow rate of speed. but there will have to be some repairs before we can do anything more with the air-ship." "where'll we go to make them? back to south chicago?" "lake station is nearer. we'll come down there and ascertain the extent of the damage. it may be that we shall have to go back to south chicago if the injury is at all serious." "all right," acquiesced harris. "i'll be able to do some telephoning and get a few more men out here from headquarters. i'll have them bring rifles, and then we'll give brady a set-to that he'll remember." "i ditn't see matt in der blace," mourned carl. "he may have been there," said harris. "there were two sheds, and they may be keeping your chum a prisoner in one of them." "vell, vile ve're avay fixing oop der eagle, meppy dose fellers pack dere vill fly off mit demselufs in der hawk. oof dey do dot, den ve vill have some drouple for our pains." "we shall have to keep watch of the sky in the direction of the swamp," said jerrold. "by doing that we can tell whether or not the hawk gets away." carl made that his work. "i don'd know how i can see mit der naked eye ven ve ged py lake sdation," he remarked. "we'll have to hunt up a spyglass, or a pair of binoculars," suggested harris. "vat oof der hawk moofs pefore we ged dem?" "then we'll be up against it, and no mistake." there was a lot of excitement in the little town of lake station when a real, sure enough air-ship descended close to the blacksmith shop. the whole population gathered and stared. while jerrold was busy tinkering with his crippled motor, carl succeeded in finding an old-fashioned spyglass and climbed with it to the top of the highest building in town. there he perched himself on the edge of the roof and watched continually in the direction of willoughby's swamp. meanwhile, harris had been talking with police headquarters in south chicago. as a result, three officers were detailed to catch the first train for lake station. the repairs to be made to the eagle were somewhat extensive, and taxed the capacity of the blacksmith shop. had jerrold been in his own workroom he could have fixed up the motor more easily and quickly, but to take the eagle back to south chicago would have resulted in a loss of time. hour after hour the inventor labored, helped by the blacksmith and eyed with wonder by the townspeople. the detail of officers arrived, and they could do nothing but wait until the eagle was ready to carry them to the "island" in the swamp. any attempt to reach the "island" on foot was hardly to be considered. while jerrold's labors were nearing completion, a yell from carl called the attention of harris. "what's the matter with you?" he shouted. carl was dancing around on the roof top, waving the spyglass frantically. "come oop!" he cried, wildly. "der hawk is gedding avay mit itseluf! ach, plazes, vat a luck!" harris made haste to reach the top of the building where carl had been patiently waiting and watching. "pud der spyglass to your eye, harris," said carl, "und look off to der nort'. ach, dose fellers haf made some ged-avays, und i bed you dey have dook matt along!" with the glass at his eye, harris swept the horizon in the direction indicated by carl. finally he found what he was looking for--an oblong blot gliding through the heavens and proceeding in a northerly direction. "that's the hawk, all right," said he, in a tone of intense disappointment, "but why is it heading in that direction?" "prady vouldn't dare go pack by sout' chicago," said carl. "i bed you somet'ing for nodding he has got anodder hang-oudt in dot tirections. ach, vat vill i do for dot bard oof mine?" gloomily the two descended from the roof, and carl returned the spyglass to its owner. half an hour later the eagle was ready for flight, and the officers and carl got aboard. it was decided to proceed to the swamp and look over the "island" and then, if nothing of importance developed, to return to south chicago. the eagle's motor, apparently, worked as well as ever, and the four miles separating willoughby's swamp from lake station were covered in record time. as they neared the "island" the officers made ready to use their guns. there was no hostile demonstration, however, and not a soul was anywhere in sight. the eagle descended, and the officers, accompanied by the anxious carl, proceeded to make a search. they found nothing but two meagerly furnished houses, apparently recently deserted. silence reigned everywhere, ominous of events that had happened. "vell," said carl, gloomily, "dis means dot i haf got to do some more looking for modor matt. der gang haf made off mit him some more, und i vas so tisappointed as i can't dell." for that matter, they were all disappointed--jerrold in particular. motor matt had served jerrold well, and the inventor had been anxious to make him some repayment in kind. but there was nothing left for the air-ship party to do but to point the eagle toward home. as the air-ship passed the rolling mills and came close to the balloon house where brady had formerly housed the hawk, it was observed by those in the car that the doors of the big building were closed, and that two officers had mounted guard in front of them. "that means something," muttered harris. "drop lower, jerrold, so i can talk with those two cops." jerrold descended until the top of the car was nearly on a level with the balloon house, and harris leaned over the guard rail. "hello!" he called. "what are you fellows doing there?" "watching the air-ship," was the astounding answer. "do you mean to say that brady's air-ship is in that balloon house?" "sure." "has brady been captured?" "why, no. you went after him, didn't you?" "we went after him, but he and his men fired on us and damaged our motor. we went to lake station to fix the machinery, and while we were there we caught sight of the hawk, through a spyglass, making north. as soon as we could, we started for the swamp, but there was no one there. naturally, we supposed that brady and his gang had made their escape, and it's mighty surprising to hear that the hawk is back in its old cage and didn't bring brady along." "the hawk brought motor matt----" carl gave a yell and nearly fell out of the car. "modor matt?" he shouted. "vas you shdringing me, oder iss it shdraight goots?" "i'm giving it to you straight," answered the officer on the ground. "motor matt got away from the swamp and brought two prisoners with him, in the hawk. they were two of the men who robbed jerrold of his plans." "zum lauderbach haben, mich shtets----" began carl, singing loudly and then interrupting himself to gloat. "dot's my bard vat dit dot! yah, so! leedle modor matt who iss alvays doing t'ings vat you don'd oxbect. he has shtarred himseluf some more, you bed you! vere iss modor matt now, officer?" carl called down. "he took a train into chicago--said he was behind his schedule for that five-day race. the two prisoners are at police headquarters." "well, by thunder!" muttered harris, mopping his face with a red handkerchief, "that motor matt must be a regular young phenomenon!" "i never heard of anything to beat him!" averred jerrold. "und you nefer vill!" declared carl. "he iss vone oof dose fellers vat can't be peat." "you might take us to police headquarters, jerrold," suggested harris. "und you mighdt shtop on der vay py der railroadt sdation," piped carl. "i vant to ged py chicago so kevick as der nation vill led me." * * * * * when carl next saw matt, the young motorist was spinning around the great oval in a jarrot machine, which he knew so well and had driven to victory in kansas. the five-day race was not for one driver alone, but several drivers were to be at the steering wheel of each car. matt had reached the coliseum just in time to take his place in the racing schedule. every time matt whirled around the oval, carl had something to say to him, but it was not until evening that the boys were able to get together for a talk. they decided between them that brady, and those whom matt had left on the "island," must have made their escape from the swamp by a secret route known only to themselves. where harper, the driver of the hawk was, was likewise a mystery to the police. matt had turned the bag of loot stolen from hartz & greer over to the police with instructions to say that it was recovered by miss brady, and that no reward would be accepted for its return. "how you tink dot air-ship pitzness is, anyvays, matt?" asked carl, when the boys had had their talk out and were ready to crawl into bed. "i _like_ it," answered matt, enthusiastically, "and i wish i could have more of it!" his wish was destined to fulfillment, for, as events proved, his thrilling work in south chicago and at willoughby's swamp was but the beginning of a series of air-ship experiences. matt may have congratulated himself with the thought that he was through with hector brady, but brady was by no means done with matt--as will be made clear in the story to follow. the end. the next number ( ) will contain motor matt's hard luck; or, the balloon-house plot. an old friend--a trap--overboard--rescued--buying the hawk--matt scores against jameson--at the balloon house--the plot of the brady gang--carl is surprised--helen brady's clue--jerrold gives his aid--grand haven--the line on brady--the woods by the river--brady a prisoner--back in south chicago. motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction new york, april , . terms to motor stories mail subscribers. (_postage free._) single copies or back numbers, c. each. months c. months c. months $ . one year . copies one year . copy two years . =how to send money=--by post-office or express money-order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. at your own risk if sent by currency, coin, or postage-stamps in ordinary letter. =receipts=--receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. if not correct you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once. ormond g. smith, } george c. smith, } _proprietors_. street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york city. the big cypress. the rifle cracked and the piece of boiler plate, which had been erected as target against the bank fifty yards away, fell shattered like a pane of glass. "how's that, colonel fearon?" coolly inquired the young fellow, who had fired the shot, as he turned to the tall, sallow-faced man who stood beside him. a curious expression crossed the latter's face, but he answered quickly, "amazing, rutherford! simply astonishing. i could never have believed such a thing possible. a pom-pom shell could hardly have smashed the plate more effectually." the boy--he was hardly more--laughed. "i thought it would startle you, colonel. will you feel justified in sending me up to washington?" "i reckon that's the place for you to go to, rutherford. the war department'll need that new bullet of yours in their business. you mean to tell me you invented that bullet all by yourself?" "i did, colonel. you see, i was always fond of dabbling in chemistry and the idea for this came to me one day when i was at work in my father's store. i didn't worry about it much, until the poor old man went broke, and then it struck me there was money in it. it was the mayor of our town, orangeville, told me to come to you. he said that you could give me the proper introductions." "he was right," said colonel fearon. "i can fix you up with the proper people. let me have a shot." lionel rutherford handed the colonel a cartridge, which outwardly looked precisely similar to an ordinary rifle cartridge. he then walked across the lawn of fine bermuda grass, put a fresh piece of steel plate in position, and came back. the colonel fired, and, as before, the tough steel simply sprang to pieces and lay in scattered fragments on the grass. "i reckon there's more money in this than in keeping store," said the colonel thoughtfully. "rutherford, i'll be pleased if you'll stay here at my house for a day or two till i can write to the proper people." young rutherford thanked him warmly and the two walked back toward the long, low, wide verandaed house. late that night the colonel and his son, randal fearon, sat together in the well-appointed smoking room and talked earnestly in low tones. "there's thousands in it, father," said the younger man sharply. "thousands!" "i know that as well as yourself," returned the other irritably. "but the invention's not yours or mine." "what's rutherford?" sneered randal. "here he is, a fellow who's never known anything of life, who's lived all his days in a little one-horse backwoods town, and now he's going to roll in riches while we are on the edge of bankruptcy." he paused, and glanced at his father, who sat fidgeting uneasily. the colonel, fine-looking man that he was, was as weak-willed as his tall, thin, sharp-faced son was strong. "a real nice scandal there'll be when we go smash," went on randal fearon. "think of the headlines. 'fraudulent bankruptcy. prominent floridian lives beyond his means.' how the yellow press'll revel in it!" again the colonel moved uneasily. "i don't see how you're going to get the specifications from him, anyhow," he said at last. "you leave that to me," replied randal with sneering emphasis. "look you here, randal, i won't have any violence." for once colonel fearon spoke decidedly. "i guess you needn't worry your head about that," answered randal. "i've got the whole plan cut and dried. you've asked him to stay?" "yes," said the colonel. "he will stay." randal laughed as if pleased. "that's all right. to-morrow we'll settle it, pete dally and i." "how?" "i'll tell you in the morning. don't worry yourself. as you are so anxious to avoid it, i promise you there shall be no violence." randal chuckled in ugly fashion as he got up, flung the stump of his cigar into the fireplace, and, lighting a small hand lamp, left the room. * * * * * "how much farther have we got to go before we run into any of this game you talked about, mr. fearon?" asked rutherford as he stopped and wiped the perspiration from his streaming face. "i thought we'd have seen a buck before now," replied randal fearon. "we don't often have to come this far into the big cypress to find game, do we, pete?" "no, sah; we gen'rally finds it quite clos' to the aidge of de swamp," said pete, who was a burly, square-shouldered negro with a face as black as ebony. rutherford was rather puzzled. that morning randal fearon had suggested that it would be very good fun to go shooting in the big cypress, a huge tract of wild, swampy forest, the edge of which was about five miles from colonel fearon's place. "you might try the effect of some of your explosive bullets," randal had suggested; and rutherford had laughed and said that there wouldn't be much left of any game smaller than a buffalo or an elephant if struck by one of his projectiles. all the same, being a keen sportsman, he had willingly agreed to the shoot. what puzzled him was that they should have tramped for hours through this steaming bush, which reeked with signs of game, and yet not seen a single thing to shoot at. "don't you worry. we shall find deer soon," said randal when rutherford expressed his astonishment. "we're getting near a good place now. i reckon we'd better stop and eat our dinner first. pete, make a fire." pete dally dropped the big haversack he was carrying over his broad shoulders, and obeyed. in a very few minutes a fire was blazing, and the fragrant fumes of frying bacon and strong coffee filled the close, steamy air. lionel rutherford, tired by the long tramp and the hot-house atmosphere of the jungle, enjoyed the meal greatly. after they had finished they marched on again. they had left the pine trees behind, and were pushing along a narrow track through a forest of great ilex, bastard oak, and magnolia. the undergrowth was of saw palmetto, growing in huge, impenetrable clumps, among which the muddy track wound in and out. the scent of yellow jasmine was almost stifling, but the only life visible was an occasional cardinal bird with its vivid crimson plumage, or a stub-tailed water moccasin which raised its triangular, copper-hued head with an ugly hiss and dragged itself sluggishly out of sight among the tangled herbage. the path was so narrow that they were compelled to walk in single file. randal made pete lead the way. more than once the negro had tried to drop behind, but each time randal roughly ordered him to push ahead. the silence of the swamp grew as oppressive as the intense heat. it began to get upon young rutherford's nerves. "a tough place to get lost in," he said at last. randal turned quickly. there was a queer expression on his sharp face as he replied: "yes, pretty bad, i reckon." somehow, rutherford fancied there was something sinister in his tone. "i don't like the chap," he thought to himself. "i wish i hadn't come." then common sense got the better of his fears. "it's the place, not the people, that's worrying me. these big hamaks are worse than a desert. there you can see the sky; here it's like one great, green prison." "look out, sah. dah's a wild cat in dat tree," suddenly hissed pete dally, and slipped out of the path into the thicket. "quiet or youse done frighten him." rutherford, all excitement, slipped his rifle from his shoulder. but randal barred his way. he was standing still, peering up into the tree indicated. "where? i don't see it," he exclaimed harshly. "dere it am, sah. on dat big fork," declared pete, pointing. and then as randal stepped forward, the negro slipped back round a clump of palmetto, and rutherford felt a hand fall sharply on his arm, while these words were whispered in his ear: "dat man mean you no good, sah. watch me, an' doan' do what he say." he turned in amazement, but peter was already gone. he had glided back, and was standing at randal's elbow, pointing out the exact spot where he alleged he had seen the cat. but there was no cat there now, and rutherford wondered if there ever had been. randal cursed pete angrily, and once more they moved forward. rutherford, more worried than he cared to own even to himself, followed, as before, the last of the little procession. it was getting late and the bullfrogs had begun to bellow harshly in unseen pools in the forest. but there was no decrease in the sullen heat. not a breath stirred the moist, stagnant air, and the farther they went the thicker grew the tangled vegetation till there was no longer any sign of a path. in unbroken silence the three forced their way through primeval forest. presently trees broke away, and they stood upon the muddy marge of a reedy lagoon, across the stagnant waters of which the low sun cast a lurid light. "here we are," said randal fearon sharply. "this is where the deer come down to drink. you wait, rutherford, in the bushes here, and you'll soon get a shot. pete and i will take up our places on the far side. then whatever comes some of us will get a buck." "watch me, and don't do what he says." pete's words were ringing in rutherford's ears. he cast a glance at the negro. pete made a quick sign, which the english boy took to mean that he was to follow instead of remaining. next moment randal had plunged off through the palmetto with pete at his heels. "what's it all mean?" muttered rutherford angrily. "is fearon fooling me, or is it pete? of the two, i infinitely prefer the nigger. i'll do what he says." he left his shelter, and moved as quietly as possible on the track of the other two. sure enough, they did go round the pool! rutherford began to wonder if he was wrong; whether pete for some unknown reason was fooling him. the going was dreadful. the ground below the almost impenetrable palmetto was deep mud. swarms of mosquitoes rose and stung viciously. lionel was afraid that the crashing of the parted bushes would betray him. he knew he was falling a long way behind, and panic seized him that he might lose the others. though young rutherford had lived all his life in america, yet he had never been in a big swamp like this. the store had kept him busy. at last he reached the spot which randal had pointed out as his own shooting station. to his horror, there was no one there. randal and pete had both disappeared. he was alone in the tangled heart of this monstrous swamp, and knew that without help he could never hope to find his way out. after the first moment of panic lionel rutherford pulled himself together. he had plenty of pluck. he rapidly considered the situation. for some reason best known to himself randal fearon wished to abandon him, to lose him in the swamp. but he himself had no idea of dying of hunger, fever, or snakebite in this impenetrable wilderness. he had two courses open--go back and try to find his way out along the trail they had come by, or follow after randal and pete. there were no objections to the first. it was a very long way, and it was doubtful if he could find it even in broad daylight. as it was, it would be dark in an hour. besides, pete had certainly meant him to follow. randal must mean to spend the night in the swamp. that was clear. therefore he must have some camping place. "i'll follow," muttered the boy between set teeth, and started off. though the sun was not yet down, it was already dusk beneath the thick shade of the towering timber, and in the half light the trail was most difficult to follow. the others had long ago passed out of hearing. the night life of the swamp was waking. enormous owls hooted weirdly, then came the thundering bellow of a bull alligator, and presently above all these the ghastly, half-human shriek of a panther calling to its mate. stumbling and struggling, lionel hurried on. in a little he came to a thick belt of tall saw grass. the two pairs of footmarks entered it, but the trails beyond were so confused with the passage of deer and other animals that the boy recognized with a shock that he could not follow the human footsteps. very near despair, he turned back. no, he could not find randal's trail. he stopped. "i'm done!" he muttered hopelessly, and stood straining his ears for any sound of his former companions. just then, as he was almost giving up, he caught sight of a morsel of something white stuck on a broken stem beside the trail. it was a tiny piece of paper, and on it, marked with a muddy finger tip, an arrow pointing in a certain direction. "pete!" exclaimed lionel joyfully. a load rolled off his mind. marking the direction carefully, he pushed on fast. now he was on the lookout, he found other signs; a broken twig, a stick, laid in the path. darkness fell rapidly. there is little twilight in florida. "they can't go much farther," he said. he was right. in a very short time the dull glow of a fire showed where the others had camped. "what shall i do?" he asked himself. "go right up and tackle randal fearon? no; he'd have some excuse ready, and i'd only get pete into trouble. i must wait till randal goes to sleep." the mosquitoes were savage. young rutherford, tired and hungry, found it maddening to wait in the damp gloom, and watch randal gorge on the supper which pete cooked. nearly two hours passed before randal, having finished a cigar, rolled himself, head and all, in a blanket and lay down. a few minutes more, and a snore told rutherford it was safe to venture closer. pete heard him, and glided out. the black man chuckled silently when he saw the boy. "reckoned you'd be along, sah. you foun' de sign pete lef' for you. now de firs' thing is you eat. den we talk." he put corn, bread, and bacon into rutherford's hands, and the boy made a hearty meal. "now, sah," said pete. "you see what dat man want to do. he lose you in de swamp, den go home, say you fell in de water and was drowned. den he an' his dad, dey take dat blow-up bullet ob yours an' sell him." lionel rutherford was aghast. he had never dreamed of such wickedness. "but we beat dem," went on pete, with a chuckle. "i like you, an' i hate dat randal." "what can we do?" asked lionel eagerly. "why, we play de same trick on him he try play on you. we take all de stuff, go off, an' leab him. he no more find his way out of de big cypress dan you. only pete know de trails." "that won't do, pete," returned lionel sharply. "i won't be any party to murder." pete was amazed. he expostulated strongly. "no, i'll tell you what we will do, pete. we'll go off and hide, and let him think he's lost. we'll follow and watch, and when he's got the soul nearly scared out of him we'll find him again. see?" pete saw. he chuckled again in high good humor. "dat's a very fine game, sah. we play dat to-morrow morning. now i take de things away, an' when randal wake he find no breakfast, no pete, no nothing." * * * * * "he done lost hisself, sure pop!" declared pete. it was nine o'clock next morning, and lionel rutherford and the negro had been following randal for more than an hour. his language when he woke up and found pete gone had been something appalling. having found that this did no good, he had started off back along the track they had come by on the previous day, but in less than ten minutes he was off it; and the two, who followed at a discreet distance, had watched his growing fury and fright when he found himself quite lost in the pathless depths of the wilderness. "he can't go dat way much furder," observed pete. "he gettin' down in de deal bad swamp. he go in up to his fool neck if he don't be keerful." sure enough the quaking muck-land broke beneath the young scoundrel's weight, and in he went. with a yell of fright he caught at a branch, pulled himself out, and staggered back. "what's he going to do now?" whispered lionel. "reckon he going climb dat tree an' see whar he am." pete was right. randal began shinning up the stem of a tall, slender tree by the water's edge, the only one which seemed to give a possible view of any of the surrounding country. no doubt he thought he might spot the trail from the summit. rutherford, who had been staring hard at the tree, suddenly clutched pete's arm. "what's that thing up in the branches just above him?" he asked sharply. pete took a long stare. "by golly, sah, it am a snake! an' a mighty big one, sure!" rutherford started forward, slipping a cartridge into his rifle. "don't shoot, sah," whispered pete. "dat ain't no poison snake. it am only a old white oak snake." "looks like an ugly customer," muttered lionel. at this moment randal reached the first boughs and stood up. the movement alarmed the snake, which raised its ugly head and hissed sharply. randal heard the hiss, and, turning, saw the reptile. he gave a scream of terror, and almost lost his hold. then he backed rapidly on to a branch which actually overhung the creek. "time to end this now," said rutherford, raising his rifle. "i shall shoot the snake." pete seized his arm. "de snake won't hurt him, sah. but dey will." he pointed to the water. the big alligator had seen randal, and silently moved up till it was just beneath him. another of almost equal size had also risen to the surface. yellow eyes agleam, the hideous brutes were watching for this rash intruder upon their domain. at the very instant there was a snapping crackle. the bough on which randal cowered was breaking. and the wretched man, clinging vainly for a hold, had caught sight of the huge reptiles below. he screamed till the forest resounded with his agonizing cries. he snatched at the branches above, but could reach only twigs, which broke in his grasp. he was falling clean into the open jaws of the alligators. if rutherford's rifle had been loaded only with an ordinary cartridge nothing could have saved randal. it was just pure luck that he had flung one of his explosives into the breech. simultaneous with randal's fall the rifle spoke. the bullet caught the nearest alligator on the side of the head, and the air was full of mangled fragments of flesh and bone. into this horrible geyser randal dropped heavily and vanished. next moment he rose again, and struck out madly for the bank. "i can't shoot again," cried lionel. "i should kill him if i did." "dere ain't no need to," said the negro. "you done scared de stuffin' out ob dat oder gator." "thank goodness he's safe," exclaimed lionel as randal scrambled ashore and fell in a heap on the bank. "now we'd better get him home." pete laughed. "yes, sah. i reckon he done had enough ob de big cypress." when randal came round rutherford soon realized he had no more to fear. the fellow's nerve was broken. he shivered and trembled like a frightened child. they took him home, and then lionel went boldly to colonel fearon, and told him the whole story plump and plain. when he had finished the colonel sat speechless. his face was gray and pinched. lionel looked at him. "i shan't make any trouble for you," he said coolly. "all i want is those introductions. write them now, and i'll take them myself to washington." without a word the colonel obeyed. lionel rutherford is now a rich and rising man. pete is his faithful major-domo. whenever lionel gets a holiday the two go off down south for a week or two of shooting. but they never again penetrated the desolate depths of the great cypress. latest issues buffalo bill stories the most original stories of western adventure. the only weekly containing the adventures of the famous buffalo bill. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --buffalo bill and the rope wizard; or, a tie-up with the riata king. --buffalo bill's fiesta; or, at outs with the duke of cimarron. --buffalo bill among the cheyennes; or, the rescue of paquita. --buffalo bill besieged; or, texas kid's last trail. --buffalo bill and the red hand; or, the ranch of mystery. --buffalo bill's tree-trunk drift; or, the cold game "gent" from red tail. --buffalo bill and the spectre; or, a queer layout in spook cañon. --buffalo bill and the red feathers; or, the pard who went wrong. --buffalo bill's king stroke; or, old fire-top's finish. --buffalo bill, the desert cyclone; or, the wild pigs of the cumbres. --buffalo bill's cumbres scouts; or, the wild pigs corralled. brave and bold weekly all kinds of stories that boys like. the biggest and best nickel's worth ever offered. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --madcap max, the boy adventurer; or, lost in the land of the mahdi. by frank sheridan. --always to the front; or, for fun and fortune. by cornelius shea. --caught in a trap; or, the great diamond case. by harrie irving hancock. --for big money; or, beating his way to the pacific. by fred thorpe. --muscles of steel; or, the boy wonder. by weldon j. cobb. --gordon keith in zululand; or, how "checkers" held the fort. by lawrence white, jr --the boys' revolt; or, right against might. by harrie irving hancock. --the mystic isle; or, in peril of his life. by fred thorpe. --a million a minute; or, a brace of meteors. by weldon j. cobb. --gordon keith under african skies; or, four comrades in the danger zone. by lawrence white, jr. --two chums afloat; or, the cruise of the "arrow." by cornelius shea. motor stories the latest and best five-cent weekly. we won't say how interesting it is. see for yourself. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. --motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. --motor matt's century run; or, the governor's courier. --motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the "comet." --motor matt's mystery; or, foiling a secret plot. --motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear. --motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto. --motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward. --motor matt's air-ship; or, the rival inventors. _for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address on receipt of price, cents per copy, in money or postage stamps, by_ street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york =if you want any back numbers= of our weeklies and cannot procure them from your newsdealer, they can be obtained from this office direct. fill out the following order blank and send it to us with the price of the weeklies you want and we will send them to you by return mail. =postage stamps taken the same as money.= ________________________ _ _ _street & smith, - seventh avenue, new york city._ _dear sirs: enclosed please find_ ___________________________ _cents for which send me_: tip top weekly, nos. ________________________________ nick carter weekly, " ________________________________ diamond dick weekly, " ________________________________ buffalo bill stories, " ________________________________ brave and bold weekly, " ________________________________ motor stories, " ________________________________ _name_ ________________ _street_ ________________ _city_ ________________ _state_ ________________ adventures of a boy genius motor stories most five-cent weeklies are founded upon the adventures of boy wonders who perform all sorts of impossible feats and who never act or talk as a boy really does. this is displeasing to the intelligent boy of the present day, who is better educated, and who, consequently, demands more logical reading than the old-time boy did. the boys who want to learn something from what they read, as well as to be interested by it, will never find another publication that will satisfy them so well as motor stories. "motor matt" is not an impossible boy character. he is simply a youth who has had considerable training in a machine shop where motors of all kinds were repaired, and who is possessed of a genius for mechanics. his sense of right and wrong is strongly developed, and his endeavors to insure certain people a square deal lead him into a series of the most astonishing, but at the same time the most natural, adventures that ever befell a boy. buy the current number from your newsdealer. we feel sure that you will be just as enthusiastic about it as the fifty thousand other boys throughout the united states have become. here are the titles now ready: no. .--motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. no. .--motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. no. .--motor matt's century run; or, the governor's courier. no. .--motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the "comet." no. .--motor matt's mystery; or, foiling a secret plot. no. .--motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear. no. .--motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto. to be published on april th no. .--motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward. to be published on april th no. .--motor matt's air-ship; or, the rival inventors. to be published on april th no. .--motor matt's hard luck; or, the balloon house plot. to be published on may d no. .--motor matt's daring rescue; or, the strange case of helen brady. to be published on may th no. .--motor matt's peril; or, cast away in the bahamas. =price, five cents= at all newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, by the publishers upon receipt of the price. _street & smith, publishers, new york_ transcriber's notes: italics are represented with _underscores_; bold with =equal signs=. retained inconsistent hyphenation ("reentered" vs. "re-entered"). page , changed "anyhere" to "anywhere" ("we can go anywhere"). page , removed unnecessary quote before "in the letter, over his own signature." changed "propellor" to "propeller" ("propeller forces the air-ship"). page , changed "yon" to "you" ("you can handle the machine"). page , changed "times" to "time" ("right time arrives"). page , changed "geen" to "been" ("chum has been getting"). page , changed "mat" to "matt" ("get a look at matt"). page , changed "nearer" to "neared" ("as they neared"). page , changed "bulding" to "building" ("big building were closed"). page , changed "crossel" to "crossed" ("curious expression crossed"). changed "outwarlly" to "outwardly" ("outwardly looked precisely"). changed "varandaed" to "verandaed." page , changed "thicked" to "thicker" ("thicker grew the"). page , changed "clutchel" to "clutched" ("clutched pete's arm"). courtesy of the digital library@villanova university (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction no. mar. , five cents motor matt's mystery or foiling a secret plot [illustration: "that's motor matt!" yelled the man in the automobile, "get him, spangler!"] motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction _issued weekly. by subscription $ . per year. entered according to act of congress in the year , in the office of the librarian of congress, washington, d. c., by_ street & smith, _ - seventh avenue, new york, n. y._ no. . new york, march , . price five cents. motor matt's mystery; or, foiling a secret plot. by the author of "motor matt." contents chapter i. a dutchman in trouble. chapter ii. the runaway auto. chapter iii. the man at the roadside. chapter iv. the mystery deepens. chapter v. matt gets a job. chapter vi. concerning the letter. chapter vii. the two horsemen. chapter viii. on the road. chapter ix. in the hands of the enemy. chapter x. a shift in the situation. chapter xi. a surprise. chapter xii. escape. chapter xiii. the hut in the hills. chapter xiv. back to the car. chapter xv. a race and a ruse. chapter xvi. in ash fork. a young mariner's peril. swans carried over niagara falls. para rubber and its gathering. queer californian traders. burrowing fishes. turn river to mine its bed. characters that appear in this story. =matt king=, concerning whom there has always been a mystery--a lad of splendid athletic abilities, and never-failing nerve, who has won for himself, among the boys of the western town, the popular name of "mile-a-minute matt." =carl pretzel=, a cheerful and rollicking german lad, who is led by a fortunate accident to hook up with motor matt in double harness. =james q. tomlinson=, the jeweler from denver, who seems to have troubles of his own, and about whose identity there is more or less confusion. =trymore=, } a trio of sporting gentlemen who believe in hunting big =hank=, } game, and who consider themselves experts in the line =spangler=,} of choice gems. =pringle=, once honest carl's pardner in vaudeville, but latterly engaged in a far less honorable business. =gregory=, a chauffeur. =hop loo=, } =charley sing=,} the two eccentric laundrymen of ash fork. chapter i. a dutchman in trouble. whiz, bang! "dutchee boy no good! have gotee mon, no makee pay. whoosh! allee same cheap skate!" whiz, _bang_, clatter, _bang_! "vat's der madder mit you, hey? you vas grazier as i can't tell! py shiminy grickets, oof you hit me mit a flad-iron i vill mad be as some hornets. shtop a leedle, und i vill----" there followed a wild yell, a pandemonium as though bedlam had been turned loose, and then a heavy fall and sudden quiet. motor matt, just turning into the yard of a small adobe house, heard the tremendous uproar and came to a startled halt. hop loo, a chinese laundryman, lived in the house, and matt was just coming after his week's wash. under a cotton-wood tree in the yard, some fifteen feet from the house, was a wash-tub mounted on a couple of chairs. between the tree and a corner of the house, and running thence to a post set at right angles with the adobe wall, was a line strung with clothes. charley sing, who worked for hop loo, was at the tub, up to his elbows in hot suds. the racket in the house had claimed charley's attention just as it had caught matt's. pulling his hands out of the wash-water, charley dried them on his kimono, jerked the wash-board out of the tub, and, holding it by one leg for use as a weapon, stole toward the open door of the adobe. matt had been so situated that he could look into the house and catch a restricted view of what was going on. the thumping had been caused by flat-irons striking against the inner walls, each one being nimbly dodged by a fat youth of decidedly odd appearance. hop loo, who was ironing, had shrilly piped his denunciation of the fat boy; the latter had replied; and hop loo, failing to make a bull's-eye with the flat-iron, had sprung at the boy. the latter, with an astonishingly quick move, considering his size, had grabbed a rack of ironed clothes and hurled it in hop loo's way. thereupon hop loo had turned a somersault over the clothes, and was now standing on his head very quietly in a wood-box. "meppy you t'ink i vas a vandefeller, or rockybilt," cried the fat boy, breaking the silence, "but you bet my life you got anodder guess coming. you make me some drouples, by shinks, und i don'd like dot. goot-py, hob loo! sorry dot i can't vait undil you ged right-site-oop, aber i haf pitzness in some odder blaces, und vill broceed to fly my kite!" the fat boy turned and wabbled through the door. matt, now that he had a good look at him, began to laugh. "dutchman" was written all over the boy's face. he had a mop of carroty hair, and on top of it was a little plaid cap that looked as though it was lost in the wilderness. his ample dimensions were covered with a suit whose pattern consisted of a very "loud" plaid, and under the open coat could be seen a crimson vest that made even more noise than the rest of his apparel. as this ponderous vision ambled through the door, it was met by charley sing and the wash-board. "ged oudt oof my vay!" yelled the fat dutch boy. "oof you don'd, py shiminy, somet'ing is going to take blace vat is nod on der pills." charley, grimly determined, whirled the wash-board and let drive with it. the strength he put into the blow caused the board to leave his hands. the dutchman dropped, the wash-board flew over his head and hit hop loo, who had up-ended himself and was just returning to the attack, in the pit of the stomach. "wow!" gurgled hop loo, catching his middle with both hands and doing a wild dance in his straw sandals. charley sing was now thoroughly aroused. jabbering in frantic "pidgin," he proceeded to make front on the dutchman. the latter, continuing to display his surprising agility, ducked sideways between hop loo and charley sing, and rushed in the direction of the cottonwood. charley followed him with such speed that his pigtail stood straight out behind him, and the sandals flew right and left from his rapidly moving feet. the german boy circled around the wash-tub. charley would have circled, too, only his toes caught in a wringer that was lying on the ground, and he pitched heavily against the chairs that held the tub. a catastrophe followed. the tub went down, and charlie turned a handspring in the hot suds and came up covered with foam and wet clothes. "whoosh!" he spluttered; "killee dutchee boy! allee same debble! makee go topside!" falling over against the tree, he began clearing the soap-suds out of his eyes and throat. he looked like an animated drying-post, and the dutch boy, in spite of his troubles, began to haw-haw wildly. by that time, however, hop loo had recovered his wind, grabbed up a stick of stove-wood, and was bearing down on the fat teuton with blood in his eye. the youth saw him coming, whirled, and ran into the clothes-line. his weight ripped the line from the tree and the house-corner, and when he went on he carried it with him, the dried clothes flapping like so many distress-signals. perhaps the boy traveled a dozen yards. at the end of that distance, he got tangled in the rope, went down and rolled over and over, completely wrapping himself up in a choice assortment of laundry. it is hard to tell what hop loo would have done when he came up with that fluttering heap that was twisting and writhing on the ground. he had the stick of wood in his hand and much bitterness in his heart, but if he struck too hard he would make a bad matter worse by damaging some of the linen. besides, when hop loo got ready to take revenge, matt was standing between him and the helpless dutchman. "easy there, hop loo!" cried matt. "you no stopee china boy!" howled hop loo, dancing all around matt and trying to get at the bundle. "dutchee boy spoilee heap washee, makee plenty tlouble. me sendee topside, you bettee!" grabbing hop loo's waving arm, matt deftly relieved the yellow fist of the billet of wood. "hold up, hop loo," said he soothingly; "let's get down to cases on this thing and find out what's wrong." "by jim' klismus," shrilled hop loo, "he tly beatee china boy! no makee pay fo' launly! kickee up plenty lumpus. no likee!" "vell, der olt rat-eader! i vas drying to tell him some t'ings und he vouldn't lis'en. he made me more drouples as you can guess, und pegan drowing me at all der flad-irons in der blace." matt looked around. the dutch boy had managed to scramble to his feet and paw his head free of the clothes. a red undershirt was draped gracefully over his right shoulder, and he was completely swathed in other garments and clothes-pins. matt grinned. the sight was too much for him. "meppy id's funny," said the dutch boy, with a wink, "aber der chink ain't enchoying himseluf so as any vone can nodice." "who are you?" asked matt. "carl is der lapel vat i tote, carl pretzel." "do you owe the chinaman money?" "vell, i vas pusted, und i vanted him to vait undil i get some chobs, und he got mad und pegun drowing t'ings. he vould haf drowed der kitchen stof ad me, only it vas hotter as he could hantle. my, my, vat a grazy chink id iss." "how much does he owe you, hop?" inquired matt. "fittyfi' cent fo' launly," answered the chinaman, "two dol' fo' spoilee clothes," and he waved a discouraged hand at the garments on the ground and at the overturned wash-tub. "two fittyfi', you savvy? him one piecee bad dutchee boy." "how much is my laundry?" asked matt. "fortyfi'." "that makes three dollars," said matt, pulling some money from his pocket. "take it, hop, and call the account square. now run in and get carl's laundry and mine while i'm getting him out of his tangle." the three silver dollars soothed the chinaman's injured feelings, and he turned and vanished into the house. "say," cried carl, "you vas a pooty goot feller! vat's your name, hey?" "matt king." "you lif in ash fork?" "no; i'm just here waiting for a man i'm anxious to see." "vell, dot's my fix. i'm likevise vaitin' for a man dot i vant do see mit a club. he's aboudt my size, only not kevite so goot looging as me, und pigger oop an' down as i am der odder vay. his name iss pringle. he vas a pad egg, i tell you dot. can you tell me vere dot feller iss?" matt shook his head. "never heard of him, carl," he answered. "chonny hartluck has been hitting me like anyt'ing," sighed carl, as matt stripped away the last of the clothes-line, "und you peen der fairest friendt i haf hat since i don'd know. shake vonce." carl put out his hand, and matt grasped it cordially. "how you t'ink i efer pay you pack dot money, matt?" asked carl. "i'm not thinking much about it, one way or the other," said matt. "no great loss, carl, if you never pay it back." "you vas a fine feller, und ve vill go some place und i vill tell you somet'ing." just then hop loo showed himself with two bundles of laundry. matt took one, and carl the other, and they left at once for the main part of the town. there was joy in the faces of hop loo and charley sing as the dutch boy departed, and they immediately began bringing order out of their demoralized "plant." when they were out of the yard, and bound along the road, carl pretzel threw back his head and began to laugh. "you seem to get a good deal of fun out of your troubles, carl," remarked matt, who had developed a deep interest in his odd companion. "dot's me!" guffawed carl. "id iss easy to be jeerful ven luck is comin' your vay, aber you bed you it takes a pooty goot feller to be jeerful ven it ain't. so dot's vy i laff mit meinseluf. i peen more jeerful now, schust pecause i vas blayin' in der vorst luck vat efer habbened, und i bed you someding for nodding it ain't eferypody vat could do dot. now, oof i----" carl never finished his remark. the boys had been walking in the center of the road, and matt suddenly heard a sound behind them and almost on their heels. "look out!" he yelled, grabbing carl by the arm and giving him a jerk toward the roadside. chapter ii. the runaway auto. "vat's der madder?" gasped carl, as he came to a staggering halt. "look!" cried matt, pointing. an automobile--a big, red touring-car--rolled past the boys. if they had not jumped just when they did it would have run them down. it had come without warning, other than the muffled noise caused by its machinery, and matt had been so taken up with the talk of his new acquaintance that he had not heard the car's approach until the last moment. "vy didn't he honk?" sputtered carl. "_he_?" flung back matt, staring, and hardly able to believe his eyes. "why, there wasn't any one to honk!" this amazing statement was literally true. as the car passed them, the boys could see that there was no one in either of the front seats, or in the tonneau. the car had no passengers, _and was running itself_! "vell, py chimineddy!" murmured carl, aghast. the car was not going at a high rate of speed--perhaps fifteen miles an hour--but, even at that gait, it was rapidly leaving a wide gap between it and the boys. matt was nonplused, but he side-tracked his bewilderment in a hurry and tried to think of some means for overtaking the runaway auto and bringing it to a halt. this must be done before the car reached town, or there would surely be an accident. matt flashed his eyes about him. houses were few and far between in that part of the settlement, but, as luck would have it, a horse was standing in front of a dwelling on the right of the road. without losing a moment, matt rushed to the horse, jerked the bridle-reins over the top of a post, clambered into the saddle and dug out after the red car. carl was yelling and talking excitedly, but matt had no attention to pay to him, and the dutch boy's words soon died out in the distance. for several miles that road into ash fork was perfectly straight. the runaway car, however, was heading for a bend where trees and telephone-poles would surely wreck it unless it was halted or turned. as matt, with the horse on the keen jump, came closer to the car, he saw that the steering-wheel had been lashed by a rope. attached to one of the top-irons on the right side of the front seat, the lashing engaged the spokes of the steering-wheel and crossed to the top-iron on the left. this fastening held the wheel rigid, and kept the car on a straight course. how to drop from the saddle of the running horse and into the car was a point that matt turned over in his mind as he raced. he had not many seconds in which to mark out a line of action--and he did not need many. pushing the horse to top speed, matt passed the car; then, with a quick jerk on the reins, he brought the horse to a slower pace, tumbled out of the saddle, caught his footing in the road and flung himself at the running-board as the car came abreast of him. he was jolted considerably, although no particular damage was done, and got into the tonneau with a wild scramble. by then the car was dangerously close to the bend, and matt threw himself across the back of the front seat and into the driver's position. with lightning quickness he cut off the power and threw on the emergency brake. the machine halted, but with a telephone-pole almost between the front wheels! with a deep breath of relief, matt stood up to see what carl was doing. the fat dutchman was trying to head off and stop the horse. the animal, as soon as matt had dropped from the saddle, had whirled back along the road. not a little frightened, the horse seemed now about to turn in matt's direction in order to escape carl. hastily cutting away the wheel-lashing with his knife, matt sprang from the car and ran back, so he and carl could keep the horse between them. this move was successful, and the dutch boy, by an exercise of marvelous agility for one of his build, managed to grab the horse by the bits. "vat shall i do mit him, matt?" cried carl. "take him back to the place where i got him, carl," called matt, "then bring that laundry of ours and come to the car. there's a mystery here that we've got to look into." matt's wild ride on horseback, and his capture of the car, had not brought a single person out of the squat little adobe houses sprinkled along the road. for the most part, the houses were inhabited by chinamen, and they had little curiosity for the melican man's devil-wagon; not enough, at least, to let the stopping of the car draw them from their own affairs. matt looked the machine over with an admiring eye. it was a fine late model, with six cylinders under the long hood. from the amount of dust with which the machine was covered it seemed to have come a long distance. the tires, however, were in excellent condition, the gasoline-tank was half full, and there was still a good supply of oil. familiar as matt was with motor vehicles, he knew the car must have cost five or six thousand dollars. why was such a valuable machine loose in the road? who was the owner? and _where_ was the owner? getting into the tonneau, matt searched for something that would offer a clue to the mystery. he could find nothing. he was just straightening up after his unsuccessful examination when carl came along. "py chiminy," puffed carl, "i nefer heardt oof anyt'ing like dot! matt, you vas a great feller. dot's righdt. oof you hatn't done vat you dit, i bed you somet'ing der modor-car vould haf peen a lot oof junk. yah, so. vere you learn how to run audomopiles, hey?" "used to work in a motor factory," answered matt. "what do you think of this lay out, carl?" he asked. "here's a fine big touring-car running itself along the road, no clue to the owner, and the steering-wheel lashed to keep it on a straight line!" apparently the question was too difficult for carl. thoughtfully he tossed the two bundles of laundry into the tonneau, walked around in front and opened the bonnet. the beautiful mechanism disclosed brought an admiring cry from the dutch boy's lips. "py shinks," he murmured, "you don'd find cylinters like dot in cheap cars, matt!" "what do you know about cylinders?" demanded matt, opening his eyes at this new side of the teuton's character. "vell," and carl ran his fingers through the mop of hair, "meppy i don'd know how to dake a car apart und put him togedder again, aber i t'ink yah. i vorked vonce in some factories meinseluf--pefore i got foolish und vent on der stage mit pringle. you bed you i know der carpuretter from der spark-plug, but i don'd got der nerf to make a drifer." carl had been through experiences about which matt was anxious to learn, but, for the present, the mystery of the red car claimed his entire attention. "why should any one want to cut a car like this adrift?" queried matt. "dat's more as i know," answered carl, closing the bonnet, "aber led's be jeerful, matt. oof fife t'ousant tollars comes rolling indo our hants, all py itseluf, for vy shouldn't ve be jeerful?" "this car don't belong to us, carl, just because we happened to stop it." "vell, oof you hatn't shtopped it it vouldn't haf peen vort' nodding! und der feller vat hat it didn't vant it, or he vouldn't haf let it go. so helup me, i t'ink it pelongs py us. i vant to go py tenver. vere do you vant to go?" "i came from phoenix to ash fork, two weeks ago, with a letter of recommendation to a wealthy cattleman who has just bought a big automobile and wants a driver. i had my eye on the job, carl, but the cattleman hasn't shown up. he lives here, though, and i'm waiting for him. if it wasn't for that, i'd just as soon pull out for denver, myself." "i don'd got some money," said carl, "und along comes der audomopile und say, 'chump in, boys, und led me dake you py tenver!' und i, in der jeerful vay vat i haf, make some remarks aboudt 'vy nod?'" matt went around to the front and began cranking. "well, jump in," said he, coming back and getting into the driver's seat; "we're going to start." "for tenver?" cried carl. "hardly," laughed matt, backing away and turning the car in the road; "we're off along the back trail to look for the touring-car's owner." "vell, meppy he don'd vant it?" "then, if we find him, we'll give him a chance to say so." "how you t'ink ve vas goin' to find him?" "this car hasn't been abandoned very long, nor very many miles back on the road. you see, the road is straight for only a few miles, and the car, with the wheel lashed as it was, could only travel along the straight track. if it had been abandoned _before_ it was put on the straight track, it would have been in the ditch." "you know more in a minit as i in a year know, matt," said carl, heaving a long breath, "und dot's all aboudt it. ve vill look for der owner, und i vill shdill be jeerful efen oof he dakes der car und makes me valk by tenver, yah, so. it vas some pig mysderies, anyvay; py chimineddy, it vas der piggest vale oof a mysdery vat efer come my vay." motor matt agreed with carl. somewhere along the straight stretch of road ahead of them he felt sure the key to the mystery would be found. and what would it reveal? chapter iii. the man at the roadside. back past hop loo's adobe matt drove the car, and on into the open country. for five or six miles the road ran as straight as an arrow, and was almost as level and smooth as a boulevard. ahead of them, as they moved forward, the boys could see the marks left by the wheels when the car had passed over the road headed toward town. no other pneumatic tires had left a trail in the dust. "i bed you somet'ing, matt," remarked carl, "dot dis car don'd pelong py ash fork." "there's only one car owned in ash fork," said matt, "and that belongs to the cattleman i came to the town to see. from the looks of the road, no car has come into town or gone out of it for several hours, except this one. keep a sharp watch on your side of the road, carl. we've got to find the place where the car stopped while the driver was lashing the wheel and getting out." "py shinks, i haf peen vatching as sharp as some veasels, aber i don'd see nodding." matt was covering the back trail slowly, so that no clues which might have been left in the road could get away from his keen eyes. for a long time neither he nor carl saw anything of importance; and then, suddenly, when they were about four miles from town, matt's sharp glance showed him something that caused him to bring the car to a quick stop. "vat it iss?" asked carl excitedly. "get down and i'll show you," answered matt. when they were both in the road, beside the car, matt pointed to a spot close to the wheel-marks left by the car on its trip into town. "py shinks," muttered carl, pushing his fingers through his carroty hair in a puzzled way, "dot looks schust like some feller had t'rowed a bag der car off. dose marks in der dust look schust like dey vas made mit some pags." "it must have been a bag that could move, then," said matt. "huh?" queried carl, his bewilderment growing. matt showed him how the broad mark in the dust had moved toward the roadside. "and that bag, as you call it, carl," continued matt, "wasn't thrown out. if i'm figuring this thing right, it _fell_ out." "hoop-a-la!" exulted carl admiringly, "you vas some sherlock holmes, i bed you. how you make dot figuring, anyvay? i know as mooch as you, meppy, oof i could only t'ink oof it. you tell me somet'ing, und den i know." matt stepped toward the side of the road opposite from that where the broad, flat mark ran toward the edge. "you see, carl," he explained, "this road isn't quite so level here. there's a bit of a ridge, and when the car came into town, the wheels on the left side went over that ridge, tilting the machine to the right. what you call the bag dropped over the right side and into the road." "yah, so! und ven it hit der road it moofed mit itseluf. funny pitzness. der furder vat ve go, der less vat ve know, hey? vat next, matt?" "we'll follow the trail and see where it leads." "sure! aber ve don'd vant to go too far avay from der car. some goot-for-nodding fellers might come along und shnook it on us." "i don't think we'll have to go very far, carl." "veil, be jeerful. vatefer ve findt, matt, schust be jeerful. oof i can't go py tenfer in dot car it vill be a plow in der face; aber vatch und see how i took it." low bushes lined the roadside. matt, not paying much attention to carl's last remarks, was moving off in the direction of the bushes, following the strange broad trail. parting the branches at the outer edge of the thicket, he moved into the tangled undergrowth. carl, who was pushing along behind him, saw him stoop down and disappear below the tops of the bushes. the next moment, the dutch boy heard a startled exclamation, and matt straightened up quickly. his face, which he turned toward carl, had gone suddenly white. "come here, carl!" he called. "you findt der moofing pag, hey?" asked carl, floundering through the brush. then, a second later, carl's face also blanched. coming close to matt, and looking down, he saw the form of a man curled up in a little cleaned space in the thicket. the man's hat lay beside him, and about his forehead was tied a blood-stained handkerchief. his face was pallid and deathlike, and his eyes were closed. "himmelblitzen!" whispered carl. "iss he deadt, i vonder?" matt knelt down and laid a hand on the man's breast; then, lifting up one of his limp wrists, he pressed his fingers against the pulse. "he's alive," said matt. "den it vasn't a pag vat tropped oudt oof der car----" "it was this man," cut in matt. "he was sitting in the driver's seat. when the car pitched to the right he was too weak to hold himself in, so he fell into the road." "und hurt his head ven he fell!" "no, he must have hurt his head before he fell. it wasn't so very long ago, carl, that he took his header from the car, and that bandage must have been around his temples for two or three hours, at least." "den vat? oof he vas too veak to shtay py der car, how he tie der veel like vat it vas?" "he must have been running the car and steering. feeling his strength going, he lashed the wheel in order to keep the machine on a straight course. probably he hoped the car would get him into town." "how you t'ink he vas hurt?" "give it up. it looks like foul play to me." "ach, blitzen! dot's schust vat i say: der more vat ve hunt aroundt der less vat ve find oudt." the man was well dressed, and thirty-five or forty years old. "anyhow," said matt, "he must have been the owner of the car. i shouldn't wonder if some one had robbed him." "den der roppers didn't know deir pitzness, matt," returned carl. "see dot pig, goldt chain in his vest! und look at here vonce." carl bent over and pulled a fine gold watch from the vest pocket. "vat vas der roppers t'inking aboudt ven dey held der feller oop und didn't take dis? und den, again, dere iss der car. vy didn't dey shdeal dot, hey? no, i bed you, it vasn't roppers. it vas somet'ing else vat gif dot poor feller a crack on der headt." "some one may have _tried_ to rob him, carl," said matt. "the car is a fast one, and it's easy to guess that he got away." "vell, meppy. my prain vas all in kinks und i don'd know noddings aboudt it." "the quickest way to find out what happened is to get the man to ash fork and into a doctor's hands. we ought to do that, anyway, and the quicker we do it the better. let's take him and put him in the tonneau." "dot's der talk!" matt stepped to the man's head and started to lift him by the shoulders. as the limp form was slowly raised something dropped out of hip pocket. "py chimineddy!" exploded carl. "vait a leedle, matt. see vat iss dis." matt waited while carl stooped and picked up an object that glittered in the sunlight. "a revolver!" exclaimed matt "yah, so! der feller vent heeled mit himseluf. meppy he vas expecding drouble?" "that may be! or, if he was touring through this part of the country, it would only have been a wise policy to carry arms. any bullets in the gun, carl?" the dutch boy examined the weapon. "dere iss doo empty shells und four goot vones," he announced. "he must haf fired a gouple oof dimes." "well, drop the gun in your pocket and let's get him to the car." thereupon the unconscious form was picked up and carried out of the thicket and into the road. close to the car the burden was laid down while the tonneau door was opened. "after the man fell from the car," said matt, "he had to drag himself into the bushes." "vy vas dot? oof he hat shtaid in der roadt somepody who vas passing vould haf seen him." "he may have had his reasons for getting out of sight. anyhow, the only way for us to get to the bottom of this thing is by taking the man to town and having a doctor look after him." when carl had opened the door and thrown the two packages of laundry from the seat into the bottom of the car, the boys picked the man up again and heaved him into the tonneau. while he was being lifted something else dropped out of his pockets and fell on the foot-board with a muffled _thump_. "iss dot anoder gun?" puffed carl, who was in the tonneau and fixing the man on the seat. "not exactly," answered matt, taking the object from the running-board and holding it up. it was a small green bag. "see vat iss inside alreaty," suggested carl. "meppy it vill gif us a line on who der feller iss." the bag was of heavy silk, and its mouth was closed with a silken cord. to open the bag took only a moment, and matt thrust in his hand and drew out several small spheres about the size of so many peas. they were dark in color and cast off a lustrous gleam in the sun's rays. matt stared at the little objects in amazement. "chee grickets!" grunted carl. "vy he vas carrying pills in a silk pag? he must be a great feller!" "pills!" exclaimed matt. "you're 'way wide of the mark, carl. these are not pills, but pearls--black pearls, the rarest gems that come out of the sea. there--there's a fortune in this green bag!" chapter iv. the mystery deepens. the effect of matt's announcement on carl was startling. the dutch boy, of course, might be supposed to evince some surprise at finding the bag of pearls, but his amazement went so deep it left him speechless. more than that, his astonishment grew rather than lessened. "bearls!" he whispered, as soon as he could find his voice, staring strangely at matt over the side of the tonneau. "iss dot vat you say, matt--bearls?" "yes," answered matt excitedly, counting the contents of the bag. "there are twenty of them, carl, and i know that black pearls bring a big price." "veil, by shinks und den some!" wheezed carl. "vouldn't dot knock you slap-sited? bearls! und vat vas dot t'ing i findt me in pringle's room. say, matt, i got to shpeak mit you, righdt avay!" "we've got to take care of the man, carl," returned matt, closing the silk bag and stowing it carefully in his pocket. "this is a big thing we're up against, and we've got to handle it right. make the man as comfortable as you can. i'll go back after his hat and then we'll hustle him into ash fork." carl went about his work mechanically, his face full of wonder. matt returned to the place where the man had been found, picked up his automobile-cap and gave a hasty look around for anything else that might have been dropped. failing to find anything, he returned quickly to the car. "you better stay in the tonneau, carl," suggested matt, "and keep the man from being jarred off the seat." "i vant to talk," said carl; "py chimineddy, i got to shpeak mit you aboudt vat has habbened mit me. i don'd ged der time since der chinks blayed tag mit me, und----" matt was cranking the machine. as he came around and crawled into the front seat, he looked back to see that everything was all right. "you can talk while we run into town, carl," said he, throwing in the clutch and manipulating the side lever. "pefore you ged to going too fast," said carl, leaning over the back of the seat and pushing a scrap of paper under matt's eyes, "read dot." there were only a few words on the sheet, and matt read them almost at a glance. what he read thrilled him on the instant. "pearls on the way. break loose and meet us as per letter sent you at albuquerque." it was the one word, "pearls," that sent an electric shock through matt's nerves. "where'd that note come from?" he asked, keeping his eyes ahead on the road. "dot's all vot pringle left pehindt," answered carl, putting the note back in his pocket. "ven he flew der coop he took mit him der trunk mit eferyding else vat he hat. yah, so. ven i knocked py his room in der morning, i don'd ged no answer. i knock some more, und den i findt me der door vas oben, und i valk in mit meinseluf. no pringle. no trunk. no nodding aber schust dot paper lying on der floor. pringle hat vamoosed. he took vat money dere vas, und my shdreet clodings, so i hat to vear my stage make-oop." "where were you and pringle at the time?" "py flagstaff." "what were you doing in flagstaff?" "ve vas a knockaboudt moosickal team. yah, so. ve use a shlap-shtick, und make some monkey-doodle pitzness, und i blay der zillyphone, und der drompone, und der moosickal glasses, und der sleigh-pells. pringle he blow der horn und plinkety-plunk der pancho. ve vas vorkin' our vay agross der gontinent py san francisco, vere ve blay a circuit in vaudeville. aber pringle he pull out mit himseluf, und i vas left in some lurches. i go on py ash fork, and t'ink meppy pringle come up from phoenix, so i vait py ash fork. vell, he leaf me doo shirts und dree pairs oof socks, und vile i peen in ash fork vaiting, i dake dem py hop loo. ach, i haf some pooty pad dimes vile i vait for pringle, aber i vas jeerful. now i t'ink meppy he don'd vas in phoenix ad all, und dot he vas in tenver. dere iss somet'ing in dot note aboudt bearls. ve findt bearls in dot leedle pag. funny, ain't dot? for vy iss id, matt?" matt couldn't answer that question. the mystery was deepening. "somebody sent that note to pringle, carl, and he cut loose from you." "yah, so. he cut loose from me und he dook eferyt'ing vat i haf. he vas a pad egg, you bed you. oof i ketch him vonce, i make him t'ink he vas hit mit some cyclones!" "the fellow who wrote that note may not have meant that these pearls in the bag were 'on the way.'" "meppy nod, aber it looks doo keveer for a habbenchance. it gif me a cholt, matt, ven you saidt dose t'ings vas bearls, und i recollectioned vat vas saidt in der note about bearls. meppy pringle und some odder pad egg dry to holt dis feller oop und dake der pag avay from him." "that may be. how is the man now?" "aboudt der same like he vas." matt had been driving the car at a smart clip, and they had taken the turn in the road and were reaching out for the main street of the town. there was a doctor's office across the street from the hotel, and matt drew up in front of it. some loungers on the sidewalk, observing the unconscious form in the tonneau, began crowding around the car and asking questions. "i don't know what's the matter," said matt. "we found this car running away and picked up the man from the roadside. is the doctor in?" the doctor himself looked from a second-story window and answered the question. some of the bystanders helped remove the man from the tonneau and carry him up the stairs to the doctor's office. matt and carl followed. "keep quiet, carl," whispered matt to the dutch boy; "don't tell any of these people what we've found. that information will have to go to the officers." "sure t'ing," returned carl, with a wink. "i know more as you t'ink, matt. ve ought to ged a rake-off on dot pag. id vould be easy to be jeerful mit a rake-off." the unconscious man was laid down on a couch in the doctor's office, and the room was cleared of all the morbidly curious people. only matt and carl were left with the doctor. the latter, busily stripping away the blood-stained bandage, kept up a running fire of talk as he worked. he wanted to know all about the runaway car, how it had been stopped, just where the man had been found, whether he had been unconscious ever since he was picked up, and so on. carl let matt answer the questions, and matt was glad that none of the doctor's remarks brought up anything about the pearls. "his injury is not serious," said the doctor. "his forehead has been grazed by a bullet. a tight squeak, but in a case like this a miss is always as good as a mile." "why is he unconscious?" queried matt. "just weak from loss of blood. we'll bring him around in a jiffy, and then he can tell all about what happened to him." the doctor proceeded to cleanse the man's wound, and to put on a fresh bandage. then, holding up his head, he forced a stimulant between his lips. "he must be a wealthy man," remarked the doctor, his eyes on the watch-chain and the good clothes. "but what does a wealthy man want to be pounding around the country for--especially a country like this--all by himself?" before either matt or carl could hazard a guess, the man gave a slight start and opened his eyes. for an instant he stared blankly into the faces of the doctor and the boys, muttered something, and tried to get up. "i wouldn't do that," said the doctor. "you're weak, yet. wait till you get a little strength. here, drink some more of this." the man took another swallow of the stimulant, and seemed to get better control of himself. "how did i come here?" he asked. matt, obeying a gesture from the doctor, told how the car had been stopped, and how he and carl had gone back along the road and found the man unconscious among the bushes. for a minute or two after hearing matt's explanations the man lay silent and thoughtful. "if you did all that," said he to matt finally, "you must know how to run a car." matt nodded. "i used to work for a motor company in albany," he answered, "and they had me give demonstrations. i had to know all about cars and take out a license." a queer gleam arose in the man's eyes. "i am james q. tomlinson, of denver," said he, "and have been touring southern california and arizona for my health. with my chauffeur, i came up from yuma in the 'red flier,' and the chauffeur was taken sick at the needles. am expecting to pick up a friend in flagstaff. the friend is waiting there for me, and i thought i would drive the car through to flagstaff from the needles myself. i found i didn't know as much about it as i thought i did. however, i managed to peg along. "early this morning, about twenty miles out of ash fork, i was set upon by three masked men. they ordered me to stop, but i opened up the machine and made a run past them. the scoundrels fired at me, and one of their bullets grazed my head. i was stunned for a moment, but managed to keep my senses and hold the automobile in the road. had an idea that i could get to ash fork, but somehow i kept growing weaker and weaker. it became hard for me to manage the steering-wheel, so i tied it with a rope; then, all at once, the car tilted, and i was thrown out. "i can remember falling into the road, and crawling to some bushes where i could be out of the hot sun. after that my wits left me, and i remember nothing more until now." a knock fell on the door of the outer office. the doctor excused himself for a moment and went out, closing the door of the private office behind him. as soon as he was gone, mr. tomlinson's manner changed quickly. thrusting a hand into his pocket, he withdrew it with a cry of alarm. then he fixed upon matt and carl a suspicious look. "did you boys see anything of a bag, a little green silk bag?" he demanded. matt took the bag from his pocket and handed it to him. "it dropped out of your coat as we were lifting you into the car," said he. a gasp of relief went up from the man. "do you know what it contains?" he queried, opening the bag with trembling fingers. "pearls," said matt, "twenty black pearls." assuring himself that the pearls were all in the bag, tomlinson closed it and pushed it into his pocket. "these pearls are worth thirty thousand dollars," said he, in a guarded tone. "you boys are honest, and will be rewarded, but say nothing to anybody about the bag. understand?" matt nodded, and just then the doctor came in with a roughly dressed individual whom he introduced as a deputy sheriff. chapter v. matt gets a job. "what's the trouble here?" asked the deputy sheriff. "i hear that matt king and the dutchman brought you to town in an automobile, mr. tomlinson, and that you have been robbed." "not robbed," replied tomlinson. "i was shot at, and wounded slightly, but the car was too fast for the thieves and i got away." "where 'bouts was this?" "about twenty miles west of ash fork. i don't think it would do you any good to go after the rascals, though." "i reckon not. they're prob'ly a good long ways from where they tried to hold you up. you wasn't hurt very bad, eh?" "it wasn't serious at all. i feel pretty weak, but i'll soon get over that. it's necessary for me to go on to flagstaff to-night, or early to-morrow morning." "you'd better rest up for three or four days, anyhow, mr. tomlinson," admonished the doctor. "haven't the time. as i told you, there's a friend waiting for me at flagstaff." tomlinson's tone was decided, and he turned to matt. "so your name is king," he asked, "matt king?" "yes," answered the young motorist. "are you the motor matt i've been hearing about, down phoenix way?" "i've been living in phoenix for a while, and that's what they call me down there." "what are you doing in ash fork?" "came here looking for a job." "good! i need a driver for my car, and will pay you one hundred dollars a month and expenses. is it a go?" matt jumped at the chance. this was not the job he had been expecting to get, but it seemed fully as good as anything he could pick up in ash fork. besides, there was a prospect of getting to denver, and he had long had that city in his mind's eye. "i'll take it," said matt. "where do we go after leaving flagstaff?" "right back to colorado," answered tomlinson. "i guess this will stop my knocking around. i went away for my health, and now i'll go back to denver for the same reason." he took a roll of bills from his pocket, stripped off a twenty-dollar bank-note and handed it to matt. "here's some money, king," said he. "look after the red flier and have her all ready to start early to-morrow morning. how much do i owe you, doctor?" he added. "oh, a ten will about square us," answered the doctor, and must have pocketed more money for less work than he had done for some time. "help me to the hotel, will you?" asked tomlinson, of the deputy sheriff. "i'm not very steady on my legs, yet." "sure," said the officer readily. "schust a minid, oof you blease," spoke up carl. "oof you vas going to tenver, misder domlinson, vat's der madder mit ledding me rite along? dot's vere i vant to go, und i don'd haf some money to ged dere." tomlinson looked carl over for a moment. "well," said he, "i don't know why i shouldn't. i owe you something, anyhow." carl brightened perceptibly. he had taken a great liking to matt, in the few hours he had known him, and was glad that they were both going to denver together. tomlinson was assisted out of the office by the deputy sheriff, the doctor opening the doors obsequiously ahead of them. when the doctor returned to matt and carl he was rubbing his hands and smiling. "i'll bet you boys don't know what that man is," said he. "why, he's one of the biggest wholesale jewelers in the west, and he's got more money than you can count. this was a lucky day's work for you." "vell," returned carl grimly, "it don'd open oop like it. he gifs me a rite py tenver for vat i dit, und he gifs matt a chob like vat he could ged anyvere for der same money. domlinson iss an olt skinflint." "tut, tut," said the doctor reprovingly. "before you get through with him you'll find that he does the right thing by you." "have you ever seen him before, doctor?" asked matt. "no, but i've read a lot about him in the denver newspapers. you chaps are in for a streak of luck." "dot's vat i peen vaidin' for, all righdt," said carl, as he and matt left, "aber i got some hunches dot i'm goin' to keep righdt on vaidin', und being jeerful schust to show vat goot shtuff a pretzel iss made of." when they got down on the walk, carl laid a hand on matt's arm. "how vould you like to lend me a leedle more money, matt?" he asked. "you see, i owe a fife-tollar board-pill in town und it iss pedder dot i pay it pefore i hike. i can't gif you nodding but my vort dot i pay him back, shdill you alretty took some chances on me, und you mighdt as vell took a few more." "there you are, carl," laughed matt, handing him the money. "i wouldn't want you to go along with us if you didn't have your debts paid. i'm getting a hundred a month, now, and i'll stand back of you until you find a job of your own." "you vas a pully poy," answered carl, "und ve vill be fast friendts so long as you like." "that suits me," answered matt heartily, "right up to the handle." they shook hands cordially, and while carl went off to square his board-bill matt gave his attention to the red flier. now that matt had charge of that fine big car, he was conscious of a feeling of pride as he stood off and surveyed the superb machine. from now on the car was to be under his care, and to run under his hands. motors were his hobby, particularly gasoline-motors, and he was never so happy as when he had something to do with them. he wondered a little why a wealthy wholesale jeweler should be traveling about the southwest in a touring-car with no more baggage than mr. tomlinson had with him. but that was mr. tomlinson's business, and matt was so wrapped up in the six-cylinder machine that he gave little attention to anything else. his first move was to begin an examination of the car to see that everything was in proper shape. the cylinders and valves under the hood claimed his first care; then he examined the water-tank, the sparking-apparatus, and finally came to the point where he wanted a look at the gear. this was reached by a trap in the tonneau, and he pulled up a rubber mat in order to get at the opening. under the mat he found something besides the trap-door. the object was a letter, which might have got under the mat by mistake or have been put there for the purpose of secreting it. matt picked the letter up and gave it closer scrutiny. it had passed through the mails, and had been posted in flagstaff several days before. the address, in a scrawling hand, read, "mr. james trymore, brockville, a. t." brockville was the next station west of ash fork. the address was evidence enough that the letter did not belong to tomlinson; but, if not, how did it happen to be in the car? there was a chance that the missive belonged to tomlinson's chauffeur, who had been left sick at the needles. thinking that this was the way of it, matt started to put the letter in his pocket. at that moment the deputy sheriff came across the street from the hotel. "well, king," said he jovially, bracing up alongside the car, "you've feathered your nest in good shape. tomlinson is loaded down with money and you've done a big thing for him to-day." "think so?" queried matt. "wisht i was as sure i was goin' to make a million as i am of that." "did you talk with mr. tomlinson any?" "well, a little." "did he tell you the name of his other chauffeur?" "no, i can't remember that he did." "are you acquainted over in brockville?" "know about everybody in the town." "who's trymore, james trymore?" the effect of that question on the deputy sheriff was amazing. he gave a jump and his eyes narrowed as they peered at matt. "what did you ask me that for?" he demanded. "because i wanted to know." "look here, son, have you got a line on that feller, or have you jest seen one of the notices?" "what notices?" "why, i got a letter through the mails, from denver, not more'n three days ago, saying that a crook named denny jerome, otherwise denver denny, otherwise james trymore, had escaped from jail and was believed to be somewhere in this part of the country. how'd you hear about him?" matt was not taking the deputy sheriff into his confidence merely on that showing. parrying his curiosity with some offhand remark, matt pushed the letter into his pocket and went on with his examination of the car. his mind was full of all sorts of surmises. why should a letter addressed to a denver crook be in mr. tomlinson's car? matt began to think that the day's proceedings, taken all together, had a queer look. perhaps his new job wasn't going to be as pleasant a one as he had imagined. chapter vi. concerning the letter. carl came back in time to help matt clean the dust and dirt off the red flier, to replenish the oil, fill the water-tank and strain a full supply of gasoline into the fuel-chamber. the car was then backed into an unused barn connected with the hotel, and the boys washed the dirt off their hands and faces and went in to supper. mr. tomlinson did not show himself down-stairs. his meal was carried to his room. carl babbled continually while he and matt were eating, but matt had very little to say in reply. his mind was busy with the letter. when they had finished supper, matt and carl went up to their own room. inasmuch as the red flier was to make an early start for flagstaff, the following morning, matt had invited the dutch boy to spend the night with him. as soon as they were in the room, and matt had closed and locked the door, he drew up a chair close to carl's and began telling him, in a low voice, about what he had found under the rubber mat in the tonneau. "py shinks!" exploded carl, "dere iss unterhandt vork going on, matt, i bed you!" "not so loud, carl," cautioned matt. "i don't know where tomlinson's room is, but it may be next to this one." "you t'ink he knows somet'ing aboudt dot?" whispered carl, in amazement. "he may, and he may not. i don't know what to think. anyhow, the letter doesn't belong to him, and i'm going to read it and see what it has to say. if it contains any information worth while, i've got to tell the deputy sheriff." "sure!" returned carl. "it's funny dot you don'd read it pefore." "i've been thinking about it, and trying to figure out what i had better do. if james trymore is a denver crook, i can't understand how a letter to him got into mr. tomlinson's car." "dere's monkey-doodle pitzness somevere," muttered carl, shaking his head ominously. "vell, let's see vat dot ledder say, den ve know pedder vat to do." the letter was short, but its contents were amazing. "jim: got your note this morning. glad to hear the pearls are on the way. count on me. will cut loose from wienerwurst to-night, check trunk through to the needles and leave on night train, getting off at brockville and meeting you there. pringle." "pringle!" gurgled carl. "py shiminy grickets, dot's der feller vat run avay und took all vat i hat! vell, vell! vouldn't dot gif you a twist!" "this note," murmured matt, as several things dawned on his mind, "was written in answer to the one you found on the floor of pringle's room, the morning you discovered he had skipped." "sure!" averred carl. "dot's as blain as anyt'ing. und pringle say somet'ing aboudt der bearls, doo. say, look here vonce! i bed you dot drymore und pringle put oop some chobs to rop domlinson oof dose bearls, und domlinson vas doo sharp for dem. he sailed avay from der roppers und dey don'd ged nodding! vell, led's be jeerful. i like pooty goot to see dot kind oof luck hit pringle, afder vat he dit py me. yah, you bed you!" carl couldn't see very far ahead. but matt could, and he began to open up a line of speculation that took carl's breath. "the question is, carl, how did that letter get under the rubber mat in the tonneau of the red flier? tomlinson says he didn't stop, when the robbers commanded him to, but hit it up and sailed away from them. now, if trymore had that letter, and if he and pringle were the robbers, how could the letter get out of trymore's pocket and into the car? that had to happen in some way." "i'm oop a shtump," admitted the puzzled carl, shoving his fingers through his hair. "i nefer vas mooch oof a feller ad guessing oudt cornundums. vat you t'ink, matt?" "i think tomlinson must have been mixed up in it, in some way." "how could dot be?" returned carl. "domlinson iss a rich man, und he vouldn't haf nodding to do mit fellers like drymore und pringle. pesides, domlinson hat der bearls. he vouldn't vant to go indo a game vere he vas to rop himseluf!" "you don't catch my idea at all, carl," whispered matt excitedly. "maybe this fellow who calls himself tomlinson isn't the real tomlinson at all! maybe he's some one else, and just posing as tomlinson!" "aber der toctor say dot domlinson iss a real feller, und dot he lifs in tenver, und dot he read aboudt him in der tenver bapers." "that may all be," went on matt. "i don't mean to say that there isn't any one by the name of tomlinson, or that he isn't a rich man, and hasn't a jewelry-store, and all that. if tomlinson is a jeweler, he might naturally be on the lookout for pearls. trymore may have found out he had that fortune in black pearls, and have put up a deal to get hold of them. that's the way it looks to me from what evidence we have. but, for all that, the man we brought in may not be tomlinson, but one of the thieves who got the pearls!" carl fell back in his seat with a gasp. his brain was whirling with the startling surmises matt had evolved. "meppy you vas righdt, matt," carl finally returned, "aber you don'd know nodding for sure. oof you tell der deputy sheriff, und make some misdakes, den you lose your chob, und ve bot' lose a shance to ged to tenver. be jeerful, pard, und don'd go und do someding dot you'll be sorry vat you done." "i'm going to find out whether tomlinson--or the man who says he's tomlinson--put that trymore letter under the mat. if we find that he did it, then we'll know he must be one of the robbers, and not tomlinson at all. if we find he didn't, then it's a cinch he's straight goods." "how you do dot, matt?" "well, we'll steal out to the barn and put the letter where i found it. then we'll watch and see if tomlinson goes after it. if tomlinson is mixed up in this business, he'll be thinking about it, and he'll know that letter is under the mat. he'll be wondering if i got hold of it, and he'll be anxious to sneak down and find out. see?" "sure!" approved carl. "dot's a fine biece oof pitzness. ve'll take der ledder down und put him vere he come from--aber vait schust a leedle. dere iss somet'ing yet in der writing vat i don'd undershtand." with the letter open in his hand, carl ran his finger over some of the words. "'vill cut loose from wienerwurst'," read carl. "vat dit pringle mean by dot?" matt laughed softly. carl was as good as a circus, now and then. "why," answered matt, "he means that he'll cut loose from _you_. which is just what he did." "yah, so," said carl grimly. "dot's a new vone. wienerwurst! i fix him for dot vone oof dose days. anyvay, led's be jeerful. pringle ain'd so mooch himseluf. den look, vat i see again. 'vill check trunk drough to der needles.' he means py dot, meppy, dot der trunk, mit vat i got insite, has gone on to der needles. vell, pympy i ged dot trunk. yah, you bed you! 'wienerwurst!' ach, du lieber!" carl threw the letter away from him and got up. "pringle make some monkey-doodle pitzness mit me, und you bed you i do der same mit him." matt picked up the letter, returned it to the envelope, and he and carl cautiously opened the door and let themselves out into the hall. making as little noise as possible, they descended to the outside door, passed into the dark street, turned the corner of the hotel and made for the barn. it was about eight o'clock, and everything was gloomy and silent in the vicinity of the hotel. "meppy you pedder shtrike some lights, hey?" suggested carl, following matt into the blank darkness that reigned in the makeshift garage. "no, we don't have to do that," said matt. "i know right where the machine is, and a light might give us away. you stand in the door, carl, and i'll put the letter where i found it and be with you again in a brace of shakes." "vell, hurry oop. oof domlinson vas to come vile ve vas here, den ve vould be der vones vat got fooled." matt, with the location of the red flier firmly fixed in his mind, groped his way through the gloom and came to the front of the machine. with one hand sliding over the bonnet, he reached the side of the car, opened the tonneau door and stepped to the foot-board. just at that moment, while he was bending over with the letter in his hand, a pencil of light leaped suddenly out of the gloom and rested full on him. straightening up suddenly, he whirled his face into the light. for an instant his eyes were blinded, and he could see nothing. "quick!" he heard a husky voice mutter from somewhere in the darkness. "down him and grab that letter!" the next instant a fist leaped out of the gloom and into the ray of light. matt dropped downward, falling off the foot-board. the fist hit him a glancing blow on the shoulder, and he toppled backward. at the same moment the letter was snatched out of his hand. "py shinks," came the voice of carl, "vat vas going on, anyvay? who you fellers vas? keep avay from me, or----" running feet had sounded along the barn floor. while carl was talking, some one ran into him and knocked him flat with a quick blow. as the boy went down, two men bounded over him. carl was up almost as soon as he was down. some one else was coming, and he flung out his hands and made a grab. "vaid a leedle!" he puffed savagely. "i got _you_, anyvay, und----" "let go, carl!" came matt's excited voice. "take after those two men! see who they are, if you can!" carl gasped and withdrew his hands. "vell, oof it ain'd matt!" he muttered. "so many t'ings vas habbening, all in a punch, dot i peen all mixed oop in my mindt!" with that, carl rushed away in the direction taken by matt. chapter vii. the two horsemen. the attack in the barn was so utterly unexpected and so suddenly made that matt and carl hardly realized what had happened until it was all over. although a little dazed by the whirl of events, and still partly blinded by the gleam from the dark lantern, the king of the motor boys had his wits about him. the letter was gone, but that was no great loss. the value of the letter lay in the use matt had intended to make of it, by discovering who had placed it under the rubber mat in the tonneau. such a discovery would have given the young motorist a clue as to who "james trymore" really was. neither matt nor carl were very much damaged by their rough experience. in their rush from the barn they were only a few yards behind the men who had attacked them, and they would have been right on the others' heels if carl had not made a mistake and caught hold of matt just at the moment when there was no time for delay. matt, who was in the lead, heard a sound of running around the side, and toward the rear, of the barn. flinging away in that direction, he came out on an alley, with the sounds he had been following abruptly blotted into silence. while he stood there, wondering which way the men had gone, a pounding of horses' hoofs jumped out of the stillness, somewhere to the left. he turned barely in time to see the forms of two mounted men melting away in the blank darkness. matt was disappointed. he had not expected to overtake the men, but he had hoped to come close enough so that he could get a fairly good look at them. "who vas dem fellers, anyvay, und vat vas der mix-oop aboudt?" came the voice of carl as he pushed toward matt through the gloom. "that's too deep for me, carl," returned matt. "there were two of them, and they had their horses in the alley. one of them grabbed that trymore letter just as i was going to put it in the car." "vell, der ledder don'd amount to nodding. ve know vat it hat on der insite, und dot's plenty for us. be jeerful." "i guess i'll have to revise my opinion of tomlinson. neither of those horsemen could by any possibility have been him, and it's a cinch they were in the barn to get that letter. we blundered into their hands too slick for any use! as things look now, carl, tomlinson is straight goods." "i t'ink he vas some skinflints, all righdt, aber dot's der vorst vat can be saidt oof domlinson. dose two fellers vas de vones vat dry to rop der car, hey?" "they must have been." "und meppy vone vas pringle! der tinhorn vat cut loose from wienerwurst! say, i vish i could haf hanted him a cholt in der slats. i could blay ragdime moosic all ofer dat feller." "we'll go back and take a look at the red flier," said matt, "and make sure those two men haven't done anything to put the car out of business. this is a mighty puzzling proposition we're up against, and i can't make head or tail out of it. if tomlinson didn't have anything to do with that letter, i can't understand how it got into the bottom of the tonneau. and if he was the one who put it there, why did those men come after it?" "tough luck, matt, aber take it jeerfully," counseled carl. "i haf hat more money come indo my hants since i peen hooked oop mit you dan i efer t'ought i vould ged a look ad in all my life. dot's righdt. dot pig ret car comes rolling righdt oop to us, invitationing us to grab holt und keep it--vich ve don'd. den ve findt t'irty t'ousant tollars' vort oof bearls vich likevise say for us to cash dem in, go off py ourselufs und be rich und jeerful--vich also ve don'd. oudt oof all dose shances, you pull down a huntert-tollar chob und i get a rite py tenver. ach, himmel!" and carl heaved a long sigh. paying no attention to his comrade's regrets, matt had been making his way back to the barn door. the excitement in and around the barn had not claimed the notice of any one in the hotel or on the street. what racket there was had been confined to a limited space and had evidently not been heard by the townspeople. "close the door, carl," said matt, as the dutch boy followed him into the barn. "i saw a lantern on the wall, when we brought the machine in, and i'll light it while we look around." carl shut the door, and matt struck a match, found the lantern, and lighted it. "nopody heardt vat vent on here," remarked carl, while matt was moving about the red flier. "ve couldt haf peen laidt oudt for keeps mitoudt addracting any addention. vy, oof dose fellers had vanted to, dey could haf shtole der car, py chiminy!" "there ought to be some way to lock the barn," said matt, "but, as there isn't, i have a notion to bunk down on the tonneau seat for the rest of the night." "oof you do dot," asserted carl, "i vill keep along mit you." "that would be foolish. all i want to do is to watch and see that those two horsemen don't come back." "two to watch is pedder as vone, matt," answered carl firmly. "is der red flier hurt anyvere?" "i can't see that the machine has been tampered with at all." he stepped around in front and "turned over" the engine. "everything appears to be just as we left it," he added, "so i am compelled to think that those two horsemen rode into town after that letter." "und domlinson didn'd know a ting aboudt it, hey?" "that's the way it looks. of course, it's hard to under----" matt bit off his words abruptly and whirled around from the front of the machine. a crunch of footsteps could be heard outside, cautiously approaching the barn door. swiftly matt extinguished the light, caught carl by the arm and pulled him across the barn and into a box-stall. there they crouched down and peered out. "by shinks!" whispered carl. "a lod oof t'ings vas habbenin' to-nighdt. dose two fellers vas comin' pack! how ve ketch dem, hey?" "hist!" warned matt. just then the barn door opened, and a dark form could be seen against the lighter background of the doorway. the man slipped into the barn stealthily and pulled the door shut behind him. it was impossible for the boys to see him very plainly, and after the door was closed they could not see him at all. while they crouched breathlessly in the box-stall they heard a sound of fumbling movements, then the scratching of a match. two hands could be seen, one holding the match and the other a piece of candle. when the candle was lighted the face of the man was brought out with positive distinctness. it was tomlinson! carl, fairly shaking with suppressed excitement, gripped matt's arm. taking the hand from his arm, matt pressed it to signify that they were to remain where they were, and watch and see what happened. having lighted his candle, tomlinson raised erect and peered about him through the gloom. rest and food had brought back most of his strength, and he moved toward the car quickly and carefully. following down the right side of the machine, he opened the tonneau door, stooped and pulled up the rubber mat. the next moment a disappointed exclamation came from him. throwing the mat aside, he searched frantically, getting down on his knees in the tonneau and then carrying his hunt to the forward part of the machine. he was all of five minutes bobbing around in the machine, and when he got out of it, and stood for a moment in front of the car, there was an ugly and perplexed look on his face. muttering to himself, he pinched out the candle, flung it away from him, turned, and went through the door. "pinch me vonce!" murmured carl, with a long breath. "meppy i vas treaming." "you're wide-awake, carl," said matt grimly, "and so am i. what do you think of that?" "i don'd know vat to t'ink, und dot's all aboudt it. dere's peen nodding but funny pitzness efer since you shtopped der car ven it vas running avay mit itseluf--schust vone keveer t'ing afder some more. chiminy plazes! i feel like i vas going pughouse. domlinson come afder dot ledder, too." "sure he did." "und dose odder fellers vas afder it." "no doubt." "und dose odder fellers got it----" "and tomlinson will think i was the one who took it, and that i am keeping it." "vat you t'ink, matt? vill you go und tell der deputy sheriff?" "no. what we have discovered we will keep to ourselves. we don't know enough, yet, to lodge a complaint against anybody." "ve'll go on to tenver mit domlinson?" "yes, and keep our eyes and ears open every foot of the way. i've got a hunch that we'll find the key to this mystery somewhere between ash fork and flagstaff. you go on up to the room, carl, and go carefully. i'll sleep in the red flier. the car will be fairly comfortable for one, and it wouldn't be for two. besides, it will be better if some one occupies our room." carl protested a little, but was finally prevailed upon to carry out matt's suggestion. matt got into the car and doubled up on the rear seat. his mind was so full of the queer developments of the mystery that it was a long time before he went to sleep. however, he dozed off at last and did not open his eyes again until, in the early morning, he was aroused by the opening of the barn door. as he started up quickly in the tonneau, the face of tomlinson met him. tomlinson was startled by the sight of matt, and leaped back in consternation; then, recovering himself, he came on into the barn and drew near the machine. there was flaming suspicion in his eyes and a fierce look on his face. chapter viii. on the road. "what are you doing here?" demanded tomlinson. "watching your car," replied matt. "how long have you been here?" "most of the night." "did anything happen? did----" tomlinson snapped off the words and glared. matt was astounded at his manner. "i should say something did happen!" said matt. "before turning in, i came out here to make sure the machine was all right. you see, mr. tomlinson, there's no lock on the door, and i was worried a little. it was well i came. two men rushed out of the barn, and i followed them. they had horses hitched in the alley, and they got away." "are you giving it to me straight?" demanded tomlinson, peering steadily into matt's eyes. "certainly i am." "did you get a good look at those men?" "no, it was too dark. they got away on their horses before i had a chance to get very near them." tomlinson was thoughtful for a few moments. he was wondering, no doubt, if matt was pursuing the intruders while he was in the barn looking for the letter. evidently he made up his mind that matt knew nothing about his night visit to the barn, and it seemed equally evident that he believed the two men had got the letter. the fierce expression vanished from his face and he became more amiable. "after that," said he, "you were afraid the machine might be tampered with, and so you came here and stayed all night?" "that's the way of it, mr. tomlinson," replied matt. "i'm glad to know that i've got such a careful and discreet driver. i was worried about the car myself, and came out here, during the evening. i saw no one around, though, and suppose, at that time, you were chasing the two men. wonder what they wanted here?" "perhaps they were two of the men who tried to hold you up," suggested matt. "what object would they have in coming here?" "that's hard to tell. they might have wanted to injure the car just to get even with you." tomlinson shook his head. "that would have been a foolish move," said he, "and i can't believe that was their object. well," he added briskly, "it doesn't much matter. we'll get away from ash fork in less than an hour. come in to breakfast. the landlord promised to have an early one for us." "how are you feeling, sir?" matt inquired, as they walked toward the hotel. "first-rate," said tomlinson; "almost as good as ever. where's the dutchman?" "he spent the night in my room." "who is he? a friend of yours?" tomlinson spoke carelessly, but it was clear to matt that the question had more significance than he cared to make it seem. "yes, he's a friend," matt answered. "he's been playing in hard luck lately. he and a man named pringle were doing a turn in vaudeville. pringle got out between two days, when he and his partner were in flagstaff, and took about everything carl had." "hard lines!" muttered tomlinson. "well, he helped me, and i'm glad to be able to do something for him." carl was coming down-stairs just as matt and tomlinson entered the hotel office. he seemed surprised to see matt and the owner of the car together, but was clever enough to keep his feelings from tomlinson. all three went into the dining-room and ate a hurried meal. when it was done, matt brought down a grip which contained all his reserve wardrobe, packed his bundle of laundry away in it and stowed it in the bottom of the tonneau. the rest of the tonneau tomlinson appropriated for his own use. it was seven o'clock when the red flier, guided by matt's skilful hands, swept out of ash fork and pointed for flagstaff. carl, more "jeerful" than he had been for a long time, occupied the seat on matt's left. matt was not familiar with the road, but tomlinson furnished him with a road-map and carl kept the map open and followed the course with his eyes, from time to time giving matt directions. they had left ash fork no more than a mile behind when tomlinson, braced in a corner of the tonneau, broached a subject which was vastly interesting to both boys. "you lads," said tomlinson, "are probably wondering about those pearls. you see, i am a wholesale jeweler, in denver, and rare gems like those are directly in my line. they're from the gulf of california, and were picked up by a la paz mexican, who brought them into yuma. hearing that i was in yuma, the mexican came to me and offered the pearls for sale. i bought them at a bargain. i asked you to say nothing about the pearls in ash fork, because, if it were known i had such valuable property about me, some one might lay a plan to hold us up. that's what happened the other side of ash fork, and it was an experience i don't care to have repeated." "it's hardly safe to carry such valuable property around with you in this part of the country, mr. tomlinson," remarked matt. "no one knows that better than i do," the other answered, "hence my desire to keep the matter quiet." "why didn't you send the pearls to denver by express, after you got them in yuma?" asked matt. the question seemed to surprise tomlinson. "i was careless, i suppose," he answered, after a brief pause. "anyhow," went on matt, "after your narrow escape on the road to ash fork, i should think you would have got the pearls into the hands of the express company as soon as you could." "i pay you a hundred a month to look after this car," said tomlinson sharply, "and not to offer suggestions as to how i run my business." carl rolled his eyes at matt, and a slow grin worked its way over his fat face. matt himself felt like grinning, for he was putting these questions for a purpose. tomlinson's answers were hardly calculated to allay any suspicions that might be forming in matt's mind. at that time the red flier had dipped into a piece of road that skirted the foot of a mountain. according to the road-map, the course circled around the uplift to a point on the opposite side. the mountain was low, oblong in shape, and covered with pine timber. carl, stealing a covert look behind, now and then, saw that tomlinson was staring at the tree-covered slope with uneasy eyes. "this is a good road, king," said tomlinson presently, "and i think it would be well to let the car out. a better place than this for a hold-up could hardly be imagined, and----" the words were hardly out of his mouth when a thumping of hoofs was heard in the trail behind. "hold up, there!" yelled a voice; "wait!" matt took one look rearward. two mounted men were behind--rough-looking fellows in slouch-hats and blue flannel shirts. it was plain that they had ridden into the road from the timber, probably intending to get ahead of the car, but making a miscalculation. "hit 'er up!" cried tomlinson, crouching down in the tonneau. "those are two of the men who tried to rob me before! dig out, king! don't let any grass grow under this car now!" matt advanced the spark, and sent the red flier ahead at a furious speed. the horsemen were armed, but made no attempt to shoot. they spurred wildly, and slapped their horses with their hats, but, of course, a six-cylinder machine could walk away from anything on hoofs. in less than a minute the two men were out of sight. matt, keenly watching the road and keeping steady hands on the steering-wheel, was wondering if those were the same men who had been prowling about the barn the night before. he judged that they were, and he wondered at their foolish attempt to try to chase the red flier and bring the car to a halt from the rear. three minutes later, and while they were still making for the point of the mountain, tomlinson leaned over the back of the seat and gave a surprising order. "stop her, king! i'm going to get out here." "going to get out!" echoed matt, cutting off the power and clamping on the brake. "if you do, those fellows will capture you." "you don't understand," went on tomlinson, stepping down from the tonneau. "those fellows are after me, and i ought to have kept right on with these pearls and not laid over in ash fork last night. that gave them a chance to get ahead of us and lay a trap." "trap?" queried matt. "that's it. this road winds around to the other side of the mountain. see that gap up there?" tomlinson pointed up the wooded slope to a place where the ridgelike uplift was broken. "do you understand what those scoundrels can do, king?" pursued tomlinson. "they can ride through that gap and get to the other side of the mountain ahead of us. i don't want to be in the car when that happens--and if i'm not in the car the chances are it won't happen. i'll climb up and get through the gap myself, and you pull up and wait for me after you get a mile beyond the gap on the other side. understand? that's the only way we can fool those fellows. if we turn back toward ash fork, they'll get me, and if i stay in the car and go around the end of the mountain the result will be the same. they can watch, from up there, and make the move that's best calculated to help them; but, by getting out, i can dodge through the timber on foot and we'll all give them the go-by. wait for me a mile beyond the gap, on the other side," he repeated, and started up the slope. matt stared at carl for a moment. "be jeerful," grinned carl. "ve nefer know vat's going to habben, dis trip, so it iss pedder dot ve take eferyt'ing as it comes. domlinson must know vat he's aboudt." "it looks to me as though he was getting into more trouble than if he had stayed with the car," muttered matt. "he has some hard climbing ahead of him, for one who's been through what he has. however, i've got my orders, and here goes." there was enough gas in the cylinders so that the red flier took the spark without cranking, and the boys rolled on around the end of the mountain and doubled back on the opposite side. the road continued good, but the roadside was covered with jagged stones and it would have been impossible for the car to have turned out if any wagons had been met going the other way. on this side of the uplift the trail bore off from the bottom of the slope, but it was easy to keep an eye on the gap and calculate the point where tomlinson had told matt to stop and wait for him. as matt figured it, there was a good two miles yet before that point would be reached, and he let the car out, once more, in order to hurry over the distance. but he had hardly got under full headway before he shut off the gasoline and got busy with the foot-brake. "py chimineddy!" cried carl; "dose fellers haf plocked der road!" that was the exact condition of affairs. a pine-tree, growing close to the trail, had been felled in such a manner as to fall across it at right angles, making it impossible for the car to proceed. it was also impossible for the car to go around the tree, on account of the rocky ground at the trailside. wondering what the two ruffians hoped to gain by this move, motor matt leaped down from his seat and went forward to investigate the situation. chapter ix. in the hands of the enemy. matt had no more than reached the tree when he heard a sound of scrambling behind him. just as he whirled about to see what was going on, a husky yell rang out. "i'll take care o' the dutchman, spangler. you nail the other 'un!" simultaneously with the words a big, ruffianly-looking fellow sprang into the tonneau of the car, grabbed carl as he was about to rise and pulled him over the back of the seat with an arm about his throat. there was another man on the ground, moving warily in matt's direction. these were the two scoundrels who had chased the car on the other side of the mountain, there was no doubt about that. they had made their counter-move exactly as tomlinson had surmised. but why had they made it, now that tomlinson was not with the car? and where were their horses? it seemed clear that they had made a quick ride through the gap, and had reached the trailside and hidden behind the bushes, ready to make a capture as soon as the tree had stopped the boys and before they could take the back track. and what was the use of it all, now that tomlinson had got away with the pearls? these thoughts flashed through matt's mind with the swiftness of lightning. a dead branch had been broken from the pine-tree in its fall. matt grabbed at it and began waving it around his head. "keep away from me!" he cried, to the fellow who was closing in on him. the ruffian, seeing the snapping gray eyes and the whirling club, paused undecidedly. "that's motor matt!" yelled the man in the automobile; "get him, spangler!" "oh, blazes!" snarled the man. "if ye think i'm goin' to walk inter that club, hank, ye've got another guess comin'. i'll git him, though." spangler threw a hand behind him and jerked a revolver from his hip pocket. "now, younker," said he, leveling the weapon, "drop yer club an' be reasonable. i'd hate like sin ter cut ye off in yer youth an' bloom, but hank an' me ain't here fer the fun o' the thing, not noways." matt could see with half an eye that the man meant business, and that he would be quick to use the revolver if he had to. if the two ruffians were after the pearls, they would probably leave matt and carl and go away as soon as they found out they were on the wrong track. then, if ever, was the time to do a little talking. "what do you want?" asked matt, throwing the club away and leaning back against the tree. "you seen anything of a green bag?" asked hank, still hanging to carl. "i've seen it, yes," answered matt. "if that's what you want, we haven't got it." "where is it? don't you lie to me--it won't be healthy for you." "mr. tomlinson has got the bag," said matt. the man on the ground gave a jump and began to swear. "do you mean to say," shouted the man in the car, "that the _hombre_ who was in this car with you didn't have that bag?" "yes, he's the one. his name's tomlinson. he's in the jewelry business, in denver." an odd expression crossed the faces of the two men. then spangler began to laugh. "what d'ye think o' that, hank?" he demanded. "tomlinson! he said his name was tomlinson! waal, wouldn't that rattle yer spurs?" "you say he had the bag?" went on hank. "yes," said matt. "they didn't try to take it away from him in ash fork?" "no. why should they, if it belonged to him?" "what became of--er--tomlinson?" "he got out of the car on the other side of the mountain. he thought you'd cross over through the gap, and head us off." this information put both men in a swearing temper. "if he's on foot anywhere within a dozen miles of us," growled hank, "we'll get him. come on, spangler! spurs and quirts, while we run the coyote down." releasing the half-strangled carl, hank leaped out of the car. together they started for the trailside, and the wooded slope leading to the gap. but they were not gone, yet. just as they began to mount the slope, spangler gave vent to an angry yell. "look thar, hank," he roared, pointing along the road beyond the tree. "_now_ who's played it low-down on us?" matt ran back to the car and climbed up to the front seat. from that elevation he was able to look off and see what it was that had claimed hank's frantic attention. carl was already staring across the tree and into the distance. two mounted men were galloping up the road, one of them leading a horse with an empty saddle. one of the men was tomlinson; the other was---- "pringle!" muttered carl; "py chiminy grickets, dere goes dot feller vat shkipped mit all vat i hat!" hank and spangler were furious. "they're makin' off with our hosses!" bellowed spangler. "and they've got the pearls!" added hank. "we got ter ketch 'em!" stormed spangler. "we got ter pick up hosses some'rs an' git holt of 'em!" he started to run along the slope in the direction the horses were going. "come back here, you fool!" ordered hank. "we couldn't overhaul them in a thousand years, on foot." "what'll we do?" flung back spangler. "we kain't stand here an' watch 'em go skyhootin' off with our hosses an' them pearls. of all the injun plays i ever heerd of, this takes the banner!" hank was already retracing his way down the slope. "we'll take the automobile!" he yelled, over his shoulder. "we'll be climbing right on top of 'em in a brace of shakes." "dot means us, matt!" exclaimed carl. "you do vat dey say, und py chimineddy i vill catch oop mit dot pringle feller! wienerwurst! i'll make him t'ink i vas vorse as dot!" with revolvers in their hands, spangler and hank came plunging for the car. "snake us out of this, motor matt!" shouted hank. "lay us alongside that outfit ahead, and see how quick you can do it!" "can't do it," answered matt. "you fellows have blocked the road." in their excitement, neither hank nor spangler had thought of the tree. it was a case of their own weapons being turned against them. the ruffians let loose their billingsgate again, but only for a moment. "get out here, you two," shouted hank, "and help us snake the log out of the way. i reckon the four of us will be plenty." carl piled out briskly, and matt followed. spangler and hank worked like beavers, and after a two minutes' struggle the way was cleared. "now for it!" panted hank, rushing back to the car. "all in, everybody! if you try any tricks with the machinery, motor matt," he finished savagely, "i'll make a lead-mine out of you. top speed!" it was an odd situation, take it all around. matt was being forced to help the would-be robbers, but his suspicions of tomlinson, since his talk with spangler and hank, had reached a point where he was more than willing to do his best to overhaul the men ahead. carl, of course, was thinking only of pringle, and of what pringle had done to him. the red flier leaped onward with a bound, matt leaning over the wheel and coaxing the six cylinders up, notch by notch, to their limit of power. hank was in front with matt. behind them, standing in the tonneau, gripping the seat-back and leaning over their heads, were carl and spangler. "gif her all she vill shtand, matt!" cried carl. "hit her oop like anyding! tear off der miles so kevick as dey nefer vas yet!" "whoop-ya!" yelled spangler. "we'll purty near git thar afore we start! talk about yer travelin'--why, this here's like bein' shot out of a gun!" "that fellow isn't tomlinson, you say?" shouted matt to the man beside him. "no more than i am!" answered hank. "is he denver denny, otherwise james trymore?" "you've hit it!" a light had suddenly dawned on matt. denver denny was playing a bold game, and the stakes were $ , worth of black pearls. although matt was helping spangler and hank, yet there was a hope, deep down in his heart, that he might somehow be able to worst all the robbers and recover the pearls for the man who owned them. but where was that man? while all this fighting was going on for the possession of the pearls, what had become of james q. tomlinson, of denver? chapter x. a shift in the situation. matt had never done any more rapid-fire thinking than he did then. while carl and spangler, carried away by the excitement of the chase, were yelping frantically and throwing themselves around in the tonneau, and while hank was growling and threatening, motor matt was driving mechanically and turning the situation over in his mind. pringle, trymore, hank, and spangler were all concerned in the robbery of tomlinson. trymore, in some way yet to be explained, must have got hold of the pearls and have tried to get away with them and leave his pals in the lurch. hank, spangler, and pringle had been trying to get hold of trymore, and had felled the tree and laid that trap where the road wound around the mountain. pringle had been left with the horses while hank and spangler made their attack on the car; by getting out, as he had done, trymore had checkmated his pals, had found pringle and the horses, and the two had made it up between them to hustle away with all the live stock and leave hank and spangler tied up with the automobile on the wrong side of the tree. all this, at least, represented matt's quick guess at the situation, built upon certain things he knew and others which he took for granted. trymore and pringle had about five minutes' start of the red flier; but the motor-car, under matt's skilful control, was registering fifty miles an hour by the speedometer on the dashboard. if trymore and pringle kept to the road, they must surely be overtaken in short order. spangler was the first to sight the horsemen. "thar they are, by thunder!" he cried, in savage exultation, "we're goin' a dozen feet to their one, an' we'll smash right inter 'em, in half a minit." "we'll empty the saddles, that's what we'll do!" said hank, through his teeth. "we'll teach that brace of come-ons to play lame duck with _us_!" out of the tails of his eyes matt saw hank draw a revolver; and over his shoulder leaned spangler with another weapon. the young motorist, no matter how desperate the situation, did not intend to allow any successful shooting from the red flier. quick as a flash, he steered the car over a roughened part of the road. during the shake-up that followed, the aim of the two ruffians was disconcerted, and their shots went wild. trymore and pringle, goading their horses frantically, were doing their utmost to get away from their vengeful comrades. they knew, however, that if they kept to the road it would be only a matter of seconds before they were overhauled. the whistle of the bullets impelled a quick change of tactics, and they turned from the trail and took to the timber. by this move, they screened themselves from the weapons of the pursuers, but got into country where they would have to travel more slowly. in the haste with which this fresh maneuver was executed, the led horse got away. "consarn 'em!" exclaimed hank. "if they think they're going to get away by pulling off such a game as that, they're going to get fooled. stop the car!" he added, to matt. matt slowed down to a halt. before the red flier had been brought to a standstill, hank and spangler were over the side, hank catching the loose horse and spurring after the fugitives, and spangler floundering after him on foot. presently, pursued and pursuers vanished, and matt and carl sat in the car and wondered what was going to happen next. "you bed my life," fumed carl, "i hope dey ged pringle." the dutch boy was so deeply concerned over pringle that he had lost sight of the more important points of the situation. "they're crooks, all four of them," said matt. "they stole the pearls from tomlinson, in the first place, and now they're trying to beat each other out of them." "und domlinson don'd vas domlinson afder all?" inquired carl. "the fellow who called himself tomlinson is denver denny, _alias_ james trymore. didn't you hear what hank and i said to each other, a few minutes ago, carl?" "i don'd hear nodding but schust some yells made py dot odder feller. vell, vell! led's all dry und be jeerful. der deputy sheriff hat dot news aboudt tenver tenny in his bocket all der time, und he heluped der crook across der shdreet, und made him comfordable py der hodel, und dit eferyt'ing he could for him! ach, drymore vas a shrewrd sgoundrel, i bed you." "he's a bold one!" declared matt. "vere iss der real domlinson alretty? und how dit drymore ged der audomopile?" "that's what we've got to find out, carl." "it vas a pig orter." "but we're going to fill it--and get back the pearls, too." carl shook his head. "i like to t'ink dot, aber it don'd vas bossiple. how ve do anyt'ing ven ve shday here mit der car? drymore von't come pack." "i think he will," said matt confidently. "i'll bet something handsome that hank and spangler make that mountain too hot to hold trymore, and that he comes rushing for the car. trymore won't know that we've found out who he is, and he'll try to keep on with the tomlinson rôle. we'll let him think we're fooled, then capture him and recover the pearls." "dot vas some pright itees," returned carl admiringly, pulling down his fiery vest and smoothing the wrinkles out of it, "aber my vone pitzness in life, schust now, iss to ketch pringle und ged py tenver. it seems like ve vas gedding furder und furder avay from tenver all der time. you t'ink ve pedder shday righdt here, matt?" "trymore saw us here last," answered matt, "so it will be here that he comes to find us." "und oof ve can ged avay mit him und mit der bearls," said carl, "ve vill fool der odder roppers, aber i don'd ged no shance ad pringle. 'wienerwurst!' he say it in der note. pympy, vone oof dose tays, i make him know vich iss der saussage. yah, so!" matt had been listening for sounds of the flight and pursuit. they had died out, shortly after the quartet of thieves had disappeared, but matt was confident that he would hear them again. the contour of the mountain was such, at that place, that it would be impossible for trymore and pringle to cross to the other side. they would have to make along the slope, trusting to luck to dodge hank and spangler and get back to the trail. unless they were captured, it was a foregone conclusion that trymore and pringle would try to reach the car. inasmuch as hank was mounted, he would be able to press the fugitives hard. while the boys waited and watched, they heard the distant report of a revolver. the dull echoes, ringing through the woods, were taken up by a faint yell. "somepody vas shot!" cried carl excitedly. "oof it vas pringle, i don'd ged him; und oof id vas drymore, ve don't ged der bearls." "listen!" said matt. "somebody is coming this way." there was a crashing of brush up the slope, growing louder by swift degrees. matt sprang out, cranked up the engine, and hurriedly got back into the car. "vat now?" queried carl. "i'm going to turn around," said matt, "and be ready to rush trymore back to ash fork. he's coming--i'm sure of it. that means that we capture him and recover the pearls. a big day's work, carl!" "meppy ve ged some rake-offs, den, hey?" returned carl. "ve don'd got mooch luck so far, oudt oof dis shake-oop." matt, having turned the red flier, brought the machine to a halt and sprang out to be ready with the crank. if trymore came, with hank hot at his heels, not a second could be lost in getting away. the scrambling noise was still coming down the mountainside, growing louder and louder, but with no one breaking into view. as matt stood by the front of the machine, trying to follow the sound with his eyes, he saw a horseman appear in an opening among the timber. it was hank. he slid across the open space like a streak, bound down the slope and evidently in pursuit of trymore. just as hank disappeared, a form tore through the bushes close to the trailside and rushed for the car. "help!" cried the man. "get me out of this or i'll be killed." poppety-pop! spluttered the engine, as matt bent to the crank. "pringle!" shouted carl; "oof it ain'd pringle i vas a geezer! oh, be jeerful, eferypody. come, pringle, come to me! i peen vaiding here, und somepody else vas vaiding pehindt, aber meppy you pedder dake shances mit me." a thrill of disappointment ran through matt. he was expecting trymore with the pearls, and now to be forced to run away with pringle looked like losing out on the whole proposition. but there could be no lingering with the hope of ultimately securing trymore. hank and spangler would be quick to understand the possibilities of the car, in trymore's case, and they might puncture a tire, or do some other damage to eliminate the machine. pringle, caught between two fires, did not hesitate to take his chances with carl. with a wild leap he slammed himself on the foot-board and against the tonneau. carl had the door open, and laid hold of him and dragged him in. matt, smothering his disappointment, slid into his seat and started the car. at that moment, hank plunged out of the timber. "here, you!" he yelled to matt. "wait! i want that fellow!" "you can't have him," shouted matt, and jumped to the high gear. then away they went, covering the back trail as rapidly as they had gone over it the other way. chapter xi. a surprise. hank made a desperate attempt to overhaul the car. in fact, he tried so hard to capture pringle that matt wondered at it. why should he give so much attention to the fellow when the man he and spangler wanted most was still on the mountainside? hank goaded his horse to top speed, shouted threats, and even smashed the tail lamp with a bullet before the red flier could get out of the way. no other damage was done, and matt drew a long breath of relief when the angry robber was safely left behind. meanwhile things had been happening in the tonneau. carl's idea of revenge was to take his troubles out of pringle's hide, and he was going about it with considerable violence. the body of the car rocked from side to side on the chassis under the fierce turmoil in the tonneau. "wienerwurst, hey?" sputtered carl, rolling pringle over on the seat. "you cut loose from wienerwurst, hey? i make you t'ink it tifferent, you lopster!" "leave go o' me. pretzel!" cried pringle. "i'll eat you, if you don't, an' that's what. say, you monkey----" "monkey!" gurgled carl. "dot's somet'ing more. pringle und pretzel, der moosickal team haf bust oop! und now come der firevorks. how you like dot, hey? und dot, und dot! dose vas my gompliments. wienerwurst hants dem to you mit jeerfulness." thump, smack, bang! went carl's fists. matt, having made sure that there was now no danger to be apprehended from hank, halted the car and leaned over the back of the seat to take a hand in the squabble himself. "that'll do, carl!" he cried, grabbing the dutch boy by the collar as he pummeled the form on the leather cushions. "i hafen't paid him all vat i owe him yet," shouted carl. "that's enough, anyway. leave him alone. if----" "dere he goes!" screamed carl; "und look--look vat he's got in his hant alretty!" the moment matt dragged the dutch boy from his late partner, the latter had leaped from the seat, grabbed something that had fallen from his pocket, and had sprung down from the car. as he leaped away, matt saw that the object in his hand was _the green silk bag_! pringle had been saved from hank, and he was now anxious to save himself from carl and matt. with a flying leap from the car, matt made after him. a sharp run followed. pringle was no match for the athletic motor matt. catching up with him at the end of a fifty-yard dash, the young motorist grabbed the fellow by the arm and jerked him to a halt. pringle was a slab-sided, beak-faced youth with buttermilk eyes. merely a glance at him was enough to show matt that he was thoroughly unreliable. "no more fighting," said matt sharply, snatching the bag from pringle's hand. "back to the car with you, on the double-quick." "that ain't yours," snarled pringle, referring to the bag. "nor yours, either," answered matt. "i'm taking charge of it for tomlinson." this remark about tomlinson seemed to take pringle's breath. "who's tomlinson?" he asked, trying to play the innocent. "you know." "some one's been stringing you." "you're trying it now, pringle, but it won't work." carl, leaning out of the tonneau, was waving a revolver. "py shiminy, matt," he called, "here i vas heeled all der time und forgot aboudt it. dis gun pelongs mit der drymore feller. shtep avay vile i draw some beads on dot gangle-legged hide-rack, vat you got along." "put that up!" said matt sternly. "if it went off, i'd be in as much danger as pringle. that rope that was used to lash the wheel is wrapped around the foot-rest in the tonneau. get it, and we'll tie pringle's hands." "what are you mutts trying to do?" demanded pringle. "you ain't got no call to handle me like this." "oh, no, i guess nod!" taunted carl, pulling pringle's hands to his back and getting busy with the rope. "you vas a fine sbecimen oof a tinhorn, hey. wienerwurst! vell, i vas more oof a hot tamale as dot, hey?" "what do you want to knock a partner like this for, dutch?" demanded pringle. "just because i had to pull my freight without getting your permission? aw, you make me tired!" "see here," said matt sharply, as pringle was made to get into the tonneau, "there's no use of your trying to play possum with us, pringle. we know all about what you've done--not only to carl, but to tomlinson. you'll go to yuma, all right. just now we're going to take you to ash fork and leave you, and the pearls, with the deputy sheriff." this announcement took the wind out of pringle's sails. the white ran into his face, and he sank back and stared helplessly from carl to matt. at that moment the pounding of a motor was heard along the road in the direction of ash fork. in that region, where automobiles were few and far between, the sound claimed matt's instant attention. the other car was coming like the wind. it was a high-powered runabout with a single rumble-seat behind. there were two passengers--one a big man in cap and dust-coat, and the other a businesslike driver in leather fixings and goggles. the runabout was new, as could easily be seen, and there was an extra tire in irons at the driver's side. at that point in the road passing was easy, and the runabout surged by without decreasing speed. "look out ahead!" shouted matt, making a trumpet of his hands. but his warning didn't even win a backward glance from the big fellow with the driver. the dust the runabout kicked up soon screened the car from sight. a few moments later, the dust whisked out of view around the point of the mountain. "chiminy grickets, dot feller vas going some!" exclaimed carl. "he don'd vas on speaking-derms mit anypody to-day, i guess." "i'll bet that's the fellow i came to ash fork to see about a job," said matt. "he answers the description, all right, but from the looks of things he's got a driver." "vich leds you oudt," returned carl. "dis odder chob oof yours ad a hundert tollars a mont i don'd t'ink vill last. meppy ve don'd ged py tenver, neider. vat a luck it iss! aber be jeerful. pringle iss here," and carl reached over to nudge pringle in the ribs. "cut it out!" scowled pringle. "what can i do to get clear of this?" "you can go py ash fork fairst, und den py yuma. dot vill led you oudt in den years, meppy." "rub it in! oh, by all means!" "do you want to tell us what you know?" asked matt, facing pringle. "will it put me in deeper, or help me out?" returned pringle. "it won't do you any harm. we know a good deal about this business, as it is. for instance, pringle, you got a note from denver denny telling you that the pearls were on the way----" "dere id iss," said carl, pushing the note in front of pringle's eyes. "look him ofer, den you know ve don'd make some pluffs." "you answered the letter from flagstaff," went on matt, "and sent it to brockville, saying you were glad the pearls were on the way and that you would meet trymore at that place." "und dere iss dot vone, too--only ve don'd got it," put in carl. "dot's der vone vere you say someding aboudt wienerwurst, vich iss me." "no," said pringle, "i know you don't got it. hank got it. you're real cute in that red vest. it's almost like we were in the lime-light, doing the sketch. quite a line you lads have got on me. but i wouldn't linger around here. that other benzine buggy is coming back, and hank's up front. spang's behind, too, and they're reaching out for us." pringle was turned partly around in the tonneau, so that his eyes could command the road in the rear. matt took a quick glance toward the point of the mountain. pringle was right! the runabout was charging along the trail like a thunderbolt. the big man in the dust-coat had vanished. in his place sat hank, and behind hank was spangler. hank had a revolver in his hand and was pointing it at the driver, holding him to his work. "ach, du lieber!" whooped carl. "pull avay, matt! dey're afder us." matt turned over the engine in record time, jumped for his seat and started. chapter xii. escape. it was easy for matt to guess what had happened. hank and spangler had stopped the other car--by rolling the tree across the road again, or in some other way--and had taken possession of the runabout. the scoundrels were in luck to have such a car come their way at just that time. being a lighter machine than the touring-car, and fully as powerful, matt knew that hank and spangler had the advantage. the two scoundrels were in desperate earnest, there could be no doubt about that. they had risked much for the pearls and would not let them slip through their fingers now if they could help it. pringle was as anxious to get away from the runabout as were matt and carl. if hank and spangler caught him, their vengeance would be swift and terrible. pringle's easiest way out of the difficulty was to stay with the two boys. although the country through which the road ran was bluffy and rough, yet the road itself traveled the level places and was hard and firm. matt speeded up the engine to the limit and drew out every ounce of power. "dey're gaining!" shouted carl; "dey're coming oop on us, matt! vell, i t'ink dis is our hoodoo tay, anyvays." "tear her to pieces!" cried pringle. "is this the best you can do? it will be all day with me if hank comes alongside!" they were doing fifty-five miles an hour, and matt knew that they could not do any better, no matter what happened. he was hoping for something to turn up--that was all that could help them now. carl thought that was their hoodoo day, but he had occasion to change his mind. "somet'ing iss going wrong mit der odder machine, matt!" he called. "dey're preaking down, i bed you." "that's what!" came from pringle. "hank acts as though he wanted to kill the driver. is the driver making a play, or has something really slipped a cog? they're at a standstill." matt decreased the red flier's speed and looked back. the driver of the other car was on the ground and both hank and spangler were standing over him with drawn guns. "judging from what the driver is doing," said matt, "it can't be a tire they've blown up. water in the carburetter, perhaps. if that's the case, they'll be after us like a singed cat in less than a minute." a bend in the road hid those in the touring-car from a view of their enemies behind. the road curved back and forth, through that part of the hills, and matt was just making ready to let the flier out again when pringle made a suggestion. "you can't give them the slip on a straightaway run, can you?" he called. "no," answered matt. "and if they're only hung up for two or three minutes they'll catch us?" "easy." "well, i don't want to be hooked by that outfit, and i know a way we can dodge 'em." "how?" "right ahead, on the left, there's a gully in the hills. you can go through it from end to end, easy enough, and at the farther end there's another road. duck into that gully, quick!" this seemed like a good move to matt. he pulled the red flier down to the low gear. "oof you vas drying to make us some drouples, pringle," warned carl, "you vill ged vorse as you have hat yet." "aw, splash!" snorted pringle. "what do you take me for? i was helpin' denny to skip with the pearls, and hank would kill me for that, if he could. i'm a lot more anxious to dodge him than you fellows are. take the gully! i know what i'm talking about. i was through the place with hank and spang this morning." matt's keen eyes were already surveying the gully, and the ground that lay between the mouth of it and the road. the other car could be heard coming, and there was scant time for making a decision. a turn with the steering-wheel headed the flier for the opening, and she glided in between the sloping walls of the narrow swale. hardly was the car out of sight when the runabout came ripping along in a cloud of dust. none of those aboard saw the red flier, but had their eyes on the next turn of the trail. "fooled!" laughed pringle huskily. "if you take my advice, you'll keep going through the gully. as i just said, there is another good road beyond." this advice seemed good to matt, for, if they had pushed out into the road again and headed the other way, they might soon find the runabout once more behind them. the bed of the gully was sandy, but there were no sharp stones or anything else to injure the tires. proceeding carefully, matt kept the car headed for the other road. "i got a bottle of corn-juice in my back pocket," said pringle, after a while, "and i feel the need of a nip. how about having one, all around?" "not for me," returned matt promptly. "und nod for you, neider, pringle," said carl. "you vas too mooch oof a feller for der booze, und dot's vat's blayed der tickens mit you." "how did you come to hook up with hank, spangler, and trymore?" asked matt. "if i put you next," replied pringle, "i expect you to do what you can for me." "i'll do that--only i want the truth." "that's what you'll get, right off the bat. i'm down, and you've got the pearls, and hank and spang are hot on my trail. i've all to win by putting you wise, and i don't see how i've got anything to lose. "this denny jerome, otherwise denver denny, otherwise james trymore, and some others, is an old pal of mine. we used to turn a knockabout spiel behind the footlights on a little two-by-four western circuit; but denny got to selling gold bricks to jaspers and quit on me. i did a little with him, on the side, but the pace was too swift for my nerve. denny got jugged, and made a getaway, and a friend told him that tomlinson had picked up some pearls down in yuma, and was to bring them back to denver in his touring-car. that looked like good picking for denny, and he slid for brockville, a. t., and sent hank to yuma to see whether tomlinson was really going to tote the pearls along with him or have the sense to put them through to denver by express. "hank's the wise boy, all right, and he not only discovered that tomlinson was just as foolish as he was made out to be, but picked up the road they were taking from tomlinson's chauffeur. hank then took the train for brockville, denny sent word to me, and i pulled out to join him and hank and spang. "we laid for the touring-car beyond ash fork--stopped it by rolling a big stone into the road. tomlinson and his driver showed fight, and denny got a bit of a gouge in the block. he seemed all right, though, and pulled himself together in time to relieve tomlinson of the silk bag. "close by that place where we blocked the trail there's an old adobe hut between two hills. from the looks of it, no one has lived there for a hundred years. the play was for hank, spang, and little bright-eyes to take tomlinson and the chauffeur to the hut and leave them there, neatly roped. well, we did it; then, when we flocked back to the road, we found that this nice big car was gone and denny gone with it. strange as it may seem, denny had forgot to leave the pearls. "oh, well, the air was blue for a while. then, after hank and spang had taken their oaths they'd get the pearls and denny's scalp along with 'em, we soldiered along toward ash fork, hugging the hills all the way. we went into camp in a dry-wash close to town, and when evening settled down, hank sneaked into the burg and came back with a hot clue. the red flier was in the hotel barn, and denny was in the hotel. the question was, did denny have the pearls in his clothes, or had he hid 'em around the automobile? it looked like a raw play for him to keep the pearls in his pocket and run the risk of being caught with the goods, and we were all thinking he must have put 'em in the buzz-wagon. "hank and spang went into town on their horses to have a look through the barn. just as they had given up trying to find the pearls, some one came in and went to the machine while some one else stood in the door. hank had a dark lantern--all of denny's belongings he'd left with us--and he flashed it on the chap by the car. the fellow had a letter. spang got it. they went after pearls and came back with the paper-talk i'd sent to spang at brockville. then there was more language, and more swearing about what we'd do to denny when we dropped onto him. "there were only two ways denny could go out of ash fork. one road was back toward the place where tomlinson was held up. we knew he wouldn't go that way. the other road headed for flagstaff. hank stole an ax and we moved along the flagstaff road early in the morning. we rode through this gully--that's how i came to know about it--and we crossed the mountain through the crack in the top of it and dropped a tree across the trail. then we went up into the gap, where we could see a mile or two in every direction, and spotted the car when it came along with our absent-minded pal. "hank and spang rushed down with their horses, just throwing a bluff in order to make sure the car got around the mountain to the tree. after that, hank and spang came up the hill, left their horses with me, and scrambled down to a lot of bushes. "i was holding three horses in the gap. see? then, all at once, who shows up but denny. i was for yelling to hank and spang, but denny stops me. he had the pearls, he says, and i might as well have half of 'em. what's the use of letting hank and spang in on a good thing when we could have it all to ourselves? well, i went him one. denny got onto one horse, and i got onto the other and led the third. you're wise, i guess, that we counted on getting away while that buzz-wagon was hooked to the tree; consequently, we were scared stiff when we heard it climbing after us. "we took to the timber. what else could we do? the led horse parted company with me, hank caught it, and then he pushed us hard. my horse tumbled; that left me on foot. all denny and i had been thinking about was getting back to the car and making you fellows get us out of our hole. we might have made the riffle, i guess, if denny hadn't played out and tumbled from his saddle. that hurt in the head must have weakened him some; anyhow, he laid on the ground as stiff as a mackerel. not being able to do anything for denny, i guessed i'd do what i could for bright-eyes, so i stopped to get the silk bag. came pretty near stopping too long, because some one took a shot at me, and i guess i jumped twenty feet. "hank was after me, and hank was on his horse. what's more, hank had seen me taking the silk bag. i knew right off it was a nip-and-tuck race, with the chances in favor of a man called pringle getting nipped. well, i traveled. when i reached a high place and couldn't go on my feet i laid down and rolled over. that's how i got to the car, and was warmly greeted by pretzel. you know the rest. is the spiel worth anything?" matt, while steering the car through the gully, had been following pringle closely. "i'm willing to let you go, pringle," said he, "providing you take us to the place where you left tomlinson and his chauffeur, and providing neither of them is hurt." "und broviding," added carl, "you gif me pack vat you dook dot vas mine." "you're on, both of you!" said pringle. "i didn't think my dope would bring all that. ahead of the car is the end of the gully, and just over the end is that nice road i was telling you about. that road will take us past the adobe hut and keep us out of ash fork all the way. it might be well to push the pace, though. now that hank and spang have got a machine of their own, they may get the notion that we'll try to do something for james q. tomlinson, and make a play to block us." the unfortunate jeweler had been in matt's mind all the time, ever since the mystery had cleared enough so he could understand what had happened. in order to reach the road pringle described, it was necessary to climb the gully-bank. the climb was a stiff one, but matt put the red flier at it without loss of a moment. there was warm work ahead--and it would be warmer if hank and spang tried to block proceedings with the runabout. chapter xiii. the hut in the hills. the red flier made fine work of the climb, rounding the crest of the gully-bank in excellent form. the road they were after lay in plain sight, with smooth ground between. "which way now, pringle?" asked matt, when they had reached the trail. "turn to the right," answered pringle. "you and your new partner are in luck, pretzel," he added, when the turn was made and the car was skimming along toward the adobe hut and tomlinson. "you'll cut a fine large cake when you break in on mr. gotrocks and tell him he's saved, and that you're prepared to hand him all the pearls in the bag. wish i had you for the next twenty-four hours, dutch." "oof you hat blayed skevare mit me, pringle," replied carl, "you vouldn't haf peen in sooch a mix. i alvays t'ought you vas a pad egg, aber you know how to blay der panjo." "sure, and we make a good team. how'll it be if i meet you in brockville, after i get away, and we hit up needles with the sketch? all the stuff's at needles." "say, i vouldn't haf nodding more to do mit you. i'm for tenver so kevick as i can ged dere." "well, be jeerful, be jeerful." "schust vatch my shmoke a leedle und see. vill you send my shtuff py tenver?" "i will, so help me!" "you vill--i don'd t'ink. you check der trunk, hey?" "sure." "vere iss der check?" "in my jeans. going to frisk me for it?" carl pushed his hand into pringle's trousers pocket, and dug up a brass tag. "vell," said he, "you dit tell der trut'. i vill keep der sheck, pringle, und ven i got some time i vill sendt it on und have der paggage come to me ad tenver." "what about my stuff? you ain't going to hog the whole business, are you?" "vell, oof you know anypody in tenver, i vill leaf your shtuff any blace vat you say." "andy hickman has a saloon there. leave it with him. what's the use of keeping me tied any longer? you might just as well take off the rope." "not until we see how we find things in the hut in the hills," said matt. "yah," agreed carl, "meppy you vas sdringing us. how ve know dot undil ve findt it oudt?" "have i strung you any, so far?" protested pringle. "it vas all righdt, so far, aber somet'ing mighdt come oop farder on. hey, matt?" "that's right, carl," answered matt. "we'll keep him a prisoner until we find tomlinson." this road, like the one they had left, angled about through the hills. they passed one vehicle--a buckboard with two passengers--going in the other direction. the horses attached to the buckboard were not used to automobiles, and shied badly. matt slowed to a stop while the driver of the team was going past. "seen anything of another automobile, mister?" called matt. "nary, i haven't," answered one of the men, "although i hear lem nugent, o' ash fork, has been blowin' himself fer one o' the things." the horses danced past on their hind legs, and matt started up again. "there's the fork," announced pringle, a few minutes later, nodding his head toward the left. "this is as near as we come to the town." they were forging along rising ground, just then, and the huddle of buildings that represented the town lay below them, and about a mile away. "how far is the hut from here, pringle?" asked matt. "twenty-five miles, i should say, at a rough guess," was the answer. "we'll cross the railroad in another mile, and after that you'd better look for buzz-wagon tracks in the dust. if you see any, then you can bank heavy that hank and spang are ahead of you." "couldn't they go the other road?" "they could, but they wouldn't. they'd make a nice picture running through town, hank with a gun at the driver's head, wouldn't they? nix. they'll keep in the background as much as they can--and this road is pretty well back. they don't want to be seen by anybody but us, just now, hank and spang don't." "does this road run into the ash fork trail?" "yep--a mile t'other side of the hut. the hut's between the two roads, close to this and not so close to the other. if the hut had been closer to the other road, maybe hank, spang, and i would have heard denny when he cut loose from us with this car." the red flier descended a slope just then, crossed the railroad-track, and climbed another slope beyond. matt was worrying about the other car. there were no tracks in the road, so it was certain the runabout hadn't passed that way as yet, but there was plenty of time for it to reach the road and catch up with the red flier. the one thing to do was to travel at speed, forestalling possible interference from hank and spang by getting well ahead of them. during the rest of the trip, which matt made at the top gait, no travelers or vehicles were met. the twenty-five miles were covered in thirty minutes, and when pringle called on matt to stop, he brought the red flier to a standstill at a place where the hills rose steeply on each side of the trail. "here we are," said pringle. "the hut is on the left side of the road?" queried matt. "through that gouge," and pringle, with a nod, indicated a break in the hills. "going to take me along?" "i guess i can find the place, all right," answered matt. "you can stay here with carl until i see if things are as you say." "what if hank and spang come along?" matt turned to the dutch boy. "you have that revolver, carl," said he, "and if you see the other car, or hear it, fire a signal. i'll not be gone any longer than i can help." "i vill keep a sharp lookoudt, you bed you," answered carl, "und i vill shoot oof i vant you. mach schnell, matt, for i haf der feeling in my pones dot somet'ing iss going crossvays." without pausing for further talk, matt ran into the passage between the hills. a hundred feet carried him through it and out upon a little plateau. here there was a spring, a thicket of manzanita, and a small ruin of a house. opposite the point where matt came upon the plateau was another narrow valley, leading toward the east and apparently communicating with the other road. hurrying to the house, matt stepped through an unclosed breach in the mud wall that had once served for a door. the gloomy interior blinded him for a space and it was impossible for him to see any one. "you scoundrel!" cried an impassioned voice. "untie these ropes and let us go at once. you will save yourself trouble if you do that, and give me back that bag of pearls. there's law in this country yet, and i'll make it my business to see that it reaches you." gradually, as matt's eyes became accustomed to the gloom, he made out the forms of two men seated on a bench along one of the walls. "are you mr. tomlinson, of denver?" inquired matt, stepping toward the man who had spoken. "my name, sir," was the haughty reply. "how long are you going to leave us here, without a mouthful of food and no water to drink? by gad, you'll suffer for this!" "you're mistaken, mr. tomlinson," said the young motorist. "i'm not one of the robbers, and had nothing to do with putting you here. by a stroke of luck i have been able to recover your pearls and to find out where you were. your car is waiting in the west road, and i am here to release you and take you to ash fork." this startling news left tomlinson speechless for a moment. "you--you have come to release us?" he returned. "yes," and matt, with an open knife in his hand, passed to the bench and began severing the cords that held tomlinson and his chauffeur to the hard seat. the prisoners had been in their cramped positions all night, and when the ropes fell away, so numb were their limbs that they could hardly hold themselves upright. "give us some water," begged tomlinson. there was a canteen lying on the floor. matt picked it up, found that it was full, and uncapped it and held it to tomlinson's lips. "the villains that brought us here," spoke up the chauffeur, "left that canteen, but they never stopped to figure out how we were to get at it with our hands tied." "they were willing, gregory," said tomlinson, "to let us starve and die, right here. i never thought a set of men could be such inhuman wretches. but who are you, young man?" "my name is king, matt king," replied the youth. "you say that by a stroke of luck you were able to get my pearls and find out where i had been left? i wish you would explain how----" "i haven't time to explain anything, just now, as we may be interfered with by the robbers at any moment. they have stolen a fast motor-car and are chasing us. if you and your chauffeur are able to walk, mr. tomlinson, we'd better get to the west road as soon as we can. the thieves----" a noise at the door caused matt to whirl in that direction. he was astounded to see spangler standing in the entrance. chapter xiv. back to the car. there was but one place where spangler could have come from, and that was the east road. the stolen car must have been driven along the direct trail leading to ash fork and have stopped so as to let spangler out at the nearest point to the hut. as matt turned on the ruffian, tomlinson and gregory started up from the bench. "there's one of the rascals!" exclaimed tomlinson. spangler, for a moment, had shown evidences of surprise. getting quick control of himself, he pushed into the hut and started for matt. "waal, my bantam," he sneered, "i reckon ye didn't make sich a clean gitaway, arter all. here's where ye git what's comin' if ye don't fork over that bag. hurry up with it! ye've made us a heap o' trouble an' we ain't allowin' ter put up with any more o' yer foolishness." "why, you infernal scoundrel," cried tomlinson wrathfully, "you're my prisoner! put down that revolver, or----" "oh, you say moo an' chase yerself!" scoffed spangler. "i got bizness with young king, here, an' if you butt in ye're goin' ter git hurt. i'll take them pearls," he added to matt, "an' i'll take 'em _now_." spangler was only one against three, but he was armed, and two of the men he faced were worn out with the physical suffering they had endured. the ruffian was counting confidently on having things his own way, and matt was wondering how he could checkmate him. hank must be somewhere around. probably, matt reasoned to himself, hank was in the east road keeping guard of the driver of the stolen car. "your lease of liberty is short," fumed tomlinson; "i'll spend my last dollar, if i have to, in bringing you and the rest of your infernal gang to book." "fer the last time, king!" growled spangler, moving his revolver significantly. "i've chinned all i'm goin' ter about that bag. either pass it over or take what's comin'." matt had got around behind the bench. he had done this in a casual manner so as not to arouse spangler's suspicions. just as the ruffian finished, matt kicked the bench against his legs. spangler staggered back. he did not lose his balance, but, in order to keep from falling, he had to throw up his arms. this was the opportunity matt wanted. like a flash he jumped over the bench and his right fist shot out in a blow straight from the shoulder. it was no light tap, for the young motorist put all his heart and science into that darting right-hander. spangler was caught on the point of the jaw and driven against the crumbling adobe wall. the revolver fell from his hand, and matt pounced upon it and brought it level with spangler's breast. "by gad!" cried the admiring tomlinson. "what do you think of that, gregory? did you ever see anything neater than that? king, you're a wonder! bravo!" "he's quicker'n chain lightning!" averred gregory. spangler was having recourse to his usual tactics whenever things went wrong with him, and was swearing like an army teamster. "that will do, spangler!" said matt sternly. "swearing never helped anybody and it's not going to help you. stow it." "i'll have yer life fer this, my buck," gritted spangler, rubbing the point of his jaw, and glaring. "not right away you won't," returned matt coolly. "step around to the other wall. we want to pass that door, and you're too close to it." "if ye think ye're goin' ter make a clean gitaway," scowled spangler, as he moved across the room, "ye've got a surprise ahead o' ye. ye kain't bump hank as easy as ye bumped me." "what are you going to do, king?" asked tomlinson. "get away from here as quick as we can," answered matt. "aren't you going to take that scoundrel along, now that we've captured him?" "no, it's impossible." "impossible?" echoed tomlinson incredulously. "why, we've got him right in our hands." "his partner is close by, in another road, and his partner has a faster car than your red flier, mr. tomlinson. we've got to get away from here in a hurry. take my word for it. there's no time to talk about it. hurry out, you and gregory, and make for the west road. i've got a friend there watching the car." "but----" "hurry!" there was a compelling note in matt's voice that caused gregory to catch hold of his employer's arm and pull him toward the door. "he knows what he's talking about, mr. tomlinson," said gregory. "here's a chance for you to get away, and get back your pearls and the car. the boy has shown that he has pluck and sense, and we'd better do what he says." this logic overcame tomlinson's objections, and the two passed out of the hut. matt backed after them. "ye better leave that gun," called spangler. "i'll leave it," answered matt, "just as soon as it's safe. where's hank?" "ye'll find him quick enough!" was the grim response. getting through the door, matt turned and hurried after tomlinson and gregory. tomlinson was bareheaded. he wore an automobile-coat that reached to his heels, but there was no coat or vest underneath it. the missing garments, it seemed clear, had been appropriated by the scheming trymore. "if we could have taken that villain with us," fretted tomlinson when matt came up with him and gregory, "we would have had at least one of the gang. now they'll all go scot-free." "we've got to think of ourselves, first and foremost," said matt. "if you and gregory escape, and you get your car and your pearls, the sheriff can go after the gang." "but see what they did to me!" went on tomlinson querulously, opening his dust-coat and showing himself stripped to the shirt. "the rascal i wounded took part of my clothes, my watch, pocketbook, and some personal papers. then, to throw us into that miserable hovel as though we were dogs? gad, it makes my blood boil to think of it." "you might take the pearls," said matt, and handed him the bag. "if you could travel a little faster----" "can't go any faster!" declared tomlinson. "we haven't had anything to eat or drink for nearly twenty-four hours, and my hands and feet feel like sticks. i'm anxious to know how you managed to get these pearls, king----" "i'll tell you all about that just as soon as we get to ash fork." matt's anxiety was intense. he felt sure that hank was doing something, and the thought bothered him. tomlinson and gregory were creeping along, gathering strength with every minute, yet not fast enough to suit matt. "i was foolish ever to carry these pearls with me," went on tomlinson, "but i expected to dispose of part of them to a dealer in albuquerque, and thought i could take the lot that far in the automobile. how did the robbers know i had them? that's what i can't understand." "did you write to denver that you had secured the pearls and were going to carry them with you as far as albuquerque?" asked matt. "yes, but----" "then the news must have got out there. i happen to know that a denver man was back of the plot to steal the gems. there was a leak in your denver office. how long did you stay in yuma, mr. tomlinson?" "ten days." "that gave the denver man plenty of time to lay his plans. you bought the pearls from a mexican who came to yuma from la paz?" "where did you find that out?" "is it the truth?" "yes." "well, that shows there must have been some one in your denver office who told what you were doing. the information i just gave you came from denver denny, the fellow you wounded at the time of the robbery." "by gad, i'll overhaul my office force from the errand-boy up, as soon as i get back home!" "a good idea." "that robbery was the most barefaced proceeding you ever heard of! gregory and i were spinning along toward ash fork, never dreaming of trouble, when we were halted by a big stone in the road. gregory got out and had just rolled the stone out of the way, when four men rushed at us. i had a revolver and i blazed away. one of the villains staggered--but he couldn't have been very badly hurt, for he pulled himself together and came at me. two of them laid hold of gregory, and two laid hold of me; then one of them--the fellow i wounded--stayed with the car while the other three took gregory and me to that wretched hut. if i live, i'll make every one of those men answer for what they've done! how such a robbery could take place, on a public road, in broad day, is something i can't----" tomlinson's rambling remarks were interrupted by a sound that brought matt's heart into his throat. two revolver-shots, in quick succession, came from the west road! that meant that carl saw trouble of some sort coming the way of the red car. "run!" yelled matt, dropping the revolver and grabbing tomlinson by the arm: "you've got to run! catch hold of him on the other side, gregory. you'll be captured again if we don't hike out of this in short order." gregory was a younger man than tomlinson and had withstood their recent physical discomforts much better. he and matt, between them, contrived to rush the denver man toward the road. they did not have much farther to go, and when they broke through the little gap carl greeted them with a wild shout: "der odder car! it vas coming, matt, coming like a house afire!" chapter xv. a race and a ruse. carl, as he yelled his startling announcement, was standing up in the tonneau and pointing toward the place where the west and east roads came together, a mile farther on. the stolen runabout, while spangler had been at the hut, had doubled the fork of the trail. running along the east road it had put about and was now charging along the west. the red flier was facing the direction from which the runabout was coming, and would have to be turned. "get tomlinson aboard, gregory!" shouted matt, dropping the denver man's arm and springing to the front of the machine. frantically he turned the lever, then jumped for the driver's seat. by that time, gregory had got tomlinson into the back of the flier, and had scrambled for a place alongside of matt. "can you run 'er?" he asked. "watch me," flung back matt. to make a turn, in that narrow roadway, called for plenty of skill, but it was accomplished swiftly. by the time the nose of the red flier was pointed the other way, however, the runabout was dangerously close. hank was still in front with the captive driver, and still overawing him with the revolver. matt bent to his levers and steering-wheel. for him there was nothing but the road in front--his eyes saw nothing else. but how could they hope to win that race, with a better car against them? "she can do sixty," cried tomlinson, from behind. "you know her, gregory! perhaps you'd better take the wheel." gregory had been watching motor matt sharply. "king can forget more about driving a car than i ever knew, mr. tomlinson," said he. "leave the thing as it is. if any one can get us out of this, it's king." the red flier was going like the wind. "watch behind, carl!" shouted matt. "sure," answered carl, "you bed you. py shinks! der odder car is slowing down aboudt vere ve vas. ah, ha! dere comes spangler, oudt oof der blace vere you come, und he chumps by der car. now dey're rushing ad us again! himmel, how dey vas purnin' der vind! no use, matt. der red flier ain'd in it mit dot odder car." "how's she going, gregory?" cried tomlinson. gregory bent forward over the speedometer. "fifty-eight," he answered. no car ever worked more sweetly than did the red flier. she hummed like a swarm of bees, and matt's trained ear told him that the machinery was working to perfection. "she can do sixty!" again shouted tomlinson. "we mustn't let the scoundrels overhaul us now! five hundred dollars for you, king, if you keep us away from them!" "oof anypody can do dot," yelled carl, "id vas modor matt. hoop-a-la, matt! hid 'er oop, hid 'er oop! ve don't vant to get ketched any more dan vat domlinson does." "they're gaining, they're gaining!" cried pringle. he had freed his hands himself, accomplishing it the moment gregory had hustled tomlinson into the tonneau. if tomlinson or gregory recognized pringle as one of the robbers, they failed to say anything about it in the general excitement. but if tomlinson was urging motor matt onward, the desperate hank was doing no less with the driver of the runabout. and hank's urging carried with it a threat of life and death. foot by foot, steadily and relentlessly, the runabout drew closer to the touring-car. with frenzied eyes tomlinson watched the closing gap. presently the racer behind was so close that those in the flier could see the grimly resolute look on hank's face, and could hear the fierce words with which he threatened the man under his revolver-point. "who's got a revolver?" cried tomlinson desperately. "here you vas!" carl answered, and handed over the gun he had in his pocket. "it's mine!" exclaimed tomlinson, as he took the weapon. "ve got it from der feller vat heluped rop you." it was hardly a time for explanations, but carl made that one mechanically--for his thoughts were elsewhere. tomlinson lifted the gun, training it on the occupants of the car behind. hank saw the move but never flinched. "i wouldn't do that," he shouted. "we don't want to kill you, tomlinson. that isn't part of the game. we want those pearls, and we're not going to be euchered out of them after all this fuss." then spangler, from the rumble, leaned forward over the front seat of the runabout. he had picked up his own weapon from the place where matt had dropped it, or else he had taken a second six-shooter from hank's pocket. he leveled the gun at tomlinson. "pull that trigger an' i'll fill ye fuller o' holes than a pepper-box!" he cried. gregory, reaching over from the front, caught tomlinson's arm and jerked it down. "you're mad, mr. tomlinson!" said he. "don't take such a risk." "what's our pace?" demanded tomlinson, his iron-gray hair snapping about his face with the speed of their flight. "fifty-nine!" "then the other car is doing better than a mile a minute! a thousand dollars for you, king, if you land me, with those pearls, safe in ash fork!" the hot blood went dancing through motor matt's veins. could he do it? reason told him that the feat was impossible, but---- a thought at that instant leaped through his alert brain. there was a chance--a long chance. "slide into this seat, gregory!" he cried. "careful, now. i'll hang to the wheel while you get under me." "what are you going to do?" demanded the astonished gregory. "the best i can--and trust to luck." a note of thrilling determination rang in motor matt's voice. gregory crawled and scrambled over the front of the lurching car and got into the driver's seat. matt, relinquishing the wheel, went on his knees in the seat vacated by gregory. "pringle," called matt, leaning into the tonneau, "you have a bottle in your pocket?" "yes, i----" "give it here." pringle pulled a quart bottle from his pocket. it was half-full of liquor. matt drew the cork and spilled the whisky into the road; then, again on his knees, he studied the car behind. the driver of the runabout was holding his car to a steady line. the left-hand wheels tracked the road a point two feet to the left of the trail of the red flier. standing in the car and bracing himself with his left hand, matt raised the empty bottle in his right. _crash_! the bottle, broken to fragments in the road, offered a danger-point for the car behind. the speed of the flier had scattered the jagged glass, but most of it had gone to the place matt had in mind. hank, hearing the crash, instinctively divined what had happened. "to the right, to the right!" he roared, brandishing his revolver in the driver's face. but the speed of the runabout was so great that swerving the car, before the danger-zone was reached, was out of the question. one of the front tires hit the broken glass and instantly there came a sharp "pop." the runabout slewed around and the driver cut off the power and put on the brakes just in the nick of time to avoid a bad accident. the red flier glided onward, leaping away from its defeated rival like a glittering streak. tomlinson, overcome with the tension of the struggle, collapsed in his seat with a breathless, "by gad." "king," exulted gregory, "you're the best ever!" "hoop-a-la!" gloried carl, in a frenzy of delight. "meppy modor matt ditn't do somet'ing dot time! oh, i bed you! be jeerful, eferypody, be jeerful! modor matt has safed der tay und von a t'ousand tollars. yah, yah, yah!" and carl flopped to an about face and shook his clenched fist at the car behind, now almost out of sight. "wonderful!" cried tomlinson. "king, how did you ever manage to think of that?" "how does he efer manage to t'ink oof eferyt'ing, hey?" asked carl. "he has his headt mit him all der time. dot's vy he cuts so mooch ice verefer he goes! oh, he vas a pully-poy, you bed my life!" "well," said tomlinson, "i'll not forget this." "there's ash fork," spoke up pringle suddenly, pointing to the right. "just across the railroad-track there's a road leading down to the place. i guess you better stop here and let me out." "stop, gregory," said matt. "pringle isn't going into town with us." "yes, he is!" averred tomlinson, bristling. "he was one of the four men who held us up. i didn't recognize him at first, but i do now. don't stop, gregory." "mr. tomlinson," said matt, facing about, "i promised pringle he should have his freedom if he told us what the robbers had done with you. but for the information he gave us, we would never have been able to get you away from that hut. i think he's entitled to something, don't you?" "is that the way of it?" asked tomlinson. matt assured him that it was. "then," went on tomlinson, "if you promised him his freedom, matt, gregory had better stop." the car halted and pringle, highly elated, jumped to the ground. "don't forget to leave my stuff where i told you, pretzel," he called. "vell, i von't," answered carl; "und don'd you forged to leadt some tifferent lives oder you vill findt yourseluf pehindt der pars yet." "oh, blazes! say, i'll be wearing diamonds while you're still doing stunts back of the footlights." "you vill be vearing shdripes, dot's vat." "by-by, wienerwurst!" carl gurgled and tried to get out of the car. matt grabbed him and threw him back in his seat. "never mind, old chap," he said. "you're well rid of that fellow, and you ought to be thankful." "i don'd like dot wienerwurst pitzness," grunted carl. "he vas rupping it in too mooch, py shinks. don'd he vas der vorst pad egg vat you efer see?" just then gregory switched on the spark, and the red flier glided into the branch road with the town well in sight. chapter xvi. in ash fork. once more the red flier found shelter in the hotel barn, and once more james q. tomlinson was quartered in the hotel. but, of course, it was a different james q. tomlinson. one of the first things matt did, as soon as he had helped gregory take care of the red flier, was to hunt up the deputy sheriff and tell him what had happened. if there was ever a dumfounded man in arizona, that man was the deputy. "well, thunder an' kerry one!" said he. "ain't i the bright boy, though? why, i helped that denver denny across the street from the doctor's office, did everythin' i could to make him comfortable, and--oh, gadhook it all! he played me for fair, and no mistake! but i reckon you was a bit fooled yourself, eh?" "for a while, yes," answered matt. "but you'd better get busy. denver denny is out there on the mountain, and hank and spangler are back on the west road with a stolen car. if you hustle you may be able to capture the whole gang--or three of them, anyhow." "that's me, on the jump." ten minutes later the deputy sheriff had collected a posse, and had split the force into two detachments. one party went toward the place where the stolen car had been left, and the other headed along the flagstaff trail. as a matter of fact, which may as well be stated in this place, neither detachment accomplished anything. the owner of the runabout, lem nugent, arrived in town on foot, late that afternoon, full of wrath, footsore, and weary. "hang the blooming luck, anyhow!" said he, to a group of loungers in front of the hotel. "got held up for my new car--two fellows snaked it right out from under me. there was a tree across the trail, and of course we had to stop. next i knew a revolver was looking at me from both sides. i had to get out, and the two hold-up boys went away in the runabout, taking henry along to run the car for them. as for me--whoosh! i walked into town. never liked walking much, anyhow. and where's my new runabout? that's what i want to know. henry's with it, wherever it is." but lem nugent was mistaken. henry wasn't with the car, at that moment, but was hoofing it into ash fork from the hills, glad to have his scalp with him. he reported to his employer an hour after the theft of the runabout had been described by its owner. "they made me chase a red touring-car," said henry, "kept a gun poked into my ribs all the time an' said they'd blow holes in me if i didn't do the right thing. what they thought was the right thing, and what i thought, was some different, but guns was trumps an' they had the best hands. first time we chased the red car the machinery of the runabout went wrong, and the other machine got away from us. came pretty near getting shot, then, as the strong-arm boys thought i'd made the runabout go wrong a-purpose. "when we got ready to do some more scorching, the other car had given us the slip. we kept chasing around, and finally dipped over a divide into that east road, a couple o' miles beyond the fork. by and by we stopped at a place where a feller called spangler got out and lost himself in a swale. hank and me jogged on to where the west road come into the other trail, an' turned back along that course. we was to pick up spangler on the new road, after he'd done something or other, i don't know what. "well, unexpectedlike, we sighted the red car. that was our signal to whoop it up, takin' spangler in behind on the fly. then we had a race an' no mistake. it would have been our race, too, if the young fellow in the red car hadn't busted a bottle in the trail and spoiled a tire for us. say, that was the slickest move i ever saw made! "it took us half an hour to get on a new tire, and by that time, of course, the red car was safe in ash fork. hank made me give him lessons in handling the runabout, then told me to go home and say that he and spangler liked the machine so well they was going to keep it." the cattleman swore roundly; and likewise declared that he'd spend the price of a new car getting the old one back. tomlinson remained in ash fork for two days, recovering from his trying experiences. and when he finally went on to albuquerque he went by train. as for the red flier, the arrangement he had made to have the car taken on developed in a conversation he had with matt a few minutes before he got aboard the steam-cars. matt was at the station with tomlinson and gregory, for both were going to albuquerque by train. "here's what i owe you, matt," said the denver man, pressing a roll of bills into the young motorist's hand. "a thousand dollars, and i call it cheap, considering the great service you rendered me. the red flier will have to come on to albuquerque, but i don't care to travel with her myself, and i want gregory to go with me. i'll give you an extra hundred, matt, if you'll bring the car through. i shall be in albuquerque for some time, and you can jog along at your leisure. what do you say? if you have anything else on hand, and feel that you can't do it, don't hesitate to say so. henry, nugent's driver, will take the red flier to albuquerque, if you can't. but, frankly, i'd rather trust the car in your hands." "i'll do it," said matt. "you see, i want to get to denver myself, and i'll be able to get over a long lap of the run on the trip." "good!" exclaimed tomlinson, with a look of relief. "you're going to denver, you say?" "that's my intention." "what are you going to do there?" "something with motor-cars--i can't tell just what, at the present time." "you'd make a good driver for a racing-car. you've got nerve, and steadiness, and presence of mind. how'd you like a job of that kind?" matt's eyes sparkled. "that would suit me right down to the ground, mr. tomlinson," said he. "then i think i can help you. a friend of mine is a manufacturer of automobiles, and i know he's looking for a good driver for his racing-machines. if you say so, i'll write him from albuquerque." "i'd be obliged to you if you would, mr. tomlinson," returned matt. "all right, then. you can count on me to give you a good recommendation." just then the train came along, tomlinson and gregory shook hands with matt and carl, and were soon pulling out of ash fork. "vell, vell!" murmured carl, staring after the disappearing train, "you vas some lucky poys, matt. meppy i vill be lucky, too, oof i shtay hooked oop mit you." "nothing would please me better, old chap," said matt heartily, "than to have you trail along with me." "und go mit you py albuquerque, und den py tenver?" "sure!" "hoop-a-la!" jubilated carl, gripping matt's hand. the end. the next number ( ) will contain motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear. stranded "uncle tommers"--the red flier gets a load--the stolen runabout--the coat in the rumble--matt begins a search--losing the box--a mysterious disappearance--spirited away--an unexpected meeting--a daring plan--on the road--a close call--car against car--down the mountain--motor matt's tenstrike--more trouble for the "uncle tommers"--conclusion. motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction new york, march , . terms to motor stories mail subscribers. (_postage free._) single copies or back numbers, c. each. months c. months c. months $ . one year . copies one year . copy two years . =how to send money=--by post-office or express money-order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. at your own risk if sent by currency, coin, or postage-stamps in ordinary letter. =receipts=--receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. if not correct you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once. ormond g. smith, } george c. smith, } _proprietors_. street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york city. a young mariner's peril. by rufus hall. day after day the poisonous malarial vapors from thickets and jungles, combined with the heat of an equatorial clime, told even upon some of the hardy sailors and marines who had been sent from the sloop of war _trenton_ to protect a party of engineers away up in the gaboon country of lower guinea, near the mountains, in western africa. in a tent where the marines were encamped, they had put little jack winton, the lieutenant's nephew, a boy of fourteen, ill with a fever; and, one morning, as he lay there, with burning cheeks and parched lips, a vision of big red cherries, smooth and round, kept rising in fancy before his wistful eyes. his delirious mutterings were of these cherries, and his hands now and then crossed and recrossed his pillow, as if he thought the fruit must be there. then it was that will worth, a marine private of sixteen, hearing him, made up his mind to hunt for what he knew the invalid coveted--a cherrylike fruit, to be found among the glens and ravines of the mountains--and to bring some, as a pleasant surprise, to the sufferer. without mentioning his purpose to any one, he left the camp, being at present off duty, and sped on his way. mr. dale, a youthful ensign, noticing how hurriedly he plunged into the upland thicket ahead, suspected that he meant to desert. his lieutenant had already found fault with him for one soldier's desertion, and he did not relish the idea of another reprimand of this sort. he, therefore, resolved to follow the lad, watch him, and, if he went far, order him back to the camp. entering the thicket, he moved rapidly on. the foliage and the brush became denser as he proceeded. he heard the tapping and humming of bees in the hollows of trees. in and out of the great bell-shaped flowers around him they flew, spitefully buzzing at the big green gnats in their way. hundreds of large white lilies, enormous tulips, and wild roses brightened the shrubbery. high above hovered the scarlet cardinal-bird, sounding its shrill "fife." below, the hook-nosed falcon boldly confronted the youth, as if inclined to dispute his progress. at last he caught sight of worth down in the jungle, on the opposite side of a deep ravine, which he had evidently reached by a roundabout direction through brambles and vines leading past the front of the chasm. down where he was could be seen gleaming in profusion the small red globes of the cherrylike fruit he had come to gather for his sick little comrade. the ravine was evidently hundreds of feet in depth, the bottom hidden by the black shadows from the jungle on both sides. a few yards below worth the chasm, which was about eighteen feet wide, was crossed by a tree-trunk--a mere sapling, eight inches thick--probably all that remained of a former bridge. the trunk was smooth, except within five feet of the end nearest the boy, where there was a clipped branch. this end was in a sort of long hollow, overhung by tough roots. the ensign cautiously descended on his side of the ravine and watched worth until he had filled a haversack at his side with the "cherries" and was about to ascend, when he called out sharply: "that fruit will make you a poor meal, my boy, if you mean to desert!" the startled lad looked across the gorge, saw the ensign, and answered, much hurt by the officer's suspicion: "i had no intention of deserting, sir. i came here after the fruit for jack winton." "now, upon my word," said the ensign, who was a good fellow at heart, "i believe you, worth, and am sorry i made the mistake of suspecting you. those 'cherries' are just the things for little jack." worth was going to respond, when behind and above him he fancied he heard a low, guttural voice. turning and looking up, he saw two humanlike but fierce eyes shining amid a thick, dark screen of interlacing vines. "who's there--a 'pongwe?" he inquired, thinking one of the natives of the mpongwe tribe had been watching him pick the fruit. there was no reply to his question. but the leafy bower rustled, and now from out the dark screen there rose an awful roar, that was echoed to the chasm's very depths. from among the concealing vines stepped forth a hideous monster, which the boy at first thought was a chimpanzee, but which, from its black color and ferocious aspect, he concluded must be a gorilla. nearly erect it stood, beating its breast with its hands. being a greedy lover of fruit, it glared in a fierce, remonstrative way at the lad's full haversack, as if enraged at his having come to pluck the "cherries" it wanted entirely for its own use. the animal, about five feet high, was covered with black hair, had very broad shoulders and enormous hands, while its stomach bulged as if nearly filled to bursting with the "cherries" it had been eating, the red stain of which was all about its mouth. the diabolical face, with its great flat nose and projecting open jaws, the latter disclosing two enormous hooked lower teeth and a row of smaller ones above as sharp as a saw, was thrust slightly downward, showing the encircling edges of the hair on its head so distinctly defined as to give it the grotesque appearance of wearing a sort of big furry cap. it was plain that the brute meant to attack the boy. in fact, it suddenly raised one of its big paws and, with a rush, came crashing toward him through the shrubbery. unfortunately he had left his musket, thinking it would be in his way, near the edge of the ravine above. but his bayonet was by his side in its sheath. he drew the steel, and, flourishing it before him, retreated toward the tree-trunk that extended across the chasm. he had once heard a hunter say that the gorilla, unlike the common monkey, is not a very skilful climber. neither would it, he thought, attempt, for the same reason, to follow him should he creep out on the horizontal sapling. but just as he got close to the tree the ferocious brute, uttering a terrible roar, aimed a blow at him with its uplifted paw. he held up his bayonet. it was dashed from his grasp, but not before the point had inflicted a wound in the monster's arm. so great was the strength of this hairy arm that that single blow must have lacerated the boy's side had not the big paw fallen upon his cartridge-box. the force of the stroke whirled him over upon his back, knocking him into the hollow in which rested the end of the tree-trunk. he quickly pushed himself under the tough roots overhanging the hollow. the gorilla, bending over, looked at its wounded arm, lapped it, and pressed it against its breast, all the time growling as if with blended pain and wrath. then, using both its left paw and its teeth, it commenced to tear away the protecting roots above the lad, with the probable intention of dealing him a finishing blow. its strength was so enormous that the earth broke and flew in all directions as the animal shook, pulled, and bit at the roots. worth, knowing that these would soon give way, expected to be finally torn to death by the infuriated beast. meanwhile, the young ensign on the other side of the ravine had been watching for a chance to shoot at the gorilla with the long double-barreled pistol he had with him, which he had drawn from his belt. but the boy and his assailant were, from the first, so close to each other that he did not dare to fire, lest the bullet should strike his comrade. he now ran his gaze along the sapling that bridged the chasm. the slender tree was covered with a green, slippery slime. he doubted if he would be able to creep over it, but he saw no other way of attempting to get within close enough range of the fierce beast to shoot it without risk of hitting worth. therefore, replacing his pistol in his belt, he started, crawling along on his hands and knees. it was a daring venture. the horizontal tree was probably more than two hundred feet above the bottom of the chasm. if he lost his balance, certain death awaited him; he would be precipitated into the black depths so far below. on he went. as he proceeded, the narrow trunk shook with his weight. when he had reached its center, it bent, oscillated, and one of his knees slid off the slippery surface. he felt himself going over. his distended eyes were turned downward toward the dark, yawning gulf beneath, into which he expected to fall headlong. but the thought now occurred to him of throwing himself flat upon his breast along the sapling and of hugging it with his arms. he did so, and the action saved him. cautiously he then regained his former position and crept on. at length he reached the clipped branch, within five feet of the end of the tree. the gorilla had nearly torn away all the roots that protected worth. it seemed about to raise its left paw to deal him a fatal blow. the young officer knew he had no time to lose. he clutched the stumped branch with his left hand, drew his pistol, and, aiming as well as his position would admit of, he fired. the bullet inflicted a flesh-wound in the monster's side. with a roar that shook the air to the chasm's very depths, the brute turned, saw its assailant, and threw itself toward him, resting its big stomach on the sapling. up went its mighty left paw, and down it came slantingly toward the officer's head. worth uttered a cry of dismay. he expected to see the ensign killed and dashed from the tree's trunk into the black pit of the ravine, hundreds of feet below. it was a critical moment. had dale drawn his head back, the great paw would still have reached him, have struck his neck, and sent him to his doom. but instead of attempting in his present cramped position any backward movement, he threw his head and shoulders forward. thus the big paw clove, with a whirring sound, the empty air above him, and, placing the muzzle of his pistol between the monster's eyes, he fired. the brute, as the bullet passed through its brain, slid away from the tree, then clawed wildly at the air with both hands, uttered one loud, humanlike scream, and went whirling down into the black abyss of the ravine. the ensign crept to land and helped worth from the hollow. the boy had been badly, though not seriously, injured by the force of the gorilla's blow upon his cartridge-box, which had thus been jammed, as if with the stroke of a sledge-hammer, against his body. as with his rescuer's assistance he limped back toward the camp, now and then carefully adjusting his broken haversack so that the "cherries" in it might not drop out, he warmly thanked his companion for saving his life. "don't mention it," was the answer. "i am glad enough to have been able to do something for you toward making up for my mistake of suspecting that you meant to desert." it was a joyful surprise to little jack winton when worth brought the "cherries" to him. they were of great benefit to the fever-stricken lad, whose health began to improve the moment he had partaken of them. the ensign had made light of his rescue of worth, and had advised him not to mention so "trifling a matter," as he termed it, to his comrades. the boy, fearing that the knowledge of it would tend to unduly excite the invalid, said nothing about it until jack was fully recovered from his illness, when he gave him an account of the whole affair. the little fellow made it known to his uncle, the lieutenant; and dale's promotion, not long after, was, perhaps, partly due to this circumstance. worth, who had never dreamed of being favored for the slight service he had rendered his sick comrade, now attracted the notice of his commander. the latter, perceiving his unvarying good conduct, soon made him a corporal, from which position he eventually won his way to a higher rank. swans carried over niagara falls. all naturalists and many sportsmen will recall the great destruction of swans which took place in march, , at niagara falls. a great flock of these large and beautiful birds was carried down the river and over the falls, and an authoritative account of the occurrence recently appeared in a paper by james savage, of buffalo, n. y., printed in the bulletin of the buffalo society of natural history, says _forest and stream_. while the whistling swan occurs regularly along the niagara river, it is always a rare migrant, and would scarcely ever be captured were it not for the fact that it often floats down the river to injury or death at the great cataract. observers declare that scarcely a year passes without one or more swans going over the falls. about twenty made the fatal plunge in march, , and five in the same month, , but no such destruction of swans has been known as took place on march , , when more than were destroyed. during the greater part of the day a severe rain-storm prevailed. about eleven o'clock in the morning, between showers, william leblond, of niagara falls, ontario, was engaged in removing from the ice bridge a temporary structure that had been used during the winter season as a souvenir and refreshment-stand, when he was startled by a loud cry. turning around, his attention was first attracted to a swan struggling in the water at the upper end of the ice bridge; but, on looking toward the falls, he saw a great company of swans in distress coming toward the bridge. the scene was a sad one for any bird-lover to contemplate. these splendid birds, helpless after their terrible plunge over the cataract, were dashed against the ice bridge by the swift current, amid cakes of loose ice which were constantly coming down from the upper river. some had been killed outright by the falls. others, unable to fly because of injury to their wings, attempted to stem the rushing waters, but here their wonderful swimming powers were of no avail. they were soon imprisoned in the ice, where their pitiful cries were heartrending. the game-laws of ontario will permit the taking of geese and swan in the spring until april , and it was not long before men and boys, armed with guns and sticks, availed themselves of the privilege and became the chief factors in the closing scene of nature's great tragedy--the sacrifice of the swans. as soon as he learned of the occurrence, mr. savage visited niagara falls, and from his investigation concluded that the number of swans taken march was . on the morning of march two more were taken at the ice bridge, and a third was picked up alive on the shore. it was secured by mr. savage and photographed. placed in the zoological collection in delaware park, buffalo, it recovered. eleven more swans were taken later, and some others were seen which, though apparently carried over the falls, were still able to take wing and fly away. but swans are not the only water-fowl that are in danger from niagara. on march , , mr. savage saw a handsome male canvasback come down against the ice bridge. it appeared to be unable to fly. on the same day he saw a golden-eye duck struggle out of the foaming water below the horseshoe falls and reach the shore. it made no attempt to escape when picked up, and seemed unable to walk or fly. later, however, it recovered and did fly off. of the swans which went over the falls, many afterward appeared on the table. a number were preserved by the taxidermists of niagara falls and toronto. a group of five appears in the museum of the buffalo society of natural sciences. mr. savage saw not less than fifty of these dead birds and looked them over carefully, thinking that perhaps there might be among them a trumpeter swan, but none was found. mr. savage believes that fully one-third of the swans taken would have survived if given proper care, but the impulse to kill was stronger than the spirit to save, and not even a pair of these unfortunate birds was rescued from nature's doom and restored to nature's freedom. para rubber and its gathering. rubber is collected by the natives in brazil, who gather the thick, creamlike sap which oozes from the hatchet-cut in the bark of the rubber-trees. it is received in tiny cups of clay or tin, several of which are emptied daily into pots and carried where the sap is coagulated and "cured." the flow of sap from each tapping lasts but a few hours, and the tree must be bled in fresh places daily. the total yield from the most vigorous tree does not exceed three or four pints in a season, and a considerable percentage of this is lost by evaporation. in the camps the para rubber sap is coagulated over a fire of uricuri palm-nuts, built under an earthen pot, something like a slender-necked jug without a bottom. a paddle is dipped into the thick sap, and then, holding it in thick smoke, it is deftly turned in the operator's hands until a thin layer of rubber is formed. an hour's work at this would produce a lump, the foundation of a biscuit weighing five or six pounds. when the biscuit has reached a weight of twenty-five pounds or more, it is slit open, the paddle removed, and the rubber hung up to dry. rubber thus gathered and cured is the finest known. from the forest the rubber is sent down the stream on crude boats, later being placed on the steamers which ply the amazon. when manaos, the second largest city in the amazon country, is reached, the rubber is boxed, though this is often left until its arrival at para, at the mouth of the amazon river. manaos is , miles from the sea, so that considerable time is consumed in bringing the rubber to its shipping-point to foreign lands. at para it is placed in the ocean liners destined for new york or some of the european countries. queer californian traders. the queerest "traders" in all vast california are the odd little animals known as "trade rats." they never steal, but give miscellaneous articles in exchange for what they take. a paste-pot left overnight in an assay office was found in the morning filled with the oddest collection of rubbish. this was the work of trade rats. they had stolen the paste, and left in exchange a piece of stick, a length of rope, some odds and ends of wire, and an unbroken glass funnel. a trade rat's nest, found in an unoccupied house, was composed of iron spikes laid in perfect symmetry, with the points outward. interlaced with the spikes were two dozen forks and spoons and three large butcher-knives. there were also a quantity of small carpenters' tools, and a watch, of which the outside casing, the glass, and the works were all distributed separately--to make a good show! we are unable to state what this particular trade rat left in exchange for all this "loot." burrowing fishes. in brazil are to be found fishes, eellike in form, which burrow in the mud during seasons of drought. in wet weather this curious class of fish stores up in its system a reserve of fat, and then, when the dry season arrives and the rivers dry up, it constructs a deep tubular burrow, in which it doubles up, with head and tail together. the mouth of the burrow is closed with a most ingeniously constructed mud flap, through which are several small perforations, which permit the animal to breathe air directly, as it is also one of the few species gifted with both lungs and gills. while enclosed in its nest, the fish is frequently dug out by the natives, who highly prize its flesh. in the period of incubation it lives upon the reserve of fat accumulated during the rainy season. when the early rains soften the soil, the fish emerges from its burrow and resumes its aquatic existence. turn river to mine its bed. the tunnel to turn the trinity river from its channel so that the river-bed may be mined for gold is now in , feet. the total length will be , feet. the tunnel cuts across a bend two miles above lewiston. the trinity river mining company has a crew of eight men at work. the tunnel is being dug Ã� feet in size. when it is cut through the hill at that size it will be enlarged to Ã� feet, making it big enough to carry the whole river at ordinary stages. the water will be used at the tunnel outlet to run low-pressure turbines, furnishing power for mining purposes. the river-bed is known to be rich in gold. over a mile of the bed can be mined when the river is turned through the tunnel less than one-third of a mile in length. _especially important!!_ motor stories _a new idea in the way of five-cent weeklies._ boys everywhere will be delighted to hear that street & smith are now issuing this new five-cent weekly which will be known by the name of motor stories. this weekly is entirely different from anything now being published. it details the astonishing adventures of a young mechanic who owned a motor cycle. is there a boy who has not longed to possess one of these swift little machines that scud about the roads everywhere throughout the united states? is there a boy, therefore, who will not be intensely interested in the adventures of "motor matt," as he is familiarly called by his comrades? boys, you have never read anything half so exciting, half so humorous and entertaining as the first story listed for publication in this line, called "=motor matt; or, the king of the wheel=." its fame is bound to spread like wildfire, causing the biggest demand for the other numbers in this line, that was ever heard of in the history of this class of literature. here are the titles to be issued during the next few weeks. do not fail to place an order for them with your newsdealer. no. . motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. no. . motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. no. . motor matt's "century" run; or, the governor's courier. no. . motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the _comet_. large size pages splendid colored covers price, five cents per copy at all newsdealers, or sent postpaid by the publishers upon receipt of the price. _street & smith, publishers, new york_ _the best of them all!!_ motor stories it is new and intensely interesting we knew before we published this line that it would have a tremendous sale and our expectations were more than realized. it is going with a rush, and the boys who want to read these, the most interesting and fascinating tales ever written, must speak to their newsdealers about reserving copies for them. =motor matt= sprang into instant favor with american boy readers and is bound to occupy a place in their hearts second only to that now held by frank merriwell. the reason for this popularity is apparent in every line of these stories. they are written by an author who has made a life study of the requirements of the up-to-date american boy as far as literature is concerned, so it is not surprising that this line has proven a huge success from the very start. here are the titles now ready and also those to be published. you will never have a better opportunity to get a generous quantity of reading of the highest quality, so place your orders now. =no. .--motor matt; or, the king of the wheel.= =no. .--motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends.= =no. .--motor matt's century run; or, the governor's courier.= =no. .--motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the "comet."= to be published on march nd =no. .--motor matt's mystery; or, foiling a secret plot.= to be published on march th =no. .--motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear.= to be published on april th =no. .--motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto.= to be published on april th =no. .--motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward.= =price, five cents= to be had from newsdealers everywhere, or sent, postpaid, upon receipt of the price by the publishers _street & smith, publishers, new york_ transcriber's notes: added table of contents. italics are represented with _underscores_, bold with =equal signs=. phoenix was printed with oe ligatures in the original text. some inconsistent spellings within dialect have been retained. some inconsistent hyphenation (e.g. cottonwood vs. cotton-wood) has been retained from the original. page , changed "tomilson" to "tomlinson" and "ling" to "sing" in cast of characters. page , changed "under der drompone" to "und der drompone," "un der sleigh-pells" to "und der sleigh-pells" and "no noddng" to "no nodding." page , added missing quote after "der tenver bapers." page , changed ? to , after "watching your car." page , changed "away then went" to "away they went." page , changed "had he pearls" to "had the pearls." page , added missing quote before "does this road run." page , removed extra quote before "spangler, for a moment." page , changed "west rode" to "west road" and added missing quote before "well, unexpectedlike." page , changed "hundred of feet" to "hundreds of feet." courtesy of the digital library@villanova university (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction no. apr. , five cents motor matt's clue the phantom auto _by stanley r. matthews_. [illustration: "look a leedle oudt!" yelled carl, as motor matt made a quick jump for the phantom auto.] _street & smith, publishers, new york._ motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction _issued weekly. by subscription $ . per year. entered according to act of congress in the year , in the office of the librarian of congress, washington, d. c., by_ street & smith, _ - seventh avenue, new york, n. y._ no. . new york, april , . price five cents. motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto. by the author of "motor matt." contents chapter i. a night mystery. chapter ii. dick ferral. chapter iii. la vita place. chapter iv. the house of wonder. chapter v. sercomb. chapter vi. the phantom auto again. chapter vii. surrounded by enemies. chapter viii. the kettle continues to boil. chapter ix. ordered away. chapter x. a new plan. chapter xi. a daring leap. chapter xii. desperate villainy. chapter xiii. tippoo. chapter xiv. in the nick of time. chapter xv. a startling interruption. chapter xvi. the price of treachery. chapter xvii. the luck of dick ferral. bill, the bound boy. a winter story of colorado. characters that appear in this story. =matt king=, concerning whom there has always been a mystery--a lad of splendid athletic abilities, and never-failing nerve, who has won for himself, among the boys of the western town, the popular name of "mile-a-minute matt." =carl pretzel=, a cheerful and rollicking german lad, who is led by a fortunate accident to hook up with motor matt in double harness. =uncle jack=, a wealthy englishman, with ways and means of his own for accomplishing things, who leads a hermit's life in the wilds of new mexico. =dick ferral=, a canadian boy and a favorite of uncle jack; has served his time in the king's navy, and bobs up in new mexico where he falls into plots and counter-plots, and comes near losing his life. =ralph sercomb=, a cousin of dick ferral, and whose sly, treacherous nature is responsible for dick's troubles. =joe mings=, } three unscrupulous friends of sercomb, all =harry packard=,} motor-drivers, and who come from denver to help =balt finn=, } sercomb in his nefarious plans. chapter i. a night mystery. "oh, py shiminy! look at dere, vonce! vat it iss, matt? br-r-r! i feel like i vould t'row some fits righdt on der shpot! it's a shpook, you bed you!" a strange event was going forward, there under the moon and stars of that new mexico night. the wagon-road followed the base of a clifflike bank, and at the outer edge of the road there was a precipitous fall into stygian darkness. a second road entered the first through a narrow gully. a few yards beyond the point where the thoroughfares joined an automobile was halted, its twin acetylene lamps gleaming like the eyes of some fabled monster in the semigloom. two boys were on the front seat of the automobile, and one of them had leaned over and gripped the arm of the lad who had his hands on the steering-wheel. the eyes of the two in the car were staring ahead. what the boys saw was sufficiently startling, in all truth. out of the gully, directly in advance of them, had rolled a white automobile--springing ghostlike out of the darkness as it came under the glare of the acetylene lights. the white car was a runabout, with two seats in front and an abnormally high deck behind. it carried no lamps, moved with weird silence, and, strangest of all, _there was no one in either seat_! yet, with no hand on the steering-wheel, the white car made the dangerous turn out of the gully into the main road with the utmost ease, and was now continuing on between the foot of the cliff and the brink of the chasm with a steadiness that was--well, almost hair-raising. motor matt, who had been piloting the red flier slowly and carefully along that dangerous course, had cut off the power and thrown on the brake the instant the white car leaped into sight. as he gazed at the receding auto, and noted the conditions under which it was moving, a gasp escaped his lips. "that beats anything i ever heard of, carl!" he muttered. "it vas a shpook pubble!" clamored carl pretzel. "i don'd like dot, py shinks. durn aroundt, or pack oop, or do somet'ing else to ged oudt oof der vay. shpooks iss pad pitzness, und schust vy dit it habben don't make no odds aboudt der tifference. ged avay, matt, und ged avay kevick! py chorge! i vas so vorked oop as i can't dell." carl released matt's arm, pulled a big red handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped the perspiration from his face. he was having a chill and perspiring at the same time; and his mop of towlike hair was trying to stand on end. matt started the red flier. there was gas enough in the cylinders to take the spark, so that it was not necessary to get out and use the crank. to turn around on such a road was out of the question, even if matt had desired to do so--which he did not. nor did he reverse the engine and back away, but started along in the trail of the white car. "vat you vas doing, anyvay?" cried carl. "i'm going to follow up that phantom auto and see if i can find what controls it." "you vas grazy, matt! meppy ve ged kilt oof ve ged too nosey mit dot machine. it don'd pay to dake some chances in a case like dose. i know vat i know, und dot's all aboudt it. go pack pefore der shpook pubble hits us und knock us py der cliff ofer!" carl was excited. he believed in "spooks" and motor matt didn't, and that was all the difference between them. "don't lose your nerve, carl----" "it vas gone alretty!" groaned carl, crouching in his seat, hanging on with both hands and staring ahead with popping eyes. "nothing's going to happen," went on matt. "there's no such thing as ghosts, carl." "don'd i know ven i see vone?" quavered carl. "you t'ink i vas plind, matt. dot pubble moofs mitoudt nopody to make it go like vat it does; und it don'd hit der rocks or go ofer der cliff. donnervetter! i vish i vas somevere else, py grickets. ach! i vas so colt like ice, und i sveat; und my teet' raddle so dot i don't hardly peen aple to shpeak anyt'ing." "we've seen the red flier moving along without anybody aboard, carl," said matt, in an attempt to quiet his chum's fears. "yah, so," answered carl, "aber der ret flier vas moofing along some shdraighdt roads, und der veel vas tied mit ropes so dot she keeps a shdraighdt course. aber dot shpook pubble don'd haf nopody on, und der veel ain'd tied, und yet she go on und on like anyding. ach, i peen as goot as a deadt dutchman, i know dot." while the boys were thus arguing matters the red flier was trailing the phantom auto. the white machine, still controlled in some mysterious manner, glided safely along the treacherous trail. it was beyond the glow of the acetylene lights, but the moonlight brought it out of the gloom like a white blur. in advance of the runabout matt saw a place where the road curved around the face of the cliff. the phantom auto melted around the curve. hardly had it vanished when a loud yell was wafted back to the ears of the boys. carl nearly jumped out of his seat, and a frightened whoop escaped his lips. "ach, du lieber!" he wailed. "ve vas goners, matt, ve vas bot' goners. i can't t'ink oof nodding, nod efen my brayers! vat vas dot? i bed you it vas der teufel gedding retty to chump on us. whoosh! i never had some feelings like dis yet." "don't be foolish, carl," said matt. "there was no spook back of that yell, but real flesh and blood. keep a stiff upper lip and we'll find out all about it." just then the red flier rounded the turn. a long, straightaway course lay ahead of the boys, lighted brightly by the lamps and, farther on, by the moon and stars. but _the phantom auto had vanished_! matt was astounded, and brought the red flier to a halt once more. with a high wall of rock on one side of the road, and an abyss on the other, where could the white car have gone? "ach, chiminy!" chattered carl. "poof, und avay she goes. der pubble vas snuffed oudt, und schust meldet indo der moonpeams. dis vas a hoodoo pitzness, all righdt. ve ged der douple-gross pooty soon, i bed you someding for nodding!" "but that yell----" "der teufel make him! id don'd vas nodding but der shpook feller, saying in der shpook languge, 'ah, ha, i ged you pooty kevick!' i vish dot i hat vings so i could fly avay mit meinseluf." matt got down from the car and started to walk forward. carl let off a yell and scrambled after him. "don'd leaf me, matt! it vas goot to be mit somepody ad sooch a dime. misery lofes gompany, und dot's vat i need." "come on, then," laughed matt. "vere you go, hey?" "i'm going to see if i can discover what became of that car." "it vent oop on der moonpeams," averred carl earnestly. "you can look, und look, und dot's all der goot it vill do. dake it from me, matt, dot ve don'd vas----" "ahoy, up there!" the words seem to come from nowhere--or, rather, from everywhere, which was equivalent to the same thing. carl gave a roar and tried to push himself into the face of the cliff. "vat i tell you, hey?" he groaned. "dere it vas again. matt, more und vorse dan der odder dime. righdt here iss vere ve kick some puckets; yah, leedle carl pretzel und modor matt king vill be viped oudt like a sponge mit a slate." "keep still, carl!" called matt. "there's no ghost back of that voice. listen a minute." turning in the road, matt lifted his head. "hello!" he called. "hello, yourself!" came the muffled but distinct response. the voice seemed to float out of the blackness of the chasm, and matt stepped closer to the edge. "who are you?" he asked. "my name'll be m-u-d, mud, if you don't man a line an' give me a boost out of this." "where are you?" "down the wall, hanging like a lizard to a piece of scrub. can't you tell by my talk where i am? from the looks, i'm about a fathom down; but i'll be all the way down if you don't get a move on. shake yourself together, mate, and be lively!" carl's fear, as this conversation proceeded, was gradually lost in curiosity. the voice from over the brink had a very human ring to it, and the dutch boy was beginning to feel easier in his mind. "get the rope out of the tonneau, carl," called matt. "hurry up!" "bully!" came from below, the person on the wall evidently hearing matt's order to carl. "that's the game, matey. if you've got a rope, reeve a bowline in the end and toss it over. i'm a swab if i don't think it's up to you to do it, too. i wouldn't have slid over the edge if your white devil-wagon hadn't made me dodge out of the way. how'd it--wow!" the voice below broke off with a startled whoop. "what's the matter?" called matt. "the bush pulled out a little," was the answer, "and i thought i was gone. rush things up there, will you?" at that moment carl came with the rope, and matt, standing above the place where he supposed the unseen speaker to be, allowed the noosed end to slide down to him. "i've got it!" cried the voice. "are you ready to lay on?" "catch hold, carl," said matt, "and brace yourself. all ready," he shouted, when he and carl were planted firmly with the rope in their hands. "then here goes!" the rope grew taut under a suddenly imposed weight, and matt and carl laid back on it and hauled in. chapter ii. dick ferral. a young fellow of seventeen or eighteen crawled over the brink of the chasm and sat on the rocks to breathe himself. the lamps of the red flier shone full on him, so that matt and carl were easily able to take his sizing. he wore a flannel shirt, cowboy-hat and high-heeled boots. his trousers were tucked in his boot-tops. his bronzed face was clean-cut, and he had clear, steady eyes. "wouldn't that just naturally rattle your spurs?" he asked, looking matt and carl over as he talked. "i thought you fellows had put a stamp on that rope and were sending it by mail. it seemed like a good while coming, but maybe that was because i was hangin' to a twig and three leaves with the skin of my teeth." he swerved his eyes to the red flier. "you've lit your candles," he added, "since you scared me out of a year's growth by flashin' around that bend. if you'd had the lights going _then_, i guess i could have crowded up against the cliff instead of makin' a jump t'other way and going over the edge." "you vas wrong mit dot," said carl. "it vasn't us vat come along und knocked you py der gulch." "that's the truth," added matt, noting the stranger's startled expression. "we were following that other automobile, and stopped when we heard you yell." without a word the rescued youth got up and went back to give the red flier a closer inspection. when he returned, he seemed entirely satisfied that he had made a mistake. "i did slip my hawser on that first idea, and no mistake," said he. "as i went over, i saw out of the clew of my eye that the other flugee was white. yours is bigger, and painted different. what are your names, mates?" matt introduced himself and carl. "i'm dick ferral," went on the other, shaking hands heartily, "and when i'm at home, which is about once in six years, i let go the anchor in hamilton, ontario. i'm a sailor, most of the time, but for the last six months i've been punching cattle in the texas panhandle. a crimp annexed my money, back there in lamy, and i'm rolling along toward an old ranch my uncle used to own, called la vita place. it can't be far from here, if i'm not off my bearings. where are you bound, mates, in that steam hooker?" "santa fé," answered matt. "own that craft?" and dick ferral nodded toward the car. "no; it belongs to a man named tomlinson, who lives in denver. carl and i brought it to albuquerque for him. when we got there, we found a line from him asking us to bring the car on to santa fé. if we got there in two weeks he said it would be time enough, so we're jogging along and taking things easy." "if you've got plenty of time, i shouldn't think you'd want to do any cruising in waters like these, unless you had daylight to steer by." "we'd have reached the next town before sunset," matt answered, "if we hadn't had trouble with a tire." "it was a good thing for me you were behind your schedule, and happened along just after i turned a handspring over the cliff. if you hadn't, davy jones would have had me by this time. but what became of that other craft? i didn't have much time to look at it, for it came foaming along full and by, at a forty-knot gait, but as i slid over the rock i couldn't see a soul aboard." "no more dere vasn't," said carl earnestly. "dot vas a shpook pubble, verral. you see him, und ve see him, aber he don'd vas dere; nodding, nodding at all only schust moonshine!" "well, well, well!" ferral cast an odd glance at motor matt. "that old flugee was a sort of flying dutchman, hey?" "i don'd know somet'ing about dot," answered carl, shaking his head gruesomely, "aber i bed you it vas a shpook." "there wasn't any one on the car," put in matt, "and it's a mystery how it traveled this road like it did. it came out of a gully, farther back around the bend, right ahead of us. we followed it, and when we had come around that turn it had vanished." "what you say takes me all aback, messmates," said ferral. "i'm no believer in ghost-stories, but this one of yours stacks up nearer the real thing in that line than any i ever heard. say," and ferral seemed to have a sudden idea, "if you fellows want a berth for the night, why not put in at la vita place?" "sure, matt, vy nod?" urged carl. "how far is it, ferral?" asked matt. "it can't be far from here, although i'm a bit off soundings on this part of the chart. i've never been to uncle jack's before--and shame on me to say it--and likely i wouldn't be going there now if the old gentleman hadn't dropped off, leaving things in a bally mix. they say i'm to get my whack from the estate, if a will can be found, although i don't know why anything should come to me. i've always been a rover, and uncle jack didn't like it. my cousin, ralph sercomb--i never liked him and wouldn't trust him the length of a lead line--stands to win his pile by the same will. ralph is at the ranch, and, i suppose, waitin' for me with open arms and a knife up his sleeve." "when did your uncle die?" inquired matt. "as near as i can find out, he just simply vanished. all he left was a line saying he was tired of living alone, that he never could get me to give up my roaming and come and stay with him, and that while ralph came often and did what he could to cheer him up, he had always had a soft place in his heart for me, and missed me. he said, too, in that last writing of his, that when he was found his will would be found with him, and that he hoped ralph and i would stay at the ranch until the will turned up. that's what came to me, down in the texas panhandle, from a lawyer in lamy. as soon as i got that i felt like a swab. here i've been knockin' around the world ever since i was ten, uncle jack wanting me all the time and me holding back. now i'm coming to the ranch like a pirate. anyhow, that's the way it looks. if uncle jack was alive he'd say, 'you couldn't come just to see me, dick, but now that i'm gone, and have left you something, you're quick enough to show up.'" ferral turned away and looked down into the blackness of the gulch. he faced about, presently, and went on: "but it wasn't uncle jack's money that brought me. now, when it's too late, i'm trying to do the right thing--and to make up for what i ought to have done and didn't do in the past. a fellow like me is thoughtless. he never understands where he's failed in his duty till a blow like this brings it home to him. he's the only relative ralph and i had left, and i've acted like a misbemannered sou'wegian. "when i went to sea, i shipped from halifax on the _billy ruffian_, as we called her, although she's down on the navy list as the _bellerophon_. from there i was transferred to the south african station, and the transferring went on and on till my time was out, and i found myself down in british honduras. left there to come across the gulf of galveston, and worked my way up into the texas panhandle, where i navigated the staked plains on a cow-horse. had six months of that, when along came the lawyer's letter, and i tripped anchor and bore away for here. as i told you, a crimp did me out of my roll in lamy. he claimed to be a fellow canuck in distress, and i was going with him to his hotel to see what i could do to help him out. he led me into a dark street, and somebody hit me from behind and i went down and out with a slumber-song. then i got up and laid a course for uncle jack's. if you'll go with me the rest of the way, i'll like it, and you might just as well stop over at la vita place and make a fresh start for santa fé in the morning." "we'll do it," answered matt, who was liking dick ferral more and more as he talked. "dot's der shtuff!" chirped carl. "oof you got somet'ing to eat at der ranch, und a ped to shleep on, ve vill ged along fine." "i guess we can find all that at the place, although i don't think the ranch amounts to much. uncle jack was queer--not unhinged, mind you, only just a bit different from ordinary people. he never did a thing in quite the same way some one else would do it. when he left england, a dozen years ago, he stopped with us a while in hamilton, and then came on here and bought an old mexican _casa_. he wanted to get away from folks, he said, but i guess he got tired of it; if he hadn't, he wouldn't have been so dead set on having me with him after my parents died. the bulk of his money is across the water. but hang his money! it's uncle jack himself i'm thinking about, now." "we'll get into the car," said matt, "and go on a hunt for la vita place." matt stepped to the crank. as he bent over it, carl gave a frightened shout. "look vonce!" he quavered, pointing along the road with a shaking finger. "dere iss some more oof der shpooks!" matt started up and whirled around. perhaps a hundred feet from where the three boys were standing, a dim figure could be seen, silvered uncannily by the moonlight. "great guns, carl!" muttered matt. "your nerves must be in pretty bad shape. that's a man, and he's been walking toward us while we were talking." "vy don'd he come on some more, den?" asked carl. "vat iss he shtandin' shdill mit himseluf for? vy don'd he shpeak oudt und say somet'ing?" "hello!" called ferral. "how far is it to la vita place, pilgrim?" the form did not answer, but continued to stand rigid and erect in the moonlight. "ve'd pedder ged oudt oof dis so kevick as ve can," faltered carl, crouching back under the shadow of the car. "i don'd like der looks oof dot feller." "let's get closer to him, ferral," suggested matt, starting along the road at a run. "it's main queer the way he's actin', and no mistake," muttered ferral, starting after matt. matt was about half-way to the motionless figure, when it melted slowly into the black shadow of the cliff. on reaching the place where the figure had stood, it was nowhere to be seen. "what do you think of that, ferral?" matt asked in bewilderment. ferral did not reply. his eyes were bright and staring, and he leaned against the rock wall and drew a dazed hand across his brows. chapter iii. la vita place. "i'm all ahoo, and that's the truth of it," muttered ferral. "this is the greatest place for seein' things, and then losin' track of 'em, that i ever got into. there was certainly a man standing right there where you are, wasn't there?" "that's the way it looked to me," answered matt. "it can't be that we were all fooled. imagination might have played hob with one of us, but it couldn't with all three." ferral peered around him then looked over the shelf into the gulch, and up toward the top of the cliff. "well, sink me, if this ain't the queerest business i ever ran into! some one must be hoaxin' us." "why should any one do that?" asked matt. "what have they got to gain by such foolishness?" "i'm over my head. there's no use staying here, though, overhaulin' our jaw-tackle. let's go on to the ranch." "that's the ticket! if what we've seen and can't understand means anything to us, it's bound to come out." they started back. "are you on good terms with your cousin, ralph sercomb?" matt asked, as they walked along. "the last time i saw him was six years ago, when i came to hamilton to settle up my father's estate. ralph was there, and i licked him. i can't remember what it was for, but i did it proper. he was always more or less of a sneak, but he's got one of these angel-faces, and to take his sizing offhand no one would ever think he'd do anything wrong." "does he live in hamilton?" "no, in denver. his mother and my mother were uncle jack's sisters. last i heard of ralph he was driving a racing-automobile for a manufacturing firm--a little in your line, i guess, eh?" by that time the two boys had got back to the machine. carl was up in front, imagining all sorts of things. "i peen hearing funny noises," he remarked, as matt "turned over" the engine and then got up in the driver's seat, "und dey keep chabbering, 'don'd go on, go pack, go pack,' schust like dot. i t'ink meppy ve pedder go pack, matt." "we can't go back, carl," returned matt, starting the machine as soon as ferral had climbed into the tonneau. "we couldn't turn around in this road even if we wanted to." "vell, hurry oop und ged avay from dis shpooky blace. der kevicker vat ve do dot, der pedder off ve vas. i got some feelings dot dere is drouple aheadt. dot shpook plew indo nodding ven you come oop mit it, hey?" "the man vanished mysteriously--that's the size of it. if it was daylight, we might be able to figure out how he got away so suddenly." under motor matt's skilful guidance the red flier ran purring along the dangerous road. half a mile brought the car and its passengers to the end of the cliff and the chasm, and they whirled out into level country, covered with brush and trees. "there's a light ahead, mates!" announced ferral, leaning over the back of the front seat, and pointing. "it's on the port side, too, and that agrees with the instructions i got on leaving lamy. that's la vita place, all right enough, and ralph's at home if that light is any indication." owing to the fact that the house was almost screened from the road by trees and bushes, it was impossible for the boys to see much of it. the single light winked at them through a gap in the tree-branches, and was evidently shining from an up-stairs window. "while you're routing out your cousin and telling him he has company for the night, ferral," said matt, turning from the road, "carl and i will look for a place to leave the car." "aye, aye, pard," assented ferral, jumping out. "there must be a barn or something, i should think. go around toward the back of the house." there was a blind road leading through the dark grove toward the rear of the place. the car's lamps shot a gleam ahead and matt pushed onward carefully. when he and carl came opposite the side of the house, they heard voices, somewhere within the building, talking loudly. they could not distinguish what was said, as the intervening wall of the building smothered the words. "ve don't vas der only gompany vat dey haf do-nighdt, matt," remarked carl, in a tone of huge relief. "it feels goot to be so glose py so many real peoples afder dot shpook pitzness." "i didn't think you believed in ghosts, carl," laughed matt. "vell, a feller vas a fool ven he don'd pelieve vat he sees, ain'd he?" "that depends on how he looks at what he sees." this was too deep for carl, and before he could frame an answer, matt brought the red flier to a halt in front of a small stone barn. the barn had a wide door, and matt got out, took the tail lamp and went forward to investigate. opening one of the double doors, he stepped inside. the barn was a crude affair, the stones having been laid up without mortar. the roof consisted of a thatch of poles and boughs, overlaid with earth. there was plenty of room in the structure, however, for the machine, and there were no horses in the place to damage it. while carl opened both doors, matt ran the red flier into its temporary garage. just as they had closed the doors and were about to start for the house, ferral ran up to them out of the darkness. "here's a go!" he exclaimed. "i pounded on the front door till i was blue in the face, and no one showed up." "there's some one in the house, all right," declared matt. "carl and i heard them." "sure ve dit," struck in carl, "so blain as anyt'ing. und dare vas a lighdt, verral--ve all saw der lighdt." "well, there's no noise inside the house now, and no light, either," replied the perplexed ferral. "what sort of a blooming place is it? as soon as i began pounding on the door, the voices died out and the light vanished from the window." "are you positive this is la vita place?" asked matt, with a sudden thought that they might have made a mistake. ferral himself had said that he had never been to the ranch before, and it was very possible he had gone wrong in following directions. "call me a lubber if i ain't," answered ferral decidedly. "come around front and i'll show you." together the three boys made their way back through the gloomy grove, turned the corner of the building and brought up at the front door. the house continued dark and silent. ferral scratched a match and held the flickering taper at arm's length over his head. "look at that printing above the door," said he. there, plainly enough, were the rudely painted words, "la vita place." "we're takin' our scope of cable this far, all right," observed ferral, dropping the match and laying a hand on the door-knob, "and i guess i've got as good a right in uncle jack's house as anybody. open up, i say!" he shouted, and shook the door vigorously. no one answered. not a sound could be heard inside the building. matt stepped back and ran his eye over the gloomy outline of the structure. it was a two-story adobe, the windows small and deeply set in the thick walls. the window through which the light had been seen was now as dark as the others. this was as puzzling as any of the other events of the night, but it could be explained. those inside were not in a mood to receive callers; but, even if that was the case, why could not some one come to the door and say so? "i'm going to get in," said ferral decidedly, stepping back as though he would kick the door open. "wait a minute," suggested matt, "and let's see if the kitchen door isn't unlocked." "it isn't--i've tried it." "how about the windows?" "the lower ones are all fastened." "then i'll try one of the upper ones." there was a tree close to the corner of the house with a branch swinging close to the window through which the boys had seen the light. watched by ferral and carl, matt climbed the tree and made his way carefully out along the branch. when opposite the window, he was able to step one foot on the deep sill and balance himself while lifting the sash. "it's unlocked!" he called down softly. "i'll get inside and open the door." "there's no telling what you'll find inside there," ferral called back. "we'll all climb up and get in at the window, then look through the house together." carl was beginning to have "spooky" feelings again. not wanting to be left alone by the front door, he insisted on being the next one to climb the tree. matt, who had got into the house, reached out and gave his dutch chum a helping hand. when ferral came, they both gave him a lift, and all three were presently inside the up-stairs room. "there's been somebody here, and not so very long ago," said matt. "i smell tobacco smoke." "it's t'ick enough to cut mit a knife," sniffed carl. "i'll strike a match and look for a lamp," said ferral, "then we can see what we're doing." as the little flame flickered up in his hands, the boys took in the dimensions of a small, square room. a table with four chairs around it stood in the center of the room, and on the table was a pack of cards, left, apparently, in the middle of the game. in the midst of the cards stood a lamp. ferral lighted the lamp. "four people were here," said he, picking up the lamp, "and it's an easy guess they can't be far away. we'll cruise around a little and see what we can find." opening the only door that led out of the room, ferral stepped into the hall. just as he did so, a sharp, incisive report echoed through the house. a crash of glass followed, and ferral was blotted out in darkness. chapter iv. the house of wonder. "ferral!" cried matt in trepidation. "aye, aye!" answered the voice of ferral. "hurt?" "not a bit of it, matey. strike me lucky, though, if i didn't have a tight squeak of it. the lamp-chimney was smashed and the light put out. if the bullet had gone a few inches lower, the lamp itself would have been knocked into smithereens and i'd have been fair covered with blazing oil. that flare-up proves the skulkers are still aboard." he lifted his voice. "ahoy, there, you pirates! what're you running afoul o' me like that for? i've a right here, being dick ferral, of the old _billy ruffian_. mr. lawton's my uncle." silence fell with the last word. there were no sounds in the house, apart from the quiet, sharp breathing of the three boys. outside the faint night wind soughed through the trees, making a sort of moan that was hard on the nerves. carl went groping for matt, giving a grunt of satisfaction when he reached him and took a firm hold of his coat-tails. "ve pedder go py der vinder vonce again," suggested carl, catching his breath, "make some shneaks py der pubble und ged apsent mit ourselufs. ven pulleds come ad you from der tark it vas pedder dot you ain'd aroundt. somepody don'd vant us here." "i'm here because it's my duty," said ferral, still in the hall, "and by the same token i've got to stay here and overhaul the whole blooming layout--but it ain't right to ring you in on such a rough deal. you and the dutchman can up anchor and bear away, matt, and i'll still be mighty obliged for your bowsing me off that piece of wall, and sorry, too, you couldn't be treated better under my uncle's roof." "you're not going to cut loose from us like that, ferral," replied matt. "we'll stay with you till this queer affair straightens out more to your liking." "but the danger----" "well, we've faced music of that kind before." "bully for you, old ship!" cried ferral heartily. "i'll never forget it, either. now, sink me, i'm going through this cabin from bulkhead to bulkhead, and if i can lay hands on that deacon-faced sercomb, he'll tell me the why of this or i'll wring his neck for him." matt stepped resolutely into the hall and ranged himself at ferral's side. ferral was drawing a match over the wall. the gleam of light would make targets of the boys for their unseen enemies, but there would have to be light if the investigation was to be thorough. no shot came. "either we've got the swabs on the run," muttered ferral, "or i'm a point off. the lamp's out of commission, so i'll leave it here on the floor. we've got to find another." "be jeerful, be jeerful," mumbled carl. "efen dough ve ged shot fuller oof holes as some bepper-poxes it vas pedder dot ve be jeerful." "right-o," answered ferral, moving off along the hall. "only two rooms on this floor," he added, looking around; "we'll go into the other and try for a lamp we can use." the door of the second room opened off the hall directly opposite the door of the first. the boys stepped in and found themselves in a bedroom. there was a rack of books on the wall, a trunk--open and contents scattered--carpet torn up and bed disarranged. "looks like a hurricane had bounced in here," remarked ferral. "here's a candle," said matt, and lifted the candlestick from the table and held it for ferral to touch the match to the wick. when the candle was alight, ferral stepped to the table and looked at a portrait swinging from the wall. it was the portrait of a gray-haired man. a broad ribbon crossed his breast and the insignia of some order hung against it. in spite of the surrounding perils, ferral took off his hat. "uncle jack," he murmured, his voice vibrant with feeling. "the warmest corner of my heart is set aside for his memory, mates. i wish i'd done more for his comfort when he was alive." he turned away abruptly. "but we can't lose time here. what have you got there, matt?" matt had seen a sword swinging from the wall. drawing the blade from its scabbard, he was holding it in his hand. "i'd thought of borrowing this," said he, "until we see what's ahead." "that's a regular jim-hickey of an idea!" with one hand ferral twitched at a lanyard about his neck and brought out a dirk. "i might as well carry this, too," he added. "und vat vill i do some fighding mit?" asked carl anxiously. "i don'd got anyt'ing more as a chack-knife." "you stay behind and act as rear-guard, carl," said matt. "dick and i will go ahead." with sword and dirk in readiness for instant use, matt and ferral forged along the short hall to the stairs, peering carefully around them as they went. they did not see anything of their enemies and could not hear a sound apart from the noise they made themselves. the flickering gleams of the candle showed a number of rich furnishings in the lower hall. the first story consisted of three rooms, parlor, library and kitchen. the parlor covered one side of the house, and was divided by a passage from the two rooms on the other side. but in none of the rooms, nor the hall, was any of their lurking foes to be seen! "dis vas der plamedest t'ing vat efer habbened!" whispered carl. "a rekular vonder-house! noises, und lights, und pulleds, und nopody aroundt." "wait," warned ferral, making for an open door that evidently led into the cellar, "we haven't looked through the hold yet. we'll go down and get closer to bilge-water! i warrant you we'll stir up the rats." they descended a short flight of stairs into a rock-walled cellar. the cellar covered the entire lower part of the house, and was so high as to leave plenty of head-room. on a shelf were a number of cobwebbed bottles, and in one corner was a bin of potatoes--but there were no enemies in the cellar. "shiver me!" muttered ferral, peering dazedly at matt through the flickering gleams of the candle. "how do you account for this?" "the four people who were here," returned matt, "must have got out while we were in your uncle's room. if they have gone to the barn and tampered with the red flier----" this startling thought turned motor matt to the right about, and he raced back to the first floor. carl and ferral followed him swiftly. there were only two outside doors to the house, one leading from the kitchen, and the other from the front hall. investigation showed that both of these doors were bolted on the inside. all the lower windows were also securely fastened. ferral dropped down in a chair in the front hall and drew his hand across his forehead. "i'll be box-hauled if i can twig this layout, at all!" he muttered. "those fellows couldn't get out and leave those doors and windows locked on the inside." "and they couldn't have got past us on the stairs and got out the way we came in," added matt, equally nonplused. "we looked carefully as we came down from the upper floor, and the rascals must have been driven ahead of us. i'm knocked all of a heap, and that's a fact." carl cantered forward. "der shpooks vas blaying viggle-vaggle mit us," he averred in a stage whisper. "led us say goot-by, bards, und shkin oudt. it vas pedder so, yah, so helup me." "are you getting cold feet, matey?" queried ferral. "i peen colt all ofer," admitted carl, "efer since dot shpook pubble vented off indo nodding righdt vile ve look. den der man-shpook meldet oudt, und dese oder shpooks faded. yah, you bed my life, ve vill go oop in shmoke ourselufs oof ve shtay here long." "carl does a lot of foolish talking, dick," spoke up matt, "but he's as game as a hornet, for all that. don't pay any attention to his spook talk. i saw a lantern in the kitchen, and a padlock and key lying on a shelf. while you two are trying to solve this riddle, i'm going out to the barn and get a lock and key on the red flier. i can't afford to let anything happen to that machine." "i vill go mit you, matt," said carl. "you stay here with dick," matt answered. "i'll not be gone more than a minute." hurrying into the kitchen he lighted the lantern; then, with the padlock and key in his pocket and the sword in his hand, he unbolted the kitchen door and made his way to the barn. he listened intently as he went, but there was no sound in the gloomy grove save the hooting of an owl. he found the red flier just as he and carl had left it, and an examination of the barn proved that no one had taken refuge there. after putting the bolt upon the door and locking it--he already had the spark-plug in his pocket--he felt easier, and returned unmolested to the house. while he was gone, ferral and carl had lighted a large lamp in the parlor and drawn the shades at the windows. they were seated comfortably in easy chairs, eating sandwiches of dried beef and bread. "there's your snack, mate," cried ferral, pointing to a plate on the table. "better get on the outside of it. we may have a lively time, and it's just as well to prepare ourselves for whatever is going to happen." carl, now that the tension had eased a trifle and food was in sight, was feeling better. "i guess ve got der whole ranch py ourselufs," he beamed, his mouth half-full of sandwich. "ve schared dem odder fellers avay. oof dey shday avay undil ve clear oudt, dot's all vat i ask." "who were the lubbers, and how did they slip their cables?" queried ferral. "that's the point that's got me hooked. do you think that white car, and that man we saw in the road, had anything to do with the swabs who were in here?" before matt could answer, a rap fell on the front door and its echoes ran through the house. carl jumped up in a panic. "blitzen and dunder!" he cried chokingly, struggling with his last mouthful of sandwich and peering wildly at matt and dick, "dere's somet'ing else! schust ven ve ged easy in our mindts, bang goes der front door! now vat?" "we'll see what," returned ferral grimly, getting to his feet and starting for the hall. matt followed him, sword in hand, and ready for any emergency that might present itself. chapter v. sercomb. the rapping on the door had grown to a vigorous thumping before ferral and matt reached the entrance. quickly throwing the bolt, ferral pulled the door open and a young man of twenty-one or two stepped in. he was well built and muscular and had a smooth, harmless face. the face was so void of expression that, to matt, it showed a lack of character. ferral was carrying the candle. through its gleams, he and the newcomer stared at each other. "why--why," murmured the youth who had just entered, "can this be my cousin dick?" "you've taken my soundings all right, sercomb," answered ferral coolly. "wasn't you expecting me?" "well, yes, in a way," and sercomb's eyes roamed to matt. "we got track of you down in texas, and the lawyer said he'd sent word, but we didn't know whether you'd come or not." "where have you been, sercomb?" and matt saw ferral's keen eyes studying the other's face. sercomb met the look calmly. "i've been spending the evening at a neighbor's," he replied, "my nearest neighbor's--a mile away through the hills." "got out of an up-stairs window, didn't you?" asked ferral caustically. "what do you mean?" demanded sercomb, a slight flush running into his face. "why, when you started to make that call you left all the lower windows fastened and both outside doors bolted on the inside." "there's some mistake," answered sercomb blankly. "when i went away i left the front door open. we don't go to the trouble of locking doors in this country, dick." "well, these were locked when i got here. what's more, there were four men in a room up-stairs playing cards. come, come, you grampus! don't try to play fast and loose with me. how did you and the other three lubbers get out of the house? and why wouldn't you let me in when i rapped?" "look here," blustered sercomb, "what do you take me for? you never liked me, and you're up to your old trick of suspecting me of something crooked whenever anything goes wrong. i was hoping you'd got over that. uncle jack was all cut up over the way you treated me, and he never could understand it. now that he's dead and gone, i should think we might at least be friends." "dead and gone, is he," asked ferral quickly. "how do you know?" "because i've found him--and the will." ferral was dazed, as though some one had struck him a blow in the face. matt, who was watching sercomb intently, thought he saw an exultant flash in his eyes as he spoke. "the poor old chap," sercomb went on, "was tucked away in a thicket of bushes, less than a stone's throw from the house. i don't know whether there was any foul play--i haven't been able to find his hindu servant, tippoo, yet, but there weren't any marks on the body. i laid uncle jack away in the grove, and i'll show you the place in the morning. the will was in his coat-pocket, and wrapped in a piece of oilskin. it was very sad, very sad," and sercomb averted his face for a moment; "and to think that neither you nor i, dick, was with him. but come into the other room. i'm tired and want to sit down and rest." ferral, like one in a dream, followed his cousin into the parlor. sercomb was standing in front of carl, apparently wondering where ferral had picked up so many friends. "here, ralph," said ferral, suddenly rousing himself, "i'd forgot to introduce my friends," and he presented matt and carl. "what you've told me," he went on, "catches me up short and leaves me in stays. i heard that uncle jack had disappeared, but not that davy jones had got him." for the moment, ferral's feelings caused him to thrust aside his dislike of sercomb. "it's too confounded bad, and that's a fact," said sercomb, throwing himself into a chair and lighting a cigarette. "i haven't been down to see the old chap for six months. our firm had a machine in the endurance run from chicago to omaha, and i was busy with that, and in getting ready for a big race that's soon to be pulled off, so my hands were more than full. when i got the lawyer's letter, though, i broke away from everything and came on here." "why didn't the lawyer tell me uncle jack and the will had been found?" asked ferral. "that only happened two days ago. the lawyer wrote you the same time he wrote me." "but i saw the lawyer in lamy, day before yesterday----" "he didn't know it, then." "how does the will read, ralph?" "everything was left to me, this place and all uncle jack's holdings in south african stock. of course, you know, you've never come near him, dick. if you had, the will might have read different." "i don't care the fag-end of nothing about uncle jack's money; it was uncle jack himself i wanted to see. if this place is yours, sercomb----" and ferral broke off and started to get up. "you and your friends are welcome to stay here all night," said sercomb. "it's not much of a place, and i'm going to pack up the valuables, send them to denver, and clear out." "going to keep up your racing?" sercomb smiled. "hardly; not with a mint of money like i've got now," he answered. "in a few months, i'm off for old england." a brief silence followed, broken suddenly by sercomb. "but i'm bothered about the intruders you say were here when you came. they must have locked both doors on the inside." "a rum go," said ferral, "if strangers can come in and make free with a person's property like that." "tell me about it. this country is a good deal of a wilderness, you know, and strangers are likely to do anything." ferral said nothing concerning the phantom auto, nor about the man who had so mysteriously vanished on the cliff road; he confined himself strictly to what had happened in the house, and tipped matt and carl a wink to apprise them that they were to let it go at that. sercomb seemed greatly wrought up, and insisted on taking a lamp and making an investigation of the upper floor. "they were thieves," sercomb finally concluded. "they thought i had gone away for the night, and so they came in here and tore up uncle jack's bedroom like we see it. it was known that uncle jack had money, and it was just as well known that he had disappeared." "if you knew all that yourself," said ferral, "why didn't you lock up before you went visiting?" "i was careless," admitted sercomb, with apparent frankness. "the one thing that bothers me is the fact that you were shot at, dick! a nice way for you to be treated in uncle jack's own house!" "don't let that fret you, sercomb. i've had belaying-pins and bullets heaved at me so many times that i don't mind so long as they go wide. we'll have a round with our jaw-tackle to-morrow. just now, though, i and my mates are ready for a little shut-eye. where do we berth?" "two of you can fix up uncle jack's bed and sleep there; the other can bunk down on the couch in the room where those four rascals were playing cards. i'll sleep down-stairs on the parlor davenport. yes," sercomb added, "it will be just as well to sleep over all this queer business, and do our talking in the morning. good night, all of you." leaving the lamp for the boys, sercomb went stumbling down-stairs. "what do you think of ralph sercomb, matt?" whispered ferral, when sercomb had left the stairs and could be heard moving around the parlor. "i don't like his looks," answered matt frankly, "nor the way he acts." "me, neider," put in carl. "he vas a shly vone, und i bed you he talks crooked mit himseluf." "that's the way i always sized him up," admitted ferral, "and strikes me lucky if i think he's improved any since i saw him last. but he's got the will, and poor old uncle jack----" ferral's eyes wandered to the picture on the wall, and he shook his head sadly. "i'd have a look at that will," said matt, "and i'd get a lawyer to look at it." "these lawyer-sharps, of course, will have their watch on deck, but i hate to quibble over the old chap's property when it's uncle jack himself i wanted to find. anyhow, i got my whack, all right, to be cut off without a shilling; at the same time, ralph got more than was his due. but i'm no kicker." "if sercomb drives a racing-car," went on matt, "he must have skill and nerve." "nerve, aye! cousin ralph always had his locker full of that. but how shall we sleep? my head's all ahoo with what's happened, and i need sleep to clear away the fog. you and your mate take the bed, matt, and i'll----" "no, you don't," said matt. "i'm for the couch in the other room." matt insisted on this, and finally had his way. he was not intending to sleep on the couch, but to go out to the barn and spend the night in the tonneau of the red flier. if sercomb knew so much about automobiles, matt felt that the touring-car would bear watching. he had no confidence in sercomb, and felt sure that he was playing an underhand game of some kind. sitting down on the couch, matt waited until the house was quiet, then went softly to the open window, climbed through, and made his way to the ground by means of the tree. hardly had his feet struck solid earth, when he heard the front door drawn carefully open. sercomb stepped out and noiselessly closed the door behind him. matt, intensely alive to the possibilities of the unexpected situation, drew back into the darker shadows of the tree-branches. sercomb, moving away a little from the house, gave a low whistle. a hoot, as of an owl, came instantly from the grove. sercomb started away rapidly in the direction from which the sound came. matt followed him, keeping carefully in the shadows. chapter vi. the phantom auto again. sercomb did not follow the blind trail that led to the main road. he made for the road, but took his way along a foot-path that led through the grove. it was not at all difficult for matt to shadow him, and the young motorist was considerably surprised to see sercomb gain the road at a point where a heavy touring-car had drawn up. the car was about the size of the red flier and, in the semidarkness, looked very much like it. but it had a top. three men were standing near the head of the machine, in the glow of the lamps. they were all fairly well dressed, quite young, and there was little of the ruffian about them. they greeted sercomb excitedly, and for several minutes all four of them engaged in a brisk conversation. their voices were pitched in too low a tone, and matt was too far away to hear what was said. undoubtedly, matt reasoned, these three who had just come in the automobile had formed part of the number who had been in the up-stairs room. the fourth member of the party must have been sercomb, himself. but how had sercomb and the other three got away? their departure from the house was a mystery. and where had they kept their automobile while they were in the house? this was another mystery. they were planning evil things of some sort, and against dick ferral. matt had a clue. it assured him that sercomb had not told the truth when he said he knew nothing about the so-called intruders who had vanished from the house so strangely. sercomb, by this stealthy meeting with the three in the road, proved to matt that he knew all about the men. from their earnest talk it was clear that they were plotting mischief. wishing that he could overhear something of what was said, matt began creeping carefully along the path. by getting a few yards nearer he was sure that he would be within ear-shot. just as he had nearly reached the coveted point for which he was making, and the mumble of talk was breaking up into an occasional word which he could distinguish, the conversation broke off with a chorus of excited exclamations. matt started up, at first fearing he had been seen, and that the four in the road were coming to capture him. but in this he was mistaken. all four of them, as a matter of fact, had started in his direction, but they abruptly halted and whirled around. matt's heart jumped when he saw what it was that had claimed their attention. _it was the phantom auto!_ the white runabout was wheeling swiftly along the road in the direction of the treacherous cliff trail. the streaming lights of the touring-car were full upon the ghostly runabout, showing the vacant seats distinctly. the weird spectacle was more than enough to fill the four men with momentary panic. they stood as though rooted to the ground, watching the runabout turn of its own accord from the road, pass the touring-car, and then come neatly back into the road again. an oath broke from one of the men. leaping to the touring-car he cranked up the machine quickly and hopped into the driver's seat. two others jumped in behind him, one in front and the other behind, sercomb being the only one who remained at the roadside. swiftly the touring-car was turned and headed in pursuit. then, suddenly, there came the report of a firearm, shivering through the still air. at first, matt thought one of those in the touring-car had fired at the runabout; then, a moment more, he knew he was mistaken. the shot had come from the runabout and had punctured one of the touring-car's front tires. the big car limped and slewed until the power was cut off and it came to a halt. those who were in the car piled out, sputtering and fuming, and sercomb ran forward and joined them. together, all four watched the white phantom whisk out of sight. there followed a good deal of talking and gesticulating among sercomb and the three with him. finally one of them took off the tail lamp and all made an examination of the damaged tire. a jack was got out and the forward wheel lifted. from his actions, sercomb was nervous and excited. he kept walking from the road, looking toward the house and listening. he fancied, no doubt, just as matt did, that the sound of the shot might have awakened the sleepers in the house. however, this did not seem to have been the case. leaving one of the men to tinker with the tire, sercomb took the other two and led them off through the grove. they passed within a yard of where matt was crouching in the bushes, but their plans, whatever they were, had been settled, and they were doing no talking. matt continued to dodge after sercomb. the course he and the two with him were taking did not lead toward the house, but angled off through the grove on a line that would take them fully a hundred feet past the nearest wall of the adobe building. abreast of the house, at that point, there was a circular space, clear of timber and with only a patch of brush in the center. matt, not daring to venture beyond the edge of the timber, stood and watched while sercomb and his companions disappeared in the thicket. matt's position was such that he could see all around the little patch of bushes, and he watched for the three men to appear on the other side. they did not appear, and as minute after minute slipped away, matt's amazement and curiosity increased. the men had gone into that little thicket, and why had they not shown themselves again? what was there in that bunch of brush to attract them and keep them so long? matt concluded to investigate. there might be danger in doing that, as there would be three against him if he was discovered, but he knew he had only to raise his voice to bring ferral and carl. this clue, which he had picked up so unexpectedly in the night, called upon him to make the most of it and, if possible, discover what sercomb was up to. hastening across the cleared space, he came to the thicket without a challenge. resolutely he plunged into the bushes--and the next moment the ground seemed to drop out from under him. throwing out his hands wildly he plunged downward, struck an incline and rolled over and over, finally coming to a jolting stop on hard earth, on his hands and knees. the suddenness of his fall had bewildered him. he was bruised a little, but not otherwise hurt, and as his wits returned his curiosity came uppermost. what sort of a place was he in? his groping hands informed him that the incline he had rolled down was a rude stairway. a patch of starlight above revealed the opening into which he had stumbled. climbing the stairway, he reached a stone landing and lifted himself erect in the very center of the thicket. a flat slab, tilted upon its edge, showed how the hole was covered when not in use. matt drew a quick breath. the mysteries of la vita place were clearing a little. here, undoubtedly, was a passage communicating with the house. sercomb and the other three men must have used it in making their strange escape from the up-stairs room, earlier in the night. but why were sercomb and his two companions going back through the passage? instinctively matt's suspicions flew to dick ferral. sercomb was planning some evil against him, and the two from the touring-car were there to help him carry it out. matt hesitated a moment, trying to decide whether he should go through the passage or reach the house by crossing the cleared place and entering the front door. he decided upon the passage. the rascals had gone that way and would probably make their escape in the same manner. hurrying down the steps he began making his way along a gallery. the passage was not wide, for he could stretch out his hands and touch either side. it ran straight, and matt pushed rapidly through the gloom, trailing a hand along one wall. he knew he had only a hundred feet to go before he should reach the house, but in his haste he covered the distance before he realized it, and stumbled against a flight of steps. while he was picking himself up, he heard a commotion from somewhere above--a wild scramble of feet, a thump of blows and an overturning of furniture. above the hubbub sounded the voice of carl. "vat's der madder mit you? hoop-a-la! take dot, oof you like or oof you don'd like, und dere's anoder! matt! come along for der fight _fest_! vere you vas, matt, vile der scrimmage iss going on! verral! iss dot you?" just then, as matt began scrambling upward, a form came hurtling down. "they're onto us, joe!" panted a voice. "this way, old pal! nothing doing to-night. cut for it! i ran into something at the foot of the steps--look out for that!" matt, who had been thrown violently against the wall, heard forms dashing past him. before he could interfere with them, they were well along the passage. chapter vii. surrounded by enemies. although the two men had got past matt, nevertheless he followed them to the end of the passage, arriving just in time to see them disappear through the opening and close the aperture with the slab. only two went out. what had become of sercomb? had ferral and carl captured him--catching him red-handed and so unmasking his treachery? in any event, ferral and carl had proven more than a match for the two miscreants who had stolen in upon them. thankful that the affair had turned out so fortunately for his friends, although still mystified as to what sercomb's purpose was, matt groped his way back along the corridor and mounted the steps. it was a long flight--much longer than the one at the other end of the passage--and, at the top, matt was confronted by a blank wall. he ran his hands over it, and, in so doing, must have touched a spring, for a section of the wall slid back and a sudden glow of lamplight blinded him. "ach, du lieber!" came the astounded voice of carl. "dere vas matt, py chincher! vere you come from, hey?" matt stepped from the head of the steps into the room in which ferral and carl had been sleeping. the panel closed noiselessly behind him. "sink me!" muttered ferral, stepping past matt to run his hands over the wall. "a nice little trap-door in the wall, or i'm a fiji!" he whirled around. "how does it come you stepped through it, messmate?" "where's sercomb?" whispered matt, peering around. "what's he got to do with this?" just at that moment sercomb's voice came up from below. "what's going on up there? anything happened, dick?" "two men came in and made trouble for us!" shouted matt. "didn't you hear 'em run down the stairs?" "no, i didn't hear anybody!" answered sercomb. "take a look around, and we'll see what we can find up here." during this brief colloquy, ferral and carl were staring at matt in open-mouthed astonishment. matt whirled to ferral. "not a word to sercomb about that hole in the wall," he whispered. "tell me quick, what happened in here?" "i was sleeping full and by, forty knots," answered ferral, in the same low tone, "when i felt myself grabbed. it was dark as egypt, and i couldn't see a thing. i shouted to carl, and we had it touch and go, here in the dark. my eye, but it was a scrimmage! right in the midst of it the fellows we were fighting melted away. i had just got the glim to going when you stepped in on us." "wasn't sercomb in the fight?" "why, no. he must have been down-stairs, sleeping like a log. he only just chirped--you heard him." "well, sercomb came into this room with two other men, through that hole in the wall----" "is that right?" demanded ferral, his face hardening. "yes, but don't say a word about it. wait till we find out what his game is." "how dit you know all dot, matt?" queried carl. briefly as he could matt sketched his recent experiences. the astonishing recital left his two friends gasping. "the old hunks!" breathed ferral, scowling. "i can smoke his weather-roll, fast enough. what did i tell you about the soft-sawdering beggar?" matt stepped into the hall and listened. apparently, sercomb was not in the house. coming back, he pulled his two friends close together so they could hear him without his speaking above a whisper. "sercomb has gone out to hurry up the repairs on the big car and get it out of the way. we can talk a little, but we've got to be wary. don't let sercomb know anything about this clue i've picked up. we're surrounded by enemies, ferral, and you're the object of some sort of game they've got on. by lying low, perhaps we can get wise to it." "dot shpook auto has dook a hant in der pitzness," murmured carl, flashing a fearful glance around. "i don'd like dot fery goot." "this spook business will all be explained, carl," said matt, "and you'll find that flesh and blood is mixed up in the whole of it. that white runabout put a shot into one of the tires of that big touring-car, and no revolver ever went off without a human hand back of it. we know, too, how those men got away from that room where they were playing cards. they ran in here, got through the hole in the wall and went out by way of the tunnel. that shot that was fired at you, dick, and put out the lamp, must have come from this room, just before sercomb and the others dodged through the wall." "sercomb?" echoed ferral. "sure! it's a cinch he was playing cards in that room with the three men. he came here from denver, and he must have traveled in that big car and brought the others with him." "oh, he's the nice boy!" commented ferral sarcastically. "a fine cousin, that swab is! that phantom flugee is mixing in the game. i wonder if sercomb has anything to do with that?" "no. when the phantom auto showed up in the road, sercomb and all three of the others were scared nearly out of their wits. i'll bet that was the first time sercomb ever saw it. besides, the bullet that pierced the tire of the big car came from the runabout. that wouldn't have happened if the runabout was here to help sercomb's plans." "right-o. what kind of a bally old place is this, anyhow? holes in the wall, tunnels, and all that--it fair dazes me. what could uncle jack have wanted of a secret passage?" "didn't you tell me that this was an old mexican house, and that your uncle bought it?" asked matt. "that's how he got hold of the place, matey." "then it must have come into his hands like we find it. the mexicans used to build queer houses; i found that out while i was down in phoenix." matt turned away and took a look at the walls. they were wainscoted in cedar, all around. every little way there were panels, and the entrance to the passage, which matt had recently used, was by a panel. "the walls of these adobe houses are always thick," went on matt, "but these walls are even thicker than common. there's room in this wall for that stairway, and no one would ever suspect the wall is hollow, simply because it's made of adobe." "how does the door work?" queried ferral, stepping to the wainscoting and trying to manipulate the panel. "i'd like to know how to get the cover off the blooming hatch; the knowledge might come handy." along the wainscoting, about five feet from the floor, were arranged clothes-hooks. matt, helping ferral hunt for the secret spring that operated the panel, pulled on one of the hooks. instantly the panel slid open, answering the pull on the hook with weird silence. "chiminy grickets!" murmured carl, stepping back. "dot looks like der vay to der infernal blace." ferral stepped forward as though he would pass through the opening, but matt caught his arm and held him back. "don't go down there now, ferral," said he. "when sercomb comes we want him to find us here. he doesn't guess that i'm next to what he's done to-night, and none of his confederates know it. if we keep mum, the knowledge may do us a lot of good. if we try to face him down with it, we'll only show him our hands without accomplishing anything." "the sneaking lubber!" growled ferral. "why, he berthed us in this room so he and his mates could sneak in on us while we were asleep. but," and here ferral rubbed his chin perplexedly, "what did they want to do that for?" "we'll find out," returned matt, "if we play our cards right." "you're the lad to discover things," said ferral admiringly. "i never had a notion you were going to slip out of the house when you left us." "and i never had a notion what i was going to drop into," said matt, "i can promise you that. but it is a tip-top clue, and we'll be foolish if we don't use it for all it's worth." "you've started off in handsome style! your head-work makes me feel like a green hand and a lubber." "dot's matt, verral," declared carl, puffing up like a turkey-cock. "he alvays does t'ings in hantsome shdyle, you bed you. he iss der lucky feller to tie to, dot's righdt. i know, pecause i haf tied to him meinseluf, und i haf peen hafing luck righdt along efer since, yah, so. be jeerful, eferypody, und oof der shpooks leaf us alone, ve vill all come oudt oof der horn py der pig end. but vat makes sercomb act like dot?" "he wants uncle jack's property," scowled ferral, "and i'll wager that's what he's working for." "but how can he be working for it when he's already got it?" put in matt. "he claims to have found your uncle, and to have secured the will." "that's his speak-easy for it. he's a long-winded grampus, and can talk the length of the best bower, but that don't mean that there's any truth in all his wig-wagging." "now you're hitting the high gear without any lost motion," said matt. "between you and me and the spark-plug, dick, i don't think he ever found your uncle; and, as for the will, if he really has it, and everything's left to him, what's all this underhand work for?" a sudden thought came to ferral. "say," he whispered hoarsely, "do you think that sneaking cur could have handed out any foul play to uncle jack? i hate to think it of him, but----" "no," answered matt gravely, "i don't think----" he was interrupted by some one coming in at the front door, and stopped abruptly. "there's sercomb now," he whispered. "let's hear what he's got to say for himself. mind you don't let out anything about my clue. when you had your trouble, i ran in here from the other room and lent a hand." "are you up there?" came sercomb's voice. "i can't find a soul about the place." from the road the boys could hear the muffled pounding of a motor. and they knew, even as sercomb spoke, that he was not telling the truth. chapter viii. the kettle continues to boil. sercomb came up-stairs and stepped into the room. daylight was just coming in through the windows, and the gray of the morning and the yellow of the lamplight gave sercomb's face a ghastly look. nevertheless, it was a frank and open face--as always. "now, dick," cried sercomb, "what in the world has been going on here? do you mean to say that some one came into this room and attacked you?" "that's the how of it, old ship," answered ferral, repressing his real feelings admirably. "as near as we can figure out, there were two of them. it was so dark, though, we couldn't see our own fists, so there may have been more than two." "some of the gang who dropped in here while i was away, i'll bet," said sercomb. "i'm thinking the same thing, ralph," returned ferral, with a meaning look at matt. "they were handy, too, but not handy enough. they left us all at once, and how they ever did it beats me. we boxed the compass for 'em, though, and when we'd worked around the card they thought they had enough--and ducked." "where did they go?" "didn't you hear them go out the front door?" "not i, dick! if i had, i'd have taken a part in the scrimmage myself." "you were slow hearing the racket, ralph. it was all over when you piped up." "i heard it quick enough, but i was sound asleep when it aroused me. being a little bewildered, i went out into the kitchen." something like loathing swept over matt as he watched sercomb's face and listened to his smooth misstatement. "wonder how uncle jack managed to hang on in such a lawless country as this," said ferral. "no one ever bothered him. he was pretty well liked by the scattered settlers." "everybody liked the old chap! i thought no end of him myself." "too bad you didn't show it, dick, while he was alive," said sercomb. there wasn't any sarcasm in his voice--only a dry, expressionless statement of what ferral knew were the cold facts. nevertheless, there was a gratuitous slur in the words. ferral bristled at once, but a look from matt caused him to curb his temper. "belay a bit on that, ralph," said ferral mildly. "i know it well without your say-so to round it off. from now on, though, i'll do my best to show uncle jack what i think of him." sercomb looked a little puzzled. "his will shows everybody what he thought of you--at the last," said he. it looked as though sercomb was deliberately trying to force a quarrel, but ferral, still with matt's glances to admonish him, did not fall into the trap. "i'll go down and get breakfast," observed sercomb, after waiting in vain for a response from ferral. "some denver friends are coming up from lamy to make me a little visit, and we may be a bit crowded here. there are three of them." it was a broad hint for dick ferral to take his two friends and leave, as soon after breakfast as he could make it convenient. ferral fired up at that. matt and carl had served him well, and he was not the one to put up with any back-handed slaps from his cousin ralph. "by the seven holy spiritsails, sercomb!" he cried, "i'll have you know that i and my friends have as much right under uncle jack's roof as you and yours. we'll be here to breakfast, and as long as we want to stay." "now, don't fly off at a tangent, dick," returned sercomb, with a distressed look. "i didn't mean anything like that, and why do you go out of your way to take me in any such fashion? i'll go down and get the meal for all of us--if you can put up with my cooking." "go and help, carl," said matt. "we don't want to make mr. sercomb any extra trouble. we won't be here very long, anyhow." "dot's me," said carl, as cheerfully as he could. he hated to be associated with sercomb, but the idea of a meal always struck a mellow note in carl's get-up. "you understand, don't you, mr. king?" said sercomb, in a whining tone, turning to matt and jerking his head toward ferral. "perfectly," smiled matt. carl and sercomb went out. when they were going down the stairs ferral shook his fist. "shamming the griffin!" he growled; "the putty-faced shark, i'd like to lay him on his beam-ends! do you wonder i've had a grouch at him all these years, matt?" "no, i don't," said matt frankly; "but stick it out. i've a hunch, dick, that you're soon going to be done with your cousin for good and all. he's playing a game here that's going to get him into hot water." matt stretched himself out on the bed. "i'm going to lie here," said he, "and you can talk to me. carl will keep an eye on sercomb. tell me more about your uncle." "he was no end of a toff in london," replied ferral, taking a chair and casting a look at the portrait. "his wife died, and that broke him up; then his daughter died, and that was about the finish. he bucked up, though, and crossed the pond. when he was in hamilton he said he wanted to go some place where there wasn't so many people. then he came here." "this last move of his," said matt, "looks like a strange one to me." "he was full of his crochets, uncle jack was, but there was always a good bit of sense down at the bottom of them. sercomb would have gone down on his knees and licked his boots, knowing uncle jack had money, and nobody but him and me to leave it to. there's another cut to my jib, though. i wouldn't go around where he was because i was afraid he'd think the same of me. i've got a notion, matt, and it just came to me." "what is it?" "i'll bet that, when uncle jack left, he hid that will, and that he signed it and left blank the place where his heir's name was to be. the one that was shrewd enough to find it, you know, could put in his own name." "why should he do that?" "just to see whether sercomb or i was the smarter." "but you overlook what your uncle said about being found wherever the will was discovered." "right-o. i'm always overlooking things. you see, i'm taken all aback with this game of sercomb's. if i knew what his lay was, or what he's trying to accomplish, i'd have my turn-to in short order. still, as you say, he's going to get his what-for no matter which way the wind blows." "there's a lot of things happened that are mighty mysterious," mused matt; "little by little, though, they're clearing up. that clue i hooked onto last night makes several things clear. did sercomb know you were coming?" "the lamy lawyer must have told him he'd found out where i was, and had written to me. one thing i did do, and that was to sling my fist to a letter for uncle jack, once a month, anyhow. so he knew i was down in the panhandle." "when you pounded on the door last night, sercomb must have suspected it was you. if he hadn't, he'd have let you in." "he'd have let me in anyhow, only he didn't want me to see those other three swabs. and then for him to play-off like he did, and say he was calling at a neighbor's! it would have done me a lot of good to blow the gaff, when he came in on us a spell ago, and let him understand just where he gets off." "that wouldn't have helped any, and it might have spoiled our chances for finding out what he's up to." what answer ferral made to this matt did not hear. the young motorist had put in a strenuous night, and he was worn out. ferral's words died to a mumble, and before matt knew it he was sound asleep. some one shook him, and he opened his eyes and started up. "dozed off, did i?" he laughed. "sorry, old man, but i didn't sleep any last night, you know. you were saying----" an odor of boiling coffee and sizzling bacon floated up from down-stairs. "what i was saying, mate," answered ferral, "was some sort of a while ago. i've had my jaw-tackle stowed for an hour, letting you do the shut-eye trick. but now it's about mess-time, i reckon; and, anyhow, those friends of sercomb's are here from lamy. listen!" the chug of a motor on the low gear came to matt. getting up, he looked out of a window that commanded the front of the house. a car was coming slowly along the blind trail from the road, following the same course the red flier had taken the night before. as the automobile drew closer, matt gave a startled exclamation. "some new kink in the yarn, matt?" queried ferral. "i should say so!" answered matt. "that's the same car that was in the road last night----" "what?" demanded ferral, grabbing matt's arm. "there's no doubt of it, dick," said matt; "and the three in the car are the same ones sercomb met and talked with. two of them, of course, are the handy-boys who blew in here and roughed things up with you and carl." the car came to a stop in front. just then the front door opened and sercomb rushed out. "hello, fellows!" he called. "mighty glad to see you. pile out and clean up for the grub-pile----" matt heard that much, and just then had to turn around to look after ferral. with an angry growl, ferral had broken away and started down the stairs. "dick!" called matt, running after him. but ferral gave no heed to the call. he was down the stairs and out of the door like a shot. matt was close on his heels, but he was not close enough to keep him from trouble. "you two-faced crimp!" matt heard him yell. "you'll down me in lamy and take my money, will you, and then show up here! now, strike me lucky if i don't play evens!" chapter ix. ordered away. matt remembered at once what ferral had said about having been robbed while on his way to la vita place. now that ferral had recognized one of the newcomers as the man who had made the treacherous assault on him, a new light was thrown on that lamy robbery. if the thief was one of sercomb's friends, it looked as though sercomb must have had a guilty knowledge of the affair--perhaps had planned it. matt attempted to grab ferral and pull him away, but sercomb and the other two got ahead of him. the three laid hold of ferral so roughly that matt immediately gave them his attention. "let up on that!" he cried, catching sercomb and jerking him away just as he was about to strike ferral with his clenched fist. "there's no need of pounding dick." "i'll pound _you_ if you give me any of your lip!" answered sercomb. "the latch-string's out," answered matt grimly. "walk in." at that moment carl rolled out of the door. "vat's der rooction?" he tuned up, his eyes dancing over the squabble. carl was always as ready to fight as he was to eat, which is saying a good deal. "help me get ferral away from that fellow, carl," called matt. "on der chump!" carl landed right in the midst of the struggle, and in about half a minute he and matt had separated ferral from his antagonist. with a neat crack, straight from the shoulder, matt disarmed a fellow who had jerked a wrench out of the automobile. this put the last finishing touch to the clash, and both sides drew apart, bunching together, and each panting and glaring at the other. "dere iss only vone t'ing vat i can do on a embty shtomach, und dot's fighdt," wheezed carl, slapping his arms. "it don'd vas ofer so kevick? i got a pooty leedle kitney-punch vat i vould like to hant aroundt, only i don'd haf der dime." "take off your grappling-hooks, matt," puffed ferral, squirming to get out from under matt's hands. "dowse me if i've taken that crimp's full measure, yet. the nerve of him, breezing right up here with my money in his clothes!" "steady!" said matt, closing down harder on ferral and easily holding him. "this has gone far enough." "i should say it had," spoke up sercomb, showing a flash of temper. "pretty way for my friends to be treated! i won't stand for it." "when you've got thieves for friends, sercomb," cried ferral, "you're liable to have to stand for a good deal!" "hand him one for that, joe!" urged one of the newcomers. "that's the first time i ever heard a thing like that batted up to joe mings, and him not raising so much as a finger against the man that said it." "we've got to think of ralph, harry," said joe mings. "this row makes it uncomfortable for him." "especially since the chap that's making such a holy show of himself is my own cousin," remarked sercomb, with bitter reproach. "the more shame to you," flared ferral, "to let the hound that robbed your own cousin come here like he's done, and take his part. keep your offing, joe mings," he added, to the thief, "or i'll tie you into a granny's knot and heave you clean over your devil-wagon! where's that money? i need it, and i'm going to have it." "i don't know what you're talking about," answered mings. "you must be dippy! why, i never saw you before until you rushed out and tried to climb my neck." "you two-tongued swab! do you mean to stand up there and say you didn't meet me in lamy, tell me you were a canadian in distress, and ask me to go to your boarding-house with you and square a bill with your landlady? and will you say you didn't land on me with a pair of knuckle-dusters in a dark street and run off with my roll?" "that's a pipe," asserted joe mings. "somebody's doped you." "enough of this, dick," said sercomb. "joe's a friend of mine. all these lads are friends, and all of them drivers of speed-cars. they're here by my invitation. as for you, you're not here by anybody's invitation----" "except uncle jack's," interposed ferral grimly. "uncle jack has cashed in, and he's not to be counted. this ranch belongs to me, and you and your ruffianly friends will leave it. your friends can't ever come back here--and neither can you until you learn how to behave. come on in, boys," he added to the others. "grub's on the table." "avast a minute!" called ferral. "i'm ready to trip anchor and slant away--having never liked you so you could notice, and liking you less than ever after this round--but i and my mates will have our chuck before we go. what's more, that shark will hand over my funds, or i'll come back here with an officer and make him more trouble than he can get out of." "he hasn't got your money," said sercomb, "so he can't turn it over. what's more, you'll dust out of here _now_!" "oh, i will!" ferral lurched for the door, and matt and carl followed him. "you may have right and title to this bally old dugout, sercomb, but you'll have a chance to show me that in court; and uncle jack may be dead and gone, but that's something i'll find out for myself, and make good and sure of it, at that. his money don't bother me, for i've my two hands and know the ropes of a trade, so i won't starve; but it's uncle jack himself i'm thinking of. as for you, you were always a mixture of bear, bandicoot, and crocodile, and i wouldn't trust you the length of a cable. i and my mates are going in and eat, and if you want to avoid a smash, don't cross our hawser while we're doing it." he turned from the door, and, followed by matt and carl, went into the sitting-room, where the table had been spread. "now we've got sercomb's signals," said ferral, dropping into a chair at the table, "and know where we all stand. what do you think of this new twist in the game, matt?" "too bad it happened," answered matt, as he and carl likewise seated themselves. "we were just getting squared away to find out something worth while, dick." "i couldn't hold myself in, that's all. the idea of sercomb having that crimp in tow! i'm a fiji if i don't think my dear cousin put up that lamy job with mings." "i'd thought of that, too. but why should he do it?" "to knock the bottom out of my ditty-bag and keep me away from la vita place. more belike, he'd a notion mings would land me in a sick-bay. you remember uncle jack's room was all torn up when we first saw it?" matt nodded. "why was that?" ferral went on. "carpet torn away, sea-chest dumped all over the floor, everything in a raffle. why was that?" "what do you think was the cause of it?" ferral leaned across the table. "sercomb had been looking for uncle jack's will!" he declared. "he never found uncle jack, and he never found the will. if he's got a piece of paper, it's one he's fixed up for himself." "mighty serious talk, old chap," said matt gravely, "but i've a hunch you've got the right end of it, at that. but for this row, we might have been on fairly good terms with sercomb, and have used our knowledge, in a quiet way, to discover what he's trying to do." "vell," remarked carl, "he has rushed dot gang in here, und dot makes four to dree. meppy id vas pedder ve don'd shday. aber i'd like to hang on, you bed you! sooch a chance for some fighding i nefer foundt yet." then followed a brief interval of silence, during which the boys gave their whole attention to their food. ferral was first to speak. "you were going to set sail for santa fé this morning, matt." "we could never pull out and leave you in this mess," answered matt. "mr. tomlinson has given us plenty of time to get to santa fé." "sure, ve shday undil you vas pedder fixed to be jeerful, verral," put in carl. "dot's der greadt t'ing in life, my poy, alvays to make some shmiles, no madder vich vay chumps der cat, und be jeerful." "you're a pair of mates worth having," averred ferral, with feeling. "i don't know what i'd have done if it hadn't been for you. the very first thing you haul me off a cliff wall. if you hadn't done that, by now sercomb would be having the run of the ship. i'll do something for you some time, even if i have to travel around the world to do it. just now, though, i'd like to know what's become of tippoo, uncle jack's _kitmagar_ and _khansa-man_." "vat's dose?" inquired carl. "the hindu foot-servant and steward," explained ferral. "uncle jack was in india for a while, and that's where he picked up tippoo. sercomb, when we first met him here, hinted that tippoo may have handed uncle jack his come-up-with, but that was unjust. tippoo would lay down his life for uncle jack, and has been devoted to him for years." a noise from the barn reached those in the sitting-room. a window of the room commanded a view of the barn. matt, suddenly looking through the window, uttered an exclamation, sprang up, grabbed his hat, and rushed through the kitchen and out of the house. "what's the bloming racket now?" cried ferral, likewise getting to his feet. "look vonce!" answered carl, pointing through the window. "dere iss a shance for more scrimmages! led us fly some kites so ve don'd lose nodding oof der seddo." through the window ferral could see that the barn doors had been broken open, and that sercomb and his three companions were around the red flier. knowing matt's concern on account of the machine, ferral lost not a moment in running through the kitchen and following matt and carl. chapter x. a new plan. "get away from that machine!" cried matt, leaping into the barn. he had grabbed up a club on the way, and as he spoke he advanced threateningly upon sercomb and his friends. all four were in the car or around it. what they were trying to do matt did not know, but he felt pretty sure they had not broken into the barn with harmless intentions concerning the red flier. sercomb turned away from the front of the machine and the others got out. "what are you intending to do with that club?" sercomb demanded. "that depends on what you're trying to do to that car," answered matt. "this is my property and the car has no business here. we want this place for the other machine." "then leave the barn and i'll run the machine out. i don't allow any one to fool with that car." "there ain't one of us," struck in mings, "that don't know more about a car in a minute than you do in a year." "that may be," said matt, "but i'm boss of the red flier, all the same." "i've heard about you, king," went on mings. "dace perry, of denver, is a friend of mine, and he told me just what kind of a four-flusher you are--always sticking your nose into other people's business, same as now." "glad to hear perry has a friend," returned matt amiably, "but he could have told you a whole lot that i guess he thought he hadn't better." just then carl and ferral flocked into the barn. "are they trying to scuttle that red craft, matt?" asked ferral. "no," was the reply, "they're just going to run it out of the barn to make room for the other car. i told them i'd attend to it." "and when you get the car out of the barn," said sercomb pointedly, "just keep going, all of you." "we'll do that to the king's taste," averred ferral. "i wouldn't hang around here with you and your outfit for a bushel of sovs, sercomb, although i'm coming back after my roll." "come on, fellows," called sercomb, and left the barn with his friends at his heels. matt got the red flier in shape, carl climbed into the tonneau and ferral into the front seat, and they moved out of the barn. as they passed around the house they saw mings sitting in the other car, evidently watching it to make sure it would not be tampered with. he scowled at the red flier as it passed. "dey like us a heap--i don'd t'ink," chuckled carl. "i bed you dot mings feller iss vone oof der chumps vat come indo der room lasht nighdt, verral." "he don't like me any too well," said ferral grimly. "and he's none too easy in his mind, either. he knows what i can do to him for that lamy business." "are you really going to get an officer in lamy and come back here?" asked matt. "strike me lucky if i'm not!" reaching the main road, matt turned in the direction of lamy and the cliffs. "we'll take you to lamy," said matt, "and bring the officer back. we've the whole day before us, though, and there's something else i'd like to do." "name it, mate. i'm in for anything." "i'd like to go along the top of those cliffs and see if i can find how and where that white runabout went to last night." "if you go along the cliffs, you'll have to walk. why not make your examination from the road?" "we can't see enough from the road, dick. there may be something on the other side of that ridge. by walking, and staying on the cliffs, we can see both sides. the mystery of that white auto may be the key to the whole affair at la vita place. now's the time to settle it. if we don't, sercomb and those other fellows will." "right-o! we'll leave the red flier somewhere and tackle the game on foot." "we can't leave the red flier alone," said matt. "i was going to suggest, dick, that we run the car off the road, between here and the cliffs, and that you stay with it. i've got to look out for the machine, you know. i came pretty near losing it, near fairview, in arizona, and that gave me a jolt i'll never forget. it's a five-thousand-dollar car, and if anything happened to it it would be difficult to explain the matter satisfactorily to mr. tomlinson." "i smoke you, mate," returned ferral. "you've butted into this affair of mine, and if you were to lose the old flugee on account of it, i'd feel worse than you. i'll stay with the thing, and you can be sure nothing will happen to it. you and carl go hunt for the spook-car. i'll wait. how far do you intend to hoof it over the cliffs?" "if necessary, i'd like to go clear to that gully where the machine flashed into the cliff road ahead of us; but i'm particularly anxious to look over the ground this side of the turn, at the place where the white car vanished so mysteriously." "crack the nut! if any one can do it, by jingo, it's motor matt." by then they had reached a point about half-way between la vita place and the cliffs. here, off to one side of the road, there was a patch of timber, and matt turned the red flier, ran across the flat ground, and drew up among the trees. "here's a good shady place for you to wait, dick," said matt. "carl and i may not be back before noon." "take your time, mate. i'm the greatest fellow to sojer in the dog-watch you ever saw. take your turn-to, and when you want me on deck, just give the call." matt and carl got out, returned to the road, and proceeded on toward the cliffs. the road was a straight stretch clear to the first turn that carried it to the edge of the precipice. matt and carl remarked upon this as they strode forward. "a pad blace for any one to come in der nighdt, oof dey vas regless," observed carl. "i don'd vant to go ofer dot roadt again in der nighdt, nod me." "we won't have to go over it again with our lamps, carl," said matt. "it won't take us long to run to lamy, get an officer, and come back to la vita place. if we get back to the red flier by noon, we can make the round trip to town by four o'clock, and have half an hour to get our dinner." "sure! dot's der talk. aber i don'd t'ink ve vas going to findt der vite car, matt." "i'm not expecting to find the white car, but i want to discover how it managed to vanish like it did." carl shook his head gruesomely. he was still half-inclined to credit the runabout with "shpook" proclivities, and matt's new plan didn't appeal to him very powerfully. when they came to the chasm they paused to note how the road, in reaching its treacherous path along the edge, broke suddenly from a straight line into a sharp curve. certainly it was a bad place for motoring. in order to get to the top of the cliff that edged the road on the right, the boys had to do some hard climbing; but when they were on the crest of the uplift, the view that stretched out around them was ample reward for their toil. on their left they could look down on the ribbon of road, winding between the foot of the cliff and the chasm; and on their right they looked away toward a swale, which made the cliff-tops a sort of divide. "dot gulch down dere," shuddered carl, looking over the cliff, "iss more as a million feed teep, i bed you." "i don't know about that," said matt, "but it's deep enough." "oof verral hat dumpled from dot push," went on carl, "he vould haf gone clear py china." "that swale," said matt, pointing in the other direction, "is where the gully enters the hills. as the gully runs on toward lamy it comes closer and closer to the cliff trail." he turned and looked behind him. in the distance he could see the clump of timber where ferral had been left with the red flier; and beyond the little patch of woods could be seen the larger grove that sheltered la vita place. the touring-car was screened from sight, and so was the adobe house. matt was not interested in either of them just then, however, but was working out another problem in his mind. "carl," said he, "there's just a hint of a road leading out of the swale and off toward la vita place." "vell, vat oof dot?" asked carl. "incidentally," answered matt, "if one wanted to cut off a good big piece of that dangerous road, in going to lamy, he could leave la vita place and follow the blind track through the swale and gully, coming out on the cliff trail just where the white runabout showed itself in front of us last night." "py shiminy!" exclaimed carl. "you're der feller to vork mit your headt, matt. yah, so. meppy dot's der vay dot shpook car come oudt on us, hey? you t'ink she come from la fita blace?" "that's only a guess. the white car had to come from somewhere. let's go on." they climbed across the rugged cliff-top, and as they neared the turn where the white runabout had vanished the night before, the gully angled quite close to them; then, bending with the curve of the cliff road, went on until it merged with the face of the cliffs. at this point the cliff was not so high, with respect to the road, and its face was not so steep. while matt was trying to figure out how the phantom auto had made its abrupt disappearance, a sudden cry from carl drew his attention. "ach, du lieber!" faltered carl. "der teufel is coming some more. see here, matt!" matt, following carl's shaking finger with his eyes, saw the white runabout. apparently of its own volition, it was proceeding lamyward along the gully. sometimes it darted out of sight behind a rise in the gully wall, and again it came into full view, white, gleaming, and presenting a most uncanny spectacle. chapter xi. a daring leap. while matt watched the car an idea darted through his head. "the way to find out about that auto is to capture it," said he, speaking quickly. "how you vas going to do dot?" queried carl. "oof ve hat der ret flier along, meppy ve could oferhaul der shpook, aber i don'd know vedder it vould be righdt to indulch in any sooch monkey-doodle pitzness. ven der car puffs oudt mit itseluf, ve vould puff oudt mit it. vere you vas going, matt?" matt was lowering himself over the top of the steep bank, just around the curve above the cliff road. "come on," he called back, "and be careful. this is dangerous work." carl was not in a mood to tamper with the white runabout, nor was he in a mood to let matt do the tampering alone. sorely against his will, he began lowering himself down the steep bank, close beside his chum. "vy dis iss, anyvay?" he asked. "vat a regless pitzness! oof ve lose holdt oof somet'ing, ve vould fall in der roadt, undt meppy scood righdt ofer der roadt und go down vere verral ditn't go." "hang on, carl, that's the thing to do," returned matt. "yah, you bed you i hang on! i don'd vant to fall py china und make some visits mit der chings. i vouldn't enchoy dot, as i vould be all in bieces. aber for vy iss dis, matt? vy you do dot?" as they worked their way down the desperate slope, hanging to stunted bushes and projecting rocks, matt explained. "the white runabout may be going to lamy," said he, "but i hardly think it would show up in the town like that----" "id vould schare der peobles oudt oof deir vits oof it dit!" puffed carl. "wow!" he fluttered, making a slip and only saving himself a fall by grabbing a bush with both hands. "a leedle more, matt, und you vouldn't haf hat no dutch bard." "but it's my opinion," pursued matt, completely wrapped up in the work in hand, "that the runabout is going to make the turn, just as it did last night, and come back toward la vita place along the cliff road." "vy it do dot foolishness, hey?" "give it up. perhaps we'll know all about it before long. find a good place, about six feet above the road, and hang on." "yah, you bed my life i don'd ged indo der roadt oof der shpook pubble iss coming. i vould haf to ged oudt oof der vay, und meppy i vould go ofer der edge like vat verral dit, und you couldn't haf some ropes to helup me oudt. i vas fixed all righdt, matt." carl had planted himself on a good foothold and was clinging to a stunted bush. matt was on a level with him and a little to one side. "listen!" cried matt. it was impossible, of course, for the boys to see around the shoulder of the cliff, but a low murmuring sound reached their ears, growing quickly in volume. "dot's it!" said carl excitedly; "she vas coming, i bed you! she vill go py righdt unter us, und ve can look down und see vat ve can see, vich von't be nodding. aber i vish dot i vas some odder blace as here. oof dot----" carl broke off his talk. just then the white car came spinning around the curve. what motor matt was intending to do carl hadn't the least notion, but he was pretty sure it must be something reckless. the car was nearly upon them when motor matt, a resolute gleam in his gray eyes, loosened his hold on the rocks. carl's shock of tow-colored hair began to stand up like porcupine bristles. something was about to happen, and he caught his breath. then something _did_ happen, and the dutch boy got back his breath with a rush. "look a leedle oudt!" yelled carl, as motor matt made a quick jump for the phantom auto. it was a daring leap--so daring that carl hung to his bush with both hands and expected to see his chum either miss the machine altogether or else carom off the opposite side, bound into the road, and go hurtling into the chasm. but matt was too athletic, his nerves were too steady, and his eyes too keen for that. carl saw him land in the front of the white runabout in a heap. he was thrown violently against the seat, and then went sprawling against the dash. the runabout slewed dangerously, and something like a squeal came from somewhere. "ach, chincher," panted carl; "he vas some goners! i don'd nefer expect to see motor matt alife any more! donnervetter! vy he do dot?" quickly as he could, carl dropped into the road. "matt!" he called, whirling about and looking in the direction the white car had been going. then he staggered back against the rocks. the auto had disappeared and taken motor matt along with it! carl's nerves were in rags. he didn't know what to do. possessed with the notion that matt had faded into nothing along with the spook car, he turned and began running the other way. he stopped suddenly, however. matt was his pard, and to run away from him like that was something carl knew he ought not to do. but was he running away from matt? if matt had been snuffed into nothing with the car, how could he be running away from him? this was all foolish, of course, but carl was so upset he wasn't himself. he stopped his running, however, and came stealthily back, staring on all sides of him with eyes like saucers. "now vat i vas going to do?" he groaned. "dere don'd vas a modor matt any more, und dere iss der red flier, pack along der roadt, und verral, und sooch a mess as i can't dell at der la fita blace. ach, himmelblitzen!" carl, overcome by the dark outlook, sank down on the rocks and covered his face with his hands. near him the face of the cliff was covered with a growth of bushes and trailing vines. suddenly carl heard a voice that lifted him to his feet as though a spring had been released under him. it was his name! somebody had called his name, and it sounded like matt's voice. "vot it iss?" demanded carl, a spasm of hope running through him. "come here!" carl looked all around, but without seeing where he was to go. "iss dot you, matt?" he asked. "sure." "vere you vas, den? how you t'ink i come py you oof i don'd know dot? chiminy grickets, aber dis iss keveer!" "i'm inside the cliff," matt answered. "push through the bushes." carl stepped in front of the trailing vines and brush. "iss it all righdt?" he quavered. "come on, come on," called matt impatiently. carl pushed the bushes and vines aside, revealing a wide clear space which had been completely masked by the foliage. the ground, breaking in a level stretch from the cliff road, led smoothly away into the very bosom of the cliff. still dubious, carl pushed slowly on into the darkness. the vines fell back behind him and the parted bushes snapped across the opening. "i can't see nodding!" he wailed. "come straight ahead," said matt reassuringly. "i'm only a little ways off, and the car is here, too." "iss der shpook in der car?" matt laughed. "we'll settle this spook business in short order," said he. carl reached the car, and felt matt's hand guiding him around the side. "how you shtop der pubble, matt?" faltered carl. "i didn't stop it; somebody else did that." at that moment a muffled voice called: "get in de car, sahib! we go on to de daylight." carl gave a jump and grabbed hold of matt. "who iss dot?" he fluttered. "we'll find out before we're many minutes older," said matt. "get in, carl." assisted by matt, carl got into one of the seats, while matt climbed into the other. "all ready," announced matt, in a loud voice. instantly a glow from the acetylene lamps flooded the gloom ahead. the boys could see a rocky tunnel, wide and high, leading straight on through the heart of the cliff. "ach!" chattered carl. "ve go py kingdom come now, i bed you." "hardly that," laughed matt. "we're bound for daylight once more. wait and watch." swiftly and surely the white car glided on. presently the boys saw trailing vines and bushes ahead of them, similar to the screen at the other end of the tunnel. _snap!_ off went the lights. then, with startling suddenness, they brushed through the screen and were once more in the broad light of day. the gully lay before them, and when they had reached the center of it the car came to a halt. "vouldn't dot knock you shlab-sitet?" murmured carl wonderingly. "in vone door und oudt der odder! ach, blitzen, und den some! aber who vas dot vat shpoke in der tark?" "here's where we find out," rejoined matt, leaping down. carl likewise gained the ground. as he did so, the deck of the car, behind the seats, lifted slowly until it lay wide in an upright position. then a form slowly rose, a form with a chocolate-colored face, the head crowned with a white turban. jumping from the boxlike recess in the rear of the car, the form stretched itself and salaamed. "you surprise', sahib? ah, ha!" chapter xii. desperate villainy. although matt and his friends did not know it, yet the course taken by the red flier on leaving la vita place was watched. joe mings, climbing a tree, kept the car under his eyes. in the distance he saw it leave the road, then he could make out two figures returning on foot to the road and proceeding toward the cliffs. he called down the result of his observations. "what do you suppose they're up to?" asked sercomb, with a worried look, as mings slid back to the ground. "i pass," replied harry packard, one of the most lawless of the quartet; "but it's a fair gamble, ralph, that they're not up to any good." "i should say not," said balt finn, the driver of the touring-car. "that ferral is after mings' hide." "well," said mings sullenly, "i wouldn't have gone through ferral in lamy if you hadn't said so, ralph." "i'd like to know what their game is," mused sercomb. "mings, you and packard go to the place where they left the car. if you can smash the car some way, they won't be able to go to lamy until we're ready to leave here." "a nice jaunt before breakfast!" muttered packard. "we can stand it, i reckon," scowled mings. "let's take a drink all around and try it, anyhow." packard pulled a flask from his pocket and took a swallow of its fiery contents; then he passed the flask to mings. "you fellows have got some in the house," said packard, corking the flask and returning it to his pocket. "joe and i will take this with us. maybe we'll need it," and he winked at mings. "be careful what you do to the fellow that stayed with the car," cautioned sercomb. "suppose it's ferral?" "then," returned sercomb, with a significant look, "be careful _how_ you do what you're going to. you fellows fell down last night." "i'll not forget in a hurry the thumping that ferral and the dutchman gave us," growled packard. "and don't you forget, mings," said sercomb, "what ferral will do to you if he gets to lamy. smash the car." mings and packard started off briskly toward the place where the red flier had been left. the spot was not more than half a mile from la vita place. ferral, all unconscious of the fact that two of his enemies were approaching, sprawled out in the front seat of the red flier and puzzled his brain over the queer situation in which he found himself. he could make nothing of it, and as time slipped away his brain grew more and more befuddled. he was hoping matt and carl might discover something of importance, or, if they did not, that when the red flier returned from lamy with an officer, the law might do something to clear up the mystery in which uncle jack had plunged everything at la vita place. a deep quiet reigned in the little grove. a droning of flies was the only sound that disturbed the stillness. the warm air and the silence made ferral drowsy. once he roused up, thinking he heard a sound somewhere around him; then, assuring himself that he was mistaken, he sank back on the front seat and his nodding head bowed forward. suddenly, before he could do a thing to protect himself, a quick arm went round his throat from behind, and he felt some one catch his feet from the side of the car. he gave a shout of consternation as his head bent backward and his eyes took in the face that leered above him. it was the face of mings! "caught!" laughed mings hoarsely. "thought you'd shaken us, eh? well, you were shy a few!" "just a few!" tittered the voice of the man on the ground. "here's a rope," went on mings, kicking the coiled riata, which matt carried in the car, out through the swinging door. "take it and tie his legs, harry. i'll hold him. got a strangle-grip and he can't budge." as soon as packard let go his hold, ferral began to kick and struggle; but mings was in such a position that he could keep him very easily from getting away. packard, although tipsy from the effects of the liquor he and mings had imbibed on the way from la vita place, tied one end of the rope quickly about ferral's ankles. the free end of the rope was then wound around the seat and ferral's hands were made fast behind him. in a few minutes he was bound to the seat and absolutely helpless. mings and packard, gloating over his predicament, got around in front of the car. "how do you like that?" asked packard. "he likes it," hiccoughed mings; "you can tell that by the looks of him." "you're a fine lot of swabs!" exclaimed ferral contemptuously. "sercomb ordered me off the place, and i slanted away; now you follow me with your beach-comber tricks. oh, yes, you're a nice lot! what are you trying to do?" "going to smash the car," answered mings. "you keep your hands off this car!" cried ferral, realizing suddenly that he had been caught napping, and that motor matt might get into a lot of trouble on account of it. "well," grinned packard, "you just watch us." "are you going to lamy?" demanded mings. "that's where i'm going!" declared ferral resolutely. "not to-day you won't; and not in this car. we're going to fix motor matt for butting into our plans, and we're going to fix you so you won't get to lamy and back before we're on the road to denver. you're cute, but you're not so cute as we are. oh, no! is he, packard?" "we're the boys!" observed packard. they were both partly intoxicated. naturally lawless, the liquor they had taken had made them more so. "see here," said ferral, desperately anxious to save the car, "you've got some of my money, mings, and i could have you jugged for taking it, but if i'll promise not to get an officer and to let you keep the money, will you leave this car alone? it doesn't belong to motor matt, and he's responsible for it. i was left here to watch it----" "nice watchman!" sputtered packard; "fine watchman! eh, mings?" "dandy watchman!" and mings laughed loudly. "he didn't hear a sound when i sneaked into the tonneau. i tell you what, packard!" he exclaimed, as a thought ran suddenly through his befogged brain. "well, tell it!" urged packard. "let's send him to lamy." "send him to lamy?" "sure! let's put him in the road and open the car up! mebby he'll get to lamy." "he'll smash into the rocks, that's what he'll do." "well, that'll fix the car. by the time motor matt pulls ferral out of the wreck, i guess he won't feel like getting an officer." ferral could hardly believe his ears. "you scoundrels wouldn't dare do a thing like that!" he cried. "he says we wouldn't dare, packard," mumbled mings. "he don't know us, eh, mings?" "not--not even acquainted. let's throw the old benzine-buggy against the rocks, and give motor matt a surprise." "he'll be surprised, all right. serve him right, too, for meddling with sercomb's business." "he's a meddler, that's sure. dace perry told me all about him." "dace perry's a blamed good fellow. he's one of our set." "can you navigate the car to the road?" asked packard. "navigate a dozen cars! anything more in the flask?" "all gone," answered packard gloomily. "well, there's more back at the house." mings got into the car and packard did the cranking. when the car started it nearly ran over packard. "trying to kill me?" shouted packard, rolling out of the way. "you're too slow," laughed mings. fumbling awkwardly with the levers and the steering-wheel, mings managed to get the car into the road and headed for the cliffs. "cut off a piece of that rope, packard," called mings. "i'll tie the wheel so as to be sure the car goes to lamy." "that's right," answered packard, "you want to be sure." he took out his knife, slashed a piece from the free end of the rope, and handed it up to mings. the latter began lashing the wheel. "sercomb ought to give us a chromo for this," said packard, watching mings as he worked. "you tell him we ought to have a chromo," returned mings, with a foolish grin. "sercomb's a blamed good chap; nicest chap i know." meanwhile, ferral's face had gone white. he was fighting desperately with the ropes, but they held him firmly and he could not free his hands. a sickening sensation ran through him. neither mings nor packard had a very lucid idea of what they were attempting. they were fair examples of what liquor can do for a person in certain situations. "belay!" cried ferral desperately. "you don't understand what you're doing, you fellows! you've headed me for the cliffs, and----" "they're big and hard, those cliffs," said mings, "and you'll hit 'em with quite a jolt. but it'll only smash the car, ferral, and we had orders to smash the car." having finished with the wheel, mings got on the running-board. packard cranked up again. mings threw in the clutch with his hand, pushed on the high gear, and was thrown off as the car jumped ahead. he collided with packard, and both tumbled on the ground and rolled over and over. when they had struggled to their feet, the two scoundrels saw something that almost sobered them. _it was the white runabout racing across the level ground in the direction of the road and the flying red car!_ but, what was even more strange, motor matt was in the driver's seat of the runabout, and beside him was a strange, turbaned figure which neither packard nor mings had ever seen before. on the ground, a long way in the rear of the racing runabout, stood a figure which packard and mings recognized as being that of motor matt's dutch chum. chapter xiii. tippoo. the little brown man in the turban matt instantly recognized as a hindu, undoubtedly the servant of mr. lawton, ferral's uncle. here was a find, and no mistake! tippoo had vanished at the same time mr. lawton effected his queer disappearance, and the discovery of one might easily lead to the finding of the other. "is your name tippoo?" asked matt. "_jee_, sahib." "vat iss dat?" muttered carl. "gee! iss it a svear vort? he don'd look like he vas madt mit himseluf." the hindu certainly was taking his discovery in good part. his brown face was parted in a perpetual smile, and he seemed morbidly anxious to please. "does _jee_ mean yes?" asked matt. the turban ducked vigorously. "_jee, jee!_" "dot's two gees, vich means gootness cracious," bubbled carl, very happy to find that the ghost had been laid; "und also it means jeerful. led's try to be dot. so der shly brown roosder vas in der pack oof der pubble all der time! how he make it go, i vonder, ven he don'd vas aple to see der vay?" matt was also curious on that point. stepping closer to the automobile, he looked into it, and saw a wonderful combination of mirrors and levers. the smiling hindu, observing the trend of the boys' interest, advanced and doubled himself up in the back of the runabout. as he lay there, in tolerable comfort and with a cushion under his head, there was a mirror in front of his eyes. other mirrors, set at various angles, cunningly reflected the scenery in front of the car. when the deck was closed down it was evident that the enclosed space became a sort of camera obscura. convenient to the hindu's right hand was a small wheel with an upright handle on its rim. as he turned the wheel he steered the car--entirely independent of the steering-wheel in front. the spark was manipulated by a small lever near the wheel, and so were the throttle, the brakes, and the gears. strangest of all, though, was the arrangement for cranking inside the box. this device was so ingenious that it should have entitled its originator to a patent. "but vat's der goot oof it all?" queried carl. "for vy shouldt a feller vant to pen himseluf oop in a smodery leedle blace like dot und leaf der two frondt seads vagant? ach, vat a foolishness!" matt also wondered at that. "why do you ride in such cramped quarters, tippoo," asked matt, "when you could just as well ride on a seat?" "baud mens, sahib," said tippoo, clutching his forehead with one hand and bowing forward. "where were you going in the car?" "'round-around, 'round-around." "ring aroundt a rosy," said carl. "i haf blayed dot meinseluf, aber nod mit a pubble." "where is lawton, sahib?" asked matt. "_jee, jee!_" exclaimed the hindu. "he talks vorse der longer vat he speaks," said carl disgustedly. "ven ve vas in der tunnel, he shpeak pooty goot, aber now he don'd say nodding like vat ve can undershtand." matt despaired of being able to find out anything he wanted to know, and thought it would be well to take tippoo to ferral. "you know dick ferral?" queried matt. "_jee!_" "do you know where we left the red automobile?" "_jee!_" "gee stands for grazy, too, vich he iss," said carl. "will you take us to our car?" went on matt. "awri'," answered the hindu. "dot's pedder," said carl. tippoo lowered the deck carefully over the queer mechanism in the box, and motioned matt and carl to get into the car. matt got into the driver's seat, having a mind to run the car himself, and carl got into the other one. tippoo stood in front of carl, getting in after he had "turned over" the engine by means of the crank in front. he watched matt sharply, evidently wanting to make sure that he knew what he was about. matt started along the gully, marveling at the smooth course its bottom offered. the runabout responded quickly to the slightest turn of the steering-wheel, and every other part of the mechanism worked to perfection. tippoo, delighted at the skill with which matt handled the car, bent over and gave him an approving slap on the shoulder. "chimineddy!" laughed carl, "der prown feller likes you, matt." "i guess he likes the way i run the car," said matt. "it's a little dandy! i never handled a machine that purred along in neater style. i wish i knew more about the get-up in the back part of it." "ven somebody blays der shpook schust for foolishness, i don'd like dot," said carl. "you mighdt haf got your prains knocked oudt by chumping indo der car--und all pecause der prown feller vanted to blay shpook!" "me play gose, sahib, but not to scare de good white mans--only de baud white mans." this from tippoo, who was plainly keeping track of the conversation. "did you see us on the cliff road last night?" queried matt. "_jee._" "and you got away by running the machine into the cliff?" "_jee_, sahib." "you didn't have any lights. how could you see where you were going?" "me know de road, no need de light till me get in de tunnel, sahib." "you stopped the car in the tunnel last night, and came back into the road?" tippoo nodded. "why was that?" "me see fin' out if dick sahib be awri'." "ah! you were worried about dick, eh, and you came back to see if he was all right." "sure." "why didn't you wait till we could speak with you?" "naboob sahib give order no." "who is the 'nabob sahib'?" tippoo affected not to hear the question. "he don'd vant to talk about dot," put in carl. "he shies all aroundt dot uncle chack." "you came past the house in the road last night?" asked matt. this question evidently startled the hindu. "sahib see de car las' night?" he asked. "yes." "me no see sahib." "what were you riding past the other car for?" "try scare baud white mans. try see dem. naboob sahib say so. _jee!_" "then you must have been the one who fired that revolver and put a bullet through the tire?" for answer to this, tippoo pulled a revolver from a sash about his waist. "make lift board with head, make _dekke_, den bang!" he laughed. "fine shoot, eh?" "certainly it was a fine shot," answered matt. "were you trying to keep away from dick sahib?" "try keep 'way from dick sahib, and from ralph sahib. all same. leave 'em 'lone. naboob sahib say so." this conversation, which cleared up some more dark points, carried the runabout out of the swale and onto the flat stretch which led off in the direction of la vita place. the course to the ranch paralleled, at a distance of about a quarter of a mile, the other road that led from the cliffs. matt turned the nose of the runabout so as to lay a direct course for the patch of trees where the red flier had been left. before they had covered more than half the distance between the swale and the trees, a loud cry escaped the hindu. his eyes were fastened upon the other road. "_dekke!_" he called, pointing. matt looked in the direction indicated. "ach, dunder!" cried carl. "dere iss der ret flier in der roadt, und some fellers vas aroundt it--two oof dem." "dick sahib him tied in car!" shouted tippoo. "dey let car go! car go to de cliff, dick sahib tied! _kabultah! hurkut-jee! hur-r-r-kut-jee!_" tippoo lifted his hands and wrung them in an agony of fear and apprehension. by that time matt was able to take in the situation. he saw ferral, bound in the front of the car, and the car speeding toward the cliffs and the chasm. vividly before his eyes floated that turn of the treacherous road. the car would go straight until it reached the turn, and then, if no one was at hand to stop it, the red flier would go into the chasm and carry ferral with it. motor matt's face set resolutely. "i'm going to slow down, carl," said he, "and you pile out! there's too much freight for the race we've got to make." "all righdt! don'd led nodding habben, bard, now ven ve're so near droo mit dis monkey-dootle pitzness." carl jumped for the ground, and tippoo sank limply into his seat. matt immediately threw on the high speed, giving an angle to the car's course which would lay it alongside the red flier. like a flash, the white car leaped over the flat ground, tippoo still wringing his hands and muttering fearfully to himself. chapter xiv. in the nick of time. there was no road-bed under the wheels of the white runabout, but, for all that, the earth was firm, although rilled, at irregular distances, with little sandy ridges. the car, being light, seemed fairly to leap over these small rises. the hindu had to hang to his seat with both hands in order to keep from being hurled out of the car. his turban was jolted down over his eyes, and after he had tried to knock it back into place half a dozen times, he flung it down on the floor of the car. "we come close, closer!" he breathed, leaning forward in his seat and peering steadily at the big touring-car. "naboob sahib be big mad at dis. we save dick sahib!" matt could see that they were rapidly overhauling the red flier, but, as he measured the gain, he knew they would have only a scant margin, at best, if they kept ferral and the car from shooting into the chasm. flinging across the road a dozen feet behind the flier, matt brought the runabout closer on that side. "i'm going to jump from this car to the other one, tippoo," he shouted, "as soon as we get where i can do it. the minute i jump, you be sure and grab the steering-wheel and take care of the runabout. understand?" "_jee_, sahib!" ferral was able to twist his head around and keep track of the gallant race the runabout was making. he must have been astounded to see the white car, with matt and the hindu, trailing after him. "you're coming, mate!" he yelled. "let 'er out for all she's worth! the brink of the precipice is right ahead!" matt was aware of their nearness to the abyss. a few rods farther and they would be at the turn of the road. the touring-car, of course, being lashed to run on a straight line, would plunge to destruction unless halted. with a final spurt, matt drove the runabout abreast of the red flier. the two cars were now running side by side, and not a second could be lost if matt was to transfer himself to the flier in time to be of any assistance to ferral. as he took his hands from the wheel, tippoo leaned sideways and gripped the rim. for an instant matt was poised on the foot-board, steadying himself by holding to the seat. a moment more and he had thrown himself across the gap between the two cars. it was his second daring leap for that day, but this jump was more dangerous than the other one, for, if he had slipped, he would have had two cars to reckon with, instead of one. both cars were racing furiously, and the red flier, with no hand to hold it, was taking all inequalities of the road and plunging and swaying as it rushed onward. but motor matt never put his mind to anything that he did not accomplish. ferral drew back in the seat to give him every chance, and matt sprawled with a jar that made the car shiver from crank to tail light. whether he was hurt or not did not appear. in a flash he was up, cutting off the power and bearing down on the emergency-brake. it was a stop such as matt hated to make, for fear of wrenching the machinery, but it was either that or go over into the chasm. as it was, the red flier ran across the curve and quivered to a halt, with the front wheels on the very brink. matt and ferral, from their seats, could look over the hood and down into the dizzy, swirling depths below. ferral's face was white as death, and he relaxed backward, limp and gasping. matt backed the flier away, and turned around, then drew his knife from his pocket and cut the ropes that bound ferral. "who did this, dick?" he asked huskily. "two of my cousin's friends," replied ferral, drawing his hands around in front of him and rubbing his chafed wrists. "toss us your fin! what you've done this day, messmate, dick ferral will never forget." a shiver ran through him as he gripped matt's hand. "the murderous scoundrels!" muttered matt, his eyes flashing. "they didn't mean it to be as bad as it was, i'll have to give 'em credit for that. they had about three tots of grog aboard, and aimed only to run the flugee into the rocks and stave it in. they didn't know about that jumping-off place, or else they'd forgotten about it." "it's bad enough, all right. no matter if the flier had only smashed into the rocks, you might have been killed, tied as you are. they sneaked up on you, back there in that patch of timber?" "aye, and it was all my fault. i was mooning, and that gave them a chance. if they hadn't caught me from behind, i could have bested the two of them, for they had been topping the gaff strong. i was careless, matt, and you might have lost the machine on account of it." "bother the machine, old fellow! it was you that brought my heart in my throat. in a pinch like that, it's the man that counts, not the machinery he happens to have along with him." "right-o! if there hadn't been a whole man in that white car, i might as well have been sewed in a hammock and slipped from a grating, with a hundred-pound shot at my pins." tippoo had halted the runabout and had watched with wide eyes while matt made his hair-raising jump and stopped the big car. he now leaped down from the runabout and hurried to ferral. catching one of his hands, he bowed over and pressed it to his temples. "sink me, but the fix i was in fair hid the curious part of the rescue," went on ferral. "where'd you get hold of tippoo, matt? and how did you come to have the white car handy?" in a few words matt straightened out the situation so it was clear to ferral. "i'm a fiji, matt," breathed ferral, "if you ain't chain-lightning when it comes to doing things. tippoo, where's uncle jack?" "me no say, dick sahib," answered tippoo, dodging the question. "you can tell me whether he's dead or alive, can't you?" roared ferral. "me no say, dick sahib," persisted tippoo. "you come 'long la vita place--come 'long with tippoo." "i was ordered away from there by sercomb. if i go any place, it will be to lamy after an officer. i'll raise a jolly big row with that gang at la vita place, scuttle 'em!" tippoo stared blankly at ferral. "ralph sahib order dick sahib away?" repeated the hindu, as though he scarcely believed his ears. "he said he had found uncle jack's remains, and the will, and that the will left everything to him, and he ordered me and my mates away." tippoo bent forward and gripped his forehead. "_joot baht, joot baht!_" he mumbled. "blast his lingo!" growled ferral. "it takes uncle jack to get the lay of him." "dick sahib, you go with tippoo back to la vita place?" the hindu was so deeply in earnest that he compelled ferral's attention. "what do you want me back there for?" "you go, you learn all--ever'thing," and tippoo flung his arms out in a comprehensive gesture. "now, strike me lucky, the beggar knows something. yes, we'll go, if for nothing more than to walk in on my dear cousin ralph and face mings and packard. get into your old catamaran, tippoo, and bear away. we'll hold you hard during the run, if i'm any judge of motor matt." tippoo went back to the runabout, got into the seat, and started for la vita place. "old chocolate certainly is an a. b. at running that craft," mused ferral, watching the ease with which tippoo handled the runabout. "but what was the good of all that flying dutchman business? why did tippoo want to tuck himself away in the locker behind when he could ride up in front in comfort and like a gentleman?" "i suppose," answered matt, "that we'll find all that out when we get back to la vita place." a glint came into ferral's eyes. "will we?" he cried, bringing his fist down on his knee. "aye, mate, even if i have to take ralph sercomb by the throat and shake the whole blessed truth out of him. if it's a game of dirks they're playing, i warrant you they'll find me handy with mine." "go slow, dick, whatever you do," counseled matt. "you've held yourself pretty well in hand, so far, and you'll be the gainer for it." they had been wheeling along the road at a good clip, and came finally to a place where carl was waiting for them. "vell, vell!" cried carl, as matt stopped for him to hop into the tonneau, "vot kindt oof a rite vas dot you dook mit yourseluf, verral?" "the kind, mate," answered ferral, "that i hope i'll never take again." "yah, i bed you! modor matt chumped in und shtopped der car, hey? i knew dot he vould. ven he geds dot look in his eyes, py chincher, like vat he hat, you can bed someding for nodding his madt vas oop. how did it habben, verral?" and while ferral was rehearsing the whole story for carl's benefit, the white runabout and the red flier came to a halt in the road in front of la vita place. tippoo jumped down and motioned for those in the rear car to follow him. "tippoo is the boss, dick," said matt; "get down and we'll trail after him. don't let your temper get away from you when we're in the house." "the way i feel now, matey," answered ferral, "i'd like to sail in and lay the 'cat' on the whole bunch. a precious crew they are, and no mistake." tippoo led the way along the foot-path, and ferral, matt, and carl followed him closely. voices could be heard in the house, and it was clear sercomb and his companions had not noticed the approach of the two cars. standing by the door, the hindu motioned for the boys to pass in ahead of him. chapter xv. a startling interruption. the parlor at la vita place, as has already been stated, covered half of the first floor of the house. the distinctive feature of the large room was an immense fireplace, which, after the mexican fashion, was built across one corner. above the fireplace, on the angling surface that reached from wall to wall, was a dingy, life-size painting of a saint. the painting was in a heavy frame, which was set flush with the wall. there were a few things about the old adobe _casa_ which had been left exactly as they had come into mr. lawton's hands from the original mexican owners of the place. this picture of the saint was one of them. the parlor was finely furnished. the floors were laid with tiger and lion-skins, trophies of the chase, and on every hand were curios and ornaments dear to the eccentric old englishman because of their associations. in this room sercomb and his denver friends were gathered. they had had their breakfast--mings and packard had just finished theirs--and all were excitedly discussing what mings and packard had done, and what they had seen. mings and packard, it may be stated, had been sufficiently sobered by their experiences, and not a little frightened. "confound the luck, anyhow!" cried sercomb. "nothing seems to go right with me. if you fellows had got hold of ferral last night, all this couldn't have happened to-day." "if we'd done that, ralph," said mings gloomily, "we don't know what would have happened to-day. motor matt and that dutch pal of his would have been left, and they'd have kicked up a big ruction when they found ferral had disappeared." "we could have taken care of motor matt and the dutchman," snapped sercomb, "and mings and packard could have run ferral away in the automobile and dropped him so close to the quicksands that he'd have wandered into them in the dark. he'd never have shown up here to make me any trouble." bitterness throbbed in sercomb's voice. "that fellow has been a drawback to me ever since we were kids, and now he's got to step in and try to knock me out of uncle jack's money!" "you wasn't a favorite of your uncle jack, eh?" queried balt finn. "no, blast the old codger! he never seemed to like me, and i was always around him. dick, who never came near, was the one he had always in mind." "well, has the old fluke cashed in?" asked packard. "that's the point." "of course he has! he was always a high liver, and it's a wonder apoplexy didn't take him long ago. feeling that he was about to die, he made his will, put it in his pocket, and tucked himself away somewhere, just to see whether dick or i would be first to locate him. precious little i care about the old juniper, if i could lay hands on the will." "the one you've made out, ralph," said packard, "is pretty well gotten up. you've imitated your uncle's signature in great shape." "the deuce of it is," returned sercomb, "i don't know just what property he's got, so i can schedule it. if i could find the original will, i could copy that part of it." "maybe," suggested finn, "this is only a tempest in a teapot, and that the old man left you all his property, after all." "i don't know, of course, but i'm afraid he's given dick too much. i don't want him to have a cent." "well," growled mings, "i'm hoping you'll make good your claim to the estate, ralph. you've promised to remember us all around, you know." "that promise goes!" averred sercomb. "once i get my hooks on uncle jack's money, you can bet i'll do the handsome thing by you fellows. just now, though, what we've got to think about is this: dick was started toward the cliffs in that car of king's, and king showed up in that confounded white runabout and chased after dick and the touring-car. what i'd like to know, did king save dick? everything hangs on that. if dick got smashed against the cliffs, he can't tell about that lamy business, nor about mings and packard tying him in the car. you fellows," and here sercomb turned to mings and packard, "ought to have hung around to see how it came out." "oh, yes," returned mings sarcastically, "we ought to have hung around and given them a chance to nab us. i guess not! we got back here as quick as we could. but you take it from me--king never saved ferral." "you fellows went too far," continued sercomb. "i told you to smash the car, but i didn't tell you to smash ferral along with it." "that's what you meant, sercomb, whether you said it or not," spoke up packard. "you wanted him taken away last night and dropped in the quicksands----" "i wanted him put out of the car close to the quicksands," qualified sercomb, "so that he'd have got into them himself." "it's all the same thing," said balt finn. "call a spade a spade and don't dodge." "who was that fellow with the queer head-gear we saw in the car?" asked packard. a look of dismay crossed sercomb's face. "if that was tippoo----" he began, but got no farther. just then there were steps in the hall, and ferral entered the room, followed by matt and carl. sercomb and his guilty associates jumped to their feet. "why--why, dick!" exclaimed sercomb, staring. "yes, you cannibal!" shouted ferral; "it's dick, but no thanks to you and your gang of pirates that i'm here, alive and kicking. now, mings, confound you, you and packard have got a chance to tell me whether my dear cousin put you up to that job over toward the cliffs." "we've got a chance to run you off the place, that's what we've got," answered mings. "heave ahead!" cried ferral, squaring himself. "i'd like a chance at you, just one." mings glared at him, but remained sullenly silent. ferral turned to sercomb. "i'm here to sink a lead to the bottom of this, my gay buck," said he, "and before i turn my back on la vita place i'll know the truth. what have you done with uncle jack? a scoundrel who'd treat me as you have wouldn't hesitate to deal foully with----" "there, there, dick," interrupted sercomb, fluttering his hand, "that will do you. you're judging me by yourself." "i'm judging you by your actions," stormed ferral. "it's been tack-and-tack with you ever since i knew you, and you never yet shifted your helm without having something to gain for sercomb. you cozzened around uncle jack, toadying to him for his money; when he disappears, you bear away for here, rip things fore and aft looking for a will, and, when you fail to find one, fix a document up to suit yourself. you're as crooked as a physte's hind leg, and you couldn't sail a straight course to save your immortal soul. now, here's where i stand, ralph sercomb: either you'll tell me the whole of it about uncle jack, or i go to lamy and come back here with an officer. if i do that, i'll round-up every man jack of you, and give you the hottest time you ever had in your lives; but tell me the truth about uncle jack, and i'll leave here and stay away." "uncle jack is dead," declared sercomb. "how many times do you want me to tell you that?" "that's still your play, is it?" scoffed ferral. "then, between you and me and the capstan, my buck, you lie by the watch!" a hoarse cry escaped sercomb. his hand swept under his coat, and when it appeared a bit of steel glimmered in his fist. "put up your gun," ordered ferral. "you took one shot at me with it last night, and if you try it again i'll turn a trick you'll remember." "get out of here!" ordered sercomb. "you can't come into my place and talk to me like that." he lifted the weapon, the muzzle full upon ferral. matt and carl stepped up shoulder to shoulder with ferral, and mings, packard, and finn drew nearer to sercomb. a tense moment intervened, followed by a quick, pattering footfall. tippoo glided in and placed himself resolutely between ferral and the leveled weapon. "tippoo!" gasped sercomb, stepping back and letting the revolver drop at his side. "_jee!_" answered the hindu. his eyes were not fixed on sercomb, nor on any one else in the room, but on the dingy saint in the frame over the mantel. he waved his arms sternly, separated sercomb and his friends, and passed through their gaping ranks toward the fireplace. the he salaamed, calling loudly: "naboob sahib! is de time not come? _dekke!_" thereupon a most astounding thing happened. while those in the room stared like persons entranced, the great frame that enclosed the pictured saint quivered against the wall. slowly it moved outward at the top, dropped lower and lower, until it had passed the mantel and its upper edge was resting on the floor. the inner side of the picture, now disclosed, was arranged in a series of steps, so that a stairway was formed from the mantel downward. at the top of the short flight, gaping blackly over the fireplace, a square recess was disclosed in the angle formed by the two walls of the room. for an instant the blank gloom was undisturbed; then, slowly, a tall, gray-haired form showed itself. the form was erect and soldierly, clad in black; the face was fine, the forehead high, and the eyes quick and keen. for a space this figure stood in the opening, the eyes sweeping the room and finally resting on ferral. while still gazing at ferral, the figure stepped over the mantel with military decision and descended step by step until it reached the floor. the stairway lifted itself, when relieved of the weight, swung upward, and closed the opening. once more the pictured saint was in the accustomed place. "dick!" called a voice. the figure in black stepped forward with outstretched hand. "uncle jack!" exclaimed ferral, starting forward. chapter xvi. the price of treachery. this most astounding event had left everybody gasping. a ghastly pallor had rushed into sercomb's face. his three companions were hardly in better case. all four realized that the unexpected had happened, and that it boded ill for them. but sercomb was not long in pulling himself together. "why, uncle!" he exclaimed, forcing a laugh; "this is a tremendous surprise, and a glad one. i have been worried to death about you!" he offered his hand. mr. lawton looked at him steadily. under that look sercomb's assurance faded, his hand dropped, and he fell back. "i would like you better, sir," said the old englishman, "if you showed the courage to acknowledge what you have done and face the consequences. you must know that i am aware of all that has taken place here; and yet you have the brazen insolence to step forward and offer me your hand!" "i guess we'd better be going, sercomb, old chap," said mings. "i think so, too," spoke up balt finn. "it's getting along toward noon, and we'll get out the car and start north." "come on, boys," urged packard. they started toward the door. at a gesture from mr. lawton, tippoo stepped in front of the door and drew the revolver from his sash. the denver man fell back in trepidation. "you'll start north very soon," said mr. lawton keenly, "and when you go you'll take sercomb with you. first, however, there is something to be told, and you'll wait to hear it. "ever since i came to america i have had ralph and dick in mind. either i was to divide my property between them, or else i was to cut off one and leave all to the other. in some respects i am a particular man. what property i have collected i want to fall into hands that will do the most good with it. with that end in view i have tried to make a study of ralph and dick. "it was easy for me to study ralph. whenever i asked him to come here and see me, he came; and he remained, as a rule, until i asked him to go. he had ways about him which i did not like, but i feared that was merely a prejudice. i like the youth who is open and aboveboard, who says what he means and who is frank and fearless. ralph did not seem to be that. "dick i never could get to come to me." mr. lawton lifted his hand and rested it on ferral's shoulder. "i couldn't understand this, for by making a little of me he had everything to gain. he was serving his king afloat--i liked that--but i felt that he might take a little time off for a visit, every two or three years, with the forlorn old man 'way off here in the american wilds. "when dick wrote me from texas, i conceived a plan. by this plan i hoped to bring both my nephews here, and to find out, beyond all cavil, just which was the better entitled to what i shall some day leave. "with the lamy lawyer to help, the little conspiracy was hatched. identically the same letters were sent to ralph and dick, each stating that i was tired of living alone, that i was going to get out of the way, and that wherever i was found my _will_ would be found with me." a grim smile hovered about the bristling gray mustache of the old man. "i did not say what the will was," he went on, "but i will remark here that it was purely the mental process by which i intended to judge which of my nephews was the more worthy. "ralph lost no time in coming to la vita place. he brought with him these friends of his"--mr. lawton swept his hand about to indicate finn, mings and packard--"and they carried on with liquor and cards, spending their time sleeping, eating, gambling and hunting for the will. there was never any concern about uncle jack--their interest was all in the will and uncle jack's money. everything that went on in this house i knew about--as well as everything that went on outside. tippoo, with the aid of the runabout, kept me informed of events beyond the walls; and, as for the others, i heard and saw for myself. "this old adobe house is like a medieval castle. in the old times, when settlers were even fewer in this country than they are now, lawless mexicans used the place for nefarious purposes; and, back beyond their time, the old friars who were here under the spaniards made this their retreat. the walls are honeycombed with passages, and every room can be reached secretly and secretly watched. i discovered these passages for myself, and have passed many a lonely hour unearthing the mysteries of the place. "ralph, during one of his visits here, found the passage leading from the bushes to my sleeping-room, up-stairs. he knew of that, but none of the others. "one thing i did not know about until now was ralph's plan to have mings meet dick in lamy, when he was coming here, and steal his money. it is hard to think one of my blood is a thief----" "uncle!" gasped sercomb. "stand as you are, sir!" cried mr. lawton sternly. "let us name the truth as it should be! it was not your hand that struck dick down, and his money is not now in your pocket, but yours was the plan, and you are even more guilty than mings. although i could not protect dick from that danger, yet he was equal to it himself. "when he came here, i was watching ralph and his friends playing cards up-stairs; i saw them put out the light and retreat noiselessly to my bedroom; and i heard the shot that was fired at dick before the young rascals left the house by the secret way. "all the rest that followed, during the night, i understood, save that i did not know, until i heard matt talking with carl and dick in my room, how he had been able to spy upon sercomb and his friends and gather a clue to sercomb's duplicity. "the ruffianly attack on dick and carl by mings and packard, who, under orders from sercomb, were plotting to carry dick off to the quicksands, horrified me. i would have shown myself then and there had not dick and carl protected themselves so valiantly and turned the tables on dick's would-be abductors. "tippoo, in the car, was watching the automobile in front, and he disabled the machine so that dick could not be carried off, in case mings and packard succeeded. "the most contemptible act of all was that where mings and packard followed dick and his friends, when they had been ordered away, and attempted dick's life----" "i did not sanction that!" cried sercomb desperately. his hopes were crumbling in his grasp like a rope of sand. "i did not tell mings to tie dick in the car and set the car toward the cliffs! uncle! i----" "silence!" thundered mr. lawton. "i will have no false excuses. i know what you wanted! you wanted to get dick out of the way. in your greed to get all of my property you shut your eyes to the heinousness of your conduct and struggled only to achieve your aim. "here, in this house, ralph, i have watched barefaced duplicity and murderous resolve battling with frankness and fearlessness! i have seen you deliberately, and with three unscrupulous friends to help, play every card you could in an attempt to beat your own cousin. and i have felt shame that one of our line could act so like a cur. "had i known, in the beginning, just how far your greed would lead you, had i even remotely imagined all the dangers that would encompass dick when he tried to follow out my last request, i would never have proceeded in the way i did. "but now it is over. i have seen you both when you could not know i was near; i have watched your actions, weighed even your words, and i am able to judge between you." a certain grimness of resolve came into the fine old face as mr. lawton went on. "ralph, you can expect from me--nothing. when i leave this place for good and all, and go to denver--which will be in a few days--there will not be even a deed to la vita place to go to you. considering my present mood, not a shilling of my money, sir, will go to you. to whom it _does_ go, i will leave you to guess. go back to your racing; and if, before i die, you have come nearer making a man of yourself, perhaps i will reconsider. you and your friends have an automobile in the barn. take it, at once, and leave here." a deep silence fell over the room. tippoo stepped away from the door and tucked the revolver back into his sash. mings, packard and finn bolted--glad, no doubt, to get away so easily. sercomb started after them, but hesitated. "uncle," he began tremulously, "if you will----" "go!" ordered mr. lawton sternly. then sercomb's true character came uppermost. halting in the door he shook his fist at matt and dick. "i'll play even with both of you for this!" he gritted, then whirled and darted after his crestfallen companions. "come, carl," said matt, hurrying toward the hall door, "we'll go and keep an eye on the car." "you bed you," exulted carl, running after matt. "it vas easy for verral to be jeerful now, hey? aber id don'd vas so easy for dose odder chaps. donnervetter, vat a surbrise!" when the other touring-car whisked out of the barn, through the grove and into the road, there were four very gloomy passengers aboard. hardly looking at matt and carl, they kicked up the dust toward santa fé and denver. tippoo appeared, as soon as the car had vanished. "sahib," said he to matt, "you go to de house. i take care of bot' cars. naboob sahib say so." "napoo sahip cuts a goot deal oof ice mit us, tibboo," said carl, "und i guess dot ve go, hey, matt?" "sure, we will," replied matt. "but be careful of this car, tippoo. it has had so many close calls lately that i am scared of my life when it's out of my hands." "me take good care, sahib," answered tippoo reassuringly. matt and carl, full of wonder and satisfaction because of the way the affair had ended, started back along the foot-path to the house. chapter xvii. the luck of dick ferral. mr. lawton and ferral met matt and carl in the parlor. they had been having a brief talk together, and there was a pleased look on lawton's face and a happy light in ferral's eyes. mr. lawton stepped forward and caught matt cordially by the hand. "matt," said he, "you have been a stanch friend of dick's in the little time you have known him, and you have twice saved his life. he is indebted to you, but i am under an even greater obligation. but for your aid, the little plan i conceived for getting at the relative merits of my two nephews might have ended disastrously and given me something to regret till the last day of my life. i thank you, my lad; and you, too, carl," he finished, turning to the grinning dutch boy. "oh, vell," said carl, "it don'd vas nodding vat i dit. matt vas der vone. he iss alvays der vone dot geds dere mit bot' feets ven anyding iss bulled off." "you both did nobly, and perhaps some time, somewhere, i can show you that i am not insensible of the debt i owe," went on mr. lawton. "just now," he added, turning away and walking to the end of the mantel, "dick has expressed a desire to see the place where i have lived for several days, and i presume you and carl, matt, are also interested." he pressed a spring under the end of the mantel and the great frame descended and presented its flight of steps. "i will go first, as i know the ropes," said mr. lawton. "the rest of you will follow." he ascended the stairs. dick, carl and matt went after him and the frame closed and left them in a narrow space in the dark. mr. lawton lighted a candle and flashed it across the inner side of the picture and above the last step. "the eyes of the picture, you will see," he observed, "are cut out. that gave me an opportunity to note what took place in the parlor. a very old device which i have seen in old castles on the rhine, and even in one or two houses in delhi. now," and he faced about, "we will go on." the passage wound around the house through the hollow wall. two steps led up and over the front door. in the sitting-room there was a niche with a crucifix and candles. holes in the back of the niche enabled one to look out and observe all that took place in the sitting-room. in like manner, there was a concealed place for keeping track of what went on in the kitchen. in the kitchen wall a dozen steps led upward to the second floor, and in the two upper rooms there were also peep-holes cleverly arranged. "the passage ralph knew about," explained mr. lawton, "has no connection whatever with this other burrow. it is entirely distinct and apart. the only way to get directly into the house from these corridors is by the opening over the parlor mantel. now we will descend to the subterranean part of the establishment." a continuation of the steps that led upward in the kitchen wall conducted the explorers downward into a place that was a sort of basement, although having no connection with the cellar of the house. here the boys were surprised to find the white runabout. "here's a point i'm twisted on, uncle jack," said dick. "what in the name of the seven holy spritsails, did you ever let tippoo go spooking around the country for?" mr. lawton laughed. "dick," said he, "this country is full of scoundrels who would not hesitate to get the better of an old man and his hindu servant if there were a few dollars to be gained. now, rascals of that ilk are superstitious, and i have kept them at bay by this harmless deception. this old, ill-favored shell of a house is supposed to be haunted, for dark deeds are known to have taken place here. that auto is my own idea. tippoo has made regular trips with it every night up the gully, around on the cliff road, through the cliff and so back to the house. la vita place, by that means, has lived up to its unenviable reputation, and the thieves have left me severely alone. "the auto came in very handily during this play of ralph's. ralph knew nothing about the car, and during his visits here i was careful to keep a knowledge of it away from him. tippoo would take a trip abroad and watch events outside; then he would come back and report to me. when matt jumped into the car, there on the cliff road, tippoo was willing enough to be discovered, for he knew that i was planning to show myself very soon, anyhow. tippoo, however, had orders from me to say nothing about what i was doing. here," added mr. lawton, stepping off along the rock-walled room, "is the way the car left its quarters whenever it wanted to make its ghostly round." matt, as he followed mr. lawton, noticed a supply of gasoline and oil, and congratulated himself on the fact that there would be no difficulty in getting the red flier fit for the road when the time came for carl and himself to start. a wide passage led for a hundred feet or more beyond the end of the stone room, a gentle grade, at its farther end, leading upward. a door, flush with the earth, was pushed upward by mr. lawton, and the blinding light of day flooded the passage. "we might as well get out here," said mr. lawton, and the rest followed him into a brushy covert in the grove. on one side of the covert the brush had been cleared away to leave a smooth track for the car. "the road," explained the old man, "leads directly to the gully. tippoo, when he desired to make his round, had only to push up the door, take his ghostly ride, and then come back again." "that idea of a crank in the machine for turning over the engine," said matt, "is a mighty good one and ought to be patented." "you may have it, matt," said mr. lawton. "i am too old to bother with patents." the door was closed and the little party wandered back through the grove to the house. tippoo, in the kitchen, was busily at work getting a meal ready. "this," observed mr. lawton, as they all seated themselves on a bench in the shade, "is one of the happiest, as well as the saddest, days of my life. i have discovered what dick really is, and that's where the bright part comes in; but i have also found out that my sister's son is a contemptible scoundrel--and i would rather have lost everything i own than to have discovered it. this racing-game must be demoralizing." "it isn't the game, mr. lawton," interposed matt earnestly, "but the character of the fellows who take it up. there isn't a thing in a speed contest to demoralize any one." "you may be right, matt," answered mr. lawton, "but it's hard to understand how ralph could prove so false to all the lawton ideals. his father was a gentleman in every sense of the word; and his mother--there was never a finer woman on earth." after a short silence, mr. lawton turned once more to matt. "you are going to santa fé?" he queried. "yes," replied matt, "and then to denver. mr. tomlinson, who owns the red flier, has a place for me on the racing-staff of a firm of automobile-makers." "ah! i would have spoken differently a moment ago, if i had known that you intended entering the racing-field. you'll never go wrong. but, when you get to denver, beware of the rascally crew who just left here. they are very bitter against you." "they'll not bother me, sir," said matt stoutly. "oof dey dry it on," spoke up carl, "py chincher dey vill ged somet'ing vat dey don'd like." "dick and i will be in denver soon," said mr. lawton, "and then we shall look you up. you will hear from us again, matt. the debt we are under to you cannot be easily canceled." "i've been repaid already," returned matt. "what i have done has given me a friend in dick ferral--and that's worth everything." "your fin, mate," said ferral, reaching over and clasping matt's hand. just then tippoo appeared in the kitchen door. "tiffin, sahib!" he called, and they all filed into the house--carl, as usual when there was eating in prospect, leading the way. the end. the next number ( ) will contain motor matt's triumph or, three speeds forward. the white-caps--motor matt's foes--suspicious doings--a villainous plot--matt goes trouble-hunting--higgins tells what he knows--brisk work at dodge city--matt interviews trueman--no. --where is motor matt?--running down a clue--forty-eight hours of darkness--at the last minute--the first half of the race--well won, king!--conclusion. motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction new york, april , . terms to motor stories mail subscribers. (_postage free._) single copies or back numbers, c. each. months c. months c. months $ . one year . copies one year . copy two years . =how to send money=--by post-office or express money-order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. at your own risk if sent by currency, coin, or postage-stamps in ordinary letter. =receipts=--receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. if not correct you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once. ormond g. smith, } george c. smith, } _proprietors_. street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york city. bill, the bound boy. bill bradley was a blacksmith boy. he was an orphan, and had been apprenticed to old carnahan the day lincoln was elected, and had pumped the bellows and swung the sledge every day since. old carnahan was a stern task-master, and got out of his bound boy all the law would allow. we used to pass the shop every time we drove from our farm in the country, and there was nothing in the county seat, the greatest town we had ever seen, so notable as the great shock of fiery red hair displayed by bill bradley. he always stood at the door of the shop as we passed at noon-time and nodded at us with the cheeriest sort of a smile. it was a thing to remember with pride when a town boy honored us with recognition. money was mighty scarce in our house those days. dimes were things to treasure carefully; and dollars, when they came, were something spoken of with bated breath and hidden away--or paid out grudgingly. and iron was in demand. the cannons made those first years of the war called into requisition it seemed to me all the fragments of old cast iron there was in the country. blacksmiths were paying first a cent, then two cents, and finally two and a half cents a pound; though they did not make a difference whether you "took it out in trade" or demanded cash. we boys in the country used to gather up every bit of metal that would sell, and carefully save it till we had a hundred pounds or more, and then take it to town and convert it into the infrequent cash or the almost as acceptable and quite costly groceries. one day when we took our plunder to town we found the streets in strange commotion. "they're listing soldiers," said a nervous voice in our ears, and when we turned we found bill bradley, wide-eyed, excited, and reckless. we were surprised, for we knew it was time for him to be at the forge, and we knew how strict was his employer in the matter of time. we drove to the blacksmith shop with the fragments of iron, and found bill bradley there before us. he was pumping the bellows, and old man carnahan was rating him soundly for his absence. the red head was a trifle higher, the blue eyes a trifle wider, and the breath was quicker and more charged with warning. carnahan should have known. but he didn't. he grew more enraged, till at a word of defense from the boy he lost his temper completely, and, in a fit of exasperation, struck his apprentice. the blow was not a severe one, and bill could not have suffered a twinge of pain. but his pride was hurt, and that blow ended for him, as that larger, later blow ended for four millions of others, his season of servitude. "i'll quit you," he cried, trembling and almost weeping with excitement and rage. "i'll list for a soldier." we left the iron in a pile on the shabby floor, and followed him with palpitating hearts to the little lobby of the post-office. he was greeted with a chorus of shouts, as was each new recruit, and a touch of ridicule must have mingled with the hailing, for it straightened him and stiffened him and sent him to the captain with as firm a front as ever was borne by a novice. if the men were changed by the donning of the blue, what transformation was this wrought in our blacksmith boy? he was inches taller and fathoms deeper. he was a man. he stood about with the recruits, his brow darkening a little when carnahan approached, for he did not yet understand the privilege of a warrior. but more than any other man in uniform he was severed from civil life. he was one of this wonderful legion that was filling the world with comment--and filling the homes with woe. we came to town that saturday when the troops were mustered in, and watched them drilling. we saw our blacksmith boy, and wondered how we ever had addressed him, he was a being so different from all he had been before. we saw the march by twos and fours and company front, the double-quick and the charge; and we heard the fledgling officers swear with strange oaths at the men they were later to push into conflict. we fancied bill bradley would not stand much of that. we saw them march to the depot, and then wept, i fear, at the passionate good-bys. there were fathers and younger brothers and desolate wives; but the saddest of all were the partings from mothers. it was so piteous, the hopelessness of their despair, the utter abandon of their tears. and then after much shaking of hands and waving of hands the train was away. we saw load after load go by on the cars after that, and always looked eagerly for the sight of some face we knew. but the faces which we knew were swallowed and lost in a sea of strangeness--a sea, we pray, which never may grow familiar. we read of the terrible battles that western army fought; we read of their victories, and the far too frequent defeats. we read the lists of killed and wounded, and saw at last in the longest column the name of private william bradley. how far that name removed him from us! he was william now--not common bill; not bill the blacksmith's bound boy. we wondered if there was anything we could do for him, and in the next box that went from our town mother sent underclothes and stockings to the youth; for there was no one near us by blood or friendship who weathered that winter in the south, and no one near bill to remember him. and one day toward the dawn of spring a letter came from the hospital, written in the clumsy hand of the orphan, acknowledging the receipt of the clothes, and thanking for them with the clumsy, genuine feeling of one who seldom speaks and never forgets a favor. he was well again, he said, and would be returned for duty in the morning. they looked for another hard battle, for the enemy was massing, and this new general that had won in the past believed in sledge-hammers and decisive measures. at the end of the letter was the sentence: "tha have mad me a corprl." how proud he was of that--prouder of it than were the thousands who had other things to comfort them. and how near us he seemed to come as the weary months went by and the fighting began again. once fix your mind on a man in the distance and a man who stands front face with danger night and day and never flinches; and it is wonderful how completely he will fill your sky. you imagine all manner of great things about him, dread all manner of terrible things, and end at last by loving him. so, when that other battle was fought by the general who believed in sturdy blows, and when vicksburg laid down her arms at the feet of a victorious army, we read again in the terrible lists of the killed and wounded the name of our blacksmith boy. this time, too, it was among the wounded--in the longest column; but it bore a prefix that surprised us. it was "sergeant bradley" now. the meager details of that time did not help us to all the information we wanted. we did not know how badly he was injured, but we sent a box of jellies and pickles and things that are not issued with the rations; and got another letter telling of the battle. and it makes no difference how many of these reports you read in the paper, this letter from a man who was in the thick of the fight was far more authentic. it was far more real. but sergeant bradley was sorely wounded this time. we found more about it later when a letter from the captain was printed in the county paper, detailing the events that had been important from a subaltern's standpoint and boasting of the prowess of his men. in this was told the story of a mississippi regiment, those tigers of the south--a charge that was met by the tattered remnant of the indiana brigade. he told of the clashing of man against man, and the loss of the banner over and over again--that banner that went down to the army with the blessings of a thousand women when corinth fell. and it told how, when the howling, shouting, slashing, shrieking legions swept the northerners back for a moment, and the guns were taken and not a thing could live in the sea of triumphant assault, corporal william bradley had wrapped his shattered arms about the flag and rolled with it right under the guns that were turned against his brethren. "i knew you would come back again," said the hero, when the charge was repulsed and the battery was recaptured. "i knew you would come back, and i saved the flag." he had, and he wore a sergeant's chevron for his heroism. but the hurt would not heal. the sulphurous smoke, the fearful concussions of earth and air as he burrowed under the guns and waited for rescue, the sword thrusts and bayonet pricks, the white flesh torn by whistling ball, and the two bones broken by the shattered shell--all this was tribulation which would not pass away. sergeant bradley lay long in the hospital. one night in the autumn, as we sat there under a waning moon and listened to the shrill complaint of a hidden cicada, we were conscious of a figure making slow progress along the path by the roadside. it was a man, and even in the darkness of night we could see it was not familiar. for the matter of that, the figure of a man at all those days was not a common thing. men were away in the south, as a general rule. but this figure grew stranger as it came nearer. presently the gate swung open, and the watch-dog gave challenge. we silenced him and rose to meet a limping, swaying figure in federal blue. he said nothing, and seemed, with that grinning insistence of the uncouth man, to wish we might remember him. we had filled our thought with bradley, no doubt; but this could not be he. it was, however, and when we were sure of that we gave him a welcome and hearty cheer. but he was very weak. it seemed, after the first timid acceptance of our greeting, he began to fail, and to take less and less of interest in the things about him. we thought he would like to hear news from town. he had forgotten all about the town. we hoped a little later he would enjoy a word of cheer from the front. there was no army for him now. he lay there so white on the pillow, his red hair making the whiteness more vivid; his blue eyes looking so steadily, yet so listlessly, at a single point in the wall; he stirred so slightly at the passing of day and night--and then he closed his eyes. it was long before he opened them again. when he did he saw mother beside him. she was cooling the cloth she laid on his forehead. "i thought i wanted to come home," he said, and then closed his eyes again. there was no relevancy in the remark. no one had spoken to him, and there had never been a thought of this or other place as a home for him. it must have been on his mind all the time. but there was youth to support him, and the blessings of twenty years to pour their vigor into his veins. his mending was slow, but it was sure. he walked about the farm at thanksgiving, and returned to duty at christmas. he was a different man. it seemed impossible he ever could have been a bound boy. he was dignified, self-reliant. he spoke easily and without embarrassment, no matter if it was a general addressed. and he was a lieutenant when the war was done. no, he didn't die. he lived to remember twenty battles and a dozen wounds. he lived to make a modest beginning in business, and to follow it to comfortable success. he owns his home now and under his broad hat hides red hair that will never be quite gray. he stands to-day with his children at the graves of the men who were with him in the army, who were with him in danger and suffering and success. he stands with those children and tells them the story and the lesson of the day. to him it was the working out of a problem, the right solution after years of wrong. to him and to me his record typifies the average of that darker period. thousands and tens of thousands went in with a whim to come out with a halo. they enlisted under the spur of example, of banter, of pique. yet they fought like greeks, and forgave like christians. it was the hand of the common man that left home duties and home obligations to take up the greater cause of a nation. it was the triumph of simplicity--that silent legion which boasted little before the war, and never complained when hardship came. it was the triumph of all that is good in the american who lives to see the realization of dreams that were not bold enough to paint their horoscope when prophecy was loudest. a winter story of colorado. the wild beasts upon hicks mountain were limited almost entirely to the coyotes; these persisted, in spite of advancing settlement, but in this section of colorado the grey wolf, the mountain-lion, and the bear had been practically exterminated. for five years the stock had run the hills quite unmolested. a coyote will kill sheep, but its depredations are confined otherwise to the poultry, barring now and then a sick and abandoned calf. however, in the winter of , rumors spread that the grey wolves had returned. calves were being killed and eaten, sows mutilated, and even large steers torn about the legs and chest. one rancher discovered in the timber across the pasture from his house the remains of a yearling heifer killed only that night; whatever had attacked it had devoured it, hide and all, to the very largest bones, leaving only the scattered remnants of a skeleton. now, a mountain-lion would have eaten part and buried the rest; a bear would also have eaten part, and saved the rest for later; coyotes would only have gnawed and mangled the carcass; the great grey wolf alone would have worked a destruction so complete. the ground was bare of snow, and covered with pine-needles, thus being unfavorable for tracks. mr. jeffries had heard no howling. nevertheless, the grey wolf, the stockman's scourge, was blamed. traps were set, and poisoned meat was discreetly put out, but only the coyotes suffered, apparently. then ned coswell, early one morning, while searching for a lost milk-cow, came over a little rise, and saw below him in a hollow in the park a number of wolfish animals collected about a dead body, tearing at it. ned was unarmed, but, spurring his horse, he rode down upon them recklessly, whooping. "there were about a dozen of them," related ned, "and i knew they weren't wolves, because they were colored differently, more like dogs. they looked at me coming, and, boys, i didn't know for a minute whether they were going to get out of the way or not. old medicine eye"--his horse--"wasn't a bit afraid; just pricked his ears and kept on, which made me think all the more they weren't wolves. "they were dogs, boys, nothing but dogs. there was a brindled one that looked like a bulldog, and several woolly dogs, like sheep-dogs, and one big black-and-white shaggy fellow, biggest of all. they all lifted their heads, and stood staring at me, and i was beginning to think that maybe i'd been in too much of a hurry. but first one sneaked off, showing his teeth, into the brush, and another and another, and they all went, and i was mighty glad to have them go. they'd been eating at a dead steer--mine, too--but i don't know whether they'd killed it or not. i wish i'd had a gun." after that the ranchers made it a habit again to carry a gun of some kind when out on the range. however, for a long time nobody, when armed, caught any glimpse of the wild dogs. that is likely to be the case in hunting; the unprepared frequently have the opportunities. for instance, frank warring, while on his way home from town in his wagon, toward evening of a cloudy day, beheld the pack cross the road right in front of him, the animals in single file, one following another, silent as specters, noses outstretched, the big, shaggy black-and-white fellow leading. in the rear were two or three puppies, perhaps nine months old. frank had no gun. somebody else also saw the pack. the brutes' depredations continued, being limited, so far as we could ascertain, to our vicinity, as if they had selected hicks mountain for a hunting-ground. they hunted without howling. a spasmodic, rabid bark was the only sound that we could attribute to them, but it was sufficient. we were afraid of this wild pack; more afraid than of wolves. there is something uncanny about a dog gone wild, for he combines the lessons taught by domesticity with the instincts of savagery. as nobody from our section had missed dogs, we concluded that this band had come down upon us from wyoming, a hundred and fifty miles north. up in wyoming wild dogs had been bothering the sheep-range. probably energetic measures adopted by the irate sheep men had driven the marauders to seek new fields. finally, sam morris had a chance to retaliate. he was hunting deer afoot. the day was dark and snowy. as he was sitting motionless beside a boulder, watching the slope below and the ascent across the draw, the dog-pack suddenly streamed out from the pines down there, and all at a lope threaded the bottom of the draw, onward bound. the shaggy black-and-white was leading, as usual. sam's gun was loaded with buckshot, and he waited greedily, that he might get more than one dog with his charge. but the animals were too shrewd to travel bunched; they left intervals, as do the wolves when trailing, and when at last sam would desperately have "whanged away," his gun missed fire. rather chagrined was sam, telling his tale afterward. he confirmed the previous statements that the pack was variously colored, made up of different breeds; a strange invasion surely. the trail through the draw remained unobliterated, for no snow fell for two weeks thereafter. we found that the dog-pack was utilizing this draw for a pass. it appeared to lead from one favorite point to another. the trail grew more distinct, but it scarcely widened; the dogs stepped always, so it seemed, in the same spots. it was vain to set traps; the disturbance of the snow was noticed at once. poison was disregarded. the pack kept on ranging the country and attacking stock. sam was anxious to retrieve himself, and he and i agreed to put in our time watching that trail until we should "fix" some of those outlaws. i remember that it was the tenth day of january, and toward four o'clock in the afternoon, when, for perhaps the sixth or seventh time, we ensconced ourselves between two boulders on the slope overlooking the trail below. the sky was cloudy; a snowstorm was evidently approaching. cloudy days seemed to be those upon which the dog-pack was most likely to be sighted. probably upon such days it emerged earlier on account of the waning light. this afternoon we had been in ambush only a half-hour when the pack appeared. in silent, single file the pack came trotting out of the timber on our right, and across before us, following the trail in the draw. the big, black-and-white, shaggy fellow was the first; next to him was the brindle. i recognized them, for every narrative had contained them. i don't know exactly why, but the sight of them all, trotting so silently, so swiftly, business-bent, thrilled me with a little chill. about their steady gait was something ominous, unreal. a pack of wolves i could have surveyed without special emotion, for i should have known what to expect, but a pack of dogs, gone wild--ugh! they are neither dogs nor wolves, but, as has been said, an uncanny blending. we had agreed what to do. sam only nudged me, and levelled his gun. there was an instant of suspense, and we fired practically together. we had rifles, and were using black powder, and the smoke was momentarily thick. when it cleared, the shaggy leader was kicking in the snow, and the brindle was lying still. my bullet had not sped quite as truly as sam's; his aim had been the brindle. the rest of the pack were racing madly onward, and although we fired twice more, we did not hit any of them. we went down to our victims. the brindle had just life enough in him to snarl at us ere he died. the big black-and-white was gasping. then a strange thing occurred. as i stood over him, he wagged his bushy tail; his eyes were not wild, but soft, suffering, appealing. he was now all dog and would turn to his chosen friend, man, for sympathy and aid. "poor old chap!" i said. his eyes were glazing fast; he hauled himself on his side over the snow toward me. "look out!" warned sam. but there was no need. with a final effort, the animal just managed to lick my boot-toe, and with his head upon it, he shivered and was still. i declare, a lump rose in my throat. as i bent to pat his coat--i love dogs, and he had struck me right to the heart, marauder though he had been--i felt a collar round his neck, concealed by his long, curly hair. upon the collar was a plate, engraved "prince." somebody's "prince" had he been, somebody's pet. but whose? a more perfect example of atavism, reversion to type--call it what you will--would be hard to present. the dog-pack never again, as far as there was evidence, traversed that trail. nor was it seen again upon hicks mountain. it seemed almost as if it had been composed of weird phantoms, like the spectral packs of german and provençal legend, and had dissolved at our gunshots. _especially important!!_ motor stories _a new idea in the way of five-cent weeklies._ boys everywhere will be delighted to hear that street & smith are now issuing this new five-cent weekly which will be known by the name of motor stories. this weekly is entirely different from anything now being published. it details the astonishing adventures of a young mechanic who owned a motor cycle. is there a boy who has not longed to possess one of these swift little machines that scud about the roads everywhere throughout the united states? is there a boy, therefore, who will not be intensely interested in the adventures of "motor matt," as he is familiarly called by his comrades? boys, you have never read anything half so exciting, half so humorous and entertaining as the first story listed for publication in this line, called "=motor matt; or, the king of the wheel=." its fame is bound to spread like wildfire, causing the biggest demand for the other numbers in this line, that was ever heard of in the history of this class of literature. here are the titles to be issued during the next few weeks. do not fail to place an order for them with your newsdealer. =no. .--motor matt; or, the king of the wheel.= =no. .--motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends.= =no. .--motor matt's century run; or, the governor's courier.= =no. .--motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the "comet."= =no. .--motor matt's mystery; or, foiling a secret plot.= =no. .--motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear.= =no. .--motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto.= =no. .--motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward.= =no. .--motor matt's air-ship; or, the rival inventors.= large size pages splendid colored covers price, five cents per copy at all newsdealers, or sent postpaid by the publishers upon receipt of the price. _street & smith, publishers, new york_ _the best of them all!!_ motor stories it is new and intensely interesting we knew before we published this line that it would have a tremendous sale and our expectations were more than realized. it is going with a rush, and the boys who want to read these, the most interesting and fascinating tales ever written, must speak to their newsdealers about reserving copies for them. =motor matt= sprang into instant favor with american boy readers and is bound to occupy a place in their hearts second only to that now held by frank merriwell. the reason for this popularity is apparent in every line of these stories. they are written by an author who has made a life study of the requirements of the up-to-date american boy as far as literature is concerned, so it is not surprising that this line has proven a huge success from the very start. here are the titles now ready and also those to be published. you will never have a better opportunity to get a generous quantity of reading of the highest quality, so place your orders now. =no. .--motor matt; or, the king of the wheel.= =no. .--motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends.= =no. .--motor matt's century run; or, the governor's courier.= =no. .--motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the "comet."= to be published on march nd =no. .--motor matt's mystery; or, foiling a secret plot.= to be published on march th =no. .--motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear.= to be published on april th =no. .--motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto.= to be published on april th =no. .--motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward.= =price, five cents= to be had from newsdealers everywhere, or sent, postpaid, upon receipt of the price by the publishers _street & smith, publishers, new york_ transcriber's notes: italics are represented by _underscores_, bold by =equal signs=. retained some unusual spellings (e.g. "bloming") within dialogue on the assumption they are intentional. page , changed "billy ruffin" to "billy ruffian" to match second instance of ship's nickname. page , added missing quote after "while i was down in phoenix." changed oe ligature in "phoenix" to oe (ligature retained in html edition). page , removed unnecessary quote after "slaps from his cousin ralph." page , removed unnecessary quote before "it was impossible, of course...." changed "intendeing" to "intending" ("what motor matt was intending to do"). page , changed "someting" to "something" ("something was about to happen"). page , removed unnecessary apostrophe after "mings" ("mings was in such a position"). page , changed "medding" to "meddling" ("meddling with sercomb's business"). page , changed "mat" to "matt" ("matt started along the gully"). page , changed "than" to "that" ("frame that enclosed"). page , changed "in" to "is" ("house is like"). page , changed "villianous" to "villainous" in "villainous plot." available by villanova university digital library (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/) note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrated book cover. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h.zip) images of the original pages are available through villanova university digital library. see http://digital.library.villanova.edu/record/vudl: transcriber's note: text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=). motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction no. may , five cents motor matt's peril or castaway in the bahamas by stanley r. matthews [illustration: the "hawk" was doomed! as quickly as he could, motor matt made ready to follow carl and dick.] street & smith, publishers, new york. motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction _issued weekly. by subscription $ . per year. entered according to act of congress in the year , in the office of the librarian of congress, washington, d. c., by_ street & smith, _ - seventh avenue, new york, n. y._ no. . new york, may , . price five cents. motor matt's peril or, cast away in the bahamas. by the author of "motor matt." contents chapter i. carl as buttinsky. chapter ii. the moving-picture man makes a queer move. chapter iii. warm work at the "inlet." chapter iv. prisoners on a submarine. chapter v. through the torpedo tube. chapter vi. the cape town mystery. chapter vii. off for the bahamas. chapter viii. an accident. chapter ix. matt and his chums go it alone. chapter x. the air ship springs a leak. chapter xi. wrecked! chapter xii. luck--or ill-luck? chapter xiii. a move and a countermove. chapter xiv. motor matt's success. chapter xv. a few surprises. chapter xvi. matt takes townsend's advice. night watches for big game. specialists in the woods. missouri willow farm. animals that dread rain. characters that appear in this story. =matt king=, concerning whom there has always been a mystery--a lad of splendid athletic abilities, and never-failing nerve, who has won for himself, among the boys of the western town, the popular name of "mile-a-minute matt." =carl pretzel=, a cheerful and rollicking german lad, who is led by a fortunate accident to hook up with motor matt in double harness. =dick ferral=, a canadian boy who has served his time in the king's navy, and bobs up in the states where he falls into plots and counterplots, and comes near losing his life. =archibald townsend=, otherwise "captain nemo, jr.," of the submarine boat _grampus_, who proves himself a firm friend of motor matt. =lattimer jurgens=, an unscrupulous person who, for some time, has been at daggers drawn with archibald townsend. =whistler=, an able lieutenant of lat jurgens. =cassidy, burke and harris=, comprising the crew of the _grampus_. "=the man from cape town=," who does not appear in the story but whose influence is nevertheless made manifest. =mcmillan and holcomb=, police officers. chapter i. carl as buttinsky. "py shinks, aber dot's funny! dose fellers look like dey vas birates, or some odder scalawags. vat vas dey doing, anyvays, in a blace like dis?" it was on the beach at atlantic city, new jersey. carl pretzel was there, in a bathing suit. those who know the dutch boy will remember that he was fat, and there is always something humorous about a fat person in a bathing suit. carl had been in the water. after swimming out as far as the end of the steel pier, he had returned and climbed up on the beach. an italian happened to be passing with a pushcart loaded with "red-hots" and buns. carl had a dime pinned in the breast of his abbreviated costume. he unpinned the dime, bought two "red-hots" and a bun, and fell down in the sand to rest and enjoy himself. the italian lingered near him, staring with bulging eyes to a place on the beach a little way beyond carl. the dutch boy, observing the trend of the italian's curiosity, looked in the same direction. a girl was kneeling on the beach, tossing her arms despairingly. she was a pretty girl, her clothes were torn and wet, and her long, dark hair was streaming about her shoulders. certainly it was a curious sight, there in that densely populated summer resort, to see a young woman acting in that manner. up on the board walk above the beach a gaping throng had gathered. a little way from the board walk a man seemed to be doing something with a photograph instrument. carl, intensely wrought up, floundered to his bare feet, a "red-hot" in one hand and half a bun in the other. any one in distress always appealed to carl--particularly a woman. from the woman, carl's eyes drifted toward the water. a boat was pulling in, and was close to the shore. there were three men in the boat, two at the oars and one standing in the bow. they were a fierce-looking lot, those men. all were of swarthy hue, had fierce black mustaches, gold rings in their ears, heads covered with knotted handkerchiefs over which were drawn stocking caps, and all wore sashes through which were thrust long, ancient-looking knives and pistols. the man in the bow, whom carl could see almost entirely, had on a pair of "galligaskins," or short, wide trousers, and immense jack boots. the ruffians in the boat, no less than the girl on the beach, seemed to be deaf and dumb. not a word was said by any of them, but their faces twitched in response to their varying emotions, and they used their hands in ceaseless gestures. carl was right in thinking that the men in the boat had the appearance of pirates; and the scene was "funny," inasmuch as it showed the sea rovers of a past age against a twentieth century background. "py shinks," muttered carl, his temper slowly rising, "i don'd like dot! der poor girl iss at der mercy oof dem birate fellers, und der bolice, und nopody else, seems villing to lendt her a handt. vell, i dell you somet'ing, oof dose birate fellers in der poat douch a hair oof dot girl's headt, den dey vill hear from me! i vish modor matt und tick vas here. mit dem to helup, ve could clean out der whole gang. anyhow, i do vat i can py meinseluf." when the boat was in the surf, the two who were rowing dropped their oars and sprang overboard. laying hold of the boat, they dragged it up on the strand. the man in the bow jumped out, and all three made a rush for the girl. "leaf dot laty alone!" bellowed carl, starting for the girl about the same time the three men did. "you t'ink dis vas some tesert islants dot you can act like dot! bolice! bolice!" the sight of carl, in his little red bathing suit, streaking along the sand, brought roars of laughter from those on the board walk. the merriment puzzled carl; and angered him still further, too, to think that such a raft of people would give way to mirth when a young woman was in such terrible danger. "get away from there!" shouted a man near the photographic instrument. "meppy you see me gedding avay," roared carl as he ran, "aber i don'd t'ink. you vas a goward, und eferypody else vas a goward! i safe der girl meinseluf!" "you'll spoil the picture!" howled one of the pirates; "get out of the picture!" "i vill shpoil your face!" retorted carl, failing to comprehend. "ged oudt oof der picture yourseluf! der laty iss nod to be hurted." carl reached the lady first. she seemed astounded and angry. "nefer fear, leedle vone," carolled the dutch boy, planting himself between the girl and her supposed enemies, "dose vicked mens vill haf to valk ofer me pefore dey ged ad you! yah, so helup me! run for der poard valk vile i mix it mit dem und gif you der shance." "go 'way!" screamed the girl; "mind your own business, if you've got any!" "oh, you dutch idiot!" raved one of the buccaneers, striking at carl with a cutlass. "you've spoiled our work!" the other two pirates were jumping up and down and saying things about carl that were far from complimentary. the dutch boy tried to dodge the cutlass, but failed. it struck him squarely across the throat, and, had it been a thing of steel, would have separated his head from the rest of his body. but the cutlass was made of lath, covered with tinfoil, and broke as it fell. "he's ruined the films!" howled the man at the photograph instrument. "sic him, tige!" cried another, who was standing beside him. a brindle bulldog, which carl had not seen until that moment, gave a yip and started for the scene of the trouble. "vat's der madder, anyvays?" demanded carl, convinced by the young lady's manner that she did not want to be rescued. "moving pictures, you dutch idiot!" yelped the leader of the pirates. "if you'd had any sense you'd have known that without being told. now we've got to do it all over again! take him, tige!" the bulldog was hurling himself across the sand like a thunderbolt, and he was making straight for carl. neither the girl nor the pirates showed any inclination to stop the dog; on the contrary, they appeared to derive considerable satisfaction from the prospect of his getting close enough to use his teeth on the dutch boy. carl was perfectly willing to face any number of pirates in order to rescue a beautiful maiden in distress, but he drew the line at coming company front with a vicious bulldog. when a person wears nothing but a bathing suit his means of offense and defense are naturally limited. since carl could not help the girl, he made up his mind to do what he could to help himself. whirling about, he laid himself out in the direction of the steel pier, the bulldog in hot pursuit and gaining on him at every jump. everybody, except the moving-picture people, was laughing. and excepting carl. there was nothing especially amusing in the situation for him. the italian with the pushcart was haw-hawing and holding his sides. a boy, using his legs to get away from a dog, was something he could understand, and it pleased him. carl did not have time to go around the cart, so he ducked under it. the dog ducked after him. carl had seen how the italian was enjoying himself, and he resented it. by rising up under the cart carl could overturn it, thus dropping a lot of buns and "red-hots" on the dog and possibly stopping the pursuit. carl did not stop to debate the matter--he hadn't time--but rose up, thus sending the cart over upon the dog. the italian had been cooking the "red-hots" on a steel plate. the plate, of course, was hot, and it struck the dog. there came a yelp of pain, and the dog tore out from under the cart and hustled back toward the photograph instrument. the italian had changed his tune. he was not laughing, now, but was prancing around and howling frantically for the police. "sacre diabolo estrito crystal!" he shrieked. "you wreck-a da wag'--you spoil-a da bun, da red-a-hot! polees! me, i like-a keel-a you! polees! polees!" while he yelled, he started angrily toward carl. the dutch boy, whirling the overturned cart around, caused the italian to stumble over it. leaving him to writhe and sputter among the scattered buns and "wienes," carl raced on toward the steel pier. he was flattering himself that he would be able to regain the bathhouse without further molestation, but in this he was mistaken. an officer jumped down from the side of the pier, as he came close to it, and grabbed him by the arm. "not so fast, there!" cried the policeman. "vat's der madder mit you?" wheezed carl. "i don'd vas doing anyt'ing." "oh, no," was the sarcastic response, "you wasn't doing a thing! what did you kick over that dago's cart for?" "dose fellers hat set a dog on me!" cried carl. "ditn't you see der dog?" just then the italian, two of the pirates and one of the men with the photographic apparatus, hurried up, all in a crowd. "pinch-a heem!" fumed the italian; "he make-a plenty da troub'!" "he's the original buttinsky," scowled the picture man. "he pushed into that moving picture, spoiled a lot of film and made it necessary for us to do our work all over." "he's the prize idiot, all right!" clamored one of the pirates. "what's the matter, here?" demanded a voice, as a youth pushed into the crowd and ranged himself at the dutch boy's side. "what's the matter, carl?" "modor matt!" exclaimed carl, gripping the newcomer's arm. "you haf arrifed py der nick oof time, like alvays! now, den," and here carl faced the others belligerently, "my bard has come, und you vill haf to make some oxblanadions. vat haf you got to say for yourselufs?" chapter ii. the moving-picture man makes a queer move. a little farther along the beach, and well out of the way of high tide, four heavy posts had been planted in the sand. this was the mooring-place for the "hawk," the famous air ship belonging to matt and dick ferral, and which the three chums had brought from south chicago. the boys had had the hawk in atlantic city for two weeks, making four flights every day except on sunday, or on days when high winds or stormy weather prevailed. there had been only one stormy day when it had been found necessary to house the hawk under the roof of one of the piers, and only one other day when the wind had been so strong as to make an ascent too risky. four passengers were carried aloft in each flight. six persons were all matt thought advisable to take up in the air ship, and of course he had to go along to take charge of the motor, and with him went either dick or carl to act as lookout and "crew." a charge of $ was made for each passenger, and the flights had so captured the fancy of wealthy resorters that the boys had advance "bookings" that promised to keep them in atlantic city all the summer. with $ a day coming in, and a very small outgo for expenses, the chums were making money hand over fist. on the afternoon when carl was taking his dip in the ocean, and incidentally spoiling films for the moving-picture people, matt and dick, with their usual four passengers, had been making their last flight of the day over absecon island and the eastern coast of new jersey. one of the passengers on that trip was a mr. archibald townsend, of philadelphia. passengers always showed a great interest in the air ship, but mr. townsend had shown more curiosity and had asked more questions than any of the others. as matt and dick were bringing the hawk down to the beach, they had witnessed the overturning of the italian's "red-hot" outfit, and had seen carl get clear of the wreck and race on toward the steel pier. leaving dick to make the air ship secure in her berth, matt had tumbled out of the car and hurried after carl. as we have already seen, the young motorist reached his dutch chum just as the officer had laid hold of him. the officer's name was mcmillan, and he was arrogant and officious to a degree. he had been on duty along that part of the board walk ever since the chums had reached atlantic city, and he had interfered with their operations to such an extent that matt had found it necessary, on one occasion, to report him. on this account, mcmillan was not very amiably disposed toward the young motorist and his friends. "i don't care who this fellow is," growled the officer, nodding his head toward carl, "no one can come here an' raise hob on the beach without bein' jugged for it. i saw what happened. the dutchman knocked over the dago's cart." "dot feller," and here carl pointed to the moving-picture man, "set der dog on me. oof i hatn't knocked ofer der cart, der dog vould haf got me sure. vat pitzness he got setting der dog on me, hey? he iss to plame, yah, dot's righdt." "what did you want to butt into our picture for?" demanded the photographer. "how i know you vas daking some mooting bictures?" demanded carl. "i see dot young laty on der peach, und she vas in some greadt drouples; den i see dem birate fellers in der poat, going afder her, und nopody vould run mit demselufs to der resgue. den i go. you bed my life, no laty vat iss in tisdress can be dot vay ven i vas aroundt." "we'll have to do our work all over again to-morrow afternoon," went on the moving-picture man, "and i have to pay these actors more money for another afternoon's work." "how much will that be?" asked matt, who saw very clearly that carl had made a mistake and was in the wrong. "there are six of 'em," replied the photographer, "and i pay them ten dollars apiece." "that makes sixty dollars," said matt, "and i'll----" "just a minute, king." it was mr. townsend who spoke. he had hurried toward the scene of the dispute and had arrived in time to hear the moving-picture man's explanation and matt's offer to foot the bill. "this fellow's name is jurgens," continued mr. townsend. "he comes from philadelphia, and i happen to know that he gives these actors five dollars apiece for their work. if you give him just half of what he asks, king, you will be treating him fairly." jurgens glared at townsend. "what business have you got interfering here?" he asked, angrily. "i am merely interfering in the interests of justice, that's all," replied townsend, coolly, "and because i think you an all-around scoundrel, jurgens. you and i have had some dealings already, you remember." a black scowl crossed jurgens' face. "and our dealings are not finished yet, by a long shot," returned jurgens. townsend tossed his hands contemptuously and turned his back on the photographer. "i'll have my sixty dollars," cried jurgens, to matt, "or there'll be trouble." "you'll take thirty," said matt, taking some money from his pocket and offering it, "and not a cent more." jurgens struck aside the hand fiercely. "this dago is the boy that interests me," said the officer. "he's a poor man an' can't afford to have his stock in trade ruined by that dutch lobster." at this, carl fired up. "who you vas galling a dutch lopsder?" he demanded, moving truculently in the direction of mcmillan. "you!" snorted the officer, dropping a hand on his club. carl let fly with his fist. matt grabbed the arm just in time to counter the blow. "that's your game is it?" growled mcmillan, jerking the club from his belt. "i'll take care of you, my buck! come along to the station with me!" "wait a minute, officer," said matt. "stop making a fool of yourself, carl," he added to his dutch chum. "you made a mistake at the start-off, but that was no reason jurgens should have set the dog on you. as for the italian," and here matt faced the officer again, "i'll pay him for the damage he has suffered." "fifty cents will probably settle that," laughed townsend, "so if you throw him a five, king, he will be glad the accident happened." one of the bank notes jurgens had refused matt now gave the italian. his grieved look at once faded into an expansive grin, and he grabbed the money, thanked matt in explosive italian and ran back toward his overturned cart. "that lets the dago out," said the officer, grimly, "but it don't let the dutchman out, not by a jugful. he'll get a fine, and if jurgens here wants to prefer charges----" "i do," snapped jurgens. "if i don't get that sixty dollars i'll make it hot for all these balloonists. that's the kind of a duck i am." "i know what kind of a duck you are, jurgens," said townsend, sternly, "and if you know when you're well off, you'll leave motor matt and his friends alone." "sixty dollars," cried jurgens, hotly, "and this gang can take it or leave it." "you go with me," declared mcmillan, twisting his left hand in the collar of carl's bathing suit. "nonsense, officer!" said townsend. "you're making a mountain out of a molehill. let the boy alone." "i know my business," snarled the officer, "an' i don't have to have strangers blow in here an' tell me what to do." he took a step toward the board walk, jerking carl along after him. "i'm not a stranger in atlantic city, officer," went on townsend. "in fact, i'm very well acquainted with the chief of police here. just a second until i show you my card." the potent name of the chief brought mcmillan to a halt. he had been reported once, and if a man who had influence reported him again, there might be a vacancy in the force. "all i want is to do what's right," he mumbled. townsend had reached into his pocket and drawn out a handful of papers. while he was going over them, looking for his professional card, jurgens made a lightning-like move. it was a most peculiar move and, for a moment, took everybody by surprise. throwing himself forward, jurgens snatched a long, folded paper from among those townsend held in his hands. quick as a wink jurgens whirled, dashed for the steps leading up to the board walk and was away like a deer. "stop him, officer!" shouted townsend. "that's the kind of a man he is! stop him!" mcmillan now saw that a real emergency confronted him. releasing carl, he rushed away on the trail of the thieving jurgens. motor matt, however, had kept his wits, and he was halfway to the steps before the officer had started. when the young motorist bounded to the board walk, jurgens was tearing through the crowd. "stop, thief! stop, thief!" yelled matt. there were so many people thronging that part of the board walk that it seemed an easy enough matter to halt the rascally photographer. yet, strange as it may seem, this was not the case. men, who were escorting ladies and children, made haste to get them out of the way; others, who had no one depending on them, seemed bewildered, and pushed out of the way to watch. fortunately, another officer appeared on the other side of the entrance to the pier and headed jurgens off in that direction. turning to the left, jurgens struck the ticket taker out of his path and raced onto the pier. matt followed, not more than a dozen feet behind. the concert was over and, at that moment, there were not many people on the pier, and matt had a straight-away chase through the little pavilions. he felt sure that he would capture jurgens, for when the thief reached the end of the pier, the atlantic ocean would cut short his flight and he would have to turn back. but in this matt was mistaken. jurgens did not run to the end of the pier but climbed over the rail at the side and dropped from sight. when matt reached the rail, he saw that jurgens had dropped into a rowboat, that had been tied to the piles, and was bending to the oars. he shouted a taunting defiance at matt as he continued to put a widening stretch of water between them. at once matt thought of the hawk. in less than five minutes he and ferral could be in the air, following the rowboat wherever it went. with the officers to watch the shore and perhaps pursue jurgens in other boats, matt felt positive that he and dick would be able to overhaul jurgens if other means failed. without loss of a moment, he started back toward the board walk. chapter iii. warm work at the "inlet." some one of the three boys was always on watch near the air ship whenever she was moored. this duty, during the excitement carl had kicked up on the beach, had fallen to dick ferral. dick had made the ropes fast and was sitting in the sand near the car, wondering what all the commotion was about. there was usually a crowd of curious people around the hawk, or staring down at her from the board walk, but now the counter-attraction at the pier had drawn them away, and that part of the beach was deserted. dick had seen matt rush up the steps to the board walk, but the crowd was so thick he had not been able to observe his rush out on the pier. the rowboat, however, had not escaped his attention, and he had watched it pull away from the steel pier and move off toward the heinz pier. thereupon officers began running along the beach. mcmillan kept abreast of the rowboat on the shore, and another man ran toward the heinz pier, with the evident intention of catching the man in the boat if he tried to land there. presently matt came dashing up, and dick sprang to his feet. he could tell by his chum's manner that he was some way involved in the excitement. "what's going on, mate?" asked dick. "cast off the ropes, dick!" called matt, leaping to the cable nearest him. "we've got to overhaul that man in the boat, and capture him--if we can." "what's he been doing?" as he put the question dick was working at one of the other cables. "i'll tell you when we're in the air, dick," rejoined matt. "carl butted into a moving picture, and a whole lot of trouble has come from it." while dick was casting off the last rope and heaving it aboard, matt jumped into the car and got the motor going. by the time dick was in the car with him, matt switched the power into the propeller, tilted the steering rudder so as to carry the hawk upward and seaward, and they were off. "keep your eye on the boat, dick," called matt, "and let me know just where she is all the time." "just now, matey," dick answered, from the lookout station forward, "the boat's doubling the end of the heinz pier." "the rascal will not land there. he knows the police will be waiting for him. i don't see how it's possible for him to get away, with the whole shore line patrolled." "what's he done? keelhaul me if i haven't been trying to guess that for the last ten minutes." "as i told you, carl got into a moving picture. some men were taking a picture on the beach, and carl, seeing a young woman--as he thought--in distress, tried to save her from pirates. the gang set a dog on him, and in getting away from the dog, our pard upset a dago's pushcart. an officer had carl, when i got over close to the pier, and the picture people and the dago were making it hot for him. i guess they'd have jailed carl if it hadn't been for mr. townsend----" "the townsend we had with us on the last trip?" "yes. townsend knew the picture man, and from the way he talked i guess he don't know much good of him. anyhow, while townsend was looking through some documents he had taken from his pocket, the picture man--jurgens by name--grabbed a paper and made off with it. great spark plugs! i never saw a more brazen piece of work. i chased jurgens out on the steel pier, but he got away from me by taking to a rowboat that was moored there." ferral laughed. the idea of carl mistaking what was going on and trying to save a girl from pirates, there in that fashionable resort, was too much for him. temporarily he lost sight of the graver aspects of the affair. even matt grinned at the spectacle the dutch boy, in his bathing suit, must have made, battling with pirates to save a girl who did not want to be saved. "this thing has got a mighty serious side to it, dick," said matt, suddenly sobering. "i haven't the least notion what that paper was that jurgens grabbed, but it must have been an important document. and townsend lost it while trying to help carl and me. that puts it up to us, dick, to help him get it back." "right-o!" returned ferral. "there's a boat putting off from the heinz pier. mcmillan's in it and two men are breaking their backs at the oars. they'll get this jurgens swab, if i'm any prophet. they're going about two fathoms to jurgens' one." "how's jurgens heading?" "for the open sea. he's struck rough water just over the bar from the inlet, and his boat's on end about half the time. if one of those combers hits him broadside on, he'll go to the sharks, paper and all." "what's his notion for heading out into the ocean, i wonder?" "strike me lucky!" exclaimed ferral. "why, he's making for a sailboat, and the craft is laying to to take him aboard." "what's the name of the boat? can you make it out?" the sun was down and shadows were settling over the water. enough light remained, though, for the sharp eyes of ferral to read the name on the sailboat's stern. "she's the _crescent_," he announced, "and one of the boats that berth in the inlet. there! listen to that!" the crack of a revolver echoed up to matt and carl above the surge of the breakers. "who's doing the shooting, dick?" asked matt. "mcmillan. he sent a bullet across the _crescent's_ bows. that's an order for her to keep lying to until mcmillan can come aboard. they're just taking jurgens out of the boat and making the boat's painter fast. ah!" there was excitement in ferral's voice as he went on. "the skipper of the _crescent_ isn't obeying orders, but is going on out to sea. i'll bet mcmillan is as mad as a cannibal. there he goes, blazing away at the _crescent_--but he might as well throw his bullets into the air." "the _crescent_ will be called to account for that!" exclaimed matt. "mcmillan is pulling back to the pier," proceeded dick, watching below. "what are we to do now, matey? we'd have had considerable trouble taking jurgens off the rowboat, and it's a cinch we can't get him off that other craft." "we'll follow the _crescent_ for a while," said the young motorist, "and see where she goes. possibly she'll try to land jurgens at some point on the mainland. if she does, we'll drop down there and do what we can to capture him." for more than an hour the _crescent_ steered straight out into the ocean, the hawk hovering above her. the sailboat was not putting out any lights, and the growing darkness rendered it impossible for matt or dick to see any one aboard her. they could hear voices, however, for sounds on the earth's surface are always wonderfully distinct to people in balloons or other air craft. at the end of an hour and a half the _crescent_ put about. the hawk followed the sailboat as far as the channel leading through the bar at the entrance to the inlet. having made sure that the sailboat would return to her usual berth, the boys headed their air ship for the beach. "i guess mcmillan will be on the lookout for the _crescent_, dick," said matt, "but we ought to make sure that jurgens don't get away. i believe i'll get out of the hawk, close to the inlet, and leave you to take the air ship back to her moorings." "i can do that all right, messmate," answered dick. there was plenty of room for landing, and when the hawk had been brought within a couple of feet of the ground matt dropped over the rail and ferral took his seat among the levers. as matt hurried to the board walk, and on to the wharf at the inlet, he looked around him for some officer whom he could pick up and take along with him. there was no officer in sight, however. it was the dinner hour at the big hotels, and promenaders had nearly all deserted the ocean front. a dozen or more sailboats were heaving to the swell and knocking against the wharf at the inlet, but only a few of the men belonging with them were on the wharf itself. "can you tell me where the _crescent_ is?" matt asked of a man leaning against an electric-light pole. "jest seen 'er standin' in," was the reply. "she ought to be at the end of the wharf by this time." "is that where she lies when she's tied up?" "yes." thinking that surely he would find mcmillan, or some other officer, at the end of the wharf, ready to deal with jurgens the moment he tried to come ashore, matt hurried on. the _crescent_ had just warped into her berth. a man on the wharf was making her cable fast. under the electric light matt could see a group of three or four men in the cockpit of the little sailing craft. at about the same moment, a figure lurched forward from behind a barrel that stood on the wharf. the gleam of a star on the coat informed matt that the man was an officer. "hello, there!" the young motorist called to the group in the cockpit. "where's that man you picked up off the heinz pier?" two of the men climbed to the side of the _crescent_ and jumped to the wharf planks. neither of them was jurgens. "you've got us guessin', friend," said one of the men. "not much i haven't," answered matt, stoutly. "i was one of those in the air ship and i saw you pick up jurgens." "you've got him, all right," put in the officer. "he's a thief, and i'm here to arrest him. the _crescent_ is liable to get herself into hot water by this afternoon's work." the officer was not mcmillan. while he spoke, he started for the edge of the wharf with the apparent intention of getting into the sailboat and making a search. "hold up a minute, officer," called the man from the _crescent_, pulling off his coat. the officer halted, and turned. at that instant, matt saw the fellow who had been making the boat's cables fast to the posts, creeping toward the officer from behind. "look out, there!" he yelled. "one of those men is after you from the rear! they're trying to----" matt's words were cut short. while he was speaking, the man from the _crescent_ had whirled suddenly and thrown the coat over his head. matt had a fleeting glimpse of the officer, crumpling to the wharf under a vicious blow from behind, and then his own head was encompassed in the smothering folds of the coat and he was thrown struggling to the planks. chapter iv. prisoners on a submarine. motor matt fought in vain to free himself. at least two men had laid hold of him, and the coat was kept drawn tightly over his face and head to prevent outcry. in this condition he was picked up, carried some distance along the wharf and finally laid down on his face while his hands were lashed at his back and his feet tied. then, perfectly helpless and unable to see where he was being taken, he felt himself lifted and lowered. after a moment he was lifted and lowered again, this time, as he surmised, through a narrow hatch, for he felt the sides of the aperture striking his arms and shoulders as he went down. presently he landed on a hard deck, and was again carried a short distance. here, when he was finally laid down, the coat was whisked from his face and he found himself in the blinding glare of an electric light. retreating footsteps came to him, followed by the slamming of a door. as soon as his eyes had become used to the glow of the light, he discovered that he was in a small room with a curved iron deck overhead. an incandescent lamp was screwed into one of the walls, and there was a door in each bulkhead at the ends of the room. matt was bewildered by what had recently happened to him. had the crew of the _crescent_ resorted to violence in order to save jurgens from capture? the law would take hold of the men good and hard for resisting an officer. as matt figured it, he had been brought aboard the sailboat. but what would his captors have to gain by a move of that kind? mcmillan knew what the men on the _crescent_ had done for jurgens, and it was a fair inference that the officer would soon pay the craft a visit, himself. what put matt in a quandary, however, was the fact that he could not reconcile his present surroundings with the _crescent_. he was in an armor-plated room, and the sailboat was a small wooden vessel, and was hardly fitted with such a cabin as that to which the prisoner had been taken. while matt was wondering about this, a door in one of the bulkheads opened and another prisoner was carried in by two men and laid down beside him. this second captive likewise had his head smothered in a coat, but the blue uniform told matt plainly he was the policeman. the officer was bound, just as matt was, and as soon as he was laid down the coat was jerked away and the two who had brought him into the room started out. "wait!" called matt, his voice ringing strangely between the steel walls. "what do you mean by making prisoners of us, like this?" one of the men looked around and laughed grimly, but he made no other reply. the next moment the door had closed, and matt and the officer were alone together. "here's a pretty how-de-do," fumed the officer. "these villains are goin' a good ways in their attempt to help that thief, jurgens! somebody'll smart for all this." "those men on the _crescent_ are foolish," said matt. "it won't be long before mcmillan gets us out of here." "i don't know about that," was the answer. "mebby it won't be so easy as you think for mcmillan to get us away from these scoundrels." "where is mcmillan? do you know?" "he was on the wharf with me, just before the _crescent_ got in. he thought him and me wasn't enough to get jurgens off the boat, and so he went after another officer. you're motor matt, who's been making ascensions in that air ship---- i've seen you a good many times on the beach. my name's holcomb." "where do you think we are, holcomb?" matt asked. "it can't be we're on the _crescent_." "sure not. looks to me as though we had been brought aboard captain nemo, jr.'s boat, the _grampus_. she bobbed up at the inlet wharf yesterday. i'm on night duty at the inlet, and i seen her last night." "the _grampus_?" echoed matt. "she must be an ironclad." "she's more'n that, motor matt. she's a submarine." "a submarine! i haven't heard of such a boat being in atlantic city." "it ain't gen'rally known, i guess. captain nemo, jr., is a queer sort of a fish, and he's invented a boat that he claims is a little better than any other under-water boat that was ever built. i talked with him on the wharf, last night. who the cap'n is, nobody knows, and he hides himself under the name of nemo, jr. he talked straight enough, and fair enough, and allowed he was keeping quiet so as not to let reporters and other curious people bother him while he was in atlantic city. it was your air ship that caused him to come here." "the air ship?" queried matt, more and more mystified. "that's what he told me. everything in the line of inventions, he says, interests him, especially if the inventions have anything to do with gasoline motors. this boat is run by a motor of that kind. nemo, jr., said he was goin' to take a fly with you to-day." "i guess he didn't, then. no man by that name went up with us. but the point that's bothering me is, holcomb, why were we brought here?" "to save jurgens, the movin'-picture man." "how'll that save him?" at that point the explosions of an engine getting to work echoed sharply through the steel hull of the _grampus_. the whole fabric began to quiver, and muffled, indistinct voices could be heard. immediately there was a perceptible downward movement. "we're sinking!" exclaimed matt. "looks like the scoundrels was takin' us to the bottom," said holcomb grimly. "more'n likely mcmillan has shown up with some more men and is makin' things lively for those on the wharf. the fellows that grabbed us are takin' us below the surface so the officers can't get at us, or jurgens! gadhook it all! captain nemo, jr., didn't seem like a man who'd help out any underhand game like this. i reckon we're in for it, matt. i ain't got any fears but that we'll come out all right in the end, but the outlook is a long ways from bein' pleasant. if nemo, jr., is trying'---- there! i reckon we've hit bottom." holcomb broke off his remarks abruptly. the downward motion of the _grampus_ had ceased with a slight jar. before the two prisoners could talk further, one of the doors opened and jurgens came into the room. he was followed by the man who had climbed out of the _crescent_ and had faced matt on the wharf. closing the door behind them, the two men stood looking grimly down on matt and the officer. "i don't understand what your game is," cried holcomb, angrily, "but if you know when you're well off, you'll set us at liberty, and be quick about it." "you'll get your liberty, all right," said jurgens. "now that i've got hold of what i wanted, i'll not be long pulling out of atlantic city. the moving-picture business can go hang for all of me! i've got a fortune in prospect, and i'll nail it here and now if it's the last thing i ever do." "what do you mean by treating me like this?" demanded matt; "what have i got to do with your plans?" "you and the officer could have upset 'em mighty easy if we hadn't bowled you over and got you out of the way before the rest of those policemen got here." "is captain nemo, jr., helping you in this game you're playing?" queried holcomb. "helping me?" jurgens turned to his companion from the _crescent_ with a husky, ill-omened laugh. "that's pretty good, eh, whistler?" "the best ever," answered whistler, echoing the laugh. "townsend has helped me to the extent of furnishin' something i'd about given up laying my hands on," went on jurgens, again turning his eyes on matt and the officer. "i want you two to tell him that i'm off for the bahamas, and that he'll have to get up in the morning if he beats lat jurgens." "townsend?" queried matt. "yes," scowled the other, "townsend. that's the name he uses when he's ashore. when he's afloat, he's captain nemo, jr." matt was astounded. "have you stolen this submarine, jurgens," he asked, "as well as that paper that----" "you know all you're goin' to," interrupted jurgens. turning to whistler he added: "cut the boy loose and make him strip. it's time we got rid of him and the policeman and cleared out of here. we're a fathom under water, but townsend may think of some way to get at us if we stay here too long." whistler bent over matt and removed the ropes. "you're going to put us ashore?" asked matt, getting to his feet and stretching his benumbed limbs. "we're goin' to send you to the surface, and you'll have to attend to gettin' ashore yourselves. can you swim?" matt nodded. "i can't," said holcomb. "well," went on jurgens, "i don't want to drown you, but the _grampus_ can't go to the surface just to let you off. you say you can swim," and he turned to matt. "you'll come up not far from the wharf, and ten to one you'll find quite a lot of people on the wharf. as soon as they pull you in, you tell them to get out a small boat and lay to in her half a fathom off the end of the pier. that's where the officer will come up, and you can fish him in out of the wet. now, strip." "why am i to do that?" demanded matt. "because you'll be able to swim easier with your clothes off." "i'll not take them off. if we're still alongside the wharf, i can make it without removing my clothes. how are you going to send me to the surface?" "come on and i'll show you. drop in behind him, whistler, and hold a gun ready in case he tries any foolishness." jurgens turned and opened the door through which he and his companion had just come. matt followed him through the door, whistler bringing up the rear with a drawn weapon. matt was bewildered by the trend of recent events. the quickest way for getting at the nub of the difficulty was by finding townsend, otherwise captain nemo, jr., and hearing what he had to say. but how was matt to be sent to the surface? that was the point which, just then, was causing him the most wonder. chapter v. through the torpedo tube. motor matt was conducted along a narrow steel corridor. two or three ruffianly looking men were passed. they were all in greasy overclothes and paid the prisoners little attention. a door finally admitted matt and the two with him into a chamber in the very bow of the boat. here there were a couple of torpedo tubes, although, so far as matt could see, there were no torpedoes. "we'll put him out of the starboard tube," said jurgens. "close the bow port, whistler, and blow the water out of the tube. i'll take the gun while you're busy." whistler handed over the revolver and pulled a lever at the side of the chamber. matt could hear a muffled sound as the port closed. thereupon whistler, by means of another lever, turned compressed air into the tube, and there came a stifled swishing sound as the water was ejected. finally the sound ceased, and whistler opened the breech door and stepped back. the cavernous tube yawned blackly under matt's eyes. he was a lad of grit and determination, but such an experience as he was about to pass through would have shaken even stronger nerves than his. "take me to the surface," said matt, "and let me out of the submarine by way of the deck!" "and mebby get spotted and captured ourselves, eh?" answered jurgens. "not much! here's the way you're going to get out if you get out at all." "what did you bring holcomb and me into the submarine for? why didn't you leave us on the wharf?" "it would have been too easy for you to tip us off to the other officers. we needed a little time to get the _grampus_ submerged. i don't care how much you tip us off now. we'll not come to the surface again until we're well off cape may." jurgens snapped his fingers. "that for townsend!" he added, defiantly; "let him catch me if he can." "you seem to know as much about submarines as you do about moving pictures," remarked matt, caustically. "i know a good deal about a lot of things, and i've found the knowledge mighty handy a lot of times. if you're ready, squeeze into the tube. we haven't much time to spare." "but----" "get in, i tell you!" and jurgens waved the revolver threateningly. "there's not much danger, but you'd better put your fingers over your ears in order to save your ear drums. the pressure of the air that shoots you out of the tube is rather heavy. but i'd advise you to take off your clothes." matt saw that it was useless to argue with jurgens or whistler. the two men had some desperate scheme at the back of their heads and they were not resorting to any halfway measures in carrying it out. pulling his cap well down on his head, matt squeezed into the dark tube. "ready?" called jurgens. "yes," answered matt, almost stifled, pushing his hands against his ears. "take a long breath--we're going to close the breech door." the young motorist breathed deeply, and the next moment there was a clang as the breech was closed. instantly there followed a grinding sound as the outer port was opened. the chilling water rushed in. for the space of a heart beat matt felt the water submerging his cramped body and filling the full length of the tube. two or three ticks of a watch would have told the duration of the experience, but to matt it seemed like an eternity. then there came a shock that nearly made him unconscious. he thought he was being torn limb from limb by the rushing air. in a twinkling--so swiftly that he scarcely realized it--he was shot from the end of the tube and into the water. he was a fraction of a second in getting control of his limbs; after that, he began kicking and using his hands to propel himself upward. half stunned he came to the surface, and the lights of the wharf swam in his watery eyes. he gasped for breath and then sent up a thrilling cry for help. the difficulty of keeping himself afloat, with all his water-soaked clothing to hold him down, was a good deal greater than he had thought it would be. to his great relief, above the roaring in his ears he heard sounds of running feet on the wharf, and excited voices shouting something he could not understand. there was a splash beside him. instinctively he threw out his hands and grasped a rope. "all right?" cried a voice from the wharf. "yes," he answered. then those on the wharf began pulling him in and soon had him, dripping and spent, on the planks. "where's holcomb?" matt made out mcmillan's face bending over him. the question caused the young motorist suddenly to remember that there was something yet to be done for holcomb. "get out a boat," said matt, "and lay to about a fathom off the end of the pier. holcomb is coming up--and he can't swim." "coming up?" repeated mcmillan, blankly. "yes; they're going to shoot him out of the torpedo tube, just as they did me." "great guns! can they do that? it ain't possible that----" "don't stand there talking, mcmillan," put in another voice. "matt has told you what to do, so go ahead and do it. the scoundrels can use the torpedo tube to get rid of holcomb, and if holcomb can't swim he'll be in plenty of danger. find your boat and get her off the end of the pier. lively, now!" the speaker, as mcmillan dashed away, came closer to matt. it was archibald townsend. "you've had a rough experience, my lad," said townsend. "how do you feel?" "a little dizzy," replied matt. he peered around him. they were alone under the electric light, all the others on the wharf having gone with mcmillan to help in the rescue of holcomb. "i don't wonder," rejoined townsend. "being slammed through a torpedo tube isn't a very pleasant experience." "do you call yourself captain nemo, jr., when you're afloat in the submarine, mr. townsend?" asked matt. "jurgens has been talking with you, i see," went on townsend. "well, he's given it to you pretty straight, scoundrel though he is and with small regard for the truth. yes, i'm captain nemo, jr., of the submarine _grampus_. and jurgens has stolen my boat and captured two of my men! losing the boat and that paper makes this a hard-luck story for me." "can't you get back the boat in some way?" queried matt, his excitement growing as his brain cleared and strength returned to him. "if jurgens would bring the _grampus_ to the surface i might have some chance, but it's impossible if he keeps her below." "she's lying right off the pier, just below the spot where she was moored." "she might as well be a thousand miles away so far as my ability to recover her is concerned. my only hope just now is that the men working for me, who were captured when jurgens stole the boat, may be able to turn on their captors and get the _grampus_ back in their hands." "jurgens told me to tell you that he was off for the bahamas, and that you'll have to get up in the morning if you beat him." a frown crossed townsend's face. "i knew very well that was where he was going," said the owner of the _grampus_. "had the paper he took from you," queried matt, "anything to do with his trip to the bahamas?" "everything. i can hardly understand how the theft of that chart, and of the boat, happened to come in so pat for jurgens. but i'm going to tell you more about the chart later, matt. just now you're as wet as a drowned rat and must want to get back to your hotel and put on some dry clothes." "i want to make sure, before i leave the inlet," returned matt, "that mcmillan and the others succeed in rescuing holcomb." "this way, then," said townsend, starting along the wharf; "i'll go with you. after we see holcomb landed, i'll go with you to the hotel and broach a subject that just popped into my mind." on reaching the end of the pier it was evident to matt and townsend that holcomb had just come to the surface. a sharp cry of command came from some one in the rowboat and the craft could be seen moving swiftly away toward the right. matt's keen eyes detected a black spot on the water, but before the boat could reach it the spot had disappeared. "he's gone down!" gasped matt. "if jurgens' scheme has caused holcomb to lose his life, the prospect will look pretty dark for him." "jurgens is bound to come to some bad end," declared townsend. "i've known him for two or three years, and he has always been crafty and unscrupulous. but i don't think he'll ever hang for the drowning of holcomb. if my eyes show the situation clearly, holcomb has just come to the surface again--and those in the boat have got hold of him." this was the way it appeared to matt, and that both he and townsend were correct was presently proved by the rowboat turning back in the direction of the wharf. "did you get him, mcmillan?" called townsend, as the boat came close. "yes," was the officer's response. "he's full of water, and unconscious, but there's plenty of life in him. we'll have him all right in a brace of shakes." holcomb, in nothing but his underclothes, was lifted to the pier. the men in the boat climbed after him, and he was rolled and prodded until he was able to open his eyes and speak. "that's enough for us, matt," said townsend. "let's go to your hotel. the idea that darted into my mind a little while ago is growing on me, and i'd like to put it up to you and hear what you think about it." matt, wet and uncomfortable, was also anxious to get to his hotel. not only that, but he was curious to learn what it was that townsend, otherwise captain nemo, jr., had on his mind. chapter vi. the cape town mystery. on their way to the hotel, matt and townsend met dick ferral. carl, after exchanging his bathing suit for every-day clothes, had wandered about looking for matt, and had only just come to the air ship to relieve ferral. in a few words matt told his chum what had happened, and ferral accompanied matt and townsend to the hotel. "you and matt own the hawk together, don't you, ferral?" townsend had asked. "that's the way of it," ferral had answered. "then i want to talk with the two of you." these remarks merely served to whet the curiosity of the two boys. on reaching the hotel, the three repaired at once to the boys' room, and after matt had got into some dry clothing and all were seated comfortably, townsend plunged at once into the subject that lay nearest his mind. "it is clear to me," said he, "that jurgens mixed up in this moving-picture business just for a 'blind.' he must have heard that i was coming to atlantic city for a look at your air ship, king, and have laid his plans for the capture of the submarine. the _grampus_, as near as i can figure out, was captured by confederates of jurgens' while i was in the air with you. jurgens had no idea that he would be able to secure that paper from me direct, but probably hoped to find it in the _grampus_, or to take it from me when i returned to the submarine after that flight in the hawk." "if jurgens' men captured the _grampus_ while you were in the air with us, mr. townsend," said matt, "the capture must have been effected in broad daylight, while the inlet was alive with sailing craft. would that have been possible?" "easily possible. the _grampus_ is a steel shell, you know, and what takes place aboard of her cannot be seen by any one on the outside. the skipper of the _crescent_ happened to be a friend of jurgens', and the _crescent_ happened to be handily by to pick jurgens out of the rowboat. we'll know more about that part of it as soon as mcmillan investigates and reports. just now, the point for us to remember is that luck has been with jurgens. his men captured the submarine, jurgens captured the paper, and the _crescent_, with her skipper and crew, helped jurgens and his clique to foil the ends of right and justice." townsend paused. he was a man of fifty-five or sixty, with gray mustache and gray hair, but with alert and piercing black eyes. his looks and manner were such as to inspire confidence, and both matt and dick felt that he was to be trusted implicitly. "but why has jurgens gone to all this trouble?" inquired matt. "he has made himself a thief and a fugitive, and what does he hope to gain by it?" "ah," returned townsend, "now you are touching upon the mystery of the man from cape town. i shall have to tell you about that before you can get any clear understanding of what jurgens has done. "nearly a year ago a ragged specimen of a man stopped me at the corner of broad and chestnut streets, philadelphia, and asked if i wasn't the man named townsend who had invented and was then building a new submarine which was to have a cruising radius of several thousand miles. i told him that i was. thereupon the stranger informed me that he was the man from cape town, and that he wanted to borrow a dollar. "the man from cape town was very different from your ordinary beggar, and i handed him the dollar. thereupon he took a folded paper from his coat, gave it to me, and asked me to keep it for him. he declared, gravely enough, that the paper was worth a fortune, and that when my submarine was completed, we would go in her to the place where the fortune had been tucked away, find it and divide it between us. "that sort of talk led me to look upon the man from cape town as a harmless lunatic. i discovered that the paper was a chart of the bahama islands, and that it gave the latitude and longitude of a particular island, together with other information necessary for the finding of what purported to be an iron chest. "this chart i looked upon as rank moonshine, and tucked it away in a pigeonhole of my desk. months passed, and i had almost forgotten the man from cape town, his chart and his iron chest, when something occurred to bring the entire matter prominently to my mind. "a night watchman at the yard where i was building the _grampus_ found a man going through my desk at midnight. when the fellow was captured, he was just getting away with a paper which he had abstracted from one of the pigeonholes. that paper was the chart, and the would-be thief was--jurgens, lattimer jurgens. "jurgens had been a workman in the shipyard, but had been discharged for incompetency. while at the yard i presume he learned, in some manner known only to himself, that i had possession of the chart, that it was in my desk, and that it purported to locate a fortune. "while jurgens' attempted theft recalled the chart to my mind, it did not add anything to its importance in my estimation, for jurgens was just the sort of man to take stock in such wild yarns about hidden treasure; however, in order to keep the chart from being stolen, i put it away in the office safe. as for jurgens, i let him go with a warning. "about three weeks after that i was called hurriedly to one of the city hospitals. there i found the man from cape town, a total wreck and lying at the point of death. he had strength enough left to insist that the iron chest contained a fortune, and he made me promise to start for the bahamas as soon as the _grampus_ was finished, find the chest, and then take it to his daughter, who lived in new orleans, open it in her presence, and divide the contents equally. "i still considered the unknown as the subject of delusions; but, as i should want to try out the _grampus_ on a long cruise as soon as she was completed, i agreed to carry out the man's request. he died blessing me so fervently that i was a little ashamed of myself for not having more faith in his story. "a few days, perhaps a week, later, jurgens came to see me. he declared that the man from cape town had been his brother, and that the chest, now that his brother was dead, belonged to him. i asked jurgens where the chest came from, what it contained, and how it had happened to be cached in the bahamas. these questions he could not answer. i had been fairly sure, all along, that jurgens was not telling the truth, and his lack of information made me positive of it. i declined to give him the chart, or to treat with him in any way regarding it. thereupon jurgens left me, vowing vengeance, and asserting that, by hook or crook, he would obtain what he was pleased to call, his 'rights.' "some time later, when the _grampus_ was ready for sea, i shipped my crew and tried the boat out, up and down the delaware. the trials resulted in a few changes to the machinery, and when the submarine was finally in shape, i made her ready for the trip to the bahamas. the day we were to start, i read a column or more about the hawk, and what you lads were doing here in atlantic city. i have always been interested in air ships quite as much as in submarines, so i decided to come to atlantic city and have a look at the hawk before going to the bahamas. "at that time, i know positively that jurgens was in this resort, making moving pictures for a firm in chicago. some one in his service must have telegraphed him of my change of plan, thus enabling him to lay his schemes to capture the _grampus_. i tried to keep my movements as secret as possible, but it is certain that they leaked out. "on leaving the _grampus_ to visit the beach, this afternoon, three trusty men were in charge of the submarine. the officer on duty at the inlet wharf says that three men came there and claimed to have a letter from me to the man in charge of the _grampus_; that the letter was opened by cassidy, the machinist in charge of the boat, and that the men were admitted below decks. that, undoubtedly, is when the capture took place. "as i said before, it is my belief that jurgens either hoped to find the chart concealed in the _grampus_, or else to capture me on my return from the beach and take the chart by force. events worked the scheme out differently, and the chart was snatched from my hands while i was going over the papers i had taken from my pocket. now, the chart is gone, and the _grampus_ is gone." townsend relapsed into silence, his keen eyes leveled on motor matt's face. the faces of matt and ferral, at that moment, were a study. it was a strange story they had heard, but that it was a true story they did not for a moment doubt. "how much are you making, here in atlantic city?" townsend asked abruptly. matt told him, wondering what that had to do with the matter. "you understand," townsend went on, "that my interest is wholly in the _grampus_. i must recover the boat. it is a fair surmise that jurgens, and those with him, will lay a course for that particular island in the bahamas. i have that chart, and all the other information contained in it, as clearly in my mind as though the paper itself was before my eyes. furthermore, i questioned you so thoroughly about the hawk, while we were in the air this afternoon, that i know the air ship's capabilities. in less than two weeks, motor matt, we could make a round trip to the bahamas in your air ship. what i want is to charter the hawk for two weeks, and to pay you five thousand dollars for the use of the craft. i am rich enough to do this, and my hope is that we will be able to recover the _grampus_. if you boys will agree, i will pay over twenty-five hundred dollars before we start from atlantic city and give you the remainder of the five thousand upon our return." the two chums were thunderstruck. they had not had the least idea of the way townsend's talk was trending. "sink me!" mumbled ferral, "but that sounds like a large order." "not so large, perhaps," returned townsend, "as it seems at first sight." "how long a trip is it?" asked matt, a bit dazed. "perhaps a thousand miles, as the crow flies, or fifteen hundred as we'll have to go. we could follow down the coast line, and then jump across the florida straits to the bahamas. you tell me you can make thirty miles an hour in the hawk, and that you can do even better with favoring winds. say, at a rough estimate, that we make seven hundred miles a day. why, inside of three days we should be where we want to go in the bahamas. if we spend three or four days there, and as much time getting back, ten days ought to see the trip completed." "but if we strike rough weather?" asked matt. "this is the time of year when the weather ought to be at its best. nevertheless, if a stormy day comes, we could alight and wait for the weather to clear. even at that, we ought to be back in atlantic city in two weeks." "it's a good deal of a guess, mr. townsend, as to whether, even if we do find the _grampus_ in the bahamas, you will be able to get her back." "i am staking five thousand on the guess," said townsend, quietly. "you're the right sort of a fellow to make such a venture a success, motor matt, and the proposition i have made you i wouldn't make to every one. what do you say?" matt and dick withdrew for a little talk. they would lose their "advance bookings" for flights in the hawk, but they stood to make a greater profit by this air cruise to the bahamas than they could possibly hope for in atlantic city. "when do you want to start?" matt asked. "we should start in the morning," replied townsend, "as early as possible." "we'll go," said matt. "good!" cried townsend, a gleam of satisfaction darting through his eyes. taking a checkbook and a fountain pen from his pocket, he drew a chair up to the table and wrote for a few moments. "there's your twenty-five hundred," said he, handing the check to matt. "i've made out the check to king & ferral. i'll leave you boys to do the outfitting, and will meet you on the beach, ready for the start, at seven in the morning. good night." with that, townsend shook hands with matt and dick and went away. dick, highly delighted, started in to do a sailor's hornpipe. "twenty-five hundred," he gloried, "and twenty-five hundred more to come. strike me lucky, mate, but we're going to be millionaires if this keeps up." "we've got to earn the money yet, dick," returned matt, "and that cruise to the bahamas will be anything but a picnic." chapter vii. off for the bahamas. next morning matt and dick were astir at three o'clock. the gasoline tank was filled and a reserve supply of fuel taken aboard. the oil supply was also looked after, and rations of food and water were stowed in the car. this accomplished, there was a short flight to the gas works where the bag of the airship was filled to its utmost capacity. the twenty-five hundred dollar check was left with a friend to be deposited, and by six-thirty the hawk and her crew were again on the beach with everything in readiness for a record flight. carl's delight, as soon as he learned what was in prospect, reached a point that made it almost morbid. he was of little use in the outfitting, and ran circles around the hawk trying to do something which either matt or dick was already doing. finally, about six o'clock, matt sent carl to the hotel to get their small amount of personal luggage and to bring a hot breakfast for all hands. at a quarter to seven, when townsend came along the beach, the hurried meal had been finished. the owner of the _grampus_ gave the boys a cheery good morning, and began placing in the car a bundle of maps and charts, and a sextant. "i presume," said he, "that we can figure our course all right by dead reckoning, but in case we find any difficulty about that, the sextant will enable us to determine our exact location. the maps are all of the coast line, and are so complete that i think we shall be able to tell, just from the look of the country over which we are passing, where we are. i have also a barometer, and, as luck will have it, fair weather is indicated. there's a compass, too, wrapped up with the maps, and if you lads have looked after the victualling, i think we are fully equipped for a dash to the bahamas." for townsend's benefit, matt enumerated the stores that had been placed aboard. "you have missed nothing, matt," observed townsend, approvingly, "and i am pleased to see it. if there is nothing else to keep us, we had better cast off and make the start." matt gave townsend his position aboard. dick and carl knew the stations they were to occupy, and after they had released the cables and thrown them into the car, they took up their customary places. matt turned over the engine, which, after a volley of "pops," settled down into steady running order. "south by west, matt," called townsend. "that will start us across delaware bay in the vicinity of cape may." "south by west it is, sir," said matt, adjusting the ascensional and steering rudder to carry the hawk upward and in the direction indicated. at a height of five hundred feet the hawk was brought to an even keel, the racing propeller carrying her through the air at a speed which was slightly better than thirty miles an hour. "fine!" exclaimed townsend, taking a look over the rail and watching absecon island slip away behind them. "we'll eat up the miles, at this pace, and with no stops to make." "but the _grampus_ is also eating up the miles," said matt, "and will probably make no more stops than we do. how fast can she run, mr. townsend?" "she can do fifteen miles submerged, and twenty to twenty-five on the surface." "her course to the bahamas will be more direct than ours." "true enough, but our speed is so much faster that, in spite of the roundabout course we're taking, we'll be able to reach turtle key and be there to receive the _grampus_ when she arrives." "durtle key," put in carl. "dot's vere ve vas going, eh?" "that's where the iron chest is supposed to be, and, of course, that's where the _grampus_ will make for. the bahamas are all of coral formation and are underlaid with many caverns. for the most part, the islands are hollow; and it is in a hollow under turtle key that the man from cape town claimed to have hidden the chest." "iss dere pread fruit und odder dropical t'ings on der island?" asked carl, who was looking forward to a brief period of romance in an island paradise. "as described on the chart," replied townsend, "turtle key is no more than a hummock of coral, bare as the palm of your hand, and with a surface measuring less than an acre in extent. there is no water, no trees, and no inhabitants if we except the turtles." carl was visibly disappointed. "i vas hoping i could climb some trees und shake down a gouple oof loafs oof pread fruit," he mourned, "und i vas t'inking, meppy, dot i could catch a monkey und pring him pack, und a barrot vat couldt say t'ings. py shiminy, i don'd like dot kind oof a tesert islandt." "where is it, mr. townsend," asked dick, "on the eastern or western side of the group?" "on the western side, just off great bahama island and well in the florida straits." "i sailed all through that group on the old _billy ruffian_," went on dick, "wherever the channels were deep enough to float us. there's a good deal of shoal water, and a lot of places where you can go off soundings at a jump. that submarine, if she takes a straight course, will have to keep on the surface a good share of the time." "jurgens will take to the florida straits and then turn in when he gets opposite turtle key. that will give him deep water all the way. after i left you boys last night," added townsend, shifting the subject, "i had a call from mcmillan. he told me that the skipper of the _crescent_ claimed to have had nothing to do with the picking up of jurgens off the heinz pier. whistler, one of the men on the sailboat, got the three men comprising the crew on his side, and they overpowered the skipper, tied him hand and foot and laid him on the floor of the cuddy. anyhow, mcmillan says that when he boarded the _crescent_, the skipper was helpless in the cabin and all the others who had been on the boat had disappeared. it looks a little 'fishy' but that must have been the way of it. the skipper of the _crescent_ couldn't afford to harbor a fugitive like jurgens." "it was all a brazen piece of work from start to finish," observed matt. "the capture of the _grampus_ was second only to the desperate play jurgens made when he stole the chart. jurgens, from what i saw and heard while holcomb and i were aboard the _grampus_, knows a good deal about the submarine, but----" "he learned all that while he was working in the shipyard," put in townsend. "but does he know enough to run the craft?" queried matt. "i think not. he and his gang are probably forcing cassidy, my machinist, to run the submarine for him. if cassidy, burke and harris, my men in the _grampus_, succeeded in turning on their captors and recapturing the boat, we'll be having all our work for nothing--that is, so far as the _grampus_ is concerned. in that event, we'll look for the iron chest." "dot's der talk!" cried carl. "ve vill findt der dreasure. it vas some birate dreasure, i bed you! i vouldt like to findt a chest full mit bieces oof eight und dot odder druck vat birates used to take from peobles pefore dey made dem valk der blank." "bosh, carl!" exclaimed dick, disgustedly. "you're a lubber to take stock in any such yarn. anyhow, i should think you'd had enough to do with pirates." this reference to the way carl had butted into the moving pictures brought grins to the faces of townsend and matt. it was a sore spot with carl, and he tried at once to get his companions to thinking of something else. he picked up the sextant and turned it over and over in his hands. "how you findt out vere ve vas mit dis?" he queried. "hand it over, carl," replied townsend, "and i'll show you." carl was standing by the rail. just as he started to hand the sextant to townsend, a gust of air struck the hawk and she made a sidewise lurch that jerked the car uncomfortably. carl let go the sextant and grabbed with both hands at the rail; and the sextant, flung a little outward by the motion of carl's hand, slipped clear of the rail and dropped downward into space. a cry of dismay escaped townsend and dick. "himmelblitzen!" growled carl, very much put out with himself, "i vas aboudt as graceful as a hibbobotamus. vat a luck! vell, misder downsend, i puy you anodder." "it isn't so easy to buy another, carl," said matt, circling the hawk about and dropping earthward. "we've got to get that sextant, if we can. watch close all of you, and try and see where it fell." at that moment the hawk had been approaching stone harbor, and was above the beach. the sextant may have been ruined by the fall, but matt was hoping against hope that it would be found in usable condition, and that they would not have to delay their voyage to land at some seaport and buy another. chapter viii. an accident. "i think i see it, mate!" called dick, as the hawk came closer to the clear stretch of sand. "to the right a little--about two points--and keep her dropping as she is." "i see it, too!" declared townsend, leaning out over the rail. when ascending or descending, the car of the air ship, as might naturally be supposed, was always tilted. in the present instance it was inclined at a dangerous angle, for matt was trying to bring the craft to an even keel as nearly over the spot where the sextant was lying as he could. the inclination of the car made it exceedingly difficult for those who were standing to keep their feet, and it was only by clinging to the rail that they could do so. matt had a chair, and there were supports against which he could brace his feet, thus leaving his hands free at all times to manage the motor. when about twelve feet above the beach, another gust of air struck the air ship, buffeting her roughly sideways, townsend was leaning so far over the rail that the jerk of the car caused him to lose his balance. his hands were torn from the rail and he pitched headlong out of the car. at this mishap, which threatened tragic consequences, consternation seized the boys. "donnervetter!" whooped carl, "he vill be killed." quickly as he could, matt brought the hawk to the beach. there was no way of mooring the craft, and she swung back and forth in the wind, making it necessary for matt to stay aboard. "tumble out, dick, you and carl," matt called. "see if townsend has been hurt." dick and carl found townsend trying to get up. his face was set as with pain, and it was clearly evident that he had not come through the mishap uninjured. "what's the matter?" asked dick. "it's my foot," answered townsend, stifling a groan. "i turned in the air and struck almost on my feet. i'm lucky, i suppose, not to have landed on my head and broken my neck. it's a sprain, i guess, but it hurts like sam hill. help me up." dick and carl got on each side of townsend and lifted him erect. the injury to his right foot was so great that he could not step on it, and was almost carried back to the car by the two boys. "we'd better put in at stone harbor, mr. townsend," said matt, a troubled look crossing his face, "and let a doctor have a look at you." "i'm sure it's only a sprain," returned townsend, pluckily, "and we won't delay the voyage by stopping at stone harbor. just make me comfortable on the floor of the car and have carl take off my shoe and wrap a bandage around the foot. i'll get along. it was my own fault," he added, "for i had no business to be leaning so far over the rail. pick up the sextant, ferral." dick went for the sextant. it had fallen in soft sand and, although damaged to some extent, had not lost its usefulness. while dick was recovering the sextant, carl was making townsend as comfortable as possible on the floor of the car. a folded canvas shelter, which matt had devised as a covering for the hawk, was brought into requisition and spread out for townsend to lie on. townsend's shoe was then removed. the foot and ankle as yet showed no signs of the injury, but every touch caused so much pain that townsend had to clinch his teeth to keep from crying out. matt, for such an emergency as had just presented itself, always carried a bottle of arnica in the toolbox. carl got out the arnica, soaked a rag with it and bound the rag around townsend's foot. over this another bandage was placed, and townsend lay back on his makeshift couch and rested. "it would only delay us a few hours," said matt, "to stop at stone harbor and have a doctor give your foot proper attention." "i don't think that's necessary, matt," answered townsend. "get under way again. we've lost half an hour already." the accident, although it had resulted in an injury which might have been infinitely more serious, dropped a pall over the spirits of the three boys. if omens counted for anything, the cruise was to end in disaster. matt started the machinery and got the air ship aloft and once more headed on her course. how he and his chums were ever going to reach turtle key, hampered by an injured passenger, was more than he knew. the outlook was dubious, to say the least. noon found them over the state of delaware and reaching along toward chesapeake bay. the wind grew steady and shifted until it was almost directly behind them, and the hawk went spinning through the air at the rate of forty miles an hour. as if to offset this favorable trend of wind and weather, townsend's injury appeared to be growing steadily worse. his ankle was swollen and there was a dark, angry look to the skin. the pain was intense, but townsend insisted that the hawk should keep steadily on her way. at all costs, he declared, they must make the most of the favoring breeze. the rations were drawn upon for dinner, dick eating first and then taking matt's place among the levers while he bolted his food. early in the afternoon the hawk sailed over the broad mouth of chesapeake bay and was saluted by an american man-of-war that was passing below them. carl busied himself taking care of townsend, and matt and dick gave their attention to the maps. townsend had eaten a good dinner and was feeling somewhat better. "what was that?" he asked, rousing up as the sound of the saluting cannon rattled on his ears. matt explained, and townsend watched dick as he dipped the stars and stripes that always flew from the rear end of the car. "we've got to keep pegging along, night and day," said townsend, "until we reach the island. after that we can take things a little easier." "if there's no timber on the island," spoke up dick, "how are we going to moor the hawk? the island's so small that we'll have our hands full keeping the air ship from being blown out to sea." "in a pinch," suggested matt, "we can fill that canvas covering for the hawk with sand and tie the craft to it." "sandbags would be better, if we had them," remarked townsend. "prop me up a little, carl," he added, to the dutch boy; "i want to do some writing." carl bolstered townsend up with one of the boxes of provisions, and the injured man put in an hour of pencil work on the back of an old letter. by then it was evident that his ankle was paining him again, and he put away the pencil and the results of his labor, had the box removed and laid flat down in the car. presently he was asleep. dick came aft along the rail for a few words with matt. "we'll never be able to take townsend to the island, matey," said dick, in a low tone. "it's my opinion that he's worse off than he thinks he is. that don't look to me like a sprain, but like a break." matt nodded glumly. "it's hard luck, dick," he answered, "but i'm of your opinion. still, what can we do? townsend has chartered the hawk for two weeks, and we're under his orders. if he insists that we stay aloft with him and take him to turtle key, we'll have to try it." "i guess you've nicked it. we're under orders, as you say, and we've got to do just what townsend tells us, but i'll be keelhauled if the prospect ain't discouraging. we're out to win that five thousand, and i guess we can do it, but i'd like mighty well to help townsend and not stand by and see him spend his money without getting a fair return for it." "that's the way i feel," agreed matt. "the weather's good, the wind favoring, and all we can do is to keep fanning along. by to-morrow, something may happen to give things a brighter look. go forward, dick, watch the maps and keep a sharp lookout. let me know where we are from time to time." the motor hummed steadily, and hour after hour the hawk clove her way through the air. they passed over newport news and norfolk, and could see the inhabitants of each town running along the streets and looking up at them. all sounds from the earth reached those in the air ship with weird distinctness. the cries of the people, the galloping hoofs of a horse, the rattle of a wagon floated upward, clear and strong. questions were shouted to the boys, but before they could have answered the swiftly moving hawk had carried them out of earshot. they made it a rule to do no talking with the people below, not having the time for any extended conversation and knowing well that what little they could say would only increase the general curiosity instead of lessening it. well to the south of norfolk the air ship reached out along the carolina coast. when the sun went down, and it was falling dark, lights were beginning to gleam in a city which, from the maps, the boys knew to be wilmington. matt's watch told him it was seven o'clock. they had been twelve hours on the wing and had covered a distance which, by air line, measured more than five hundred miles. it was decided by the boys that the night should be divided into three watches, and that during each watch one of them should take his "turn below," as dick expressed it. during the first watch, from seven to eleven, dick was to be in charge of the motor and carl was to take the lookout, while matt slept; from eleven to three, matt was to look after the motor, carl was to continue on lookout duty, and dick was to sleep; and from three to seven, carl was to sleep and dick was to relieve him. as soon as the lights of wilmington had died into a glow behind the car, matt laid himself down beside townsend and was soon "taking his stretch off the land, full and by, forty knots," as dick remarked to carl. matt had slept nearly his allotted four hours, although it did not seem to him as though he had much more than closed his eyes, when he was aroused by the report of a firearm and a startled yell from carl. in a twinkling the young motorist was on his feet, hanging to the rail, peering about him and asking what was the matter. before either matt or carl could answer, another report echoed out, the ringing impact of a bullet against the car's framework was heard, and then the whistle of the ball as it carromed off into space. springing to the levers, matt jerked at the one which lifted or lowered the rudder. in another moment, the hawk was climbing up the moonbeams like a black streak. chapter ix. matt and his chums go it alone. "hunters are taking shots at us," cried matt, "and we've got to get away from them. where are we, dick?" "i had just studied one of the maps with the aid of the electric torch," replied dick, "and had made up my mind that we were close to the line separating south carolina from georgia. just as i had decided that point, bang came the first shot. sink me, but that second shot came close to the motor! lucky it was turned by the framework of the car." "we'd better fly a little higher while we're going over this country," said matt. "it won't do to have a bullet ripping its way through the bag, or putting the machinery out of commission, or doing any damage to you, or me, or carl, or townsend." matt picked up the torch, snapped on the light and focussed the glow on the face of his watch. "it's nearly eleven, dick," he went on, "and time for you to take a snooze. carl and i will take over the ship, while you lie down and get a little rest." during the balance of the night nothing went wrong. the wind had gone down with the sun, and through the cool quiet of the night the hawk reeled off her customary thirty miles an hour. at three in the morning carl awoke dick, and from that on till seven o'clock the dutch boy's snores were steady and continuous. morning brought no improvement in townsend's condition. his face was flushed and his eyes were bright and feverish. he ate some of the breakfast which carl dug out of the ration bag, but it was plain that he forced himself to do it. "where are we, matt?" he asked. "below jacksonville," matt answered, "and traveling down the florida coast." "how's the wind?" "it's abeam, mr. townsend," spoke up ferral, "and we're slanted against it." "that interferes with our speed, i suppose?" "we're making barely twenty miles an hour, as i figure it," said matt. "well, that will drop us into palm beach this evening--and that's where i'll have to give up. i must have broken a bone in my ankle, and the thing for me to do is to stay at palm beach and have it attended to. i thought, yesterday, that i might get over it, and so make myself of some use, but i see now that that's impossible. i'm only a hindrance and a drag, and it's necessary, if i want to avoid serious consequences, to have that foot attended to. my leg is of more importance than the _grampus_, so i'll give up, right here, and you can drop me at palm beach and go back to atlantic city. will the twenty-five hundred i have paid you be enough for your time and trouble?" "more than enough," answered matt, "if that is the way you want it, mr. townsend." "it isn't the way i want it--not by a long chalk!" declared townsend, vehemently, "but it seems to be the way i've got to have it. i've not only lost the _grampus_, but i have also proven false to the promise i made the man from cape town. if i felt that i could go on, with the least show of success, i'd not hang back; but i'm crippled, and i feel that, owing to the lack of proper medical attention, i'm getting weaker and weaker all the time!" heartfelt regret mingled in the words with the pain townsend was suffering. "how far is it from palm beach to turtle key, mr. townsend?" asked matt. "less than a hundred miles, straight across the florida straits." "if this landward breeze holds," went on matt, musingly, "we could reach turtle key in three hours after we left the mainland." townsend shifted his position a little and fastened his gleaming black eyes speculatively on the young motorist's face. "what do you mean by that?" he demanded. "if you can't go to turtle key," said matt, quietly, "why can't the rest of us go? we may not stand so good a chance of recovering the _grampus_ as though you were along and able to help, but we might be able to find whether or not there's an iron chest on the island; and, if we had the opportunity, we might do what we could to recapture the submarine." "i can't order you to do anything like that, matt, but i had decided, in my own mind, that you would say something like you have just said. that's your style, my boy. if you want to go and look for the island and the iron chest, well and good. it will be worth twenty-five hundred more to me to know that i tried to carry out my promise to the man from cape town, and that i couldn't do it because the iron chest was only a figment of his disordered imagination. go and look for the chest, but it won't do for you to attempt to cope with jurgens and the ruffians with him in the _grampus_. yesterday, when it began to grow upon me that i could not see this expedition through to the end, i drew up a copy of that stolen chart as nearly as i can remember it. i believe the copy is fairly accurate." townsend took the folded letter from his pocket and gave it to carl, who passed it along to matt. "you can study that," said townsend, "and it will tell you all i know. do what you can, and, no matter what the result is, come back and report to me at palm beach." townsend did no more talking. the pain he was suffering made talking an effort, and he sank back and closed his eyes. "can we do it, matey?" asked dick. "can we cross a hundred miles of ocean and nose out a little turtle-back in all that raft of islands and keys?" "do you know anything about navigation, dick? can you take a chronometer and a sextant and figure out latitude and longitude?" "i'd be a juggings if i couldn't. why, mate, it's one of the first things they teach you on the training ship." "get in here and manage the hawk, dick, while i look over this chart." ferral dropped in among the levers and matt went forward and sat down on the floor of the car. the chart embraced part of the eastern shore line of florida and took in some of the westernmost islands of the bahama group. from palm beach a straight line was drawn, east by south to a dot below the western point of great bahama island. the dot was marked turtle key, and its latitude and longitude were given. below this diagram, in the left-hand corner of the sheet, turtle key was shown in amplified form, an irregular circle of sand with a black cross on its western side. the cross was labeled, "cavern; can be entered from the shore, or by boat at high tide. iron chest in the cavern." "i believe we can find it, pards," matt finally announced. "anyhow, i'm for trying. if we can do anything to help townsend, i think it's our duty. when we started from atlantic city, this had the look of a wild-goose chase. it may still be no more than that--the only way we can tell is by running out the trail." "i vouldn't like to haf anyt'ing habben so dot ve come down in der ocean," observed carl, "aber you bed you i vould like to haf some looks indo dot cave for der iron chest. i haf readt aboudt birates on der spanish main, und i vould be so habby as i can't dell to get my handts on some oof deir plunder." "one for all, and all for one, old ship!" cried ferral. "sink or swim, carl and i are with you." getting down the florida coast, battling with a side wind every foot of the way, was slow work. it was five o'clock in the evening before the place was reached, a landing made, and townsend removed to a hotel and placed in the care of a doctor. the doctor, after a short examination, declared that townsend had sustained a fracture of one of the smaller bones in the ankle, and that he would have to keep to his bed and remain under constant treatment for at least a week. so far as any serious results were concerned, however, there would be none. the trouble had been aggravated by the delay in receiving proper attention, but that was something which would now be remedied. "i wouldn't start before morning, matt," were townsend's last words to the young motorist. "the wind, which just now is favorable, will go down with the sun, so you wouldn't gain much by going on to-night. besides, it will be better if you are somewhere near the place by noon, to-morrow, so ferral can 'shoot' the sun and find out where you are. watch the barometer, and if it promises good weather to-morrow, make the attempt. don't fail to come back and report to me. good-by, and good luck." "it looks like a whale of a job, messmate," remarked dick, as he and matt walked away from the hotel. "i suppose it looks so big because it's so much of a novelty. i guess this is about the first time any one ever went gunning for treasure in an air ship!" "well," said matt, decisively, "it's up to us to go it alone and find out just what there is on turtle key. there are so many of those little islets scattered through the bahamas that we'll have to 'shoot' the sun, as townsend calls it, in order to find whether or not we're on the right spot." "if we can find the cave that ought to settle it." "all the islands have caves. if we're going at this thing we've got to do it right; we've got to find the _right_ key, and the _right_ cave, and then there can be no possible doubt when we return and report to townsend that there's no iron chest." "you think that's all a yarn for the marines, eh?" "nothing else; but townsend is bound by a promise, and he's the sort of man who doesn't make a promise lightly." the three chums slept out the night in the car of the air ship. when morning dawned, the barometer indicated fair weather. the wind was north by east, quartering offshore, but it was so light as not to cause matt much concern. matt was the first of the three to be astir. after he had looked at the barometer and taken note of the wind, he awoke dick and carl. "we're off for turtle key, pards," cried matt, "and we're going it alone. up with you, and let's put to sea." chapter x. the air ship springs a leak. the hawk had been moored between two trees. the landing had been easily made, the preceding afternoon, and matt was confident that the ascent could be made as easily. and such would have been the case, had nothing gone wrong. the cables were untied from the trees and taken aboard, the rudder tilted to pilot the hawk skyward, the motor was started, and presently the power was switched into the propeller. then, just as the air ship was given a boost upward, the engine stopped dead. without the power of the propeller behind her the car became unmanageable, and the wind, faint though it was, tossed the big gas bag against the limbs of one of the trees. this lasted only a moment, for, as suddenly as it had stopped the engine had taken hold again, and the propeller began to whirl. quick as a wink matt depressed the steering rudder. the hawk dipped downward, cleared the branches, and then was brought up to continue the climb into the air. "a tight squeak, mate!" gasped ferral. "whatever was the matter with the engine?" "any one of a dozen things may have happened," replied matt, "but we seem to be all right now. come back here, dick, and do the driving while i look over the motor." matt could see nothing wrong with the motor, and felt sure that, no matter what had caused the sudden failure of the engine, the trouble would not happen again. having finished his examination of the machinery, matt turned his attention to the gas bag. the top of the bag, of course, he could not see, but there were no indications that anything was wrong. with a sense of relief, the young motorist returned to his post and sent dick ahead to join carl at the lookout. there was something to quicken the pulses in the mere thought of venturing far out over the sea in a "dirigible." the hawk was mistress of the air, but, if any accident happened and she was precipitated into the sea, the steelwork of the car would drag her under and bring certain death to all aboard. but matt and his chums had implicit confidence in the hawk. they had sailed her over lake michigan, and why could they not sail her across the florida straits? carl, leaning over the rail, had a dismal thought as they left the line of white surf and headed boldly toward the heaving horizon to the east and south. "i vonder oof ve vas coming pack any more?" murmured carl. "der ocean iss full oof wrecks, und i hope dot ve von't be wrecked in it mitoudt any poats to ged avay in." dick laughed, turned around and reached out to slap carl on the shoulder. "belay, there, with your gloomy remarks, mate!" cried dick. "i'd rather be in the air with the hawk than down there in the staunchest ship that ever left the stays. the barometer says fine weather--and we know what the hawk can do even with a wholes'l breeze in her teeth. so long as the sky is clear there's no need to worry; and if we see a squall coming up, we'll put about and scud for the mainland. buck up, old ship! think of the iron chest." "dot's vat's der madder!" exclaimed carl, brightening. "ve're bound for der islandt to look for dreasure, und dot makes me feel so goot as i can't dell. i bed you somet'ing for nodding dot ve findt dot chest, und ve pring him pack to downsent und he vill take him py new orleans. hoop-a-la!" steadily and tirelessly the hawk made her way across the heaving waters. there was no way by which the boys could figure her speed, but, carefully weighing the force of the wind, they guessed it at twenty-five miles an hour. "that means," said ferral, "that in four hours we ought to be close to turtle key." "providing we don't get off our course," returned matt. "you can't do that, mate, with the compass right in front of you." "it's only a patch of land we're looking for, dick, and even if the course is kept we're liable to find ourselves a few points off, one side or the other." "right-o! well, let her flicker and we'll see where we are in four hours from the time we started." "ve're oudt oof sighdt oof land," quavered carl. "and just that much nearer catching sight of turtle key and the iron chest," laughed dick. "sure!" and carl echoed the laugh. "it's funny how i forged aboudt dot chest. i vonder vas it captain kitt vat put der chest in der cafe? vat you t'ink?" "i'm not doing any thinking about how the chest got there, mate; just so we find it, that'll be enough for me. what's this?" and dick stooped suddenly and brought up a small roll closely wrapped in canvas. "that must belong to townsend," said matt. "perhaps there's something in it that we can use. open it up, dick, and see what you find." ferral untied the parcel, removed the canvas wrapping and revealed two revolvers and a box of cartridges. "well, strike me lucky!" he exclaimed. "we're a nice outfit of treasure hunters, i must say, to start after a pirate's treasure without thinking to bring along a shooting iron! townsend had a heap more sense than we had, matt." "townsend," replied matt, "was thinking of jurgens when he brought those guns along." "we ought to be thinking of jurgens, too." "put them away somewhere," said matt. "if we need them--which i hope we won't--we'll know where they are." dick dropped the weapons into one of the boxes of supplies. the heaving blue horizon now surrounded the boys on every hand. the reflection that there was only a few hundred cubic feet of gas between them and disaster was not pleasant, and they tried to keep their minds away from it. it was easy to sidetrack carl when his thoughts disturbed him too much, for dick and matt had only to speak of the iron chest and he immediately forgot everything else. matt had no faith in the chest, and dick did not seem to have much, but nevertheless it was a good thing to conjure with in carl's case. "half-past eight," announced matt, "and we're two hours out and ought to be halfway to where we're going." the next hour dragged a little, but carl beguiled the time by keeping a sharp lookout ahead through a pair of binoculars. matt and dick had bought four pairs of binoculars for the use of passengers whom they carried aloft from atlantic city, but only one pair had been brought along on this southern cruise. by half-past nine carl had seen nothing of the island, but matt had seen something which had caused his blood to run cold and had brought gray anxiety to his face. _the gas bag was losing its buoyancy!_ matt was first sensible of this when he tried to force the hawk to a higher altitude. the craft rose sluggishly in answer to the push of the whirling propeller, and when the ship was brought to an even keel, again, she showed a tendency to settle. casting his eyes upward, matt saw that the bag had lost its distended appearance and was getting flabby. here and there a wrinkle appeared in the varnished silk. the bag had been coated with a preparation which was almost proof against leakage; and yet here was undeniable evidence that gas was escaping from the bag, slowly but steadily. it was like the life blood dripping from the veins of all in the car. "sweep your glasses over the ocean, carl!" called matt. "see if you can see a ship. there ought to be vessels crossing the straits between florida and the islands, and there ought to be coasters moving north and south." dick whirled around. there was something in matt's voice that startled him. "why do we want to look for a ship?" he demanded. "because the gas bag has sprung a leak," answered matt, speaking as calmly as he could, "and we've got to find an island or a ship before very long." carl fell back against the rail and almost dropped the binoculars. "don't say dot!" he cried. "himmelblitzen, matt! oof der gas goes oudt oof der palloon vat vill ve do? durn aroundt und make for der florida coast!" "it's too far. the gas would be all out of the bag before we could get a quarter of the way back." carl looked up at the sagging envelope overhead, and then he stared down at the heaving waters below. with a shake of the shoulders, he picked up the glasses and got to his feet. "it vas no use plubbering aroundt ofer vat can't be heluped," said he, gamely. "oof ve haf got to find a ship, den py shinks ve vill findt vone." "that's the talk, mate," approved ferral, albeit in a voice that was a bit husky. there was no sail in sight, and no smoke. "we're south of great bahama, matt," said ferral, "and this wind will help us in that direction. why not change our course? the great bahama is a large island, and we can find it quicker than we can turtle key." "i was about to suggest that," answered matt, "and was waiting only to hear whether or not there was a ship anywhere in this vicinity." shifting the rudder, he put the hawk on her new course. the wind not only hastened the craft onward, but also helped to buoy her up, just as the current of a stream helps to float a swimmer. "where is the leak?" went on ferral, drawing a hand across his eyes and trying to realize what the escape of the gas meant for them. matt's announcement had chilled and dazed him. "it's in the very worst place it could be," said matt, "and that's on top of the bag. the gas is rushing out and is constantly making the hole larger. see how those wrinkles are gathering on the under side!" dick passed his eyes over the bag. "what caused the leak? have you any notion, matt?" "it must have been the branches of that tree we struck against when we started." "but the bag didn't show any signs of a leak _then_." "probably there was no leak, but that the envelope was chafed and weakened. the pressure of the gas has since made a hole, and the hole is getting larger every second." matt pushed the motor to top speed. for a time there was silence in the car--silence broken only by the roar of the ocean and by the steady hum of the motor. a calmness, the calmness of desperation, settled over the three chums. "we'll do the best we can, mates," said dick, "and if we fail it will be while we're making a good fight to save ourselves. if----" just here a frantic yell came from carl. "a ship! py chimineddy, dere's a ship! i knowed as vell as i know anyt'ing dot modor matt's luck vouldn't go pack on him. crowd on der power, bard! pud efery ounce oof enerchy in der bropeller! ve vill vin oudt yet--yah, so helup me!" snatching the binoculars from carl's hand, dick focussed them on the object that had claimed carl's attention. chapter xi. wrecked! "it's not a ship, carl," said dick. "ach, du lieber," wailed carl, "don'd tell me dot!" "but it's something just as good, and perhaps better. it's an island." "turtle key!" jubilated carl, shortsighted as usual and glad only that they were perhaps coming closer to the iron chest. "hoop-a-la!" "no," went on dick, "not turtle key. it's another island." "how you know dot?" "i can see some palm trees. townsend told us that turtle key has no trees." "a good thing for us that it isn't turtle key!" declared matt, plucking up hope. "if we're to be wrecked, the more comfortable the place we're wrecked in, the better. what could we possibly do on a sand hill in the middle of the ocean? if there are trees on that island it may be inhabited. how far away is it, dick?" "a mile or more, matey, but just how far it's hard to tell. bear off a point to starboard--that'll lay us in a direct line with the land." matt's anxious eyes were on the gas bag. he watched its diminishing bulk and tried to figure on how long it would keep them out of the water. the tendency of the air ship to settle was now most pronounced. matt could only fight it by tilting the rudder upward and driving the motor to its full limit. this, of course, diminished somewhat the forward motion; but the breeze, fortunately, was freshening, and the speed lost in keeping the bag in the air was more than compensated by the increased force of the wind. the island could now be plainly seen by the naked eye. it was low and sandy and only two or three palm trees could be seen. the size of the island dashed matt's hope of finding it inhabited. "keep her moving, mate!" shouted ferral. "we're coming closer! a quarter of a mile farther and we'll alight on solid ground." matt was fighting a fierce battle with the diminishing gas. every move he could think of was brought into play. from a five hundred-foot elevation the hawk descended to four hundred feet, to three and then to two. the craft was tilted sharply upward, the racing propeller trying vainly to drive her back to the heights she was surely and steadily losing. matt called dick and carl back toward the stern in order to free the forward part of the car of their weight and make it easier to keep the hawk's nose in the air. this maneuver met with some success, although the air ship continued to settle by the stern, coming nearer and nearer the tumbling waves. the island was so close now that those aboard could see a little cove in its shore line. the tilted air ship, like some stricken monster, was being carried toward this cove by the wind. "that bit of a bay is a good place for us to come down, matey," said dick. "almost any place will be good enough," answered matt, grimly, "just so it's close enough to the shore." "der pag," cried carl, "ain'd more dan haluf so pig as id vas." "throw over some of that plunder!" ordered matt. "not the water cask or the provisions, but anything else you can lay hands on." the binoculars went first, then the mooring ropes and a few other objects which could be of no particular use to castaways on a desert island. the effect was instantly noticeable and, for a brief space, the hawk seemed to stay her descent. in a few minutes she had drifted almost over the cove. just at that moment the hissing of the escaping gas grew to redoubled volume, proving that the rent had suddenly broken wide and that the bag's contents was pouring out. the ship began to drop more rapidly. "i'll go overboard, mates," shouted dick. "maybe that'll lighten the car so the two of you can reach land. it's only a small swim." in a flash, ferral had flung himself into the water. but the loss of his weight did not help--the air ship was losing gas too fast for that. "over with you, carl!" cried matt. "it won't be hard for you to get ashore." matt wanted to get the air ship to dry land, but it was apparent to him that this was impossible. the hawk was doomed! as quickly as he could, motor matt made ready to follow carl and dick. standing on the rail and clinging to one of the ropes by which the car was suspended from the bag, matt paused for a second and then flung himself outward and downward. coming up, he shook the water from his eyes and began swimming. dick had already dropped his feet on the bottom and was wading ashore. carl, spluttering and floundering, was just ahead of matt. dick's eyes were on the air ship. something about the hawk was claiming his attention. matt, swerving his gaze in the direction of the air ship, was surprised to see her still hanging in the air with the wind slowly wafting her shoreward. for a moment matt was puzzled, then it flashed over him that there was enough gas in the upper point of the cigar-shaped envelope to keep the empty car and the bag out of the water. matt gained the shore and sank down on the sand beside dick and carl. "how do you explain that, matey?" queried dick. "why," answered matt, "there's enough gas in the point of the bag, above the hole, to keep the fabric aloft. had we stayed in the car we'd have brought the air ship down into the water. i was afraid the hawk was lost to us, but now we'll be able to save her, and without injury to the motor. when she gets close enough, we'll catch hold of the car and pull her down." "vat good vill it do to safe der air ship, matt?" asked carl, lugubriously. "meppy ve could patch oop der hole, but vere ve going to ged some more gas to fill der pag oop again?" "we can't get away from this island in the hawk," returned matt, "but some ship may come along and pick us up. in that event, we'll be able to take the hawk away with us. we've got too much money wrapped up in that machine to leave it here on this island." "right-o!" exclaimed dick. "not only is the hawk saving herself for us, but she's bringing ashore our supplies. and it's a cinch we're going to need those supplies, mates. i'm a fiji if i think there's anything but turtles here to eat." by that time the air ship had drifted over the beach. by running up the slope leading down to the beach, the boys were able to grasp the lower end of the car, and they easily hauled it to the ground. this move caused most of the gas that still remained in the bag to escape, and the envelope flattened itself out in the sand, twisting and writhing as the last of the gas worked its way out. "this is the end of our cruise in the hawk," muttered dick, staring gloomily at the useless air ship, "and if this tight little island hadn't bounced up right in front of us just when we needed it most, the cruise would have been the end of us, too. but there's no use overhauling our hard luck. we're here, and we're safe, and we'd be worse than cannibals not to be satisfied. let's slant away for those palms, doff our wet gear and sit in the shade till the sun dries our clothes." "a good idea," assented matt. "after we get dried out we'll pitch some sort of a camp and try and run up a flag of distress on one of the palm trees. we could be a whole lot worse off than we are, pards." "anyvay," grumbled carl, while he was getting out of his clothes and spreading them in the sun to dry, "we don'd findt dot durdle islandt, und ve von't efer know vedder dere iss a iron chest on der islandt or nod." "fiend take the iron chest!" grunted dick. "you don'd care nodding for dot?" queried carl, mildly surprised. "not a hap'orth. the time has come, carl, when motor matt and his mates have got to look out for number one. maskee! if we're hung up on this two-by-twice turtle-back for long, the five thousand we're to get from townsend won't be a whack-up to what we're losing in atlantic city. it's a fair bad break we made, coming off on this jamboree. we wouldn't have done it if it hadn't been townsend that asked us." "that's the plain truth of it, dick," said matt. "townsend had a claim on us and we were in duty bound to help him." carl, in his eagerness to be looking around the island, got into his clothes before they were fairly dry. leaving matt and dick to talk, the dutch boy ambled away and was quickly out of sight over the knoll that formed the backbone of the island. "this looks like a case of where the wrong triumphs over the right," observed dick. "jurgens, who's a swab and a crook from heels to sky-piece, puts as brazen a piece of work as i ever heard of right over the plate. and it seems as though he was going to score, at that." "he'll get his come-up-with before long," declared matt. "that sort of crookedness may win for a little while, but it's bound to lose out in the long run." "where townsend missed it was in not letting the authorities send jurgens up that time he crawled into townsend's office and was caught red-handed going through his desk. if townsend had done what he ought to then, there'd have been no trouble like this now. sometimes it's bad policy to be too easy with----" a loud yell came floating over the top of the sandy ridge. both matt and dick sprang excitedly to their feet. "carl!" exclaimed dick. "sounds like he was in trouble," cried matt. "come on and let's see what's up." chapter xii. luck--or ill-luck? when matt and dick reached the top of the ridge they could see their dutch chum prancing around on the beach. he was on the side of the island directly across from the cove, and the object, whatever it was, that claimed his attention seemed to be lying in the sand. "look, vonce!" he bawled. "come here kevick und see vat i haf foundt!" full of wonder, matt and dick raced down the slope. "what is it, carl?" demanded matt. "feetprints," cried carl, "yah, so helup me! vat you t'ink oof dot?" carl was right. there were footprints in the damp sand, together with other marks, which proved that a boat had grounded and been drawn up on the shore. "some one has paid this island a visit," said matt, "and not very long ago." "no doubt of it," averred dick. "that boat must have put in here some time yesterday. where did the men come from and where did they go?" he tried to follow the footprints up the knoll, but they faded out before he had got half a dozen yards from the edge of the water. "there were three men," said matt, studying the marks, "and they landed, stayed a little while, and then shoved off again." "but what did they stay for?" queried dick; "what brought them here?" "that's something we don't know, but the fact that the island has been visited seems to prove that it lies in the track of ships trading among the other islands. we'll get a white flag well up toward the top of one of those palm trees as soon as we can. did you find anything else on the island, carl?" "nod a t'ing," replied carl. "i valked all aroundt it, und it ditn't dake more as fife minids to do it. sooch a leedle islandt you nefer see. led's ged oop der flag, for der kevicker vat somepody sees it, und dakes us off, der pedder vat i shall like it. i couldn't findt some cafes, neider." "you were looking for a cave, eh?" asked dick. "yah, so. i t'ought meppy dis mighdt be durtle islandt afder all, aber oof it iss, it don'd got any cafes." "this island is too far north to be the one townsend told us about, carl," said matt. "i haf made oop my mindt about dot," returned carl, as he followed matt and dick back up the knoll, "und i don'd t'ink dere iss any durtle islandt, or iron chest, or nodding. it vas all a foolishness und some bipe treams." matt and dick put on their clothes and set about the work of putting up their distress signal. from the canvas shelter which matt had made for the hawk a long streamer was cut. thereupon dick climbed the palm and tied the flag to it just under its tufted top. as the breeze opened the flag out, the boys stood off and surveyed it with a good deal of satisfaction. "if any ships pass this island, and those aboard can see the palms," declared dick, "they're bound to see that flag; then, if they're human, they'll send a boat ashore to investigate." "if anything can help us," returned matt, "that will. it's about all we can do, anyhow. come on, now, and let's get something to eat. after that, you fellows can fix up a camp while i begin taking the car of the hawk apart and making it ready for removal from the island." the water cask was nearly full, which was a fortunate thing, considering that there did not appear to be a drop of fresh water anywhere on the island. the boys ate and drank sparingly, intending to husband their supplies so that thirst and starvation might not stare them in the face if their stay on the island was prolonged beyond the time they hoped and expected. following the meal, carl and dick took the canvas shelter designed for the hawk and a coil of rope and made their way to the palm trees. matt, opening the tool box in the car of the air ship, secured a wrench and set about taking the car apart. although he worked rapidly, it was dusk before he had finished his work. but the work had been well done. the motor had been taken out, the car had been divided into its various sections, the cordage had been neatly coiled, and the silken envelope had been carefully folded and bound with ropes into a compact bundle. another scanty meal was indulged in by the chums, and then all three made their way to the palms and crawled into the makeshift tent which carl and dick had constructed between two of the trees. the events of the day had been exciting and all three of the boys were completely fagged. "great bahama island can't be very far from here, mate," said dick, as he settled himself down on the warm sand. "those men that landed in that boat may have come from there." "it doesn't make much difference where the people come from, dick," answered matt, "so long as they find us. i haven't any desire to be hung up here for two or three weeks. we've got food and water enough to last us for six or seven days, if we use it sparingly, but after that there's no telling how we'd get along." "oof dere vas some pread-fruit trees," struck in carl, drowsily, "und a shpring oof fresh vater, it vould be easy enough to ged along." "there goes carl with his bread-fruit again," laughed dick. "but i don't think we'll have to worry much over the chuck question. there'll certainly be a boat along before the week is up." "i vonder vat downsent vill t'ink ven he don'd see us coming pack like vat he expects?" said carl. "he vill feel pooty pad mit himseluf, i bed you, oof ve don'd show oop in a few tays." "he's certainly fallen afoul of some mighty tough luck," went on dick. "he must have been working for several years on the _grampus_, and he no more than gets her finished when along comes jurgens with his gang and cuts her out. but, as i said, townsend could have saved himself all this trouble if he had jugged jurgens the time the fellow was found going through his desk." "all that isn't worrying me so much," said matt, "as the trouble we had with the hawk. i'm through making ocean voyages in air ships. they're all right on the land, but when you take them out over a big stretch of water you're running too heavy a risk. and we got to this island by the skin of our teeth, dick. if it had been a little farther off we'd never have made it." "i wouldn't have given the fag end o' nothing, one while, for our chances of getting out of that fix alive. but fate is always springing surprises on a fellow. i'm beginning to think with carl, matt, that you can't dodge your luck, no matter what you do. but, tell me, what did you think of townsend's boat? you were aboard her for a while and must have found out something about the craft." "i know the _grampus_ has a strong steel room under her deck," said matt, "and that she has an arrangement for firing torpedoes. apart from that i know very little about the boat. i'd like to have a chance to take my time and examine her, but that opportunity, i suppose, will never come my way." carl had ceased to take a part in the conversation, and his snores were echoing through the tent. matt and dick presently fell asleep also, and when matt awoke he found some one shaking him. he opened his eyes and sat up. "that you, dick?" he asked, astonished to find that it was daylight. "aye, aye, messmate," replied ferral, "it's dick, all right enough. come out of the tent--i've a surprise for you." "what is it?" asked matt, getting to his feet; "good luck or bad?" "that's hard to tell, offhand. come out and see for yourself. all i can say is, you're going to find something you didn't expect." dick's excited manner, and his veiled hints, aroused matt's curiosity. following dick out of the tent, matt swept his gaze in the direction of his chum's pointing finger. the next instant matt gave a startled jump. "the _grampus_!" he muttered, dazedly, rubbing his eyes and staring again. there could be no mistake. in the cove, and close ashore, could be seen the rounded deck of a submarine. the conning tower was clear of the water, and on its curved side was painted in unmistakable letters the word, "_grampus_." but where had the boat come from? and what was she doing there? "get carl," matt whispered, "and duck over the ridge out of sight. i'll join you in a minute." without waiting for dick to answer, matt turned and sped toward the place where he had left the piled fragments of the air ship. a box of supplies stood near the gasoline motor. opening the box, matt removed the two revolvers and the box of cartridges. slipping the cartridges into his pocket, he leaped to the top of the ridge, dodged over it, and then made his way along the opposite side toward the place where dick and carl were waiting for him. the presence of the _grampus_ in the cove might mean either good luck, or ill, for the castaways; but if good luck could be helped any by energetic measures, matt was determined to turn the call of the submarine at the island to the advantage of himself and his friends. coming close to the spot where dick and carl were kneeling and peering excitedly over the ridge, matt knelt down beside them and likewise began to watch. the _grampus_ was in those waters for a purpose; and the only way to discover what that mission was, was by keeping track of jurgens and his men. chapter xiii. a move and a countermove. "when did you first see the _grampus_, dick?" asked matt, still watching for some sign of life about the submarine. "she came up about a minute before i called you," replied dick. "i awoke, saw the sun shining, and stepped out of the tent. about the first thing my eyes rested on, when they turned toward the cove, was that red ball on top of the staff. the submarine wasn't in sight, but that red ball was just awash and moving toward the shore. i hadn't a notion what it could be, and as i stood and looked the ball rose out of the water. then the _grampus_ shoved her wet deck into sight, and i made a jump for the tent to get you." the red ball to which dick referred was fastened to the end of a staff that was planted in the submarine's deck. matt was equally at a loss to understand what use the ball could possibly serve. "meppy," said carl, who was always ready with a theory of his own, "der pall is to schare avay der sharks. but for vy has der _grambus_ come here ven she iss due at durtle islandt? has somet'ing gone wrong mit jurgens' galguladions?" at that moment the top of the conning tower was pushed upward, and the head of jurgens appeared over the rim. the head rose until jurgens was half out of the tower. the boys could see that he was curious about the tent under the palm trees. he would lift his eyes to the fluttering white flag, and then he would drop them to the tent. finally jurgens got out on the submarine's deck. "whistler!" the boys heard him call. a moment later whistler showed himself. he likewise surveyed the camp of the castaways. after that he and jurgens talked together, but their voices were pitched in too low a key to carry to the ridge. at last jurgens and whistler gave over their talk. jurgens began climbing down a ladder over the forward end of the boat, and whistler got out of the tower and pushed after him. the bow of the _grampus_ had grounded on the bottom. jurgens, stepping from the ladder in water waist-deep, began wading ashore. once on the beach, he waited for whistler to join him. "they're going to investigate our camp," whispered matt. "oof dey come near enough to investigate us," returned carl, "den, py shinks, ve vill put dem bot' oudt oof pitzness." "why not lay them by the heels, matey?" queried dick, excitedly. "there are three of us and only two of them, and we've got a couple of guns. we could do it easy." "it's their move," answered matt, "and if we could make a countermove that would help us get hold of the _grampus_, we would not only do a good stroke of work for townsend, but for ourselves, into the bargain. the _grampus_ could take us away from here--to turtle island, if we wanted to go there--and then to palm beach." as matt went over the possibilities that followed in the wake of a successful attack on the _grampus_, his brain fired with a resolve to carry out a countermove, even if he and his chums had to take some risks in order to do it. "jurgens is going into the tent," whispered dick, "and whistler is moving in the direction of the hawk. he's not able to recognize the air ship, taken to pieces as she is." "right here's our chance," murmured matt. "follow me, both of you, and come quietly. dick, you take this revolver. no noise, now, for everything depends upon the care we exercise in making this part of our countermove." jurgens was already so close to the tent that the canvas walls were between him and that part of the ridge where the boys were hiding. whistler was walking directly away from the palm trees, so that his back was turned to the boys. matt crawled over the top of the ridge, then got to his feet and glided noiselessly toward the nearest wall of the tent. he could hear jurgens poking around inside, and could even follow his movements as his head and shoulders brushed against the sloping canvas. dropping to his knees, matt quickly lifted the lower edge of the canvas and rolled inside. jurgens was passing that spot, at the moment, and matt kept on rolling. his body struck against jurgens' legs with sufficient force to overturn him. he gave a yell as he dropped, but the next moment his frantic shouts were stifled by carl and dick, who, by that time, had also pushed under the bottom of the tent. "hold him tight," whispered matt, posting himself at the tent opening. "here comes whistler, and we've got to have him, too. you take care of jurgens and i'll look after whistler." matt had hardly finished speaking before whistler rushed into the tent. he carried a revolver in one hand, and matt, with a quick blow, dashed the weapon from his fingers. whistler started back with an oath, only to find the muzzle of a six-shooter staring him in the face. "steady!" snapped matt. "try to yell, or to run away, and it will be the worse for you. down on the ground, whistler--face down!" "what are you tryin' to----" "down, i tell you!" the weapon almost touched whistler's face. his gaze traveled along the barrel to the keen gray eyes back of it, and he dropped to his knees and sprawled forward at full length. as he did so, he made an attempt to grasp the weapon matt had struck from his hand, and which was still lying on the sand. but carl was near enough to grab it away. "no, you don'd," growled carl, "nod as anypody knows of. lay dere, und lay keviet. vat's der next t'ing, matt?" "go for a rope, carl," answered matt; "better get two ropes." "dot's me," and carl sprang up and raced off toward the place where the different parts of the hawk were piled. he was back in a minute. then, while matt held whistler under the point of the six-shooter, and dick did the same by jurgens, carl tied the hands of each at his back, and used the free end of the rope to bind each prisoner's feet at the ankles. "now," proceeded matt, "gag each of them. we can't have any yelling while we're doing the rest of our work." dick cut two strips of canvas from the tent wall, and these were tightly bound between the prisoner's teeth. "how vas dot?" exulted carl, standing over the prisoners when they had been bound and gagged. "you vill sic some more dogs on me, vill you, churgens? vell, i don'd t'ink! you ditn't make mooch ven you grabbed dot baper of downsent's und run off mit it, hey?" "we've no time for useless talk, carl," spoke up matt, sharply. "only part of our work is done--the smallest part; the biggest thing of all lies ahead of us." "what's that, matey?" queried ferral. "the recapture of the _grampus_." matt was cool enough, but his words were startling. "how can ve do dot?" returned carl. "by boarding the submarine and getting busy," matt replied. "jurgens must have several men there, matt," said dick. "they're probably looking after townsend's three men. if we can release cassidy, burke and harris, our force will be plenty large enough to take care of this gang of ruffians." although it was impossible for either jurgens or whistler to move or speak, yet they could hear well enough, and the work matt was suggesting to his friends caused them to mumble behind their gags and to writhe about angrily. "if we win," went on matt, briskly, "we've got to hurry. come on, pards," and he flung out of the tent and raced down the beach. there was no one in sight about the _grampus_. the cover of the conning tower was still pushed back, but it was clear to matt and his chums that the rest of jurgens' men were busy below. quickly, and with as little noise as possible, matt, dick and carl waded out to the _grampus_. matt was first to reach the ladder at the bow, and he swung up it lightly, crossed the deck and climbed into the conning tower. an iron ladder afforded him means for descent into the hull of the boat, and the lunettes, or little windows, in the sides of the tower lighted his way downward. at the bottom of the ladder he stepped into a steel chamber. the only articles of furniture in the chamber were a table and a chair. the top of the table was covered with a black hood which fell downward from the ceiling. just then matt had no time for investigating things he did not understand. as he stood for a moment at the foot of the ladder, trying to hear something that would give him a clue as to where he should go, a door suddenly opened behind him. he whirled about, but before he could make a move to protect himself a heavy fist leaped out at him. he dodged to one side, but the blow caught him in the shoulder, whirled him half around and drove him with stunning force against the steel wall. taken at a disadvantage, as he had been, matt would have paid dearly for his daring work had not ferral, at that instant, dropped from the conning tower squarely upon the head and shoulders of the man who had made the attack on matt. the weight of dick's body hurled the fellow to the floor, and before he could recover his wits dick had snatched from his fingers a knife which he had pulled from the breast of his coat. "avast, there, you swab!" threatened dick, waving his revolver in front of the scoundrel's face. "are you hurt, matt?" he added, keeping his eyes on the man, but addressing his chum. "shaken up a little, dick, that's all," matt answered; "but it might have been a whole lot worse if you hadn't dropped in on us. where's carl?" "he's coming." "how many men did jurgens leave on this boat?" matt asked, bending over the man on the floor. "more'n you kin handle," was the surly response. "we'll see about that. keep him there, dick, while i go forward and see what i can find." passing through the open door in which the man had appeared so suddenly, matt found himself in the passage along which he and holcomb had been led to the torpedo room in the bow. matt was not going to the torpedo room just then, for he had begun to wonder whether cassidy, burke, and harris might not be confined in the steel chamber where he and holcomb had been placed on being brought aboard the _grampus_. whirling to the left, he made in the direction of the chamber. chapter xiv. motor matt's success. the door to the steel chamber, as matt remembered it, opened directly off the end of the narrow passage. the corridor was lighted with a couple of incandescent lamps so that matt had no trouble in seeing what he was about. just as he laid his hand on the door carl came into the passage. matt turned to his chum, laid a finger on his lips in token of silence, and beckoned him to come close. just as carl drew near matt pushed open the door. instantly there was a rush of feet and the young motorist was thrown heavily back against the dutch boy. they both went down together on the steel floor; and, at the same moment, the electric lights faded out, leaving the corridor in darkness. only one man had rushed from the room at the end of the passage--of that matt was positive. where he had gone matt did not know, but as soon as he could extricate himself from his entanglement with his dutch pard the young motorist pushed on through the darkness and entered the chamber. "vere you vas, matt?" called carl, stumbling along the corridor. "it vas so tark i don'd peen aple to see my handt pehind my pack. vich vay dit you go?" "this way, carl," shouted matt. "vere iss der feller vat knocked us down?" "i don't know, but it's a cinch that he's somewhere in the boat. he can't get away without passing through the room where dick is, and, if he tries that----" matt broke off his words with an exclamation. he had stumbled over something on the floor. going down on his knees he groped over the object with his hands and discovered that it was the form of a man, as helplessly bound and gagged as were jurgens and whistler, in the tent on the island, at that moment. with his hands matt twisted the gag from the man's lips. "who are you?" he asked. "cassidy's my name," was the breathless answer; "and who are you?" "motor matt." "great hullaballoo!" muttered cassidy. "how'd you get here?" "there's too much of it to tell, just now. where are burke and harris, cassidy?" "right here alongside o' me. we've been trussed up like this for a day an 'two nights, an' my legs an' arms feel like they was paralyzed. is nemo, jr., with you, motor matt?" "no--only my two pards, dick ferral and carl pretzel. jurgens and whistler are captured, and we left them tied up, on the island." "you never!" gasped cassidy. "that's the way of it," answered matt. "how----" "well, if i ain't clean beat i don't want a cent. how'd you ever manage to do it?" "how am i to get the lights turned on, cassidy? i'd like to see what i'm doing." "i could tell you how to turn on the lights, motor matt, but you'd be somethin' of a spell finding the place in the dark. better cut me loose and leave that part of it to me. i'll snap on the lights while you're freein' burke and harris." this advice seemed sound, and matt used his knife carefully on the ropes that secured cassidy's wrists and ankles. he could hear cassidy getting up, and his exclamation of relief was loud and hearty. "now, by thunder," growled cassidy, "we're havin' our innings. i reckon jurgens'll find that his high-handed game o' his ain't all one-sided. i'll go turn on the lights, motor matt," and cassidy could be heard leaving the room and passing into the corridor. matt and carl groped about until they had found the other two prisoners, and while they were freeing them the lights were suddenly turned on. "i'm burke," said one of the men. "harris, that's me," said the other. "how many men did jurgens have on the submarine with him?" asked matt. "the' was four of 'em," replied harris, standing erect and rubbing his cramped limbs. "the three that come first an' pulled the wool over cassidy's eyes with that letter, an' then whistler. that's all of 'em, motor matt." "jurgens and whistler have been captured," went on matt, "and one of my friends has another in the room below the conning tower. that leaves two more. have you any idea where they are?" this question was answered by a terrific clamor from some point in the forward part of the ship. above the noise broke the sudden report of a revolver, echoing loudly between the steel decks and bulkheads. "here they are, men!" came the voice of cassidy, husky and breathless as though he was fighting. "here's t'other two of 'em in the torpedo room, tryin' ter get out the bow port." "the torpedo room!" shouted burke. "hike for the torpedo room!" roared harris. the two men flung past matt and carl and raced along the corridor. "i guess there are enough of them to capture the two remaining members of the gang, carl," said matt. "pick up some of those ropes and we'll go and put them on the fellow dick is standing guard over." "dot's me!" boomed carl, gathering up the ropes and hurrying after matt. they found that dick still had his prisoner safely in hand. "he nearly slipped his hawse, though," said dick, "when the lights went out, but i hung to him until the lights were turned on again. did you find cassidy, burke and harris, matt?" "yes," answered matt. "they were in the same room where holcomb and i were put when jurgens brought us aboard the _grampus_. we've released the three of them and they are now making prisoners of the two last members of jurgens' gang. they're fighting in the torpedo room." "glory!" cried ferral. "if any one had told me we could have done this, i wouldn't have believed it. it's the biggest thing we've yet passed to our credit, matey." "well, before we congratulate ourselves too much, suppose we make sure of the prisoners we have? get the ropes on that fellow, dick, and then you and carl drag him to the room from which we just took cassidy, burke and harris. i'm going to the torpedo room and see how matters are progressing." while carl and dick were busy with their prisoner, matt made his way forward along the passage to the torpedo room. when he opened the door and stepped into the place he found that the scrimmage was all over. cassidy, burke and harris had captured the two men and were busy making them secure. leaving the work to burke and harris, cassidy arose to his feet and stepped close to matt. "your hand, youngster!" said he, cordially, reaching out one of his paws. "you've turned a big thing--i don't know how big, nor how you done it, but i reckon all that'll come out afore long. these fellers," and here cassidy waved an angry hand toward the two prisoners, "was two of the three that breezed up to me on the wharf at the inlet an' flashed a letter that claimed to be from nemo, jr. the letter informed me that the three men had been hired for part o' the crew o' the _grampus_, an' that they was to come aboard and i was to show 'em the ropes. well, they got me. i ain't overly good at reading writin', but i managed to make out what that letter said an' didn't have sense enough to know it wasn't writ by the cap'n's hand. "them three injuns come aboard. i took one of 'em to show him the ropes, burke took another, and harris took the third. the same thing that happened to harris an' burke likewise happened to me. when i wasn't lookin', the gent i was conductin' around an' explainin' things to rapped me over the skull from behind. when i come to i was in the torpedo room, along with burke an' harris. bymby we was took out o' here into the periscope room, an' from there into the foc'sle, which ain't a foc'sle at all in the original meanin' o' the word, but which we calls that on account o' it's bein' sleepin' quarters fer the hands. "a little later the _grampus_ got under headway, an' then i was waited on by whistler an' conducted to the motor at the p'int of a gun an' told to keep the motor goin' and obey orders. there wasn't anything else for me to do. the boat was in the hands of the enemy. jurgens had got the best of the old man, an' i knowed what jurgens' game was. "one of jurgens' men watched me handlin' the motor, an' finally made out to take it hisself. then, when that happened, i was taken back to the foc'sle an' the lashings was put onto me again. bymby, harris and burke was brought in an' treated in the same way. like me, they had learned some o' jurgens' men how to do the work on the _grampus_, an' we was sidetracked because we wasn't needed an' couldn't be trusted." "how did jurgens come to stop at this island?" matt asked. "he seen the white flag an' got curious." "how did he see the flag if the _grampus_ was under water?" "through the periscope." "is that red ball on top of the staff the periscope?" "it's part of it. jurgens seen the flag through that, an' bein' of a cur'ous disposition he put in to investigate. three of the gang was left to look after burke, harris an' me, an' jurgens an' whistler went ashore. now, son, you can open up an' explain how you happened to be on the island, an' how you managed to capture jurgens an' whistler, so----" "i think you'd better go ashore and get jurgens and whistler, cassidy," interrupted matt. "if we left them there too long they might succeed in getting away. you'll find them in a makeshift tent, by the three palm trees." "we'll get 'em, matt, but fust off we'll carry these two fellers to the foc'sle. drag 'em along, burke, you an' harris," cassidy added to his mates. the men were dragged to the steel chamber and thrown into it to keep ferral's prisoner company. this done, cassidy, burke and harris climbed out of the conning tower, descended the ladder and went ashore. chapter xv. a few surprises. there were a few surprises in store for motor matt and his friends. the first one was sprung when cassidy, shouting loudly from the beach, called matt to the top of the conning tower and reported that there was no one in the makeshift tent. matt was dumbfounded for a moment. "jurgens and whistler were there," he asserted. "we left them tied hand and foot and gagged when we came out to the _grampus_. if they're not in the tent, cassidy, then they must have freed themselves and gone off somewhere on the island. the island isn't so big but what you can find them." "they're not on the island," asserted cassidy. "we've combed it from end to end, an' we're ready to swear there ain't a livin' soul on the island but us three." "it couldn't be that a boat has put in and taken them off, cassidy," went on matt. "no boat would have had time to do that. you'll certainly find them on the island if you look sharp." cassidy and his mates took another turn about the island, but with no better success. jurgens and whistler had mysteriously disappeared. giving up trying to locate the missing scoundrels, matt had cassidy, burke and harris tote the various parts of the air ship out to the _grampus_. some of the parts were loaded inside the boat, and the rest--too large to come down the hatch in the conning tower--were roped to the rounded deck. this method of loading made it necessary for the _grampus_ to keep on the surface of the water all the way to palm beach. matt, however, had another plan in mind before going to palm beach, and as soon as the hawk had been safely loaded he had a talk with cassidy in the periscope room and led up to his plan. the result was another surprise for the three chums--one that was well-nigh overwhelming. "i suppose you know, cassidy," observed matt, "why jurgens stole the _grampus_?" cassidy cocked up his eyes shrewdly at matt. "i know," said he, "but i don't reckon any one else does, exceptin' cap'n nemo, jr., hisself." "that's where you're mistaken, cassidy," returned matt. "captain nemo, jr., or mr. townsend, as we have come to call him, told me and my pards all about it." "then i reckon that's the fust time he ever let the thing out." "he had to tell us," went on matt, "because he wanted to use our air ship in order to get to turtle key. with the hawk, townsend thought he could reach the key before the _grampus_ got there, and that we could then lie in wait for jurgens and his men." from this point, matt rehearsed the adventures that had overtaken him and his chums and townsend, bringing the recital down to the point where jurgens and whistler had been captured, and the attack made on the submarine. cassidy, burke and harris listened to the story with intense interest. when matt was through, exclamations of wonder and surprise went up from the three men. "never heard of anythin' like that, dashed if i have!" averred harris. "sounds like a fish story," asserted burke, "only it has the facts to bear it out." "you lads have gone through a lot for cap'n nemo, jr.," said cassidy, "an' you've not only done a lot for him, but you've likewise done a little somethin' for us fellers." "how's that?" asked matt. "i'm purty sure jurgens was plannin' to maroon us on the island, here. he an' his men had found out from us all they wanted to know about runnin' the ship, an' so, havin' no use for us, they wouldn't bother to keep us around. yes, i'm sartain they was goin' to turn us adrift on the island; but you an' your mates, motor matt, saved us from that." "of course," said matt, "we've got to go back to palm beach." "nacherly," agreed cassidy, "if the old man is there. we'll take him, busted ankle an' all, into the _grampus_ an' snatch him back to philadelphy, or wherever else he wants to go." "before we do that," said matt, "why can't we finish up this work for him?" "i don't savvy what you mean," said cassidy. "ain't the work about all finished? you've got the boat back for him, an'----" "but why not find turtle key, look into that cave and then go back able to report to him that there's no iron chest on the island." the eyes of all three of the men grew wide as they surveyed matt. "great sandpipers!" exclaimed cassidy, "didn't you hear about that? i supposed you knowed." "supposed i knew what?" demanded matt. "why, about that iron chest." "what about it?" "you come with me, son," and cassidy reached for matt's arm and led him out of the periscope room and into the corridor. halfway along the passage was a door leading off to the right. cassidy opened this door, revealing a closet-like room with a box in its centre. on the box rested an ancient appearing iron chest, some twelve inches long and twelve inches square. "what's that?" asked matt. "can't ye tell by lookin' at it?" cried cassidy. "why, that's the iron chest that all this pother has been about." "i knowed dot!" breathed carl, from behind matt, "i hat some feelings in my pones dot dere vas a chest like vat der baper say." "where did the chest come from?" continued matt. "from the cave on turtle key," explained cassidy. "jurgens went there an' got it. we was on our way north ag'in when jurgens sighted that white flag o' your'n through the periscope an' put in at the island to investigate." cassidy laughed. "ye can see what that investigation cost him," he finished. "he lost the _grampus_, and the iron chest. motor matt and his mates, by recapturin' the _grampus_, got the hull bag o' tricks for the old man. mebby he won't be tickled!" "wished i was motor matt," sighed burke. "the old man's rich, an' he's allers full o' gratitude when any one does anythin' fer him." "he can't do anything more for me than what he's agreed to," declared matt, "and that is to pay my pards and me five thousand for the use of the hawk." "well," said cassidy, "if that's how you stand we'll let it go at that; but hadn't we better be thinkin' of gettin' back to palm beach? cap'n nemo, jr., 'll be lookin' fer ye, an' if you don't show up he'll be worryin'." "we'll start at once," answered matt. "all i was delaying for was to get you to go to turtle key after the iron chest. now that it isn't necessary to go there, the quicker we get to palm beach, the better." "go to your stations, men," said cassidy to burke and harris. "by the same token, i'll go to mine." cassidy dropped down below into a small room which contained the gasoline motor, burke went away to some other part of the ship and harris climbed into the conning tower. the top of the tower was lowered, and harris, peering through the lunettes, began communicating the outlook to cassidy by means of push-buttons. the fabric of the submarine began to shake and quiver under the spur of the engine. slowly she backed off the shallow bar where she had grounded, gained deep water, turned and started out into the open sea. "the trip back to palm beach," harris called down to matt and his chums, "is to be made with the deck awash. if we was to submerge the _grampus_, i'd have to give cassidy his orders by means of the periscope. there's push-buttons along the edge of the table, an' i can communicate with the engine room from there just as well as from up here." matt pushed his head under the black hood of the periscope. the top of the table he found to be a mirror, and upon it was reflected the surface of the sea from the _grampus_ as a focal point clear out to the horizon's edge. "this is a fine craft," spoke up ferral, who had been strolling through the submarine. "that captain nemo, jr., has surely got a head on him to be able to get up such a boat." "i'm hoping, dick," said matt, "that we'll become better acquainted with the _grampus_. just now, though, i'd like to see if we can't get a little information out of the three men in the strong room." matt led the way to what cassidy had called the "foc'sle," and the three boys were soon looking down on the scowling faces of the prisoners. "you're the men who captured the _grampus_ in the inlet at atlantic city, are you?" queried matt. "don't talk with him, men," said one of the prisoners sharply to the others. "whatever you say he'll use against you. jest remember that and keep mum." "did you go to atlantic city with jurgens' moving-picture outfit?" matt went on. "mebby we did an' mebby we didn't," answered the fellow who had arrogated to himself the post of spokesman. "we ain't tellin' anything we know an' you ain't findin' anything out, see? take a sneak and leave us alone. you've raised hob with us and that ought to satisfy you." "have you any idea what became of jurgens and whistler?" matt went on. "we captured them and left them on the island, but they vanished mysteriously, leaving you three men to bear the consequences of the lawless work jurgens set on foot." "we don't know anything about where jurgens an' whistler have gone," replied the prisoner. "if they've fooled you, i'm mighty glad of it." that was all the satisfaction matt could get. the escape of jurgens and whistler was bothering him not a little, and it was past his comprehension how the two men could have made such a complete get-away from the island. as they themselves were the only ones who could explain it, the manner in which the _coup_ had been accomplished seemed likely to always remain a mystery. the _grampus_ was five hours making the trip across florida straits. when she tied up off palm beach it was midnight, and matt, dick and carl bunked aboard the craft and went ashore in the morning with cassidy to pay their respects to townsend. chapter xvi. matt takes townsend's advice. townsend was on the road to rapid recovery. he was feeling a hundred per cent. better than he had been when matt and his pards left him, two days previously, and if it had been possible to use his lame foot he would have been up and around. he was not surprised to see motor matt and his friends, because he had expected matt to make the trip to turtle key and back in safety; but he was surprised to see cassidy enter his room with the young motorist. "what's this?" cried townsend, hoisting up on his elbow and staring at cassidy. "is that you, cassidy?" "big as life, cap'n," grinned cassidy. "where'd you come from?" "from the _grampus_." "and where's the _grampus_?" "layin' off the town." "did you get her away from jurgens?" "motor matt was the one that got her away from jurgens." townsend fell back on his pillow and centred his attention on matt. "there's a yarn back of all this, if i'm any prophet," said townsend, "and for two days i've been hungry to have some one talk to me. here's your chance, king." matt seated himself by the bedside and proceeded to relate the experiences through which he and his friends had recently passed. townsend listened with rapt interest. not a word escaped him, and occasionally he asked a question to bring out some point which matt had not made quite clear. when matt had finished there followed an interval of silence. townsend did not seem to be greatly impressed, despite the intense interest he had shown while the narrative was going forward. "nothing so very wonderful about all that," said townsend, presently, "when you consider who was playing the chief part in the game. it's just about what i should expect of motor matt. i'm sorry for the trouble you had with the air ship, matt, and shall consider myself under obligations to make up to you any extra expense you may incur in getting the hawk back into shape. when i hired you to take me to turtle key i had no intention of allowing you to run the risk of losing the hawk. "and the man from cape town told the truth, after all! i hadn't the least idea that there was a vestige of truth in that wild yarn of his. the iron chest has been found, but what we discover in the chest is liable to be another matter. i doubt if there is anything in it of any value; nevertheless, i am bound by promise to take the chest to new orleans and open it in the presence of a certain lady there whose name was given me by the unknown. it looks like a lot of foolishness, to me, but i've started the game and will have to go through with it. i'm very sorry," and here a heavy frown crossed townsend's face, "that jurgens got away from the island. the other men will be transferred from the _grampus_ to the jail, here, and they will be dealt with according to law, but it is the ringleader we ought to have. how do you think he managed to escape from that island, matt?" "he must have got away in a boat," replied matt, "although where jurgens and whistler got the boat is something of a puzzle." "well, the two scoundrels have gone, and justice will be cheated for a while longer; but, mark me, sooner or later their time will come. and i have an idea, matt, that you and i will be concerned, in some manner, with the final act of their vicious careers. what will you do now?" "repair the hawk and go back to atlantic city." "can you repair the hawk here?" "easily." "then why go back to atlantic city?" matt stared at townsend. "that's a good place to make money," said he, "and the hawk has become quite popular at the resort." "it won't be so popular from now on, mark what i say." "why not, mr. townsend?" "why, because people will learn how the gas bag sprung a leak and nearly caused you and your friends to lose your lives. that is what will injure the hawk's popularity. if you return to atlantic city people will be afraid to make any ascensions with you. can't you see how it will be?" there seemed to be a good deal of logic in townsend's remarks, although matt thought he was a little too comprehensive in saying that _everybody_ would be afraid of the hawk. "we'll show the people," declared matt, "that the hawk is perfectly safe." "we can explain," put in dick, "that we ran into a tree and made a hole in the bag. that ought to show people that the accident wasn't the hawk's fault." "it ought to," insisted townsend, "but it won't. people don't stop to make any fine discriminations in such matters, and if an accident happened to the hawk once, they will argue, it's liable to happen again. now, i want to give you some advice, matt, and if you follow it you will profit by it. cassidy and i, together with burke and harris, are going to leave here this afternoon in the _grampus_ for new orleans. i can be carried down to the boat, and i will feel a heap better in the _grampus_ than i will in this hotel. in two or three days we will be in new orleans. while we are making the journey, you and your friends, matt, will be here, getting the air ship in shape. my advice to you is this: don't leave palm beach until you hear from me. i have a scheme floating around in my brain and i am going to telegraph you just as soon as it takes a little more form so i will know just what i want to do, and to have you do. "that's my advice. stay here until you get word from me. that's all i'm going to tell you, and you and your friends can take the advice, or leave it, just as you think best. but if you don't take it, you will live to regret it." this was odd talk for mr. townsend. first he tried to discourage matt and his friends from returning to atlantic city, and now he was seeking to keep them in palm beach for an indefinite period. but all the boys had confidence in townsend. each of them believed that he was planning something for their benefit, and they were disposed to do as he suggested. townsend took his departure from palm beach just as he said he would do. bearing the iron chest with him, he took the _grampus_ and started for new orleans. meanwhile, matt and carl and dick got busy with the hawk. the craft was put together again, the motor replaced, the envelope repaired, and in two days everything was in readiness for a return to atlantic city--if the boys chose to go there. "vat do you subbose id iss dot misder downsent vants mit us?" asked carl. "give it up, matey," answered ferral. "i can't smoke his weather roll, but, all the same, i give him credit for meaning well." "shall we wait here any longer," inquired matt, "or start back to atlantic city? time means money to us, you know, and the longer we wait, the more we lose--that is, if we don't intend to follow mr. townsend's advice." "it's one too many for me, matey," said ferral. "you're the longest-headed chap in the bunch, and suppose carl and i leave the decision entirely with you?" "if that's the way you feel," laughed matt, "we'll stay right here and give townsend all the chance he wants to communicate with us." two days after this conference, a telegram came from new orleans. it was addressed to matt, signed by townsend, and read as follows: "come to new orleans at once, and come in the hawk. i need your aid, and am willing and able to pay for it." "dot's righdt to der point, und no misdake!" chuckled carl. "'i vant your aid und am villing to pay for it.' dere's no gedding aroundt dot, eh?" "hardly," laughed ferral. "what are we going to do, matt?" "do as the telegram says and start for new orleans immediately," returned matt. "iss dere any vay ve can go dere mitoudt trafeling ofer der ocean?" asked carl, with signs of trepidation. "sure there is, carl," said ferral. "i wouldn't go myself if we had to travel across the gulf of mexico. but we don't have to. we can follow the land around." the start was made that afternoon, and, although this following of townsend's advice led motor matt and his friends into experiences as novel as they were dangerous, yet none of them ever regretted taking the trip around the gulf coast to the crescent city. the end. the next number ( ) will contain motor matt's queer find; or, the secret of the iron chest. the hut by the bayou--yamousa--the attack on the car--smoke-pictures--a queer find--foul play--dried frogs, and luck--the plotters--the head of obboney--on the trail--a black mystery--at close quarters--three in a trap--an astounding situation--the treasure--diamonds galore. motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction new york, may , . terms to motor stories mail subscribers. (_postage free._) single copies or back numbers, c. each. months c. months c. months $ . one year . copies one year . copy two years . =how to send money=--by post-office or express money-order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. at your own risk if sent by currency, coin, or postage-stamps in ordinary letter. =receipts=--receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. if not correct you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once. ormond g. smith, } george c. smith, } _proprietors_. street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york city. night watches for big game. from sebenane to thamasetse, both of which are pools of water situated on the old hunter's road from francistown to the zambesi, is, roughly speaking, seventy-five miles. since the railway has been opened up between francistown and buluwayo this road is never used, and is practically deserted. we had started very early in the morning. just about sunrise i heard a rustle in a bush close to the road, writes arnold w. hodson in the _field_. thinking it was only a steinbuck or a duiker, i paid no attention till i heard the animal bound away, when it struck me as making rather a loud noise for so small an antelope. i then caught sight of a yellow object moving parallel to the road and saw it was a lioness. she bounded into the road and stood looking at me. i had my thick gloves on, as it was very cold, and in consequence rather fumbled pulling off my night protector, which, to save time, i dropped on the road instead of putting into my pocket. my pony, however, began to pirouette round in circles, and before i could get him in hand the lioness bounded away. i galloped after her down the road, but she soon got into the thick bush, where we lost her. we got to thamasetse the next day and found old lion spoor, but none fresh. some days afterward one of the bushmen appeared and reported that the lions were at thamasetse. i got ready as soon as possible and left that evening with one native. we rode all through the night and arrived at our destination the next afternoon. the lions did not come down to drink till the third night, when in the morning we found their spoor still fresh and damp. we followed it up carefully, going through thorn bush. we got so close to them once or twice that we could hear them growling (there were five altogether), but the wind changing, they smelled us and made off and although we followed them up for some distance we did not catch sight of them again. eventually we had to give it up. the following day we found the spoor of one male and one female, and followed them up for about twelve to fourteen miles. we would come to a place where they had been sleeping, and then, evidently smelling us, we would see how they had become uneasy and gone on a short distance, where they had slept again. this went on till we had gone too far and had to go back. after this experience i decided to try different tactics, so we dug a hole fifteen yards from the water, in which i intended to watch that night. we made the hole as inconspicuous and secure as possible, and then went around to the outside pools and filled them all up, so that the lions, if they wanted to drink, would have to come down to our water. at sundown i took up my position in the kadiri (the native name for "game hole"). a few hours afterward some sable and roan antelopes came down to drink, and it was a very pretty sight to watch them. they approach the water carefully and when quite close suddenly bound away. my opinion is that they do this to see if by chance there is a lion in the water hole, because the latter lie up close to the edge of the pool in the shadow of the bank and then spring on the game when it drinks. the mere fact of their bounding away would probably entice the lion forth. the sable antelope seemed to me to be always more cautious than the roan antelope. one of the former, a female, came twelve times to the water and dashed away each time. of course she may have just smelled me, which would have accounted for it; but i do not think she did, for she eventually drank. i kept watch night after night, and although i saw plenty of game, no lions came. it was very lonely by oneself in these holes, and the cries of the wolves and jackals are at times very uncanny. one evening at dinner time just as ranchubu, my servant, was bringing in the soup, one of my little bushmen, a splendid little chap of about and very plucky, who was going down to the water to fill his billy, suddenly commenced yelling with all his might "newe! newe!" (leopard, leopard), and then, still shouting, commenced running after it across the veld. i snatched up my rifle and calling to the dogs rushed after him. luckily, i had on a pair of light running shoes instead of my usual heavy shooting boots, so was easily able to keep up with the others who had joined us. we must have gone about three miles when we heard the dogs barking and knew that they had bayed the leopard. in a few minutes it would be quite dark, so i put on a fresh spurt to try to get a shot while i could see my sights. the leopard was standing outside a thick patch of bush with the dogs, furiously excited, surrounding him. after several shots and misses, the leopard breaking away each time, a lucky shot struck him in the neck and killed him. i was glad the matter ended as it did, for i found that two of my previous shots had hit him, and it is seldom that a wounded leopard does not attack his assailant. it is curious that he did not take to a tree, as is nearly always the case when chased by dogs. he was an excellent specimen of a large male. we got back to the camp about p. m., a very jubilant party, and when i had had my supper i again took up my position at the water hole. plenty of game came that night, but no lions. the next day was very hot and oppressive, and we felt sure that if lions were anywhere near they would come down that night to drink. i took up my position soon after sundown, and about o'clock, as we had no meat, shot a male sable antelope. he was mortally wounded and ran about sixty yards to die, when, as i discovered, in the morning, he was pounced upon by a lioness and immediately killed. i heard nothing and saw nothing till about a. m., when i heard lap, lap, lap from the pool in front of me. i knew by the noise the beast was making it could be nothing else but a lion, but for the moment i could see nothing, as it was in the pool, and from the position i could only see an animal as it came in or went out. at last the noise stopped and a shadowy figure came out of the pool. it stood for an instant on the edge silhouetted against the sky. i could not distinguish whether it was a male or a female, but there was no doubt it was a lion, and, as it turned out afterward, a female. i brought my rifle in line with the object and fired. i knew at once i had hit by the terrific growls that followed. i hastily fired again and the brute lay down, all the time growling terribly, so much so that it woke up all the natives in my camp, some distance away. as soon as it was light i could see her ears moving and fired again, this time hitting her just below the head, which finished the matter. she was a splendid specimen of a lioness. my first shot had hit her in the neck, and the second in the stomach. her skin was perfect and very glossy. we found the remains of the sable antelope she had killed about eighty yards away, and saw by the spoor that there had been at least six lions around the pool that night. they had evidently been frightened by the fate of the lioness and had not come down to drink. we followed the spoor of a lion and a lioness. after we had gone a short distance the bushman pointed to a tree and showed us where the lion had been standing up on his hind legs clawing it. he said that the lion was looking around for the lioness i had shot and was very angry at being disturbed from his feast of the sable antelope. we went on mile after mile, but a breeze springing up behind us we had to go back. that night i again sat up at the water hole, but saw nothing more exciting than a few sable and roan antelopes. the next day it was again very hot, and at night i went down to the hole full of hope that the lions would come back. about a. m. i heard a rustle and saw a leopard going into the pool, walking very quietly and without the least idea of my near presence. she disappeared into the pool, but i could not hear her drinking, as i had heard the lioness two nights before. she soon came out and stood for a few minutes on the bank; i fired and she bounded away. my bullet went through her body and she was found next morning a few yards distant. she was very prettily marked, in good condition. about a. m. the same morning i could hear some animals at the remains of the sable antelope. the cracking of the bones was one of the most horrible noises i have ever heard. i made sure that the lions had come back, and expected them when they had finished their feed to come down and drink; but they did not come, and in the morning we found that they were jackals that had been eating the meat during the night. i continued to sit up at nights, but the lions did not return. on the third evening just before going down to the game hole the leader came running into camp and said that he had heard the cries of a dying sable antelope, so we went out as quickly as possible to the place, and on getting near to it heard the peculiar half growl, half bark uttered by wild dogs. there were four or five of them. they did not run away when they saw us, but bounded a few yards and then turned round and looked at us, all the time making a hideous noise. i shot one of them and the rest then decamped. this wild dog appeared to me to be differently marked from one i had shot a few weeks before more to the southwest. these brutes do no end of damage among game, and the bushmen say that sometimes if they are disturbed in their orgies they will attack a man. they certainly look fierce enough to do so. specialists in the woods. only people who have poked around up there more or less realize how many persons make a living out of the maine woods. this reference is not to the lumbermen and the pulp stuff choppers. their presence in the woods is a matter of course. this is a word about the army of specialists. one might say that they are the gleaners who follow the red-shirted reapers whose harvest is the giants of the forests. the side issues of the maine woods feed many mouths; and speaking about mouths there are, of course, the gum pickers. some people have an idea that spruce gum is gathered in the forest by the lumbermen at odd jobs. it may be remarked in passing that from : a. m. until dark the maine loggers have something else to do. they haven't any hankering to climb trees. practically all the spruce gum of commerce is gathered by men who make it their business and work at it as steadily as a man in a factory. you will find the snowshoe trail of these busy chaps zigzagging through pathless stretches, and if you happen to be up that way you will see their camp-fires glowing deep in many a lonely glen. few people behold them at their work. the constant supply of gum in store windows shows they are kept busy. there is more or less excitement about gum picking. the standard price for gum is $ a pound, and a fancy article of clear nuggets brings $ . . some days when lucky strikes are frequent the gum picker can clear from $ to $ . the gum picker can sell even the scraps and chippings. the patent spruce gum maker boils those down. several medicine firms also make a spruce gum cough balsam. maine gum pickers usually travel in pairs. some go on their own hook, others are employed by wholesale druggists. usually they range over wide territory, sleeping here and there in the deserted logging camps that sprinkle northern maine. a few fresh boughs of browse in the bunks and some strips of bark over the habitable corner of the camp make the place a comfortable home. if a city man happens to be ordered into the woods by his physician he would do well to take up gum picking for his pastime, even if he does not care for the money. there is just enough activity about it to keep a man's mind clear and his muscles healthy. it takes him abroad through the crisp winter air and gives him an excuse for "hucking it." a gum picker's equipment comprises warm clothing, snowshoes, climbers--such as telegraph linemen use--a curved chisel in the handle of which a pole may be set, a good jack-knife and a gun. these are the necessaries. almost as necessary is a good supply of tobacco, for if you can imagine a gum picker sitting down of an evening by the camp fire and cleaning his day's pick of gum without clouds of smoke about his head your imagination pictures a very cheerless scene. there is a special thing about gum picking--the daily expenses are small. the men cannot register at hotels or patronize saloons. it is either a deserted camp or the lee side of a tree at night. as they are obliged to tote their household supplies on a moose sled, they are frugal in their diet. with plenty of work, a few bushels of beans, flour, and molasses, a gum picker is fixed nicely for a long and cold winter. he figures that it costs him about cents a week, and if he is handy with his gun he reduces expenses materially. of course it is rather lonely sometimes in the deep woods, but there is a pretty bright side to the picture. the gum picker rolls off his bunk in the morning, his nostrils full of the good green savor of the spruce boughs beneath his head all night. he fries his bacon, warms his beans and sloofs at his steaming tin of tea. then he has a leisurely smoke before the sputtering embers of the fire, gets his kit on his back and his gum bag under his arm, ties a lunch of biscuit and gingerbread in his handkerchief, straps on his snowshoes, and trudges away into the forest, his pipe trailing blue smoke behind in the sparkling air of the winter morning. the gum picker must have a good eye for trees. a careless and myopic man would travel over acres of territory and miss the dollars right along. the shrewd picker, the experienced man, runs his practiced eye along every trunk. here and there he sees a tall spruce marked by a seam through which its life-blood has oozed for years. the bubbles have crept out and have been clarified day by day in the sun and the rain. they have absorbed the odoriferous breath of the forest. there they are at last, amber and garnet nuggets, ready for the picker's chisel and for the teeth of the gum-chewing girls far away in the city. sometimes the picker goes up on his climbers and taps and ticks and picks like a giant woodpecker. sometimes the tree is felled. the gum king of the moosehead region is a rather cranky old chap, who has been at the business ever since he was a youth. he roams all over that region and has reduced the thing to a science. at regular intervals he makes a trip through some remote district and wounds the spruces with his ax and chisel. then after a few years he travels around that way and gathers the gum. it is only in maine that the great gum nuggets with centres like the red of a dying coal are obtained, and the folks that chew gum say that for yanking qualities this gum beats the world. the maine hoop pole man makes even better wages than his brother the gum picker. the hoop pole man follows along in the wake of the loggers. he barbers the face of the hillsides of stuff that no one else wants. he is after the second growth, as the young birch and ash are called. these spring up around the rotting stumps. the hoop pole man takes a horse with him in his tours. he cuts the poles, and the horse hauls them to camp by daylight. evenings the pole man fashions the hoops with a draw shave, sitting beside a roaring fire and sucking at his black pipe. sometimes the poles are sold round, but the harvester who trims his own stuff and shaves the hoops receives two or three cents each for the finished products, and that pays. the hoop pole business is pretty steady work, but the evenings are pleasant, after all, with the slish of shaves, the crackle of the fire and the rumble of story telling. even the rabbit, up-ending outside, looks in through the windows at the light and warmth, waggles his ears and wishes he might join the group. as soon as the hoop poles are sold each is marked across with red chalk a little way from the end. for some time in certain parts of maine persons did a snug business by stealing poles, but nowadays no dealer will buy any that have been thus marked. yet sometimes the canny thief cuts off the ends that bear the chalk mark. a while ago one man sold his hoop poles to a dealer, who marked them and laid them in his sled. then the seller came around by night, stole the poles, cut them off and sold them to another dealer as hoops for half barrels. it may be seen, therefore, that the city man doesn't know all the tricks. if this enterprising hoop pole man could have got the hoops once more he could have trimmed them down and disposed of them as hoops for nail kegs. then there is the axe handle man. he needs ash of a larger growth than the hoop pole saplings. the trees are chopped in the fall, and then by means of a "froe" and axe each handle is roughly blocked out. then they are buried so that they may season without cracking. as an additional precaution against parting of the fibres the broad end of each handle is daubed with a sort of paint the principal ingredient of which is grease. ash goes to pieces easily if the sun gets at it and the axe handle man must be careful of his wares. the rough handles are sent away to the factory as soon as the snow comes. of all tough jobs the ship knee man has the worst in the woods. the knees bring good prices, but the man who gets them out earns every cent. he goes prospecting with an axe, hunting for hack or back juniper or tamarack. when one is found he looks to see if it has the proper crook in its root. if the right angle is there and the root proves sound he sets to work digging it out--and it is a muscle racking job. the man who is after hemlock bark for the tanneries is another chap who strays far in the woods, for the bark is away back nowadays. the indian who hunts after basket stuff or birch bark for a canoe hull is the most patient searcher. the big birches are few and far between in the maine woods, and sometimes an indian from the penobscot or passamaquoddy tribe will tramp a hundred miles before he finds a tree that will yield a piece of bark without knothole or crack and which will be large enough for a canoe. a number of men are now making good money in the maine woods by searching the brooks for fresh water clams. they are getting some good pearls from these bivalves. some hunters in the moosehead region recently found a pearl valued at $ . the most unsocial folk in the maine forests are the trappers. they don't want anyone within twenty miles of them. gunners will steal from the traps, they believe, and lumbermen scare away game. even bobcats rob them, as bloody smears near a rifled trap indicate. some of the old trappers have a twenty-mile circuit of traps and resent it if any neighbors come that way. some of the biggest rough and tumbles that the maine beavers have ever witnessed have been fought out by bow-legged old trappers who have chanced to cross trails and have believed that they were being crowded on a hundred square miles of territory. missouri willow farm. east kansas city is one of the most important centres in the missouri valley in the business of shipping willows. in the last three months alone the kansas city southern railway has hauled from there flat carloads of trimmed willows, and is taking out more as fast as the willow plantations can furnish the crop. the roots of the willows keep the sand from shifting along the river banks; but the use of the tops of willows in fighting currents of water is comparatively new. government work with willows requires that the trees shall be more than twelve feet high and between / and - / inches in diameter at the butts. after a patch of these trees has been cut the ground looks like a stubblefield of corn. the new sprouts, however, look more like a field of wheat--if wheat only had that peculiar reddish tinge that willows take on at this time of the year. in two and a half to three years after cutting willows will grow up again to the size required for dikes or for plaiting into mats. the willows now being bought by the railway are for use in checking the inroads of the arkansas river between spiro and fort smith, ark. the dikes that are being constructed run out into the river feet and are of willows held in place with large steel cables. since december nearly carloads of trees--not all of these willows--have been dumped into the river. the sand filling the crevices between the bundles of willows makes a strong and economical pier. the steel cables insure the safety of the pier until the sand has done its work. in cutting and trimming the willows the harvesters use nothing but ordinary corn knives. animals that dread rain. lions, tigers, and all the cat tribe dread rain. on a rainy day they tear nervously up and down their cages, growling and trembling. the keepers usually give them an extra ration of hot milk. that puts them to sleep. wolves love a gray day of rain. they are then very cheery. treacherous as the wolf is, no keeper need fear him on a rainy day. he is too happy to harm a fly. snakes, too, like rain. they perk up wonderfully as the barometer falls and the damp makes itself felt in their warm cases of glass. rain makes monkeys glum. they are apt from instinct, when they see it through the window, to clasp their hands above their heads and sit so for hours. that attitude, you know, makes a kind of shelter. it is the primitive umbrella. so, when it rained, the naked primitive man and woman sat gloomily in the primeval swamps of giant ferns. latest issues buffalo bill stories the most original stories of western adventure. the only weekly containing the adventures of the famous buffalo bill. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --buffalo bill's fiesta; or, at outs with the duke of cimarron. --buffalo bill among the cheyennes; or, the rescue of paquita. --buffalo bill besieged; or, texas kid's last trail. --buffalo bill and the red hand; or, the ranch of mystery. --buffalo bill's tree-trunk drift; or, the cold game "gent" from red tail. --buffalo bill and the spectre; or, a queer layout in spook cañon. --buffalo bill and the red feathers; or, the pard who went wrong. --buffalo bill's king stroke; or, old fire-top's finish. --buffalo bill, the desert cyclone; or, the wild pigs of the cumbres. --buffalo bill's cumbres scouts; or, the wild pigs corralled. --buffalo bill and the man-wolf; or, the mystery of the adobe castle. --buffalo bill and his winged pard; or, indian against indian. --buffalo bill at babylon bar; or, the mountain pirates. --buffalo bill's long arm; or, the game-cock of shasta. brave and bold weekly all kinds of stories that boys like. the biggest and best nickel's worth ever offered. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --always to the front; or, for fun and fortune. by cornelius shea. --caught in a trap; or, the great diamond case. by harrie irving hancock. --for big money; or, beating his way to the pacific. by fred thorpe. --muscles of steel; or, the boy wonder. by weldon j. cobb. --gordon keith in zululand; or, how "checkers" held the fort. by lawrence white, jr. --the boys' revolt; or, right against might. by harrie irving hancock. --the mystic isle; or, in peril of his life. by fred thorpe. --a million a minute; or, a brace of meteors. by weldon j. cobb. --gordon keith under african skies; or, four comrades in the danger zone. by lawrence white, jr. --two chums afloat; or, the cruise of the "arrow." by cornelius shea. --in the path of duty; or, the fortunes of officer dan deering. by harrie irving hancock. --a bid for fortune; or, true as steel. by fred thorpe. --a battle with fate; or, the baseball mascot. by weldon j. cobb. --three brave boys; or, adventures in the balloon world. by frank sheridan. motor stories the latest and best five-cent weekly. we won't say how interesting it is. see for yourself. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. --motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. --motor matt's century run; or, the governor's courier. --motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the "comet." --motor matt's mystery; or, foiling a secret plot. --motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear. --motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto. --motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward. --motor matt's air-ship; or, the rival inventors. --motor matt's hard luck; or, the balloon house plot. --motor matt's daring rescue; or, the strange case of helen brady. --motor matt's peril; or, castaway in the bahamas. _for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address on receipt of price, cents per copy, in money or postage stamps, by_ street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york =if you want any back numbers= of our weeklies and cannot procure them from your newsdealer, they can be obtained from this office direct. fill out the following order blank and send it to us with the price of the weeklies you want and we will send them to you by return mail. =postage stamps taken the same as money.= ________________________ _ _ _street & smith, - seventh avenue, new york city._ _dear sirs: enclosed please find_ ___________________________ _cents for which send me_: tip top weekly, nos. ________________________________ nick carter weekly, " ________________________________ diamond dick weekly, " ________________________________ buffalo bill stories, " ________________________________ brave and bold weekly, " ________________________________ motor stories, " ________________________________ _name_ ________________ _street_ ________________ _city_ ________________ _state_ ________________ adventures of a boy genius motor stories most five-cent weeklies are founded upon the adventures of boy wonders who perform all sorts of impossible feats and who never act or talk as a boy really does. this is displeasing to the intelligent boy of the present day, who is better educated, and who, consequently, demands more logical reading than the old-time boy did. the boys who want to learn something from what they read, as well as to be interested by it, will never find another publication that will satisfy them so well as motor stories. "motor matt" is not an impossible boy character. he is simply a youth who has had considerable training in a machine shop where motors of all kinds were repaired, and who is possessed of a genius for mechanics. his sense of right and wrong is strongly developed, and his endeavors to insure certain people a square deal lead him into a series of the most astonishing, but at the same time the most natural, adventures that ever befell a boy. buy the current number from your newsdealer. we feel sure that you will be just as enthusiastic about it as the fifty thousand other boys throughout the united states have become. here are the titles now ready: no. .--motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. no. .--motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. no. .--motor matt's century run; or, the governor's courier. no. .--motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the "comet." no. .--motor matt's mystery; or, foiling a secret plot. no. .--motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear. no. .--motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto. to be published on april th no. .--motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward. to be published on april th no. .--motor matt's air-ship; or, the rival inventors. to be published on april th no. .--motor matt's hard luck; or, the balloon house plot. to be published on may d no. .--motor matt's daring rescue; or, the strange case of helen brady. to be published on may th no. .--motor matt's peril; or, cast away in the bahamas. =price, five cents= at all newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, by the publishers upon receipt of the price. _street & smith, publishers, new york_ * * * * * * transcriber's note: added table of contents. page , removed unnecessary apostrophe from "let's" in "that lets the dago out." page , changed "ruffin" to "ruffian" for consistency with previous volumes. page , corrected speaker from carl to matt in first sentence of chapter xiii. page , changed "jobbs" to "jobs" ("lumbermen at odd jobs"). courtesy of the digital library@villanova university (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction no. apr. , five cents motor matt's triumph three speeds forward _by stanley r. matthews._ [illustration: _chub caught the murderous hand just in time to save motor matt._] _street & smith publishers, new york._ motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction _issued weekly. by subscription $ . per year. entered according to act of congress in the year , in the office of the librarian of congress, washington, d. c., by_ street & smith, _ - seventh avenue, new york, n. y._ no. . new york, april , . price five cents. motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward. by the author of "motor matt." contents chapter i. the white-caps. chapter ii. motor matt's foes. chapter iii. suspicious doings. chapter iv. a villainous plot. chapter v. matt goes trouble-hunting. chapter vi. higgins tells what he knows. chapter vii. brisk work at dodge city. chapter viii. matt interviews trueman. chapter ix. no. . chapter x. where is motor matt? chapter xi. running down a clue. chapter xii. forty-eight hours of darkness. chapter xiii. at the last minute. chapter xiv. the first half of the race. chapter xv. well won, king! chapter xvi. conclusion. taking a big 'gator. a tigers' haunt. characters that appear in this story. =matt king=, concerning whom there has always been a mystery--a lad of splendid athletic abilities, and never-failing nerve, who has won for himself, among the boys of the western town, the popular name of "mile-a-minute matt." =chub mcready=, sometimes called plain "reddy," for short, on account of his fiery "thatch"--a chum of matt, with a streak of genius for inventing things that often lands the bold experimenter in trouble. =carl pretzel=, a cheerful and rollicking german lad, who is led by a fortunate accident to hook up with motor matt in double harness. =colonel plympton=, secretary of the stark-frisbie motor company. =uncle tom=, an old darky who was once a member of a traveling dramatic company, but who is now, by self-appointment, motor matt's "'fishul mascot." =mr. trueman=, of the jarret company, who gives matt car no. in the race. =slocum=, an unprincipled schemer, who plays a deep game. =sercomb=, } =mings=, } six members of the motor drivers association, some of =higgins=, } whom prove themselves ready to go to any length to =grier=, } keep motor matt out of the great race for the borden =finn=, } cup. =martin=, } chapter i. the white-caps. "vat's der madder mit you? ach, du lieber! vaid a minid! for vy you do dot monkey-doodle pitzness? hoop-a-la! oof it vas a fighdt, den ged avay, a gouple oof tozen oof you, und come ad me vone py each. i show you somet'ing, py shings, vat you don'd like und--wow! himmelblitzen----" the clamor which suddenly arose in that dark denver cross-street was as suddenly hushed. it was about nine o'clock in the evening, and two lamps on distant corners shed about as much light as a pair of tallow-dips. midway between the two street-lamps lay the mouth of a gloomy alley, and here it was that the frantic commotion burst out and died abruptly. a dutch boy had been walking along the street, accompanied by a "loudly" dressed youth. at the entrance to the alley the dutch boy's companion had stopped and given a low whistle. almost immediately, and before the teuton fairly realized what was going on, three figures had rushed from the gloom of the alley. the dutchman was caught from all sides, and, as he struggled, broke into a wild torrent of words. the torrent was suddenly stemmed by a cloth which was thrown over his head from behind; then, while smothered into silence and held helpless, he was lifted and borne along the alley to a basement door. one of the four captors descended to the door and knocked three times in a peculiar manner. the door was pulled open, captors and captive vanished swiftly inside, and the door was closed. an inner door now confronted the party, and the same knock was given here as had been given outside. "who approaches?" demanded a sepulchral voice. "four drivers of racing-cars," answered the spokesman of the party, "bringing the dutch chum of the fellow who calls himself motor matt." "give me the countersign." "four speeds forward and one reverse." the countersign was whispered. "enter, drivers, and finish your work," went on the sepulchral voice. two minutes later the dutch boy was seated in a chair, released, and the cloth whisked from his head. with a shout of anger he started to his feet. "sit down!" commanded a voice sternly. the captive was blinded by a glare of acetyline lamps, the rays of which crossed the room from all four walls, interlacing and merging in one comprehensive glow. gradually, as the captive's eyes became accustomed to the light, he made out the mouth of a small cannon thrust into his face. back of the gun stood a figure cowled in white. the dutch boy started back from the leveled weapon and sank into his chair once more; then his wondering eyes swerved about him. an automobile stood in front of him, backed up against the stone wall of the basement. it was a two-passenger roadster, with acetyline and oil-lamps lighted. in the driver's seat sat another cowled figure. three chairs on either side of the automobile held more of the white-caps, all rigidly erect and silent. "vat a foolish pitzness!" growled the captive. "oof you hat a ring ve vould haf a circus, und----" "silence!" thundered the white-cap with the gun. he had taken a seat at the captive's side, and leaned from his chair to poke the point of the weapon in the captive's ribs. honk, honk! the man in the car tooted his horn. "number three," said he, "will report." from one of the chairs on the right a white-cap arose, stepped in front of the car and kowtowed. "most honorable king of chauffeurs," said he, "i have to report that i met the captive at the railroad-station. he had claimed a couple of grips and sent them to a hotel by an expressman. i informed him that my name was higgins, and that i had something of importance to tell him about this fellow who calls himself motor matt. he swallowed the bait, hook and all, and i brought him past the mouth of the alley. aided by numbers one, two, and four, we captured him easily." honk, honk! "very good, number three," said the king of chauffeurs; "return to your station." number three sat down. "py shiminy grickets!" cried the captive, who had been watching and listening with a good deal of amazement, "it looks like i vas numper nodding mit a douple cross alongsite!" "your name, captive?" demanded the man in the car. "carl pretzel, most eggselent king oof der sore headts----" honk, honk! "if the prisoner refers again to the head of this exalted society in such insulting terms, warder, put a hole through him!" this from the man in the car. "even so, your highness!" answered the warder. "you are the chum of the big high butter-in who calls himself motor matt?" proceeded the man in the car. carl's temper rushed to the surface. "don'd you make some insulding remarks neider!" he scowled. "modor matt don'd vas a putter-in! und i peen his chum, efery tay und all der dime, yah, so helup me." "motor matt came to denver with mr. james q. tomlinson, in mr. tomlinson's touring-car, the red flier?" proceeded the man in the car. "vat iss it your pitzness?" demanded carl. "motor matt has come here to enter the racing-field?" continued the other. "vell, he iss a pedder triver as anypody, und vy nod?" "he intends to apply to colonel plympton for a place on the stark-frisbie staff of racers? he wants to drive a car in the race for the bordon cup?" "i don'd say nodding. vatefer modor matt toes, he vill do, und it vill be pedder oof you leaf him alone." "carl pretzel," went on the man in the car sternly, "we have a line on this motor matt. he is the original buttinsky. wherever he goes he noses around for a place where he can meddle with other people's business. a week ago he was at his old tricks down in new mexico, and----" carl jumped to his feet angrily. "sit down!" commanded the fellow at his side, jabbing him with the muzzle of the gun. "ven i ged goot und retty," fumed carl, "i vill sot down, und nod pefore. i know vat i know, und i shpeak it oudt. make some holes in me oof you vant, aber i don'd t'ink you haf der nerf to make holes in anypody. modor matt don'd vas a puttinsky. dis iss a free goundry, i bed you, und no fellers in nighdt-gowns iss going to make some fault-findings mit my chum, modor matt. vat he do in new mexico? vy, he safe his friendt, tick verral, from being killed twice. dot's vat he dit mit his putting-ins. i don'd shday here no more und lis'en to sooch talk vat you make. vich iss der vay oudt? oof you don'd led me go, py shinks i make you more drouples as i can dell!" carl started toward the door. honk, honk! "seize him, drivers!" called the man in the car. "bind him, blindfold him, and place him in the car. assisted by the warder, i will carry him off. remain here, the rest of you, until we return and go into executive session." carl was grabbed by all the white-caps; then, after he had been thrown on the floor, his feet and hands were tied and a cloth was bound over his eyes. "pretzel," went on the voice of the man in the car, "we racing-drivers are particular about those who enter our ranks. if motor matt attempts to race for the borden cup, he will never live to face the tape at the start. in your pocket we will place a communication which you will deliver to him. it contains a threat and a warning. let him ignore that letter at his peril." "you fellers make me so dired as i don'd know!" stormed carl, struggling to free himself. "modor matt don'd vas a kevitter. vat you say don'd make no odds aboudt ter tifference. you vill know more vone oof dose tays dan vat you t'ink. pah! you vas all a back oof gowards, und don'd haf der nerf to show your faces! ven i dell modor matt vat----" honk, honk! "gag him, drivers, and lay him in the car!" something was pushed between carl's lips and tied there. he still continued to splutter, but the sounds were muffled and the words indistinct. he felt himself lifted and crumpled into the front of the roadster. "open the doors!" ordered the driver in the car. "number one, crank-up!" carl could hear the doors thrown ajar, and this noise was followed by the popping of the motor as the cylinders took the explosion. "remember what i say, drivers," called the leader of the gang, "and wait here for us to return. we have plans to consider." then the car moved off on the low gear. carl felt it turn through the entrance and chuggety-chug up an incline; another turn and they were in the alley, another and they were in the street. after that, for a few minutes, the vehicle flew swiftly. presently it halted, carl's ropes were stripped away, and he was thrown out. stumbling to his knees, he began frantically jerking off the cloth that covered his eyes, and the gag that interfered with his speech. the tail-light of the roadster was just vanishing around a corner. carl shook his fist after the car and got to his feet, saying things to himself. his novel experience had dazed him. it was all so unreal that it seemed like a dream. still muttering to himself, he made his way to the sidewalk, found a policeman, inquired his way to the clifton house, and set out hurriedly to find motor matt, and report. chapter ii. motor matt's foes. motor matt was in his room at the clifton house. late that afternoon he and carl had arrived in denver in the red flier, having brought mr. tomlinson, the owner of the car, and gregory, mr. tomlinson's driver, from santa fé. matt had been in charge of the touring-car for several weeks, having taken it in hand at ash fork, arizona.[a] he and carl had brought it alone as far as santa fé, where they had been joined by mr. tomlinson and gregory. [a] see motor stories no. , , and . the boys had had numerous adventures on the long trail, and not only they, but the car as well, had been placed in considerable peril. now, however, the dangers were past, the car--owing to matt's careful handling--had been placed in the garage in as good condition as when it had come into the young motorist's hands, and everybody was pleased--mr. tomlinson exceedingly so. the extra luggage belonging to the boys had been checked to denver from santa fé, and directly after supper matt had sent carl to the railroad station with the checks. matt, lounging in his room and waiting for carl to return, thought his chum was taking a long time to do his errand. the expressman brought the grips, but no carl came with them. it was half-past ten before carl came in. there was a bruise on the side of his face, his clothes were covered with dust and dirt, and he was puffed up like an angry robin. "great scott, carl!" exclaimed matt, taking the dutch boy's sizing with a quick glance; "did you have to have a fight with the baggage-smasher in order to get the grips? you look like you'd had a scrap!" "den," growled carl, "i look like vat it iss." he threw off his coat and cap, pulled down his red vest, and flung himself into a chair. "i haf hat more shcraps as vone, matt, und dot's all aboudt it. py shiminy, i peen so madt i don'd can see srtraight," and he went on to rehearse his experiences to the wondering matt. "sounds like a pipe-dream," commented matt, when his chum had finished. "instead of being in peaceful, law-abiding denver, you'd think we had struck a mining-camp. who was the fellow who met you at the station?" "he say dot his name vas higgins, aber i bed you dot don'd vas it, any more as my name vas dunder. 'you peen modor matt's bard,' he say, like dot, making some friendliness mit me, 'und i got somet'ing to tell vat modor matt shouldt hear. you valk mit me,' he say, 'und i tell you, und you tell matt.' vell, i pelieve vat i hear, und he shteers me py der alley. ach, it vas some put-oop chobs all der vay t'roo, you bed my life." "you didn't recognize higgins as being any one else?" "i reckognize him as being some plackguards, all righdt!" "i mean, you'd have known him for ralph sercomb, balt finn, joe mings, or harry packard if he had been one of them?" "sure; aber he don'd vas dot. he vas some odder fellers." "all those chaps were mixed up in the trouble we had down near lamy, in new mexico, while we were helping dick ferral. they're the only denver motor-racers i know who would have it in for me."[b] [b] see no. of the motor stories, "motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto." "meppy dose vas der fellers, matt," said carl, "aber dey vore vite caps ofer der faces und i don'd vas aple to see oof dey vas." "sercomb and his pals were all motorists," mused matt. "but what good will it do for them to try to keep me out of the borden cup-race? i've got a chance to make a record by going into that race, and i'm going to get into it, if i can." "sure you vas going indo der race, bard, und dose sore-headts von't be aple to keep you oudt." "i'm not going to back-water for them." "dot's you," chuckled carl. "you vill be dwice as keen to ged in der race now as you vas pefore. dot's der vay modor matt iss pud oop! py shinks, you vas der pest all-orundt modor feller vat efer habbened----" "oh, splash!" laughed matt. "use the soft pedal, carl." "py chimineddy, i mean vat i say!" persisted carl. "you know more aboudt modors in a year as some odder fellers know in a minid, und----" "i guess that's right." "misder domlinson say dot you peen a crack racer, und dot you ged oudt oof a car all der speed vat vas in it." "well, hang onto your bouquets for a while and let's see that letter the white-caps gave you to deliver to me." "vouldn't dot gif you some grimps?" cried carl, reaching for his coat. "i vas forgeddng all aboudt dot ledder." he extracted a sealed envelope from his pocket and tossed it to matt. matt pulled his chair closer to the light and examined the envelope. he smiled grimly as he read, "'to buttinsky, otherwise matt king, otherwise motor matt. kindness of wienerwurst.' they're complimentary, that gang. eh, carl?" carl had been lifted out of his chair. "be jeerful, eferypody!" he muttered. "is dot vat iss saidt on der enfellop, matt? iss it me dey mean by dot 'wienerwurst' pitzness?" "of course! who else?" "ach, ven i ged dime you bed you i go looking for dot cellar blace some more, und ven i findt it, i rip dot society oop der pack like some cyclones! 'wienerwurst!' pringle call me dot, vonce, und i gif him hail golumpy in forty-'lefen keys. readt der ledder oudt loud, matt. oof it say anyt'ing more aboudt 'wienerwurst,' meppy i go hunt for dot cellar blace do-night!" "barking dogs are not always the ones that bite, carl," returned matt, opening the envelope and extracting the enclosed sheet. "i haven't a very high opinion of those friends of sercomb's, and i guess they'll be careful not to do anything very desperate." "vell, dey tied verral in der ret flier und shtart him for der cliffs. dot vas tesperade enough, ain'd it?" "they did that out in the wilds; but we're in denver now, and there's a policeman on every block." thereupon motor matt began to read. "if matt king thinks he can come to denver and butt into the racing game, he's some shy of the situation. the motor-drivers of this town are a little particular who they associate with. nearly all our members will be represented in the race for the borden cup, and king is warned to stay out of it. he is also ordered to leave denver inside of twenty-four hours, and to make no deal with colonel plympton, of the stark-frisbie company. _unless king follows instructions, something will happen to him._ a word to the wise is sufficient." "ach, iss dot so!" whooped carl. "'a vort to der vise,' hey? say, dot makes me madt as some horneds! i vonder oof dot punch oof plackguards t'ink dey boss der goundry? donnervetter! i vould like to gif der hull oudfidt a punch in der slads!" matt was thoughtful. "it's sercomb and his gang all right," he averred finally. "when i saw sercomb last, he swore he'd be even with me. he sent that letter, not because he doesn't want me in the racing game, but because he knows i won't pay any attention to his orders, and that it will give him an excuse to try some underhand work." "i vould like to knock dot sercomb's face indo his pack hair," fumed carl. "he vas a lopsder, a rekular rank-a-tang! und i bed you dot pefore he iss tone mit us he vill know dot he has peen mixed oop mit a gouple oof life vones. 'wienerwurst!' he mighdt as vell haf called me a sissage. i'll show him i don'd vas anyt'ing like dot. mings iss as pad as sercomb, und so iss packard, aber i ditn't t'ink finn vouldt shtand for any sooch vork. dere iss more as mings, packard, und finn mit dem, too." "sercomb has told his own story to the rest of the members of that club," said matt. "he has rubbed it into my character in pretty strong style, i suppose, and in order to get even with me, and have all the others on his side, he uses the race for the borden cup as a pretext." "vell, be jeerful, matt. it dakes t'ings like dose to keep a feller chinchered oop." "right you are, carl," laughed matt. "i'll get into that race, now, if it takes a leg." "sure!" cooed carl. "you vill be in it mit bot' feets efen oof vone leg iss gone. how iss dot for a choke?" "it may not be so easy to break into the game, after all." "eferyt'ing iss easy for modor matt," gloried carl. "you vill ged indo der game schust like falling off some logs. for vy nod?" "well, for one thing, i haven't any racing record behind me." "ach, hear dot! ditn't you beat oudt a limidet egspress drain mit a modorcycle? und hain't you peen racing pubbles efer since ve left ash fork?" "all that hasn't given me a racing record. when a manufacturer puts a twenty-thousand-dollar racing-car in the field, he wants to be more than sure that his driver has plenty of nerve and skill. about the only way he can be sure of that is by looking back over his record and seeing what he has done." "vell, let dem look pack so far as dey blease ofer your recordt. dey vill findt some surbrises, you bed you." "the race for the borden cup is only two weeks off, carl. the automobile club decided it was to be run over a kansas course, and limited to western machines. why, some of the contestants have already been on the scene of the race for a week!" "i don'd care for dot," averred carl stoutly. "you vill make goot schust der same. mindt vat i say." just then there came a rap on the door. matt answered the summons and found the bell-boy with a card. "colonel jasper plympton," ran the legend on the bit of pasteboard. matt caught his breath. colonel plympton was coming to see him! "ask him to come right up," said matt, turning away. "who it vas?" queried carl curiously. "plympton!" exclaimed matt exultantly. "he is hunting me instead of letting me go looking for him." carl wore a grin you could have tied behind his ears. "now vat vouldt dot sercomb gang say oof dey knowed dot!" he chuckled. chapter iii. suspicious doings. the stark-frisbie company, like most of the progressive automobile concerns, maintained a staff of racing-drivers. wherever there was a speed contest, a reliability run or an endurance trial, stark-frisbie cars were sure to be entered. in the early days of the industry, motor-racing was a sport. now it is rapidly being reduced to a business. "win at any cost," are the instructions a firm gives its drivers. if a driver makes a mistake he is condemned for all time, and the reputation of his employers suffers in the estimation of the public. for this reason the rule of winning at any cost is carried out strictly. colonel plympton was secretary of the stark-frisbie company, and had entire charge of its racing affairs. mr. tomlinson was an intimate friend of the colonel's, and had engaged to secure matt a position with his firm. matt, however, had never dreamed that colonel plympton would be so eager to secure a new driver that he would call at the hotel. presently the colonel entered the room. in appearance he was a good deal of a disappointment to matt, for he was somewhat slouchy and a little bit shabby. nevertheless, he had abundant dignity and an air of large importance. "mr. king?" queried the colonel, stretching out his hand toward carl. "vell," chuckled carl, "nood so you can nodice it. i peen modor matt's pard. here iss der main vorks," and he waved a hand toward matt. "howdy?" inquired the colonel, shaking matt's hand. "tomlinson told me about you not more than an hour ago. if ever the stark-frisbie company needed drivers of nerve and skill, they need them now. the race for the borden cup is only two weeks away, and we have only two drivers to qualify for it, while in such a contest it is our invariable rule to have at least three entries. one of our best men smashed up his car in the east and has just come out of the hospital. that eliminates _him_. after a close call like that, no driver ever keeps his nerve--he's a dead one so far as racing is concerned." the colonel had seated himself comfortably and drawn a fat cigar from a vest pocket. he paused to light it, his eyes glimmering at matt through the smoke. "i've never had an accident that made me lose my nerve, colonel plympton," said matt. "egad, i guess that's right," chuckled the colonel. "tomlinson has told me all about you, and i think you'll drop into our racing schedules like a top. anyhow, we're willing to start you off in the borden cup race, providing we can make a deal with you. we don't pay our racing drivers any salaries. whenever there's an important race, we pay the entrance fee, running from five hundred to two thousand dollars, and we furnish the driver with a specially constructed racing-car costing from twenty thousand to fifty thousand dollars. in addition, we pay the driver from two hundred to two thousand dollars for making the race, and if he wins he gets a bonus of from one thousand to eight thousand dollars--depending on the importance of the race to us. in the borden cup race the entrance fee is five hundred; we pay that, give you five hundred more to make the race, furnish you with a good racing-car, and give you a bonus of two thousand if you win." "hoop-a-la!" exulted carl. "dot means easy shdreed, mit a pig e. modor matt iss a vinner from vinnerville." matt was stunned by his good fortune. the position had come to him even before he had gone to the trouble to apply for it. "hiram borden," went on the colonel affably, "is a fine old sportsman. he's a millionaire several times over and lives in a little town called ottawa, in the sunflower state. he has been an enthusiastic patron of automobile racing, and of its development in the west, ever since the sport began. he's too old to race a car himself, but he travels all over this country and europe, keeping track of the contests. the cup he offered has been fought for for five years. stark-frisbie held it three years, hand-running. our factory is here in denver, so whoever wanted to take the cup away from us had to come here and race for it. our principal western competitors are bly-lambert, of kansas city. during the last colorado race, bly-lambert won the cup. we've tried twice to get it away from them, and as a token of appreciation of mr. borden, the third race is to be run on a circuit out of his home town." "are there only two competitors, colonel plympton?" asked matt. "there are a dozen or more competitors in each race, but stark-frisbie and bly-lambert build the fastest cars, and the issue is almost entirely between them. as soon as you sign on for the race, king, you'll have to start for kansas and spend the rest of the time becoming familiar with the course. the car i intend to let you have is already at ottawa. perhaps you had just as soon sign the paper to-night? in that event you can start for kansas in the morning." "your terms are satisfactory," said matt, "and i'll sign the agreement at once." "that's the spirit!" approved the colonel. he drew a paper from his pocket and handed it to matt. "just read that over," he added. the paper was typewritten and set forth the terms already stated by the colonel, _i. e._, that matt was to be furnished with a racing-car, have his entrance fee paid, and was to receive $ for making the run, and a bonus of $ , if he won. his own expenses, however, were to be borne by himself. while he was reading, the colonel was unlimbering a fountain-pen. "let me take the pen," said matt, laying the paper on the table. "you understand that thoroughly, do you?" asked the colonel, getting up and taking the paper from the table. "it's simple enough, colonel," returned matt. "all right, then. just sling your fist on the bottom line." the colonel leaned over, laid the paper on the table, and matt dashed off his signature. the colonel at once picked up the paper, blew on the ink to dry it, folded the document, and placed it in his pocket. "call at my office in the morning, king," finished the colonel, picking up his hat, "and i'll give you a letter to our head mechanic. good night, gentlemen," and the colonel sailed out. carl stared at the closed door, and began industriously pinching himself. "be jeerful, be jeerful!" he muttered. "vas i treaming, oder vas i vide avake? py chimineddy, matt, how luck climbs ofter itseluf to ged ad you! oof you don'd preak your neck, you vas on der high roadt to more money as vanderfeller or rockypilt efer hat. how easy dot vas! ach, du lieber! do i go mit you py gansas? shpeak it oudt, kevick!" before matt could "speak it out," however, the door fluttered open and a black face, topped with kinky white hair, was pushed into the room. matt stared. the eyes of the negro met his and a wide grin parted the black face. "by golly! mistah motah matt, suh, habn't yo' got nuffin' tuh say tuh yo' 'fishul mascot?" "why, uncle tom!" cried matt heartily, making a jump from his chair and grabbing the old negro by the hand. "come in, old fellow," he added, pulling him into the room. "where in the world did you drop from?" "unkle dom!" muttered carl. "vell, vouldn't dot gif you der chillplains!" "yah, yah, yah!" cackled uncle tom. "didun' 'low yo' was gwine tuh see me, huh? why, chile, ah done tole yuh when we pa'ted togethah, down dar in arizony, dat i'd be waitin' fo' yo' when yo' come er prancin' 'long. ah's yo' 'fishul mascot, marse matt, en ah's been doin' er monsus lot ob mascottin' fo' yo' while ah's been er waitin'. notice any luck comin' yo' way, sah? well, dat was me, jess er rootin', an' er rootin' all de hull blessed time. seen mistah tomlinson dis ebenin', en he say whah yo' was. ah'd been up heah befo', only ah was subsequentious to dat odder caller." uncle tom, beaming benevolently, slid into a chair and laid his old slouch hat on his knee. "how's eliza, and topsy, and legree, and little eva?" laughed matt. uncle tom had belonged to a road company. the company had been stranded, and matt had helped some of the members to get back to denver, uncle tom being among the number. "dunno nuffin' 'bout legree an' li'l eva," answered uncle tom, "but miss eliza she done gone on tuh chicawgo whah she done ketched anodder job on de stage. topsy's waitin' on de table fo' a swell denvah fambly, en ah's been promiscussin' erroun' er-waitin' fo' yo' tuh show up. ah's hia'd out tuh yo', sah, en while dar's lots o' white folks pesterin' me tuh mascot fo' dem, ah recomembahs ah's engaged tuh yo'. yo's er puffick gemman, en ob co'se ah's hooked up wif yo'. if yo' happens tuh have a lonesome dollah rattlin' erroun' en yo' pocket, mistah matt, uncle tom allow he could make friends wif it." "there you are, uncle tom," laughed matt, flipping a coin toward the old darky. "when does yo'-all want me tuh trabble wif yo', an' be right on de spot eb'ry minit tuh take care ob yo' luck? dishyer luck's mighty onnery sometimes, en hit takes er keen eye en er coon dat knows hits ways an' rambiffications tuh keep hit runnin' smoof. while dat 'ar no 'count ebenezer slocum was up heah talkin' wif yo', ah was tu'nin' all dat ober en mah min', yassuh. yo' see, marse matt, dat----" "ebenezer slocum?" interrupted matt. "who's he?" "dat loafer dat was jess in heah wif yo'." "loafer!" exclaimed matt. "you're 'way off, uncle tom. why, that was colonel plympton, secretary of the stark-frisbie company." "dat? him kunnel plympton? yo's wrong, sah. ah's mascotted fo' kunnel plympton er quatah's wuff evah race dey had run, en ah knows him lak ah knows mase'f. dat fellah dat was jess heah, ah tells yo' fo' suah, was ebenezer slocum, an' he ain't nuffin' mo' dan no 'count white trash, pickin' up er dollah whahevah he can lay his han's on hit. yassuh. we-all whats hones', en wuks fo' our money, looks down on slocum, we sho'ly does." carl had jumped to his feet and was standing in front of his chair, staring at motor matt. matt was dumfounded. why was ebenezer slocum impersonating colonel plympton? slocum's actions were suspicious, to say the least. chapter iv. a villainous plot. "hab yo'-all been makin' any dealings wif dat 'ar slocum, marse matt?" inquired uncle tom. "if he allowed tuh yo' dat he was kunnel plympton, den he's done complicated hisse'f all up wif whut dey calls petty la'ceny, en yo' kin sweah out er warrant en put him in de jug." "i don't believe it's as bad as that, uncle tom," said matt. "i'm pretty busy to-night, and if you can come around and see me some other time we'll have a little talk." "sho'ly, marse matt," replied uncle tom, getting to his feet and bending down to rub one of his legs that didn't seem to be acting just right. "de rheumatix hab been pesterin' me powerful bad evah sence dat 'sperience ah had down dar in arizony. yo' ain't gwine tuh cut me out ob mah job ob 'fishul mascot fo' yo', is yuh? yo' needs one all de time, sah, en ah 'lows dar ain't a bettah mascot dan whut ah is anywhah en de country. ah mascotted two dollahs' wuff fo' mistah tomlinson, en----" "we'll talk that over next time you come, uncle tom," interrupted matt. "just now i'm anxious to have a few words with carl." "sho'ly, sho'ly. well, marse matt, ah wishes yo' good ebenin', an' mistah carl good ebenin'. ah'll root fo' bofe ob yo' when ah gits back home. yo'-all kin expec' somethin' tuh happen in de mawnin'." the genial old fraud let himself out and closed the door carefully behind him. "chiminy grismus!" muttered carl, as soon as he and matt were alone. "vat sort oof a game iss dot slocum feller drying to blay? und vy iss he blaying it? uncle dom has shtirred oop somet'ing, i bed you." "it's a conundrum to me, carl," mused matt, leaning back in his chair. "that card of his was genuine enough, but, of course, it wouldn't be difficult for a man to get hold of one of colonel plympton's cards. still, the fellow didn't look as i imagined colonel plympton looks." "der offers vat he made vas fine und pig," said carl glumly. "meppy dot vas pecause he don'd got der righdt to make dem. aber vy he do dot?" "another thing," went on matt, following his own line of thought, "it wouldn't be likely that colonel plympton would come around looking me up. i want the job, and i'm the one to go to him. i ought to have suspected something, just from that." "vell, you peen hired, anyvay. i vonder how dot slocum feller vill oxblain vat he dit to der sdark-frispie peoples? meppy dey hired him to come aroundt? led's be jeerful, anyvays, undil ve know dot slocum vas blaying some crooked games. he say for you to come aroundt in der morning und he vould gif you a ledder py der masder-meganic vere der race iss to run. in der morning, matt, you vill findt oudt all aboundt it." "that's right, carl," answered matt, throwing off his worry as well as he could; "in the morning, when i call on colonel plympton, i'll find out if anything is wrong, and just what it is. now let's tumble into bed, pull covers, and try to forget that anything has gone wrong." the boys had had a hard day, and carl was snoring almost as soon as his head struck the pillow. matt, however, lay awake for some time, thinking over all that had happened since he and carl had reached denver. they had been in town only a few hours and yet matt's enemies had lost no time in beginning their treacherous work. carl's experience proved that the hostile drivers were organized, and that sercomb and his friends had prejudiced some of the other chauffeurs against him. ralph sercomb was unscrupulous. he felt that he had good reason to hate matt, and to try to play even with him, and he would go to any length in carrying out his despicable schemes. motor matt had for years been eager to make good as a racing-driver. he was at home with a gasoline-motor, and speed, to him, was its highest expression of power. the race for the borden cup offered him a chance to enter the racing field, and he was not the one to turn back from the goal simply because he was encountering a few difficulties at the start. "i'll get into that race," he muttered to himself resolutely, "and i'll make good." and with that resolve and conviction he fell asleep. next morning he was up early. arousing carl, they both got into their clothes and went down to breakfast. colonel plympton had his office in a building on sixteenth street. following breakfast, matt started to have his interview with the colonel. carl was left behind at the hotel. as matt turned into the office building, some one brushed past him, through the door. matt had only a casual glance at the form, but it seemed so familiar that he turned back to look after the man. to his surprise, he found the fellow turning for a glance at him. it was ralph sercomb. there was a grim, mocking smile on sercomb's face. he did not stop, but passed hurriedly on and lost himself in the crowd. sercomb had just been calling on some one in the building. could it have been colonel plympton? matt, somewhat thoughtful because of this unexpected encounter, got into the elevator and rode to the fourth floor. in the ante-room of colonel plympton's office he gave his name to a boy, and the latter vanished through a door marked "private." the boy was back in about a minute. "colonel plympton says he can't see you," was the report. "if he's busy," returned matt, "i'll wait until he can see me." "it won't do you no good, see?" said the boy. "he don't _want_ to see you. ain't that plain enough?" matt hesitated for a moment. he knew something must have gone wrong or he would not have met with such a reception. mr. tomlinson, a good friend of plympton's and of matt's, had promised the young motorist that plympton would give him a hearing. "was ralph sercomb just here?" asked matt. "sure he was," answered the boy; "he's one of the colonel's men, an' he's here a good deal. here! where you goin'?" matt had started for the door of the private room. paying no attention to the boy, he kept right on, opened the door and stepped into the inner office. a tall man, with gray hair and mustache, was sitting at his desk reading a newspaper. he looked up as matt entered. "well?" he demanded. "he come right in, colonel plympton," called the boy from behind matt. "i told him what you said." "ah!" plympton laid aside his paper, wheeled the chair about and gave matt his keen attention. "that was hardly the thing for you to do, king," said he. "when i say a thing i usually mean it." "i'm sure, sir," returned matt, "that you wouldn't have refused to see me if you hadn't been misinformed about some things connected with me. i beg your pardon for walking in on you uninvited, but you can hardly refuse to let me say a few words for myself, colonel plympton." there was something so steady and true in the lad's gray eyes, and something so frank and open about his face, that the colonel nodded toward a chair. "you might as well sit down, now you're in here," said he, "but i don't think anything you can say will change my opinion of you." "did mr. tomlinson speak to you about me?" asked matt, taking the chair. "he did--and warmly--yesterday afternoon. that made it all the harder for me to believe something that has just come to light." "ralph sercomb was just here?" "sercomb is one of our crack drivers, but i wouldn't have believed even him if he hadn't had proof of what he said in black and white." "sercomb is not a friend of mine----" "i have nothing to do with that, king. every fellow who amounts to anything is bound to make enemies." "i want to become a racer, colonel plympton, and i think, if i had a chance, that i could deliver the goods." "why don't you hook up with the bly-lambert people?" asked the colonel dryly. "you seem to have established a connection in that quarter." "i don't understand you," replied matt. "oh, come, come!" exclaimed plympton impatiently. "do you mean to sit there and tell me you didn't have a talk with slocum, last night?" "is slocum connected with the bly-lambert people?" "well, i should say so! if the kansas city men want to hire a fellow to throw a race, slocum is just the one to put the deal through for them." matt, who was beginning to see a little light in the queer tangle, laid the card slocum had sent up, the evening before, on the desk in front of the colonel. "is that your card, colonel plympton?" he asked. "undeniably," was the answer. "well, slocum sent that to me last night, and claimed to be you. i had never seen you, and, consequently, didn't know he was acting a part." "mighty complimentary to me, i must say," muttered the colonel, "to mistake slocum for myself. well, go on, king. what happened?" "slocum hired me to drive a car in the race for the borden cup. he offered me five hundred dollars for doing it, and a bonus of two thousand dollars if i won. and he hired me for the stark-frisbie company!" "hardly!" returned the colonel. "he had no authority. stark-frisbie are not dealing through such rascals as slocum." "i signed an agreement to that effect, anyway," went on matt. "did you read that agreement before you signed it?" "yes, sir." "then look at this. sercomb just brought it in." the colonel pulled a folded paper out of his desk and handed it to matt. the young motorist, taking the paper, opened it and read as follows: "for the sum of one hundred dollars, receipt of which is hereby acknowledged, i agree to enter the borden cup race with a stark-frisbie car, and to do my utmost to throw the race in favor of the bly-lambert contestants. "signed, matt king." the white rushed into motor matt's face. with a gasp he dropped back into his chair, staring with wide eyes at colonel plympton. chapter v. matt goes trouble-hunting. no matter how firmly convinced colonel plympton had been regarding matt's treacherous intentions, the tremendous shock the note gave him was too real to be feigned. "isn't that your signature, king?" demanded plympton. "yes, sir, so far as i can see; but certainly i never signed any paper like that. i'm not that sort of a fellow, colonel plympton. did ralph sercomb deliver that paper to you?" "i don't know why i should make a secret of it. yes, he did; but it was because he had the interests of the stark-frisbie company at heart." "you're wrong, sir," said matt firmly. "this is a cut-and-dried plot, all the way through. sercomb has got it in for me, and this rascal, slocum, is helping him spoil my chances with the stark-frisbie company." the colonel's face hardened. "seeing how you took that note, i was ready to believe this the first time you ever laid eyes on it," said he, "but you are spoiling the good impression by blaming sercomb." "in a case like this i have to put the blame where it belongs." a blow in the face could not have dazed matt more than that note had done. now, however, his anger and indignation were coming uppermost. in his case, that always meant that his brain was clearing, and every muscle steadying itself to the tensity of a fore-stay. "i can't go into your private quarrels, king," said colonel plympton, "and even if you are innocent of any dealings with a representative of the bly-lambert people, after what has happened i couldn't conscientiously hire you. besides, you are virtually a stranger; you have never driven in a motor-race--which is vastly different from ordinary driving, and requires experience--and you are rather young to enter the racing field." "that isn't the point just now, colonel," said matt. "i am bound to get into that race for the borden cup, now, in order to show that my intentions are honest--and in order to prove that there is villainous work afoot and that some one is trying to make me the victim of it. i owe this to myself, and i also owe it to mr. tomlinson, who recommended me to you. that paper," and he pointed to the document which he had picked up and laid on the colonel's desk, "is not the one i thought i was signing. slocum juggled it around in the place of the other. i can see that, now that the contemptible plot has come out. do you know sercomb's handwriting, colonel?" "as well as my own." matt fished from his pocket the communication which carl had brought to the hotel. "please tell me if that is sercomb's writing," said he. "no," answered the colonel decidedly. "kindly read the note through, anyway. it will show a reason for this slocum plot." colonel plympton read the note through carefully, and with a considerable show of surprise. "where did you get that?" he asked. matt thereupon told how carl had been waylaid and taken to the meeting room of the drivers' club, of what had transpired there, and how carl had been turned loose in an unknown quarter of the town and sent to the hotel with the letter. "this is too incredible, king!" exclaimed the colonel. "it's the wildest kind of a yarn. no, i'm not disputing your word at all, but simply suggesting that some of the drivers may be having a little fun at your expense. that the racing men should band together to keep you out of the game is too outrageous for belief." "i thought myself it was all a bluff until this slocum business came out," said matt. he got up. "i'm going to get to the bottom of this, colonel," said he with a glint in his gray eyes, "and i'm going to drive a car in that kansas race. i should like to race for the stark-frisbie company, but, if that's impossible, i'll go in for whoever will give me a show." "i'm afraid it's impossible, king, so far as our people are concerned. i'm glad you came in here and had this talk with me, though, for i think a hundred per cent. better of you than i did before. i was thinking tomlinson had been deceived in you. i'll not tell him about this signed paper if you don't want me to." "i want you to, sir," returned matt earnestly. "i believe mr. tomlinson has too much confidence in me to take any stock in that thing." "you're going to kansas?" "yes, sir." "on your own hook?" "it seems that i'm not able to go any other way." "egad, i like your spirit, anyhow! when do you start?" "just as soon as i transact a little business with slocum, and a few others who need my attention." "well, good luck to you!" the colonel got up and took matt's hand. "you've got a way of inspiring confidence, and i wish i could do something for you, but i'm afraid it's out of the question. win that kansas race, though, and you'll have more offers to drive motor-cars than you can fill." matt experienced a sense of great relief as he left colonel plympton's office. he felt that he had accomplished not a little in ranging the colonel on his side. carl was waiting impatiently for matt, walking up and down the hotel office and keeping his eyes constantly on the windows that faced the street. as matt, in a quiet corner of the office, told about the treachery of slocum, carl's rage was so intense that it would have been ludicrous in any other circumstances. "ach, dot sgoundrel! dot fillian!" he wheezed. "oof i hat him here i vould make him t'ink a brick house hat fell on him! der plackguard! der tinhorn! led me go oudt und look for him!" carl jumped furiously from his chair, but matt caught him and pulled him back. "there's somebody else we're to look for, carl," said he. "who's dot?" "sercomb and his scheming friends." "yah, you bed you! ve vill findt dose fellers, und ven ve do findt dem ve vill ged some shtrangle-holts on dem und make dem say oudt vere iss slocum." "it's not often that i go hunting trouble," said matt grimly, "but that's what i'm going to do now." "how ve shtart it oudt, matt?" queried carl. "we'll look for that basement club-room." "yah, so, aber how ve findt dot?" "can't you take me to the alley where the gang set upon you?" "easy! afder dot, how ve going to findt dot cellar-blace? i had somet'ing ofer my headt ven i vas dook dere, und i don'd see nodding." "well, they had an automobile in the cellar. that means that the basement door was wide enough to take the machine in, and that there is an incline for the car to climb and descend. that will give us our clue. i'll warrant that there are not many basement doors of that description opening upon that alley." "pully!" murmured carl, almost overcome with admiration. "vat a headt it iss! matt, oof i hat a headt like dot, i vouldt haf rockybuilt backed off der poard." "let's confine our attention to backing sercomb off the board, and straightening out this tangle." matt got up. "come on, carl." "vill dere be anypody in der clup-room now? meppy dey don'd come togedder undil nighdt, und meppy nod efery nighdt, eider." "we'll go and try to find the place, anyhow," replied matt. "if there's no one there we'll go back again to-night." "pully!" as they left the hotel and carl led the way toward the street where he had been captured, the night before, he remarked with a chuckle: "oof i don'd vas aple to use my eyes lashdt nighdt you bed you i used my ears! i hear how dose raps vas gifen on der toor, und i can gif dem meinseluf schust der same vay." a ten minutes' walk carried the two boys to the mouth of the alley where carl had been set upon. "dis vas der site oof der shdreet, und dis vas der blace," said he. "dey must haf dook me oop dere," and he pointed. the alley was narrow and on both sides was lined with the rear walls of second-rate store-buildings. every building, so far as matt could see, had a door. the narrow passage was paved with brick, and this prevented matt from seeing the tracks which an automobile might have left on the surface of bare ground. slowly the boys walked along the alley, peering at the doors on left and right as they advanced. they were about half-way through the alley when they found what they were seeking, namely, a wide door at the foot of a steep incline. the descent was not more than two feet downward from the surface of the alley, and the wide door was set well back, so that the cut-out place would not interfere with teaming through the passage. "py shinks," whispered carl excitedly, "ve haf foundt der blace!" "no doubt of it," answered matt with a grim feeling of satisfaction. there were no windows in the basement wall of the building, and those in the upper stories were dusty and cobwebbed. softly matt descended to the door at the foot of the incline and motioned for carl to follow. the dutch boy gained his side. "now rap," said matt, "and see how good an imitation you can give of what you heard last night." carl drummed the peculiar tattoo. there was no response. after waiting a little he drummed it again, but louder. this, somewhat unexpectedly, brought an answer. "who approaches?" demanded a muffled voice from within. "tell him 'two drivers oof racing-cars,' matt," whispered carl. "my voice vouldt gif me avay." "two drivers of racing-cars," called matt. "give me the countersign." "four speeds forvard und vone referse," whispered carl. matt repeated the words. instantly the door was opened and a young man of twenty-two or three stood in front of the boys. with a bellow of rage carl jumped forward. "higgins! oof it ain'd! now vatch, higgins, vile i show you der peautiful aurora porealis, und der leedle shooding shdars, und der comics. dis meeding makes me so habby as i can't dell!" chapter vi. higgins tells what he knows. higgins seemed to be the only member of the club about the place. the inner doors were open, and the racket which carl stirred up by his attack did not draw any one through them. higgins was very much surprised. carl's attack was so suddenly made that he was thrown from his feet. "vas it you dot wrode dot ledder," fumed carl, "und saidt in it dot i vas a 'wienerwurst?' ach, blitzen, i make you t'ink i peen a volgano mit an erubtion. i bed someding for nodding you don't fool some more dutchmans!" higgins, unable to protect himself from the frantic dutchman, began begging for mercy. "that will do, carl," said matt. "leave him alone. we seem to have him all to ourselves and it's a good chance for a little heart-to-heart talk." matt sat down on a chair beside the open alley door and carl appropriated an empty beer keg. it was evident that the members of the drivers' club were of a convivial nature. higgins, nursing the back of his head and a bruise on the side of his face, leaned against the wall and peered sullenly at matt and furiously at carl. "where's the rest of the gang, higgins?" asked matt. "what's it to you?" flared higgins. "that's your mood, is it?" said matt. "carl, go and get a policeman. we can put this fellow in jail for what he did last night." carl got up and started for the door. "on der chump!" said he, knowing well enough that matt was bluffing in the hope of drawing higgins out and making him more communicative. "wait a minute!" called higgins. "what do you want to mix the police in this thing for? you'll only be making trouble for yourselves, and you can't bother me very much." "i know what we can do," answered matt sternly. "go on, carl." "here, hold up!" begged higgins, showing signs of alarm. "can't we straighten this out somehow?" "we might, higgins, if you want to talk." "what is it you want to know?" "when will the rest of your gang be here?" "not before three weeks or a month." "where are they?" "gone to kansas to get ready for the race." "ach, vat a luck!" groaned carl. "when did they leave?" went on matt. "nine o'clock this morning." "who went?" "patsy grier, tobe martin, balt finn, ralph sercomb, harry packard and joe mings." "they all belong to the club, eh?" "yes." "who's the club's boss?" "grier." "are all those you named going to take part in the race for the borden cup?" "yes." "do they all drive for stark-frisbie?" "i should say not! sercomb, mings, and packard are the only stark-frisbie men." "who do the others drive for?" "bly-lambert." "where's slocum?" "he went with the rest." "is he working for bly-lambert, too?" "no, he's working for slocum." "who was it got slocum to call on me last night?" "i don't know anything about that," answered higgins shiftily. "i was the last member to join the drivers and they don't put me wise to very much that's going on." "it's plain," said matt, "that you don't intend to talk. you'd better go on, carl," he added to his dutch chum, "and get the officer." "wait!" clamored higgins. "i'll make a clean breast of everything. sercomb put up the deal with slocum. i don't know what the deal was, nor how it was worked, but sercomb was the fellow behind it. i'm new in the club, as i said, and you wouldn't have caught me here this morning if sercomb hadn't asked me to come and pack up some of his traps to go by express." "the outfit went to ottawa, kansas?" pursued matt. "yes. that's where borden lives, and----" "i know about that." matt got up. "we've found out enough, carl," said he, "and let's go. as for you and your friends," and here matt turned sternly on higgins, "tell them to be a little careful. i know their game, and i'm going to fight it right from the drop of the hat." with that matt turned on his heel and left the basement. when he and carl had reached the street carl expressed his doubts as to whether higgins had told the truth. "i'm pretty sure he gave it to us straight, carl," answered matt. "the gang, almost to a man, will drive in that race, and it's high time they were on the ground. sercomb probably went direct to the railroad station after he left colonel plympton's office this morning." "vat you going to do, hey?" "i'm going to kansas, too." carl began to get excited. "und me?" he asked; "vere do i come in?" "you're going along, of course. while i hunt up mr. tomlinson and have a talk with him, you go to the hotel, pay our bill and get our grips. meet me at the station." "hoop-a-la!" exulted carl. "ve vill carry der var righdt indo dem odder fellers' gamp, i bed you. dot's der shduff!" mr. tomlinson's wholesale jewelry establishment was on seventeenth street. after leaving carl, matt made his way directly to the store. to his intense disappointment he found that mr. tomlinson had been called out of town by the sickness of a relative and would probably not be back for two or three days. matt had planned on telling mr. tomlinson all about what had happened since he and carl had reached denver; but that was impossible now, and he would have to let colonel plympton do the telling. so far as the result was concerned, matt was not doing any worrying about the way mr. tomlinson would receive the news of slocum's trickery. what the young motorist had wanted, however, was to point out to mr. tomlinson a fact that he had not mentioned to plympton. this was, that, unless there had been collusion between slocum and sercomb, the latter would not have been able to secure the alleged agreement which matt had signed. if slocum had been acting in good faith for the bly-lambert people, he would have hung onto the agreement; and if he had not been acting in good faith, the whole affair at once resolved itself into a plot of sercomb's. colonel plympton, matt had reasoned, was probably keen enough to see that for himself. just what effect it would have on him matt could not know, but even a shadow of suspicion, although unwarranted, would be enough to throw a driver out of the borden cup race. matt had made up his mind that he could not race for stark-frisbie. if he did, and lost, there might always be a feeling that there had been something in the slocum business after all, and that he had thrown the race. the chances to drive a car for the bly-lambert people, on the other hand, did not seem at all flattering. they had taken three races from the stark-frisbie firm, and quite likely the drivers who had been successful in those contests would be the ones to drive in the present race. mr. tomlinson, matt had been thinking, might know some one connected with the other manufacturers who had entered cars, and could perhaps have given him a letter of introduction that would have been of use. now matt found himself thrown upon his own resources, and, strange as it may seem, felt easier in his mind. being forced to rely wholly upon himself, he marshaled all his grit and determination, and resolved to see the game through for its own sake. there is a pleasure in accomplishing things without the help of a "pull" or a "push," and matt's blood was already tingling over the prospect of exciting events in kansas. at noon he was at the station, and had bought tickets for carl and himself. carl was in the waiting-room with the grips. "vat dit misder domlinson haf to say?" the dutch boy inquired. "he's out of town, carl," answered matt. "tough luck!" "i don't know about that. there's a pleasure as well as an advantage in going it alone, on your own hook. a fellow can't keep keyed up when he's leaning on somebody else; but when he's depending on himself, he knows he has to be fit and ready for whatever comes his way." "meppy dot's righdt. anyvays, matt, you vill make goot. i know dot pedder as i know anyt'ing. dot sercomb und his crowd vill be surbrised, i bed you, ven dey see us come valking in on dem out in dot gansas blace. oof dey make some rough-houses, dey vill findt dot ve're fit und retty for dot, anyvays." just at that moment a voice boomed through the waiting-room announcing that the east-bound train was ready. matt and carl, picking up their luggage, started at once for the train-shed. from the sidewalk higgins had been watching them through a window. as the two chums left the waiting-room higgins slid in, his eyes wide with astonishment. "they're going east," he muttered. "i wonder if they can be on their way to kansas? what good will it do king to go there, after being turned down by colonel plympton?" this was too hard a nut for higgins to crack. he tried to find out, at the ticket window, what place matt and carl had booked for, but a good many people had bought tickets and the agent had not noticed matt and carl particularly. baffled in this move, higgins stepped to a telegraph office and despatched the following message: "ralph sercomb, on limited train no. , dodge city, kansas: king and his dutch pal left denver on east-bound train at noon. unable to ascertain their destination. higgins." "that puts it up to sercomb," muttered higgins as he paid for the message and turned away. "i'll bet there'll be warm doings in kansas before long." chapter vii. brisk work at dodge city. matt and carl had to change cars at a place called la junta, and there was a tedious wait. in due course, however, they resumed their journey, slept out the night in a sleeping-car and got out at dodge city for breakfast. the train halted for twenty minutes to give the passengers a chance to eat. this stop was to prove an exciting twenty minutes for matt and carl. just as they were moving with a crowd of other hungry passengers toward the door of the eating-house a shabby and seedy personage strolled out, chewing a toothpick. carl let off a whoop. "slocum, py shinks!" he called. slocum gave a jump and started to run. matt and carl at once trailed after him. the passengers on the station platform got out of the way and stood and gaped at the flight and pursuit. they could not understand what it all meant, of course, and, while it was sufficiently exciting to claim their attention, there was only twenty minutes allowed them for breakfast, and they could not waste much time. when the shabby man, with the two boys hot after him, had vanished around the corner of the station-building, the passengers began filing into the eating-room. to say that matt was startled to catch a glimpse of slocum would describe his feelings too mildly. if slocum had taken an early train with the rest of the drivers, what was he doing there in dodge city? he should have been several hours further along the road. matt was not looking for more trickery. the fact that higgins had watched him and carl in denver, and had sent a message to sercomb, was, of course, unknown to the young motorist. had that point been brought to matt's attention he might have suspected something underhand in this strange appearance of slocum. slocum's legs were long and he was making good use of them. after whirling around the corner of the station, he set off across the tracks toward some trees and bushes that lined the edge of the switch-yard. matt and carl were overhauling the rascal steadily, and were not more than a dozen feet behind him when he vanished into the bushes. matt led carl by a yard, and when matt had crashed through the brush and into a little cleared space, slocum was still out of sight. directly in front of matt was a small tool-house such as a section-gang uses for storing tools and hand-cars. the door of the tool-house was swinging wide, and an open padlock hung in a staple at the edge of the opening. as matt stood for a second looking at the tool-house, he fancied he heard a stir inside the small building and a sound of whispering voices. he felt sure that slocum had gone into the tool-house, and that there was some one else there. the secrecy with which the quick whispering had been carried on aroused matt's suspicions. had slocum been informed in some manner that matt and carl were on their way east? and had he stopped off the other train to carry out some other treacherous scheme of sercomb's? it looked very much to matt that this was the case, and as though slocum had secured some one to help him. slocum had made a bee-line for the tool-house, and it might be that he had had a confederate waiting for him there, and was intending to run the boys into some sort of a trap. all this flashed through motor matt's brain in the space of a breath. by the time carl came crashing to his side matt had canvassed his suspicions and laid a counter-plan. "vere iss dot feller, matt?" panted carl. "i think he's gone off through the brush," replied matt. "nix, bard; i bed you dot he has gone indo der leedle house." "we'll look in the brush first," returned matt, giving carl a significant glance and pushing him away toward the rear of the tool-shed. matt's talk was all for the benefit of those who might be listening. carl could not understand his chum's tactics, but he understood very well that he had something important at the back of his head. as carl moved off around the rear of the tool-house, matt proceeded quickly and softly toward the front. close to the open door he paused. "they'll get away from us, ralph!" came to him in an excited whisper. "no, they won't, joe!" answered an equally guarded voice. "they'll look around toward the rear of the shed and then they'll come in here. be ready to down 'em the minute they show up in the doorway. we'll fasten 'em in here and they won't be able to get out until night." "but if we lose that train----" put in another voice, only to be interrupted by sercomb's. "lose nothing, balt! the train stops twenty minutes, and we'll get back to the station in good time." "gad," muttered the voice of slocum, "higgins gave us a hot tip. you ought to've seen those chaps when they set eyes on me. that dutchman would have eaten me up if i'd let him get close enough." "i knew they'd chase you," went on sercomb. "i don't think we're gaining anything, even at that," struck in the voice of packard. "we jump off the other train and delay ourselves just to set king back a train." "trueman, of the jarrot automobile company, has a car in the race and he's not satisfied with his driver. i don't want king to work in there, and i intend to see trueman and put one of our boys in his car. if we'd stayed on that other train we'd have reached ottawa in the night. on this train we'll reach our destination in the morning, and i'll have a chance at trueman before king shows up. if----" matt overheard that much, and his astonishment can perhaps be imagined better than described. sercomb was plotting, as usual, and not only was he in the tool-shed with slocum, but joe mings and harry packard and balt finn were there as well. the talk between the drivers came to a sudden close as carl, impatient to find out what matt was doing, ran around the other side of the shed. matt started to close the door. it was held open by a stone and resisted his efforts. while he was kicking away the stone those inside the shed scented trouble and made a break for the doorway. "don't let them get out, carl!" shouted matt. "keep them in. they laid a trap for us, and we'll spring it on them!" "hoop-a-la!" cried carl, striking out with his fists. if there was one thing carl pretzel loved more than another it was a fight; and now there was not only a chance to have a brisk skirmish with the enemy, but also to turn the tables on them. the dutch boy's heart was in his work, and he planted one effective blow after another, as fast as he could move his arms. matt jumped to his aid. fists shot out of the doorway only to be countered and beaten back. the opening was wide enough for the passage of a hand-car, but not wide enough for all those in the shed to break through side by side. slocum, by the shift of circumstances, was juggled to the front of the struggling drivers. matt grabbed him and hurled him against those behind. sercomb and packard tumbled to the floor with slocum on top. this left finn and mings battling fiercely in the entrance. matt launched a blow, straight from the shoulder, that drove mings back against the inner wall; then, as carl sparred with finn, matt pulled the door toward him. "out of the way, carl!" matt shouted. the dutch boy slipped aside and matt slammed the door shut in finn's face. finn began to push, calling on the rest of his comrades to bear a hand. carl, while matt was tinkering with the heavy hasp and padlock, threw his weight against the door on the outside. another moment and the padlock was snapped into place, leaving those inside practically helpless. "cock-a-tootle-too!" crowed carl. "how you like dot, you fellers? dot's vonce, by chincher, you got more as you pargained for, hey? meppy you vill findt oudt, vone oof tose tays, how modor matt does t'ings, yah, i bed you!" "let us out of here!" bellowed sercomb, as frantic fists pounded on the door. "we want to go east on that train." "so do we," answered matt, "and you'd have kept us from it if you could. turn about is fair play, sercomb. i'll reach ottawa in time to see this man trueman, whom you were talking about. much obliged for the tip. you fellows can follow on the train carl and i would have had to take in case you had been successful and locked us in there." "let us out, king," bawled mings, "or you'll be sorry you didn't! take that from me!" "i've taken a whole lot from you fellows already, mings," answered matt, "and i'm getting tired of it. if i can ever catch slocum he'll tell all about that trickery of his in the clifton hotel, or he'll wish he had." "dot's righdt!" put in carl. "you vas a lot oof schmard alecs, und pooty kevick you vas going to findt oudt dot it don'd pay to act like vot you dit. dere iss so many oof you dot you von't be lonesome in dere, und ven you come py oddawa, modor matt und i vill meed you mit der pand. ach, you vas a fine punch oof grafders!" the door shook and shivered as those inside the shed hurled themselves against it; but it was strongly put together and the baffled drivers could not break it down or force it open. carl, shaking with enjoyment, stood off and watched the door bulge outward and rattle back into place. presently the attack ceased. "look here, king," called the breathless voice of sercomb, "if you'll let us out of here we'll agree to quit bothering you. ain't that fair enough?" "i'm not making any terms with you, sercomb," replied matt. "you're too tricky to be trusted." just then the engine bell set up its clangor and, from the distance, came the warning "all aboard!" of the conductor. "dot means us, matt!" cried carl. turning away from the shed the boys dashed through the fringe of bushes and off across the tracks. as they bounded to the station platform the last car of the train was flickering past. carl gained the steps of the last car at a flying leap, and matt was close behind him. the train rolled eastward, and the boys, leaning across the hand-rail and breathing themselves, watched the little patch of brush and timber encircling the tool-shed fade from sight. "be jeerful, eferypody!" jubilated carl. "ve missed our preakfast, aber it vas vort' der brice. hey, matt?" chapter viii. matt interviews trueman. ottawa is as pretty a little town as there is in all kansas. the streets are wide, and level, and shaded, and through the town runs the historic marais des cygnes, the "river of swans"--so named by the ancient french explorers. at this time the eyes of the western automobile world were turned upon that part of kansas, and representatives of more than a dozen alert motor-car manufacturers were located in ottawa, all busily preparing for the great race. long, lean racing-cars darted through the streets, passing back and forth between the town and forest park. from in front of the grand stand in the park the race was to start, describe a fifty-two mile circuit out across the prairie country and return to the race track. the race was to be six times around the circuit, comprising a total distance of three hundred and twelve miles. were the bly-lambert people to keep the borden cup, or would stark-frisbie take it away from them? this was the all-important topic, and was under discussion everywhere. none of the other contestants seemed to be considered. everybody, from past performances on the western racing field, seemed to think that no one else had a chance. matt and carl reached ottawa in the early morning. as soon as they had washed the stains of travel from their faces and eaten their breakfast they sallied forth to take in the situation at close quarters. each contestant had a garage of his own. in these garages the racing machines were jealously guarded, and about the cars the mechanics were constantly tinkering, making changes here and there as the experience of the drivers continued to suggest. only actual trials over the course could show what was needed and what was superfluous, and since the weight of each car must be limited, great care had to be exercised in making changes. by inquiring of people they met, the boys learned that the stark-frisbie people had their garage across the river, in north ottawa, while the bly-lambert folks were as far away in the other part of town as they could get. the racing talk was in evidence everywhere, the merits and demerits of the various machines giving cause for many warm arguments. there was something about the talk, the sight of the darting cars, and the general air of suppressed excitement that got into the blood. carl was bubbling over with enthusiasm, and matt, stirred as he had never been before, was more than ever determined that he would be in the race. twenty-one cars had been entered. among them were several touring cars, their owners being willing to pay the entrance fee just to gratify their sporting instinct--for no touring car could ever win against those high-powered racers, stripped for action and ready to hurl themselves over the course with every ounce of power in their cylinders. "py chimineddy!" expanded carl, "i vish dot i knowed der carburettor from der shpark-plug. oof i dit, i bed you i vould be in der racings meinseluf." matt's particular desire was to locate trueman, of the jarrot automobile company. he found him at last in a little private garage belonging to one of the wealthy residents of the place. the door of the garage was wide open, and the nose of a red racer could be seen inside. excited voices could be heard coming from within the garage. "confound your superstitions!" cried an angry voice. "if you happen to walk under a ladder on the day of the race, glick, i suppose you wouldn't drive for me, eh?" "i'll be careful about doing that when the race is pulled off, trueman," returned another voice. "luck plays the biggest kind of a part in a game like this, and i don't intend to hoodoo myself by taking the car out on friday. we've already been over the course four times, and what's the use of going over it again to-day?" "every time the course is gone over it helps you just that much. taking the race from stark-frisbie and bly-lambert is no cinch. we have only one car in the race and they have three each. but this red racer of ours can win, providing you learn the course well enough. will you go out?" "i'll go out of the garage and back to the hotel," and a slim, lightly built young fellow came through the doorway, paused to light a cigarette, and then moved off toward the main street. a stout man of about forty, in automobile cap and coat, stepped to the door and glared after the retreating driver. he was greatly wrought up, and started to say something but bit the words off short. when the driver reached the sidewalk and vanished nonchalantly around a building, the man in the garage door turned his eyes on matt and carl. "of all the superstitious fools that ever lived," he cried wrathfully, "i think that man glick takes the bun. he can handle a car better than any man i ever saw, but here he hangs up our day's work simply because this happens to be friday!" "are you mr. trueman, of the jarrot company?" asked matt. "my name, yes, sir," and trueman gave matt a more careful sizing. "well, i'm a driver. why not let me take you over the course?" trueman shook his head. "we were going over it for glick's benefit," said he, "not mine. who are you, young man, and where do you come from?" matt introduced himself, and presented carl. "have you ever driven a racing-car?" asked trueman, the boy's bearing and talk impressing him more and more. "no," replied matt, "but i'm confident i could do it. i've had a lot to do with gasoline-motors, and i've driven a good many cars." "come in here and look at this one," said trueman. "properly driven, i'll bet money we have a car that can walk away from anything stark-frisbie or bly-lambert have in the race." matt walked into the garage and looked over the red racer. it was a chain-driven, ninety-horse-power machine, and had the savage "get-there" look of a car that, run to the limit, could be made to win. "glick knows how i depend on him," remarked trueman, "so he does about as he pleases. we're giving him a thousand dollars to make the race, and a bonus of two thousand if he wins. if he doesn't spill the salt, or meet a cross-eyed man, or run into a post, he'll stand up under the strain and acquit himself in good shape." "i don't want to take any man's job away from him, mr. trueman," said matt, "but if anything happens that glick doesn't make the race, i'd like a chance to show you what i can do." but still trueman shook his head. "you've never been in a race, king," said he, "and while you may know a car from a to izzard, yet driving fifteen hundred pounds of machinery to win is an altogether different proposition. however, you might take me out in the racer and let me see what you can do. we won't go over the course, but will ride out south of town. just a half-hour's spin, that's all." matt twisted the crank and was pleased with the quickness with which the cylinders caught the explosion. trueman had already got into the mechanic's seat, and matt lost no time in climbing in beside him. "wait for me here, carl," said he, as the racer glided out of the garage. unless there is a certain sympathy between the driver and the machine he controls, it is impossible to get out of a car all that is in it. in most cases this bond between driver and car has to be acquired by long and patient practise with the same machine; but, in rare instances, a driver, the instant he places himself at the steering wheel, is able to get completely _en rapport_ with the complicated engine under his control. drivers of this sort are born, not made--and matt king was one of them. during that half-hour's spin over the flat country south of ottawa, motor matt aroused trueman's outspoken admiration. there were stretches where matt drove at the highest rate of speed, where he rounded dangerous corners with the skill of a master-hand, and the clutch went in and gears were changed so swiftly and smoothly that no jarring note broke the steady humming of the cylinders. "you're a crack-a-jack!" averred trueman when they were once more headed through town for the garage; "but going out on a little junket like this is vastly different from racing." "i don't believe i'd get rattled if there were racing-cars all around me," returned matt with a quiet laugh. while the car was being put back in the garage trueman was silent and thoughtful. when the throb of the machinery was finally stilled, and the two got out of the car, trueman turned to clap matt on the shoulder. "i'm going to keep you in reserve," said he. "if glick kicks over the traces, and throws up his hands, i may fall back on you as a last resort." "meanwhile," returned matt, "i'm going to be on the look-out for a car. i'm going to be in that race, and if i have a chance you can't blame me for taking it." "not at all, not at all. i like your driving, though, and if i was sure you wouldn't lose your head with cars all around you and dust so thick you can't see the bonnet, i don't know but i----" he broke off reflectively. "well," he finished, "we'll see what happens." matt and carl drifted back through the town. several cars were just coming in from the circuit, their drivers and mechanics begrimed with dust and oil. "it vas a gredt game, i bed you!" breathed carl. "i hope dot der suberstitious feller meeds oop mit a plack cat or somet'ing, so dot you ged his chob, matt." "i'm going to race for somebody," answered matt, "even if i have to go over the course in a touring car. i never had the fever like i've got it now." "me, neider," grinned carl. "led's go pack to der hodel und hunt for some tinner." that afternoon the two chums passed quietly on the hotel porch, listening to the racing talk that was going on all around them. it was about five o'clock when a boy came hurriedly to the hotel and disappeared inside the office. a few moments later the clerk came out of the office and gave matt a letter. "that's for you, mr. king," said the clerk. "the boy says he's waiting for your answer." matt tore open the letter and read as follows: "king: places were drawn for the start this afternoon, and, as luck (or ill-luck) would have it, i got number thirteen. that's the number that goes on the car. glick refuses to race. can i depend on you, same terms glick was to receive? answer yes or no, quick. "trueman." motor matt's heart gave a bound, and a thrill ran through his nerves. turning to the boy who was standing beside his chair, he cried, "tell mr. trueman he can depend on me, and that my answer is yes!" at just that moment a party with their grips in their hands were ascending the steps to the porch. they were sercomb, and the others, who had been left in the tool-house in dodge city. each of them gave matt and carl a sour look as he tramped on into the hotel. chapter ix. no. . nothing will rack the nerves of a superstitious man like the number " ." taking a car out on friday was as nothing compared to driving a car with such a hoodoo number. glick had balked, but he did not entertain any hard feelings toward matt for engaging to drive the car in his stead. when matt left the hotel next morning and started for the garage to meet mr. trueman, glick met him and walked part of the distance at his side. "maybe you'll think i'm a fool," said he, lighting a cigarette, "and i know trueman does, but i've seen too much of this number thirteen business to have anything to do with a car that's marked up for a dozen and one. that car of trueman's hasn't a ghost of a show to finish the course, say nothing of making a win. it'll go to smash, and if you're in it you'll go to smash, too. take my advice and keep away from it." "the number doesn't bother me," laughed matt, "and i'm only too glad to get the chance to drive in the race." "well," sighed glick, "i'm sorry for you, king. you won't have any hard feelings toward me if the car puts you in the hospital?" "well, i should say not!" exclaimed matt. "i was afraid you might have it in for me for taking the car." "not at all," said glick heartily. "i admire your nerve, but i think your judgment is mighty poor. i wouldn't get into that car in this race for five thousand dollars." when glick left matt the latter hurried on. trueman was waiting at the garage, and he caught the lad's hand in a cordial grip. "glick went back on me sooner than i had expected," said he. "when he quit, yesterday afternoon, he told me that if the drawing hadn't been on friday i wouldn't have got number thirteen. what an idiot! there are twenty-one cars in the race and some one had to have that number. my hopes are all wrapped up in you, king. if you want a start in the racing business, win the cup for the jarrot folks." "if the car has the speed, and no accident happens to the motor, we'll win," declared matt. "i'll watch the other twenty cars and find out just which ones we have to fear. now we'll go over the course and begin a practical study of it." "where's your dutch friend?" inquired trueman as they left the garage. "he's keeping track of some other friends of mine," laughed matt, "who would like to sidetrack me and put me out of the running." then, as they rode through town, across the bridge and to the park, matt told of his troubles with sercomb and his friends, and how trickery had prevented him from getting in the race for the stark-frisbie people. matt felt that trueman should know all about that phase of the matter, and he went into it in detail. to his surprise trueman reached over and grabbed his hand. "you're just the fellow to make a showing in this race, king," said he earnestly, "and, speaking from a selfish point of view, i wouldn't have your personal relations any different. sercomb is the fellow you'll have to beat, for he's stark-frisbie's crack man, and stark-frisbie have a car in this race that's going to walk away from all three of bly-lambert's. the surest way for you to down sercomb, and give him his due, is by beating him; it's the only way, too, for you to prove to colonel plympton that the deal sercomb says you made with the bly-lambert people is all moonshine. sercomb has run losing races for the last three years, but this year plympton has given him a car that's the fastest thing on wheels--excepting our own number thirteen." "if it's in this car, mr. trueman," answered matt with a flash of resolution, "i'll be the first man over the tape at the end of the last round." reaching the park and the race track, matt drove the car to the position from which the start was to be made. halfway around the track they went to a place where a section of the high board fence had been removed. here the course led out of the park grounds and struck into a level sweep of road that led toward the river. where the road turned to follow the river bank a sharp curve had to be negotiated. after that, for some four or five miles, the road wound easily through the trees. "you may have trouble here, king," said trueman. "when the dust is thick and racing-cars are ahead and behind you, it would be the easiest thing in the world to swerve a shade too far and butt into a tree." "we'll have to look out for that," replied matt, his keen eyes watching every part of the way as they went along. there was another hard turn where the course left the river road, but from that on there were twenty miles of level prairie, with packed earth like asphalt under the wheels. the car reeled off sixty miles an hour on this stretch, and would hardly have overturned a glass of water placed on the flat top of the hood. the end of the twenty miles brought them to a village called le loup. here the road bent to the north and east and climbed a long low hill, gradually changing its course to the south. just over the hill was a collection of shanties near a coal mine, and known locally by the name of coal run. from coal run back to the break in the park fence, the course was south and west, splendid going all the way. when the track was reached matt let the car out on the way to the starting point. at that place the first accident happened, and the left-hand chain flew off, hurtling through the air for fifty feet and landing in the paddock. matt brought the car to a halt without accident, found the chain, brought it back and adjusted it with a fresh link. we'll have to get on a new set of chains," frowned trueman. an accident like that during the race might put us out of it." "accidents are always liable to happen," said matt. "if they come we'll have to make the best of them." they went over the course a second time, matt forcing the car and bringing it in in sixty-five minutes from the start. "you'll do!" declared trueman. "i feel a whole lot easier with you in the car than i ever felt with glick. now let's go back to the garage. we've done enough for one morning." "how many men are there at the garage in charge of the car?" asked matt. "two--the best we have in the st. louis works." "you can depend on them?" "every time and all the time. why?" "the car must be watched night and day, mr. trueman," said matt earnestly, "for there's no telling what sercomb and his gang might try to do." "they're not afraid of the jarrot cars, king," returned trueman. "we haven't cut much of a figure in these western races so far." "well, you're going to cut a big figure in this race, mr. trueman, for it's my opinion you have the car to do it." for a week after that matt went over the circuit every morning, studying it thoroughly. having a retentive memory, he came to know every part of it as he knew his two hands. sometimes mr. trueman went with him, and once carl went along. but one trip was enough for carl. the way matt hurled the car through the air gave the dutch boy an experience that he never forgot. carl made up his mind that he'd rather hear the racing talk than take part in the race itself. in one respect, the number thirteen bore out its unlucky significance, for matt did not make a trial ride around the circuit that something did not go wrong, and several times he averted a bad accident only by his quickness and presence of mind. on one ride the feed-pipe between the gasoline-tank and the carburetor became clogged, and he had to disconnect it and clean it; another time a tire blew up; and again, it was the chain, once more flying off and missing his head by an uncomfortably narrow margin. the car certainly seemed to be working through a very severe case of "hoodoo." mr. trueman was vastly exercised over these mishaps. he was beginning to feel as though there was something radically wrong about the car's construction, and that its chance of running well in the race, say nothing of winning, was decreasing to the vanishing point. but matt was not greatly disturbed. "we're having all our troubles during the trials, mr. trueman," he explained, "and when the race comes we'll go over the course the six times without a hitch. stage people say that when the last dress rehearsal goes badly the first performance is always sure to go smoothly." although trueman admired matt's spirit, for his own part he still continued dubious. during matt's week of hard, gruelling work, fortune was kind to him in one respect, for sercomb and his friends left him severely alone. for one thing, every driver in the race had his hands full and found no time to give attention to anything else. sercomb, mings, and packard, driving stark-frisbie machines, had a friendly rivalry among themselves. each wanted to drive his car to victory for the bonus which the victor was to receive, and they were attending strictly to business and learning all the ins and outs of the course. their dislike of matt and their desire to get the better of him seemed to be thrust aside by the weightier affairs connected with the race. several times, while he was going around the course, matt either passed or was passed by one or the other of his enemies, but each and all of them ignored him completely. matt was well content to let the matter rest in that way. nearly every time sercomb, mings or packard passed him, matt was tinkering with the jarrot car. the stark-frisbie drivers wrapped him in their dust and must have chuckled over the difficulties in which he found himself. the day of the race was set for tuesday. saturday night matt came in wearily from the garage, washed the grime of dust and oil from his face and hands, talked a few moments with carl, and went up to bed. half an hour later he rang for a pitcher of water. carl was lounging around the office when the bellboy carried the pitcher upstairs. had carl dreamed what was to happen to matt because of that innocent little supply of drinking-water, he would have taken the pitcher from the boy and carried it up himself. motor matt's enemies were not ignoring him entirely. they were staying at the same hotel, and, as carl sized the situation up afterward, they were staying there for the purpose which they finally accomplished. that their evil designs did not keep matt out of the race was because they overreached themselves by hastening the nefarious plot. had they waited just a few hours longer, the great race for the borden cup would have had an altogether different termination. nevertheless, the blow, when it fell, came with amazing suddenness; and it seemed so completely successful, and the hand dealing it was so cunningly hidden, that carl was as deeply bewildered as he was filled with despair. chapter x. where is motor matt? matt and carl did not occupy the same apartment in the hotel. their rooms were adjoining, but there was no means of communication between them save by way of the hall. on the night the mystifying event happened, carl went up to his room a few minutes after matt had sent down for the ice water. he tried matt's door, but it was locked. in answer to his rap matt called out a cheery good-night, and carl went on to his own quarters and tumbled into bed. the ringing of the breakfast bell always got carl up on the jump. with the morning, he was up with the first beat of the clapper and scrambling into his clothes. as he passed matt's room on his way down he tried the door. usually matt left the door ajar when he went to breakfast, but this morning it was closed. carl found it locked. he was about to rap and get his chum up, when he thought how tired he must have been the night before, and turned away. "matt has peen vorking like a horse," he said to himself, "und he has der righdt to shleep a leedle late on suntay morning. i von't make some disturpances mit him. ven he geds t'roo snoozing he vill come down." carl ate his breakfast, missing his chum sadly during the meal. across from him at the table sat a young fellow who seemed to be a newcomer--at least, carl had never seen him about the hotel before. he had a freckled face and red hair, and the clothes he wore were almost painfully new. he ate slowly and seemed to be watching the chair in which matt usually sat. "for vy you look like dot at der blace next py me?" inquired carl curiously. "you don'd got a mortgage on it, meppy?" the red-headed boy grinned. "mebby not, tow-head," said he, "but here's a chance for you to put me wise." "ret-head yourseluf!" returned carl. "vat i pud you vise aboudt?" "why, by letting me know whether that chair is the one usually occupied by matt king, the three-ply wonder of the racing world who is sometimes called motor matt?" carl braced up in his chair and glowered. "vas you making some chokes?" he demanded. "i skelp anypody vat makes some chokes aboudt modor matt." "so will i. why, matt used to be my pard." "iss dot so?" queried carl, softening. "vell, he iss my bard yet. ah, ha! vat iss der name vat you go by?" "mark mcready, otherwise reddy mcready, otherwise just plain chub." carl gurgled delightedly, let go his knife and fork and reached over the top of the castor to grab chub mcready's hand. "ach, vat a habbiness!" he beamed. "matt shpeaks many dimes aboudt you! yah, py shiminy, he dell me all aboudt vat you dit mit each odder in arizona. der lapel vat i tote iss carl pretzel. don'd you know somet'ing aboudt me?" "well, je-ru-sa-lem!" grinned chub. "say, i guess i _have_ heard about you. the last letter i got from matt had a long spiel about some work you and he did down near lamy, new mexico. didn't matt get a letter from me in denver?" "nix, und he don'd got any ledder from dere here, vich vas forwardet. you wride him, hey?" "sure, i wrote him. told him dad was going to chicago to close a deal for his mine, and that little chub was going to trail along, drop off at ottawa and see the big race. matt's in it, eh? had a notion he would be; and i'll bet a button against a last year's bird's nest that he _wins_!" "i'll bed more as dot!" chuckled carl, tickled out of his shoes to find some one who liked matt as well as he did. "say," he babbled, "i peen glad as plazes, chub, dot you habbened aroundt." "so am i; but where the nation is matt? i can hardly wait till i grab hold of him and give his fist a shake." "he was schnoozing mit himseluf," answered carl. "he has peen vorking like der tickens und i bed you he was dired. oof you haf got t'roo mit your preakfast, vy nod valk oop to his room mit me? he vill be so habby as i don'd know ven he findts oudt dot you vas here." "go you!" and chub pushed back from the table and got up. together the two boys left the dining-room, passed through the office and climbed the stairs. carl was cackling to himself all the way up the flight, for he knew how surprised matt would be and how mightily pleased to meet his old friend, chub. the door was still closed. carl listened to see if he could hear matt moving around. "der olt maferick iss shleeping like a house afire dis morning," chuckled carl. "now i vake him," and he pounded on the door. the emphatic summons brought no answer. "meppyso i pedder ged a cannon," giggled carl. "he iss shleeping his olt headt off." "he never used to pound his ear like that," remarked chub. "he nefed got so tired in arizony like he dit in gansas," carl explained, rattling at the door in a way that would have wakened the occupant of every room on that floor. but still there was no response from matt. carl began to get alarmed. "maybe he locked the door and went out?" suggested chub. "der fairst blace he vould go vould be to preakfast," returned carl, "und he don'd vas dere. der madder is somet'ing to be infestigated. you peen as t'ick t'roo as me, so i don'd guess ve eider oof us couldt ged t'roo der dransom; aber ve can look t'roo, anyvay. i got some feelings dot dere has somet'ing gone crossvays. vat it iss i don'd know, aber, py shinks, ve find it oudt." carl went for a chair that was standing farther along the hall, placed it in front of the door, climbed up and peered through the open transom. "donnervetter!" he exclaimed in astonishment. "now vat do you t'ink oof dot!" "what's to pay?" asked chub. "he don'd vas dere." "well, that proves what i said a moment ago, that he has gone out." "vy, der ped don'd vas shlept in lasdt nighdt! how you aggount for dot?" "why, he may not have been here last night, carl." "yah, so! ditn't i say goot-nighdt mit him ven i vent to ped mineseluf? yah, so helup me! i vonder vat's oop?" "we'll probably find him downstairs," said chub. "i got some hunches dot dere iss a nigger in der vood-pile," declared carl, climbing down from the chair, his face full of apprehension. "it don'd vas like matt to pull oudt like dot. ve go downshdairs und make some questions aboudt it." on their way down they met the bellboy coming up. "say, vonce!" said carl, catching the boy's arm, "haf you seen modor matt dis morning yet?" "naw," answered the youngster; "mebby he hasn't got up." "he ain'd in der room, und der door iss locked." "then he's hiked out some'rs." "he vonldn't do dot. vat habbened ven you dook oop der vater lasdt nighdt?" "what happened? why, i met that slocum feller on the way, an' he wanted to know if i was takin' the pitcher to sercomb's room. we gassed for a minit er two an' he gave me a quarter to go right back down and see if there was any mail for him. he asked me to do it before i gave the pitcher to motor matt. there wasn't any mail. when i came back, i picked up the pitcher and went on. motor matt took it in--and that's all there was to it." "dot looks like a lod oof monkey-doodle pitzness for nodding," muttered carl. "vere does der nighdt clerk shleep?" "in that room at the end of the hall." the bellboy went on, and carl turned and started back up the stairs. "what are you going to see the night clerk for, carl?" inquired chub. "vell, matt ditn't shleep in der ped, und dot means he ditn't shday in der room. i vant to ask der nighdt clerk oof he vent oudt." the night clerk answered their summons in a sleepy voice and opened the door. "dit you see modor matt leaf der hodel lasdt nighdt?" asked carl. "yes," was the astonishing reply, "he went out about midnight and took his grip with him. looked like he was going away." "for vy shouldt he go avay?" gasped carl. "he vas in der race, und he vouldn't leaf town on a bet, schust now." "i thought it was mighty funny," said the clerk. "he didn't say a word about paying his bill, or where he was going, or anything else. i called to him and asked if he was going to make a trip somewhere, and he turned around and stared at me. he didn't seem to know what he was doing. he never said a word, but went on out." "ach, himmelblitzen!" muttered carl, rubbing a dazed hand over his eyes. "vouldn't dot knock you shlap-sitet? vent avay! modor matt vent avay und nefer say nodding mit me aboudt it! dere iss something wrong, you ped you!" "i didn't know whether i ought to tell you or not, carl," went on the clerk. "these racing folks are coming and going all the time, and, for the most part, they're a queer lot. motor matt, somehow, seemed different, but last night i hadn't a notion what was bothering him and i didn't want to pry into his business. supposed he knew what he was up to. why don't you go and see trueman? he may be able to tell you something." "who's trueman?" asked chub. "he iss der feller matt iss triving der car for in der race," replied carl. "meppy ve pedder go und shbeak mit him." the clerk drew back into his room, and carl and chub started along the hall toward the stairs. when they were about halfway down the hall a door opened as they were passing it and slocum showed himself. there was a guilty look on his face--or so it seemed to carl--and before he could draw back carl had leaped at him and grabbed him by the shoulder. slocum muttered an oath, and one hand darted toward his hip. when the hand reappeared from under his long coat it held a revolver. "oh, that's your game, is it?" cried chub. the next moment he had grabbed the hand holding the revolver, and he and carl, between them, had pushed slocum back into the room. with a quick move chub wrenched the weapon out of slocum's hand and trained it on him. "that'll do for you," said he menacingly. "now sit down and get peaceable. carl, here, has got somethin' he wants to say." chapter xi. running down a clue. chub mcready had no very clear idea why carl was displaying so much hostility toward slocum. the bell-boy had mentioned slocum's name in connection with carrying the pitcher of water to matt's room, and chub supposed carl was to do some questioning along that line. the drawing of the revolver not only surprised chub, but led him to believe that slocum had a guilty conscience and was ready to go any length in defending himself. "this is an infernal outrage, by gad!" cried slocum. "what do you young ruffians mean by setting upon me like that?" as he spoke he picked up a newspaper and threw it over the table. it was an odd move for a man to make at such a time. "vat do you mean py making some moofs mit a gun?" demanded carl. "why, you pie-faced dutchman, why shouldn't i pull a gun when i'm set upon like that? i was just leaving my room to go down to breakfast when you began to climb all over me. what's the matter with you, anyhow?" "pie-face!" gasped carl; "you call me dot! py chincher, you haf got a face like some hedge fences, und you haf a heart vat iss so plack und dricky as i can't dell. vat you do ven you meed der poy pringing some vater py modor matt's room lasdt nighdt? tell me dot!" "do? i sent him down to see if there was any mail for me. what business is that of yours, anyway? give me that gun and get out of here, both of you!" slocum gave the paper another hitch on the table. chub was already guessing about the moves he had made with that paper, and what he saw now brought his guessing to the suspecting stage. stepping to the table, he cast the paper aside. a small bottle, half-full of some drug, lay on the table. slocum, with a quick sweep of his hand grabbed the bottle away. "he's got somet'ing he don'd vant us to see!" exclaimed carl. "i'm next to that, all right," said chub. "put it back on the table, slocum," he added sharply. "don't be a mutt. i'm from arizona, and we don't speak twice when we back up our first talk with a gun." "this is my property!" faltered slocum, peering shiftily into chub's steady eyes. "you're so blamed careful of it that i'd about made up my mind it belonged to you. anyhow, drop it on the table. last call!" slocum laid the bottle down. "by gad," he blustered, "somebody'll pay for this!" "look out it ain't you," grinned chub. "pick it up, carl, and we'll take it down to the office, where we can look it over." "take that away from here," fumed slocum, "and i'll----" as carl picked up the bottle slocum made a grab at him. "steady!" warned chub. "now duck, carl. we've found out all we can in this place." with the bottle in his hand carl walked out of the room. chub backed out. taking the key out of the door, he dropped the revolver on the carpet, jumped into the hall, slammed the door and locked it on the outside. "that's to give him a chance to get over his mad spell before he tried to shoot," chub grinned as he rejoined carl and they took their way down-stairs. "you don'd know aboudt dot feller und matt," said carl, "und i vill dell you. den you vill know vat i know und ve can guess oudt der resdt togedder." they went out on the porch and took a couple of chairs; then carl told how slocum had called on matt, in denver, claimed he was colonel plympton and, by trickery, got him to sign a paper that had lost him the opportunity of driving a car for the stark-frisbie company. chub scowled. "i sized him up for bein' pretty low-down," said he, "but i hadn't any notion he'd pull off a trick like that. what did he do it for?" carl went on with an account of the doings of sercomb and his gang. chub's wrath had been mounting by swift degrees. "that's a fine lay-out!" he growled savagely. "the gang has done something to matt, that's a cinch. but what? matt goes off by himself, bag and baggage, at midnight, looking like he was locoed. queerest thing i ever heard of!" before carl could make any comment, mr. trueman came up the porch steps and started toward him. "matt was to meet me at the garage this morning at eight o'clock," said he, "and we were to talk over some important matters. why didn't he come, carl?" "dot's vat ve don'd know, misder drooman," answered carl gloomily. "modor matt don'd been aroundt der hodel since mitnighdt." trueman stood as though stunned. "matt hasn't been at the hotel since midnight?" he repeated blankly. "dot's vat's der madder. dere has peen some keveer pitzness going on in dis blace, you bed my life, und vere matt iss ve don'd know." trueman drew a handkerchief from his pocket and passed it across his face; then he dropped into a chair. "if anything has happened to king, now," said he, "it will be pretty nearly the last straw. tell me all about this thing--give me the whole of it, and be as quick as you can." between them carl and chub contrived to give trueman a fairly lucid idea of what they had done and what they had discovered. trueman, an ominous frown on his face, took the bottle which carl had brought away from slocum's room. the label contained but the two words, "_cannibis indica_." "it's a drug of some sort," he muttered, holding the bottle up between his eyes and the light and shaking it. "matt has told me all about slocum's double dealing, and how the fellow is working with sercomb and his gang. do you suppose slocum merely sent the bellboy down after the mail for a bluff?" "bluff!" echoed chub. "what kind of a bluff?" "why, so he'd be alone with the pitcher of water long enough to empty some of the contents of this bottle into it." carl and chub were astounded. "dot's vat he dit, und i bed you anyt'ing vat i got!" cried carl. "he doped matt's drinking-water," averred chub, "and that's the straight of it. i move we go upstairs and lay the tin-horn by the heels. if he's doing that sort of business he ought to be in the calaboose." "we'll go up and have a talk with him," said trueman. "unless he can give a good explanation of what this bottle of stuff is for, we'll walk him over to the jail and land him behind the bars." a hurried trip was made to the second floor, but trueman and the boys were too late. slocum had got someone to open the door for him and he was gone. "ach, plazes!" said carl angrily; "ve ought to haf pud some ropes on him so dot he couldn't ged avay. dot's vere ve vas lame, chub. now how ve going to findt oudt vere iss modor matt?" "slocum, guilty or innocent, wouldn't be able to help us find matt," spoke up trueman. "the thing for us to do is to hunt up a doctor and find out just what effect this _cannibis indica_ has on a person. it may be that we're on the wrong track entirely." there was a doctor in the office building next the hotel. his name was davis. he was an old doctor, but a knowing one. "_cannibis indica_," said he, "is a drug that has a very powerful effect upon the brain. it is not dangerous if taken in a small amount. a small dose of it would not induce a state of lethargy, but would be more apt to unhinge a person's mind and cause him to do things of which he would have no remembrance when the effect wore away." "how long would the effect last?" asked trueman anxiously. "that would depend altogether upon the amount that was taken. in this case, two or three days, perhaps." when trueman and the boys left the doctor's office the mystery was cleared as to the cause of matt's sudden departure, but was as deep as ever concerning his present whereabouts. "for several days," said trueman, "matt's enemies have held back. i suppose they planned this thing so as to work it at just the right time to keep matt out of the race. if he doesn't get back here before long i'll raise cain with the scoundrels who had a hand in the work. i'm going to see the authorities and have them telegraph and telephone to the surrounding towns. while i'm busy about that, you boys return to the hotel, get a duplicate key of the room, and take the pitcher of water you find there over to dr. davis. ask him to find out if any of the _cannibis indica_ was mixed with it. i'm fairly positive as to what his answer will be, but this is a case where we've got to be sure of every step." by noon the telegraph and telephone had carried their alarm into the neighboring country. the town was being searched, not only for matt, but also for slocum. dr. davis had declared that the water in the pitcher had contained a strong solution of the drug. circumstantial evidence connected slocum with the administering of the drug so that there was not the least shadow of a doubt. but slocum could not be located; and neither could matt. an afternoon of miserable anxiety passed for carl and chub, to be followed by a no less miserable and uneventful night. monday, the day before the great race, came, bringing crowds of people by every train--but motor matt was not among them. carl, as chub expressed it, had "gone off the jump" entirely; and chub himself was not much better off. trueman, grimly resenting what had happened to his driver, was firmly determined, if matt did not present himself before the race was started, to arrest every one of the stark-frisbie drivers. if the jarrot car was to be kept out of the race for lack of a driver, trueman would see to it that some of the other cars were left in like condition. in levelling their contemptible plot against motor matt, the guilty drivers would find that they had launched a boomerang. this was the condition of affairs up to midnight, monday night, and the first of the racers was to be started at eight sharp, tuesday morning. chapter xii. forty-eight hours of darkness. motor matt had never felt in better spirits, worn and weary though he was, than when he had climbed the stairs to his room that saturday evening. he had gone over the course three times that day, and the cylinders of the number thirteen had pulled nobly. there had been a little tire trouble during the first two rounds, but nothing had gone wrong on the last circuit, and trueman had held the watch on him. he had done the fifty-two miles in less than an hour. "you'll improve on that," trueman had said, "when you've got a man in front of you to overhaul. there'll be twelve ahead of you at the start, and among the twelve will be two of the fast stark-frisbie cars and one of the bly-lambert machines as pacemakers." matt was well pleased with the prospect. every car entered for the race had passed under his scrutiny, and he felt positive the chance for the number thirteen to win was excellent. sitting in a comfortable chair in his room, he rang for his ice-water and fell to going over the course of the race in his mind. every foot of the road was plainly mapped before him. the water came and he took a long drink. perhaps the very chill of it served to disguise the slightly astringent taste caused by the drug. at any rate, he did not notice that anything was wrong. carl came by, rapped on the door and said good-night. while matt listened, carl's feet seemed to go on and on along the hall interminably. it was a queer delusion, and matt shook back his shoulders and laughed softly. "i mustn't let this race get on my nerves so much," he said to himself. "nerves are bad things for a racing-driver. i'm tired out, and i guess i'll turn in." he started toward the bed, and that was the last thing he remembered for some time. when he came to himself he saw glittering little lights above him. at first he thought he was dreaming, and sat up, rubbing his eyes. even then he thought he was dreaming, his surroundings were so different from what they should have been--from what he had every reason to expect them to be. the lights far over his head were stars--or seemed to be stars. he was out-doors, and had been lying on a heap of straw at the bottom of a stack. on his right was a large barn, and beyond the barn were the shadowy outlines of a house. these odd discoveries confused and bewildered matt. what sort of witchcraft was here? a moment before, as he reckoned the time, he had started for bed in his room at the hotel. now he woke up in a heap of straw, out of doors and apparently on somebody's farm. staggering to his feet, he leaned heavily against the side of the straw-stack and drummed his knuckles against his forehead. a horrible illusion gradually took hold of him. had he been in an accident with the racing-car? was he just recovering from the effects of a bad smash? his brain seemed a bit hazy, but otherwise he appeared to be as well as ever. stepping away from the stack, with the view of making further investigations, he stumbled over something. picking up the object, he found it to be his satchel. this added a further mystery to his situation. he had evidently left the hotel with the intention of going somewhere to stay for a while. in the dim light his satchel looked frayed and worn, as though it had seen hard usage. his clothes, too, from what he could see of them, offered the same evidence of wear and tear. "well, great guns!" he muttered. "i wish somebody would kindly explain how i came to be here! and while the explaining is going on, i wish somebody would let me know whether i am really matt king or another fellow. this would read like a page out of the 'thousand and one nights.' i'll just go up to the house and ask where i am." the next moment he changed his mind about going to that particular house. a vicious bulldog rushed out at him, and he got over a near-by fence with more haste than grace. picking up a stone, he drove the dog back, then stepped off toward another house which he could see in the dim distance. all the while he was moving about, his mind was grappling with the situation--and carrying him nowhere. had his mind been unbalanced? had he lost his reason in some strange manner and only just recovered it? this was a terrible thought, but it was the only explanation that occurred to matt. there was no dog at the next house, and he walked up to the front door and rapped loudly. a long time elapsed, and then a window was thrown open in the second story and a head was poked out. "who in the name o' goodness is bangin' at my front door at this time o' night?" demanded a fretful voice. "i'm sorry to disturb you," answered matt, "but i've lost my way and would like you to tell me how far i am from ottawa." "ottawa?" returned the voice. "well, you're twenty miles from ottawa, an' four miles from lawrence." "twenty--miles!" gasped matt. "that's it. lawrence is right ahead over that hill yonder. it's purty dark, but i guess that hill's plain enough. anythin' else i can tell you? now i'm up i might as well tell you all you want to know." "what time is it?" asked matt in a subdued voice. "goin' on four o'clock in the mornin'." "what morning? sunday?" "say, but you're dumb! tuesday morning--the day of the race at ottawa. my boy joe went down yesterday to see it--all dumb foolishness, too, as i told him. them automobiles'll go by so tarnation fast he won't be able to see 'em. jest a-buzzin' like a swarm o' bees, a whiff of gasoline, an' that's all." matt was so astounded that he heard little of what the farmer had been saying. he had gone to bed in ottawa on saturday night, and here it was four o'clock tuesday morning and he was four miles from lawrence. he had been plunged in oblivion for forty-eight hours--but _how_, and _why_? "hey, down there!" shouted the farmer. "you gone to sleep?" "no," called back matt, recovering himself with a start; "do you want to make ten dollars, friend?" "how?" asked the man suspiciously. "by hitching up and driving me to ottawa." "sho! that's a heap o' money to spend for a ride. why, you can walk to lawrence and ketch a train. then t'll only cost you fifty cents to get to ottawa." "can i get a train between now and seven o'clock?" "i head one whistlin' every mornin' about six-thirty or seven, but whether it's goin' or comin' from ottawa i don't know. anyhow, i couldn't leave. my boy's away an' i got to stay home an' do the work." "all right," said matt; "much obliged." "sure you ain't from the ossawatomie insane asylum? you talk kinder queer, seems like." "i don't know but i ought to be in ossawatomie," answered matt as he started off down the road. the window closed with a bang. "well," murmured matt, striding along the road toward the hill, "what do you think of that! i've lost two whole days--haven't a notion what i've been doing in all that time. wonder what's been going on in ottawa? i was to meet trueman sunday morning for a talk. what'll he think? and carl! great scott! i wonder if they'll get the idea i've run away? the race starts at eight o'clock, and i'll have less than four hours to get to ottawa! what if i can't catch a train?" the possibility of missing the race bothered him more than the cause of his predicament. as he strode along the quiet country highway the cool night air beat against his face and freshened his wits. he began wondering if sercomb and his gang hadn't had something to do with his mysterious departure from ottawa? that was the only way he could account for what had happened. a steely resolution arose in his breast. he would get to ottawa, and he would get there in time to drive the jarrot car. if sercomb had plotted against him, then he would beat the scoundrel at his own game. it was nearly five o'clock when matt reached the lawrence railroad station. there was no train to ottawa, the nightman told him, until half-past nine in the morning--neither passenger nor freight. matt was dumfounded. "i was told that there was a train at six-thirty, or seven," said he. "sure," answered the nightman, "but it goes the other way." "this is tough luck!" exclaimed matt. "you see," he explained, "i'm to drive a car in that race this morning, and the first car starts off at eight. my car is number thirteen. there's a two-minute interval between each car, and that starts me about twenty-four minutes after eight. how far is ottawa from here?" "twenty-four miles." "any way i can get there in time for the race?" "you couldn't get there with a horse an' buggy, that's sure. there's a gasoline speeder in the shed, and the track-inspector sleeps on t'other side the yards in hooligan's boarding house. you might get the inspector to take you down." here was a ray of hope. matt inquired hastily how to find hooligan's place, and set out to get the inspector. he was an hour getting the man, and another half-hour getting him to agree to run the speeder to ottawa. matt had to promise the inspector twenty-five dollars for making the trip. another half-hour was lost filling the speeder's tank and getting the machine ready for the road, and the sun was rising before they chugged off along the glimmering rails. the motor had a chronic habit of misfiring, and there were numberless stops ranging in length from one minute to ten while the machinery was tinkered with. the entrance to forest park was not more than a stone's throw from the railroad track, and as the speeder came close to the town matt saw the first car leap through the gap in the fence and bear away in the direction of the river road. it was number one, a stark-frisbie car, with joe mings at the steering-wheel! matt had twenty minutes, perhaps, left him for getting to the track. throwing himself from the speeder at the point nearest the entrance to the park, he flung wildly away through the press of vehicles and pedestrians. chapter xiii. at the last minute. at midnight, monday night, the police of ottawa arrested a man who was trying to get out of town on a freight train. the man was slocum. slocum was taken immediately to jail. his nerve had entirely failed him and he was in a pitiable state of collapse. he admitted his guilt in the matter of motor matt's disappearance, and offered to make a confession providing no legal steps were taken in his case and he was allowed to go free. trueman was sent for; also the district attorney. both recognized that slocum was only a tool, and in order to get at those who were more culpable it was agreed to accept his sworn confession and to release him in case it developed that no harm had befallen motor matt. slocum's confession implicated indirectly every member of the drivers' club, but had most to do with sercomb, mings, and packard, and held up sercomb as the ringleader. it was sercomb who had prepared the two typewritten papers--one for matt to _read_ and the other for him to _sign_--which slocum had juggled with so successfully in the denver hotel; and it was sercomb who had paid slocum's fare and expenses to kansas in order that, at the right moment, he might administer the _cannibis indica_. on the basis of this confession, a warrant was issued for sercomb but was to be held back and not served until just before he was to get away in the race. also the whole matter dealing with slocum's arrest and confession was kept a secret so that the arrest and removing from the contest of stark-frisbie's crack racer might be successfully accomplished. this work of the police filled trueman with a negative satisfaction. it did not help him out of his own particular difficulty for he was still minus a driver. chub who was so worked up over matt's disappearance and his helplessness in doing anything to find him that he could not keep down his impatience and restlessness, offered to drive the car in matt's place, or to ride as mechanic with whoever did drive it. chub had taken lessons from matt in driving a motor-car, and he had always been wonderfully handy about machinery. trueman, however, had made up his mind to drive the car himself, but he was glad to have chub along to attend to the various duties of _mecanicien_. while chub had thus found something to do to take his mind temporarily away from matt, carl was in different condition. he moped around the hotel, filled with gloom and discouragement and waiting hopelessly for news. the town was filled with an enthusiastic mob of people, and the only thing that was talked about, or thought about, was race, race, race! but carl had lost interest in the race now that it seemed certain matt was out of it. chub had all he could do to get carl to go to the park when he and trueman took out the red racer. "vat's der use oof going any blace or doing anyt'ing?" said carl dejectedly. "matt vas down und oudt mit a dope und life don'd vas vort' der lifing. vell, meppy i go along mit you, chub. i got to be somevere." although trueman was a terribly disappointed man, and expected only to finish the course, and had no thought of winning, he made his preparations with as much care as though matt was to be at the steering-wheel and perhaps drive no. to victory. new tires and new chains were put on, and the hundred and one little things always demanded by a big race were attended to. the grand stand at the park was choked with people. overflowing the seats, the throng packed itself densely along the fences on both sides of the race-track. but the crowds were not confined to the ottawa end of the course. over its whole extent from the park to le loup, from le loup to coal run, and from coal run back to the park again, the circuit was lined with people. they came from the contiguous country in wagons, from various parts of the state in automobiles, and from all over the west by train. the sportsman instinct animated the majority of them, and others had a morbid interest in an affair that might be filled with wreck and tragedy. mounted officers patrolled the circuit and kept the crowd back of the danger line. each car's weight, with tanks empty, was limited to fifteen hundred pounds. the weighing-in was going forward when trueman, chub, and carl reached the track. the owners of cars that were overweight had to do some more stripping while those that were under the limit found that they could take aboard some necessary appliances of which they were quick to avail themselves. mr. borden, the gray-haired patron of the race, was in evidence here and there about the grounds. it was the first of the races, for which he stood sponsor, ever run in the vicinity of his home town, and he was as pleased as a four-year-old with a tin whistle. colonel plympton was prominently in the public eye, mingling with the stark-frisbie drivers and mechanics and giving personal attention to every car. lambert, of the rival concern, was filling a corresponding position with his own cars and drivers. many other firms had their representatives on the spot. the first car to start was a stark-frisbie, -h.-p., with joe mings at the wheel. it got away in a perfect bedlam of cheers. two minutes later, car number two with patsy grier driving for bly-lambert, was sent from the tape. it shot away like a streak, and was through the gap in the fence and bound for the river before the wild yelling had died away. next came three touring-cars, driven by local celebrities, all out for a good time and caring little about the race. then came a no. bly-lambert with balt finn up, then another touring-car, then a little -horse racer, then a no. stark-frisbie, packard driving. as packard got away, a wild-eyed, disheveled youth shot through the crowd lining the track and broke into the banked racers that were waiting for the start. "mr. trueman! out of there, quick! give me your racing clothes." trueman and chub, sitting in the no. and gloomily awaiting the word to come forward for the start, nearly jumped from their seats. "matt!" gasped trueman. his face cleared as if by magic. there was no time for explanations--no time for anything but to attend to the business immediately in hand. "hooray!" cried chub. "how are you, pard?" matt stopped and stared as he got into the gear trueman was throwing at him. "chub!" he exclaimed. "well, this _is_ a surprise! i've been having a lot of surprises lately." "we've found out all about what happened," said trueman. "slocum doped you. he tried to get away but was caught and has made a confession. on the basis of that confession a warrant is out for sercomb, and he will be arrested and taken from his car before he starts." matt's eyes drifted through the parked automobiles until they rested on the driver of no. . through his goggles the driver was staring at matt. it was sercomb, and motor matt's appearance evidently astounded him. "don't arrest him, mr. trueman, until the race is over," said matt. "but----" "i mean it! let's make this a clean race and a clean win. it will be better for the jarrot people, better for me, better for everybody." "well, if you insist----" "i do insist. that's the way i want it." matt climbed into the low-hung body of the car and lost himself to the head and shoulders in the driver's seat. the starter was looking toward them and throwing up his hand. trueman jumped to "turn over" the engine, and matt made for the starting tape. in spite of cap and goggles some of those in the grandstand recognized matt. they were those who had seen him working like a trojan over the circuit for a week, who had heard about his mysterious disappearance, and who now welcomed his return with hearty cheers. matt got away in grand style, whisked around the track and darted through the break in the fence. as soon as sercomb, in the last stark-frisbie car, had started, plympton went over to where trueman was standing. "i'm glad king got back," said the colonel. "his disappearance had an ugly look." "it still has an ugly look, plympton," returned trueman. "of course! but king's all right. that's the main point." "it's a good thing for you that he got back," went on trueman. "i don't see how you figure that. if what i hear of him is true, he's a star-driver. it isn't a good thing for us to have star-drivers running cars against us." "but for king, plympton, one of your crack men would have been out of this race." "what do you mean, trueman?" asked the colonel curiously. "do you see that sandy-whiskered man over there?" asked trueman, pointing. "yes." "well, he's an officer in plain-clothes. in his pocket he has a warrant for sercomb's arrest. he'd have served the warrant and taken sercomb out of the race if king hadn't said no." "a put-up job, eh, to get rid of our best man!" scowled plympton. "no put-up job about it," answered trueman. "sercomb was responsible for the hocussing of king." "come, come!" growled plympton angrily. "you've got too much sense, trueman, to take any stock in such a yarn as that." "have i? well, read this over and then tell me how much stock you take in it." with that, he handed slocum's confession to plympton. the latter read it with consternation in his face. "it seems incredible!" he muttered, as he passed the paper back. "whether he wins or loses, this is sercomb's last race for stark-frisbie." "i thought so!" chuckled trueman, returning the document to his pocket. chapter xiv. the first half of the race. motor matt had made up his mind, before starting, that he would take the first round steadily and easily. elimination would be going on steadily, and it was just as well to see what was going to happen before taking the long chances. the morning was bright and sunny. there was not a cloud in the sky. a gentle breeze fanned the course and dissipated the dust raised by the cars. and there was plenty of dust! it circled, and eddied, and rolled, outlining the course as far as the eye could see. at the difficult turn leading into the river road, matt passed patsy grier's overturned car. grier had failed to negotiate the turn and had gone into the ditch. grier himself seemed to have escaped without injury, but he was busily bandaging his mechanic's arm. the river road was an exceedingly difficult part of the circuit. the timber kept the wind from dissipating the dust, and it spread out like a fog. matt could hear cars ahead and behind, but he could not see them. intuition, rather than anything else, carried him safely by two of the touring-cars, one of which was suffering from tire-trouble. mings, in the stark-frisbie, and balt finn, in the bly-lambert, were both ahead of matt, and he thought only of getting past them. he was not intending, however, to do much more than hold his own against the better cars during the first round. the motor was pulling magnificently. matt, his heart leaping with the joy of the sport, opened the machine out a little more on the fine road from the river to le loup. he passed several more cars, but not mings', or finn's. the climb to coal run was splendidly made. between that village and the track he shot past the little " ," smashed into a scrap-heap, and with driver and mechanic standing hopelessly by. something must have gone wrong with the " 's" steering-gear, for it had left the road and smashed into a big boulder. all the cars had got well away before matt came plunging along the track in front of the grand stand. the first round had taken him exactly fifty-eight minutes. there were only two cars ahead of him--those driven by mings and finn. "bravo, matt!" the young motorist heard trueman shout, high over the ripple of cheering as he dashed past; "only two ahead and you're----" what the last of it was matt could not hear. for this second round he was going to cram on all the speed he could. his one idea was to pass mings and finn. the no. was holding up under the strain in fine shape. nothing had gone wrong with either car or motor. chub had strapped himself to his seat. he was busying himself with the lubrication and the fuel supply, keeping tab on everything that was purely mechanical so that matt would have nothing to do but drive. both chums had a deep curiosity to learn what had befallen each other; but that was a time when personal considerations of every nature were of minor importance. nothing was thought of but the race; every faculty was centered upon the question of speed, and more speed, and then a little more. the passing of finn, on the beautiful sweep of road between the river and le loup, was an exciting event. in every way possible finn sought to block the road; yet steadily, persistently, matt crept alongside the bly-lambert car, swung into the lead and hurled through le loup. in the distance, well up the slope toward coal run, matt and chub could see the moving dust kicked up by mings' car. with teeth set and eyes flashing behind his goggles, matt hurled the no. at the hill. the car jumped up the ascent with incredible speed. swiftly, surely, mings was being overhauled. the spectators in the grand stand had an excellent view of the sharp little scrimmage which put matt in the lead. the no. appeared to leap alongside the no. car, both drivers turning the very last ounce of power into their cylinders. for the space of a breath it seemed as though the wheels of the two cars would lock. as they rushed around the curve in the track, matt swung ahead and took the inside course. the roar from the crowd was tremendous. but matt was not thinking of that. he was in the lead, now, and his one idea was to keep it. mings had left the starting-tape twenty-four minutes ahead of him, and if matt had come over the last lap a fraction less than that behind mings, the race would still have gone to the jarrot people. there were still cars on the course, and matt began meeting and passing those that had left behind him. "overhaul sercomb! pass sercomb!" these were the first words chub had spoken since the beginning of the race. it was a startling feat he suggested, that of traveling clear around the circuit and overtaking sercomb--an impossible feat, matt thought, but the impossible is not always a thing to be scoffed at so much as to be striven for. but troubles were in store for matt. they began close to le loup when matt found that his governor was not working. every time he took the clutch out the engine raced, making everything terribly hot, and also making it necessary before changing speed to choke down the motor by the ignition. a halt was necessary, and chub let off a groan as matt slowed down and they got busy repairing the machine. two cars swept past, while they were tinkering. both were stark-frisbie cars, one, of course, driven by mings, and the other by sercomb. "instead of our overtaking sercomb, chub," said matt grimly, "it's the other way around. he's overcome the lead we had of him and has passed _us_." "if the governor works now, pard," replied chub, leaping into the car, "we'll make up for lost time. push ahead!" the governor worked as usual, and matt began reaching out to regain what he had lost. he flew past sercomb, and had another struggle with mings on the track. those in the grand stand knew that some accident must have happened, or matt would never have lost the lead he had gained in the previous round. trueman was beginning to feel disheartened. the no. was beginning to "act up," and there was no telling what would happen, or where the disasters would stop. in le loup, trueman had placed a supply of gasoline. matt halted to replenish his tank. sercomb passed, but mings, for some reason, did not show up. shortly after leaving le loup the governor went wrong again. "don't stop, matt!" counseled chub; "we can't waste any more time. i'll switch off at the corners and see if that won't help." chub, by switching off at the corners and then switching on again when they got round, enabled matt to take the turns with the clutch out. for some time they kept up this rough method of driving, and, while engaged in it, they got by sercomb again. the stark-frisbie machine was at a standstill, and sercomb and his mechanic were working like beavers. "oh, i don't know, pard," laughed chub. "there's others. i wonder what's become of mings?" "perhaps he's had an accident. we can tell on the next round." "if we don't have anything worse than what we've got already to buck against, we'll do well enough. i'm satisfied that----" just then a very serious accident happened. they were taking the corner that led to the track, clutch out and switch off; the switch went on a fraction of a second too soon, and as the engine, racing tremendously, was dropped into gear on the third speed, there was a loud crash in the gear-box. "jumpin' horned-toads!" yelled chub; "what's was that, matt?" "our third speed's gone," matt answered. "it's first, second, fourth, second, first from now on." "that means we're out of it," growled chub gloomily. "i don't know about that," answered matt. "the race seems to be between us, sercomb, and mings. we'll hang on and do our best. maybe mings is out of it--he's lagging terribly, even if he isn't--and we know sercomb is having troubles." as the no. rushed past the grand stand amid the cheers of the people, trueman could see that something was wrong; but he was feeling more hopeful. matt was in the lead and if he could keep it and fight down the mishaps that assailed him, there was still a chance that he would hold the lead and win. as if the troubles matt had had were not enough, on the road toward the river the motor began to misfire. having to run on three cylinders instead of four diminished the speed materially, and chub groaned in his discouragement. "don't take it so hard, chub," said matt. "be jeerful, as carl says. there's mings' car piled up against a tree." as they dashed past along the river road they saw the no. smashed badly, and mings and his mechanic limping around the wreck in extreme dejection. miles farther around the circuit they came upon sercomb. he and his assistant had just finished their repairs and were starting on again. matt and chub had made the complete round of the track and had overhauled sercomb, but sercomb was now bidding fair to recover lost ground and take the race from the crippled jarrot car. "did you ever see such measly luck?" growled chub. chapter xv. well won, king! the narrowing down of the contestants in the race had brought the interest of the onlookers to a focal point. the excitement everywhere was intense. carl pretzel had not seen motor matt when he reached the track and took his place in the car, but, from a point in the grand stand he had recognized him when the car leaped away. for a while the dutch boy was dazed and dumfounded. could he believe his eyes? was that motor matt in the car, going over the course with chub? for almost an hour carl kept his post in the grand stand, waiting for no. to come around, so he could give closer attention to the driver and make sure it was matt. he made certain; there could be no doubting the evidence of his senses; motor matt was really driving the jarrot car. but where had he come from? and what was sercomb doing in the race? carl had been told that sercomb was to be arrested and taken out of the contest, and he was wondering why this had not been done. in a highly excited condition, carl left the grand stand and went hunting for mr. trueman. he found him in a place reserved for the representatives of firms who had machines in the race. "misder drooman," demanded carl, "vat has peen going on, hey? i see dot modor matt iss in der car. how it come aboudt? vas i treaming, oder vas it somepody vat looks like matt und don'd vas him?" "it's motor matt, all right, carl," replied trueman. "vere he come from?" "give it up. he blew in here just in time to take the car out for the start. he didn't have a chance to explain a thing." "ach, i feel so habby as i don'd know! matt vas pack, some more, und he iss racing like vat he used to. dere ain'd nodding wrong mit him." "he's the best driver in the race, bar none," declared trueman. plympton, who was watching events closely, overheard the remark and turned around. "i agree with you, trueman," said he heartily; "motor matt's a wonder. and to think, by gad, that this is his first race!" probably colonel plympton was sorry, then, that he had not secured motor matt's services for the stark-frisbie people while he had the chance. "i t'ought dot sercomb feller vas nod going to be in der race," went on carl, taking particular pains to let plympton hear the remark. "he iss a sgoundrel, und nodding vould haf habbened to matt oof it hatn't peen for him." "i told matt i was going to have sercomb arrested and taken out of the contest, carl," explained trueman, "but matt insisted that he be allowed to stay in the race." "by gad," said plympton, turning again, "the boy was right! he wants to beat sercomb, and he knows it's a whole lot better to give him every advantage. king is a game sportsman, and i take off my hat to him." "dot sercomb feller vat runs der car for you, gurnel plympton," said carl, "iss some pad eggs. dere don'd vas nodding fair aboudt him. he has hat it in for matt for a long dime, und iss der piggest fillian dot efer vas. he vill dry on somet'ing in der race yet, you vatch und see." "you're mistaken, young man," said plympton sharply. "i think you are, too, carl," spoke up trueman. "sercomb, no matter how much he may hate matt, won't dare do anything crooked." "vy nod? dot feller iss der vorst dot efer vas. aroundt on der odder site oof der race course he mighdt run indo matt, oder do somet'ing like dot." "beautiful, beautiful," murmured plympton, watching matt pass mings a second time; "i never saw such driving as king is doing." "he can do anyt'ing!" declared carl, swelling up. "he iss my bard, und he iss der lucky poy. oof sercomb leds him alone, matt vill vin der race. aber i don'd t'ink sercomb vill do dot." for two hours longer the breathless crowd held to their places. only sercomb and matt were left on the course, all the rest of the machines having given out, or their drivers having given up. it looked like matt's race, although it could be seen that his car was bothering him terribly. chub was as busy as a monkey with its hand in a coconut, switching out and in with one hand, pumping oil with the other, and occasionally giving swift attention to something else. he was fairly plastered with oil and dust. matt had passed sercomb, having gone completely around the circuit and caught up with him. but sercomb's machine was again working smoothly and was going much faster than the no. . he passed matt. but could he get around the track completely and then cross the finish-line with a margin to his credit? if everything held up, it looked as though he would be able to win. how the crowd in the grand stand watched that gap in the fence, beyond the paddock, for a glimpse of sercomb rushing over the course to make up his opponent's lead! trueman and plympton were consulting their watches nervously. "something's gone wrong with sercomb," muttered plympton. "at the rate he was going when he passed here, on the other round, he ought to have been back before this." "the accidents can't all happen to one car," said trueman. "that's so; but stark-frisbie usually put out dependable cars. king has been having trouble with your racer almost from the start." "it's the finish of the race that tells the story," returned trueman. "this will be the first race the jarrot people ever won--providing you win it." "it's the biggest race, at that. even if we don't win, it's something to beat the bly-lambert people. we've thrown dust in the faces of the cup-holders, anyhow." tales of accident on the course had been drifting in, and some of the drivers of the wrecked and disabled cars had got back to the park. as by a miracle, no one had been killed, it seemed, or even dangerously hurt. "ah!" shouted colonel plympton, his eyes on the gap in the fence on the other side of the track, "here comes sercomb now!" a flurry of dust was shooting through the break in the fence and turning into the track for the home-stretch. for a space the thick blanket of dust shrouded the car and it was impossible to tell whose car it was. "don't be too sure that it's sercomb," cautioned trueman excitedly. "i've got money that says it's king." "done for a hundred!" returned plympton promptly. "if it isn't sercomb, i owe you the money." just then the wind whipped aside the dust and a most astonishing sight presented itself. the dust was raised by both cars, for matt and sercomb were rounding the track almost side by side. strangely enough, the third cylinder of the no. had stopped its rebellion. dropping in line with the others, it had taken up its rhythmical action and was doing its full part. of course, the race was matt's. he was the full course, nearly, ahead of sercomb. even if the no. stood still, the race would still be matt's. why, then, was sercomb continuing the hopeless fight? around the course came the two cars, matt keeping the lead by two or three feet. as the two machines, one white and the other red, raced toward the finish-line, the crowd grew nearly frantic. rising in their seats the people yelled until they were hoarse; men threw up their hats, and women fluttered their handkerchiefs. then suddenly the wild cheering died as if by magic. sercomb, perhaps carried away by the heat of the contest, had given his steering-wheel into the charge of his mechanic, a red-haired irishman, and was leaning far over toward the other car. sercomb had a wrench in his hand, and his purpose, as could clearly be seen, was to strike matt with the heavy instrument. the crowd caught its breath. "i toldt you, i toldt you!" carl was muttering to himself as his frenzied eyes watched the grim little affair as it went forward. matt, busy with his driving, could not see the danger that threatened him; but not so with the lad at his side. chub, facing backward in his seat, made a quick move outward and sideways. the wrench, at that moment, was on the point of falling. chub caught the murderous hand just in the nick of time to save motor matt. for a moment sercomb and chub struggled as the cars raced. then the wrench fell, sercomb slipped back into his seat, and matt cut off the power and slowed down to a halt. a great gasp of relief went up from the crowd, followed by a perfect roar of cheers. while sercomb and his irish mechanic raced onward, the crowd poured out of the grand stand and over the fences to rush upon the victor and congratulate him. chapter xvi. conclusion. "nobly done, king!" roared trueman, grabbing matt out of the car and giving him a rapturous hug. "oh, it was a grand race, a splendid race, and you have done wonderful things for the jarrot people! they'll not forget this in a hurry. make no contract with any one," he whispered, "until you hear from me! i've got to wire st. louis!" "matt!" whooped carl, pawing through the excited crowd to reach his chum's side. "i knowed dot you vould do it, yah, py shinks! und i knowed dot sercomb vouldt dry to do you, too. dot's der vay mit him." carl hugged matt ecstatically, then turned to grab the oil-caked hands of chub. "you safed matt, chub," said he, "dot's vat you dit. eferypody saw dot! eferypody knows, now, schust vat kindt oof a feller dot sercomb iss. efen plympton can'd ged aroundt vat he saw mit his own eyes, nix, py shiminy!" off to the left of the grandstand colonel plympton was having an interview with sercomb. "why didn't you stop where king halted his car?" he demanded wrathfully. "i wanted to get away from the crowd," was sercomb's sullen response. "well, i don't blame you for that," said plympton sarcastically. "the people probably would have done anything but congratulate you. sercomb, what did you mean by making that attempt on king?" "i meant to knock him out of the car, if i could!" was the savage response. "is that the kind of sportsman you are?" queried plympton, a gleam rising in his eyes. he was just beginning to understand what kind of a driver sercomb was. he was getting an insight into his character which he had never had before. the revelation was disagreeable, to say the least. plympton himself was a man of high principle, and had no patience with trickery or deceit. "i've put up with all i'm going to from king," growled sercomb. "he's dogged me about and is doing everything he can to ruin me." "i've learned something about that, too," went on plympton, his voice hard and keen. "tomlinson told me of that affair down in new mexico, but i took your side. i couldn't believe it possible that you would act in the way you were said to have done. now, however, i have had proof that you are a contemptible cur, and that king is a gentleman." "oh, yes," sneered sercomb, "king has a way of making everybody think he's all to the good. i don't wonder that he's pulled the wool over your eyes." "look here," went on the colonel impatiently, "if it hadn't been for king, you'd be in jail this minute. an officer was waiting at the track-side to arrest you and take you out of the race. when king got here, he told trueman to have the officer keep his hands off. that's the kind of work that makes me take stock in a young man. for king's magnanimity in letting you into the race he came near to being seriously wounded, perhaps killed. what do you say to that?" sercomb had nothing to say. he heard everything but preserved a sullen silence. "what's more," pursued the colonel, "i know that you tricked king, through slocum, into signing a paper he never would have signed if he had known what he was doing; and through that same paper you tricked me." "you've been listening to king's side of the story," growled sercomb. "more than that," went on the colonel relentlessly, "by your vile tactics, again using slocum as your tool, you drugged king and sent him away----" "that's false!" stormed sercomb. "don't lie," answered plympton sternly. "have strength of character enough to face the music. you've brought this on yourself and you'll have to bear it. slocum is in jail, and he has made a confession." sercomb gasped and his face turned gray. "then--then i suppose you're--you're done with me?" he faltered. "yes, you've guessed right, sercomb. stark-frisbie are done with you, but the law is not." as he finished, plympton stepped back and motioned to a man who was standing near. the latter pushed forward and laid a hand on sercomb's shoulder. "you're my prisoner, sercomb," said he. at that moment a touring-car came slowly past the place where the little group was standing. the car contained trueman, matt, carl, and chub, with one of the jarrot mechanics at the steering-wheel. they were all smiling and happy, but a puzzled look crossed matt's face as his gaze rested on the officer and sercomb. "stop a minute!" called plympton, stepping toward the car. "king," he went on, reaching up to take matt's hand, "i have done you an injustice, and i ask your pardon. you have acted like a gentleman and a true sportsman and you drove a race that will go down into automobile history as one of the pluckiest ever pulled off. your car bothered you a good deal, but you hung on and won." "we won on three speeds," replied matt. "we had trouble and stripped one of the gears." "dree speeds aheadt," bubbled carl. "vell, dot vas enough." "certainly it has proved so," said the colonel. "the jarrot people have first claim on your services, king, but if they don't offer you enough, i wish you'd give us a chance." "here, here," laughed trueman. "i don't think the jarrot people will let you steal from them the driver that won the cup." "what are you doing with sercomb, colonel?" queried matt, still with his eyes on the beaten driver. "he is under arrest," was the grim reply. "for what he did last saturday night?" "yes." "as a favor to me," said matt earnestly, "i want you to let him go." "oh, here," demurred trueman, "that's carrying the thing too far, king. don't waste any sentiment on that young scoundrel." "he deserves all that will come to him," averred plympton. "he has been beaten," persisted matt, "and that is punishment enough. i want him released. can't you arrange it, colonel?" "by gad," muttered plympton, "i can't understand you, king. if that's really what you wish, though, i'll see what can be done." "this is a day of victory to me," smiled matt, "and i'd like to celebrate it in that way." "your desire does you credit," said the colonel bluffly, "but i think you display poor judgment." "that's the way with pard matt," spoke up chub. "but i don't think it's such a bad way, either. anyhow, it don't keep him from making good in whatever he undertakes." "sure nod," put in carl, "aber i don'd like dot. i vouldt radder punch sercomb's headt as led him go. dot's me--so savage all der time as some grizzly pears." "well, drive on, patterson," said trueman impatiently. "settle the business as matt wants it, plympton, if you can." patterson drove the car to the hotel, matt receiving congratulations all the way into town. he and chub were both extremely tired, but a bath and fresh clothes made them feel a hundred per cent. better. while the two boys were looking after their own comfort, mutual explanations were indulged in. matt learned how chub and his father had started for chicago to make a sale of the mine, how chub had learned matt was to take part in the cup race, and had stopped off at ottawa to be with his chum in his hour of victory--or defeat. matt then explained how he had come to himself, early tuesday morning, camping down on a straw pile four miles from lawrence. "it's a queer thing," said he, "coming to your senses and finding yourself somewhere and never knowing the least thing about how you got there!" "well, i should smile!" grinned chub. "you don't know a whole lot about it yet, do you? we haven't had much time for talk since you got back." "i know i was drugged in some way," returned matt, "and that i had just time to get from lawrence to ottawa in a gasoline speeder so as to enter the race. if trueman had drawn first place, i guess i'd have been on the bleachers instead of in the car." chub told about the miserable hours he and carl had passed while waiting for matt to be found, or else to find himself. "that dutchman," said chub, "was as near daffy as a fellow can be and yet have a few lucid intervals. he wanted to fight. he didn't seem at all particular who he licked, but he wanted to be using his fists." "the little runt!" laughed matt. "he's a fine fellow, that carl. his head-work isn't very brilliant, at times, but he's true blue; and when it comes to fist-work, i don't know where you can find his equal for one of his size." "i've cottoned to him in great shape. how much do you pull down for the winning, matt?" "three thousand." "that's making money hand over fist!" exclaimed chub, "and there'll be more coming. a crack driver like you can command his own price." "you're in for something, too, you know. i never could have won if you hadn't helped me like you did." "splash! what's that bell i hear?" "supper!" "let's run. i'll bet i can eat twice as much as carl, to-night." "you'll have to be going some, if you do." "well," laughed chub, "we've been going some for five hours, steady, so we've got our hand in. three speeds forward, old chap, and hit 'er up!" the end. the next number ( ) will contain motor matt's air-ship; or, the rival inventors. capturing an air-ship--a queer "find"--the balloon house--the kettle continues to boil--carl investigates--jerrold, brady's rival--jerrold's gratitude--aboard the _hawk_--willoughby's swamp--a foe in the air--brady changes his plans--into the swamp--a desperate chance--a daring escape--the end of the mid-air trail. motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction new york, april , . terms to motor stories mail subscribers. (_postage free._) single copies or back numbers, c. each. months c. months c. months $ . one year . copies one year . copy two years . =how to send money=--by post-office or express money-order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. at your own risk if sent by currency, coin, or postage-stamps in ordinary letter. =receipts=--receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. if not correct you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once. ormond g. smith, } george c. smith, } _proprietors_. street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york city. taking a big 'gator. arnold chesney came galloping with his neck for sale up to the shanty among the orange trees, and flung himself off his steaming pony. "terry," he roared, "the cold signal's flying. heavy frost prophesied for to-night. get out and build the fires." a good-looking young irishman in flannel shirt and blue jeans came running out of the rough log building that served both as dwelling place and as office at their orange grove in florida. "faith, i thought as much, arnold. the wind's going nor'west. there'll be the divvle's own frost by morning," he declared. the two youngsters toiled like trojans while the sun sank behind the pine forest and the temperature dropped minute by minute. great piles of fat pine wood were stacked every few rows among the trees, covered with wet grass, and then as the thermometer in the tube sank close to thirty-two degrees the fires were lighted, and greasy, black smoke poured up in clouds. but as the cold increased so did the wind, and the smoke, instead of lying in a protecting fog over the trees, streamed away to leeward. by two in the morning it was blowing a full gale, and the cold was crusting the water buckets in the veranda. "'tis no good, arnold," gasped poor terry. "feel this!" he handed him an orange. it was hard as a baseball, frozen to the very core. arnold groaned. "you're right, terry. we're done." they were. when morning dawned crisp and clear, and the red sun rose in a cloudless sky, every orange in south florida was a lump of ice. the green leaves, so stiff and firm overnight, hung limp and blackened. not only was the crop gone, but the trees themselves were terribly injured. arnold and terence surveyed the scene of ruin in despair. "our first decent crop!" growled chesney. "we'll have to start all over again." "'tis not that i'm thinking of," said terence burke. "'tis cassidy." "the brute! i'd forgotten him!" exclaimed arnold in dismay. "small chance he's give ye of forgetting him. more be token, here comes the spalpeen." a short, square man with a flat face, a turn-up nose, and eyes like a pig's, came through the slip bars by the road. in an ill moment the two youngsters had given this irish-american a mortgage on their grove, a step they had never ceased regretting. "good-mornin' to ye, byes. th' quarther's interest is due. have ye it for me?" "there it is. look at it!" said chesney, pointing to the ruined trees. "ah, don't be pokin' your fun at me. 'tis cash i want, not froze-up oranges." terence turned on the man. "ye know full well, cassidy, 'twas the crop we were going to pay ye out of. the crop's gone, and ye'll not be brute enough to want us to pay ye on the nail." cassidy's ugly little eyes narrowed. "i can't help the frost," he said. "i'm a business man, and i'm wanting my money." "then you'll have to wait for it," said arnold chesney bluntly. "we haven't got it, so we can't pay. is that clear?" "clear as soup, begob. an' as ye can't pay, thin i'll take th' grove. an' that's clear, too." "not so fast," retorted chesney. "the law gives us a clear twenty-eight days. if we pay the interest within that time we're safe." cassidy scowled. he had not credited the boy with so much knowledge. "'twill take more than twinty-eight days to grow a new crop," he sneered. "i'll give ye what grace the law allows, an' not another hour. ye'd best write north for th' money. ye'll never make it in th' time. that i know." "what do you bet?" cried arnold sharply. "what do you bet we don't make a hundred dollars in the next four weeks?" "i'll bet ye the hundred, an' small chance i'll have o' being paid." "thanks for your kind opinion, but we'll have it in black and white if you don't mind, mr. cassidy." and arnold quietly led the way to the house. "you're crazy, arnold. what took ye to make a bet like that? a dollar a day's all either of us can earn. an' even if we get work, that's only forty-eight dollars between us." arnold looked mysterious. "have you forgotten our friend, enos b. hinks?" he asked. "the chap that owns the palmetto beach house?" "that's the man. when i was down there last year, he told me i could have a job any time as guide. taking his northern tourists out to kill quail and snipe. bet he'll take us both on, and it's two and a half a day and grub." "faith, i'm thinking 'twill pay better than growing frozen oranges," replied terence dryly. "i'm your man, arnold, dear." "good. now to pack and scrape up our fares. we've no time to lose." palmetto beach was eighty miles south, on the gulf coast. the tickets were nine dollars, which arnold raised by selling his watch to a friendly tourist at the station. when the two arrived at the door of the great building with its moorish minarets and roofs of gleaming tin, they had exactly sixty cents between them. "hinks?" echoed the smart clerk in the office. "mean enos b. hinks as used to own this hotel?" "used to own it!" "yes. you're strangers, i reckon. enos b. sold out last summer. hiram j. crundall's now the proprietor of the palmetto beach." the two boys stared with blank faces. terry was the first to recover himself. "d'ye think mr. crundall would see us?" he asked sweetly. terry's soft irish voice was irresistible. "i wouldn't wonder, gentlemen. i'll ask him. step inside the office." a great, burly man with scrubby black hair and a long, black cigar between his hard lips came into the office. "want rooms, gents?" he asked abruptly. "not rooms--work," replied arnold. the big man looked them over. "i haven't any jobs, for you. i've got a yellow chap, pete lippitts, who takes the guests out shooting. you'll have to try farther." "i'm much obliged to you," said arnold very quietly. he took up his hat, and somehow he and terry found themselves outside. a merry party were playing tennis. smartly dressed people lounged on the shady veranda. the sun shone brightly, and the two poor lads, with hearts heavy as lead, made their way through the beautiful gardens to the outer gate. "how are we going to get back?" asked terry. "sixty cents won't take us far." "walk, i reckon," said arnold grimly. "hi, mister. say, come back. the boss wants you." both the youngsters wheeled round. a big mulatto was running after them. "look here," said crundall. "peter tells me the big 'gator i've got in the pond has bust the netting and crawled out and gone. if you chaps are game to catch him or another, i'll make it worth your while." arnold and terry exchanged glances. "what's it worth?" demanded arnold. "fifty dollars," said crundall. "that is for one not less'n six foot long. i don't want any toys." "and if he's bigger than six foot?" "don't you fret. you won't get one bigger." "we might," said arnold dryly. crundall actually smiled. "i like your sand," he said. "tell you what. i'll make it ten dollars a foot extra for anything above six foot. is that a go?" "agreed!" "mind you, he's got to be whole and sound. no shark hooks in him, nor bullet holes," warned crundall. "right," said arnold. "we'll start in the morning." crundall nodded. he was a rough chap, but the straight talk of the young fellow appealed to him. he turned to pete. "pete, see these fellers have a bed to-night and grub. so long. the dollars will be ready when you come back with the 'gator." "a sweet fix you've got us in, arnold, me boy," was terry's first remark when, after an excellent supper, the two reached their room. "what's the matter, terry?" "begorra, what isn't? how are ye going to catch an alligator without hooks?" "don't you worry. i'll think it out." "faith, 'twill take a divvle of a lot of thinking." "i'm going to sleep on it first," said arnold quietly. "we've got to be up at an unholy hour to-morrow. i mean to give crundall a run for his money. he's worth cultivating--that man." terry gave a sigh of resignation, and began pulling off his clothes. when he awoke next morning arnold was standing over him ready dressed. "have you thought of a plan?" was terry's first question. "bet your life," grinned the other. "hurry up. breakfast's ready." an hour later, guns on shoulder, food for two days, and a coil of stout rope in a game bag, the two were tramping across the wire grass through the dewy pine woods, with the rising sun striking long shafts of light through the red stems. "bitter bayou's the place for my money," said arnold. "there's stacks of 'em there. but keep an eye peeled for a deer or a pig. i'm not particular." "bait, is it?" asked terry eagerly. "just so." "but that ould crundall said he wouldn't have a hooked 'gator at any price," replied terry, puzzled. "an' sure we couldn't hook one anyhow widout a hook." "true, terence," laughed arnold. "sh--quietly!" as he spoke he dropped flat behind a log. as terry did the same, there was a crisp rustling in a patch of saw palmetto about fifty yards away, and an old razorback sow, with six piglings behind her, came slowly out into the open. "take the first little 'un," muttered arnold. "keep your second barrel for the old beggar if she charges. now!" two reports crashed out. over rolled two of the small pigs. the old sow threw up her sharp head, then with a squeal of alarm bolted with the survivors of her family. "good business!" cried arnold, jumping up and running forward. "raw pork for mr. 'gator, and roast for ourselves. eh, terry?" "faith, 'tis a funny thing to catch a ten-foot alligator wid!" remarked terry, ruefully surveying the plump little porker. "quite enough," replied arnold with a grin, as he shouldered the other pig. the ground began to slope away, pine gave place to live oaks, and live oaks to cabbage palms and cypress. the soil was black and oozy beneath their feet, and at last they found themselves on the edge of a deep river, whose brown stream wound sluggishly beneath the gloomy branches of giant cypress trees. "here's the bayou. now for the 'gator," exclaimed arnold as he flung down his pig and his gun. "faith, you're as pleased with yourself as if ye'd got the scaly beggar in your pocket this minute," complained the irishman. arnold grinned. "how long a one do we want, terry. fifty dollars for six foot, and ten for each foot beyond. fifty and five tens. eleven foot's our minimum." "sure, there's one with a bit to spare," said terence sharply, pointing. out of the dull waters something was heaving itself slowly up. something long and rugged, like a rough barked, water-sodden log. so slowly did it rise that the oily water did not show a single ripple. "phew!" muttered arnold. "that chap takes the cake! never saw such a brute in my born days; thirteen foot if he's an inch. terry, if we can collar him our fortune's made." "more likely th' baste'll swallow us," retorted terence. "not he. he's going to have something else to swallow. keep an eye on the old scalawag, terry, while i fix up a dose for him." and arnold, plumping down on his knees, whipped out his knife and began operations. he slit open the pig, and then from the game bag pulled out a good-sized tin. in this were two packages, each carefully wrapped in oiled paper and sealed. arnold spread paper on the ground, and, turning out half the contents of each packet into two small white heaps, began to mix them together. "is it crazy ye are, arnold?" demanded his irish chum. "no; why?" "'tis a live alligator crundall asked for, not a poisoned one." "i'm not going to poison him; you wait a jiffy!" and arnold chuckled again, but gently, for fear of scaring the alligator. the latter, however, was still taking life easy, basking in a patch of sunlight which leaked between the trees. carefully mixing his two powders, arnold made them into one package, which he rolled up in several thicknesses of paper, and tied securely. he then dexterously inserted this package inside the carcass of the diminutive pigling, and sewed it into place. "next thing is to present the bait nicely and quietly to our fat friend there," remarked arnold as he completed operations. terry shrugged his shoulders. for once his quick irish wits were quite at fault. carrying the pig, arnold crept cautiously out on a fallen log which extended over the water, and dropped his burden cautiously into the sluggish stream. it floated slowly down toward the spot where the great scaly brute lay basking. "only hope another chap don't get it first," muttered arnold. "it's the big fellow we want." alligators have a quick sense of smell. all of a sudden two more scaly heads rose above the surface, and another couple of huge brutes appeared out of the thick saw grass on the opposite bank. but number one had no idea of being balked of his prey. the oily water began to swirl in front of his great blunt head. he came plowing upstream like a torpedo boat, and almost instantly the huge jaws opened like a barn door, and the tasty morsel disappeared between two rows of gigantic yellow fangs. then with amazing suddenness the monster vanished. "got him!" hissed arnold in tense excitement. "is it a slaping powder ye've given him?" asked terry eagerly. "sleeping powder! you'll soon see." arnold shook with laughter. minutes passed. nothing happened. arnold began to look uneasy. "your medicine ain't acting, arnold my bhoy," grinned terry. "it's bound to before long," replied arnold, creeping out to the very end of the log and peering down into the brown bayou. suddenly the water boiled violently, and out of the unseen depths the big alligator came flying as if he had been shot from a gun. "look out!" yelled terry. too late. the monstrous tail smote the log with a force that sent arnold flying up into the air. and terry, wildly grabbing for his gun, saw with horror that his friend had dropped slap on top of the writhing, struggling monster. for an instant both disappeared. then up they came again, and terry could hardly believe his eyes when he saw arnold seated astride on the huge scaly neck, while the alligator, thrashing the water with its tail, swam round and round in wide circles. terry, finger on trigger, dashed out on the log. he was certain the brute would dive and take arnold with him, and yet he dared not shoot for fear of hitting his friend. "don't shoot!" roared arnold, catching sight of terry out of the tail of his eye. "hold on. i'll have him." the alligator seemed unable to sink. yet it was evidently trying to. finding this impossible, it swung its great head round, snapping at arnold with a sound like the clashing of a shunting train. but arnold had his knife out, and every time the brute came round at him drove the point deep into the soft flesh at the joint of the neck. "the rope!" shouted arnold. terry bounded ashore, and next moment was back with the rope coiled and a slipknot at the end of it. round and round went the alligator, churning the water to foam, and sending small waves slapping under the hollow banks. it was fast exhausting its mighty strength. "now!" yelled arnold, as the beast came sailing straight under the log. quick as light terry swung the noose into position. it passed neatly over the great, rugged head, and as it tightened terry took a half hitch round the log, and the brute was brought up all standing with a jerk that made the tough rope sing and sent arnold flying overboard. terry had him out in a moment, and the two rushed the end of the rope ashore, and, getting round a tree, began playing the alligator as a fisherman plays a salmon. it was a good five minutes before the giant brute gave out and, more than half throttled, was lugged ashore. luckily for the boys, the bank was practically level with the water, or they never could have got the huge weight ashore. even when he was on land they had a terrible job to noose the great, thrashing tail that was leveling the bushes like a giant scythe. at last he was safe, tied head and tail to two trees, and the boys, gasping, mopped the perspiration from their dripping faces. "'twas mighty funny medicine ye gave him, arnold," said terry, as he surveyed their captive with huge satisfaction. "can't you guess what it was?" terry shook his head. "tartaric acid and carbonate of soda, my boy. turned him into a balloon. he couldn't sink for the life of him." "tartaric acid!" gasped terry; "carbonate of soda! sure no wonder the poor brute was onaisy!" then the comic side of it struck him, and he burst into shrieks of mirth. arnold joined, and the two laughed till they rolled helpless in the long grass beside their ugly captive. "geewhillikens!" exclaimed crundall as he surveyed the monster which four oxen were tugging in a cart through the hotel grounds. "i'll need a new pond for that le-vi-athan!" "give us the job to dig it?" put in arnold quickly. for the first time since they had met him hiram crundall actually laughed. "i reckon i've got a better job for you two fellers than digging sand. say, how'd you like to come into my office and learn this hotel business. don't mind telling you there's a pot of money in it." "we accept, sir!" cried arnold briskly. "whatever it is, it's better than growing frozen oranges." "i've made half a million at it in ten years, so i ought to know," replied crundall dryly. here terry put in a word. "i say, arnold, how about cassidy?" "cassidy--who's he?" asked crundall. terence told the story of the bet. crundall slapped his great knee. he pulled out a huge pocketbook, counted out bills for two hundred dollars, and handed them to arnold. "you git right along," he said, "and collect. and if cassidy don't pay on demand wire me. i'll come an' make him." but cassidy did pay, and then the boys let him foreclose on the ruined grove. they had better fish to fry. a tigers' haunt. lonely--difficult to traverse--haunted by wild beasts. such is the picture of the great delta of the ganges, as drawn by mr. edmund candler in _blackwood's magazine_. the region of the sundarbans occupies four thousand square miles, and is intersected by six hundred named and ten times as many unnamed channels. what is not water is thick jungle. the banks of the channels are haunted by crocodiles and red and brown crabs. "seeds fall all day long, and germinate at once in the mud, and spring up and choke one another, and writhe and struggle for light and room." but this seething mass of vegetation is all mapped out into sections by the forest department. each section, when the timber is cut, is left alone for forty years. this statement of itself makes us realize the loneliness of the place. wild animals have their lairs in this forest, and the tiger is a serious danger to the woodcutters of the forest, many of whom fall to the tigers yearly. latest issues motor stories the latest and best five-cent weekly. we won't say how interesting it is. see for yourself. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. --motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. --motor matt's century run; or, the governor's courier. --motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the "comet." --motor matt's mystery; or, foiling a secret plot. --motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear. --motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto. --motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward. --motor matt's air-ship; or, the rival inventors. tip top weekly the most popular publication for boys. the adventures of frank and dick merriwell can be had only in this weekly. =high art colored covers. thirty-two pages. price, cents.= --frank merriwell's great work; or, getting the right start. --dick merriwell's mind; or, the ideal of manhood. --dick merriwell's "dip;" or, the mysterious movements of a hat. --dick merriwell's rally; or, making a fighting finish. --dick merriwell's flier; or, the champions of the ice. --frank merriwell's bullets; or, a steady nerve and a sure hand. --frank merriwell cut off; or, the result of the great spring rise. --frank merriwell's ranch boss; or, big bruce and the blossoms. --dick merriwell's equal; or, the fellow with the flying feet. --dick merriwell's development; or, the all-around wonder. --dick merriwell's eye; or, the secret of good batting. --frank merriwell's zest; or, the spirit of the school. nick carter weekly the best detective stories on earth. nick carter's exploits are read the world over. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --the timelock puzzle; or, nick carter's bank vault case. --the moving picture mystery; or, nick carter's blindest trail. --the tiger-tamer; or, nick carter's boldest strategy. --a strange bargain; or, nick carter's dead-shot circus case. --the haunted circus; or, nick carter lays a ghost. --the secret of a private room; or, nick carter makes an experiment. --a mental mystery; or, nick carter on a difficult trail. --the sealed envelope; or, nick carter's search for a lost fortune. --the message in blue; or, nick carter's clue to a vast conspiracy. --a dream of empire; or, nick carter and the queen of conspirators. --the detective's disappearance; or, nick carter is saved by adelina. --the midnight marauders; or, nick carter's telephone mystery. _for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address on receipt of price, cents per copy, in money or postage stamps, by_ street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york =if you want any back numbers= of our weeklies and cannot procure them from your newsdealer, they can be obtained from this office direct. fill out the following order blank and send it to us with the price of the weeklies you want and we will send them to you by return mail. =postage stamps taken the same as money.= ________________________ _ _ _street & smith, - seventh avenue, new york city._ _dear sirs: enclosed please find_ ___________________________ _cents for which send me_: tip top weekly, nos. ________________________________ nick carter weekly, " ________________________________ diamond dick weekly, " ________________________________ buffalo bill stories, " ________________________________ brave and bold weekly, " ________________________________ motor stories, " ________________________________ _name_ ________________ _street_ ________________ _city_ ________________ _state_ ________________ _the best of them all!!_ motor stories it is new and intensely interesting we knew before we published this line that it would have a tremendous sale and our expectations were more than realized. it is going with a rush, and the boys who want to read these, the most interesting and fascinating tales ever written, must speak to their newsdealers about reserving copies for them. =motor matt= sprang into instant favor with american boy readers and is bound to occupy a place in their hearts second only to that now held by frank merriwell. the reason for this popularity is apparent in every line of these stories. they are written by an author who has made a life study of the requirements of the up-to-date american boy as far as literature is concerned, so it is not surprising that this line has proven a huge success from the very start. here are the titles now ready and also those to be published. you will never have a better opportunity to get a generous quantity of reading of the highest quality, so place your orders now. =no. .--motor matt; or, the king of the wheel.= =no. .--motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends.= =no. .--motor matt's century run; or, the governor's courier.= =no. .--motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the "comet."= to be published on march nd =no. .--motor matt's mystery; or, foiling a secret plot.= to be published on march th =no. .--motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear.= to be published on april th =no. .--motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto.= to be published on april th =no. .--motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward.= =price, five cents= to be had from newsdealers everywhere, or sent, postpaid, upon receipt of the price by the publishers _street & smith, publishers, new york_ transcriber's notes: some missing punctuation has been inserted without comment in cases where spacing of the type indicates that a position was left for the marks but they did not make it to the printed page in the source copy. many question marks appear to be missing from carl's dialogue. retained some inconsistent hyphenation (e.g. bellboy vs. bell-boy). retained some questionable spellings in dialect. bold is represented by =equal signs=, italics by _underscores_. page , changed "abrutly" to "abruptly" ("died abruptly"). page , changed "blindfolded" to "blindfold" in "blindfold him, and place him." page , changed ? to ! after "had a scrap!" page , changed "hs" to "his" in "envelope from his pocket." page , added missing "a" to "name to a boy." page , removed extra "i" from "findt" in "ven ve do findt dem." page , added missing period after "if you want to talk." page , changed "the" to "they" in "they could not waste much time." page , changed . to ? after "was to receive?" page , removed extra space before period in "they left the garage." page , changed "then" to "than" in "than take part." removed space before period in "attention to anything else." page , changed "carred" to "carried" in "carried their alarm." removed duplicate "of" from "things of which." page , changed double quotes to single quotes around "thousand and one nights." page , changed "immeditaely" to "immediately" in "immediately to jail." page , changed "hopelssly" to "hopelessly" in "standing hopelessly by." page , changed "tremedously" to "tremendously" in "racing tremendously." page , changed "you" to "your" in "your desire does you credit." page , changed "rung" to "hung" in "hung limp and blackened." "latest issues" ad, changed "detetective" to "detective." courtesy of the digital library@villanova university (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction no. june , five cents motor matt's submarine _or_ the strange cruise of the grampus _by the author of "motor matt"_ [illustration: _motor matt grabbed at the rope as it was thrown to him by the man in the submarine._] _street & smith, publishers, new york._ motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction _issued weekly. by subscription $ . per year. entered according to act of congress in the year , in the office of the librarian of congress, washington, d. c., by_ street & smith, _ - seventh avenue, new york, n. y._ no. . new york, june , . price five cents. motor matt's submarine; or, the strange cruise of the _grampus_. by the author of "motor matt." contents chapter i. a startling report. chapter ii. mixed messages. chapter iii. hurry-up orders. chapter iv. accident or design? chapter v. sixty shows his hand. chapter vi. an unexpected rescue. chapter vii. a fruitless search. chapter viii. the overturned boat. chapter ix. adrift in the storm. chapter x. the derelict. chapter xi. the schooner. chapter xii. a stunning surprise. chapter xiii. closing in. chapter xiv. the "grampus" gets a clue. chapter xv. an ultimatum. chapter xvi. "off with the old, and on with the new." the chicken-hearted tenderfoot. characters that appear in this story. =motor matt=, a lad who is at home with every variety of motor, and whose never-failing nerve serves to carry him through difficulties that would daunt any ordinary young fellow. because of his daring as a racer with bicycle, motor-cycle and automobile he is known as "mile-a-minute matt." motor-boats, air ships and submarines come naturally in his line, and consequently he lives in an atmosphere of adventure in following up his "hobby." =dick ferral=, a young sea dog from canada, with all a sailor's superstitions, but in spite of all that a royal chum, ready to stand by the friend of his choice through thick and thin. =carl pretzel=, a cheerful and rollicking german boy, stout of frame as well as of heart, who is led by a fortunate accident to link his fortunes with those of motor matt. =captain nemo, jr., otherwise archibald townsend=, a fast friend of the motor boys and skipper of the submarine, _grampus_. =cassidy=, mate of the _grampus_. =gaines, clackett and speake=, crew of the _grampus_. =captain jim sixty=, a seaman of long experience who resorts to filibustering in order to gain big prizes in the lottery of fortune. master of the wrecked brig, _dolphin_. =ysabel sixty=, captain sixty's daughter, who plays an ignoble part, although against her better nature. chapter i. a startling report. there is a speed limit for automobiles in the city of new orleans, but a certain red touring car on this wednesday morning gave little heed to the regulation. with two wheels in the air the car made a sharp turn into prytania street, slowed a little as it came within one of colliding with a two-wheeled milk wagon, swerved to one side and then leaped onward. besides the driver, the car contained only one man. this passenger sat in front, leaning eagerly forward and urging the driver constantly to a faster gait. "that's the house," said the passenger finally, indicating a building with his stubby forefinger. the car pulled up with a jerk and the passenger was out before the machine was fairly at a stop. "wait for me," he called as he rushed across the sidewalk, yanked the gate bell and then darted through and up the steps to the porch. with savage impatience he jabbed at the push button beside the door and tramped fretfully until a colored servant answered his summons. "is cap'n nemo, jr., in?" he flung at the darky. "dat's a new one on me, boss," was the puzzled answer. "ah dunno no sich pusson. you-all must hab got de wrong----" "townsend, then?" broke in the caller. "is _he_ here?" "yassuh, mistah townsend is in his room, sah, but dat odder man----" without pausing further, the man pushed roughly past the darky, to that person's intense astonishment, and went up the hall stairs three steps at a time. a moment later he had flung open a door unceremoniously. there were two men in the room, and they started up quickly as the newcomer hurled himself in on them. "clackett!" exclaimed one of the men who had been in the room, facing the other with a good deal of surprise. "what's all this hurry for?" "sixty has sailed, cap'n!" exclaimed clackett, dropped into a chair. "great guns!" gasped the third man. "must have been kind o' sudden." "when did he sail, clackett?" "ten o'clock this morning, steamer _santa maria_, a fruiter bound for british honduras." "he ain't goin' to british honduras," burst from the third man, "and don't you think it." "i don't think so either, cassidy," replied the captain, "but he's the fellow we were to watch, and if he's gone we've got to put out after him." the captain looked at his watch. "ten-twenty," he mused, slipping the watch back into his pocket. "how did you get here, clackett?" "in one of them automobiles, cap'n. street cars was too bloomin' slow." "you're positive there's no mistake?" "i know jim sixty as well as i know you, cap'n, an' i'll take my solemn alfred it was him standin' on the _santa maria's_ deck when she steamed away from the dock." "a mistake, you know," pursued the captain, "would put us on the wrong track and cause no end of trouble." "there ain't no mistake--take it from me." at this the captain became intensely alive. he whirled on cassidy. "you ride with clackett in the automobile to carrolton, cassidy," said he briskly, "take the ferry to westwego and bring the _grampus_ on the run to stuyvesant dock. clackett and i will be there waiting for you." "tough luck," growled cassidy, "we didn't know something about this move o' sixty's, 'cause then we could have had the submarine handier by." "we'll not lose much time," returned the captain. "the _grampus_ is all ready for a long cruise? that's the main thing." "the boys was gettin' on the last of the stores over at westwego," replied cassidy. the captain whirled on clackett. "the ferry from carrolton runs on the half hour," said he, "and if you hit up that buzz-wagon you ought to get cassidy on the ten-thirty boat. after that, rush back into town. the snug harbor hotel is not far from stuyvesant dock. go there, ask for motor matt, and bring him and his friends to the dock, prepared to make the run down the river and into the gulf with us. that will be all. off with you, on the jump. i'll look after your luggage and mine, cassidy." if cassidy was to catch the first boat from carrolton landing there was no time for talk. with a hearty, "ay, ay," the two men whirled from the room and rushed down the stairs. a moment later the captain, looking from a front window, saw them leap into the automobile and vanish up the street. so far as the captain was concerned, he had plenty of time to make his preparations. it would be close to eleven o'clock before the _grampus_ could possibly get clear of westwego, and possibly it would be eleven-fifteen before she would come alongside the stuyvesant dock. for some time the captain had been lying ill in the prytania street house, but he was now rapidly recovering, and his restless, active nature welcomed this call to action. he felt that it was the one tonic he needed to bring him back to his usual form. cassidy was mate of the _grampus_. ever since the captain had been stricken down the mate had been with him as watcher and nurse. not much time was required to get cassidy's property into his ditty-bag, and not much more time for the captain to pack his own satchel. the colored servant had telephoned for a carriage, and the vehicle came just as the captain had finished packing. all that remained was to settle with mrs. thomas, the landlady, to thank her for her kindness, and to leave for downtown. twenty minutes after the departure of cassidy and clackett the captain was speeding away in the direction of canal street. he halted at a bank, at the corner of camp and common, and drew five thousand dollars in gold. this money was given to him in a canvas bag, and, with that and his luggage, he was hurried on to stuyvesant dock. as he had surmised would be the case, he was ahead of the _grampus_. gathering his goods about him, he sat down on a box near the edge of the dock and watched up stream for the first glimpse of the rounded deck, the conning tower, and the mast with the red periscope ball of the submarine. barely had he sighted her, cutting through the waves of the lower mississippi, when a quick step behind him caused him to look around. clackett, red-faced and perspiring, was hurrying toward him. there was a troubled, ominous look on clackett's face. "where are motor matt and his two friends, dick ferral and carl pretzel?" cried the captain. "i need them on this cruise, and they understand the importance of their being here. will they be along later, clackett?" "they'll not be along later, cap'n," answered clackett. "you can wait for 'em as long as you please, an' the boys won't be showing up. every minute you lose, too, the _santa maria_ and jim sixty are gettin' farther and farther away from us." a frown of heavy disappointment wrinkled the captain's brows. "what's the matter?" he demanded. "motor matt's word is as good as his bond, and he told me he'd stay in new orleans a week and wait for me to send word to him. where is the boy?" "he sailed on the _santa maria_ this mornin'," was the startling announcement. the captain jumped to his feet. "great scott!" he exclaimed, staring at clackett in blank amazement. "it's a fact, cap'n," asserted clackett. "i got it straight from the hotel feller that seen matt and his friends aboard the boat. there's been queer doin's, somehow." "what do you mean by queer doings?" asked the captain sharply. "well, cap'n, this is the way that hotel feller handed it out to me: ysabel sixty, the ole filibuster's gal, called at the snug harbor about nine-thirty, this mornin', and had a short talk with motor matt. when the girl went away, motor matt settled his hotel bill, rounded up his friends and they all stampeded upstairs to git their baggage together. then they flocked down and hustled for the _santa maria_. the hotel feller went with 'em, helpin' tote their traps." the captain stared in bewilderment, his amazement growing as he listened. "there's underhand work of some kind here," he muttered. "motor matt would never have gone off like that without telling me something about it." "he tried to git you over the telephone, but the line was busy and he didn't have no time to wait." "you saw sixty on the _santa maria_ as she drew away from the fruit company's dock?" "ay, ay, sir, as plain as i see you, this blessed minute. the girl was with him, too." "did you see motor matt and his friends?" "i wasn't lookin' for them, particular. they might have been on the deck, cap'n, but i wouldn't swear to it. i was so jolted up by seein' sixty pull out when we wasn't expectin' it of him, yet a while, that mebby i was excited." the captain, greatly perturbed, tramped back and forth across the dock. he was aroused from his unpleasant reflections by the voice of cassidy. "all aboard, cap'n! i reckon we pulled this off in short order, hey?" the captain whirled around. cassidy, standing in the top of the conning tower of the _grampus_, was barely head and shoulders above the level of the dock. one of the hands, on the forward part of the rounded deck, had passed a rope through a ring and was holding the submarine steady. "pick up the luggage, clackett," ordered the captain, himself taking charge of the bag of gold, "and we'll get aboard." "what you goin' to do about motor matt?" queried clackett as he picked up the luggage. "he's aboard the _santa maria_, and i am convinced that, for some cause or other, he's there through some underhand work of sixty's. our orders call on us to follow the _santa maria_ and keep watch of sixty. by doing that, we shall also be trailing motor matt and his friends. something is bound to happen that will give us a little light on this." fifteen minutes later the _grampus_ was hustling down the river, her screw racing under the terrific impulse of the gasolene motor, and a white line of foam surging across her low deck and breaking against the base of the conning tower. chapter ii. mixed messages. "i tell you somet'ing," said carl pretzel gloomily, "i don'd like hanging aroundt mitoudt any pitzness. id geds on my nerfs, yah, so helup me. for six tays, now, ve haf peen loafing in new orleans, und eferyt'ing vas so keviet as some quaker meedings. nodding habbens. vy don'd ve hear from downsent mit a hurry-oop call to ged busy, eh?" it was nine o'clock in the evening of the day preceding that on which the _grampus_ had got away in the wake of the _santa maria_, and motor matt, dick and carl were lounging in the small office of the snug harbor. for two or three days carl had been restless. he had visited all the five-cent shows on canal street, he had made a sight-seeing tour through the french quarter, he had gone out to lake pontchartrain, and he had done various other things to pass away the time and make some excuse for his idleness, but his energetic spirit was not to be muzzled. "take it easy, old ship," said dick; "i'm as anxious as you are to trip anchor and slant away for some port where we can do things, but there's a notion rattling around in my locker that it won't be long now before we run afoul of something real exciting. we were to wait a week on townsend, and the week will be up to-morrow. we'll hear from him then, and i'll bank on it." "so will i," spoke up matt. "don't be so impatient, carl. adventures are all right, but there are a few other things in life for fellows like us to think about." "t'anks, brofessor," answered carl, humbly. "vat else vould you t'ink aboudt oof you vanted to be among der life vones?" "an academy, for instance," said matt with a far-away look in his gray eyes, "and a spell of grubbing at the stores of knowledge preparatory to a college course." "helup!" gasped carl; "bolice! matt is t'inking oof cutting himseluf oudt oof our herd, tick, und going to school. shpeaking for meinseluf, ven i go to school i don'd go, for i play vat you call hookey undt look for atvendures. all has got to go mit shnap und chincher for me, und vere iss lifeliness in pooks? ach, donnervetter!" "avast, there, matey!" said dick. "matt is right. adventures are all well enough in their place, but a cruise in the waters of learning is a main fine thing--for those who can afford it. some day matt will be in an academy, and some other day he will be in harvard or yale, and the king of the motor boys will be done with the buzz-engines for always." matt pulled himself together and laughed softly. "never, as long as i live," he declared, "will i be done with gasolene motors. don't fool yourself on that for a minute. i may----" "a message for you, motor matt. just came off the wires." a messenger boy pushed in among the three chums and handed a yellow envelope to matt. all the messenger boys, together with nearly every one else in new orleans, knew motor matt at least by sight. his work with the air ship, _hawk_, which had recently been wrecked and destroyed, had kept him and his friends prominently in the public eye for some time. "sign the book, dick," said matt, tearing open the envelope. "vat you t'ink oof dot?" breathed carl in a spasm of joyful excitement as the messenger boy went away. "ve talk oof vanting t'ings to habben, und righdt off dey pegin. ach, vat a luck! how easy id iss to be jeerful--somedimes!" "mayhap that message isn't anything to be cheerful about, carl," said dick. "i'll bet some one is asking to buy the _hawk_, and her poor old bones are rusting in a live oak, down by bayou yamousa." "dot ain'd my guess, you bed you," palpitated carl. "i t'ink id iss somepody asking vill ve go by der spanish main und hunt for birate shtuff. vat a habbiness oof id iss!" "you're both wrong," said matt, a perplexed look on his face. "there has been some mistake in the telegraph office, and this message isn't for me." "not for you, mate?" queried dick, picking the envelope off matt's knee. "it's addressed plain enough--'motor matt, care snug harbor hotel, new orleans.'" "there's a different name inside," returned matt. "vat id iss?" asked carl, curiosity in a measure drawing the sting of disappointment. "'captain james sixty,'" read off matt, "'snug harbor hotel, new orleans, louisiana.' the address is the same, but the name is different." "meppy der message iss for you, anyvay," persisted carl. "read him ofer und meppy you can dell." "no, the message is part of the puzzle. listen: 'in latitude twenty-eight degrees thirty minutes and twenty seconds north, longitude ninety-two degrees fourteen minutes and thirty-four seconds west two days ago. no wind and no drift since.' how could that possibly be for us, pards?" "id's some conuntrums, und dot's all aboudt id," grumbled carl dejectedly. "nodding habbens mit us more as you findt on a suntay-school bicnic, und i'm going to ped mit meinseluf und hope for pedder t'ings in der morning. good nighdt, bards." with that carl got up disgustedly and left the hotel office. "how do you account for that, mate?" asked dick. "the messages got into the wrong envelopes," answered matt. "mr. james sixty must be staying in this hotel. he's got my message and i've got his. that means we've got to find each other and exchange. come on, dick. we'll go over and talk with the clerk." when they got to the desk they found a hulk of a man with a very red face talking with the night man in the office. the red-faced man seemed very much put out about something. he had a voice like a fog horn, and he was using it with a good deal of power. as matt and dick approached the desk the clerk suddenly put out his hand and stopped the flow of language. "there's motor matt now," said he. "here, matt!" he called. "have you got a telegram that don't belong to you? there's been a mix-up in messages, somehow, for captain sixty, here, has got one you ought to have. he was just asking me where you could be found." "i was just coming to ask you about captain sixty," said matt, holding out the message. sixty turned and snatched the message away. "d'you read it?" he roared. "couldn't very well help it, captain," answered matt. "if you'll look at the envelope you'll see it's addressed to me." "i like some people's nerve," scowled the captain. "here's your'n." he flung a crumpled yellow sheet at matt. "it looks as though you'd read this," said matt, "so i guess we're no more than even." an angry gurgle came from sixty's bull-like throat. "i'll raise cain if i find out this mix-up was done a-purpose," he growled. "i don't see what anybody could want to do such a thing as that for," returned matt. the captain flung about and gave matt an insolent up-and-down stare. "oh, you don't, huh?" he muttered. "well, mebby it's well you don't." the captain rolled away. "the way to talk with him," said dick resentfully, "is with a belaying pin. he looks like an old shellback, and i'll bet he's a bucko. but what's the message, mate?" "a man in boston wants to buy the _hawk_," answered matt, "and asks us to name our price. he says he knows archibald townsend, and refers us to him as to his financial standing." "i could have kissed the book on that, matt," said dick soberly. "keelhaul me if i don't wish we had that blessed little flying machine this minute." "so do i. but there's no use crying about it, dick. maybe we'll build another, some time; just now, though, we ought to think more about bed than anything else." "i'm ready to do a caulk, if you are." "come on, then." as they were leaving the office to go upstairs to their room matt took a look around. captain sixty was sitting in a chair in the corner, his message opened out on his knee. but his fishy little orbs were not on the message, but on matt; and there was a glittering distrust in them which matt could not fail to notice. however, he said nothing about it to dick, and very soon forgot it himself. next morning the boys were hoping to hear from townsend. townsend, otherwise captain nemo, jr., of the submarine _grampus_, had some work in which he wanted matt and his friends to assist him, and he had asked matt, dick and carl to remain a week in new orleans, at his expense, until he should be well enough to tell them about the work and get it under way. the following day rounded out the period of time townsend had asked for. after breakfast the boys hung about the hotel waiting for some communication from prythania street. toward the middle of the forenoon a bell boy ran into the office and hurried to the place where matt was sitting with dick and carl. "you're wanted in the parlor, motor matt," said the boy. "dere id vas!" exclaimed carl delightedly. "ve got id now, tick." "who wants me?" asked matt. "a young woman--and she says she's in a hurry." matt was puzzled. he did not know any young ladies in new orleans, and couldn't imagine why one should come to the hotel and ask for him. "i'll go right up," said he--and immediately took the first step into a snare that had been laid for him. chapter iii. hurry-up orders. when matt entered the bare little room on the second floor which served as a public parlor for the hotel, a girl of sixteen or seventeen arose to meet him. she had black hair and eyes, was well dressed, and looked like a spanish señorita. "motor matt?" she asked, stepping toward him with an engaging smile. "my name," he answered. "i am----" she paused, and a frightened look came into her wide, dark eyes. for the first time matt noticed that, in spite of her smile, she seemed to be ill at ease. "i am miss harris," she finally went on, "miss sadie harris, a niece of your friend, mr. townsend. perhaps you have heard my uncle speak of me?" the girl's english was good, so matt argued that she was not a spaniard after all. "no," he answered, "i did not know that mr. townsend had a niece." "that's strange," murmured the girl, "for i was always a favorite of his. as soon as i learned that he was sick i came right on to new orleans. when i arrived here, yesterday, i found my uncle nearly well again. all this, though, has nothing to do with my errand. here are three tickets to british honduras, good on the steamer _santa maria_, which sails at ten, this morning. there is not much time, motor matt, and it is my uncle's wish that you go on that boat." to say that matt was "stumped" would hardly do justice to his feelings. "british honduras?" he echoed. "yes; the boat sails from the fruit company's dock." "but why am i and my friends to go to british honduras?" "i don't know. my uncle gave me the tickets and asked me to hand them to you and tell you to expect word from him at belize. he said the work was very important, and that you must not say a word about it to anybody." "i don't know anything about the work, miss harris," answered matt, "so it won't be possible for me to say anything to any one." "your intention of leaving on the _santa maria_, too, ought to be kept a secret. at least, that's what my uncle says." "this is mighty sudden," murmured matt dazedly. "why couldn't mr. townsend have called me out to the house and talked this over with me yesterday?" "he didn't know anything about it yesterday, motor matt. in fact, the work only came to his knowledge an hour ago." "wasn't he well enough to come and tell me himself?" "well enough, yes, but he had not the time. the _grampus_ is over at westwego, and he is very busy getting her ready for sea." "isn't he going to british honduras on the _santa maria_?" "no." "how am i to hear from him in belize?" miss harris tossed her head petulantly. "my uncle isn't telling all his plans, even to me. i've delivered his orders, and it's getting along toward ten o'clock and you haven't much time if you're to sail on the _santa maria_. i'm to go on the boat myself, and it isn't likely my uncle would leave me alone and unprotected in central america. he thought you and your friends could look after me a little, both on the boat and until he was able to reach honduras, but----" miss harris used her lustrous spanish eyes with telling effect. "certainly we will go," broke in matt, "only it was such a hurry-up order that it rather floored me. i and my pards have been waiting to hear from mr. townsend about some work which he was going to do when he got well enough. perhaps the work has something to do with you?" matt was clever at drawing inferences. there might be spanish blood in miss harris' veins--british honduras was partially peopled with men and women of spanish descent--and here was a call to belize. then, again, miss harris had only recently arrived in new orleans, and it required no great stretch of fancy to imagine that she had sprung, thus suddenly, some line of endeavor for which her uncle had been waiting. "i am not at liberty to tell you anything more, motor matt," said miss harris, with another of her bright smiles. "will you take the _santa maria_?" "yes." a strange glow danced in the girl's expressive eyes. "that is nice of you," said she. "here are the tickets. my uncle was so sure you'd go that he got them and secured your stateroom reservations." matt took the envelope the girl handed to him and walked down the stairs with her. she bade him good-by at the ladies' entrance, and, as he turned to go back to the office he had a disturbing thought. if there had been time to secure tickets and cabin reservations, there should have been time for townsend to give matt and his chums a little more notice of that trip to honduras. matt, however, had abundant faith in townsend. undoubtedly he was proceeding in the manner that best suited his plans. "come on, boys," said the young motorist, hurrying up to dick and carl, "we've got to pack, and be in a rush about it." "hoop-a-la!" gloried carl, catching the spirit of matt's words, although he had not the remotest idea of the underlying cause. "oof ve are going to pack oop, den id vas a skinch ve're going someveres; und oof ve vas going someveres, den der drouple-pot iss on, und vill pegin to poil righdt----" "ease up a bit on that jaw-tackle, mate," interrupted dick, grabbing carl's arm and hurrying him off after matt. "it's as plain as the nose on your face that some kind of word has been received from townsend, but it's just as plain that there's no time to talk about it. matt's in a tearing hurry, and it's up to us to pull back into our shells, hustle the stuff into our dunnage-bags, and wait for him to tell us what we want to know." when dick and carl reached their room, matt was already throwing his belongings into a grip. the sailor and the dutch boy got busy. "the girl is a miss sadie harris," explained matt as he worked, "and she's a niece of townsend's." "vas she a pooty goot looker?" inquired carl, rolling up his eyes. "what's that got to do with it?" demanded dick. "nodding, only id vas more romandick oof a pooty girl vas mixed oop in der pitzness." "my eye!" exploded dick. "well, cut out the romance. unless i'm wide of the course this is nothing but pure business. eh, matt?" "yes," answered matt. "we're to sail at ten o'clock for belize, in british honduras." carl slumped into a chair with a gasp. "pridish honturas!" he gurgled. "vere iss dot? ofer py china someveres?" "it's in central america, you saphead!" cried dick. "i've been in those waters, and i'm a feejee if they ever took much of my fancy." "miss harris brought our tickets," proceeded matt, "and she's going to sail on the same boat." "vat are ve to do ven ve ged dere?" "wait for instructions from townsend." "then townsend isn't sailing with us, mate?" "no." "well, keelhaul me, it's a queer course that's been laid for us. what makes it queerer is, that in all the time we've been hooked up with townsend he's never once mentioned his niece." "townsend is an odd chap, in some ways, but he's as straight as a string for all that," returned the young motorist. "this work in honduras, i feel pretty sure, has something to do with the girl." "i like dot," spoke up carl, kneeling on his rusty old suit-case in order to make the cover go down. "peauty in tisdress alvays cuts some ice mit me. dere! i vas alretty for anyding vat comes my vay." "i'm ready, too," added dick. "and i," said matt, picking up his satchel. they left the room hurriedly. at the bottom of the stairs matt handed his grip to one of the porters. "carry that over to the fruit company's dock," said he. "dick, you and carl go on. i'll square up with the proprietor and trail along after you." "mind dot you don't get left," cautioned carl. "i've ten minutes," was the answer, "and i can get to the dock in half that time." dick, carl and the porter hastened off, and matt turned back into the office. he was only two or three minutes settling the bill, and as he started for the hotel door he passed a telephone booth and an idea came to him. there could be no harm in calling up mrs. thomas' boarding-house in prytania street, telling townsend they were off and saying good-by. a word of that kind with townsend would prove reassuring. the idea was no sooner conceived than it was carried out. but matt was destined to disappointment. he was informed by "central" that the wire was busy, and, as it was already five minutes of ten, he had no time to wait. throwing the receiver back on the hooks, he left the hotel and ran toward the fruit company's dock. the warning bell of the _santa maria_ was ringing, and deck hands were preparing to haul in the gang plank as he rushed across it. "py chiminy, aber dot vas some glose connections!" cried carl, who, with dick, was waiting and watching for matt. "a miss is as good as a mile," matt replied. "have you seen miss harris?" "she's forward, matey," said dick. "we'll stow the luggage somewhere," went on matt, "and then go forward ourselves and see the boat get away." the baggage was piled in the cabin, and when the three boys reappeared and made their way toward the forward part of the main deck the _santa maria_ was shivering from stem to stern under the impetus of her powerful engines and drawing away from the dock and into the channel. there were a dozen or more people on the dock waving hats and handkerchiefs, while a dozen or more were clustered at the steamer's rail returning the parting salutes. "dere iss nopody dere to vave goot-py ad us," remarked carl, "not efen downsent!" "we certainly couldn't expect townsend, carl," said matt. "he has other matters to occupy his mind, i suppose." "i shouldn't think he'd be too busy to come down and see his niece off on her voyage," put in dick. "still, as you say, mate, he may be----" dick suddenly broke off his words. his eyes had been roving over the passengers along the rail. "sink me!" he exclaimed, dropping a quick hand on matt's arm. "look over there--to the left." matt looked, and immediately experienced the same surprise that had laid hold of his chum. the burly form of captain sixty was in plain view, and at the captain's elbow, and talking with him, was miss harris! chapter iv. accident or design? motor matt took dick and carl each by one arm and led them back into the cabin. "we'd better talk a little, pards," said matt, with a worried look. "vat's der madder?" inquired carl. he had not seen captain sixty, not having been in the office of the snug harbor hotel at the time dick and matt had met sixty and exchanged telegrams with him. "the big fellow," explained matt, "is the one who got my telegram last night. why is he on this boat? that's the point that puzzles me." "maybe it's an accident, matey," returned dick. "yes; and maybe it's design. i'd like to size this business up before we get clear of the river. if we don't like the looks of things, we can have the captain of the boat put us ashore." "what's the trouble with the outlook, old ship?" queried dick. "so far as i'm concerned, it was a shot between wind and water when i saw sixty there at the rail; but i don't think that the fact of the old hunks being aboard the steamer is anything to worry us. he probably has business in honduras as well as ourselves." "i wish this boat was equipped with a wireless telegraph apparatus," muttered matt. "there's a wireless station at algiers, and we could flash a message to townsend." "what would be the use? we've got his orders." "i'd like to have the orders confirmed," said matt grimly. "i tried to get townsend over the phone just before i left the hotel, but, as luck would have it, the wire was busy." "you've been taken all aback, same as though you'd been struck by a white squall," muttered dick perplexedly. "i don't think that old flatfoot bucko ought to put you in such a taking, matt." "it wasn't sixty alone that took me aback, dick," answered matt. "miss harris had more to do with that than sixty had." "dit you see der young laty, matt?" asked carl, brightening. "i saw her, yes." "you were expecting to see her," chimed in dick. "you told us she was intending to sail on the _santa maria_." "when we talked at the hotel," went on matt, "miss harris gave me to understand that townsend expected us to look after her during the trip to belize, and after we reached that town." "vell," remarked carl, dusting his coat with his hand and adjusting his necktie, "i guess ve can do dot as vell as anypody. you pedder indrotuce tick und me, matt." "i don't believe our services will be needed," said matt dryly. "miss harris was talking with captain sixty and seemed to be on familiar terms with him." this startled dick and carl. it was a good deal of a coincidence, even if not alarming, to find captain sixty voyaging to honduras on the _santa maria_; but to find him on friendly terms with townsend's niece gave the captain's presence on the boat rather an odd look. "all this," said matt finally, "may be either the result of accident or design. i think it would be well for us to find out as much as we can before we get too far down the river." "how'll you find out, mate?" queried dick. "by talking with the girl. wait here for me. i'll go and have that talk with her now." as matt started away, the girl herself suddenly entered the cabin, and she was bringing captain sixty with her. matt halted and drew back to the side of his friends. the girl looked toward the boys, smiled, said something to her companion, and hurried him across the cabin. "hello, motor matt!" cried miss harris. "i was afraid you'd got left, and was just telling uncle jim here that i didn't know what uncle archie would say when he found you had not gone to belize." uncle jim! miss harris had called this sixty person her uncle jim! while matt was puzzling over this, the girl had drawn close and was introducing captain sixty. "i'll be blowed, girl," bellowed uncle jim, "if i need any introduction to motor matt. we've met before, eh, messmate? hand us your fist till i give it a friendly shake. why, i hadn't the least idee you was mixed up in this affair of townsend's! ain't it astonishin' how things fall out, now and again?" "i should say so," answered matt. "this is your uncle, miss harris?" he added to the girl. "why, yes, of course!" she laughed. "his name ought to be townsend, hadn't it?" "not at all. uncle archie is my father's brother, while uncle jim is my mother's brother." "then your name ought to be townsend instead of harris." "ho, ho!" laughed captain sixty. "he's a keen one, girl, and no mistake!" "of course he's a keen one, uncle jim," replied the girl, "or uncle archie wouldn't have had him take a hand in this work. you see, motor matt," and here she turned to the youth, "uncle archie townsend's real name is harris, while my mother's maiden name was sixty. so, you see----" "softly, girl, softly," breathed captain sixty. "we don't want to talk too much about our relatives in this public place. walls have ears, you know." "i understand," said matt. he had long known that townsend, merely to save himself annoyance from newspaper reporters and other curious people, had one name ashore and another afloat, and used only his right name when at home in philadelphia and among his friends. "let me introduce both of you to my pards," matt added, turning to dick and carl. sixty was more than agreeable to dick and carl, and carl, on his part, tried to be more than agreeable to miss harris. "have we all got a part in this work of mr. townsend's?" asked matt, feeling somewhat relieved, although still a little surprised over the way the matter had fallen out. "haven't you ever heard uncle archie speak of captain sixty?" inquired miss harris. "never." "i wouldn't wonder at that none, girl," said captain sixty. "it's been some sort of a while, you know, since my course has crossed townsend's; and then, too, townsend is close-mouthed, and he wouldn't be apt to say anything about me when i've got such an important part to play in his present business." the captain lowered his voice and took another cautious look around that part of the cabin. "was you boys told anythin' about the work?" he asked in a whisper. matt shook his head, and a glow of relief flashed for an instant from sixty's fishy eyes. "from that, my lad," went on sixty, "you can figure out how mighty important is the work we're engaged in. i don't know much about it myself. that telegram i got at the hotel last night has somethin' to do with it, though blest if i know what. cassidy came for it about midnight; and next morning, along comes the girl, here, with a ticket for belize and orders to sail on the _santa maria_. wished i'd have known who you boys were last night. i'd have hobnobbed with you some instead of bein' short-like as i was. no hard feelin's?" "none at all," answered matt. "i used to be skipper of the brig _dolphin_, a hooker as sailed from any place to any place wherever there was a cargo to be picked up and carried. that's how i got the name o' captain. i've had a master's ticket, though, ever since i was twenty. ysabel here"--matt caught a sharp look from the girl directed at sixty--"which is my pet name for sadie," continued the captain, "had as fine a father as ever walked. he married a spanish lady in belize, and that's how sadie looks spanish and talks american. i'm rough and ready, i am, and ain't got no time for these here parlor frills----" "we'll have lots of time to talk, uncle jim," broke in the girl, "after we get settled in our staterooms and while we're crossing the gulf. motor matt and his friends, as well as ourselves, have got something else to do just now besides stand around and gossip. i don't think we'd better be seen talking together very much, anyhow." "right you are!" rumbled captain sixty. "see you again, messmates," and he lurched away with miss harris alongside him. "ach," muttered carl, "dot leedle girl vas a peach, i bed you. eferyt'ing iss all righdt, und ve all haf a finger in dot pie oof downsent's." "wish i could smoke townsend's weather roll a bit better than i do," said dick. "i haven't any confidence in that man sixty. from the cut of his jib, he's several kinds of a bear, bucko, bandicoot and crocodile. if we could, i think we ought to give him a good offing." "we can't do that, dick," answered matt, "if townsend's business throws us all together." the boys fell into line at the purser's window, transacted their work there, and then picked up their luggage and went to their staterooms. each stateroom accommodated two passengers. matt and dick had one room to themselves, while carl's room, which was next to theirs, would house a stranger in addition to the dutch boy. while matt and dick were stowing their traps and making themselves as comfortable as they could in their cramped quarters, carl burst in on them. "vat you t'ink?" demanded carl, closing the door securely behind him and dropping down on the lower berth. "we're all ahoo and don't know what to think, matey," answered dick, giving the dutch boy a slow sizing. "why? have you anything in particular on your own mind?" "i shouldt say! dot sixdy feller iss my roommate." "you're welcome to him," said dick. "i wouldn't take him for a roommate on a bet." matt turned from the washbowl, where he had been removing some of the grime from his hands, and reached for a towel. "no accident about that," said he. "i'll bet sixty fixed it up with the purser." "why?" demanded dick. "i don't know why, but i've got a hunch that that's the way of it." matt finished with the towel, threw it back on the rack and sat down in a chair. "there are a few things connected with this situation that won't hold water. listen, pards, and see if you don't agree with me." chapter v. sixty shows his hand. "we'll suppose," proceeded matt, "that townsend has brought us all together on the _santa maria_ for some work or other that's to be done in belize. we'll suppose further that everything is all right and as it should be, and that townsend had a niece whom he never mentioned to us, and a brother-in-law about whom he never said a word in all the time we have been with him. but why should the niece and the brother-in-law try to deceive us?" "der leedle girl vouldn't do dot, matt," asserted carl. "i don't like to think that, carl, any more than you do, but we're going it blind and ought to consider carefully anything we hear." "right-o, matey," said dick. "what have you heard that makes you think the girl and her uncle are not dealing on the square with us?" "miss harris said that her uncle archibald townsend's real name is harris, and----" "dot might be, matt, for ve know dot downsent uses odder names schust as he----" "wait a minute, carl. miss harris also told us that her mother's maiden name was sixty, and that captain sixty was her mother's brother." "also that townsend was her father's brother," chimed in dick. "i don't see anything wrong about that." "then," continued matt, "captain sixty started to call sadie harris, ysabel, but tried to explain away the break when the girl looked at him. the captain also said that miss harris' mother was of spanish origin, and whoever heard of spaniard by the name of sixty? furthermore, if the captain is a brother of miss harris' mother, then the captain ought to be a spaniard himself." it was hard for carl to follow this line of reasoning, although matt made it as clear as he could. dick, however, grasped the point matt had brought up. "shiver me!" he exclaimed. "it's a wonder i didn't see that myself. the old bucko stepped over his chalk mark, and the girl hustled him away before he could say anything more. great kedge anchors! what sort of a deal are we in on, anyhow? the girl's yarn don't hold together, and it was sixty himself who let the cat out of the bag. what's to be done? we could have the captain set us ashore, and then we could make our way back to new orleans and have a talk with townsend." "no, i don't think we'd better do that. after all, dick, it may be that townsend has fixed this thing up, and that the girl and the captain are talking according to instructions." "townsend never told them to pull the wool over our eyes, mate. he's not that kind of a fellow." "if it comes to that, he's not the kind of a chap, to my notion, to mix up with a man like sixty. still, everything may be all right. the girl knew that we were expecting word from townsend; in fact, all her talk and actions prove that she knows more about townsend's plans than she could possibly know if townsend hadn't taken her into his confidence. at least, that's the way i look at it. if we had the captain of the _santa maria_ put us ashore we might be spoiling townsend's plans. for that reason i'm in favor of staying right where we are and waiting for developments. but we can be careful, pards, and keep our eyes open. if there is any crooked work on foot it will come to the surface in time." "aber ven id comes by der surface," spoke up carl, with a good deal more wisdom than he generally showed, "meppy id vill be too lade to dodge drouple." "if miss harris and captain sixty don't think we suspect anything underhand," answered matt, "the advantage will be with us." "sure," averred dick. "we can keep our own counsel and have a sharp eye to windward all the time." "oof downsent vants us," continued carl, "und oof dis ain'd vat he vants us for, den, py shinks, ve vas spoiling his blans vorse as ve vas by keeping on mit der poat." "what's your idea, dick?" asked matt; "to keep on, or have the captain put us ashore and go back?" "our course is laid, matey," responded dick, "so let's hang to it." "there's no escaping honduras after we once strike the gulf." "then we'll go to honduras. it's a bally layout, any way you look at it, but the chances are that we're on the right tack." "what have you to say, carl?" "i don'd t'ink der girl iss fooling us, und dot's all aboudt id. i say mit tick dot ve keep on like ve're going, mit our vedder eyes shkinned bot' vays for preakers. oof ve ged to honturas, und downsent don'd show oop, den ve can send him some caplegrams und say vere ve vas, und vy. yah, ve hat pedder keep on." "that's my idea. i can't see what motive any one would have for playing double with us. what enemies have we in new orleans? and, if we had any there, why should they go to the trouble of buying tickets for us on the _santa maria_ and sending us to belize?" "right-o," agreed dick. "we'll play a square game, and if any one tries to run afoul of us with anything different, why, we'll bring 'em up with a round turn. the outward trip to honduras isn't costing us anything, anyhow." having arrived at this decision the boys left their stateroom and went down to their dinner. the passenger business between new orleans and central america was not extensive, and there were no more than twenty people seated around the two tables in the dining room. matt and his friends found themselves at the captain's table, with sixty and miss harris directly opposite. miss harris greeted them with one of her engaging smiles, and sixty grinned and nodded his bullet-like head. but there was no talk across the board, although carl was visibly eager for a little conversation with the girl. following the meal the boys strolled about the deck, hoping that either sixty or miss harris would come looking for them and engage in talk which might either confirm their suspicions or else set them at rest. but nothing of the sort happened. "they're sheering off from us," commented dick. "probably that's in accordance with townsend's plan, too. i wish i knew what our work is to be." "i've puzzled my brain over it till i'm tired," said matt. "we've been a long while getting at the work, and while we've been waiting townsend hasn't dropped a hint about what it was. we're just as much in the dark now as ever." during the afternoon the _santa maria_ slipped through the lower end of south pass into the gulf, and began to roll and wallow in the heavier swell. carl became indisposed. he declared that he wasn't seasick, but the motion of the boat annoyed him. he made for his stateroom with the announced intention of lying down and getting himself accustomed to the pitch and tumble. dick, in the hope of discovering the whereabouts of sixty and the girl, strolled forward. matt was left alone on the stretch of deck aft of the bridge. an awning sheltered him from the sun, and the breeze that wafted itself across the broad reaches of the gulf was grateful and refreshing. all the other passengers who had been occupying deck chairs in that part of the boat had gone away. matt, after half an hour's wait for dick to return, got up with the idea of looking for him. as he passed a casual glance over the foamy trail left by the _santa maria_, his keen eye detected something appearing and disappearing in the tumbling waves that captured his immediate attention. the object glistened in the rays of the afternoon sun and looked like a reddish ball. sometimes he could see it quite plainly for a few moments, rolling and tumbling in the waters, and then a large wave would sweep past and blot it from his sight. the ball seemed to be following the ship, maintaining at all times the same distance. was it some kind of a fish? matt asked himself. if it was, then it was a variety of fish of which he had never heard or read. he looked around to see if there were any of the officers or deck hands in his vicinity, but there were none, and he was obliged to watch and wrestle with his curiosity. it might be a piece of wreckage, he told himself; yet, if it was, what kept it in the wake of the _santa maria_? he continued to hang over the rail and watch the queer red object, waiting for some of the ship's officers or men to come to that part of the boat. presently he heard a muffled footfall close behind him. he turned his head and saw captain sixty at his side. beyond sixty, and gliding hastily in his direction, was miss harris. there was a question on matt's lips, but it died away quickly when the youth saw the diabolical expression on captain sixty's face. "here's where you go over!" said sixty hoarsely. then, before motor matt could make a move to defend himself, the burly scoundrel seized him in a grip of iron, lifted him bodily and flung him from the rail. a loud cry escaped matt's lips. it was taken up by a shrill scream from the girl, and, the next moment, by a hoarse shout from the treacherous sixty. "man overboard! man overboard!" as matt dropped into the lashing waves that frantic yell of sixty's smote on his ears. even in that perilous moment the reason for the scoundrel's alarm flashed through his brain. matt's yell and the girl's scream had aroused the officers and crew, and there was nothing else for sixty to do but to give his alarm and hope that the speed of the ship would take her so far away from matt that rescue would not be possible. the first officer was on the bridge. turning a look rearward he saw a dark object in the smother of foam, far astern, clinging to one of the ship's life-preservers. it was the girl who had wrenched the life-preserver from the rail and flung it after matt. she had succeeded in this before sixty could reach her side and prevent the act. bells jingled in the engine room and the _santa maria_ lessened speed quickly. dick and carl, hearing the loud yell of captain sixty, and the bustle on the deck, joined the other passengers who were hurrying from the cabin. "who was it?" cried dick. "your friend, motor matt," answered sixty, who was close to dick and carl. miss harris, white as death and half fainting, was leaning against the deck-house. sixty had his eyes on her, and their baleful influence held her silent. "he was watching something astern," explained sixty, "and went over the rail. i tried to get to him, but he slipped away from me." "matt!" whooped carl, in a spasm of fear and apprehension. "it was our bard dot tumpled oferpoard!" dick rushed for the boat which the sailors, under an officer's direction, were getting ready to lower. "we're going along!" shouted dick wildly. "keep away!" ordered the officer. "i'm a sailor," answered dick, "and i can help! motor matt's my mate, and i'm going to help save him!" without waiting for permission, both dick and carl sprang into the boat. there was no time to lose making the boys get back on the deck, or arguing the question, and the officer yielded his place to dick. "lower away!" he shouted, and the blocks rattled as the boat dropped from the davits. chapter vi. an unexpected rescue. sixty's unprovoked and murderous attack on matt had been made with such brutal suddenness that the king of the motor boys had had no chance to defend himself. before he fairly realized what had happened he was under the water and fighting his way upward to the surface. had he not been such a good swimmer the weight of his clothing would have dragged him down and rendered his case hopeless. he was seriously handicapped, as it was, and when he gained the top of the water he was thankful to find a life-preserver bobbing and ducking beside him. how the life-preserver happened to be there he did not know, but he seized hold of it gratefully and allowed it to support him in the tumbling waves. by that time the _santa maria_ was far in the distance, but there was a commotion on her decks which indicated that the cry of "man overboard!" was receiving a prompt response. the sharp orders of the officer of the deck, the cries of excited passengers, and even the jingle of the engine-room bell came distinctly to the ears of the youth in the water. matt, although still bewildered, congratulated himself on escaping the swiftly-revolving screw. he had been thrown from the ship near the stern, and it was a piece of luck that the suction had not drawn him under the sharp propeller-blades. buffeted by the waves, matt swung back and forth in the water and watched while the boat was lowered. dick and carl were in the boat, and there were two sailors at the oars. dick, at the bow, was coiling a piece of rope in his hands, making ready for a cast as soon as the boat should come near enough. matt, his eyes fastened on the boat, gave no attention to the expanse of water in the other direction. suddenly he heard a cry, coming from behind him, and turned his head. his amazement was complete when he saw a submarine rolling amid the waves. the mystery of the glistening red speck which had claimed his attention from the steamer was explained. it was the round periscope ball of the _grampus_! some one--matt could not see distinctly, for the spindrift was in his eyes--was half out of the conning tower of the submarine. "come aboard of us, matt!" shouted the man, whirling a rope about his head and letting it fly. the youth's ears were filled with the _poppety-pop_ of the submarine's motor, but he heard the request. he could only guess how the submarine happened to be there, and guesses were useless, for he would soon be told everything about the queer situation. motor matt grabbed at the rope as it was thrown to him by the man in the submarine. as he hauled himself toward the _grampus_, hand over hand, he saw that the man in the conning tower was townsend, or captain nemo, jr., as he preferred to be called when afloat. presently the young motorist was hauling himself up on the slippery deck of the submarine. "are you all right, matt?" cried captain nemo, jr. "all right, captain," answered matt, "except that i'm as wet as a drowned rat and can hardly understand why i was thrown from the steamer." "you were thrown overboard?" demanded the captain. "yes; by your man, sixty." "_my_ man? i don't understand you. but we'll let that go for now. dick and carl are in that boat yonder. shall we take them aboard?" "i'd like to, sir, but we have some luggage on the _santa maria_ and the boys had better go back after it." "tell them to get the luggage and that we'll stand by to take them off." nemo, jr., threw a hasty look around at the sky, which was rapidly becoming overcast. "ask them to hurry," he added, "for we'll be in for dirty weather before long and we must get them on the _grampus_ before the storm comes down on us." the rowboat by then had drawn as close to the submarine as safety would permit. the two sailors were lying on their oars and gazing at the craft in astonishment, while the rail of the steamer was crowded with passengers and crew, all staring at the strange scene going forward there in the waters of the gulf. "ahoy, dick!" shouted matt. "ahoy, yourself, old ship!" roared dick. "that's the _grampus_, i take it?" "yes. captain nemo, jr., is going to take you and carl aboard. go back to the _santa maria_ and get our traps. be quick about it, for the weather is threatening." "ay, ay," cried dick heartily, "and it's glad i am to leave the old hooker." dick dropped down in the boat and the sailors fell-to on the oars. "come inside, matt," called captain nemo, jr. "i'll get out of the way and make room for you." the captain disappeared downward, and matt climbed over the rim of the conning tower and quickly descended the iron ladder. in a square chamber called the periscope room, at the foot of the ladder, matt found the captain and cassidy waiting for him. each grasped his hand. there was only a moment for congratulations. "up into the tower with you, cassidy," called the captain, "and keep watch for dick and carl. we're going to take them on as soon as they pick up their belongings." "ay, ay, sir," answered cassidy, "i heard your talk with matt, and matt's talk with the fellows in the boat." cassidy disappeared up the ladder and matt dropped down on a locker and began pulling off his water-logged shoes. "i've got a dry suit in my grip," said he, "and when the boys get here i'll slide into a more comfortable rig." "and sixty threw you overboard!" muttered nemo, jr., a black frown crossing his face. "the murderous scoundrel! i have long known him as a desperate man, but i would hardly have believed him capable of such a move as that! what was his reason?" "that's more than i know." "you mean to say that you don't know what his motive was for attempting such a high-handed piece of work?" "that's exactly what i mean, captain." "did any one see him?" "only his niece--and yours." captain nemo, jr.'s, amazement increased. "_my_ niece?" he echoed. "i have no niece." "is your real name harris, captain?" "no, certainly not." "and sixty isn't your brother-in-law?" the captain flung up his hands. "i should hope not! where did you get all this queer misinformation?" "from the girl who called herself sadie harris, and who said she was a niece of yours." "you and your friends have been badly fooled, matt," said the captain. "we must probe to the bottom of this and----" just at that moment the _grampus_ gave a wild roll, nearly upsetting captain nemo, jr., and almost throwing matt from the locker. a bucket of water came sloshing down the conning-tower hatch. "the squall's hit us!" roared cassidy. "the weather's so thick with rain and flying scud i can't see the steamer." "did the boys get aboard?" "yes, and they've had time to get back into the whaleboat again, but there's been some sort of a hitch." the _grampus_ was rolling and wallowing frightfully, and it seemed at times as though she must surely turn turtle. the slap of waves on her steel sides and against the conning tower caused a thunderous noise to echo through the boat. "close the hatch, and come down, cassidy!" shouted the captain. "we'll have to submerge her, and try to pick up the steamer with the periscope." cassidy could be heard clamping down the hatch. while he was coming down the ladder, the captain turned to one of the speaking tubes that entered the periscope room. "let the water into the ballast tanks, clackett!" he called. "a ten-foot submergence. slow speed ahead, gaines," he added through another tube. "keep her south by west, cassidy," said he to the mate. "south by west it is, sir," answered cassidy, posing himself by a small binnacle and laying hands on a steering wheel. from a distance matt heard the old familiar rhythm of the gasoline cylinders. there was a splashing as water poured into the ballast tanks, followed by a very perceptible sinking motion. the frightful wallowing and pitching ceased to a great extent, and the _grampus_ hung on a fairly even keel. "ten feet of submergence, cap'n!" came from a speaking tube so distinctly that it almost seemed as though the speaker was in the periscope room. "very good, clackett," replied the captain. "hold her so. now, matt," the captain went on, "we'll see what the periscope has to show us." the hollow steel mast of the periscope, contrived with powerful reflectors, terminated in a hood that swung above a table. captain nemo, jr., pushed aside a fold of the hood and he and matt looked down on the highly-polished mirror that formed the top of the table. a stormy scene lay under their eyes. their horizon was narrowed to only a few yards by rain and spray, but within this brief radius they got a sight of raging waves and a fierce tumult of waters. now and again the scene was blotted out for a moment as the periscope ball was drenched by a comber. "we can't take the boys off now, captain," said matt. "it would be impossible in this sea," answered the captain. "i was not looking for the squall to hit us so soon. we'll try and follow the _santa maria_, however, and take them off later." "how can you follow her when you can't see her?" "we know her track, and we'll follow her by compass." the wild roaring of wind and sea came to those in the _grampus_ like a dull murmur, and the submarine's rocking, at a ten-foot submergence, was proof of the power the elements must be showing on the surface. both matt and the captain kept their eyes constantly on the table top, then, abruptly, matt gave a gasp and caught at the table to support himself. "look!" he cried. "captain--the boat----" but captain nemo, jr.'s, startled eyes had already seen what matt had beheld. this was a whaleboat tossed wildly on the crest of a huge wave adrift, and with carl and dick clinging desperately to the oars. only matt's two chums were in the boat. the captain whirled to one of the tubes. "turbines at work, clackett!" he shouted; "quick, on your life. empty the tanks and get us back to the surface! reverse your engine, gaines," he added through another tube. matt, still clinging to the table, stared down on its polished top. the drifting whaleboat, with his two chums, had vanished as quickly as it had appeared. chapter vii. a fruitless search. "that boat was adrift!" cried matt, as soon as he could find his tongue. "yes," answered the captain in a tense voice, "and only dick and carl were aboard of her." "how could that have happened?" "when the boys got back to the ship, the boat must have been left at the steamer's side while the luggage was being secured. the boys had time to get down into the boat, and before the sailors could follow the squall came rushing down and tore the boat away from the _santa maria_. hard luck, matt! still, the case isn't hopeless by any manner of means. the whaleboat has an air chamber at each end and can't be sunk. if the boys can stay in her, and keep her right side up, we'll be able to rescue them." the fierce pitching and plunging of the submarine told matt that she was again battling with the elements on the surface. a look into the periscope also laid bare the heaving and churning waters within a narrow zone of observation, but nowhere could the whaleboat be seen. "follow the wind, cap'n," said cassidy. "by doin' that we ought to be able to find the boat." "that's my intention, cassidy," returned the captain. "take the waist-tarp and go up into the conning tower. carry a rope with you, and be ready to throw it the moment we sight the boat." "let me go, captain!" requested matt. "i'm already as wet as i can possibly be, and i should like to do my part." "very well, matt," replied the captain. "put the tarp around him, cassidy." cassidy lifted the lid of the locker and took a circular oilskin from inside. there was a round hole in the centre of the oilskin, and around the outside edge were eyelets. the mate pulled the tarp over matt's head and tied it about his waist. "there's a ring of hooks around the rim of the tower, matt," he explained, "and by fitting the edge of the tarp over them you'll keep us from being drowned out down here." "i understand," answered matt. that was not his first voyage in the _grampus_, and he was fairly familiar with the boat's equipment. when he was ready, cassidy handed him the coil of wet rope recently used by the captain to get matt aboard. "when you get tired, matt," said the captain, "come down and cassidy will relieve you." "i hope we'll find the boys before then," answered matt hopefully. "they were drifting, and if we go with the wind we ought to overhaul them." "we'll keep track of operations through the periscope and do all we can to lay you alongside the boat if we sight her." matt climbed the ladder, pushed back the lever that held the air-tight hatch in place, and threw over the cover just in time to get a barrel of water over his head and shoulders. quickly as he could he pushed on until his body, from the waist upward, was over the top of the conning tower. then, with deft fingers, he made the circular tarp fast along the edge of the hatch. a minute more, when he had leisure to look around over the riotous waters, the novelty of his position caused his pulses to leap. forward and aft the water creamed over the steel deck of the _grampus_, hiding the hull and leaving only the upper part of the conning tower and the steel periscope mast exposed. it seemed to matt as though he was afloat in nothing more substantial than a barrel, with the clamoring, rushing waves all around him. forward, backward and sideways the submarine rolled through a terrific arc, and an occasional wave charged over him, leaving his dripping hair tumbled about his eyes. for a brief space only did the awful spectacle claim his attention, and then he turned his eyes over the roaring waves in an attempt to locate the whaleboat. the _grampus_ was now racing with the wind, and the stinging lines of rain struck against the young motorist's back. again and again he brushed the water from his eyes and continued to peer eagerly ahead. but his heart was steadily sinking. dick was a sailor, but what skill could keep the whaleboat right side up in such a tempest? the waves drove past the _grampus_ at racehorse speed, flinging their foamy arms high in the air. matt shouted at the top of his lungs, but his voice was puny and ineffective. the gale caught it, feathered it out into a thousand wisps of sound and scattered it into the roar and crash of the waves. from below him came the notes of a gabriel horn, but these were little more effective than matt's voice had been. the minutes passed, and matt's hopes declined steadily. after a time, he knew not how long, he felt a hand tugging at his feet. quickly unhooking the edges of the tarp, he descended. "you've been up there an hour, matt," said captain nemo, jr., "and cassidy will relieve you." "i don't think there's much hope," returned matt heavily, removing the waist-tarp and handing it to the mate. "i don't see how dick and carl could possibly stay in the boat in such a frightful sea." "we never can tell what we're able to do in this world," said the captain hopefully, "until we're called upon to put forth our best powers. dick is a cool one, and he knows the sea. if any one could pull through that storm and bring carl along with him, it's dick ferral. we may not find them while the gale is on, but afterward we can cruise about and perhaps be able to pick them up. that is my hope, at all events." cassidy, rope in hand, was already on his way up the ladder. when he had taken up his position, the captain turned to matt. "that locker is our slop chest," said he, "and in it you will find some dry clothes. better make a change, matt, and be as comfortable as possible." this was good advice, and matt proceeded to carry it out. "i had thought of taking cassidy's place again in an hour," he observed. "no use," was the answer. "if we don't sight the boat within an hour, then the chances are that we have gone wide of her--perhaps left her behind. we'll sink into quieter waters and come up again when the storm has abated. then we'll cruise around and do everything possible to locate dick and carl." the captain drew up a chair and braced himself at the periscope table. at the end of an hour night had fallen, closed in with the stygian gloom of the clouds and tempest. from that on the periscope was useless, and even a lookout from the top of the conning tower was of no avail. cassidy descended, closing the hatch behind him. his face was long and ominous. "this ends it till mornin', cap'n," said he. "exactly so, cassidy," replied the captain; "but the case isn't hopeless, by any means." he whirled to a speaking tube. "fill the tanks, clackett," he ordered, "and descend to twenty yards. shut off your engine, gaines," he added through another tube; "we'll pass the night where we are, sixty feet down." the orders were repeated back, and the _grampus_ began to sink. when the periscope ball was submerged an automatic valve closed the hollow mast against an inrush of water. down and down they went, slipping noiselessly into great depths. cassidy turned on a light from the storage batteries and an incandescent bulb flooded the periscope room. climbing the ladder into the conning tower, matt stole a look through the lunettes. to see under water, contrary to the usual fiction on the subject, is impossible. only a sombre void met matt's eyes. by means of electric light and powerful reflectors captain nemo, jr., could throw a gleam several yards through the lunettes; but this was a drain on the storage batteries, and for use only in case of emergency. at sixty feet down the _grampus_ lay as easily under the enormous water pressure as a man in a hammock. at the captain's suggestion, matt stretched himself out on a blanket on the floor of the periscope room and, in spite of his worry, was soon asleep. when he was aroused by cassidy a gleam of day was shining down the conning-tower hatch. "speake is getting breakfast, matt," said cassidy, "and we're up at the surface again. the storm is over, and the cap'n is on deck, calling for you. better go up." matt jumped to his feet and raced up the ladder. the sea was still a bit rough, although part of the submarine's deck was high and dry. captain nemo, jr., was on the deck, clinging to one of the wire guys that supported the periscope mast. "do you see anything of the whaleboat, captain?" were matt's first words. "not a sign," answered the captain, handing matt a pair of binoculars. "take a look for yourself." bracing himself in the top of the tower matt swept the glasses over the vast expanse of sunlit, heaving water. there was nothing to be seen. from horizon to horizon the gulf held only the dancing, gleaming waves. chapter viii. the overturned boat. matt's heaviness of spirit was reflected in his face. "don't be discouraged," said the captain. "we'll cruise around in this part of the gulf and i feel pretty sure we'll find your friends. it would have been difficult to locate them during the storm, and the _grampus_ might have passed within a cable's length of the whaleboat without seeing it or being seen; but, on a day like this, we've got the range of the ocean for miles, and the whaleboat can't get away from us!" "providing it's afloat," replied matt apprehensively. "breakfast!" yelled cassidy from the periscope room. "that means us," said captain nemo, jr. the present complement of the submarine consisted of the captain, mate and three men. the duties of the captain and mate kept them constantly in the periscope room and conning tower. gaines had charge of the hundred and twenty horse-power gasoline motor, clackett looked after the trimming tanks, and speake was general utility, taking care of the electric supply and compressed air and preparing the meals. each had his particular station, and when the boat was running the officers rarely saw any of the crew. gaines' room was aft, clackett's was nearer the waist of the boat, and speake was forward in the torpedo room. there being no use for the torpedo room during peaceable cruising, it was transformed into a galley, and here speake prepared the meals on an electric range. during breakfast speake relieved gaines at the motor, and cassidy took the lookout. gaines, clackett, captain nemo, jr., and matt crowded into the little messroom, dropped down on low stools and drank their hot coffee and ate their crackers and boiled eggs. when matt and the captain had finished they went up and relieved cassidy and sent him down. matt seated himself on the deck at the base of the conning tower, the captain taking the elevated position in the top of the tower. "while i'm using the glasses, and you're using your eyes, matt," said the captain, "we might as well talk and try to understand the causes that brought you and your chums into this situation. i was curious on that point last night, but didn't want to bother you when you were so tired and worried." "if you were surprised to see me, captain," returned matt, "you can imagine how astounded i was to find you and the _grampus_." "the wind was taken out of my sails completely when i learned that you and your friends had sailed on the _santa maria_." "then you didn't send us three tickets and ask us to sail on the steamer for british honduras?" "certainly not! that was part of the plan for getting you away. sixty must have laid the plan and trusted to his daughter to carry it out." "his daughter?" "yes. she was the girl who called on you at the hotel shortly before the steamer sailed--ysabel sixty. captain sixty married a spanish woman in cuba, and the girl was their only child." "she used pretty good english when she talked with me." "that's because she has passed most of her life in the united states, while her father has been engaged in questionable work all over the high seas." "she said she was your niece, that her mamma was sadie harris, and that she had come to new orleans as soon as she heard that you were sick." the captain smiled grimly. "sixty told her what to say," he answered. "but," and matt's surprise took another tack, "how do you happen to know that she called on me at the hotel?" "clackett found that out. i sent him to the hotel to ask you and your chums to come to stuyvesant dock and board the _grampus_. cassidy was to bring the submarine down from westwego. but let's begin at the beginning and get at this thing with some sort of system." matt led off with an account of the mixed messages, following this with a description of the girl and of what had transpired during their interview, and then finishing with what had taken place on the steamer. the captain, although he kept the binoculars sweeping the sea, was absorbed in the recital. "what name was signed to that message that fell into your hands by mistake?" he asked. "i didn't pay any attention to the name," matt replied. "i read the message to make sure it wasn't for me, but i didn't read the signature." "what was the message?" "it merely gave a position by latitude and longitude with the added words, 'two days ago--no wind and no drift since.'" the captain showed signs of suppressed excitement. "what was the latitude and longitude?" he asked. "can you remember it?" "no," said matt. "i knew it did not concern me, so i failed to charge my mind with it." "it concerned you more than you know. i am positive that sixty lured you aboard the steamer because he feared you had learned something from the telegram which you could use to his disadvantage. what was your message--the one that sixty got and read?" "it was from a man who didn't know our air ship had been wrecked and destroyed. he wanted to buy her, and referred us to you, saying that he knew you." "my name was mentioned in the telegram?" "the name of townsend was mentioned." "ah! the cause of sixty's work is becoming clearer and clearer. he knew i was a friend of yours, that the government had asked me to watch him, and that you had had a chance to secure some important information from the telegram. it was enough to make a man like sixty try something desperate!" "you were watching him?" queried matt, "and for the government?" "yes. sixty has been a trader in the south seas, but lately he has caused the government to suspect him of an attempt to smuggle arms and ammunition to central america to help out some revolutionists there. his brig, the _dolphin_, cleared from new orleans a few weeks ago, having dropped in at that port from across the ocean, and has since mysteriously vanished. it has been something like a week since sixty showed up in new orleans again. the government had communicated with me before i came to the south, asking me to locate the _dolphin_, follow her and see what she was up to. if i couldn't find the brig i was to follow sixty. that was the business on which i wanted your aid, but i couldn't tell you anything about it until the time came for us to act. you see, i didn't want sixty to think that he was being watched. when clackett, who was shadowing sixty, brought me word that he had just seen him leaving new orleans on the _santa maria_, i immediately made preparations to follow the steamer; and i was more anxious than ever to trail her when clackett reported that you and your friends, as well as sixty, were on the boat. i knew, at once, that there was some crooked work afoot. "we gained on the steamer in the river, and came within sight of her two or three hours after she had reached the gulf. we submerged the _grampus_ until the periscope ball was just awash and trailed along in her wake. on the periscope table i saw some one drop overboard, and we immediately emptied our ballast tanks and came to the surface. i was surprised enough when i found that it was you who was in the water, matt. we were too far away to see sixty throw you over the rail. the truth of the matter is, sixty is afraid of you--afraid you would tell me what was contained in that telegram. the bearings set forth by that latitude and longitude must have been mighty important!" "your work for the government," commented matt, "in spite of the way you guarded it, must have become known to sixty." "yes; but he did not learn it through me. some one in washington must have kept him informed." "the girl also seemed to have a pretty good knowledge of the fact that i was going to help you." "sixty may have inferred that, and if the girl talked guardedly with you she might still further have developed the point." "that's exactly what she did!" exclaimed matt, with sudden divination. "i can see now that she was playing a part all the time. i don't think she liked the work, but that she was forced to do it by her father." "sixty's a rough old webfoot, and when his unscrupulous mind counsels a course he's not at all particular as to the ways and means by which he keeps to it." "how would throwing me overboard help him any?" "if he had put you out of the way, you wouldn't have been able to use the knowledge you had acquired from that telegram." "but there was dick and carl. they knew about the message as well as i did." "then sixty would have taken care of them, too." "what a murderous scoundrel he is!" muttered matt with a shudder. "he's all of that and----" the words died on the captain's lips and, for a moment, he held the glasses rigidly on some object at a distance. "what is it, captain?" cried matt, leaping up and straining his eyes, but without being able to see anything. "perhaps nothing," answered nemo, jr., "i can't tell. but we'll give it the benefit of the doubt and go over that way." dropping a hand at his side he pressed a push button which had a wire communicating with the engine room. the signal he gave sent the _grampus_ on another tack. as she rushed onward the object that had claimed the captain's attention grew slowly on matt's eyes. it was an overturned whaleboat, and on one side, in black letters, was the name "_santa maria_." matt staggered, and laid hold of the rim of the conning tower for support. what if his chums had lost their lives through that despicable work of captain sixty's? chapter ix. adrift in the storm. dick and carl were dumfounded at sight of the _grampus_ appearing suddenly amid the waves and with captain nemo, jr., in the conning tower heaving a rope at matt. their surprise wore away swiftly and delight took its place. matt was saved, and they were soon to join him on the submarine. "hoop-a-la!" carolled the dutch boy as the whaleboat put back to the steamer. "i peen gladder as i can dell dot ve're going to leaf dot _sanda maria_. i vould like to ged pedder acquaindet mit miss harris, i bed you, aber i dradder got mit der _grambus_." "that there's the craft we heerd about on the waterfront in new orleans," said one of the sailors. "easy enough," said the other over his oar, "but how does she chance to be bobbin' in our wake? looks like she was a-follerin' us." there were many excited questions from the passengers as the boat was held alongside by one of the davit ropes and a sea ladder was dropped over. sixty and his daughter, alone of all those aboard, showed little interest in the submarine. the sailors in the boat called out to the officer on the deck that dick and carl were to be returned to the submarine, and the officer, with a look at the threatening sky, grumbled at the delay. "one of the lads is enough to get their luggage," he called down. "you shell-backs come up here and tell me all about it." the slap of the waves and the noise made by the rising wind rendered talking difficult. carl went for the luggage, the sailors climbed to the deck, and dick remained in the boat to keep her fended from the steamer's side with an oar. while carl was in the stateroom collecting the traps the officer hung over the rail with others of the crew and some of the passengers, studying the sky and apparently in doubt as to whether he should let the boat put back to the submarine. presently he went away, and before he got back carl had appeared and begun tossing the luggage, piece by piece, into the bobbing whaleboat. dick deftly caught and stowed the traps as they came down to him. "vy don'd you ged indo der poat?" asked carl, of the two sailors, who were standing near. "the fust orficer told us ter wait," replied one. "vy iss dot?" "i don't think he reckons it's safe to go back ter the submarine." "ach, du lieber!" grunted carl disgustedly. "der itee oof sailormans being afraidt oof a leedle bit oof a vind! i peen a lubber meinseluf, aber i don'd vas afraidt!" with that he lowered himself onto the shaking sea ladder and started downward. when carl stepped off the ladder he came within one of stepping into the sea. dick grabbed him, however, and heaved him over the gunwale and to a midship thwart by main force. "hi, there!" shouted the officer, coming back and leaning over the rail. "you can't go--it's not safe. we're going to catch it good and plenty in a minute." "bosh!" shouted dick. "we can make it all right if you hurry." although dick spoke confidently, for he was eager to join matt on the _grampus_ even if it was necessary to take a chance or two, yet his practiced eye told him that fierce weather was imminent. "hook on the falls!" roared the officer. "quick on it, or----" at that moment, with a terrific shriek and a wild splash and splatter, the squall broke. the whaleboat was under the lee of the steamer, but the larger vessel shifted her position so that the heavy wind caught the whaleboat and jerked her away. the fastenings parted, and in a twinkling the boat had shot off from the steamer on the crest of a huge wave. a mist of rain and spindrift closed in between and the _santa maria_ was shut out from the boys' view. "the oars!" yelled dick, floundering to a thwart and shipping the oar with which he had been keeping the boat from the steamer's side. the boat was prancing like a festive broncho, now standing almost straight up in the air, and now dropping with dizzy abruptness, rolling at a hair-raising angle and shipping buckets of water. carl had been having his hands full keeping himself from going overboard, but he managed to brace his feet and get busy with one of the oars. under dick's direction the boat was brought with the wind and steadied. "led's ged on der supmarine!" yelled carl. "no use trying that," dick shouted over his shoulder. "den, py shinks, led's ged pack on der shdeamer! i don'd like dis popping around ofer der ocean. i feel like i was in some shoot der chutes." "can't do that, either. we've got to do our best to keep afloat--and that's going to be hard enough. strike me lucky, but fate has played it low down on us." "meppy der shdeamer vill come afder us." "don't you ever think it! they'd rather lose the whaleboat than hunt for us in this weather. anyhow, they'd stand about as much chance of finding us as they would of locating a needle in a haystack. we're in for it, mate. take a piece of that rope and lash yourself to the thwart." dick hauled in a trailing line and slashed off a section with his sheath knife. it was difficult hanging on to an oar with one hand while they used the other to tie themselves, but they managed to accomplish the feat. "subbose der poat sinks?" howled carl. "den ve vas tied und ve sink mit her." "she can't sink! there's an air chamber in each end." "vat oof she shouldt durn over mit herseluf?" "we've got to keep her from doing that." "ach, himmelblitzen! dis iss der vorst fix vat i was afer in. der landt iss goot enough for me. der more vat i see of der ocean, der more vat i like der solid eart'. now, oof ve----" carl, at that moment, was deluged by a wave. he strangled, coughed and spluttered, and if he had not been bound to the thwart would surely have gone by the board. "let me have your oar," roared dick. "take your cap, and bale!" "how i vas going to dip all der gulf oudt oof dis poat mit my cap?" answered carl. "i mighdt shust as vell drow der mississippi rifer ofer new orleans mit a t'imble." "bale, i tell you!" whooped dick, grabbing the oar away from carl and shipping it opposite his own position. carl dipped frantically into the water, but his efforts were of little avail. "i'll have to make a sea anchor," announced dick. "how you make dot? you vould haf to haf a placksmith shop, und----" "take the oars." dick swung the oars back and carl laid hold of them. there was a mast and a furled sail in the bottom of the boat. with infinite difficulty, dick got the mast over the side and made it fast to the stern by twenty feet of cable. this weight, dragging behind, served to steady the lightly-weighted boat and rendered it easier for the boys to keep her clear of the swamping waves. after that, dick again took the oars and carl continued his baling with more success. "id vas gedding vorse insteadt oof pedder," cried carl, "der gale, i mean." "that's a fact, matey," answered dick, "but we're making better weather of it." "oof ve keep der poat on dop oof der vater ondil der shtorm iss ofer, ve vill be like some shipwrecked fellers und vill shdarve to deat'." "we'll not starve to death. we can put up the sail and get to the nearest land. we're not such a long way from land, carl, and this gale is blowing us toward the southern part of florida." "oof ve hit florida too kevick, den ve ged pusted oop." "it will be a day or two before we get there." "vat ve eat in der meandime?" "if you thought more of your life and less of your stomach, mate, you'd be better off." "vone means der odder. und vat ve going to do for some vater to trink? der ocean iss full mit salt." "there's always a breaker of fresh water aboard these boats on the steamers." "den you t'ink, tick, dere iss some shances for us?" "sure, i do! we're doing finely now!" "ach, finely! mit der vater coming down from oferheadt, und oop from pelow, und der vind almost plowing us oudt oof der poat. yah, ve vas in pooty fine shape, i bed you!" night fell, a hideous night, black as erebus, with howling waves below and shrieking tempest overhead. the boys, nearly dropping from exhaustion, did their feeble best with the oars. they had no time for talk, and needed all their strength for their trying labor. minutes dragged like hours, and hours seemed like eternity. how long a time passed, neither of the boys had any idea. all they could do was to work blindly and doggedly on and trust to luck. "py shinks," panted carl, throwing down his oar, "i vas diret enough to tie und i can't do nodding more. oof i'm to feed der fishes, pedder id vas now as some odder dime." "you're not going to feed the fishes," answered dick. "buck up, matey. the gale is slowly blowing itself out. it was only a squall, anyhow." "i don'd like skvalls! dey're too sutten. anyvay, i don'd vork no more. i can't. my pack iss proke und my hants iss plistered. i vould schust as soon tie as keep id oop. vat a plackness eferyvere! der sea shpooks iss oudt und yelling like anyt'ing. oof i vas shdrong enough i vould ged shcared, aber i ain'd aple efen to do dot. i----" just at that moment carl showed that he was strong enough, at all events, to give a startled yell. he was interrupted by a grinding crash, so terrific that it flung him from the thwart, tearing him loose from the lashings. the boat had come to a halt, and was filling and turning over. carl had no idea what had happened and it was too dark for him to see anything. after his first frenzied cry, he gave himself up, being positive that he and dick, in spite of their plucky fight, were bound for the bottom. chapter x. the derelict. "carl!" it was dick's voice and carl was vaguely aware that his comrade was splashing toward him through the water in the boat. "goot-py, tick," wailed carl. "dis iss der last, und ve vas a gouple oof goners! led me take holt oof your hant as ve go down. gompany vas goot ad a dime like dose." "we're not going to jones, matey, at least not right away. we've struck against a wreck of some kind and by luck i've grabbed a rope that was trailing overboard. are you able to climb?" "i ain'd aple, und i don'd vant to climb. i haf gifen oop, so i mighdt schust as vell go down as anyt'ing else." dick muttered impatiently, grabbed carl and began tying the rope about his waist. "stay here," said he, "and i'll try and get you up. you'll have to help yourself a little, though." carl was vaguely conscious that dick had disappeared somewhere. a few minutes later the whaleboat rolled over, was carried away, and carl was left floundering in the water. again he was sure he had reached the end, but again he found himself mistaken. there came a tug at the rope and carl was hurled with stunning force against something big and heavy. clutching the rope with his hands, he braced his feet against the object against which he had struck, and, after a fashion, started aloft. the pull on the rope helped him, and he finally floundered over a barrier, dropped on a flat surface and his wits slipped away from him. he was utterly spent, and his unconsciousness was caused by sleep rather than by the blow he had received. when he opened his eyes, he found that it was morning, that the sun was shining, and that dick was on his knees beside him, briskly shaking him. "vere ve vas, anyvay?" queried carl, sitting up and peering around. he was under the lee of a little house. slippery planks, that heaved and rolled, were beneath him, and he could see the jagged stumps of two masts in the distance. a raffle of tangled rope lay near him. "we're on a derelict," reported dick. "vat iss a terelick?" "it's a wreck that failed to go to the bottom. having a cargo that floats, it stays on the surface, a menace to every craft that happens to be in its vicinity." "t'anks. iss preakfast retty, tick?" "we'll have to find something for breakfast before we can get it ready. it was a stroke of luck that laid us aboard the derelict. we smashed into her, in the dark, and it couldn't have happened once in a thousand times. fortune has taken a turn with us." carl got up unsteadily, leaned against the side of the house behind him and looked over the cheerless prospect. "meppy fortune has dook some durns," he muttered, "aber she ditn't shtrain herseluf any. vat sort oof a terelick iss dis?" "she's a brig." "vat's a prig?" "a two-masted, square-rigged vessel. both masts are gone." "yah, i see dot." "this is the galley. under the poop, over there, is the after cabin; forward of us is the fo'c'sle." "vere iss der pantry? led's try und findt a cupboardt or somet'ing vere dere iss a biece to eat. i'm so hungry, tick, dot i don'd know vere i vas ad." the door of the galley was closed and battened with a tarpaulin. "the crew of the brig," said dick, as he removed the tarpaulin, "did what they could to keep the water out. when the sticks went out of her, though, they had to quit." the galley door was unlocked, and dick threw it open. an odor came out to them that was far from pleasant, but they pushed into the little room and looked around. there was a stove, serviceable although a bit rusty, and a number of pots and pans in racks. in a bin, in one corner, was a small supply of firewood. there was also a swinging cupboard, and in this the boys found a tin of ground coffee, a small can of brown sugar and a piece of salt pork that did not look any too fresh. "oof ve hat vater," remarked carl, "ve could make some coffee." "i'll hunt for the tanks and try to get some water," said dick. "you get busy with a fire, carl. there's a box of matches in the cupboard." dick took one of the kettles and left the galley. he was gone some fifteen or twenty minutes, and during that time carl had got a fire going. at first the draft was not good, and carl investigated and found that the stove-pipe had been stuffed with oakum to keep out the water. when the oakum was removed the fire burned finely. dick, highly delighted, came back with the water. "there's a full tank," said he, "and i believe we're going to be a lot better off than we supposed." "i know i vill," chirruped carl, "afder i ged on der outside oof someding to eat." "when that's done, matey, we'll go on an exploring expedition, and see what we can find." they took their coffee out of tin cups and ate their salt pork off of tin plates. enough knives and forks were found to serve their purpose, and hot food put them both in better spirits. "i vonder vat matt is doing on der _grambus_?" remarked carl. "more than likely, mate," answered dick, "he thinks we're on the steamer." "vich means dot der supmarine vill follow der shdeamer to ged us off. vell, i ped you dot matt iss a goot vays off, py now, und ven vill ve see him nexdt?" "ask me something easy! but we'll see him again, one of these days. as soon as he finds out that we broke adrift from the fruiter, he'll come looking for us." "und der gulf of mexico iss so pig a blace dot he vill look a long dime pefore he findts der terelick! vere iss der valepoat? meppy ve could use her und go py florida, hey?" "we can't do that. the whaleboat was damaged, and she either went down or drifted off from the wreck during the night." "iss dere some odder poats mit der wreck?" "no. captain and crew must have used them when they left." "den ve got to shday mit der terelick?" "that's the sizing i give the outlook, carl. however, we may drop in with some ship and be taken off. that's more than possible, i should say." having finished their meal, the boys got up and left the galley. they first looked into the fo'c'sle hatch. like the galley door, it had been battened down, and a strong, disagreeable odor was wafted up to them. the bunks were in disorder, and dick opened the deadlights in order to let the air blow through and sweeten up the place. off the fo'c'sle was a small room which had evidently been set aside for the carpenter. at any rate, it contained a small chest of tools. "bully!" cried dick, taking an axe from the chest. "we can clear away the raffle and take more comfort on the wreck. if we could rig a jury mast and spread a sail, perhaps we could take this boat into new orleans. there'd be a lot of salvage, perhaps." "vat's salfage?" "that's what people get for picking up deserted ships and taking them into port. if the cargo is valuable, the salvage will run pretty heavy." as they left the fo'c'sle and walked aft, they passed the side of the ship against which they had bumped the night before. several ropes, from the tangle of cordage on the deck, lay over the side, some of them loose and trailing in the water, and others attached to broken yards. "we were lucky to have slammed into the ship at just that point," observed dick. "there were plenty of ropes for us to get hold of, and if i hadn't grabbed that rope, last night, we'd have gone under, sure as fate." he dropped his axe. "we'll leave that here, for now," he went on, "while we go aft and continue looking around." they climbed the steps leading to the poop deck. the cabin roof rose out of the deck, and there was a row of little windows around the top of the cabin wall. in the stern of the brig, directly back of the cabin, was the charthouse. this room was quite commodious and was furnished with heavy glass windows that had resisted the fury of the storm that had, in other ways, damaged the brig so heavily. there were two bunks in the charthouse, a deep locker, and a table. the air inside was damp and heavy, but by leaving the door open and opening the windows the atmosphere soon cleared. "here iss a goot blace to shleep, anyvays," remarked carl, with a good deal of satisfaction. "oof ve can findt a lod oof grup, den i bed you ve ged along finer as silk. oof id vasn't for matt, i couldn't care oof ve floated to china." "we're not going to leave the gulf, matey," averred dick, decidedly. "we're going to get out of this fix as soon as we can." "yah, meppy dot vas pedder," agreed carl. "vat's der name oof dis poat? all poats haf names, don'd dey?" "we'll try and find out," said dick. leaving the charthouse, he lowered himself by the rope of one of the davits--from which a dory had presumably been suspended--and read the lettering on the brig's stern. he gave a yell of surprise and swung himself back on deck in a good deal of excitement. "vat's der madder?" asked carl. "do you remember, carl," answered dick, "that captain sixty said, that time we talked with him in the steamer's cabin, that he had been skipper of a brig called the _dolphin_?" "yah, i rememper dot." "well, this is the _dolphin_!" carl stared blankly into the gleaming eyes of dick ferral, wondering why the fact should put dick in such a taking as it seemed to have done. chapter xi. the schooner. "vat aboudt it, tick?" queried carl. "dere iss more as vone poat named der _tolphin_, i bed you." "sure; but there's no such happenchance in this case. sixty's boat was a brig, and that was her name. this boat's a square-rigged two-master, and the word _dolphin_, plain as the nose on your face, is there on the stern. it's a cinch this was sixty's boat." "vell, subbosing id vas? id don'd cut some ice. ve're here, und sixty iss on der shdeamer. led's go looking some more." "there's something main queer about all this tangle," muttered dick, leading the way to the sliding doors of the after companion and removing the tarpaulin. "this ought to take us into the captain's quarters, and maybe we'll find something there that will shed light on the situation." the doors were locked, but dick sent carl for the axe and smashed them open. the close air was almost stifling, but the boys faced it and descended into the small cabin. a sextant and a chronometer were the first things dick's eyes lighted upon. "if there are charts in that locker in the charthouse," he observed, "we can very easily tell whereabouts in the gulf we are." carl wanted to know how this was to be done, but dick did not have time to explain, just then. he opened some windows, and the door leading out through the break in the poop. this caused a refreshing current of air to blow through the room. there was a bunk built against one wall, and, like those in the fo'c'sle and the charthouse, it was in a state of disorder. a sea chest was near one wall. it was opened and, from the way its contents were scattered, it appeared to have been hastily rummaged. in the centre of the cabin was a table, securely bolted to the floor. dick pulled open a drawer of the table and drew out a couple of papers. "the skipper got away in such a hurry," said dick, "he didn't even take time to get these." "vat dey vas, anyhow?" inquired carl, drawing close and looking over dick's shoulder. "the ship's log and her manifest," answered carl. "dot's a funny kind oof a log," said carl. "vy dey call some bapers a log?" "it is just a name, matey, and means a document in which the first officer sets down the things that happen to the ship, how far she sails, any notable things that occur, and so on. it's a sort of diary." "vat a funny pitzness!" exclaimed carl. "und dot odder t'ing, vat you say iss a manivest. vat's dot?" "why, a manifest is a paper signed by the master. it gives the vessel's name and tonnage, the port she hails from and a full description of the cargo. this tells the number and character of the various boxes, bales and packages in the cargo, where they're taken aboard, and where they're going to. this is full of information for us, matey. and it's signed by james sixty, as master, which proves conclusively that we're on the boat that was once under his orders." "meppy dot's righdt. anyvay, id don'd make so mooch tifference so long as sixdy ain'd here now." "but it's queer we happened to slam into his boat during the storm last night." "forged aboudt dot und dell me vere der prig comes from, vat she's got apoardt, und how mooch salvage ve ged oof ve take her py new orleans." an examination of the log and the manifest showed the boys that the _dolphin_ had been doing some great stunts at traveling. her last port of call was new orleans, where she had discharged some manufactured products from liverpool and filled out the available space in her hold with oak barrel staves. on her way from liverpool she had also put in at boston and taken on a consignment of mill work--that is, doors, sashes, window frames, etc.--which was to go to belize. before reaching liverpool, the _dolphin_ had called at lisbon, portugal, for part of a load of cork. previous to reaching lisbon she had picked up some hemp and sugar and copra at manila, which she had put ashore at liverpool. originally, the brig had cleared from san francisco. "dot mixes me all oop," muttered carl, who had seated himself in a chair while listening to dick's reading. "belize seems to be the place she was going to when she left new orleans," said dick. "it appears, too, that she took on canned goods in addition to mill work in boston, and that both were for british honduras. we'd better go down in the hold and hunt for those canned goods." carl was immensely delighted with the proposition; anything that had a prospect of food at the end of it always made a hit with him. a lantern was secured in the captain's cabin, lighted with a match from the galley, and the boys stripped open a hatch and got into the 'tween decks. between the main and the lower deck there was a good deal of water, and barrel staves were floating in every direction. there were a number of boxes snugly stowed out of reach of the water, however, and dick, by the aid of the lantern, discovered that some of the upper boxes were filled with canned pork and beans. "yah," chuckled carl, clinging to the iron ladder that led down from the hatch, "i bed you dot come from poston! iss id der parrel staves, tick, vat keeps der wreck afloat?" "no," answered dick, crawling over the cargo and pushing the lantern ahead of him, "there are not enough staves to do that, although, of course, they help--and so does the mill work. the cork, though, must be down in the lower hold, and that, i take it, is what buoys the ship up principally. cork is a great---- well, keelhaul me!" dick broke off his words with a startled exclamation. "vat's to pay now?" cried carl. "there's something here, matey, that's not down in the manifest." "vat id iss?" "boxes of ammunition and krag-jorgensen rifles." "hoop-a-la! meppy olt sixdy vas going to durn birate, und dot a gale plew along, wrecked der prig und made him shange his mindt. vell, nefer mindt dot shtuff, tick. der pork und peans iss ammunidion enough for me. id's pooty near tinner dime, so come on mit a pox." dick finished inspecting the rifles and ammunition and crawled back along the piles of boxes and over the sloshing water. between the two of them, the boys succeeded in getting a case of the canned beans up on the deck. "sixty is an old law-breaker," averred dick. "i had already sized him up for being a beach comber and i can't understand why captain nemo, jr., has anything to do with him." "meppy nemo, jr., don'd have somet'ing to do mit him, und dot vat sixdy toldt us vas all some cock-und-pull shtories. aber vat makes you t'ink he vas a law-preaker?" "those rifles and that ammunition. things like those, carl, when they're not down in a ship's manifest were not taken aboard for any proper purpose. my eye! i'd give something handsome to know what's up." while carl was opening the box of beans and getting dinner, dick began clearing the deck of the raffle of cordage that covered it. by the time he had finished and cast the splintered yards adrift, carl was out of the galley and calling for him to come and eat. in the afternoon the boys brought the bedding from the bunks in the charthouse and spread it on the deck to dry in the sun; then they went down into the 'tween-decks again and looked over as much of the cargo as was above water. they discovered that the freight of arms and ammunition was quite extensive. carl could not work up much interest in the rifles and cartridges, but, while dick was prowling through the wet hold looking them over, he dug out a box of tinned beef and a cask of ship's biscuit. with these discoveries they were able to vary their supper menu. leaving carl to get supper, dick hunted up two more lanterns and trimmed and lighted them and hung them forward, aft and amidships of the wreck. "i'm tired enough to do a caulk to the king's taste," said dick, as he left the galley and cast a self-satisfied glance at the lights, "but we can't both of us turn in. we'll have to stand watch and watch. do you want the first half of the night or the last half?" "vat's der use oof shtanding vatch?" protested carl. "dere von't nopody shdeal der poat, und oof ve vas going to run indo anypody ve couldn't helup dot." "it's necessary, carl," answered dick, "to know all that takes place while we're on the brig. if our lights should attract any vessel that's passing, one of us ought to be on the alert to answer a hail." "all righdt. i'll take der fairst vatch, und i vill call you py der chronomoder in der gaptain's room." dick had wound the chronometer and set it by guess. the timepiece might be off schedule by an hour or so, but it would serve for dividing the watches. leaving carl by the galley, dick climbed to the poop deck and went to the charthouse and turned in. carl's mind was running on "spooks" a good deal, and the swish of water under the deck, and the grinding and thumping of the floating staves, kept his fears and his imagination working overtime. however, nothing happened; and, after he had gone into the cabin seven or eight times and consulted the chronometer, he at last found it to be twelve o'clock and bounded up the poop-deck steps. dick had slept soundly, and when he went forward carl crept into his warm blankets and was snoring almost as soon as his head was on the pillow. it seemed to him that he had no more than closed his eyes before he was brought up in his bunk by a loud yell. it was daylight, and the sun was shining through the open door of the charthouse. "carl! come out here!" carl leaped from the bunk and hurried out on the deck and to the broken monkey rail. from the rail he could look down on the main deck and get a good view of dick. the sailor had found a piece of canvas and was standing on the stump of one of the masts, waving a signal. carl's eyes wandered out over the water, and his heart gave a bound as they rested on a sail not more than half a mile away. "it's a schooner," shouted dick, "and her lookout has seen us! the craft's lying-to, matey, and we'll be taken off this old hulk in a brace of shakes." "hoop-a-la!" shouted carl. chapter xii. a stunning surprise. as the overjoyed boys watched the trim little schooner, she came gracefully about, a boat was put over, and four men got into it and started for the wreck. "this is what i call luck!" exclaimed dick. "one day and two nights on the derelict, and now we're going to be taken off." "aber ve don'd ged some salfage," said carl, with a note of regret in his voice, "like vat ve vould do oof ve sailed der terelick indo new orleans." "i don't think we could ever sail her that far, even if we were able to get a jury rig on her. her rudder's gone, and to rig a jury rudder would be too much for us. besides, her seams have opened badly, and another storm would be likely to knock her to pieces." "den id's pedder dot ve be took off," said carl. as the boat was almost halfway between the schooner and the derelict, the boys gave over their talk to watch. they had not kept their gaze on the boat many minutes before they made out a figure on one of the thwarts that caused them to turn upon each other in blank astonishment. "it can't be dot der feller in der front part oof dot poat iss sixdy?" murmured carl. "haf i got der plind shtaggers or somet'ing?" "dowse me, mate," breathed dick, "it's either the old hunks, or his double." "i don'd pelieve in toubles like dot. id vas eider him or id vasn't him. vat you t'ink, tick?" "i'm a fiji if it ain't sixty," declared dick. "how could he be dere ven ve left him on der shdeamer?" "that's a hard one. this is sixty's old boat, and it's natural he should be coming back to her again. i tell you, carl, there's something queer in all this that we can't understand. belay a bit!" without pausing to answer the excited query carl threw after him, dick rushed for the hatchway leading into the 'tween-decks. he was out of sight for several minutes, and when he came up again he had a couple of the krag-jorgensens, and his pockets were sagging with cartridges. "vat you going to do mit dose t'ings?" demanded carl. "i'm going to make sixty keep a good offing until he tells us what his lay is," answered dick, decidedly. "oof dis is his poat den he's got a pedder righdt on her as ve haf." "possession is nine points of the law, and we have possession. there's something crooked about this craft. the manifest says nothing about firearms and she carries enough for a regiment. we'll hold that boat off for a while and make sure of square treatment for ourselves, whatever else we do. take one of the guns and fill the magazine, carl. after that, get down behind the rail." the boat was quite close, by that time, and the boys finished their preparations hurriedly and dropped to their knees behind the bulwarks. "halt!" shouted dick. "stay right where you are till we have a bit of a palaver." the man in the bow was captain sixty. there was now not the least doubt of it. the boys heard him mutter something very much like an oath and saw him get to his feet. the three men at the oars ceased pulling and held the boat steady. "you're the two kids that was with motor matt on the _santa maria_," shouted sixty. "what you doin' on that brig?" "trying to get somebody to pick us off," dick answered. "well, we seen your signal and that's what we've come to do, so why in thunder are you pullin' them guns on us?" "you can't fool me, old cut-and-slash!" answered dick. "that telegram of yours that my mate got in the hotel, by mistake, didn't give the position of this brig, did it? 'no wind and no drift.' that's what the telegram said. but that storm, the other night, blew her quite a distance across the gulf. you didn't take the _santa maria_ in order to get close to this wreck and give it a sizing, did you?" a perfect roar went up from sixty. "i knowed you was next to my game all the time," he whooped, irefully. "i wish i could have chucked you into the drink along with motor matt. confound that blasted submarine! if she hadn't come snoopin' along after us, motor matt wouldn't be where he could bother me none." for a thorough-going scoundrel, sixty was peculiarly artless in letting out facts of importance. this was the first intimation carl and dick had had that sixty was in any way concerned with matt's going overboard. the revelation took them both aback. "you heaved our old raggie over the rail, did you?" demanded dick, angrily. "yes," shouted sixty furiously, shaking a fist in the direction of the brig, "and i have been hoping that storm had cooked your goose. i've been lookin' for the brig in that schooner, following on acrost the gulf in the way the wind must have drove her from the bearin's given me in that telegram. i allowed you chaps knowed more about my business than i wanted you to." "we know you've got a cargo of arms and ammunition on the brig that's not down in the manifest." sixty yelled a frantic oath. "put down them guns," he bellowed. "we're comin' aboard." "not while we're able to use these krag-jorgensens," threatened dick. "we'll see about that." sixty turned to the sailors. "pull!" he ordered. "they're only makin' a bluff." the sailors began to pull toward the brig once more. dick saw there was nothing else for it but to open fire. "we've got to scare 'em off, carl," said he, in a low tone. "i'll do the shooting, and you lay by and watch." bang! a bullet whistled through the air, zipped its course between two of the sailors and threw up a little spurt of water far beyond the boat. the sailors, in a panic, stopped their rowing. sixty was raving like a wild man. he could say nothing, however, that would induce the men with him to come any nearer the brig. "the next bullet," shouted dick, "will come closer to you. we've got plenty of guns and plenty of ammunition, and you'll get your gruel if you come on." those in the rowboat held a brief consultation. in about two minutes the boat put about and started back to the schooner. carl jumped up on the rail and waved his hat. "ve vas too many for you," he taunted, in his characteristic fashion. "goot-py, olt sore-headt! meppy ve dake dose guns und ammunidions und der resdt oof der druck to new orleans und make some salfage money. how you like dot?" carl, when he sprang back to dick's side, was not so sure that it was a good thing to have the schooner sail away and leave them. "vat ve going to do on der terelick oof anodder shtorm hids us?" he asked. "i don't believe there'll be another storm for a few days, carl," answered dick, his face strangely troubled. "you don'd vas a vedder pureau, tick. how you know dot?" "i'm just guessing, that's all." "dot schooner must haf peen vaiding for der _sanda maria_, somevere oudt in der gulf." "that's about the way i figure it, carl. some one, just in from the gulf, sent that telegram to sixty giving him the location of the wreck. he got word to some one to have the schooner meet him near the steamer's track, and he was transferred. this must have been some time yesterday, after the storm. i'm a juggins, though, if i have any idea what the old shell-back's game is." "he drowed modor matt oferpoard, anyvay," growled carl, savagely, "und dot's pooty goot efitence, tick, dot der game don'd haf some bleasantness in id for us, hey?" "sixty would like to clear us off the slate, if he could. i shouldn't wonder if he was counting on saving this cargo for himself. it's an illegal cargo, if i know one when i see it, and the old shark is playing a ticklish game." "downsent ain'd in id, i bed you. he vouldn't do anyt'ing underhand for nodding. vy dit dot sixdy feller lie like vat he dit?" "he wanted to get us out of new orleans, i guess, and he thought that was the easiest way to do it. what do you think of that girl now, matey?" "i vas tisabbointed in miss harris," acknowledged carl, regretfully. "i vould nefer haf t'ought she vas dot kindt. she says t'ings dot vasn't der trut', like her uncle." "it was all cut and spliced. we tumbled into the bight of the rope like a lot of swabs, and sixty pulled his snare tight. if the submarine hadn't been handily by, matt might have drowned." "und oof der wreck hatn't peen close around, ve vould haf done der same. i dell you, tick, ve vas all in luck--aldough i ain'd saying but vat der luck mighdt be pedder as vat it iss. i hope no shtorm vill come undil anodder poat sails py und bicks us oop." "i can't understand that," muttered dick, his eyes on the schooner. "vat's going on?" asked carl. "they've taken sixty and the three with him aboard and the craft is making a slant in this direction. that doesn't look as though she was going to haul away." "some fellers are vorking in der bow oof der schooner," observed carl. "vat are dose fellers aboudt?" dick strained his eyes. as the schooner drew nearer, laying a course that would take her past the stern of the wreck at less than a cable's length, dick suddenly grabbed carl and rushed him along the deck and into the after cabin. "they're unlimbering a bow chaser!" he exclaimed. "vat's a pow shacer?" "a small cannon. sixty is going to try and shell us out." carl gasped. was it possible the reckless scoundrel would attempt such a high-handed proceeding? even as the boys stood staring at each other, there came a loud report, followed by a crashing _thump_ that made the derelict reel from end to end. dick looked out. "there goes the galley!" he exclaimed, grimly. "old sixty seems determined to make the wreck of his boat complete." chapter xiii. closing in. dick, as soon as he had spoken to carl, ran out of the cabin and took a hasty look over the side of the wreck. the schooner was now so close that he could see the men on her decks plainly. some were putting another charge in the small cannon at the bow, while several more were loading a similar cannon whose muzzle swung over the taffrail. "they're going to keep it up, matey," announced dick, as carl stole out to him. "pretty soon they'll put another shot into us." "meppy dey vas drying to shcare us oudt," returned carl. "oof sixdy vants to safe der cargo oof der prig he vouldn't send her to der pottom." there came another roar, this time from the cannon at the stern of the schooner. a round shot sailed over the top of the charthouse and dropped into the sea, far to leeward, sending up a small geyser of water. "ve can shtandt all dot kindt oof shooding dot dey gif us," said carl. "they'll not give us that kind right along, mate. i don't think they'll put any shells into us between wind and water, but they'll bang away at the deck houses." by then the schooner had crossed the stern of the wreck and was making ready to tack about and come up on the other side. "they're going to put a few shots into us from starboard," hazarded dick. "couldn't ve pick off some oof dose fellers mit der rifles?" queried carl. "we could," replied dick, "but we're not going to. we've got the right of this, now, and if we shot anybody we'd be in the wrong almost as much as sixty. we'll let the old scoundrel play his hand, and see what it amounts to." the boys could see that those on the schooner had loaded both guns. two men stood by ready to fire them, but neither was discharged. "vy don'd dey shoot?" asked carl. "vat vas dey hanging pack for?" "ah!" muttered dick, "they're getting a couple of boats in the water." "vat does dot mean?" "they're going to close in. get your rifle, carl. from the looks of things, mate, we're going to have hot work." "ve don'd surrenter?" "i'm a britisher, and i don't know the word!" answered dick. "me, neider," said carl. "i vas american mit a dutch accent, aber i don'd gif in to dot gang. led dem shood deir olt headts off." "our heads will be the ones they'll try to shoot off." rifles in hand, the boys watched the boats as they struck the water. five men tumbled into each of them, and the men were all armed. dick laughed softly. "we're making them take a lot of trouble, mate," said he. "oof ve hat a gun like vat dey got, py shinks, ve vould gif dem as mooch fighdt as dey vanted. ah, ha! der poats iss shtarting dis vay, und vone iss coming py der front oof der wreck und der odder py der rear end. now vat you t'ink iss going to habben?" "we're about at the end of our rope, carl," said dick. "those boats are going to board us under cover of a couple of shots from the big guns. the outlook is getting dark. this way! we'll get down the main hatch into the 'tween decks. after the broadside, we'll come up again and fight off the boats." it was not a time for words. the gunners on the schooner were preparing to fire, and if dick and carl got out of the way they would have to hurry. the main hatch was open, just as dick had left it when he had gone down after the rifles. carl, who was following dick, had no more than got his feet on the ladder, when there were two smashing reports, coming so close together that they sounded almost as one. dick, at the time, was standing on the ladder, up to his knees in water, urging carl to hurry. the firing drowned his words. instantly there was a splintering crash, and the wreck rocked and heaved as though it would break apart. but dick ferral was not thinking of the derelict, just then. his every thought was for carl. the dutch boy had pitched forward, the upper part of his body lying half over the hatch coaming. "carl!" cried dick, frantically. there was no answer. carl's dangling feet swung backward and forward with the swaying of the wreck. dick, his heart in his throat, leaped up the ladder, bounded out on the deck, lifted carl in his arms and carried him away from the hatch. there was a smear of red on carl's forehead, his face was deathly white and his eyes closed. one of the cannon balls had knocked a hole in the bulwarks of the brig and scattered splinters all over that part of the boat. carl, undoubtedly, had been struck by one of the flying fragments. kneeling at his chum's side, dick laid a hand on his breast, then felt of his wrist. what he learned reassured him. hurrying to the galley he got what was left of a kettle of fresh water, ran back with it, tore a strip from the piece of canvas with which he had signaled the schooner, and began bathing carl's forehead. there was an ugly gash in the temple. so far as dick could discover, however, the splinter had not done any serious damage. "here they are!" yelled a hoarse voice. "we've downed one of 'em!" dick started up. from forward and aft men were climbing over the derelict's side and rushing toward the main hatch. quick as a wink he caught up one of the krag-jorgensens, placed himself over carl and brought the gun to his shoulder. sixty was bearing down on dick, and at his back were two swarthy sailors who had the appearance of mexicans, or spaniards. "sheer off!" shouted dick, menacingly, pointing the rifle full at captain sixty. "lay a finger on me or my mate and i'll shoot." there was that in the boy's eyes which told of resolute determination, and sixty and the others drew to an abrupt halt. "put down that gun, you young fool!" ordered sixty, angrily. "all we wanted was to get on this brig. you've made a fine mess of it, i must say." "you've got on the brig," returned dick, steadily, "but you haven't captured us, yet. leave us alone--that's my advice to you." "there's a chap on the schooner that's a halfway doctor," said sixty. "don't you want him to look after your friend?" "we're not going on the schooner, captain sixty, and i tell you flat that before long you're going to answer for your villainous work of the last few days. what kind of a pirate are you, anyhow?" "this is my boat," blustered sixty, "and i've got the right to take her. you was lame in tryin' to keep me off. it was you two that first began usin' guns." "but it was you that lured us aboard the _santa maria_! and it was you that threw motor matt off the steamer! why shouldn't we use guns when we saw you coming for us? you're a lawless scoundrel, and if you had what was coming you'd be swinging from the yardarm of a man-o'-war! i wish there was a yankee fighting ship in these waters! you'd have short shrift to your deserts, captain jim sixty!" "it's easy enough to blow," scowled sixty, "but your talk don't amount to nothin'. i'm on my own deck, and that makes me high cockalorum. drop that gun, i tell you, before we lay you on the deck alongside your mate." "drop me on the deck!" shouted dick, recklessly. "keep up your lawlessness, if you dare!" dick swerved his eyes a little to get a fleeting glance of the nine men who had boarded the wreck with sixty. "what sort of swabs are you?" he cried. "don't you know the risk you are taking in doing the dirty work for a ruffian like sixty? he abandoned the brig--left her to her fate--and now the rest of you can pick him up and slant away. i'll stay here with my mate, and take care of him, but we'll neither of us set a foot on your pirate schooner!" dick was so wrought up that he would have defied an army if one had been mustered against him. he was hopelessly outnumbered, and there could have been but one result had events been allowed to take their course. but the unexpected happened, and it happened just then when the brave ferral, standing over the form of his unconscious chum, was defying sixty and his men to do their worst. "ahoy, the brig!" the faint hail came from the schooner. "ahoy!" roared sixty, turning and making a trumpet of his hands. "look out for the submarine!" sixty's hands fell from his lips and he gave a jump for the side of the brig. the rest of the men ran with him. for an instant something like panic laid hold of the entire party. dick, thrilled with a wild feeling of hope, rushed for the battered bulwarks of the wreck--and stood there, gasping with astonishment. within fifty feet of the brig, bow on, lay the _grampus_. there was not a sign of life about her, but there she lay, silent, menacing, a thing of power fraught with deadly peril for the lawless men on the wreck. sixty, regaining his wits, gave vent to a fierce oath and jerked a musket from the hands of one of the sailors. he fired, but the bullet glanced harmlessly from the rounded steel deck of the submarine. the next moment the top of the conning tower began lifting slowly. chapter xiv. the "grampus" gets a clue. for a few minutes matt and captain nemo, jr., stared at the overturned whaleboat. the captain read the dread suspicions that were passing through the young motorist's mind. "courage, my lad," said he, kindly. "don't give up, yet." "what else is there to hope for?" asked matt. "dick and carl were in that boat, and they were not able to keep it from filling and turning turtle. if that is what happened, then----" matt could not finish. for a moment all the courage was taken out of him. "if the worst has happened to your friends, matt," said the captain, gravely, "then this man sixty is directly, or indirectly, responsible for it. but cheer up. we both know what a resourceful fellow ferral is, and that carl is full of pluck and energy. i can't believe that they went down in that storm, even with the evidence of the overturned whaleboat to make us think to the contrary. i'll have cassidy up and we'll draw closer to the boat and get a better look at her." with cassidy on deck, armed with a boathook, the _grampus_ was driven close alongside the boat. with the boathook, the mate was able to turn the boat partly over, giving those on the submarine a glimpse of her broken bulwarks. "ah!" cried captain nemo, jr. "the whaleboat was struck by something--perhaps by some ship. in that event, the boys may have been taken out of the boat, and be as safe, now, as we are." "what's to be done, captain?" asked matt. "i don't feel like leaving these waters until i learn something more definite regarding dick and carl, but i hardly see how we're going to learn anything by cruising around in this vicinity. if the whaleboat was stove by a ship, and carl and dick were taken aboard, then by now they must be a good way from this part of the gulf." "it won't do any harm to cruise around here for a day or two, anyhow," replied the captain. "meanwhile," said matt, "captain sixty is getting away on the _santa maria_." "then he'll have to get away," returned the captain. "he's only suspected of filibustering, and my orders were simply to keep track of him and discover what he was doing. we'll forget about sixty and think only of dick and carl." from that moment the _grampus_ began an aimless wandering through the waters of that part of the gulf. they were delayed three hours, shortly after noon, by a mishap to the gasoline motor. the trouble was too much for gaines, and matt was called on to locate the difficulty and repair it. this was a good thing for matt, inasmuch as it drew his thoughts from moody conjectures concerning his chums and gave him something important to do in the line of work that he liked best. an hour after the motor was in working order again, and the _grampus_ was traveling along at a good clip, cassidy, who was on the lookout, raised a smudge of smoke on the horizon. the steamer was coming from the south, and was evidently bound for some port to the north, either mobile or new orleans. with a desire to speak to her, on the possible chance of learning something about dick and carl, the submarine altered her course so as to intersect that of the steamer. matt, nemo, jr., and cassidy were on the deck when the _grampus_ had come close enough to get the steamer in full view. "great guns!" exclaimed cassidy, as his eyes traveled over the vessel's trim lines, "it's the united states cruiser _seminole_. i know her pretty near as well as i do the _grampus_." "bring up the signal flags and code book, mr. cassidy," ordered the captain; "also the megaphone. we'll get into communication with the captain of the cruiser. even if he can't tell us anything about dick and carl, we can talk with him a little about jim sixty." cassidy was soon back with signal flags, code book and megaphone. while he gave his attention to running up the flags at the short staff of the _grampus_, matt handled the code book. "have you seen anything of two men who were lost in a small boat during the storm last night?" this was the first question spelled out by the flags. with the binoculars, captain nemo, jr., read the answer. it was "no." "wish to communicate with you at closer range," the flags of the submarine next signaled. "we'll heave to," answered the war ship. "come up under our lee." cassidy dropped the flags through the conning tower hatch, then descended to reach the push buttons and send word to the engine room. gracefully the submarine rounded the stern of the _seminole_ in a wide arc and came to a halt within thirty feet of the big vessel on the starboard side. "what boat is that?" came from the bridge of the cruiser. "the submarine _grampus_, captain nemo, jr., out of new orleans and acting under orders from the government." "what orders?" "to watch a suspected filibuster named james sixty." "we've been looking for him and his brig, the _dolphin_. the _dolphin_ is said to have been wrecked and is reported as a derelict, dangerous to commerce. we have orders to examine her, if possible, and she can be found, and then to destroy her. where is sixty?" "he left new orleans under suspicious circumstances aboard the fruiter _santa maria_, ostensibly bound for belize." "he's not bound for belize. if he's doing anything, he's hunting for the _dolphin_, hoping to salvage her cargo or else blow her up and send her to the bottom before any naval officer has a chance to look her over. we're cruising around to see if we can locate the derelict." "and we're trying to find a couple of young fellows who were torn adrift from the _santa maria_ during the storm, last night." "any success?" "found the whaleboat, stove and floating upside down on the water." "then you'd better give up," was the curt remark that closed the conversation. the cruiser got under headway again and slanted off on a new course. "you see how it is, captain," said matt. "even those on the cruiser think our search is useless." "we'll keep it up, nevertheless," was the captain's dogged response. "that's what i'm anxious to have you do, for i don't leave this part of the gulf until i know something more." night came on, and the _grampus_ was still running circles in the waters of the gulf. the sea had quieted down to an abnormal smoothness, and the submarine, with matt at the engine to relieve gaines, went on her aimless wanderings. at midnight gaines took the engine and gave matt an opportunity to secure a little rest. matt was up for breakfast, and while he, and captain nemo, jr., and gaines were eating, they heard a muffled detonation, as it might have been of a blast from a great distance. matt and the captain hurried to the deck, where they found that the mysterious noise had likewise claimed the attention of cassidy. "what did it sound like to you, cassidy?" asked the captain. "like a cannon, sir," was the reply, "but it was a powerful ways off." "that's how it sounded to me." "what do you think it is?" inquired matt. "at a guess," replied the captain, "i should say the cruiser has found the derelict and is trying to break her up. we'll alter our course and see what we can discover." just as the _grampus_ was put on a new tack, there came another of the muffled crashes, which served to give them a further clue as to the location of the firing. gaines was told to speed up the motor to the top notch, and the submarine began to cleave her way through the water at her best speed. presently cassidy, who was using the binoculars, declared that he could see a sail. this compelled the captain to alter his views as to the cause of the firing. if there was a sail, then it was impossible that the cruiser was struggling to destroy the derelict. just about then another roar of cannon was heard, this time so weirdly distinct that there could be no doubt as to what had caused the report. "that's cannon, all right," muttered cassidy, "but why is a schooner doing the shooting?" "we'll get inside," said the captain, "and submerge until the periscope ball is just awash. it may be well to come into this thing cautiously." all those on deck descended to the periscope room. here, as once before, the captain and matt kept their eyes on the mirror of the periscope table. slowly but clearly a schooner came into sight, and also the wreck of a two-masted brig. "that brig is the derelict," remarked the captain, "and it looks as though the schooner is trying to sink her." "mighty queer to find a schooner carrying cannon," observed cassidy. "that's right, too," said the captain, plainly puzzled. "there are two boats alongside the wreck," said matt, excitedly, "and men are climbing over the bulwarks! what does that mean, captain?" "right you are, matt," muttered the captain, "and i'm in a quandary. we'll come up between the schooner and the brig and investigate before taking any decided action." on and on the _grampus_ glided, unseen until, when she had attained the position she desired, she rose upward with a flurry of waves creaming from her deck plates. from the elevated top of the periscope there was a view of the brig's dismantled deck; and matt and the captain could see, as plainly as though they were on the derelict, dick ferral, gun at his shoulder, standing over the form of carl. and captain sixty's bulky form was equally clear, as well as the figures of the rabble at his heels. it was an astounding sight for those in the submarine, but it was a sight that left no time for useless words. "cassidy," cried captain nemo, jr., with a snap of his lean jaws, "go to the torpedo room, take speake with you and slip one of the whiteheads into the port tube. after that, stand by for orders." "ay, ay, sir," answered cassidy, and quickly vanished. "i'm going up in the tower, matt," said the captain. "you can crowd in to the lunettes and watch what goes on." then the captain made his way up the ladder with matt tight at his heels. hardly had matt got his eyes to the lunette when a ringing thump echoed from the deck plates. "a rifle shot!" exclaimed nemo, jr. "i'll just warn those rascals what they're up against." as he finished speaking, he pulled the lever that secured the hatch and pushed the iron disk slowly upward. chapter xv. an ultimatum. "that will do, jim sixty!" shouted captain nemo, jr., the moment he had got head and shoulders over the rim of the tower. with a burst of profanity, sixty leveled the rifle at the captain. "what's to hinder me from puttin' a bullet through you, right where you are, you meddlin' hound?" he shouted. "several things, sixty," was the calm response. "in the first place, i don't think you're a good enough marksman; and, in the second place, i don't think you'll do anything rash when i tell you that we're ready to put a torpedo into the brig and blow you and the wreck out of water." that was a blow in the face for sixty. he staggered back, dropped his rifle, and cast longing eyes at the two boats moored to the brig's side. "you wouldn't dare do a thing like that!" he cried. "why wouldn't i?" asked the captain, casually. "well, for one thing, if you blowed us up, motor matt's two pards would go with us. you ain't takin' no chances with----" "the schooner! the schooner!" clamored those on the deck of the brig. through the lunette matt could see the schooner, with all sail set, hustling off across the ocean, showing as clean a pair of heels as any sailing craft could. "come back here, blast you!" howled sixty, trumpeting the words through his hands. but, if any one on the schooner heard, they made no response. the craft kept to her course, hauling up every stitch of canvas possible. "we've got her scared," remarked captain nemo, jr., "for her skipper knows that if we could sink you with a torpedo we could also sink her." "what d'you want?" demanded sixty. "we want you and your men as prisoners," replied the captain. "if motor matt's friend on the deck, there, is badly hurt, you'll all be held to answer for it. not only that, but we want to examine the brig's cargo----" "no need of that, captain," sung out dick. "i've got her log and her manifest. there's enough guns and ammunition down below to arm a regiment--and they're not down in the papers." with a swirling roar of rage, sixty sprang toward dick. the latter stepped away quickly. "stay right where you are, sixty!" shouted the captain. "make another move like that and you'll do it at your peril. if those men with you know when they're well off, they'll help dick ferral get his chum into one of the boats and bring him over here to us." "they'll do nothin' o' the kind!" shouted sixty. "if you blow us up, you're goin' to blow up motor matt's friends along with us." but the nine men with sixty were of another way of thinking. their only hope had been the schooner, and, now that she had mysteriously taken to flight, their next best plan was to fall in with the desires of their captor--the gray-haired man in the submarine. together the nine swarthy sailors started toward carl. sixty endeavored to drive them back, but they pointed revolvers at him and brandished dangerous-looking knives. baffled, and held at bay by superior numbers, sixty could only watch like an enraged panther while carl was picked up and lowered by means of a rope into one of the boats. dick, before he dropped over the side, ran into the cabin after the log and manifest. then, while dick was getting down the side of the derelict, another unexpected thing happened. a trim launch, manned by six of uncle sam's sailors and carrying four marines and a lieutenant, shot in between the brig and the submarine. "back, all!" shouted the lieutenant, and six oars pushed against the rushing water in perfect unison, bringing the launch to a halt. "what's going on here?" asked the lieutenant, standing up, his amazed eyes wandering from the rowboat in which were dick and carl, then to the panic-stricken men on the derelict, and finally to the submarine. captain nemo, jr., and matt had climbed from the conning tower to the deck of the _grampus_, in readiness to give dick a hand with carl. "they're threatenin' to blow us out of water with a torpedo," howled sixty. the trap had been sprung, but the filibuster was hoping to brazen his way through to freedom. but it was a forlorn hope. "where did you come from, sixty?" demanded the lieutenant. "i left new orleans on the fruiter, _santa maria_," replied sixty, "goin' on a hunt for this here brig which was reported somewhere in the track of steamers for central america. a schooner from belize was waitin' for me, an' yesterday we sighted the schooner from the steamer and i was put aboard. then we went lookin' for the brig." "where's the schooner now?" inquired the lieutenant. "she slipped away like a singed cat, a little while ago, and she's purty nigh hull down." "she left you and the rest of those men, together with the two boats, behind?" "that's the how of it." "then it must be that she saw us coming. if she'd been engaged in honest business, sixty, she'd have stayed right here. but she didn't stay. you're treed, my man, and if there are not arms and ammunition in that old hulk, i'm no prophet." "there are, sir," called dick. "i've been in the hold and there are plenty of krag-jorgensens down there, and ammunition, too." "who are you?" demanded the lieutenant. "i and my mate, here, got adrift from the _santa maria_ during that storm, night before last. we've been on the wreck nearly two nights and a day. ran into her in the dark, caught a trailing rope and climbed aboard." "these are the lads you were looking for, captain?" asked the lieutenant, turning to captain nemo, jr. "yes," was the reply. "then you're in luck to find them. what was that shooting a while ago? it was that that brought us in this direction." "sixty and a boat's crew," explained dick, "tried to get on the brig. my mate and i held 'em off with rifles, because we knew him for a treacherous swab who had thrown our raggie, motor matt, over the rail of the _santa maria_----" "did sixty do that?" cut in the officer, sternly. "yes," spoke up matt. "go on," proceeded the officer, laconically, turning to dick. "well," went on dick, "when sixty found he couldn't board the brig, he went back to the schooner. they had a bow chaser, and another small cannon over the stern. they let drive at us, then rounded in on the other side and let drive again, covering the movements of two boats' crews who laid us aboard. the last shot splintered the bulwarks and brought down my chum here." "how badly is he hurt, dick?" queried matt. "stunned, that's all." "a nice sort of schooner that is," muttered the officer, staring off to sea. "if we hadn't had such important work here we might have followed her and compelled her to heave to. you say there are rifles and ammunition in the brig?" he added, to dick. "yes; and they don't appear on the manifest." "how do you know?" "here's the manifest and the log." dick held the documents out. at a word from the officer the launch was driven alongside the rowboat, and the papers changed hands. "up on deck," the lieutenant said to the marines, "disarm those scoundrels and make prisoners of them. look well after sixty. two of you boys come with me." two of the sailors dropped their oars and there was a scramble for the brig's deck. dick, dropping down on a thwart, picked up two of the oars and pulled the boat in which he and carl found themselves over to the submarine. "i'd about given you up, old chap!" exclaimed matt as he seized dick's hand. "there was a time, old ship," replied dick, "when i'd about given myself up. but all's well that ends well. if carl proves to be only stunned, as i feel sure he will, there's no great damage done for all sixty's treacherous planning." carl was taken below, matt and dick lifting him through the conning-tower hatch, down the ladder, and then making him comfortable on the locker in the periscope room. chapter xvi. "off with the old, and on with the new." carl had been unconscious for a long time, and it was two hours before matt and dick, working assiduously, succeeded in reviving him. by that time, many things had happened. when carl lifted himself suddenly to a sitting position on the locker, he stared dazedly into the faces of his two chums. "how dit you come on der prig, matt?" he asked. "we're not on the brig, carl," replied matt, "but in the periscope room of the _grampus_." "dot's a funny pitzness! der lasdt i knew i vas going down der hatch to ged oudt oof der vay oof der shooding. den someding hit me, und i vent to shleep. vat vas dot vat hit me, tick?" "it was a splinter, matey," replied dick. "a solid shot tore up the bulwarks of the brig and you were knocked over with a piece of wood." "i t'ought id vas der site oof a house. how long ago vas dot?" "about three hours, i should say." "shimineddy! dree hours!" carl put up his hands and felt of the bandage about his head. "how do you feel, carl?" asked matt. "pooty goot," was the answer; "pedder as some fellers vat vas oudt oof der running for dree hours, i bed you. vere dit der supmarine come from, matt?" matt explained at some length. carl's wonder grew as he listened. "say, tick," said he, "matt und der odder fellers has peen doing somet'ing der same as you und me. hey?" "i should say so!" exclaimed dick. "if this submarine hadn't bobbed up just when she did, you and i would have been in a jolly hard row of stumps, matey." just then a tremendous roar was heard, and the submarine shook in every part. "vat id iss?" cried carl, showing symptoms of panic. "iss dot schooner come pack?" "no, carl," laughed matt, "the schooner made a get-away. that's the cruiser _seminole_ doing that firing." "vat iss she firing ad?" "at your brig. the boat is a derelict, and dangerous to shipping. the cruiser is breaking her up." "dere vas some salfages to be got oudt oof dot prig," mourned carl, "und now id vill all go py der fishes. oof dot poat couldt haf peen got to port----" "which she couldn't, matey," put in dick. "the pounding that schooner gave her wrenched her badly." "dit dose fellers in der poats ged on der prig?" asked carl, harking back to the last thing he remembered. "well, i should say so!" answered dick. "sixty, and nine other flatfoots." "dot makes sixdy-nine," bubbled carl, happy, now that it was all over. "vat pecome oof dem?" "they were taken to the cruiser and will be carried to the nearest port and tried for their criminal deeds." "pully! dot vas pedder as i t'ought!" "the officers on the cruiser have a clear case against sixty. the lieutenant who went aboard the brig saw the rifles and ammunition with his own eyes. he had the manifest and the log, and that settled sixty's case for him." "i vonder vere iss sixdy's niece, miss harris?" carl's sentimental thoughts would return to the girl. "belay, on that!" growled dick. "the girl fooled us and got us into a pretty mess of trouble. sheer off on that subject." "she wasn't sixty's niece, but his daughter," explained matt. "and she was no more a relative of captain nemo, carl, than you or i." "too pad, too pad! she has gone to honturas, eh? vell, i vish i vas dere to hear vat she has to say for herseluf. meppy she couldt oxblain." dick was disgusted. "vere iss gaptain nemo, jr.?" was carl's next question. "a boat took him off to the cruiser for a talk with the captain," said matt. at that moment some one could be heard springing to the rounded deck of the submarine. "all right, captain?" called a voice. "all right, lieutenant," answered the voice of captain nemo, jr. "much obliged to you." a few moments later, the captain came down the tower hatch. "all right, carl?" he asked, reaching out his hand. "fine und tanty," answered carl, grasping the hand cordially, "only i vas a leedle mixed oop mit all vat has habbened." "we were all a little mixed for a while," laughed captain nemo, jr. "but everything is as clear as day, now. sixty will go back to new orleans and have a trial. i don't know what will be done to the rascals with him, for they are from central america, and will probably claim the protection of their own country. the graceless scoundrels! they belong to a pack of revolutionists, and sixty was doing a little filibustering. the suspicions of the government officials were entirely correct. through the aid of motor matt and his friends, the cruiser was able to bag sixty with the goods on, as the saying is." "did you have a talk with some of the prisoners, captain?" queried matt. "yes, and a number of interesting things developed. sixty and his men, having cleared successfully from new orleans with an illegal cargo, ran into such rough weather in the gulf that they were compelled to abandon the brig, fearing every moment that she would founder. sixty and his crew got away in the boats and were picked up by a vessel that carried them to tampa. while sixty was in tampa reports began to come in regarding a dangerous derelict. the wreck answered the description of the _dolphin_, and sixty cabled to the schooner, at some point in central america, to look up the derelict and report her position to him. the schooner reported the latitude and longitude of the derelict from galveston, and her skipper received an answer from sixty telling him to lay by in the gulf along the course of the _santa maria_ so as to take him off. after that sixty and those on the schooner were to try and work the brig, in jury rig, to a mexican port, the schooner first taking off the arms and ammunition. in case the brig couldn't be saved, her contraband cargo was to be thrown overboard so as to avoid discovery by the naval authorities. "motor matt and his friends jumped into the game when that telegram was received from galveston. you all know how that worked out. i think this is about the strangest cruise the _grampus_ ever made--although, quite likely, she is in for one equally as strange." "vat's dot?" queried carl, pricking up his ears. matt and dick were equally interested. "i have heard something on the cruiser that makes it advisable for me to proceed to central america. the submarine can easily go that far without returning to the nearest port for fresh supplies. i am under sealed orders, and have only a hint as to what is required of me, but i imagine that the new work has something to do with the business that has just been accomplished. the question is, do you boys want to go along? you all, especially motor matt, will be of invaluable assistance, but i would not want that to influence you one way or the other." there was a moment of silence. "if you do not think you can go," went on captain nemo, jr., with an under-note of disappointment in his voice, "i am to lay alongside the cruiser and put you aboard of her. she will be busy with the brig for the rest of the day." "how long is the cruise to be, captain?" queried matt. "that is something i cannot tell," was the reply. "to central america?" asked dick. "yes." "what part?" "i don't know, and will not find out until i open my sealed orders. of course, i don't belong to the navy, but this submarine, which is one of the most successful long-cruising boats ever launched, places me in a position to be of use to uncle sam. i have therefore placed the boat and myself and crew at my country's service. if we perform well our mission, then i shall be able to dispose of the _grampus_, and all my own individual patents, for a very large sum. in view of that, and my firm belief that the next cruise will be a complete success, i can offer you lads a fancy figure to go with me. what do you say?" "think you can stand it, carl?" asked matt. "shtand id?" cried carl. "vy, bard, i vas as goot as efer." "what's your word, dick?" asked matt. "i'll sign the articles," said dick. "and so will i," added matt. "good!" exclaimed the captain, highly pleased. "cassidy," he called to the mate, who was below, "we'll lay a course south by west, as fast as we can go. we're off for strange waters, and something worth while i am confident." "off with the old and on with the new," laughed matt. "it doesn't take us long, eh, fellows?" the end. the next number ( ) will contain motor matt's quest or, three chums in strange waters. in the depths--out of the jaws of death--sealed orders--the american consul--motor matt's forbearance--"on the jump"--the landing party--carl in trouble--a friend in need--strange revelations--one chance in ten--by a narrow margin--waiting for something to happen--motor matt's great play--on the way to belize--a dash of tabasco. motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction new york, june , . terms to motor stories mail subscribers. (_postage free._) single copies or back numbers, c. each. months c. months c. months $ . one year . copies one year . copy two years . =how to send money=--by post-office or express money-order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. at your own risk if sent by currency, coin, or postage-stamps in ordinary letter. =receipts=--receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. if not correct you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once. ormond g. smith, } george c. smith, } _proprietors_. street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york city. the chicken-hearted tenderfoot. "yah! call yourself a cowpuncher? and you can't even rope a yearling colt, let alone do anything else! take my tip, kid, and get back east by the quickest route; we don't want the like of you in montana. there's too many good men round to make us have to keep you, doing nothing for your board. get off the ranch!" the foreman of the cup and spur ranch, never a man to spare the feelings of those under him, this time surpassed himself in expressing his contempt for the youngster who had earned his displeasure. the object of his scorn, a fresh-looking lad of some eighteen years of age, returned the foreman's irate and withering glance with one full of resentment, but entirely devoid of fear. "i told you i'd never worked on the ranges before," he said angrily, "and you took me on under that knowledge. i never said i could rope a colt, and now i've found out i can't--yet. do you expect a man to do everything for a miserable fifteen dollars a month? oh, all right; i'll get off the place, and be mighty glad to do so, too!" the foreman had made a threatening gesture, as though he meant to teach this stripling that his reputation as the bully of the district was not unfounded. "so i've got the bounce, eh?" muttered ted macbain to his horse, as he slowly rode away from the scene. "well, perhaps the foreman's right, and i'm no good on a ranch. guess i'll have to get back to the old farm in minnesota. just at present town's the place for me to make." and he headed for elk creek, some twenty miles away. "wish i hadn't made such a fool of myself with that rope, just the same," he told himself. "how the mischief do they make the beastly thing go where they want it?" he unslung his lariat as he spoke to himself, and, shaking its coils loose, swung the noose wide above his head, fixing his eye on the stump of a tree he was passing. his horse was traveling at a brisk canter, but he measured the distance with his eye, and let the rope go on its way. it fell fair and true over the stump, but he forgot to pull the horse in. the result was that he felt a great jerk at his saddle, and the horse, shying, threw him violently to the ground. he was half stunned by his fall, and he did not open his eyes until a dim speck on the horizon was all that could be seen of the animal he had been bestriding. to catch the brute looked impossible, but as it was heading for the town, and as it was likely it would be caught there, ted did not feel any anxiety on its behalf. the remaining ten miles would have to be walked. he had time to think things over for the next two or three hours. to be candid, he had not been an absolute success in montana, the land where daredevil horsemanship and an utter disregard for human life are the main essentials. he would have been far better off to have stayed at home in minnesota, where his father was a prosperous farmer. but the confinement of that life jarred on him to such an extent that he felt himself compelled to strike out for fresh scenes. a passionate love for horses caused him to go to the horse-ranching state, where he thought he would be able to give his passion full satisfaction. oh, what a disillusionment! he found that to treat horses kindly on the ranges, where the animals, for the most part, had never looked on man as anything but a cruel enemy, did not serve to win their love. he could not bring himself to administer the brutal treatment he saw other cowboys deliver, and was not afraid of expressing his displeasure at their methods. this earned for him the sobriquet of "the chicken-hearted tenderfoot," which name became a byword on the plains. his most vehement denunciations of their behavior only served to create mirth among the others. the foreman of the cup and spur ranch--the fifth ranch in six months on which ted had tried his fortunes--was loudest of all in his expressions of contempt, giving the youngster the most objectionable jobs to perform out of pure malice. when he was told to throw a year-old colt that had quite won the young fellow's heart, as all colts did, he had had so little heart for the task that the scene which opens this story was the result. "guess ranching isn't in my line," he told himself, as he trudged along the prairie under the blazing, withering sun of an exceptionally hot august. "it's all right to raise colts by hand, but to knock 'em about as they do here goes for me too strongly." it was very hot, as he soon began to discover, as the miles slowly passed under his feet. he grew thirsty; the alkali dust, resultant of a three weeks' drought, parched his throat until he decided that water was the only thing in his life he needed at that moment. there was no stream at hand. the only habitation near was a shack. he made for this, and as he came closer he saw a well and bucket. as is the custom, he did not trouble to inquire whether he might be allowed to partake of the well's contents, but let down the bucket, and drew himself a quantity of the cheerful, refreshing fluid, and drank his fill. he poured the remainder of the pailful on the ground. as he did so something glittered at his feet, something that was not water. he stooped and picked it up. it was an american ten-dollar gold piece. perhaps it was none of his business, and perhaps he should have been content to take the coin to the house and leave it there, so that the owner would see it. but something recurred to him; he remembered that he had felt a slight jerk as he hauled up the bucket, and his curiosity was aroused. he glanced down the well; he saw that a ladder was set there. he climbed down until he was close to the surface of the water. there, set in a hole that had evidently been purposely cut out for the purpose, was a bag full of coins similar to the one that he had hauled up to the top. a slight rent in one corner, through which a coin was peeping, showed him how his bucket had caused one to drop in. he banished all further idea of considering himself inquisitive. "there's something rocky about this," he said. "no one would hide gold down a well if there wasn't something up. there's a bank at elk creek; why wasn't it put there?" he climbed to the surface of the ground again. that there was no one around was apparent; the noise he had made would have been sure to attract any one who had been in the house. his curiosity was now fully aroused. he thought nothing of entering the shack, and of examining its contents. he turned everything upside down in his search, but nothing that would go to confirm any of his half-aroused suspicions could he see. he was on the point of resuming his journey when a loose board in the floor creaked under his foot. he lifted it, to expose a small cavity, down which he felt with his hand. something cold and hard met his fingers, which he withdrew. it was a branding iron. that would not have struck him as being at all out of the way if a casual glance had not shown him that the iron bore a cup and spur--the brand of the ranch from which he had just been discharged. he was puzzled. he knew that all the irons that belonged to that ranch were in the charge of the foreman, being delivered to the branders at each round-up. no man was allowed to carry one except on these occasions, and the next round-up would not take place for more than a month. "can't make head or tail of it," muttered the lad. "is it that---- by thunder, i have it! there are horse thieves around here! they must have started their work since last round-up, and it hasn't been found out yet. they've been stealing unbranded colts, and been putting a mark on 'em. but why should they use the cup and spur? it gets me, sure." and that was as far as he could get to a solution of the problem. * * * * * "i don't know whether there's anything in it, but i found this iron in a shack about five miles north of here," said ted. "seems to me there's something fishy about it, though i might be mistaken." he was speaking to the sheriff at elk creek, who took the iron and examined it closely. no light of understanding dawned on that worthy's face for the moment. "guess it must be an old one that's been thrown away," was all he could suggest. "it doesn't look too old," returned the lad. "it's new enough to make a pretty good brand yet, anyway. looks to me as though it wasn't being used fairly. hobson, the foreman of the cup and spur, should have all these locked up at this time of the year. have there been any horses shipped away from this district lately?" "why, yes; the cup and spur outfit sent a bunch of spring colts east only six weeks ago. struck me as they were rather young to go, but i didn't trouble about it. 'twas none of my business." "but mr. knowles, the boss of that ranch, doesn't believe in shipping away so soon." the sheriff began to understand. "i see what you're driving at now, kid," he said, "and i'm beginning to agree with you. those colts that were shipped away weren't cup and spur stock at all! they were rustled and branded with that mark, so's suspicion wouldn't fall on any one. no one would believe knowles capable of stealing, and no questions would be asked." "well, that point's pretty well settled," went on ted. "next thing is, who's rustling 'em?" "got me again," said the sheriff laconically. "well, what do you say if we do a little work? i've got an idea that may be worth something. let's go back to the cup and spur ranch and make inquiries." the sheriff complied with him. together they rode southward, ted having found his horse when he arrived at elk creek. the first man they met on their arrival at their destination was hobson. "what?" shouted the foreman. "back again already? didn't i tell you to get out?" "you did," said ted coolly. "also, you said something about my being no good on a ranch. what do you say to a foreman who leaves branding irons lying about when they ought to be safely put away?" hobson started. "what are you getting at?" he asked with a grin, but with an uneasy glance at sheriff walton. "who's leaving irons about?" ted produced the article. "this should be in your care," he said, showing it. hobson held out his hand eagerly. ted drew the iron out of reach. "no," he said; "i think we'll keep it now. the sheriff wants it for evidence should anything crop up. it's my belief that next round-up'll show a few things in the way of colts being missed." hobson paled, his face working nervously. "give it to me," he shouted, with a poor attempt at anger. ted's lips curled scornfully. "it's not mine to give," he said. "ask walton here; perhaps he will, though i don't think so. by the way, he says a carload of colts were shipped off lately, bearing the brand of this ranch. know anything about them?" a sound like a snarl burst from the foreman's lips. he whipped his hand to his belt, but ted had him covered with his own revolver first. "don't get mad like that," he said. "i only asked you a question. come, now! put your hand away from your belt! you're not my boss now, i'll have you know!" hobson complied, and allowed walton to relieve him of his weapon. "we won't do anything over this," said ted, as he prepared to take his departure. "but we'll watch things a bit for the next few weeks. perhaps you'll see that the chicken-hearted tenderfoot isn't such a fool as you take him for." he could not resist the temptation of dealing this thrust. for the next few days a careful watch was kept on jake hobson. the sheriff had come to share ted's suspicions, which were briefly that the foreman had more than a little to do with horse thieving. but no proof could be brought forward; the only thing to do was to wait for another haul to be made, catch the thief or thieves, and drag them before a judge. a visit was paid to the lonely shack where ted had found the gold on the occasion of his dismissal. no search could discover any evidence, and, though the money was seized by walton, they had to return baffled. in spite of ted's suspicions, the sheriff soon began to lose faith in the idea that hobson was the culprit, and, as nothing showed itself, ted found himself wondering if he were not mistaken, after all. inquiries told him, at the very commencement of the fall round-up, that several mares that were known to have had colts in the earlier part of the spring, were now without. it was discovered that the cup and spur ranch had not lost any; a further proof, in ted's mind, that hobson knew more than he would tell. but there was something else, of which ted never dreamed. a plot was in the making for a wholesale theft and stampede of colts and horses. it was by mere chance that ted and walton paid a visit to the cup and spur one evening, when all the stock of that ranch were rounded up and safe in the corrals. walton found out that knowles was away at butte, seeing about the sale of a bunch of four-year olds. this gave ted an idea that something might happen, and, though they took pains to show that they had left the ranch, they took good care not to let hobson see that they had returned on their tracks. they waited in the shelter of a bluff until evening fell--waited for they hardly knew what. they did not wait long after dark. soon they heard the rumble of hoofs coming from the ranch. "by gosh! he's done it, after all!" yelled the sheriff delightedly. "bully for you, kid! you've got brains!" "but what are we going to do about it?" asked the lad, who, afire as he was with the excitement, had thought nothing of the difficulty that faced him. "can we stop 'em?" "we'll have a try, you bet," replied walton, drawing his revolver, and twisting the cylinder to see that it was fully loaded. the sound of the stampede was drawing nearer and nearer. the two in the bluff mounted their horses, and rode straight for it. there was only one man driving the herd. ted easily recognized him as the foreman of the ranch. every suspicion he had formed was fully founded. walton, as soon as the stampede came abreast, fired three shots from his revolver, hoping to check them. they half served the purpose, but there was a man urging them on who was worth more than a mere consideration. as soon as hobson saw that his plan was known to others, bullets began to whistle round ted's and the sheriff's heads at an alarming rate. one bullet caught the hindquarters of the boy's horse, inflicting a maddening, scorching wound that made the brute grip the bit fiercely in its teeth, swerve to the right, and bolt headlong, in spite of the lad's frantic efforts to check its flight. another shot struck the leader of the herd of bronchos, not seriously wounding it, but driving it crazy with rage, pain, and fear. it, too, wheeled half about, and followed close on the lad's tracks, the whole herd stampeding after it. shrill neighs filled the air, making it hideous with the tumult. more shots were fired between the sheriff and the foreman. ted could not notice any of the events that were occurring near him. his whole attention was centred on his efforts to hold his animal in and maintain his seat. ted's horse was quite unmanageable. straight ahead, never swerving, with a hundred more pounding behind him, man and horse rushed. it soon became apparent that it was more than a runaway for ted; it was a race for life. those fear-consumed, mad, unreasoning brutes behind him were heedless of the fact that a man was in front. without heed of the direction in which he was going, the lad spurred his horse, hoping to keep safely ahead--not trying now to check its career. he knew that to turn aside was impossible. all he cared for was to keep ahead. and, in spite of the extra burden his beast was carrying, the pursuers gained nothing on him. fear filled the lad's heart. if it had been an ordinary death that threatened him, he would have faced it bravely enough; but the thought of being ground to death beneath the hoofs of those equine fiends behind him terrorized him until he almost lost sense of everything but his desire to escape. it would have frightened any man. the weird shrieks, the bellows-like breathing of his own and of the other horses, the hollow, muffled, pounding of hoofs on the hard, sun-baked prairie, the whistle of the wind about his ears, all combined to make his brain reel. he thought nothing of what was ahead, until it was nearly too late. nearly--not quite! he had a dim recollection of a feeling, a foreboding that all was not right in front. the pale glimmer of the moon made the earth appear as though it suddenly dropped away into nothingness. like a flash it came home to him that he was close to the edge of rushing cañon, a great cleft, dropping to a depth of five hundred feet, sheer to the bottom, where a roaring torrent raged. something like a moan passed his lips. he felt himself wondering which would be the better death: to have the life stamped out of him, or to be dashed to pieces below. he had only a hundred yards to go--seventy-five--fifty! thirty! the stampede was not a hundred feet behind him. another minute, and he would be falling. he tugged once again at the reins, but he might as well have pulled at a stump. another moan broke from him; he kicked his feet free from the stirrups, gave a mad spring outward, and fell headlong to the ground. his horse made a struggle to stop itself, failed, and went hurtling through space. ted scrambled to his feet. five yards ahead of him was the cañon; ten yards behind him the stampede. he would die by the former! he ran, ran like the wind, toward the drop. he never could tell what happened in the next few moments. a horrid din filled his ears. he felt himself falling, and mechanically threw out his hands. he caught something--he knew not what--and hung, suspended between heaven and earth. some dark shapes seemed to hurtle past his head, overhead, all around him. terrified, shrill snorts and neighs were all that he could hear, save the queer buzzing that was in his head. but he gripped the support that had saved him, and hung on, half unconsciously, his nerves and sinews strained nigh to breaking point. then all was quiet overhead. he looked up, wondering dully that he was still alive, and not, as he had expected to be, a smashed, battered mass, on the rocks five hundred feet below. painfully, gaspingly, he drew himself upward. though he thought he had fallen a long distance before he saved himself, he really had not dropped more than his own length. what he had caught and held was nothing more nor less than a sturdy weed, growing on the extreme edge of the cañon. he pulled himself to earth and safety again. his feet felt solid ground. then his head swam, his limbs tottered, he reeled, and fell heavily, his arms hanging over the edge, unconscious. the reaction had set in, and he had fainted. he was found half an hour later by sheriff walton, who, partly guided by the sound of the stampede, and partly through knowledge of the country, came close to the figure of the prostrate lad. he set about bringing him back to life, and his efforts were rewarded by seeing ted's eyes open. the lad stared, and then recollection came back to him, for he shuddered violently, and pointed shakingly to the awful depths below. "they went over there!" he gasped, "and i nearly did so, too. i don't know what saved me." "but you are saved," was the reply, "and that's the main thing." "and about hobson?" asked the lad, when his brain had sufficiently cleared to think of other things beyond his own awful narrow escape from a double danger. "hobson won't steal any more horses," said the sheriff grimly. "is he dead?" walton nodded, but said nothing. "did you kill him?" ted shuddered at the thought. to take human life was terrible to him. "it was a fair fight, lad," said the sheriff. "if i hadn't done so, he'd have nailed me. in fact, i don't know how he missed me. i emptied my gun, and then closed with him. in the struggle his own gun went off, and the bullet went through his heart. a bad end for a bad man; but only justice." it was discovered later that walton needed an assistant. and so ted did not go back to minnesota after all. he might not have been much good as a cowboy, but walton now thinks he cannot do without him to help in his work of keeping law and order in the district. latest issues buffalo bill stories the most original stories of western adventure. the only weekly containing the adventures of the famous buffalo bill. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --buffalo bill's fiesta; or, at outs with the duke of cimarron. --buffalo bill among the cheyennes; or, the rescue of paquita. --buffalo bill besieged; or, texas kid's last trail. --buffalo bill and the red hand; or, the ranch of mystery. --buffalo bill's tree-trunk drift; or, the cold game "gent" from red tail. --buffalo bill and the spectre; or, a queer layout in spook cañon. --buffalo bill and the red feathers; or, the pard who went wrong. --buffalo bill's king stroke; or, old fire-top's finish. --buffalo bill, the desert cyclone; or, the wild pigs of the cumbres. --buffalo bill's cumbres scouts; or, the wild pigs corralled. --buffalo bill and the man-wolf; or, the mystery of the adobe castle. --buffalo bill and his winged pard; or, indian against indian. --buffalo bill at babylon bar; or, the mountain pirates. --buffalo bill's long arm; or, the game-cock of shasta. brave and bold weekly all kinds of stories that boys like. the biggest and best nickel's worth ever offered. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --always to the front; or, for fun and fortune. by cornelius shea. --caught in a trap; or, the great diamond case. by harrie irving hancock. --for big money; or, beating his way to the pacific. by fred thorpe. --muscles of steel; or, the boy wonder. by weldon j. cobb. --gordon keith in zululand; or, how "checkers" held the fort. by lawrence white, jr. --the boys' revolt; or, right against might. by harrie irving hancock. --the mystic isle; or, in peril of his life. by fred thorpe. --a million a minute; or, a brace of meteors. by weldon j. cobb. --gordon keith under african skies; or, four comrades in the danger zone. by lawrence white, jr. --two chums afloat; or, the cruise of the "arrow." by cornelius shea. --in the path of duty; or, the fortunes of officer dan deering. by harrie irving hancock. --a bid for fortune; or, true as steel. by fred thorpe. --a battle with fate; or, the baseball mascot. by weldon j. cobb. --three brave boys; or, adventures in the balloon world. by frank sheridan. motor stories the latest and best five-cent weekly. we won't say how interesting it is. see for yourself. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. --motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. --motor matt's century run; or, the governor's courier. --motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the "comet." --motor matt's mystery; or, foiling a secret plot. --motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear. --motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto. --motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward. --motor matt's air-ship; or, the rival inventors. --motor matt's hard luck; or, the balloon house plot. --motor matt's daring rescue; or, the strange case of helen brady. --motor matt's peril; or, castaway in the bahamas. _for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address on receipt of price, cents per copy, in money or postage stamps, by_ street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york =if you want any back numbers= of our weeklies and cannot procure them from your newsdealer, they can be obtained from this office direct. fill out the following order blank and send it to us with the price of the weeklies you want and we will send them to you by return mail. =postage stamps taken the same as money.= ________________________ _ _ _street & smith, - seventh avenue, new york city._ _dear sirs: enclosed please find_ ___________________________ _cents for which send me_: tip top weekly, nos. ________________________________ nick carter weekly, " ________________________________ diamond dick weekly, " ________________________________ buffalo bill stories, " ________________________________ brave and bold weekly, " ________________________________ motor stories, " ________________________________ _name_ ________________ _street_ ________________ _city_ ________________ _state_ ________________ adventures of a boy genius motor stories the boys who want to learn something from what they read, as well as to be interested by it, will never find another publication that will satisfy them so well as motor stories. "motor matt" is not an impossible boy character. he is simply a youth who has had considerable training in a machine shop where motors of all kinds were repaired, and who is possessed of a genius for mechanics. his sense of right and wrong is strongly developed, and his endeavors to insure certain people a square deal, lead him into a series of the most astonishing, but at the same time the most natural adventures that ever befell a boy. _here are the titles now ready_: --motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. --motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. --motor matt's century run; or, the governor's courier. --motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the "comet." --motor matt's mystery; or, foiling a secret plot. --motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear. --motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto. --motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward. --motor matt's air ship; or, the rival inventors. --motor matt's hard luck; or, the balloon house plot. --motor matt's daring rescue; or, the strange case of helen brady. --motor matt's peril; or, cast away in the bahamas. to be published on may th. --motor matt's queer find; or, the secret of the iron chest. to be published on may th. --motor matt's promise; or, the wreck of the "hawk." to be published on may st. --motor matt's submarine; or, the strange cruise of the "grampus." to be published on june th. --motor matt's quest; or, three chums in strange waters. price, five cents at all newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, by the publishers upon receipt of the price. street & smith, _publishers_, new york transcriber's notes: added table of contents. italics are represented with _underscores_, bold with =equal signs=. corrected several apparent single quotes to double quotes; these may have been typos or simply light printing on the original. retained inconsistent spelling of "gasolene" / "gasoline" from original. page , changed "rturning" to "returning" ("returning the parting salutes"). added missing comma to "carl, brightening." page , corrected "townsand's" to "townsend's" ("uncle archie townsend's"). page , changed "ooof" to "oof" ("oof ve ged to honturas"). page , changed "entred" to "entered" ("entered the periscope"). page , changed "binoculers" to "binoculars" ("handing matt a pair of binoculars"). page , changed "itno" to "into" ("crowded into the little messroom"). page , added missing quotes before "the fust officer" and "vy iss dot?" page , added missing quote after "ve don'd surrenter?" page , changed "dick" to "matt" after "meanwhile." page , added missing "to" and changed "learing" to "learning" in "speak to her, on the possible chance of learning." page , changed "your" to "you" in "two of you boys come with me." courtesy of the digital library@villanova university (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction no. june , five cents motor matt's quest _or_ three chums in strange waters _by the author of "motor matt"_ [illustration: _"helup, or i vas a goner!" yelled carl, leaping into the water as motor matt made ready to hurl the harpoon._] _street & smith, publishers, new york_ motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction _issued weekly. by subscription $ . per year. entered according to act of congress in the year , in the office of the librarian of congress, washington, d. c., by_ street & smith, _ - seventh avenue, new york, n. y._ no. . new york, june , . price five cents. motor matt's quest; or, three chums in strange waters. by the author of "motor matt." contents chapter i. in the depths. chapter ii. out of the jaws of death. chapter iii. the sealed orders. chapter iv. the american consul. chapter v. motor matt's forbearance. chapter vi. "on the jump." chapter vii. the landing party. chapter viii. carl in trouble. chapter ix. a friend in need. chapter x. strange revelations. chapter xi. one chance in ten. chapter xii. by a narrow margin. chapter xiii. waiting for something to happen. chapter xiv. motor matt's great play. chapter xv. on the way to belize. chapter xvi. a dash of tabasco. mischievous ned. terrible fate of a daring indian. stumbling upon gold mines. year of the cock. characters that appear in this story. =motor matt=, a lad who is at home with every variety of motor, and whose never-failing nerve serves to carry him through difficulties that would daunt any ordinary young fellow. because of his daring as a racer with bicycle, motor-cycle and automobile he is known as "mile-a-minute matt." motor-boats, air ships and submarines come naturally in his line, and consequently he lives in an atmosphere of adventure in following up his "hobby." =dick ferral=, a young sea dog from canada, with all a sailor's superstitions, but in spite of all that a royal chum, ready to stand by the friend of his choice through thick and thin. =carl pretzel=, a cheerful and rollicking german boy, stout of frame as well as of heart, who is led by a fortunate accident to link his fortunes with those of motor matt. =hays jordan=, united states consul at belize. a man of pluck and determination, who furnishes valuable information about his friend, jeremiah coleman, and even more valuable personal services during the rescue of coleman. =jeremiah coleman=, another united states consul who has been spirited away by central american revolutionists in the hope of driving a sharp bargain with the united states government for the release of a captured filibuster named james sixty. =tirzal=, a half-breed mahogany-cutter who serves jordan in the capacity of spy, and who has been a pilot along the coast. =speake, gaines and clackett=, part of the crew of the _grampus_. =cassidy=, mate of the _grampus_ who, because of a fancied grievance, takes the wrong trail at the forks of the road. an old friend whom matt found to be an enemy and then made a friend again. =abner fingal=, skipper of the notorious schooner, _north star_, and brother of james sixty, to whose evil nature motor matt owes most of his present troubles. =captain nemo, jr.=, skipper of the submarine, _grampus_, and who falls victim to a sudden illness. because of the captain's sickness, matt is placed in command of the _grampus_. =ysabel sixty=, an old acquaintance who plays an important part in the story. chapter i. in the depths. "motor matt!" "what is it, captain?" "we are in st. george's bay, ten miles from the port of belize, british honduras. two days ago, while we were well out in the gulf, i opened the letter containing the first part of my sealed orders. those orders, as you know, sent us to belize. before we reach there and open the envelope containing the rest of our orders, i think it necessary to test out the _grampus_ thoroughly. unless i am greatly mistaken, the instructions yet to be read may call for work that will demand the last ounce of preparation we can give the submarine. i have stopped the motor, and we are lying motionless on the surface of the sea. the lead shows that there are two hundred and twenty-five feet of water under us. the steel shell of the _grampus_ is warranted to stand the pressure of water at that depth. do you follow me?" "certainly, captain." "now, matt, i have been watching you for a long time, and i believe that you know more about the gasoline motor than i do, and fully as much about maneuvring the submarine. we are going to dive to two hundred and ten feet--the deepest submersion by far the _grampus_ ever made. i wish you to take entire charge. if you get into difficulties, you must get out of them again, for i intend to stand by and not put in a word unless tragedy stares us in the face and you call on me for advice." a thrill ran through motor matt. the submarine, with all her complicated equipment, was for a time to be under his control. this move of captain nemo, jr.'s, perhaps, was a test for him no less than for the _grampus_. for a brief space the young motorist bent his head thoughtfully. "do you hesitate, matt?" asked captain nemo, jr. "not at all, sir," was the calm answer. "i was just running over in my mind the things necessary to be done in making such a deep dive. the pressure at two hundred and ten feet will be terrific. at that depth, the lid of our hatchway will be supporting a weight of more than thirty-two tons." "exactly," answered the captain, pleased with the way matt's mind was going over the work. "if there happened to be anything wrong with the calculations of the man who built the _grampus_, captain, she would be smashed like an egg shell." "we are going to prove his calculations." the captain seated himself on a low stool. "gaines is at the motor, clackett is at the submerging tanks, speake has charge of the storage batteries and compressed air, and cassidy is here in the periscope room with us to drive the _grampus_ in any direction you desire." "dick ferral is with gaines," added matt, "and carl pretzel is with clackett." "exactly. every man is at his station, and some of the stations are double manned. now, then, go ahead." matt whirled to a speaking tube. "we're going to make a record dive, clackett," he called into the tube, "and captain nemo, jr., has placed me in charge----" "bully for the captain!" came back the voice of clackett, echoing weirdly distinct in the periscope room. "hoop-a-la!" bubbled the exultant tones of matt's dutch chum. "der king oof der modor poys iss der poy for me." "our submergence will be two hundred and ten feet," went on matt. "you and carl, clackett, will put the steel baulks in place. i'll have dick and gaines help you." another order was called to the engine room, and presently there were sounds, forward and aft, which indicated that the metal props, to further strengthen the steel shell, were being dropped into their supports. "cassidy," said matt, "see that the double doors of the hatch are secured." "aye, aye, sir," answered the mate, darting up the conning-tower ladder. "speake," ordered matt, through another tube, "see that the tension indicators are in place." "double doors of the hatch secured," reported cassidy a moment later. "pressure sponsons in place," came rattling through the tube from clackett. "tension indicators in position," announced speake. "dive at the rate of twelve yards to the minute, clackett," ordered matt. a hiss of air, escaping from the ballast tanks as the water came in, was heard. a tremor ran through the steel fabric, followed by a gentle downward motion. matt kept his eyes on the manometric needles. twenty yards, twenty-five, thirty, and forty were indicated. a pressure of ten pounds to the square centimeter was recorded. "plates are beginning to bend, captain," called speake. this was not particularly alarming, for the baulks would settle down to their work. "close the bulkhead doors, dick!" called matt. "aye, aye, old ship!" returned dick, and sounds indicated that the order was immediately carried out. "sixty yards," called clackett; "sixty-five, seventy----" "hold her so!" cried matt. "what is the danger point in the matter of flexion, captain?" asked matt, turning to nemo, jr., whose gray head was bowed forward on his hand, while his gleaming eyes regarded the cool, self-possessed young motorist with something like admiration. "ten millimeters," was the answer. "we still have a margin of three millimeters and are at the depth you indicated." "bravo! we are five yards from the bottom. do a little cruising, matt. let us see how the _grampus_ behaves at this depth." the entire shell of the submarine was under an enormous pressure. matt gave the order to start the motor, and the popping of the engine soon settled into a low hum of perfectly working cylinders. a forward motion was felt by those in the submarine. "not many people have ever had the novel experience of navigating the ocean seventy yards below the surface," remarked the captain, with a slow smile. "it's a wonderful thing!" exclaimed matt. "the _grampus_ seems equal to any task you set for her, captain." the air of the periscope room was being exhausted by the breathing of matt, nemo, jr., and cassidy. matt ordered the bulkhead doors opened, in order that fresh oxygen might be admitted from the reservoirs. just before the doors were opened, captain nemo, jr.'s face had suddenly paled, and he had swayed on his seat, throwing a hand to his chest. "you can't stand this, captain!" exclaimed matt, jumping to the captain's side. "hadn't we better ascend?" the captain collected himself quickly and waved the youth away. "never mind me, my lad," he answered. "i feel better, now that a little fresh oxygen is coming in to us. go on with your maneuvring." all was silent in the submarine, save for the croon of the engine, running as sweetly as any matt had ever heard. aside from a faint oppression in the chest and a low ringing in the ears, the _grampus_ might have been cruising on the surface, so far as her passengers could know. cassidy was at the wheel, steering, his passive eyes on the compass. matt turned away from the manometer with a remark on his lips, but before the words could be spoken there was a shock, and the submarine shivered and stopped dead. "shiminy grickets!" whooped the voice of carl. "ve must haf run indo vone oof der moundains in der sea." "full speed astern, gaines," cried matt. the blades of the propeller revolved fiercely. the steel hull shook and tugged, but all to no purpose. captain nemo, jr., sat quietly in his seat and never offered a suggestion. his steady eyes were on motor matt. the king of the motor boys realized that they were in a terrible predicament. suppose they were hopelessly entangled in the ocean's depths? suppose there was no escape for them, and the shell of the _grampus_ was to be their tomb? these reflections did not shake the lad's nerve. his face whitened a little, but a resolute light gleamed in his gray eyes. "how are the bow plates, speake?" he demanded through one of the tubes. speake was in the torpedo room. "right as a trivet!" answered speake. after five minutes of violent and useless churning of the screw, matt turned to cassidy. the mate, grave-faced and anxious, was looking at him and waiting for orders. "rig the electric projector, cassidy," said matt calmly. "aye, aye, sir," replied the mate. when the little searchlight was in position, a gleam was thrown through one of the forward lunettes out over the bow of the _grampus_. matt, feeling keenly the weight of responsibility that rested on his shoulders, mounted the iron ladder to the conning tower and looked through one of the small windows. to his intense astonishment he found the bottom of the sea pervaded with a faintly luminous light, perhaps due to some phosphorescence given off by the marine growth. through this glow traveled the brighter gleam of the searchlight. the _grampus_ was lying in a dense forest of nodding, moss-covered stems. the _algae_ of the ocean bed, with its lianes and creeping growth, twisted all about the submarine, fluttering and waving in the currents caused by the swiftly revolving propeller. a gasp escaped matt's lips, however, when he fixed his attention forward. for a full minute he stood on the ladder, taking in the weird and dangerous predicament of the _grampus_. then an exclamation fell from his lips, and he looked down to see captain nemo, jr., slowly mounting to his side. "look!" whispered matt hoarsely, nodding toward the lunettes. the captain pressed his eyes against the thick glass and then dropped back. "a ship!" he exclaimed. "we have rammed an old spanish galleon and are caught in her rotting timbers!" he looked upward, his startled eyes engaging matt's, and the two staring at each other. chapter ii. out of the jaws of death. what the captain had said was true. the _grampus_, cruising in those great depths, had had the misfortune to hurl herself bodily on into an ancient wreck. the wreck, which must have lain for centuries there on the bottom, was covered with marine growth, yet, nevertheless, seemed wonderfully well preserved. the high bow and poop, covered with serpent-like lianes and creeping weeds, were erect in the water, for the galleon lay on an even keel. the ship's two masts and steep bowsprit had been broken off, and the decks were a litter of weeds, and shells, and sand. the _grampus_, cleaving the heavy submarine growth, had flung her sharp prow into the galleon's side and was embedded almost to the flagstaff. the captain and matt descended silently into the periscope room. "we jammed into an old wreck, did we?" queried cassidy, calmly but with a look on his face which reflected the perturbation of his mind. "yes," answered matt. "some spanish ship went down here--perhaps loaded with treasure for across the sea." "hardly loaded with treasure, matt," spoke up the captain. "this is the spanish main, and the reefs off honduras offered shelter for many a pirate in the old days. this galleon, i am inclined to think, was stripped of her treasure by some buccaneer and sunk. it is too bad that she was sunk in the course we happened to be taking." the rack of the useless motor ceased on an order from matt; in the deep, death-like silence that intervened, a wail came up from the tank room. "vat's der madder mit us, matt? dit ve run indo a cave in der ocean? oof ve can't ged oudt vat vill pecome oof us?" "we ran into an old spanish ship, carl," answered matt, "and we are so jammed in the side of the hulk that we haven't been able, so far, to back out." "ach, du lieber! meppy ve von't nefer be aple to pack oudt! meppy ve vas down here for keeps, hey? nexdt dime i go down in some supmarines, you bed my life i make a vill pefore i shtart." carl, white as a sheet and scared, came rolling into the periscope room. dick likewise showed up from forward. "strike me lucky, old ship," said he, "i hadn't any notion this was to be our last cruise." "it's not," answered matt. "we'll get out of this." he turned to captain nemo, jr., who was again seated quietly, his calm eyes on the king of the motor boys. "the power of the screw, unaided," said the captain, "will not serve to get us clear of the wreck. what are you going to do, matt?" matt thought for a moment. "am i to have my way, captain?" he asked. "certainly. i want to see what you can do." "speake! gaines! clackett!" called matt. "come up here, at once." from the engine room, the torpedo room, and the ballast room came the rest of the submarine's crew. their faces were gray with anxiety, but they were men of pluck and determination, and could be depended on to fight for life until the very last. "men," said matt, "we have rammed an old hulk that has been lying for centuries in the bottom of st. george's bay. the nose of the _grampus_ is caught and held in the wreck's side, and the full power of the engine is not sufficient to pull us out. we shall have to try something else--something that will put a great strain on the steel shell of the submarine, considering the pressure the boat is under at this enormous depth. i am going to give some orders, and on the swiftness with which they are carried out our lives may depend. you will all go back to your stations, carl with clackett and dick with gaines; and when i shout the word 'ready!' the engine will be started with all power astern. at the same instant, clackett and carl will open the pipes and admit air into the ballast tanks, and open the valves that let out the water. we may have to do all this several times, if necessary, but you fellows have got to be prompt in doing what you are told." again was admiration reflected in captain nemo's pale face. leaning back against the steel wall of the periscope room, he settled himself quietly to await developments. "count on me," said clackett, as he and carl disappeared. "and on us," said gaines, leaving the periscope room with dick. cassidy merely gave a nod and turned to his steering wheel. matt went up into the tower and placed himself at one of the lunettes. his heart was beating against his ribs with trip-hammer blows, but his brain was cool and clear. when he had given the crew sufficient time to gain their stations, he lifted his voice loudly. "_ready!_" the word rang through the periscope room and echoed clatteringly through the steel hull. the propeller began to whirl like mad, and the sudden opening of the ballast tanks depressed the free rear portion of the submarine. for a full minute the wild struggle went on, and so shaken was the boat that it seemed as though she must fly in pieces. then, abruptly, the _grampus_ leaped backward and upward, clearing the forest-like growth of seaweed at a gigantic bound. the upward motion was felt by every one in the boat, and cries of exultation came to matt's ears in clamoring echoes. slipping like lightning down the ladder, he shouted to gaines to stop the madly-working engine and reverse it at a more leisurely speed. like a huge air bubble, the _grampus_ swung up and up, and when she emerged above the surface, and matt could see sunlight through the dripping lunettes, he turned off the electric projector, opened the hatch and threw it back, and gulped down deep breaths of the warm, fresh air. once more slipping down the ladder, he saluted the captain. "i turn the ship over to you, sir," said he, and collapsed on a stool, mopping the perspiration from his face. "you're a brick!" grunted cassidy, picking up the course for belize. "hooray for motor matt, king of the motor boys!" came a thrilling shout from somewhere in the bowels of the craft. for an instant, the steel walls echoed with the jubilant yells of carl, dick, gaines, speake, and clackett. "it came near to taking the ginger all out of me, captain," breathed matt. "the novelty of the thing was mighty trying." captain nemo, jr., still strangely pale, was regarding the youth fixedly. for some moments after the cheering ceased he said nothing; then, leaning abruptly forward, he caught matt's hand. the captain's flesh was as cold as ice. "captain!" the young motorist exclaimed, starting up, "there's something wrong with you! do you feel----" the captain waved his hand deprecatingly, and the calm, inscrutable smile hovered about his thin lips. "let that pass for a moment, my lad," said he. "i was testing the _grampus_, but, more than that, i was likewise testing _you_. since we picked up carl and dick, off the _dolphin_, and before that, while we were cruising about trying to find them,[a] you have been serving your apprenticeship on the submarine. i have always had the utmost confidence in you, motor matt, and i have now, i think, tested your knowledge of the _grampus_ in a manner which leaves no room for doubt. you are able to run the boat, and to extricate her from any difficulties in which she might become entangled, as well, if not better, than i could do myself." [a] this reference of captain nemo, jr., has to do with the thrilling experiences of carl and dick while they were at swords' points with captain james sixty, the filibuster, for an extended account of which see no. of the motor stories, "motor matt's submarine; or, the strange cruise of the _grampus_." matt, from the captain's manner, had suspected that the gray-haired inventor of the craft had tried to bring out all that was in him. captain nemo, jr., of course, had not been able to forecast the trouble that was to overtake the submarine in the bottom of the bay, but this dangerous experience had served only to show matt's resourcefulness to better advantage. "you are cool-headed in time of danger," proceeded the captain, "and, no matter what goes wrong, your ability is always on tap and can be brought to bear instantly upon anything you desire to accomplish." the red ran into matt's face and he waved a hand deprecatingly. "i'm not a particle better than a lot of other fellows," said he, "who try to use their eyes, and hands, and brains." "i expected you to say that, matt," continued the captain. "the test, in your case, was hardly necessary, for i have watched your work in a lot of trying situations--and it has always been the same, steady, resourceful, reliable. just now, we are going to belize, british honduras, to carry out some work for our government. as i have already told you, i don't know what that work is. two sealed envelopes were given me by captain wynekoop of the u. s. cruiser _seminole_. the first one told us to proceed to belize. the next one, which i have here in my pocket, will instruct you relative to the work in prospect, and----" "instruct _me_?" broke in matt, startled. the captain nodded. "i have not recovered from the strange illness which overtook me in new orleans, as a result of inhaling the poisonous odor given off by the head of that idol. i feel that another attack is coming upon me--i have felt it for several hours--and, inasmuch as the government is watching the work of the _grampus_ with the intention of buying her at a good round price if she makes good, our sealed orders must be carried out. for this work, matt, you are my choice; you are to command the _grampus_, do everything that you think--that you think----" captain nemo, jr., paused, struggled with the words for a space, then drooped slowly forward and fell from his seat to the floor of the room. there he lay, unconscious and breathing heavily. chapter iii. the sealed orders. for a brief space motor matt and cassidy stood looking down at the prostrate form crumpled at their feet. the captain had been stricken so suddenly that they were astounded. cassidy took a look through the periscope and lashed the wheel; then he hurried to help matt, who was lifting the unconscious man to a long locker at the side of the room. "he ain't never been right since he was sick in new orleans," muttered cassidy. "he jumped into work before he was well enough." the captain's former illness had been of a peculiar nature. an idol's head, steeped in some noxious liquor that caused the head to give off a deadly odor, was, according to his firm belief, the cause of his sickness. carl had also come under the influence of the poisonous odor, but it had had no such effect upon him. however, no two persons are exactly alike, and sometimes a thing that will work havoc with one may have no effect upon another. "his heart action is good, cassidy," said matt. "he's a sick man for all that," replied the mate. "i've noticed for several hours he was nervous like. we'll have to take him ashore at belize, and you'll have to be the captain while we're doing the work that's to be done." there was an under-note in cassidy's voice that caused matt to give him a keen look. the mate was a good fellow, but he was second in command, aboard the _grampus_, and it was quite natural for him to expect to be the one who stepped into the captain's shoes. "you heard what captain nemo, jr., said?" asked matt. "sure, i did," returned the mate gruffly. "i had not the least notion he was picking me for any such place." "he's a queer chap, the cap'n is," said cassidy, averting his face and getting up from the side of the locker. "i'll go get him a swig of brandy--maybe it'll bring him round." when cassidy returned from the storeroom with the brandy flask, matt could hardly avoid detecting that he had himself sampled the liquor. matt was disagreeably surprised, for he had not known that the mate was a drinking man. while they were forcing a little of the brandy down the captain's throat, dick and carl came into the periscope room. "vat's der madder mit der gaptain?" asked carl, as he and dick crowded close to the locker. matt told of the illness that had so suddenly overtaken the master of the submarine. "shiver me, but it's main queer!" exclaimed dick. "for the last hour," went on matt, "the captain's hands have been like ice and his face pale. i knew he didn't feel well, but i hadn't any idea he was as bad as this." "tough luck!" growled cassidy. "will we need a pilot to take us into belize?" asked matt. "we can't get very close to the town, but will have to lay off and go ashore in a boat. i know the place well enough to take the _grampus_ to a safe berth." "then you'd better go up in the lookout, cassidy, and see to laying us alongside the town." a mutinous look flickered for an instant on cassidy's weather-beaten face. he hesitated, and then, without a word, turned away and climbed into the conning tower. a moment more and the captain had revived and opened his eyes. "how are you feeling, sir?" queried matt. "far from well, my lad," was the answer, in a weak voice. "are we off belize?" "not yet, sir, but we are drawing close." "we are close enough so that we can read the second half of our sealed orders." the captain lifted a hand and removed from the breast pocket of his coat a sealed envelope, which he handed to matt. "open it, matt," said he, "and read it aloud." the young motorist paused. "captain," said he, "wouldn't cassidy be the right man for carrying out the work that brought us into these waters? he is the mate, you know, and i think he expects----" "cassidy is here to obey orders," interrupted the captain. "cassidy has a failing, and that failing is drink. no man that takes his liquor is ever to be depended on. as long as i'm around, and can watch him, cassidy keeps pretty straight, but if i'm laid up at belize, as i expect to be, i prefer to have some one in command of the _grampus_ whom i can trust implicitly. read the orders." matt tore open the envelope and removed the inclosed sheet. "on board u. s. cruiser _seminole_, at sea. "captain nemo, jr., "submarine _grampus_. "sir: acting under orders from the secretary of the navy, i have the honor to request that the _grampus_ lend her aid to the rescue of united states consul jeremiah coleman, who has been sequestered by central american revolutionists, presumably under orders from captain james sixty, of the brig _dolphin_, who is now a prisoner in our hands. mr. hays jordan, the united states consul at belize, will inform you as to the place where mr. coleman is being held. this is somewhere up the rio dolce, in a place inaccessible to even gunboats of the lightest draught, and it is hoped the _grampus_ may be able to accomplish something. present this letter to mr. jordan immediately upon reaching belize, and be guided in whatever you do by his knowledge and judgment. i have the honor to remain, sir, "your most obedient, "arthur wynekoop, captain cruiser _seminole_." a movement behind matt caused him to look around. cassidy had descended quietly from the conning tower and was steering the ship entirely by the periscope. "we are off belize, sir," announced cassidy, "and two small sailboats are coming this way. we are to anchor at the surface, i suppose?" matt did not know how long the mate had been in the periscope room, but supposed he had been there long enough to overhear the instructions. "certainly," said the captain. cassidy touched a jingler connected with the engine room. the hum of the motor slowly ceased. "get out an anchor fore-and-aft, speake," the mate called through one of the speaking tubes. "aye, aye, sir," came the response through the tube. a little later a muffled rattling could be heard as a chain was paid out through the patent water-tight hawse hole. presently the rattling stopped, and the _grampus_ shivered and swung to her scope of cable. more rattling came from the stern, and soon two anchors were holding the submarine steady in her berth. "i want you to go ashore, matt," said captain nemo, jr., "and see the american consul. find a place where i can be taken care of; also, show that letter to the consul and tell him you are my representative. better take dick with you." "very good, sir," replied matt. a bluish tinge had crept into the pallor of the captain's face. matt had been covertly watching, and his anxiety on the captain's account had increased. the captain must be taken ashore as quickly as possible and placed in a doctor's hands. "come on, dick," called matt, starting up the conning tower ladder. with his chum at his heels, matt crawled over the rim of the conning tower hatch and lowered himself to the rounded steel deck. the port of belize, nestling in a tropical bower of cocoanut trees, was about a mile distant. owing to her light draught, the _grampus_ had been able to come closer to the town than other ships in the harbor. the submarine lay between a number of sailing vessels and steamboats and the line of white buildings peeping out of the greenery beyond the beach. two small sailboats, manned by negroes, were approaching the _grampus_. matt motioned to one of them, and her skipper hove-to alongside, caught a rope thrown by dick, and pulled his craft as near the deck of the submarine as the rounded bulwarks would permit. a plank was pushed over the side of the sailboat, and matt and dick climbed over the lifting and shaking board. "golly, boss," grinned the negro, "dat's de funniest boat dat i ever seen in dis port. looks like er bar'l on er raft." "never mind that," said matt, "but lay us alongside the wharf as soon as you can." the two negroes comprising the sailboat's crew were caribs. they talked together in their native tongue, every word seeming to end in "boo" or "boo-hoo." "a whoop, two grunts and a little blubbering," said dick, "will give a fellow a pretty fair carib vocabulary. what ails cassidy?" "i think he sampled the flask of brandy when he brought it to the captain," replied matt. "that was plain enough, for he had a breath like a rum cask. but it wasn't that alone that made him so grouchy. there's something else at the bottom of his locker." "well, he's the mate," went on matt, dropping his voice and turning a cautious look on the two negroes, "and i suppose he thinks captain nemo, jr., ought to have put him in command. to have a fellow like me jumped over his head may have touched him a little." "mayhap," murmured dick, "but it's a brand-new side of his character cassidy's showing. i never suspected it of him. do you think the captain's trouble is anything serious?" "i hope not, dick, but i'm worried. the sickness came on so suddenly i hardly know what to think." "probably he has some of the poison from that idol's head still under his hatches. main queer, though, that he should be so long getting over it, when carl cut himself adrift from the same thing so handsomely." "things of that kind never affect two people in exactly the same way." the negroes brought their boat alongside the wharf. as matt paid for their services, and climbed ashore, dick called his attention to the _grampus_. cassidy could be seen on the speck of deck running the stars and stripes to the top of the short flagstaff. the other sailboat, to the boy's surprise, was standing in close to the submarine. having finished with the flag, cassidy could be seen to throw a rope to the skipper of the sailboat, and then, a moment later, to spring aboard. "what does that move mean?" queried dick. "give it up," answered matt, with a mystified frown. "probably we shall know, before long. just now, though, we've got to think of the captain and send off a doctor to the _grampus_." turning away, he and dick walked rapidly to the shore and on into the town. chapter iv. the american consul. "there's a bobby," cried dick, catching sight of a policeman, "a real london bobby, blue-and-white striped cuffs and all. we'll bear down on him, matt, and ask the way to the american consul's." the policeman was dark-skinned, but kind and obliging for all that. drawing the boys out into the street, he pointed to a low, white building with the american flag flying over the door. there were palms and trees around the building, and a middle-aged man in white ducks was sitting in a canvas chair on the veranda. he was mr. hays jordan, and when the boys told him they were from the submarine _grampus_, the consul got up and took them by the hand. matt lost not a moment in telling of the captain's illness, and of his desire for a doctor and of comfortable lodging ashore. the consul seemed disappointed by the news. "i reckon that puts a stop to the work that brought the _grampus_ here," said the consul. "not at all," replied matt. "the _grampus_ is at the service of the government within an hour, if necessary." "but who's in charge of the boat?" "i am." mr. hays jordan looked matt over, up and down, and started to give an incredulous whistle. but there was something in the youth's bearing, and in the firm, gray eye that caused him to quit whistling. "well!" he exclaimed. "pretty young to be skipper of a submarine, aren't you?" "belay a bit, sir," spoke up dick. "he's old for his age, if i do say it, and captain nemo, jr., is a master hand at taking the sizing of a fellow. he selected motor matt to engineer this piece of work, and, if you keep your weather eye skinned, it won't be long until you rise to the fact that the captain knew what he was about." "the captain ought to have a doctor without loss of time," interposed matt, impatient because of the time they were losing, "and he must have a place to stay." "we'll not send a sick man to the hotel," said mr. jordan, "but to a boarding house kept by an american. and we'll also have an american doctor to look after him." he slapped his hands. in answer to the summons a negro appeared from inside the house. "go over to dr. seymour, turk," said the consul, "and ask him to come here." "we might be able to save time," put in matt, "if my friend went with your servant and took the doctor directly to the submarine." "fine!" exclaimed the consul, and dick and the negro hurried away. "sit down, my boy," said the consul, waving his hand toward a chair, "and we'll palaver a little. i don't reckon i ought to say much to you until i talk with captain nemo, jr., and make sure everything is right and proper. still----" "here are my credentials," said matt, and handed over the letter which he had recently read aloud in the periscope room of the _grampus_. the consul glanced over the letter. "i'll take you on that showing, motor matt," said he heartily, as he handed the letter back. "if anything is done for my friend coleman, it's got to be done with a rush. the dinky little states all around us are able to have a revolution whenever some one happens to think of it. there's one on now, and captain james sixty was to help on the fighting by landing a cargo of guns and ammunition. sixty's work, as i reckon you may know, was nipped in the bud, and the revolutionists are having a hard time of it. but they're still active, and about two weeks ago, when sixty failed to arrive with the war material and they were afraid he had been captured by the united states authorities, the hot-headed greasers planned reprisal. that reprisal was about the most foolish thing you ever heard of. they spirited away my friend coleman; then they sent me a letter saying that coleman would be released whenever the united states government gave up sixty--and, at that time, sixty wasn't in the hands of the authorities, at all. he had just simply failed to show up with the contraband of war, and the revolutionists imagined he had been bagged. i communicated with washington at once, and it was that, i reckon, that gave the state department a line on sixty." "is mr. coleman in any danger?" asked matt. "you never can tell what a lot of firebrands will do. they're bound to hear of sixty's capture, and of the confiscation of his lawless cargo. the news will get to them soon, and when that happens coleman is likely to have trouble. if possible, he must be rescued from the revolutionists ahead of the receipt of this information about sixty and the lost guns. it's a tremendously hard piece of work, and only a submarine boat with an intrepid crew, to my notion, will stand any show of success. if a small boat from a united states warship was to try to go to the rescue, the revolutionists would learn she was coming and would immediately take to the jungles of the interior with their captive. see what i mean?" "mr. coleman's captors are somewhere on the sea coast?" "not exactly. they have a rendezvous on the river izaral, which runs into the gulf of amatique, to the south of here. the revolutionists have tried to make people think that they have coleman somewhere on the rio dolce, but that would put the whole unlawful game in british territory, and wherever the british flag flies you'll find lawbreakers mighty careful." the consul looked around cautiously and then hitched his chair closer to matt's. "i haven't been idle, motor matt," he went on, lowering his voice. "i have had spies at work, and one of them has reported the exact location of the revolutionists' camp. acting as a log-cutter, he came close to the place. this man will lead you to the exact spot--and, as good luck has it, he's a pilot and knows the coast." "i should think," hazarded matt, "that the united states government could make a demand on the president of the republic where all this lawless work is going on, and force him to rescue mr. coleman." the consul laughed. "you don't know central america, my lad," he answered. "it's as hard for the president of the republic to get at the revolutionists as for anybody else. meanwhile, coleman's in danger. we can't wait for a whole lot of useless red-tape proceedings. we've got to strike, and to strike hard and quick. but we've got to do it secretly, quietly--getting coleman away before the revolutionists know what we're doing. understand?" matt nodded. "we'll not do any fighting if it's possible to avoid it," proceeded the consul, "for that would merely complicate matters. besides, what could a handful of strangers do against a horde of rascally niggers? softly is the word. we've got to jump into 'em, and then out again quicker than scat--and when we come out we've got to have coleman." "are you going with us, mr. jordan?" asked matt. the consul started and gave matt a bored look. "going with you?" he drawled. "why not? it isn't often we have anything exciting, here in honduras, and i wouldn't miss the chance for a farm. coleman lives where he never knows what minute is going to be his next, and he's continually guessing as to where the lightning is going to strike, and when. about all i do is lie around in a hammock, fight mosquitoes, take a feed now and then at government house, and drop in at an english club here every evening for a rubber at whist. it's deadly monotonous, my lad, to a fellow who comes from the land of snap and ginger." "i'll be glad to have you along," said matt. "when had we better start?" "this afternoon." the consul picked his solar hat off the railing of the veranda and got up. "i'm going over to the boarding house," he added, "to make arrangements for captain nemo, jr. it's just around the corner and i'll only be gone a few minutes. make yourself comfortable until i return." "i'll get along all right," answered matt. jordan got up, descended the steps, swung away down the street and quickly vanished around a corner. the scenery was all new and strange to matt, and he allowed his eyes to wander up and down the street. the houses were white bungalows, some of them surrounded by high white fences, and with tufted palms nodding over their roofs. negro women passed by with baskets on their heads, dark-skinned laborers in bell-crowned straw hats slouched up and down, and a group of tawny soldiers from a west india regiment, wearing smart zouave uniforms and turbans, jogged past. as soon as matt had exhausted the sights in his immediate vicinity, he lay back in the chair and gave his thoughts to the captain. he had always liked nemo, jr. the captain had been a good friend to motor matt and his chums, and the young motorist hoped in his heart that his present illness would not take a serious turn. while matt was turning the subject over in his mind, two men came along the walk and started for the steps leading to the veranda of the consulate. matt, suddenly lifting his eyes, was surprised to note that one of the men was cassidy. the other was a white, sandy-whiskered individual in a dingy blue coat and cap and much-worn dungaree trousers. both were plainly under the influence of liquor. they came unsteadily up the steps and cassidy made a bee-line for matt. cassidy's weather-beaten face was flushed and there was an angry, unreasoning light in his eyes. "i'm next to you, matt king," growled the mate, posting himself in front of the youth and clinching his big fists. "you've pulled the wool over the old man's eyes in great shape, but you can't fool _me_!" cassidy, when his mind was clear and when he was not under the delusion of a fancied wrong, was a good fellow. he had cared for captain nemo, jr., when he was lying ill in new orleans, and countless times he had given matt and his chums proof of his friendship for them. cassidy was off his bearings now, but matt felt more like arguing with him than showing authority. "you are not yourself, cassidy," said the young motorist. "why did you leave the _grampus_?" "that's my business," snarled the mate. "well, take my advice and go back there. no one is trying to deceive the captain." "you've wormed yourself into his confidence, and what has he done to me?" there was bitterness in the mate's voice. "i'm the one that ought to be cap'n of the submarine, and, by thunder, i'm going to be!" matt got up from his chair, his eyes flashing. "you're going to obey orders, cassidy," said he, "if you want to stay with the _grampus_. i'm in command, and i'll give you just a minute to leave here and make for the wharf. if----" at that moment the mate's crazy wrath got the better of him. with a hoarse oath, he lurched forward and struck at matt with his fist. matt avoided the blow with a quick side-step. "now's yer chance, cassidy," breathed the husky voice of the man who had come with the mate. "it's now or never if you want to put him down an' out." the fellow, as he spoke, slouched toward matt with doubled fists. matt had not the same consideration for this stranger that he had for the mate, and immediately after evading cassidy's blow he whirled about. "who are you?" he demanded sharply. for answer, the man tried to get in a blow on his own account. but he was not quick enough. with a nimble leap forward, matt swung his own fist straight from the shoulder. the dingy blue cap flew off and its owner reeled against the side of the building. just then matt felt the arms of the mate going around him from behind. at the same moment, however, footsteps came swiftly along the walk, mounted the steps, and cassidy was caught by the throat in a firm grip. chapter v. motor matt's forbearance. "what's all this? jupiter! two webfeet sailing into one lone-handed youngster! and he seems to be holding his own pretty well, at that. let go, you!" with that, jordan wrenched cassidy away and flung him heavily against one of the veranda posts. the stranger, scowling and nursing a bruise on his chin, was gathering up his blue cap. cassidy, panting and wheezing, was leaning against the post and glaring wrathfully at the consul. "that man," said matt, pointing toward the mate, "is cassidy, second in command aboard the submarine. he takes it hard because captain nemo, jr., placed me in charge, and he came ashore without authority. who the other fellow is i don't know, but i presume it is some trouble maker the mate picked up." "trouble maker is right," went on jordan. "that describes the rascal to a t, y, ty. i know him. he's fingal, master of a shady schooner called the _north star_, an all around bad one, and the authorities in a dozen ports in central america will tell you the same. we'll land him in the skookum house. and as for cassidy, it's against regulations for an officer to attack one who outranks him. we'll put _him_ in the cooler, too." the consul was about to call some one from the house with the intention of sending for an officer, when matt interposed. "i don't want to do anything like that, jordan. these men have been drinking." "that's no excuse." "but cassidy, when he's not half-seas over and got a fancied grievance, is a good fellow. he has proved that to me a hundred times. besides, captain nemo, jr., thinks a lot of him." "well, he can't think much of the captain," answered the consul dryly, "or he'd pay more attention to his orders. what do you want to do with the two men?" "let fingal go about his business, if he has any. as for cassidy, he can go back to the submarine and give his brain a chance to clear. after that he'll see things differently." "i know my rights," snapped cassidy, shuffling around belligerently, "and i'm going to hold out for 'em. i've been mate of the _grampus_ ever since she was launched. and now that the old man's laid up, i ought to be master. this here motor matt hasn't been on the submarine more'n two weeks, put together." "did you hear captain nemo, jr., say that motor matt was to be put in charge of the craft?" queried jordan. "i heard it, but----" "did the rest of the crew hear it?" "yes, only they----" "everybody understands the situation, then?" "i guess they do, if----" "then this is a case of all cry and no wool. you're making a fool of yourself, cassidy, let alone showing mighty poor taste. motor matt is showing a whole lot more forbearance than i'd ever do, in the same circumstances. you made an attack on your commanding officer----" "i don't admit he's that," broke in cassidy fiercely. "nonsense, man!" cried the consul, out of patience. "you'd admit it quick enough if you wasn't drunk." "what business you got buttin' into this, anyway?" jordan pointed to the flag. "this is a patch of american soil right in the middle of a foreign country," said he. "that flag is yours and mine, and i'm here to adjust just such differences as this between my fellow-countrymen. motor matt is captain of the _grampus_, and you've heard his orders. if you and fingal don't clear out, i'll call a policeman and have the pair of you taken to the lock-up." fingal edged away toward the veranda steps. as he drew close to cassidy, he muttered something. the mate gave a thick response, and the two lurched down the steps and out of sight along the walk. "fingal," said jordan, after watching the two out of sight, "is setting the mate up to act as he's doing. his influence is bad, particularly as the mate appears to be a good deal of a numskull without much reasoning ability of his own." "he has always been a first-rate hand," returned matt regretfully, "up in his duties and entirely reliable. this sudden move of his is one of the biggest surprises i ever had sprung on me." "that's the way with some people. give 'em the idea that they've been imposed on, and they're just weak enough in the head to make all sorts of trouble. if you've got the rest of the crew with you, though, it will be easy enough to take care of cassidy. however, if he wanted to he could make lots of trouble for this expedition." "i'll see that he doesn't do that. if he shows a disposition along that line, i'll have him locked in the torpedo room. why he ever came here and set upon me like he did, is a mystery. i guess it was because he was too drunk to know what he was doing." "that's an easy way to explain it," was the consul's sarcastic comment. "on the other hand, he may have come here with the expectation of doing something to you that would make it necessary for you to be left in belize with captain nemo, jr." "no," answered matt firmly, "i can't believe that." "you're altogether too easy," proceeded the consul. "if you were hung up here with a couple of fractured ribs, or a broken arm, cassidy would be the only one left to command the _grampus_." matt shook his head. "cassidy isn't a brute," said he. "i'd like to know, though, why this chap, fingal, is putting in his oar." "he's got an axe to grind. drunk or sober, abner fingal always has his eye on the main chance." "who is he?" "he's a yank, from somewhere up in maine, but he's been in these waters so long he's about half spanish. crooked as a dog's hind leg--that's fingal for you. sometimes he hoists the flag of costa rica, sometimes that of nicaragua, and now and then the cross of st. george, but no matter what colors he sails under he's the same old sixpence. too bad cassidy fell in with him. but there's no use of our wasting any time on those fellows. we've got the job of our lives ahead of us, and we've got to get the work started. any arms aboard the _grampus_?" "i thought you said there wasn't to be any fighting?" "i hope there won't be, my lad, and we'll do everything possible to avoid it, but there's always a chance of being slipped up in our calculations. how's the submarine armed?" "there's a whitehead torpedo in the torpedo room." "we'll not use any torpedoes. if there's a scrap, it will be on the land and hand to hand. any rifles or ammunition aboard?" "none that i know about." "then i'll bring a few guns, merely to be on the safe side. you'll attend to the other equipment?" "about all we'll need is a barrel of gasoline. i can pick that up and have it taken off to the boat." "i'll come aboard, bringing this pilot i was telling you about, and the rest of the plunder, along toward evening. we'll drop down the coast to-night and start for the rendezvous of the revolutionists in the morning. it will be well, i think, to go up the river with the _grampus_ submerged. in that manner we shall be able to hide our approach. however, that is something we can settle later. if you----" the consul paused, his eyes down the street. "well," he muttered, "here comes your friend, ferral, and he appears to be in a tearing hurry. i wonder if anything has gone wrong with nemo, jr.?" this thought was uppermost in matt's mind as he sprang to the top of the steps and watched dick running toward the consulate along the street. "what's up, dick?" he asked anxiously, as his chum came close. "is the captain all right?" "they're bringing him on a stretcher, and the doctor thinks he'll be all right in a few days," dick answered. "it wasn't that that made me clap on all sail, matey, but something else." "what else?" "why, cassidy. as we were coming ashore with the captain i saw the mate pulling off to a schooner that was anchored half a mile t'other side the _grampus_. there was a chunk of a man with him in a blue cap and coat. they were aboard the schooner when we hit the landing, and before we started for town, the schooner's anchor was tripped and she was off down the coast with every rag of sail hoisted and drawing. what does that mean? what's cassidy up to?" matt was astounded. turning blankly on jordan, he saw that his face was clouded and ominous. chapter vi. "on the jump." "you say the schooner got away to the south, ferral?" asked jordan. "aye, aye, and looked as though she was bound for down the coast. looks like cassidy had deserted, matt." "we ought to have jailed him," commented jordan. "did cassidy know anything about the sealed orders, matt?" "captain nemo, jr., had me read the orders aloud in the periscope room," matt answered. "cassidy had been in the conning tower, but when i finished with the letter i saw that he was in the room with us." jordan's face grew even more foreboding. "this looks bad!" he exclaimed. "i wouldn't trust that fingal man around the corner, and here he's run off with cassidy and headed down the coast. there's something in the wind, and if our game is tipped off before we get to where we're going it will be a case of up-sticks with coleman." "i don't think cassidy would dare tip off our work to fingal!" exclaimed matt, somewhat dashed by the course of events. "a drunken man is liable to do anything." "but what would cassidy have to gain by telling fingal our business to the southward?" "why, as for that, fingal has been suspected of helping those same revolutionists. if he can help the scoundrels hang onto coleman, they might make it worth his while." "the letter i read in the periscope room," said matt, after a moment's thought, "spoke of the rio dolce as the place where coleman was being held. this, you tell me, is wrong. in that event, and assuming that cassidy heard the whole of the letter, then he has a clue that's not to be depended on." "fingal must know the rio dolce is not the place. the fact that the schooner bore away to the south proves that some one has correct information. no, matt, fingal has learned through cassidy just why the _grampus_ put in at belize; and cassidy, intoxicated as he is and worked up over a fancied grievance, has cast in his lot with the schooner. the pair of them are off to the south to make trouble for us, take my word for it. what we must do is to get away as close on their heels as possible. we can't wait until evening, but must proceed on the jump and get away without losing any more time than necessary." "avast a minute," spoke up dick. "you remember, matt, that there was a schooner took captain sixty off the fruiter _santa maria_, and sailed with him to find the derelict brig. that schooner was to take off the arms and ammunition from the wreck, and would have done so if the submarine hadn't shown up and been backed by the cruiser _seminole_." "i remember that," said matt. "what of it, dick?" "well, matey, i'm a fiji if i don't think the schooner that took cassidy and the other swab south is the same one that figured in our affairs a few days ago." to all appearances the consul had had news relative to these events in the gulf. as soon as dick had finished, he slapped his hands excitedly. "jupiter!" he exclaimed. "this is more proof that fingal is hand-and-glove with the revolutionists. this new move, matt, means that that pair of scamps are off for the south to put a spoke in our wheel. we can't delay the start an instant longer than we find necessary to finish our preparations." before matt could answer, an open carriage drove along the street. the doctor was in the rear seat supporting the captain. the latter looked like a very sick man indeed, and was leaning feebly against the doctor's arm. "don't tell him anything about cassidy's running away," cautioned matt, starting down the steps and toward the road. "it would only worry him, and we'll carry out the work that has been given to us, in spite of cassidy and fingal." "he knows about it already," said dick. "we discovered cassidy and the other chap making for the schooner while we were coming ashore." "did the captain give cassidy permission to leave the submarine?" "no. carl said that the captain became unconscious just when the mate started up to hoist the flag, and that the mate took another pull at the flask and went on up the conning tower ladder. it was french leave he took, nothing less. as soon as dr. armstrong got to the _grampus_ he wasn't any time at all in bringing the captain to his senses, and the first man nemo, jr., asked about was cassidy." by that time the carriage, which was proceeding slowly, was opposite matt, dick, and jordan, who formed a little group on the sidewalk. in response to a gesture from the captain, the vehicle came to a halt. "you are the american consul?" asked the captain, making an effort to straighten up. "yes," replied jordan. "i am captain nemo, jr., of the submarine _grampus_. my unfortunate illness puts me out of the work that lies ahead of the boat and her crew, but motor matt, there, is perfectly capable of discharging the duties of master. i should feel quite sure of the outcome if it was not for the mate. he has deserted, and i am positive he intends to make trouble. you must get away as soon as possible, matt. cassidy went the other way from the rio dolce--which is a move i can't understand, if he is planning to interfere with the rescue of coleman." matt and jordan exchanged quick looks. the captain, having no information to the contrary, was still under the impression conveyed by the sealed orders, viz.: that the captured consul was on the rio dolce instead of the river izaral. neither matt nor jordan attempted to set the captain straight. evidently the captain had talked more than was good for him, for when he finished he collapsed, and had hardly strength enough to say good-by. as he was driven off, matt gazed after him sympathetically. "strange that a few hours should make such a difference in captain nemo, jr.," he murmured. "the climatic change perhaps had something to do with it, matt," suggested jordan. "but we can't stand around here, my lad. we've got to hustle--and this isn't a very good climate to hustle in, either. it's the land of take-it-easy. you get the submarine in shape, and i'll hunt up the pilot, get together the war plunder and my own traps, and join you just as quick as the nation will let me. on the jump, my lad, on the jump." jordan, suddenly energetic, turned and hastened back into the consulate. "there's a whole lot to that land lubber, matey," remarked dick. "he's as full of snap and get-there as any chap i ever saw. but what's the first move? you're the skipper, now, and it's up to you to lay the course." "we've plenty of stores aboard for the trip we're to make, with the exception of gasoline. the _grampus_ will be in strange waters on a secret mission, and we must make sure of an abundant supply of fuel at the start-off." the boys were not long in finding a place where they could secure the gasoline, and but little longer in getting a negro carter to convey the barrel to the landing. here the same colored boatman who had brought matt and dick ashore was waiting, and the barrel was loaded and carried out to the submarine. the sailboat hove-to as close alongside the _grampus_ as she could get, and both vessels were made fast to each other by ropes. the gasoline barrel was tapped, a hose run out from the conning tower hatch, and the negroes laid hold of a pump and emptied the barrel into the gasoline reservoir of the submarine. dick took charge of the transfer of the gasoline, while matt went down into the periscope room and called up speake, clackett, and gaines. "friends," said the king of the motor boys, "we're off on a short cruise in strange waters--a cruise that will probably call for courage, and will certainly require tact and caution. mr. hays jordan, the american consul, is going with us, and when he comes aboard he will bring a pilot who knows where we are to go and will take us there. you men know that it is captain nemo, jr.'s order that i take charge of the work ahead of us. have you any objection to that?" "the captain knew his business," averred gaines heartily, "and whatever is good enough for him is good enough for us." speake and clackett likewise expressed themselves in the same whole-souled manner. "thank you, my lads," said matt. "i suppose you have heard how the mate went off in a huff. that makes us short-handed, in a way, although the pilot we're to take on will help out. our work is government work, something for old glory, and i feel that we will all of us do our best. we shall have to run all night, and i will arrange to have ferral relieve gaines, and carl relieve clackett. as for speake, he will have abundant opportunity to rest, as most of our night work will be on the surface. speake may now get us something to eat, and after that you will all go to your stations." speake was not long in getting his electric stove to work. there were only a few provisions he could prepare without causing an offensive odor, and the limited menu was quickly on the table. hardly was the meal finished when a boat hove alongside with jordan. matt, dick, and carl went up on deck to assist the consul in getting his traps aboard. jordan had exchanged his white ducks for a trim suit of khaki. two belts were around his waist, one of them fluted with cartridges, and the other supporting a brace of serviceable revolvers. with him came three mauser rifles and a box of ammunition. the pilot was an unkempt half-blood named tirzal. he was bareheaded and barefooted, and had a ferret-like face and shifty, bead-like eyes. as soon as the impedimenta was stowed below decks, matt instructed tirzal in the steering of the submarine. the boat could be maneuvred either from the conning tower or from the periscope room. when maneuvred from the conning tower, the pilot stood on the iron ladder, using his eyes over the top of the tower hatch; when steered from below, compass and periscope were used. tirzal grasped the details with surprising quickness, his little eyes snapping with wonder as they saw the panorama of ocean, shore and shipping on the mirror top of the periscope table. while these instructions were going forward, gaines and dick had gone into the motor room, clackett and carl had posted themselves in the place from which the submerging tanks were operated, and speake had gone forward into the torpedo room. "we're all ready," said matt. "take to the conning tower, tirzal, and give your signals." the half-breed, as proud as a peacock to have the management of this strange craft under his hands, got up the ladder until only his bare feet and legs from the knees down were visible. matt, posting himself by the periscope, divided his attention between the panorama unfolded there and the work of tirzal. he was considerably relieved by the handy manner in which the half-breed took hold of his work. with ballast tanks empty, and the _grampus_ riding as high in the water as she could, the motor got to work the instant the anchors were off the bottom and stowed. "we're off, jordan!" cried matt. "off on one of the strangest cruises i ever took part in," returned the consul, his face glowing with the novelty of the situation; "and it's a cruise, my boy," he added, a little more soberly, "which is going to demand all our resourcefulness in the matter of tact, skill, and courage. even then there's a chance that----" jordan did not finish, but gave matt a look which expressed plainly all that he had left unsaid. chapter vii. the landing party. during that night run down the coast the _grampus_ was driven at full speed. the electric projector was fitted against the lunettes of the conning tower, and threw an eye of light far out over the dark water. it was the hope of those aboard the submarine that they would be able to overhaul and pass the schooner, _north star_, which, presumably, was rushing on ahead of them to interfere in some manner with the work cut out for the _grampus_. the schooner had about three hours' start of the submarine, but the latter craft was keeping to the surface and traveling at such a speed that it was thought she would surely overtake the other boat before the mouth of the izaral was reached. however, in this matt and jordan were disappointed. they passed one steamer, creeping up the coast, but not another craft did they see. "the _north star_ won't be able to ascend the izaral, anyhow," commented jordan. "if fingal communicates with the revolutionists, he will have to send a small boat--and perhaps we can overhaul that boat before it reaches the headquarters of the insurgent force." there was a certain amount of sleep for everybody aboard the _grampus_, that night, but motor matt, dick and carl slept the first half of the night, and, after that, relieved gaines and clackett; speake caught cat naps off and on; jordan stretched himself out on top of the locker in the periscope room and took his forty winks with nothing to bother him; and tirzal, when the submarine was in a fairly clear stretch of her course, was relieved by matt and sent down to curl up on the floor and snore to his heart's content. the tireless motor hummed the song familiar in matt's ears, and the excitement of the work in prospect kept him keyed to highest pitch in spite of his loss of rest. in the gray of early morning, an hour after matt had turned off the electric projector, he sighted the mouth of a river with high, bluffy banks on each side. on one of the banks, peeping out from a covert of royal palms, was a small village. directly across the stream from the village, commanding both the river and the small harbor in front of the town, was a rude fort. matt called tirzal. "she's de ruvver, all right, you bet," declared tirzal, after taking a look at the periscope. "stop um boat, boss," he added. "we no want de people in de town to see um." matt halted the submarine with the touch of a push button. "we'd better submerge, matt," called jordan. "that's the way we've got to get up the river, and it's our proper course for dodging around the town. can you see anything of the schooner?" "there are only a few small native boats in the harbor," answered matt. "the schooner isn't in sight." "beats the deuce what's become of the boat," growled the consul. "if she sent a launch up the river, the schooner ought to be somewhere around waiting for the launch to get back." "she may have pulled off down the coast just to keep clear of us. how's the water in the river?" "him planty deep to where we go, boss," spoke up tirzal. "sometime him t'irty feet, mos'ly fifty feet. eberyt'ing go fine if we keep in de channel." "we'll be on the safe side," went on matt, "and just swing along with the water over our decks and the top of the conning tower. ten foot submergence, clackett," he added through a speaking tube connecting with the tank room. "aye, aye, sir," came back the voice of clackett. the hiss of escaping air as the water came into the tanks was heard, and matt secured the hatch and came down the ladder. the hissing ceased suddenly. "we're ten feet down, matt," reported clackett through the tube. "take the wheel, tirzal," said matt. with head under the periscope hood and one hand on the wheel, tirzal rang for slow speed ahead. matt and jordan likewise gave their attention to the periscope mirror and watched, with curious wonder, while the tropical river unfolded beneath their eyes like a moving picture. the izaral was bank-full. as the _grampus_ rounded the northern bluff and swerved into the river channel, the high, steep banks, covered with dense foliage, resembled a narrow lane with a blank wall at its farther end. when the boat pushed into the stream, however, and fought the current for three or four hundred yards, the seemingly blank wall gave place to an abrupt turn. the submarine took the turn and entered upon another stretch of the lane. this part of the river was as perfect a solitude as though removed thousands of miles from human habitations. at a distance of perhaps two miles from the coast the high banks dwindled to low rises, and on each side was an unbroken forest; the banks were overflowed; the trees seemed to grow out of the water, their branches spreading across so as almost to shut out the light of the sun and were reflected in the water as in a mirror. birds of gaudy plumage fluttered among the trees, and here and there in a bayou alligators could be seen stretching their torpid bodies in the black ooze. tirzal kept his eyes glued to the periscope. the channel was crooked and dangerous, and a moment's neglect might hurl the submarine into a muddy bank, causing trouble and delay, if not actual peril. for two or three miles farther tirzal kept the river channel. finally they came close to a spot where a deep, narrow stream entered the izaral on the right. tirzal turned into this branch and, after ascending it for some fifty yards, had the propeller slowed until it just counteracted the current and held the _grampus_ stationary. "we got to de place, boss," said tirzal, lifting himself erect with a deep breath of relief. "now we come to de top an' tie de boat to a couple ob trees on de sho'." "where are the revolutionists?" asked matt. "dey a good ways off, boss. we hab to take to de bank an' go find um. i know de way. here's where de boats come. you see um pitpan close by de bank? him rebel's boat." "do you suppose," queried matt, turning to the consul, "that the schooner sent word to the rebels by means of the pitpan?" jordan shook his head perplexedly. "they wouldn't do that. the pitpan is no more than a mahogany log, hollowed out, and would be a poor sort of craft to row against the current of the izaral while it's at the flood. i can't understand why we don't see or hear something connected with the schooner. perhaps," and the consul's face brightened, "fingal and cassidy are on the wrong track, after all." "you go to de top, boss," put in tirzal, "an' me swim asho' wid rope; den we warp um boat close to de bank." as a preparation for his swim, the half-breed began to divest himself of his clothes. matt gave the order to empty the ballast tanks by compressed air, and the _grampus_ arose to the surface to the tune of water splashing from the tanks. "a party will have to land for the purpose of reconnoitring the position of the rebels," said jordan. "i would suggest, matt, that the landing party consist of myself, tirzal, of course, and some other person who you think can be easily spared. a strong force will have to remain with the _grampus_, for our situation is encompassed with dangers. before we can plan our dash successfully, we shall have to know something of the lay of the land and the disposition of the force that is guarding coleman." "you are right," returned matt. "i ought to remain with the submarine----" "and get a little sleep," cut in the consul. "you've been on duty all night and must rest up so as to be ready for the sharp work when it comes." "i'll have speake go with you and tirzal," said matt. "how long will you be gone, jordan?" "not more than two or three hours at the outside." by then the _grampus_ was at the surface, and matt climbed the ladder and threw back the hatch. gaining the dripping iron deck, he looked and listened. the thick forest lay on every side, and the silence was broken only by the flapping of wings, and the lazy splash of alligators in a near-by bayou. tirzal, a rope around his waist, scrambled clear of the conning tower and slipped from the deck into the water. he swam swiftly and silently to the bank, pulled himself up, untied the end of the rope from about his waist and passed it around a tree. dick gained the deck, made the boat end of the rope fast to an iron ring in the bow, and watched while tirzal lay back on the cable with all his strength and hauled the bow shoreward, a foot at a time. "the bank lays steep-to, matey," announced dick, "and we can run the nose of the old flugee right into solid ground." "that will make it easier for jordan and speake to effect a landing," said matt. a few minutes of pulling on tirzal's part brought the point of the submarine's bow against the bank. speake had come up on deck with one of the rifles. a moment later jordan followed him, with carl trailing along in his wake. jordan carried two rifles, one for himself and one for tirzal, and also tirzal's bundle of clothes. "we're taking all the rifles, matt," said jordan, "but i have left my cartridge belt and six-shooters in the periscope room. if you should be attacked--which i hardly expect--your best defense will be to sink to the bottom of the river. we'll be back in three hours. if we're not, you'll know something has gone wrong with us. but don't fret about that. tirzal knows the country, and he'll steer us clear of trouble." speake and jordan made their way to the point of the bow and sprang ashore. as soon as tirzal had slipped into his clothes and grasped the rifle, the three comprising the landing party waved their hands to those on the deck of the boat and vanished into the forest. "dose fellers vas going to haf all der fun," grumbled carl. "i don't think anybody is going to have a monopoly of the 'fun,' as you call it, carl," said matt grimly. "you and dick stay on deck and keep a sharp watch for rebels. i'm going to the periscope room to take a nap. in order to be on the safe side, dick, you'd better let the _grampus_ slide back toward the middle of the stream. leave the cable on the tree and pay it off from the bow of the boat." "aye, aye, matey," answered dick. "call me if anything happens," said matt, climbing into the conning tower. on reaching the periscope room, he signaled gaines to stop the motor, and told him and clackett that the submarine was moored, and that they could either sleep or go on deck, as they preferred. matt, thoroughly tired out by his long night vigil, stretched himself on the locker and was soon sound asleep. how long he slept he did not know, but he was suddenly aroused by a pounding of feet on the steel deck, startled cries and a tremendous splashing of water. thinking that dick and carl, who had comprised the anchor watch, had been caught napping, and that the revolutionists were making an attack on the boat, he leaped up, caught the first weapon he could lay hold of, and darted for the iron ladder. the weapon happened to be an old harpoon belonging to speake, who had once had a berth aboard a whaling ship. when matt lifted his head above the rim of the conning tower hatch, a strange scene met his eyes. chapter viii. carl in trouble. the most prominent object that met motor matt's startled eyes was a big bull alligator. the creature was thrashing about in the water, now striking the sides of the _grampus_ with its powerful tail, and now making an attack on the pitpan, or dugout canoe, which has already been referred to. carl pretzel was in the canoe, and he was wildly anxious to get back to the submarine. the alligator, however, was floundering around in the stretch of water between carl and the _grampus_. "helup!" whooped carl. "der olt man-eader vill ged me oof you don'd do somet'ing." it hadn't seemed to occur to the dutch boy that he could go ashore--being much nearer the bank, in fact, than the submarine. dick had a hatchet which he had picked up from somewhere on the deck. he rushed back to the conning tower and climbed into it, thus securing an elevated position which offered some advantage in case he hurled the hatchet at the big saurian. "paddle ashore, carl!" called matt. "dot's so," gasped carl; "meppy i vill. coax der pig feller avay; i don'd like how he uses dot tail oof his." carl fell to work with his paddle. by that time, however, the alligator's temper was aroused, and, before carl had got the pitpan turned, the big creature glided forward, opened its ponderous jaws and closed them about the forward end of the dugout.[b] [b] the common supposition that an alligator uses only his tail as a weapon of offense and defense is erroneous. his tail is for swimming purposes, and his big jaws are his main reliance in combat. there was a frightful crash, and the sides of the pitpan were stove in like an eggshell. one end of the wrecked boat was pushed high in the water, and carl, at the other end, was in sore straits. "helup, or i vas a goner!" yelled carl, leaping into the water as motor matt made ready to hurl the harpoon. carl's predicament had become serious in the extreme. if the enraged reptile turned on him, his doom was sealed. the task for matt and dick, which they recognized on the instant, was to wound the alligator and take its attention from the boy in the water. the harpoon left matt's hand, and the hatchet left dick's, at the same moment. the hatchet was turned by the reptile's scaly coat as by so much armor plate. the harpoon, however, by a chance, struck just back of the alligator's fore-leg in the place where the hide was not so thick. the big fellow had lifted head and shoulders out of the water in the fierceness of the attack on the pitpan--which fact alone made matt's blow possible. dick, tumbling out of the conning tower, seized one end of a coil of rope and hurled it toward carl. the dutch boy grabbed it, and dick drew him in rapidly, hand over hand. the alligator, meantime, had whipped away around the bow of the _grampus_, half its head only on the surface, and leaving a reddened trail in its wake. carl, sputtering and gasping, fell dripping on the submarine's deck. "be jeerful, be jeerful," he mumbled. "i tell you somet'ing, dot vas der glosest call vat efer i hat mit meinseluf. dot's righdt." he pulled himself up by means of the periscope mast, and shook his fist after the alligator, which was returning to the bayou. "you don'd make some meals off me, i bed you!" he taunted. "nexdt dime you do a t'ing like dot, meppy i vill haf a rifle hanty. den, py shinks, i gif you more as you can dake care oof." "you'll have to pay speake for that harpoon, carl," laughed matt. "mit bleasure," answered carl. "id vas der harboon vat safed my life." "how did you come to get in that fix?" "veil, i t'ink i vould like to look at dot bitban, so tick he bulls on der rope und prings der supmarine glose inshore. i shdep off der pow, valk along der pank und ged indo der tugoudt; den i bick oop der baddle und t'ink i vill row pack, as tick hat let der supmarine oudt indo der rifer again. schust as i got shdarted, dot pig alligador pobs oop righdt py der poat. i say 'shoo' aber he von'd shoo vort' a cent. den i drow vone oof der baddles ad him, und he geds madt as some vet hens und pegins vorking dot dail aroundt. den i vished dot i vas some blace else, und make some yelling. der resdt iss vat you know. ach, blitzen! der bitban iss gone oop, und i vas poody near gone oop meinseluf. anyhow, a miss iss as goot as a mile, don'd it?" "it's just as well, i guess," said matt, "that the dugout has been destroyed. if we were attacked here by the rebels, the boat would have helped them. but you should not have left the submarine, carl. the noise we have made here may have been heard. in that event, we can expect trouble." just at that moment, clackett and gaines came up through the hatch. "what's been going on?" clackett asked. "you've missed the fun, matey," returned dick. "carl had a little trouble with an alligator, and just got out of it by the skin of his teeth." "clackett an' me was asleep," said gaines. "blamed funny, though, we didn't hear the rumpus. what woke me was you fellows, talking and walking over the deck. haven't speake and jordan shown up yet?" "what time is it?" asked matt. "it was a little after twelve when clackett an' me left the torpedo room." "great spark plugs!" exclaimed matt, startled. "i must have slept longer than i supposed. it was nine o'clock when jordan and the others went ashore. jordan said they'd be back in three hours, at the outside. more than three hours have passed and they're not back." matt's eyes, suddenly filled with anxiety, swept the tree-covered bank. "tirzal knew the country, mate," said dick, "and i guess those fellows are wise enough to steer clear of the rebels while they're trying to locate coleman." "something may have gone wrong with them, for all that. if cassidy and fingal managed to get word to the revolutionists, then quite likely jordan, speake, and tirzal got into a snare. if they did, and if----" matt was interrupted by the distant report of a rifle, echoing and re-echoing through the dense timber. there was just one report, and then silence fell again; but, during the silence, the troubled glances of those on the _grampus_ met questioningly. "our landing party has been discovered," declared matt, who was first to collect his wits. "dick and i will go ashore and see if we can be of any help. i'll leave you in charge of the _grampus_, gaines. as soon as we are off the boat, you, and clackett, and carl cast off from the shore, go below and sink until the periscope ball is just awash. you may have to put out an anchor to hold the boat against the current. one of you keep constantly at the periscope, watching the left-hand bank. if you see one of us come there and wave his arms, you'll know we want you to come up and take us aboard. be as quick as you can, too, for we may be in a hurry." "depend on me, matt," said gaines. "depend on all of us," added clackett. matt turned to his sailor chum. "go into the periscope room, dick," said he, "and get those two revolvers of jordan's. never mind the belts. empty out some of the cartridges and put them in your pocket. hustle, old chap." dick was only gone a few minutes. during that time gaines and clackett were busy with the rope, hauling the submarine back to the bank, and matt was listening for more firing. no more reports came from the timber, however, and when dick reappeared and handed matt one of the revolvers, both hurried to the bow of the submarine and sprang ashore. "don't forget your orders, gaines," cautioned matt. "you can bank on it that i won't, matt," answered the motorist. "you and dick look out for yourselves. don't make a bad matter worse by letting the revolutionists get a grip on you. if they did, we'd be in hard shape for sure." chapter ix. a friend in need. at the point where jordan, speake and tirzal had vanished into the wood, matt and dick found a faint path--a path so little traveled and so blind that it could not be seen from the deck of the _grampus_, even when she was hauled close to the shore. "it's as plain as a hand spike," remarked dick, as he and matt made their way along the path, "that jordan and the others took a slant in this direction." "that's the kind of a guess i'd make," said matt. "by following the path, though, we don't want to forget that they got into trouble. when you're on a road that leads to trouble, dick, you've either got to leave it or else be mighty careful." "i don't know how we'd get through this jungle if we didn't follow the path. tirzal claims to know the country. if that's a fact, then it's main queer he couldn't pilot jordan and speake around any stray groups of insurrectos." "our failure to see anything of the schooner while we were off the coast, or anything of a launch from the schooner while we were coming up the river, rather gave jordan the idea that fingal and cassidy were on the wrong track. but i'm inclined to think jordan was wide of his trail. they must have sent word here and enabled the revolutionists to fix up some sort of a trap." "shiver me! i can't begin to tell you how surprised i am at the way cassidy is acting--that is, if he's gone into cahoots with this swab of a fingal for the purpose of backcapping our plans to save one of our own countrymen. what sort of a two-faced bandicoot is cassidy, anyhow? he must be mighty sore to act like that. but mayhap you're mistaken, matt." "i hope i am," returned matt gravely. "i always liked cassidy, and i hate to see a good man go wrong in such a way as that." the boys had dropped their voices to an undertone. while they talked, they hurried ahead along the dim, winding path, keeping their eyes constantly ahead. owing to the close growth of trees, but very little sun filtered to the ground below, and a twilight gloom hovered over the narrow way. matt was in advance, and suddenly he halted, whirled on dick and pulled him behind a matted vine that hung from a tree beside the path. "hist!" whispered matt, in his chum's ear. "i can hear voices around the turn in the path ahead. some one is coming this way. crouch down and perhaps they'll go past without seeing us." scarcely breathing, the two boys knelt behind the matted vine, each holding his weapon ready in case they should be discovered and compelled to fight for their freedom. it was not long before the men whom matt had heard came straggling around the turn in the path. to their amazement, no less a person than fingal was at the head of the column. the light was none too good for making observations at a distance, but there could be no mistaking the burly form in the dingy blue cap and coat and dungaree trousers. fingal slouched along with the thwartship roll of a sailor with stable ground under him. at his back came half a dozen nondescript men, of various shades of color from coal black to light yellow. these men, no doubt, formed part of the rebel army. they were all barefooted, their clothes were ragged, and they wore straw hats. each had a machete strapped about his waist, but there the uniformity of their accoutrements ceased. two had no arms apart from the machetes; one of the remaining four had a long-barreled, muzzle-loading rifle, and the other three had revolvers. fingal had no rifle, but there was a belt about his waist that supported a six-shooter over his hip. the file was still talking as it passed the two boys, but it was spanish talk and neither matt nor dick could understand anything that was said. without seeing the boys, the file swept on and vanished around another bend. matt drew a long breath of relief. "we're out of that mess, dick," he murmured, getting up and stepping back into the path. "i guess we've settled all doubts about cassidy and fingal. fingal's here, and i'll bet something handsome cassidy can't be very far off." "cassidy's trying to down us," growled dick, "and that's as plain as the nose on your face. the old sou'wegian! he ought to be trussed up at a grating and pounded with the 'cat' for this. i never thought it of the old sorehead! where do you suppose that pack is going?" "they're looking for the _grampus_, i guess." dick chuckled. "and the old _grampus_ is ten feet under water! if gaines is next to his job, he's fixed things so they won't be able to see even the periscope ball." "trust gaines to do everything possible. i don't think the submarine is in any particular danger, but we couldn't help her any if she was. we'll keep on and see where this trouble road lands us." "aye, aye, old ship! luck seems to be on our side, so far, and here's hoping that it will stay with us." matt once more took the lead and set the pace. the ground they were covering had a slight inclination upward, and the path continued to wriggle, serpent fashion, through the dense growth of timber. it was the almost impenetrable screen of the woods that suddenly plunged the boys into difficulties. rounding an abrupt turn, beyond which it was impossible to see because of the dense foliage, matt and dick plunged recklessly into full view of an encampment. it was a large encampment, too, and pitched in the midst of a big clearing. the place was not a hundred yards off, and matt, pulling himself short up, got a glimpse of black soldiers lolling and smoking under rough canvas shelters. for an instant he halted and stared; then whirled face about. "back, dick!" he exclaimed. "run, run for your life!" the words were hardly necessary. the boys had been seen and a wild clamor came from the encampment. a fizzing sputter of firearms awoke echoes in the timber, and scraps of lead could be heard slapping and zipping through the leaves. "we might be good for three or four," panted dick, as he stretched his legs along the path, "but we have to knock under when the whole rebel army gets after us." "save your breath!" cried matt. "run!" "where'll we run to? that other pack, with fingal, is ahead." "never mind. the largest force is behind." the dark-skinned rebels were tearing along like mad. the boys, looking over their shoulders, could see them wherever the path straightened out into a short, straight-away stretch. at such times, too, some one of the pursuing rabble let fly with a bullet. the bullets went wild, for there is no such thing as accurate shooting by a man who is on the run. the boys were holding their own--perhaps doing a little better. "we can distance 'em," puffed dick, "if they'll only give us a little time. we'll be around the next turn and halfway to the one beyond before they show up again." dick had hardly finished speaking before he came to a sudden halt. "keep on!" panted matt. "can't! we're between two fires, matey. that other gang has heard the firing and is coming back. let's get behind trees and do the best we can for ourselves. oh, this _is_ a rum go!" matt was able to hear the men racing along in advance of them, and the larger force behind was drawing nearer and nearer. the outlook was dark, and the only thing left for the boys to do seemed to be to dig into the dense undergrowth and take their chances of being tracked down. with one accord they sprang toward the left-hand side of the path. the timber, in that direction, seemed a trifle less thick than on the right. before they had vanished they heard a guarded voice calling from the right. "matt! motor matt!" startled at hearing his name, the young motorist paused and whirled about. his astonishment grew. a woman--a young woman--had emerged through the trailing creepers and was beckoning wildly. "this way!" she called, still in the same guarded tone. "quick, if you want to save yourselves." a moment more and matt and dick both recognized the speaker. she was not one whom they would have trusted had circumstances been other than they were. just then, however, but little choice was left them. "it's that or nothing," muttered dick, and he and matt charged back across the path and followed the girl into a tangle of bushes. hardly had they vanished when both parties of pursuers pushed into sight from right and left. chapter x. strange revelations. it was in new orleans that an attractive young lady, with liquid spanish eyes, had called to see motor matt and had told him many things which were not true. because of this misinformation, motor matt had been lured into the hands of captain jim sixty, the filibuster. the girl who had been instrumental in carrying out this plot against the king of the motor boys was ysabel sixty, captain sixty's daughter. the distrust of matt and dick, even at the moment when they were hemmed in on both sides by the revolutionists, will be understood when it is explained that their "friend in need" was none other than ysabel sixty. the boys were amazed to see her there in that rebel-haunted wilderness, but they repressed their excitement and curiosity until the girl had led them unerringly to a little cleared space in the heart of the woods. here there was a rude shelter constructed of a ragged tarpaulin, and an _olla_, or earthen water jar, suspended from the branches of a tree. the girl turned and faced the boys as soon as they reached this primitive camp. "you are safe, for the present," said she. "i am glad i could do something to help you." "strike me lucky!" growled dick, his keen eyes on the girl's face. "are you helping us, ysabel sixty, or luring us into another trap, like you did up in new orleans?" a look of sadness and contrition swept over the girl's face. it was a pretty face--not so pretty as it had been in new orleans, for now it was worn and haggard--and that ripple of sorrow touched it softly. "i have paid for all that," said the girl slowly. "i have paid for it with more bitter regrets than i can tell. now, maybe, i can help to undo the wrong. what i did in new orleans i did not do willingly. my father threatened to kill me if i failed to carry out his wishes. now he is in the hands of the law, you are free, and i am adrift in this wild country." there was something in the girl's voice that touched both matt and dick. it could not be that she was again playing a part, for there was that in her words and manner which told of sincerity. "how do you happen to be here?" asked matt. "my father, as i suppose you have heard, left the steamer _santa maria_ to go on the schooner _north star_ and hunt for his water-logged brig. i continued on to belize on the _santa maria_, with orders from my father to take the first boat from belize to port livingstone, at the mouth of the izaral. there i was met by some of general pitou's soldiers, and brought out to this camp to wait until my father, or my uncle, should come. my father did not come, and will not. my uncle has already arrived, and it is to avoid him that i have come away by myself, into this part of the woods." "who is your uncle, ysabel?" asked matt. "abner fingal." this took the breath of both of the boys. "fingal!" exclaimed matt. "his real name is sixty," explained the girl, "and he is my father's brother. he is captain of the schooner that has been helping the revolutionists, and he has sworn vengeance on all those who had anything to do with my father's capture." "that means us, matey," and dick turned for an apprehensive look through the timber in the direction of the path. "i never dreamed of anything like that," he added. "it's not generally known," said the girl, "that captain fingal and captain sixty are in any way related. they have both been helping the revolutionists, and, if the uprising was a success, they were to be rewarded." "you ran away from the rebel camp in order to avoid fingal?" "yes." "why was that?" a flush ran through the girl's haggard face. "my uncle wants me to marry general pitou, a frenchman who is in command of the revolutionists. when i marry," and the words came spitefully and with a stamp of the foot, "i shall marry to please myself, and not some one else." "right-o, my lass!" approved dick. "don't let 'em bullyrag you into marrying a frenchie, anyhow." "i heard that my uncle was expected to reach the camp soon," went on the girl, "and i ran away last night. pedro, a mexican who used to be a sailor on my father's brig, helped me to get away. he fixed that little tent for me, and this morning, when he brought me breakfast, he told me some news." "what was that?" inquired matt, scenting something of importance. "why, pedro said that my uncle, together with another man named cassidy, had come over from port livingstone on a little gasoline boat which they had stolen from the custom-house officer in the town. they brought information that a boat that travels under water was coming to release the american prisoner. of course," and the girl smiled a little, "i knew who it was that was coming in that under-water boat, so i made pedro tell me everything he knew. "he said the boat was coming from belize, and that the american consul to british honduras might come with it. he told me that fingal informed the general that it would be possible to entrap the other consul, and that this would give the rebels two valuable prisoners to hold until the american government would exchange captain sixty for them. the plan was to capture the under-water boat and all on board. fingal and this man cassidy were to have the boat, and fingal was to be allowed to do whatever he pleased with all the prisoners except the consul." "we know what that meant, matey," said dick, making a wry face. "the old hunks wanted to make us walk the plank for the part we played in the capture of jim sixty." "pedro said," went on ysabel, "that general pitou doubled the guards all around the camp so that those who came to rescue coleman would not only fail, but would be captured themselves." "the plan must have worked out pretty well," observed matt. "did pedro tell you whether any of the rescuers had been captured?" "he came very early this morning," answered ysabel, "before the general's plans had been carried out." "mr. coleman is with the insurgents?" asked matt. "he has been with them for a long time." "is he well treated?" "as well as he can be. the rebels are half starved, but mr. coleman shares their rations with them." "where is he kept?" "in a tent in the middle of the encampment. he is constantly under guard, but, while i was in the camp, i was able to talk with him. we were the only ones who could speak english, and the soldiers were not able to understand us. i told mr. coleman that i was going to run away, and he said it was the best thing i could do. he asked me, before i left, to take a letter from him to the customs officer at port livingstone. but he wasn't able to write the letter before pedro helped me get away." here was great news, but not wholly satisfactory. the captured consul was alive and well cared for; but he was also well guarded in the heart of the insurgents' camp. "that puts me in a blue funk," muttered dick. "i wouldn't give a hap'orth for our chances of doing anything for coleman. if we get away from here ourselves, we'll be doing well. and then, too, what's become of jordan, speake and tirzal? i hate to make a guess, for it fair dashes me." matt was also very much alarmed on account of their missing companions; in some way, however, he hoped through ysabel sixty to be able to accomplish something--if not for coleman, then at least for jordan and the two with him. "how did you happen to be so close by, ysabel," queried matt, "when dick and i were so sorely in need of help?" "pedro said that you would probably make a landing in the purgatoire, which is a branch of the izaral, and that the general was watching closely the path that led from the branch to the encampment. i heard a number of rifle shots, and that led me to hurry toward the path. i got there just in time to see you. i am sorry for what i was compelled to do in new orleans, and if i can help you any now i wish you would let me." "you have already been a lot of help to us," said matt. "whether you can help us any more or not remains to be seen. perhaps, ysabel, we may be able to help _you_ a little." "how?" she returned, leveling her lustrous black eyes upon him. "you can't remain here, in this poor camp, indefinitely," went on matt. "pedro is taking a good many chances, i should think, coming here to smuggle food to you. what would happen if general pitou was to catch pedro? in that case you would be left without any one to look after you." "i know that," answered the girl, drawing a long face, "but anything is better than being compelled to marry the general. i _won't_ do that!" and again she stamped her foot angrily. "what are your plans?" asked matt. "pedro is going to try and get a pitpan for me and send me down to port livingstone. he says there is a pitpan on the purgatoire, and that, just as soon as the hour is favorable, he will start me for the town." "that pitpan has been stove in and destroyed," said matt, "so you can't count on that. why not go down the river with us, in the _grampus_? have you friends in port livingstone?" "no," replied the girl, a flash of pleasure crossing her face at matt's suggestion that she go away in the submarine, "but i have good friends in belize--my mother's people. they will take care of me. i should have stayed there instead of coming on to port livingstone as my father told me." "then it's settled," said matt definitely; "we're going to take you with us when we go." "when are you going?" asked the girl. "just as soon as we can find out what has become of the rest of our party and do something to help them." "the rest of your party? who are they?" thereupon matt began to tell the girl about jordan, speake and tirzal, how they had come ashore to reconnoitre and had not returned. barely had he finished when a low whistle, like a signal, floated out of the depths of the wood. matt and dick jumped and clutched their revolvers. "it's pedro!" whispered the girl. "you have nothing to fear from him, but he mustn't see you. hide--over there, behind those bushes--and wait till he goes away." matt and dick hurried in the direction of the girl's pointing finger. they had no sooner got safely out of sight than pedro came running breathlessly into the little clearing. chapter xi. one chance in ten. pedro was as ragged as all the rest of the rebels, but he was brown, not black or yellow. he was barefooted and wore on his head a battered straw hat. his only weapon was a machete, fastened about his waist by a piece of rope. he was a man of middle age, and from his manner there was not the least doubt of his loyalty to the daughter of his former captain. he carried a small parcel, knotted up in a dusty handkerchief, and laid it on the ground near the water jar; then, drawing off and keeping close watch of the timber behind him, he began speaking hurriedly in spanish. the girl's face lighted up as she listened. once in a while she interrupted the torrent of words pouring from pedro's lips to put in a question, then subsided and let the torrent flow on. for five minutes, perhaps, pedro talked and gesticulated. at the end of that time he pulled off his tattered hat, extracted a scrap of folded paper from the crown and handed it to the girl. then, with a quick, low-spoken "_adios!_" he vanished into the forest. as soon as he was safely away, ysabel turned toward the bushes where the boys had been concealed and clapped her hands. "come!" she called; "i have something to tell you." matt and dick hurried to join her. "what's it about?" asked dick eagerly. "it's about your friends, of whom you were telling me when pedro came. they have been captured----" "keelhaul me! there's nothing very pleasing about that." "didn't you expect it?" the girl asked. "you knew something must have happened to them when they failed to return to the boat." "yes," spoke up matt, "we expected it, but i think both of us had a hope that they had merely been pursued into the wood and were working their way back to the _grampus_." "the men general pitou had set to watch the path from the purgatoire were the ones who captured them. mr. jordan had time to fire just one shot before they were seized, but that bullet wounded a captain, one of the general's best men. pedro says general pitou is very angry, and that he is going to keep all the prisoners and not release them until the united states government gives up my father." "the government will never do that," said matt. "our country is too big to be bullied by a handful of rebels, 'way down here in central america." "then general pitou says the prisoners will all be killed." there was little doubt in matt's mind but that this irresponsible rebel general would be reckless enough to carry out his threat. "oh, but we've made a monkey's fist of this, all right," growled dick. "we come down here to rescue coleman, and, instead of doing that, we leave jordan, speake and tirzal in the enemy's hands. a nice run of luck this is!" matt was equally cast down. "tirzal is to be shot as a spy," went on ysabel. "poor chap! but what could you expect? i hope the president of this two-by-twice republic will capture every man-jack of the rebels and bowse every last one of them up to the yardarm. that's what they're entitled to, from general pitou down." "did pedro have anything to say about us?" inquired matt. "that's where the good part of it comes in," went on the girl. "the rebels think you're in the woods, somewhere to the north of the path. all the general's force, excepting about twenty-five armed men who are guarding the prisoners at the encampment, are hunting through the timber in the hope of catching you. fingal is helping in the search, and vows he will make you pay dearly for the part you played in the capture of my father." "i fail to see anything pleasant in all this, even yet," continued dick. "i thought you said that here was where the good part comes in?" "can't you see?" cried the girl. "if all the rebels, outside the encampment, are looking for you in the timber the other side of the path, why, that leaves the way clear to the submarine. we can go there, right off, and get away from general pitou and his men." there was a short silence after this. matt and dick were both turning the subject over in their minds. when their eyes sought each other, dogged determination could be read in each glance. "as you say, ysabel," said matt, "we have an opportunity to get back to the submarine, but we can't go and leave our friends behind us." "you--can't--go?" breathed the girl, staring at matt as though she scarcely understood his words. "why can't you go?" she went on, almost fiercely. "your friends are captured, and how can you hope to get them away from twenty-five armed men? don't be so foolish! get away while you can--pretty soon it will be too late, and if you are caught you will be shot." "what's in that handkerchief, ysabel?" queried dick, pointing to the parcel pedro had placed on the ground near the water jar. "food," said the girl curtly. "eat it, if you want to. i'm not hungry." she was in a temper because matt and dick would not hurry away to the submarine. she could not understand why they should delay their flight when it was manifestly impossible for them to be of any help to their captured friends. as if to further emphasize her displeasure, she turned her back on the boys. dick stared at her, and then swerved an amused glance upon his chum. "didn't pedro give you a note, ysabel?" asked matt gently. "yes. it was from coleman. he managed to write it and give it to pedro for me. it is mine." "suppose you read it? perhaps there is something in it that is important." ysabel partly turned and threw the note on the ground at matt's feet. "you can read it," she said. matt picked up the scrap and opened it out. it was written in lead pencil, on the back of an old envelope. "i hope you can get away some time to-day in that pitpan pedro was telling you about. if you can do that, you can help all the prisoners now in general pitou's hands. some time soon we are to be taken down the izaral halfway to port livingstone, where the rebels have another camp which they consider safer than this one. we will all go in the gasoline launch which was stolen, early this morning, by fingal and cassidy. tell this to the customs officer at port livingstone, and ask him to do his best to intercept the launch and help us. i cannot write more--i have not time." this was the note. "shiver me!" muttered dick dejectedly, "if the old cutthroat, pitou, has his prisoners taken farther back in the jungle, there'll be no possibility of rescuing them. we're on the reefs now, for sure." matt turned to ysabel. her anger was passing as quickly as it had mounted, and she seemed anxious to meet any question matt should ask her. "when fingal and cassidy came up the river in the gasoline launch," said matt, "did they turn into the purgatoire branch?" "no. pedro said that they went on up the izaral, and got across to the encampment by another road through the woods." "then, if the prisoners are brought down in the launch they'll have to pass the mouth of the purgatoire?" "yes." "dick," said matt, "there's a chance that we can do something to that boat load of prisoners." "what?" queried dick, pricking up his ears. "we can go back to the submarine, drop down the purgatoire and wait there, submerged, until the gasoline launch comes down." "then what, matey?" asked dick. "then we'll do whatever we can. there'll be five of us on the submarine, and i don't see why we couldn't accomplish something." but dick shook his head. "you don't know, matey," said he, "that coleman's information is correct. it's hardly likely that pitou would blow the gaff to one of his prisoners." "coleman may have found it out in some other way than from general pitou." "well, the launch may already have dropped down the river." "hardly, i think, when most of the rebels are out looking for us. there's a chance, dick." "one chance in ten, i should say, matey." "that's better than no chance at all, which seems to be what we have here." "we've worse than no chance at all, out in this scrub with the rebel army looking for us. if we're caught, we'll be done browner than a kippered herring. although i haven't much hope, i'm for making a quick slant in the direction of the _grampus_." "then you're going to the submarine?" asked ysabel joyfully. "yes, and we'd better start at once while the coast seems to be clear." the girl clapped her hands and started for the timber. "do you want this?" asked dick, lifting the bundle from beside the water jar. "no, it's only food--my dinner that pedro brought me. you have plenty on the submarine, haven't you?" "yes," matt laughed. "then hang that to a tree branch for pedro. probably he robbed himself to help me. he'll come back and get it." dick twisted the knots of the handkerchief into the end of a branch and they all started hurriedly back toward the path. the difficulties of the way made it necessary for them to travel in single file. matt went ahead, ysabel followed him, and dick brought up the rear. in ten minutes they were back in the path and hurrying swiftly in the direction of the purgatoire. but ill luck was still following them, like an evil spectre. they had not gone far along the course before a rebel soldier sprang from the timber into the path at matt's side. the surprise was mutual, and, for an instant, matt and the negro stared at each other. fortunately the negro had no firearms. he drew his machete, but before he could aim a stroke with it, matt had leaped forward and struck his arm a fierce blow with the butt of jordan's revolver. a yell of pain fell from the negro's lips, his arm dropped at his side and he jumped backward into the woods. "quick," shouted matt to those behind. "there may be others with him and we'll have to make a dash for the _grampus_. run on ahead, dick, and get the submarine up and close to the bank. i'll follow you with ysabel." dick would have demurred at this arrangement, but a chorus of wild yells, issuing from the wood, proved that the negro had spread the alarm. "the boat will be ready for you," shouted dick, as he passed like a streak along the path. seizing the girl's arm, and keeping the revolver in hand, matt started on as rapidly as the girl could go. chapter xii. by a narrow margin. ysabel made poor work of the flight. "go on," she begged; "don't try to save me. you can get away if you don't have to bother to help me along." "i'll not leave you," answered matt firmly, taking a quick look over his shoulder. "the soldiers have not yet reached the path and there's a good chance for us. do your best, ysabel!" the girl struggled along as well as she could, matt bounding ahead and dragging her by main force. the shouts behind were growing louder. a rifle was fired and the bullet hissed spitefully through the air above their heads. "fingal will kill you if he catches you," panted the girl. "i'm not going to let him catch me," answered matt. "he will catch you if you try to take me with you! leave me, i say. i won't be hurt. perhaps, if i turn around and run toward them, i can do something to help save you." "you're wasting your breath," said matt finally. "save it for running." ysabel was a girl who was accustomed, in some things, to having her way. she thought that, if matt persisted in burdening himself with her, he would surely be captured, and she was anxious to save him at all costs. thus, in a fashion, she could atone for what she had done in new orleans. suddenly, while matt was dragging her onward, she threw herself upon the ground. "i can't go another step!" she cried breathlessly. "leave me and save yourself." he made no reply, but bent down and picked the girl up in his arms. then, thus burdened, he staggered on along the path. the pursuers were coming closer and closer. two or three shots rang out, so close together that they sounded almost as one. matt stumbled and nearly fell. "you're hurt!" cried the girl, noticing how his left arm dropped at his side, releasing her. "nicked, that's all," he answered. "the shock of it came near to taking the strength out of me for an instant. i'm all right now, although the arm isn't much good for the present." "i'll run along beside you," said the girl, in a strangely subdued tone. her ruse to get matt to leave her--for ruse it was--had not succeeded. on the contrary, it had cost matt something. the girl, all contrition, ran at his side and did much better than she had done before. a turn in the woods put them out of sight of their pursuers and presented a screen against the vicious firearms. "just a little farther," breathed the girl. "the river is close now." "we'll make it," returned matt cheerily. his face was a trifle pale, but the same dogged look was in his gray eyes which, more than once, had snatched victory from seeming defeat. "does your arm hurt, matt?" the girl asked. "it's feeling better now," and matt lifted it. a little stream of red had run down his hand. the girl stifled a cry as she looked. he laughed lightly. "a scratch, that's all," he assured her. "let's see how quick we can get around that next turn. when we pass that, we'll have a straight run to the river." they called on every ounce of their reserve strength, and were around the bend before their enemies had had a chance to do any more firing. matt was wondering, during that last lap of their run, whether they were to be defeated at the very finish of their plucky flight. they had delayed too long in leaving the girl's camp. he saw that, plainly enough, and yet he would not have started back to the boat at all unless he had received the news contained in coleman's note. had dick reached the river in time to attract the attention of those on the submarine and have the craft brought to the surface, ready and waiting for matt and the girl? if not, if the slightest thing had gone wrong and caused a delay, then matt and his companion must surely fall into the hands of fingal and general pitou. yet, harassed though he was by these doubts, matt's nerve did not for a moment desert him. the rebels were behind them, and firing, when he and ysabel reached the bank of the river. but the soldiers were firing wildly now, and their bullets did not come anywhere near their living targets. and there, plainly under matt's eyes, was the _grampus_. she was at the surface, he could hear the throb of her working motor, and dick was forward, swinging back on the cable and holding her against the bank. carl was half out of the conning tower, tossing his hands frantically. "hurry oop! hurry oop!" clamored carl. "don'd led dose fellers ged you, matt. schust a leedle furder und----" matt was about to yell for carl to drop out of the tower and clear the way, but a bullet, fanning the air close to carl's head, caused him to disappear suddenly. "you'll make it!" yelled dick, reaching over to help the girl to the rounded steel deck. "into the tower hatch with you, ysabel!" cried matt. "help her, dick," he added. "there's no use hanging onto the rope now." as matt scrambled to the deck, the impetus of his leap flung the bow of the submarine away from the bank. dick was already pushing and supporting ysabel toward the tower hatch. the bullets were now flying too thickly for comfort, but matt drew a long breath of relief when he saw the girl disappear behind the protection of the tower. "in with you, dick!" shouted matt, the _pingity-ping_ of bullets on the steel deck giving point to his words. "but you're hurt, matey," answered dick. "no time to talk!" was matt's brief response. dick, without delaying matters further, dropped through the top of the tower. the firing suddenly ceased. as matt mounted the tower and threw his feet over the rim, he saw the reason. four of the ragged soldiers had leaped from the bank to the submarine's deck. more would have come, but the gap of water had grown too wide for them to leap across it. these four, scrambling and stumbling toward matt, caused their comrades to hold their fire for fear of injuring them. just as matt dropped down the iron ladder, the foremost of the negro soldiers reached the tower. his big hands seized the rim as he made ready to hoist himself upward and follow the fugitives into the interior of the boat. matt had yet to close the hatch, and the negro's hands were in the way. with his clenched fist he struck the black fingers. his work was somewhat hampered from the fact that his left arm was still not to be depended on, so he had to use his right hand entirely. with a howl of pain the negro pulled away his hands. thereupon, quick as a flash, matt reached upward and closed the hatch. not a moment too soon was this accomplished, for the other three soldiers had reached the tower and were preparing to assist their comrade. matt pushed into place the lever holding the hatch shut. "fill the ballast tanks!" he shouted. "pass the word to clackett, dick. lively, now! ten-foot submersion! we've got to clear the decks of these negroes. if they should break one of the lunettes we'd be in a serious fix." down below him matt could hear dick roaring his order to clackett. with eyes against one of the narrow windows matt watched the rebel soldiers. they were beating on the hatch cover with their fists, and kicking against the sides of the tower. on the bank, their comrades were running along to keep abreast of the boat and shouting suggestions. the _grampus_, steered by dick with the aid of the periscope, had turned her nose down-stream in the direction of the izaral. the hissing of air escaping from the ballast tanks as the water came in was heard by the four ragamuffins on the outside of the steel shell. from their actions, they began to feel alarm. this strange craft was more than their primitive minds could comprehend. slowly the submarine began to sink. as the water crept up the rounded deck, the negroes lifted their bare feet out of it gingerly and pushed up higher. one of them leaped onto the conning-tower hatch. then, suddenly, the _grampus_ dropped below the water. a mud-colored blur closed matt's view through the lunette, and as he slid down the ladder into the periscope room, he heard faint yells from the negroes. dick, hanging over the periscope table, twirling the steering wheel, was laughing loudly. "look, matt!" he cried. "if you ever saw a lot of scared sambos, there they are, up there in the purgatoire!" matt stepped to dick's side and peered down upon the mirror. far behind, in the trail of bubbles sent up from the _grampus_, the four negroes were swimming like mad toward the shore. their comrades on the bank were leaning out to help them, and it was evident that they would all be saved. "we can laugh at the affair now," said matt, "yet it was anything but a laughing matter a while ago. eh, ysabel?" "you saved me, motor matt," replied the girl, "and now let us see how badly you are hurt." "a bandage will fix that in a little while, ysabel," said the other; "just now i've got something else to attend to, and the arm can wait." turning back to the periscope, he watched the river bank sliding away behind them, and waited for the moment when they should draw close to the izaral. their work--the work which they had one chance in ten of accomplishing--must be looked after. chapter xiii. waiting for something to happen. ysabel sank down on the top of the locker. carl had turned on the electric light in the periscope room and was staring at the girl in unconcealed amazement. "how vas dis?" he asked. "miss harris, iss it you, sure enough?" "not miss harris," answered the girl with a flush, "but miss ysabel sixty." "you bed you," returned carl, slightly abashed. "miss sixdy, dis vas kevite a surbrise. i hat no itee dot you vas in dis part oof der vorld. how id vas----" "slow down your motor, gaines!" shouted matt, through one of the tubes. "make ready the bow anchor, there, clackett--you don't need to bother with the tanks, because we're going to anchor under the surface. carl," he added, turning to his dutch chum, "below with you and make ready to let go the stern anchor when i give the word. sharp on it now!" carl jumped for the bulkhead door leading to the after-part of the ship. every one on board, with the exception of dick and ysabel, were astounded at these maneuvres of motor matt's. however, matt was in charge, and all hands obeyed him without question. with his eyes on the periscope, matt stood and watched, now and then calling a direction to dick, at the wheel. when the _grampus_ shot from the purgatoire into the izaral, she went broadside on against the current of the larger stream. the steel hull heaved over a little under the mass of flowing water, but the screw and the rudder held her stiffly to her course. "now," shouted matt into the speaking tube, "let go your anchors!" the swishing clank of chains, paying out under water, came to the ears of those in the periscope room. "anchor's down!" cried clackett. "dot's der same here!" yelled carl, his voice ringing from aft. "stop the motor, gaines!" ordered matt. the humming of the cylinders ceased, and the _grampus_, anchored broadside on across the izaral, tugged at her mooring chains. "where are we, matt?" came the voice of gaines through the motor-room tube. "i thought we were making a run to get away from the revolutionists." "hardly, gaines," answered matt. "we don't want to run away and leave our friends in the hands of the rebels. come into the periscope room, all of you, and i'll explain what we are doing and why we are doing it." "and while you're explaining," said ysabel quietly but firmly, "i'll take care of your arm. where is something i can use for a bandage? and i'd like a sponge and a basin of water." "you'll find a bandage in that locker you're sitting on, ysabel," said matt. "i'll get the water," said dick. by the time matt had been divested of his coat, and had had his shirt sleeve rolled up, gaines, clackett and carl were in the periscope room, sitting on the low stools that served for chairs. dick was back, also, with the basin of water and the sponge, and ysabel began dressing the wounded arm. "great guns, matt!" exclaimed gaines. "are you hurt?" "a scratch, nothing more," matt answered. "the bullet simply left a mark and then went on. i brought you up here, friends," the young motorist continued, "to tell you where we are. we're anchored, broadside on to the current, in the middle of the izaral river, our periscope ball some three or four feet above the surface of the water. we are going to stay here and wait for something to happen." "what's to happen?" asked clackett. "well, we've got news that a motor launch is coming down the izaral loaded with prisoners. if possible, we must intercept the launch. dick says we've a chance in ten of winning out, but we can't neglect even so slim a chance as that, inasmuch as it happens to be our only one." gaines, clackett and carl were even more deeply puzzled than they had been. "who are the prisoners?" inquired gaines. "coleman, for one--the man we came to rescue. then there are jordan, speake, and, i hope, tirzal." "jordan and those with him were really captured?" demanded clackett. "yes." "ach, du lieber, vat a luck!" wailed carl. "ve come afder vone amerigan consul und lose anodder! dey vas hootoos, dose consuls." matt, carefully watching the periscope as he talked, repeated the experiences that had overtaken him and dick while they were reconnoitring to find some trace of jordan's party. the presence of ysabel had aroused much curiosity in all of them, and the explanation as to how she came to be on the boat straightened out that part of the matter to the satisfaction of every one. carl, in particular, was highly pleased. he had dried himself out, after his fall in the river, and was feeling easy in his mind, now that matt and dick, at least, had been kept out of the hands of general pitou. "you dit a pig t'ing, miss sixdy," said carl, "ven you safed matt und tick, und matt dit some more pig t'ings ven he safed you, so dot vas efen. now, oof ve don'd make some misdakes in our galgulations und are aple to resgue dot poat loadt oof brisoners, eferypody vill be so habby as i can'd dell. oof gourse, i don'd vas in id, ad all. i hat my drouple mit an allikator, und hat to shday pehindt und dake care oof der supmarine." "do you feel pretty sure, matt," queried gaines, "that the motor launch with the prisoners will come down the izaral?" "all we have to go on, gaines, is coleman's note," answered matt. "i may say that this move constitutes our only hope. if something doesn't happen, about as we expect and hope it will, then we'll have to give up all thought of doing anything for coleman, or our friends." "we'll hope something will happen, mate," said dick. "in case the launch comes down the river, what are you intending to do?" "i have my plans, dick," said matt. "if every one carries out his orders on the jump, i feel pretty sure the plan will carry. the main thing is to keep a keen watch for the launch." "that's easy enough during daylight, with the periscope ball elevated as it is," remarked gaines, "but if the launch happens to come down-stream in the night--which, it strikes me, is altogether likely--then the boat is apt to get past us." "not if a good lookout is kept." "how will you keep a good lookout if you don't go to the surface?" "well, what the eye can't see the ear will have to tell us. the hollow ball and the hollow periscope mast will bring the _chug_ of the motor boat's engine into the submarine. the craft ought to be heard a good distance away. one man will have to be at the periscope all the time, and all the rest of you must be at your stations, ready to carry out orders at a second's notice. you go down to the motor room, gaines, and clackett, you go to the tank room. i will stay on the lookout. at midnight, i will have carl and dick relieve both of you, but all hands must be on the alert to turn out at a moment's warning. carl will get some supper for us, and pass it around." matt, as usual, had made no arrangement whereby he could secure any rest for himself. but he felt that he could not rest, even if he had the chance. the rescue of coleman meant much to captain nemo, jr., for on the performance of the _grampus_ might depend the sale of the submarine to the united states government. while the failure to rescue coleman, and even the loss of jordan, speake and the pilot had nothing to do with the boat's capabilities, yet failure, nevertheless, would spoil a sale and fill the authorities in washington with distrust. the _grampus_ was not a passenger boat, and she had now a lady passenger to take care of. matt finally solved the difficulty by having ysabel conducted to a small steel room abaft the periscope chamber. this was set aside entirely for the girl's use, and she arranged a fairly comfortable bed on the floor. after supper had been eaten, ysabel retired to her cabin, and carl and dick nodded drowsily on the looker in the periscope room. matt, wide awake as a hawk, kept his eyes on the periscope table and his ears attuned for the first sound of the launch's motor. night, however, closed in without bringing any sign of the boat. the gloom, of course, put the periscope out of commission as it deepened, but still matt watched the table top, looking for possible lights and listening for the clank of machinery. dick took matt's place for an hour or two, while matt lay down and tried to sleep. although he had had only three hours' sleep in two days, yet the young motorist found it impossible to lose himself in slumber. he was keyed up to too high a pitch, and was too worried. at midnight he sent dick and carl to relieve gaines and clackett, and was alone with his vigils in the periscope room. from midnight on the night seemed an eternity; and the gloomy hours passed without anything happening. matt had believed with gaines that night would be the time the captors would choose for coming down the river with their captives. inasmuch as they had not come, did this mean that they were not coming at all? that general pitou had changed his plans? desperately matt clung to his last shred of hope and watched the coming day reflect itself in a gray haze over the top of the periscope table. slowly the trees along the river stood out with constantly increasing distinctness, and the bosom of the rolling river took form beneath his eyes. up-stream he could see nothing, but--what was that he heard? scarcely breathing, he gripped at the table top and listened intently. _chuggety-chug_, _chuggety-chug_--there was absolutely no doubt of it! a motor boat was coming down-stream--his ears had heard it before the periscope had been able to pick it up. "at your stations, everybody!" matt shouted. "dick! up here in the periscope room with you! _the motor launch is coming!_" chapter xiv. motor matt's great play. instantly all was commotion on board the submarine, but it was orderly commotion. clackett jumped to his ballast tanks, gaines "turned his engine over," and carl and dick hastened into the periscope room. "aft with you, carl," called matt, "and stand by to take in the stern anchor. clackett," and matt's lips passed to the tube leading to the tank room, "forward, and be ready for the bow anchor. dick," matt's eyes were again on the periscope table, "bring all the loose coils of rope you can find and lay them on the locker." dick had no notion what the ropes were wanted for, but he went for them, and soon had four coils laid along the top of the locker. after that, he passed to the steering wheel, standing shoulder to shoulder beside matt in front of the periscope table. there was an atmosphere of expectancy all through the submarine. every nerve was strained, and each person stood at his post almost with bated breath. ysabel, without speaking, came into the periscope room and watched matt with steady eyes. "there she is!" cried dick, his eyes on the periscope mirror; "i see her coming!" matt also saw the motor launch, breaking into sight against the background of indistinct foliage, far up the stream. the boat was comparatively small, and well loaded. fingal was in the bow thwarts, with a rifle across his knees; in the stern was cassidy and a negro soldier, both likewise armed with rifles. between fingal, and cassidy and the negro, were the prisoners. there were four of them--jordan, speake, tirzal and a slender, full-bearded man in a battered solar hat. cassidy was close to the gasoline engine and was evidently looking after it. fingal, from the bow, was doing the steering. "they're all there," said matt, in a calm, matter-of-fact tone. "come here, ysabel." the girl stepped obediently to his side. matt pointed to one of the prisoners reflected in the mirror. "is that coleman?" he asked. "yes," was the answer. "you'd better go back and sit down, ysabel," said matt. "pretty soon we're going to need all the space we have in this vicinity." matt was easy, almost smiling. a great relief had come to him, for the launch was in sight with four captives and three captors, and now it lay with matt alone whether his friends and coleman should be released or not. "why don't you do something, matey?" implored dick, his hands shaking with excitement. "i'm waiting for the right time," was the cool answer. "we've only two revolvers," muttered dick, "and there are three rifles in that boat. what can we do?" "nothing with firearms. we've got to make a different play, dick." a moment longer matt waited, studying the approach of the launch with calculating eyes; then, suddenly, he turned. "in with the anchors, clackett, you and carl," he called. "see how quick you can get them off the bottom. start your engine, gaines," he added. the lifting of the anchors caused the _grampus_ to drift with the current. but only for a moment. soon the screw took the push and dick, under orders from matt, headed the craft up-stream and the propeller worked just fast enough to hold her steady. "anchor's stowed!" called clackett. "same vay mit me!" came from carl. "jump for the tank room, clackett!" called matt. "carl, up here with you." as carl came rolling excitedly into the periscope room, clackett reported, by tube, that he was back at his usual post. matt turned to dick. "keep the _grampus_ pointed for the launch, dick," said he. "carl, take a coil of rope and climb to the conning-tower hatch. the moment the tower's awash, open the hatch, get out on the deck and do what you can with the rope." carl was bewildered. what was he to do with the rope? "i don'd know no more as a mu-el," he said to himself, but nevertheless he obeyed orders. matt continued to watch the periscope table and to calculate. then, again suddenly, he whirled to the tube communicating with the tank chamber. "empty the tanks by compressed air, clackett!" he called. "see how quick you can do it! _everything depends on you!_" the hiss of the air was heard ejecting the water. the submarine began to rise. "bring her up under the launch, dick!" cried matt. "make no mistake, old chap! _under the launch_, mind!" a thrill ran through dick ferral's nerves. at last he understood what his old raggie was about! had he had time, dick would have liked to give motor matt a hug from sheer admiration. "when the tanks are empty," shouted matt to clackett, "come up, take a coil of rope and rush for the deck." "aye, aye, sir!" called clackett. the periscope revealed a strange situation. the launch was almost upon the periscope ball. too late those in the motor boat recognized the device. before the boat could sheer off, the _grampus_ had risen under her bodily and lifted her clear of the water. the steel hull of the submarine shivered, and wild cries came from those in the motor boat. dick grabbed a coil of rope and leaped for the iron ladder. "up with the hatch, carl!" he yelled. "out on the deck and see how many you can pull out of the river." "hoop-a-la!" cried carl, wrenching back on the lever and throwing up the dripping hatch cover. he scrambled out. "steer from the tower, dick," matt called, racing up the ladder, "as soon as the hatchway is cleared." clackett followed matt, and ysabel sixty followed clackett. the thrill of the moment was in the girl's nerves. she could not have held herself back if she had wanted to. armed with a coil of rope, she climbed over the rim of the hatch and onto the slippery plates of the deck. what matt saw, when he struck the deck, was an overturned launch in the water, and two men clinging to the bow of the _grampus_. one of these was cassidy, and the other was tirzal. the former was clinging to the flagstaff, and the other to one of the wire cable guys. by an accident, they had held to the curved deck instead of slipping back into the water. dick, from the tower, was able to direct the boat so as to facilitate the picking up of those in the river. carl tossed a rope to speake, matt got one to coleman, and clackett succeeded in getting a line in the hands of jordan. ysabel tossed one end of her rope to fingal, but he flung it aside with an oath. the negro soldier reached for it, but fingal struck his hand fiercely aside, seized the soldier by the neck and began swimming with him toward the river bank. while the rescued prisoners were being hauled aboard, matt watched fingal and the negro. the current was swift, but both men were strong swimmers. to matt's satisfaction he saw the two gain the bank and get safely upon dry ground. fingal's move was characteristic of him, for, as soon as he could lift himself, he shook his clenched fist at the submarine and those on her deck. if he had had a rifle, undoubtedly he would have done some shooting. "motor matt!" cried jordan. he was sitting on the deck, his back against the side of the conning tower, shaking the water out of his ears. "well?" asked matt. "did you come up under that launch by accident, or did you do it purposely?" "i had that all figured out, jordan," laughed matt. "it was the greatest play i ever heard of!" "it was the only one we could make that would stand any show of winning. when you, and speake, and tirzal left the _grampus_, you took all the rifles. we were left with only a brace of six-shooters. of course i knew better than to try to get the best of fingal, cassidy and the soldier with two popguns when they were armed with rifles." "of course you did!" chuckled jordan. "i'm as wet as a drowned rat, but i'm happy--oh, yes, happier than i ever thought i should be, a few minutes back. by the way, matt, that gentleman with the dripping whiskers is jeremiah coleman, the fellow we came to rescue, and just missed leaving a few more prisoners to keep him company. jerry, shake hands with motor matt. he was cracked up pretty high in those messages from new orleans, and i must say that he fills the bill." "glad to meet you, motor matt," smiled coleman, as he leaned to take matt's hand. "you've done a fine thing for all of us, and it's something that won't be forgotten in a hurry." "dose iss der kindt oof t'ings vat he alvays does," bubbled carl. "cassidy and tirzal seem to have come aboard without gettin' wet," remarked clackett, with a glance of contempt in the direction of the mate. cassidy sat on the deck with his head bowed, as abject a figure as matt ever saw. "which way now, matt?" asked dick. "belize," replied matt. "go down the ladder and let tirzal take the wheel until we all get below; after that, tirzal can steer from the tower. go below, gentlemen," said dick. "you'll feel more comfortable after you dry your clothes, and then we can have a talkfest. there are a lot of things i've got to find out." ysabel led the descent into the periscope room; coleman followed her, then tirzal, then speake, and then jordan. clackett and carl brought up the rear of the procession, both, with their eyes, telling the melancholy cassidy what they thought of him as they dropped down the tower hatch. "better go below, cassidy," said matt calmly. for answer, the mate jerked a revolver from a belt at his waist and lifted the muzzle to his breast. in a twinkling, matt had hurled himself across the slippery deck and knocked the weapon out of cassidy's hand. "you're less of a man than i thought you, cassidy," cried matt contemptuously, "to think of such a thing as that!" chapter xv. on the way to belize. "what have i got left to live for?" scowled cassidy, looking up into matt's face. "i turned against the best friend i ever had just because he had sense enough to put a better head than mine in charge of the _grampus_." "you took to drinking," said matt. "that, i think, was at the bottom of what you did. but i don't harbor any ill will, and i don't believe captain nemo, jr., will, either." "he'll never overlook this," muttered cassidy, shaking his head. "an' it was him that pulled me out of the gutter, up there in philadelphia, set me on my feet and done everything possible to make a man o' me. i ain't fit to live!" "when a man's not fit to live," said matt, tempted to be out of patience, "he certainly is not fit to die. look this thing square in the face, cassidy, and live it down." "but you don't know all i done." "i guess i do, pretty near." "no, you don't. i began plannin' to do some underhand work the minute i heard what the cap'n was going to do for you. whenever i git a drink in me, i'm ripe for anything. that's why i sampled that brandy i was bringing to the cap'n. i wanted to nerve myself up for what i was plannin' to do. i listened to you when you was reading the sealed orders. i heard it all, and i knew i had something then that was valuable. as soon as you and ferral left the _grampus_, i got away, too. as i stepped out o' the sailboat at the landing, this cap'n fingal spoke me. we went into a drinkin' place by the wharf and we spilled a couple of tots of rum down our throats. that was enough to set us both going. i told fingal what i knowed, and he told me a lot about himself. he said he'd make it right with me if i could get you disabled so'st you couldn't manage the _grampus_, and would have to be left behind. that, as fingal and i both figgered, would put me in command. it was to handle you rough, and land you in a hospital, that we trailed you to the consulate. when we failed there, we come back to the landing and fingal says for me to jump aboard his schooner with him and then lay for the _grampus_ up the izaral. i told fingal i thought it was the rio dolce, but he laughed and said if you'd read it that way you was stringing me. "i was about ready to quit on the business, after what happened at the consulate, but fingal got more rum down me, talked about how i'd been imposed on, and told what a fine thing it would be if we could make you fail in the work you had come down here to do. "that kind of pleased me, too. if i could have fixed it so you'd fall down on the job the cap'n had laid out for you, then, i thought, the cap'n would think he had made a mistake in not putting me up as boss of the submarine. funny how a feller's idees will git squeegeed that away as soon as he gets a little grog under hatches. "well, anyway, i went with fingal. we left the schooner at port livingstone, and fingal told the mate of the schooner to go down to barrios and stay there till fingal joined him. then we stole the motor boat and hustled up the river to that outfit of ragamuffins that's hopin' to grab the country and turn it over to another dictator. i was disgusted with the lot of 'em, and with old pitou more'n any of the rest. i wouldn't go near coleman, and when our information worked out, and jordan and the half breed was captured, i felt sore enough at myself; but it was speake that cut me up the worst. him and me had always been a heap friendly on the _grampus_, and there i was, after betraying him into the hands of his enemies. oh, i tell you, matt, i felt meechin' enough to go down to the river and jump in. then, when old pitou made up his mind to send the prisoners down the river in the launch to another of his hangouts where he thought they'd be safer, and appointed me as one of the guards to go with 'em and see that none of 'em got away, i felt about as respectable as a horse thief. of course, when you bumped us on the bottom with the submarine, i couldn't sink into the river and never come up; oh, no, i just naturally had to land right on the deck, without so much as getting my feet wet. i don't know how i ever can go back to belize and look the cap'n in the face. that's honest." cassidy's regret for what he had done was so profound that it made a deep impression on matt. "you're not a bad fellow at heart, cassidy," said the young motorist. "captain nemo, jr., knows that, as well as all the rest of us. besides, it was a little bit rough to jump a fellow like me over the head of an old hand like you, and----" "it wasn't!" growled cassidy, "not a bit of it!" he lifted his fierce eyes. "think i've got the head to do what you done? no, not in a thousand years. the cap'n knowed what he was about, and i didn't have sense enough to see it." "well, you buck up and go to the captain. you didn't cause any great harm, anyhow, the way things have come out. the captain will be so pleased over what's been accomplished that he'll overlook a good deal. i'll say a good word for you, cassidy." "you will?" demanded the mate incredulously. "yes." "well, that's a heap more'n i deserve." "you'll be the mate to help us back to belize. i'm in charge until we get there, and i order you to go below and go on duty." "orders is orders, i reckon," and cassidy hoisted himself up and followed matt to the tower hatch and down into the periscope room. the room was fairly crowded, and a roar of delight went up at the sight of matt. it died away suddenly as cassidy showed himself. a glitter came into speake's eyes as he regarded the mate. "better lock cassidy up somewhere, matt," suggested jordan. "yes," grunted speake venomously, "or tie his hands and feet an' throw him overboard." "you're wrong in your drift, friends," said matt quietly. "cassidy is a good fellow at heart, and fingal twisted him around his fingers. i haven't any fault to find with cassidy, and he's going back to belize as mate of the _grampus_." "avast there, matey!" expostulated dick. "that's playing it kind of rough on some of the honest men that stood by the ship, don't you think?" "vat a foolishness, matt!" exploded carl. "dot feller come pooty near being der finish oof you." "better think that over a little, matt," suggested jordan. "him plaanty bad man," said tirzal, climbing up into the tower in order to do his steering from the lookout. "if he stays, mate, i resign!" snapped speake. "no, you don't, speake!" answered matt. "i'm master of this boat until we get back to belize. cassidy's mate, and you're in the torpedo room." "you see how it is, matt," muttered cassidy. "it's as i want it, cassidy," said matt firmly, "as far as belize." "but, look here," began speake, disposed to argue the point, "here's a man, holdin' the responsible position of mate, as goes----" "forget that for a while, speake," interrupted matt, "and remember the number of times cassidy's pluck and friendship have been a help to all of us. put all the fine things cassidy has done into one side of the scale, and this one black mark in the other, and there's still more than enough left to entitle him to our confidence." "i'm obliged to you, king," said cassidy. "i'll go on as mate as far as belize, and then the cap'n can settle the matter as he thinks right. just now, though, i'm tired and i guess i'll go to the torpedo room and take a rest." "all right," said matt. "you go to the torpedo room, too, speake," matt added. speake hesitated, then followed cassidy out of the room. "you're a queer jigger, motor matt," remarked jordan. "but he's right, all the same," said coleman. "oh, yes, jerry," grinned jordan, "you stick in your oar. you're sort o' chesty for a chap that's been stowed away in the jungle with revolutionists for a couple of weeks or more, eating mule meat and making all kinds of trouble for the state department of your native country, ain't you? how'd you get run away with, in the first place?" "that was too easy, hays," laughed coleman. "i came across from the pacific to port livingstone, and while i was there the revolutionists gobbled me." "i believe you said they'd treated you well?" "the best they could. i played seven-up and picquet with pitou, and i learned, before i had been two days in the rebel camp, that it wasn't safe to beat the general. as long as i allowed him to beat me, i was treated to the best he had. whenever i beat him, my rations--even the mule meat--were cut down." coleman turned to ysabel, who had been sitting quietly by. "i'm mighty glad, little girl," said he, "that you are able to get clear of pitou and fingal." "so am i, mr. coleman," answered ysabel. "if it hadn't been for motor matt i'd be still in the camp." "motor matt again!" laughed coleman. "always motor matt!" chimed in jordan, with a quizzical look at the king of the motor boys. "he iss der feller vat does t'ings, you bed you," declared carl. "let's hear about what happened while speake, tirzal and i were away from the boat," suggested jordan. "not now," answered matt. "i'm hungry, whether the rest of you are or not. speake," he called through the tube leading to the torpedo room, "see if you can rustle something in the way of breakfast." "aye, aye, sir," answered speake heartily. for some time the _grampus_ had been heaving and tossing in a way that made it difficult for those in the periscope room to keep their seats. matt took a look into the periscope. "ah," said he, "we're out of the river and heading for belize." "and glad i'll be to get back there," remarked jordan, with satisfaction. "you've made me a lot of trouble, coleman." "i seem to have made a lot of you a good deal of trouble," returned coleman, "and i'm mighty glad i've ceased to figure as an international issue." "we all are, for that matter," said jordan. chapter xvi. a dash of tabasco. in due course the delayed breakfast came up from the torpedo room. by some error, speake had mixed an overdose of tabasco sauce with the canned beans which he had warmed up on his electric stove. "glory!" sputtered jordan, reaching for water. "speake must have mixed a whitehead torpedo in that mess of beans." "only a dash of tabasco," replied coleman. "haven't you been in central america long enough to like hot stuff?" "not long enough, anyhow, to acquire an asbestos stomach. talking about a dash of tabasco, though, motor matt's raid on the rebels must have been something of that variety. reel it off, matt. we're all good listeners." "you do it, dick," said matt. "you were with me and did as much of the work as i did." "belay, on that!" remonstrated dick. "i didn't take care of ysabel during that run for the river, did i? and i didn't get that piece of lead through my arm, either." "you'd hardly know my arm had stopped a bullet, would you?" and matt showed his ability to use his left hand with the same ease that he did his right. "don't sidetrack the relish," chirped jordan. "let matt's hot work come on with the beans. go on, matt--or you tell us, dick, if matt's too bashful." thereupon dick waded into past events as he and matt had experienced them. he slighted his own deeds to give a greater lustre to matt's, and finally matt, in self-defense, had to take the telling into his own hands and finish it. "well, jupiter!" exclaimed jordan, "there's enough tabasco in that run of work to satisfy almost anybody. but, if motor matt hadn't come up under that launch like he did, all of us prisoners, my dear friends, would now be tramping through the jungle toward pitou's new camp." "i'm glad that note of mine proved so valuable to us," spoke up coleman. "how did you come to lay all that information aboard, mr. coleman?" inquired dick. "it seemed main queer that a prisoner could have got wise to all that." "pitou told me," said coleman, with a twinkle in his eye, "over a game of seven-up. he indulged in liquid refreshment, as i remember, and the more he beat me, and the more he indulged, the more confidential he became. i knew pedro was a friend of ysabel's, and that he was helping her to leave the camp, so i managed to write down what i had heard, hoping that ysabel might get to port livingstone and give the news to somebody there who could and would help us." "you haven't told us, mr. jordan," said matt, "what happened to your landing party." "i hesitate to put it into cold words," answered jordan, "after listening to a recital which shows that you are a general in that sort of affair, matt, while i am only a private. by rights, my lad, you are the one who should have gone with that landing party. however, since it appears necessary to have our experiences in order to make the testimony complete, here goes. "by accident we struck a path. tirzal said he knew about the path, but i think the good-natured rascal was talking for effect, and that he had never seen it before. i was fairly sure in my own mind, mainly because we had seen nothing of fingal's schooner after leaving belize nor of a small boat after leaving port livingstone, that fingal and cassidy hadn't reached the revolutionists and told what they knew. i suspect that that's what made me careless, for i was that when you consider that we were out on a reconnoitring expedition and ought to have been looking for traps as well as for revolutionists. "well, the trap was sprung at a turn in the path. i wasn't able to see around the turn, and a bunch of colored persons in ragged clothes were on us before you could say jack robinson. this happened quite a little while after we got away from the boat. as i recollect, we had reconnoitred, and had been led away from the path on some wild-goose chase or other by tirzal half a dozen times. i was just thinking about returning to the boat when we pushed around that turn. "i had time to shoot, and it so happened that i wounded a colored person who was a favorite captain of the general's. it wasn't a serious wound, but the general was pretty badly worked up over it, and i didn't know but they would stand me against a tree and shoot me out of hand before i could make the general understand i was in the consular service. at the right moment, fingal came up, and he recognized me. the general was tickled, and felt sure he had enough consular representatives of the united states in his hands to insure the giving up of jim sixty. nice business, eh, coleman," and jordan turned aside to his friend, "when it takes two fellows like you and me to make an even exchange for a fellow like that filibuster?" "well," answered coleman, "sixty is worth more to the rebels than we are. it's what a thing's worth to somebody else, and not what you think it's worth to you, that counts." "the point's too fine and gets away from me," went on jordan. "that's about all of it, matt. poor tirzal was recognized as a spy, and he would have been shot quick enough if i hadn't threatened the general with all sorts of things if he carried out his intentions. out of consideration for me, pitou agreed to wait until we got to the new camp before shooting tirzal. that's the only thing, matt, that saved the half breed's life." matt was beginning to feel the effects of his long period of active duty without sufficient sleep, and he called cassidy from the torpedo room, left him in charge of the _grampus_, and then lay down on the locker and was soon slumbering soundly. when he was awakened it was by jordan. it was getting along toward evening, and the _grampus_ was anchored in her old berth off belize. a sailing ship was alongside to take the passengers ashore. jordan, coleman, tirzal, cassidy and matt were to go, and, of course, ysabel. dick was left to look after the submarine. ysabel left matt and the rest at the landing. "will i see you again, matt," she asked, "you and the rest of the motor boys?" "i hope so, ysabel," answered the young motorist, "but i also hope we won't have such rough times when our trails cross again." "have i helped you enough to offset what i did in new orleans?" "don't mention that--forget about it. the account is more than square." "good-by, then," she called, in a stifled voice, and hurried off along the street. jordan and coleman went on to the house where the captain had been taken, accompanying matt and cassidy. the mate was going to present himself frankly before the captain, acknowledge his fault and then abide by the full consequences. but fate decreed that the matter should turn out otherwise. the captain, as it chanced, was very much worse and was unable to recognize any one. the doctor averred that the case was not serious, and that, with good nursing, captain nemo, jr., would pull through all right. "if he wants a nurse, doctor," said cassidy, "then it's up to me. i took care of him in new orleans, the time he was sick there, and i guess i can do it now better than any one else." "then pull off your coat," said the doctor, "and go up to his room." all this was as it should be. for the present, the _grampus_ was still under matt's care, and he started back toward the wharf to secure a sailboat and return to the submarine. jordan and coleman accompanied him part way, then left him to telegraph their report of recent events to washington. "we're going to handle you and the _grampus_ without gloves in that report," declared jordan, with a wink. "just so you please the government and make the navy department take the submarine off the captain's hands," returned matt, "that's all i care." the end. the next number ( ) will contain motor matt's close call or, the snare of don carlos. carl's serenade--don ramon ortega--the shadow of treachery--don carlos lays his snare--a mutiny--a lesson in who's who--the snare tightens--the don's proposal--ysabel sixty's loyalty--an opportunity--exciting work--capturing the general--off for the gulf--running the battery--the "seminole"--conclusion. motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction new york, june , . terms to motor stories mail subscribers. (_postage free._) single copies or back numbers, c. each. months c. months c. months $ . one year . copies one year . copy two years . =how to send money=--by post-office or express money-order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. at your own risk if sent by currency, coin, or postage-stamps in ordinary letter. =receipts=--receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. if not correct you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once. ormond g. smith, } george c. smith, } _proprietors_. street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york city. mischievous ned. by eben rexford. ned was like most other boys, i suppose. some days he felt so good-natured that his spirits were positively "catching," as they say about colds and the mumps, and you couldn't have had the blues if you had made up your mind to do so, if he was round. but the very next day was apt to be one of his cross days, and he could be as cross and disagreeable as any boy ever could. one morning he got up feeling very much out of sorts. "ned's going to be cross to-day," said harry, when they gathered round the breakfast table. "it's sticking out all over him now." "i don't know as it's any of your business," answered ned promptly. "i'd a good deal rather be cross than make a fool of myself by trying to say smart things when i couldn't." which shot, considering that harry hadn't tried to say anything "sharp," was rather uncalled for, and didn't hit anybody in particular. "don't let me hear any more such conversation," said mrs. haynes, taking her seat at the table. "you are both of you old enough to behave yourselves as gentlemen ought to." ned found any amount of fault with the victuals. the buckwheat cakes had too much soda in them; the sirup wasn't fit to eat; the butter looked as if an old squaw had made it; the potatoes were a little the worst ones he ever tasted. and the result of his fault-finding was, that he was sent away from the table with an unsatisfied appetite. when he was outside the dining room, he realized that, poor as the breakfast might be, it would have been better than none, and began to wish he had said less, and eaten more. after breakfast the hired girl began to wash the windows. ned watched her standing on the stepladder, and thought what fine fun it would be to tip it over when she was on it, but concluded he wouldn't try it just then, as bridget was apt to be cross as well as himself, and he remembered that some of the practical jokes he had played off on her had resulted in tingling ears, and having his ears boxed was about the worst kind of punishment for ned. but as bridget came out of the sitting room with the stepladder, which she was taking to the veranda, in order to wash the windows from the outside, she stumbled over him in the hall, and came so near falling that she had to let the ladder go and catch at the stair railing to save herself. and the ladder in its fall struck against a bracket on which a little vase stood, and away went both of them, and the vase was shivered into fragments. "you good-for-nothin' spalpeen!" cried bridget, giving him a slap across the ears; "you got forninst me on purpose, an' now see what you've done! that illigant mug all broke to pieces, jist on account of your bad ways. i've a good mind to tell the missus." "you needn't 'a' stumbled over me," said ned angrily. "if you'd look where you were going, you wouldn't go round smashing things up in this style. i'd turn you off if i was in father's place." "would you now?" demanded bridget, her arms akimbo. "indade i'd like to see ye doin' it. if you don't take yerself off, i'll box ye, mind that, now; an' i'll do it up in illigant style." ned concluded that discretion was the better part of valor at present, and repaired to the veranda. presently bridget came out with the stepladder, which she adjusted before one of the windows, and then went in after water. a bright idea struck ned. bridget had been saucy and impudent. he would be even with her. he'd learn her to slap his ears! he pulled a long piece of stout cord out of his pocket and tied it to one leg of the stepladder, and then hid in the shrubbery. presently out came bridget. she mounted the ladder, unconscious of any danger, and began washing the window vigorously. all at once the ladder seemed to jerk itself out from under her, and with a whoop that would have done credit to any apache brave, she landed in the middle of a great lilac bush, before she realized whether her sudden descent was caused by a collapse of the ladder, an earthquake, or one of ned's pranks. she strongly suspected the latter; but, looking around from her dignified position in the lilac bush, she could see nothing of him, and there was nothing about the innocent-looking ladder, as it lay on the ground at the veranda steps, to indicate that it had been meddled with. but as she proceeded to alight from her elevated pedestal, she heard a chuckle somewhere in the shrubbery, which satisfied her that her suspicions were correct. harry came along pretty soon, and wanted ned to join a party of children who were going down to the old mill after berries. but ned answered, very shortly, that he "wasn't going to do any such thing," and harry went on, without stopping to coax him any. that made ned madder than ever. it was quite evident that they didn't want him, and only asked him because they couldn't very well help doing so. "i'll have some fun with 'em," said ned, setting off in the same direction, about half an hour afterward. the berries the children had gone after grew in an old meadow. in this old meadow, through which a brook ran, there was a mill, which was said to be haunted, and every child was afraid to go near it in the daytime. ned picked his way through the bushes on the edge of the meadow, and got into the mill on the opposite side from where the children were picking berries. so busily were they engaged in gathering the ripe fruit that they were not aware how near they were getting to the mill, till a sepulchral groan made them look up in undefined terror, and there, in the farthest shadowy corner, was something awfully ghost-like. "repent of your sins!" exclaimed the ghost, uttering the first and only thing he could think of; and then, with wild shouts of fright, the children started off in a stampede for the road, spilling their berries and tearing their clothes. little susie mayne lost her sunbonnet, and will blake lost his shoe, but they didn't dare to stop for such trifles. when they reached the road, panting and breathless, they looked back, half expecting to see the ghost after them. but instead of a ghost, there stood ned, waving a sheet and apparently highly pleased at the success of his project. "i should think you'd be ashamed of yourself," shouted will blake. "i'll tell johnny, an' he'll lick you." "don't you wish he could?" answered ned defiantly. "if any of you young ones go to being saucy, i'll just come over there and trounce you." the children set off toward home, but, coming to another meadow, where strawberries were quite plenty, they concluded to stop and fill up their baskets. "mr. belding's awful ugly old cow runs in this meadow, i heard father say," said harry. "we'd better keep a lookout for her." but in five minutes they had forgotten all about the cow. suddenly they all started. "moo, moo-o!" sounded in the bushes close by, and they heard an awful racket as if half a dozen cows were coming. "oh, dear!" screamed all the girls, and made for the fence, with the boys at their heels. susie mayne tumbled down and bruised her nose so badly that it bled, and harry dragged her toward the fence in anything but a comfortable way. "i'd be ashamed to run at every little noise before i knew where it came from," called out ned, making his appearance from the bushes. "cowards! cowards!" the boys were for clubbing together and giving him a whipping, but concluded to leave that to the big boys. the girls all pronounced him, without a single dissenting voice, to be the "meanest boy they ever heard of," and then they all went off in high indignation. ned climbed up on the fence, and sat there for some time meditating what to do next. pretty soon mr. belding's sammy came along without seeing ned, and got over into the meadow, and began picking berries. now, ned hated sammy belding, and he thought it would be fine fun to throw stones at him. he calculated the chances of getting caught, and concluded if he stayed over the fence he could get enough start while sammy was climbing to take him out of danger. so he filled his pockets with stones, and began throwing them at sammy. at first sammy looked around in astonishment, and couldn't make out where they came from. but by and by he pretended that he was paying no attention to them. but if you could have looked under his broad-brimmed hat, you would have seen that he was keeping keen watch. ned continued to throw stones. all at once up jumped sammy, and made for the fence. ned was taken entirely by surprise, but turned to run as soon as he realized that sammy had discovered him. but he caught his foot on a stick, and down he went, and before he got on his feet sammy had him, and proceeded to give him a good pounding, out of which he came with a black eye and a bloody nose. it was too bad the children couldn't have been there to see it. "throw stones at me again, will you?" said sammy. "i'll teach you to mind your own business, if you don't know how." ned went home as soon as sammy got through with him. he was hungry, and his whipping had discouraged him somewhat. harry had got home before him, and had reported his bad conduct. the result was that he was ordered to weed out three onion beds that afternoon. that made him groan in spirit. he hated weeding in the garden about the worst of anything in the world. but there wasn't any help for it, and he went at it. the old rooster came along pretty soon. ned knew he never did any harm, as he was too well-behaved a bird to scratch in the garden, but he wanted to vent his spite on something, so he up with a big stone and shied it at the rooster's head, not once thinking that it would hit him. but it did, and with one shrill squawk the fowl gave a leap into the air, kicked about wildly, and fell dead. ned was frightened. what would his father say? he had been very careful of the rooster, because he came of a choice breed. what should he do with him? while he was debating the question with himself, who should come along but his mother. "why, ned!" exclaimed she, seeing the poor old rooster lying there, with one claw stretched up pathetically, as if to call a sympathetic attention to his tragic fate. "how did this happen?" "well, you see," began ned, at a loss for an explanation, "he came along, and i thought maybe he'd go scratching, and i shoed him, but he wouldn't go off. then i threw a stone that way, and it must have hit him, 'cause----" "you weren't afraid he would scratch, because he never did that," said ned's mother severely. "i am very sorry to see you in such a bad temper to-day. go right up to the garret and stay there till your father comes home. i don't know what he will say when he knows of this." ned took himself off to the garret, congratulating himself that that wasn't quite as bad as weeding onions. but he was terribly troubled about what his father would say. he couldn't get that out of his mind. by and by he heard some one coming up the garret stairs. it sounded like bridget's steps. a pan stood near by, which had been placed under a leak in the roof, and was full of water. before he stopped to think what the consequence might be--he felt so ugly that he didn't care much--ned seized the pan full of water, and just as a head made its appearance in the shadowy depths of the garret stairway he let fly pan and all in that direction. there was an awful spluttering, as if the water had taken the visitor fairly in the face. ned turned pale. it wasn't bridget, after all, but his father. "young man," said that worthy person, making his appearance, dripping from head to foot with water, and looking terribly severe, "i want to see you in the wood shed." his tone struck terror to ned's heart. the wood shed, on such occasions, was quite apt to prove a second inquisition. ned followed, not daring to do otherwise. he didn't even dare to look at his father's face. what took place in the shed i can't say, but directly after their visit to that part of the house ned went to bed, and i hope he got up feeling better next morning. terrible fate of a daring indian. one of the most remarkable subterranean waterways in the world was recently discovered in the northern range of the rockies in montana, by the agency of a fatal accident, witnessed by me on an expedition in which phil barnes and pierre leger, two prospectors, were my companions, together with a flathead indian named klikat. on october , having struck northeast from bonner's ferry into a region entered by a few white men before us, we found ourselves within twenty-five or thirty miles of the canadian boundary, and , feet above sea level. in front and on the right were perpendicular cliffs, which barred our advance. to the left was a precipice about feet high, overhanging a roaring mountain stream, and extending fully two miles to the south. as we stood there, looking around for some opening by which we might advance, there came to our ears a deep, roaring sound, alternating in force, stronger and weaker at intervals of a few seconds. it came in jarring sounds, with a volume like thunder. "me know what him is," said klikat, with a pleased air of comprehension. "him is big-hole-in-the-water. you come look," he added, throwing himself flat on the rock with his head and shoulders hanging over. "ugh!" he exclaimed, "big-hole-in-the-water heap mad to-day. him funny. water go in ground; never come out." following klikat's example, i threw myself on the ground, and peered down from the dizzy height. barnes and leger did likewise. it was a curious sight that we beheld. straight down below us there was a deep pool, inclosed on three sides by high walls of eternal rock, thus forming a perpetual barrier to the passage of the water. the noisy mountain stream poured great volumes into this natural basin, and then lost itself. the water in the pool swung round as on a pivot. in the very centre was a great funnel-shaped "suck-hole," fully eight feet across, the water rushing downward with lightning speed. in the centre of this funnel was a mass of snow-white foam, dancing and whirling and scattering flakes of itself around the dark-blue rim of the vortex. at intervals of fifteen or twenty seconds there would be a greater downward rush of water, and the pillar of foam would disappear with the increased speed of the current; then the roar would increase in volume, another pillar of foam would form, only to disappear a few moments later as the previous one had done. it was a grand, a terrible sight. as i gazed upon it suddenly there was a low, crumbling sound, and then a mass of shelving rock right under klikat broke loose and fell with a fearful crash. i started to my feet just as i saw the indian making frantic efforts to cling to the edge of the cliff. but his hold was too slight, and, without uttering word or sound of any kind, klikat fell headlong into the mad waters beneath. barnes rushed to one of the pack mules for a rope, but it was too late. three, four, five times did klikat swing around in a spiral course, and then, with a sudden twist, he shot into the very centre of the vortex. down he went with the pillar of foam, out of sight into the bowels of the earth, and the darkness of death. the cavity filled with water and was silent. but it was short satiety. it quickly opened its dark and unfathomable depths again, and gave out a roaring snore that made the very mountains tremble. cautiously we three withdrew from the edge of the precipice. we gazed at each other silently and in horror. two weeks later we reached the kootenai country, in british columbia, and prepared to camp on the south shore of lake kootenai. it was while in the act of gathering driftwood along the shore for our first night's supper that leger discovered a very ghastly object lying in the water within six feet of land. it was the corpse of a man--an indian. the face of the dead was badly bruised and torn, and utterly disfigured. "heavens!" cried barnes, as he cut a ragged cloth from the neck. "this is a remnant of my silk handkerchief, which i gave to poor klikat to cover the gash he cut on his neck by that dead limb one day--do you remember? and see! right here in this corner is my monogram--'p. b.'--worked in silk." it was so. we all recognized the silken rag, and we all knew that the corpse before us was the dead body of klikat, who had fallen into the funnel of that awful subterranean river, fully miles away, far up in the rockies of northern montana. and yet here was his corpse, drifted ashore on this lake, between which and the "big-hole-in-the-water" there is not the slightest connection, so far as mortal eyes can see. how came he to lake kootenai, and how long had he been there? we buried poor klikat on a bit of rising ground about fifty yards from the lake shore. stumbling upon gold mines. gold was discovered in california in , and in colorado in . the discovery was accidental in both cases, and the fact created the impression that mines were "lying about loose." adventurers drifted about in hopes of stumbling upon a mine. here are some instances of lucky finds. three men, while looking for gold in california, discovered the dead body of a man, who evidently had been "prospecting." "poor fellow," said one of the trio, "he has passed in his checks." "let's give him a decent burial," said another. "some wife or mother will be glad if she ever knows it." they began to dig a grave. three feet below the surface they discovered signs of gold. the stranger was buried in another place, and where they had located a grave they opened a gold mine. an adventurer who had drifted to leadville, awoke one morning without food or money. he went out and shot a deer, which, in its dying agonies, kicked up the dirt and disclosed signs of gold. the poor man staked out a "claim," and opened one of the most profitable mines ever worked in leadville. "dead man claim," the name given to another rich mine in leadville, was discovered by a broken-down miner while digging a grave. a miner died when there were several feet of snow on the ground. his comrades laid his body in a snow bank and hired a man to dig a grave. the gravedigger, after three days' absence, was found digging a mine instead of a grave. while excavating he had struck gold. forgetting the corpse and his bargain, he thought only of the fact that he had "struck it rich." an unsuccessful australian miner went up and down colorado for several months "prospecting" for gold, and finding none. one day he sat down upon a stone, and while musing over his hard luck, aimlessly struck a stone with his pick. he chipped off a piece, and sprang to his feet. the chip was rich with gold quartz. he hurried into the little town of rosita, and went to the assay office, where a teamster had just dumped a load of wood. he agreed to saw the wood to pay for assaying his chipped sample. the result of the assay sent him back to his "claim." when he had taken out of it $ , , he sold the mine for $ , in cash and $ , , in stock. but these "stumblings" are the exception to the rule that mines are found by painstaking, intelligent prospectors. they spend wearisome months in exploring mountains and gulches. they are mineralogists, geologists, and, above all, practical explorers, who can tell from a "twist" in the grain of the rock, or from the color of a spar seam, whether "paying gold" can be mined in the region. year of the cock. in china and japan the year is "the year of the cock." it is regarded as a lucky year and is symbolized by a cock sitting on a drum. in statesmanship and literature this is called "the drum of remonstrance." formerly such a drum was to be found in china in front of the imperial palace, to be struck by an official in charge whenever a letter of remonstrance was offered to the sovereign. this practice is said to have originated with emperor yao, a benevolent ruler who reigned from to b. c. his reign and that of emperor shun, who succeeded him, constituted a "golden age" of china. it is believed by the japanese that the cock has five virtues. his comb represents civilization and his strong feet denote military power. when he meets an enemy he fights well, thus demonstrating courage. when he finds food he calls friends, thereby showing himself kind and helpful. he keeps watch for the dawn, thus proving himself faithful. latest issues brave and bold weekly all kinds of stories that boys like. the biggest and best nickel's worth ever offered. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --gordon keith in zululand; or, how "checkers" held the fort. by lawrence white, jr. --the boys' revolt; or, right against might. by harrie irving hancock. --the mystic isle; or, in peril of his life. by fred thorpe. --a million a minute; or, a brace of meteors. by weldon j. cobb. --gordon keith under african skies; or, four comrades in the danger zone. by lawrence white, jr. --two chums afloat; or, the cruise of the "arrow." by cornelius shea. --in the path of duty; or, the fortunes of officer dan deering. by harrie irving hancock. --a bid for fortune; or, true as steel. by fred thorpe. --a battle with fate; or, the baseball mascot. by weldon j. cobb. --three brave boys; or adventures in the balloon world. by frank sheridan. --archie atwood, champion; or, an all-around athlete's career. by cornelius shea. --dick stanhope afloat; or, the eventful cruise of the _elsinore_. by harrie irving hancock. --working his way upward; or, from footlights to riches. by fred thorpe. --the fourteenth boy; or, how vin lovell won out. by weldon j. cobb. motor stories the latest and best five-cent weekly. we won't say how interesting it is. see for yourself. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear. --motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto. --motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward. --motor matt's air-ship; or, the rival inventors. --motor matt's hard luck; or, the balloon house plot. --motor matt's daring rescue; or, the strange case of helen brady. --motor matt's peril; or, castaway in the bahamas. --motor matt's queer find; or, the secret of the iron chest. --motor matt's promise; or, the wreck of the _hawk_. --motor matt's submarine; or, the strange cruise of the _grampus_. --motor matt's quest; or, three chums in strange waters. tip top weekly the most popular publication for boys. the adventures of frank and dick merriwell can be had only in this weekly. =high art colored covers. thirty-two pages. price, cents.= --frank merriwell cut off; or, the result of the great spring rise. --frank merriwell's ranch boss; or, big bruce and the blossoms. --dick merriwell's equal; or, the fellow with the flying feet. --dick merriwell's development; or, the all-around wonder. --dick merriwell's eye; or, the secret of good batting. --frank merriwell's zest; or, the spirit of the school. --frank merriwell's patience; or, the making of a pitcher. --frank merriwell's pupil; or, the boy with the wizard wing. --frank merriwell's fighters; or, the decisive battle with blackstone. --dick merriwell at the "meet"; or, honors worth winning. --dick merriwell's protest; or, the man who would not play clean. --dick merriwell in the marathon; or, the sensation of the great run. --dick merriwell's colors; or, all for the blue. --dick merriwell, driver; or, the race for the daremore cup. --dick merriwell on the deep; or, the cruise of the _yale_. _for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address on receipt of price, cents per copy, in money or postage stamps, by_ street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york =if you want any back numbers= of our weeklies and cannot procure them from your newsdealer, they can be obtained from this office direct. fill out the following order blank and send it to us with the price of the weeklies you want and we will send them to you by return mail. =postage stamps taken the same as money.= ________________________ _ _ _street & smith, - seventh avenue, new york city._ _dear sirs: enclosed please find_ ___________________________ _cents for which send me_: tip top weekly, nos. ________________________________ nick carter weekly, " ________________________________ diamond dick weekly, " ________________________________ buffalo bill stories, " ________________________________ brave and bold weekly, " ________________________________ motor stories, " ________________________________ _name_ ________________ _street_ ________________ _city_ ________________ _state_ ________________ adventures of a boy genius motor stories the boys who want to learn something from what they read, as well as to be interested by it, will never find another publication that will satisfy them so well as motor stories. "motor matt" is not an impossible boy character. he is simply a youth who has had considerable training in a machine shop where motors of all kinds were repaired, and who is possessed of a genius for mechanics. his sense of right and wrong is strongly developed, and his endeavors to insure certain people a square deal, lead him into a series of the most astonishing, but at the same time the most natural adventures that ever befell a boy. _here are the titles now ready_: --motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. --motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. --motor matt's century run; or, the governor's courier. --motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the "comet." --motor matt's mystery; or, foiling a secret plot. --motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear. --motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto. --motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward. --motor matt's air ship; or, the rival inventors. --motor matt's hard luck; or, the balloon house plot. --motor matt's daring rescue; or, the strange case of helen brady. --motor matt's peril; or, cast away in the bahamas. to be published on may th. --motor matt's queer find; or, the secret of the iron chest. to be published on may th. --motor matt's promise; or, the wreck of the "hawk." to be published on may st. --motor matt's submarine; or, the strange cruise of the "grampus." to be published on june th. --motor matt's quest; or, three chums in strange waters. price, five cents at all newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, by the publishers upon receipt of the price. street & smith, _publishers_, new york transcriber's notes: italics are represented with _underscores_, bold with =equal signs=. retained some inconsistent hyphenation from the original (e.g. "conning tower" vs. "conning-tower"). corrected some obvious punctuation errors. added table of contents. page , corrected "aligator" to "alligator." page , corrected "wtih" to "with" ("with an unsatisfied appetite") and "itno" to "into" ("shivered into fragments"). courtesy of the digital library@villanova university (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction no. june , five cents motor matt's close call _or_ the snare of don carlos _by the author of motor matt_ [illustration: _"up with the colors, dick!" shouted motor matt. "let's see if they dare fire on that flag."_] _street & smith, publishers, new york_ motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction _issued weekly. by subscription $ . per year. entered according to act of congress in the year , in the office of the librarian of congress, washington, d. c., by_ street & smith, _ - seventh avenue, new york, n. y._ no. . new york, june , . price five cents. motor matt's close call; or, the snare of don carlos. by the author of "motor matt." contents chapter i. carl's serenade. chapter ii. don ramon ortega. chapter iii. the shadow of treachery. chapter iv. don carlos lays his snare. chapter v. a mutiny. chapter vi. a lesson in "who's who." chapter vii. the snare tightens. chapter viii. the don's proposal. chapter ix. ysabel sixty's loyalty. chapter x. an opportunity. chapter xi. exciting work. chapter xii. capturing the general. chapter xiii. off for the gulf. chapter xiv. running the battery. chapter xv. the "seminole." chapter xvi. conclusion. philip's way. perilous occupations. poi their staff of life. a city begun on a raft. characters that appear in this story. =motor matt=, a lad who is at home with every variety of motor, and whose never-failing nerve serves to carry him through difficulties that would daunt any ordinary young fellow. because of his daring as a racer with bicycle, motor-cycle and automobile he is known as "mile-a-minute matt." motor-boats, air ships and submarines come naturally in his line, and consequently he lives in an atmosphere of adventure in following up his "hobby." =carl pretzel=, a cheerful and rollicking german boy, stout of frame as well as of heart, who is led by a fortunate accident to link his fortunes with those of motor matt. =dick ferral=, a young sea dog from canada, with all a sailor's superstitions, but in spite of all that a royal chum, ready to stand by the friend of his choice through thick and thin. =don carlos valdez=, a central american trouble-maker and adventurer, who lays a snare for motor matt and thereby wrecks a revolution and the fortunes of several of his own friends. =captain abner fingal=, a ruffianly sea captain who assists the don when the snare begins to tighten. =general pitou=, a little swashbuckler who aimed to steal a government and comes to grief through his two spurs and his sword. =ysabel sixty=, the daughter of the captured filibuster, james sixty--a loyal friend who dares much for motor matt. =pedro=, a revolutionist who aids ysabel. =don ramon ortega=, the spanish consul at belize, british honduras; a gentleman of high character and ancient lineage, whose name is a thing to conjure with. =gaines, clackett and speake=, crew of the _grampus_. chapter i. carl's serenade. carl pretzel was singing. if any one with an ear for music had heard him they might have guessed that he was selling fish, or buying old clothes, or having an auction with himself, but not, by the wildest flight of fancy, could they have imagined that he had burst into song. it was a rare evening in old belize. the moon was like a big yellow topaz pinned to a cushion of blue-black velvet, and around it lay the stars like scattered diamonds. carl could not see the moon or stars very distinctly, for it was so beastly hot that the perspiration trickled into his eyes and half blinded him. the zephyrs, laden with spicy fragrance from orange groves and pineapple fields, breathed softly through the tops of the palms; but carl couldn't enjoy the zephyrs, for a cloud of mosquitoes was pestering him and he had to use both hands on his guitar. the house before which carl was playing and singing was a whitewashed bungalow. between the bungalow and the street ran a high brick wall. the iron gate leading into the yard was locked, and carl had climbed the wall, skinning his shins and tearing his clothes. but he didn't mind that. he had read somewhere that when a gay young spanish blade admires a young spanish lady, he grabs a guitar and goes and sings to her. carl wasn't going to let any spaniard back him off the boards, so he grabbed a guitar and stole like a thief into that belize yard to serenade ysabel sixty. carl was not very well acquainted with the lay of the land in belize. by an error of judgment he had got into the wrong yard, and by another conspiracy of circumstances he began pouring out his enraptured soul under the window of a room in which captain reginald charles arthur pierce-plympton, of the local constabulary, was trying to sleep. miss sixty was staying with relatives a block farther on, around the corner of the next street. utterly unaware of his mistake, carl fought the discomforts of his situation and heroically kept to his labor of love. ysabel sixty was a fine girl, and carl had a warm spot in his heart for her. "der rose iss ret, der fiolet's plue, oof i lofe me as you lofe you, no knife can cut us togedder!" this touching bit of sentiment was merely the overture. carl knew how to play the guitar, for he had once been a member of a knockabout musical team, and he could get music out of anything from a set of sleigh bells to a steam calliope. if he had been able to use his voice as well as he used the guitar, captain reginald charles arthur pierce-plympton would probably have slept on or even have been lulled into deeper slumber; but there were dull spots in carl's voice where there should have been sharps, and high places where there should have been flats, and whoops, grunts and falling inflections where there should have been trills, grace notes and a soft petal generally. captain reginald charles arthur pierce-plympton stirred uneasily, sat up suddenly in his bed and knocked his high forehead against the iron bar that supported a canopy of mosquito netting. as he rubbed his temples and said things to himself, he listened with growing anger. "_du hast diamanten und perlen_-- (chimineddy, vat a hotness!) _hast alles was menschen begehren_-- (whoosh! der muskedoodles vas vorse as der heat!) _du hast ja die schönsten augen, mein liebchen was willst du noch mehr?_" captain reginald charles arthur pierce-plympton blinked his eyes and began forming a plan of campaign. there was a pitcher of water on a table in his room, a bulldog in the yard, and a valiant assistant in the form of hadji sing, his hindoo servant. getting softly out of bed, the captain prepared for his attack on the enemy. when carl climbed over the wall he had dropped into the yard at the foot of a lemon tree. he had jarred the tree and a half-ripe lemon had dropped on him. this omen should have sent him away and postponed the serenade, but it did not. after slapping at the mosquitoes and drawing his sleeve across his eyes, carl went on picking the guitar. "now for der nexdt spasm," he murmured. "i vill put der german vorts indo english for der leedle gal, yah, so. "you haf plendy oof tiamonts und bearls, haf all vat a laty couldt vant, you haf likevise der peautiful eye-es, my tarling vat more----" just then the water descended. it was well aimed and carl caught the whole of it. probably there was no more than a couple of gallons, but carl, for the moment, was under the impression that it was a tidal wave. his song died out in a wheezy gurgle and, for a moment, he was stunned. then, suddenly, he realized that he had been insulted. ysabel sixty, the beautiful maiden who had captured his young fancy, had deliberately thrown---- but his thoughts were interrupted by a voice from the window--a voice that certainly was not miss sixty's. "bah jove! i'll throw the pitcher at you, fellow, if you don't clear out!" carl was dazed. he knew, then, that he had made a mistake. while he stood there, half drowned and trying to find his voice, the bark of an approaching dog came from the rear of the house. self-preservation is the first law of nature, and it flashed over carl on the instant that if he wanted to save himself he would have to run. without standing on the order of his going, he whirled and fled toward the fence. the dog was close and rapidly drawing closer. behind the dog came a white-turbaned figure that was urging the brute onward with strange language. the front fence looked altogether too high for carl, and he turned and made for a wall at the side of the yard. just as he gained the foot of the barrier the dog was snapping at his heels. "dere!" he whooped, turning and smashing the guitar over the dog's head, "how you like dot, hey?" the dog was rebuffed, but not discouraged. carl had gained a few valuable seconds, and he grabbed at a vine that covered the wall and climbed frantically upward. he heard a growl below him as he ascended, and felt a shock as the savage teeth closed in his trousers. the dog was heavy, his jaws were as strong as a steel trap, and as carl hung wildly to the vine he knew that something would have to give way or else that he would be captured. it was with a feeling of joy, therefore, that he heard a tearing sound and experienced a sudden relief from his enforced burden. the next moment he was over the wall and floundering about in a thorny rose-bush covered with beautiful blossoms. but the beautiful blossoms did not make so deep an impression on carl as did the thorns. as he rolled out of the bushes his language was intense and earnest; and when he got up in a cleared stretch of ground he felt a sudden coolness below the waist-line that informed him fully of his predicament. he had left an important part of his apparel in the next yard. "vat a luck id iss!" he muttered. "i porrowed dot kiddar from der vaider py der hodel, und id vas gone to smash. meppy i vill haf to pay as mooch as fife tollars for dot. und den dere vill be anodder fife tollars for some more pands. fife und fife iss den. oof i make some more serenadings i vill be busted. vat a laff matt und tick vill gif me! py shinks, i can't go pack py der hodel like dis! vat iss to be dit? mit some clot', und some neetles und t'read, i could make some patches. vere vill i ged dem?" he paused to shake his fist in the direction of the yard he had just left. all was silent on the other side, and the man and the dog, carl reasoned, must have gone back where they belonged. a survey of the situation in the moonlight showed carl another bungalow. it was not so pretentious as the house in the next inclosure, but its walls were as brightly whitewashed and the building stood out clearly against its background of shrubbery. the windows of the house were dark. but this was to be expected, as the hour was past midnight. the noise which carl had made had not seemed to disturb the inmates. "oof i hat der nerf," thought carl, "i vould go dere und ask der beople for somet'ing to fix meinseluf oop, but meppy i vouldt get soaked mit some more vater, und meppy dere iss anodder tog. no, py shinks, i vill go pack py der hodel und led matt und tick laff as mooch as dey vill." but luck was still against carl; or perhaps, in the inscrutable way whereby fate occasionally works in order to secure the greatest good for the greatest number, he was merely encountering obstacles in order to gain knowledge of a plot that had been leveled against motor matt. carl found a tall iron gate, set into the high front wall as snugly as a door in its casing. but the gate was locked. more than that, the wall could not be scaled, for there were no vines or near-by trees to offer a lift upward. carefully he made his way around all four sides of the inclosure, only to be balked at every point. then he hunted for a ladder, a box, or some other movable thing on which he could stand while getting over the wall, but his search was fruitless. "py shinks," he muttered, again moving toward the house, "i vill haf to shpeak mit somepody in der blace und dry und ged oudt. i don'd vant to shday here undil morning." at the rear of the house he rapped. although he pounded heavily, no one answered his summons. alarmed by the thought that there was no one at home, he moved around to the front door and rapped again, still without effect. next he tried the door. to his amazement he found it unlocked. when the door swung open a blank darkness yawned beyond it. "hello, somepody!" carl called, thrusting his head inside. "i don'd vas a t'ief, or anyt'ing like dot, aber i vas in drouple. hello! come und led me oudt oof der yardt, blease, oof you vill be so kindt." his voice echoed rumblingly through the interior of the house, but won no response. hesitatingly, carl stepped across the threshold. he had matches in his pocket, and they had come through the recent deluge unharmed. with fingers none too steady he scratched one, held the flickering glow above him and peered around. the next moment his startled eyes encountered an object on the floor that caused him to drop the match from his nerveless fingers and fall back gaspingly against the wall. chapter ii. don ramon ortega. the object which had so startled the dutch boy was the figure of a middle-aged man, sprawled at full length on the floor matting. his hands were secured behind him and his feet were bound at the ankles with twisted towels. over the lower part of his face another towel had been tied, thus effectually preventing outcry. carl's own troubles faded into the background. as he slowly got the whip hand of himself, he struck another match and stepped to the man's side. the man gurgled incoherently behind the gag and his dark eyes pleaded for immediate release. "dere iss some dricky pitzness here, you bed you!" exclaimed carl. "don'd be schared oof me," he added to the man, "i vas a friendt, und i vill helup you. schust vait a leedle undil i ged some pedder lighdt as vat i haf." there was an oil lamp on a table, and carl stepped to it and applied a match to the wick. in the glow that presently flooded the room, the dutch boy returned to the man, knelt down beside him and removed the towels. "_ay de mi!_" stuttered the man, attempting to rise and falling helplessly back again. "vas you hurt some blace?" asked carl solicitously. "hurt?" echoed the man, speaking good english, although with a very perceptible foreign accent. "not at all, señor; only my limbs--they are so cramped from confinement that i cannot stand. soon they will be all right. but who are you?" and suspicion suddenly flamed in the dark eyes. "how does it happen that you know of my trouble and have come here? are you a confederate of the rascally don carlos?" "ton garlos?" repeated carl. "i don'd know dot feller from atam. i vas a shdranger in dis blace, und all i know iss der amerigan consul, misder hays chordan und toctor armsdrong, und----" "you are american?" interrupted the other eagerly. "yah, so; amerigan mit a dutch accent." "how do you happen to be here?" "id vas a plunder, dot's all," answered carl. "a pulltog chaced me und pooty near caught me, doo. i got ofer der vall from der odder site und couldn't get pack some more. vat a high vall iss aboudt der blace! und so smoot' und shlippery as i can't dell." "what were you doing in the other yard?" carl didn't want to mention that part of it, but it seemed necessary in order to convince the man of his harmless intentions. "vell," he answered diffidently, "i vent der mit meinseluf to serenate a yoong laty py der name oof miss sixdy----" "miss ysabel sixty?" the other again interrupted, even more eagerly than he had done before. "yah, so!" beamed carl. "you know der laty?" "indeed, yes. but she does not live in the next house, señor. an english captain lives there--an officer in charge of the constabulary. miss sixty is staying with friends a block farther down the street, and around the corner." "vell, i t'ought i hat made some misdakes," said carl, vastly relieved. "a parrel oof vater vas tropped on me, und i vas run off mit a pulltog, und--und---- blease, haf you some clot' patches und some neetles und t'read? i vouldt like to be respectaple vonce more." the man got to his feet slowly and then, his eyes gleaming ominously, caught carl's arm in both hands. "let us not think so much of ourselves now, señor," he said thickly, "but of others!" "vat aboudt id?" inquired carl, wondering whether the released gentleman was crazy or excited. "i am don ramon ortega," answered the man. this was another surprise. carl had heard of don ramon ortega. he was the spanish consul in belize, a man of high lineage and of much importance. "how keveer dot i shouldt come py your house like vat i dit, ton ramon!" muttered carl. "i hope," he added, in a tremor, "dot der laties von't come----" "there are none here but ourselves," cut in the don. "my family and all the servants have gone to mexico. i myself was intending to go in the morning, but now i shall not leave belize until i make that scoundrelly don carlos valdez answer for this rascally work he has done!" "ton carlos valdez?" repeated carl. "i don'd know der feller. vat has he dit?" "i will tell you," answered the don. "come, let us sit down for a moment. my limbs are not strong yet, and there is much to be done." carl, excited and curious, dropped into a chair. the don, after giving a cautious look outside, closed the door and returned to carl. drawing a chair close, he seated himself. "tell me," said he, "do you know of a submarine boat in the harbor called the _grampus_? you are american, and the boat is owned by captain nemo, jr., an american. you should know of her." "vell, py chiminy grismus," boomed carl, "you bed you! vy, ton, i vas vone oof der crew oof der _grampus_! i come mit her ven she arrifed, und i vas mit her ven she got der american consul avay from der repels in der rifer izaral. vy, modor matt, who vas boss oof der poat ven she dit dot, iss my friendt, my bard! und so iss tick ferral! know der _grampus_! py chincher, i know her insite und oudt, oop und down und sitevays. my name is pretzel, carl pretzel." don ramon ortega was astounded, but happily so. reaching out his hand, he clasped carl's convulsively. "ah, what good fortune!" he murmured, "what amazing luck! destiny is at work in all this. fate guided you to me to-night, _amigo mio_!" "a pulltog hat more to do mit it as fate," answered carl simply. "listen!" proceeded the don hurriedly. "i was here alone in the early evening. some one rang the bell at the gate. i went out and admitted"--anger throbbed in the spaniard's voice--"don carlos valdez! he is, what you americans call, a trouble maker. i call him a pestilence, an evil spectre who stalks through the devoted countries and helps revolutionists overthrow established governments. i am spanish, but i love law and order! i hate violence and bloodshed! i am for peace! but don carlos is always for war, and more war, for in that he finds unholy profit. well, it was he who called on me to-night. he declared that he wanted a passport, for he was going abroad. i told him to go to my secretary, at the legation. he said he had been there, but that the secretary was not in. i could not refuse him the passport if his intentions were peaceable and he paid the fee, so he came back into the house with me. as i seated myself and leaned over the table, the demon struck me from behind. i fell unconscious. when i recovered, i was bound as you saw me, and i have laid so for hours. but don carlos had not left when i regained consciousness. he and i have long been at swords' points, and he taunted me with the base plans he intended to carry out." don ramon writhed in his chair in a spasm of fierce anger. "vat it vas he iss going to do?" asked carl. "he has designs on the submarine!" proceeded the don. "he thinks the boat would be valuable to the revolutionists to the south of us. they are threatening port livingston, at the mouth of the izaral, and are seeking to secure the fort there. the lawful authorities of the state will send ships of war to defeat the revolutionists, and don carlos wants the submarine to destroy the war vessels." "himmelblitzen!" gasped carl. "aber," he added soothingly, "don'd you be vorked oop, ton. der schemer von't ged der supmarine. captain nemo, jr., iss sick, aber modor matt iss on der chob, und you bed you he von't let don carlos haf der _grampus_ to helup oudt der repels." "_diable_, no! motor matt will not hire the boat to the rascally don carlos, but he is a serpent for craft. he intends to get the boat away from belize by a ruse--_and will use my name_, my honorable name, to help him prosecute his villainous plot! think of that, _amigo_!" "how vill he do dot, ton?" "i do not know, but such is his miserable intention; he flaunted it in my face as i lay on the floor at his feet, helpless to move or to speak. we must prevent him from carrying out his contemptible designs. i have told you so much, because it was necessary that you should understand. come! let us go at once to motor matt! let us warn him, and put him on his guard." "dot's me, ton!" agreed carl heartily, "aber haf you a pair oof drousers vat i couldt vear?" "that is a small matter, señor pretzel," demurred the don on his way to the door, "and we have other and larger matters to claim our instant attention." "some more drousers iss kevite imbortant mit me," insisted carl. "id von't dake more as a minude, ton." rather than waste time arguing, don ramon flung off into a neighboring room. he returned presently with a pair of white duck trousers, and carl climbed into them. they were too long and too narrow, but the dutch boy contrived to make them serve. "now, ton," said carl, "ged der key by der front gate und lead der vay." the don took a key from the drawer of the table. "come, _amigo_," said he, hurrying from the door. "id's a funny pizness," remarked carl, following, "dot dis carlos feller vouldt leaf der door oben und lock der gate." "the gate locks itself when it is closed," explained the don. "i don'd t'ink, anyvay, dere iss mooch use being in some takings aboudt der poat," proceeded carl, as the don unlocked the gate. "dot carlos feller vill haf his hants full pulling der vool ofer modor matt's eyes." "you do not know carlos as well as i," answered don ramon ominously. "he is plausible, he has many tricks, and then he is impersonating _me_! motor matt must know me by name, although i have not the pleasure of his personal acquaintance. i am fearing the worst, ah, yes, the worst!" the gate clanged shut behind them and the don and carl raced for the international hotel. matt and dick stayed at the hotel while they were ashore. carl had not seen either of his chums at supper, and he had not spent much time looking for them. the serenade was uppermost in carl's mind, and he was afraid matt or dick might propose something that would interfere with his plans. in the hotel office they learned that matt and dick had gone out to the submarine early in the evening to arrange some stores that had been taken aboard. they had not come back, so the inference was that they were staying the night on the craft. there was nothing left for the don and carl to do but to hurry on to the wharf. there, at the landing from which sailboats usually carried the _grampus'_ crew to the anchorage, half a mile out in the bay, they met a policeman. "what are you looking for, don ramon?" inquired the officer respectfully, touching the don on the shoulder as he and carl were gazing off across the surface of the bay. "for the riding lights of the submarine boat, _amigo_," answered the don. "you won't see them, sir. the submarine left the harbor four hours ago, bound south." "_carramba!_" cried the don. "we are too late! tell me, did she have any passengers?" "motor matt and the boat's usual crew were aboard anyhow, i saw motor matt and his friend, ferral, going out." "did any one else go out to the boat?" "yes, don carlos valdez and four or five negroes. they----" the don whirled away and caught carl's arm. "too late!" he whispered hoarsely. "but perhaps there is still something we can do. come! we will call on the american consul; we will tell him what we fear!" carl was in a daze. that serenade of his, which had proved a farce, seemed to be leading up to something tragic. chapter iii. the shadow of treachery. "what's our next billet going to be, matey?" inquired dick ferral, sprawling out comfortably on top of the long locker in the periscope room. matt was just coming down the ladder after putting the riding lights in position. "wish i knew, dick," he answered, switching on the incandescent in the periscope room and dropping down on a low stool. "i had a dream last night," and dick gave a short laugh as he spoke. "i was doing as sound a caulk as ever i did in my life when that dream jumped in on me, and it was so blooming realistic that it brought me up in my bed with a yell." "you must have been eating _chili con carne_, or some of the other hot stuff they have down here, before you went to bed. the peppery grub they give you in belize would make a wooden indian have the nightmare! but what was it, old chap? you've got me interested." "it was about fingal." "fingal?" "aye, matey, captain abner fingal of the schooner _north star_, the hooting, tooting old revolutionist, and brother of captain jim sixty, who's now, i hope and believe, doing time in a united states' federal prison." "fingal," observed motor matt, "is a tough old proposition to dream about." "i won't forget in a hurry how he crossed our hawse, down there on the river izaral, or how you came up under our gasoline launch with the good old _grampus_, tipped over the launch, and released the prisoners and pulled them out of the drink. fingal and one of the rebel soldiers got away from us by the skin of their teeth. do you remember how, when fingal reached the bank, he got up on his knees and shook his fist after us?"[a] [a] see no. of the motor stories, "motor matt's quest; or, three chums in strange waters." "i'll not forget that in a hurry," said matt. "if fingal could have had us in his hands then we'd have experienced a little more trouble than we could have taken care of. but what's the dream?" "well, i thought i was adrift in a big forest, with fingal and a lot of revolutionists hustling after me, full and by and forty knots, all with machetes. general pitou, the french leader of the revolutionists, was with fingal, and the whole pack of them had machetes in each hand and another between their teeth. finally they caught me, and i was hacked in pieces----" "mighty pleasant, that!" grinned matt. "they hung my head up in a tree," proceeded dick grewsomely, "and when i saw the rest of me scattered over the ground underneath, my nerves went to pieces and i fetched a yell that ought to have raised the roof. strike me lucky, but i was in a sweat! we're not done with abner fingal, mate. he'll foul our course before we're many days older." "i don't take any stock in dreams. they always come from a fellow's stomach--something he eats that disagrees with him. as for fingal, you can bet he'll not come to belize. he'd like to play even with us, all right, but he has got sense enough not to run his head into a noose." speake, gaines and clackett were stowing supplies in another part of the boat. from time to time, as the boys talked, muffled thumps and a sound of distant voices came to them. cassidy, the mate, was ashore, taking care of the sick captain. "what's the latest news from nemo, jr.?" queried dick. "the last i heard was this morning. the captain wasn't so well then, doctor armstrong told me." "i saw cassidy just before we started for the landing to come out to the submarine," said matt. "he said the doctor was sure the captain would pull through, but that he would need careful nursing, and not be bothered with business of any kind." "cassidy will give him the right kind of nursing! i never saw a shellback that was so handy in the sick bay, nor who tried to do more. nemo, jr., ought to forgive cassidy for his treachery, down there on the izaral." "the captain will do that, i'm sure. cassidy is mighty sorry he allowed his temper to run away with him. fingal was responsible for what cassidy did." "fingal and the grog," commented dick. "a few tots of rum will make pirates and beach combers out of a lot of honest men. but why are you getting all these supplies aboard, mate? we're loaded to the marks with provisions, gasoline, oil, and everything else." "you know, don't you," returned dick, "that captain nemo, jr., is planning to sell the _grampus_ to the united states government?" "aye, aye. the captain has had that bee in his bonnet for a long time." "when we went down the coast and rescued the american consul from the revolutionists, it was at the instigation of the united states authorities. of course, they were anxious to have the consul rescued, but they were equally anxious to see what the _grampus_ could do." "well, we showed 'em!" said dick proudly. "the little old flugee, and every one aboard, did themselves proud! what else does your government want, matey?" "i don't know as the government wants anything else, but i have thought it best to keep the _grampus_ in trim for any demand that should be made on her. any time, now, i'm expecting to see the u. s. cruiser _seminole_ stick her nose in the bay with orders for the _grampus_ to get under way for the potomac, bound for washington. if the order comes, it must find us in the pink of condition." "suppose the order comes before the captain gets well?" "then the chances are he'll ask us to carry out the order for him. we're in pretty good shape to do that, even without the assistance of cassidy. our little crew of six can manage the craft, all right. carl has been taking lessons from clackett and can look after the tank room almost as well as clackett himself; and you have learned to run the motor in a way that has made a hit with gaines." "we'll do, matey," said dick, with a long breath of satisfaction. "with you as skipper, i wouldn't be afraid to ride in the _grampus_ from here to the north pole. speaking of carl, though, what's become of the lubber? he cut his cables mighty sudden, seems to me." "he borrowed a guitar from a fellow in the hotel," laughed matt. "a guitar? what does that mean?" "i shouldn't wonder if he had gone off to serenade somebody." dick rolled over on his back and kicked the locker with his heels. "oh, my eye!" he sputtered. "it's ysabel sixty! carl's been gone in that quarter for some time." suddenly dick hoisted up on his elbow and peered at his chum. "what do you say, mate? let's go ashore and slant away for the place where ysabel is staying. we can look over the fence and jolly our dutch messmate just as he gets tuned up. how about a bit of a lark?" "i'll go you!" chuckled matt, "but there's no use starting for two or three hours yet. midnight is the witching hour." "carl's showing good taste, anyhow," continued dick. "ysabel sixty is a fine girl. now that her father, jim sixty, is put where he can't interfere with her, she's going to be happier than she ever was before. but carl is off soundings. the lass hasn't an eye for him, matey, but for _you_." "oh, splash!" grunted matt. "that's right--flog the cat. but it's a fact, all the same. the lass has taken a fancy to you, matt, and you wouldn't turn your head to look at the handsomest girl that ever walked. gasoline motors are your hobby. an explosive engine will be your best girl till the end of the chapter." matt enjoyed this. dick had a way, now and then, of giving a subject a humorous turn that was highly diverting. just as matt was on the point of giving some jesting reply, a voice came to them from without. "ahoy, de _grampus_! tumble out an' pass us a line!" both boys gained their feet on the instant. "that's sambo with his sailboat!" exclaimed dick. "he's bringing visitors. nice time, this, to receive callers from belize." "perhaps it's carl coming back," answered matt, halfway up the iron ladder toward the conning-tower hatch. "if it is," went on dick, laying hold of the ladder, "then our fun for to-night is knocked in the head." as soon as matt got his head out of the hatch he saw a small sailboat hove to alongside the submarine. there were several men in her, and two were standing forward and aft to catch the ropes they were expecting to be thrown. because of the evening dusk it was impossible to distinguish those in the boat, but it was plain that the craft was the one which the crew of the _grampus_ used for going ashore. a dark shadow was thrown by the boat against the lighter background of water--a hovering, ominous shadow of treachery--all the more ominous because neither of the chums were suspecting underhand work there in those peaceable waters off the british town of belize. chapter iv. don carlos lays his snare. "ahoy, yourself!" shouted matt. "what do you want?" "dar's a gentman here, marse cap'n, dat wants tuh come on bo'd," answered the voice of sambo. "who is he?" here another form pushed forward and another voice took up the conversation. "are you motor matt?" asked the voice. "yes." "you have charge of the submarine while captain nemo, jr., is sick?" "yes." "then you're the person i wish to talk with. i am don ramon ortega." matt was deeply impressed by the name. everybody in belize had a good word to say for don ramon ortega, the spanish consul. he was a chivalrous gentleman of the old school, a friend of the united states when many other of his countrymen cherished a grudge against the country, and a philanthropic and kindly man in all his dealings. "i shall be very glad to have you come aboard, don ortega," called matt respectfully, "but it is against our rules to allow more than one stranger aboard the _grampus_ at any one time." "then i will come alone." matt and dick got out of the tower and each hurled a rope to those forward and aft on the sailboat. after the two boats had been hauled as close together as possible, a plank was shoved over the side of the sailboat and left with its outer end resting on the rounded deck of the submarine. don ramon turned and handed something to sambo. "haul off," said he, "and wait until you receive a signal from me. if you don't receive a signal, put back to the landing." "all right, boss." matt was a little surprised at this order, but presumed that he would soon be told why it had been given. reaching out, he caught the don's hand and helped him off the end of the plank. "i must speak with you immediately," said the don. "can we go somewhere for a little private talk?" "certainly," answered matt, his wonder continuing to grow. the don carried a canvas bag whose contents jingled musically with every movement. while matt and dick escorted their caller below, those on the sailboat hauled in the plank and stood off toward the shore. speake, gaines and clackett were still busy stowing the supplies and getting the _grampus_ shipshape below decks. the two boys and their guest made themselves comfortable in the periscope room. don ramon, as matt looked at him now for the first time, had the appearance of a courtly gentleman. he was swarthy, well dressed, and his dark eyes, as they stared about him curiously, looked like points of polished jet. the don took a card case from his pocket and extracted a square of pasteboard bearing the coat of arms of his native country, his name and the information that he was spanish consul at belize. he handed the card to matt, and matt, in turn, passed it along to dick. "we have heard a good deal about you, don," remarked matt, "but this is the first time we have ever met." "and i have heard much about you," was the answer, in most gracious tones; "very much to your credit. the recent performance of the _grampus_ made a deep impression upon me, and that is why i am here to-night. if you wish, you can render a great service to the cause of right and justice; possibly it hangs upon you to terminate the uprising in the unhappy little republic that lies to the south." matt and dick were all interest on the moment. "what do you mean, don?" asked matt. "pitou and his rebels have captured port livingston and the fort on the headland across the river from the town. every inch of the coast is guarded. the loyal army is marching from the pacific side of the republic--very few in numbers and poorly armed. pitou, the great rogue, has laid a trap for the loyalists. unless general mendez, in charge of the loyal troops, is communicated with to-morrow morning, there will be fighting and bloodshed, and perhaps the insurrectionists will win." matt and dick were following the don closely, wondering what he was driving at. "of course," the don resumed, after a brief silence, "as spanish consul, i am not warranted in mixing in the imbroglio. whatever i do, i do in a private capacity, and merely as a preserver of peace. however, it is well known that the insurrection, headed by this soldier of fortune, pitou, is merely for the sake of gain. if successful, pitou and fingal would get a grip on the throat of the little republic, and lawlessness would reign. you know something about pitou and fingal and their base methods and designs. therefore, i come to you." "why do you come to me, don?" inquired matt. "why, with the submarine you could pass the mouth of the izaral under water and unseen by the rebels; you could continue up the izaral, still below the surface, to the place where the purgatoire enters the stream. from that point i could communicate with general mendez and warn him of the trap that has been laid by pitou. the general could save his army--and the fate of the republic hangs on general mendez. will you do this? will you assist don ramon ortega in such a humanitarian work?" matt was dazed by the proposition. "you," pursued the don passionately, "come from a great and rich country, where there is always peace. then have you got it in your heart to withhold a helping hand from a smaller and war-harried little country whose fate may hang upon your decision? see!" the don pulled a stool in front of him, untied the canvas sack and spilled a heap of golden sovereigns out of it. "here are fifty pieces of gold, motor matt," went on the don, "and, if we are successful in passing the revolutionists and getting word to general mendez, you shall have _one thousand more_. will you do this for me, don ramon ortega? will you do it for humanity? i do not appeal to your wish for gain--you are above such sordid things--but i ask you in the name of right and justice! lives, human lives, depend on you! the fate of a republic depends on you! as for the risk to you and the submarine--bah!" the don shrugged his shoulders contemptuously. "am i not going with you? would i endanger my own life?" the don paused anxiously for reply. dick peered at his friend reflectively. speake, clackett and gaines, having finished their work below, had come to the periscope room and were standing in one of the bulkhead doors. they had heard the don's proposition, and the gold was sparkling its lure in their greedy eyes. "i am sorry, don," said matt, with a note of deep regret in his voice, "but i have not the authority to let you have the _grampus_ for any such work." "you are the captain?" "i am in charge of the boat while her captain is sick. you should take your proposition to captain nemo, jr." "i went to see him, but the doctor refused to let me in. the doctor said the captain was unable to talk with anybody. so i came to you." "i haven't the authority, don," repeated matt firmly. "wait until the captain is able to talk business. i can't risk the boat." "there is no risk!" "perhaps not; but i have no more right to take this boat out of the harbor, don, than you have." the don passed his dejected glance from matt to dick, and then toward the three faces in the narrow doorway. gaines pushed forward. "matt," said he, "i think you might stretch a point. them golden sovs look mighty fine to me. there's two hundred an' fifty dollars' worth there, and we're promised five thousand dollars' worth more. cap'n nemo, jr., if he was able, would tell us to go ahead an' capture the prize money. i move we hook up with the don." "might jest as well turn a few honest dollars, matt," put in speake, "as to be layin' idle here, off belize." "my idee, exactly," said clackett. "i know the cap'n would do it if he was able to hear the don's proposition." "why not, matey?" said dick, in a low tone. matt shook his head decidedly. "i'd go in a minute if i had the right to do so," said he, "but i haven't. suppose the _seminole_ should put into the harbor to-night with orders for the _grampus_? you know what it would mean, dick." dick was silent, but not convinced. the men were disappointed, and watched the don as he shoved the gold coins back into the bag. "i am sorry, too," said he, tying up the bag, "and i feel, motor matt, that you are letting a lot of useless red tape interfere with your duties to humanity." "perhaps, don, i merely understand my duty better than you do," answered matt, respectfully but firmly. "i haven't any love for pitou, or fingal, or the rascally revolutionists, and i promise you this, that i will see captain nemo, jr., personally in the morning, and, if the doctor will let me, will put your proposition before him. if he agrees, we will start for the south at once." "that will be too late," said the don, getting up and taking his bag of sovereigns. "i will bid you good evening, hail my boat and go ashore," he added stiffly. with chilly dignity he climbed the conning-tower ladder and hailed the sailboat. matt, dick and the others saw him safely aboard and the boat headed shoreward, then again went below. "i'm tired," announced matt, cutting short a further discussion of the don and his proposition, "and i'm going to bed. you and clackett, gaines, will have the anchor watch till midnight. after that, call dick and me." "very good, sir," replied gaines. dick accompanied matt to a room abaft the periscope chamber, in which a couple of cots had been set up, and silently the two chums turned in. nothing more was said about going ashore to interrupt carl's serenade. matt knew that dick thought he should have accepted the don's proposition, and yet, feeling that he was in the right, did not care to discuss the matter. with a hearty good night to dick, he turned over and went to sleep. how long matt slept he did not know, but he was awakened by the throb of a motor and started bolt upright in his bed. the _grampus_ was moving! the roll of the craft proved that she was on the surface and under way. all was dark in the little steel room, and matt got up and groped for the switch that turned on the incandescent light. a moment later there was a dazzling glow, and matt looked at the bulkhead doors. they had been open when he and dick turned in, and now they were closed! he started for the door leading to the periscope room. just as he laid his hand on it, dick roused up. "what's the blooming go, mate?" queried dick, rubbing his eyes. "we seem to be on the move." "we are," answered matt grimly. "who's in charge, and where are we going?" "give it up! all i know is that we're locked in." then he began shaking the steel door and kicking against it. "gaines!" he yelled. chapter v. a mutiny. "what is it, matt?" asked the muffled voice of gaines from the other side of the closed door. "let me out of here!" ordered matt. "can't do it just yet, matt," answered gaines apologetically. "what does this mean?" "it means that we're going to help out general mendez with that warning of the don's. you wouldn't take the responsibility, but speake and clackett and me are willin' to bear it." "do you mean to say," cried matt hotly, "that you have deliberately sailed away from belize without permission from captain nemo, jr., or from me?" "that's the size of it," was the respectful but decisive answer. "we know that the cap'n would tell us to go ahead and help the don. we ain't finding any fault with you for not doing it on your own hook, 'cause you're a stickler for what you think's your duty. we feel we're doin' right, though, and we want you to feel the same way." "this is mutiny!" cried matt. "that's a pretty hard name for it, matt. i've been in ships, man and boy, for thirty years, and this is the first time any one ever accused me of mutiny. we just think we know what ought to be done and are goin' ahead and doin' it. you'll be able to tell the cap'n, when you next see him, that you couldn't help yourself. speake, clackett and me are banking on it that the cap'n'll say we did just right." this line of reasoning surprised matt. for a moment he was silent, turning it over in his mind. "i can hardly believe this of you, gaines," said the young motorist finally. "how are you running the ship?" "we're short-handed, and that's a fact; still, we're making shift to get along. we're running on the surface, so clackett don't have anything to do in the tank room, and he's running the engine." "who's doing the steering?" "the don's doing that. he knows the coast, he says, and he seems to be right handy with the wheel. but i'm watchin' to see that he don't make any flukes." "you'll have us on the rocks first thing you know!" cried matt. "put her about and go back to belize." "you might just as well understand, matt," answered gaines firmly, "that we've started on this business and we're going to see it through. we want your good will--and we think you'll give it to us before we're done with this cruise. it's a short cruise, anyhow, and we ought to be back at belize by to-morrow night." "if anything happens to the _grampus_," said matt, "you'll be held responsible." "we're willin'. we went into this with our eyes wide open. first thing we did was to shut both doors of that room and lock 'em; then we heaved up the anchors as quiet as we could, and you and dick were so sound asleep you didn't hear a thing. it's two in the morning now, and we're well down the coast--so far down that we might as well see this thing through as to put back. don't you think so?" "it doesn't appear to make much difference what i think," said matt grimly. "well, not a terrible sight," went on gaines, "only, as i said, we'd rather have your good will than your bad." "how did you work this? how did the don get back?" "he stood off and on in the sailboat. as soon as you were asleep, clackett and i dickered with him and he came aboard." "i haven't much of an opinion of don ramon ortega!" exclaimed matt. "any man who will hire a crew to disobey orders has a crooked strain in him somewhere." "we're doin' this for humanity," asserted gaines, in a highly virtuous tone. "bosh," scoffed matt. "you're doing it for five thousand two hundred and fifty dollars--which you won't get." "won't get?" demanded gaines, in ludicrous alarm. "that's my view of it, gaines. there's something wrong with don ramon. after what he's done, i'm positive that he told us a pretty tall yarn. let me out of here!" "sorry, but it ain't to be thought of--just yet. when you and dick will promise to go with us, and not make any trouble, we'll let you out." "looks like we'd have to go with you whether we wanted to or not, you old pirate!" cried dick. "aren't you with us, dick?" called gaines, in a pleading voice. "we hate to have the two of you against us." "with you," whooped dick, "and against my old raggie, motor matt? well, i should say not! you're a lot of blooming beach combers to act in this way." "but you thought the don's proposition was all right." "vast, there, about what i thought of the don or his proposition--it's what matt thought about it that cuts ice with me. oh, you're a nice lot of swabs, you are! if you know when you're well off, you'll haul that don out of the conning tower and put him in double irons; then you'll let matt and me out of here and obey orders. it's not too late yet to undo the trouble you've caused. just let that bounce around in your locker for a while and see what you make of it." "we're in this thing now, and we're going to hang to it," was the dogged response. gaines turned away and the two chums could hear him moving off. matt went over to his cot and sat down. "great spark plugs!" he exclaimed. "who'd ever have thought speake, gaines and clackett would take the bit in their teeth like this?" "they mean well, matey," said dick, with a grim laugh. "they are trying to take the responsibility off your shoulders, matt. they could see that you were hungry to go with the don, but that you didn't think you had the right. they've shouldered that part of it themselves." "and they've got the lot of us into trouble," said matt. "there's something off color about don ramon ortega or he wouldn't have hired speake, gaines and clackett to do this directly against my orders." "don ramon is a pretty high jigger in belize." "he's not what i thought he was." "well, we're in for it," laughed dick. "in more ways than one," said matt moodily. "we're bound for the izaral again, and will probably save that devoted outfit of 'breeds commanded by general mendez." "if i can get out of here they'll never put this boat into the river izaral." "that's my game old raggie for you!" exclaimed dick. "but what could you do, matey? there are four against us, counting the don--two to one." "i'll do my best. as for gaines, speake and clackett, they wouldn't dare lay hands on me. i can take care of the don, i guess!" and matt's gray eyes flashed dangerously. "they'll not let us out of here, old ship," said dick. "gaines and the rest know their business." the steel room was as solid as a prison cell. there were small ventilators for admitting fresh air, but these were no larger than loopholes. apart from the ventilators there were absolutely no other openings in the metal walls except the closed doors. matt laid down on the cot again and continued turning the situation over in his mind. the thing that worried him was the possibility of the cruiser _seminole_ putting in at belize with orders for the _grampus_--orders which might have something to do with the sale of the boat to the united states government. matt, who was in captain nemo, jr.'s, confidence more than any of the others, understood that such a sale was the object for which the captain was striving--that it was that, and nothing else, which had led him to bring the submarine into central american waters. and now to have the captain run the risk of losing a sale through the misguided and utterly unwarranted action of speake, clackett and gaines was a hard thing to bear. yet matt could see no way out of the difficulty. gaines and his two shipmates were determined to help the don, and the boat was well along toward the izaral. for three or four hours matt lay sleeplessly on his cot, listening to the hum of the motor and rolling back and forth with the rough swaying of the boat. then, suddenly, he was brought up with a start. the steady song of the cylinders had given way to an ineffectual popping, and he knew that something had gone wrong. the propeller ceased its revolutions, and the submarine came to a dead stop and rolled helplessly in the swell. "something's busted," remarked dick, sitting up. muffled voices could be heard and sounds of movements as though one of the crew were going aft to the engine room. sputter, sputter, pop, pop, pop! again and again the noise reached matt's ears, but the motor would not take the spark properly. after half an hour of this, some one banged a fist sharply against the other side of the door. "matt!" called the voice of gaines. "well?" answered the young motorist. "you'll have to go and fix up the motor. i'll be hanged if i can do it." "you're running the boat," said matt. "fix it up yourself." "i tell you it's too many for me!" "you ought to have thought that something like that might happen before you started out. you're in trouble now, so get out of it the best you can." matt, highly enjoying the situation, settled back on his cot. "something has got to be done quick," cried gaines, "for we're in danger!" "what sort of danger?" matt had bounded from the cot and was close to the door as he spoke. "there's a line of reefs on the port side, and the current is drawing us that way! unless we get the propeller to work in less than fifteen minutes the _grampus_ will be wrecked!" "open the door!" said matt sharply. "you won't make us any trouble?" parried gaines. "open the door, i tell you!" shouted matt. "we haven't a minute to lose!" without a promise to bind him as to his future course, matt was allowed to leave the steel room. paying no attention to the don, who was standing in the periscope chamber, he rushed through another door, dropped down a narrow hatch and crawled aft to the motor room. chapter vi. a lesson in "who's who." in order to reach the motor room matt had to crawl through a low chamber closely packed with storage batteries. there were sixty cells with a power of one hundred and sixty volts, and with a capacity of what is known, in electrical parlance, as sixteen hundred ampere hours. this room was speake's dominion, and he sat on a low stool, his head just clearing the deck above, watching furtively as matt scrambled past him. tucked away in the stern, at the end of the floored space, was the motor room. it looked like the tunnel shaft of an ocean liner. at one side there were switchboards for two dynamotors: one of ten horse power to compress air, and a second of two horse power to supply lights and assist the ventilation. the spiral resistance coils were close to the switchboards. the gasoline engine was in the centre of the compartment, and back of this stretched the shaft, finally passing out into the water through a stuffing box. matt glanced at a clock on the wall. from somewhere in the distance he could hear breakers churning soddenly against a reef. clackett, crouching low in the curve of the boat's side, looked anxiously at matt. he paid no attention to clackett, but gave the fly wheel a sharp turn. sputter, pop, pop! matt listened. it was marvelous how completely he was in touch with the engine. "did you strain the gasoline before you put it into the tank?" he demanded of clackett. "always do that, matt," was the reply. "the carburetter valve is clogged. lay hold here." in ten minutes the valve was clear, the engine "turned over" and the motor working properly. matt switched the power into the propeller. "all right, periscope room!" he called through a tube. "bully!" came back the voice of gaines. "we were almost on the rocks. you're the boy, matt!" "send dick ferral down here," ordered matt curtly. dick presently appeared. "take charge of the engine, dick," said matt. "what are you going to do, matey?" asked dick. "you'll know in a few minutes." he turned to clackett. "go up to the periscope room, clackett," he went on. "i may need you." "but say, matt----" "you heard what i said!" there was that in motor matt's voice and eyes that sent clackett crawling forward along the passage. matt followed him. in the battery room they picked up speake, and matt sent him trailing after clackett. in that order all three finally gained the periscope room. "what the blazes is the matter with you fellows?" shouted gaines. he was doing the steering himself, and was standing by the periscope table. "keep your eyes on the periscope," said matt. "attend to your work, gaines." matt whirled about to where the don was sitting on a stool. there was a sharp gleam in the spaniard's eyes, although he was otherwise cool and perfectly collected. "this is a good time to give you fellows a lesson in who's who aboard the _grampus_," said matt. "don ramon, you did a rascally thing when you hired these men to take you south in direct defiance of my orders." "what of it?" the don shrugged his shoulders. "we'll soon be at the mouth of the izaral----" "we are _not_ going to the izaral river," cut in matt. "we are going back to belize." "we are not going back to belize until we finish our work in the izaral," was the insolent response. "no?" returned matt coolly. "we'll see. gaines?" he called. "aye, aye, sir," answered gaines, keeping his eyes on the periscope. "put about!" gaines made no move to shift the wheel. "you heard what i said, gaines?" went on matt, his voice pitched low but carrying an emphasis that lifted it above the hum of the motor. "i heard you, matt," replied gaines. "either obey the order or give up the wheel to clackett." brought directly face to face with the issue, gaines hesitated. the sharp eyes of the don noted the effect the masterful young motorist's words were having on gaines. "don't you do it, gaines," said the don coolly. "think of the money you're to get. motor matt has not the courage----" "don't talk foolish!" growled gaines. "matt's got more pluck in a minute than any of the rest of us have in a year. i know him." "he hasn't the courage to go to the izaral," growled the don. "he's only off'n his course a little about that," answered gaines. "will you obey orders, gaines, or leave your post?" asked matt. "he'll obey my orders," flashed the don, "and he'll stay right where he is and hold to his present course." as the don spoke he pulled a hand from the breast of his coat. the hand gripped a revolver. "that's your game, is it?" asked matt, peering steadily into the snaky orbs of the spaniard. "we have come thus far on my mission," returned the don, "and we are going the rest of the way." "put up that gun!" said gaines angrily. "if you try any shootin', we'll throw our hands in the air and put back to belize." speake and clackett moved forward. matt waved them aside. "i'll manage this," said he. "gaines, keep your eyes on the periscope. a fine fellow, this don of yours. you men ought to feel proud of the way you hooked up with him, and----" matt, while he was talking, had kept covert eyes on the don. at just that moment the _grampus_ gave a heavy roll. the don's stool slid back against the steel wall and the point of the revolver was thrown, for the fraction of a second, toward the curving deck, overhead. this was matt's opportunity. quick as a flash he hurled himself upon the spaniard, bore him from the stool and they rolled over and over upon the heaving floor. the struggle lasted only a few moments, and when matt withdrew from the don and got to his feet, he was holding the revolver. "i'll make you answer for this!" cried the don, in a furious temper. "you are welcome to try--just as soon as we get back to belize," said matt. "if this matter is aired, it won't sound very well when your government hears of it." a mocking light crossed the don's angry face. "_diable!_" he exclaimed. "i'm not afraid of my government." "throw it overboard, speake," said matt, handing the revolver to speake. "we don't need that thing here. if i can't have obedience on the _grampus_ without looking at her crew over the sights of a gun, i don't want it." speake, without a word, took the revolver and went up the ladder into the conning tower. "from this on, don ramon ortega," said matt, "you will consider yourself a passenger. i will treat you better than your conduct demands, and will not make a prisoner of you unless you attempt to interfere with the management of the boat. do you understand that?" the don muttered something under his breath. before matt could speak further, a shout came from speake. "small boat off the starboard beam, close in!" "by jupiter!" exclaimed gaines, pushing farther into the hood of the periscope. "look here, matt!" as matt turned, an evil, triumphant light flashed in the don's eyes. matt could not see it, and it escaped clackett. in the mirror top of the periscope table, clear and distinct, was reflected a ship's boat, a yawl, heaving helplessly on the waves. the boat was not over a hundred feet from the submarine, and the periscope showed it with startling fidelity to detail. aboard the yawl were five persons--four men and a boy. they seemed to be in difficult straits, for the men were standing erect and waving their hats frantically. "they've been shipwrecked, matt," said gaines, "and they've lost their oars." one of the men was a burly individual, wearing an oilskin coat and a sou'wester. all the others were roughly dressed, the boy wearing a pea-jacket and a stocking cap pulled well down over his face. "there's a sailing craft hull down, off to port," said matt. "it's a wonder that boat didn't pick those fellows up. but that's unimportant. we'll lay them aboard and take them off. clackett!" "here, matt!" answered clackett. "take two coils of rope and go aloft." matt turned to gaines. "get as close to the boat as you can, gaines," he added. clackett rushed up the conning-tower ladder, and followed speake out onto the curving plates of the deck. matt went after the two men to direct operations from the conning tower. those in the boat--with the exception of the boy--appeared in the last stages of exhaustion. on seeing that their wild signals were to be answered, they dropped sprawling over the thwarts. the boy still stood erect and made gestures--stealthy movements with one hand which puzzled matt. "that youngster seems to have stood their hard luck better'n the men," remarked clackett, moving toward the bow with a coil of rope. matt made no answer, but continued to watch the dancing yawl as gaines brought the submarine steadily nearer. "stand by to catch a rope!" shouted matt presently, when they were close enough for a cast. "let 'er go, clackett!" the rope left clackett's hand, untwined itself sinuously in the air, and the end of it was grabbed by the big fellow in the sou'wester. "all fast!" he boomed in a voice that was strangely strong for one whose actions showed him to be nearly fagged out. speake's rope was then thrown, and thus, with a double cable, the yawl was drawn close against the rounded side of the submarine. in the periscope room were only the don and gaines. gaines' head was shrouded by the folds of the black periscope hood, and the don, unseen, was rubbing his hands delightedly. chapter vii. the snare tightens. the yawl was on the windward side of the _grampus_. matt, calling down directions to gaines, had the submarine brought about so that the yawl lay on the lee side. this, to some extent, gave smoother water for the unloading of the small boat's passengers. speake, holding to one of the wire guys that supported the periscope tube, descended the rounded deck until up to his knees in water. stretching out his hand he caught the fist of the big fellow in the sou'wester. the latter, standing on the gunwale of the yawl, gave a leap and landed sprawling on the submarine's deck. a wave rolled over him, but he managed to clutch the guy rope and hang on. the next moment he rolled over close to the conning tower and lay there, face down, apparently almost spent. clackett, imitating speake's maneuvre, was bringing another of the men aboard. one by one the yawl was unloaded, the boy being the last to come. matt, climbing out of the conning tower, ordered the rescued men below. two of them had vanished through the hatch when matt, bending over the big fellow by the base of the conning tower, asked him who he and his comrades were, and how they happened to be adrift in a small boat. "had er shipwreck," answered the man hoarsely. "can't you get up?" asked matt. "we'll have to get you below, somehow." "mebby i kin make it if yer put yer arms under mine an' give me a lift." bracing himself on the deck, matt reached downward and pushed his hands under the man's armpits. at the same moment, the big fellow developed a surprising amount of strength. both his arms went upward, as he whirled over on his back, and closed about matt's waist like the two jaws of a vise. "now, then, nail 'em, you swabs!" he roared. "i got the boss o' the gang, an' you git the rest!" not until that moment did motor matt suspect treachery. the revelation came to him like a lightning flash. a wild uproar echoed from below, and forward and aft speake and clackett were struggling with those they had helped aboard. the rounded deck of the _grampus_, slippery with water and deluged again and again by the waves, was a fearsome place for such a struggle. how the combatants ever kept themselves out of the sea was a mystery. matt fought as best he could. he recognized the big fellow as abner fingal, and knew, as well as though he had been told, that don ramon ortega had engineered a cunning plot for the capture of the submarine. "what are you trying to do, fingal?" matt demanded, as the scoundrel held him helpless in his iron-like grip. "trying to even up fer some o' the things you done a spell ago!" roared fingal. "stop yer squirmin', or----" with a fierce effort, matt succeeded in breaking free. he rose to his knees, only to meet the flint-like fist of fingal. the terrific blow hurled him backward, and he slid along the sloping deck against the guy rope that supported the small flagstaff, close to the bow. fingal jumped after him, caught him by the collar and pulled him back before he could slip from the support of the rope and drop into the sea. the jerk fingal gave him hurled matt headfirst against the iron socket in which the base of the staff was secured to the deck. it was a savage blow, and matt straightened out limply and a wave of darkness rolled over him. when matt opened his eyes again, he was in the same room where he and dick had been confined by gaines, speake and clackett. but there was another prisoner now, for speake was with matt and dick. dick, on a stool beside the cot, was rubbing matt's temples. across from them, on the other cot, speake was sitting, nursing a bruise on the side of his face. "hard luck, old ship!" muttered dick ominously. "how are you feeling?" "none too good," answered matt. "you got a crack fore and aft. it's a wonder one of 'em didn't bash in your skull." "it wasn't the blows i received that's hurting me now, dick," matt went on, "but the fact that we were trapped when we thought we were helping a boat load of shipwrecked sailors. have they captured the boat?" "well, i should say! that outfit of pirates swarmed all over her. i was down in the engine room, you know, and, while i knew by the racket that something was happening that wasn't down on the bills, yet i didn't dare leave the motor. after a while the racket died out a little and i called up through the speaking tube to learn what was going on. some one laughed; then, the next i knew, fingal came driving gaines along. a swab trailed after fingal, and both of 'em had guns. i was ordered up to the periscope room, and gaines was sent to the motor, the other chap staying with him and keeping the gun aimed at him all the time. oh, i guess you fellows have got enough of helping the don, haven't you?" and dick turned to speake. "we was a pack of fools," answered speake. "what happened to you, speake?" inquired matt. "the same as happened to all the rest," was the growling response. "that was a husky lot o' shipwrecked mariners we picked up! they didn't seem hardly able to crawl aboard, but they woke up considerable as soon as they got their feet on the _grampus'_ deck. i had it which an' t'other with a chap for'ard o' the connin' tower, and i held my own until clackett was downed and the man that was goin' for him came at me. then, o' course, i had to give up. clackett an' me was sent below at the pistol's p'int. clackett's in the tank room, and gaines is in the motor room, both with a couple of the thieves holdin' guns on them an' makin' 'em run the boat. the don's steerin', and we're hikin' right on toward port livingston. oh, what a howlin' mess!" matt sat up and bowed his head in his hands for a moment. his brain ached, and he was trying to think and get at the full extent of the disaster. "it was all a put-up job, matey," remarked dick. "that's easy to guess, dick," returned matt, lifting his head. "the boat i saw hull down, off on the port side of us, must have been fingal's schooner, the _north star_. the schooner was expecting the don along with the _grampus_, and was laying to get that crew of rascals aboard of us. dropping the yawl in the water, the schooner left the boat behind. oh, i see it all now. but i can't understand this don ramon ortega. this business will open the eyes of a good many people in belize." "but what's the upshot of it all? what's the don tryin' to do?" this from speake, as he continued to nurse his injury. "i can smoke fingal's roll, all right enough," said dick. "he's playing even with us for what we did on the izaral river, a few days ago." "he has captured the _grampus_," added matt, "and probably intends to turn her over to general pitou." "an' there wasn't anythin' in that story of the don's?" asked speake. "it was a pretty good story, an' sounded to me like it might be straight goods." "the don is helping fingal," returned matt, "and the submarine is now in the hands of the five we 'rescued' from the yawl, and the don. there are six of our enemies and only five of us. naturally, we don't count, being locked up in this steel room; and gaines and clackett can't count for much, either, with revolvers staring them in the face whichever way they turn. this is a hard row of stumps for us, pards!" "an' all owin' to clackett, an' gaines, an' me!" mourned speake. "there's nothing to be gained thinking over that part of it, speake," said matt. "we've got to look this thing squarely in the face and do what we can to recapture the submarine." "nothin' we can do!" grunted speake. "that outfit of roughs have got the whip hand of us, and they're going to keep it. they was wise to keep gaines an' clackett to attend to the runnin' of the machinery, an' i guess the don can do the steerin', easy enough." "i wonder if there was any truth at all in the don's story?" ventured matt. "in what part of it, matey?" queried dick. "why, about the revolutionists capturing port livingston, and the fort across the river." "if part o' his yarn's crooked," grumbled speake, "then i'll gamble the whole of it's crooked. why, matt? what difference does that make?" "well, if port livingston is in the hands of the revolutionists, then we'll be taken there, and not up the izaral." "strike me lucky!" exclaimed dick, as a sudden thought came to him. "don ramon ortega is in mighty poor business, mates, if he's helping these revolutionists. what a two-faced swab he is! when he talked with us, last evening, he was all against the rebels; now he's for them. what will the spanish government say to that sort of work?" "there's something about don ramon that's mighty puzzling," said matt. "he's a scheming scoundrel, though, and it's our business to recapture the _grampus_--if we can." "how'll we go to work, matt?" asked speake gloomily. "every man in fingal's party is armed. what could five of us do ag'inst six armed men, providin' we was able to bunch together and face 'em?" at this point, the door leading into the periscope room opened and the don and fingal stepped through. matt, dick and speake all started up on the entrance of the two men, but the latter carried revolvers, and another armed man stood in the doorway behind them. "don't get reckless, you fellows!" warned fingal. "we ain't particularly anxious to hurt ye, but there's no tellin' what'll happen if you try to climb over us an' git through that door." the burly ruffian turned toward his companion. "fire away, don," he added, "and tell 'em what you got on your mind." chapter viii. the don's proposal. before the don could follow fingal's suggestion and unburden himself of what he wanted to say, the splash and gurgle of water entering the submersion tanks reached the ears of those in the steel room. at the same moment a shiver ran through the boat's fabric and she began to sink. "what are you doing?" demanded matt sharply. "going under the water," explained the don affably. "we're off port livingston and are going to proceed up the izaral without being seen." "what's that for? if the town and the fort are in the hands of the rebels, you won't have anything to fear." "we don't know whether the rebels have captured the fort yet or not," said the don, "and we don't want to take any chances of being sunk by the fort's guns in case they are still in the hands of the enemy." "if you don't know anything about this boat," said matt, "you'll get us all into trouble trying to maneuvre it." "gaines an' clackett, i guess," put in fingal, "'ll keep us from gettin' inter any very serious fix. they're helpin' run the craft, ye know," and fingal leered cunningly. "go ahead, don," he added, as the submarine halted its downward plunge and started onward again. "motor matt," said the don, "i have a proposition to make to you and your men. you will find it to your interest, i think, to accept it." "what's the proposition?" asked matt curtly. the more motor matt studied don ramon, the more puzzling the man became. his english was good, and yet he was undeniably of spanish descent. somehow matt was gathering the idea that the don was a native of central america, and not of spain; yet matt knew that this could not be, for he had heard that the spanish consul at belize hailed from barcelona. "my friend, fingal," proceeded the don, "appears to think that you and your men owe him something on account of what happened during your former visit to the river izaral, and----" "so they do!" growled fingal, with a savage frown; "they owe me somethin' not only on account o' that, but on account o' my brother, jim sixty. if it hadn't been for them, jim would never have got nabbed by the united states' gov'ment for filibusterin'. i swore i'd git even with 'em for----" "forget that for a little, fingal," interposed the don. "i've reasoned with fingal," he went on to matt, "and he has agreed to let bygones be bygones, providing you fall in with our plans." he paused, his piercing eyes on the young motorist's face. "i'm waiting to hear what your plans are," said matt. "we captured this boat for the revolutionists," continued the don, "and she will be of great help to general pitou in his work; but, in order to be as efficient as possible, the craft ought to be manned with her regular crew. so----" "then that story you told us about general mendez, and about the trap pitou was laying for him, was untrue?" "much of it was not the exact truth," the don cheerfully admitted. "general mendez and his force are not far from the purgatoire river, but it is he who is laying the trap for pitou, and not pitou for him. general pitou will have to capture the fort at the mouth of the izaral and be able to turn its guns on general mendez, or the loyalist forces will drive the rebels into the sea. in order to keep track of mendez, we need the submarine for scout duty up and down the river. now, motor matt, you are thoroughly familiar with the boat, and our proposal is that you and your men take charge of her and render gallant service for general pitou. some of our men, of course, will stay on the boat to make sure that you prove faithful to your promises to us, but that will be a mere formality. "if you will do this, i promise to pay you the sum, in gold, that i mentioned when talking to you in the harbor at belize. furthermore, in the event that general pitou's uprising is successful, and we make him dictator of the country, you and your friends will share liberally in the division of the spoils. what do you say? you are young men--mere youths, in fact--and such a golden prospect ought to appeal to you." matt stared at the don. "and you," he breathed, "are the spanish consul at belize! what would happen to you if they knew, in spain, how you are meddling with the affairs of a country with which your own is at peace?" the don laughed. "i might just as well puncture that bubble here and now," said he. "i am not don ramon ortega, the spanish consul, but don carlos valdez, the revolutionist." matt started back. "don carlos valdez!" he exclaimed. "now, sink me!" cried dick. "we heard about you in belize, don carlos." "and what do they say about me in belize? asked the don. "why, that you're the greatest rascal unhung!" "they say more than that," added speake wrathfully, "and that you'll _be_ hung, one o' these fine days." speake was chagrined and spiteful because of the way he and his mates had been taken in by the plausible revolutionist at the start off. he saw, now, how farsighted motor matt was in refusing to have anything to do with the don. carlos valdez smiled ironically. "what they say doesn't make any material difference," he answered. "i have been in belize for a week. i walked the streets openly, and no one dared to molest me. why, i even went to the spanish consul and asked for a passport. while he was preparing to make it out, i felled him with a blow and left him bound and gagged in his own sitting room. i had to do that, you see, before i dared to call on you, motor matt, and impersonate him." "at any rate," said motor matt, "i am glad of one thing." "and that is?" "that don ramon ortega is not the villain i know you to be." "your opinion counts for as little as does that of the people of belize," returned the don easily. "you have not answered my question as to whether you and your men would accept our proposal." "i didn't think it was necessary to answer it," said matt. "i would blow up the _grampus_ before i would allow her to fall into the hands of general pitou." "better think well before you make a foolish answer like that," struck in fingal. "that's my answer, just the same." "how about the rest of you?" and the don turned to dick and speake. "what motor matt says matches my sentiments to a dot," replied dick. "mine, too," added speake. "if me and my mates had obeyed motor matt like we'd ought to have done, we'd never have got into this fix in the first place. it may be a little late in the day, but here's where i begin carryin' out his orders jest as he gives 'em." "do you know what this decision means?" queried the don gravely. "i'm not thinking of that, but of my duty to captain nemo, jr.," said matt. "it means," fumed fingal, enraged at the refusal of matt and his friends to cast their lot with the revolutionists, "that you'll never live to get back to belize!" "or even back down the river to port livingston," supplemented the don. "presently we are going to tie up at an old landing on the river bank. after that, we will leave you by yourselves until nightfall. this will give you a little more time to think over our proposition. life is a pleasant thing to young men like you, and you ought not to cast it lightly aside. come on, fingal," he finished. the don and fingal stepped back into the periscope room, closing and locking the door behind them. dick went over to his cot and sat down with a mirthless laugh. "the old hunks has given us his ultimatum," said he. "we must either run the submarine for the revolutionists, or go to davy jones. pleasant prospect, eh, matey?" "wonder if they've batted up the same proposition to gaines and clackett?" mused speake. "probably they have," said matt. "they want to secure the services of the submarine's crew, and gaines and clackett are important members of the ship's company." "what sort of a move would it be," suggested dick, "to pretend to join the swabs and then, watching our chances, cut and run back to belize?" matt shook his head. "they wouldn't trust us even if we agreed to join them. didn't you hear what was said about having an armed guard constantly on the boat, as a 'mere formality'? no, dick, the best thing for us will be to come out flatfooted and let the rascals know just where we stand. if they attempt to take any desperate measures against us, we will claim the protection of old glory." "what do they care about a piece of bunting?" returned dick. "see how they ran off that american consul? why, these revolutionists aren't responsible for anything, matey, and they'll do just what they please." in his own heart, matt himself felt that dick was stating the exact truth. while the boys and speake were talking, the turbines could be heard emptying the ballast tanks, and the boat began slowly rising. a little later the boys knew they were on the surface of the river. steps were heard running along the deck, overhead, and a sound of voices came to them. then there was a bumping along one side of the hull, a stopping of the motor, and the submarine was at a halt. "i suppose we're tied up at that bally landing," observed dick, "and here we're to stay and think matters over until nightfall, as the don put it. by the way, isn't it about time to eat? you and i, matt, haven't had a mouthful since last night." the words were hardly off of dick's lips when the door leading into the periscope room opened and closed. the prisoners caught a glimpse of armed men standing in the other chamber, and then gave their attention to the boy who had entered with a basket. the lad still had his stocking cap drawn down over his ears, and the collar of his jacket turned up about his throat. "what have you got?" demanded speake. "if it's grub, set it down. we was jest wonderin' if your outfit was calculatin' on starvin' us to death." the boy's actions were peculiar, to say the least. laying a finger on his lips, he bent his ear to the edge of the door and listened; then, turning around, he jerked off his stocking cap. "matt," he whispered excitedly, "don't you know me?" matt gazed at the lad's handsome face like one stupefied. "ysabel!" he murmured; "ysabel sixty!" "jupiter!" gasped speake. "great guns!" muttered dick. chapter ix. ysabel sixty's loyalty. the astonishment of all three of the prisoners was overwhelming. ysabel sixty, the daughter of captain jim sixty, the captured filibuster, there aboard the _grampus_! she was so artfully disguised, too, that the prisoners would never have recognized her had she not taken the pains to reveal her identity. ysabel set the basket down on the floor. "fingal and all the others except don carlos are eating," said she, in a low voice. "the don has gone ashore to hunt for revolutionists. my uncle made me get the meal for him and his men, and then sent me here with something for you." "you are still a friend of ours, ysabel?" whispered matt. "always!" the girl breathed. "does your uncle, abner fingal, know that?" "of course not! why, he doesn't even know i am ysabel sixty!" she gave a low, sibilant laugh. "i have fooled him as well as the others." it hardly seemed possible that the girl could hide her identity from her uncle simply by donning male attire. and yet she looked vastly different in boy's clothes. "i'll not be able to stay here long," proceeded ysabel, "so you had better let me do most of the talking. the _north star_, abner fingal's schooner, lay off belize part of the day, yesterday. she had been repainted, renamed, and was flying the cuban flag. no one recognized her as a filibuster's boat. fingal came ashore and had a talk with don carlos, and together they plotted to capture the submarine. and i also plotted," said the girl. "that's how i happen to be here now." "but how did you learn about the plot?" queried matt breathlessly, "and how did you manage it?" "you remember my old friend, pedro? the man who used to sail on my father's ship, the _dolphin_?" matt nodded. "well, as it chanced, pedro came north on the schooner with abner fingal. my uncle values pedro highly because he was with my father on the brig, and it was from him that pedro learned that the object of the schooner in going to belize was to capture the submarine. pedro was sent ashore at belize to find four or five white men to help out the plot. he picked up three, and those were all he could get who, according to his ideas, were trustworthy. he called at the house in the evening, just before the schooner was to sail, and talked with me. "when i learned that fingal was trying to capture the submarine, and that don carlos was planning to help, i was wild to get word to you, and warn you. but this was impossible. you were not at the hotel, pedro said, and the doctor would not admit any one to talk with captain nemo, jr. i would have gone to the american consul, but pedro would not let me. he said that if i did such a thing i would get everybody into trouble, himself as well as my uncle. i cared little about fingal, but i did care a good deal about pedro. he has always been a true friend, and a great help, to me. if i couldn't warn you, matt, i made up my mind that i would sail with the schooner and do what i could to aid you in case don carlos' snare proved successful. "pedro tried to argue me out of that, but i insisted. at last he went to a junk shop in town and bought a suit of boy's clothes for me, and this stocking cap; then he cut off my hair"--the girl shook her head and set the short locks flying--"and i was soon changed into manuel ybarra, a small brother of pedro's. we went out to the schooner in the evening. fingal was already aboard and waiting for us. after that we sailed south, and, in the first gray of morning, we hove to, and fingal himself climbed to the masthead with a glass. he watched carefully along our back track, and when he came sliding down to the deck he said loudly, so all could hear, that don carlos had succeeded in luring the submarine away from belize, and that now we must carry out our part of the programme. "pedro and three other men were lined up on the deck, and each was given a revolver; then a small boat was put over and the four men got into the boat. just as they were about to cast off, i jumped in. "fingal swore and ordered me back, but pedro begged so hard for his 'little brother' that i was allowed to stay. as soon as we had cast off from her side, the schooner bore away with all sail set; then our boat was rowed off over the water and the oars were tossed into the sea. "'we're shipwrecked sailors,' said fingal, with a laugh. 'play the part, every man of you! the submarine will pick us up, an' then we'll capture her.' "my heart turned sick at that, for not until then did i understand what the plan was. i hoped that you would not see us and pick us up; but then, don carlos was on the submarine, and it was certain that he would be on the watch for us. you know what happened after that. didn't you see me motioning to you to keep away when you were in the conning tower?" "i saw you motioning, ysabel," said matt, "but hadn't the least idea what you meant. you were well disguised, and that stocking cap is just the thing. but be careful! if abner fingal should discover who you really are----" "he won't," she answered. "pedro is looking after me. i am supposed to be his brother, you know." "do you think you can help us recapture the _grampus_?" "that's what i want to do." "will pedro help you?" she was doubtful. "pedro won't do anything to get me into trouble, but whether he would help or not i don't know. you see, matt, pedro thought a lot of my father, and he doesn't feel very kindly toward you and your friends. with me it's different. my father was never good to me, but was always beating me and forcing me to tell lies to help out his plans. but," she added, catching herself up, "we must only talk about important things. pedro is on guard at the door, eating his meal with a revolver on his knee. he will let me stay in here as long as i like, but if fingal should suspect anything----" the girl winced and shrugged her shoulders. "you'd better go now, ysabel," said matt. "if fingal happened to find out who you are, at this time, it would be impossible for you to do anything for us." "i'd better tell you all i can, that's of importance, while i'm here," insisted the girl, pulling her cap down over her ears. "i may not have so good a chance as this again." "where are we, ysabel?" put in dick. "tied up to an old landing, halfway between the mouth of the izaral and the place where the purgatoire flows into the stream." "are there any soldiers near here?" "there are, unless general pitou has captured the fort. if the rebels have won that, then they're probably all down at the mouth of the river." "where's general mendez?" "somewhere near the purgatoire. he's coming down the river as fast as he can, hoping to fight with the rebels before they can get to the fort." "why did don carlos go ashore?" "to find general pitou. if the general thinks it safe, he may come back with don carlos." "when does don carlos expect to get back here?" put in matt. "that depends on how far away the rebels are. he may return soon, and he may not return until nearly night." "about what time is it?" "nearly noon. tell me, matt, how you think i can help you! i'm not nearly so clever as you are, and you might be able to think of something i could do." matt was thoughtful for a moment. "where are gaines and clackett?" he asked at last. "they are shut up in the torpedo room. fingal intends to keep them shut up all the time they are not needed for running the boat." "by george!" exclaimed matt. "what now, matey?" whispered dick. "why, if necessary, one of those fellows could shoot the other out through the torpedo tube! i got out that way once, you remember, in atlantic city, and the _grampus_ was submerged, at that. here she's on the surface, and the mouth of the tube isn't more than two feet under water!" "what good would it do for one o' them fellers to be shot out of the boat?" queried speake. "he'd only find himself in the hands of those outside." "well, speake, if we got a chance to leave here and run the revolutionists off the boat, one of the men from the torpedo room would prove a big help to us. with don carlos gone, there are only fingal, pedro, and two more against us--and perhaps ysabel could keep pedro from taking a very active part in the fighting." "but there are the guns--consarn 'em!" growled dick. "what could we do against four, or even three, armed men? they could riddle us before we got close enough to use our fists." "if i could take the cartridges out of the revolvers," said ysabel, "wouldn't that help?" "how could you do that?" queried matt eagerly. "aren't the weapons in the men's pockets?" "there were only four revolvers," went on the girl, "and one of the men gave his to don carlos. that leaves only three on the boat. pedro has one, fingal has one, and one of the other men has one. if i----" just at this point the door opened and the swarthy face of pedro was thrust in. "_mujercita!_" he called softly. the girl, with one last, quick look at matt, hastened from the room. the door was closed and locked, and the prisoners could hear the hoarse voice of fingal rumbling through the periscope room. matt glided to the door and listened. a moment later he drew a long breath of relief and turned away. "i was afraid he might discover her," said he, "but he only came down to borrow some tobacco of pedro." "about all we can do is to wait," murmured speake. "that's all," said dick; "wait for something to happen and hope for the best." "and let's not forget, while we're waiting," added matt, "that we've got one loyal friend among our captors--and she's as brave as she is loyal." chapter x. an opportunity. the three prisoners were hungry and they lost no time in making an attack on the basket. while they ate they discussed the situation in whispers. "did fingal come down the ladder from the conning tower, mate?" asked dick. "i thought so," was the reply, "from the noise he made." "did he go back to the deck?" "i didn't wait to listen." "if we could git that gang separated," said speake, "we could lay 'em out one at a time--an' i guess the revolvers wouldn't cut much figure." "that would be fine, speake," returned dick, "but fingal and his gang are not doing the things we want 'em to." "if we're to accomplish anything toward recapturing the submarine," chimed in matt, "we'll have to do it before don carlos gets back. he may bring a gang of soldiers with him. besides, don't forget what's to happen to us at nightfall in case we don't agree to join the revolutionists." "i'm not pinin' to have my name wiped off the articles," said speake, with a wry grimace. "for one, i'd rather take long chances tryin' to run the rebels off the boat. it's a heap more comfortin' to get done up that way than by lettin' fingal an' pitou an' this don carlos do what they please without never liftin' a hand to help ourselves." "i can't see anything comforting in that proposition, either way," observed dick. "all i hope is, just now, that ysabel will be careful, and that pedro will look after her. everything depends on her." "she's a brick!" murmured matt admiringly. "and she's doing all this for you, matey!" "it's for all of us!" declared matt. "don't you never think it," said speake. "she's runnin' a lot o' risks, an' i wouldn't never have thought a girl could have the grit. but motor matt was in danger! that was enough for her to know." "i wonder how carl came out with his serenade?" remarked dick. "ysabel wasn't at the house, and it's a fair guess that our dutch raggie got into trouble." carl certainly had tumbled into difficulties--but it was not because he hadn't found any one at home. "what do you suppose carl is thinkin' about _us_?" said speake. "our disappearance will bother a good many people," answered matt. speake's conscience troubled him. "i feel like an ornery cur," said he, "over the way gaines, an' clackett, an' me acted! ye remember how mad us three was at cassidy when he got in such a takin' because matt was put in charge o' the _grampus_? well, to my notion, we ain't acted any better than cassidy did." "you ought to feel cut up," reproved dick. "the only way you can square yourself, speake, is by doing a lot to help recapture the ship." "jest give me the chance," answered speake, his eyes flashing, "an' i'll show you what i can do." the boys finished the food, took a drink all around from the bottle of cold coffee that ysabel had put in the basket, and then continued their wait for something to happen. they felt better physically, even if they were not more hopeful. dick lay back on one of the cots and went to sleep; speake pulled his hat down over his eyes and leaned against the forward bulkhead; matt, flat on his back on the other cot, stared upward at the rounded deck, wishing that he could poke a hole through the steel plates and so gain freedom for himself and his friends. speake dozed a little. something white, poked through one of the ventilator holes above his head, floated downward and landed on his knee. he stared at it drowsily, then brushed at it mechanically with one hand. suddenly he realized that the falling of a scrap of white paper was rather a peculiar circumstance, and snatched it off the floor. "matt!" he called. "what is it?" returned matt, rising on his elbow and directing his gaze at speake. "this dropped down on me!" speake held up the paper. matt was off the cot in a flash and standing at speake's side. "when?" he whispered. "jest now." "it was pushed through one of the ventilator openings. it's a note--from ysabel." he passed to dick's side and shook him into wakefulness. "what's the row?" inquired dick. "a note from ysabel, pushed in to us through one of the holes in the forward bulkhead." "keelhaul me!" muttered dick, smothering his excitement. "read it, matey! perhaps she's captured the revolvers." the note was written in pencil on a ragged scrap of paper. matt, in a guarded voice, read it aloud: "'pedro is asleep at the door. fingal has gone off on the river bank. the two others are playing cards on the deck. i have pedro's revolver and have unlocked the door. now is the time! capture pedro and tie him--but don't hurt him. be quiet--if he makes an outcry all is lost. hurry!'" speake pulled off his coat. "this is bully!" he whispered. "now we've got a chance." "it's an opportunity i wasn't expecting," said matt, pulling off his shoes carefully. "in our stocking feet, fellows! we must not make any noise. while speake and i are binding pedro, dick, you go down and let gaines and clackett out of the torpedo room. if we work this right we may be able to get away from here and down the river." all three of the prisoners were excited, as well they might be. an opportunity offered to save themselves and the boat--success or failure hanging on their quickness and silence. advancing to the door, matt laid his hand on the knob. slowly he twisted the catch out of its socket, and then inch by inch forced the door open. yet, slight though the noise was that accompanied the click of the catch, pedro heard it. with a startled exclamation he leaped to his feet. matt and speake sprang at him, matt catching his wrists and speake throwing an arm about his throat and clapping a hand over his lips. the odds were against pedro, and he was helpless; yet, for all that, he managed to squirm about and make considerable noise. there was a drone of voices overhead, coming down the open hatch. the voices suddenly ceased, and some one was heard floundering over the deck to the top of the tower. the electric light was not burning in the periscope room, and the only light that entered the chamber came from the hatch. any one looking downward would not have been able to see anything distinctly except in the immediate vicinity of the bottom of the ladder. matt, speake and pedro, as it chanced, were close to the locker. "anythin' wrong down there, greaser!" called a husky voice. "no, señor," answered matt, trying to imitate the rough voice of the mexican. "thought i heard you movin' around," said the man above, turning away from the top of the tower. pedro was forced down on the locker, and ysabel glided forward with a piece of rope for bonds and a piece of cloth for a gag. pedro turned his wild eyes on the girl with startled inquiry and suspicion. "you will not be hurt, pedro!" whispered the girl; "don't make a noise--please." she followed this with some soft words in spanish. but pedro, loyal though he undoubtedly was to the girl, continued to struggle. matt and speake, however, managed to get him bound and gagged. "this is only the beginning, motor matt," breathed ysabel, her cheeks flushed with excitement and her eyes bright as stars. "here is pedro's revolver--take it." matt took the weapon and thrust it in his pocket. "we can't use firearms," he whispered, "for they make too much noise. our hope lies in capturing our enemies one at a time, then cutting the cables and dropping down the river. if possible, we must do this before fingal gets back." "where did dick go?" asked the girl. "to release gaines and clackett. the torpedo-room door is fastened by a bolt on the outside, so he'll have no trouble in getting them out. we'll wait till they come before making our next move." matt had hardly finished speaking before dick came in through the forward door of the room. clackett followed him--but gaines was not along. matt lifted a warning finger as dick was about to speak, pointed upward toward the deck and then motioned for dick and clackett to come closer. "where is gaines?" he whispered. "he got out through the torpedo tube, half an hour ago," said dick. matt, as will be remembered, had already thought of this maneuvre. but it was unfortunate that gaines had put it into effect, in view of what was transpiring. "what was gaines going to do?" asked matt, of clackett. "he reckoned he'd go up the river an' try an' find general mendez," replied clackett. "we sort o figgered it out between us that some of the soldiers under mendez could come here and capture the boat and release the rest of us." here was an awkward situation, and matt wrinkled his brows over it. they could not leave without gaines. he was taking chances and doing his best to be of service to his comrades, and dropping down the river without him was not to be thought of. "what shall we do now, matey?" asked dick. "keep on with our plan," answered matt. "there are two of the scoundrels playing cards on deck. we must get them as safely as we have got pedro." "shall we make a racket and bring them down?" "they'll both come, if we do that. we can capture them with less noise if they come one at a time." ysabel started forward. "i'll go up the ladder," said she, "and say that pedro wants one of them. after you capture him, i'll go up after the other." "good!" exclaimed matt. "get ropes, boys," he added to the others, "and stand ready for some swift and noiseless work." ysabel glided to the ladder. before she could mount, however, some one was heard climbing over the top of the conning tower. as those below looked upward, a pair of booted feet swung down. "fingal!" gasped ysabel, drawing away fearfully. matt motioned her out of the room. "stand ready for him," he whispered, "as he reaches the bottom of the ladder. the smallest mistake now means failure. ready!" scarcely breathing, matt, dick, speake and clackett stood waiting for the burly ruffian who, jointly with don carlos, was responsible for all their troubles. chapter xi. exciting work. fingal was a big fellow, and matt remembered with a shudder the crushing embrace of his huge arms at the time the crew of the submarine were routed. but matt, with so many to help him, was not worrying over the outcome. what caused him the most concern was the thought that, in spite of their precautions, there would be noise enough to alarm the two men who were playing cards. fingal came down the ladder slowly. fortunately for those below he kept his gaze upward as he descended. when he reached the foot of the ladder his face was toward the after bulkhead of the periscope room, and those who were waiting were behind. at a signal from matt the attack was made. matt himself sprang at fingal's throat and caught his bull-like neck in a strangling grip. like a huge animal, fingal pushed himself around. speake had one of his arms and dick the other. clackett, bending down, caught his feet and jerked them off the floor. fighting furiously, fingal was thus thrown bodily into the hands and arms of matt, dick and speake. they were not expecting to receive the heavy weight, and the huge body crashed to the floor. matt's grip about fingal's throat was wrenched loose, and a half-strangled bellow of fury went up from the desperate scoundrel. feet stamped the deck. there was no need of a demand from those above as to what was going on, for both the men knew that there was trouble. fingal would not have bellowed in that fashion if there had not been. "never mind the noise, now," panted matt. "we're in for it, and we must be quick." one of the other men already had his feet on the ladder. leaving dick, speake and clackett to handle fingal, matt jumped up the ladder, caught the descending feet and flung his whole weight on them. as a result, the man's hands were torn from the iron rungs, and he and matt tumbled in a heap on the floor of the periscope room. matt came off better than his antagonist, for the latter struck his head against the steering wheel, doubled himself up in a ball, then flung out his limbs convulsively and lay silent and still. "look after both of them, fellows!" cried matt. "i'm going after the other one." the second of the two men who had been on the deck was showing more wariness than his companion had done. the abrupt disappearance of his comrade from the top of the ladder had filled him with doubts, and when he saw matt rushing upward, he must have gained the idea that all the others were captured. yet, be that as it may, he whirled from the conning tower in a panic and leaped off the boat. when matt lifted his head clear of the hatch, a sharp report echoed out, and a bullet struck the sloping side of the conning tower and glanced harmlessly off into the river. the ruffian was standing on the planks that had formed the old landing. undeterred by the shot, matt threw himself out of the tower, gained the rickety wharf at a jump, and raced after the man. the latter retreated to the bank, turned there, and essayed another shot. a metallic click echoed out, but no report. again and again the trigger fell uselessly. with an oath, the fellow hurled the weapon at matt, faced about, and dashed into the timber. matt gave pursuit. had it not been that gaines was missing from the boat's complement, matt would not have chased the fugitive; but gaines' absence made it necessary for the submarine to remain at the landing until he should return, and if this man got away he would probably spread the news of what had happened and cause a detachment of the revolutionists to charge the boat. matt, it will be remembered, was in his stocking feet. the ground over which he was running was covered with sharp stones, and before he had gone a hundred yards he realized that he would have to give up the pursuit. turning back, he regained the landing, leaped to the deck of the submarine and bent over the hatch. "how are you, down there?" he called. "finer'n silk!" came the jubilant voice of speake. "we've got lashings on both men. where's the other chap?" "he jumped ashore and got away. come up here, dick, you and clackett. one of you bring a hatchet. let ysabel watch the prisoners, and you, speake, go below and see if everything is in shape for a quick departure." "goin' to leave without gaines, matt?" asked clackett. "not unless we have to. we're going to hang out here until the last moment." dick and clackett presently showed themselves on deck. matt had already discovered that the _grampus_ was moored to two trees with a couple of cables at the bow and stern. the boat was pointed upstream. "cast off the stern cable, clackett," ordered matt, "and throw it aboard. one rope is enough to hold us. go out on the bow, dick," he added, "and sit there with the hatchet. if you get an order to cut the cable, don't lose any time in carrying it out." "aye, aye, matey," replied dick. clackett went ashore and unfastened the rear cable from the tree. matt drew it in, coiled it, and dropped it down the hatch. "what am i to do now, matt?" shouted clackett. "go up the bank and a little way into the woods," answered matt; "hide yourself and watch for soldiers. if you hear or see any, rush this way and give the alarm to dick. he'll cut the cable, and then the two of you dodge below as quick as the nation will let you, the last one down closing the hatch after him. understand?" "that's plain enough," said clackett, climbing the bank and vanishing in the timber. matt went down into the periscope room and found ysabel sitting on one of the stools and keeping watch of the prisoners. fingal, his great arms twisting fiercely against the ropes and his eyes glaring, lay on the floor. near him was the other prisoner. the latter had recovered from the blow that had stunned him, and, to judge from his humble appearance, his war-like disposition was entirely gone. "what shall we do with pedro, matt?" asked ysabel anxiously. "does he want to go back with us to belize? ask him." "if he did that, they would probably arrest him for what he has done," said the girl. she put the question, however, and pedro shook his head. "ask him if he wants us to put him ashore here." pedro nodded as soon as ysabel had translated the words into spanish. "tell him we'll do that before we leave," said matt, "but that we can't trust him ashore until we are ready to go." pedro tried to talk in response to this, and matt removed the gag for a moment. turning his face toward ysabel, pedro spoke rapidly for a few moments. ysabel's face became very serious as she listened. "what is it?" inquired matt. "he says that the _grampus_ will never be able to leave the river," answered the girl; "that the fort is in the hands of the rebels and that they are planting mines in the river, so close to the bottom that the submarine will strike them if she submerges. if she floats on the surface, then the guns of the fort will sink her." there was terror in the girl's face as she repeated pedro's words. here was an unlooked-for difficulty, and one that gave matt the utmost concern. "just ask him, ysabel," said he, "why the rebels planted mines in the river when they knew the submarine was in the hands of their friends? pedro's story sounds improbable, to me. if it comes to that, we passed the mouth of the river under water, and no one in the fort or the town saw us." ysabel talked for a few moments more with pedro. "he says," the girl reported finally, "that don carlos saw the flag of the rebels flying from the fort by means of the periscope when we ascended the stream; that the don knew there were some submarine mines in port livingston, and that he was going to have the soldiers plant them. he was afraid fingal might try to run away with the _grampus_, and intended to pen her in the river." "then even these revolutionists can't trust each other!" exclaimed matt. "with such a lack of confidence as that, if it extends to the rank and file, the insurrection will prove a farce. just----" at that moment some one landed heavily on the deck of the submarine. matt straightened erect and stepped to the foot of the ladder. looking up, he saw clackett gazing down. "there are two men comin', matt!" reported clackett. "one of 'em's don carlos, an' the other wears a red coat with shoulder straps and has a sword." "some officer, i suppose," said matt. "come down here, quick, clackett, and tell dick to follow you, but not to cut the cable. speake!" he called through one of the tubes. "what is it?" came back the voice of speake. "up here with you! more work." speake, tumbling up from below, and dick and clackett, dropping down from above, reached the periscope room at about the same time. matt had been replacing the gag between pedro's lips. "drag the prisoners into the room where they were keeping us," said matt. "there's going to be more lively work here, and we've got to clear decks for action." while speake, clackett and dick fell to with a will, half dragging and half carrying the prisoners into the steel chamber off the periscope room, matt kept close to the periscope and watched the bank above the landing. then, just as his comrades finished their work, and returned to his side, he gave vent to an exclamation and whirled away from the periscope table. "don carlos is coming," he whispered, "and general pitou is with him! now, at one stroke, we can lay the rebel general by the heels and nip this revolution in the bud. steady, now! not a whisper, mind. there are two of them, and we must capture them both." chapter xii. capturing the general. matt, on the occasion of his former visit to the river izaral, had caught a fleeting glimpse of general pitou. speake, who had been a prisoner in the general's hands for a brief time, was more familiar with his appearance. gliding to the periscope table, speake took a look for himself. "you're right, matt," he whispered, "it's the old villain himself." "i should think he was takin' chances coming so far from camp," remarked clackett, "and right in the direction of general mendez and his troops." "mayhap," chuckled dick, "he was expecting to drop down the river in the submarine. let's not disappoint him, mates. he'll go down, but not with the people he intended to have as companions." "hist!" warned matt. a deep silence reigned in the periscope room. voices were heard on the landing, and then a clattering rattle as the general landed on the deck. don carlos followed more lightly, and stepped to the conning tower. "fingal!" called don carlos. "the general is here, and he feels that the prisoners must be dealt with in a summary manner at once. he doesn't think it advisable to wait until nightfall. better bring them up." here, in a moment, a situation was developed which threatened matt's plan for entrapping don carlos and pitou. the don and the general were not intending to come into the boat, but to wait on the deck while the prisoners were brought up. "i say, below there!" called don carlos, in a louder voice. "wake up, you! where's fingal?" "ahoy, don!" bellowed matt, trying his utmost to imitate the raucous tones of fingal's voice. "bring the general down a minute!" matt's imitation was fairly good, but not good enough to deceive the keen ears of don carlos. with a yell of alarm, the don sprang ashore. "this way, general!" he shouted; "hurry! there's something wrong here." there followed a crash, a rattling slide of some object over the sloping deck of the boat, then a shrill "_pardieu! sacre, sacr-r-r-e tonnerre!_" matt rushed up the ladder and looked out of the hatch. the general was a little man, and he carried a prodigious sword and wore a pair of immense spurs on his cavalry boots. as near as matt could judge, from what he saw, the general had tried to leap ashore and his spurs had caught in one of the guy ropes. instead, therefore, of leaping, he fell in a heap, and had clattered and banged along the deck until he was caught and held between the side of the boat and a pile that formed part of the wharf. the general was seeking in vain to extricate himself from his difficulties. every time he tried to get up, his boots would slip on the rounded plates, and he would sit down on the sharp points of his spurs. the air was fairly blue in his immediate vicinity, and a perfect bedlam of epithets went up from him. don carlos, seeing matt in the top of the tower, guessed rightly that the prisoners had released themselves in some manner. the don did not return to assist the general, but danced about on the bank, tossing his arms frantically and shouting for him to make haste. the general was more than anxious to oblige, but fate was against anything like haste. the sharp points of his spurs galled him, and when his spurs ceased from troubling, his long sword got between his legs and tripped him. matt had abundant time to slide over the top of the conning tower, grab the general by the collar of his red coat and pull him erect on the ridge-like spine of the deck. with a howl of wrath, pitou backed up against the conning tower, drew his sword, threw his left arm over his face and proceeded savagely to carve slices out of the air. the situation was serious, from several points of view, but matt, for all that, could hardly repress a laugh. then, to crown the ignominy that was being heaped upon the general, speake suddenly hoisted himself above the top of the tower, noted the situation, reached out calmly and passed his arms about the general's body under the shoulders. the next moment matt had a glimpse of a red coat, a pair of cavalry boots, and flashing spurs being elevated and dragged down into the maw of the tower. it was a tragic disappearance--tragic for the general--for, in this inglorious manner, he was leaving the scene of his military exploits. as soon as matt got below he found his friends enjoying the general as much as he had done. clackett had taken his sword, speake had pulled off his boots, and dick was sitting on the captive's breast, pinning him to the floor while he affixed cords to his wrists and ankles. "fer goodness' sake," cried speake, "get somethin' between his jaws! he's chatterin' more'n a cage o' monkeys." ysabel stepped forward with a bandage, and the general was soon silent. dick finished by dragging him into the prison chamber and dropping him down beside fingal. "oh, what a fine general it is!" laughed dick. "and he was trying to make himself dictator of the country! i wonder what sort of a population they have here, to let a little wasp like that go on the warpath and make trouble!" "he is a little wretch!" exclaimed ysabel, with flashing eyes. "and that's the military phenomenon your uncle, abner fingal, was trying to make you marry!" exclaimed dick, suddenly recalling a half-forgotten episode in ysabel's life. the girl flushed crimson. "never!" she breathed fiercely. "if it hadn't been for his spurs and his sword," said matt, "he would have been able to get away. but we're strangely reckless, friends," he added, "to amuse ourselves with the general when we are in such desperate plight. we can't leave here until gaines gets back, and not only has one of fingal's men escaped us, but don carlos has likewise got away. both will carry the news of what we have done to the camp of the rebels--and you can imagine what will happen when the rebels hear that we have got their general below decks. we'll have the entire army about our ears--and that won't do; at least, not until we have gaines with us. after that, we can close the hatch, sink below the surface and glide down-stream without----" matt paused. he suddenly remembered what pedro had said about the submarine mines at the mouth of the river. "what's taken you aback, matey?" spoke up dick. "you act as though you had just thought of something." "we may have a hard time getting out of the river," returned matt. "pedro told ysabel that the rebels had planted mines in the river bed, close to the fort, and that they were so low in the water we would probably strike them if we tried to pass the fort submerged. again, if we attempt to gain the gulf by keeping on the surface of the river, the cannon in the fort will bombard us." "a plague on their mines and their cannon!" cried dick recklessly. "we'll run past the fort. if the soldiers are all as able as their general, they couldn't hit us with grape and canister." "well, that's a bridge for us to cross at a later time," said matt. "just at present we have gaines to think about. he ought to have got back by this time. clackett, go back to your post in the woods and keep a sharp watch for soldiers. we'll surely have a visit from them now. up on deck with your hatchet, dick, and stand ready to cut the cable at the first sign of an attack." "aye, aye," responded dick, picking up the hatchet. "i think, matey, we could capture the whole rebel army if it came our way." "we've had one experience with the rebel army, dick," said matt, "and it was far from pleasant. let's not repeat the experience. climb for the deck, and----" events were happening for the young motorist and his chums that day! they were coming like the rapid reports of a gatling gun, and hardly was one issue met and vanquished before another was raised. dick and clackett were on their way up the ladder when a rattle of musketry reached the ears of those in the submarine. it came from the direction of the bank, and was followed by loud cries and a tremendous thrashing among the bushes. "hurry!" cried matt. "don carlos must have met a detachment of pitou's army and have headed them this way! we can't wait any longer for gaines! up with you and cut the cable!" clackett stepped off the ladder to make room for matt, who sprang to follow dick aloft. when dick reached the deck, he gave a shout of astonishment. "lively, matey!" he called. when matt was able to see what was going on, he was as greatly surprised as dick had been. coming down the bank, and traveling as fast as his long legs could carry him, was gaines. he was clad only in shirt and trousers, and his bare feet were bleeding from their contact with the sharp stones. unmindful of this trying discomfort, he rushed down the bank with flying leaps, while bushes crackled behind him and little wreaths of smoke rose upward, marking the discharge of firearms. matt rushed along the deck and caught the hatchet out of his chum's hand. "go to the engine room, dick," said he quickly, "and take charge of the motor. send clackett to the tank room. let speake take the wheel until i come. submerge when i give the word, and do it _quick_!" it was no time for hesitation, and ferral darted back down the hatch. chapter xiii. off for the gulf. it was easily seen that gaines was nearly spent. his breath tore through his lips in gasps, and when he reached the edge of the wharf, he fell there, unable to roll over the edge and drop down on the deck of the _grampus_. out of the bushes at the top of the bank came the foremost of the pursuing soldiers. fortunately for matt and gaines, they were armed with muzzle-loaders, and were frantically getting another charge into the barrels. dropping the hatchet, matt leaped to the wharf, caught gaines and pulled him down on the deck; then, springing back, he picked up the hatchet and severed the cable with a blow. the bow of the submarine caught the current, swung farther out into the stream, then whirled around and started away. this placed the conning tower between matt and gaines, and several bullets hit the tower and glanced singing into the air. "you're all right, gaines," said matt, bending over the motorist. "you got out of that fix----" "by the skin of my teeth!" panted gaines. "oh, what a run! i never ran so fast, and so far, and over so many stones and briers, before in my life. i thought, a dozen times, they had me." "hard luck that you should have run into the rebels when you were looking for the soldiers of general mendez." "rebels?" cried gaines. "why, matt, those fellows weren't rebels. they were the loyalist soldiers!" "the troops of general mendez?" "yes." "then," queried matt angrily, "why were they chasing you, and shooting at you?" "i give it up. they must have taken me for one of the rebels--possibly they thought i was general pitou." "they couldn't have thought that," answered matt. "the general is only about half your size." "clackett told you why i got out through the torpedo tube?" "yes. but how did you ever do it without being seen by fingal and his men?" "i was shot along upstream, and straight into the bank. fingal was sitting on the deck at the time, and the sudden heave of the forward end of the boat drew his attention, but he didn't see me. as soon as i could i got up the bank, but the compressed air had made me dizzy and i was obliged to rest before i could travel. after i got started i found that i couldn't go fast on account of my bare feet. i must have been about a mile away before i saw any soldiers. there was a straggling column of them, and they appeared to be the vanguard of an advancing army. they were mendez's men, and i was pleased a lot, because i was sure i could get them to go back with me and help recapture the submarine. "when i started toward them, though, they began to shoot and to run toward me. i couldn't stop and explain, for i wasn't at all sure that my explanation would be accepted. so all i could do was turn and see how quick i could get back over the ground. that's about all, matt. but how did you get clear? it was a surprise to see you on the boat. i was expecting to be met by fingal and his gang." "that's too much to tell just now, gaines. we're all free, however, and all together once more. we have been waiting for you." "what became of fingal?" "he's a prisoner." "good! any more prisoners?" "general pitou----" "general pitou!" "yes; and one of fingal's men, and another who is more a friend of ysabel sixty's than he is of fingal's." "what about ysabel sixty?" "she's below, too." "where did she come from?" "she was one of those we took out of that yawl. we all thought she was a boy until she told us who she was. we owe our escape to her." while sitting on the deck, gaines had been slowly recovering his strength. he was still muttering dazedly over matt's amazing disclosures, when speake showed himself at the hatch. "you fellows better come below!" he called. "dick said you wanted the boat submerged, matt, an' i guess that the quicker we do it the better. there's an outfit of black soldiers, dead ahead, waiting for us." matt whirled around and allowed his eyes to follow the direction of speake's pointing finger. on a shelf-like projection of the high bank, perhaps a quarter of a mile ahead, was a group of rebels. they could be seen only indistinctly, but it was apparent from their actions that they were waiting for the _grampus_ to come within good range. "climb for the hatch, gaines!" ordered matt. "we've got to get below the surface. if we stay out here, while we're passing those soldiers, they'll shoot us off the deck." gaines got to his feet and walked painfully to the tower. after he had climbed in, and vanished, matt followed, closing the hatch behind him. "fill the ballast tanks, clackett!" called matt, through the tank-room tube. "about ten feet will do, just so the periscope ball is awash." a moment more and the submarine began to settle downward. "what are you going to do when we get near the fort, matt?" asked speake. "i don't believe the rebels have had time to plant any submarine mines," said matt. "it takes some time to do that, and not enough time has elapsed since don carlos reached the fort and reported that the submarine had been captured. we'll pass the fort under water, and chance the mines. better that than running on the surface and being bombarded." patter, patter came a ringing hail on the deck. "ah!" cried gaines, "the soldiers are taking a whack at us!" he laughed derisively. "i guess we can stand as much of that as they want to give us. their lead slides from the deck like water off a duck's back." patter, patter--_smash_! "great spark plugs!" cried matt. "what was that? something broke." "the periscope ball!" gasped speake. "they've put the periscope out of commission. empty the tanks!" he yelled into the tank-room tube. the periscope table reflected nothing of the treacherous channel along which the current and the propeller were carrying the _grampus_ at a terrific pace. it was necessary to come to the surface as quickly as possible and use the conning-tower lunettes. "reverse your engine, dick!" cried matt to the motor room. "full speed astern!" the engine was instantly reversed, but not until the submarine had run into some obstruction, halting her with a jar that threw all her passengers off their feet. for a moment the silence was broken only by the hum of the fiercely working cylinders, and the splash and bubble of the current as it met the obstruction of the huge steel shell. "cut out the turbines!" yelled matt; "empty the tanks by compressed air. full speed astern, dick! every ounce of power now!" "what's happened, do you think, matt?" the question came from ysabel. she had been sitting on the locker in the periscope room, watching eagerly all that had taken place. "the river winds about a good deal, ysabel," matt answered, "and we have probably run into the bank. when the periscope went out of commission it prevented us from keeping track of our course. ah!" he added, noticing that the propeller was dragging them against the current and away from the bank, and that they were rising toward the surface. "we'll do, now." "but we can't pass them cannon on the surface," observed speake. "there's nothing else for it, speake," answered matt, "but a dash straight for the gulf. we'll have to keep to the surface, and if the rebels are able to aim straight, they're going to give us a lively time." matt relieved speake in the conning tower. with his eyes against the lunettes, the king of the motor boys kept keen watch ahead as turn after turn of the river unfolded before the racing boat. at last they came close to a bend on the opposite side of which matt knew there was a straightway stretch of water leading to the gulf. he signaled the motor room for full speed astern once more, then slowed down until the backward pull of the propeller just balanced the rush of the current, the _grampus_ hanging stationary in mid-stream. "gaines," called matt, "are you well enough to take the engine? i want dick up here with me." "sure," answered gaines. "then go down and send him up." dick reached the periscope room in a few moments. "dick," said matt, "our periscope is out of commission and we've got to pass the fort on the surface of the river. we could wait until night. that would give the rebels less of a chance at us, but it would also make our dash for the gulf a good deal more dangerous. the daylight has advantages as well as disadvantages, and so has the night. what do you say?" "i'm for running their bally old fort," answered dick. "we'll go so fast they can't hit us." "get the stars and stripes out of the locker, dick," said matt. "we'll haul it up to the staff as we pass and see if it commands their respect." matt threw open the conning-tower hatch. the next moment, with his body half exposed above the hatch, he rang for full speed ahead. as the _grampus_ started on the last leg of her dangerous voyage, dick forced his way up beside his chum. "give me room, old ship," said he, between his teeth. "i'm going out on deck. if the flag commands any respect, it will be under my personal supervision." "run up the flag and then get back below," answered matt, squeezing to one side of the tower so that dick could pass. dick had kicked off his shoes and thrown aside his hat. stripped for action, he bent the flag to the halyards as the submarine swept onward toward the threatening wall of the fort. chapter xiv. running the battery. signs of activity showed around the fort as the _grampus_ rushed down toward it. soldiers with rifles appeared on the walls, and the muzzles of the cannon were being slowly depressed in order to get the boat under a drop fire. "they're going to let us have it--hot blocks, matey!" called ferral, still working with the flag. "get the bunting up and return below!" ordered matt. "i suppose you think, matey, that you're the only one who's privileged to show himself while the rebels are shaking out their loads at us." "i don't want you to expose yourself to needless danger, dick," said matt. "danger!" dick gave vent to a scornful laugh. "i don't think the greasers can shoot. let's give 'em a chance at us and see if----" dick was interrupted by a hoarse boom! four cannon commanded the river side of the fort, and four the bay side. it was one of the guns on the river side that had spoken. a round shot plunged into the water on the port side of the boat, sending a jet of spray high into the air. "i told you so!" yelled dick, and shook his fist at the fort. as he looked upward he saw three soldiers on the wall getting ready to shoot. boom! boom! two more cannon were fired, almost at the same time. the solid shot plunged into the water altogether too close to the boat for comfort. "up with the colors, dick!" shouted motor matt; "let's see if they dare fire on that flag!" dick hauled up the flag. as the gay little banner caught the breeze and opened out, a crack of rifles was heard from the fort. the flag fluttered sharply. "what do you think of that!" roared dick, once more shaking his fist upward in the direction of the fort; "they've put a hole through the flag. oh, strike me lucky! if it was the british flag they treated like that, an army would march through the country before the scoundrels were a month older." "they're an irresponsible lot, anyhow," said matt. "besides, we've got general pitou below, and general mendez will have an easy time of it when he gets here with his army. the uprising is as good as squelched. if anything----" a perfect roar of guns echoed from the hill. with a crash the periscope mast went by the board, and the round shot caused the water to bubble and boil all around the submarine. "they've got a grouch against that periscope, old ship!" laughed dick. "we'll have to have a new mast and ball as soon as we get back to belize," said matt. just then he guided the _grampus_ in a wide sweep around the headland to the left of the river mouth. "a moment more," said dick, "and we'll have the town between us and the fort. they're slow at loading those old carronades. never saw so many butter fingers! those fellows' hands must be all thumbs. if----" dick did not finish his sarcastic remarks. just then there was a tremendous explosion just behind the submarine. a column of water arose high in the air and, descending in a huge wave, carried the stern of the boat under and threw the bow high in the air. the water all around was a veritable caldron. frantic cries came from within the hull. matt, owing to the almost vertical inclination of the steel hull, was hurled out of the conning tower and came into violent collision with dick, who was clinging with a life-and-death grip to the flagstaff guys. for a second the _grampus_ heaved and tossed on the troubled waves, then righted herself buoyantly and drove ahead. matt picked himself up and climbed hastily back into the conning tower. he was sore and bruised, but he realized that he could not leave the submarine to steer herself. "what was that, old ship?" cried dick, rising to his knees and lifting a pale face upward. "it must have been a submarine mine," answered matt, in a voice that shivered perceptibly. "a mine!" returned dick. "but it exploded _behind_ us! if we set it off, why didn't it explode under us and blow us to smithereens?" "it must have been a mine of the floating variety--a contact mine which was out of working order. we passed over it; and then, when we were safely out of the way, the pesky thing let go." dick ferral's face grew even paler than it had been. as the dread import of matt's words dawned on him, he realized the close call the submarine and all her passengers had had. "dowse me!" dick muttered, getting slowly to his feet and rubbing his head, "i never want to get so close to kingdom come as that again! why, matt, we couldn't have done that trick once in a thousand times." "we did it this time, anyhow," answered matt quietly. "a miss is as good as a mile, dick. better go below and explain to our friends." dick staggered back and climbed into the tower, and his face was still white as he dropped off the ladder into the periscope room. clackett, speake and ysabel crowded around him. "what happened?" cried clackett. "the old catamaran turned a regular handspring; then she stood on her propeller for about a minute and seemed to be thinking of going down to stay." dick explained in a low voice what had happened, sitting on the locker and almost overcome by the narrow escape of the boat and her living cargo. speake began to shake; clackett rubbed a dazed hand across his eyes; and ysabel, dropping on one of the low seats, buried her face in her hands. "matt!" she gasped, looking up; "how can he stay up there in the conning tower after such a hairbreadth escape as that?" "matt?" returned dick. "why, he's as calm as a day in june. he's not even ruffled. he----" "listen!" called clackett. "matt's saying something." "speake!" came the voice from the conning tower. "aye, aye, sir," answered speake. "get to work on your electric stove, providing it wasn't smashed by that somersault we turned, and see if we can't have a piping-hot meal. ysabel will help you." "that's what he's thinking of," muttered dick, "something to eat. well, my old raggie has got more nerve than i have." while speake and ysabel were getting supper ready, dick and clackett went into the prison room and looked at the men confined there. they were all lying in an indiscriminate heap near the after bulkhead. there was a chorus of wild gurgling behind the gags, and dick and clackett set to work and laid the prisoners around the room in something like order. the overturned cots were placed upright, and pedro was laid on one, and the unknown member of fingal's gang was placed on the other. fingal and the general were left lying on the hard floor. "the general," remarked clackett, poking him in the ribs with the toe of his boot, "was goin' to take care o' us in a summary fashion. he couldn't hardly wait till nightfall, the general couldn't. ain't he a nice-lookin' specimen, dick?" "he's the worst-looking swab i ever saw!" averred dick. "he was all sword and spurs, and he didn't know how to use 'em. that's the reason he got captured. i guess he'll be hung, fair enough. he ought to be hung, anyhow, and he would have been if he had fallen into the hands of general mendez. we ought to have put him ashore to take the place of gaines. we robbed the soldiers of one victim, and we should have given them another." "i tell ye what we ought to have done," averred clackett. "out with it, mate." "we ought to have laid all these here prisoners out on the deck when we was passing that fort." "sink me," cried dick, "but that was a bright idea. but," and dick's face fell, "like a good many bright ideas it came too late." "with them fellers on the deck," said clackett, waxing eloquent over his afterthought, "i'll bet somethin' handsome we could have run past that fort and never been fired at once." "like enough. but we're past the fort, and we're right side up with care, and we've got motor matt to thank for it all. let's go back and see how near it is to supper time." chapter xv. the "seminole." all night long the _grampus_ felt her way up the coast. clackett acted as pilot some of the time, and matt "spelled" him in two-hour watches. neither was very well acquainted with the coast, and it was necessary to proceed slowly. the electric projector was turned against the forward lunettes, and, with this trail of light stretching before them, the _grampus_ plowed her way through the breaking seas and safely escaped the reefs that lined her course. morning found the submarine still several hours from belize. ysabel and speake got breakfast, and while it was being eaten a cry of "sail, ho!" came from clackett, who was in the tower. "where away?" called matt, only passively interested. "dead ahead," answered clackett. "but i ought to have said 'smoke, ho!' as the craft is a steamer." "which way is she heading?" "toward us." "then probably she's some costa rica fruiter." matt went on with his eating. dick was below, standing his trick at the motor in order to give gaines a chance to eat and rest. "we're going back to belize," said gaines humbly, "and i feel like a criminal, caught and carried back to jail." "why so?" inquired matt. "why, because speake, clackett and i got the _grampus_ into that mess of trouble. she's had more narrow escapes this trip than she ever had since she was launched--and when we listened to the don you'd have thought we were off on a little pleasure excursion." "i feel mighty tough myself," put in speake. "so do i," cried clackett from the conning tower. a little of the conversation had drifted up to him--enough so that he could catch the prevailing sentiment of the remarks. "don't fret about what you can't help, men," said matt. "but what will cap'n nemo, jr., say?" said gaines. "why, you said he'd be glad we went, after we came back and reported," said speake. "have ye changed yer mind, gaines?" "i've changed my mind a good many times since we set off on this cruise," replied gaines. "i don't believe the captain will find any fault with you," said matt. "i'll do what i can to smooth the thing over." "it's like you to do that," returned gaines gratefully. "you were the same with cassidy, that other time when he came in from the river izaral, and i remember i thought you were rather too easy on him." "we all thought that," said speake. "and i'm free to say that i think matt's too easy on us." "that bag with the gold pieces was left down in the torpedo room," went on clackett. "it was?" queried matt, deeply interested. "yes. i left it there. i wouldn't have touched it with a ten-foot pole." "that will pay for a new periscope ball and mast," said matt, "and for the provisions and gasoline we used up on this trip. taking it all together, we've had a very successful cruise----" "hot and lively," put in speake. "and short," added gaines; "that's the best part of it. if it had kept up much longer, i'd have been down with heart failure. we not only had a close call in the matter of losing the ship to fingal and his gang, but likewise in the matter of that submarine mine. my nerves are in rags, and i hope nemo, jr., isn't going to sit down on us too hard. that would be about the last straw!" "hard lines that we couldn't have nabbed don carlos," wailed speake. "i'd have taken particular pleasure in herding him with the rest of our prisoners." "we've got pitou," said matt, "and he's of more importance. there----" "hello, down there!" came from clackett. "what now, clackett?" sang out matt. "that steamer's a warship--i've just been able to make her out. by jing, i believe she's the _seminole_!" the announcement aroused a commotion. "make way for us to get out on deck, clackett!" called matt. "if she's the _seminole_, i want to speak her." matt, speake, clackett and ysabel clustered on the forward deck near the conning tower. "get the code book and the signal flags and the binoculars," cried matt. "she's got signals going up at her gaff and wants to talk to us." speake went below for the required articles and, after fifteen minutes of study and work, matt and his friends learned, to their surprise, that the _seminole_ had put in at belize the day before and had been sent by the american consul to find the submarine. there was so much to be said that signal flags could not convey that the cruiser hove to and had the _grampus_ come around under her lee. in this manner the submarine was able to come quite close--so close that matt and dick could see their tow-haired chum on the cruiser's bridge. carl picked up a megaphone and hurled the following at his friends: "ah, dere, bards! how you vas? you t'ink id vas some shmardness to run avay from me, eh? vell, i haf peen having some hot dimes so vell as you. dere is anodder seat oof drouple pesides bort lifingston und der----" just there the captain grabbed the trumpet out of carl's hands to do a little talking that amounted to something. "we've started for the izaral river to look for you," called the captain. "how did you know where we had gone?" asked matt. "don ramon ortega furnished the clue to the american consul at belize." "where did don ramon get the clue?" "your dutch pard helped--but he'll tell you about that later. what's the matter with your periscope?" "bombarded by revolutionists." "great scott! where?" "off port livingston." "if those fellows to the south don't capture that little scoundrel, pitou, before long, some of the bigger nations ought to interfere." "he's captured," said matt. "is that so? i didn't think mendez would ever do it." "he didn't. we're the ones!" "well, well! how did you manage?" "the general got tangled up in his spurs, and before he could get clear we snaked him below decks." a roar of laughter came through the cruiser's megaphone. "he's not the only prisoner we've got," went on matt. "fingal is below!" "bully! we want him. perhaps we had better take all your prisoners, eh?" "we'd like to get rid of them." "well, stay where you are and we'll send a boat." "you mustn't let pedro go, matt!" exclaimed ysabel. "that's so," said matt. "suppose you go down, little girl, and set pedro free. send him to the torpedo room and tell him to wait there until the cruiser is gone." ysabel vanished into the tower. meanwhile the cruiser had been clearing away a boat. when she hove alongside the submarine, carl pretzel, wearing a grin that could have been tied behind his ears, was sitting in the bow. "i vill go mit you part oof dis groose, anyvay," he whooped. "drow some lines so dot i may come apoard." a line was thrown and carl was heaved from the rocking rowboat to the submarine's deck. he threw his arms around matt and almost hugged him over the side of the _grampus_. "i vas so habby as i don'd know!" he bubbled. "i t'ought you vas gone for goot, und dot i don'd vas going to see you some more. dere iss a lod to dell, i bed you, und----" "we haven't time to tell anything just now, carl," said matt. "as soon as we get rid of our prisoners we'll have a little leisure." carl restrained himself, assisted in the work of getting the prisoners up and transferred, and then watched while the launch pulled back to the cruiser with its melancholy load. "what will you do with pitou, captain?" called matt through his megaphone. "turn him over to the government of that country down there to be punished for running off the american consul, and for his many other outrages against peaceable americans." "what do you think the government will do with him?" "firing squad at sunrise," was the laconic response. "what about fingal?" "our country will take care of him. he'll make a good cellmate for his brother, jim sixty. sorry you didn't capture don carlos valdez. the governor at belize would like to lay hands on him. he made an unprovoked attack on the spanish consul, and, if caught, would do time for it." by that time the launch had got back to the ship's side, and matt, bidding the captain of the cruiser a hearty good-by, started the _grampus_ onward toward belize. speake took the wheel for a while, and the three chums were able to enjoy a quiet little talk together. while they were at it, the door of the prison room opened and ysabel sixty stepped out. carl almost fell off his seat. "iss dot a shpook vat i see?" he mumbled, staring at the girl, "oder iss id miss sixdy, der peaudiful maiten vat i know so vell?" "don't be foolish, carl," smiled ysabel. "foolishness iss natural mit me--i vas porn dot vay. i see somepody on der teck oof der supmarine, ven ve first come glose, und i t'ought id looked like you in der face, aber dose poy's clothes make some greadt shanges. how id vas, anyhow?" "look here, carl," said matt, "did you borrow a guitar from a fellow at the hotel the night the submarine left belize?" carl proceeded to work up quite a temper. "you bed you!" he cried, "und vat you t'ink? dot feller vas some shkinflinds. he make me pay six tollar for dot kiddar! yah, so helup me! vy, i ged him for two tollar by any shdore in der unidet shdates vat i know. dot's right. six tollar! dot's vat he make me pay." "what happened to the guitar?" "vell, i hit some pulltogs mit id ofter der headt, und dot kiddar vas proke in a lod oof bieces." "how did you come to smash the guitar like that?" "a fellar set der tog on me." "why?" "pecause i vas singing some songs unter a vinder oof a house vere i made some misdake. you see," carl explained, "i t'ought id vas miss sixdy's house, aber i vasn't far enough down der shdreed und aroundt der gorner. it vas der house oof a feller vat hat a cross tisposition. he pour vater on my headt, und set der tog on me, und i haf plendy oof drouples. aber oof id hatn't peen for dot, matt, i vouldn't haf found der don, und vouldn't haf learned vat he hat to say." "tell us about that, carl," said matt. thereupon carl turned loose and told all about his disastrous serenade, and how he climbed into the premises of don ramon ortega, found the don bound and gagged in his sitting room, released him, and then hurried with him to the hotel to find matt, and then to the landing, only to discover that the submarine had left the harbor. "afder dot," proceeded carl, "der gonsul vas der feller for us. he say dot der _seminole_ vould be in der harpor in der morning, und dot he vould haf her go und look for der supmarine und modor matt. und dot vas vat he dit, und py shinks i vent along mit meinseluf. now, den, you fellers shpin some yarns und dell me all aboudt eferyding. i vant id all, py shinks, und mit nodding lefdt oudt." carl got every detail, and by the time the boys were through straightening the various events out in his mind, speake was ringing the motor-room jingler for less speed, and signaling for anchors. "belize!" he called. "we're at our old berth. cut out the talk, down there, and make ready to go ashore. let carl and dick be the anchor watch, matt, for you know that clackett, gaines and i have business with captain nemo, jr." chapter xvi. conclusion. captain nemo, jr., made an astonishing rally during the night the _grampus_ was creeping slowly up the shore of british honduras. he awoke from a refreshing slumber, sound of mind and with an optimistic outlook on life which boded good things for speake, gaines and clackett. the doctor, when he called, shook his hand in congratulation. "you are doing better than i dared to hope, captain," said he. "can i talk business, doctor?" asked the captain. "as much as you like. keep on with the same medicine, cassidy," the doctor added to the mate; "i don't think we can improve on that." as soon as the doctor had gone, cassidy made a confession which he had been keeping stored away in his mind for several days. it was a confession of his treachery toward motor matt and the rest of his mates aboard the _grampus_ during the other cruise south to rescue the american consul. cassidy did not spare himself, but told the astonishing facts fully and in detail. captain nemo, jr., listened in pained surprise. for several minutes after cassidy finished he did not speak. "if you're going to begin drinking again, cassidy," said the captain, "i suppose we ought to part company." "i've taken my last drink," declared cassidy. "do you mean it?" "i do." "and motor matt, on his way back from the river izaral, put you back in the ship as mate?" "yes." "well, whatever motor matt does is good enough for me. if you were put there as mate, then you stay there." "thank you, sir," said cassidy, shaking his captain's hand. at that moment a rap fell on the door. cassidy opened it, and gaines, speake, clackett and motor matt walked into the room. "well, well, matt!" cried captain nemo, jr., his face brightening wonderfully at sight of the young motorist, "this is a pleasure, i must say! you've brought the entire crew of the _grampus_ with you, eh?" "not quite all of them," laughed matt. "cassidy was here, taking care of you, and we left dick and carl aboard for an anchor watch." "you fellows act as though you had something on your minds," observed the captain, giving the three members of the crew a curious look. "that's what we have, sir," answered gaines. "we have a confession to make." "confession!" muttered the captain. "this seems to be my morning for hearing confessions. well, go ahead." thereupon speake, gaines and clackett, on their part, told the captain exactly what had taken place during this second trip to the river izaral. captain nemo, jr., was dumfounded. pursing his thin lips, he leaned back in his chair and watched and listened with the utmost attention. "so," said he cuttingly, when the recital was done, "motor matt refused to take my boat south, in response to the request of this scoundrelly don, and you locked matt and dick in the storage room of the submarine and went off whether they would or no! and you called matt out of the room to fix the motor and keep the boat from going on the reefs; and you picked up a supposedly shipwrecked crew out of a boat, and the crew turned on you and captured the _grampus_; and, with the aid of miss sixty, motor matt and his friends recovered the boat, captured fingal, pitou and some others, and turned them over to the cruiser _seminole_--all of which would not have happened had not you, speake, gaines and clackett acted in an insubordinate and mutinous manner. what had i ought to do with them, matt?" "they behaved finely during the fighting and while we were running down the river, past the fort," replied matt, "so i don't think they should be dealt with very severely, captain." "you're too easy with them, matt! look at the trouble they caused you!" "but see what good luck came out of it, captain. we captured pitou and fingal." "that isn't the best thing that has come out of it, matt," remarked the captain. "the best thing for me is the fact that this mutinous conduct of speake, clackett and gaines proves, more than ever, that you are always to be depended on. you refused to sail away on a wild-goose chase after listening to a plausible story told by this rascally don, and----" "i took a good deal of stock in the story at the time it was told, captain," said matt. "that may be; but you didn't let your own desires override what you conceived to be your duty. there would have been no merit in your act, for you, if you had not wanted to go with the don, but yet allowed your idea of duty to me hold you back. i am much obliged to you, speake, gaines and clackett, for affording me this added proof that my confidence in motor matt is not misplaced. but, if i ever hear of any further mutiny on the _grampus_, there will be something happen which none of you will ever forget. "the u. s. cruiser _seminole_ is in the harbor, and i am positive that her captain bears some news for me of a very important nature. this may make it necessary for a call to be made upon the officers and crew of the _grampus_ for some further work. i cannot tell yet as to that. if so it turns out, then your commanding officer will be motor matt. now leave me, all of you, for i have both listened and talked too much, and i am beginning to feel tired. have the periscope ball and mast repaired, matt, as soon as possible, and call and see me to-night." as matt left the house and made his way along the street, he came suddenly upon ysabel sixty, again clad in her feminine clothes and looking like the ysabel he used to know of old. "you did not stay long at home, ysabel," smiled matt. "i couldn't," she answered. "i wanted to find out what your plans were, and how long you expect to remain in belize." "that's all in doubt, as yet. i am to call on captain nemo, jr., to-night, and perhaps he will be able to tell me something about future plans." "i hope," and there was a tremulous earnestness in the girl's words, "that you are not going to leave belize very soon." "i should like to stay here a little while, ysabel, myself," said matt. her face brightened. "and if you are here for a while, you will come often and see me?" "you may depend upon it, little girl," said matt, taking her hand cordially. "i shall never forget this last experience of yours, and how you undertook an exceedingly risky venture solely to be of aid to me." there was a gentleman waiting for a word with matt, and ysabel, with a glad smile, turned away in the direction of home. "señor motor matt?" asked the gentleman, who had been waiting for ysabel to finish her talk with matt. "the same, sir," replied matt. "i, my boy, am don ramon ortega, the spanish consul in belize. i wish to beg your pardon for the serious misadventures into which you were plunged through the unwarranted use of my name by that unmitigated scoundrel, don carlos valdez." "you were not to blame for that, don." "perhaps not, but i feel keenly the trouble which my name--always an honorable one--has caused you. some time, when my family return from mexico, i shall hope to see you at my home as an honored guest. will you come?" "certainly, sir, if i am in belize." "i thank you, señor," said the don; and then, with a courtly bow, he passed on. the king of the motor boys hardly knew whether to laugh or look sober; but when he reflected on how the rascally don carlos had juggled with the spanish consul's name, and used it for base purposes, he felt that perhaps the consul was right in taking the matter so much to heart. that evening, pedro was taken ashore and lodged in the house of ysabel's relatives. the next day he took passage to cuba, and forever cut himself adrift from revolutions and the filibusters who foster them. the end. the next number ( ) will contain motor matt in brazil; or, under the amazon. the cachalot--john henry glennie, u. s. n.--the meeting in the harbor--ah sin's clue--off for the amazon--villainous work--rubbing elbows with death--a dive for safety--putting two-and-two together--under the amazon--hand-to-hand--boarded--a prisoner, and a surprise--the old slouch hat--para--a desperate risk. motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction new york, june , . terms to motor stories mail subscribers. (_postage free._) single copies or back numbers, c. each. months c. months c. months $ . one year . copies one year . copy two years . =how to send money=--by post-office or express money-order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. at your own risk if sent by currency, coin, or postage-stamps in ordinary letter. =receipts=--receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. if not correct you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once. ormond g. smith, } george c. smith, } _proprietors_. street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york city. philip's way. by horatio alger, jr. "i mean to have a jolly time to-morrow, phil," said tom chester. "i expect it will cost me a cool fifty dollars." "what are your plans, that require so much expense?" asked philip marden. "being new year's day, i must make calls on my friends, you know. i've got about fifty places chalked down for visits. i mean to go in style, and so, have engaged a carriage all to myself for the day. that'll cost ten dollars, and perhaps more. then in the evening i'm going to give a little supper to half a dozen friends. will you be one of the number?" "thank you, i have promised to spend the evening with my aunt and cousin." "oh, they'll let you off." "no doubt, but they would be disappointed, and i would rather not disappoint them. so, with many thanks, i must decline your kind invitation." "i am sorry," said tom, but he didn't care much really. the truth was that philip was a little too sober and sedate to suit his taste, and the supper was likely to be a convivial one. "so tom is going to spend fifty dollars in pleasure," thought philip. "well, he can afford it for once, so far as money goes, and so can i. i will do it, too, only it may be that our ideas of pleasure will differ somewhat. i shall have a few calls to make also." the next morning tom set out on his tour of calls. he had a "jolly" time, as he expected, and drank wine at so many different places that his head got a little confused by the middle of the afternoon. about ten o'clock philip set out also, but in a less stylish manner. he paid five cents for a ride in the horse cars, getting out in a locality very far from fashionable. he stopped before a shabby, three-story house, and ringing the bell, inquired for mrs. lucas. "third floor, front, right-hand side," was the direction. the staircase was as shabby as the exterior of the house. philip soon stood on the third landing, and after a little pause, knocked at the door. it was opened by a pale, sickly-looking woman, who looked at him inquiringly. "is this mrs. lucas?" asked the young man. "yes, sir," said she inquiringly. "my name is marden. you made me some shirts lately." "yes, sir. i hope they fitted." "excellently." "i am glad of it. perhaps he has some more work for me!" thought the poor woman. "i am afraid you find it hard work to get along in these days of high prices," said philip, surveying the scantily furnished apartment. "i do, indeed, sir," said mrs. lucas, sighing. "rent and provisions are very high, and i can't always get work. i have a little girl of ten--she is out just now--but she cannot do much. i try to keep her at school, but i find it hard to keep her in decent clothing. it was a great help to me, the money i received for making your shirts." "i shall have some more work soon," said philip kindly. "meanwhile will you accept this note? i hope it will be of service." "ten dollars!" exclaimed mrs. lucas in surprise. "you have made a mistake, sir. have you not?" "not at all." "ah, sir, you don't know how much good it will do me," said the poor woman, her face lighted up with pleasure. "thank you many times for your great kindness." "you are quite welcome, mrs. lucas. it is new year's day, you know--i wish you a happy new year." "indeed, sir, you have done much to make it so." there was a warm glow at philip's heart as he went out into the street. his call had been a pleasant one. two or three blocks brought him to another tenement house, more shabby and dilapidated than the one he had left. "i think it is no. , rear house," he said. he passed through a narrow passage, and emerged into a dark court about fifteen feet square, swarming with little children, and inquired of the first one that attracted his attention, "does mrs. flaherty live here?" "yes, sir," said the little girl addressed, "she's my mother." "will you show me her room?" little bridget flaherty led the way upstairs, a little surprised at the appearance of her mother's visitor, and opened the door of a dirty room without a carpet. mrs. flaherty rose in surprise, recognizing her visitor. "it's mr. marden, shure," she said. "and how did you find the way, sir?" "i happened to remember the street and number, mrs. flaherty." "i hope there's nothing wrong about the clothes, sir?" "not at all; but i'm out making my new year's calls." "and it's an honor, indade, that you should call on me. sit down, sir, if you please." and she cleared off a chair, wiping it with her apron to insure cleanliness. philip chatted with her five minutes, inquiring about her family and circumstances. as he rose to go he took out ten dollars and handed it to her. "is it for me?" she asked incredulously. "yes, mrs. flaherty, a new year's gift." i should hardly venture to reproduce the grateful thanks which were showered upon philip by the enthusiastic recipient of his gift, and how she invoked all the saints in the calendar to shield him from harm and fill his path with blessings. philip next went to a bookstore, and purchased a series of juveniles illustrated with bright, attractive pictures, and taking the horse cars again was landed near a quiet little street of no pretensions as regards fashion. he ascended the steps of a plain, wooden house of two stories, and rang the bell. it was the house of a widow, who made a scanty living by keeping boarders of an humble class. she had one boy of twelve, bright and athirst for knowledge, but an invalid, and not strong enough to go to school. there was nothing the lad loved like reading, but his mother could not afford to buy him books, and her friends were not many of them book owners. so he used to lie day after day on the old lounge, finding the hours weary and monotonous. it was his mother who opened the door. "jimmy will be so glad to see you, mr. marden," she said. "you'll find him on the sofa, as usual." "does he get no better?" "not that i can see. poor boy, he finds the time pass very heavily." "i've brought him some books that will while away the hours." "how kind you are! he will be beside himself with joy." she led the way into a small room, with a faded carpet on the floor. a young boy with a merry look on his pale face lay on a lounge. he lifted his eyes, and they brightened as they met the gaze of the visitor. "oh, mr. marden, i'm so glad to see you!" he exclaimed. "and i am glad to see you, jimmy--a happy new year to you!" "and you also, mr. marden." "thank you, jimmy. now, what do you think i have got in this big bundle?" "is it books?" asked the boy eagerly. "yes, jimmy, you have guessed right. six new books, and all for you." "all for me. oh, how kind you are! do open them quick." smiling at the boy's impatience, philip cut the string with his penknife, and displayed six handsomely bound volumes, over which jimmy was soon poring with delight. "then you like them, jimmy?" "oh, so much. there was nothing which i should have liked as well. what a good man you are, mr. marden. i don't deserve it." "i like to make people happy, jimmy, that is all." "and you have made me very happy, sir," said the boy, his face lighting up with gratitude. "my life has been so dull sometimes." "let us hope it will be brighter in future." "i think it will, mr. marden, thanks to you." philip called at three other places, where he dispensed timely and welcome gifts. we need not follow him. it is enough to say that each visit carried sunshine with it and left happiness behind it. when the last call had been made he found that he had expended just fifty dollars, but he felt richer without it. the next morning the two young men met at their place of business, for both were employed in the same mercantile establishment. tom chester was heavy-eyed, and looked as if he had been up all night. philip's eye was bright, and his nerves were as steady as usual. "did you have a good time, tom?" asked philip. "capital! i made all my calls, and had a jolly supper--to top off with. didn't get into bed till four this morning. i feel rather seedy to-day, that's a fact. but new year's day only comes once a year." "true; how much did it cost you?" "fifty dollars. i suppose you, like a prudent boy, saved your money?" "there you are mistaken. i spent fifty dollars, also." "you did!" exclaimed his friend in astonishment. "how was that?" "in making people happy." "i don't understand you." philip gave a brief outline of what he had done. "you're a strange fellow," said tom chester. "who'd ever have thought of spending new year's day in that way?" "a great many, i hope. depend upon it. tom, the best way to secure happiness yourself is to promote the happiness of others. i wouldn't exchange my investment for yours." dear reader, i have sketched two ways of spending the day that ushers in the new year. tom chester spent his time and money in selfish gratification. philip devoted his to nobler uses. which do you prefer? perilous occupations. sealskins are a costly commodity, in more ways than one. more perilous than almost any other mentionable pursuit, seal-hunting is yearly exacting a greater penalty in human lives than it ever did before. hunted for generations, the seals have become more wary, and year by year they retire farther and farther into the well-nigh inaccessible ice of the highest northern latitudes. it is not sport, this hunting the seal from the icy, storm-swept coast of newfoundland; it is toil, whereby in part the hardy newfoundlander wins his scanty measure of bread, and the chase is beset with multitudinous and unforeseen perils. the wind gathers the ice into floes, and jams it against the coast, an immeasurable, jagged expanse of it, interspersed with plains; then the newfoundlander takes his gaff and his food and his goggles, and sets out from his little harbor, starting at midnight that he may come up with the pack at dawn. but the wind which sweeps in the ice inevitably sweeps it out again, without warning, in an hour, or a day, or a week; nor does it pause to consider the situation of the men who are twenty miles offshore. it veers and freshens, and drives the whole mass, grinding and heaving, far out to sea, where it disperses it into its separate fragments. the lives of the hunters depend upon the watchfulness of the attenuated line of lookouts, from the women on the headland to the first sentinel within signaling distance. but tragedies occur notwithstanding. some years ago of five sealing-schooners that penetrated the drift ice then blocking the northernmost extremity of baffin's bay one only returned. two or three years previously, at kedy, near cape voronoff, siberia, three hundred russian sealers, at work upon an ice-floe, were driven northward into the frozen ocean, owing to the sudden springing up of a southerly gale, and were never heard of again. at st. paul's island, one of the pribyloff group, off the coast of alaska, are the graves of seventy odd sealers, found frozen stiff and stark on an ice-floe that drifted ashore one night. as with sealskins, so with pearls. the pearl-diver's occupation is among the most dangerous known. generally either an arab or a full-blooded negro, he is invariably a man of splendid physique and indomitable courage. long practise has enabled him to remain under water for two minutes at a time without apparent inconvenience. nevertheless, the life of a professional pearl-diver is not considered by experts to be worth more than six or seven years' purchase. many succumb every season to a strange and deadly form of paralysis. many more are eaten by sharks, drowned through getting their feet entangled in weeds, caught in crevices in the rocks while exploring the depths of the sea, or seized and devoured quickly by shoals of gigantic octopi--those ghouls of the ocean--which invariably infest the fishing-grounds. it is estimated that of the hundreds of egret-hunters who each year set out for the heronries of yucatan, a full ten per cent. never return. deep in the deadly, fever-laden recesses of the forest swamps of the hinterland these beautiful birds breed. the hunter pursues them remorselessly, his life in his hand, for the snow-white tail-feathers are worth from five to eight guineas. the climate is deadly. the atmosphere is saturated with miasma and infected with myriads of poisonous insects. alligators lurk, too, in the black slime of the tortuous bayous, which constitute the only means of inter-communication. an egret-hunter who runs short of ammunition or quinin simply lies down in the bottom of his canoe and waits for death. usually he has not long to wait. on the average, for every half-dozen aigrettes--one may see hundreds being worn any afternoon in bond street--a man's life has been sacrificed. hardly less perilous, if any, is the orchid-hunter's profession. orchids love warmth and moisture, and warmth and moisture in tropical countries are synonymous with miasma and fever. wild animals also and poisonous serpents abound in the umbrageous depths wherein the rarer varieties lie hidden. not infrequently, too, the collector has to seek his specimens among savages or semicivilized peoples, who strongly resent his intrusion into their midst. one firm of orchid-importers reported a year or two ago that they had had five collectors killed in as many months by the wild tribesmen of the western himalayan slopes; while other three, even more unfortunate, were made prisoners and carried off to undergo the nameless horrors which have from time immemorial been characteristic of central asian slavery. rubber is purchased at a terrible price. the mortality in the state of amazonias, in brazil, corresponds with almost diabolical exactness to the number of tons of rubber produced. in fact, it is said each ton costs a human life, and although there are no such horribly fiendish atrocities in brazil as has been charged against the congo, it is nevertheless true that the laborers who are brought into the rubber-fields do not average more than three years of life; and are, if not in law, at least in fact, subjected to hardships never known or endured by the slaves in the united states, or even by the slaves in the coffee countries of brazil. of nearly seven million pounds of camphor obtained annually, formosa produces all but about six hundred thousand pounds, but very few people have the faintest conception of the dangers to which japanese camphor collectors are exposed in the formosa hills when gathering this product. up to the present, in fact, the japanese have found it impossible to control the head-hunting savages of the hills, and the development of this valuable industry depends equally upon the success of their measures for encountering and suppressing these determined and as yet unconquered tribes. formosa, which is shaped somewhat like a huge sole, has a rugged, mountainous back-bone, in which mount morrison towers into the clouds to a height of twelve thousand feet. throughout the wild penetralia of these mountains lurk a number of warlike tribes of varying strength, whose lives are devoted to hunting, fishing, and fighting with one another, their one community of interest being a passionate ardor in the collection of human heads, whether of their tribal enemies or of the chinese coolies who live on the verge of the hills or are engaged in the camphor industry. the tree from which camphor is obtained is a species of laurel indigenous to formosa, and it is on the mountains overrun by these terrible hordes of head-hunters that the extensive forests from which practically the world draws its supply of camphor are found. poi their staff of life. what bread is to the american or european poi is to the native hawaiian. no meal is complete without it, and for the great majority of the natives it forms the principal article of diet. poi is made from a tuberous root about the size of a large sweet potato. it is first baked and afterward pounded up with water until a smooth paste is obtained, much resembling a wheat flour paste, except that the color is a pale pink or purple. this paste is allowed to ferment slightly and is then ready for use. formerly each family prepared its own poi, the work being done by the men, as in fact were most other cooking operations. poi factories, in which machinery grinds and mixes the material, have largely supplanted the old method. many of the white residents of the islands eat poi to almost the extent of the natives, but the taste is largely acquired and strangers seldom care for it. poi has a high food value, and since it formed the principal food of the old hawaiians some persons credit it with the splendid physical development of the race. poi was always eaten from wooden bowls or calabashes and was conveyed to the mouth by the fingers, one, two or three being employed according to the consistency of the food, which fact establishes a designation of one, two or three finger poi. white poi eaters now usually employ a fork or spoon in lieu of fingers, although it is still common even in the highest families to give native dinners or "luaus" at which knives and forks are taboo and fingers only used. there is as much etiquette among the hawaiians in eating with the fingers as with modern table implements, and the graceful motion by which a portion of poi is twisted up on the fingers and transferred to the mouth would not shock the sensibilities of the most refined. an invitation to a real luau at which poi, baked pig, fish baked in leaves and cocoanut in various forms were the chief features of the menu is an experience which every visitor to hawaii sincerely covets. a city begun on a raft. the story of the founding of the city of mexico is one of the most extraordinary tales in history. it happened in , at least, it began a long time before that, but was an accomplished fact about years ago. in the first place, imagine an almost inaccessible mountain, crowned with a valley at the height of , feet above the level of the sea. in the centre of this valley was an immense lake. when the aztecs arrived, led by the priests of the god of war, they found it in the possession of hostile tribes. for that reason, and because the priests declared that in a certain part of the lake where there stood an elevation of stones an eagle had been seen devouring a serpent, they began the construction of the city on this spot, immediately over the deepest waters of the lake. there had long existed a prophecy among the aztecs that their wanderings would end when they should have reached a place where the priests would behold an eagle resting on a cactus plant, devouring a serpent. confident that they had found the spot ordained to be their abiding home, they began to construct rafts of the trunks of trees, covering them with thick layers of earth, upon which they built rude huts of more or less solidity. groups of dwellings soon began to form themselves in regular order, thus determining the primitive streets of the new city. they also constructed boats and oars of different sizes useful in peace and war, and while certain of their number occupied themselves in defending their homes and brethren from the onslaughts of hostile tribes, others continued to improve and enlarge the new city. gradually the lake was filled up, and terraces arose, one after another, in the place once occupied by the deep waters. this was in itself a herculean labor, unsurpassed in ingenuity and durability by any similar work of ancient or modern times. upon the first of these terraces was constructed the teocalli, or sacrificial temple. it was begun in and not completed until , a period of years, from which time may be dated the official foundation of tenochtitlan, to-day the modern city of mexico. latest issues motor stories the latest and best five-cent weekly. we won't say how interesting it is. see for yourself. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear. --motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto. --motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward. --motor matt's air-ship; or, the rival inventors. --motor matt's hard luck; or, the balloon house plot. --motor matt's daring rescue; or, the strange case of helen brady. --motor matt's peril; or, castaway in the bahamas. --motor matt's queer find; or, the secret of the iron chest. --motor matt's promise; or, the wreck of the _hawk_. --motor matt's submarine; or, the strange cruise of the _grampus_. --motor matt's quest; or, three chums in strange waters. tip top weekly the most popular publication for boys. the adventures of frank and dick merriwell can be had only in this weekly. =high art colored covers. thirty-two pages.= price, cents. --frank merriwell cut off; or, the result of the great spring rise. --frank merriwell's ranch boss; or, big bruce and the blossoms. --dick merriwell's equal; or, the fellow with the flying feet. --dick merriwell's development; or, the all-around wonder. --dick merriwell's eye; or, the secret of good batting. --frank merriwell's zest; or, the spirit of the school. --frank merriwell's patience; or, the making of a pitcher. --frank merriwell's pupil; or, the boy with the wizard wing. --frank merriwell's fighters; or, the decisive battle with blackstone. --dick merriwell at the "meet"; or, honors worth winning. --dick merriwell's protest; or, the man who would not play clean. --dick merriwell in the marathon; or, the sensation of the great run. --dick merriwell's colors; or, all for the blue. --dick merriwell, driver; or, the race for the daremore cup. --dick merriwell on the deep; or, the cruise of the _yale_. nick carter weekly the best detective stories on earth. nick carter's exploits are read the world over. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --a mental mystery; or, nick carter on a difficult trail. --the sealed envelope; or, nick carter's search for a lost fortune. --the message in blue; or, nick carter's clue to a vast conspiracy. --a dream of empire; or, nick carter and the queen of conspirators. --the detective's disappearance; or, nick carter is saved by adelina. --the midnight marauders; or, nick carter's telephone mystery. --the child of the jungle; or, nick carter's ingenious ruse. --nick carter's satanic enemy; or, the case of an easy mark. --three times stolen; or, nick carter's strange clue. --the great diamond syndicate; or, nick carter's cleverest foes. --the house of the yellow door; or, nick carter in the old french quarter. --the triangle clue; or, nick carter's greenwich village case. --the hollingsworth puzzle; or, nick carter three times baffled. --the affair of the missing bonds; or, nick carter in the harness. _for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address on receipt of price, cents per copy, in money or postage stamps, by_ street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york =if you want any back numbers= of our weeklies and cannot procure them from your newsdealer, they can be obtained from this office direct. fill out the following order blank and send it to us with the price of the weeklies you want and we will send them to you by return mail. =postage stamps taken the same as money.= ________________________ _ _ _street & smith, - seventh avenue, new york city._ _dear sirs: enclosed please find_ ___________________________ _cents for which send me_: tip top weekly, nos. ________________________________ nick carter weekly, " ________________________________ diamond dick weekly, " ________________________________ buffalo bill stories, " ________________________________ brave and bold weekly, " ________________________________ motor stories, " ________________________________ _name_ ________________ _street_ ________________ _city_ ________________ _state_ ________________ a great success!! motor stories every boy who reads one of the splendid adventures of motor matt, which are making their appearance in this weekly, is at once surprised and delighted. surprised at the generous quantity of reading matter that we are giving for five cents; delighted with the fascinating interest of the stories, second only to those published in the tip top weekly. matt has positive mechanical genius, and while his adventures are unusual, they are, however, drawn so true to life that the reader can clearly see how it is possible for the ordinary boy to experience them. _here are the titles now ready and those to be published_: --motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. --motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. --motor matt's century run; or, the governor's courier. --motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the "comet." --motor matt's mystery; or, foiling a secret plot. --motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear. --motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto. --motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward. --motor matt's air ship; or, the rival inventors. --motor matt's hard luck; or, the balloon house plot. --motor matt's daring rescue; or, the strange case of helen brady. --motor matt's peril; or, cast away in the bahamas. --motor matt's queer find; or, the secret of the iron chest. --motor matt's promise; or, the wreck of the "hawk." --motor matt's submarine; or, the strange cruise of the "grampus." --motor matt's quest; or, three chums in strange waters. to be published on june th. --motor matt's close call; or, the snare of don carlos. to be published on june st. --motor matt in brazil; or, under the amazon. to be published on june th. --motor matt's defiance; or, around the horn. to be published on july th. --motor matt makes good; or, another victory for the motor boys. price, five cents at all newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, by the publishers upon receipt of the price. street & smith, _publishers_, new york transcriber's notes: italics are represented with _underscores_, bold with =equal signs=. added table of contents. some inconsistent hyphenation (i.e. "war-like" vs. "warlike") retained from the original. page , changed "ortera" to "ortega" ("can't understand this don ramon ortega"). page , corrected "action" to "actions" in "the boy's actions were peculiar." page , changed "ysabelle" to "ysabel" ("ysabel vanished into the tower"). courtesy of the digital library@villanova university (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction no. may , five cents motor matt's promise or the wreck of the hawk _by the author of "motor matt"_ [illustration: _slowly and carefully, motor matt went about his work watched breathlessly by carl._] _street & smith publishers new york_ motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction _issued weekly. by subscription $ . per year. entered according to act of congress in the year , in the office of the librarian of congress, washington, d. c., by_ street & smith, _ - seventh avenue, new york, n. y._ no. . new york, may , . price five cents. motor matt's promise; or, the wreck of the _hawk_. by the author of "motor matt." contents chapter i. on the levee. chapter ii. mixed identities. chapter iii. double-trouble. chapter iv. tricked! chapter v. motor matt's promise. chapter vi. dashington dashed. chapter vii. a hard starter. chapter viii. a bullet from below. chapter ix. the wreck. chapter x. the unexpected. chapter xi. a friend from the enemy's camp. chapter xii. the bag of diamonds. chapter xiii. a daring plot. chapter xiv. on the road. chapter xv. a new man takes a hand. chapter xvi. conclusion. the masked light (conclusion). spanish cedar logs. cooking the venison steak. baby ostriches. mink farm in oregon. characters that appear in this story. =motor matt=, a lad who is at home with every variety of motor, and whose never-failing nerve serves to carry him through difficulties that would daunt any ordinary young fellow. because of his daring as a racer with bicycle, motor-cycle and automobile he is known as "mile-a-minute matt." motor-boats, air ships and submarines come naturally in his line, and consequently he lives in an atmosphere of adventure in following up his "hobby." =carl pretzel=, a cheerful and rollicking german boy, stout of frame as well as of heart, who is led by a fortunate accident to link his fortunes with those of motor matt. =dick ferral=, a young sea dog from canada, with all a sailor's superstitions, but in spite of all that a royal chum, ready to stand by the friend of his choice through thick and thin. =archibald townsend=, a wealthy though eccentric gentleman, who owns a remarkable submarine boat on which our friends have seen various adventures in the past. =cassidy=, mate of the submarine _grampus_. =whistler=, } =jurgens=, } a trio of rogues bent upon gaining possession of a prize. =bangs=, } =joe dashington=, motor matt's double, who proves how small a matter will sometimes turn a fellow from the wrong road into the right one. =shirley, of scotland yard=, who springs a surprise at the end of the story. =fetterman, assistant chief of police=, who helps the scotland yard man. chapter i. on the levee. "py shiminy grickets!" "well, strike me lucky!" "can i pelieve vat i see mit my eyes, tick, or haf i got der plind shtaggers?" "i'm guessing good and hard, carl. it's main queer, and no mistake." "py all der rules oof der game dot feller iss matt king, oddervise modor matt, oddervise mile-a-minute matt, king oof der modor poys und gaptain oof der air ship _hawk_, aber i bed you i nefer see him like dot pefore." "it's matt, all right, but sink me if i'm not taken all aback by the way he acts. what's come over the old ship to do like that?" it was about half-past four in the afternoon, and carl pretzel and dick ferral were on their way along the water front of new orleans. they had gone into town on an important errand and were now returning to stuyvesant dock, where their air ship was moored and where they had expected to find motor matt. just off the foot of canal street a steamer was loading for false river. four-mule teams attached to heavy drays were backed up to the wharf and long lines of darkies were crossing the gang plank with bags on their shoulders and recrossing empty-handed for other burdens. it was an attractive scene for the two boys and they halted for a few moments to watch; then, suddenly, a big surprise was sprung on them. they saw motor matt, hands in his pockets, loafing along the levee--at least they thought it was motor matt, for the lad was of the same build, the same height and with a face exactly like the young motorist's. carl and dick knew matt so well that they were positive they were not mistaken, but there was something about matt they could not understand. in the first place, matt was slouching along. that wasn't like him, for as a rule he was as spry as a cricket in all his movements. then, again, matt was wearing a slouch hat, a dingy red sweater and frayed corduroy trousers--all as different as possible from the trim young motorist in his leather cap and jacket. but--and this was the most incomprehensible thing to carl and dick--matt was smoking a cigarette. now, motor matt was down on cigarettes good and hard, for he knew the havoc they made with a fellow's constitution, and that no one could keep in the pink of condition if he used them; and yet, there he was with one of the rice-paper things hanging between his lips. small wonder carl and dick were astounded. if a small-sized earthquake had happened along and shaken things up generally the two boys could not have been more astounded. although they were in plain view, yet matt did not seem to notice them. for a while they stared--and then, abruptly, dick had an idea. "he's in disguise," averred dick. "for vy iss he dot?" inquired carl. "it must be he's watching somebody and don't want the fellow to know who he is." "vat a foolishness!" muttered carl. "he can't make some disguises unless he geds anodder face. i vould know dot face oof his anyvere, no madder how he vas got oop, nor how many cigarettes he shmoked. ach, du lieber! i am surbrised ad him, und dot's all aboudt it." "well," continued dick, "this letter of townsend's is important and i've got to get it into his hands. if matt is watching somebody, the thing is to hand him the letter without giving him away. any one seeing us chinning with him would suspect right away that he was our chum, for all three of us are pretty well known up and down the river front." "dot's righdt," said carl. "ve don'd vant to tip off his game oof he iss blaying vone. how ve vas going to gif him der ledder, hey?" "i guess i can do it, but it won't be any first-chop work. i'll give a whistle and make him look this way, then i'll flash the letter, lay it on this bale of cotton, and we'll back off and give him a wide berth." "meppy der feller matt iss vatching vill see you do dot?" "mayhap, but we've got to run the risk. this letter of townsend's, you know, is important and must be acted upon to-night. now listen while i pipe up." ferral put his fingers to his lips and whistled shrilly. several loungers looked toward the two boys, matt himself shifting his eyes languidly in their direction. ferral at once drew a letter from the breast of his shirt, held it in front of him, cautiously pointed to it as he looked at matt and then laid it on the bale of cotton. it was far from being cleverly done--the very nature of the case, with so many loungers about, put cleverness out of the question. all dick hoped for, however, was that the man matt was watching might not see the move. the work of carl and dick was built entirely on surmises. unable to explain matt's get-up and actions in any other way, they surmised that he must be watching some one; but the biggest surmise--and which, to the boys, seemed no surmise at all, but positive reality--was that the lad was motor matt. matt, hands still in his pockets and cigarette between his lips, shuffled toward the cotton bale. "we've tipped him off," chuckled dick, as he and carl backed away. "he'll fall afoul of that letter, now, and it's up to us to give him a good offing. i hope the move wasn't seen by the swab he's got under his eye." from a safe distance the two boys watched while matt came close to the bale and leaned against it while he picked up the letter. he was amazingly open and aboveboard while he examined that letter. carl and dick thought he would sneak it off the cotton bale, tuck it in his pocket and lounge carelessly away. but they were mistaken. matt held the letter up curiously and turned it around and around in his hand. "well, keelhaul me!" growled dick. "he might just as well tell everybody what we've done as to examine the letter like that. there must be a screw loose in his head! why, i never saw him act like that before. i can't smoke his roll any way you put it." "i vas all mixed oop aboudt it meinseluf," said carl, in a puzzled tone. "he iss acting so keveer as i can't tell. oof he vas keeping drack oof somepody, vy don'd----" just then something happened that caused carl to catch his breath. a startled exclamation escaped dick. in a flash the cotton bale had leaped into flame! wild shouts came from everywhere on that part of the levee. stevedores dropped their burdens, bystanders lost their passive demeanor and teamsters jumped from their trucks. buckets were secured and dipped in the river, and hustled toward the blazing bale with the water. meanwhile, matt had slouched off to a good distance from the fire. while the boys drew nearer and watched excitedly, they saw an officer rush up to their chum, seize the cigarette from his lips and dash it on the planks and crush it under his foot. "can't you read, you idiot?" fumed the officer. "look there!" with his club he pointed to a sign which read, "no smoking." all over the levee there were signs to that effect. no matter which way a fellow turned the curt order, "no smoking," stared him in the face. "aw, forget it!" said matt, with a curt disregard for legal authority that came to dick and carl like a slap in the face. "you're a copper, all right, but you can't get gay with me." this insolence astounded the officer. likewise it served to arouse his temper. "i'll get gay with you, all right, my festive kiskedee," he snapped. "that cigarette of yours set fire to that bale, an' you'll just consider yourself pinched." the officer's hand dropped on matt's shoulder. "you will pinch me, eh?" answered matt. "well, you've got another guess coming!" with that his languid air vanished in a twinkling and he became imbued with the fiercest kind of energy. with a swift leap he wrenched himself free of the policeman's detaining hand. the policeman, with an angry shout, jumped at him, swinging his club. matt's foot went out and the policeman was neatly tripped and measured his length on the planks. this was energy of the kind motor matt could display, upon occasion, but he had never been known to direct it against an officer of the law. nor was motor matt insolent--he had other ways for meeting injustice. astonishment at the swift progress of events and the unheard-of actions of their chum held carl and dick stunned in their tracks. "he iss grazy!" averred carl, with a gasp. "modor matt has gone off der chump! he iss pughouse, yah, so helup me!" "he's all ahoo in his top hammer and no mistake!" agreed dick. "but we've got to help him, carl. we can't stand off and on while matt's in trouble. avast there!" he yelled, running toward the exciting scene. "hold back a minute, officer! sheer off, and keep those men back!" the policeman had scrambled to his feet, and stevedores and bystanders were all making a concerted rush in matt's direction. "yah, yah," taunted matt defiantly. "i'm ready for anything from a fight to a foot race." he was lightning-like in his movements now. pulling over a barrel that stood on end, he rolled it into the midst of his pursuers. half a dozen of them went down in a tangled heap and so interfered with the others that pursuit was, for a moment, checked. matt made the most of this period of grace and ducked away toward canal street. there were two or three carriages at the edge of the wharf, and by the open door of one of them a man was standing. "this way, king!" the man shouted, beckoning. carl and dick saw the fugitive swerve in the direction of the carriage. another moment and he and the man were inside, the door slammed, and the darky on the box whipped away. in less time than it takes to tell it, the carriage was lost in a crowd of vehicles, while dick and carl were gasping on the levee, staring blankly into each other's eyes. chapter ii. mixed identities. "you're all right, neighbor," panted the fugitive as he settled back in the carriage seat. "i was in a tight corner, but the copper hadn't any call to rough things up with me like he did. how did you happen to be handy by and willing to give me a lift?" "i've been watching you for fifteen or twenty minutes," answered the man. "piping me off, eh? why was that? what's your graft, anyhow? put me wise and oblige." "oh, drop it!" said the other disgustedly. "you know me, all right enough. look!" the man wore a black beard. lifting his hands as he spoke he plucked it away, revealing a smoothly shaven face. "recognize me now?" he queried, with a husky laugh. "if i do i'm a geezer," answered the youth. "why the bogus wind teasers? gee, but this is a warm play." "you make me tired!" scowled the man. "my name's whistler, as you know well enough." "whistler, whistler," murmured the fugitive. "on the level, whistler, you've got past my guard. but what's the diff? you're one-two-seven with me for lifting me out of that bunch of trouble. but, tell me, whose game of muggins is this, and what's the stake? anything higher than two-call-five and a quarter to see puts me out of the running. you've heard of the bank that broke the man at monte carlo? well, listen--i'm it. please drop that dizzy front, old fel, and tell me why you're a counterfeit. not being a has-wasser myself, i'm game for anything that promises kopecks, simoleons, or anything white or yellow with the eagle bird and e pluribus get-there on the side. have one?" with two yellow-stained fingers, the youth pulled a cigarette box from under his sweater and offered it to the man. the latter, apparently in a daze, shook his head negatively. with a grin, the fugitive lighted a cigarette and put away the box. "now, whistler," he pattered, "cut away with the straight dope and tell me all about it." whistler narrowed his eyes and studied the fugitive's face for a minute. "you've got more tricks in your basket, matt king," said he, "than i've given you credit for, up to now." "thanks, whistler," drawled the youth, "you'll never hear me putting up a roar when that sort of con talk is shoved at me. yes, indeed, i've gathered much knowledge while knocking about our little planet. experience came to me early and says, 'joe, put your little hand in mine and let's go out and take a bird's-eye view of the universe.' we went. perhaps that's why, at the present speaking, i'm in n. o. all but broke. being bashful and retiring, i don't like to feature myself; but you're keen, whistler, and i couldn't dodge you." the torrent of language flowed steadily, and as it flowed whistler grew more and more surprised. "great jumping je-lucifer!" he muttered. "you've changed a whole lot in the last few days, king. i suppose that happened when you took to cigarettes?" "nay, not according to league rules." the lad allowed a mouthful of smoke to trickle out through his lips and nose. "king, eh?" he went on. "how you do keep handing me the bokays. i was king of the track when i rode the ponies, king of the plungers when i played 'em, and king of the 'bos now they've broke me. oh, yes, call me king by all means." whistler, still staring, sat back and mumbled to himself. "what do you call yourself, _now_?" he asked. "a mistake. i took the wrong turn at the forks of the road. prosperityville lay on the other track and i'm just over the hill from the poorhouse. also i call myself dennis, and i spell it m-u-d. when i was christened they named me joe, and the other part of it was dashington. generally they referred to me as dash. that's about all i amount to, now; just a dash--a straight line that ought to stand for something, but don't." "you're a pretty slick counterfeit yourself, king," laughed whistler. "i never dreamed that motor matt could play himself up like this." "my, my!" murmured joe dashington. "he thinks i'm stringing him! if i'd been careless with the truth he'd have believed me; but now that i'm giving it to him straight, he winks the other eye and drops a mitt on his left shoulder." the carriage came to a stop. joe dashington started up and looked through the carriage window. "have the cops landed on me?" he inquired, "or have we reached the place we're going?" "we've stopped where i wanted to, motor matt," returned whistler. "do you see this?" he lifted a hand from his outside jacket pocket and showed a glimmering bit of steel. "not being blind," answered dash calmly, "i'm wise to the pepper box. ah, ha, the plot thickens! why the gun?" "i said i was watching you, there on the dock," answered whistler sternly, "and i was doing it for a purpose. you were disguised, and i believed then and am of the opinion now that you were trying to find out something about me. i intended going to false river on that boat, but changed my plans when i saw you. you're going to get out here and accompany me into the house before which we have stopped; and you're going to remember, motor matt, that this pepper box is in my pocket all the time, and that i can use it there just as well as though i had it in sight." "yes, yes, this is a funny play, but i'm a passenger, mr. whistler, and you seem to hold all the trumps. i shall be glad to go into the house with you. johnny hardluck has been rubbing my fur the wrong way for days and days, and i'd get heart failure if he didn't keep it up." whistler opened the door with one hand, and he and the youth got out of the carriage, crossed the walk, climbed a flight of steps and vanished into the house. they were met in the hall by a man who showed a good deal of surprise. "great scott, whistler!" fretted the man. "i thought you were on your way to false river, by now." "changed my plan, jurgens," replied whistler. "conduct us into the front room where the light is better. i've a surprise for you." jurgens gave a sharp look in the fugitive's direction, turned and led the way into an apartment where the late afternoon sun rendered objects clearer to the eye. "what!" he cried, startled. "matt king!" he whirled angrily on whistler. "what do you mean by bringing him here?" "don't go off the jump, jurgens," answered whistler, "until you learn more. bangs went with me to the landing, and just as i was about to go on the boat i caught sight of king. i wondered why he was got up like that, and i believed that he was watching me. while i was wondering whether i should go on the boat, or not, this lad turned a little trouble on the levee. those two chums of his, the sailor and the dutchman, signaled and one of them laid a letter on a cotton bale. king went forward to get it and a spark from his cigarette fired the bale. a policeman started after him, and i motioned for him to come to the carriage. i saw, then, that he didn't know me. he accepted my invitation and i brought him away. now we can make him tell us what his game is, and we can have a look at that letter." joe dashington listened to all this with a surprised grin. "i suppose i ought to have heart failure over this," he remarked, "but, somehow, it don't phase me. i can't be much worse off than i am, no matter what happens. when you gents find out you've made a sucker play, perhaps you'll tell me how i can turn enough of the ready for a board bill and a place to pound my ear." "he's trying to tell me that his name's not king," scoffed whistler. jurgens, deeply interested, laid his head on one side and studied the youth at some length. "his face is king's, plain enough," said he finally, "but he's rigged out like a hoodlum and talks like a beachcomber. what's the answer?" "i'm by," laughed joe dashington. "you fellows tell me." he lighted another cigarette. "pass over that letter," ordered whistler. dashington, without a dissenting word, handed the letter to whistler. "i know as much about it as you do," said he. "if it's an invite to go out with a stocking full of sand, please count me in. anything with money in it looks good to me." the envelope bore the words, "for motor matt." "he's king, easy enough," averred jurgens, looking over whistler's shoulder. "that's a cinch," averred whistler, opening the letter and removing the inclosed sheet. together the two men read the letter, managing to keep wary eyes on the youth as they did so. "dear matt: i'm lying ill in bed, out on prytania street. dick and carl know the place. there's a bag of diamonds to be delivered to the daughter of the man from cape town, over on st. charles avenue, and you're the only one i can trust to do the work. you will have to be careful about it, and i wish you would come here at midnight to-night and get the stones. i haven't told either carl or dick what i want you to do, and when you read this i think you had better keep it to yourself--even from them. i've a feeling in my bones that there's trouble ahead, and i want to get the responsibility of those diamonds off my shoulders as quickly as possible. "yours, archibald townsend." exultation flamed in the faces of whistler and jurgens. "luck!" cried whistler. "this is our lucky day, jurgens, and no mistake." "nothing ever dropped into our hands so easy before!" jubilated jurgens. "all we've got to do is to think of some way to pull off the deal and----" feet clattered up the outside steps. leaving whistler to look after the youth, jurgens darted into the hall. "hello, bangs!" he exclaimed, a moment later. "what's the trouble?" "i was down on the levee when whistler took a fellow we both thought was motor matt into a carriage and rushed away with him," came the voice of bangs, as jurgens led him into the front room; "but when i----" bangs likewise wore a false beard. he was pulling it off as he came into the room, but suddenly he stopped and stared. his eyes were on joe dashington. "well?" demanded jurgens curtly. "that--that chap is a dead ringer for motor matt!" gasped bangs, pointing to the youth. "a dead ringer for him?" echoed whistler. "why, bangs, he _is_ motor matt." "that's what i thought when you rushed away with him," continued bangs, "but you hadn't been gone three minutes when motor matt showed up on the levee and the officer tried to arrest him." jurgens and whistler seemed stupefied. they stared at each other, then at bangs, and then at the grinning face of dashington. "if i could see as much as two bones in this, gents," remarked the youth, "i'd be tickled out of my kicks. this motor matt must be a beaut if he looks like yours truly. what's in the letter? can't we use it some way and get a strangle hold on a basket of rocks? i've got a horrible financial stringency staring me in the face, and i'm ripe for anything." an idea, just then, laid hold of jurgens. "by george!" he exclaimed. "fate must have framed up this whole play for our especial benefit. get together, all of you, and listen to me! i've got a scheme, and it's a world beater." chapter iii. double-trouble. carl and dick, on the levee, gazed dumfounded at the points in the press of vehicles where the carriage had disappeared, and then faced the other way and peered at the chagrined policeman, the blackened and smoking cotton bale, and the loungers who were crowding about the officer. the roustabouts had all gone back to their work. "pinch me, vonce!" begged carl. "i bed you i vas ashleep, tick." "blow me tight!" murmured dick hazedly. "i feel as though i'd had a nightmare myself. i never thought it was in matt to act like that, even if he _was_ playing a part. i hate to think hard things about my old raggie, motor matt, but----" "don'd!" cut in carl. "vait und gif him a chance to oxblain. he vill come pack und tell us somet'ing----" "hello, there, you fellows! where have you been?" as this familiar voice rang out, carl and dick whirled in a panic. motor matt, in leather cap and jacket, trim and neat as ever, was hastening toward them across the levee. dick staggered and threw a hand to his head. carl, likewise, was at a loss for words. here was motor matt, running toward them across the levee, when, by rights, he should have been a good way off in a carriage, getting clear of a pot of trouble which he had set a-boiling. the policeman, catching sight of matt, rushed toward him, the crowd at his heels. that brought carl and dick to a full realization of what was going on. "we made a bobble!" cried dick. "yah, so helup me!" agreed carl; "der vorst popple vat iss. und dot bolicemans iss some more." the boys darted toward the officer and matt. "i've got you now, my lad," growled the officer, as the boys came up. "you can't fool me by getting into another outfit o' clothes. your face is a dead giveaway." matt looked his surprise. "you've made some mistake, officer," he answered. "what's wrong?" "oh, he don't know a thing!" cried one of the bystanders scoffingly. "he's fergot all about burnin' that 'ar cotton bale," said another. "a blame' quick change he made, anyhow," put in a third. "i don't understand you," said matt. "i just came from stuyvesant dock----" "d'you mean to say you wasn't here a few minutes ago, shufflin' around, smokin' a cigarette----" "i don't smoke cigarettes," broke in matt, "and i wasn't here a few minutes ago. i've been with the air ship, over on the dock, for the last hour." "ye was right here fer an hour," declared one of the loungers. "i seen ye." "i can easily disprove that," temporized matt. "go and talk with the watchman on the dock, officer. he will tell you that i have been with him for an hour." the policeman, as well as the others, was in a quandary. matt's whole manner was different from that of the youth whose cigarette had set fire to the cotton bale. his talk was different, too, and there was nothing "chesty" or insolent about him. "what's the trouble, pards?" asked matt, appealing to carl and dick. "i'm all at sea over this. when i got to stuyvesant dock, an hour ago, the watchman there told me that you boys had gone off somewhere on a hurry-up call. i waited for you to come back, and then, when i saw the smoke of the burning cotton bale, i started for here." "the trouble is deeper than i think any of us can fathom," muttered dick. "strike me lucky, mate, but there was a swab here who was the very picture of you--in the face, mind, for his get-up was altogether different. carl and i was fooled, for we were dead sure the other swab was you. that other fellow was smoking a cigarette, and that's what set fire to the bale." dick faced the policeman. "hands off of him, officer," said he. "this isn't the chap you want. he's motor matt--everybody up and down the river front has heard of motor matt and his chums, and of the air ship." "i'm dashed if i can savvy this," murmured the perplexed officer, "but i'm going to the stuyvesant dock with you and see if the watchman will set me right. he's a friend o' mine, the watchman is, and he'll give it to me straight." when matt, carl, dick, and the officer started for the stuyvesant dock, they left the crowd behind. "i went over town, just at the beginning of the forenoon," said matt, "and when i got back to the air ship the watchman said that a man had come there and asked for me. as i wasn't around, the watchman told me you and carl had answered the summons, dick. where did you go?" "the man who came was cassidy, townsend's mate on the _grampus_," answered dick. "he said townsend was out on prytania street, and he gave me the number of the house. cassidy said the business was important, so carl and i got on a street car and went to the place. townsend is sick a-bed----" "sick?" queried matt. "aye, and can't move. the trouble he had with jurgens and whistler was the cause of it, townsend thinks. but we couldn't do the business for you--it's you, and no one else, that townsend wants. he gave us a letter for you and wants you to call on him at midnight, to-night." "what for?" "he wouldn't tell us, but said he had explained that in the letter." "where's the letter?" there was a silence while the little group tramped over the planks in the direction of stuyvesant dock. "oh, dowse me," muttered dick. "i feel like thirty cents!" "i feel lesser as dot," chimed in carl. "what happened to the letter?" queried matt. "you see, matey," explained dick, very much crestfallen, "when carl and i saw that other fellow on the levee, we were sure he was you." "but he was dressed differently." "aye, aye, that's true enough, but we thought you were keeping tab on somebody and had put on those clothes in order to do it." matt laughed. "you fellows must be locoed!" he exclaimed. "what reason have i to go into the detective business?" "ve ditn't know dot," observed carl, "but ve vas sure dot odder feller vas you. anyvay, tick vistled ad him, laidt der ledder on der cotton bale, und ven der feller came for it, den, py shinks, his sigaroot sed der pale afire. aber he got der ledder, und some feller run avay mit him in a puggy. der boliceman hat tried to arresdt der feller, aber he slipped glear. ach, himmelblitzen, vat a pad pitzness!" "we didn't have a hap'orth o' sense," added dick gloomily. by then the little party was close to the air ship. the watchman was within hail, and a few words from him satisfied the policeman. "sorry i bothered you, motor matt," apologized the officer, "but you're a dead ringer for that other chap--which is more credit to him than it is to you. he's your double, all right, and i hope you get back your letter." the policeman went one way, the watchman another, and matt led his chums to one side, where they could have a little private talk by themselves. his face was grave as he asked them to begin at the beginning and give him all the facts, once more. the ground was thrashed over pretty thoroughly, matt putting questions from time to time that brought out even the apparently insignificant details. when the explanations were done a silence fell over the chums. dick was first to speak. "keelhaul me," he observed, in deep contrition, "neither carl nor i seem able to do a thing right when you're not around." "i'm not finding any fault with you, pards," returned matt. "even the officer was fooled, so it is quite natural that you should have made the mistake. give me that number on prytania street. i'd better hike right out there and have townsend tell me what was in the letter." "it would be a wrong move, mate." "how so?" "townsend said the matter was of the utmost importance----" "all the more reason why i should find out about it as soon as possible!" "but he insisted that you wasn't to come to him until midnight, to-night." "he don't know the letter has got into wrong hands." "sure he don't, but he's afraid the house where he is is being watched, and we were to tell you to come around the back way and knock at the rear door. i'm a fiji if i know what's up, but townsend was mighty particular that you shouldn't come until midnight." matt was thoughtful for a space. "they say that every one has a double," he remarked, with a half laugh, "and it begins to look as though my double had shown up. this double-trouble was something i never expected to run into, but it's come and we'll have to see it through. townsend didn't give you a hint as to what he wanted me for?" "never a hint," answered dick. "he was mighty close about it." "well," decided matt, "i'll be at that house in prytania street on the stroke of twelve, to-night. let's feel as easy as we can about that letter, and go and get some supper." chapter iv. tricked! "what time is it, cassidy?" "a little after eleven, cap'n." "nearly an hour, then, before motor matt gets here." "you told him not to come afore midnight, cap'n. i didn't say anything ag'in it, although it struck me as how that wasn't a very good time." "i know my business, perhaps, better than you do, cassidy." townsend was a very sick man, and fretful. apart from his illness he had other things to worry him. "aye, aye, cap'n," said cassidy easily, "you know your own business best." "was there a man across the street spying on the house when you looked last?" "i piped him off last when there was daylight enough to see. he was there, all right, just as he has been for the last two days." "he must be there now, don't you think?" "either him or somebody else. one man couldn't stay on the job all the time, cap'n, you know. a feller has to sleep an' eat." "by having motor matt come at night, and come the back way, the spy won't see him, will he?" "i reckon not, cap'n. even if matt came the front way, any time after eight o'clock, i don't think the spy could tell him from adam, across the street." "my mind's made up. there's a load on me that i've got to get rid of before i can be well." "that's what frets me, cap'n," returned cassidy earnestly. "you're just sick enough to make a whole lot more of that 'load' than you ought to. quit worryin' about it. that'll be better for the 'load' and for you, too." "does the landlady understand----" "i've told her to expect a friend of your'n by the back door, an' mrs. thomas is sittin' up herself just to let the friend in. she won't trust it to the servant girl." "i'll remember mrs. thomas for that! when i'm well again----" a bell rang sharply in front of the house. "what's that?" demanded townsend, starting up in his bed. "don't get nervous, cap'n," answered cassidy soothingly. "it's only the gate bell. some other visitor, i reckon." "i don't see why people have bells on their gates," worried townsend. "i never saw it any other place." a stir was heard in the regions below. presently there came the mellow tinkle of the doorbell, and the sound of an opening door and voices. a little later a knock on townsend's door carried cassidy to the entrance to the room. mrs. thomas was in the hall. "there must be some mistake," said the landlady in her soft southern drawl. "mr. townsend's friend came to the front do', and i reckon he didn't know anything about coming to the kitchen." "well, have him come up, mrs. thomas," called townsend. "i don't seem able to have anything as i want it. matt not only comes to the front door, but he comes nearly an hour ahead of time. i'll see him, though. he's a sharp boy, and if he's read my letter he'll know what i expect of him." the landlady went away. "i want to talk with matt alone, cassidy," continued townsend. "i know that, cap'n," replied the mate, "and just as soon as matt gets in i'll slide out and leave you to yourselves." another rap fell on the door. cassidy went to it and admitted joe dashington, still in his old slouch hat, sweater and corduroys. "great guns, motor matt!" exclaimed cassidy, "i'd hardly have known you in that get-up." "matt!" exclaimed townsend querulously, lifting himself on one elbow and staring at the caller. "is that you, matt?" "i guess i do look a reub, eh?" laughed dashington. "well, i thought i'd be foxy and get on a disguise. hope you're feeling better, mr. townsend?" "you can go now," said townsend, falling back on his pillow. the mate gave the caller a sharp sizing out of the clew of his eyes and then went out, closing the door softly behind him. "pull a chair up close to the bed, matt," went on townsend. "i guess i'm getting better--the doctor says so--but i'll know that as soon as these diamonds are off my hands. i'm worried to death about them, as some one has been watching this house for two days. why didn't you come the back way, as i told carl and dick to tell you? and why didn't you wait until midnight?" "well," answered dashington, seating himself by the bed, "the cars don't run so i could get here at just midnight, old fel. i either had to come now, or get here at half-past twelve. thought i'd take an earlier chance. as for coming the back way, i tried it; but there's no alley and there's a dog in the next yard. i think this rig i've put on'll fool anybody across the street, eh? and then the talk that goes with it is some fine, don't you think? i'm a regular lollypaloozer with the 'con' talk." "you're about the most resourceful young fellow i've ever come across," said townsend, "and i knew you'd see that everything was all right." "sure, old fel. i'm no hand to jolly, but i give you credit for being a pretty slick piece of goods yourself. but, say! don't you think we'd better rush this business? ef there's a man piping the house off, the quicker we finish and i duck, the better." "keen as ever, my boy!" exclaimed townsend, in a tone of relief. "reach your hand under my pillow and take out what you find there." it was an eager hand that went under the pillow and drew out a canvas bag. "those are the diamonds, matt," said townsend. "i don't have to tell you anything about them. the address of the lady to whom they are to go is on the card pinned to the bag." "is she looking for me to come?" inquired dashington. "this isn't exactly a fashionable hour for a call." "we'll have to overlook that point, matt. the lady will come to the door, and all you will have to say is that the package is a valuable one and comes from the man from cape town. she will understand, although i haven't been able to see her, or to send her word." "bank on me, old fel," answered dashington, hardly able to conceal the exultation he felt. "get a receipt from the lady, matt." "sure. i always get a receipt when i deliver a valuable package." "and bring the receipt to me here, to-morrow." "that's me. anything else, townsend?" "nothing, matt, except to say that you're the only person i'd trust to deliver those diamonds. why, i wouldn't even let cassidy do the errand! i was to deliver the stones personally, but it would be some time before i could do that and i can't stand it any longer to have such valuable property around me." "i'm next to how you feel, all right, and i don't blame you." "of course i could have sent cassidy to the lady and have had her come here, but that fellow across the street might have seen her come, and if he's connected with the people i think, then it's a dangerous gang who are laying to get hold of those stones." dashington pushed the bag under his sweater and got up. "how much do you think these diamonds are worth?" he asked. "a fortune, a king's ransom!" "gee! there must be a double handful of the sparks in the bag. well, old fel, i'll be going. hope you'll get well in short order." "i know i will, now," answered townsend, with a deep sigh of satisfaction. "i'll see you to-morrow, matt?" "sure. good night." dashington left the room and, as cassidy came back, the front door was heard to open and close. "i never thought matt king could get himself up to look like that, cap'n," remarked the mate, as he took the chair by townsend's bed. "he's a clever boy," averred townsend, "and as steady and reliable as a clock." "he's about as different from what he usually is as any one could imagine," pursued cassidy. "the way he acts and talks are both different. you're right, he's clever." "i don't mind telling you now, cassidy, something i've been keeping from you," said townsend, after a brief pause. "you remember that iron chest that was hidden away in an island in the bahamas, and how a fellow calling himself the man from cape town gave me a chart and asked me to go after the chest, bring it to new orleans and open it in the presence of a lady who lives in st. charles avenue?" "i know that by heart, cap'n," answered cassidy. "the lady who lives in st. charles avenue is the daughter of the man from cape town, and you was to open the chest in her presence and divide the contents. don't talk about it. it's late, and you're tired and ought to go to sleep." "i'm not done, yet," demurred townsend. "you know how jurgens and whistler stole my submarine, the _grampus_, from atlantic city, got the iron chest, and how motor matt and his friends, in their air ship, recaptured the submarine and found the iron chest aboard?" "i was mixed up in that myself, so i don't reckon i'll ever forget it." "and then, when we came on here in the submarine, you know how the chest was stolen by jurgens, whistler, and bangs; how motor matt recovered it; how dick and carl let it slip through their hands; how it was opened and found to contain the head of an african voodoo idol; how the head was smashed and found to be full of south african diamonds; how i did the worst thing i ever did in my life and let whistler, jurgens, and bangs go clear when i could have had them sent to jail; and, lastly, you know how suddenly this illness came upon me and prevented me from taking the diamonds to the lady in st. charles avenue, as i had planned."[a] [a] see no. of the motor stories, "motor matt's queer find; or, the secret of the iron chest." "yes, cap'n," said the mate, "i know all that." "well, here's something you don't know, cassidy. i have had those diamonds with me, here under my pillow, all the time i've been sick." "great guns!" "and," finished townsend exultantly, "i have just given them to motor matt to deliver to the woman. when i am well, i will go to her and get my share of them, as well as the share that is coming to motor matt and his friends." cassidy was amazed. before he could speak, however, another rap fell on the door--a nervous and excited summons, as could be told by the sound, alone. "what now, i wonder?" fretted the sick man. cassidy opened the door and found mrs. thomas. "oh, mr. cassidy," cried the landlady, "some one has just come to the back door and he says he is motor matt--a nice-looking, well-dressed young fellow who----" "what?" cried townsend hoarsely, trying to get out of bed. "softly, cap'n, softly!" warned cassidy, leaping to the bed and pushing townsend back. "mebby there's nothing wrong. anyhow, your cue is to take it easy. tell this other motor matt to come right up, mrs. thomas," he added. chapter v. motor matt's promise. townsend had a bad two minutes waiting for mrs. thomas to get downstairs and for matt to come up. finally, when the young motorist entered the room, he was astounded by what he saw. cassidy was half holding, half supporting townsend on the bed, and townsend, his face like chalk and his eyes staring glassily, was gazing at the newcomer. "what's the matter?" queried matt. "what's wrong, cassidy?" cassidy shook his head. before he could answer, townsend burst out: "were you here a few minutes ago, matt? did you have on other clothes, and did i give you the diamonds? for heaven's sake, tell me!" "easy, cap'n," warned cassidy. "no," replied matt, instantly divining that something had happened to the diamonds. "i was told not to come until midnight, but i was anxious, and even now i am ahead of time. why?" he approached the bed hurriedly, but townsend had sunk limply back, with a hollow groan. "there was a fellow here who looked like you in the face, matt, and who said he was you. townsend gave him the bag of diamonds," said cassidy. motor matt reeled backward. he could think of but two men, at that moment, and they were jurgens and whistler. and he blamed himself. he should not have listened to carl and dick, but should have posted at once to prytania street and told townsend how the letter had been delivered to some one else through a mistake. "couldn't you tell that the fellow wasn't me, cassidy?" matt demanded. "you had a close look at him. he may have _looked_ like me, but did he act, or talk, as i do? great spark plugs! in a case like that you ought to have been more than sure." "i didn't know the cap'n was going to hand the diamonds over," returned cassidy. "the cap'n only just told me. i had my suspicions, but i couldn't just see how the fellow would be here, accordin' to instructions, if he wasn't you. and he sure looked like you, although his talk and his actions were a trifle off. oh, thunder, what a go!" "how was he dressed?" demanded matt. "quick--tell me as much as you can about him." "slouch hat, gray sweater, dark corduroy trousers; slangy, devil-may-care sort of chap. not you, in that way, by a jugful." "and he left here----" "twenty minutes ago." matt whirled and dashed from the room. at the foot of the stairs he found the excited landlady. "have you a telephone in the house?" he asked. "this way," answered mrs. thomas, appreciating the fact that something important was urging matt on and that it was a time for action and not words. the telephone was in the rear hall and matt had soon rung up the police department, given a description of the youth, and of jurgens, whistler, and bangs, and told as much of what had happened as it was necessary for the officers to know in order to make a quick and effective search. in a few minutes he was back in townsend's room. "the police," said matt, "will get right to work; and as soon as i am through talking here i will get to work myself. don't be discouraged, mr. townsend. that young fellow may have got the diamonds, but he'll find it hard to get away with them." "i don't know," murmured townsend, tossing his hands, "but it seems to me as though everything connected with that man from cape town and his iron chest is fated to make me trouble. jurgens and whistler must be back of this!" "undoubtedly." "but how did they know i was going to send the diamonds to the woman in st. charles avenue to-night? where did they get hold of a young fellow who looks so astonishingly like you to help them in their villainous schemes?" "i can tell you something about that, in a minute. what did that fellow say when he came here?" "he came in at the front gate, a little after eleven, and he said he had disguised himself so that he could escape the vigilance of possible spies. he also said that he had come early, as the cars did not run, at this time of night, so he could get here at sharp twelve. oh, he had a clever story! i'll warrant you that jurgens fixed that part of it for him." "you wanted me to take the diamonds to the daughter of the man from cape town?" asked matt. "why, didn't you know that?" demanded townsend. "didn't you read my letter?" "there's the point, townsend. i did not see your letter. if i had known what you wanted me to do, i should have come here early in the evening. but i didn't. all i knew was that the work was important." "but the letter, matt, the letter! i told everything in that. i did not care to trust the information with carl or dick, or even with cassidy. this house has been watched for two days by some fellow who was skulking on the other side of the street. i was afraid--the whole thing had got on my nerves. the worst thing i ever did," townsend added in bitter self-reproach, "was to let jurgens, whistler, and bangs go when i had them where the law could take care of them." "this young fellow, who appears to be my double and who has turned up so unfortunately in new orleans," said matt, "looks so much like me that he deceived even carl and dick. while they were on the way back to the dock, with your letter, they saw the fellow, and gave the letter to him." townsend groaned despairingly. "never again," said he, "will i put such important matters in black and white. but i thought i could trust carl and dick to deliver the letter safely to you." "you can hardly blame them for making the mistake, townsend," went on matt, "when even you and cassidy were fooled." "it's the most astonishing thing i ever heard of!" muttered townsend. "how two young fellows could look so much alike, and how your double should happen around at just the right time to play havoc with my carefully worked-out plan. but it's fate. there's something about those diamonds that brings ill luck. it seems to have been destined, from the start, that they were never to be delivered to this new orleans woman." "no matter what happens, townsend," said matt, "your conscience is clear. the iron chest has caused you expense, time and trouble, and you have tried faithfully to do what this mysterious man from cape town asked of you. don't take it so hard." "i am culpable," declared townsend, "in that i did not put jurgens and whistler where they could never trouble me again, that time i had it in my power. i am in duty bound to get back those stones. i can't let those scoundrels get away with them." "leave it to the police, cap'n," spoke up cassidy. "you're a sick man, and that's all you can do. leave it to the police, and the chances are that they will capture the gang, for the trail is hot; but, if they don't capture jurgens, whistler, and that young grafter and recover the diamonds, it's just as matt says; you haven't any cause to feel cut up over it." "but i _will_ feel cut up over it," insisted townsend, with all the distorted reasoning of a sick man. "matt, i want you to promise me something. if you'll give the promise, i'll feel fairly contented and will abide the result with patience. your promise, my boy, will help me to get well." "what is it?" asked matt. "i don't remember that you ever failed in anything you have undertaken--and i've got the most of your history ever since you left arizona. what i want you to promise is this, that you'll keep after jurgens, whistler and that double of yours _until you recover the diamonds_." "but----" "the police won't be able to do it--i'm as sure of that as i am that i am lying here in this bed this minute. while everything connected with that iron chest and its contents seemed to condemn me to a run of hard luck, it has always been you and your good fortune that stepped in, at the last minute, and saved the day. i am positive that you can save the day now. there is that obeah woman, the voodoo priestess who aided you so strangely and so well the other time. go to her. she is a friend of yours. ask her to help you." "i don't think----" "you must promise me, matt!" insisted townsend vehemently. "i tell you i am to blame for the loss of the diamonds, for i should have had jurgens, whistler, and bangs sent to jail when it was in my power to do so. will you promise?" cassidy gave matt a significant look. it asked matt, for the sake of townsend's comfort and health, to agree to a task whose accomplishment would be difficult and perhaps impossible. "very well," said matt, quietly stepping to the bedside and taking townsend's hand in a firm pressure, "i promise." "that you will keep after the thieves until you finally recover the diamonds?" "yes." "then i shall rest content," said townsend. "your good luck, i know, will go with you. go and find the voodoo woman. give me some medicine, cassidy, for i'm about played out." townsend sank back on his pillow and closed his eyes. matt looked at him, at the haggard, careworn expression on his face, at the gray hair sweeping his temples, and, for the first time, realized what the difficulties and perils connected with that mysterious iron chest had meant to archibald townsend. as he turned softly away and moved toward the door, his heart was steeled with resolution to do his utmost--_and to win_! he nodded to cassidy, softly opened the door, and left the room. chapter vi. dashington dashed. joe dashington was in fine feather as he left the house with the bag of diamonds. a combination of circumstances had enabled him to make a rich haul, and to make it with an ease and celerity that surprised him. he half expected that some one would overhaul him and stop him before he got out of the house, but in this he was happily disappointed. reaching the sidewalk, he passed through the gate and was confronted by whistler. dashington had been told, whether successful or not in getting the diamonds, to walk to the first cross street south, where he would find jurgens, whistler, and bangs waiting for him. but the three men feared dashington might, if he managed to secure the diamonds, go north instead of south, with the intention of keeping the "sparks" for himself. for this reason, whistler was sent to meet him as he came out of the yard. "did you get 'em?" whispered whistler. "did i?" exulted dashington; "well, did i not! oh, it was a hot touch, but i got away with it with ground to spare. i'm the fly boy, whistler, and none of your common dubs. but let's wabble right along. the sick indian has got a hefty gazabu for a right bower, and if the right bower was played on us there'd be doings and we might get queered." "hand me the bag, dash," said whistler, as they hurried southward along the walk. "don't shove," answered dashington. "it's tucked away in my kimono and i'm so busy with the getaway i don't want to cough up until we're with the rest of the push. honest, though, i'm no understudy for a low card, am i?" "you're the goods, dash, and no mistake. don't drop that bag out of your sweater while we're hurrying." "nay, frances, i couldn't be so absent-minded. when i get my hooks onto a good thing i'm worse than the terrible turk with a strangle hold." "what did townsend say?" "he wanted me to come in at the rear; said some one had been piping off the house from across the street. who was that?" whistler chuckled. "sometimes bangs," he answered, "and sometimes a fellow bangs got to spell him." "then, bangs and the other must have spelled it like a couple of farmers. townsend was wise." "motor matt hadn't been there?" "not so you could notice." "that was the point that worried me. if he had had an idea what that letter contained, or that jurgens and i were mixed up with it, he'd have been with townsend hours ago, and the whole game would have been queered." "and your uncle joe pinched. that gives me a good, swift notion that i've taken some chances and ought to have a pretty square look-in on the divvy. how much do i pull down?" "you'll pull down a-plenty, dash." "put it in cold figures. you see, i don't like these glittering generalities." "we can't any of us tell how much we get till we see how much there is." "it ought to be ten thou, at least. townsend said there were enough sparks in the bag to make tiffany's exhibit look like a piker. ten thou will buy me an interest in a racing stable, and i'm dippy about the ponies. it's an even-money break that----" "stow it! here we are at the car." at that moment, whistler and dashington came out on the cross street. an automobile was drawn up at the curb, and two men could be seen, one on the front seat and one in the tonneau. the man behind proved to be bangs, and the man at the wheel was jurgens. both were in their shirt sleeves, and bangs' coat was lying over the side of the car. "oh, ho!" gurgled dashington, "so it's a benzine buggy for ours, eh? it's a fancy pass and ought to snatch us away before the police get busy." "how did you make out, dashington?" asked jurgens, in his anxiety getting up and leaning over the side of the car. "easy money," answered the youth. "i had my brace right with me, and the way i took that high jump calls for a hand." "you got the diamonds?" "ain't i telling you?" "take them, whistler. then both of you pile in and we'll be going--and we'll have to go hard and fast, at that." dashington dug the bag out from under his sweater. "you're all jerry to this," said he, as he reached out the bag to whistler, "that i come in for a big bunch of the dazzlers, and that----" "there's one of your dazzlers, my gay buck!" whistler, taking the bag in his left hand, struck out with his right. dashington, the breath jolted out of him, staggered back. "and there's another!" whistler struck again with all his savage strength. this time dashington dropped silently to his knees and fell on his back, with his head over the curb. "i reckon that will do him," laughed jurgens. "jump in, whistler. we'll be out of town before he gets back his wits, and it's dollars to dimes he won't say a word to the police." whistler laughed grimly as he pulled the crank and then sprang into the automobile. in another moment the machine had chugged away. perhaps it was five minutes before dashington groaned, opened his eyes and sat up. the stillness of the night was all around him. "blanked!" he muttered, lifting both hands to his aching head. "they knocked me a twister and got away on the high speed. oh, what a frost! it's a hot night, but i'm a dub if i haven't got chilblains. yes, little one, you played the game like a farmer--the genuine, blown-in-the-bottle easy mark. dashed again. i ought to be used to the double-cross by now, it's been dumped onto me so many times. ouch, my head! i'd like to pull off the block and play football with it--that's about all it's good for." dashington got up and leaned against a china ball tree. "feel like i'd been smoking some new brand of dope," he went on, waiting for the darkened landscape to stop whirling and stay where it belonged. "this game of graft don't pay," he went on moodily. "i'm always the monk that pulls the hot nuts out of the fire for some other strong-arm guy, and i'm getting weary on the job. what funny noises a fellow hears after a jolt like that!" still leaning against the tree, dashington began rubbing his head. "why not cut out the crooked work and be decent?" he mumbled thoughtfully. "i've trotted heats with dips, second-story men, and sand-bag experts, and every last one of 'em has blanked me when it came to the showdown. why not break away from the swift game and take a job at five per, with three honest square meals and a place to bunk? when you turn the x-rays on this grafting game, there's nothing in it." he left the tree and stepped from the curb to pick up a dark object on the ground. he thought it was his hat, but it turned out to be a coat. "am i daffy," he murmured, "or is this the coat i saw swinging over the side of the chug-chug wagon? it's the sack that belongs to neighbor bangs, and if there's a hundred or so in the pockets, i'm the boy to put it where it will do the most good." picking up his hat, which lay a little distance from where the coat had dropped, he hurried off toward the nearest street lamp. then, with deft fingers, he began searching the coat pockets. he found some cigars and a memorandum book; also a short-barreled, loaded revolver. but there was no money. "that's the way luck handles me," he muttered angrily, casting the coat aside. "cigars never did agree with me, and i've got as much use for the gun as i have for the notebook. but, say! maybe i can leave the pepper box with some gent at the sign of the three balls." he dropped the revolver into his pocket; then, quite casually, he opened the memorandum book and began turning the leaves. the street light was wavering and none too good, but he drew closer to it and ran his eyes over the pages. then, suddenly, he chanced upon something that caused him to draw in a long breath. "oh, sister!" he exclaimed, drumming his knuckles delightedly against his forehead. "if here ain't a chance to even up with that sure-thing crowd, i'm a geezer. if i can't go with them and take my share of the loot, i can go against them and help separate them from the lot of it. 'bayou yamousa!' that ought to be easily found. bayou yamousa for mine, and i'm on the level from this on. that's straight, and no stringin'. bangs will throw a fit when he finds out he's lost his coat, but it's a lead pipe he won't come back for it." then, as dashington dropped the memorandum book into his pocket, he had another thought. the police! for what he had done that night, even though he had failed to benefit by it, there was a chance of his getting caught and "doing time." how long would it be before motor matt reached the house in prytania street? and how long after that before the law would be called in to do what it could toward overhauling the thieves and recovering the diamonds? "if i stand to win in this little game of one call three," he muttered, "i've got to duck good and hard. if i'm pinched now, it means an easy getaway for jurgens, whistler, and bangs. but i'm not going to be run in. i guess i'm keen enough to dodge the law while hunting for bayou yamousa and giving those pinheads a taste of their own dope. me for the tall and uncut--and here goes." dashington took a swift look around. there were as yet no signs of threatening peril, but he knew danger was close on him for all that. the river lay at one end of the street, and as soon as he had got his bearings he made for it. chapter vii. a hard starter. hunting four thieves as shrewd as were jurgens, whistler, bangs, and the young fellow who had helped them, looked like a tremendous order to motor matt. and recovering the diamonds made the prospect seem even more discouraging. matt, however, was on his mettle. he had given his promise, perhaps rashly, to townsend, and townsend, as well as every one else, knew that motor matt's word was as good as his bond. _he had promised to recover the diamonds!_ townsend's mention of the obeah woman had had not a little to do with the promise. the woman's name was yamousa, and she lived in a hut near a bayou of the same name. matt knew the place well, for he and his chums had stopped there, a few days before, had been of some service to yamousa, and had been repaid by her in a way that had caused, and was still causing, them any amount of wonder. the voodoo priestess apparently possessed powers of divination that were inexplicable. her arts may have been wholly trickery, but, if so, a wonderful chain of coincidences had lent a cast of truth to her magic. matt had no belief in the supernatural, and his common sense was constantly struggling against the results of yamousa's occult powers, as he and his friends had witnessed them. as a last resort, it might be possible to consult yamousa with some show of success in this matter of the stolen gems. this, at least, was what matt had in mind when he left townsend. the authorities, knowing the ins and outs of the crescent city so well, could do infinitely more in the town than could matt and his friends. without loss of time, matt returned to the small hotel near stuyvesant dock, where he, dick, and carl had taken up their quarters. dick and carl were in their room, dressed and waiting to hear what matt had to say. quickly as he could, the young motorist set forth the amazing events of the night. the sailor and the dutch boy were greatly wrought up. "carl and i are loaded to the marks with all the blame," scowled dick. "ve made some popples," wailed carl, "und dey vas vat dit der pitzness." "what's the use of doubles, anyhow?" went on dick. "vyefer do two people look so mooch alike in dis vorlt?" added carl. "i vonder oof i haf a touple? oof i haf, he must be a bicture, aber i hope he don'd shove indo anyt'ing vat habbens mit me." "you boys made only a natural mistake," said matt. "that levee policeman was fooled, cassidy was deceived, and so was townsend. how can you blame yourselves when every one else took this double of mine just as you did?" "you've got a way, mate," observed dick gratefully, "of tacking about and trimming your sails to any breeze that blows in order to make things easier for your friends; but carl and i know that we're responsible for the whole blessed business." "well, if you're bound to have it so, let it go at that. i've promised townsend to hunt the thieves until i recover the diamonds. that means the work of our lives, for it's a promise i intend to live up to." "py shinks," cried carl, "you can gount on me to do all vat i can to helup." "aye, old ship," said dick, "and me. just show us where to begin and we'll tear into the work like a couple of navvies. it's the best we can do to square ourselves." "led us dry und be as jeerful as ve can," suggested carl. "dot iss pedder dan to be gloomed oop so mooch, hey?" "you've raised the point that bothers me, dick," said matt, "and that is, where to begin. the police are already at work in new orleans, but i haven't any idea that they'll be successful. we're dealing with clever men, and mustn't forget that for a minute. ever since the diamonds were found, jurgens and whistler seem to have been watching townsend. they had a spy across the street keeping an eye on the house where he is lying ill." "townsend missed it by not having that outfit jugged when he was able. if every man jack of them had been sent to the brig, we wouldn't be up against this proposition now." "no use crying over spilt milk," returned matt. "townsend realizes that he failed to do what he should have done, and it's that that worries him now. we'll take things as we find them and forge ahead. there's one point we can look up, although it isn't very promising." "name it, mate." "my double was taken from the levee in a carriage. it may have been one of jurgens' gang who helped him out of his trouble." "the fellow didn't look like any of the gang." "there may be some new members we don't know anything about. if we can find the man who drove the carriage, we could discover where he took that young fellow." "what good would that do? jurgens and his outfit wouldn't come back to that place. i'll lay a sov the lot of them tripped anchor and bore away the minute the stones came into their hands." "that's my idea, dick. i told you the clue wasn't very promising, but it appears to be the only one we have. townsend, however, suggested something which had also occurred to me." "vat it iss?" queried carl. "i don'd vas mooch oof a handt to dig oop clues, aber i bed you i can tell a goot clue ven i come face to face mit it. shpeak it oudt, matt." "why not bear away in the air ship to bayou yamousa?" carl began to shiver. "nod dere! ach, py shinks, don'd have somet'ing to do mit dot olt shpook laty again." carl's superstitious fears did not weigh very heavily with matt and dick. the latter slapped his hands. "first chop!" he cried. "it's the last shot in the locker, and who knows but that it may be just the thing for us to do? i'm for beginning the trip to bayou yamousa now. it's a still night, mates, and we could get the _hawk_ off the dock without any trouble. she's ripe and ready for the flight of her life!" "it's a still night, that's true, dick," answered matt, "but you forget that we have got to have daylight for finding the bayou. we can't locate it in the dark." "but we're losing time," grumbled dick, "and we haven't any to throw at the birds." "the more haste, the less speed," counseled matt. "better to go slow and be sure of what we're doing, dick, than to run wild and get tangled up in our bearings. we'd probably lose more time in the end if we did that." "but jurgens and his gang are getting farther and farther away all the time." "they'll go into hiding somewhere, if i'm any prophet, until the affair blows over a little. if yamousa can tell us where they are----" "don'd try dot," put in carl earnestly. "she vill vork a hogus-pogus und meppy ged all oof us indo drouple." "we're going to pay yamousa a visit, carl," said matt firmly. "there's nothing else we can do. the police will be able to handle this end of the work much better than we could. go to bed, both of you. i'm going over to police headquarters and tell the chief about the carriage that took the man and the young fellow away from the levee. as soon as i do that, i'll come back and pull covers myself. in the morning we'll have breakfast, and then we'll make a start for the bayou." as usual, matt's ideas prevailed. dick and carl went to bed, matt had a talk with the city authorities and gave as much further information as he thought would help them, and then returned to the hotel and turned in. by seven in the morning they were up and eating their breakfast. breakfast over, matt sent carl to the post office for any mail that might be there--he was constantly receiving letters from various parts of the country relative to the _hawk_--and he and dick started for stuyvesant dock to make ready for the flight south and east. on the way to the dock, matt bought a morning paper. there was a brief and garbled account of the robbery, but it had little interest for the boys, although they had bought the paper in order to see what it had to say about the diamonds. but there was a paragraph of overwhelming interest to the lads tucked away in one corner of the first page. matt's eye caught the paragraph casually, then he gasped and his consternation grew, as he read: "noted voodoo woman dead. "from chef menteur, in the parish of orleans, comes news of the death of a famous character in those parts known as yamousa, priestess of the voodoos. years ago she lived in new orleans, numbering her followers by hundreds, but was driven away by the police and found refuge on bayou yamousa. those with any faith in the black arts credited the aged negress with being an adept in her particular line, but others with more common sense and less superstition considered her a grafter of remarkable ability. her death, it is supposed, was the result of natural causes." here was a blow, and no mistake. matt, greatly dejected, read the paragraph to dick. "keelhaul me!" exclaimed dick. "we're up in the air now for fair. your luck seems to have taken a turn for the worse, matt. what are we going to do? the last prop has been knocked out from under us." the boys reached the dock and seated themselves moodily on a cotton bale not far from the _hawk_. matt had not the remotest idea what they were to do. yamousa had been their last hope, and a strange fatality had suddenly snatched it away from them. "the outlook is getting more and more dubious," said matt. "yamousa might not have been able to help us, but there was a chance that she could. now the chance, slim enough at best, is gone. it's a lucky thing, though, that i bought the paper and found that notice. if i hadn't, we might have been wasting time, off in the southeast. if----" "ledders! ledders. dree oof dem!" carl, at that moment, came ambling across the dock, dodging the boxes and bales and hurrying toward matt and dick. as he approached he held up the three letters he had secured at the post office. they were all for motor matt, two of them having been forwarded from atlantic city. one was from an amusement manager in chicago, offering a fancy figure to the boys to take the _hawk_ to the great lakes for exhibition purposes; another was from an enthusiastic member of the aëro club of america asking the boys their price for the air ship; but the third letter--that was the one that caused them to sit up and take notice. it ran as follows: "from what i've heard of you, you're a one-two-seven boy and all to the good. how'd you like to get your lunch hooks on that bag of sparks? you can pull it off, if you get busy, and the undersigned will help. all you need is nerve and ginger. i can furnish my share. you've got an air ship. well, hit the clouds and fly to me. i'll put you wise. meet me at bayou yamousa, wherever that is, and come in a hurry. i'm going there now and i've got the start of you by some hours. this is a hot starter, and no 'con.' "a dub who ought to have known better." chapter viii. a bullet from below. the boys were stunned. could it be possible that this was a "straight tip," and not a hoax? the letter was written on a scrap of paper taken from a notebook; and the envelope in which it was inclosed had been used twice. the first time it had been addressed to "hubert bangs, general delivery, new orleans, la." the "hubert bangs" had been scratched off with a lead pencil and motor matt's name written in its place. the ragged end of the envelope had been folded over and secured with a pin. "a drick!" muttered carl. "dot feller pangs iss vone oof jurgens' gang." "strike me lucky," put in dick, "but that's the sizing i give it, matt." "you're wrong," averred matt. "if a trick was intended, bangs would never have used an old envelope bearing his name. be sure of that. even if a trick _was_ intended, it would be a ruse to get us into the vicinity of the gang of thieves. the gang wouldn't do that, being too anxious, just now, to keep out of sight. but, supposing that was jurgens' game, wouldn't it be a good thing for us to come close to the thieves? they have the diamonds, and they are what we want." "right-o!" exclaimed dick. "hoax or no, our move is to slant away for bayou yamousa, where we intended to go in the first place. we'll not find yamousa there, but luck of another kind may be waiting for us." "vy von't ve findt yamousa?" inquired carl, his face brightening a little. dick showed him the paragraph in the paper and carl spelled it out, his face continuing to clear as he read. "i don'd vish der olt foodoo voman any hardt luck," breathed carl, "aber i vas gladder she ain'd dere as dot she vas. it vill be pedder for us. are ve going to hit der air route?" "just as quick as we can," answered matt briskly, hurrying to the car. there was no wind to speak of, but it required manoeuvring to guide the _hawk_ out from under the high roof and to the edge of the dock. the boys, after stowing the mooring ropes by which they had hauled the air ship into the open, got aboard the car and matt started the engine. a moment later the propeller took the push, and the _hawk_ glided up her airy path until she swung high over the city of new orleans. people below could be seen running about and looking and pointing upward. "we're causing quite a stir, mates," remarked dick. "we'd cause more of a stir, though, if those people down there knew what we had in our noodles." carl ran out the american flag to the rear end of the air ship, and waved his cap. a cheer arose, weirdly distinct and inspiring. "i feel in my pones," said carl, "dot somet'ing iss going to habben. it's der olt hunch come pack. i hafen't felt dot for some leedle time. aber i'd like to know," the dutch boy added, as he floundered back to his post forward, "who it vas sent dot ledder." "one of the gang may have weakened, or have been left out in the division of the booty," said matt, laying his course calmly, and feeling very much at home and contented, now that he was running his beloved motor again. "the house in prytania street, you know, was watched night and day. it was spied upon yesterday afternoon and night while jurgens, whistler, and bangs must have been laying their plans. it's my idea that there is another member of the gang, and perhaps it is this fourth man who wrote the letter." "one guess is as good as another, mate," replied dick. "we'll know who the fellow is, maybe, when we get to the bayou." "und meppy nod," said carl. "meppy dose fellers haf a drap all sed for us, und dot ve vill trop indo it und mix oop mit all kindts oof oxcidement." "that's right, carl," growled dick. "you're the original wet blanket. why don't you square away and look on the bright side? the job that's set for us is hard enough without any of your croaking." "i don'd vas croaking!" protested carl. "i look on der plack site, und den, ven der pright site shows oop ve like him pedder pecause ve don't oxbect it. i am jeerful all der dime. ask matt aboudt dot." "carl's intentions are good, dick," said matt. "you must give him credit for that. we both know the prospect ahead of us isn't any too pleasing. we're going it blind and trusting to luck. the more i think about that letter, however, the more confidence i have in the good intentions of the writer. whistler, you know, used to work on a plantation near bayou yamousa. it's easy to suppose that he has a knowledge of the country in that section, and that knowledge will stand the gang in hand, now that they're looking for a place to lay low." "that's a fact," agreed dick. "we'll get alongside those duffing beach combers, and then it will be up to us to lay them aboard and grab the diamonds. we'll do it," he added stoutly. "motor matt's along, and motor matt's luck is with us." light as the bird after which she was named, the _hawk_ skimmed through the sunlit air, five hundred feet above the "father of waters." boats below, bound for new orleans or outward to the gulf, were passed, many a glass being trained on the air ship and its passengers. matt and his chums had gone over this route once before, and now, while they were taking the back track, they remembered the landmarks and guided the _hawk_ accordingly. after two hours of sailing over the river, dick sighted their turning point and gave the order for an easterly course. the _hawk_ swung around, answering the steering rudder easily. the motor worked perfectly, and the air ship swerved and shifted with the slightest touch on the guiding lever. "and that swab who belongs to the aëro club wants to buy the _hawk_!" scoffed dick. "we'll never sell her, matt. if it's money we want, we can make more with the air ship than we could in any other line of business. besides, who'd change this air flying for anything else under heaven? i'd flog the cat all the days of my life if we were ever foolish enough to let go of this craft." "i'll go on record in the same way, dick," said matt. "me, too," chanted carl. "vile ve haf der _hawk_ ve can be vay oop in g, all der time. yah, you bed my life, i like dis pedder as anyt'ing." that flight was the very poetry of the lads' air-ship experience. fate was lowering over the _hawk_--destruction was skulking just ahead in the heavy timber below--and motor matt and his chums were to look back on that flight to bayou yamousa as their last. mile after mile of tree tops sped rearward under the car. the boys knew that they were drawing close to the bayou, and carl and dick were attending strictly to their work as lookouts. "i t'ink i see der rifer vat der bayou iss on," announced carl suddenly, pointing ahead and a little to the left. "vat you t'ink, tick? vas i righdt?" "come down a little, matt," called dick; "i think i'm beginning to recognize this country, and that carl has called the turn." matt tilted the rudder and the _hawk_ swooped downward. before matt brought the air ship to a level, they were less than twenty feet above the tops of the tallest trees. "two points to port, mate," shouted dick. "there," he added, "hold her so. very well done. we're coming to the bayou, cap'n and----" dick's words were bitten short by a sharp, incisive note from below. this was followed instantly by a smashing sound, a spiteful _slap_, and a wild hissing. cries of alarm came from dick and carl. the motor stopped with an impotent gurgle, the propeller slowed down, and the _hawk_ began to pitch forward and backward and to swerve sideways dangerously. "some one shot at us!" yelled dick excitedly. "the bullet came from among the trees, down there!" "py shinks," roared carl, in a panic, "ve're done for. ged her down on der groundt, matt! be as kevick as vat you can! ach, himmeblitzen, i bed you ve vas all goners." "steady, pards!" came the calm, unruffled voice of motor matt. "hang on! don't jump or let yourselves be thrown out. there's plenty of gas in the bag yet and it may be i can find a landing. do you see an opening anywhere among the trees, dick? look sharp and speak quick!" "i can't see the first sign of a clearing," dick answered. just then the _hawk_ went into the wildest contortions. she seemed like a living thing, wounded to the death and plunging about in fierce agony. first the car would be tilted until it was almost perpendicular in the air; then it would swerve to the same position, with the other end of the car downward; and, all the time it was leaping upward and downward in this hair-raising way, it was jerking violently right and left. it was impossible for the boys to do anything more than to hang on for their lives. occasionally they were swinging out of the car, above the tree tops, and again they would be hurled fiercely against the iron framework. matt, in this desperate plight, continued to keep his head. he knew that the bullet fired from below had struck and damaged the motor, and had then passed on through the gas bag. the gas was pouring out, but matt was hoping that enough buoyancy would remain to give them a safe landing on the surface, even if it must be a rough one. in this he was disappointed. suddenly there came a tearing sound from the bag, and all in the car knew that the bullet hole had widened into a rent under pressure of the gas. then, like so much lead, the doomed air ship swooped downward and crashed into the top of a tree. chapter ix. the wreck. for a moment, after the crash, motor matt was stunned and bewildered. when he regained his senses completely and realized where he was, he found that he was wedged between the guard rail of the car and a branch of the tree. turning his head, he looked downward through a clear depth of fifty feet. but for the guard rail, he would have dropped the entire distance and probably have lost his life. "carl!" he shouted, clinging to the limb. "here i vas, matt!" came the stifled answer. "i vas hung oudt on a pranch like der veek's vash. ach, du lieber, vat a luck! der poor _hawk_, she iss gone oop der shpout." "let's be thankful we didn't go up the spout along with her," replied matt. "where's dick?" "i don'd know vere he iss. iss he on der groundt? himmelblitzen! oof anyt'ing has habbened mit tick----" "dick?" shouted matt. "i say, dick!" there was no answer, and a sickening sensation sped along the young motorist's nerves. turning again, he stared with frenzied eyes toward the ground near the tree. with an exclamation of thankfulness, he saw nothing there to justify his worst fears. the tree was a live oak and thickly covered with spanish moss. dick could very easily be somewhere in the tree and yet out of sight. certainly, although unconscious and not able to answer, he must have been caught and held among the branches. "is your position a safe one, carl?" queried matt. "veil, oof i don't hang on mit bot' handts und my eye vinkers i vill be on der groundt in some heaps." "hang on, then, and stay right where you are. i'm going to look for dick." one of the mooring ropes was close to matt. carefully he took his knife from his pocket and severed the rope; then, making one end fast to the tree limb, he clung to it while he got out from under the iron guard rail. presently he was able to stand upright on the limb and peer about him through the trailing streamers of moss. he could not see dick, but he did see something that impressed him powerfully. the _hawk_, in one brief minute, had been relegated from the ranks of successful air ships into a mere mass of junk, wedged into the branches of the oak. the gas bag was almost entirely deflated and looped itself over the bent and broken limbs. the silken envelope was hopelessly torn and much of it in rags. the motor had been demolished, the end of the car containing it having come in smashing contact with a big limb. besides that the ironwork was twisted and parts of it had snapped off. there could be no repairing the air ship. she was as much a total loss as though she had gone to the bottom of the sea in fathomless waters. matt's heart felt a sudden wrench; but he thrust aside the feeling and continued his search for dick. carefully he made his way along the limb toward the silken envelope, pushing away the moss and peering anxiously as he went. "don'd you see nodding?" asked carl. "i can see that we'll never again do any sailing in the _hawk_," answered matt. "ach, dot makes me feel pad mit meinseluf!" wailed carl. "but i vas glad i vas alife! it vas some tight skveaks, i bed you. tick!" he yelled. "vere you vas, tick?" still there came no answer. silence reigned everywhere in the thick timber and carl's voice echoed weirdly among the trees. "he must be hurt and unable to answer, carl," said matt. "you vas looking, eh?" "yes." "vell, don'd fall off mit yourseluf, dot's all. i don'd vas goot for anyt'ing, my nerfs iss in sooch a frazzle. all i can do is to hang on und say my brayers forvarts, packvarts, und sitevays. oof ve could only find tick i vould veel pedder." matt finally reached the remains of the gas bag. climbing upward, he pushed the outer folds aside and there, lodged in the fork of a limb, was dick. dick lay across the fork, head and hands hanging downward. his cap was caught in some small branches below. "here he is, carl!" shouted matt. "yah," answered the dutch boy, "now i see him since you haf pulled der pag avay. he iss on der same limb as me. do--do you t'ink he vas deadt, matt?" "he may be only stunned," replied matt. "the thing to do is to get him out of there before he comes to and makes a move that will send him downward in a rush. see any rope near you, carl?" "dere iss a coil oof it righdt py me. vait und i vill ged it." matt heard carl moving about cautiously, and finally the end of a rope came toward him. matt caught the rope, but came within an inch of falling as he did so. "i've got it, carl," said he. "you keep hold of the other end and come forward along the limb. it will take both of us to get dick down safely." carl, on hands and knees, came slowly along the limb. while he was advancing, matt reached up and tied the end of the rope securely about ferral's body, under the arms. by that time, carl was close to ferral, standing on the limb and hanging to a branch. "there's a good big crotch of the tree below me," called matt, "and if you can lower dick down, i'll drop lower where i can work better." "i vill do der pest vat i can, matt," answered carl. "tick has der rope aroundt him, und ve can keep him from falling. go on mit yourseluf." "you'd better tie your end of the rope around the limb," counseled matt, "and i'll take a turn of it around this broken branch. that will give me a leverage when we come to lower dick." while carl secured the end of the rope, matt slid down into the large fork. "all ready!" he called up. "be careful now, carl. the least slip will send both you and dick downward." "i do der pest vat i can," repeated carl. bracing himself in the fork, matt held to the rope with one hand and reached up the other as dick came down to him. the rope tightened around the stump of the branch, and matt let it slide through his hand. slowly and carefully motor matt went about his work, watched breathlessly by carl. the purchase matt had on the rope was sufficient to enable him to hold dick in the air while he guided his swaying body downward. as soon as dick was below him, matt was able to lay hold of the rope with both hands and let dick drop at a swifter rate. in a few minutes dick was safely on the ground, an inanimate heap at the foot of the tree. "dot vas vell done!" declared carl, heaving a long sigh of relief. "now how ve going to ged down ourselufs, matt?" "have you tied the rope securely, up there?" "yah, so." "then we'll have to slide down. you go first, carl. as soon as you reach the ground, i'll follow you." "i don'd vas mooch oof a sailor," said carl, sitting down on the limb and laying hold of the rope, "und i can shlide down a lod easier as i couldt climb oop. here i go!" the first twenty feet of the rope was covered by carl like chain lightning; after that, however, he got a better grip and went the rest of the way more slowly. matt lowered himself hand over hand, descending as easily as though he was going down a ladder. carl was kneeling beside dick when matt's feet touched ground. "his heart iss going like anyt'ing," observed carl joyfully, "und i can't findt dot he has any proken pones." "we'll carry him to the edge of the bayou and see if a little water won't help revive him," said matt. "poor old dick! he'll take the loss of the _hawk_ pretty hard, but we ought all of us to be thankful we got out of that scrape with our lives." "it vas der closest call vat efer i hat, you bed you! aber say, vonce!" "well?" "ve vas forgedding aboudt der feller vat fired dot pullet. oof he vas anyvere aroundt, meppy he vill haf some more pullets for us." the wreck, and the saving of dick, had so taken up matt's attention that he had not given any thought to the marksman who had caused the trouble. as carl spoke, both boys lifted themselves erect and peered about them. they could see no one. "the scoundrel is leaving us alone," said matt darkly. "he ought to be content with what he has done, i think," and he swept a rueful glance upward into the tree. "who he vas, do you t'ink?" "some hunter, perhaps; maybe it was a superstitious negro, who fired at us and then ran away." "und meppy," suggested carl, in a tremor, "it vas some oof der jurgens gang! meppy dot iss der drap dey vas going to shpring." "maybe; but, even if what you say is correct, we've got to go right ahead and take care of dick. lay hold of him, carl, and help me." the two boys picked up their injured chum and carried him to the bank of the bayou; then, while matt made a more extensive examination, in order to determine the seriousness of dick's injury, carl went after water. there was a bad bruise on dick's forehead, but it was no more than a bruise, although it must have been caused by a pretty hard blow. "as he went over the limb, carl," said matt, "he must have struck his head against it. i don't think he is badly hurt, though." taking carl's cap, which the dutch boy had filled with water, matt dashed the contents in dick's face. while carl was going back after more water, dick suddenly opened his eyes and stared at matt. "how's everything, mate?" murmured dick. "we're alive, old chap," replied matt, "and that ought to be enough, don't you think, considering what we've been through?" "you and carl are all right?" "yes." "and i dodged davy jones, after shaking hands with him?" "it looks that way." "then, strike me lucky! it's better than i had hoped for." just then carl came running up the bank and grabbed dick's hand. "i hat radder be porn lucky as hantsome, any tay," he rejoiced, "hey, tick?" chapter x. the unexpected. ferral staggered to his feet. "it's a regular monkey's fist to me," said he, "how we ever got out of that mess. the last i remember i was slamming into the branches of a tree, then something hit me and the sunshine was turned off. it can't be, mates, that i dropped clear through that tree and hit the ground? i'm tough, but i think i'd show more marks than i do if that had happened." matt explained how dick had been got down out of the wreck of the _hawk_. "you lads must have had a rummy old time of it, hauling me around that tree top," went on dick. "and so the good old _hawk_ is done for! she carried us many a mile, mates, and we'll never see her like again unless----" he paused. "unless what?" queried matt. "why, unless we can get her out of the tree and patch her up." "impossible, dick. that would cost more than it would to build a new air ship. if we thought it worth while to do that, i have some new ideas i'd like to incorporate into the machine." dick's heaviness vanished a little. "we've money enough in the bank, matt," said he, "and if you say the word, we'll----" "we'd better get out of the trouble this air ship has got us into, dick," interrupted matt, "before we think of building another." "that's so. we look like a lot of ragamuffins. i'd like to clap eyes on that loafing longshore scuttler that brought us down! can you make a guess as to who it was?" "it might have been some superstitious negro hunter; or, as carl suggested, jurgens or one of his gang. if it was any of the latter, we have probably fallen into a snare. but if it was one of the robbers, why don't he show himself?" "that may not be his game. what's our next move, matt? we can't stand here boxing the compass when there's dirty weather ahead." "i'm expecting the writer of that letter to put in an appearance. from what he wrote, i thought he would be here ahead of us." "i tell you somet'ing!" exploded carl. "he vas der feller mit der gun. he got us here und he bagged us, und now he don'd vant to come oudt vere ve can ged a look at him. i vould like to knock his plock off, yah, so helup me!" "we might make a move in the direction of yamousa's cabin," said matt. "that would be a more comfortable place to wait than out here in the open." "don'd you nefer t'ink dot!" chattered carl. "der blace iss pad meticine. i bed you der olt foodoo's shpook haunts der capin." "avast, there, you flying dutchman!" reproved dick. "we don't believe in spooks. if you're afraid to go with us, carl, you can heave to and drop your anchor right here." "i go verefer you go, und dry und be as jeerful as bossiple, only i don'd like going to der shpook laty's house." matt and dick set out around the edge of the bayou and were presently upon familiar ground. dick indicated the spot where the _hawk_ had been moored, upon the occasion of their first visit to the place, and it was there that matt called a halt while they made a survey of the hovel where the obeah woman had lived. it had been decorated with bones of various kinds, when the chums saw the place first, but now the bones had disappeared. the door was closed, but there was a bucket standing beside the doorstep. "from the looks," said matt, "i should say that there is some one in the hut." "den dose peoble must haf been pad off for some blace to go," spoke up carl. "mayhap the jurgens outfit are in there?" said dick. "just what i was thinking," continued matt. "den ve'd pedder look a leedle oudt or ve vill be gedding indo some hod vater." "you and carl slip into the edge of the timber, dick," said matt, "and i'll go on ahead and do some reconnoitring. if the gang is there i'll find it out, and then i'll come back and we'll decide what it is best for us to do." "you're cutting out all the rough work for yourself," demurred dick. "i'm the one best able to stand it," was the answer. "you're far from being yourself, old chap, and carl is too much afraid of spooks to accomplish anything." "i do feel a bit groggy on my feet, and that's a fact," admitted ferral, staggering to the edge of the brush and dropping wearily down. "that nick on the head took the starch all out of me, but i'll feel better after a while. go ahead, matt, but don't stir up any trouble. we're not in shape to stand off that gang of pirates." "i don't intend to let the scoundrels see me," matt answered as he moved away. keeping to the edge of the timber, he was able to reach a point abreast of the hut without showing himself. from the place where he came to a halt he could look across a narrow stretch of clear ground and see a window in the rear wall of the hovel. a look through the window would tell him all he wanted to know, and he dropped down on hands and knees and began crawling across the open space. he appreciated to the full dick's suggestion as to not stirring up trouble. jurgens, according to matt's surmise, probably had two men with him and the young fellow who had played the part of matt in making the diamond haul. this made four against matt and his two comrades--an overwhelming force, when it is remembered that undoubtedly the thieves were armed. matt gained the place under the window without making a noise; then, raising cautiously, he pressed his face to the glass. to his disappointment, a piece of cloth had been placed over the window on the inside. a broken pane in the window, however, enabled him to listen for sounds which would let him know whether or not there was really any one in the hut. there were no voices and no sound of any stir, but matt's keen ear detected the slow, regular breathing of some one asleep. and there was only one sleeper--he was positive of that. for a few moments he debated the question. should he step boldly into the hut and find out who the person was, or would it be better to go back after carl and dick so as to have a superior force in case of a clash? matt decided that the move was for him to make. going back into the edge of the timber, he cut himself a stout bludgeon; thus armed, he stepped quietly around to the front of the hut and laid a hand on the door. it was locked. a little examination assured him that the bolt was not strong enough to resist a determined onslaught, and he boldly hurled himself against the door. it went crashing inward, and matt pitched forward across the floor and almost lost his footing. a shout of consternation went up, and matt saw a form spring erect and stand facing him. it was the form of a youth about matt's own age, wearing a dingy sweater and frayed corduroy trousers. at the first glance each recognized the other. "king, or i'm a reub!" "great spark plugs! the fellow that played that dodge on townsend!" matt cleared the distance separating him from the youth at a leap; but the other had jumped backward, at the same time pulling a weapon from his pocket. "don't you go and make a sucker play, motor matt!" cried dashington warningly. "put up that revolver!" ordered matt, staring sternly at the youth and taking a fresh grip on the handle of the club. "you've got a picture of me making a funny play like that--i don't think. throw away your club and i'll throw away this pepper box. gee, but wouldn't it uppercut you, the way we resemble each other? say, you ought to be delighted to see me instead of trying to make a pass at my block with that stick. i wasn't looking for you to drop in on me so soon." "i doubt if you were expecting me to drop in on you at all," said matt sarcastically. "where are jurgens, and whistler, and bangs?" "close by, cull. don't make too much noise or they'll get next to you and me and blow in on us." "where are those diamonds?" asked matt. "hand me an easy one." "you ought to know. you're the one that stole them, and you stole them for jurgens and his pals." "part of that's on the level. i did lift the bag of sparks, and it really seems as though i went to all that trouble for jurgens and his pals. anyhow, i didn't help myself so you could see it. don't get to hearing funny noises under your bonnet, now, but drop the club and let's be sociable. if you---- wow, but you're chain lightning, and then some!" quick as a flash matt had thrown the club. it struck the revolver in dashington's hand and knocked it clear to the opposite side of the room. before dashington could recover it, matt was upon him and there was a short wrestling match, catch-as-catch-can. being far and away dashington's superior in science, matt was only about two minutes in laying his antagonist on his back. when they fell, they knocked over a table, and the racket it made brought a stifled cry to dashington's lips. "they'll get wise to us! you're queering yourself, king. let me up, quick! i can hear some one coming." "you're my prisoner!" said matt sharply. "we'll both be prisoners of jurgens and his gang if you don't take a tumble to the rights of this. let me up, i tell you, or----" just then the hurrying steps outside reached the door. "what's going on here, matt?" came the excited voice of dick ferral, as he and carl flung into the room. "i've just captured that double of mine," answered matt. "if we hang onto him possibly we can make him tell us something about jurgens and the diamonds." "oh, sister!" mumbled dashington, "wouldn't that give your thinker a twist? pass it up, king. if you won't take your knees off my chest, then give me a chance to heave a little of the straight guff at you." "pick up that revolver, dick," said matt, nodding toward the weapon. "keep it in your hands and don't let this fellow lose your eyes for a moment. he wants to talk, and we're going to let him, but if he tries to bolt, he's going to wish that he had thought twice before he tried it." dick hurried to the weapon and gathered it in, then matt got up and let dashington regain his feet. chapter xi. a friend from the enemy's camp. "you blokes are wise guys--i don't think," grinned dashington. "motor matt is cracked up to be such a phenom. that i had a warm guess he'd know who wrote that letter first crack out of the box." "what letter are you talking about?" demanded matt. "the one you found in your mail this morning. my stationery wasn't the sort they use in polite correspondence, but i was in luck to have even that. an old letter of bangs', bangs' notebook and bangs' pencil helped me out. i'll bet eight big iron louies you never once suspected me of dropping that letter in the mails; and yet, who else was there for you to suspect? didn't think jurgens would do it, did you? or whistler? or bangs? get wise, motor matt, get wise. there's work ahead for the lot of us, and the longer we hang off about it, the harder it's likely to be." matt and his friends listened to this line of talk with a good deal of wonder, but they were not disposed, just then, to take dashington's word for anything. "you say you wrote that letter?" queried matt, noting how the youth's talk harmonized with the letter's contents. "want me to make a song out of it and set it to music? you haul considerable freight, in a general way, but you haven't taken on much of a load this trip." "you're the swab carl and i gave the letter to on the levee, all right," spoke up dick. "thanks for the word. swab! that expresses it nicely. because of that letter, which i didn't want, i got rung into the biggest jonah play that ever hip-locked with me. as a consequence my ticket is merely a souvenir. and now here comes motor matt and roughs things up in good old texas style. that's dead tough luck and would bring tears to a pair of glass eyes." "you stole the diamonds?" "i played understudy to motor matt and lifted the sparks. i walked two long blocks with them concealed upon my person, then whistler handed me a fistful of fives twice, right where they started the slumber song. was i down? yes, indeed, and for several minutes. when i rounded to and took a fresh grasp of the situation, jurgens, whistler and bangs had chugged away in their auto and had forgotten to leave the dazzlers." "ah!" said matt grimly. "you robbed townsend and then jurgens and his men robbed you." "i hope i may drop if that wasn't the way of it. it was a lesson for me, i think; anyhow, it's a mortal cinch i got a horrible sorry on for what i'd done. 'they played me for a mark,' i says to myself, 'and got the sparklers; now i'll turn to and help motor matt get them back again.' that's why i wrote that letter, and i dropped it in a mail box just before i pushed off in a boat and floated down the river. happened to meet a colored brother fishing; i told him i wanted to go to bayou yamousa, and the colored brother happened to know the way; also he happened to have a mule and a wagon, and he brought me here. i didn't think you'd be along before night, and i was just keeping myself as retired as possible while waiting for you to get here. this shanty looked good to me, and as i was some fagged on account of the night's labor, i locked the door, stretched myself out and have been pounding my ear ever since." "how did you know jurgens, whistler and bangs were coming to this place?" asked matt. his confidence in dashington was increasing. this would not have been the case had dashington tried to deny, or smooth over, the part he had played in the robbery. he was cheerfully admitting his guilt, and the cause he had for turning against jurgens and his men seemed sufficiently adequate. dashington told how he had discovered the coat, and showed the memorandum book found in the pocket. the notation: "if our plant works, and we get separated after the diamonds are lifted, am to meet j. and w. at bayou yamousa," appealed particularly to matt. it showed dashington's reason for coming to bayou yamousa, and for asking matt and his friends to join him there. "do you know positively," asked matt, "that jurgens is in this vicinity?" "i've seen their camp," replied dashington, "but i was foxy enough not to let them see me. i'm not altogether a flat, even if i did let jurgens and company touch me up and pull their chestnuts out of the blaze. i've about decided to cut out the crooked work entirely, and it's up to motor matt and his pals to give me a fresh chance. of course you can pinch me, and land me in the pen, but that would hardly be square after i have helped you get back the diamonds." "who are you?" said matt. "joe dashington, with the accent on the 'dash.'" "where are you from?" "every place. i seem to have broken out in new orleans just at the right time to mix things for everybody. don't let it get past you that i didn't know what i was up against when jurgens asked me to lift the stones. i was on the make, and went into it with my eyes wide. i'm not turning on the gang entirely because i have a grouch, but because i've about concluded that bunko work is a losing game." "you're right about that, dashington," averred matt. "crooked business is bad business, and you show your good sense in wanting to cut loose from it. what do you expect of us?" "i'm in wrong," replied dashington, "but maybe i can get over that if you'll help. suppose i join you and help you recover the diamonds. will that pay for letting me start for unknown regions, and then doing the nice, genteel dip for the rest of the time i'm on earth?" "i don't know why it won't," said matt, in a kindly tone. "you look to me like a chap who could do big things if you went at it in the right way." "landed! landed and strung! i'm hooked, king, and you might give me your hand. i've got the gaff from the strong-arm push for the last time. just have your pal put that gun in his pocket and i'll feel easier." "put up the thing, dick," said matt. "dash can be trusted. he's going to help us recover the diamonds, and in return for his service we're to let him go wherever he wants to." "aber vill he make goot mit vat he says?" chirped carl. "i'm class a at making good," said dashington, "when i tackle a job of my size. i can handle this one. but where's the balloonobile, the flying wonder that has shaken the crescent city from centre to circumference, and clear across to algiers? i haven't noticed it," and dashington stepped to the door and made a hasty survey of the shore of the bayou. "you're looking too low, mate," said dick. "she bounced up on a live oak and you can't see her for moss." dashington whirled with a jump. "wrecked?" "demolished. she's sailed the skies for the last time, and it was a bullet brought her down." "a bullet?" "yes," put in matt. "it was fired from somewhere in the timber, put the motor out of business and made holes in the gas bag. we all of us had narrow escapes----" "you look the part." "have you any idea who fired that shot?" a worried expression came over dashington's face. "who else but some of that sure-thing crowd?" he returned. "this boggles the situation. they know you're here, and when they find you weren't finished up out of hand they'll come looking for you. this sort of puts a crimp in our prospects, motor matt. getting the sparks isn't going to be so easy. jurgens and his crowd are over by the wagon road with an automobile, and if they think we're wise to them they may take the machine and hike." "we've got to get back those diamonds," declared matt. "if we don't, i'd look pretty asking you to pull the pin on me, wouldn't i? sure we've got to get 'em back, but----" "belay there, with your jaw tackle," came excitedly from dick, in a half whisper. he had been standing by the open door, and he suddenly drew back and hurried up to the other boys. "jurgens just showed up on the bank of the bayou," announced dick, "and he looks as though he might be laying a course for the hut." "we're double-crossed!" muttered dashington. "the head knocker of the push will be next to us in half a minute, and that means a run to safety in the chug wagon with all hands and the sparks." "no," said matt, a thought darting through his mind. "there are enough of us here to capture jurgens. he may find out about us, but he won't be able to get away with the information." "now you're making a noise like a winner," whispered dashington exultantly. "that's the play. around the door, lads, and grab him from all sides when he pushes in. don't let him yell. if he manages to put up a roar, whistler and bangs will hear it and get curious. they've got rifles with them--and a bullet is a hard thing to dodge if it's sent right." jurgens was already close to the hut--so close that there was not the slightest doubt but that he was intending to investigate it. he was probably wondering what had become of the boys from the air ship, and was abroad with the intention of locating them, if possible. carl and dick got behind the door, while matt and dashington pressed up close to the wall. the footsteps came nearer and nearer, and then, just as jurgens put his foot across the threshold, matt and dashington sprang for him. dashington threw his arms about the man's throat and hung to him like a leech, while matt seized a hand he was pushing toward his hip. in the struggle that followed, all three fell through the door and rolled off the step and onto the ground. chapter xii. the bag of diamonds. jurgens divined instantly that he had got himself into a serious predicament; but his predicament was even greater than the four boys imagined during the first part of their struggle with him. the scoundrel fought with the fury of a cornered panther, clawing, kicking and even trying to use his teeth. dashington exerted himself entirely to prevent an outcry, and this left matt to do most of the fighting until carl and dick hurled themselves through the door and lent their assistance. with four against him, jurgens had no hope; nevertheless, his desperation was so great that he vainly tried to continue his one-sided battle. carl found a piece of rope somewhere in the hut, and while he, and matt, and dashington held jurgens, dick put the lashings on his hands and feet and made them secure with hard and fast sailor's knots. a twisted handkerchief tied between jurgens' jaws relieved dashington of his part of the work, and the boys got up breathlessly and looked down at their prisoner. "that's because you didn't play square with me, jurgens," said dashington, leering into the baleful eyes of the man at his feet. "i'll back you against all comers, bar none, for being the most treacherous crook in the business. but here's where you get it handed to you. you had it easy, last night, but here's where i give you the merry ha-ha." jurgens tried to talk, but succeeded only in emitting an incoherent gurgle behind the twisted handkerchief; then he strained desperately at his bonds, but dick's knots were never known to slip. "oh, cut it out!" said dashington. "the ball and chain are as good as on you so far as your chances for getting away are concerned. what do you think of yourself, anyway? this is a regular calcimine finish, and you're going to do time enough to keep you out of mischief for quite a spell." "vat's dis?" asked carl, stooping down by the edge of the step and lifting a small canvas bag. dashington stared, then jumped into the air and shook his hat. "oh, no, this isn't luck!" he remarked, smothering his hilarity with a tremendous effort. "not at all! and yet it's as natural as can be. of course he wouldn't trust the sparks with either whistler or bangs. he keeps them himself, and when he goes out hunting for motor matt he totes them along. the bag drops out as we roll off the step, and hides itself up close to the wall of the cabin. carl finds it--and maybe we're not all to the good? take it from me, we are." "are the diamonds in that bag, dash?" demanded matt, scarcely daring to credit his ears. "nowhere else, cull," exulted dashington. "i couldn't forget that bag. it has played a big part in my life, even if it hasn't played a long one." "well, shiver me!" muttered dick, dropping down on the step. "if that's not what you call winding this up in handsome style, you can call me a lubber. motor matt's luck--that's what did it." "hoop-a-la!" fluttered carl, doing a two-step. "we're der fellers, und don'd you forged dot! der tiamonts is pack, we haf der tiamonts pack, und eferyt'ing iss so lofely as i can't tell. hoop-a-la!" "stow it, neighbor!" warned dashington. "we've got our hooks on the sparks, but we're not liable to keep them if you make too much noise. whistler and bangs are somewhere in the timber, so don't advertise the fact that we're here and have the stones. look into the bag, matt. make sure it's no counterfeit." "that's right," said dick, tempering his glad feelings until a further examination was made. "open the pouch, matt, and look into it. if the old hunks has fooled us with a bag of pebbles----" "he hasn't," cut in matt. "look here!" he pulled one hand from the bag and held up a diamond in the sun. there could be no doubt, after that. "but are they _all_ there?" demanded dashington. "the bag hasn't shrunk any since i first set my gig lamps onto it, still a few of the stones might have been taken out. what do you think?" matt, carl and dick had all seen the diamonds just as they had come from the idol's head, and they were all firmly of the belief that the stones in the bag bulked as large as ever. "this," said matt, after he had retied the bag and put it away in the breast of his coat, "makes it necessary for us to clear out of here as soon as possible. the question is, how are we to do it?" "the nearest burg is chef menteur," answered dashington. "we could go that far on our kicks and catch a train into n. o." "und leaf dot jurgens feller pehindt?" protested carl. "he'd be something of a load to carry," said dick. "one of us could go to the nearest plantation and get a wagon," suggested dashington. "und vile dot feller vas gone, whistler und pangs mighdt show oop und blay hop mit der resdt oof us." "there are four of us," said matt, "and i think, if we had a long pole, we could hang jurgens to it and carry him. he has been the ringleader in every plot that was directed against townsend and the iron chest. it's right that he should pay the penalty of his misdeeds, even if whistler and bangs should never be caught. we let him go once, you remember, dick, when he was in our hands, and now, just because of it, we lost the _hawk_, and came within one of losing the diamonds." "that's a good spiel motor matt is giving us," declared dashington. "i'll go and look for a long pole, and while i'm about it, you fellows tie jurgens' hands in front of him." dashington was probably ten minutes getting the pole. by the time he was back, jurgens' hands had been released and rebound in front of him. the pole was slipped between his hands and feet, and matt and dick, at one end, and carl and dashington, at the other, lifted it to their shoulders. jurgens hung downward, the pole catching the ropes that bound him and holding him suspended. his position was far from comfortable, but the boys could not help that. "i'm wise to the road we've got to take," said dashington, "so this end of the pole had better travel ahead. we'll come out on the turnpike a half mile the other side of where i saw the automobile. it won't be many minutes before bangs and whistler will begin to wonder what became of jurgens and the sparks, and they'll probably go out on a hunt. luck seems to be on our side, so i'm hoping they sidestep us." the ends of the pole were shifted so that carl and dashington could travel ahead. dashington had his bearings, and he led off as briskly as he could, considering that the thick timber and the long pole made it necessary to pick their way with some care. "you can see, fellows," philosophized matt, from the rear, "what greed will do for a man. jurgens wouldn't trust the diamonds with whistler and bangs. he had to take them with him. if he hadn't had them, the bag of loot wouldn't be in our hands now." "jurgens is a four-ply wonder," said dashington. "he was greedy with me, and that's how i came to scratch my entry in his free-for-all grafting game, i hope they give him ninety-nine years at hard labor." what jurgens' thoughts were as he was pitched and swayed along and listened to this talk, did not appear. he was probably meditating on the changeable nature of human affairs, and thinking of the many times he had had the treasure of the man from cape town in his hands and had failed, in the final pinch, to get away with it. as they got farther and farther into the timber, matt counseled silence. they were drawing close to the road and their voices might carry to the ears of whistler or bangs, if they happened to be abroad. after that the journey was continued in silence, the lads pausing, now and then, to change the pole from one shoulder to the other. everything was going swimmingly, and matt was looking ahead to an easy jaunt along the road into chef menteur, and then a comfortable ride on the railroad back to new orleans, when carl and dashington suddenly laid back on the pole and whirled around to get the front end farther back into the timber. matt and dick were naturally surprised at this quick move. they were on the point of speaking when dashington laid a warning finger on his lips and motioned for the pole and its burden to be let down. "what's up?" whispered matt, when carl and dashington had pressed close. "the benzine cart is right ahead of us!" answered dashington. "oof ve hat gone anodder foot," added carl, "ve vould haf come oudt righdt on whistler und pangs." "they're sitting in the front seats with a couple of rifles over their knees," finished dashington. "go take a look, matt." matt crept forward to a place from which he could get a good view of the wagon road. the automobile was pulled out on the roadside, and brush had been cut and piled over the bonnet in order to screen the car from travelers along the highway. whistler and bangs did not appear, as yet, to be very much worried over the prolonged absence of jurgens. they were lounging in the car, their feet on the dashboard and pipes between their lips. bangs was in his shirt sleeves, and across the lap of each lay a rifle. as motor matt surveyed the situation, he felt a pang to think that those two rascals would escape the penalty of their evil actions. this thought led to another which caused the young motorist's pulses to leap with an inspiration. turning in his tracks, he made his way silently back to his waiting companions. "i've got a scheme, pards," he whispered. "how'd you like to ride back to new orleans in jurgens' automobile?" "who can run the thing, matt?" asked dashington. "i can," was the answer. "i used to be in the business." "how'll ve get der pupple?" inquired carl. "here's the scheme," said matt, and drew the other three close while he talked. chapter xiii. a daring plot. "in order to get to new orleans," said matt, in a low tone, "we'll have to head west along the road. now, if we work the scheme, my part in it is settled, as i am the only one who can run the car. i shall have to stay close here, and you three can settle it among yourselves as to what parts you will take in pushing the deal through. two of you will carry jurgens half a mile westward, and wait at the edge of the road, ready to lift jurgens into the car and to hop aboard when it comes along. one of you, i am not particular which, will go about a stone's throw farther into the timber and wait about half an hour in order that the two who are to tote jurgens get to their proper place at the roadside. then, the one who is in the timber will set up a hoarse yell for whistler and bangs, and will fire off one of the revolvers. do you catch my drift?" "it vas too many for me," said carl. "i can't rise to it, either," added dick. "see if i've guessed it right," spoke up dashington. "the fellow that does the shooting and yelling in the timber will try to make whistler and bangs think he is jurgens. the guess is that whistler and bangs will leave the auto and rush off to help jurgens. then what, motor matt?" "then i run to the car and start it down the road." "und vat pecomes mit der feller in der timber?" asked carl. "he runs for the road as soon as he hears whistler and bangs pounding through the brush," explained matt. "he will angle off toward the turnpike and reach it way this side of where the other two are with jurgens. i'll take the first fellow in, then we'll slam the machine through and pick up the other two of you and jurgens. after that we ought to have clear sailing right into new orleans. and, furthermore, at the first town west we can have officers come back and hunt for the two thieves we leave behind. by making a move like that, we'll not only give ourselves a lift into the city, but, better still, we'll take from whistler and bangs their only means of escape out of the country." "that's the dope!" chuckled dashington. "anything that puts whistler and bangs on the slide makes a hit with me. it's a cinch this gang won't forget in a hurry what they did to joe dashington, nor what dash did to even the score. i've got my place picked out." "vich iss it?" asked carl. "i'm the fellow to go in the woods, shake loads out of the pepper box and put up a roar." "that means, carl," said matt, "that you and dick will have to look after jurgens. we'll give you half an hour to get where you're going. at the end of that time dash will begin his racket. then it's up to me to start the machine." "you've picked out the hot end of it for yourself, motor matt," remarked dashington. "from your talk one would think it the easiest piece of work on the job, but i'm jerry that it's some different. there's a lot of brush piled in front of the car, and on top of it. you won't have much time to get it out of the way." "i don't expect to carry it off by the armful," said matt, "but to start the car and drive through it and over it." "then it's a guess, and only a guess," pursued dashington, "that both whistler and bangs will rush into the timber to give jurgens a helping hand. suppose only one of them goes? you'll be in a fine row of stumps trying to steal the machine with a man looking at you over the sights of a rifle!" "that's the chance i take," said matt coolly. "we're all taking chances, for that matter, and you're taking as many as any one else, dash." "well," returned dashington, "i'm satisfied if the rest of you are. ring the gong, motor matt, and we'll take our corners." "you and carl had better move, dick," said matt, nodding toward jurgens and the pole. "pick up your man and start. do you feel equal to it?" he added, turning an anxious look on the sailor. "equal to anything, mate," answered dick, "now that we've got the diamonds. only don't lose the stones, that's all. grab your end of the pole, carl," he added. carl was as happy a dutchman as one could have found in seven states. he was morbidly fond of excitement, and he liked always to be "in the midst of alarms"--providing there was nothing supernatural about the alarms. his face fairly shone as he picked up his end of the pole and staggered away with it. it was only a moment before carl, dick and their swinging burden was out of sight; and less than a minute more until a wild, hair-raising yell for help came from the direction taken by the two boys. matt and dashington gave a jump of consternation. they realized at once what must have happened. undoubtedly jurgens had got rid of his gag, unknown to dick or carl, and had given vent to the yell. answering cries came almost instantly from the direction of the automobile. there was not much time for matt and dashington to think what should be done, but their wits were keen and they thought along the same line. "i'll draw them off, matt," muttered dashington, and sped into the wood. there was no time for matt to reply, for the crashing of brush proved that one or both of the men who had been in the car were close upon him. flinging himself to one side, matt crouched on his knees behind a tree. whistler and bangs rushed into sight. "where'n thunder did that yell come from?" cried whistler. "off to the left, there," answered bangs, indicating the direction taken by carl and dick. for an instant matt's hopes went down, and he had a mental picture of jurgens being rescued, and carl and dick having trouble with those long rifles. just at that moment, however, dashington was heard from. "this way, whistler! bangs! quick! the diamonds! the diamonds!" the voice was hoarse and a close imitation of jurgens'. and then that mention of the diamonds was a masterstroke. "somebody's taking the diamonds!" yelped whistler, bounding straight ahead. "confound jurgens for carryin' 'em!" fumed bangs, hurling himself after whistler. matt's time to get active had now arrived. with an exultant heart he jumped to his feet and raced for the automobile. he had to kick aside some of the brush to get at the crank, and the engine was slow in turning over; but, finally, he had the motor popping and settling down into a steady hum. into the car he leaped, there was a moment's work with the handle bars, a twist at the steering wheel and the car leaped toward the road, scattering the brush right and left. once on the highway and headed westward, fresh difficulties confronted matt. his carefully laid plan had been only partly carried out, owing to the untimely yell from jurgens. carl and dick had had no time to get very far down the road, and dashington would be put to it to double back and get around whistler and bangs. matt slowed the car and snailed along on the low speed, looking anxiously the while into the timber that edged the road. he saw nothing of dashington, who would presumably be the first one he picked up, and off somewhere in the dusky confines of the wood he heard the snarling report of a rifle. his heart almost stood still at that. at whom had the shot been fired? and had it reached its mark? matt thought of dashington. in spite of dashington's rapid past, there was something about the young fellow that was attractive, and matt was beginning to like him. it would have been a sad commentary on the course of events if dashington was to be shot down just on the threshold of a better career. in order to signal to his friends the location of the car, matt honked loud and long. again came a rifle shot, this time much closer, and matt heard the whistle of the ball through the air. that meant, if it meant anything, that dashington was coming toward the road, and that whistler and bangs were following him and shooting as they came. matt dared not stop the car, for there would be no time to crank up and he did not dare trust the engine to take the spark, even after a short stop. presently, to matt's anxious ears came a crashing of bushes and a sound of hard breathing. the noise came from a little way ahead, and he drove the car forward at a faster speed. he could hear voices now, coming out of the recesses of the timber--the voices of whistler and bangs lifted excitedly. "there he goes, whistler!" "nail him, then, bangs! he's got the loot and is trying to make a getaway with it." _bang!_ another bullet rattled through the trees and clipped the air over matt's head. just at that moment, dashington, apparently unhurt but nearly spent, staggered into sight. "bilked!" he gasped; "i bilked 'em for fair." "into the tonneau, quick!" shouted matt. dashington staggered to the running board and fell sprawling into the rear of the car. "they're stealing the car!" howled the voice of bangs, who was now close enough to the road to see what was going on. "stop 'em!" roared the panting voice of whistler. "if they get away with the car we're done for!" away jumped the car on the high speed, throwing dust and gravel from the rear tires in a shower. _bang! bang!_ came the harsh notes of the rifles, but the screen of dust and the excitement of the moment were not conducive to accurate shooting. the car raced off, made a turn in the road, and whistler and bangs were left behind. "keep an eye out for dick and carl, dash!" shouted matt. "they ought to be somewhere around here." at just that moment, carl showed himself in the road, jumping up and down and waving his hat. chapter xiv. on the road. carl and dick had jurgens close to the roadside, and not much time was lost loading the prisoner into the tonneau. carl crawled into the rear seat with jurgens and dashington, and dick got up in front with matt. "what was the shooting about?" asked dick, smothering his excitement. "whistler and bangs were taking pot shots at dash," explained matt. "jurgens sprung our scheme on us before we were ready for it." the car was rushing off down the road again, matt looking back toward the turn for some sign of whistler and bangs. the machine had taken another turn before the baffled robbers had shown themselves. "py shinks!" boomed carl, who had heard matt's remark, "i t'ought i should drow fits righdt on der shpot ven don jugens feller tuned oop. ve ditn't know anyt'ing aboudt it, matt, aber he hat chewed der handtkerchief in doo. tick und me heardt der shooding, und ve vas schared shtiff. ve t'ink, meppy, dot you or tashington vas hurt." "it was a close call for dashington," said matt. "if it hadn't been for his quickness and cleverness you two with jurgens would have had whistler and bangs down on you like a thousand of brick. they were headed that way when dash drew them off. but it's all over now. we're out of it, and we've got jurgens' car, and whistler and bangs will have to hoof it. we'll send officers back from the next town." "that will be micheaud," put in dashington. "i vonder oof dere iss a blace to eat in der town?" quavered carl. "i haf peen lifing on oxcidement all tay, und now ven der oxcidement iss gone i feel der need oof somet'ing else." "trust carl to think of his chuck," laughed dick. "what i want in the next town is a hat. after that i can get along until we reach where we're going." another handkerchief had been twisted between jurgens' jaws in lieu of the one he had gnawed in two. "there's no need of the gag now, pards," said matt, "and you'll make jurgens more comfortable by taking it off." jurgens' first words, the moment the gag was removed, were directed at dashington. "confound you!" he hissed, "you're at the bottom of all this." "thanks," grinned dashington, "that's partly the way of it." "how did motor matt know where we had gone?" "i put him next, jurgens." "how did you know?" "why, as for that, when you put me down and out, there in new orleans, bangs' coat dropped from the car. when i corralled my wits i found it. there was a notebook in the pocket and that gave me a line on your rendezvous." "bangs!" snapped jurgens. "we ought never to have hooked up with him. he's a sot and a bungler." "you're a bungler yourself, jurgens. if you had treated me square, instead of trying to hog the whole bag of tricks, i might have kept right on with you and turned into a promising crook. on the whole, it's a fine thing for me you let whistler give me that bump. i was at the turning point, and that rap on the block gave me a shove in the right direction." "you'll do time for stealing those diamonds if my evidence counts for anything!" snapped jurgens. "but it won't. you're fooling yourself with a pipe dream when you let your little two-by-four run in that groove. who was it shot at the air ship? talk a while about something sensible." "bangs, again!" snorted jurgens. "he was moseying along by the bayou and saw the air ship overhead. he blazed away, making a good shot. that was all right, but where bangs was wrong was in hustling off to tell whistler and me and not waiting to find out what damage he had done. as soon as i got bangs' story, i made for the bayou. i saw the air ship, all right, smashed to smithereens in the top of a live oak, but king, ferral and the dutchman had vanished." "den you vent to hunt for us," bubbled carl, "and got yourself in some drouples." "you mean," laughed dashington, with a taunt in his voice, "that he came to the hut to give us back the diamonds. it was a raw play, and that was what it amounted to." jurgens, in futile rage, ground his teeth. "this will be the last of the diamonds," called matt, from forward, "so far as you are concerned, jurgens." "i hope it will be the last of townsend too," scowled jurgens. "that fellow has dogged me from pillar to post ever since i left atlantic city." matt and his chums enjoyed that remark. "you dit all der dogging," said carl. "and you young whelps helped townsend," snarled jurgens. "well, we've made it expensive for you. that air ship has made its last trip." dick ferral sobered immediately. recent exciting events had kept his mind off the untimely fate of the _hawk_, but now the loss of the air ship recurred to him with added significance. "i was in love with that craft," said he. "she saved our lives more than once, and she helped us turn a good many tricks for law and order. not only that, but she has made for us five or six times the amount of money she cost us. poor little ship! i suppose she'll hang in that oak tree till the crack o' doom." "forget about it, old chap," said matt. "her last cruise was the best of all, for she helped me redeem my promise to archibald townsend. there's the town ahead," he added, "and we'll stop there for supper and to send some one back along the road to capture whistler and bangs." "they'll keep clear of any one you send," growled jurgens, "i'll guarantee that." "whose automobile is this, jurgens?" queried dick. "it belongs to a firm in new orleans," he replied, with a leer. "we rented it and were going to forget to take it back." "why didn't you leave town when townsend let you go, that other time?" matt went on, hoping for an answer to a question that had long bothered him. "because we believed townsend had got the loot that was in the iron chest," said jurgens, "and we had as much right to it as he had." "and you watched townsend, after that?" "every minute, night and day." just here matt swerved from the street of the town and came to a halt in front of a public house. "we'll go in and eat, motor matt," said dashington, with a significant look at the young motorist, "and carl and dick can stay here and keep watch over the machine and jurgens. we can send them a hand-out." matt, seeing that there was some object back of dashington's suggestion, acquiesced. they got down from the car and went into the tavern, took a seat in the dining room and sent out a hot meal to those in the car. matt and dashington were alone in the dining room and, after the waiter had served them and gone away, they were able to talk privately. "i had something up my sleeve, cull," said dashington, "when i asked you to come in here with me. here's where i have to quit you." "why can't you go on to new orleans, dash?" asked matt. "i know townsend. he's a good fellow, and he'll be so glad to get the diamonds back that i know he will not make you any trouble." "you might be able to swing townsend, all right," returned dashington, "but the chap that has it in for me, old fel, is jurgens. you've heard how he feels. he'd split on me, as sure as fate, and ring me in on the deal. no, i've got to duck, and right from this town. i've done what i could to square myself, and i'm going to put as much country between me and new orleans as i can. it will be best, all around. you and i look too much alike to be in the same section of the country." "you're going to stay straight, are you?" asked matt, quietly. "as long as i'm on the turf!" declared dashington. "there's my hand on it." matt grasped cordially the hand dashington offered him. "between two fellows who look so much alike as do you and i, dash," said matt, "there ought to be a bond of friendship. as long as you're straight, if you ever need help and i'm within hailing distance, let me know." dashington was silent for a space. "that's mighty good of you," said he finally and in a low tone. "you've been a good friend to me, and the police probably won't thank you for letting me get away; but i appreciate what you've done. don't let that get past your guard for a minute." "haven't you any relatives?" "i don't want to talk along that line," said dashington. "if i have, they'll never hear of me until i prove myself a credit to the family." "where are you going, from here?" "i'll take a side-door pullman out of the country. haven't a guess where i'll land, but i know it will be a good way off." "have you any money?" dashington laughed. "money? what's that? i haven't a sou markee in my jeans, matt, and it's that that made me desperate and ready to fall in with jurgens and his bunch. the lack of a little money puts many a chap to the bad." matt drew a roll of bills from his pocket, counted off several and laid them down beside dashington's plate. "there's fifty," said he. "what's it for?" asked dashington. "for you." "i don't want to take your money, matt. i hope i'm not an object of charity." "well, i should hope not. i'm not giving it to you, you understand. it's only a loan, and you can pay it back next week, next year, or any old time when you get around to it." "thank you," said dashington. when matt got up from the table, he left dashington still sitting in his chair. and that was the last he saw of him. chapter xv. a new man takes a hand. it was midnight when the automobile and its passengers from bayou yamousa rolled into new orleans. matt's first call was at police headquarters. here jurgens was left, and a bit of a surprise was sprung. the assistant chief, fetterman by name, was on duty, and the arrival of jurgens created a mild sensation. detectives were even then prowling about the city looking for lattimer jurgens, whistler, bangs, and a young man, name unknown, wearing a slouch hat, sweater and frayed corduroy trousers. the detectives had not met with the slightest success, and the bringing in of jurgens, by motor matt and his chums, naturally created a mild degree of excitement. the surprise was in the nature of a question by fetterman. "where are you going, king, from here?" matt gave him the number of the house in prytania street where townsend had taken up his quarters. "ah," said fetterman, with a peculiar glance, "that's the place where the diamonds were stolen. a new man is taking a hand in the game. i'll get him at once and bring him to the place in prytania street, but i'd like to have you and your friends stay there until we arrive. what this man has to say will be of interest to all of you." "who is he?" inquired matt, curiously. "i have promised to let him do his own talking," was the vague response. vastly puzzled, matt went out to the car, told his chums what fetterman had said, and all three of them wondered and guessed clear to prytania street and the house of mrs. thomas. this time matt entered by the front way. there was a light in townsend's room. the shade was drawn, but a glow could be seen through it. matt was announced by a sleepy domestic, and he and his chums were shown up the stairs to the sick chamber. cassidy was on duty as usual, and townsend was wide awake and sitting up in his bed. "what luck?" he asked, quaveringly. "the very best, mr. townsend," answered matt, cheerily, and drew the bag from his coat and laid it in townsend's hands. "are--are these the diamonds?" he asked. "yes." "and where is jurgens, whistler, bangs and the others who helped them commit the robbery?" "they have all escaped--with the exception of jurgens and the young fellow, dashington, who impersonated me. jurgens is in jail, and i allowed dashington to go." "you allowed him to go?" asked townsend, nonplused. "yes," answered matt, "for the reason that, if he had not helped us i never could have kept my promise to you." "nothing much matters," said townsend, with a long sigh of content, "now that i have the diamonds back. i don't care who helped you, or how it happened, motor matt always accomplishes the thing he sets out to do. i have been better ever since you left here, last night. now i shall get well, and get well quick. give me your hand, my boy! and the rest of you--come here and let me thank you." after carl and dick had crowded up to the bed and shaken hands with townsend, the latter would have returned the bag to matt and had him take the stones at once to the address on st. charles avenue; but, even as the request was being made, there was another ring at the gate bell, and then at the door, and the servant came up to announce "two men from headquarters." "two men from headquarters," muttered townsend, bewildered. "who can they be and what do they want?" "i don't know what they want," said matt, "but one of them is the assistant chief, mr. fetterman." "something else is going wrong," fretted townsend, "and i know it. these diamonds seem to carry a curse with them." "d'you feel strong enough, cap'n, to have more visitors?" asked cassidy. "i should be badly worried if i couldn't hear, without delay, what fetterman and this other man have to tell me." the assistant chief came in accompanied by a blond, stoutly built person whom he introduced as mr. shirley, of scotland yard. mr. shirley was genial and made friends for himself right away. "you're a sick man, i'm told, mr. townsend," said he, "and i'm going to begin at once what i have to say and come to an end as briefly as possible. i had best begin in south africa where----" "south africa?" echoed townsend. shirley nodded. "a man named hobart, an american," he went on, "worked in the bloemfontein diamond mine. he was a clever scoundrel and accomplished what many another man had tried in vain to do, and that was to steal diamonds out of the workings. how he got them to the place where he lived is a mystery that has not yet been solved, for hobart kept his plan strictly to himself and did not even let his confederate in the enterprise know how the thieving was done. "in the house where hobart had his rooms the diamonds were carefully secreted in the head of a particularly vicious-looking idol. hobart used to show the idol to his friends, taking it from an iron chest where it was carefully packed in sawdust, and to which, after a few moments of exhibiting, he was always careful to return it. "hobart declared that the head was a fragment of the malefic obboney, a deity of the koromantyn, or gold coast, negroes. this was entirely fiction, for, it afterward developed, he had had the head carved by a man in the portuguese settlements, and then steeped in a deadly liquor which caused it to give off a poisonous effluvia. this was intended as a protection for the stolen diamonds. "in due course, hobart and his confederate, sharpe, an australian, quit the diamond mines and prepared to leave for the states with their booty. they sailed for england, and from there took a west indian trader for the bahamas. when near the bahamas, sharpe demanded a division of the treasure. hobart put him off with some excuse, and then, that night, mysteriously vanished with a whale boat and his iron chest, leaving sharpe behind. "sharpe never found out where his treacherous comrade had gone, nor what he had done with the iron chest. moved by a spirit of vengeance, he sailed for england and told the entire story of the theft of the diamonds to the head of the syndicate that had charge of the diamond mines. the case was placed in my hands, and i traced hobart to philadelphia and found that he had lived there in poverty and had finally died and been buried in the potters field. "i also learned that hobart had had a friend, a wealthy inventor named townsend. having reached the end of my quest, so far as hobart was concerned, i turned my attention to finding townsend, in the hope that he could tell me something about the iron chest. "but townsend seemed every whit as hard to locate as hobart had been. he had invented a submarine and was trying it out somewhere on a long-distance cruise. i bided my time and, at last, saw an account in a daily paper of the theft of a submarine belonging to one captain nemo, jr., from the inlet at atlantic city, and of the pursuit of the submarine by a flying machine. "i was a little mixed by the name of captain nemo, jr., but i started out to follow the flying machine. this was comparatively easy, for wherever the machine was seen it was reported to the daily press, and all i had to do was to read the newspapers. well, to be brief, i finally reached new orleans last night. my coming was most opportune--a stroke of luck that does not come a detective's way more than once in a lifetime. "a big diamond robbery had occurred here. the victim was one archibald townsend, and there were strong rumors flying about of a head carved from wood, of an iron chest, and of the thieves mixed up in the robbery having given their nefarious attentions to mr. townsend before. i talked with the authorities, and they told me that they were on the trail of the robbers and were doing their utmost to apprehend them. so, i had perforce to continue my waiting game, although more than certain that i was finally on the right track. "imagine my surprise and satisfaction when mr. fetterman, here, came to my hotel, a few minutes ago, with the information that the ringleader of the thieving gang had been captured, and that the diamonds had been recovered. we came on here at once, i to explain my mission to mr. townsend, and mr. fetterman to vouch for my story." shirley, of scotland yard, sank back in his chair, his mild blue eyes roving whimsically about over the astounded faces of his listeners. "merciful powers!" gasped townsend. "can it be possible that i have been so terribly deceived in that fellow who called himself the man from cape town? i was positive of his honesty, although i had not the remotest idea, at the time, of what the treasure consisted. i first met the man from cape town in philadelphia, and befriended him. he seemed grateful, and, just before he died, called me to his bedside and gave me a chart of an island in the bahamas. the island was said to have a cave, and an iron chest was said to be in the cave. i looked upon the whole story as a fairy tale, but, as i wanted to test my submarine with a long sea cruise, promised the man i would go and look for his iron chest. "the chest, when found, was to be brought to new orleans and opened in the presence of a lady living in st. charles avenue, who, hobart told me, was his daughter. the treasure was to be equally divided between the lady and myself. "that iron chest seemed to draw upon me all manner of unfortunate adventures, and i regretted continually that i had ever had anything to do with it. but i had given my promise to this man from cape town, and felt myself bound to carry it out to the letter. i have held strictly to that policy, and motor matt and his friends have stood loyally by through everything that has happened." shirley turned an approving glance on motor matt. "i hear nothing but most excellent reports of motor matt," said he, "and i should like to hear from him, in detail, all that has happened while he and his friends were working to recover the diamonds for the last time." "it will be worth listening to, i can promise you that," said cassidy. "whenever he does a thing, he has a way o' his own of getting at it." all eyes were turned on matt. he saw that he was in for it, and began at the beginning and went through with every detail of the adventures recently encountered by him and his friends. every one followed him closely, particularly shirley. "from all this it appears," said the scotland yard man, as soon as matt had finished, "that in getting back these diamonds for the south african syndicate, you have lost a ten-thousand-dollar air ship----" "it didn't cost us that," interposed matt. "and have endangered your life and the lives of your friends," continued the detective, without seeming to notice the interruption. "i shall include that in my report when i return the diamonds. meanwhile, until mr. townsend is satisfied that i have secured stolen property, the diamonds will remain in the custody of the new orleans police department." shirley reached for his hat and got up. "i fear i have tired you, mr. townsend," said he, regretfully, "but it was necessary for me to see you at once and explain the mistake which, under the circumstances, it was a perfectly natural one to make. you have experienced much trouble and worry, and this can never be made up to you. as for the diamonds----" "take them," cried townsend, stretching out the bag to fetterman; "i am delighted to get rid of them and have them off my mind. and i am doubly glad that, being stolen property, a wrong is to be righted and the stones returned to their rightful owners. i don't wish to have anything done for me, mr. shirley. i have sufficient of this world's goods, and you have already done me the greatest favor possible by taking the diamonds off my hands. but motor matt and his friends, they----" "i give you my word that they shall be looked after," finished shirley. thereupon he shook hands all around, wished everybody luck and departed with fetterman. the fateful treasure, of course, went with them. chapter xvi. conclusion. if there was ever a happy man, townsend was the one. so far from grieving him, the loss of the diamonds appeared to have done him a world of good. "py shinks," cried carl, "dot vas der piggest surbrise vat efer anypody heardt aboudt! der man from cape town vas a t'ief, schust like jurgens, und ve haf peen fighding, und vorrying, und making some fools oof ourselufs over a lod of shtolen tiamonts. und now, ven ve lose our air ship in gedding dem pack, in valks a english feller und takes der tiamonts avay. he geds eferyt'ing und ve ged nodding--but bromises." "promises are pretty good things, sometimes," said townsend, "when they are made by the right sort of fellow. but you and your friends will not be anything out, motor matt. this shirley means to do what is right, and you will be well repaid for the loss of the _hawk_ and for your time and trouble." "the loss of the _hawk_ is the worst of it," mourned dick. "that strikes me harder than anything else." "she was a wonderful air ship," said townsend, "and i don't blame you for feeling cut up over her loss. but motor matt can build another." "i think i will leave the air-ship business for a while," said matt, "and get into something else. i suppose," he went on, shifting the subject, "that the english detective will see that jurgens gets the full extent of the law?" "there's no doubt," averred townsend, "but that jurgens will pay dearly for his last attempt to get away with those fated diamonds." "and if whistler and bangs are captured, they'll share the same fate. officers are looking for them now." "i don't think the officers will catch them, matt," said townsend. "the trail is hot and whistler and bangs will have to travel on foot." "even at that, whistler knows that part of the country too well. jurgens, i am sure, is the only member of the gang who will ever be brought to book. but i am satisfied. he is the most culpable, and whistler and bangs were only tools." "what do you think about the way i let dashington go, mr. townsend?" asked matt, anxiously. "whatever you do, my lad, is all right so far as i am concerned. on the face of it, it would look as though you had done wrong; but you were placed in a position where you could learn what dashington really was. if, armed with that knowledge, you thought it right to set him free, i don't see why any one should find fault with your judgment." matt was glad to have this approval. he felt in his own heart he had done right, but he wanted to know how others felt about it. "you'd better take a little rest now, cap'n," said cassidy. "you've been under a good deal of a strain to-night, and the doctor said you----" "the strain, as you call it, cassidy," interrupted townsend, with a laugh, "has done me good. don't go, matt," he added, seeing that matt and his friends were reaching for their hats, "i'm not quite through with you yet." "i'll drop in and see you to-morrow," said matt. "i guess you've talked enough for to-night." "i'm so pleased over getting rid of those diamonds that i feel as though i could talk all night. you say that you think, now that the _hawk_ has been destroyed, you'll get into some other line of business." "yes; something connected with gasoline motors, of course. i couldn't break away from the motors, you know." "why not go in for submarines?" "i had thought of that, but couldn't see any place where there was an opening." dick and carl looked disturbed. "i can offer you an opening." "iss dere some obenings for more as one, misder downsent?" inquired carl. "i'm a little bit interested in that point myself," added dick. "i don't like to see this combination of king, ferral & pretzel broken up." "it needn't be broken up," said townsend, "for i am sure i can take care of all three of you." "just what kind of an opening is it, mr. townsend?" asked matt. "i will tell you about that later. you remember, i think, that i asked you to come to new orleans to help me in some work that had nothing to do with the iron chest or the treasure of the man from cape town?" "i remember that, yes, sir," said matt. "we haven't got down to that business yet, and, as i told carl, some time ago, it's thrilling, exciting and a bit dangerous." "und, as i toldt you, misder downsent," put in carl, "dot's der fery t'ing vat ve like. life vouldt be some treary blaces mitoudt oxcidement to lifen t'ings oop." "before we had a chance to get at this other work of mine," continued townsend, "something connected with that iron chest would bob up and the other business had to be sidetracked. now, however, i think we can get at it without anything to interfere. but the matter will have to hold over until i am better than i am now. perhaps it will be a week before i will be able to discuss the affair with you. meanwhile, may i ask you to remain in new orleans, at my expense, for that length of time?" "certainly, mr. townsend, if it will oblige you we will stay here for a week," answered matt. "i'm obliged to you--to all of you. now, i know, you're fagged out and in need of rest, so i won't keep you any longer. i suppose you will take that automobile to the police department and leave it with them to be turned over to the firm to whom it belongs?" "we'll do that," said matt, "before we go to our hotel." "it would be wise, i think, to get it off your mind as soon as possible. and i have your promise to stay in town for a week?" "yes." "then i know you'll stay, for"--and here townsend gave a confident smile--"i know that motor matt's word is as good as his bond." he shook hands with the motor boys, and they went out of the house, got into the automobile and headed the machine back toward town. the end. the next number ( ) will contain motor matt's submarine; or, the strange cruise of the _grampus_. a startling report--mixed messages--hurry-up orders--accident or design--sixty shows his hand--an unexpected rescue--a fruitless search--the overturned boat--adrift in the storm--the derelict--the schooner--a stunning surprise--closing in--the "grampus" gets a clue--an ultimatum--"off with the old, and on with the new." motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction new york, may , . terms to motor stories mail subscribers. (_postage free._) single copies or back numbers, c. each. months c. months c. months $ . one year . copies one year . copy two years . =how to send money=--by post-office or express money-order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. at your own risk if sent by currency, coin, or postage-stamps in ordinary letter. =receipts=--receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. if not correct you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once. ormond g. smith, } george c. smith, } _proprietors_. street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york city. the masked light. conclusion. it was the enemy! we were completely trapped. the tables were turned upon us; yet, even as the fight was lost, we won it. shots crossed and recrossed about me. one flash on my left showed me a man's face and the glitter of a bayonet as he thrust at me. i struck it on one side with the muzzle of my gun, firing point-blank into him as i parried it. as he dropped back another leaped up, stamping on him to gain me. he fired from the hip, and the powder singed my hair. i clubbed my musket and struck down at him, slipped on the bowlder, and down we crashed, clenched together, he, underneath, falling on his head twelve feet below. his arms relaxed and i rolled clear. by sheer instinct alone i kept flat, for men were now leaping down, while the shrill whistle of a leaden hailstorm passed over me. for a moment i thought it was the end of us all; but out of the din i recognized a voice on our right calling shrilly: chloe's voice. our friends were reënforcing us from the ford. the attackers, caught on the flank, broke and fled. i rose up at last. the foot of the lighthouse just loomed faintly visible, and i saw the last of the enemy rush over the dark heap and gain the shelter of the building. that dark heap was now linked to our position by a chain of dead and wounded men; their retreat had cost them more than the attack. we had not escaped scatheless. seven men killed outright, and nine wounded. before we had time to move a single man to a more comfortable position, we were driven to the shelter of our rocks by a withering fire which broke out from every window and loophole of the chapel. we clung to the lee of the rocks. the air was dusty with chips and splinters of stone. as i at last recovered my wits, i found that some one else was sheltering under the same rock. it was chloe, all breathless, disheveled, and wringing wet. "take mine, capitan," she cried, on seeing me without a rifle. and she passed me a handful of cartridges from the bosom of her dress. i loaded in haste, but henrico began to roar above the din that not a shot was to be fired. it was growing lighter every moment, and as yet the enemy could only aim by the line of the dead and wounded. but, for all that, the bombardment went on unceasingly. chloe, her breath recovered, was, despite her crouching position, tidying herself to something more woman-like. i asked her for the news. "oh," she cried, "they found us, tumbled on us, but they paid!--one, two, three, four, five!" checking them off on her fingers. "then we heard you. the sergeant knew you had been surprised--by the sound he knew. so, back came ten of us. he was just dying." "ah," i said. "yes," continued she, braiding her hair. "we all die; but i put my crucifix round his neck. he said we were to come to you. so we left him." suddenly she paused and listened eagerly, as if to catch some other sound in the rattle of the firing. "listen also, capitan," she said, and pulled me close to her side where we could get a sight of the sea between two huge rocks. faintly, we heard the unmistakable moan of a steamship's siren. it was the troop ship! she was calling like some blind, lost thing for guidance. it was now between light and dark, yet to a ship in the open a shore light would show boldly out at sea. the same thought moved both chloe and myself. she rose to her feet to peer over the shelter, but something moved in me hotly, and i pulled her down on the instant and looked over myself. every window of the lighthouse vomited smoke and flashes. above, the lantern still cast level rays on the screen. but no sooner had my eye fallen on the latter, than i cried out in dismay. a man was crawling hand over hand on the wire and cutting down the sheet. already a third was hanging loose, and a section of light streamed seaward. involuntarily i called out to chloe and pointed out the sight. quick as light she whipped up the rifle, but, as she pulled the trigger, i knocked up the muzzle. and i could have done no other thing even if it had lost all. it was a magnificent thing to see a man do; he was a dead man as soon as sighted, so near he hung to us. chloe slipped in another cartridge. in a second we were struggling for possession of the weapon. at the first grip i cleverly thrust her back on the rock with the barrel across her chest; only for a moment, for, with a swift, sinuous movement, she flung me sideways, and down we went, i underneath. she hissed like a wild cat, her short upper lip held clear of her white teeth, and her eyes a depth of black and fire. i believe in her mad rage she would have worsted me, but, as we grappled, the walls of the creek fairly shivered under the boom of a startling concussion. a heavy gun had been fired to seaward. the war ship had caught the trooper! another and another explosion followed, and, at the sound, the rifle fire dropped. a shout of triumph rang in the rocks and about us. we dropped the gun and peered over our rock, and saw a white flag limply hanging from the lighthouse. the man on the wire was crawling painfully back to the other side. i could not help but start up and give him a cheer with the whole of my breath. chloe looked in my face, her black eyes big with wonder, a child again. "that's because he is as brave a man as ever carried a gun," said i. "do the americans always cheer an enemy?" asked she. "if he's brave." with that she leaped on to the rock, and, throwing back her head, sent a shrill "huzza!" to the distant man, who had now gained the firm ground. he turned and saw us, waved his hand and fled. all our men were streaming after henrico toward the lighthouse, where the enemy sullenly filed out and flung down their rifles. seventeen i counted, all that remained of the strong command. presently the doctors arrived from the cruiser, and began their grim trade on a flat rock. but the most evil sight was to see the lighthouse, forgotten by all, unblinkingly staring into the face of the now open day. but the night's work had not been wasted by us, for by sunset we were honored guests on the cruiser, with a passage home before us. chloe had brought off in her uncle's boat the odds and ends from our lodgings. the anchor cable was rattling on the deck, and at that we shook hands with her, and said good-by. she stood and looked at us, and we noticed she had put on her gala dress. still she remained, till gilbert suddenly cried: "goodness, we've forgotten. but we'll send you our debt as soon as we get home to new york--never you fear, chloe." "no! never," she cried, "not that; no money owing." she turned, her red lips open and eyes brimming; she stooped, kissed gilbert in her arms! swung round, kissed me full and fair, and was gone with a flutter of skirt and clicking of shoe heels on the brass ledges of the stair. the last we saw of san josé was a lonely boat and a woman waving and waving till she faded in the dusk and distance. the end. spanish cedar logs. in the early days of cigar box manufacture in california, they were made almost exclusively of spanish cedar. but that wood has become very scarce and high priced of late years, and other woods are taking its place to a certain extent. and one of those woods is california redwood. in california at present the cigar box makers use about one-fourth redwood; the balance is composed of spanish cedar and what is known to the trade as "imitation" lumber, which is nothing more than the common poplar and basswood of new england, sawed up, planed, and then stained in imitation of spanish cedar, or veneered with spanish cedar, because spanish cedar is par excellence the real stuff for cigar boxes. the gilt edge cigars all have to be packed in spanish cedar, else there is a kick from the opulent and fastidious smoker, who claims that the natural aroma of the wood imparts an improved flavor to the cigars. this may be a superstition, but as the well-to-do lovers of the weed are perfectly willing to pay for it the trade are only too anxious to flatter their customers' tastes. it is a luxury and one that is growing more and more expensive; for in the early days of cigar box making spanish cedar could be bought at $ a thousand feet; now it costs $ a thousand feet. now some one asks where and how is spanish cedar obtained? right here on the pacific coast; but not in california, however, replete as her resources are. you have to go away south along the mexican and central american coasts for this special kind of lumber. and california has driven a trade in spanish cedar ever since cigar box making had its inception on the pacific coast; in fact, there is hardly a product of any part of the known world that does not come to the port by the golden gate. the ever restless coasting schooners are the craft that bring our spanish cedar logs up out of the tropics, and it is a peculiar trade--not only the maritime part of the traffic, but that part which is performed on land; for that part is done along the primitive ways of the easy going mexican and central american. it is to be presumed that away back in the early days of maritime traffic on the lower coast there were supplies of spanish cedar logs that could be obtained at the regular ports of entry; but evidently such a supply, if it ever existed, finally became exhausted, and as nobody down in those regions had the enterprise to build railroads from their seaports into the lumber regions of the interior, the stock of cedar had to be picked up all along the coast, wherever the wood could be found. that made the transfer of the logs from the shore to the vessel's side a very laborious undertaking and one no white man would ever have thought of resorting to. but first in order comes the cutting of the cedar timber and the transportation of the logs to the shore. this, too, was done by the simple-minded mexicans and central americans. of course, at first these people cut the timber nearest the seashore, and then kept working back into the country, a process that involved more and more labor, because the distance of transportation was all the time increasing. the cedar trees were chopped down and then cut up into logs varying in length from six to twelve feet, according to the size of the trees. these logs were then hewn square, ranging in size from nine inches to two feet. this was done in order that they might be packed closely when on board of the california schooners. then along came a swarthy castilian, a pair of oxen attached to one of those funny wooden two-wheeled carts, with axle bare. upon this cart, called a carita, were loaded a number of logs, the number, of course, depending upon the size, and were lashed on, with one end dragging upon the ground behind. in this way the logs were hauled to the sea coast and deposited just above high tide line. after a while spanish cedar began to grow scarce along the ocean belt, and then the mexicans went up the rivers and creeks and cut cedar timber along the banks. the logs were rolled into the streams and driven down to the sea, either loose or in rafts, and were loaded thence upon the california schooners. now, there was a certain season when the loading of cedar logs down along the southern coast upon the schooners from the north was practicable, and that was in what california calls the winter season, when in southern waters the weather is the calmest of any season during the year. for there were no deep water harbors or extensive ocean piers whereat to find dockage for the schooners, and the loading had to be done offshore at any point where there might be a quantity of logs awaiting shipment. so the california sailing masters used to go cruising down the southern coast, keeping a sharp lookout for signals from ashore indicating the presence of a cargo. at a given signal they would tack to larboard and pull in as close to the beach as the soundings would permit. sometimes they would have to anchor as much as two miles offshore. when all was ready for loading two of the mexicans on shore would seize a log, watch for the next incoming comber, and just as it was about to break on the beach they would start, rush through it with their log in hand, and would then find themselves in comparatively smooth water. as soon as deep water was reached the two men would start to paddle the log out to the waiting vessel. there was a man on each side of the log, and each man had one arm flung over the log, while the other was left free to do the paddling. arriving at the vessel's side the log would be caught by the crew of the craft and pulled on board. the two swimmers would then turn about and swim back to the shore for another log. by this slow and laborious process the vessel was finally loaded, the logs paid for, and the prow turned northward. for this kind of labor the mexicans were paid $ a day each in mexican money, worth only about fifty cents in united states currency. but the mexicans appeared to be quite well satisfied with their wages, and could save something out of their pay for a rainy day; because living was cheap in that kindly climate--a bunch of bananas and some cakes sufficing for food, with mescal to drink, and anyone could sleep out of doors under a palm tree with perfect comfort. the traffic in spanish cedar logs has fallen off a good deal of late years in consequence of their growing scarcity, and california cigar box makers have been obliged to send to eastern seaports for a part of their supply, the lumber finding its way into those ports from cuba and gulf of mexico ports. cooking the venison steak. there are various ways of cooking venison steak, but the recipe given by game warden walter neal is still pronounced the best by maine woodsmen. it is that followed by hannibal hamlin and other famous hunters and diners. "get a buck deer that is fat and not over five years of age," says mr. neal. "one that weighs one hundred pounds is better than no deer, though the best should weigh nearly two hundred pounds. before the body is cold, if possible, slash off some thick slices of steak. have them nearly two inches thick and big enough to cover the bottom of an old-style spider if possible. "now get a thick and heavy cast-iron spider red-hot above the coals. be sure and do this, because the hotter the spider is the better. and when the spider is glowing and sparkling with heat, slap in a slice of steak. do not use any butter or any form of fat, but let the raw meat fall direct upon the hot iron, and then let it sizzle and smell and smoke for about a minute. "now flop it over on the other side, and repeat until the camp is so full of choking smoke and the smell of burning meat that you must carry the heated spider outdoors to get your breath. "tip the burnt and smoking steak on to a big plate, slash it deeply all over the surface with a sharp knife and throw on butter until the meat is afloat. then salt and pepper to taste, after which nobody needs any directions as to what to do next. "venison cooked in this way and eaten with strong coffee and hot cream of tartar biscuit forms the best meat that it is possible to serve to kings and queens or jacks. and i know exactly what i am talking about." the market men and hotel cooks of eastern maine make a sharp distinction between the flesh of the deer that is raised in maine and that which is captured by the hunters in the southern states, calling the home product venison and all other kinds deer meat, or if the animals are very small and without fat, they modify the term and scornfully call it deer veal. the newest bangor plan of cooking venison is to cut moderately thick slices from the round of a buck and grill the flesh over a white-hot fire of anthracite, letting the greedy flames lick and bathe the curling meat and crisp its edges until it is hot clear through and cooked on the outside, though still somewhat rare in the interior. the person who is said to have introduced this manner of cooking from canada is edward stetson, president of the first national bank of bangor, who spends much time every year in his camp back from north twin dam on the west branch of penobscot river. so particular is mr. stetson concerning how the venison of his shooting must be prepared for his guests in camp that before the beginning of open season every year he sends up the necessary anthracite by rail, his servants carrying it in baskets from the station far back into the wilderness, where it is used solely for broiling venison. the men of unclassified employment who pass from may to october in raising hay, oats and potatoes to sell to the near-by lumber camps and who swing axes in the deep woods from october to may declare that the best venison is from the carcass of a buck shot in november and frozen and hung up under cover until midwinter. baby ostriches. three cunning little gray-and-white ostriches were ushered into the world at the florida ostrich farm and zoo recently, a remarkably good result from a setting of fifteen eggs. everybody, from manager fraser down to the most subordinate attaché of the resort, was gloriously happy over the event. the life, habits, and characteristics of the ostriches are really interesting. starting with the mating of the grown birds, which are allowed to select their mates, the male bird prepares the nest, a hollow in the sand, generally in a secluded spot in his pen, about one and a half feet deep and twelve feet in circumference. the hen lays about twelve to eighteen eggs, one every other day. the eggs are from fifteen to eighteen inches in circumference, and, weigh about three to four and a half pounds each, the shell being from one-sixteenth to one-eighth of an inch thick, sufficiently strong to withstand a decided blow. after laying her nest of eggs the birds begin setting, the hen in the daytime and the male ostrich covering the eggs at nighttime. they remain on the nests constantly from forty-two to forty-five days, never leaving it, except for food twice a day. even then the male bird covers the nest frequently while his mate seeks her food. the chick when ready to hatch will usually break or pip the shell itself; but at times the hen ostrich will assist by breaking it with her breast bone, by pressing upon it, helping the chick out by lifting it out with her beak, and shaking the shell from its body. the first growth of ostrich chicks is remarkably fast, as from ten days of age up to six months old they grow at the rate of a foot a month. after six months they grow more slowly. at first both sexes are similar in color and appearance, and are almost undistinguishable until about fifteen or eighteen months old. that which has been a mixture of drab, white, and brown on the male, begins to darken, and finally at about four years old becomes a decided black. the feathers on the female remain drab during her entire life. baby ostriches do not eat for three days after hatching. the third day they begin to stand up and take notice like a child, and after being taught to eat by having bits of their food placed in their bills, they very quickly discover the use of their bills, and pick up their own food. the chicks must be carefully fed and have fine especially prepared food, including plenty of fine grit and fresh, clean water. their first crop of feathers matures at eight months. mink farm in oregon. tom staten has established a farm for the raising of mink at rattlesnake point, on the upper klamath lake. about a hundred of the animals are housed in cages or cabinets, and seem to do well and thrive in captivity, as they are all fat and sleek looking. the animals are so tame that they will take food from the hand, although one has to be careful in handling them, as the mink is treacherous and has very sharp teeth. as mink in this county increase about five fold mr. staten expects to have something over five hundred in his cages next year. the value of their fur alone will aggregate about $ , , but live female minks sell for a much higher figure than their hide alone is worth. latest issues motor stories the latest and best five-cent weekly. we won't say how interesting it is. see for yourself. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. --motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. --motor matt's century run; or, the governor's courier. --motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the "comet." --motor matt's mystery; or, foiling a secret plot. --motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear. --motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto. --motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward. --motor matt's air-ship; or, the rival inventors. --motor matt's hard luck; or, the balloon house plot. --motor matt's daring rescue; or, the strange case of helen brady. --motor matt's peril; or, castaway in the bahamas. tip top weekly the most popular publication for boys. the adventures of frank and dick merriwell can be had only in this weekly. =high art colored covers. thirty-two pages. price, cents.= --frank merriwell's great work; or, getting the right start. --dick merriwell's mind; or, the ideal of manhood. --dick merriwell's "dip;" or, the mysterious movements of a hat. --dick merriwell's rally; or, making a fighting finish. --dick merriwell's flier; or, the champions of the ice. --frank merriwell's bullets; or, a steady nerve and a sure hand. --frank merriwell cut off; or, the result of the great spring rise. --frank merriwell's ranch boss; or, big bruce and the blossoms. --dick merriwell's equal; or, the fellow with the flying feet. --dick merriwell's development; or, the all-around wonder. --dick merriwell's eye; or, the secret of good batting. --frank merriwell's zest; or, the spirit of the school. --frank merriwell's patience; or, the making of a pitcher. --frank merriwell's pupil; or, the boy with the wizard wing. --frank merriwell's fighters; or, the decisive battle with blackstone. --dick merriwell at the "meet"; or, honors worth winning. nick carter weekly the best detective stories on earth. nick carter's exploits are read the world over. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --the moving picture mystery; or, nick carter's blindest trail. --the tiger-tamer; or, nick carter's boldest strategy. --a strange bargain; or, nick carter's dead-shot circus case. --the haunted circus; or, nick carter lays a ghost. --the secret of a private room; or, nick carter makes an experiment. --a mental mystery; or, nick carter on a difficult trail. --the sealed envelope; or, nick carter's search for a lost fortune. --the message in blue; or, nick carter's clue to a vast conspiracy. --a dream of empire; or, nick carter and the queen of conspirators. --the detective's disappearance; or, nick carter is saved by adelina. --the midnight marauders; or, nick carter's telephone mystery. --the child of the jungle; or, nick carter's ingenious ruse. --nick carter's satanic enemy; or, the case of an easy mark. --three times stolen; or, nick carter's strange clue. --the great diamond syndicate; or, nick carter's cleverest foes. _for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address on receipt of price, cents per copy, in money or postage stamps, by_ street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york =if you want any back numbers= of our weeklies and cannot procure them from your newsdealer, they can be obtained from this office direct. fill out the following order blank and send it to us with the price of the weeklies you want and we will send them to you by return mail. =postage stamps taken the same as money.= ________________________ _ _ _street & smith, - seventh avenue, new york city._ _dear sirs: enclosed please find_ ___________________________ _cents for which send me_: tip top weekly, nos. ________________________________ nick carter weekly, " ________________________________ diamond dick weekly, " ________________________________ buffalo bill stories, " ________________________________ brave and bold weekly, " ________________________________ motor stories, " ________________________________ _name_ ________________ _street_ ________________ _city_ ________________ _state_ ________________ adventures of a boy genius motor stories the boys who want to learn something from what they read, as well as to be interested by it, will never find another publication that will satisfy them so well as motor stories. "motor matt" is not an impossible boy character. he is simply a youth who has had considerable training in a machine shop where motors of all kinds were repaired, and who is possessed of a genius for mechanics. his sense of right and wrong is strongly developed, and his endeavors to insure certain people a square deal, lead him into a series of the most astonishing, but at the same time the most natural adventures that ever befell a boy. _here are the titles now ready_: --motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. --motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. --motor matt's century run; or, the governor's courier. --motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the "comet." --motor matt's mystery; or, foiling a secret plot. --motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear. --motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto. --motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward. --motor matt's air ship; or, the rival inventors. --motor matt's hard luck; or, the balloon house plot. --motor matt's daring rescue; or, the strange case of helen brady. --motor matt's peril; or, cast away in the bahamas. to be published on may th. --motor matt's queer find; or, the secret of the iron chest. to be published on may th. --motor matt's promise; or, the wreck of the "hawk." to be published on may st. --motor matt's submarine; or, the strange cruise of the "grampus." to be published on june th. --motor matt's quest; or, three chums in strange waters. price, five cents at all newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, by the publishers upon receipt of the price. street & smith, _publishers_, new york transcriber's notes: italics are represented with _underscores_, bold with =equal signs=. page , changed "you're" to "your" in "he's your double." page , added missing end quote to "and bring the receipt to me here, to-morrow." page , added missing comma before "you can gount on me." page , changed "everwhelming interest" to "overwhelming interest." page , expanded oe ligature to oe in "manoeuvring" for this text edition; the ligature is retained in the html version. page , corrected "reconnoit-tring" to "reconnoitring." added missing quote before "it might have been some superstitious...." page , changed "anway" to "anyway" ("what do you think of yourself, anyway?"). courtesy of the digital library@villanova university (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction no. july , five cents motor matt makes good another victory for the motor boys _by the author of "motor matt"_ [illustration: _"fire away, kevik!" clamored carl, and just then matt pulled the trigger._] _street & smith, publishers, new york._ motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction _issued weekly. by subscription $ . per year. entered according to act of congress in the year , in the office of the librarian of congress, washington, d. c., by_ street & smith, _ - seventh avenue, new york, n. y._ no. . new york, july , . price five cents. motor matt makes good or, another victory for the motor boys. by the author of "motor matt." contents chapter i. off the chilian coast. chapter ii. hurled into the sea. chapter iii. saved by a torpedo. chapter iv. weighing the evidence. chapter v. a surprising situation. chapter vi. another attack. chapter vii. a bad half hour. chapter viii. chasing a torpedo. chapter ix. northward bound. chapter x. a halt for repairs. chapter xi. dick makes a discovery. chapter xii. a wary foe. chapter xiii. pluck that wins. chapter xiv. a little work on the inside. chapter xv. a star performance. chapter xvi. conclusion. the spider water. good words for the 'gator. venomous fish. characters that appear in this story. =matt king=, otherwise motor matt, king of the motor boys. =carl pretzel=, a cheerful and rollicking german boy, stout of frame as well as of heart, who is led by a fortunate accident to link his fortunes with those of motor matt. =dick ferral=, a young sea dog from canada, with all a sailor's superstitions, but in spite of all that a royal chum, ready to stand by the friend of his choice through thick and thin. =ensign john henry glennie, united states navy.= =sons of the rising sun.= =captain pons=, who has come from havre, france, to deliver the submarine boat, _pom_, to the chilian government, only to fall into a net spread by the sons of the rising sun. =captain sandoval=, of the chilian navy, who has appeared before, in the motor stories, and appears for the last time and bows himself out. =captain of the port of lota, chili=, who plays a small but important part. chapter i. off the chilian coast. "great spark plugs!" "strike me lucky!" "py shiminy grismus!" there were three surprised and excited boys on the rounded deck of the submarine boat _grampus_. it was a calm, cloudless night, and the sea was as smooth as a mill pond; but, for all that, the night was cloudless, a dank, clinging fog had rolled down from the andes and out upon the ocean, blotting out moon and star and rendering their surroundings as black as erebus. the _grampus_ was proceeding slowly northward along the chilian coast. motor matt, dick ferral, and carl pretzel were on the deck forward, keeping a sharp lookout. the electric projector from the conning tower bored a gleaming hole into the darkness ahead, giving the lads a limited view in that direction. speake was half in and half out of the conning tower, steering from that position. the waters gurgled and lapped at the rounded sides of the boat, then floated rearward in long lines of phosphorescence, spreading out in the wake like two sticks of an open fan. at the stern of the submarine the propeller churned up a glittering froth. what the boys saw, however, that had aroused their startled exclamations was a cluster as of glowing lights a foot or two under the surface of the water. this mysterious glow was moving, at a moderate rate of speed, in a course that crossed that of the _grampus_. "slow down, speake!" called matt to the helmsman. the jingle of a bell, down in the motor room, was heard faintly, and the submarine's speed fell off perceptibly. the cluster of starlike points bubbled onward, missed the bow of the _grampus_ by a few feet, and vanished in the gloom on the port side. "vat it iss?" murmured carl, rubbing a hand dazedly across his eyes. "dere iss lighdning pugs on der land, und i vonder iss dere lighdning pug fishes in der sea? dot looked schust like a shark mit some search lights on his headt." "i'm a fiji if there was any fish about that," averred the bewildered dick. "can you rise to it, matey?" he asked, turning to matt. "what sort of a sizing do you give it?" the king of the motor boys was puzzled. "it might be a piece of drift from the shore," he answered, "or the fragment of a wreck." "aber it _moofed_!" exclaimed carl. "it moofed droo der vater schust like it vas alife!" "the current may have caused that. there are all kinds of currents in this part of the ocean." "und der lights, matt. pieces oof wreck don'd haf lights like dot!" "that was a trick of the phosphorescence. there were probably nails or spikes in the timber, and wherever they projected and caused a ripple there was a glow in the water." matt turned to speake. "make a turn to the left, speake," said he. the submarine swerved slowly to the port tack. "there," said matt; "hold her so." dick gave a low laugh. "you don't take much stock in that explanation of yours, matey," he remarked, "or you wouldn't be following that bit of supposed flotsam and jetsam." "i've explained it in the only way i know how, dick," returned matt, "but i'm still a good deal in doubt. we'll see if we can overhaul the thing and make a further examination. i don't like to take the time, but it may turn out to be time well spent." motor matt knelt well forward, just where the v-shaped waves parted over the sharp nose of the _grampus_, and while he knelt he peered fixedly into the water ahead. "you're such a cautious chap," spoke up dick, hanging to one of the flagstaff guys and likewise staring ahead, "that i've been all ahoo wondering why you were doing this night cruising. the night's as black as a pocket, and this coast is about as dangerous as you can find anywhere, and yet here we are, groping our way along, never knowing what minute we may bounce upon a reef or say how do you do to a sharp rock." "remember that pacific mail boat we spoke yesterday?" inquired matt, over his shoulder. "the one that told us they had news, in santiago, that a japanese boat had got away from the chilian, captain sandoval, below the strait of magellan?" responded dick. "exactly. when we left english reach, at the western end of the strait, we know captain sandoval, of the chilian warship _salvadore_, was pursuing the mysterious japanese steamer; and we also know that that steamer had on board our enemies, the sons of the rising sun. the mail boat said the news that the steamer had escaped the _salvadore_ had been flashed by wireless from punta arenas, and had been repeated by telegraph to santiago and valparaiso." "i don'd pelieve dot chap poat efer got avay from der _salvatore_!" declared carl. "it may be that she did, carl," went on matt, "and we've got to make sure of it just as soon as we possibly can. that's the reason we're traveling through this thick fog, and taking our chances on hitting a reef or sunken rock. we've got to reach lota and find out for sure if those japs are again free to bother us. you know what it means if the sons of the rising sun got away from sandoval. those misguided japs have sworn that the _grampus_ shall never be turned over to the united states government at mare island navy yard. they're a desperate and fanatical lot, and we've got to know just what we're up against, so far as they are concerned. lota is on the railroad and telegraph line, and we'll get news there, if anywhere." "as usual," observed dick, "that head of yours has been working, old ship, while the rest of us have been wondering what you were trying to do. i don't think you'll catch up with that piece of drift." "nor i," matt answered, getting to his feet and coming aft. "whatever that was, i suspect we'll never be able to discover, so my guess will have to stand. put her on the starboard tack, speake," he added to the man in the conning tower. the submarine once more resumed her course toward arauco bay and lota. "you fellows go below and turn in," matt went on to dick and carl. "i can con the ship, all right, and there's no need of the two of you staying awake and helping me on the lookout." "you'd better let glennie relieve you, mate," suggested dick. "you've been on deck duty for six hours." "i'm going to stay right here," said matt, "until we get safely into arauco bay." there was no use arguing with motor matt when he made up his mind that duty commanded him to do a certain thing, and dick and carl wished him luck and went below. ensign glennie was lying on the locker in the periscope room. "you shifted the course," said he, rising on one elbow and peering at dick and carl as they dropped off the iron ladder. "what was up?" "somet'ing mit a shiny headt vent past us," replied carl, dropping down on a stool and beginning to draw off his shoes. "something with a shiny head?" queried the nonplused ensign. "yah, so. it vas a funny pitzness." "what was it, dick?" "i'm by," answered dick, shaking his head. "i've seen a good many queer things afloat, but that was the queerest. it was too dark to see much, though. mayhap if we'd had a little more light, we could have made a closer examination and the mystery would have been explained." thereupon he went into details, telling glennie all that he and carl knew. "can you make anything out of it, glennie?" dick finished. "i'm over my head, like the rest of you," answered the ensign. "probably matt hit it off pretty well when he said it was a bit of water-logged drift, floating between two waves, with spikes cutting the water and throwing off gleams of phosphorescence. this part of the pacific is full of cross-currents. and it's a mighty dangerous stretch of water, too, i'm telling you. matt is certainly anxious to reach lota, or he'd never persist in pushing through waters like these in such a fog." "he's worrying again over those sons of the rising sun." dick pulled off one of his shoes and swung it reflectively in his hand. "i don't think it is possible that that jap steamer got away from sandoval," said glennie. "the officers on that mail boat must have got it wrong." "our old raggie is bound to find out just how much truth there is in the yarn, anyhow," continued dick. "we're what you might call on the last leg of our cruise, and the little old _grampus_ has covered the east coast of two continents and is well up the west coast. we have dodged trouble in pretty good shape, so far, and matt don't intend to let the sons of the rising sun put us down and out at this late stage of the game." "the japs can't put motor matt down and out," averred glennie, with suppressed admiration. "he has met them at every point, and has given them the worst of it. they'll never be able to destroy the _grampus_. mark what i say, my lads, motor matt is going to 'make good' with ground to spare, and chalk up another victory for the motor boys." dick and carl would have cheered this warm sentiment, but before they had a chance to do so, a wild yell came from speake. "tumble up here, you fellows! quick, now!" speake, as he spoke, crushed himself against the side of the conning-tower hatch, in order to make room for those in the periscope room to pass him and reach the deck. startled by the words and wildly excited manner of the helmsman, dick, carl, and glennie lost not an instant in rushing up the ladder and dropping over the side of the conning tower. "where's matt?" cried dick. "that's just what i want to know," answered speake, his consternation growing and a tremulous awe finding its way into his voice. "he was on the deck a few minutes ago, but he isn't here now. the last i saw of him he went aft, around the conning tower. the next thing i knew, when i turned and looked for him, he wasn't aboard." all three of the lads were stricken dumb. for a brief space none of them spoke, but looked toward each other in the gloom, frantically alarmed and vaguely fearing--they knew not what. "he couldn't have fallen overboard," spoke up glennie, first to break the silence that held them as by an uncanny spell, "and yet it's certain he's not on the boat." "matt!" roared dick, making a trumpet of his hands and calling into the blank darkness. "ahoy, matt!" no answer was returned. all that could be heard was the hum of the submarine's motor, the swish of the propeller, and the lap and gurgle of waves along the rounded side. carl began to whimper. "ach, du lieber! oof anyt'ing has habbened py dot bard oof mine, i don'd know vat i shall do, py shinks! he vas der pest friendt vat i efer hat, und----" "put about, speake!" cried dick, now thoroughly alive to the situation. "if matt went overboard, then we're rushing away from him, and he's swimming somewhere in our wake." the shaken helmsman immediately turned the _grampus_ in a wide circle and rang for full speed. chapter ii. hurled into the sea. matt was very much worried when dick and carl, agreeably to their orders, went below. it was not the strange visitor that had passed the bows of the _grampus_ on its glowing way that rested heavily on his mind, but the news gathered from the captain of the mail boat that had been spoken early in the day. on leaving the western end of the strait of magellan, the submarine and her crew had, as they supposed, left behind them for the rest of their cruise their wily enemies, the sons of the rising sun. they had had trouble enough on account of the japanese while coming through the strait, and matt thought that he and his friends were entitled to a respite, so far as the nefarious plots of the fanatical young japs were concerned.[a] [a] the adventures of the motor boys, in and around magellan strait, were set forth in no. of the motor stories, entitled, "motor matt's defiance; or, around the horn." it was the responsibility for the safety of the _grampus_ that rested so heavily on the young motorist's mind. weeks before, when the submarine had left belize, british honduras, captain nemo, jr., the owner of the boat, had placed the craft entirely in matt's hands. "i wouldn't trust the _grampus_ with any one else, matt," declared the captain. "but you've got nerve, your judgment is good, you know the craft from one end to the other, and whenever anything goes wrong and you get into a scrape, you've got a knack of always getting out of it without much damage to yourself. a hundred thousand dollars is to be paid for the _grampus_ when she reaches mare island. if the submarine doesn't reach there in good condition, the money will not be paid. sickness will detain me for a while in belize, and so that puts this work of taking the boat around the horn up to you. now go ahead!" motor matt appreciated to the full captain nemo, jr.'s trust and confidence. he had vowed to himself over and over again that he would prove to the captain he was worthy of the trust reposed in him. matt was thinking of all this on the deck of the _grampus_, after dick and carl had left him; and, in the midst of his reflection, he fancied he heard a muffled sound from somewhere in the submarine's wake. instantly alarmed, he passed the conning tower, without exchanging any words with speake, and took up a position not far from the churning propeller. but he heard nothing further, and could see nothing either to increase or diminish his fears. he was just turning about to make his way forward, when a coil struck about his throat, drawing taut on the instant and preventing any outcry. at the same instant there came an irresistible pull backward. matt, astounded by this unexpected attack, reaching him from some point away from the boat and darting silently and suddenly out of the thick gloom, flung up his hands in an attempt to clutch one of the wire guys of the periscope mast. he missed the guy by a fraction of an inch, slipped downward over the rounded deck and rolled into the water. he made little noise, so little that speake could not hear it above the swirl of waves thrown up by the rounded plates of the _grampus_. another moment and matt was in the water and swimming. the deadly compression at his throat continued, and he was unable to voice a sound. he could see the little search light of the submarine moving rapidly onward into the darkness, and could see the half of speake's form, like a blot of shadow, rearing out of the tower hatch. all this time matt felt the pull of the rope about his neck, drawing him steadily and remorselessly away into the foggy night. no one spoke behind him, and there was not the slightest sound to tell him who his captors were, or where they were, or how they had succeeded in making him a victim in that mysterious fashion. a minute, two minutes, passed. at the end of that time matt felt his strength leaving him because of the strangling grip about his throat. then, suddenly, the rearward "pull" relaxed and the constriction at his throat ceased. with one hand he reached upward and pulled the strangling coil loose and gulped down a deep draught of air. a moment later he gave vent to a cry, hoping to attract the attention of speake. but the _grampus_ was too far away. with difficulty matt freed himself of his shoes and coat. he had no idea how long he would have to swim, but he prepared himself to keep afloat as long as possible. what the end was to be he did not know, and he had no time to give to that phase of the question. some mysterious force had hurled him from the deck of the _grampus_ into the sea, and perhaps this same force would continue to take care of him. turning about in the water, he lifted himself high with a downward stroke of his powerful arms, and peered in the direction from which the attack had come. he could see nothing and could hear nothing. for a moment motor matt was tempted to forget his dire plight in marveling over the mysterious nature of that attack. the next instant, however, he began asking himself if it would be possible to reach the chilian shore. it was a mile away, at least. to swim such a distance was no very extraordinary feat, but there were currents sucking matt oceanward, and against these it was powerless for him to struggle. matt could keep afloat, but to what purpose? would it be possible for him to keep on the surface until his friends on the submarine discovered his absence and put back to his rescue? even if he could swim for that length of time, could his friends find him in that darkness, with the current dragging him farther and farther from the course over which the _grampus_ had recently passed? in motor matt's place, a good many lads would have given up the struggle, but matt was of different calibre. as long as there was a breath in his body he would fight, for he knew that while there is life there is always hope. blindly and doggedly he continued his battle with the waves, peering into the northeast from time to time, in the hope of seeing the search light of the _grampus_. he did not see the search light, but he saw something else lying sluggishly in the water not a great distance from where he was. "a log!" he thought. under the impression that fate had thrown across his path a bit of drift from the mainland, he swam to the object and laid hold of it as it heaved and ducked on the placid waves. it was not a log. as he put out one hand it came in contact with smooth, wet metal. the object was a long cylinder, blunt at one end and pointed at the other. "a torpedo!" ran his thought, as he hung over the rounded object with one arm and supported himself in the water. "who fired the torpedo?" was the question he asked himself. he had leisure now for a little reflection. no strength was required to keep himself afloat, for the steel cylinder supported him. as he hung there, lifting and falling with the long, deadly tube, his thoughts harked back to the queer object he, and dick, and carl had seen in the water. the result of his reflections paralyzed him. _some mysterious enemy had launched the torpedo at the grampus!_ had the infernal machine struck the submarine, the craft and every one aboard would have been torn to pieces. a slow horror pulsed through motor matt's veins. the same enemies who had launched the torpedo must surely have jerked matt from the deck of the submarine. but who were they? where were they? with difficulty he lifted himself and got astride the rolling cylinder. from that elevated position he looked around him into the darkness. silence reigned in every direction. there was no sign of the mysterious foes who had attempted to destroy the _grampus_ and to make a prisoner of her commanding officer. presently the young motorist became conscious that the coil was still about his throat, and that a long object was trailing downward and hanging with some weight from his neck. it was a rope. he began pulling it in, coiling the wet length of it in his hand. the rope was all of seventy-five feet long, he judged, and that distance must have marked the position of his foes when the noose was cast. to see even half that distance into the thick darkness was impossible, but why had matt not been able to _hear_ the men who had attempted such dastardly work? speculations were useless. matt, however, had secured a makeshift raft which would keep him afloat until such time as the _grampus_, or some other boat, could pick him up. hoping that the submarine would come to no harm, and determined to make the best of his desperate situation, the king of the motor boys set about making an examination of the steel tube that supported him. chapter iii. saved by a torpedo. matt's first move was to take the noose from about his throat and pass the rope around and around the torpedo, tying it fast. the loops of the rope gave him a handhold which he could not possibly have secured otherwise on the hard, smooth shell, rendered slippery by the water with which it was drenched. the torpedo, he quickly discovered, was a whitehead--a powerful and deadly engine in use by all the navies of the world. it was about seventeen feet long and a foot and a half in diameter. torpedoes of this nature are constructed to run under the surface at any required depth down to twenty feet. a propeller and compressed air furnishes the motive power, and as the air becomes exhausted, the torpedo rises higher and higher. with the air shut off and engine stopped, the cylinder rises to the surface. as that was the case in the present instance, it seemed certain that the motive power of this particular torpedo had been nearly exhausted. the _grampus_, being constructed for work in time of war, had torpedo tubes and one torpedo aboard. matt had studied the mechanism of the whitehead, and he was able to proceed intelligently in his present dilemma. if there was still any air in the big tube, he might use it to carry him to the north and east, in the direction taken by the _grampus_. the lever, he discovered, which locked the engine was standing erect, while the "tripper," which worked automatically the instant the torpedo was discharged and put it under its own power, was lying flat on the curved side. before trying to get the compressed air in the shell to working, he swam to the blunt end of the torpedo and removed the small propeller that manipulated the firing pin. by this wise move he rendered harmless the explosive within the shell. swimming back, he mounted his queer raft by means of the rope loops, lifted the "tripper," and depressed the starting lever. the twin screws, placed tandem fashion at the stern, began slowly to revolve. heading the point of the tube north by east, he began one of the strangest rides that had ever fallen to his lot. as the air within became more and more depleted, the steel cylinder rose higher and higher in the water. for a lad so deeply in love with motors as was matt, the novelty of that ride could not fail to appeal to him. he was safe, at least for a time, and felt sure that ultimately he would gain the shore or be picked up by a coastwise ship. as for the _grampus_, there were cool heads and steady nerves aboard of her, and the submarine's safety would be looked after. besides, the mysterious foes had failed in their night's work, and there was probably no more danger to be apprehended from them. as matt held himself astride his queer craft, guiding it by a pull this way and that, he fell to thinking of the manner in which he had been hurled into the sea. some boat had discharged the torpedo, and it seemed certain that those who had tossed the rope over his head and pulled him from the submarine's deck had been on the same boat. had it been the intention of matt's enemies to haul him aboard their boat, or only to strangle him and keep him in the water until the _grampus_ got well away, then cast him off and let him sink to the bottom? matt's humane instincts rebelled against the latter supposition. his enemies, he reasoned, had intended hauling him aboard their boat, but in some manner had lost hold of the end of the line. a whitehead torpedo costs something like four thousand dollars, and is altogether too valuable to leave adrift when it has been fired and misses its target. those who had discharged the torpedo would surely look for it--and, if they found it, they would also find matt. this caused the young motorist a good deal of trepidation. he reasoned, however, that on account of the darkness of the night and the fog, his mysterious foes would probably remain in the part of the ocean where the torpedo had been fired and look for it in the daylight. between that hour and daylight, matt was hoping to be picked up. the compressed air in a torpedo will carry it about nine hundred yards. this torpedo had not gone its full distance, on account of an automatic misplacement of the "tripper" and starting lever, but enough of the air had been used so that matt's ride was a short one. after a few minutes the propellers ceased to revolve, and matt and the steel cylinder came to a stop, heaving up and down on the surface of the water. yielding to the pull of the current, the torpedo started erratically seaward, and another fear was born in matt's mind. the farther seaward he was carried, the more difficult it would be to fall in with a passing boat, and the farther off would be his rescue. to carry his grewsome thoughts still farther, there was a good chance that he would succumb to thirst and hunger before his woeful plight was discovered, and---- but this gloomy train of reflections was interrupted. in the distance matt could see a glow of light, shining hazily through the fog. was it the search light of the _grampus_, or a gleam from the other boat? divided between hopes and doubts, he waited and watched. the glow presently resolved itself into a pencil of light, and he became fairly positive that it was the searching eye of the submarine. "ahoy!" he shouted. instantly a distant commotion struck on his ears. "ahoy, ahoy!" came an excited answer. "is that you, matt?" "yes. shift your wheel a couple of points to starboard and you'll be heading straight for me. come slow--and don't run me down." the gleam of light suddenly shifted its position. aiming directly at matt, it grew brighter and brighter. matt was able to make out the dark outlines of the submarine's low deck and conning tower, and to see three figures well forward toward the bow, all clinging to guys and leaning out over the water. "are you swimming, old ship?" came the tense voice of dick ferral. "hardly," matt answered. "i've been in the water for upward of an hour--and i couldn't have fought the current that long if i had been compelled to swim." "how you vas keeping off der pottom, matt?" piped up the relieved voice of carl. "there's a sort of a raft under me," matt laughed. "a raft? where the dickens did you get hold of a raft, matt?" this was glennie. "not exactly a raft," went on matt, "but a whitehead torpedo. we met each other at just the right time for me. i'm riding the torpedo, and it's a fine thing for keeping a fellow afloat." startled expressions came from those on the submarine. by then the grampus was so close that her search light had matt and the whitehead in full glare. the amazement of the boys on the submarine increased. "dot's der plamedest t'ing vat i efer heardt oof!" gasped carl. "modor matt riding on a dorpeto schust like it vas a tree, oder somet'ing like dot! ach, himmelblitzen!" speake guided the _grampus_ alongside the torpedo. "be careful, speake!" warned glennie. "if that infernal machine bunts into us, we're gone." "i'm looking out for that," answered speake. "you don't need to worry," called matt reassuringly. "i wasn't going to take chances with two hundred pounds of high explosive, and one of the first things i did was to fix the priming pin so it wouldn't work." the _grampus_, responding to a signal flashed into the motor room, came to a halt. dick threw matt a rope, and he began tying it to one of the loops that encircled the shell of the torpedo. "why are you making fast, matey?" inquired dick. "because i want to tow this torpedo into lota," answered matt. "oh, bother that! here we've been all ahoo thinking you were at the bottom and as good as done for. now that we've found you again--and in a most amazing way, at that--cut loose from that steel tube and come aboard. what's the use of fussing with it?" "i'll explain when i come aboard," matt went on. "make the other end of the line fast, dick, and give the cable a scope of fifty feet. i've hooked to her so that she will follow us stern foremost." glennie helped dick make the cable fast; then matt, drawing in on the line, came alongside the rounded deck plates, and carl helped him off the torpedo. "ach, vat a habbiness!" sputtered carl. "i hat gifen you oop for deadt, matt, und vat shouldt i efer have done mitoudt my bard? how you come to be like dot, hey?" "there's something mighty mysterious about it," said matt. "i thought i heard a noise somewhere in the darkness behind the _grampus_, and stepped aft to watch and listen; then, before i knew what was up, the noose of a rope fell over my head and tightened about my throat. i went into the water with hardly a splash, unable to give a cry for help." "i didn't hear a sound!" put in speake excitedly. "it was all done so quickly and silently, i don't see how you could have known anything about it, speake," said matt. "i was in a bad way when i sighted that torpedo. i got astride of it, started the propellers, and rode in the direction the _grampus_ had taken. when the compressed air gave out, i was expecting to be picked up by some other boat--by the boat that had fired the torpedo at us." "at us!" exclaimed glennie. "do you mean to say that torpedo that saved you was launched at the _grampus_?" "exactly," returned matt. "it was the torpedo dick, carl, and i saw, and which i thought might be a floating log or a piece of wreckage." this astounding intelligence almost carried matt's chums off their feet. "what enemies have we in these waters?" cried the startled glennie. "why," answered matt, "who but the sons of the rising sun?" chapter iv. weighing the evidence. "let's go below, mates," suggested dick, "and overhaul all this. there's meat in it for us, and it will stand us in hand to get at it." "i'll not go below this night, dick," said matt, "and we'd better all of us stay on deck and keep our eyes peeled for japs. carl can go and bring me up some dry clothes, an extra pair of shoes and stockings, and an extra coat." "dot's me, bard," chirruped carl, making for the conning tower. "get the boat on her proper course, speake," said matt; "we must get out of this neighborhood as soon as we can--and as quick as we can. watch the torpedo as we come about, dick, you and glennie. see that the cable doesn't foul the guys or the periscope mast." speake signaled for a fresh start, and as the submarine described a circle and pointed the other way, dick and glennie kept the hawser clear. the torpedo took its scope of cable, and the drag of it was plainly felt as soon as the submarine began to pull. "it's main lucky, mates," remarked dick, as carl regained the deck with matt's dry clothing, and the young motorist began to get out of his wet togs, "that we've such a smooth sea. if the wind was blowing hard and the water was choppy, matt would have a hard time with that torpedo of his." "a lucky thing, too," added glennie, "that there's a thick fog. if matt's enemies had seen him, they'd have finished the work they set out to do with that lariat." "on the other hand, glennie," put in matt, "we don't want to forget that it was the fog that enabled them to come so close. their boat must have got within seventy-five feet of the _grampus_ in order for any one to drop that noose over my head." "i'll be keelhauled if i can understand how such a trick was done," said dick. "from my experiences on the cattle ranges of texas, i should say that a seventy-five-foot cast with a riata is a mighty big one, and liable to be successful about once in a hundred times. but here's this swab that lassoed matt, snaring him the first crack--and throwing from a boat's deck and across water, at that!" "then, too," proceeded glennie, "their boat has less noise to it than any craft i ever heard of. it shoved along within seventy-five feet of us--and none of us heard a sound!" "i thought i heard a noise, glennie," returned matt, "and that was what took me aft." "i can't understand how it was done," muttered the ensign. "veil, anyvays," struck in carl, "id vas done, no madder vedder anypody oondershtands it or nod. kevit making some guesses aboudt der vay it vas pulled off und look der pitzness skevare in der face. it vas der chaps--who else vould dry to plow der _grampus_ oudt oof water? so vat's to be done aboudt it?" "carl's talking sense, fellows," said matt. "those japs are against us. we thought we had left them behind, and that we should be able to reach san francisco before they could make us any trouble, but here they are, going for us harder than ever." "they're not using that steamer of theirs, mates," averred dick. "the steamer might have torpedo tubes," answered glennie. "ay, so she might; but she couldn't lie along within seventy-five feet of us without making noise enough to wake the dead. the sons of the rising sun have changed boats--and how have they had time to do that, and reach this part of the coast almost at the same time as ourselves? we've plugged right along ever since leaving the strait." "that gives me an idea," said the ensign, "and you fellows can take it for what it's worth. our knowledge of the sons of the rising sun is a trifle hazy, but we know them to be a secret organization whose aim is to help japan. the organization is not sanctioned by the japanese government, for its members commit deeds which would plunge the nation into war if it sanctioned them. now, this secret society is probably quite extensive. perhaps we are not dealing with the branch of it that kept us busy most of the way to the horn, but with another outfit of the sons of the rising sun that has been laying for us here." "that's possible," agreed matt. "the question is, shall we put into lota and try to find out something more regarding our enemies, or keep on to valparaiso, as we had originally intended?" "i'm for putting in at lota," said dick. "we can't tow that infernal whitehead all the way to valparaiso." "it will be just as well to stop there, in my opinion," seconded glennie. "if we're dealing with another branch of the sons of the rising sun, perhaps we can get some information about them in lota." "meppy," ventured carl, "ve could lay in a sooply oof gasoline in lota, und vouldn't haf to shdop at valparaiso, huh? dot vould safe dime, und i am gedding hungry for a look at der unidet shtates again. der more i see of odder gountries, der more vat i like my own." "his own!" laughed dick, who, now that motor matt had been safely recovered, was feeling in fine fettle. "you could tell he was a yank, just by the way he talks, eh?" "i peen an american mit a dutch agsent," protested carl, "und i t'ink so mooch oof der shdars und shdripes as anypody. i vould schust as soon shtep on der pritish lion's tail as anyt'ing vat i know." "if you step on the british lion's tail, and i find it out, matey," laughed dick, "i'll have you hauled up and fined for cruelty to animals. one of these days i'm going to write to the kaiser and tell him about you." "vat i care for der kaiser?" snorted carl. "he iss a pooty goot feller, aber he ain'd so big like der bresident oof der land oof der free und der home oof modor matt." "fine-o!" chuckled dick. "a dandy sentiment, carl!" exclaimed glennie. "what do you think of that, matt?" "why," returned matt, "i think that if the lot of us don't stop joshing and attend more to watching our immediate neighborhood that the land of the free and the home of the brave is liable to be minus one submarine and a lot of motor boys. that jap boat is a particularly noiseless craft; she came close enough to us to launch a torpedo, and close enough to tangle me up in a rope and pull me into the ocean. if she did it once, she can do it again. we've got to keep sharp eyes forward, aft, and on both sides. dick, you'll be the bow lookout, and glennie can go aft; you watch the port side, carl, and i'll watch the starboard. can you steer for the rest of the night, speake?" he added to the man in the conning tower. "i guess i can stand this extra duty if you can, matt," replied speake, "considering what you've been through." "a dip in the ocean and a ride on a torpedo doesn't count," said matt, dropping his wet clothes down the hatch; "it's what may happen to us if we don't keep on our guard that bothers me. this boat is going to be delivered at mare island, japs or no japs." "und righdt site oop mit care, you bed you!" cried carl, dropping down on the port side of the conning tower. "i feel so easy in my mindt as oof i vas alretty pack in der best gountry vat efer vas." "carl is full of patriotism to-night, mates," observed dick, from the bow. "i vas dickled pecause matt is alife und kicking. dot inshpires me mit batriotic sendiment, und odder feelings oof choy. be jeerful, eferypody." weighing the evidence offered by the torpedo attack, and the snaring and dragging of matt into the water, had not resulted in bringing out very much that was of importance. it served, however, to emphasize the need of vigilance by developing the resourcefulness and malevolence of a wily foe. at a. m. the submarine was close to the land lying south of the bay of lota, and, as the mist was still too thick to make out the distance and bearing of the coast, matt thought it advisable to stop the motor and wait for the fog to clear with the sun. advantage was taken of this stop to prepare breakfast. while all hands were eating, gaines and clackett, who had been at their posts during the exciting occurrences of the night, were duly informed of all that had taken place. at a. m. the morning was bright enough so that matt felt they could proceed with safety. the passage into the bay of lota, between the island of santa maria and lavapié point, is narrow and difficult, abounding with sunken rocks and other hidden dangers that have not been surveyed and charted. luck, however, was with the motor boys, and the passage into the bay was succesfully accomplished. just as the sun broke through the mist and brought out the beauties of the bay, the _grampus_ nosed her way into it. on three sides the bay is surrounded by wooded hills, which shelter it in every direction except on the north. "dowse me," muttered dick; "this coast looks like that of cornwall and devonshire, with that red earth, those granite cliffs, and the trees running down to the water's edge. what are those chimneys and all that smoke over there?" "smelting works and potteries," explained glennie. "they are owned by a woman, madam cousiño, one of the richest women in chili." the _grampus_, being of light draught, was able to go close inshore. anchor was dropped within a couple of cables' length of the wharf. the "mud hooks" had hardly taken hold before a man in a tawdry blue uniform came off from the shore in a boat. he was rowed by two negroes, and appeared to be very much excited. when his boat was laid alongside, the official stood up, flourished his arms, and spouted a stream of language. it was spanish, and came in such a torrent that matt, who knew something of the lingo, could make nothing of it. glennie was better versed in the tongue, and listened attentively and with growing concern. "here's a go, matt!" exclaimed the ensign, as soon as the official paused to catch his breath. "this man is the captain of the port, and he has placed us all under arrest." "arrest?" cried matt incredulously. "what for?" "he says we're thieves, and that we have stolen this submarine boat." "dot's aboudt der lasht t'ing vat i oxpected!" muttered carl. "take der uniform off dot feller, und ve vill find he iss a son oof der rising sun, i bed you. led's go to der pottom oof der pay und infite him to come down und ged us." chapter v. a surprising situation. "sink me!" growled dick. "here's a rum go, if anybody asks you. it's bobs to sovereigns that those japs are mixed up in this." "we can very soon convince the captain of the port that he's made a mistake," said matt quietly. "get your written instructions, glennie, and we'll go ashore with him. there's something queer about this, and it may be a good thing for us to get to the bottom of it." "how aboudt tick und me?" inquired carl. "ain'd ve going along mit you?" "you and dick and the rest of the crew," matt answered, "will stay here and take care of the _grampus_. somebody will have to do that, you know, carl. it's fully as important as going ashore and explaining matters to the officials." glennie told the captain of the port that he and matt would go ashore with him and make it plain to everybody that there was a mistake. the ensign's uniform, spick and span and mighty fetching, made a wholesome impression upon the captain of the port. while glennie was getting his papers, the port official dropped back alongside the torpedo and examined it with considerable interest. when the ensign reappeared on the submarine's deck, the boat was brought back and matt and glennie got aboard. in five minutes they had reached the wharf and clambered ashore. the negroes who had rowed the boat dropped in on each side of the two young americans, each drawing an old-fashioned pistol that fired with a percussion cap. "they're bound we're not going to run," laughed matt. "i don't know," returned glennie, "but i'd rather be in front of those old relics when they're shot off than behind them. i guess a fellow would be safer." the captain of the port led the way to the casa de la administracion of the señora cousiño. it was built on the crest of a low rise, and afforded a fine view of the bay. a tall, slim man, who looked like a frenchman, stood on the steps of the casa surveying the _grampus_ through a glass. with an expression of disappointment, he lowered the glass and turned toward the captain of the port as he drew near. then there was french talk and spanish talk--the tall, slim man using his native tongue, which the chilian evidently understood, and the chilian using the spanish, with which the frenchman appeared familiar. glennie gave strict attention to all that was going on. the finger and whole-arm movements, the hunching of the shoulders, and the shaking and ducking of the heads, accompanied the talk as a sort of pantomime. matt was highly amused. a look of astonishment appeared in glennie's face as he listened. "by george!" the ensign exclaimed, when the conversation between the chilian and the frenchman had died down. "we've jumped into a surprising situation here, matt, if i've got this thing right." "what is it, glennie?" asked matt. "well, the frenchman says that the submarine isn't the boat he thought it was, and that our arrest has been a mistake." "i'm glad they found that out without putting us to any trouble. is there another submarine in these waters? and has it been stolen?" "that's where the surprising part comes in. i'll have to talk with these fellows, and ask them a few questions, before i can get the layout clear in my mind." french and spanish had formed a part of glennie's education at annapolis; he reeled off both languages now, first at one and then at the other of the two men, asking questions and receiving voluble replies. in five minutes he had the situation straightened out to his satisfaction, and sat down on one of the stone steps beside matt. "the tall man, matt," said glennie, "is captain pons, of edouard lavalle et cie, shipbuilders, of havre, france. this firm of lavalle & co. are builders of submarines, and they recently finished such a craft for the chilian navy. the boat was brought over on a tramp freighter, and captain pons came along to instruct the chilian officers and crew in the manner of running the submarine, and also to secure a draft for the purchase price. "the submarine was unloaded safely, and was provisioned by captain pons for a run to santiago, where she was to be inspected by the secretary of the navy. captain pons was not to get his money from the government until the submarine reached santiago. the chilian crew was to come over from coronel yesterday afternoon, but arrived in the morning, a good twelve hours ahead of time. captain pons rowed out with them to the submarine, showed the captain of the crew all over the boat and explained the machinery to him; then, quite unexpectedly, so far as captain pons was concerned, the crew grabbed the frenchman, threw him into the rowboat, closed the hatch of the submarine, and dropped into the bottom of the bay." matt was listening with intense interest. "the crew that captain pons took out to the submarine wasn't the right one?" he observed. "no. the real crew arrived in the afternoon, agreeably to schedule, and found captain pons without a submarine and very much up in the air. if he can't recover the submarine from the thieves, his firm may hold him responsible for the loss of the stolen boat." "there were torpedoes in the french submarine?" matt began to grow excited as the situation cleared before him. "two," replied glennie. "and the bogus crew--who were they?" "instead of coming from coronel, it was discovered that they came from the south--by railroad from valdivia, on the coast. it has also been discovered that they were japanese--japs who had their eyes straightened. it is supposed that they are from the mysterious steamer that escaped from captain sandoval, below english reach." matt's astonishment almost lifted him off the stone step on which he was sitting. "our old enemies!" he exclaimed. "the sons of the rising sun have secured a submarine boat, and that means that they can follow us wherever we go." "hard luck, matt, that events should drift into this tangle! that french submarine had to be here, it seems, at just the right time to help out the japs. the young samurai must have known about this other craft. after dodging captain sandoval, they managed to reach valdivia and came on from there by train. that is how they were able to get ahead of us." "every mysterious twist is taken out of the situation now, glennie," said matt, almost stunned by the audacity of the japs and the marvelous way in which circumstances had aided them. "they took possesion of the french submarine and started south to meet the _grampus_. the noiseless way in which they hung upon our flanks is easy to understand. the torpedo was launched at us while the french boat was submerged; and when that rope was hurled at me, the boat was just out of the water--there were no lights about her, and the search light of the _grampus_ enabled those on the french craft to make that cast with the riata." matt's face went pale. "glennie," he continued, "the hardest job of our lives is ahead of us! the japs have a submarine, and there's not one of them who would not willingly give his life if, by doing so, he could destroy the _grampus_. as long as our enemies were in a steamboat, and compelled to remain on the surface, it was easy to keep away from them; but now, no matter where we go, they can follow us." "i don't know anything about this french boat," returned glennie thoughtfully, "but i'll bet something handsome she's not half so good a craft as the _grampus_. there's a big advantage for us, right at the start. then, again, about the only thing we're to fear from the stolen submarine is the torpedo work. captain pons says there were only two torpedoes in the craft. one of them is accounted for. they have only one more--and i guess we can get away from _that_. besides all this, don't forget that the japs are green hands with the submarine, and have had no practical experience in running her. captain pons explained to them the theoretical part of the machinery, but, you take it from me, those wily orientals are going to get themselves into trouble." "they manoeuvred the submarine pretty well last night," said matt. "i don't see how they could improve much on their work. a jap, glennie, is a regular genius in 'catching on' to things. show him how to do a piece of work once, and he knows it for all time. they're clever--as clever as they are wily, and sometimes treacherous." at this point, captain pons put in a few words. "i see ze torpedo is wiz youar boat, monsieur. you say zat you peek heem out of ze sea, but he is my torpedo, and he is vorth many sousand francs. i am to have him, eh?" matt looked at glennie. "we might need that torpedo, matt," suggested the ensign, "for the _grampus_ has only one. if it comes to a fight with the french boat that extra whitehead would come in handy. i think we had better keep it." "so do i," agreed matt. he turned to captain pons. "the torpedo was fired at us, captain," he went on, "and it was by a happenchance, and at a considerable risk to myself, that i was able to save it and tow it in." "he is mine, by gar!" cried the frenchman. "what good is the torpedo to you without the submarine?" "ma foi, i can sell heem. i save zat much." "any way you figure it," insisted matt, "we're entitled to salvage on the torpedo." "nozzing, not one centime!" screeched captain pons, jumping up and down and flourishing his arms. "suppose i pay you the difference between the salvage and the cost of the torpedo?" asked matt, willing to adjust the matter in any way that would secure peace. "non! i want ze torpedo, and zis talk of ze salvage is w'at you call boosh; _oui_, zat is all, nozzing but boosh." there seemed no amicable way of settling the dispute. matt, feeling that the whitehead was of prime importance to the _grampus_, was determined to stick to his contention. he and glennie stood up, and all on the steps of the casa turned their eyes downward to where the _grampus_ lay on the placid waters of the harbor, the long, black cylinder of the whitehead some forty or fifty feet back of the stern. while they looked, a most astounding thing happened. the torpedo seemed suddenly to become imbued with life. it shivered, jerked sidewise like an animated log, whirled around frantically, and then, with one end leaping into the air, it darted downward, out of sight! chapter vi. another attack. this weird vanishing on the part of the object in dispute between motor matt and captain pons left those on steps of the casa gasping. the frenchman dropped limply down and hugged his folded arms to his breast; the chilian looked wild, and a superstitious fear arose in the eyes of the two negroes. glennie grabbed up the glasses the captain had been using a few minutes before, clapped them to his eyes, and proceeded to examine the surface of the bay. the strange movements of the torpedo had had something of an effect upon the _grampus_, for she had swung about on her cable and dipped slightly sternward. she was lying quietly enough now, however, and carl, dick, speake, gaines, and clackett were swarming over her deck and evidently wondering what had become of the whitehead. matt, with his naked eyes, could see his friends moving about, although it was impossible for him to discover exactly what they were doing. "they're pulling in the rope that was made fast to the torpedo," said glennie. "they've got the end of it in their hands." "great spark plugs!" murmured matt dazedly. "that was a queer performance, i must say. can you see anything of the whitehead, glennie?" "not a thing. there must have been some compressed air still left in the cylinder, and in some way it got to the screws." matt shook his head. "that's not it, glennie. even if the whitehead's screws had begun to work they couldn't have caused the big tube to dance around in that unheard-of fashion. i----" matt, with a sudden alarming thought running through his mind, started down the steps at a run. the frenchman shouted something. taking his cue from captain pons, the chilian also shouted. probably it was a command for matt to halt, but the young motorist did not construe it in that way. pons, himself, had said that there was no cause for the arrest of matt and glennie, and motor matt believed that he was perfectly free to go wherever he wished. just then he was tremendously eager to get aboard the _grampus_. one of the old-fashioned pistols went off with a _bang_ like a small cannon. a lead slug screeched through the air well over matt's head. "come back, matt!" yelled glennie. "if you don't, the next bullet may come closer to you." matt faced about indignantly. "what are they shooting at me for?" he demanded. "they don't want you to get away, just yet." "but i've got to get away! we must get aboard the _grampus_ as quick as the nation will let us. can't you understand this business, glennie? that french submarine is in the bottom of the bay! the japs are recovering that torpedo! you know why they want it, as well as i do." "jupiter!" exclaimed glennie, "i hadn't thought of that. but you'd better come back here, matt, while we explain the situation to captain pons. it's better to have him and the captain of the port for friends rather than enemies." "every minute's delay makes the position of the _grampus_ just that much more dangerous. carl, dick, and the rest don't know a thing about this other submarine, and if the japs made an attack on our boat, while she's lying at anchor----" "don't fret about that, matt," cut in glennie. "the japs will have their hands full saving their torpedo. they're thinking more about that whitehead just at present than of anything else. but, anyhow, we can't try to dodge the bullets these negroes will send after us if we make a run of it." matt, fretting over the delay, slowly returned to the steps. the negro was reloading his pistol, the other was making ready to use his weapon in case matt refused to obey orders, and both the captain of the port and captain pons were looking extremely fierce and determined. both captains were talking to glennie. the ensign answered them sharply, and the captains gave responses equally sharp. "what a pair of dunderheads!" growled glennie to matt. "how's that?" queried matt. "captain pons has developed a very bright idea," was the ensign's sarcastic response. "he says we caused the torpedo to act in that unaccountable manner, and that we did it in order to steal it from him." matt caught his breath. "is captain pons in his sober senses?" he demanded. "all the senses heaven endowed him with are on duty." "how does he think we could cause the torpedo to act in that manner?" "he lays it to our friends on the _grampus_, but is gloriously indefinite concerning the way they worked the trick." matt walked up the steps and faced captain pons. "we had nothing to do with the disappearance of the torpedo!" he cried. "why, the very idea is preposterous! how could any of our men cause the whitehead to disappear in that fashion?" "you want ze torpedo," insisted captain pons doggedly. "you make ze dispute wiz me. zen, w'en i say _non_, ze torpedo belong wiz me, _pouf!_ away he go lak a streak. you haf stole heem, and you will answer to ze french government for zat, by gar!" "that is foolish talk, captain pons, for a man of your age and experience." "hein! i am not so foolish as w'at you zink." "it was the other boat that stole the torpedo--the submarine the japs stole from you." "zat could not be ze _pom_. ze jap zey would not dar-r-r-e bring ze _pom_ back in ze bay." "you don't know those japs as well as we do, captain. they are enemies of ours, and have followed us clear from port-of-spain, trinidad. they want to destroy the _grampus_, to keep her out of the hands of the united states navy. if i don't go down there, and warn my friends and do something to protect our submarine, this _pom_ of yours may make an attack." "zis is a friendly port," replied captain pons, with a wave of the hand. "ze japs will not dar-r-r-e make attack in ze friendly port." matt was disgusted. he felt that he had never met a man so dense as this captain pons. "the japs stole your submarine in a friendly port," he remarked dryly. "i guess that proves that they're not above committing lawless acts in a chilian harbor. you have no right to detain ensign glennie and myself. we are under the protection of the stars and stripes. if you are determined to keep us with you on this ridiculous charge of stealing the torpedo, then will you not accompany us to the _grampus_ while we take measures for the boat's protection? while there, perhaps we may be able to convince you how foolish this charge of yours is." "zat is reasonable talk," admitted captain pons gravely. "i vill spik wiz my good friend, captain arco." matt and glennie drew apart while the two captains held a whispered conversation, although a very animated one. "a couple of jumping jacks!" muttered glennie; "and blockheads, to boot. i wonder what those french shipbuilders were thinking of to send a man like captain pons with their submarine." "well, he may know all about the submarine, and be perfectly trustworthy," answered matt. "i wouldn't trust him to drive a pair of mules on a canal." the ensign was completely disgusted. "ah!" he said, a moment later. "the two great minds have at last come to a decision in this momentous matter." captains pons and arco approached the two lads importantly. "ze good captain has agreed to go back wiz you and me to ze submarine," announced captain pons. "if, w'en we get zere, you will hand ovair ze torpedo, zen we not make ze trouble for you any more. _allons!_ let us be gone." the negroes, following an order from the captain of the port, dropped in on either side of matt and glennie, their antiquated pistols prominently displayed. then, with the two captains leading the way, the american lads left the casa de la administracion. "how those japs managed to get hold of that torpedo without showing themselves," remarked glennie, on the way to the landing, "is a conundrum." "they must have come up under the torpedo," answered matt, "just close enough to the surface to grapple a coil of the rope that was around the steel shell." "even on that theory the move is hard to understand. while the _pom_ was under water it would not be possible for any one aboard of her to work at the ropes around the torpedo." "perhaps the grappling was done by manoeuvring the boat." "that might be----" glennie was interrupted. by that time the party had nearly reached the landing. before any of them stepped foot on the wharf, however, there came a loud detonation, and a geyser-like column of water arose high in the air. so lofty was the column that some of the spray from it was hurled across the intervening stretch of the bay and into the faces of matt, glennie, and the rest. when the column had sunk downward, those on the shore could see that the _grampus_ had disappeared! chapter vii. a bad half hour. matt, glennie, the two captains, and the negroes were stupefied. they stood as though rooted to the ground and stared across the water toward the spot where the _grampus_ had been anchored. "_sacre!_" muttered captain pons. "zat was a torpedo, by gar!" "it was fired at the _grampus_!" cried matt, almost beside himself. "i was afraid an attack would be made--and the boys didn't know anything about that other submarine, glennie. if our boat has been destroyed, if--if----" matt staggered against the post to which the painter securing the rowboat was made fast. the negroes began talking excitedly between themselves, and pons and arco likewise began to air their opinions. "don't lose your nerve, matt," said glennie. "that was a torpedo, all right, and it goes without saying that the japs discharged it from the _pom_, under water. it hit something, and was discharged, _but it didn't hit the grampus_." "no," answered matt, his moody eyes resting on the spot where the _grampus_ had been anchored, "the torpedo didn't hit the _grampus_, for the column of water spouted up almost a fathom from the place where she was moored; but the boat may have been destroyed by the explosion, for all that. when the geyser dropped, it covered the place where our submarine ought to have been. but you can see, glennie, she isn't there." motor matt had gone through many perils and difficulties since he and his chums had started for "around the horn" with the _grampus_, but he had never been so greatly cast down as he was at that moment. he was thinking of carl, of dick, and of the three brave men, speake, gaines, and clackett, who had stood shoulder to shoulder with him through all the dangers that had met them since leaving british honduras. it was a good thing that glennie, at that moment, was so hopeful. "we haven't been able to see the _grampus_ for several minutes, matt," he observed. "in coming down the hill from the casa, the boat was hidden from us." "all the same, glennie, she was in her berth, whether we saw her or not. if she hadn't been where we left her, the japs wouldn't have had any target, and the torpedo would not have been exploded in that spot. if it comes to that, the fact that we didn't see her goes to show that she may have changed her position a little, and have been right where the torpedo exploded." "i don't think that for a minute," averred glennie stoutly. "the last we saw of the _grampus_ all our friends were on deck. if she had been torpedoed, we'd certainly see some of the boys in the water. they were under hatches when that whitehead went off; and, if they were under hatches, they may have been safe. i'm inclined to think they were." "if the bottom plates of the submarine were blown in," proceeded matt, "she would sink and go down like so much lead. let's get into the boat and row out, glennie. we can see a good deal more if we're right over the spot where the _grampus_ was anchored than we can from here." matt, suiting his action to the word, dropped hastily over the edge of the wharf and into the boat. the wharf was in a bad state of repair. the planks had been torn from the piles, and a region of semi-darkness stretched away under the floor. as matt dropped into the boat, his face was turned landward and his eyes rested for a moment on the gloom that lay between the outer piles and the shore; but, during that moment, he glimpsed something that gave him a start. unless he was greatly mistaken, he could make out the dim shape of a human form crouching in the darkness. "cast off the painter, glennie, quick!" he called. the ensign lifted the loop over the top of the post and flung it into the boat. grabbing the wharf planks, matt gave a pull that sent the boat in between the piles. he could hear shouts of wild suspicion coming from captain pons and captain arco. unable to figure out what impelled matt to vanish under the wharf, they jumped to the conclusion that he was doing something he ought not to do. paying no attention to the frantic voices, or the frenzied tramping on the planks overhead, the young motorist continued to drag the boat onward toward the shore. several yards back from the edge of the wharf, the bow of the boat struck against a timber that had one end imbedded in the sand, while the other end rose upward, clear of the water. the human form matt had seen was lying upon the timber. the man made no move to escape, or to protect himself, and matt was not long in discovering that he was either dead or unconscious. for a moment matt's heart was in his throat. his fears, even against his better judgment, made him apprehensive that this form, lying helplessly on the timber under the wharf, might be that of one of his friends. close examination, however, proved his fears groundless. the man was under medium height and had a tawny skin. he was barefooted, bareheaded, and stripped to his waist. rolling him into the boat, matt drew the light craft back into the daylight at the edge of the wharf. "what under the canopy are you about, matt?" called glennie, from the edge of the wharf. then, seeing the man in the bottom of the boat, he gave vent to an astonished whistle. "_that's_ what you went under the wharf for, eh? where was that fellow?" "he was lying on a timber, just out of the water," answered matt. "the question is, where did he come from, and what was he doing there?" "he looks as though he was stripped for swimming." "and he worked so hard in the water, and in getting ashore, that he gave out and lost consciousness as soon as he pulled himself upon that timber. the fact that he was under the wharf proves that he didn't want anybody to find him. he's a jap, glennie." a yell escaped captain pons, and he began talking excitedly and pointing his finger at the jap. "what does pons say, glennie?" matt asked. "he says that that fellow was one of the men who stole the _pom_. the captain is very sure he is not mistaken. there were five in the party." "gif the r-r-rascal here!" cried captain pons, stretching his arms downward, "gif heem to me! by gar, he is one of ze t'ieves--ve haf captured one of ze t'ieves!" matt lifted the unconscious man, and three pairs of hands caught him from above and pulled him up on the wharf. hardly had the jap touched the planks than, with amazing suddenness, he jumped to his feet and tried to run. "he was shamming!" exclaimed glennie. "no," answered matt, as the two negroes deftly caught the fleeing jap and flung him roughly down on his back, "i'm positive he was not shamming, glennie. he recovered while we were lifting him to the wharf and thought he could make a bolt and get away." as the two negroes held the prisoner down on the planks, captain pons stepped to his side, bent over, and shook a fist in his face. what the captain said was in spanish, which he probably used for the jap's benefit, and matt could not follow his words further than to be sure that pons was threatening and reviling the man for the treacherous part he and his countrymen had played. the prisoner looked up calmly into the frenchman's face, seeming to take his capture and his failure to escape as a matter of course. "we get the torpedo," said he, in good english, the moment captain pons ceased talking. "how did you get the torpedo?" queried glennie, pushing the captain aside and drawing closer to the prisoner. "i volunteered," went on the jap, a note of ringing exultation in his low voice; "they passed me through the torpedo tube, and i cut the cable that secured the torpedo to the other submarine, and made a rope fast from our boat. it was hard work, all under water. then i swim ashore, but i am weak and faint and try to hide. you have captured me. do what you will. _banzai_, nippon!" the chilian could not understand english, and he was consumed with curiosity. captain pons understood, however, and the calmness of the prisoner, during his brief recital, filled him with rage. he tried to strike the jap, but glennie interfered. "let him alone, pons!" cried glennie. "he thinks he has done right. anyhow, he's a prisoner, and a prisoner should not be mistreated." "_diable!_" ground out the captain. "he make ze brag zat he steal ze torpedo! s-scoundr-r-el! he should be hang', by gar!" glennie turned to motor matt. "you heard, matt?" he queried. "the japs passed this fellow out through the torpedo tube of the _pom_ while the boat was under water. he made a line fast, cut the cable securing the torpedo to our submarine, and then swam ashore. a rare piece of work!" "ask him about that torpedo attack on the _grampus_," said matt. "see if you can find out anything about the intentions of the other japs." "you are one of the sons of the rising sun?" queried glennie, again addressing the prisoner. a gleam darted through the jap's eyes. "i say nothing," he answered. "i have told about the torpedo. but i tell you nothing more. it is all for nippon, for my beloved country." "that's the way with those fellows," said matt disappointedly. "he wouldn't speak another word even if he was tortured. i'm surprised that he said what he did about the torpedo. turn him over to pons and the captain of the port, glennie, and let's row out into the bay and see if we can learn anything about the fate of the _grampus_." matt's face was haggard with fear and anxiety. he had had a bad half hour, since the explosion of the torpedo and the disappearance of the _grampus_, and his face reflected the intensity of his feelings. glennie turned away from the prisoner and stepped to the edge of the wharf. he paused there for a moment, rigid as a statue, his eyes wandering over the surface of the bay. motor matt, wondering at his manner, likewise directed his gaze off over the water. as he did so, glennie recovered his wits abruptly and gave vent to an exultant yell. "hurrah!" he roared, jerking off his cap and waving it. "what's the matter with the motor boys, matt? we've had our worry all for nothing!" chapter viii. chasing a torpedo. dick and carl, together with the rest of the crew of the _grampus_, did a lot of guessing after matt and glennie left them with the captain of the port. the commotion kicked up by the torpedo put a sudden and effectual stop to their speculations. carl, dick, and speake were on deck when the whitehead began its peculiar performance, and the jerks administered to the _grampus_ by the tow line quickly brought gaines and clackett up through the tower hatch. "ach, du lieber!" cried carl. "see vonce vat has habbened mit der dorpeto. a vale has got dangled oop mit der tow line; oder oof id don'd vas a vale id vas a shark, und a pig feller, i bed you. vat a funny pitzness! from der actions, id looks like der dorpeto vas alife." "whale!" scoffed dick. "don't you believe that a whale, or shark, either, has got anything to do with that." "vat it iss, den?" "i give it up. what do you think, speake?" "ask me something easy," answered speake. "mebby something has got loose inside the torpedo--compressed air, or something--and that that is what's putting the big tube through its jig." "led's pull in der line," suggested carl, "und make der dorpeto pehave." "not on your life!" cried dick. "it's full of dynamite, and i'll never let the _grampus_ get any closer to that infernal machine than she is now." "matt vants dot dorpeto or he vouldn't haf taken der drouple to tow her in." "matt can have it, matey, but i don't intend to board a whitehead when it's dancing a hornpipe. if the dynamite should happen to let go----" dick was interrupted by a chorus of surprised yells from the rest of his companions. the torpedo, kicking one end high in the air, had taken a "header" toward the bottom of the bay. "dot means goot-by," murmured the amazed carl. "der vale's run off mit it. bedder dot vale look a leedle oudt und not knock his tail too hardt against der dorpeto. oof he do dot, den, py shinks, he make some mincemeat out oof himseluf." "great guns!" exclaimed gaines. "what do you suppose did that, dick?" "more mysterious things have happened to us since we left magellan strait," ruminated dick, "than ever came our way before. suppose we haul in on the tow line and have a look at the end of it." the line was pulled aboard. there were some forty feet of it, and the end was sliced off clean. "a knife did that!" declared clackett. "der vale dit id mit his teet'," asserted carl, who always hung to one of his own theories like a dog to a bone. "bosh, clackett!" scoffed gaines. "how could a knife have done that? who was down there to cut the rope?" "it don't make any difference what separated the rope," put in speake, "the thing was done, and something or other is running away with motor matt's torpedo. matt must have wanted that whitehead or he wouldn't have gone to the trouble to tow it in. are we going to let it get away from us?" "how can we help it?" inquired clackett. "we can follow it," asserted speake. "we haven't any business taking the _grampus_ from her anchorage while matt's ashore," said gaines. "i guess matt wouldn't mind if we took a dive along the bottom of the bay to overhaul that runaway torpedo," remarked dick. "sure, nod!" chimed in carl. "matt vill be as madt as some vet hens ven ve tell him der dorpeto skyhooted avay mit itseluf und ve ditn't do nodding to shdop id." "we'll chance it, anyway, mates," said dick. "i'm always in command whenever our old raggie is off the boat. get down to the motor, gaines. clackett, get after the tanks. come below, the rest of you, and let the last man down secure the hatch." speake was the last one to drop down the hatch. the ballast tanks were already filling as he stepped off the iron ladder upon the floor of the periscope room. dick was at the wheel. "turn on the electric projector, speake," said dick. "i'm going up into the tower and do the steering from there." dick got just two rounds up the ladder when a muffled roar enveloped the _grampus_, and she was heaved violently over until the tower was almost on a level with her keel. carl, who had been inspecting the periscope, was thrown violently against the rounded wall over the locker. speake, just reaching up to turn the electric switch that sent a current through the wires of the projector, went head over heels against one of the bulkheads. as for dick, he pulled off a remarkable stunt at ground and lofty tumbling, winding up with his head under the periscope table and his heels in the air. yells came in muffled volume from below, proving that gaines and clackett were likewise having their troubles. the _grampus_ righted herself almost as quickly as she had flopped over. this, taking place before those aboard had had a chance to adjust themselves, still further complicated matters. when every one was finally right side up, dick jumped to the speaking tubes. "how are you down there, gaines?" he called. "i turned a handspring over the motor," came back the voice of gaines, "but i guess i didn't damage anything." "i stood on my head in one of the accumulators," added clackett through the tank-room tube. "we turned turtle there for about half a minute. what caused it, dick? i heard an explosion, too." "that bally old torpedo must have gone off," answered dick. "no use hunting for it now." "i don't believe it was that torpedo that exploded," said speake. "what could have set it off?" "der vale shlowed oop a leedle," explained carl, "und id run indo him. i bed you somet'ing for nodding dere iss vale all ofer der pay." "we're in luck, anyhow," exulted dick. "this old flugee is as trim and steady as ever. now that we're down near the bottom we'll cruise a little and see what we can discover. we've got an hour or two, i guess, before matt and glennie get back to the landing and want to come aboard. slow speed, gaines," he called. hurrying up into the conning tower, dick pressed his eyes against the forward lunettes. the trail of light, reaching out through the lunette, illuminated the murky waters for several yards beyond the point of the submarine's bow. there was a commotion in the depths, and fishes were darting in all directions. steering from the ladder, dick headed the _grampus_ toward the north. they had not gone far before dick saw something which made him rub his eyes. "am i doing a calk," he muttered, "or are these lamps of mine making a monkey's fist of their work? strike me lucky! carl! look into the periscope!" a vague shape was passing through the gleam of the search light. it looked like a huge cigar, its pointed end tilted slightly upward. at the rear of the object there was a flurry of water. "id's a vale!" boomed carl, whose mind seemed to be running on whales that day. "it's another submarine," gasped speake, "that's what it is. i wonder if matt didn't know there was another submarine in these waters?" "watch!" cried dick excitedly. "what's that behind the thing?" the other boat was moving in a course that angled slightly with the direction the _grampus_ was following. because of this the second craft was some time in passing through the glow of the search light. as dick called out, those at the periscope table saw the whitehead torpedo glide into the gleam from the electric projector. a rope held the forward end of the torpedo to the stern of the other submarine, the buoyancy of the steel cylinder causing its rear part to stand almost straight up in the water. it was an odd procession the boat and the torpedo made as they defiled through the pencil of light. "dot's der feller vat shtole matt's dorpeto!" cried carl. "run against der rope, tick, und preak der dorpeto loose." "not much, i won't, matey," breathed dick. "we're not going to take any chances with _that_ whitehead." "it certainly wasn't that torpedo that went off, a little while ago, dick," observed speake. "right-o," dick answered, startled by the thought this remark of speake's had aroused. "it was a torpedo, though, and that other craft must have launched it at us." "ach, himmelblitzen!" gasped carl. "for vy should dot odder poat shoot some dorpetos ad us, hey?" "give it up, carl, unless there are some of those sons of the rising sun aboard." dick slid down the ladder in a hurry. "empty the tanks, clackett!" he sang out. "we've got to hustle out of this," he added to carl and speake, "before they shoot another whitehead at us. keelhaul me, but this will be news for matt. we've got to tell him about it as soon as ever we can get the _grampus_ back to her old berth." two minutes later the submarine lifted her turtle-like back out of the waves. dick headed her south, and carl and speake pushed open the hatch and went out on the wet plates. dick ascended the ladder to steer from the hatch. hardly had he got head and shoulders into the outside air when a shout from carl and speake drew his eyes toward the wharf. matt and glennie, and a few more the boys did not know, were on the landing. glennie was yelling and waving his cap. "vat's der madder mit him, i vonder?" queried carl. "he vouldn't be doing dot oof he knowed aboudt dot odder poat und der dorpeto." chapter ix. northward bound. the _grampus_ had no more than dropped anchor in her old berth than matt, glennie, captain pons, the captain of the port, and the negroes were alongside in the boat. "great spark plugs," cried matt, "but you fellows gave me a scare." "vell, bard," answered carl, "ve vas a leedle schared ourselufs." "here's another scare for you, matey," called dick. "the sons of the rising sun have a submarine of their own, and are after us. they were here, off lota, and just went north with that torpedo in tow." "jupiter!" exclaimed glennie. "how did you fellows know that?" "you act as though it wasn't any news to you." "it isn't, but we thought you fellows were not informed and would fall a victim to the _pom_." "_pom?_" echoed dick. "that's the name of the other submarine," went on matt. "she's a french craft and was brought here by this man, captain pons, to be turned over to the chilian government. five japs worked a trick and succeeded in getting hold of her." "why, how----" "we'll tell you all about it later, dick. where were you when that torpedo went off?" "just diving to the bottom to go hunting for the other torpedo. that whitehead they fired never touched us." "it must have touched something," put in speake, "or the firing pin wouldn't have got in its work." "it hit a harbor buoy," said matt. "at least, the captain of the port says there was a buoy at this point. as it isn't here now, it must have been demolished. it's a lucky thing for all of us that the buoy was between the _grampus_ and the whitehead. glennie and i will go back to the shore, dick, and get a barrel of gasoline. you get the hose rigged and have everything ready to discharge the gasoline in short order. we're northward bound, and are going to get away from these waters just as quick as the nation will let us." there was something of a disappointment in this for the men on the submarine. they had hoped for a chance to stretch their legs ashore, but they appreciated the necessity of getting the _grampus_ out of harm's way as quickly as possible. "won't the _pom_ lay for us as we pull out of the bay, matt?" asked dick. "she can't lay for us. you see, she had only two torpedoes. one of those was destroyed in the attack made on the _grampus_ in the bay; the other one the _pom_ is dragging off to some place where she can get it in shape for work. we need not fear any attack from the sons of the rising sun until the other whitehead is ready for use. if we act quickly, we can get well away from the _pom_ before she becomes dangerous." "_diable!_" rasped out captain pons. "is it ze american vay to r-run from ze enemy? pur-r-r-soo and capture, zat is ze sing. i will go wiz you, _oui_, i, myself, captain pons. you will help me get back ze _pom_. eh?" "we're not here to take any risks with the _grampus_, captain," said matt. "responsibility for the safety of the boat rests on my shoulders, and you'll have to get some chilian war ship to help you." "zat is not right!" cried the captain. "one mariner is in ze duty bound to help anozzer mariner in ze distress. me, i call on you. you refuse, zen zat is mos' contemptible." "i'm sorry you look at it in that way, captain," replied matt; "but it's just possible i know my own business better than you do." captain pons had a little fit all by himself, and while he had it he was saying unpleasant things. "what's the matter with the frog eater?" cried dick. "throw him overboard!" matt signed for the captain of the port to have the negro oarsmen get the boat back to the landing. the captain at once gave the order and the boat danced away in the direction of the wharf. captain pons was still calling down anathemas on the heads of all americans who refused to help a frenchman in "ze distress." "by gar," he cried, "i vill vire my government how you haf treat' me! i vill use ze cable, and let ze president of my country know it all. it is mos' contemptible!" "captain," said matt, "we are not allowed to take any strangers aboard the _grampus_. our submarine has appliances which put her so far ahead of every other boat in her class that we are all under seal of secrecy and are bound by a pledge to keep strangers away. so, you see, it would be impossible for you to take a cruise in the _grampus_." captain pons glared. "it is mos' contemptible!" was all he could say. matt and glennie, without delaying further, pushed into the town. matt had little difficulty in finding the gasoline he wanted. he had to go to two or three places before he found fuel that answered the severe tests he put it to, but finally he got what he desired and had it hauled to the landing. the captain of the port was not in evidence, but his two negroes were waiting at the boat. matt had come down to the wharf in the wagon that brought the gasoline, and glennie had been left to follow on foot. the ensign put in an appearance just as the barrel had been transferred to the boat. matt was surprised to see him carrying a rifle. the only firearms aboard the _grampus_ consisted of a six-shooter which had accompanied the ensign when he first assumed his duties on the submarine. "what are you going to do with that, glennie?" laughed matt. "shoot japs?" "well, no, not exactly," answered glennie, "there are a good many ways in which a weapon of this sort might come in handy, besides using it for shooting japs. it's an american gun, matt--a marlin. it looked sort of homelike, so i just took it in, along with a box of cartridges." if matt hated one thing more than another, it was a gun. he had seen firearms used so recklessly while he was in the southwest that he had acquired a strong prejudice against them. notwithstanding this fact, he was a crack shot, and had more than once carried off the prize in a shooting contest. "all right, glennie," said he, although a trifle reluctantly, "bring it along." "you don't like guns, matt," observed the ensign as he lowered himself into the boat and dropped down on one of the thwarts. "or knives, either," added matt, "when they are used to get the better of another fellow. a pair of fists make pretty good weapons." "fists are all right," laughed glennie, "so long as the other chap uses them; but when you find an enemy standing off forty or fifty feet and looking at you over the sights of a gun--well, that's the time another gun would be mighty valuable." by the time the small boat fell in alongside the _grampus_, dick, carl, and the rest had the hose ready and it took only a few moments to rig the pump. presently the gasoline was flowing down the tower hatch and into the reservoir below. dick, keeping one eye on the negroes while they bent over the pump handles, leaned against the conning tower and heaved a long breath. "i'm hoping, old ship," said he to matt, "that we'll be able to leave the japs behind, this time, for good and all. those on the _pom_ must have seen us while we had their craft under our search light, and i guessed good and hard why they didn't turn and send another torpedo at us. i didn't know, you see, that they only had two whiteheads to their blessed name. we could have pulled their fangs if we had opened up that torpedo and took out the dynamite." "i intended," answered matt, "to take the torpedo aboard through one of our tubes as soon as we reached this harbor, but the captain of the port came down on us before i had the chance." "how did you find out about that submarine, and the japs being in charge of her?" matt straightened out this point to his chum's satisfaction. that part of matt's recital which had to do with the jap who had been captured under the wharf was particularly interesting to dick. "those fellows don't care a rap for their own lives," muttered dick, "and that's what makes 'em such nasty fighters. when that fellow got out through the _pom's_ torpedo tube, he must have come up directly under the whitehead. by hugging the torpedo close, he could have got his head out of water without any of us on the _grampus_ seeing him. but he took long chances, just the same, and there are only four japs left to navigate the other craft. the work probably calls for all hands, and there's bound to be a time when the _pom_ can't run for lack of hands to navigate her. the japs are only human, and they'll have to have a spell of rest like every one else." "we've got a good chance to show them our heels," said matt, "and it's our duty to make the most of it." "i'm a fiji, though," said dick, "if i don't hate to run away from those sons of the rising sun. it looks as though the united states and great britain had struck their colors to the yellow rascals." "i feel the same way, dick, but this submarine is worth a hundred thousand dollars, and we're only her trustees. it's our duty not to take any chances with her." "right-o, matey. i understand that just as well as you do. captain nemo, jr., ought to give you a good slice of that hundred thousand when you tie up the _grampus_ at the navy-yard wharf." "i'm not looking for that, dick," returned motor matt earnestly. "it's the idea of _making good_ that appeals to me beyond anything and everything else. it isn't so much the money that comes to us for what we do, but the way we toe the scratch that counts." an hour later all preliminaries were finished and the _grampus_ was off up the bay, tanks emptied and steel hull high in the water, her motors humming and setting a record pace. chapter x. a halt for repairs. late in the afternoon of the day they left lota bay the _grampus_ spoke the british ship _sovereign_, bound from santiago to liverpool. by means of a megaphone, matt had a brief talk with the captain of the sailing vessel. "what craft is that?" inquired the british captain, after answering matt's hail with information concerning his own vessel. "the submarine _grampus_," answered matt, "six weeks out from belize, british honduras, and bound for san francisco." "my word!" came from the other megaphone. "sure about that?" matt was "stumped." it was certainly an odd question to ask. "of course i'm sure of it. why?" "well, we passed another submarine, two hours ago, and she was towing a torpedo. said she had discharged it at a target and was going to beach it somewhere, and get it in shape for further use. but the bally joke of it is that the captain of that other submarine said that _his_ boat was the united states submarine _grampus_. it's a main queer go if there are two submarines of that name both belonging to the united states government." "well, what do you think of that?" muttered glennie, leaning out of the hatch. "the nerve of it!" "that other boat was the _pom_," called back matt, "sent over to chili by a firm of french shipbuilders. she was stolen from the harbor of lota by a handful of japs." "fancy that! those japs are----" the rest of it matt could not hear. the two boats had merely spoken each other in passing and were quickly out of reach of each other's megaphones. "those sons of the rising sun are stealing our thunder," remarked glennie. "i suppose," returned matt, "that it's a heap safer for the japs to call their boat the _grampus_ than the _pom_. if they happened to speak a vessel that knew of the stealing of the _pom_ results might prove disastrous if they told the truth." matt descended to the periscope room to give the news to carl and dick. "dot's der vorst yet!" grunted carl. "der itee oof dem chaps calling deir old frog-eader poat der _grampus_! i don'd like dot. id vas some insulds." "i guess we can stand it, carl," said matt. "did pons tell you anything about that french submarine, matey?" inquired dick. "a little, but not as much as i would have liked to learn. the _pom_, i infer, is smaller than the _grampus_, and is propelled by electricity when submerged and by gasoline on the surface. she's only able to stay under water an hour. captain nemo, jr., could teach those french builders a trick or two with his patent submerged exhausts." "how's her diving? can't she remain submerged longer than an hour with her ballast tanks full and her electric motor quiet?" "no. her rudders keep her below the surface, and the diving rudders won't work unless her motor's going." "she don'd amoundt to mooch, oof dot's der case," commented carl. "der _grampus_ has got der _pom_ shkinned bot' vays for suntay. i bed you somet'ing for nodding der _pom_ couldn't have come aroundt der bottom end oof sout' america like vat ve dit. _pom!_ she vas vat der french fellers call a _pomme de terre_, by vich, ven i so expression meinseluf, i mean a botato. whoosh!" and the dutch boy gave a grunt of disgust. the night fell clear and bright. it was matt's intention to continue running during the night, but submerged so that only the periscope ball was awash. when the time came to fill the ballast tanks, however, an unexpected difficulty presented itself--a difficulty which had almost brought overwhelming disaster once before, when the _grampus_ had just emerged from magellan strait: the kingston valves by mean of which the tanks were operated failed to work. this was no particular fault of the valves, but of some damage that had been done to them, and which caused them to go wrong occasionally--and usually at the most inopportune times. matt had made up his mind that new valves would have to be put in, but that was a job which would necessarily have to wait until the submarine reached the end of her long journey. repairing the valves would take several hours, and matt decided to stay on the surface and put in a little bay on quiriquina island. it was not necessary to reach the island before morning and when dick relieved gaines at the motor, a call for half speed went through the speaking tube to the motor room. the young motorist studied his charts, then, with the surroundings of the islands clearly in mind, took the steering wheel himself and laid his course by compass. it was about five o'clock in the morning when the _grampus_ rounded a bluff headland and took a due east course across tona bay. quiriquina island loomed up clear and distinct against the gray dawn hovering in the eastern skies. the cove which matt selected as a berth for the submarine while repairs were being made had a sloping beach of white sand. it was virtually a bay within a bay, and the waters were as calm as those of an inland lake. as soon as the anchors were down, all hands came on deck to get a whiff of the morning air. "we'd better have breakfast before we tackle the valves, hadn't we, matt?" inquired speake. "i know i can work better on a full stomach, and i suppose the rest of you can." "good idea, speake," returned matt. "i had thought about that, but supposed you would like to loaf a little and not pen yourself up in the torpedo room with an electric stove." "those confounded valves bother me," grumbled speake, "and i couldn't loaf and enjoy myself if i had to think about them." "they bother me, too," added glennie, "and i believe i'll go below and look them over." "i'll go with you," said clackett. "we can make a preliminary survey and then get busy right after breakfast. plenty of chance to loaf during my watch below." "glad to see you fellows so industrious," laughed matt. "perhaps, if you are real smart, you can get those valves fixed by breakfast time, and the rest of us won't have to tinker with them." "you'll be needed, matt, when it comes to the fixing," answered glennie, as he climbed into the conning tower. clackett followed him. "i guess i'll go down, too," yawned gaines, "and catch forty winks on top of the periscope-room locker. this morning air is fine, but i'm satisfied to take my share through the open hatch." he followed clackett into the tower. dick, descending to the edge of the rounded deck, peered into the clear depths of the water below. "i can see our cable, mates," said he, "and our anchor with one fluke in the sand. come on, carl. let's take a swim before breakfast." "nod me, tick," answered carl. "i feel like loafing, und shvimming iss too mooch like vork." "how about you, matt?" "i feel as carl does," said matt. "take your swim if you want to, dick, and carl and i will be the anchor watch." dick was out of his clothes in a jiffy. "so long," he called, as he took a "header" from the bow of the boat. he was perfectly at home in the water, and when matt saw him swimming out toward a headland that walled in the cove on the south, he thought little of it. when he saw that dick was intending to swim around the point, however, he stood up and called out a warning. but dick only laughed and kept on until he was out of sight. "he von't go so far dot he can't ged pack again," remarked carl. "he iss like a fish, tick iss, und he feels pedder in der vater as oudt oof id." carl, for some days, had been wearing an outfit of sailor togs which he had found in the slop chest of the submarine. he was trying to be as nautical as possible, so that he could "shiver his timbers" and "dash his deadeyes" with the best of them when the _grampus_ reached san francisco. "i can valk like a sailor," remarked carl, getting up from his seat by the tower, "und aboudt all i lack now iss to be aple to hitch oop my drousers like vat a sailor does. how iss der vay oof it, matt?" "never mind that part of it, carl," laughed matt. "you'll be enough of a sailor at the end of this cruise, even if you don't know how to hitch up your trousers. besides," and matt squinted at him critically, "i doubt if you could ever do the trick." "for vy nod?" "why, the trousers are too tight a fit around the waist." "yah, so, aber dey're so pig a fit oop und down dot i valk on der pottoms, und id iss eider hitch dem oop oder cut dem off. now, vatch. meppy id goes like dis." carl jumped into the air, grapped the band of the trousers with one hand in front and the other behind, and kicked out his legs. when he came down, his feet were so far apart that they slipped on the rounded plates, and he went down and rolled over and over. matt grabbed him just in the nick of time to keep him out of the water. "look out," warned matt, "or you'll take a swim whether you want to or not." "i guess dot i leaf der hitching pitzness oudt," said the chagrined carl, "aber id vas so bicturesque dot i vish i could manach id. now, ven i----" carl was interrupted by a shout, wafted toward them from across the cove. he and matt started up and saw dick swimming in their direction with all his might. "what's the matter, dick?" called matt. "sharks!" came back the breathless answer. matt was no more than a second making up his mind what he should do. to help dick by bringing the _grampus_ closer to him was out of the question--disaster might overtake the young sailor before the anchor could be lifted from the bottom. "ach, himmelblitzen!" murmured carl fearfully. "vat ve going to do, matt?" "below with you, quick!" flung back the king of the motor boys. "glennie's rifle is in the periscope room. get that and a coil of rope and hustle back here." carl, shaking with excitement, hurried to carry out the order. as he vanished into the tower, matt went forward toward the bow of the boat, keeping his keen eyes on dick. chapter xi. dick makes a discovery. the ability of the king of the motor boys to "keep his head" in trying situations had more than once turned the tide for himself and his chums. matt could become as excited as anybody, but excitement never interfered with the steadiness of his nerves or with his ability to think quickly and resourcefully in time of danger. far beyond dick matt could see a black, triangular fin slitting the water, tacking this way and that, but coming closer and closer to the young sailor. dick was swimming rapidly, but the shark, of course, was cutting through the water at a much faster gait. had the shark laid a straight course for its intended victim, the latter would long since have been overtaken. with a keen eye motor matt made a quick estimate of the distance separating dick and the shark from the boat. he concluded that dick could not by any possibility reach the _grampus_ before the shark would be upon him, but the sea scavenger would be close enough for a good shot. carl, in a veritable tremor of excitement, rolled over the top of the conning tower with the rifle in one hand and a coil of rope in the other. "don'd led dot shark ged avay mit tick," he pleaded, handing the rifle to matt. "pud a pullet righdt indo dot shark, matt, mitoudt vaiting any longer as bossiple." "i've got to wait until i can get a good shot, carl," answered matt, "and that time will come when the shark goes over on its back." "ven id does dot," quavered carl, "id iss retty to bite. oof you make a miss, matt, id iss all ofer mit tick." "i'll not make a miss. get a clamp on your nerves and be ready to throw the rope as soon as dick comes near enough." "my teet' chatter a leedle," whimpered carl, "aber my nerfs iss all righdt. don'd you be afraidt pecause i am, tick," he cried. "schvim like der olt poy vas afder you!" dick had need of all his breath and could not waste any in useless words. he was coming through the water at a fierce clip, his arms working like piston rods in a fine, steady, overhand stroke. he could see matt on the deck with the rifle ready, and he knew that whatever the king of the motor boys could do would be done. "ach, shood, shood!" implored carl, watching the black fin zigzagging nearer and nearer. "don'd vait, matt!" but matt paid no attention to carl. he knew what kind of a target he wanted, and that the shark would give it to him if he waited. when dick was about a dozen feet from the boat, the right moment came. with a flip of its tail the shark leaped partly out of the water and turned on its back, its great jaws opening. matt had braced himself firmly and lifted the marlin repeater to his shoulder. "fire avay, kevick!" clamored carl, and just then matt pulled the trigger. it was a bull's-eye hit. straight to its mark leaped the murderous bit of lead, and the shark, stunned by the impact of the bullet, snapped its jaws harmlessly together and sank downward in the reddening water. "you're all right, dick!" cried matt. "toss the rope, carl." carl threw the line and dick laid hold of it. the report of the rifle brought gaines from the periscope room, glennie and clackett from the tank room, and speake from the torpedo room in short order. all of them were on the deck just as matt and carl assisted dick out of the water. "what's the rumpus?" inquired gaines. matt pointed to the shark, which was floating, belly up, on the water. "your rifle did it, glennie," said matt. "if it hadn't been for that, nothing could have saved dick. i didn't think there was a shark within miles of us when dick went into the water." dick was nearly fagged. the tremendous exertion he had put forth had tried him severely. "it was foolish of me to go around that point," said dick, leaning back against the conning tower, "but i'm glad i did." "dot's funny," returned carl. "glad you vent aroundt der point und shdirred oop dot shark! how you make dot oudt?" "well, i made a discovery," went on dick. "if i hadn't made that discovery, like enough i'd have kept on swimming and have got so far away the shark would surely have nipped me before i could have got back close enough for matt to shoot." "what was the discovery?" asked glennie. "there's another cove around the point, a good deal like this one. the _pom_ is there, close inshore, and----" "der chaps!" breathed carl, thunderstruck. "the _pom_!" exclaimed glennie. "here's a piece of luck!" ground out gaines. "who'd have thought we'd moor ship alongside the same island picked out by the japs! there seems to be a fatality about our dealings with these sons of the rising sun. even after we dodge them we have the knack of dropping right into their hands again." "mebby," suggested speake, "they saw us and followed us to the island." "hardly that, mate," spoke up dick. "they've beached that torpedo, and all four of the japs are ashore, tinkering with it." matt was puzzled to know what to do. if the japs had not heard the rifle shot, it would be possible for the _grampus_ to haul in her anchor and slip away, unnoticed, providing the tank valves were repaired and she could leave the bay under water. but this manoeuvre would leave a threatening danger behind, and matt and his friend would never feel safe from an unexpected attack. in that critical moment, motor matt would have given a deal if he could have known all about the _pom_ and her capabilities. for a few moments he stood on the deck, turning the situation over and over in his mind, his eyes on the point around which lay the hostile submarine. "how far is the _pom_ anchored off the shore, dick?" he asked. "not more than half a cable's length." "do you think the japs saw you?" "i'm sure they didn't--they were too busy with that torpedo. but they may have heard me yell, or the report of that gun may have reached them. they have good ears, those fellows." "get into your clothes, dick," said matt, having at last made up his mind as to what he should do. "after that, take the rifle and sit here on the deck. watch that point of land. if the japs fix that torpedo so they are able to use it, they will have to come around the point in order to launch it at us. finish getting the breakfast, speake. gaines will pass it around as soon as you have it ready. clackett and i will go below and see what we can do with those valves. don't bother us with any breakfast until we have them once more in working order." "what are carl and i to do, matt?" inquired glennie. "stay up here with dick, and keep your eyes peeled." matt, clackett, and speake went below. matt and clackett were an hour at the valves before they were finally made dependable. all the while they were at work a deep silence reigned throughout the boat. every one realized the necessity of keeping quiet so as not to arouse the japs. matt, after swallowing a cup of coffee, came out on deck and began taking off his clothes. "what's the game, matey?" asked dick. "you're not going into the water and give the sharks a chance at you, are you?" "i'm going ashore," said matt. "i wouldn't do that, matt," counseled glennie. "why is it necessary? if the valves are in shape, we can pull out of here and make our way north under water. the japs will never be the wiser." "i'm tired of bothering with these sons of the rising sun," matt answered. "we never know what they're going to do, or when they're going to do it. i thought we had dropped them for good, down below english reach, but they were clever enough to get away from sandoval and play that trick in lota. if possible, let's put them out of the running, now, for keeps." "how will you do it?" questioned gaines. "i'm not just sure of that, and won't be until i do a little reconnoitring ashore. i've a scheme in mind, but i want to be positive it will work before we try it. go down to the engine room, gaines, and, clackett, you take your usual place in the tank room. heave up the anchor, speake. glennie, you get into the conning tower. if the current sets inshore and causes the _grampus_ to drift that way when the anchor is up, have the motor run just enough to hold the boat where she is. dick, you hang on to the rifle. when you go down, gaines, pass up the strongest cable we have, so that carl can bend it on to the mooring ring at the stern. understand?" "i guess we all understand what we're to do," replied glennie, "but i'll be hanged if i know why we're to do it." "you'll know--perhaps sooner than you imagine." matt, stripped to his trousers, stepped to the landward side of the boat. "sharks always go in pairs, mate," cautioned dick. "if you see one take after me, dick," returned matt, "treat it the same as i did the one that took after you." with hardly a splash matt dropped into the water and swam toward the beach. chapter xii. a wary foe. matt reached the beach without mishap. beyond the white stretch of sand grew a chaparral of bushes and low trees, covering the slope which ended at a ridge forming the backbone of the point to the southward. the young motorist took his way in this direction, halting at the edge of the brush for a moment to turn and give a reassuring wave to his comrades on the _grampus_. carl was just securing the end of a rope to the iron ring at the stern of the boat, glennie was half inside the conning tower, and dick had the rifle across his knees. all three answered matt's parting salute, and he faced about and hurried into the chaparral. matt's course carried him up the side of the ridge. once at the crest he would be able to look down on the japs and take note of their operations. he would thus be able to determine whether the bold scheme which he had at the back of his brain would be feasible or not. the crest of the ridge was not more than fifty feet above sea level, and the king of the motor boys was not long in reaching it. there, screened by a thicket of bushes, he was able to look down on the other cove, and make a leisurely examination of the _pom_ and the japs. the _pom_, as dick had said, was lying within a short distance of the shore. she was an odd-looking craft, being of a much smaller diameter than the _grampus_, and having a flat deck built over the rounded plates of her hull. the conning tower was only about half the height and diameter of that of the _grampus_, and seemed to have a solid top without any hatch opening. the hatch was forward, on the flat deck, and the cover was pushed back. from the submarine, matt's eyes wandered to the shelving beach. the torpedo was there, rolled up beyond the reach of the lapping waves, and two of the japs were busy about the conical end of the tube. matt chuckled as he thought of how he had tampered with the firing pin. before they could make the pin serviceable, the japs would have to rig another of the little propellers; and, while their ingenuity was no doubt equal to the job, yet it would take time to finish it. the two men who were at work were clad only in their trousers, and had clearly reached the shore as matt had done, by swimming. they went about their work steadily and with an application which indicated that they had little attention for anything else. from their manner, it seemed a fair inference that the rifle shot, or dick's yell, from the other side of the point, had failed to reach them. but where were the other two japs? had they returned to the _pom_? it might be that the two on the beach were in need of more tools and had sent the others out to the boat after them. matt, thinking of his plans, measured the distance from the end of the point to the _pom_. "the _grampus_ can do it!" he muttered, with an undernote of exultation throbbing in his voice. "a quick dash, and then a hustle seaward--and the trick is done. but those other two japs--i wish they would leave the boat and come ashore. they form the danger point in the carrying out of the scheme." there was something else matt noticed as he peered out from behind his thicket, and that was that two rifles lay on the sand within easy reach of the jap mechanics. "those guns are another danger point," he said to himself. "the _pom_, however, will be between the _grampus_ and the beach, and will act as a sort of barricade. anyhow, nothing venture, nothing win." for five minutes longer matt waited, watching for the other two japs to reappear through the _pom's_ hatch. but they did not come, and he felt that he could wait no longer. arising from his crouching position, he turned to retrace his course down the hill. he had not taken a dozen steps, however, when, dodging around a clump of bushes, he came face to face with the two missing japs! from the actions of the two men, it was plain that they were as much surprised as was motor matt. the cause of this unexpected meeting flashed through matt's brain like lightning. the rifle shot had been heard, and these two japs had been told to cross the ridge and investigate. matt had gained the shore before the japs had cleared the bushes and were able to see him. as they descended the slope, he was going up, and fortune had decreed that they give each other a wide berth. but fortune had taken another tack, for she was now bringing matt and the japs altogether too close to each other for comfort. these japs, like the two at work on the torpedo, were stripped of all unnecessary clothing; and, fortunately for the young motorist, they carried no weapons. for an instant matt and the two yellow men stared at each other; then the japs gave vent to a yell, and prepared to keep matt from continuing on down the hill. matt, remembering the two rifles he had seen on the beach, had no intention of waiting for the other two japs to reach the scene. he saw the men before him preparing to lay him by the heels in the most approved ju-jutsu style, but that did not keep him back. he leaped forward, apparently aiming to pass directly between the two men. they jumped to get in his way, whereupon he dodged to the right. but, if he was quick, so were the japs. no sooner had he changed his course than they also had faced the new direction. as matt went flying down the hill, one of them made a dive for him. the king of the motor boys struck out with his right fist--and he had a "right" about which carl pretzel was wont to sing praises. the fist accomplished its work, so far as that one jap was concerned. a sharp breath was jolted from the yellow man and the hands he had put out dropped limply, the while his whole body slumped backward. but something happened to matt, just what he had not the least idea. all he knew was that he was lifted high and sent crashing headfirst into a thicket of bushes. the second jap had put into practice one of the wrestling tricks he had learned in nippon. matt, however, was not sorry he had been thrown in that unceremonious fashion, for, just as he dropped into the bushes, the sodden _whang_ of a rifle spoke from the crest of the ridge and a bullet flew whining over the very spot where he had been running. the other two japs had lost little time in coming to the aid of their comrades. matt was up almost as soon as he was down. his superb physical training rendered him proof against any such fall as that he had just received. both japs were reaching for him as he ducked clear of the bushes, but he slipped out from under their gripping fingers and flashed down the slope like a streak, screening his flight with every particle of tangled undergrowth that got in his way. the rifles behind him continued to cough and splutter. the unarmed japs, however, were between matt and the marksmen, and the care the latter had to use sent their bullets wide. the japs were no match for matt when it came to sprinting. matt had learned the game from a half-breed friend, the best "miler" in arizona, and he now showed the japs how an american boy can run when he has his heart in it. before the yellow men had cleared the fringe of bushes at the edge of the beach, motor matt was in the water; and when the japs emerged, dick plowed up the ground at their feet with bullets from the marlin, and drove them back. matt could not have swum faster if there had been a whole school of sharks after him, but before he got to the _grampus_ lead from the shore was pounding a merry tattoo against the submarine's steel plates. dick, exposing himself recklessly, was answering with the marlin. neither side was damaging the other, but the firing spurred matt to superhuman exertions. when the young motorist reached the boat, carl ducked out from behind the conning tower and gave him a hand up the slope of the deck. "now's the time," panted matt, falling at full length across the curved plates. "start her--full speed." "where are we to go?" demanded glennie. "around the point and take the _pom_ in tow," matt answered. "all four of the japs are ashore, in this cove. before they can cross the ridge and interfere with us, we ought to be able to pick up the other submarine and make off with her. look alive, now! we can't turn the trick if you don't hustle." the daring nature of matt's scheme dawned on the lads with something like a shock. and it appealed to them, too! it was just such a scheme as they might have expected motor matt to set going. "hoop-a-la!" jubilated carl, as glennie punched the motor-room jingler. "vat do you t'ink oof dot? modor matt goes ashore mit himseluf und coaxes der chaps to shace him mit rifles, schust to ged dem oudt oof der vay so ve can shteal pack der _pom_. vat a feller he iss!" "you're giving me altogether too much credit, carl," expostulated matt. "i ran onto those japs by accident, and would have gone a good ways to keep clear of them." "vell, vat's der odds aboudt der tifference? der modor poys iss on dop und----" a bullet from the shore slapped against the side of the conning tower and whistled off into space, passing so close to carl's head in its flight that he stopped his glorying and fell flat on the deck. "they'll not stay long on the beach there when they see where we're going," remarked matt grimly. "they've stopped their firing now, old ship," cried dick, "and are rushing back into the bushes as fast as they can scramble." "it has probably dawned upon them that we're planning to run off with the _pom_," said matt. "quick work, now, and we'll win the day, and cut these sons of the rising sun out of our future calculations." the propeller was churning the waters like mad, and glennie was laying a safe course to round the point and bring the _grampus_ close to the _pom_. chapter xiii. pluck that wins. by the time that the _grampus_ got around the point and was plunging onward, with "a bone in her teeth," straight for the _pom_, matt had recovered his breath and was ready to play his part in the rest of the work. "make a circle around the stern of the _pom_, glennie," said matt, peering shoreward to see if there were any signs of the japs coming down the south side of the ridge. "that will give dick a chance to jump to the deck of the other craft." "i'll do it, matt," replied glennie. "give me the rifle, dick," went on matt, "and you lay hold of the end of the rope carl has secured to the ring. as soon as you get on the other boat, make the rope fast." "ay, ay, matey!" cried dick, elation ringing in his voice and his eyes glimmering with excitement. "we'll make a go of this, now that you have planned the scheme and done the heft of the work in getting it started." "there may still be a whole lot of trouble and hard work between us and success. let's not be too confident. ah," and matt pointed toward the side of the ridge, "there come the japs. they're running even faster than they did when they were after me. we're going to have a tight squeak of it, glennie, to double the stern of the _pom_, get dick aboard and pull away with our tow before the japs get into the water." "it's their guns i'm thinking of," said glennie. "if they happen to pick me out of the conning tower, or to knock dick off the deck of the _pom_, the fat would all be in the fire." "they'll not do either of those things, matey," averred dick confidently. "it's our innings, now, and we're bound to score." the _grampus_ raced on, and down the slope rushed the japs in a frantic endeavor to reach the water and gain the _pom_ before the venturesome motor boys could carry out their plans. no shots were fired by the japs. this seemed strange, since a well-placed bullet would have meant so much to them. "what's the reason they're not tuning up, matey?" asked dick. "dey hafen't got der time for dot," chuckled carl. "dey're in too mooch oof of a hurry, py shinks." "they could put a couple of bullets where they would play hob with us," went on dick, "and they must know it." "they do know it," said matt. "there are four of the japs, and only two guns. i rather surmise that they have used up all the ammunition in the magazines of the rifles, and that their reserve supply is on the _pom_." just at that moment glennie swerved the _grampus_ to pass between the stern of the _pom_ and the shore. "ready, dick!" warned matt. "right-o," answered dick, seizing one end of the cable and balancing himself on the port side of the _grampus_. "swing her as close as you can, glennie," he added to the ensign. supporting himself by clinging to a wire guy with one hand, dick waited. glennie signaled the engine room for slower speed, and the _grampus_ rounded neatly and pushed her nose past the tower of the other boat. "there you are, dick!" cried matt. the next instant dick had leaped across the intervening stretch of water and had landed on the flat deck of the _pom_. before his feet had struck the deck, however, matt saw a jap's head and shoulders push upward through the _pom's_ hatch. if there had been time to feel anything so useless as surprise, matt would certainly have been taken all aback. captain pons had said that only five japs had comprised the crew which had palmed themselves off as chilians. one of these five had been left in lota, a prisoner. according to matt's reckoning, that left only four of the yellow men in charge of the _pom_. where, then, did this extra jap come in? matt did not pause to let this drift through his mind. making a short run across the _grampus_, he flung himself after dick, reaching the flat deck of the other submarine and only saving himself a fall over the opposite side of the craft by dropping to his knees. hardly had he landed when a pair of heavy feet clanged down behind him and a form collided roughly with his back. once more matt came within a hair's breadth of dropping off the port side of the _pom_. "py shinks," puffed a choppy voice, "you don'd vas going to leaf me pehindt! dere iss more chaps on dis poat as we knowed aboudt, und----" carl's sentence was never finished. the jap matt had seen in the open hatch had gained the deck and had rushed at carl like a whirlwind. another showed himself, following close upon the heels of the first. "make the rope fast, dick!" roared matt. "carl and i will look after these fellows." dick went down on his knees and began securing the rope. it was necessary to make it fast before the slack was all taken up, otherwise the tow line would have been jerked out of dick's hands and the work would have had to be done all over again. matt caught the second jap about the waist as he crawled through the hatch. there was a brief struggle, and it ended by matt heaving the jap over the side and into the water. the other jap had performed a like service for carl, and the dutch boy, blowing like a porpoise, was floating around in the bay, trying to get hold of something and pull himself back on the deck. the jap started at once for matt. before he reached him, dick, who had made fast the line, rushed him from the rear and literally bore him off the boat. he dropped into the water alongside his comrade. "help carl aboard, dick!" called matt. dick bent over and gave carl a hand. just at that moment the boat leaped forward under the sudden pull of the _grampus_. but here, just as victory was all but ranged on the side of the motor boys, the unexpected happened. perhaps glennie was to blame. it would have been better if he had slowed the _grampus_ down almost to a stop and then picked up the strain on the tow line with a steady pull. it was useless, however, to find fault with anybody. the thing happened, and that was all there was to it. the tow line snapped. one end of it jerked back and caught matt a tremendous blow on the temple, and he dropped as though from the impact of a heavy fist. a howl of consternation broke from carl. "id's all oop mit us!" he shouted. "der rope iss pusted in der mittle, matt is down, und der chaps iss all aroundt us!" carl's quick eyes had sized up the situation correctly. the four japs who had crossed the ridge from the other cove had reached the water and were swimming to the _pom_. the two who had been forced overboard by matt and his chums were paddling about and making frantic efforts to regain the deck. dick had not much time to think of what they should do. with matt down, could he and carl successfully beat off the six yellow men? dick flung a despairing glance after the _grampus_. glennie, wild with anxiety over the outcome of what seemed a certain _fiasco_, was ringing all kinds of signals in the motor room, and, for once in his life, seemed completely "rattled" and at a loss as to what move he should make. at that moment an idea darted into dick's brain. "keep away, glennie!" dick yelled, waving his hands. "sheer off to a good distance, and wait! carl," and he whirled on the dutch boy with fierce determination, "we'll take matt below. we can close ourselves inside the steel shell and the japs won't be able to get at us." "meppy dere's more chaps in der poat!" demurred carl. "no!" thundered dick. "do you suppose they'd stay below while this scrimmage was going on over their heads? down the hatch with you, and take matt as i lower him!" carl saw that there was nothing else for it, and made haste to carry out his orders. the floor was less than five feet under the deck, and carl was able to stand erect and take matt in his arms as dick let him down. the japs were gaining the deck from all sides as dick followed, and the hatch cover was banged shut and made fast just in the nick of time. "ach, du lieber!" muttered carl, listening to the patter of bare feet on the plates overhead. "vat a fix iss dis. der chaps haf got us, und dey ain'd got us; und ve haf got dem in der same vay. ve can't ged oudt, und dey can't ged in. vat's der answer?" "a little light, first," said dick coolly. "don't let the japs worry you--there's a stout steel armor between us and them. it's as black as a pocket in here, now that the hatch is closed. have you got a match?" it took carl several moments to dig a match out of his blouse. he had one, just one, and it was a wonder he had even that. no one had any use for matches aboard the _grampus_. carl drew the match along the steel floor. as the flickering gleam grew stronger, he and dick took in the dimensions of that part of their prison. the floor apparently divided the interior of the steel hull in half, the rounded plates of the hull meeting it on both sides. a bulkhead cut off the view aft. "you rub matt's forehead and hands and see if you can't fetch him to," said dick. "i'm going aft to see what's on the other side of that bulkhead." "der match iss gone!" muttered carl, dropping the charred stick. "i've located the bulkhead door, so it doesn't much matter," answered dick. the opening of the door brought in a little daylight. the door led out under the conning tower, and the light came through the tower lunettes. dick, straightening up, shoved his head and shoulders into the tower. on all sides jap eyes were glaring in at him. "ugh!" he muttered, and dropped down again. chapter xiv. a little work on the inside. when matt drifted back to consciousness, his head lay on carl's knee. carl and dick had dragged him out under the conning tower, where the light was better. "where are we?" were matt's first words. "in the _pom_, matey," was dick's grim response. "ve can't ged oudt, eider, matt," croaked carl gloomily, "und der chaps can't ged in. vich vould you radder be, der chaps or us?" matt sat up, rubbing his head. "i remember now," he murmured. "the tow line broke, and the _pom_ end of it sprang back and hit me on the forehead. you brought me below?" "i couldn't think of anything else to do, matey," said dick. "we were surrounded by six japs, and i thought it better to take our chances inside. we got below and closed the hatch just in time. listen! you can hear the japs walking around on deck. if you get up in the tower you can see them looking in at the lunettes! but it's not pleasant. the straightened eyes of those swabs are pretty savage. i wouldn't give tuppence for our chances if they could get at us. and they may find out a way to come in here. if you can think of anything to do that will help us out of this hole, matt, please be in a hurry about it." "yah," put in carl, "don'd vaste any time." "where's the _grampus_?" asked matt. his head bothered him, but there was no time to think of physical troubles of that sort. "i told glennie to keep her away. there wasn't anything he could do by running close, anyhow. the japs would have boarded the _grampus_, if he had come too close, and there would be only four on our boat to stand off the six japs." "oh, well," remarked matt, looking around, "this might be worse." "how?" moaned carl. "i don'd see dot." matt's interest in the _pom_, now that he was able to give the boat a personal examination, bade fair to eclipse his concern for the dangers by which he was surrounded. here was a brand-new piece of mechanism, a boat crammed with french machinery that would well repay a close study. a rigid box under the conning tower, enabled a man to lift the upper half of his body into the cupola and get his eyes opposite the lunettes. as the man stood there, his right hand fell naturally on a steering wheel and his left on push buttons which must communicate with the engine room. "this is a whole lot different from the interior of the _grampus_," muttered matt. "id is so shmall as a rat drap," shuddered carl. "i feel like i vas shut oop in a cage." matt, pushing backward from the turret, fell off a ledge into a sort of well. as he sat up and groped about with his hands, he touched a switch. pulling the switch, an incandescent lamp flared out overhead. "that's better," said he. "now we can look around without so much trouble." here, aft from the conning tower, machinery was packed away closely. up against the roof, on the port side, was a little engine, operated by compressed air, by which the submarine was steered. matt discovered that by observing the wires that ran to the engine from the steering wheel. on the starboard side, likewise against the roof, was another engine, with disks at each end as large as dinner plates. "h'm," mused matt, trying to rub the ache out of his head so his brain would be clearer, "those disks are diaphragms, and must be connected, in some way, with the water pressure. i have it!" and a triumphant look crossed his face, "this is the diving engine, and that wheel"--he touched the wheel as he spoke--"controls it." at one side was a cubic steel box. "air compressor," said matt, touching the box. on the floor, just where matt had dropped into the well, were two levers. matt lifted one of them. instantly there came a gurgle and splash of water, directly under carl and dick. "avast, matey!" cried dick. "i wouldn't fool with those things until you know more about them." muffled cries came from the japs outside. "they hear what's going on," laughed matt, "and they don't like it. we're filling the submerging tanks, dick," he explained. "then why don't we sink?" "it takes the engine to help us sink--the diving engine and the motor." farther back beyond the well was the engine room. "here's where i'm at home," said matt, creeping into the engine room and turning on another incandescent light. in one side were switchboards for the dynamotors, and near them were spiral resistance coils curving along the roof. over on the other side was a trolley controller, which matt knew must be used for speeding the vessel under water. "give the wheel of that diving engine a turn to the right, dick," called matt. dick obeyed the order. matt turned the switch of the controller and then instantly there was a low, electrical hum and the _pom_ started toward the bottom. "get on the box under the conning tower, dick," said matt, "and do the steering." "how'll i steer? there's no periscope." "steer by compass--there's one right in front of you as you stand in the tower." "but what'll i do for light? we're under water and no daylight comes in at the lunettes." matt touched a switch, and electric light flooded the tower. "i don't like this tinkering, i'm a fiji if i do," muttered dick, as he crawled up into the tower. "we've got rid of the japs by the tinkering, dick," said matt. "they're swimming ashore by now." "what i'm afraid of is," went on dick, "you'll get us on the bottom and not be able to take us to the surface again." "don't let that worry you. if we want to go to the surface, all we have to do is to twist the diving rudders and empty the tanks." "what's the course, matey?" asked dick. "west by north until we clear the point, then north." "how am i to know when we clear the point?" "why, we'll go to the surface and take a look. glennie will probably be glad to have a sight of us before long." "i'll bet he's worrying his head off! the quicker we can go up, matt, the better." "all right. carl!" "on der chump!" answered the dutch boy. "give the wheel of the diving engine a turn to the left--to the _left_, mind." "dere she goes." instantly there was a perceptible movement upward. "now," went on matt, "lift that other lever on the floor near you--the one i didn't lift, if you can remember." carl lifted the lever, and, by chance, the right one. a hiss of compressed air was heard, followed by a splash of water being forced from the ballast tanks. the _pom_ jumped for the surface like a streak. "daylight at the lunettes!" shouted dick, overjoyed to make sure that matt really knew what he was about. "all you've got to do to know all about a piece of machinery, matt," he added, "is just to look at it." "and use my head," laughed matt. "py shinks," boomed carl, "you can do more mit a cracked head dan any odder feller can do mit vone dot's all ridght. yah, so helup me. you know more aboudt machinery in a year as anypody else does in a minid." "see anything of the japs, dick?" inquired matt, stopping the electric motor. "not a sign!" exulted dick. "but there's the old _grampus_, with speake on deck and glennie half out of the tower. their eyes are this way, and you'd think, from their faces, they're looking at a ghost." "dey can't oondershtand how ve got oudt oof dot schrape," said carl. "ve hat some pooty pad brospects, for a vile, you bed you." "holy smoke!" exclaimed dick, almost falling off the box he was standing on. "what's the matter?" "why, there's our old friend, the cruiser _salvadore_, with--with---- 'pon my soul, matt, i'm a fiji if that captain pons isn't on the bridge with captain sandoval!" this was amazing news. "the war ship must have just got here, then," said matt. "but how did she know where we were?" "probably she spoke the _sovereign_," matt answered. "that would have given sandoval a pretty good clue." "oh, strike me lucky! the _salvadore_ is turning broadside on, and some of her crew are manning the small guns--the rapid-fire guns. they're going to blow us out of water, matt!" "hardly that, dick," said matt easily. "sandoval isn't going to destroy this submarine. pons wouldn't let him, even if he had such a notion. if anything happened to the boat, pons wouldn't be able to deliver her to the chilian government." "they're mighty warlike, anyway," went on dick. "and there's glennie, on the _grampus_, trying his best to attract the attention of sandoval." "sandoval and pons think the _pom_ is full of japs," laughed matt. "we'd better go up and clear the fog out of their brains. it will be a pleasure to meet captain sandoval again. he's a good friend of ours, you know." "meppy dot vas a lucky t'ing," vouchsafed carl, "seeing as how pons iss madt pecause ve vouldn't go afder der _pom_ mit der _grampus_." "that's just what we did, though, although we didn't intend making any such move. we shall now have the pleasure of turning the _pom_ over to captain pons." making their way through the bulkhead door, matt, dick, and carl gained the hatch, threw it open, and crawled out on the submarine's deck. chapter xv. a star performance. the _pom_ was lying between the _grampus_ and the _salvadore_. when matt, dick, and carl showed themselves there were loud cheers from glennie and speake. pons, on the bridge of the war ship, could be seen jumping up and down like a pea on a hot griddle, waving his hands and yelling. the war ship was too far away for the boys to hear what pons said. "i'd about given you fellows up!" exclaimed glennie. "when that confounded tow line parted, my hopes parted with it. we saw you sink and throw the japs into the water, and we were sure you'd gone down to stay." "the japs got ashore, did they?" asked matt. "every last one of them." "well, glennie, come along here and take us off. i want to go to the war ship and make a report to captain sandoval." glennie brought the _grampus_ close to the french boat, and the three boys transferred themselves to their own craft. "i vouldn't trade vone oof der _grampuses_ for a tozen of der _poms_," asserted carl, as they were borne away in the direction of the _salvadore_. "i don't know how seven japs ever stowed themselves away inside the _pom_," muttered dick. "they must have been packed in there like sardines." "they managed to do a pretty fair amount of work, too," said matt. "not the least of it was lassoing me and pulling me into the water." as the _grampus_ approached the war ship, captain sandoval leaned from the bridge with his megaphone. "motor matt, king of the motor boys!" he shouted. "ah, ha, _amigo_, you are as full of surprises as the egg is of meat." captain pons failed to join captain sandoval in his amiable sentiment. pons shook his fist. "r-r-rascal!" he shouted. "he is mos' contemptible!" "throw over your sea ladder, captain," called matt; "i want to come aboard and talk with you." "_gracias!_" cried sandoval. "i am delighted, _amigo_." a few minutes later matt was in the captain's cabin. he had been there once before, but not under circumstances that were very pleasant. on the previous occasion, captain sandoval had been hostile and full of unjust suspicions. now he was more than friendly, and it was captain pons who was hostile. "you heard how those rascally japs gave me the slip, _amigo_?" asked sandoval. "ah, ah, what a wretched piece of business! it was in a fog, and one could not see his hand in front of his face. thus they escaped. _ay de mi_, it was a blow! i came north looking for the rascals, and i reached lota last night and found pons. he told me of the troubles he has been having with the japs, and since it was my duty to aid him in recovering the _pom_, why, i took him aboard and we started north. the british vessel sovereign gave us a tip, and we followed it to this bay. first, we saw the _grampus_; then, all so suddenly, up out of the ocean came the _pom_! i trained my guns on her to fire in case the japs proved unreasonable. presently, behold, the hatch of the _pom_ opens and you appear. wonderful! i can hardly believe my eyes because of the so great surprise!" "ah, my captain," broke in pons, "zis matt is ze r-ruf-fian, ze villain. he say he no haf ze time to bozzer wiz my little boat, zat he not go hunt for her; now, by gar, we see heem on her deck. he play ze trick wiz me. he do w'at he say he not do. he try steal ze boat, _oui_, zat is w'at he do. i demand of heem ze satisfaction!" the captain's eyes became very fierce and he threw back his shoulders and slapped his chest. "ah, my captain," said sandoval, "don't make a mistake. i know motor matt, and he is a gentleman. i have given him my hand, my captain, and captain sandoval never gives his hand to a scoundrel." captain pons arose with much dignity and bowed to captain sandoval. "_merci, monsieur!_" he murmured. "nevair vill i say ze derogatory word to youar honor, but ze actions of zis motor matt, w'at you call, is mos' contemptible. let heem spik, let heem explain if he can." "_amigo_," said captain sandoval, "you will explain, for my sake, to my honorable friend, captain pons?" "that's what i came here to do," answered matt. "i and my friends have saved the _pom_ for captain pons, and this is the reward he gives us." captain pons got up and bowed again to captain sandoval. not to be outdone in courtesy, captain sandoval arose and bowed to captain pons. "if i do heem ze wrong," said captain pons gravely, "zen i make ze _amende_. until he explains, i have ze right to call him mos' contemptible." "you have the right," agreed captain sandoval. then they bowed again and sat down. all this was highly edifying to matt, but it did not get him very far along with his explanation. when he got started, however, he held the floor in spite of disturbing symptoms on the part of pons to get up and bow. he carried the explanation through to its conclusion, and not failing to put due stress on the dangers he and his friends had undergone in their attempt to get the better of the sons of the rising sun. the two captains were deeply impressed. for some moments after matt had finished they sat speechless in their chairs; then, as one man they arose. together they bowed to matt. "_ay de mi_," breathed captain sandoval, "did you ever hear of anything so wonderful?" "mos' r-r-remarkable!" exclaimed captain pons. then they bent to each other. after that captain sandoval sat down, but captain pons stepped over to matt and embraced him; then, before matt could defend himself, captain pons kissed him on the cheek. "_mon ami!_" said he; "my friend, i mak' ze apologee. i ask zat you forgeeve ze talk about you as ze mos' contemptible. it is i, me, zat is mos' contemptible----" "no, no, my captain," protested captain sandoval, putting up his hand, "you shall not so greatly injure yourself." "i r-r-repeat," thundered captain pons, thumping his chest fiercely, "i made ze mistake, and i, myself, am mos' contemptible." captain sandoval sighed and looked depressed. "zis brav' young man," proceeded captain pons, "save ze _pom_ for me. i sank heem, as one gentleman sank anozzer. zere, ze debt is cancel. all zat remain is for me to hol' him in mos' tender memory." "the six japanese are on the island, captain sandoval," said matt, who was beginning to get a little bit tired of pons and his mushy nonsense. "will you send a party ashore to capture them?" "at once," was the answer. "and, by the way, captain pons," went on matt, "didn't you say there were only five japs in the crew that stole the _pom_." "fife, _oui_. i count zem and i know." "well, that one we captured under the wharf, at lota, comes out of the five, and would leave four." "_oui_, wan from fife is four." "then, captain, how do you account for the fact that there were six on the _pom_ when she reached this bay?" "do you say i spik untruths?" flared the captain, displaying a tendency to renew his quarrel with matt. "not at all, not for the world," answered matt, with an inward laugh, "but i am puzzled. one from five, in this case, seems to have left six." "i know nozzing, sare," said captain pons. "if zere was seex w'en zere should only haf been fife, zat is zeir business." "then we'll let it stand that way," said matt. "i am mos' agreeable," returned captain pons. "presently, my captain," he went on, to sandoval, "i go aboard ze _pom_ wiz ze crew you gif me, an' we take ze boat to valparaiso. is it not so?" "yes, my captain," replied sandoval. "i will lend you the crew and will convoy you to valparaiso." "you are mos' kind." this was enough for matt. he excused himself, shook hands with sandoval, and hurried away. as soon as he was safely in the periscope room of the _grampus_, he threw himself down on the locker and laughed until he was sore. "get me the rest of my clothes, somebody," said he, "and then start the _grampus_ northward again." "where's our next port of call, old ship?" queried dick, while matt was getting into the garments he had taken off just before swimming ashore in the cove. "callao," answered matt. "then panama, acapulco, san diego--and frisco." "dot lisdens like home!" rumbled carl. "in two weeks," cried glennie, "we'll be at mare island, and the cruise will be finished. it's all plain sailing from this on. the sons of the rising sun will have all they can do to take care of themselves, let alone try to make any more trouble for us." "we're done with them, and there are no ifs or ands about it this time," said matt. "i'll admit, when i learned they had made off with that french submarine, that i thought they were equipped to accomplish something against us; but we cleared that difficulty in one-two order when we got started." "it might have been a lot worse, mates," observed dick, "and there were several times when i thought we were done, done as brown as a kippered herring; but we pulled through--mainly because matt had his shoulder to the wheel and gave us the right sort of a boost over the hard places." "as much credit should fall to the rest of you as to me," spoke up matt. "take the wheel, glennie. full speed ahead, gaines," he added, through the motor-room tube. the cylinders never hummed a cheerier tune than they did when they started the _grampus_ once more on her journey northward, and no boat, surface or submarine, ever carried a happier crew. chapter xvi. conclusion. as day followed day and week followed week, bringing no sign of any further trouble with the sons of the rising sun, motor matt and his friends realized that, beyond all doubt, they had worsted their wily foes, and perhaps had taught them a lesson which they could ponder wisely. at panama, which was almost the same as united states soil, the boys took shore leave, turn and turn about. from this place matt sent a cablegram to captain nemo, jr., at belize. "on the last leg of our journey. all well and _grampus_ as fit as a fiddle. telegraph me at acapulco." "too bad that old canal wasn't finished," observed dick, as the _grampus_ left panama, "at the time we left belize. we could have come through it, if it had been, and saved a month's time and all that mix-up with the japs." "that wasn't the point, dick," spoke up glennie. "this trip has been in the nature of a try-out for the _grampus_. the government wanted to see what she could do--and i guess the government will know when my log is read at headquarters." "you're giving us a good report, glennie?" laughed dick. "as good as i can make it." "then that means a sale of the boat, without a doubt." "i understood that my report was to be final. i've had the cruise of my life with you motor boys, and i almost hate to reach san francisco, because we'll have to separate there." "you're an a one comrade, glennie," said matt heartily, "and you need never look for a pal while this outfit of motor boys is around." "my sentiments to a t, y, ty," averred dick. "und mine, too, py shinks!" cried carl. glennie was deeply touched. at the beginning of the cruise there had been some hard feelings between him and dick and carl, but as they had come to know each other better the unpleasantness had worn away. all four of the lads were now loyal friends, having undergone perils and dangers shoulder to shoulder, and so each had tried the other's and had not found them wanting. at acapulco matt was confidently expecting to receive a message from captain nemo, jr. in this, however, he was disappointed. there was no message for him. matt could not understand the reason and was prone to think dire things. "captain nemo, jr., would surely have answered that message i sent him from panama," said matt, "providing he had received it." "sure he would," agreed glennie; "and the fact that you did not get an answer is proof that the captain did not receive your message." "aber vy ditn't he receif id?" asked carl. "that's the point that alarms me, friends," went on matt gloomily. "you know we left the captain sick at belize; too ill, in fact, to come with us on the _grampus_. we haven't heard a word from him since the cruise began, and it may be that his sickness terminated fatally." this thought cast a depression over the motor boys. captain nemo, jr., was a good friend of theirs, and all of them liked him. the _grampus_ was the triumph of the captain's career, and if he was to be stricken down just as the boat, in charge of the motor boys, was to pass successfully through the golden gate, the elation matt and his friends would otherwise feel must give way to dejection and sorrow. the victory of this successful cruise was entirely theirs, but the loss of captain nemo, jr., would rob the victory of all pleasure for them. but the gloom that accompanied the submarine from acapulco northward was lost in rejoicing at san diego; for no sooner had the _grampus_ anchored in the bay off the latter place than no less a person than captain nemo, jr., himself, rowed out and came aboard. the captain was well and hearty, and his delight in welcoming the boys was boundless. he looked over the boat and complimented all hands on her efficiency after such a long cruise--the longest and hardest any submarine had ever made; and in the periscope room, until long into the night, the captain sat wide-eyed and absorbed, listening to the adventures of those whom he had commissioned to take the _grampus_ from belize to mare island. when all had had their say, and the recital was done, there followed a period of silence. the captain was the first to speak. "a hundred thousand dollars, my lads, is a great deal of money; but if i had been able to look ahead and learn what dangers were to beset you on your long journey, i would not have allowed you to start for a million. i had some inkling of this japanese business, for i was offered two hundred thousand for the _grampus_ by the japanese government. i chose to deal with the navy department of my own country, even at a direct pecuniary loss to myself. my refusal to sell to the japs brought a threatening letter from the sons of the rising sun, but i treated it with contempt. i should have taken you into my confidence regarding this japanese matter before you left belize, but i thought it of no moment and hesitated to alarm you by even mentioning it." "it's all but over now, captain," laughed matt lightly, "and i think we are all of us better for the experience. i know i wouldn't sell the benefit that has accrued to me from this cruise for a lot of money." "nor i," said dick. "me, neider," chirped carl. "let me go on record, too," put in glennie. "i'm glad you all feel in that way about it," said the captain. "by the way," asked matt, "why didn't you answer the cablegram i sent you from panama, captain?" "principally because i never received it," was the smiling response. "where did you address the message, matt?" "to you, at belize." "why, i left belize a week after you did! it was my intention all along to leave central america, work up into the states, and then meet you here and take the last lap of the cruise with you." "it was a mighty big relief to see you come aboard at this port," said matt. "i hadn't the least idea what was the matter." "you had a guess that i had taken the one-way trail, hadn't you, matt?" jested the captain. "i didn't know but that might have happened." "in that event," said the captain, "i had already made a will whereby you boys were to receive the whole amount to be paid by the government. so, you see, my being alive has cost you a pretty pile." "the money doesn't count, captain," declared matt stoutly. "no? well, money usually counts in this world, matt--in fact, it cuts a pretty wide swath in every direction." "it is secondary, captain, to the idea of 'making good.' when we left belize i vowed that we'd make good and prove that your confidence in us wasn't misplaced. we've all had that in mind before anything and everything else." "it's a good trait in you," replied the captain, "and in any young man, to love a piece of work for itself, and, money apart, centre every hope on making a success of it. that's the spirit that brings its reward, not only in money, but in self-approval, which is something money can't buy. every one who went around south america on the _grampus_ will find, i think, that i know how to be grateful; this, while of secondary importance to the consciousness of duty well performed, will be a substantial acknowledgment of the debt i hold myself under to all of you. "in san francisco the _grampus_ will be sold. the motor boys will go one way, captain nemo, jr., another way, and speake, gaines, and clackett still another. but i hope that this will not be the last of our associations, but that we shall sometime come together again and renew our friendships, which have been so firmly woven together by this cruise of the _grampus_, and the persistent and successful effort of the king of the motor boys to _make good_." with the hearty echoes this sentiment received still lingering in our ears, the hour seems propitious for taking leave of matt and the motor boys, while they are at the threshold of another of their many victories. the end. the next number ( ) will contain motor matt's launch; or, a friend in need. new friends and new fortunes--the raffle--ping-pong objects--another rescue--an odd tangle--the rich man's son--a plan that failed--a chase across the bay--the lion's mouth--the mouth closes--surprising events--mcglory's run of luck--waiting and worrying--ping stars himself--a new twist, by george--another twist, by matt and mcglory. motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction new york, july , . terms to motor stories mail subscribers. (_postage free._) single copies or back numbers, c. each. months c. months c. months $ . one year . copies one year . copy two years . =how to send money=--by post-office or express money-order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. at your own risk if sent by currency, coin, or postage-stamps in ordinary letter. =receipts=--receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. if not correct you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once. ormond g. smith, } george c. smith, } _proprietors_. street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york city. the spider water. ii. on the th there was trouble beyond wild hat, and all our extra men, put out there under healey, were fighting to hold the rat valley levels where they hug the river on the west slope. it wasn't really healey's track. bucks sent him over there just as the emperor sent ney, wherever he needed his right arm. sunday, while healey was at wild hat, rain began falling. sunday it rained; monday all through the mountains it rained; tuesday it was raining from omaha to eagle pass, with the thermometer climbing for breath and the barometer flat as an adder--and the spider woke. woke with the april water and the june water and the storm water all at once. trackwalkers tuesday night flagged number one, and reported the spider wild, with heavy sheet ice running. a wire from bucks brought healey out of the west and into the east, and brought him to reckon for the last time with his ancient enemy. he was against it wednesday with dynamite. all the day, all the night, all the next day the sullen roar of the giant powder shook the forming jam above the bridge, and after two days healey wired, "ice out," and set back without a minute's sleep for home. saturday night he slept and sunday all day and sunday night. monday about noon bucks sent up to ask, but healey still slept. they asked back by the lad whether they should wake him. bucks sent word, "no." it was late tuesday morning when the tall roadmaster came down, and he was fresh as sunshine. all day he sat with bucks and the dispatchers watching the line. the spider raced mad, and the watchers sent in panic messages, but healey put them in his pipe. "that bridge will go when the mountains go," was all he said. nine o'clock that night every star was blinking when healey looked in for the trackwalkers' reports and the railroad weather bulletins. bucks, callahan, and peeto sat about martin duffy, the dispatcher, who in his shirt sleeves threw the stuff off the sounder as it trickled in dot and dash, dot and dash over the wires. the west wire was good; east everything below peace river was down. we had to get the eastern reports around by omaha and the south--a good thousand miles of a loop--but bad news travels even around a robin hood loop. and first came wild hat from the west with a stationary river and the loup creek falling--clear--good night. and ed peeto struck the table heavily and swore it was well in the west. then from the east came prairie portage, all the way round, with a northwest rain, a rising river, and anchor ice running, pounding the piers bad--track in fair shape, and--and---- the wire went wrong. as duffy knit his eyes and tugged and cussed a little, the wind outside took up the message and whirled a bucket of rain against the windows. but the wires wouldn't right, and stuff that no man could get tumbled in like a dictionary upside down. and bucks and callahan and healey and peeto smoked, silent, and heard the deepening drum of the rain on the roof. then duffy wrestled mightily yet once more. "keep still," he exclaimed, leaning heavily on the key. "here's something--from the spider." he snatched a pen and ran it across a clip; bucks leaning over read aloud from his shoulder: "omaha. "j. f. bucks: "trainmen from no. stalled west of rapid city--track afloat in simpson's cut--report spider bridge out--send----" and the current broke. callahan's hand closed rigidly over the hot bowl of his pipe; peeto sat speechless; bucks read again at the broken message, but healey sprang like a man wounded and snatched the clip from his hand. he stared at the running words till they burned his eyes, and then, with an oath, frightful as the thunder that shook the mountains, he dashed the clip to the floor. his eyes snapped greenish, and he cursed omaha, cursed its messages, and everything that came out of it. slow at first, then fast and faster, until all the sting that poisoned his heart in his unjust discharge poured from his lips. it flooded the room like a spilling stream, and none put a word against it, for they knew he stood a wronged man. out it came--all the rage, all the heart-burning, all the bitterness--and he dropped into a chair and covered his face with his hands. only the sounder clicking iron jargon and the thunder shaking the wickiup like a reed filled the ears of the men about him. they watched him slowly knot his fingers and loosen them, and saw his face rise dry and hard and old out of his hands. "get up an engine!" "not--you're not going down there to-night?" stammered bucks. "yes. now. right off. peeto, get out your men!" the foreman jumped for the door. little duffy, snatching the train sheet, began clearing track for a bridge special. in twenty minutes twenty men were running as many ways through the storm, and a live engine boomed under the wickiup window. "i want you to be careful, phil," bucks spoke anxiously as he looked with healey out into the storm. "it's a bad night." healey made no answer. the lightning shot the yards in a blaze and a crash split the gorge. "a wicked night," muttered bucks. evans, conductor of the special, ran in. "here's your orders," said duffy. "you've got forty miles an hour." "don't stretch it," warned bucks. "good-by, phil," he added to healey, "i'll see you in the morning." "in the morning," echoed healey. "good-by." the switch engine had puffed up with a caboose; ahead of it peeto had coupled in the pile driver. at the last minute callahan concluded to go, and with the bridge gang tumbling into the caboose, the assistant superintendent, ed peeto, and healey climbed into the engine, and they pulled out, five in the cab, for the spider water. healey, moody at first, began joking and laughing the minute they got away. he sat behind denis mullenix, the engineer, and poked his ribs and taunted him with his heavy heels. at last he covered denis' big hands on the throttle with his own bigger fingers, good-naturedly coaxed them loose, and pushing him away got the reins and the whip into his own keeping. he drew the bar out a notch and settled himself for the run across the flat country. as they sped from the shelter of the hills, the storm shook them with a freshening fury, and drove the flanges into the south rail with a grinding screech. the rain fell in a sheet, and the right-of-way ran a river. the wind, whipping the water off the ballast, dashed it like hail against the cab glass; the segment of desert caught in the yellow of the headlight rippled and danced and swam in the storm water, and healey pulled again at the straining throttle and latched it wider. notch after notch he drew; heedless of lurch and jump; heedless of bed or curve; heedless of track or storm; and with every spur at her cylinders the engine shook like a frantic horse. men and monster alike lost thought of caution and drunk a frenzy in the whirl that healey opened across the swimming plain. the peace river hills loomed suddenly in front like moving pictures; before they could think it the desert was behind. "phil, man, you must steady up!" yelled callahan, getting his mouth to healey's ear. the roadmaster nodded and checked a notch, but the fire was in his blood, and he slewed into the hills with a speed unslackened. the wind blew them, and the track pulled them, and a frenzied man sat at the throttle. just where the line crosses the peace river the track bends sharply through the needles to take the bridge. the curve is a ten degree. as they struck it, the headlight shot far out upon the river--and they in the cab knew they sat dead men. instead of lighting the box of the truss, the lamp lit a black and snaky flood with yellow foam sweeping over the abutment, for the peace had licked up agnew's thirty-foot piles--and his bridge was not. there were two things to do; healey knew them both, and both meant death to the cab, but the caboose sheltered twenty of healey's faithful men. he instantly threw the air, and with a scream from the tires, the special, shaking in the brake shoes, swung the curve. again the roadmaster checked heavily, and the pile driver, taking the elevation like a hurdle, bolted into the needles, dragging the caboose after it. but engine and tender and five in the cab plunged head on into the river. not a man in the caboose was killed. they scrambled out of the splinters and on their feet, men and ready to do. one voice came through the storm from the river, and they answered its calling. it was callahan, but durden, mullenix, peeto, and healey never called again. at daybreak, wreckers of the west end, swarming from mountain and plain, were heading for the peace, and the mccloud gang--up--crossed the spider on healey's bridge--on the bridge the coward trainmen had reported out, quaking as they did in the storm at the spider foaming over its approaches. but healey's bridge stood--stands to-day. yet three days the spider raged, and knew then its master, while he, three whole days, sat at the bottom of the peace, clutching the engine levers, in the ruins of agnew's mistake. and when the divers got them up, callahan and bucks tore big peeto's arms from his master's body and shut his staring eye and laid him at his master's side. and only the spider, ravening at healey's caissons, raged. but healey slept. the end. good words for the 'gator. twenty years ago a visitor to that part of the south below north carolina could see alligators in almost every stream and bayou, but now one may frequently spend months traveling through this region and not see a single alligator except those in captivity. the killing of the creatures for sport or for their hides has been the main cause of their great decrease in numbers. in addition thousands of the young have been killed or shipped away, while enormous numbers of the eggs have been gathered and sold as curios. it was not until about that the demand for alligator leather became of importance. the market was not long continued. in fashion again called for the leather for manufacturing into fancy slippers, traveling bags, belts, card cases, music rolls, etc. the demand has continued to the present and many thousands of the animals have been killed, while the preparation of the skins has given employment to hundreds of people. the output of the tanneries of this country approximates , skins annually, worth about $ , , part of which come from mexico and central america. it is estimated that about , , alligators were killed in florida alone between and , nearly , being killed in . the earliest settlers in the southern states found alligators, or, as they were then called, crocodiles, exceedingly abundant in almost all streams, especially in florida and louisiana. many marvelous tales are found in the early chronicles of the ravages of these monsters. they were said to eat dogs and pigs, and to consider the negro an especially succulent tidbit, while it was considered dangerous to go into streams where they were known to exist. when such a stream had to be crossed hours were spent sometimes in beating it to frighten off the alligators. the researches of scientists have shown that there is very slight foundation for such stories, and it is probable that the greater number of pigs lost by the planters could have been traced to other enemies, particularly the two-footed kind, while runaway slaves would naturally encourage the belief that alligators had dined off them. the greater part of the supply of alligator leather now comes from florida, and owing to excessive hunting the industry is profitable only in the central part of the peninsula, in what is called the lake okeechobee region and in the everglades. here the principal hunters are seminole indians, who have their homes on hummocks far back in the everglades and come to the settlements only when in need of articles which they cannot produce themselves. the alligator is most active at night, and his days are usually spent lying on some low bank or log overhanging the water, where it can enjoy the warmth of the sun and be able to retreat to its native element at the first sign of danger. while on land alligators are very clumsy, in the water they are exceedingly active, and, being strong swimmers, are able to catch the larger fish with but slight trouble. for animals like the muskrat and otter swimming across lagoons they are always on the watch. on seizing its prey the alligator sinks with it to the bottom and there remains until all struggling has ceased; it is then able with less effort to tear it into pieces. while thus submerged a peculiar collar at the base of the tongue prevents the water from passing into its lungs. while the alligator is said to make very effective use of its tail in warfare, the widely disseminated story that it uses its tail to sweep animals off the banks into its jaws appears to have but slight foundation in fact. in april or may the mother alligator seeks a sheltered spot on a bank and there builds a small mound with a hole in the middle. the foundation of this mound is of mud and grass, and on these she lays some eggs. she then covers the eggs with another stratum of grass and mud, upon which she deposits some more eggs. thus she proceeds until she has laid from twenty-five to sixty eggs. the eggs are hatched out by the sun. as soon as they have chipped the shell the baby alligators are led to the water by the mother, who provides them with food, which she disgorges. papa alligator has to be carefully watched at this time, for he highly esteems a dinner of young saurians, and is not particular whether they are his own or his neighbor's children. when by strategy or downright fighting the mother has got her family safely into their natural element it is not long before the young scatter, each to begin life on his own hook. at this period they form a favorite food for turtles and the larger fishes. when fully grown the alligator is about sixteen feet in length. in the adult stage it is greenish-black above, having lost the yellowish color bands that belong to its earlier years. hunters say that alligators grow very slowly, attaining the first year a length of about one foot. when two feet in length they are said to be from ten to fifteen years old, while those twelve feet long are supposed to be seventy-five or more. their normal life is estimated at from one hundred to one hundred and fifty years. alligator hunting originally began as sport. then some one tanned the skin and found that it could be put to commercial use. carried on as it must be, at night, the hunt is picturesque. in many places the hunters fasten bicycle lamps on their caps, and when the animal is attracted by the light pick it off by hitting it in the eye with a rifle ball. torches are often used. sometimes the hunter lures the alligator to the surface of the water by "telephoning to the 'gator," as it is called. an alligator is always attracted by the peculiar grunt which the young alligators make, for there is no sort of food they love better than newly hatched 'gator. the hunter takes a long, slender pole and lets one end of it down very quietly into the water. the other end he places between his teeth and imitates the grunt of the baby 'gators. the old fellows easily hear the call and come up to feast on babies they think are there. in catching them alive hunters frequently lasso them while asleep on the bank or on a log. when asleep in their holes in the mud they are occasionally drawn out by means of an iron hook. these holes are easily found. sometimes the grass is set afire and the animals lassoed as they seek the water. after the alligator is caught the hunter in sport sometimes mounts it, using the reptile's fore feet and legs as reins. it is needless to say that it is only by the exercise of considerable skill that the hunter keeps his seat through the struggles of the reptile, and if care is not used the fun may develop into tragedy. alligators three feet and more in length are generally killed at once and the hide removed. all of the hide except the ridge of the back, which is very bony, is used. the hide is salted, and is then in condition for sale to the buyers, who are usually storekeepers, who furnish provisions and ammunition in exchange. the hides range in value to the hunter from cents for a three-foot hide to $ . for a hide seven feet or more in length. the five and six-foot hides are the most desirable, as the larger hides have a hard piece of bone in the square checks on the hide, and it is impossible to sew through this. nearly all of the tanning is done at newark, n. j. young alligators are often brought in, and are worth about cents apiece. the eggs are also gathered, and sell for - / cents each. they are mainly sold to curio dealers, who either hatch them out or blow them and sell the shells. most of the small alligators are stuffed and sold as curios to tourists, who pay from cents to $ apiece for them. many of them used to be shipped north alive by tourists as presents. owing to ignorance as to how the animal should be cared for many of these soon died. if properly cared for, the young alligator will thrive even in unnatural circumstances. its main requirement is sufficient heat. its diet should consist of bits of fresh meat, insects and worms. they often show great fondness for the ordinary earthworms, and will frequently refuse all food but these. the larger specimens in captivity are fed about three times a week on fresh meat or small live animals, and they require little attention other than this. alligators' teeth, which are secured by burying the head until they have rotted out, are of fine ivory and valued for carving into ornaments. they are worth to the hunter about $ a pound--from fifty to seventy-five teeth. the dealers will not buy very many of them, as there is but a limited demand. at one time the paws were saved and mounted as curios, but it is impossible to do anything with them now. both flesh and eggs are eaten by a few persons, but it requires a very hardy stomach to stand the disagreeable, musky odor. there is nothing better, hunters declare, than the tip of the tail of an alligator which has reached, say, the pullet period. it is creamy in color, tasting a little like frogs' legs, but with a more pronounced gamy flavor, juicy--altogether tempting. the dish is a great favorite with the crackers of florida. alligator tails are best at the time of the ricebird season. the big alligators float in the water with only their eyes showing. when an alligator gets near a flock of these fat, juicy little birds it dives to the bottom. its long, wide snout scoops up some of the loam, and it floats to the surface again with just the rich soil showing. the birds think it is an island. they alight upon it. when the whole family is there the big beast turns suddenly. just as the birds scramble off the alligator opens its mouth once. they are gone. the birds are neat little feeders, and the alligator is an epicure at this time of the year. the ricebird diet makes the tip of its tail tender and sweet. in st. augustine is an alligator farm, one of two in the united states, the other being at the hot springs in arkansas. here the alligators are kept in confinement until large enough for market. it will probably be news to many that florida has a representative of the crocodile family. this animal was first supposed to be confined to the west indies and south america, but it has been occasionally captured on the peninsula of florida. it is easily distinguishable from the alligator by its narrow snout. for many years scientists were skeptical of reports from florida of the appearance of this animal in that state, but the capture of several fine specimens in recent years has settled all doubt. venomous fish. it is curious that while so much has been written in our language on snake bites there has been comparatively little placed on record concerning the stings of fishes. snake bites are rare in this country, but fish stings are very common, especially among fishermen and fishmongers. the fishes that most often sting are the great and little weevers. a prick on the hand or foot from a weever causes much swelling and inflammation. if the arm is affected the inflammation may spread to the shoulder, the swelling of the whole limb being enormous. the pain is agonizing, the patient often falling into a state of collapse or becoming delirious. usually the inflammation subsides in about three days, followed by desquamation. latest issues motor stories the latest and best five-cent weekly. we won't say how interesting it is. see for yourself. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear. --motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto. --motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward. --motor matt's air-ship; or, the rival inventors. --motor matt's hard luck; or, the balloon house plot. --motor matt's daring rescue; or, the strange case of helen brady. --motor matt's peril; or, castaway in the bahamas. --motor matt's queer find; or, the secret of the iron chest. --motor matt's promise; or, the wreck of the _hawk_. --motor matt's submarine; or, the strange cruise of the _grampus_. --motor matt's quest; or, three chums in strange waters. --motor matt's close call; or, the snare of don carlos. --motor matt in brazil; or, under the amazon. --motor matt's defiance; or, around the horn. --motor matt makes good; or, another victory for the motor boys. tip top weekly the most popular publication for boys. the adventures of frank and dick merriwell can be had only in this weekly. =high art colored covers. thirty-two pages. price, cents.= --frank merriwell's patience; or, the making of a pitcher. --frank merriwell's pupil; or, the boy with the wizard wing. --frank merriwell's fighters; or, the decisive battle with blackstone. --dick merriwell at the "meet"; or, honors worth winning. --dick merriwell's protest; or, the man who would not play clean. --dick merriwell in the marathon; or, the sensation of the great run. --dick merriwell's colors; or, all for the blue. --dick merriwell, driver; or, the race for the daremore cup. --dick merriwell on the deep; or, the cruise of the _yale_. --dick merriwell in the north woods; or, the timber thieves of the floodwood. --dick merriwell's dandies; or, a surprise for the cowboy nine. --dick merriwell's "skyscooter"; or, professor pagan and the "princess." --dick merriwell in the elk mountains; or, the search for "dead injun" mine. nick carter weekly the best detective stories on earth. nick carter's exploits are read the world over. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --the detective's disappearance; or, nick carter is saved by adelina. --the midnight marauders; or, nick carter's telephone mystery. --the child of the jungle; or, nick carter's ingenious ruse. --nick carter's satanic enemy; or, the case of an easy mark. --three times stolen; or, nick carter's strange clue. --the great diamond syndicate; or, nick carter's cleverest foes. --the house of the yellow door; or, nick carter in the old french quarter. --the triangle clue; or, nick carter's greenwich village case. --the hollingsworth puzzle; or, nick carter three times baffled. --the affair of the missing bonds; or, nick carter in the harness. --the green box clue; or, nick carter's good friend. --the taxicab mystery; or, nick carter closes a deal. --the mystery of a hotel room; or, nick carter's best work. --tragedy of the well; or, nick carter under suspicion. _for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address on receipt of price, cents per copy, in money or postage stamps, by_ street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york =if you want any back numbers= of our weeklies and cannot procure them from your newsdealer, they can be obtained from this office direct. fill out the following order blank and send it to us with the price of the weeklies you want and we will send them to you by return mail. =postage stamps taken the same as money.= ________________________ _ _ _street & smith, - seventh avenue, new york city._ _dear sirs: enclosed please find_ ___________________________ _cents for which send me_: tip top weekly, nos. ________________________________ nick carter weekly, " ________________________________ diamond dick weekly, " ________________________________ buffalo bill stories, " ________________________________ brave and bold weekly, " ________________________________ motor stories, " ________________________________ _name_ ________________ _street_ ________________ _city_ ________________ _state_ ________________ a great success!! motor stories every boy who reads one of the splendid adventures of motor matt, which are making their appearance in this weekly, is at once surprised and delighted. surprised at the generous quantity of reading matter that we are giving for five cents; delighted with the fascinating interest of the stories, second only to those published in the tip top weekly. matt has positive mechanical genius, and while his adventures are unusual, they are, however, drawn so true to life that the reader can clearly see how it is possible for the ordinary boy to experience them. _here are the titles now ready and those to be published_: --motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. --motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. --motor matt's century run; or, the governor's courier. --motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the "comet." --motor matt's mystery; or, foiling a secret plot. --motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear. --motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto. --motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward. --motor matt's air ship; or, the rival inventors. --motor matt's hard luck; or, the balloon house plot. --motor matt's daring rescue; or, the strange case of helen brady. --motor matt's peril; or, cast away in the bahamas. --motor matt's queer find; or, the secret of the iron chest. --motor matt's promise; or, the wreck of the "hawk." --motor matt's submarine; or, the strange cruise of the "grampus." --motor matt's quest; or, three chums in strange waters. to be published on june th. --motor matt's close call; or, the snare of don carlos. to be published on june st. --motor matt in brazil; or, under the amazon. to be published on june th. --motor matt's defiance; or, around the horn. to be published on july th. --motor matt makes good; or, another victory for the motor boys. price, five cents at all newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, by the publishers upon receipt of the price. street & smith, _publishers_, new york transcriber's notes: added table of contents. for this text edition, oe ligatures have been expanded to oe; the html edition retains the ligatures. italics are represented with _underscores_, bold with =equal signs=. page , corrected typo "odder" in "oder somet'ing like dot!" page , added tilde to "madam cousiño" for consistency. page , corrected typo _gampus_ in "started south to meet the _grampus_." retained unusual spelling of "possesion" on the assumption that it is intentional. page , corrected typo "wihtehead" ("whitehead began its peculiar performance"). page , corrected typo "glennine" ("'jupiter!' exclaimed glennie."). page , corrected typo "baot" ("bore him off the boat"). removed unnecessary quote after "six yellow men?" at end of page. available by villanova university digital library (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/) note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrated book cover. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h.zip) images of the original pages are available through villanova university digital library. see http://digital.library.villanova.edu/item/vudl: transcriber's note: text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=). motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction no. apr. , five cents motor matt's red flier or on the high gear by stanley r. matthews street & smith, publishers, new york. [illustration: _"leaf dot alone!" yelled carl, floundering to get to the girl's aid, "dot pelongs to moder matt!"_] motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction _issued weekly. by subscription $ . per year. entered according to act of congress in the year , in the office of the librarian of congress, washington, d. c., by_ street & smith, _ - seventh avenue, new york, n. y._ no. . new york, april , . price five cents. motor matt's red flier or, on the high gear. by the author of "motor matt." contents chapter i. stranded "uncle tommers." chapter ii. the red flier gets a load. chapter iii. the stolen runabout. chapter iv. the coat in the rumble. chapter v. matt begins a search. chapter vi. losing the box. chapter vii. a mysterious disappearance. chapter viii. spirited away. chapter ix. an unexpected meeting. chapter x. a daring plan. chapter xi. on the road. chapter xii. a close call. chapter xiii. car against car. chapter xiv. down the mountain. chapter xv. motor matt's ten-strike. chapter xvi. more trouble for the "uncle tommers." chapter xvii. conclusion. a snowball fight. secrets of trick shooting. reelfoot lake. a floating slum. wild horses of nevada. characters that appear in this story. =matt king=, concerning whom there has always been a mystery--a lad of splendid athletic abilities, and never-failing nerve, who has won for himself, among the boys of the western town, the popular name of "mile-a-minute matt." =carl pretzel=, a cheerful and rollicking german lad, who is led by a fortunate accident to hook up with motor matt in double harness. "=legree=," a member of the stranded "uncle tom" company, about whom something mysterious seems to hover. "=little eva=," who turns out to be other than appearances would seem to indicate. "=eliza=," } "=uncle tom=," } other members of the unlucky road combination "=topsy=," } helped by motor matt. =brisco=, } a brace of reckless adventurers with whom matt and his =spangler=, } dutch pard have a particularly exciting inning. =o'grady=, an inn-keeper. =lem nugent=, the owner of the stolen runabout. chapter i. stranded "uncle tommers." "help! some ob yo' folks ahead, dar! unc' tawm's in de ruvver! he drapped de box, an' went in afteh hit head first lak er frawg. he's drowndin', he sholey is! by golly! legree! eliza! come back hyeh dis minyit! unc' tawm's drowndin'!" topsy was making a terrific commotion. while she screeched for help she ran circles on the river-bank, tossing her hands wildly. if she had put some of her aimless energy into helping uncle tom, the kinky-headed old negro in the water would have been a whole lot better off. he was floundering and thrashing and making a good deal of noise himself. "hit's ovah mah haid!" he spluttered. "ah's done got de crampus en mah lef' laig an' ah's monsus bad off! bl-r-r-r! dat's twicet ah's gawn down, en de nex' time ah's gwine down tuh stay. doan' put yo'se'f out none--doan' scramble so ha'd yo' lose yo' bref. hit's only a coon whut's drowndin', so take yo' time gittin' hyeh an'----" uncle tom swallowed a bucket of water, more or less, just then, and his language was submerged. "mercy sakes!" cried eliza breathlessly, hurrying back through the brush, closely tagged by little eva and legree. "do something, somebody! oh, i wish we had a rope. hang onto the box, uncle tom," she added encouragingly; "we'll get you out!" "oh, biscuits!" scoffed little eva. "stop t'rowin' yerself around like dat an' try ter float. de way yous handles yerself, uncle tom, gives me a pain. can't y' swim?" legree was carrying a blacksnake whip. "here," he yelled, posting himself on the edge of the bank and reaching out to throw the whip-lash toward the old negro, "grab hold of that and i'll snake you ashore too quick for any use." uncle tom was beyond talking, but he shook the water from his eyes, saw the whip and grabbed it. thereupon legree laid back on the handle and pulled. uncle tom was brought upright, his feet on the river-bed. the water came just above his knees, and he waded ashore. "well, de old geezer!" exploded little eva. "say, give me a pair o' high-heeled shoes an' i'll walk acrost dat roarin' torrent widou' never wettin' me kicks. how much water does it take ter drown yous, uncle tom? oh, sister, what a jolt." little eva began to laugh. "dat's right," gurgled uncle tom, splashing around on one foot to get the water out of his ear, "laff, laff an' show yo' ignunce. dat didun' git away f'um me, nohow," and he threw a small tin box on the ground in front of legree. eliza stooped and picked up the box. "you take care of that, eliza," said legree. "uncle tom must have been careless. what were you and topsy walking along by the river for?" he added, turning to the old negro. "we reckons we mout hook er fish," explained topsy, pointing to the ground where a stick with a fish-line attached to its end had been dropped. "ah'm gettin' pow'ful hongry," complained uncle tom, "en ah doan' see how we-all's gwine tuh eat if we doan' ketch er fish er kill er possum, er somepin lak dat. mah goodness, but ah'm holla cleah down tuh mah shoes. if a piece ob bresh hadun' switched dat box out'n mah han', ah wouldn't hab got en de ruvver. anybody dat wants tuh kin tote dat 'ar box. ah done had enough ob it." "cheer up, uncle tom," said eliza. "when we get to the next town we'll have something to eat." "huccome yo' allow dat, miss 'liza? whah we git de money, huh?" "i've got a ring," answered eliza, with a little break in her voice, "and i'll pawn it." "no, you don't, eliza," said legree. "i've got a watch, and i'll pawn that." "wisht i had somet'in' t' soak," said little eva. "brisco's head wouldn't be a bad t'ing, eh? say, mebby i couldn't hand dat mutt a couple o' good ones if he was handy!" legree brought his hand around and boxed the boy's ears--for "little eva," in this case, was a boy of nine. "stow it," growled legree, who happened to be the boy's father. "you can talk a lot without saying much, kid. come on, everybody," he added. "the quicker we get to fairview the quicker we eat. you and topsy keep in the road, uncle tom, and don't lag behind." "how's ah gwine tuh git dried off?" fretted uncle tom. "de rheumatix is li'ble tuh come pesterin' erroun' if ah ain't mouty keerful wif mahse'f." "walk fast, uncle tom," said legree, starting back toward the road. "ah kain't walk fast," said the old man; "hit's all ah kin do tuh walk at all, kase ah's mighty nigh tuckered. dishyer walkin'-match is monsus tough on er ole man, sho' as yo's bawn. ain't dey no wagons in dis country? whaffur dey got er road if dey ain't got no wagons? ah'd give a mulyun dollahs if ah had it fo' a mu-el en a wagon." topsy pushed close to uncle tom's side, grabbed his wet sleeve and helped him along. in a few minutes they broke away from the river-bank into the road. little eva didn't seem to mind walking. he pranced along with a pocket full of stones, and every once in a while he stopped to make a throw at a road-runner or a chipmunk. trees and brush lined the road on each side, growing so thickly that it was impossible to see very far into the timber. eliza and legree, talking over the difficulties in which they found themselves and trying to plan some way for surmounting them, were pretty well in advance, while uncle tom and topsy were pretty well in the rear. little eva was dodging around in between, now and then shying at something with a stone. the strange little party had not proceeded far before the boy heard a noise in the brush. heedless of what he might find in such a wild country, he jumped into the thicket. and then he jumped out again, yelling like a comanche. "run!" he piped frenziedly, tearing along the road. "dere's somet'ing chasin' me an' it's as big as a house an' has a mout' like a church door. sprint! sprint fer yer lives!" the other four gave their immediate attention to little eva, and then changed it to something that rolled out of the undergrowth directly behind them. "a bear!" yelled legree. "hunt a tree, kid! everybody climb a tree!" this is exactly what everybody proceeded to do. little eva shinned up a sapling, legree gave eliza a boost into a scrub oak, and then started for a neighboring pine himself, and uncle tom displayed a tremendous amount of reserve force, considering his age and his recent experience. "ah knows dis trip is gwine tuh be de deaf ob me," he fluttered, getting astride a limb and hugging the trunk of the tree with both arms. "mah goodness!" he chattered, craning his neck to get a good look at the cause of the disturbance. "go 'way f'um hyeh, you! we-all doan' want no truck wif you." the bear was a grizzly--not a large grizzly, but plenty large enough. there were lots of bigger bears in that part of arizona, but this was the biggest one fate had to run in among those unlucky "uncle tommers." having gained a position about half-way up and down the line of treed actors, the bear sat down in the road and proceeded to enjoy the situation. "are you all right?" sang out legree from the top of the pine: "is everybody all right?" "if bein' hung up like dis is wot yous call all right, dad," answered little eva, "den it's a lead pipe dat we's all t' de good. but, say, i ain't feelin' real comfertable in me mind." "shoo dat animile away, mistah legree," begged topsy. "hit ain't right tuh make us stay hyeh lak dis when we's all tiah'd out." "go right up to de beah, legree," suggested uncle tom, "en tie dat whip erroun' his neck an' strangle de life outen him. beah meat is mighty nigh as good as possum, an' we kin git fo' er five dollahs fo' de pelt." "oh, dear!" murmured eliza. "i do wish he'd go away. i guess he's thinking more about making a meal off of us than letting us make one from him." "dey trabbles in paihs," called uncle tom in trembling tones, by way of enlivening the situation. "hit's lak snakes, en wherebber yo' finds one yo' sholey is gwine tuh fin' anudder." "ah hears de odder!" screamed topsy. "he's champin' down de road lak er singed cat. heah him! oh, mah golly! we's all as good as daid--we's all gwine tuh be et up." strange noises were coming from along the back track, coming rapidly and growing louder and louder. "dat odder one's bigger 'n a efelunt!" palpitated uncle tom, climbing a couple of limbs higher. "all ah hopes is dat he ain't big enough tuh reach up en take me outen de tree. ah's a gone niggah, ah feels hit en mah bones." the bear heard the approaching noise, and it seemed to puzzle him. he sniffed the air, shook his head forebodingly, and then dropped down on all fours and ambled into the brush. the next moment, to the astonishment of the four actors, a sparkling red automobile rushed into sight, coming from the direction of ash fork and headed toward fairview. a youth in leather cap and jacket was in the driver's seat; beside him was a young german in a "loud" suit and a red vest. "pretzel!" yelled little eva; "i'm a jay if it ain't pretzel!" "saved!" cried eliza. the big red touring-car came to a halt in about the same place where the bear had recently held the fort. the faces of the two boys in the car were pictures of amazement as they stared at the odd assortment of actors hanging in the trees. "vell, py shinks," exclaimed the dutch boy, "dis vas a jeerful pitzness und no mistake. it iss der fairst time i efer knowed it bossiple to pick actor-peoples oudt oof der drees. vat you t'ink oof dot, motor matt?" chapter ii. the red flier gets a load. motor matt didn't know what to think. the queerest lot of people he ever saw were dropping out of the trees and hurrying toward the automobile. first, there was a young woman of seventeen or eighteen, wearing a dust-coat and gauntlets. there was a look of intense relief on her pretty face. following her came a tall, slimly built man, whose clothes suggested the ruffian, but whose face was anything but vicious. he carried a blacksnake whip. a boy trailed after the man. he wasn't a handsome boy, by any means, but his eyes were bright and sharp and he had a clever look. from the other way along the road came an old darky in tattered, soggy clothes. a young negro girl hurried along beside him. "well," breathed motor matt, "if this ain't a brain-twister i don't want a cent. who are they, carl? one of them seems to know you." "sure i knows him," spoke up the boy. "got wise t' carl pretzel in denver. 'pretzel an' pringle, musical marvels.' w'ere's pringle, dutch?" "don't say someding aboudt him," answered carl. "i haf scratched him off my visiding-list, yah, you bed you. pringle iss some pad eggs, und ve don'd ged along mit each odder. matt, dis vas liddle efa, who blays mit a ungle dom's capin gompany. ven he geds his leedle curly-viggies on, he looks fine--schust like some girls, yes. who iss der odder peobles, efa?" "dis is me fader, dutch," answered the boy; "he's de guy wot licks uncle tom in de show. de loidy is eliza, an' say, she's got 'em all skinned w'en it comes t' jumpin' acrost de river on cakes of ice. dat's uncle tom, scramblin' into de auto wit'out waitin' f'r an invite, an' de goil is topsy." "young man," said legree, stepping forward and addressing motor matt, "we're what's left of brisco's uncle tom's cabin company. brisco took all the funds and left us in the lurch at brockville, the station west of ash fork. the constable took our tent, and properties, and even the bloodhounds. we were left with the clothes we stood in, and that's all. marks, and st. clair, and the rest, made a raise and rode back to denver in the train. they didn't have enough to help us out, and so we've started to walk as far as flagstaff. when we get there, we're going to get up some sort of an entertainment and see if we can't pull down enough hard cash to see us through to denver. brisco owes all of us money. barrin' the kid, here, he beat each one of us out of more'n a hundred dollars. but we're goin' to get him; you see if we don't." a grim look came to legree's face. "veil," said carl, "be jeerful und don'd vorry. i haf der same kindt oof pad luck, den i met oop mit modor matt und der luck dook a shange. meppy yours vill dake a shange, too." "we're going to albuquerque," spoke up matt, "and if you don't mind being crowded we can give you a lift as far as flagstaff." a long breath of satisfaction broke from uncle tom. "dat's fine," said he. "dis niggah am sholy tuckered. why doan' yo'-all git intuh de wagon? dat beah am li'ble tuh come snoopin' an' pesterin' back." "pear?" cried carl. "vat you say, huh? iss dere a pear aroundt here?" "dat's no dream, dutch," answered the boy. "wot did yous t'ink it was chased us up dem trees?" "everythin's been goin' wrong with us ever since we hit brockville," said legree. "a lot more'll happen, too, but i reckon we're done with the bear. this machine scared the brute away. how'll you have us in the car, motor matt?" "little eva, as you call him," said matt, laughing a little as he looked at the boy, "had better get in front here with carl. that will leave four of you for the tonneau. it won't be long until we get to fairview, and we'll stop there for dinner." "um-yum," said topsy; "golly, but dat sounds good! dinnah! heah dat, unc' tawn?" uncle tom smacked his lips and rolled up the whites of his eyes. "doan' say a wo'd, chile," he cautioned. "dis seems jess lak er dream, dis ride in de debble-wagon, de dinnah, en all. yo' speak too loud, ah's fearin' ah's done gwine tuh woke up." with his load of stranded actors aboard, all rejoicing in the good luck that had brought matt and carl along with the automobile at that particular time, the young motorist cranked up, threw in the clutch and started. hardly were they under good headway when a sharp cry came from eliza. "stop! the box! i dropped it when i got up into that tree." matt stopped the red flier. "pox?" cried carl; "vat iss dot?" "dat's whut got me into de ruvver," said uncle tom. "ah 'lows dat box is er heap mo' trouble dan hit's worf." "if we ever get hold of brisco," returned legree, "it'll be that box that does it for us. wait here a minute, motor matt, and i'll go back and get it. i think i know right where it is." legree got out of the car, went back along the road, and vanished among the bushes. "is der money in der pox?" asked carl. "we don't know what's in it," answered eliza. "dot's keveer. how vill dot pox helup you ged holt oof prisco?" "brisco always kept it by him," went on eliza, "so we know he thinks it's valuable. he told legree, once, he wouldn't lose the box for ten thousand dollars." "how did you come to get hold of it?" inquired matt. "that's the queer part of it. brisco left the brockville hotel during the night----" "an' i picked it up by de door, next mornin'," chimed in the boy. "brisco must have dropped it when he made dat getaway. it was blacker dan a stack o' black cats, dat night, an' he wasn't able t' use his lamps." "when marks, and harris, and st. clair, and the rest of the company left brockville," continued eliza, "they told us to keep the box and not give it up until brisco paid over what he owed. we lost our wages and everything else we had except the clothes on our backs." "dot's me," spoke up carl; "i vas fixed der same vat you are. den, pympy, modor matt come along mit himseluf, shpoke some jeerful vorts mit me, dook me for a bard, und luck made a shange. meppy dot iss how it vill be mit you." "seems lak he was a long time findin' dat dere box," said uncle tom. "ah's honin' fo' dat hotel in fairview, an' fo' dat dinnah, an' fo' to dry dese clothes. mistah legree is a monstus long time, an' no mistake." "stay here, all of you," said matt, getting out of the car. "i'll go back and see if i can help find the box. if it's so important, it won't do to leave it behind." "i'll go 'long wit' yous," chirped the boy. before he could get out of the car, the sharp, incisive note of a revolver echoed from the bushes at the trail-side, close to the place where legree had vanished into them. eliza stifled a scream. "mah goodness!" fluttered topsy. "somebody's done gone tuh shootin'!" "it wasn't dad, dat's a cinch!" cried the boy. "he didn't have no gun!" "stay there!" called matt to the boy, as he whirled and hurried on. "stand ready to crank up the machine, carl," he added, "in case we have to start in a hurry." matt had dropped into the troubles of these forlorn "uncle tommers" with bewildering suddenness. he hadn't had the remotest notion that there was going to be any violence, or shooting, and the report of the revolver had sent a thrill of alarm through him. had brisco been tracking the unfortunate actors, and had he attempted to make way with the tin box just as legree was about to secure it? as matt drew closer to the thicket, he heard sharp and angry voices. one voice he recognized as belonging to legree, and the other struck a strangely familiar note in his ear. he had heard that voice somewhere before--but where? there were only two voices taking part in the talk, but the man who had intercepted legree was armed. matt knew it would stand him in hand to be cautious, so, instead of turning directly from the road into the brush, he darted for the timber some distance beyond the scene of the altercation. then, making his way back warily, he pushed through the bushes. he made very little noise--so little that his approach was not heard by either of the two men. legree, however, was standing in such a position that he could not help seeing matt. he was facing the other man, and the latter had his back to the young motorist. there was something familiar about that back, but even yet matt could not recall who the man was. the fellow was roughly dressed. in his right hand he was holding a revolver, pointing it squarely at legree, and in his left hand he was holding a small tin box. "if ye think ye can fool hank brisco," the man with the weapon was saying, "ye're far wide o' yer trail. he's got a ottermobill, now, what kin shoot through the kentry like a cannon-ball, an' i reckon thar'll be some cain raised on this part o' the range afore many moons. you take my advice an' hike out o' here without tryin' ter make hank any trouble, er----" just at that moment motor matt's opportunity came. flinging himself forward suddenly, he grabbed the revolver out of the ruffian's hand. "bully for you, matt!" cried legree. the next instant legree's blacksnake whip had curled itself about the ruffian's left wrist, girdling the skin like a loop of fire. the man roared out an oath. the pain must have been intense, for his fingers curled away from the box and he caught his wrist with his other hand. matt stared. when the ruffian had turned and rushed into the woods, cursing and vowing vengeance, matt continued to stare. "ever seen that man before, matt?" asked legree, surprised at the boy's manner. "i should say so!" exclaimed matt. "let's get back to the car. you've got back the box, but we haven't seen the last of this--not by a long shot." chapter iii. the stolen runabout. shouts of relief went up from those in the red flier at sight of matt and legree sprinting down the road, legree with the box and matt with the revolver. "hoop-a-la!" jubilated carl; "be jeerful, eferypody. here dey come alretty, und mit more as dey vent to ged!" "fo' de lan' sake!" chattered topsy; "ah sholy expected some one had done been kilt." "git right in de kyah," urged uncle tom, "so we kin git erway f'om dis hyeh place. beahs, en robbahs, en oddah spontaneous excitements is monstus tryin' to er niggah wif er empty stummick. ah doan' lak shootin' nohow." "was dat some guy t'rowin' a bullet at yous, dad?" inquired little eva. "how close did he come t' ringin' de bell?" "how many were there?" cried eliza; "are they following us?" matt jumped into his seat, and legree scrambled for the tonneau. "take this, legree," called matt, and dropped the revolver over the back of the seat. carl, who had been posted at the front of the machine, had already "turned over" the engine. as she took the spark carl crawled to his place beside matt, and the red flier glided away. the young motorist was silent for a while, listening as legree told how he had gone searching for the box and found it in the hands of a scoundrel whom he had never seen before. the unknown had fired a revolver, but it had been more to intimidate legree and keep him at a distance, for the bullet had not come anywhere near him. legree finished with an account of how matt had come up behind the ruffian and had saved the day. "dot's der vay modor matt does pitzness," said the admiring carl. "you bed my life he vas some virlvinds ven he leds himseluf oudt." "the name of the man who ran off and left your company stranded was hank brisco, was it?" asked matt. "that was his name, matt," replied legree. "but who was that tough-looking citizen that had me cornered, there in the thicket?" "i'll have to tell you something that happened to carl and me, a few days ago, in order for you to understand that part of it," answered matt. "this touring-car belongs to mr. james q. tomlinson, a wholesale jeweler who lives in denver. he and his driver, gregory, have been touring the southwest in it. a gang of thieves, among whom was a fellow called hank, and another called spangler, robbed mr. tomlinson on the trail, several miles west of ash fork. carl and i got mixed up in the trouble, and we had some exciting times racing the red flier against a high-powered runabout that the thieves stole from a wealthy cattleman named lem nugent. "mr. tomlinson recovered his stolen property and went on to albuquerque with his driver, gregory, hiring me to take the touring-car from ash fork to albuquerque. that's how we happened to come along in time to help you out, mr. legree." "if this man, tomlinson, got back his stolen property," asked legree, "what became of the thieves?" "two of them, hank and spangler, got away with the cattleman's car. the stolen runabout can go like a blue streak, and is lighter and faster than the red flier. now, the man that tried to get the tin box, back there in the thicket, was none other than spangler; and the other villain, who was called by the name of 'hank,' was the fellow who left you in the lurch at brockville." "shiminy grickets, how t'ings vill turn oudt mit demselufs, vonce und again!" clamored carl. "domlinson vould like more as he can dell to haf dose fellers ketched, and nuchent vants pooty pad dot he geds his car pack some more. he vill gif fife huntert tollars to any vone vat vill findt der car, und he vill gif fife huntert more for hank, und der same for spangler." carl leaned toward matt with his eyes almost popping from his head. "bard," he asked, "can ve scoop it in?" "i'd like to get back that runabout for mr. nugent," said matt, "but i don't know as we ought to take the time to go fooling along on our way to albuquerque." "vell, misder domlinson say dot dere vasn't any hurry." "he also said," continued matt, "that he wouldn't trust this car with everybody. if we should get to tearing around after hank and spangler, and damage the flier, we would find ourselves in a hole." "you hadn't better bother trying to take us to flagstaff, then," put in legree, "for as long as we've got this tin box brisco is going to keep on trying to get hold of it. if he chases us with that stolen runabout, which you say is a faster car than the red flier, you're goin' to run some risks with this machine." "if we work it right," said matt, "i guess we can get you people to flagstaff without being bothered much by hank and spangler. it's queer, though, to have it turn out that those two scoundrels are mixed up in these troubles of yours." "ah's done had trouble enough," wailed uncle tom, "en ah doan' know how ah could stand any mo'. ah's er pretty ole niggah tuh go traipsin' erroun' afteh robbahs, en drappin' intuh rivvers, an' climbin' trees tuh sabe my hide from beahs. all de same, ah 'lows some ob dat money fo' ketchin' dat 'ar brisco would come mouty handy. but mistah legree, yo' listen hyeh. if brisco sets sich er pow'ful store by dat 'ar box, mebby he'd buy hit offen de lot ob us, payin' us whut he owes jess tuh git holt ob hit. why not, sah, entah intuh prognostications wif him wif de view ob settlin' ouah compunctions in er pleasin' manner?" a shadow of a grin wreathed itself around legree's lips. "well, uncle tom," he answered, "it's hard to prognosticate with a chap who's so hard to find as brisco is." "vere vas hank vile spangler vas looking for der pox, matt?" asked carl. "that's a conundrum, carl." "und vere vas der runaboudt?" "another conundrum." "vell, ditn't spangler ride to der blace vere he come for der din pox in der runaboudt?" "i didn't see anything of the machine, but i was afraid it was somewhere around--which is the reason i was in such a hurry to make a fresh start for fairview." "ve don'd vas shased py der runaboudt, anyvay, und dot means dot it vasn't some blace around vere spangler vas." "chee!" came from little eva, as he pointed ahead. "dere's de burg wot we're headin' fer. i'm a jay if it don't look almost big enough fer two 'r t'ree people t' live in." from the rising ground on which the red flier and its passengers found themselves, at that moment, fairview could be fairly viewed. perhaps there were twenty-five or thirty houses in the place, the main street being bordered by half a dozen stores. "doan' yo' go an' tell me dar ain't no hotel," faltered uncle tom. "no matter how small a town is, uncle tom," returned eliza, "travelers can always find a place to stay. our hardest work will be, i think, to discover some one who will lend money on our jewelry." "i'll furnish the jewelry, eliza," said legree. "this watch of mine is worth enough, i think, to furnish us with food and lodging while motor matt gives us a lift to flagstaff." "if you're out of cash," spoke up matt, in his usual generous style, "i'll foot the bills. some time, when you get on easy street, you can pay me back." uncle tom's anxiety over the prospect fell from him like a wet blanket. "yo's a gemman, mistah motah matt," he declared, "yo' is what ah calls a puffick gemman. ah'm mos'ly independent in dese money mattahs--dis is de fust time since ah can remembah dat ah habn't had all ob two dollars in mah clo's--so hit is mouty spognoocious tuh mah pride, sah, to be fo'ced tuh accept a loan. still, sah, ah brings mahse'f to hit bekase yo' is so willin' an' so spendacious. in retu'n fo' dat, mistah motah matt, ah becomes on de spot yo' official mascot. yassuh. ah takes yo' luck en mah own han's, an' evah time what yo' do anyt'ing, ah agrees tuh make yo' a winnah." "much obliged, uncle tom," laughed matt. "go on wif yo'!" cried topsy. "why didun' yo' mascot dat 'ar company so dat brisco couldn't do lak what he done? mascot! yah, yah, yah!" "laff," returned uncle tom tartly, "laff an' show yo' ignunce! what yo' unnerstan' about luckosophy an' mascots? yo' mouty triflin' an' tryin', dat's what yo' is. wait twell yo' see what ah does fo' motah matt." during this talk, the red flier had glided down a long slope into the little town. it did not take long to traverse the main street, and as they jogged onward all eyes looked carefully for a hotel. finally they saw a sign with a picture of something that looked like a four-leaved clover. under the picture were the printed words, "shamrock house." "dat 'ar fo'-leaved clovah means luck," averred uncle tom. "it's supposed to be a shamrock, uncle tom," said eliza, "and not a clover-leaf." "ah knows dat," went on uncle tom, "but hit sho' means luck. ah done got de feelin'." motor matt and carl pretzel "got the feeling," too, for around at one side of the hotel they saw another automobile. there was no one around the car. carl nearly dropped off his seat. "vas i plind mit meinseluf," he whispered, "or iss it der real t'ing vat i see? matt, dere iss der shtolen runaboudt, mit nopody aroundt! fife huntert tollars saying it righdt oudt loud, 'come, oh, come, somepody und pick me oop!'" matt was astounded; yet there was not the least doubt about the runabout being the same car that had been stolen. "is that the automobile brisco ran away with?" demanded legree, leaping energetically out of the tonneau. "that's the one!" declared matt. "then come with me, matt, you and carl," said legree, starting for the hotel door. "keep behind, though. i'm armed, now, and can meet brisco in his own way if he shows fight." chapter iv. the coat in the rumble. matt, while following legree toward the front of the hotel, was doing some quick thinking to account for this surprising discovery of the runabout. very likely brisco and spangler were planning to recover the tin box. it must have been these plans that had brought them eastward from the vicinity of ash fork. spangler had been dropped on the road to intercept the stranded players and get the box, while brisco had come recklessly into fairview. possibly brisco had been compelled to come into town after gasoline and oil. "ah doan' want tuh be erroun' if dar's goin' tuh be any shootin'," palpitated uncle tom, rolling out of the tonneau with more haste than grace. "ah used tuh be a reg'lar fire-eatah, en mah youngah days, but ah dun kinder got ovah hit. topsy, yo' an' miss 'liza come right along wif me, dis instinct. we'll go off whah dar's er safe place fo' me tuh do mah mascottin' fo' motah matt." eliza and topsy hurriedly descended from the car. little eva was already on the ground, but instead of going around the hotel with eliza, topsy, and uncle tom, he strolled over to the runabout. in their excitement, the others did not miss the boy. there were two windows in the hotel office--one in the front wall, a dozen feet from the door, and one just around the corner in the side wall. the window in the side wall overlooked the runabout. matt, doing some quick figuring, jumped at the conclusion that brisco, taken by surprise by legree, would make a bolt through one of the windows, both of which were open. close to the front window an eave-spout entered a rain-water barrel. matt did not believe brisco, if he tried to escape by a window, would come out at the front, but at the side, where he would be nearer the runabout. with this idea in mind, matt placed carl behind the water-barrel, while he went around the corner. through the window on that side the young motorist stole a cautious look. two men were leaning over a counter in the office. one was plainly an irishman, and the proprietor of the place, and the other was as plainly hank brisco. matt knew brisco too well to be mistaken in him. neither brisco nor the irish proprietor had heard the approach of the red flier, nor the entrance of legree into the office. with a grim smile on his face, and the revolver in his hand, legree was leaning against the wall, just inside the door, waiting for brisco to turn around. "begorry," the proprietor was saying, "fifty cints a gallon f'r th' gasoline is all i'm afther chargin' yez. oi know av robbers around here who'd be chargin' yez a dollar a gallon, but that's not the way wid terence o'grady. fifty cints is th' most oi'll take from yez. fifteen gallons at fifty cints is sivin-fifty; then wan dollar f'r oil makes eight-fifty. eight-fifty from tin laves wan an a half, an' there yez are. will yez shtay f'r dinner? faith, we've as foine a male t'day as yez iver put tooth in, an' a dollar is all ut will cost yez." "i reckon i'll stay, o'grady," replied brisco, picking his change off the counter and sliding it into his pocket. then he turned, and met the leveled weapon of legree. brisco's astonishment was ludicrous to behold. and o'grady was fully as startled. "phat th' blazes d'yez mean by thot?" and o'grady jumped over the counter and stood glaring at legree. "i'll explain," said legree, with a coolness that filled matt with admiration, "but while i'm talking, o'grady, don't get between the point of this weapon and that man, there." "is ut a hould-up?" demanded o'grady. "not at all. the man behind you knows me, and he knows that he owes me a hundred and twenty dollars." "i don't know anything of the kind," replied brisco, every whit as cool as legree. "you've made a mistake, my man; and, besides, even if i did owe you money, you're trying to collect it in the wrong way." "roight yez are!" put in o'grady. "shtick thot pisthol in yer pocket an' go off wid yez. this is a dacint, rayspectible hotel, an' guns ain't allowed in th' place at all, at all. av yez don't hike, begorry, oi'll call in th' town marshal." "call the marshal," said legree; "he's the man i'd like to have here. that fellow who just bought gasoline and oil at this place is one of the gang who robbed tomlinson, the denver jeweler, over west of ash fork, and stole the automobile belonging to nugent, the cattleman----" brisco began to laugh. "what do you think of that, o'grady?" he cried. "why, that car you just helped me fill with gasoline is tomlinson's car! i'm taking it east for him. who this man is, or what game he's trying to play, is more than i know." brisco was edging around toward the side window. "look out, mr. legree!" called matt, through the opening. "he's trying to get where he can drop out here." matt's words caused brisco and o'grady to swerve their glances in his direction. a glint darted into brisco's eyes at sight of matt. hank brisco had good reason to remember the young motorist. "this looks like a put-up job, o'grady," said brisco, still keeping the whip-hand of himself. "well, begob," cried o'grady, "no pack av blackguards can come into th' shamrock hotel an' shtir up throuble f'r me customers. clear out av here," he added, brandishing his fists, "or oi'll be afther gittin' busy wid me hands." "is that man the one who helped rob tomlinson, matt?" asked legree, nodding his head toward brisco. "he's the one," answered matt. "i'd know him anywhere. don't let him----" just at that moment, o'grady, wofully deceived, but thinking he was doing exactly what was right, kicked a chair at legree. the chair struck legree's shins with a force that hurled him back against the wall. "now, then," roared o'grady to brisco, "make a run av it! oi'll take care av this boonch av meddlers!" with that, he hurled himself upon legree and the two began to struggle, falling over the chair and dropping heavily on the floor. they were directly across the doorway, and brisco sprang for the front window and pushed himself through it. "shtop a leedle!" whooped carl, dodging around the rain-water barrel; "you don'd got avay so easy as dot, und---- himmelblitzen!" brisco had grabbed the barrel. that happened to be the dry season and the barrel was empty. giving it a whirl, he threw it against the dutch boy with a force that took him off his feet. thrashing his arms wildly, carl laid himself down on the rolling barrel and went caroming off toward the road. meantime, matt, seeing that brisco was making for the window guarded by carl, had rushed around to the front of the hotel. he reached the scene of the scrimmage just in time to be grabbed by o'grady. the racket in the office had brought o'grady's chinese cook from the kitchen; and, while the chinaman continued the tussle with legree, the proprietor of the hotel had rushed out to see what more he could do for the man who had paid him so well for gasoline and oil. "oi've got yez, yez meddlin' omadhoun!" shouted o'grady. "oi'll tach yez t' come interferin' wid dacint people!" with that he flung his arms around motor matt and hung to him with all his strength. "hang onto him, o'grady!" cried brisco, dashing for the runabout. "niver yez fret!" panted the irishman reassuringly; "good-by t' yez. next toime yez come we'll give yez betther treatment; there won't be so many hoodlums around t'----" "let go!" shouted matt. then, suddenly freeing his hands, he struck the deluded irishman a quick blow. o'grady's hands relaxed for an instant. that instant gave motor matt his opportunity, and he tore himself free. about the same moment, legree, hatless, angry, and chagrined, came running out of the office. "where's brisco?" he demanded. just then the question was answered by brisco himself. the runabout, leaping around the corner of the hotel, shot toward the road, a mocking laugh from brisco trailing out behind. "not this time, legree!" called brisco, over his shoulder. "look out for me, from now on--you and motor matt!" the runabout was headed westward. in the rumble behind, lying partly over the rumble-seat, was a dust-coat. it undoubtedly belonged to brisco, and he must have thrown it aside while attending to the automobile, a few minutes before. while motor matt and legree stood staring at the receding car, the coat lifted a little and a hand was waved. "great scott!" cried matt; "it's that boy." legree, far from showing any consternation, leaned against the wall of the building and laughed softly. matt was amazed. "what's the matter with you, legree?" he demanded. "i'm just enjoying a situation that has a bad outlook for brisco," was legree's queer answer. "it has a bad outlook for the boy, too," said matt. "don't worry about little eva. i know him better than you do, and he'll take care of himself." at this moment the chinaman came out of the hotel office and handed the revolver to o'grady. "oi've had about all oi want av this rough-house!" shouted o'grady, his temper badly warped by the disturbance and the blow matt had dealt him. "yez will shtay roight here, bedad, until oi can have th' chink go afther th' town marshal. go f'r jennings, ping," he added, flourishing the weapon in the faces of matt and legree, "an hustle. we'll make this slab-soided roosther laugh on t'other soide av his face befure we're done wid him." chapter v. matt begins a search. carl, having untangled himself from the barrel, brushed off his clothes and rubbed his sore spots, came bristling up to o'grady. "you vas grazy," he cried, "so grazy as i don'd know. oof you hatn't fooled mit us, t'ings vould haf peen tifferent. ve lose vone t'ousant tollars py vat you do! yah, so helup me! pud avay der gun und ged reasonaple." "huccome dat 'ar resolver change han's lak what ah see?" inquired uncle tom, stepping gingerly around the corner of the hotel. "didun' ah do yo no good, mascottin' fo' yo', motah matt?" eliza and topsy followed uncle tom, peering about them excitedly and evidently expecting to find brisco a prisoner. "something went crossways, uncle tom," said matt. "brisco got away, and he took the stolen car with him. mr. o'grady, here, the proprietor of the hotel, didn't understand the case and helped the wrong side." by that time o'grady was himself beginning to think that he had made a mistake. the sight of the big red touring-car, and of the odd assortment of passengers who had arrived in it, afforded him food for thought. so he was thinking, lowering the revolver meanwhile and grabbing ping, the chinaman, by the queue to keep him from going after the marshal. "where did th' lot av yez come from?" o'grady finally inquired. "ash fork," replied legree. "them colored folks come wid yez?" "yes." "well, mebby oi did make a bobble, oi dunno. tell me something more about ut." briefly as he could, legree told of the robbery of mr. tomlinson and of the stealing of the cattleman's car, then wound up the recital by describing how brisco had run off and left his theatrical company, and how motor matt had picked up those who were tramping along the road and was giving them a lift as far as flagstaff. o'grady seemed to take more stock in motor matt than in any of the others. he watched the boy out of the tails of his eyes while listening to legree. "faith," said he, "yez are a har-r-d hitter, me lad. oi'm feelin' th' rap yez give me this minyit, an' me jaw'll be lame f'r a wake; but sure oi desarved ut av so be oi'm raysponsible f'r th' mon gittin' away. a good custhomer he was, an' oi make ut a rule t' trate good custhomers wid ivery consideration. oi supplied him wid gasoline out av me private barrel, an' sint th' chinee f'r oil which oi let him have at double th' proice oi paid f'r ut. by th' same token, oi felt loike tratin' th' mon white, d'yez see? now, av yez won't say annythin' more about th' fracas, sure oi won't, an' we'll let bygones be bygones. was yez all thinkin' av takin' dinner at th' shamrock?" "dat 'ar was de notion we had, boss," spoke up uncle tom eagerly. "then, begorry, oi'll make yez a special rate av sivin dollars f'r th' six av yez." "i'll give you three," said matt. "t'ree ut is," was the prompt rejoinder. "th' ladies can go t' th' parlor, an' th' gintlemen will foind a wash-bench by th' kitchen dure. hurry up wid th' meal, ping," the proprietor added to the chinaman. o'grady handed the revolver to legree, excused himself and went into the hotel. "it don't take him long to forget the trouble he made us," remarked legree, with a wink. "he's wise, too, in being willing to overlook the matter if we are." motor matt couldn't understand legree. he didn't appear to be worried in the least about the boy; on the contrary, he seemed pleased with the situation. "where's the kid?" inquired eliza. "he went away with brisco," replied legree. startled exclamations came from eliza, uncle tom, and topsy. "don't fret about him," went on legree, with a calm confidence that was too deep for matt, "for he'll come back. i'll have to stay here and wait for him, of course, and if matt feels as though he has to pull out for flagstaff before the kid gets here, why, we'll have to come along the best we can." "the boy's in danger," said matt, "and i'm not going to leave fairview until i try to do something for him." "don't go to any trouble, matt," returned legree, "for i tell you again the kid's able to look out for himself. this work of his may result in the capture of brisco and the recovery of the stolen car. after we eat, i'm going to find a cot, lie down, and take a snooze. i've got that coming to me, i think, considering what i've been through to-day. let's hunt up that wash-bench and get ready for dinner." matt was in a quandary. he knew, by his own experience, that brisco was a desperate man, and legree's firm conviction that the boy would keep out of trouble looked like the craziest kind of misjudgment. following the dinner, to which they all did ample justice, uncle tom curled up on a door-step in the sun, legree found a hammock in the shade, and eliza and topsy disappeared inside the hotel. matt led carl off to the red flier. "it's a queer layout, carl," said matt, nodding his head in the direction of the hotel. "hasn't it struck you that way?" "vell," returned carl, running his fingers reflectively through his mat of tow-colored hair, "i vas making some reflections on der soobjeck. leedle efa don't seem to cut mooch ice mit legree, hey? or meppy he cut a whole lot dot ve don'd know aboudt." "you knew the boy in denver?" went on matt. "yah, aber i forged vat his name vas, or vat he dit. und i ditn't know vedder he hat a fader." "well, i don't think we ought to go on to flagstaff until we find out something as to what becomes of the boy." "me, neider; aber how ve find oudt, hey?" "we'll take the flier and see if we can't track the runabout." "und oof ve come too close py der runaboudt, den vat?" "we'll take some old bottles along. if the runabout shows up and tries to chase us, we'll make a run of it and smash the bottles in the road behind us." carl chuckled. that was an expedient to which motor matt had already had recourse--and with brilliant success. "pully! i vill go findt der pottles, matt, vile you ged der macheen retty." carl went off toward a junk-pile back of the wood-shed. by the time matt had made the red flier ready, carl was back with an armful of bottles. "ve vas on der high gear dis drip, you bed you," observed carl, dumping the bottles into the tonneau. "i like dose oxcidements, yah, so. it vas goot for der nerfs und makes a fellow jeerful like nodding." as they got into the car, ready for the start, eliza came hurrying out of the hotel. she carried the box in her hand and made straight for the automobile. "where are you going, matt?" she asked breathlessly. "we're not intending to run off and leave you," matt laughed. "we want to see if we can't find out something about little eva, as you call him. it don't seem right to let the boy be carried off like this and not try to do something to help him." "he's a queer kid," said eliza thoughtfully. "he and legree were only with the company about two months, and they both had a queer way about them, sometimes. but if legree isn't worried i don't know why we ought to be." "i don't know, either," said matt, "but i am, all the same. carl and i are going to see if we can't follow the trail of the runabout for a ways. i don't think we'll be gone more than an hour or two." "may i go along?" "why, yes, if you want to; but hadn't you better leave that box here?" "legree told me to keep it by me all the time," answered the girl. "probably he didn't intend for you to take it out into the hills. well, never mind. if it's so mighty valuable i guess legree would be taking care of it himself. jump in, eliza." the girl climbed into the tonneau, and carl closed the door. matt started at low speed, getting into the road at the same place where brisco had driven the runabout. the trail of the broad wheels was well defined in the dust, and led along the course followed by the red flier in coming into town. "prisco vent oudt like ve come in," said carl. "i'm vonderin' in my mindt oof he vent pack py ash fork?" "give it up, carl," answered matt. "i don't know where he went. there's a whole lot about this business that's the rankest kind of guesswork." "sure! liddle efa vas foolish mit himseluf for gedding indo der car; und he vas foolish some more for shtaying der car in ven he mighdt chump it off. aber meppy he hat his reasons, hey?" "he must have had a reason for doing such a reckless thing, but he don't know brisco so well as we do." "he ought to, matt," spoke up eliza; "he was with the company for two months." "at that time," matt answered, "brisco had the best part of his character uppermost. carl and i have seen the worst side of him, and he's the biggest scoundrel out of jail." "vorse as dot!" averred carl. the tracks of the car led up the slope, out of the valley that contained the town, and on along the ash fork road. matt held the flier down to an easy pace. for several miles the little party had a pleasant ride, without any excitement whatever. but there was plenty of excitement in store, and when it arrived it came suddenly. a turn in the wooded road brought those in the car abruptly into a long, straightaway stretch. the instant they were able to look along the trail beyond the turn, a thrill shot through the nerves of all of them. three mounted men were coming toward the car at a tearing clip. evidently they had heard the pounding of the motor and had put their horses to top speed. "prisco!" shouted carl; "und dere iss spangler, too. durn aroundt, matt! durn aroundt so kevick as der nation vill let you! shiminy grickets, aber dis vas sutten!" motor matt had recognized two of the riders as brisco and spangler, even before carl had given his frightened yell. where had brisco exchanged his seat in the runabout to the saddle of the horse? and why had he changed, and where had he left the car? all this darted through the young motorist's mind as he halted the flier, reversed, and began backing to make the turn. chapter vi. losing the box. matt had not dreamed of being pursued by horsemen. the red flier would have no difficulty in running away from anything on hoofs, and certainly she could leave these three riders behind providing she could turn and get under headway before being overhauled. brisco, spangler, and the other man were dangerously close before matt got the red flier turned the other way. just back from the bend there was a grassy hill, along the foot of which the road ran smoothly. it was an excellent place for speed, and matt jumped from first to second, and from second to third with masterful quickness, considering the fact that he had to be careful about stripping the gear. as the car leaped away, like a spirited horse under the spur, brisco was alongside the tonneau. a scream from eliza called the attention of both boys. matt, of course, was busy with his driving and could not turn to see what was the matter. carl, however, got on his knees in his seat, face to the rear. what he saw brought an angry shout from his lips. brisco, leaning from his saddle, was reaching over the side of the tonneau. he had caught hold of the tin box, and eliza, hanging to it with both hands, was struggling to keep him from securing it. "leaf dot alone!" yelled carl, floundering to get to the girl's aid; "dot pelongs to modor matt!" carl was excited, but it wasn't excitement alone that caused him to say the box belonged to matt. he knew brisco was after a box he had once owned himself, and carl had a hazy idea that if he said the box belonged to matt it might be left alone. the gathering speed of the car carried it away from brisco; and, as brisco's one hand was stronger than the girl's two, the box remained with him. carl got into the tonneau, head over heels and with a crash like the breaking of a dozen windows--for he fell into the heap of useless bottles. when he picked himself up, the three riders, with jeering laughs, had pointed their horses the other way. "it's gone, matt!" cried the girl wildly; "the box is gone! brisco snatched it out of my hands!" "vat a luck it iss!" growled carl, holding one hand to his face, where it had been cut by a piece of glass. "i got pack here so kevick as i couldt, miss eliza, aber dot prisco feller was kevicker as me. donnervetter! matt, ve come oudt to look for dot poy und ve lose der pox! dot vill be some nice t'ings to dell legree." "oh," cried the girl, half-crying; "i shouldn't have come! even if it was all right for me to come i ought to have left the box at the hotel. now we'll never be able to get our money from brisco!" matt slowed down the car and took a look rearward. the three men were out of sight beyond the turn. "don't worry about it, eliza," said matt. "if any one is to blame, i'm the one. there's something queer about that tin box. if it's so valuable, why didn't legree take care of it himself? why did he trust it to you?" "before i had it," returned the girl, "uncle tom was carrying it. he lost it in the river, and had to jump in after it." "more carelessness on legree's part! uncle tom, as i figure it, is about the most irresponsible member of your party, and yet legree allowed him to carry a box which, brisco had said, was worth ten thousand dollars. it don't look reasonable to me." "dot's vat it don'd!" exclaimed carl. "aber prisco vanted dot pox pooty pad to go afder it like vat he dit. meppy it vas vort' a lod to him, und nodding to legree and der rest oof der parn-shtormers." "just because it _was_ valuable to brisco is the very reason i should have been more careful with it," went on the girl. "we might have made him pay us what he owed us, and then we could all have gone back to denver. now--now----" the girl began to cry. "say," wheedled carl, "i vouldn't do dot. you don'd helup nodding novay oof you cry. don'd fret aboudt der olt pox. matt und me vill gif you der money to go py tenver. jeer oop a liddle." "take my word for it, eliza," said matt, as the girl lifted her head and got better control of her feelings, "that box isn't worth a whole lot or legree wouldn't have taken chances with it like he did. i'm sorry brisco got away with it, of course, and i'm going to hurry back to fairview and do something i ought to have done before--and that is, find an officer and put him on brisco's track." "dot von't amoundt to nodding, matt," said carl, climbing back into the front seat. "prisco vill ged off der horse und indo der runaboudt und der officer mighdt as vell dry to ketch some shtreaks oof greased lighdning." "it may be, carl," speculated matt, "that the runabout has broken down. i don't believe brisco and spangler would be able to fix the machine if anything very serious got the matter with it. perhaps they had to leave the car and take to horses." "vat's deir game, anyvay? dot's vat i vant to know. oof deir game vas to ged der pox, den it vas all ofer, und ve don'd haf nodding to do mit brisco und spangler some more. py shinks! dot knocks us oudt oof a t'ousand tollars, matt." "all legree was keeping the box for," quavered the girl, "was so that brisco would follow us and try to get it. that would give us a chance to make brisco pay what he owed us." "legree ought to have hung onto the box himself," insisted matt. "prisco iss too schlick for legree," asserted carl. "i wish i understood what brisco and legree are up to," muttered matt. "there's more to this than appears on the surface." "yah, i bed you," agreed carl, wagging his head. "oof i knew as mooch as i vould like, den i vould tell you all aboudt it, vich i don'd. den dere iss efa. his monkey-doodle pitzness makes der t'ing vorse." a quarter of an hour later the red flier drew up in its old berth alongside the hotel. eliza got out and ran hurriedly to tell legree what had happened to the tin box. "i'm sorry for eliza," said matt, climbing slowly over the brakes as he got out of the car. "she's a nice girl, and it's too bad she has to feel all cut up over the way the box was taken from her. i've got a notion that legree is fooling them all--and you and me into the bargain, carl." "how you t'ink so, matt?" asked carl, opening his eyes wide. "i don't know how he's doing it, or why he's doing it, but it's just a hunch i've got." "how long ve going to shtay here?" "i don't want to pull out until we learn something more about this business. there are parts of it that have a crooked look to me." at that moment legree issued from the hotel. he did not act at all excited, although he must certainly have learned from eliza what had happened. "eliza's been telling me what a time you've had," said he. "the principal thing is that brisco has left the car and got onto a horse. i was surprised to hear that. i can't imagine why a rascal, who's as badly wanted as he is, should leave a swift automobile and take to horseback." "i should think, mr. legree," remarked matt, "that you would be more interested in the loss of that box than in anything else." "not at all. in fact, i haven't thought so much of that box since the lot of us left ash fork. it was a good thing to hang onto, but it wasn't so terribly important. i've told eliza not to feel bad over what happened. i'd feel worse myself if the kid hadn't got away in that runabout, like he did." all that legree said merely made the whole situation darker for matt. and for carl, too. the dutch boy stood blinking at legree, and running his fingers through the tangle of tow he called his hair. "you were keeping the box in the hope that brisco would came after it and give you a chance at him, weren't you?" demanded matt. "yes," answered legree. "well, now that brisco has got the box you can't expect him to come after it." "hardly," and legree gave a short laugh. noting the perplexity of the two boys, he went on: "you miss one point, matt, in sizing up this situation. we're not done with brisco--not by a long chalk. it isn't the box, but what was in it, that brisco is anxious to get." "wasn't there anything in the box?" queried matt. "no, and there hasn't been since we left ash fork. i opened the box on the q. t. in that town and took out what it contained. that object is in my possession. i intend to stay in this town, matt, until brisco is captured. i don't care anything about spangler; brisco is the man i want. if you've got time, you can stay and help me; and you can keep all you get for recovering the runabout for yourself." "what will you get for your work?" "why, i'll send brisco over the road. _the contents of that box will do it!_" matt and carl were dumfounded. the situation was clearing a little, but not much. chapter vii. a mysterious disappearance. "do you know this cattleman in ash fork who had the runabout stolen from him?" asked legree. "i know him by sight," answered matt; "i'm not acquainted with him." "are you sure that he will pay five hundred dollars for the recovery of his automobile?" "he said he would, and he's able to do it. and he offers to pay five hundred dollars apiece for the capture of brisco and spangler." "then there's a chance for you to make fifteen hundred. i'd advise you to stay here and do it." matt leaned against the car and went into a brown study. mr. tomlinson had not required him to get to albuquerque in a hurry. he could take a reasonable amount of time for the trip. but mr. tomlinson _did_ expect the car to be brought safely to its destination. would matt in any way endanger the car by staying a short time in fairview? that was the question that bothered him. "i t'ink, matt," said carl, "dot i could use some oof dot fifdeen huntert. vy nod shtay und dry dem a virl?" "if i stay, legree," observed matt, "i won't be called on to use the red flier for chasing brisco and spangler, will i? the car doesn't belong to me and i can't take any chances with it." "you can do as you please about that, matt. i'm after brisco. if you get spangler and the runabout, you'll have to do it in your own way. spangler and brisco, though, seem to be working together, just now, so my work ought to help you." "why not get an officer here and----" "do you want to divide with an officer what the cattleman is willing to pay?" "you know a lot that you're not telling me, legree," said matt quietly. "well," grinned legree, "when it comes to that, i know a lot that i'm not telling anybody--just now. you've heard more from me than any one else--excepting the kid." "i think i'll lay over here until to-morrow," said matt. "hoop-a-la!" exulted carl. "be jeerful, everypody. i t'ink, matt," he added, "dot i vill infest my haluf oof dot fifdeen huntert tollars in gofermend ponds, und----" "don't invest it till you get it, carl," interposed matt dryly. "pull off your coat, now, and we'll wash up the car and fill the tanks." for two hours the boys were more than busy. while in motor matt's hands, the machine was always as carefully groomed as a race-horse. not only that, but after the day's run he made it a point to go over the machinery with a wrench and pliers, tightening up everything that had worked loose and making sure that every part was in complete working order. the water-tank was filled. ten gallons of gasoline were needed for the gasoline reservoir, but before he bought any from o'grady, matt tested it carefully with a hydrometer. finding it nearly the same grade as he had been using, he funneled it into the tank, not only straining it through wire gauze but through thin chamois skin as well. the oil supply was also replenished. when the boys were through, the red flier was as spick and span as when it had come from the shop. not only that, but it was fit to take the road at a moment's notice and make a record run. to matt's regret, there was no place in town where the car could be housed for the night. there were two or three old barns, but they were so foul and unclean that he would not take the machine into them. he preferred to leave it outdoors all night, sleeping in the tonneau and guarding against tampering. when supper was announced, carl watched the car while matt ate; and when matt had finished, carl went in for his own meal. uncle tom, feeling much better now that his physical necessities had been relieved, walked out to the car with matt when he left the dining-room. there was something on the old negro's mind. he seemed flustered and backward about getting at it. finally he broached the astonishing proposition, leading up to it by degrees. "ah's done let out ob er job by de scan'lous actions ob dat 'ar brisco, marse matt," said he moodily. "hard luck, uncle tom," answered matt sympathetically. "where do you live when you're at home?" "ah's one ob dem 'ar rolling stones, en ah ain't had no home sense ah was knee-high tuh a possum, no, suh. fo' de las' few houahs, marse matt, ah's been kind ob cogitatin' en mah haid an' i 'bout come tuh de conclusion dat yo' outlook in life is juberous, yassuh. yo's a puffick gemman, but yo' take so many chances dat yo' prospecks am sholy juberous." "how can i help that, uncle tom?" asked matt, enjoying immensely the old darky's vagaries. "ah knows how dat kin be fixed, sah," went on uncle tom. "what yo' has got tuh hab is a official mascot, sah, tuh be wif yo' all de time an' wuk off de hoodoo. ah 'lows, sah, dat i could fill dat job. how much yo' willin' tuh pay fo' an official mascot by de monf?" that was too much for motor matt. laying back in the tonneau he laughed till he shook. "doan' laff, marse matt," begged the old fraud; "hit's a mouty complexus bizness. tu'n hit ober in yo' mind, sah, en if yo' t'ink ah'm wuth mah bo'd an' keep, jess considah ah'm engaged." "why, uncle tom," said matt, "i haven't much more than enough to board and keep myself, so i guess my prospects will have to continue to be 'juberous.'" "doan' say dat, sah; t'ink it ober. ah'll hold mahse'f open fo' de engagemunt." uncle tom stumped back into the house, and matt kicked off his shoes and snuggled down under a blanket which o'grady had furnished him. half an hour later, carl came out with a blanket of his own. "what are you going to do, carl?" asked matt, rousing up and peering at his friend through the gloom. "dis iss some games vot two can blay ad, my poy," chuckled carl. "i vill shleep py der machine mit you." "go on!" scoffed matt. "what's the use of denying yourself a good bed when you can just as well have one?" "vell, i dredder shtay mit you. don'd say nodding, pecause it vasn't any use. my mindt iss made oop, yah, you bed you." "all right, then," said matt. "curl up on the steering-wheel and enjoy yourself." the front seat, of course, was divided into two sections, so it was impossible for carl to stretch himself out in it; however, he wrapped his blanket around him and crowded down between the seat and the dash, head and shoulders over the foot-board on one side, and his feet tangled up in the foot-pedals and levers on the other. just as matt was getting to sleep a wild _honk, honk!_ brought him up like a shot out of a gun. "what's that?" called matt. "dot vas my feets," explained carl coolly. "i hit dem against dot rupper pag vat makes a noise. oof der car vas vider, den i vouldn't be too long for der blace vat i am. meppy i puy somet'ing else don gofermend ponds mit dot money. meppy, yah--so----" and carl's words drifted off into a snore. matt settled down again, and this time nothing disturbed him. carl had some bad dreams that night. he thought his feet were caught in a giant clothes-wringer, and that a locomotive was hitched to his head. some one would run him through the wringer, flattening him out up to the knees, and then the locomotive would back up and pull him out again. when his dreams had tired him out with that set of incidents, they shut him up in a little tin box, and three men on horseback played football with him; other experiences, too numerous to mention, followed, and at the wind-up carl thought he dropped several miles through the air and smashed through a skylight. starting up with a groan, he rubbed his eyes and looked around. it was morning. carl was sitting up on the ground, chilled and chattering. at first he thought that skylight episode was not a dream, and he looked up to see the place he had come through. instead of seeing anything so unsubstantial, his eyes encountered the face of legree. "you sleep like a log, carl!" exclaimed legree. "where's motor matt? what's become of the automobile?" then, in a flash, carl's hazy mind connected with the tangible things surrounding him when he went to sleep. "vy," he cried, struggling to his feet and staring around, "i vas in der car mit modor matt! i vent to shleep in it mit him." "i know you did; but where are matt and the car now?" carl rubbed his eyes again, and then took a more careful look about him. he was standing in the very place where the car had stood. but there was no sign of the car! and no sign of motor matt! the blanket carl had taken into the red flier with him was lying crumpled on the ground, a dozen feet away. "vell, py shinks!" gasped carl. "i don'd like dot. i don'd like some shokes vere sooch a monkey-doodle pitzness iss made mit me. modor matt nefer made dot shoke." "there's no joke, carl," answered legree; "i wish to gracious it _was_ a joke. the red flier left here some time during the night. no one heard it. no one knew it was gone until i looked out of the window of my room. you were lying on the ground here, but neither the car nor matt were in sight. do you think matt would pull out and leave you?" "leaf me? matt? vell, he vas my bard, und how you figure oudt dot he do dot? no, py shinks! oof he ain'd here he vas dook off, und oof he vas dook off id vas dot prisco und spangler vat dit it!" with that, carl went over to the well and sat down. he was still confused, but slowly the realization of what had happened was growing upon him. and as the realization grew, his temper mounted with it. chapter viii. spirited away. carl was not the only one who had been troubled with dreams that night. motor matt floundered through one of the worst nightmares he had ever had. the whole scheme of the thing was rather vague, but mighty depressing. he seemed to be engaged in some tremendous struggle, striking away and countering a thousand or more huge fists that leaped at him out of the gloom. one by one he put the clenched hands out of business, and when he had conquered the last of them he opened his eyes in bewilderment. the humming of a motor was in his ears. it was the red flier's motor, he could tell that instinctively. the stars were overhead, the cool, damp smell of the night was all around, and the glow of the acetylene lamps was glimmering and dancing in advance. the car was moving briskly through the silence. matt had a queer, sick feeling at the pit of his stomach. counting out the time he raced the limited train on his motor-cycle, collided with a freight-wagon and was laid up for a fortnight, he had never been confined to his bed for a week in his life. he wondered what ailed him, and his mind was sluggish and slow in working out the problem. he had felt just as he did then once before. that was the time he had been drugged and taken out of phoenix to keep him from racing with the prescott champion, o'day. had he been drugged now? if so, why, and by whom? by degrees the cool air cleared his befogged brain. he went back over the chain of events, picking it up where he had dropped it. the queer party of stranded actors--the arrival at fairview--the escape of brisco from the hotel--the ride into the hills to look for the boy--the pursuit by the horsemen and the loss of the tin box--all these events dragged through matt's mind. he and carl had gone to sleep in the automobile. why was the car moving? had carl, giving rein to some wild impulse, cranked up the car and started for a night ride? matt stirred. "carl!" he called, "what are you trying to do?" matt became aware, then, that there was some one beside him in the tonneau. "carl, hey?" came a jeering voice, as a strong hand reached over and pushed matt back in the seat. "ye got another guess comin'. thar ain't no dutchman along, this trip." "tuned up, has he?" asked a voice from the front seat. "yep; he's got back ter airth, hank." "surprised?" the man in front laughed hoarsely as he asked the question. "waal, kinder. he thought his dutch pard was erlong." matt, while this talk was going forward, realized with a shock that the two men in the car were brisco and spangler. brisco was in the driver's seat, and spangler was in the tonneau. with a quick gathering of all his strength, matt flung himself toward the door of the tonneau. his first unreasoning impulse was to get away from his captors. the car must have been going forty miles an hour, and the roadside was lined with sharp stones. if matt had succeeded in his desperate attempt, he could hardly have escaped without serious injury; but his rash move was nipped in the bud. spangler, who was in the tonneau for the purpose, grabbed matt and hurled him back into the seat. "none o' that!" he growled. "want ter break yer bloomin' neck? not as i keer much about yer neck, but hank an' me hev got diff'rent plans fer ye." matt was still dizzy and weak. the nausea at his stomach was leaving him slowly, but it made him feel as limp as a rag and utterly helpless. "did you men run away with this car?" he asked. "looks that-away, don't it?" returned spangler. "where's carl?" "didn't hev no time ter bother with the dutchman, so we left him behind." "was he hurt?" "hurt? nary, he wasn't hurt. we ain't opinin' ter hurt anybody this trip so long as we hev our way. the dutchman was snoring like a house afire. all we did was ter lift him out o' the keer an' lay him on the ground. we give him a smell o' somethin' on a han'kercher, jest ter make him snooze a leetle harder, that's all." "you drugged both of us, then?" "that was the easiest way ter keep ye from makin' er noise." "where are you taking me?" "ye'll know afore long." it was a rugged road they were traveling, and the red flier negotiated it with many a juggling bump. mountainous rocks, half-screened by bushes and trees, glided by, and there were dusky gashes and seams, and now and then a splash of falling water. rougher and rougher grew the trail, and the reckless driving of brisco caused matt's nerves to thrill with fears for the car. "you'll rack the car to pieces if you keep driving like that!" matt called sharply. "what's it to you?" taunted brisco. "it means a whole lot to me. this car belongs to mr. tomlinson, and i've promised to take it safely to albuquerque." "be hanged to you and mr. tomlinson!" snarled brisco. "we'll fix this car before we're done with it. if you ever take it to albuquerque, you'll have to scoop up the pieces and tote 'em there in a lumber-wagon. that's part of what we're going to do to play even with you and him!" matt's heart skipped a beat, and a cold chill ran through his body. could the villains really mean to destroy the red flier? "you'd better think well about what you do," warned matt. "if you ruin this car, mr. tomlinson will never let up on you till he puts you where you belong." spangler brought his hand around in a sweeping blow. matt dodged the hand so that the stroke was only a glancing one. "shut up!" he cried savagely. "ye ain't here ter make any threats, 'r throw any bluffs." at that moment, brisco brought the car to a stop, putting on the brakes so suddenly that the wheels locked and slid. "i reckon this'll be far enough," said brisco, turning in his seat. "make him get out, spang." "hear that?" cried spang. "open the door and git down." "what's this for?" returned matt, making no move to obey. for answer, spangler, with an oath, seized him by the collar and jerked him roughly out of the tonneau. matt was unable to make any resistance. as he stood in the road, the jagged uplifts by which he was surrounded seemed to swim about him in circles. spangler got back in the car, as matt staggered to a big boulder and leaned against it, and brisco backed the car around until it was headed along the back course. "wait!" cried matt, as a thought of what all this might mean to him took shape in his brain. "we're going to wait--and for just about a minute," returned brisco. "are you going to steal that car?" asked matt, "just as you stole nugent's?" "you're too much of a meddler," snapped brisco. "if you could go along and mind your own business, you'd be a whole lot better off. you had to tangle up with tomlinson, back there at ash fork, and you hadn't any call to butt in. if it hadn't been for you, we'd 'a' won out on that game and been all to the good. i don't reckon we'd have bothered you at all, though, if you'd been content to carry out your orders and push on to albuquerque. but you couldn't do that; oh, no. you're trying to be first aid to the weak and down-trodden wherever you run into them, so you had to mix up with that bunch of stranded actors. "when i drove the runabout into fairview after gasoline and oil, i dropped spangler off to lay for the tramps and get that tin box. you had to butt in, as per usual. i got away from fairview by the skin of my teeth, picked up spang at the place where he was waiting, and we went on to where our other pard had some horses. we side-tracked the runabout there, and slid back toward fairview, intending to push through the timber--a move we couldn't make in the car. then"--and here a swirling oath dropped from brisco's lips--"we dropped into your little trap." "what trap?" demanded matt. "oh, no, you don't know a thing about that, do you? you weren't moseying out there just to give us a chance to lift that tin box, were you? and you hadn't the least notion it was empty, had you? if you hadn't turned that trick, my bantam, we wouldn't have turned this one. we're going to settle with you, all right. this is a part of the country that isn't traveled once a week, and you're seventy-five miles from fairview. by the time you get back to town, we'll have got what was in that box, and have smashed the red flier into a heap of jack-straws. i know a nice little cliff alongside the road, and when we're through with the car we'll lash the wheel, open her up and let her go over the edge! i reckon that'll cook your goose with tomlinson. he didn't calculate you were going to use his car transporting a lot of stranded actors, and mixing up in their affairs on the way to albuquerque." for a space, motor matt's heart stood still. "you wouldn't dare do that!" he shouted. "wouldn't i?" and a reckless, mocking laugh came with the words. "from what you know of me don't you think i would? hope you'll have a nice, easy walk to fairview, motor matt! there'll be some surprises in store for you when you get there. good-by!" spangler also shouted a jeering farewell. the car got in motion, the humming slowly decreased, and the glow of the tail light winked suddenly into darkness. motor matt had been abandoned. but, worse than that, the two scoundrels who had spirited him away from fairview were bent on the wanton destruction of mr. tomlinson's car! chapter ix. an unexpected meeting. motor matt came nearer being utterly cast down, at that moment, than ever before in his life. weak and sick as he was, perhaps his discouragement was not to be wondered at. sinking down at the foot of the boulder against which he had been leaning, he began finding fault with himself. it was all right to pick up the stranded actors and carry them on to fairview. that was merely a kindness for which no one could blame him. but to jump into their troubles, at a time when he was engaged in work for mr. tomlinson and was not, strictly speaking, his own boss, that gave the affair another look. now, because of his desire to help legree, eliza, and the rest, there he was, hung up in the hills seventy-five miles from fairview, with the red flier in brisco's hands and pointed for the scrap-heap. mr. tomlinson would be perfectly justified in laying the destruction of the car to matt's own disregard of orders. and it was mr. tomlinson who had selected matt to take the red flier to albuquerque because he was satisfied the car would receive better care in his hands than in any other! there was enough in these reflections to make motor matt dissatisfied with himself. but he was not, and never had been, a "quitter." and the one cry of his soul had always been for fate to keep him from joining the ranks of the "quitters." as a matter of fact, motor matt was a self-reliant american boy, and there was never the least danger of his going over to the useless crowd of mistakes and failures. naturally, he might make a misplay now and then--running behind just enough to keep him "gingered up" for ultimate success in the big things. while he crouched at the foot of the boulder, the cool air clearing his brain and the sick feeling leaving him, he fell to planning for turning the tables against his enemies. what was there he could do, afoot and seventy-five miles from town? at first, the prospect seemed utterly hopeless; but matt knew that a brave heart and a firm will had time and again snatched victory from seeming defeat. he would start for fairview. possibly, although the road was not much traveled, he might have the good luck to encounter some freighter who would give him a lift. without losing a moment longer, he got up and started off in the direction taken by brisco and spangler. he wondered, as he swung along, what carl would think when he came to himself and found the car missing--and matt gone with it. and what would legree think? and eliza? but what those in fairview might think was a minor consideration. the great point was the recovery of the red flier before the car's captors could wreck the machine. brisco was the only one of the two scoundrels who could run a car, and even brisco's knowledge was superficial. an hour's instruction, from the driver of nugent's runabout, was all brisco had had. brisco now had two stolen cars and he could run only one of them--unless, indeed, the third man he had picked up knew something about motors. matt, perhaps, had walked a mile through the gloomy hills, when he heard a noise as of some one in the road ahead. he halted, half-fearing that brisco and spangler were coming back. but that could not be, he reasoned. if they had wanted to come back, they would have used the car--and the noise matt heard was of footsteps. he listened, straining his ears and eyes. only one man was coming. he could not see, but hearing alone told him there was but one. backing into the deep shadow of a nest of boulders, he continued to wait. the man, whoever he was, was coming hurriedly. sometimes he ran, and occasionally he stumbled. as he drew closer, matt saw that he was a small man, and as he came closer still the figure resolved itself into that of a mere boy. "hello!" called matt, stepping out into the road again. the figure gave a startled jump. "chee!" it cried. "say, who's dat?" matt's pulses quickened, and a glow of hope ran through him. "hello, kid!" he shouted. "what're you doing here?" "i'm a jay if it ain't motor matt!" came delightedly from the boy as he dashed forward. "how's dis f'r a come-off? say, it sure knocks de wind out o' me! where'd yous come from, yerself? was yous on dat automobile wid brisco an' spang?" by then the boy was close enough to grab matt's hand and give it a shake. "yes," answered matt; "i was on the car with them and they let me out and turned back." "how'd de mutts come t' git yous on de mat, hey?" matt explained how he had been spirited away. "well, on de level," breathed the boy, "dat's de rummest move i ever connected wit'. raw? oh, sister!" "now tell me something about yourself," said matt. "why did you get into that car? and where have you been since you left fairview?" "easy, cull! t'ings is bein' pulled off in such a bunch it's hard t' straighten dem out. le's do de ham-restin' act, right here on dis nice bunch o' rocks, while we chin a little." they sat down, side by side. "you must have had some reason, eva, for hiking out with brisco like you did, and----" "cut out de 'eva.' fergit de styge name. i was on'y dat back o' de tin lamps, an' no more of 'em fer mine. call me josh. not dat i'm a josher, understan', 'cause i ain't. an' here's somet'in' else i'm battin' up t' yous: dere's a few t'inks rattlin' around in me block dat i can't let yous in on. not bekase i ain't willin' meself, but bekase it ain't on de program. see? "first off, matt, i crowded into dat car becase de idee looked good t' me. dat's all yous is t' know about dat f'r now. i rode t' w'ere brisco stopped de car an' took on spang--about de place w'ere dad an' yous had de set-to on account o' dat box. "den we moved on ag'in, me still under de coat an' wonderin' how long i could keep shy o' de lamps o' dem two dubs. you can bet yer lid, matt, i didn't breathe on'y when necessary. i was de sly boy, all right. w'en we pulled up ag'in, we was clost t' t'ree horses, all saddled an' bridled, an' wit' a beer-faced guy on one o' dem. "de runabout was backed into de brush, an' brisco an' spang got onto two o' de horses an' all t'ree o' dat strong-arm bunch pulled deir freight back down de road. it was right den i wished dat i knowed how t' work dem cranks an' t'ings so'st i could make dat car go w'ere i wanted. but i didn't know de tail lamp from de carburetter, so i jess had t' lay low an' wait. "w'en dem jays got back, dere was yer uncle john right under de coat, same as usual, an' still holdin' his breat'. if one o' de mugs lifted de coat, i was plannin' to work me pins an' head right into de weeds, like anot'er bear was on me trail. "but dey didn't look under de coat, none of dem. dey was too mad. chee! but dey was r'iled! blatter, blatter, blatter, dey went, swearin' like a plumber wot's burned hisself wit' his torch. say, de air was blue an smelt like de odder place. if dey'd piped me off den, dey'd have took me skelp, all right. "from de spiel dey was givin' each odder, i hooked onto de infermation dat dey'd got de box an' dat dere wasn't not'in' in it--w'ich i knowed all de time. dey was crowdin' all deir swear-words onto motor matt. yous had fooled dem, dey said, an' dey was goin' t' saw off even if it took a leg. "brisco give de mug on de horse his orders to go t' some place w'ere brisco an' spang would go foist an' wait. wid dat we started up ag'in--me on de job an' still sayin' me prayers back'ards, for'ards, an' sideways. i couldn't see where we went, but we was goin' f'r a hunderd years, seemed like, i was dat worked up t'inkin' i might git nabbed. den we stopped, backed t'roo some brush, an' stopped ag'in, dat time t' stay. "i had drawn into me shell, listenin' w'ile brisco an' spang was rammin' around de place w'ere we was. after a w'ile, deir bazoos seemed t' move off, an' i stuck out me coco an' piped de layout. "we was in a well. anyways dat's how it looked. de well was about fifteen feet acrost, steep rocks all around an' on'y one place w'ere dere was a break. de break was choked up wit' brush, an' i'm wise right off dat we'd backed t'roo it w'en we come into de well. "i see anot'er nice little clump of brush off t' de right, an' it looked so invitin' dat i slipped out from under de coat an' ducked f'r it. "i was in dat clump w'en de odder bloke, who dey called klegg, blowed in t'roo de break wid de hosses; an' i was still dere w'en night come down, an' de t'ree of dem lighted up de runabout an' went away w'id it. "couldn't git in de back seat den, kase klegg was dere, so dey bumped off into de night an' left me in de well wit' de t'ree horses. "i kinked me thinker all up t'ryin' t' guess whedder i'd better stay right dere or borry one o' dem horses an' ride some place. well, i didn't ride, not knowin' any good place t' ride to. couldn't even make a guess which way de town was. "i went out t'roo de brush an' moseyed around in de dark till _chugetty-chug!_ along come dat runabout ag'in an' backed t'roo de brush into de well. but dere was on'y one man in it, an' it was klegg. w'ere was brisco an' spang? dat was wot fretted me. w'ile i was frettin', along comes dat red tourin'-car. i made out brisco in front, an' spang in de rear--an' dere was some odder mug in de rear wot i couldn't get next to. de tourin'-car went on past de well. "chee, but i was rattled! wot was happenin', i says t' meself, an' w'y was it happenin'? de tourin'-car come back ag'in an' in it was brisco an' spang, but de odder guy had been left somew'ere. de tourin'-car was backed into de well, w'ere de runabout had gone, an' i started dis way t' see wot i could find. say, matt, i was knocked stiff w'en i found yous! great, ain't it, how luck takes a shoot, once in a w'ile? if dat---- wot's de matter w'id yous? w'ere yous goin'?" matt had jumped up, grabbed josh by the arm and was pulling him down the road. "come on!" said he. "we haven't got any time to lose!" chapter x. a daring plan. "say," panted josh, as he and matt traveled rapidly along the road, "put me wise to dis move, can't yous? wot's in yer block, matt?" "do you know what brisco intends to do with the red flier?" asked matt. "he's layin' in a supply o' benzine-buggies t' start a garage, 'r somet'ing, ain't he?" "he ran off with that touring-car just to play even with me, josh. he says i've meddled with his affairs long enough, and that he's going to run the red flier over a cliff just to pay me back for using the car to help you people." "wouldn't dat frost yous?" muttered josh. "and he said i was seventy-five miles from fairview," went on matt, "and that by the time i had walked to the town he would have finished his business there." "brisco has got anodder guess comin'. he ain't so warm. dad can show him a t'ing 'r two, an' don't yous fergit dat. chee! dat guy's de limit. but wot's yer game, cull?" "you say that both cars are in that 'well,' as you call it?" "dat's w'ere dey was w'en i started for here." "well, i'm going to get the red flier away from that outfit!" matt spoke as confidently as though he had merely remarked that he was going over to the hotel after his dinner. "say, cull," returned the boy, "i like yer nerve, all right, an' i marks yous up f'r de entry, but how yous goin' t' git under de wire? dere's t'ree o' dem guys, an' dey've got a lot o' artillery. how we goin' t' git away wit' de car if dey don't want us to?" "i don't know," replied matt, "but we've got to do it somehow." "yous is a reg'lar lollypaloozer, motor matt, an' i'd back yous t' win any ole day, but dis looks like too big a load. but yous can count on me. dad'll tell yous dat i'm big f'r me age an' no mutt in a getaway, so jest set yer pace an' i'll push on de reins." "how far is it to the place where the automobiles were left?" "we're close t' dere now. i'm wonderin' w'y brisco dropped yous widin a short walk o' de hang-out--dat is, if he was fixin' t' stay at de place?" "i don't know," answered matt; "but that's what he did and it's enough for me. i've got to recover that car, josh. if i don't, and if anything happens to it, i'd look nice making my report to tomlinson, wouldn't i?" "if yous hadn't picked up dat bunch o' tramps on de road yous wouldn't have got into dis fix." "i'm not sorry i helped you out, josh." "sure not. yous ain't dat kind, motor matt. all de same, yous would have been peggin' along to'rds albuquerque, nice as yous please, if it hadn't been for dat crowd o' uncle tommers. dere'll be doin's in fairview in de mornin', w'en dad finds out yous ain't w'ere yous ought t' be." "what can your father do?" "he can do a lot w'en he gits started. don't yous never t'ink he's a slow one, matt." matt knew that legree could keep a cool head in a pinch, but, for all that, he didn't see how he could do anything when he didn't have money enough even to pay his board-bill. "mr. tomlinson has a lot of confidence in me," said matt; "and, if that car is wrecked, i'll have----" "sh-h-h!" whispered josh, coming to a wary halt and laying a hand on matt's arm. "look ahead, dere. see dat black splotch on de side o' de hill by de road?" "yes," answered matt, straining his eyes in the direction indicated. "dat's de brush dat hides de openin'. are we bot' goin' t' blow in dere an' try t' make a run wit' de red car?" "we can't do the trick in such a hurricane way as that. we've got to lay some other plan. i'll go in and look the ground over, josh, and maybe i can get hold of an idea." "i'll try t' git holt o' one, too, w'ile i'm waitin' fer yous. don't make much noise w'ile yous is in de bushes, matt, or dem terriers'll pepper yous." "i'm going to sneak into the place as quietly as i can. i don't think they'll hear me." leaving the boy a little way from the dark patch of verdure clinging to the face of the hill, matt went on carefully. as he approached closer to the vague blot it gradually took form under his eyes. the wall of the hill seemed to be cracked through from crest to base and wrenched apart until it formed a narrow opening. up both sides of the opening grew the bushes, their branches spreading out and forming a thick screen. on account of the darkness, matt could not make a very close examination of the queer fissure, but he saw enough to convince him that nature had contrived a secure retreat for brisco and spangler. the bottom of the opening, matt judged, was all of ten feet in width. dropping down on his hands and knees, he began crawling through the middle of the break, parting the bush branches from in front of him as he advanced. so wary was he that he made very little noise. he had gone perhaps a dozen feet through the brushy tangle, when a glow of light struck on his eyes. this acted as a sort of beacon, and served to guide him the rest of the way. a dozen feet more brought him to the opposite side of the opening and to the edge of the bushes. crouching silently on the ground he proceeded to survey the peculiar niche in front of him. josh's description, likening the place to a "well," was quite appropriate. the niche was circular in form and its walls arose steeply to a height of at least fifty feet. in the shadow of the walls the place was very dark, but the glowing lamps of an automobile enabled matt to see enough to send a chill of disappointment through him. there was only one automobile in the niche! and that one was the runabout! brisco and spangler must have emerged and gone off somewhere with the red flier. had they taken it away to destroy it? the three horses were not far from the runabout. they were secured to some bushes, and could be heard pawing and stamping. matt could also hear something else, and that was the snoring of a man in deep sleep. after a moment's hesitation he continued to creep onward, redoubling his care and vigilance. he was upon the man before he was fairly aware of it, one of his groping hands coming in contact with an outstretched foot. the snoring ceased with an explosive grunt and matt drew back breathlessly. the man did not rouse up. shifting his position slightly he continued to snore. making a détour, matt got around the man--whom he knew was not brisco or spangler, and consequently must be klegg--and reached the runabout. pausing there, the young motorist let his mind circle about this new phase of the situation. if he couldn't get the red flier, why not take the runabout? that would afford himself and josh a quick means for making the return trip to fairview. besides, no matter what happened to the red flier, there was something to be gained in getting the runabout away from the thieves. close to the car was a heap of horse-trappings. matt felt about among the saddles, bridles and blankets until he had found two coiled riatas. could he, by quick work, get one of the ropes around klegg's hands before he was thoroughly awake and able to struggle? josh would have been of use in such an attempt, and matt decided that he could not make it successfully unless he did have the other to help. he would go back after josh, he decided; but first he would look over the runabout and make sure it was ready for the road. laying the ropes in the front of the car, he arose to his feet, softly removed the tail lamp from its bracket, and flashed it into the rumble. the coat, used so cleverly by the boy, was still there, crumpled on the floor as though by a man's feet. passing on to the forward part of the car, the pencil of light jumped from point to point, matt's eyes following critically. everything seemed to be shipshape and in good order. a small object on one of the front seats caught the youth's attention. it was pushed well back into the angle where the back joined the seat, and matt picked it up and held it in the glow of light. it was a small bottle, and the label bore the written word, "chloroform." matt stifled an exclamation. undoubtedly it had been some of that bottle's contents which had helped brisco and spangler get the better of him, in fairview, and run off with the touring-car. then a startling expedient darted through matt's mind. turn about was fair play. with the aid of the drug he could clear a passage for the runabout, and without resort to any violence. setting the lamp down on the front seat, matt drew the cork of the bottle, took a handkerchief from his pocket and proceeded to wet it with the chloroform. then, re-corking the bottle and laying it aside, he went down on his hands and knees and started toward klegg. a lightening of the sky over the steep walls that hemmed in the niche told of coming day. the darkness would be a help to matt and josh in getting to the road and away, and if advantage was to be taken of night matt knew he would have to hurry. but he was well equipped to carry out his plans now, and lost no time in getting about them. chapter xi. on the road. kneeling beside klegg, matt leaned over and held the saturated handkerchief close to his face. the fumes were strong, and seemed to strangle him. with a gurgling grunt he shifted his position. matt moved the handkerchief and again held it over his face. this time klegg sputtered a little, but did not change his position. evidently the narcotic was beginning to have its effect. after a moment, matt allowed the handkerchief to drop on klegg's face. he left it there for two or three minutes and then threw it aside. klegg was breathing heavily and seemed to be completely under the influence of the drug. catching hold of the blanket on which the man was lying, matt began to pull it toward the wall of the niche. "chee!" whispered a voice close to matt's side. "wot kind of a smell is dat, cull? wot yous done to klegg?" "i thought you were going to wait outside, josh?" answered matt. "dat's wot i t'ought, but yous was so long in comin' dat i took de notion t' come in an' look yous up. wot's de play?" "i found a bottle of chloroform in the runabout, and it must have been out of that same bottle that brisco took the stuff that put me to sleep. thought i'd see how it worked on klegg." "yous is a jim dandy, matt!" laughed josh delightedly. "but w'ere's brisco an' spang?" "they're not here, and neither is the touring-car." "tough luck! yous figgerin' on makin' a getaway wit' de runabout?" "yes. we might use that for a quick run to fairview and get the sheriff to hunt up brisco and spangler. i'll go with the sheriff and use the runabout. it's a faster car than the flier, and we may be able to catch the two thieves before they wreck mr. tomlinson's car." "yous has got a head on yous, matt, an' no mistake," said the boy admiringly. "an' yous pulled all dis off yerself! well, say, if yous ain't a winner dis heat yous ought t' be. dat's right--on de level an' no stringin'. dad would like t' have a guy like yous t' work wit' all de time. an' so would little eva, de child wonder. but it's gittin' daylight, matt, an' if we're goin' t' pull our freight, let's be at it." it was already light enough so that they could see without the lamps. these were extinguished, and then matt put the tail lamp back in its place, started the engine and got into the driver's seat. on the low gear they moved slowly across the bottom of the niche. josh was still laughing softly to himself. "chee, cull, but i'd like t' be around w'en brisco an' spang find dat klegg feller!" he chuckled. "dat would be as good as a circus. dis is almost too good t' be true, ain't it?" "it will be, josh," replied matt, "if i can only get back the red flier." "dem coves'll be careful o' dat odder machine when dey find dis one has been took away from dem." "i know that--providing they find out the runabout is gone before they destroy the flier." setting the runabout at the bushes, matt drove through the undergrowth, josh keeping the branches out of his face while he attended to the steering. "on de road ag'in!" jubilated the boy, as they emerged from the mouth of the opening and turned to the left. "all i wish is," answered matt, "that i knew we were going right." "dere's on'y two ways t' go, cull. one's up to'rds w'ere you was dropped by brisco an' spang, an' t'odder's de way we're headin'. it's a cinch we're hittin' it off about proper. w'ere d' youse t'ink dem odder mutts went wid de tourin'-car?" "i'm afraid they took it off to carry out their threat and make junk of it." "i hope yous ain't got it right. if dey did dat, it 'u'd put yous in a bad hole. yous couldn't make tomlinson take dis car f'r de odder, could yous?" "hardly. this car belongs to nugent, in ash fork." something was rattling about the car, and it got onto matt's nerves. halting for a moment, he located the difficulty. the screw-cap of the gasoline-tank was loose. taking a wrench out of the tool-box he tightened the cap, then dropped the wrench in the rumble and returned to his seat. "yous don't like t' hear anyt'ing rattle, hey?" queried josh. "makes me nervous," laughed matt. "now hold onto your teeth, josh. i'm going to let her out!" "de quicker we kin go de better. let's see how fast de ole gal kin travel." they whirled around a turn in the narrow valley. the unexpected was lying in wait for them, for they came upon spangler, on foot and walking toward the niche. josh gave a startled yell. spangler, dumfounded at sight of the runabout, charging toward him with motor matt and the boy in front, stood as though rooted to the ground. "down, josh!" cried matt, advancing the spark; "get down behind the dashboard!" as matt spoke he sounded the horn. spangler climbed out of the way with more haste than grace, and the runabout dashed past him. "yi-yip-ee!" tuned up the boy, waving his hand mockingly. "d'radder do dat dan git run down, hey?" "drop!" yelled matt, and in a tone that made josh crumple down between the seat and the dash. bang! matt had expected a bullet, and he was not disappointed. but it went wide. bang! the next one came closer, but still left a safe margin. there was no more shooting. wondering at it, josh rose up and looked backward. "now wot d'youse t'ink o' dat!" he cried. "wot's dat mug doin' dat for?" "what's he doing?" asked matt. "w'y he's hustlin' a big stone into de middle o' de road. see 'im work! chee! wot's de meanin' o' dat?" the car whipped around another turn, wiping spangler and his strange activities out of sight. josh dropped down on the seat. "that's got a bad look," said matt, coaxing the runabout to a still faster gait. "we've got to get out of this as quick as we can." "chee!" cried the boy, holding to the seat with both hands, "we're goin' fast enough. gid-ap! wow! wot a spurt! don't let anyt'ing slip a cog, cull. if de ole benzine-buggy hit a rock an' stopped, i'd go right on f'r a couple o' miles afore i landed. oh, wot a clip! we've got de cannonball limited licked t' a frazzle!" then they took another turn, the rear wheels skidding and matt deftly catching the motor up and sending the car onward. the runabout did not follow the curve of the road, but made an angling turn--a hair-raising stunt copied after oldfield, the daredevil racer. josh gave a yell, and came within a hair of being heaved over matt and into the road. then, with a muttered exclamation, matt cut off the power, applied the brakes and quickly reversed, backing for the side of the road. it all happened so quick that it took the boy's breath. "wot's dat fer?" he asked. matt was whirling the wheel and starting the car on the back track. "brisco is heading us off," he answered--"brisco in the red flier!" josh turned to stare along the road. matt was right. brisco, still a long distance off, was whooping it up in their direction. "wouldn't dat crimp yous?" gasped the boy, awed at the gathering perils. "dey've got us f'r fair, matt! w'y didn't yous keep on an' give brisco de go-by?" "there wasn't room enough in the road to pass!" flung back matt. "dat's w'y spang was rollin' dem stones in de road! he knew dat brisco was comin', and dat he'd git us between him an' de rock-pile. chee! we're it, dis time, an' no mistake." matt, his face white and set and his gray eyes snapping, was leaning over the steering-wheel, watching every foot of road as they swept over it. "we've got to pass that rock-pile before it gets too big!" said he through his teeth. "den w'ere'll we go?" "anywhere, just so we keep away from brisco. this car is a faster one than the red flier. we can show him our heels at any stage of the game." they fairly flew, and rocks rushed past them as though hurled by some giant hand. "there'll be some danger when we get to the place where spangler is waiting, josh," said matt. "i'll slow down and you can get out, if you want to." "wot d'youse take me fer?" cried the boy. "i'm wid yous, matt, win 'r lose. see? make yer ole play. if uncle josh ain't wit' yous at de finish, den call him a quitter an' mark him off'n yer callin'-list." hurling onward, and skidding around the turns, matt kept straining his eyes constantly ahead. their source of peril was now wrapped up in spangler. if his pile of boulders did not block the road completely--if there was a chance for the runabout to get past the stones, or over them, there was still a fighting chance for escape. half a minute later, as the car reached out for the place where spangler had been at work, matt's heart went down into his boots. spangler was nowhere in sight, but he had worked to good purpose. a few big boulders were cunningly placed so as to make the road impassable. with a despairing cry, matt brought the runabout to a quick stop. chapter xii. a close call. "pile out, josh, and get busy with those rocks!" yelled matt. it was a forlorn hope, for the pounding of the red flier could be heard around the turn, coming up hand over fist. long before the way could be cleared, brisco would be upon them. and what had become of spangler. where had he gone? and _why_ had he gone? that was a conundrum, and matt had no time to give to conundrums just then. josh, eager to do all he could, was tugging and straining at the rocks. "it won't do, josh!" shouted matt. "run for those boulders at the side of the road and wait for me." to think quickly in an emergency was motor matt's long suit. many a time his cool head had helped him out of a bad difficulty. while he was shouting to the boy he was running back to the car. snatching the wrench from where he had dropped it in the rumble, matt went to work with lightninglike energy on the cap of the gasoline-reservoir. in record time he had the cap off. bending down he scooped up a handful of sand from the road and dumped the most of it into the reservoir, then, as quickly as he had removed the cap, he replaced it, flung the wrench into the car and jumped for the boulders. hardly was he back of the big stones that clustered along that edge of the valley, when the red flier shoved her nose through a cloud of dust and came scorching onward. brisco must have been astounded to see the runabout, deserted and at a halt in the road. the way, of course, was blocked for him as well as for the runabout, and he halted the red flier at a good distance from the other machine, leaped out and came running to the other car. the stones in the road probably gave him a pretty good idea of what had happened, for he immediately began looking around him as though expecting to see some one--possibly matt and josh. "spang!" he whooped. "where are you, spang?" "here!" answered spangler, appearing suddenly around the bend. "what you been doing?" demanded brisco. "the dickens is ter pay, an' no mistake!" stormed spang. "that young cub of a motor matt found out whar we'd cached the runabout, an' blamed if he didn't go in an' snake it right out from under klegg's----" "thunder!" broke in brisco. "don't you reckon i _saw_ the whelp? he was bearing down on me like a hurricane, slamming the runabout through for all she was worth." "he went past here gally-whoopin'," answered spang, "while i was makin' fer that hole in the hill. come mighty nigh runnin' me down at that. i got out o' the way, faced around an' sent a couple o' bullets arter him, but the brat's too lucky ter stop any lead----" "depends on who throws the lead," snarled brisco. "i kin throw it with ary man that walks! but i didn't take time ter throw much. i calculated the runabout would come up ferninst you, hank, afore it got out o' the valley, an' that king would have ter turn around an' chase back this way. so what does i do but begin pilin' stones whar they'd do the most good. jest got enough down ter do the biz, an' went ter see what had happened ter klegg. great jumpin' sand-hills! what d'ye think that infernal kid done ter him?" "what?" fumed brisco. "doped him, by thunder! doped him out er the same bottle we used last night! klegg's up thar in the notch, dead ter the world!" "what did you leave the hang-out for?" roared brisco angrily. "didn't i tell you, when i left, to stay there with klegg? if you'd done as i said, this wouldn't have happened." "i come out ter see if that kid was moseyin' down the valley," was the sullen rejoinder from spang. "ye said i was ter watch out an' make sure he didn't blunder outer the notch." "well, you made sure, didn't you?" taunted brisco. "where'd legree's kid spring from? how'd he come to be along with king?" "how'd i know? think i'm a mind-reader?" "deuced funny thing! he was with king, and i'd like to know where he came from, and how he got here. there's a nigger in the fence, i'll bet. where'd those boys go?" "i don't know that, nuther." "did they pass you and go up the valley?" "nary, they didn't!" "then they must be hiding around here somewhere! let's get 'em. if i lay hands on motor matt again he won't get off so easy." there was only one place in that vicinity where any one could hide, and that was among the scattered rocks not far from where the runabout was standing. brisco and spangler, making a hasty survey of the surroundings, at once hit upon the boulders as the place for them to look. "they're over thar," cried spangler, "an' i'll bet money on it." as he spoke, he started at a run for the side of the valley, pulling a revolver as he went. "don't do any shooting," called brisco, starting after spangler, "just grab 'em and hold 'em." "we'll tie king in that thar automobile when we run it over the cliff!" yelped brisco viciously. "we'll l'arn him ter play his tricks on _us_!" matt and josh had heard all this conversation. they were not standing still, either, but were busily finding some place where they could stow themselves away. a fight with the two armed men was to be avoided, if possible. matt knew that he and josh would stand little chance in such a one-sided combat; and matt had formed plans which he was eager to be carrying out. a little way up the steep hillside there was a ledge, with a recess back of it. matt's quick eye picked out the spot, and he climbed briskly, hauling josh along after him. the boulders shielded them from view while they were getting to the ledge, and matt pushed josh into the recess, and then rolled into it himself. from this position matt was able to peer over the ledge and keep track of the movements of brisco and spangler. "are they comin' dis way, cull?" whispered the boy. "yes," answered matt. "got deir guns ready, eh?" "of course, josh. scoundrels like brisco and spangler always draw and shoot if you give 'em half a chance." "dey're hot at de two of us, an' dey'll sure lay out ter do us up." "we'll have to fight, if they force it on us." "wot kin we do?" "there's a stone on the ledge. if they come too close i'll push it down on them." "better give dat dere stone a push right off, bekase----" "hist!" cautioned matt. silence fell between the boys. matt drew in his head, fearing he would be seen. he listened intently, however, and could tell by the scrambling feet below just how near brisco and spangler were coming. when they came too close, matt was intending to push the stone down on them. "beats the deuce where those whelps went to!" grumbled the voice of brisco. "they must be here. thar wasn't any place else they could go. i wasn't gone from the road more'n five minits, hank." "they wouldn't have had time to get past you?" "nary, they wouldn't. they're here, i tell ye; they must be." "the whole side-hill is under our eyes. if you can see the cubs you can do better than i can." "seems like there was a shelf up thar a ways. mebby they're on the shelf?" "gammon! that shelf isn't wide enough for a chipmunk to sit on." "anyways, i'm goin' up an' take a look." matt got ready to push out and roll the stone off the shelf. before he could do that, however, a shout from brisco halted him. "say, you! there were three horses in the hang-out with klegg!" "what o' that?" answered spangler. "why, those boys have gone there and are getting the horses." "how could they go thar, hank? they didn't pass me." "they might have got there when you didn't see them. while we're wasting time here, i'll bet something handsome they're getting out those horses. come on! don't lose another second fooling around among those rocks!" "waal, i don't reckon----" "come on, i say!" roared brisco. the two men were heard scrambling down the slope, getting farther and farther away. back in the little recess matt could hear the boy chuckling and talking to himself. "come on, josh!" whispered matt, starting up. "be careful, though! this is our day for luck, all right." "well, i guess!" answered the boy, rolling over the ledge. "chee, but dey're a pair o' dough-heads. good t'ing f'r us, too. what next, matt?" "we'll get to the red flier, turn it the other way along the trail, and ride back to fairview." "oh, lucy!" giggled josh. "fer a kid dat ain't had not'in' t' eat since yesterday mornin' i'm feelin' some fine! we gits de red flier, after all, an' dem guys is beat, hands down." they were proceeding down the hillside while josh was talking. when matt reached the boulders that lined the road, he looked out. brisco and spangler, hurrying as fast as their legs could carry them, were just vanishing around the bend. "now for the red flier--and fairview!" said matt, running out from among the boulders and laying a direct course for the red car. "dat's de talk, cull!" laughed josh, hustling along after matt. certainly it looked as though they were to have everything their own way, for a while at least--but they were not so lucky as they thought. chapter xiii. car against car. it may be that matt and josh made too much racket getting down the rocks, or that brisco had a premonition that something was wrong. be that as it might, however, yet brisco and spangler turned back a minute after they had gone charging around the bend. motor matt, at that moment, was bending to the crank of the red flier, and it was josh who excitedly announced the approach of their two enemies. the boy had done his jubilating too soon, and the sight of brisco and spangler filled him with panic. "oh, chee!" he fluttered. "dey're after us, matt, like a couple o' grizzlies! wow! let's duck f'r de rocks agin!" "get into the car!" shouted matt, giving the crank a whirl. one beauty of the red flier was the quickness with which the machine caught up its cycle; and it had been the same with matt's twin-cylinder motorcycle. half a turn of the pedal was enough for the little _comet_, and one pull of the crank did the business for the red car's motor. while the machine popped its defiance of brisco and spangler, motor matt ran around and vaulted into his old familiar place. he felt at home--much more so than he had when driving the runabout. neither brisco nor spangler wasted any time with their revolvers. both knew that the runabout was a faster machine than the red flier, and both felt confident that a quick start after the boys and a few minutes' chase would tell the tale. spangler scrambled into the car. brisco slipped as he rounded the front of the runabout to turn over the engine, fell sprawling and hit his head on the handle of the crank. he was not very much hurt, apparently, although from his flow of language his temper must have been severely injured. besides, he had lost ten seconds--no very serious matter, considering the usual speed of the runabout--but brisco was anxious for a rapid start and a quick finish for the chase. as he yanked the lever savagely, the popping from up the road sounding like the rapid discharge of a gatling gun. motor matt had turned the red flier with his customary celerity, and was off on the high gear with the muffler cut out. "by thunder," howled the frantic spangler, "oncet i ketch that motor matt i'll wring his neck fer him!" "i'll help you," answered brisco vindictively. there was a patch of skin gone from his forehead and a little dribble of red was flowing down his cheek. "if they wasn't out o' sight," growled spangler, "i'd pepper 'em." "what's the use of peppering them?" scowled brisco. "we'll climb right over 'em in less'n five minutes." "do it!" cried spangler, as they shot ahead recklessly. "do what?" asked brisco, just missing a boulder by a hair's breadth. "why, climb over 'em," snorted spangler. "run 'em down an' shove 'em inter the rocks! let's hev a smash, with that young whelp right in the middle of it. he's made us trouble enough!" "don't be a fool, spang!" returned brisco. "if we ran into them we might smash the runabout. we've got use for this machine--after we clean up on legree and this motor matt." "that's so, too," said spangler. "we may hev use fer it even if ye don't clean up on legree. with another pair o' shoes an' tubes, an' a place whar we kin keep a supply o' gasoline an' oil, an' them steel bottles o' compressed air, we could circle all around through this here southwestern kentry, takin' our toll wharever we wanted ter pick it up." "sure we could, and we _will_!" "i'm glad o' one thing," observed spangler. "what's that?" "why, thar won't be any more glass throwed in the road, same as thar was during t'other chase we had with that red flier. king had a lot in the red car, if ye remember, an' i dumped it all out." "we'll nip 'im this time," said brisco, through his teeth. "we got ter, that's what. if we don't---- tear an' ages, hank! be keerful!" the runabout had been hurled at a curve. there was no lessening of the speed, and the entire machine slid sideways to the edge of the road, banging into the rocks with a force that pitched spangler against the dashboard. he came within one of going clear over upon the hood. "get back in your seat and hang on!" yelled brisco. "we haven't commenced to run yet." after that spangler had no time to talk--he was too busy holding himself in the car. meanwhile the red flier had been streaking it through the hills, josh keeping a pair of keen eyes on the back track, and matt giving his entire attention to the road ahead. "chee, wot a bump!" cried josh. he had seen the runabout skid across the road, take a welt at the rock wall and then leap onward like a bullet from a gun. "what's the matter?" shouted matt. he had to shout, for the wind of their flight caught the words out of his teeth and flung them, a mere wisp of sound, far to rearward. "brisco tried t' knock over a hill wit' his hind wheels," yelled josh, "an' spang tried t' turn a handspring over de bonnet. wow! but dey're goin some, matt!" "so are we," screamed matt, "fifty-eight miles an hour." "ever race dat runabout afore?" "yes." "w'ch winned?" "the flier--by a fluke. i scattered glass in the road--the runabout got into it and went lame." "got any glass along now?" "yes, in the tonneau; but----" "none dere now, cull." "then brisco must have thrown it out. it'll all right, though. this is going to be our race." "we'd better keep our lamps skinned f'r fairview. it's on'y seventy-five miles from w'ere we started, an we're goin' so fast we might run past de place an' never see it." josh felt hilarious. his panic was leaving him and his usual nerve was coming back. "how's the runabout coming?" roared matt. "gainin'!" whooped the boy. "oh, sister, how she's comin'! wisht i had some glass." "she'll never catch us, josh!" "how's dat?" "because i've fixed her so she won't." "i hope yous ain't shy in yer calkilations, matt. dem blokes'll sure kill us if we drops into deir hands." "watch her, josh! tell me when her speed slackens, or when anything goes wrong." "she ain't slackenin' none yet, an' nuttin' ain't gone wrong." "well, watch and tell me." matt couldn't understand why the runabout wasn't beginning to develop trouble in the vicinity of the needle-valve. but it would come, sooner or later. some of the sand was bound to get through the supply-pipe in time. the valley had widened considerably, and now it began to develop dips and rises which afforded matt opportunity for nursing the motor and preventing overheating. he could cut off the power on the down grades and give the throbbing cylinders a breathing spell. brisco had no such fine ability or discrimination. he took everything on the high gear. "still gainin'!" announced josh. "how far are they behind?" "a hundred feet. it's a wonder dey don't shake some bullets out o' deir guns dis way. one of 'em's tootin' his bazoo at us." "what does he say? can you hear?" "he says ter stop 'r he'll put a bullet into one o' our tires. chee! if he does dat----" matt snatched one hand from the steering-wheel. honk, honk! he answered derisively. sping! the warning report was followed by the whistle of a bullet. it did not come anywhere near the red flier, but spatted harmlessly into the valley wall. josh laughed wildly and waved his hand. the spirit of the race was surging through his veins and had wiped out all sense of fear. "wow!" he shouted. "yous ought t' seen dat! spang has been holdin' on t' de seat wit' bot' hands, but he let go wit' one t' fire at us. de runabout jumped sideways an' he lost his pepper-box overboard. come clost t' goin' hisself! say, i wisht he had!" the runabout was devouring the distance in remarkable style. it was now only twenty-five feet behind, and so near that the sand and pebbles kicked up by the flying rear wheels of the red car struck in the faces of brisco and spangler. spangler lowered his head. brisco jerked the goggles down over his eyes. "stop!" he roared, "or i'll run into you!" honk, honk! tooted matt defiantly. brisco swore and gritted his teeth. with his temper at fever heat, what did he care how he injured the runabout just so he evened his score with motor matt? closer and closer came the runabout. josh measured the decreasing distance with his eyes. "ten feet! five, matt, _five_! she's up t' us, now--look out!" not knowing what was to happen, josh curled over the back of the seat and hung on with both hands. there was a slight jar, followed by a sudden slewing on the part of the runabout, a quick lessening of speed and the whirr of a racing engine. "dey're stoppin'!" shouted the boy; "somet'ing has gone wrong wid de odder car!" "i knew _something_ would happen!" shouted matt, as he slowed his speed a little to give the red flier a bit of a rest. chapter xiv. down the mountain. "dat engine o' deirs went wrong just at de right time t' save our bacon, matt," said josh. matt tossed a look backward. the runabout was at a stop, and brisco was on the ground, tinkering frantically. "if he knows what to do," said matt, "he'll be able to come on again. but he'll have more trouble; and he'll continue to have trouble until he takes time to overhaul his fuel-tank." "what did yous do?" asked the boy. "mixed a handful of sand with his gasoline." "w'en?" "while we were hung up in front of those rocks spangler had laid for us." "didn't dat geezer see yous?" "i got out of the way before brisco showed up; and spangler, at the time, was away looking for the man in the notch." "chee, but you're a wonder! motor matt heads de percession an' carries de banner! yous t'ought o' all dat while i was hustlin' t' git behind dem rocks! did yous t'ink we was goin' t' have a race?" "i didn't know but we might. anyhow, i thought it good policy to fix the machine so it wouldn't be reliable. what's the news from the rear, josh?" "brisco is gittin' back in his seat." "is he coming on?" "dat's wot." "fast as ever?" "i don't see no diff'rence in de runnin'." "well, something is sure to go wrong, just as it did before. one grain of sand clogged the needle-valve, josh, and there's a thousand more grains to come down the supply-pipe. face around a minute. the road forks here. which one shall we take? do you remember coming this way?" the boy flopped around in his seat. the red flier was rushing toward a place where the road forked. both roads were bordered by rocky walls, and both had the appearance of being equally well traveled--which wasn't saying much for the travel, at that. "i don't remember nuttin'," answered the boy, "bein' scart stiff all de w'ile i was in de runabout. i'd say go t' de right. dat's always a good t'ing t' do." "if we had the least notion which way fairview lay we could shape our course a little better. but we don't know, so we'll take chances and go to the right." there was a slowing of speed while matt made the turn. for a long distance this fork was a straightaway stretch and fairly level. matt and josh were congratulating themselves on the fact that they had made a fortunate choice, when suddenly they whirled out on a vista that surprised them. at the end of the straightaway stretch, a sudden angle brought the side of a steep mountain under the boy's eyes. the road could be seen clinging to the mountain's side, describing horseshoe after horseshoe--edging its way between dizzy chasms and high cliffs. "wow!" gasped josh, and collapsed in his seat. "right here's w'ere we fall off de eart'." matt took another look behind. the runabout, with the stern, relentless face of brisco over the wheel, was surging toward them. "here we go!" called matt. "hang on, josh!" "i'm glued! yous can't shake me!" the boy was game, and matt flung the red flier at the mountainside and down the ribbon of treacherous road. there were places where a cliff overhung the trail, and the wheels on the left almost scraped the rocks, while those on the right barely tracked on the brink of a gulf. the boy's face went white, but his eyes glimmered brightly. he looked back from time to time and saw the runabout sliding after them. a quick fear had rushed to matt's brain. oddly enough, it was not a fear for his own safety, for he knew the red flier and knew what he could do with it; but the runabout! if that trickle of sand cut off the power and caused the machine to slew ever so slightly, it would go over the chasm's edge and carry brisco and spangler with it! the world would have been better off, perhaps, if such a mishap had come to pass; but matt did not want it that way. his own instrumentality in the matter would have been too hideously clear. and yet, if something did not happen to the runabout, the machine might collide with the red flier and drive it over the brink. matt knew he must keep ahead. never had he driven more masterfully than then. his nerves were steady, his brain alert, and every inch of that curving, treacherous down grade was covered by his eyes. it was more like falling down a hill than riding down. the red flier quivered like a thing of life, seeming to realize what was expected of it, and responding nobly. far off, over the level plain at the mountain's foot, could be seen the little cluster of houses that represented fairview. it glowed in the morning sun like a toy village on a toy map. as the road curved, struck a short straightaway, then curved again, the town swept vividly into view and again as quickly vanished. at the most desperate part of the trail a rock had crumbled from the wall and rolled to the edge of the chasm. there it lay, almost under the nose of the rushing car. the boy cast a despairing look into motor matt's set, determined face. all he saw was a swift gleam of the gray eyes. crash! the car, skilfully guided so that it touched the inward side of the boulder, forced it from the edge and sent it bounding and smashing downward into the gulf. a sharp breath tore through the boy's lips. confidence again took possession of him. after that escape, what difficulty could come up that motor matt was not able to conquer? matt seemed to be made of steel. with one foot on the brake and both hands on the wheel, he kept rigidly to his work. "how're they making it behind, josh?" he called. the boy knelt in his seat and looked back up the steep incline. fortune was riding with brisco that day. but for that he must have been hurled from the trail in a dozen places. driving a car was comparatively new work for him, and the chances are that never before had he been on such a dangerous piece of road. yet he was naturally a man of iron nerve, and would not hold back where motor matt led. spangler, from his appearance, was as frightened a man as there ever was in arizona. a gray pallor had spread over his face, and his eyes were fairly popping from his head. gripping his seat with both hands, he braced himself with his feet against the forward dip of the car. "dey're slidin' after us, cull," reported the boy. "gaining?" "dat's wot, but not like dey did on de level road." "the foot of the mountain is just ahead of us. can we get there before they overtake us?" "well, mebby we kin, but i wish de foot o' de mountain was half a mile nearer dan wot it is." facing about in his seat, josh looked at the foot of the mountain for himself. they were dropping toward it swiftly. there were no more curves--nothing but a straight fall, a shoot between bordering rocks and then a cheerful reach of road over the plain. "we're in luck t' git out o' dis widout a broken neck," said josh. "chee, but dat level place looks good t' me." "the flier's a dandy car!" declared matt. "she's got a dandy driver, an' dat's no dream. w'ere'd we been widout motor matt at de steerin'-wheel? yous is a four-time winner, an' dere's odders dat'll hear me say it." "the runabout will be hot after us as soon as we hit the level ground again." "dey'll never ketch us, cull. i don't care how hot dey come, wit' yous handlin' de flier." with a final spurt the red car rushed through the rocks, and, for the first time since it had taken that up-and-down trail, both ends were on a level. as they glided out onto the plain, matt cast a look backward. there was a feeling of relief came over him at sight of the runabout charging through the rocks at the mountain's foot. but, as he looked, and just as the runabout was on the point of striking level ground, there was a jerk to the left, a crash, and a sudden stop. brisco pitched forward over the wheel, shot clear past the hood, and doubled up and rolled along the stony trail. spangler went out on the left side, ricochetting into the air and turning a couple of grotesque somersaults. like brisco, when he dropped, he lay still. a sharp breath escaped matt's lips. turning the red flier, he started back until he had come almost upon the silent form of brisco; then he brought the flier to a halt and jumped out. "chee, moses!" muttered josh, awed by the abrupt termination of the chase. "do yous t'ink dem guys is killed, matt?" "that's what we've got to find out," flung back matt, hurrying to brisco and kneeling down beside him. human enmity seemed a paltry thing to matt as his hand went groping over brisco's breast, feeling for the heart-beats. a thrill of satisfaction shot through him as he found that brisco was alive. hurrying on to spangler, he was immensely relieved to find that worthy sitting up in the road and drawing a hand over his dazed eyes. "what--what happened?" faltered spangler. "nothing to what's going to happen now, spangler," answered matt, and picked up the second and last revolver which the ruffian had had about him. "there ought to be some ropes in the runabout, josh," called matt. "go and get them." chapter xv. motor matt's ten-strike. josh hustled for the runabout. one of the coiled ropes matt had put in the car was hanging over a lamp, and the other had been thrown into the road. taking the one off the lamp, the boy hurried back to the place where matt was training the revolver on spangler. "fine bizness!" laughed josh. "wot d'yous want me t' do, matt? put a bow-knot on his lunch-hooks?" "stand up, spangler!" ordered matt. spangler got lamely to his feet. he was still confused and bewildered. "somethin' hit us," he mumbled. "from the way i was throwed it must hev been a landslide. whar's hank? is he killed?" "brisco will get along, i guess," said matt. "put your hands behind you, spangler." just then, for the first time, it began to dawn on spangler that matt was making a prisoner out of him. the ruffian, although practically uninjured, had been badly shaken up. nevertheless, he was in condition to resist, and he leaped backward, swearing. "if ye think ye kin rope, down an' tie me," he cried, "jest bekase that thar machine bucked an' dumped me inter the road, ye got another----" "come this way!" cut in matt. the words, hard and keen, jumped at spangler like so many knife-points. motor matt meant business, and showed it in every movement. spangler stepped forward. "that's far enough," snapped matt. "now put those hands behind you." with the open end of his own gun staring him in the face, there was nothing for spangler to do but to obey. his hands went meekly behind him. "can you tie a good hard knot, josh?" asked matt. "t'ink i ain't good f'r nuttin'?" protested the boy. passing behind spangler, he used the free end of the rope for a few moments and then stepped back with the rest of the coil in his hands. "if he gits dem mitts out o' dat he's a good 'un," announced josh. "w'ere d'yous want him, matt?" "in the red flier. step lively, spangler. we've got to look after brisco." "get ap!" clucked josh, shaking the rope. with a black scowl on his face, the baffled spangler made his way to the touring-car. "get in on the back seat," went on matt. spangler obeyed the order. "now, josh," pursued matt, "cut the rope and tie a piece of it around his feet." the boy finished the work expeditiously, and when he and matt drew away from the red flier they left spangler helpless and fuming in the tonneau. brisco was still lying where he had fallen, and he was still unconscious. matt made a more thorough examination of him. his pulse was stronger and, so far as matt could discover, there were no broken bones. "wot keeps 'im in a trance?" asked the boy. "he's stayin' a long time in de land o' nod for not havin' nuttin' wrong wit' 'im." "pick up his revolver, josh," returned matt briskly, "and then sit down beside him and wait till he gets his wits back. don't let him get away from you." "get away from me? not on yer life, cull. i'd radder take dis mutt into fairview dan pull down a t'ousan' in de long green. dad wants _him_." paying no attention to the boy's rather obscure remark, matt went to the runabout. he was expecting to find the machine badly smashed, and was happily disappointed. both front lamps were broken, and the mud-guard over the right wheel forward had been ripped away. the guard had fallen between the wheel and the rock, and undoubtedly had kept the wheel from being dished. the tire was punctured and the jolt had disabled the motor. for all that, however, the machine, with a few temporary repairs, could travel on its own wheels if not under its own power. brisco had not yet corralled his wits. aided by josh, matt dragged the man off to one side, where he would be out of the way; then, cutting about six feet of rope from the other riata, he threw it down where josh could get at it. "when brisco wakes up, josh," said matt, "just hold him steady till we put that rope on him." "wot yous goin' t' do, matt?" inquired the wondering josh. "yous is busier dan a monkey wit' his hand in a coconut." "we're going to haul the runabout into fairview," said matt. "but i've got to patch her up first." getting into the red flier, matt backed her as close to the disabled car as he could; then, hitching onto the runabout with the ropes, he pulled it down onto the level plain. with a jack taken from the touring-car he swung the runabout's wheel off the ground. the mud-guard, having been ripped off, was not in his way. after locating the puncture and marking it with chalk, he unscrewed the wing-nuts, pushed out the security-bolt, and then, with levers, dug out the inner tube. perhaps he was an hour getting the hole patched up, tire back in place and reinflated. when he was through, the runabout was ready to be dragged to fairview. "how's brisco?" asked matt, putting on his leather coat, which he had thrown off while working with the runabout. "same as wot he was, cull," replied josh. "he ain't twitched an eye-winker." "he may be shamming," said matt, "in the hope of making a bolt for his liberty. we'll put him in the tonneau. you can ride with him and watch him every minute. i'll take spangler in front with me." "we're goin' t' take de hull outfit into fairview?" grinned josh. "that's the idea." "a whale of an idee it is, too, an' no stringin'. reg'lar line-up o' crooks an' stolen automobiles, wit' motor matt in charge o' de bunch. wow! it's de biggest come-easy dat i ever mixed up wit'. mebby dere won't be rejoicin' w'en we goes pokin' into town wit' all dis load. well, i guess yes." between them, matt and josh succeeded in carrying brisco to the touring-car and getting him into the tonneau. spangler, having been transferred to one of the front seats, had been chewing the cud of reflection. "looky here, motor matt," said he, "ye ain't got no call ter kerry me ter fairview. think o' klegg, down an' out an' mebby dyin' back thar in that notch. if anythin' happens ter him ye'll be responsible. better turn me loose an' let me go back an' take keer o' him." "don't do so much worrying over klegg," answered matt. "i intend to have him looked after. just as soon as we get to fairview i'll have the sheriff, or some other officer, go to the notch and see that klegg gets all the attention he deserves." "waal, even at that, ye ain't got no call ter lug me inter town. i ain't done a thing. brisco was the feller that had it in fer you. it's him ye want ter git even with, an' not me." "you didn't have a hand in robbing mr. tomlinson, did you?" said matt sarcastically. "there are a lot of other things you've done, too, and i'm going to turn you over to lem nugent, the man who owns the runabout, as soon as we reach fairview. it won't take long to get nugent up from ash forks." "yous is a game loser, i don't t'ink," scoffed the boy. "w'ere's yer nerve, spangler?" "say," said spangler, giving his attention to josh, "where did you butt inter this game?" "i rode out o' fairview wit' brisco," grinned josh. "he give me a ride." "give ye a ride?" echoed spangler. "sure, on'y he didn't know it. i was under de coat in de back o' de runabout; an' i was still dere w'en yous mutts went t' dat hole in de wall. 'course yous didn't see me. yous was too mad at motor matt t' see anyt'ing." the whole situation rushed over spangler with demoralizing clearness. he was able to understand how josh and matt, by the exercise of pluck and brains, had succeeded in balking the plans of brisco. spangler swore heartily. it seemed to be his only method for easing his feelings. "the worst move we ever made," he muttered savagely, "was takin' motor matt out o' town last night. i didn't want ter do it, but brisco had made up his mind, an' that settled it. we ain't got no one ter blame but ourselves fer what's happened. go on. the quicker we git ter fairview an' hev this thing over with, the better i'll be suited." spangler, resigning himself to the situation, sank back in his seat. matt went around to the rear of the car to make the ropes attaching it to the runabout more secure. as near as he had been able to discover there was a level road all the way to fairview. they were coming into the town from the north and east, and not along the ash fork road, where there was a hill to be descended in order to reach the valley. having reassured himself about the ropes, matt returned to the side of the red flier and mounted the running-board. looking over the side of the tonneau, he swept his gaze over brisco's unconscious face. "i can't understand what keeps him that way, josh," said matt. "mebby he's badly shook up inside," answered the boy. "wot he needs is a doctor." "well, he'll have one before long. stay right beside him and watch him every minute. if he's playing possum with us, we want to make sure he don't gain anything by it." "i'm right on de job," said josh. matt climbed into his seat and started on the low gear. there was a creaking of the ropes as they took the pull, and the runabout started. everything worked smoothly, and matt, with a load worth fifteen hundred dollars, set his face toward fairview. chapter xvi. more trouble for the "uncle tommers." the disappearance of motor matt and the red flier made carl pretzel not only bewildered but furiously angry. he was angry at brisco and bewildered to account for the way he had pulled off his night raid. "oof dot feller inchures a hair oof modor matt's headt," wheezed carl, shaking his fist in the air, "i vill camp by his drail, py chimineddy! i vill go on some var-paths! i vill make him be sorry for vat he dit, yah, so helup me!" leaving carl to rant and vow vengeance, legree rushed over to the railroad-station and sent a message. the message, owing to financial embarrassment on the part of legree, had to go collect. "lem nugent, ash fork. "come at once to fairview. important developments regarding your automobile. motor matt." legree signed the message with matt's name because he knew the cattleman wouldn't know anything about a man named legree; and he also felt sure that motor matt's name would secure the cattleman's instant attention. on his way back to the hotel he inquired for the sheriff. fairview was too small to have a sheriff, but the town had a deputy sheriff. the deputy, however, was just then attending his father's golden-wedding, in flagstaff, the marshal had gone with him, and the town was without an officer. as if this was not sufficiently discouraging, when legree got back to the hotel he found a very disquieting state of affairs. the uncle tommers had been chased out of the hostelry by o'grady and ping pong, his chinese cook. they were gathered in a forlorn group in front, and carl pretzel was with them. "mistah o'grady, sah," uncle tom was saying with all the dignity he could work up, "ah's de official mascot ob motah matt. while ah's been stayin' in yo' 'stablishment, ah's been mascottin' fo' him. he will come back, yo' ma'k what ah say. gib us ouah breakfus en yo' sho gits yo' money!" "begorry, yez have got into me f'r all yez are goin' to," yelled the proprietor. "it's a passel av thramps yez are, iv'ry wan av yez! av th' marshal was in town, oi'd have yez all in th' cooler. get out, befure oi sic th' dog on yez! scatther!" "what's the matter here?" demanded legree, pushing to the front. "py chincher," flared carl, "dot irish feller t'inks ve vas vorkin' some shkin games on him. he vas grazier as a pedpug, und he von't gif us some preakfast." "en we's all hongry es sin," piped uncle tom plaintively. "ah been mascottin' fo' motah matt twell ah's dat fagged ah dunno whut ah's about, no, sah." "i tried to get him to take my ring, legree," put in eliza, "but he won't. he says we're only a lot of dead beats, and never intend to pay him." "ah tole him," spoke up topsy, "dat ah'd wuk in his kitchum fo' de price ob a breakfus, an' he wouldn' hab it. ah's honest, dat's whut ah is. ah nebber stole a cent fum anybody en mah life." "see here, o'grady," remarked legree, "motor matt has money and he has offered to pay our expenses while we're stopping with you. i'll have money myself in a few days, and then i'll pay you. you're not taking any chances on this crowd." "faith, an' yez are roight about thot," scowled o'grady. "oi'm takin' no more chances wid yez. motor matt! why, he run aff lasht noight! sure, he did! he shneaked away so he wouldn't have t' pay me f'r yer kape. oi'm keen enough t' see thot!" "py shinks," whooped carl, dancing around and waving his fists, "don'd you say dod some more. i can lick der feller vat says somet'ings aboudt modor matt like dot. ven he say he pay, he mean vot he say, und he do it, too. yah, you bed you! modor matt vas my bard, und he don'd vas leafing a bard in der lurch like vat you say." "av motor matt is yer pard," said o'grady, "bedad but it's sthrange yez haven't money. git out, oi say! oi'm done wid yez." "i tell you," went on legree, "i'll have money myself in a few days." "yez can't make me belave any cock-an'-bull shtory like thot. niver again will oi take in anny wan widout baggage. shoo! clear out befure oi git violent." in o'grady's present temper there was no reasoning with him, so legree marshaled his comrades and led them off to a neighboring wood-pile, where they all sat down disconsolately. "ah's been accustomed tuh bettah treatment," mourned uncle tom. "ah's got de bigges' notion dat evah was tuh put a hoodoo on dat hotel. ah could do hit, but ah restrains mahse'f till ah gits odahs fum motah matt." "go 'long wif sich talk!" cried topsy, out of patience. "'peahs lak yo' done put dat hoodoo on de rest ob us. nuffin' ain't gone right sence we left dat 'ar brockville place." "there'll be some one here from ash fork before long, who, maybe, will help us," said legree. "just be as patient as you can, friends, and we'll hope for the best." "all de patience in de worl', mistah legree," answered uncle tom, "'doan' fill a pusson's stummick. mah goodness, ah didun' know ah was so pesterin' hongry." "i tell you somet'ing," said carl, "oof i knowed vich vay modor matt vas, i vould go und findt him. i vas madt as some vet hens ofer dis pitzness. here ve vas, hung oop on a vood-pile mit nodding to eat, und not knowing vere modor matt vent mit himseluf. chonny hartluck iss hanging aroundt mit us." leaving his disconsolate friends, legree went back to the railroad-station. there he waited for four hours for the local train from ash fork. he was rewarded, however, by seeing a big man get off the train, stop on the platform, and look around expectantly. legree walked up to the arriving passenger. "mr. nugent?" he asked. "you've hit it," replied the cattleman, staring the stranded actor up and down with an unfavoring eye. "ah! well, sir, my name's legree. i suppose you're looking for motor matt?" "another bull's-eye for you. i came here on a telegram from motor matt saying that there had been important developments concerning my automobile that was stolen from me near ash fork. where's motor matt?" "he is unavoidably absent just now," answered legree, "but i am confidently expecting him to appear at any moment. to be frank with you, sir, i sent that telegram and signed motor matt's name to it." the cattleman became indignant. "you're pretty fresh, seems to me!" said he. "what business had you doing a thing like that?" "because i wanted you here. your car was in town yesterday. one of the thieves brought it in for a supply of gasoline and oil. motor matt and i tried to capture the thief, but he got away from us and took the car with him." "who are you, if you haven't any objection to answerin' a straight question?" demanded the cattleman. "step into the waiting-room with me for a few moments," replied legree, "and i'll explain." they went into the waiting-room and were gone possibly five minutes. when they came out on the platform once more, nugent seemed to have developed a vast amount of confidence in legree. "why didn't you tell motor matt what you've told me?" asked the cattleman. "i wasn't telling anybody that, mr. nugent," answered legree, "and i wouldn't be telling you now if i hadn't wanted to fix things with o'grady so that i and my friends can continue to remain at his hotel." "i know o'grady," said nugent. "come along with me and i'll fix things up for you." they went to the hotel at once. o'grady, tilted back against the wall in front, was smoking a pipe and keeping a sharp eye on the wood-pile. uncle tom, with a red bandanna over his face, was leaning back against the wood and was apparently asleep. all the rest were hovering listlessly about, waiting patiently for something to happen. the sight of lem nugent, who was known throughout all that part of the country, wrought a great change in o'grady. the cattleman and the actor were approaching together, and seemed to be on cordial terms. "o'grady," said nugent, after he had exchanged greetings with the proprietor, "this gentleman is a friend of mine, and his friends are my friends, understand? take them all in and give them the best you've got. and don't bleed me, you shyster. i'll stand the damage, but i won't be robbed." "whativer yez say goes wid me, lem," said o'grady. "come on, all av yez," he cried, standing up and motioning toward the wood-pile. "oi'll have th' chink put a male on th' table f'r yez to wanst." uncle tom may have been asleep, but he heard those welcome words and was up like a shot. "ah was mascottin fo' dat very t'ing," he admitted, as he ran toward the hotel. "layin' back dar wid mah bandannah ober mah face, ah was wukin' lak er hiahed man, yassuh. now, den, yo' topsy, yo' see what ah kin do when ah lays mahse'f out!" just as they were starting into the hotel, a shout from carl brought them all to a halt and an about-face. "hoop-a-la!" yelled carl, dancing around and throwing his cap in the air. "look vonce ad vat's coming! vat dit i say? here vas a drain oof cars, mit modor matt pringing dem in. ach, himmel, i peen so habby as i can't dell! modor matt iss coming!" under the startled eyes of those in front of the hotel two cars could be seen coming along the road. the red flier, with matt and three passengers, was in the lead, and towing behind was the runabout. "my car, by thunder!" shouted nugent, starting for the road. "and spangler is with motor matt," cried the amazed legree, "and brisco, and the kid! how in blazes do you think that happened?" a disgusted look crossed uncle tom's face. "how yo' t'ink dat happened!" he muttered sarcastically; "en me a-mascottin' fo' motah matt all de time!" chapter xvii. conclusion. whether o'grady really thought motor matt had taken french leave during the night or not, is a question. certainly he was as surprised to see matt traveling into town as were any of the rest of them. all those around the hotel flocked to the road. "hello, matt!" called nugent, reaching up his hand. "it looks like you'd been accomplishing something." matt's acquaintance with the cattleman had been of exceedingly brief duration, and never before had he been hailed by him in that cordial tone. "how are you, mr. nugent?" he returned, taking the cattleman's hand. "how did you happen to come over this way?" "got a telegram from you----" "from me?" echoed matt. "i sent it, matt," put in legree, "and signed your name to it. when you disappeared last night i knew something had to be done, and that there ought to be a man with money to do it. so i sent for nugent." "it's all right, my boy," said nugent, "and i'm tickled to death because i came. you're bringing in my car, i see, and the two fellows that took it away from me. good! if we don't put 'em through for their crooked work, my name ain't nugent." "you'll have to send for a doctor for brisco," said matt. "he's been unconscious for two hours, and i don't know whether he's badly hurt or not. you see----" at that moment brisco proved that he was far from being badly hurt. with a jump he got out of the tonneau and started at a run toward the edge of town. uncle tom happened to be in his way, and was knocked heels over head. "dere he goes!" yelled josh excitedly. "clear out o' de way so i kin git a shot at 'im!" but josh was not allowed to carry out his warlike intentions. legree took after the escaping ruffian, overhauled him before he had gone far, grabbed him by the shoulders, and hurled him to the ground. o'grady, rushing to legree's assistance, lent a willing hand. brisco had been a good customer of o'grady's, but the situation had changed somewhat since the uncle tommers had been staying at the shamrock hotel. "i reckon, matt," remarked lem nugent dryly, "that the fellow ain't very badly hurt. how did you happen to get hold of the scoundrels?" "they were chasing us," answered matt. "we were in the red flier and they were in your car. brisco ran into the rocks, and he and spangler were thrown out. neither of them seemed very much hurt, and josh and i captured spangler before he had fully got back his wits. brisco appeared to be all right, but he was unconscious. i had an idea that he might be shamming. probably he came to himself just as we got here, and thought the best thing for him to do would be to make a break." "his break didn't help him any," said legree, as he and o'grady came marching back with brisco between them. "go up to my room, josh," legree went on, "and get those two plates. you'll find 'em under the northeast corner of the carpet. front room, boy." "dat's me," answered josh, handing brisco's weapons to his father and bounding away. "i'm going to tell you people something," proceeded legree, "that will no doubt surprise you. and i think," he finished grimly, "that brisco will be as much surprised as anybody." josh presently returned with a couple of flat, square packages. leaving o'grady to take care of brisco, legree took the packages in his hands. "a crook by the name of denver denny, alias james trymore," went on legree, "escaped from the authorities at denver and came to this part of the country. denver denny was a clever counterfeiter, and worked in conjunction with hank brisco. at least, following the output of the 'queer' as it trailed along in the wake of that uncle tom's cabin company, i came to that conclusion. "denny owned a set of very fine plates for the manufacture of bogus five-dollar silver certificates. when he was captured in denver those plates were nowhere to be found. i conceived the notion that they might be in brisco's possession, and in order to make sure, i became letter-perfect in the part of legree, and josh here got the part of little eva by heart, and we arranged to join brisco's company of barn-stormers. "we were with them for some time, watching brisco all the while. brisco was not shoving any of the 'queer' while we were with him, and i was inclined to think that i had made a mistake in connecting him with denny's operations. however, brisco had a little tin box, of which he was very choice and careful. his solicitude for that box aroused my curiosity. when brisco pulled out between two days in denver, and left his company stranded, by some freak of chance he dropped the box. josh found it. we opened the box in ash fork and found these two packages in it." legree lifted the two flat parcels so all could see. "i knew perfectly well that brisco would come after his box, so i continued to play the part of a stranded actor, hoping to get my hands on him. "fate was kind to us," and here legree turned and dropped a friendly hand on the young motorist's shoulder, "by bringing motor matt along. he came to the front gallantly and helped us. i should have captured brisco sooner or later, even without his aid, but he has closed the affair in hurricane fashion and saved the government lots of trouble." everybody, uncle tommers, matt, carl, and brisco and spangler, were astounded. nugent was the solitary exception, for legree had revealed his identity to the cattleman in the railroad-station. "these are the plates," went on legree. "brisco had them in the tin box." "and you are----" began matt, staring at legree. "a secret service man in the employ of the government." a cry of fierce anger escaped brisco. he made a fierce attempt to get at legree, but o'grady restrained him. "faith," said o'grady, with cheerful disregard of his past actions, "oi knowed yez was a bad egg th' minyit oi set eyes on yez." "dis," remarked uncle tom, with immense pride, "is de best job ob mascottin' whut ah's done yit!" "better give up, brisco!" called spangler from the touring-car. "they've got it on us an' we'll have ter take our medicine." "got it on us, yes," stormed brisco, "but they wouldn't have done it if it hadn't been for motor matt." "not so quick, i'll admit," said legree amiably, "but i'd have caught you sooner or later, brisco. in my report i shall have something to say to the head of the department about motor matt. i'd like to hear, though, just how he happened to make this haul." "josh helped me," said matt. "not enough so yous could notice it," returned josh promptly; "motor matt was de man on de job from start t' finish. yous take it from little eva, an' no stringin'." the boy turned to matt with a wide grin. "yous is wise t' why i went off wit' brisco in dat runabout now, ain't yous? i wanted t' find out w'ere he had 'is hang-out so dad could turn a trick fer de gov'ment. but yous cut out dad, matt." "listen, vonce," cried carl, who had been trying for some time to get in a few words, "matt's der pest efer. he prings luck venefer he goes mit anypody. yah, dot's righdt. i know, pecause he prought luck mit me." uncle tom was disposed to butt in with an objection, but the cattleman had something to say. "there's fifteen hundred of my money goes to somebody for all this," said he. "who gets it, matt?" "divide it up between all of us," answered the boy generously. "the uncle tommers need it." a shout of delight went up from the actor contingent. "you can leave josh in the division," said legree, "but cut me out of it. i'm working for uncle sam." just at that moment the chinaman stepped to the door and announced dinner. "we'll talk all this over while we eat," said nugent. "come on, everybody." * * * * * motor matt and carl, having lost more time in fairview than they could well afford, started for albuquerque early in the afternoon. eliza, topsy, and uncle tom, now well supplied with money, were to proceed to denver by train. the secret service man and josh were to remain in fairview for a few days with their prisoners, and then to take them to denver for trial. "matt," said carl seriously, as the red flier leaped onward toward albuquerque, "i vas a lucky feller to hook oop mit you. vone oof dose tays, oof you don'd go pack on me, i vill vear tiamonts!" "i'll never go back on you, carl," laughed matt; "but i'm a little 'juberous' about the diamonds." the end. the next number ( ) will contain motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto. a night mystery--dick ferral--la vita place--the house of wonder--sercomb--the phantom auto again--surrounded by enemies--the kettle begins to boil--ordered away--a new plan--a daring leap--desperate villiany--tippoo--in the nick of time--a startling interruption--the price of treachery--the luck of dick ferral. motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction new york, april , . terms to motor stories mail subscribers. (_postage free._) single copies or back numbers, c. each. months c. months c. months $ . one year . copies one year . copy two years . =how to send money=--by post-office or express money-order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. at your own risk if sent by currency, coin, or postage-stamps in ordinary letter. =receipts=--receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. if not correct you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once. ormond g. smith, } george c. smith, } _proprietors_. street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york city. a snowball fight. by horatio alger, jr. the snow had fallen to the depth of six inches during the night, filling in the yards and covering the door-steps, throughout the town of conway. among those who hailed the arrival of the snow with joy was frank taylor, a boy of fourteen, the son of the widow taylor, who lived in a miserable little tenement not far from the mill. why he was glad to see the snow will soon appear. early in the morning he shoveled a path to the street, and then putting his shovel over his shoulder, said to his mother: "i'm going over to squire ashmead's to see if he doesn't want me to shovel paths in his yard." "he's got a boy of his own," said mrs. taylor; "perhaps he will do it." frank laughed. "sam ashmead is proud and lazy," he said. "you won't catch him shoveling paths. i think i shall get the job. i want to earn something so that you need not sit all day sewing. it is too hard for you." "i ought to think myself lucky to get employment at all," said the widow. "i wish i could get steady work somewhere," said frank; "but i've tried and tried, and it seems impossible." "willing hands will not want work long," said his mother. "i hope not, mother. but i must be going, or somebody will get the start of me." while frank is on his way to squire ashmead's, a few words of explanation may be given. his mother had been a widow for two years. her husband had been a man of some education, having at times taught school, but he had never succeeded in laying up any money, and his widow was left almost penniless. frank, who was a stout boy, and a good boy as well, had earned something by doing odd jobs, but had failed to obtain permanent employment. the burden of their joint support, therefore, was thrown upon his mother, who was very industrious with her needle, but was compelled to labor beyond her strength. all this troubled frank, who felt that, as a stout, strong boy, he ought to bear at least half the expense. in due time he reached squire ashmead's, and was glad to see that the snow remained undisturbed. he rang the bell, and asked if he might shovel the paths that were necessary. squire ashmead was absent in new york, to which city he had gone the morning previous on business, but his wife agreed to employ frank. he went to work with a will, and soon had a path dug from the front door to the gate. a path was also required from the back door to the stable, which was situated in the rear of the house. this was quite a distance, and as frank wished to do the work thoroughly, it required considerable time. he was about half through this portion of his task when a snowball whistled by his ear. looking round quickly, he saw sam ashmead standing at the corner of the house, engaged in making a fresh snowball. "don't fire any more snowballs, sam ashmead," said frank. "i shall, if i please," said sam. "i haven't time to fire back now," said frank. "wait till i get through, and we'll have a match if you like." "but i don't like," said sam scornfully. "do you think i would have a match with a beggar like you?" "i am no beggar, sam ashmead," said frank, "and if i were i don't think i would beg of you." "oh, you're mighty proud," sneered sam, "considering that you live in an old hut not half as good as our stable." "yes, i am poor, and i live in a poor house," said frank calmly, "but that isn't a crime that i know of. some time i shall live in a better house, i hope." so saying, he went back to work, and began shoveling the snow vigorously. he did not anticipate any further attack from sam, but in this he soon found himself mistaken. in the course of a minute he felt a pretty hard blow in the center of his back, and looking round saw sam ashmead laughing insolently. "how does that feel?" asked sam. "that's the second snowball you've fired at me," said frank quietly, but there was a light in his eyes as he spoke. "i advise you not to fire another if you know what is good for yourself." "so you threaten me, do you? suppose i fire again, what's going to happen?" demanded sam, with an unpleasant sneer. "i think you will be sorry for it," said frank. sam hesitated a moment, but only a moment. he was a year older than frank, and larger in size. certainly he ought to be a match for him. but he did not believe that frank would have the audacity to touch him, the son of squire ashmead, the richest man in the village. he therefore deliberately made another snowball, and firing it, struck frank in the back of his head. frank no sooner felt the blow than he threw down his shovel, and ran toward his assailant. "keep off, you beggar!" said sam. "it's too late," said frank. "i warned you not to fire again." sam placed himself in an attitude of defense, but found himself seized violently round the middle, and before he fairly knew what was going to happen he was lying in a snow-bank with frank standing over him. he struggled to his feet mad with rage, and "pitched into" frank, as the boys express it, and endeavored to retaliate in kind. but frank was watchful and wary, and evading the attack, seized him again when his strength was half spent, and sam found himself once more occupying an involuntary bed in the snow. a third struggle resulted in the same way. sam was furious, but he saw that frank was more than a match for him. just then a servant called out from the door: "master sam, your mother says it's time for you to be going to school." to tell the truth, sam was rather glad of the summons, as it gave him an excuse for retiring from the contest. "i'll be even with you yet," he said, shaking his fist at frank. "i'll let my father know how you insulted me, you young beggar!" "if anybody has been insulted, i have," said frank. "you must remember that you began it." sam scowled vindictively, and brushing the snow from his coat went into the house. before frank finished the path at the back of the house he was gone to school. mrs. ashmead sent out fifty cents to frank for his morning's work, with which he went home, well satisfied, wishing that he might earn as much every day. he wondered a little whether sam would tell his father what had occurred between them. he did not speak of it to his mother, for she was nervous, and would be troubled by it, as she received considerable work to do from the ashmead family which she might fear would be taken away. on the afternoon of the next day, however, frank received a note, which proved to come from squire ashmead. it ran as follows: "frank taylor: please call at my office to-morrow morning at ten o'clock. james ashmead." this note frank thought best to show to his mother. "what does it mean, frank? have you any idea?" she asked. frank thereupon told her the story of his difficulty with sam. "it may be about that," he said. "oh, dear," said the widow. "i'm afraid he's very angry. i hope you will apologize, frank." "no, mother," said frank, "i don't see why i should. i only defended myself from a bully. i should be ashamed to do anything else. i didn't hurt him, and didn't intend to, but i wanted to teach him that he couldn't insult me without having to pay for it." "i am afraid some harm will come of it," said the widow anxiously. "don't trouble yourself, mother," said frank soothingly. "if we do only what's right, god will take care of us." still it was with some anxiety that frank made his way the next morning to the office of squire ashmead. this gentleman was the agent of a large manufactory in the town, of which also he was a considerable owner, so that he received an income of over ten thousand dollars a year, which made him the most prominent and influential citizen in the town. when frank entered the office, squire ashmead was conversing with a stranger on business. "sit down," he said, turning to frank. "i will be at leisure in a moment." "well," he said, after the stranger had departed, "sam tells me you and he have had a little difficulty." "yes, sir," said frank. "i would like to explain how it occurred." "very well. go on." it will be unnecessary to give the explanation, as it was strictly in accordance with the facts. "do you blame me for what i did?" asked frank, at the end. "no, i do not," said the squire. "sam acted like a bully, and was properly punished. let that pass. now let me ask you how you and your mother are getting along?" "poorly, sir," said frank. "if i could have steady work, it would be different, but that i cannot get. it troubles me to see my mother work so hard all day. i think it is too much for her." "how would you like to come into my office?" frank's eyes sparkled. "i should think myself very lucky, sir, to get so good a chance." "i want some boy whom i can trust, who can grow up to the business, and after a time relieve me of a portion of my cares. i would take sam, but i am sorry to say, though he is my own son, that he would not answer my purpose. i have heard good accounts of you from your teacher and the people in the village. i will take you at a salary of six dollars a week, to be increased from time to time if you will suit me. can you come monday morning?" "yes, sir," said frank, "and i will do my best to give you satisfaction." "very well, my lad. good morning." frank left the office, feeling as if his fortune was made. his mother, who was awaiting the result of the interview anxiously at home, was overwhelmed with astonishment at the unexpected good fortune of her son. sam was disagreeably surprised, and tried to shake his father's resolution, but squire ashmead was a sensible man, and not to be moved. frank commenced his duties the next monday. he was so faithful that he was rapidly advanced, and at twenty-one was receiving twelve hundred dollars a year. at twenty-five, on the sudden death of squire ashmead, he succeeded to his agency, and now lives with his mother in the mansion at which he once thought himself lucky to be permitted to shovel the paths. as for sam, he squandered the handsome property received from his father, and died at thirty from the effects of intemperate habits. secrets of trick shooting. when a champion rifle shot fires blindfolded at a wedding-ring, or a penny held between his wife's thumb and finger, or, seated back to her, shoots, by means of a mirror, at an apple upon her head or on a fork held in her teeth, the danger of using a bullet is obvious. none, of course, is needed; the explosion is enough. the apple is already prepared, having been cut into pieces and stuck together with an adhesive substance, and a thread with a knot at the end, pulled through it from the "wings," so that it flies to bits when the gun is fired, is "how it is done." generally, the more dangerous a feat appears the more carefully is all danger guarded against. in the "william tell" act the thread is often tied to the assistant's foot. when, again, the ash is shot off a cigar which the assistant is smoking, a piece of wire is pushed by his tongue through a hollowed passage in the cigar--thus thrusting off the ash at the moment of firing. a favorite but simple trick is the shooting from some distance at an orange held in a lady's hand. great applause is invariably forthcoming when the bullet drops out on her, cutting open the fruit. it is inserted by hand earlier in the evening. another popular trick is that of snuffing out lighted candles. half a dozen are placed in front of a screen in which as many small holes are bored, one against each candlewick. at the moment of firing, a confederate behind the screen sharply blows out each candle with a pair of bellows. this trick was accidentally exposed one evening by a too zealous assistant. the lady in the gallery pulled the trigger, but the rifle failed to go off; the candle, however, went out just the same. in most instances, where a ball or other object has to be broken on a living person's head, blank cartridge is used and the effect produced by other means. a special wig, with a spring concealed in it, worked by a wire under the clothes, is generally used, the confederate manipulating the spring simultaneously with the firing of the rifle. as the ball is of extremely thin glass, a mere touch suffices to shatter it. in these exhibitions some of the rifle "experts" invite gentlemen from the audience to testify that the weapon is indeed loaded. the cartridge shown looks very well, but it is a shell of thin wax blackened to resemble a leaden bullet. it would not hurt a fly. reelfoot lake. the physical history of reelfoot lake, of night-rider fame, is not without a certain interest of its own. the lake came into existence as the result of a series of earthquakes, which began in december, , and continued until june, . some authorities say that the earthquakes merely heaved up a great ridge of land across the path of the reelfoot river, which runs into the mississippi, and that this dam caused the water to back up and broaden out and form a lake; but the favorite account in the neighborhood is to the effect that the ground sank, springs were opened up, neighboring creeks diverted from their course, and the overflowing water of the mississippi rushed in during the flood season of the spring of . it is said that for an hour and a half the waters of the mississippi flowed up-hill while filling up the depression caused by the earthquakes. both accounts likely have this much of truth in them that the entire configuration of the ground was changed by the earthquakes. big lake, west of the mississippi, in arkansas, is said to have been formed in the same way at the same time. reelfoot lake is sixteen or eighteen miles long, very irregular in shape, and covers from , to , acres of land. it varies in width from a mile in some places to four or five miles in others. the northern end is extended by a series of sloughs and bayous into kentucky. the most distinctive feature of the lake's appearance, the feature which first impresses and stays longest with the observer's fancy, is a certain grotesque effect, as if a set of crazy men had been operating a pile-driver there for the last century, for the trunks, stumps, and stark branches of dead trees stick out of it everywhere in desolate parody of some such human handiwork; far below the surface the fish dart among the boles and branches where the squirrels frolicked a hundred years ago. there are beautiful spots here and there, but the effect, as a whole, is not beautiful; at its best, when the mist rises and myriad protruding tree trunks are white and ghostly in the moonlight, it is weird; the general remembrance is of something uncouth. it is a kind of sloven lake that has preferred to sit down with its hair uncombed all day long, but at night it does manage to achieve a touch of wizard dignity. a floating slum. stand beside the imperial custom-house at canton and let the eye range down the river toward hongkong. as far as the sight can reach lie boats, boats, and again boats. these are no ordinary craft, mere vessels of transport plying hither and thither, but the countless homes of myriad chinese, in which millions of human beings have been born, have lived, and have died. they are the dwellings of the very poor, who live in them practically free from rent, taxes, and the other burdens of the ordinary citizen. the tankia--which means boat-dwellers--as the denizens of these floating houses are called, form a sort of caste apart from the rest of the cantonese. the shore-dwellers regard them as belonging to a lower social order; and indeed they have many customs, peculiar to themselves, which mark them as a separate community. how the swarming masses of them contrive to support existence is a mystery, but their chief mode of employment is in carrying merchandise and passengers from place to place. wild horses of nevada. horses are cheap in nevada. on the government ranges, where they are protected by game-laws, droves of wild horses exist which in the aggregate are said to amount to fifteen thousand. formerly there was a law in nevada permitting the shooting of these wild horses for their hides, but there were hunters who were not particular, and the ranchers found their domestic horses disappearing if they let them out on the range. so their shooting was prohibited, and since that time the droves have grown to be exceedingly troublesome. they can be domesticated, but they are not needed there, and it costs too much to ship them east. it seems a pity that, while so many sections could use them to advantage, the transportation problem makes it impossible to get them at a price which they are worth. _especially important!!_ motor stories _a new idea in the way of five-cent weeklies._ boys everywhere will be delighted to hear that street & smith are now issuing this new five-cent weekly which will be known by the name of motor stories. this weekly is entirely different from anything now being published. it details the astonishing adventures of a young mechanic who owned a motor cycle. is there a boy who has not longed to possess one of these swift little machines that scud about the roads everywhere throughout the united states? is there a boy, therefore, who will not be intensely interested in the adventures of "motor matt," as he is familiarly called by his comrades? boys, you have never read anything half so exciting, half so humorous and entertaining as the first story listed for publication in this line, called "=motor matt; or, the king of the wheel=." its fame is bound to spread like wildfire, causing the biggest demand for the other numbers in this line, that was ever heard of in the history of this class of literature. here are the titles to be issued during the next few weeks. do not fail to place an order for them with your newsdealer. no. . motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. no. . motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. no. . motor matt's "century" run; or, the governor's courier. no. . motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the _comet_. large size pages splendid colored covers price, five cents per copy at all newsdealers, or sent postpaid by the publishers upon receipt of the price. _street & smith, publishers, new york_ _the best of them all!!_ motor stories it is new and intensely interesting we knew before we published this line that it would have a tremendous sale and our expectations were more than realized. it is going with a rush, and the boys who want to read these, the most interesting and fascinating tales ever written, must speak to their newsdealers about reserving copies for them. =motor matt= sprang into instant favor with american boy readers and is bound to occupy a place in their hearts second only to that now held by frank merriwell. the reason for this popularity is apparent in every line of these stories. they are written by an author who has made a life study of the requirements of the up-to-date american boy as far as literature is concerned, so it is not surprising that this line has proven a huge success from the very start. here are the titles now ready and also those to be published. you will never have a better opportunity to get a generous quantity of reading of the highest quality, so place your orders now. =no. .--motor matt; or, the king of the wheel.= =no. .--motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends.= =no. .--motor matt's century run; or, the governor's courier.= =no. .--motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the "comet."= to be published on march nd =no. .--motor matt's mystery; or, foiling a secret plot.= to be published on march th =no. .--motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear.= to be published on april th =no. .--motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto.= to be published on april th =no. .--motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward.= =price, five cents= to be had from newsdealers everywhere, or sent, postpaid, upon receipt of the price by the publishers _street & smith, publishers, new york_ * * * * * * transcriber's note: added table of contents. retained some inconsistent hyphenation (e.g. "motorcycle" vs. "motor-cycle"). retained some inconsistent spellings in dialect (e.g. "becase" vs. "bekase"). page , added missing comma after ""vell, py shinks." added missing apostrophe after "doan" in "why doan' yo'-all git." removed unnecessary quote after "matt stopped the red flier." page , removed unnecessary quote after "legree was about to secure it?" page , changed "as she pointed" to "as he pointed." page , "would came after it" looks like a typo but has been retained in case it is intentional dialect. page , replaced ligature in "phoenix" with "oe." ligature is retained in html edition. page , removed unnecessary quote before "matt's pulses quickened." page , added missing period after "josh turned to stare along the road." page , changed "mat" to "matt" in "matt was intending to push the stone." page , the sentence "as he yanked the lever savagely, the popping from up the road sounding like the rapid discharge of a gatling gun." seems incorrect, but it is reproduced as originally printed. courtesy of the digital library@villanova university (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction no. june , five cents motor matt in brazil _or_ under the amazon _by the author of motor matt_ [illustration: _"look out behind you glennie!" shouted motor matt as he hurried forward._] _street & smith, publishers, new york._ motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction _issued weekly. by subscription $ . per year. entered according to act of congress in the year , in the office of the librarian of congress, washington, d. c., by_ street & smith, _ - seventh avenue, new york, n. y._ no. . new york, june , . price five cents. motor matt in brazil; or, under the amazon. by the author of "motor matt." contents chapter i. the cachalot. chapter ii. john henry glennie, u. s. n. chapter iii. the meeting in the harbor. chapter iv. ah sin's clue. chapter v. off for the amazon. chapter vi. villainous work. chapter vii. rubbing elbows with death. chapter viii. a dive for safety. chapter ix. putting two and two together. chapter x. under the amazon. chapter xi. hand-to-hand. chapter xii. boarded! chapter xiii. a prisoner--and a surprise. chapter xiv. the old slouch hat. chapter xv. para. chapter xvi. a desperate risk. in the hands of the enemy. characters that appear in this story. =motor matt=, a lad who is at home with every variety of motor, and whose never-failing nerve serves to carry him through difficulties that would daunt any ordinary young fellow. because of his daring as a racer with bicycle, motor-cycle and automobile he is known as "mile-a-minute matt." motor-boats, air ships and submarines come naturally in his line, and consequently he lives in an atmosphere of adventure in following up his "hobby." =dick ferral=, a young sea dog from canada, with all a sailor's superstitions, but in spite of all that a royal chum, ready to stand by the friend of his choice through thick and thin. =carl pretzel=, a cheerful and rollicking german boy, stout of frame as well as of heart, who is led by a fortunate accident to link his fortunes with those of motor matt. =ensign glennie=, representing the u. s. government on board the _grampus_ during her long trip around south america. =tolo=, a valiant though unscrupulous japanese patriot anxious to die for his country. =mr. brigham=, our consul at para, brazil, who proves to be the right kind of man for the job. =clackett=, } =speake=, } the crew of the submarine marvel. =gaines=, } chapter i. the cachalot. "look at the chart, dick. unless i'm off in my reckoning, those blue things in the distance, that look like clouds, are the mountains of trinidad." "right-o, matey! the gulf of paria is to the south, and right ahead of us is the boca drago, or dragon's mouth, the entrance to the gulf. what's our first port-of-call?" "georgetown. that's where we're to pick up the midshipman." "but we're two days ahead of time, and he won't be expecting us. why not put in at port-of-spain for a little social call? i was there once, on the old _billy ruffin_, and it's a fine place for getting on your go-ashores and seeing the sights." "this is a business trip, old chap, and not a sightseeing excursion. our schedule has been made out for us, and we've got to follow it through. it's a big responsibility we're under, and if anything should happen to the _grampus_, there'd----" at this moment a tremendous shock interrupted motor matt. the big steel hulk of the submarine stopped dead, reeled for an instant like a drunken man, and then rebounded sternward against the push of the propeller. accompanying the weird manoeuvre was a fierce thrashing of the waves outside. sunk level with the surface of the sea, conning tower awash, the _grampus_ had been proceeding at a good clip on her southward journey. motor matt and dick ferral were in the periscope room, matt with his attention divided between the periscope table, the steering wheel, and the small compass, and dick on his knees beside a locker on which were a number of admiralty charts. dick was thrown sidewise by the shock, and matt only saved himself a fall by taking a convulsive grip on the spokes of the steering wheel. "fore-rudder will not work, sir!" cried speake through the tube communicating with the engine room. one admirable thing about the king of the motor boys was that he never got "rattled." under any and all circumstances he kept his head. "stop your motor, gaines!" he cried instantly through another of the tubes, then, whirling to still another, he called: "prepare to empty the ballast, clackett!" the ready "aye, aye, sir!" that came through both tubes proved that those in motor room and tank room were on the alert. the hum of the engine died slowly, and muffled sounds from the tank room showed that clackett was calmly attending to his work. in time of accident no man could leave his post, for the safety of the submarine, and the lives of those within her, might depend upon an instant compliance with orders. iron-nerved men formed the crew of the _grampus_, for each had been selected by captain nemo, jr., with that quality in mind. meanwhile motor matt had been studying the top of the periscope table carefully. "so far as i can make out," said he, in a puzzled tone, "there is nothing above." "the orinoco brings down a lot of drift, matey," put in dick, "and we may have struck a log floating between two waves. if our rudder has been damaged----" he was interrupted by another blow, fully as severe as the first. but this stroke came from the side and not from forward, and hurled the submarine over so far that every loose article slammed to starboard, and it seemed as though the boat must surely turn turtle. "start the turbines, clackett!" roared matt through the tank-room tube; "empty the ballast tanks!" "sorry to report, matt," came the instant response of clackett, "that the turbines are disabled an' won't work." matt was astounded. "then empty the tanks by compressed air!" he cried. "sharp's the word, clackett!" the hiss of air, fighting with the water in the tanks, was heard. at once the boat began to ascend and presently the slap of waves against the outer shell proved that they were on the surface. "take the wheel, dick," called matt, and leaped up the iron ladder into the conning tower. the lunettes, or little windows in the tower, were frosted with spindrift, and matt threw open the hatch and pushed head and shoulders over the top. "great spark-plugs!" he cried; "a whale!" "a bull cachalot!" exclaimed dick from below, staring through the periscope. "vat iss dot, tick?" the voice of carl pretzel, none too steady, floated up to matt from the periscope room. carl was not on duty and had probably come up to find out what was going on. "why," went on dick, excitedly, "a cachalot is one of the hardest fighters in the whole whale family. we probably ran into that old blubber-head while he was taking his morning nap, and he's got his mad up. by the figurehead of the old harry! see him spout! we're going to have trouble with him, matt! his head's like india-rubber, and he could poke it through the plates of the _grampus_ and never hurt himself." matt had got his head out of the hatch just in time to snatch a glance at the flukes of a big whale disappearing in the sea. he signaled half-speed ahead by the engine-room jingler. the elevation of the periscope ball gave dick a much more extensive view of the surface than it did matt from the top of the conning tower. the whale had come to the top again, and, while matt was able to see the geyser-like column of water the creature threw up, dick could take in the cachalot's immense proportions. "he's lumpy all over," announced dick, "and every lump is an old harpoon mark. he's a veteran, mates, and he's coming right at us. he'll stave in the plates, matt! dodge him!" "tell speake and clackett to put a whitehead in the port torpedo-tube!" called matt. dick immediately repeated the order, and carl clattered below to help. "they can't get the tube loaded, matt," cried dick, "before the cachalot will be on us." "we'll have to meet his first charge," answered matt calmly; "there can't be any dodging." there came a low _thump_ from forward, followed by a gurgling splash. from that matt knew that the bow port had been closed and that the water was being blown out of the tube by compressed air. then a faint rattle told him the breech door was being opened preparatory to loading the torpedo. by then matt was able to see the charging whale. he was a tremendous fellow, and he was making straight for the submarine with all the force in his great body. the water flashed away from his shining sides, and a long trail of foam unrolled behind his churning flukes. "i'll do the steering from here, dick!" shouted matt, laying hold of the patent device which enabled one to steer from the tower. matt headed the boat so as to meet its strange antagonist bow on. whale and submarine came together with a terrific impact. for an instant the whale seemed stunned, sheered off a little, and the sharp prow raked his side. the next instant the _grampus_ was beyond the whale. matt, looking behind, could see the huge cachalot leaping clear out of the water, and falling into it again with a splash like some mountain dropping into the sea. the whale was terribly wounded, and bleeding, but the wound seemed only to have increased his pugnacious disposition. "watch the periscope, dick!" roared matt. "can you see him? he's out of sight from here." "he's sounded, mate," answered dick, his tense voice proving the strain his nerves were under. "i'm hoping he'll leave us now, and---- sink me! there he is again! he's coming for us like an express train." a spouting of reddened water gave matt the location, and he put the _grampus_ about, so as to face the danger and bring the cachalot in front of the port torpedo tube. "tell them to make ready in the torpedo room!" shouted matt. "they must fire the whitehead the moment i give the word." dick repeated the order. the torpedo was contrived so as to travel at a certain distance under water. if discharged at too great a distance from the whale it would sink to its normal depth, and so miss the charging monster altogether. matt, watching the cachalot with sharp eyes, awaited the right moment for letting the whitehead go. the whale left a bloody track as it hurled itself nearer and nearer. "fire!" shouted matt suddenly. a gurgling swish, a spluttering cough, and a thud followed. the surface of the sea directly ahead of the submarine was full of ripples that marked the passing of the deadly infernal machine. "full speed astern!" cried matt. dick repeated the order to gaines. barely was the motion of the propeller reversed when whale and torpedo met. there was a dull roar, and the sea lifted high in a veritable flurry. the _grampus_ slid backward rapidly, rocking on the troubled waters. then, the lifted waves having descended, the whale was seen torn cruelly and lying on his back. already the triangular fins of sharks were in evidence, rushing from every direction upon the prey. matt descended to the engine room and found dick steering with one hand and wiping the perspiration from his face with the other. "a tight squeak, matey!" dick muttered. "we're out one torpedo, but you saved the boat." speake, meanwhile, had been taking the turbine to pieces. he now appeared in the periscope room with a wooden sieve half full of small fish. "mullet for dinner, matt!" he laughed. "a shoal of fish was bein' chased by the cachalot. the draught-holes of our turbines was open an' the fish run in. no wonder the turbines wouldn't work!" "good enough," answered matt laughing, "if you can call anything good that put our turbines out of commission at a time when we needed them. have some of them for dinner, speake." he turned to dick. "lay our course for the port-of-spain, old chap," he added. "we'll put into the harbor and look the submarine over to see whether her bow has been damaged any. i'll go below and have a look at the fore-rudder. possibly we can tinker that up temporarily. it would never do to pick up the midshipman with the _grampus_ at all out of commission." "aye, aye, old ship!" responded dick heartily. they were to call at the port-of-spain, after all, and dick ferral was mightily pleased with the prospect. chapter ii. john henry glennie, u. s. n. the anchor of the steamship _borneo_ splashed into the yellow waters of the gulf of paria, the boat continuing onward until the anchor had taken a grip on the muddy bottom. the _borneo_ was from venezuelan ports, and at la guayra had picked up no less a personage than john henry glennie, ensign, u. s. n. the steamer carried a queer assortment of passengers, and they were all around ensign glennie as he sat well aft on the grating beside the hand-steering gear. venezuelans were chattering like magpies; little brown youngsters were rolling over and over around glennie's feet; a british engineer was talking with a jew pearl buyer from margarita island--the spanish coming queerly from their alien lips; a german coffee-planter was exchanging small talk with the wife of a dutch officer who lived in curaçoa; and there was the usual ragtag and bobtail of english and brazilians, all of whom gave the youth in the naval uniform more or less curious notice. but the youth, his suit case on a table at his elbow, seemed absorbed in his own thoughts. judging merely by appearance, ensign glennie's thoughts were far from pleasant. his fingers drummed sharply on the table top, and there was a frown of discontent on his face as his eyes fixed themselves gloomily on the trinidad hills that lay back of the town of port-of-spain. in all conscience, the ensign had enough to trouble him. several days previous, he had been detached from the united states cruiser _seminole_ at la guayra on special duty. incidentally, the commander of the _seminole_ had entrusted him with a packet of important papers to be delivered to mr. brigham, the united states consular representative at para, in the mouth of the amazon river. in the course of his duty, ensign glennie was to call at para; also the course of his duty demanded that he proceed to georgetown, british guiana, and there await the arrival of a certain boat in which he was to take passage around "the horn." ensign glennie, let it be known, was descended from a line of massachusetts notables who first came over in the _mayflower_. his father was a boston nabob, and there was a good deal more pride and haughtiness about glennie than was good for him. no sooner had he been cut loose from the _seminole_ on detached duty, than he proceeded to hire the services of a body servant--a sphinx-like little jap by the name of tolo. how tolo came to be in la guayra at the very time the ensign landed there, and why he should insinuate himself into the particular notice of glennie and ask for a job, were mysteries not destined to be solved for some time. the prime thing to be taken account of here is that tolo did present himself, and was hired. for two days he brushed the ensign's clothes, polished his boots, and performed other services such as fall to the lot of a valet who knows his business. then, after two days of faithful service, tolo disappeared; and, about the same time, the packet of important papers likewise vanished. glennie led the authorities in a wild hunt through la guayra, and after that through caracas, but tolo was not to be found. what on earth the little jap wanted with the papers, glennie could not even guess, but that he had them seemed a certainty. returning to la guayra, glennie found that the authorities there had discovered that tolo had taken passage, on the very morning he had turned up missing, on a tramp steamer bound for trinidad and port-of-spain; and the authorities further stated that tolo had formerly been employed as a waiter in the _fonda_ ciudad bolivar, which fronted the esplanade of the capital city of the island. ensign glennie changed his plans forthwith. instead of proceeding direct to georgetown he would gain that port by way of trinidad, stopping long enough in port-of-spain to hunt up the enterprising tolo and secure the papers. so this was why glennie happened to be on the _borneo_; and it was also the reason he was not so comfortable in his mind as he might otherwise have been. as a commissioned officer in the united states navy he had been entrusted with important dispatches. if he did not recover the dispatches, and then proceed with the rest of the duty marked out for him, a black mark would be set against his name that would interfere with his promotion. glennie was worried as he had never been before in his life. his one desire was to serve uncle sam with a clean and gallant record. his father, the boston nabob, expected great things of him, and glennie, being puffed up--as already stated--with rather high ideas regarding his family, expected them of himself. therefore the loss of that packet of official papers caught him like a slap in the face. it made him squirm, and he was squirming as he sat by that table on the grating, felt the _borneo_ reach the end of her scope of cable and come to a stop with her mud-hook hard and fast. the water was too shoal for a large boat to get very far inshore, and glennie was among the first to tumble into the launch that soon hove alongside. when he had scrambled off the launch at the landing, he hailed a queer-looking cab and ordered the dusky driver to carry him, as rapidly as possible, to the _fonda_ ciudad bolivar. the ensign did not pay much attention to the scenery as he was jostled along--his mind was too full of other things for that--and presently he went into the wood and stone building that faced the _plaza_ and proceeded to make frantic inquiries regarding a waiter by the name of tolo. to all of these eager questions the venezuelan proprietor of the hotel gave a negative shake of the head. "there must be some mistake--the señor americano has surely been wrongly informed. there has never been such a person as the japanese employed in the _fonda_. the waiters were all venezuelans, and no japs were ever employed. perhaps this tolo had worked in the old hotel that had been burned during the great fire?" glennie's trail, faint enough at best, had run into thin air. he was at the end of it, and it had led him nowhere. going off into one corner of the wineroom, the ensign dropped down at a table in an obscure corner, rested his chin in his hands, and wondered dejectedly what he should do next. he was not very well acquainted with orientals, or the brand of guile they used. he had heard of japs insinuating themselves into fortifications flying the united states flag and making drawings and jotting down memoranda of the guns, stores, and number of men. he had laughed contemptuously at such yarns, although heartily agreeing with the expediency that had suggested such a move on the part of the men from nippon. like all others in the sea and land service of the great republic, ensign glennie knew that it wasn't so much the forts, or the guns, or the ammunition, as it is the unconquerable spirit of the men behind the guns that count. but where was the tactical advantage to be gained by a jap in stealing an envelope addressed to a consular agent tucked away in a brazilian town at the mouth of the amazon? the only advantage which glennie could think of was that of _pecuniary gain_. tolo had stolen the packet in order to demand money for its return. glennie had plenty of money, and he began to think he had fallen into a grievous error by running away from la guayra without giving tolo a chance to communicate with him. and yet there was the information developed by the la guayra police, to the effect that tolo had sailed for port-of-spain. however, this might be as unreliable, as that other supposed discovery, namely, that tolo was working at the _fonda_ ciudad bolivar. nevertheless, no matter what theories glennie might have, now that he was in port-of-spain, and could not get out of the town again until the next steamer sailed, it would be well to look around and thus make assurance doubly sure that tolo was not on the island. although ensign glennie was not at all sanguine, he immediately left the _fonda_ and conferred with the city officials. a description of tolo was given, handbills offering a reward for his apprehension were struck off and posted in conspicuous places, and the island telegraph lines and the cables to the mainland were brought into requisition. glennie had to work fast and thoroughly. before many days he must be in georgetown, ready to go aboard the ship that was to carry him south, and if he did not recover the important packet before he was picked up, then there would be a reprimand, and perhaps a trial for dereliction of duty. he winced at the thought and redoubled his efforts. but he was "going it blind." the wily tolo might be a thousand miles away and rapidly increasing the distance between him and his erstwhile employer. yet, be that as it might, ensign glennie could not give over his hopeless labors. he fought against fate with all the glennie firmness and resolution. fate had no business trying to backcap one of the glennies, anyhow. family pride swelled up in him as the skies of hope continued to darken. all he did was to cable his governor for a few thousand dollars and then begin scattering it wherever he thought it might do some good. three days ensign glennie was in port-of-spain, then one morning as he came down into the office of the _fonda_ he heard an excited group talking about a mysterious under-water boat that had just bobbed up in the harbor. glennie pricked up his ears. "what's the name of the boat?" he asked. "the _grampus_," was the answer. that was enough for the ensign. he settled his bill, grabbed up his suit case, and rushed for the landing. he had hardly got clear of the hotel before a chinaman, with a copy of one of the handbills, presented himself and asked for john henry glennie. the chinaman was told where the ensign had gone, and he likewise made a bee-line for the waterfront. here, at last, was a possible clue--and it was sailing after glennie with kimono fluttering and pigtail flying. chapter iii. the meeting in the harbor. events in this world, no matter how seemingly incomprehensible, usually happen for the best. if the _grampus_ had not had her fight with the cachalot she would not have put in at port-of-spain, and if ensign glennie had not lost his dispatches he would not have put in there, either. the damage to the fore-rudder had been insignificant. some of the iron bars protecting the rudder had been twisted and bent by the whale's flukes, and motor matt had repaired the damage while coming through the boca drago into the gulf. the submarine was riding high in the water a quarter of a mile off shore, the stars and stripes fluttering gayly from the little flagstaff forward. a small boat was in the water and a colored boatman was rowing two lads around the bow of the _grampus_. three men and another boy were forward on the submarine's deck, evidently assisting in an examination of some sort. glennie had the skipper of the launch lay alongside the small boat. "hello, there!" called glennie. "is that boat the _grampus_?" "yes," replied one of the lads in the other boat. "i'm looking for matt king, otherwise motor matt." "you mean you're looking at him and not for him. i'm motor matt." "well, i'm ensign glennie. what the dickens are you doing at port-of-spain?" "what the dickens are _you_ doing here? we were to pick you up at georgetown." "what i'm doing here is _my_ business," said glennie, stiffening. "i wasn't expecting you for two or three days yet, and expected to be in georgetown by the time you got there." matt stared at the haughty young man in the trim uniform. dick ferral, who was in the boat with him, gave a long whistle. "then," said matt coolly, "i guess our reason for being here is our own business. we were expecting to find a midshipman, glennie, and not----" "_mister_ glennie," struck in the ensign. "i'm a passed midshipman and a commissioned officer." dick got to his feet, pulled off his cap, and bowed. "_mister_ glennie!" he exclaimed, with an accent on the "mister" that was not entirely respectful. "our brass band has been given shore-leave, so we can't muster the outfit and play you aboard. it's a little bit hard, too, considering our limited number, to dress ship." a smothered laugh came from the deck of the _grampus_. glennie stared at ferral, and then at speake, gaines, clackett, and carl. the latter, grabbing the flag halyards, dipped the ensign. "oof ve hat a gannon, misder glennie," yelled carl, "ve vould gif der atmiral's salute." a flush ran through the ensign's cheeks. "who is that person, king?" demanded glennie, pointing to dick. "mister king," corrected matt. "this, mr. glennie," proceeded the king of the motor boys with mock gravity, "is my friend, mr. dick ferral. the dutchman on the boat is another friend--mr. carl pretzel. the hands are mr. speake, mr. gaines, and mr. clackett. this colored gentleman is mr. scipio jones. now that we are all acquainted, mr. glennie, may i ask you if you are coming aboard to stay?" "i am," was the sharp rejoinder. "those were my orders from the captain of the _seminole_." matt caught a rope which carl threw to him and stepped to the rounded deck of the _grampus_. "the submarine's all right, dick," said he, "and hasn't a dent in her anywhere. go ashore and get the gasolene. have you the hydrometer in your pocket?" "aye, aye, matey," answered dick. "then be sure and test the gasolene thoroughly." as dick was rowed away he once more removed his hat ostentatiously in passing the launch. ensign glennie disregarded the mocking courtesy and motioned his boatman to place the launch close to the submarine. "take my grip, my man," called glennie to gaines, standing up and tossing the suit case. gaines grabbed the piece of luggage. "why didn't you whistle, mr. glennie?" he asked, dropping the suit case down the open hatch of the conning tower and listening to the smash as it landed at the foot of the iron ladder. "we're well trained and can walk lame, play dead, an' lay down an' roll over at a mere nod." the ensign ignored gaines' remarks. climbing to the rounded deck he faced motor matt with considerable dignity. in spite of the ensign's arrogance there was about him a certain bearing learned only at annapolis and on the quarterdeck of american warships--a bearing that predisposed the king of the motor boys in his favor. "we had a fight with a cachalot, mr. glennie," said matt, unbending a little, "and thought best to put in here and look the _grampus_ over to see if----" "you were guilty of gross carelessness," interrupted glennie, "by risking the submarine in such a contest. but possibly you are ignorant of the fact that a bull cachalot has been known to attack and sink a full-rigged ship?" "ach, vat a high-toned feller id iss!" grunted carl disgustedly. "he vill make it aboudt as bleasant on der poat as a case oof measles." matt frowned at carl. "it was either sink the cachalot or run the risk of being stove in," said matt. "we'll have to have a little talk, mr. glennie, so you had better go below to the periscope room." the ensign nodded, climbed over the top of the tower, and disappeared. "that there uniform makes him top-heavy, matt," scowled clackett. "the quicker you pull some o' the red tape off o' him the better it'll be for all of us." "he's all right, boys," said matt, "and i'll bet he's a good fellow down at the bottom. he forgets he's not on the _seminole_, that's all." when matt got down into the periscope room he found glennie examining one corner of the suit case, which was badly smashed. "i regret to note, mr. king," said he, "that there is a serious lack of discipline aboard this boat. such a thing could never be tolerated in the service. we are to take a long and hazardous journey, and i shall insist on having the men keep their places." "you are not here to insist on anything, mr. glennie," replied matt, coolly placing himself on one of the low stools that were used as seats. "my own duties, and yours, are pretty clear in my mind. let's see if i have the situation exactly as you understand it. "the owner of this boat, captain nemo, jr., is recovering from a sick spell in belize, and he has sold the _grampus_ to the united states government for one hundred thousand dollars, conditional upon the submarine's being taken around the horn and delivered safely to the commandant at mare island navy yard, san francisco. for this long cruise i have been placed in charge of the boat. you are aboard as representative of the government, merely to observe her performance. have i got it right?" glennie nodded. "upon my report," said he, "will largely depend the acceptance or rejection of the craft when she reaches mare island. don't overlook that point. a lack of discipline will get us all into trouble, and may result in the loss of the----" "i will attend to the discipline," said matt stiffly. "if the boat behaves well, you can find no fault with the way i manage her. i must ask you not to bother me with any remarks as to how the _grampus_ is to be run. i and my friends are not in the naval service, but we all know the submarine perfectly and understand what is expected of us. "the cruise we are to make is one that no submarine ever made before. it is full of dangers, and unforeseen difficulties are going to bob up and will have to be dealt with. the _grampus_ is equal to the work, and in due time she will be delivered to the commandant at mare island, but i want, and will insist on having, a perfectly free hand. a friendly footing is what i desire among all on board, more than anything else." matt smiled and stretched out his hand. "just a minute, mr. king," said glennie, pursing up his lips. "i understood that i was to be here in an advisory capacity. from your talk i take it that you consider yourself the whole works, and that i am to play the rôle of an innocent bystander." "i am to manage the boat," returned matt firmly. "then," cried glennie, "if you get us into serious difficulties, i am to say nothing, but bear the brunt of your mistakes along with the rest of the men?" "do you know anything about submarines?" "a graduate of annapolis is equipped with all the knowledge he can possibly need in his work." "theoretical knowledge," qualified matt. "have you ever had any practical experience on a submarine?" "no." "then, if i get into difficulties, i don't think you could give any advice that would help us out." the ensign bowed coldly. "have you a cabin reserved for me?" he inquired. matt nodded toward a bulkhead door leading to a steel room abaft the periscope chamber. "we have fixed up a place in there for you," said he. "then, inasmuch as i am a passenger, i will proceed to eliminate myself and keep out of your way." without taking matt's hand he picked up his suit case and started. at the door he paused while a hail came down from the hatch. "hello dere, vonce! matt!" "what is it, carl?" answered matt. "dere iss a chink feller alongsite, und he say dot he vant to see misder glennie." "a chinaman!" muttered glennie, pausing. "why does he want to see me?" "vell, he say dot he tell you somet'ing aboudt a feller mit der name oof dolo, und----" a shout of joy escaped glennie, and he dropped his suit case and jumped for the ladder. "wait, mr. glennie," said matt, "and i'll have the chinaman come down." "very good," said glennie, smothering his impatience and dropping down on the locker. chapter iv. ah sin's clue. the chinaman came scuffling down the ladder in his wooden sandals. he wore an old slouch hat pulled low over his ears, and when he stepped from the last rung to the floor of the periscope room, he shoved his hands into the wide sleeves of his blue silk blouse and stood looking around him in gaping amazement. "i'm mr. glennie," said the ensign impatiently. "do you want to see me?" "allee same," answered the celestial. "you makee that, huh?" he added, pulling the crumpled handbill from one of his sleeves and holding it in front of the ensign's eyes. "you givee fitty dol if china boy tell where you findee japanese man?" "yes," replied glennie, stirring excitedly. "givee fitty dol. china boy know." "i don't pay in advance. savvy the pidgin? tell me where tolo is, then, if i find him, you get the money." the chinaman was silent. "who are you?" demanded glennie. "me ah sin." "where's tolo?" "my wanchee fitty dol first. me tellee, you no givee. my savvy pidgin allee light?" "you're an insolent scoundrel!" cried glennie hotly. "i'm an officer and a gentleman, and if i say i'll give you fifty dollars, i'll do it." ah sin ducked humbly, but he remained firm. "melican men plenty slick," said he, with a gentle grin, "but china boy plenty slick, too." "if you won't trust me," returned the puzzled ensign, "how can i trust you?" it seemed like a deadlock, and ah sin wrinkled his parchment-like face. "how you likee hire china boy?" he cried. "my cookee glub, blushee clo's, makee plenty fine man. workee fo' twenty dol. tolo him no stay in tlinidad; him makee sail fo' pala." "para?" burst from glennie. that was the port to which the important papers were consigned. if tolo had gone there with them, it may have been for the purpose of treating with the consular agent direct. "all same," pursued the chinaman. "you makee hire china boy, takee him by pala, pay twenty dol fo' wages, then givee fitty dol when you findee tolo. huh?" "how do you happen to know where tolo is?" demanded glennie skeptically. "my savvy tolo. makee work on landing when he takee boat fo' pala. him makee come on one boat flom ven'zuel', makee go chop-chop on other boat fo' pala. ah sin makee chin with tolo. him say where he go in pala." glennie grabbed at this straw of hope like a drowning man. ah sin's information might not be dependable, but it was the only clue that had come glennie's way, and he decided to make the most of it. "there's your twenty dol," said he, throwing a gold piece to the chinaman. "you're hired. make yourself scarce out there while i talk with the skipper of this boat." he nodded toward a door in the forward bulkhead, and ah sin, after grabbing the coin out of the air and biting it to make sure it was genuine, faded from the room. "we've got enough hands aboard," said matt, "without taking a chinaman on." "you don't understand the situation, mr. king," returned glennie, "and i shall have to explain to you." it was hard for the ensign's pride to be compelled to confess the loss of the packet. but, if he had matt's help--which, in the circumstances, was necessary--it followed that he would have to let matt know the details connected with the missing dispatches. matt listened attentively. "the chink may be fooling you, mr. glennie," he said, after the ensign had finished. "possibly," was the answer; "but i can't afford to pass up his information. the submarine was to call at para, anyway, and we might just as well carry the chinaman that far. you must realize what it means for me to recover those papers. suppose i had to report that they were lost, and could not be found? good heavens!" and glennie drew a shaking hand across his forehead. "i'm willing to help you, of course," said matt. "you're in duty bound to do that! if i had to report the loss of the papers because you refused to give me your aid, it wouldn't sound very well, eh?" "do you want me to put all this in the log?" "no, certainly not! i want you to keep quiet about it--in the event that the dispatches are recovered. if they're not found, then--then--well, everything will have to come out." "were the dispatches important?" "they must have been, or they would have been sent by mail and not entrusted to me." "what does the jap want with them?" "probably it's a play for money. that's the way i size it up." "but he pulled out of la guayra. if he had wanted money he would have hidden himself away in that place and opened negotiations with you." "the chink says tolo has gone to para. that may mean that he is intending to open negotiations with brigham. great scott! we've got to get away from here in short order. can't you start for brazil at once?" "i had planned to lay over here for the rest of the day, and to-night----" "but everything may depend on the quickness with which we get to brazil!" "well, i'm willing to start just as soon as dick gets back with the gasolene. we'll get along, after that, until we reach rio, unless there's some extra cruising in the amazon." "i'm obliged to you, mr. king." glennie half extended his hand, but matt did not seem to see it. now that the ensign wanted aid in his time of trouble, he appeared anxious to get on the friendly footing which matt had mentioned a little while before. but matt, once rebuffed, wasn't going halfway to meet him on that ground. "it seems to me, mr. glennie," said he, "that there is something more behind this than just a desire, on the jap's part, to sell his dispatches to the highest bidder. the japs are wily little fellows, and as brave as they are wily." "what else can you make out of it?" queried glennie, with a troubled look. "nothing; only the theft strikes me as queer, that's all. if the papers were so important, i should think you ought to have kept them in your possession every minute." "i did," protested glennie, a gleam of resentment rising in his eyes over the implied rebuke. "they were under my pillow, and tolo, who came and went in my room just as he pleased, must have taken them while i was asleep." "speake has been doing the cooking for us," remarked matt; "but if we've got to have the chinaman along we'll make him earn his pay and take the cooking off speake's hands." "i'm more than willing to have you consider ah sin one of the crew. he'll probably be useful to me in para, and not until we get there." "there are not many japs in la guayra, are there?" queried matt, with a sudden thought. "tolo is the only one i saw," answered glennie. "then it's a little queer he should be there at the same time you were. there was a japanese war vessel in belize a day before we left the harbor, and i understood she had called at venezuelan ports. do you think tolo could have deserted from her?" "the japs never desert." "was tolo a sailor?" "he said he was a servant, and that he had come to la guayra from caracas." "but the authorities told you he had been a waiter in a hotel in port-of-spain?" "that was wrong, for the proprietor of the _fonda_ didn't know anything about tolo." "could you find out anything about him in caracas?" "no." "then it's a cinch the jap wasn't telling you a straight story. it's my impression he hired out to you just to get the packet of papers." "bosh!" scoffed glennie. "you're giving him credit for more cunning than he deserves. take it from me, he just saw how careful i was of those papers and made up his mind, on the spur of the moment, that he could make a few dollars by stealing them and selling them back to me, or else to brigham at para." "there's more to it than that," averred matt. the king of the motor boys was somewhat worried, for, if there was a plot, it was possible it was not aimed at ensign glennie alone, but perhaps at the _grampus_ as well. this suspicion was only vaguely formed in matt's mind, but it was one of those strange, inexplicable "hunches" which sometimes came to him and which events occasionally proved to be warranted by results. it must have been generally known in belize that the _grampus_ had been sold to the united states government for a large sum, conditional upon her safe delivery at mare island; and perhaps it was equally well known, on the _seminole_, at least, and maybe in la guayra, that ensign glennie was to accompany the submarine on her passage around the horn. all this knowledge, of course, could have been picked up, and perhaps used by unscrupulous persons. but what could such unscrupulous persons be hoping to gain by any crooked work? matt's thoughts were carrying him far afield. not only that, but they were bumping him into a stone wall. giving over his useless speculations, he once more turned to the ensign. "as i said before, mr. glennie," he remarked, "this cruise of ours is not going to be a picnic. a whole lot depends on its success, and every man on board must be----" at that moment he was interrupted by a sudden roar from below--a detonation that shook the steel fabric of the submarine in every part. the peculiar smell of burned gasolene rolled into the periscope room through the open bulkhead door. "great moses!" gasped glennie, leaping up. "what was that?" a tramp of heavy feet on the deck proved that those outside the shell had heard the noise and were rushing toward the conning-tower hatch. matt, without pausing an instant, darted through the door and dropped down the hatch leading to the tank room and the motor room. chapter v. off for the amazon. motor matt considered himself personally responsible for the safety of the _grampus_. the boat had been placed in his charge by captain nemo, jr., her owner, and the captain's faith in the king of the motor boys was unlimited. matt was to take the submarine to mare island navy yard and collect one hundred thousand dollars for her from the government. those were his instructions, and the captain not only expected them to be carried out to the letter, but he also expected to pay motor matt well for doing it. all this responsibility, it may be, had got on matt's nerves a little, so that he was apt to shy at imaginary dangers. but this fact in no wise interfered with his coolness and courage. the whole under part of the submarine's hull was filled with smoke--a smoke that had the acrid smell of burned gas. on hands and knees, matt groped his way through the haze, pulled a switch, and set an electric ventilator fan at work. the fan soon cleared the ship, and the first figure matt saw was that of the gasping chinaman. he was on his knees in the tank room. in front of him lay a twisted and broken gasolene tank--a small reserve reservoir sometimes used to help out the larger tank when the fuel in it was running low. this auxiliary tank had not been used for a month, but had hung empty from a rack in the tank room. at the chinaman's side lay a cigarette and a half-burned match. "what the deuce happened?" cried glennie, creeping after matt. "your chinaman tried to light a cigarette," answered the young motorist, quick to reason out the cause of what had happened. "he was under an auxiliary gasolene reservoir, and the match set it off." "thunder, matt!" exclaimed gaines, who had dropped down below after glennie, "there hasn't been any gasolene in that tank for a month." "the vapor was there, all the same." "nonsense!" exclaimed glennie. "vapor wouldn't stay in that tank for a month. it would escape and find its way out." "gasolene vapor is heavier than air," said matt; "and it would remain indefinitely at the bottom of the reservoir. a little of it probably leaked through the bottom of the feed pipe, so that the match set it off. luckily for the chink there wasn't very much of it." "gee, klismus!" babbled ah sin. "me tly smokee, something go _boom_! no likee devil-boat!" "have you any more cigarettes?" demanded matt sharply. ah sin dug a handful out of the breast of his blouse. "is that all?" demanded matt. "no gottee allee mo'." "don't strike any more matches," went on matt sternly. "you're going with us to para, and you're going to do the cooking. take him in hand, speake," he added to speake, who had dropped down behind gaines, "and show him how we do that part of our work on the _grampus_. keep an eye on him, and see that he doesn't blow up the boat." "never did like a bloomin' chink, nohow," grumbled speake. "if he gits too blame' troublesome, i'll break his scrawny neck. come on here, yaller mug!" speake made off forward, toward the torpedo room, and ah sin meekly followed. just then a thump on the deck, and a loud hail, announced that dick had arrived with the gasolene. "rig the hose, gaines," called matt. "clackett, get the pump on deck. we've got to get the fuel into the tank in short order and then slant away for the amazon and para." while gaines and clackett busied themselves, matt and glennie went up to the periscope room. carl was just climbing the ladder to help dick. glennie, without further talk, picked up his suit case and went on to the room that had been set apart for his use. "dot ploomin' shink vill ged us all indo some hot vater," grunted carl. "i guess not," returned matt. "speake is looking after him." "vat iss a shink anyvay," went on carl, "but some monkies mit der tails in der wrong blace?" clackett came with the pump and passed it to dick, who was in the boat with the barrel of gasolene. the pump was rigged, the end of the hose clamped on, and clackett and dick got busy pouring the fuel through the hose and into the big tank below. while they worked, clackett explained to dick that they were to make a quick departure for the amazon. dick was disappointed, for he had hoped for a night's shore-leave in port-of-spain, where he had some friends. when he learned that business of glennie's had all to do with their short stay in port, dick was inclined to be resentful. the ensign had not made much of a hit with ferral--nor with any of the rest of the submarine's complement, for that matter. dick, however, did no more than grumble. if motor matt thought it necessary to pull out for the amazon in such short order, then there was nothing more to be said. matt knew what he was about. dick alone, of all the submarine's crew, had been the only one to set foot on shore. as soon as the gasolene was transferred, and the boatman paid for his services, the anchor was taken in and the _grampus_ laid her course for the serpent's mouth and began her long voyage toward the amazon. dick took the wheel. matt, studying the charts, gave him the course. glennie came out of his room and watched the two lads while they were at work. everything was going well, and the rhythmical hum of the motor echoed through the boat from the engine room. glennie walked over and took a look at the periscope. in the mirror were reflected the slowly receding shore line and the distant mountains that arose behind the town. "you fellows seem to know your business," remarked glennie. "aye," growled dick, "and we mind it, mr. glennie." the ensign turned from the periscope and went up on deck. "why are you keeping the boat so high in the water?" he called down. "he knows so much, matey," said dick to matt, "why not let him figure that out for himself?" "because," matt answered, shaking his head at dick, "we can make better speed when we're riding light. once out of the gulf of paria, though, the sea will probably be so rough we'll have to submerge." the ensign continued to ask questions and matt continued to answer them until speake announced dinner. the meal was served to the crew at their different stations, ah sin carrying the plates and the steaming cups of coffee. after the meal matt went up on deck with glennie, and dick did the steering from the top of the conning tower. the gulf of paria was a great watery plain, over which the waters of the orinoco spread themselves before mingling with the sea. the ensign, feeling that he was disliked, drew back into his shell and bore himself with a chilly reserve. along toward three o'clock matt relieved dick and sent him below to sleep. directly after supper dick would have to relieve gaines and stand his trick at the motor, and it was necessary for him to get a little rest. carl would also have to relieve clackett, and, in order to be fit for his duties, the dutch boy had turned in immediately after dinner. he was sleeping on the floor of the periscope room, and dick curled up on the locker. the afternoon saw the _grampus_ well across the gulf, and by five o'clock she changed her course to south by east, leaving the densely wooded hills of trinidad far behind with the coast of venezuela in plain view to starboard. ah sin, having been duly instructed as to his duties, prepared the supper on the electric stove, and served it. speake relieved matt at the steering gear, and when dick went below to take gaines' place at the motor, matt sprawled out on the locker to catch his own forty winks. a stiff sea was running, and the _grampus_ was submerged to a depth that merely left the periscope ball clear of the combers. as the darkness deepened, speake had carl put the turbines at work, throwing out sufficient water ballast to lift the conning-tower lunettes clear of the waves. the electric projector was then turned on, and a ray of light shot through the forward lunette and marked the submarine's path through the tumbling sea. for some hours everything went well. then abruptly the motor began to sputter and misfire, lessening the speed of the boat and throwing her--now that she was riding higher and with the top of the conning tower awash--more at the mercy of the waves. loose furniture began to slam around the periscope room. matt was thrown from the locker, and sat up, wondering what had gone wrong with the motor. "what's the matter down there, dick?" he called through the motor-room tube. "i'm a feejee if i know," dick answered. "you'd better come down, old ship, and take a look." matt was soon at his chum's side. his keenly trained ear was usually able to locate any ordinary trouble, but this time he was puzzled. the ignition was all right, and the supply pipe from the tank was clear. nevertheless the motor sputtered and jabbered with a wheezy but unsuccessful attempt to do its full duty. the platinum, in the blade or spring of the commutator, will, in rare cases, get loose and cause misfiring, but that was not the cause of the present trouble. another rare cause, resulting in similar symptoms, lay in the loosening of the carbon pole in the cell of a battery. but, just now, the batteries were not at fault. finally, as a last resort, matt examined the gasolene that was being fed into the carburetor. a few drops in the palm of his hand aroused his suspicions. the next moment the hydrometer test was made and water was found in the gasolene. "how did it get there?" demanded dick. "the gasolene has worked well enough all afternoon and so far during the night." "none of the gasolene you bought in port-of-spain has been used as yet?" "not a drop." "well, connect up the carburetor with the storage reservoir. if there is a little water in the carburetor, it will soon work out. after that, empty this tank, strain the gasolene through chamoiskin, and then give the tank a compressed-air treatment. i'll send clackett to help you." "but how, in the name of sin, did water get in that tank?" cried the perplexed dick. as matt turned to crawl away, he picked up a six-inch ebony cylinder, about the size of a lead-pencil, from near the tank. it was a chopstick! "has the chinaman been here?" he asked. "not that i know of," answered dick. "why?" "nothing," said matt, but he was doing some tall thinking as he stepped into the torpedo room, aroused clackett, and sent him aft to lend dick a hand. chapter vi. villainous work. gaines and ah sin were also sleeping in the torpedo room. as soon as clackett had left, matt bent down over the chinaman and shook him roughly. the celestial started up and stared blankly into the stern face of the young motorist. "wha'chee want?" he asked. "is this yours?" inquired matt, producing the chopstick and studying the chinaman's face attentively as he did so. the brim of the old slouch hat--which the yellow man had kept on while sleeping--shaded his eyes, so that matt's view was not as good as he would have liked to have it. so far as matt could discover, not a shadow of guilt crossed ah sin's face. thrusting one hand into the breast of his blouse he drew out the mate to the chopstick matt was holding, a grateful grin split his countenance, and he caught the piece of ebony out of matt's hand. "me losee um, huh?" he chuckled. "my no savvy how me losee um." "go up the hatch to the periscope room," ordered matt. if ah sin was surprised at the command he cloaked his feelings admirably. without a word he left the torpedo room, climbed to the deck above, and gained the periscope chamber. matt pounded on the door of glennie's quarters, and the ensign quickly opened the door. "what's wanted?" he asked. "take this chinaman in there with you, mr. glennie," said matt, "and watch him." "what's he been doing?" "i don't know that he's been doing anything. i just want him watched, that's all, and you can do it better than any one else." glennie stared for a moment, then jerked the chinaman inside and closed the door. as matt turned away, he was conscious of the steady song of the cylinders. again the motor had taken up its cycle properly--proof that the gasolene secured by dick in port-of-spain was of the right sort. "i'll take the wheel, speake," said matt. "go to the torpedo room and turn in." "what was wrong with the motor?" queried speake, as he gave up the wheel. "water in the carburetor." "chink put it there?" "why should he do that?" returned matt. "that's too much for me, matt, unless he did it by mistake, same as he exploded the gas in that reserve tank." "i don't know how the water got in the tank, speake, and it may have been accident quite as much as design." speake left matt to his lonely vigil. the gleam of the little searchlight, reaching out ahead of the submarine, flung an odd picture on the periscope mirror. the edges of the mirror were shrouded in darkness, out of which jumped the smooth, oily billows. the waves flashed like gold in the pencil of light. matt, holding the _grampus_ to her course, looked into the periscope absently. he was thinking of the motor's recent trouble, and of the chopstick lying by the gasolene tank, turning both over in his mind and wondering aimlessly. suddenly he lifted his head. an odd note was mixing itself with the croon of the motor and the whir of the ventilator fans. the noise was not caused by anything aboard the submarine, of that matt was positive. it was like the thrashing of a large propeller, growing rapidly in volume as matt listened. under water sounds are carried far. the noise matt heard was caught by the submerged hulk of the _grampus_ and reëchoed as by a sounding-board. "half-speed, dick," he called through the engine-room tube. as the pace slackened, matt's eyes again sought the periscope mirror. abruptly, out of the gloom that walled in the glow of the searchlight, rushed a steamer, its blotted outline crossing directly the submarine's course. there were lights along the steamer's rail, but it was plain her lookouts were asleep or they would have seen the _grampus'_ searchlight. instantly the young motorist was galvanized into strenuous activity. "full speed astern--on your life!" he shouted to dick. at the same time matt put the wheel over, hoping to make a turn and get the _grampus_ on a parallel course with the steamer. but there was not room, nor time, enough for the turn. unless the motor stayed the _grampus_ she was bound to crash into the other vessel. dick, however, got the propeller to turning the other way just at the critical moment. the speed of the submarine slackened in answer to the reverse pull, and the stern of the steamer swung by into the gloom with a margin of scarce a dozen feet, leaving the _grampus_ bobbing in her troubled wake. "all right now, dick," called matt in a voice that shook somewhat. "drive her ahead." "what was wrong?" inquired dick. "we just missed a collision with a steamer. your quick work saved us." dick gave a long whistle, and went on with his work. "a miss is as good as a hundred fathoms, old ship," he answered lightly. the ringing orders and quick work with the engine had aroused none of the sleepers. carl could be heard babbling excitedly in the tank room, but otherwise the ship's complement was quiet. it was with a distinct feeling of relief that matt caught the first gleam of day as it was reflected by the periscope. as the morning advanced and brightened, he raised a black smudge, as of steamer smoke, on the port quarter. the smoke was bearing along in the direction the submarine was going, and matt wondered if that was the steamer they had barely missed running into during the night. gaines relieved dick, clackett took carl's place, and speake came after ah sin and ordered him below to get breakfast. when the chinaman was fairly at work, speake returned to the engine room and took the wheel. glennie showed himself when breakfast was ready, and he, matt, dick, carl, and speake ate their breakfast in the periscope room. "we must be off british guiana," remarked glennie, stirring the condensed milk and sugar into his coffee. "will you put in at georgetown, mr. king?" "we won't have to do that, now that we've picked you up at port-of-spain," replied matt. "we've got to make quick time to the amazon." "iss dot shdeamer der vone ve come pooty near running indo lasdt night?" queried carl, taking a look into the periscope. "it's about an even guess whether it is or not." ah sin, who happened to be in the room, took a look at the periscope for himself. "did we come near having a collision last night?" queried glennie, looking up quickly. matt, who wished to be agreeable, narrated the incident. "we made a lucky miss of it," remarked the ensign, when matt had finished. "i've no desire to go to the bottom in a steel sarcophagus like the _grampus_. strange i slept through it all, but i was tired, and i suppose i slept rather sounder than usual. that chink," he added, putting down his cup, "is a poor coffee-maker. or is it the coffee itself that tastes so rank?" "it's poor stuff," spoke up speake, "an' i was jest goin' to say something about the taste. the chink did better yesterday than he's doin' this mornin'." "id purns ven id goes town, like id vas a dorch-light brocession," observed carl luminously. "i don'd like dot, but i vas hungry, so i trink him. whoosh!" "it's certainly hot and bitter," said matt, and put down his cup after two or three swallows. "that steamer is gettin' closer to us, matt," announced speake, fumbling with the wheel and looking at the periscope. "steady, there, speake!" cautioned matt. "i don't know what's the matter with me," muttered speake, "but my nerves are all in a quiver. she's small, that steamer; one funnel, black, with a red band. i don't jest recollect what line--that--is." he drawled out the last words. "py shiminy grickets!" said carl, "i feel sick py der shdomach, und eferyt'ing iss virling und virling." "dowse me," put in dick, "i'm dizzy, too!" "and i," murmured glennie, setting aside his plate and empty cup. "i--i believe i'll lie down." he got up from the stool on which he was sitting, and floundered to the top of the locker. pushing a hand around to his hip pocket, he drew out a revolver that interfered with his comfort, dropped it on the floor, and fell back limply. dick tried to get to his feet, but his limbs gave out, and he fell sprawling upon carl. at the same moment carl straightened out with a gasp, and speake let go of the wheel and pitched forward to his knees. there he swayed unsteadily for an instant, trying to speak, but the effort was beyond him, and he slowly crumpled downward. a horrible sensation of helplessness was growing upon matt, and with it there dawned on his mind a hazy suspicion of villainous work. he struggled upright and staggered to the wheel. "gaines!" he called huskily through the motor-room tube. no answer was returned. glennie floundered up on one knee. "what--in the fiend's--name--is the matter?" he gasped chokingly. "clackett!" cried matt through the tank-room tube. still there was no answer. at just that moment, when matt was positively sure that all on the ship were caught in the awful spell, ah sin shambled through the door. with all his failing strength matt flung himself on the chinaman. before ah sin could dodge out of the way matt's arms went round him and his slouch hat was jerked off. with the hat came the long queue, leaving ah sin's closely cropped head in plain sight. "t--tolo!" gurgled glennie, a wild, incredulous look crossing his face. he made a superhuman effort to get off the locker, but the last particle of strength left him in a flash, and he rolled backward. chapter vii. rubbing elbows with death. matt had neither the time nor the strength to manifest any surprise over the startling revelation made by glennie. not only that, but his brain was in such a condition it was well-nigh incapable of surprise. in that critical moment when he felt a terrifying helplessness surely but steadily creeping over him, he centred every effort on the attempt to make ah sin a prisoner. swiftly as a lightning flash the idea struck through matt's brain that the chinaman had all to do with the baffling situation aboard the _grampus_. if matt could drag him down and secure him he felt that, at a later moment, the treacherous celestial might be dealt with as his evil deeds justified. but the work the king of the motor boys had mapped out for himself exceeded his powers. there was none to come to his aid. below, in the tank room and motor room, was a silence undisturbed by human voice or movement, and there, in the periscope chamber, the only noise to be heard was the deep breathing of matt's unconscious friends and the rattling sounds of the scuffle going forward between the young motorist and ah sin. the slouch hat and the false queue were kicked into one corner. ah sin's long, lean fingers were gripping matt's throat. there was no look of hate, or anger, or even of determination in the chinaman's face; the expression was blank and saturnine, as though he was merely a tool, operated by wires like a puppet and carrying out the will of some one in high authority. suddenly, putting forth all his strength, ah sin lifted matt by the throat and threw him bodily across speake and against the edge of the locker. matt tried to rise, but found it impossible. the awful weakness held him in thrall and was fastening gyves upon his wrists. soon he would be utterly helpless, like those lying around him, and what would ah sin then do to the _grampus_? a spasm of alarm and apprehension rushed through the young motorist. was this to be the end of the submarine's voyage? was the sale of the boat to the government destined never to be consummated? vaguely matt thought of captain nemo, jr., lying sick in that house in belize, of his unswerving confidence in the king of the motor boys, and of his tremendous disappointment if anything happened to the submarine during her daring cruise. all this brought every ounce of matt's failing strength back to him. he shoved his hand along the side of the locker and twined his fingers about the grip of the revolver dropped by glennie, then, with a despairing effort, he lifted himself on one elbow and again directed his gaze at the chinaman. ah sin had not been idle. he was holding something in his hand--a round object from which hung a long, black string. the chinaman was lighting a match and touching the flame to the end of the string. matt could not see very distinctly, for everything in the periscope chamber, even the chamber itself, was reeling about him in fantastic lines. the glow at the end of the black string sputtered and hissed. stepping over to one corner, ah sin placed the round object on the floor with exceeding care, pulling out the string so that it lay in a straight line, the burning end pointed toward the centre of the room. for a moment ah sin knelt and stared. his face was still inscrutable, his eyes showing nothing more than a mild interest in his fiendish work. a bomb! the realization broke over matt's benumbed brain like a thunder-clap. ah sin was seeking to blow up the submarine, annihilating not only the boat, but those aboard as well. on matt alone depended the salvation of the _grampus_ and her crew. and he was almost helpless in the grip of the baneful spell that had fallen over every one on board, with the exception of the chinaman! matt lifted the revolver unsteadily. a report rang out, sending wild echoes clattering through the steel hull. the bullet missed the kneeling chinaman, struck clanging against the curved iron plates, glanced against the bulkhead above the locker, and dropped flattened and harmless at the side of glennie. owing to matt's unsteady hand the chinaman had escaped the bit of lead, but he was startled and frightened. leaping up he whirled and peered at matt. the latter still clutched the revolver, but his hand swayed back and forth as he leveled it. ah sin made a quick jump toward matt, evidently with the intention of disarming him; but there was something in the lad's wide, straining eyes that caused him to change his mind. swerving aside he rushed at the ladder, mounted swiftly, and disappeared through the hatch. with a fierce effort matt concentrated his wandering wits upon the bomb. someway, somehow, he must reach the infernal machine and extinguish the fuse. dropping the revolver, he rolled over and over, a lurch of the boat, running erratically with no guiding hand at either wheel or motor, helping him to reach the foot of the periscope table. with the utmost difficulty he caught the legs of the rigidly secured table and pulled himself to his knees. the cup, from which he had taken only a few swallows of coffee, stood on the floor just below the end of the table, and not more than a foot from the burning fuse. by a miracle the cup had not been overturned. for him to reach the fuse in his weakened condition was impossible; but, if he could regain his feet and kick the cup over the coffee that remained in it might quench the fire of the fuse. three times he endeavored to draw himself erect by means of the table, but succeeded only in dropping backward as though pushed by a heavy, resistless hand. but the fourth time he managed to remain upright, trembling with the strain he had put upon himself. it seemed a trifling thing to overset the coffee-cup, but motor matt had never planned a harder task. there are but few things in this life, however, that will not yield to pluck and determination, and fortune favored matt in his grave fight. the _grampus_ pitched forward, rising aft and making a steep incline of the floor. matt's feet slipped, and he lost his hold on the table. as he came heavily down he shot against a stool, which was overturned and upset the cup. the liquid in the cup had slopped over the sides, and with the overturning a miniature wave of brown rolled along the inclined floor. there followed a hiss as it engulfed the tiny blaze at the end of the fuse, and then a little spiral of smoke eddied upward. this much matt saw, and a fierce exultation ran through him. the bomb was harmless--but where was ah sin? would he not come back, discover what matt had accomplished, and again set a match to the fuse? this might happen, but there was nothing motor matt could do to prevent it. he had taken only a few swallows of the coffee, and to this, and to his superior powers of endurance, was due the fact that he had kept his senses and a remnant of his strength long enough to accomplish what he had. but now a wave of darkness rolled over him. as unconscious of what was taking place around him as he was helpless to prevent further disaster, his head fell back and he lay as one dead among his silent and motionless companions. chapter viii. a dive for safety. as matt was the last one to lose his senses, so he was the first to recover. and here again his superior endurance must have scored in his favor. always in the pink of physical condition, and striving constantly to keep himself so, his powers of recuperation were quick to react and reassert themselves. he sat up, dazed and bewildered, and was some moments in picking up the chain of events where it had been dropped. by degrees he lived over the events that immediately preceded his lapse into unconsciousness, and thoughts of the treacherous ah sin brought him staggering to his feet. the _grampus_ was yawing and tumbling about in the waves, completely at the mercy of wind and currents. seizing the wheel, matt brought the submarine to her course and lashed the wheel with his twisted handkerchief. pausing by the foot of the ladder he looked up into the conning tower. the hatch was open. what had become of the chinaman he asked himself. had he, confident that the boat would be blown up, gained the deck and thrown himself into the sea? matt had heard of fanatics of that sort--carrying out orders given by a higher power and then immolating themselves on the altar of what they supposed to be their duty. the japs were noted for self-sacrifices of that kind, and ah sin was not a chinaman, but a little yellow man from the land of the mikado. how long matt had remained unconscious he had no means of knowing. resolved to discover what had become of the supposed chinaman at all hazards, matt climbed laboriously up the ladder. the cool, salt air, pouring down the hatch, served still further to revive him and bring back his strength. at last, when he braced himself in the opening and was able to cast a sweeping glance over the waves, the sight unrolled before him brought a startled exclamation to his lips. a cable's length from the submarine was a dory manned by smartly uniformed yellow sailors. hove to, half a dozen fathoms beyond the dory, was the steamer with the black funnel and the red band, her port rail lined with figures that were evidently watching the _grampus_. between the dory and the submarine was a swimming figure, which matt had little difficulty in recognizing as being that of tolo, otherwise ah sin. tolo was swimming and looking behind, and the eyes of those in the dory were on the _grampus_, the men at the oars turning their heads to look over their shoulders. it seemed plain that they were expecting an explosion, and that they were hurrying to get tolo out of the way of it. matt's blood ran cold as he thought of the heinous plot that had so nearly been carried out by the disguised japanese. policy was back of the murderous plan, but was it a policy dictated by a powerful nation, or merely by a set of misguided men, acting on their own accord? the young motorist had no time to debate this point. a shout of consternation greeted his appearance at the conning-tower hatch. the officer in the dory spoke to his men, and all turned their faces the other way and bent their backs to the oars. it flashed over matt, in a twinkling, that the crew from the steamer were still of the opinion that they could destroy the submarine, and that they were hastening to get aboard the craft in order to carry out their nefarious designs. without losing a moment, matt drew back into the tower and closed and barred the hatch. lurching down the ladder he called desperately to his companions. speake and dick were sitting up, staring blankly at each other. when matt appeared they fixed their bewildered eyes on him. "wake up!" cried matt, springing to dick and shaking him vigorously. "get your wits together, dick, and be quick about it." "keelhaul me!" mumbled dick. "there was dope in that coffee." "that's right," seconded speake, rubbing a hand across his forehead. "never mind that now," went on matt hurriedly. "enemies are upon us! that steamer you saw in the periscope, speake, is hove to a little way from us, and our motor is slowed until we have scarcely steerage-way. a boat is coming toward the _grampus_, and we shall be boarded before you can say jack robinson. we've got to make a dive for safety. rouse yourselves, both of you! to the motor, dick! speake, attend to the tanks--fill them for a twenty-foot submersion. you----" something struck against the side of the submarine, and a jar followed as of some one springing to the deck. "there they are!" shouted matt. "below with you--quick!" speake and dick got unsteadily to their feet. matt's ominous words alarmed them, and did more than anything else to clear the fog from their minds. making their way stumblingly through the door they lowered themselves down the hatch. several more ringing thumps on the deck proved to matt that others had come aboard. presently there was a banging on the hatch cover. "open!" cried a muffled voice with a queer foreign intonation. "open so that we can talk!" "who are you?" roared matt, his voice sounding like thunder in the confined space. "young samurai, patriots of nippon, sons of the rising sun, independent protectors of the kingdom. open!" matt forced his way up the ladder again. slant eyes were pressed against the lunettes and met his. already, however, water was entering the ballast tanks and the _grampus_ was beginning to settle. "our flag is the stars and stripes," yelled matt, shaking his fist at the eyes on the other side of the thick glass, "and you dare not lay a hand on us! if your mikado knew what you were about----" "our mikado knows nothing," interrupted a voice. "we----" the fact that the submarine was diving came suddenly home to those on the deck. already the waves were creaming over the curved plates, drawn into a flurry by the suction as the boat went down. the eyes disappeared from the lunettes, and the japanese scrambled for their boat. another moment and the conning tower was submerged and matt could hear the waters gurgling over the hatch cover. sliding down to the periscope room he looked into the periscope. some of the sailors were in the water, and others, in the boat, were desperately busy getting them aboard. for a moment only matt was able to use the periscope, and then the waters closed about the ball, the valves protecting the ball from an inrush of water closed, and the _grampus_ was more than fifteen feet down. "twenty feet, matey!" came the voice of dick. "that will do, speake," called matt. the tanks were closed. "drive her ahead, dick!" cried matt. the motor was speeded up and the _grampus_ hustled onward below the surface. while matt unlashed the wheel and brought the boat more directly into her course, a loud boom and a splash were heard. "what's that?" demanded speake. "the steamer is firing at us," answered matt. "let 'em shoot," laughed dick. "a heap of good it will do them to drop shot into the sea." "how's gaines, dick?" "coming along full and by, forty knots. he's sitting up and beginning to take notice." "how about clackett, speake?" "he jest asked me to tell him where he was," replied speake, "so i guess he'll soon be able to take hold." "good! we're coming out of this a whole lot better than i had dared to hope." "dot's righdt," spoke up carl, coming suddenly to a sitting posture. "how do you feel, old chap?" asked matt. "i peen lying dere on my pack trying to guess id oudt," carl answered. "that's about the way i stack up, mr. king," said glennie, turning over on his side so he could face matt. "where are we?" "we're twenty feet down and headed for the delta of the amazon, mr. glennie." "didn't you lose consciousness, like the rest of us?" "yes; but i wasn't out of my head so long. i was the last to go and the first to come to." "how do you account for that?" glennie sat up on the locker, as he put the question, and began rubbing his head. "i didn't drink so much of that bitter coffee as the rest of you did," replied matt. "that's right," muttered glennie; "i was forgetting about the coffee. it was drugged--it must have been." "yah, so helup me!" growled carl. "der shink vas oop to some funny pitzness, und he has peen efer since he come apoardt der poat. shinks iss pad meticine, anyvays. ve ought to haf droon him oferpoard on cheneral brinciples." "where's ah sin now?" queried glennie, looking around the room expectantly. "the last i saw of him," said matt, "he was in the water swimming toward a small boat." glennie started to his feet, astounded. "in the water?" he echoed. "do you mean to say you allowed the scoundrel to get away, mr. king? and all the time you knew just how much his presence meant to me!" matt gazed fixedly at the ensign. "your head must still be troubled with that dope the supposed chinaman put in the coffee," said he calmly. "it was lucky that i was able to do what i did, and, as for the chinaman getting away, i could no more help that than any of the rest of you. but it was a lucky thing for us that he _did_ get away, i can tell you that." "vat pitzness you got finding some fault mit motor matt?" snapped carl, making a truculent move in glennie's direction. "you vas a bassencher--don'd forged dot--und matt vas der skipper. ve ought to call him gaptain, only he von't allow id; but, all der same, he iss der gaptain oof der poat, und you vill keep some shdillness mit yourseluf oder i vill pat you on der pack mit mein fist. yah, so, misder glennie!" "that will do, carl," said matt. "draw back into your shell now, and keep some stillness yourself. i can handle my own end with mr. glennie." carl flung off to the other side of the room, tramping heavily to show his impatience and disgust. "i presume," said the ensign reflectively, "that you did the best you could, mr. king, so i have no fault to find with you. but you understand that ah sin was my only hope for locating those important papers in para." matt stared, wondering if glennie had forgotten the discovery he had made just before he had lapsed into unconsciousness. "i had a mighty queer dream about that chinaman," pursued glennie. "i thought you had a fight with him, matt, and that, during the scuffle, his old slouch hat came off, and the queue along with it. and i was under the impression that ah sin wasn't a chinaman at all, but tolo, that rascally jap." "that wasn't a dream, mr. glennie," answered matt, "but is literally what took place." "is that a fact?" cried the ensign. "look ad here vonce!" called carl. he had picked up the slouch hat and the attached queue and placed them on his head. "great moses!" muttered glennie, reeling back against the wall. "how i've been fooled! and i never recognized the scoundrel in his chink make-up! well, i guess i deserve all the bad luck that's coming my way. i've been a dunderhead ever since the _seminole_ dropped me in la guayra." "whoosh!" exclaimed carl, disgustedly, pulling off the hat and pigtail and throwing them into the locker. "i don'd like der shmell oof der t'ings," and he dropped the locker lid and turned away. "vat's dis, hey?" he inquired, picking up the bomb. chapter ix. putting two and two together. "that," said matt, "is a bomb. while i lay on the floor, all but helpless, the disguised jap set fire to the fuse and planted the bomb in the corner." glennie stared aghast. carl mumbled to himself, and very carefully returned the bomb to the place where he had found it. "he vas a plackguard!" growled carl, backing away from the bomb and shaking his fist at it. "der sgoundrel vould haf plowed us py some smidereens. i don'd like chaps any more as i do shinks." "you must be mistaken!" gasped glennie. "either that, or else tolo is a madman! why, the explosion of that bomb would have wrecked the submarine and killed us all." the ensign shuddered. "it would have been barbarous!" he went on, worked up by the enormity of the crime that had been planned. "as an act of war, it would have been savage enough, in all conscience, but here we are at peace with all the world, and under the protection of old glory!" "i can't help that, glennie," said matt grimly. "we've got to take the facts as we find them. i managed to get hands on the revolver you dropped, and had strength enough to fire one shot. the bullet missed its mark, and tolo jumped up and started for me. but i guess the revolver scared him off, for he whirled around before he got very close and darted up the conning-tower ladder." "he left the fuse burning?" "yes; and evidently expected a blow-up." "why wasn't there a blow-up?" "well, the coffee that had got me into trouble got us all out of it. i fell, knocked over a stool, the stool knocked over the cup, and the coffee was spilled out and flowed over the burning fuse." "that's the most remarkable thing i ever heard!" declared glennie. "modor matt's luck," chuckled carl. "i vould radder be mit matt, und haf a biece oof his luck, dan any blace vat i know. ven he has some goot fordunes, he has to pass dem aroundt to der fellers vat iss mit him--vich means me, for i vas alvays aroundt." "go on, mr. king," said glennie. "what happened after that?" matt, attending to his steering and keeping an eye on the periscope, told how he had lost consciousness for a few moments, had revived, lashed the wheel, and climbed to the hatch. the rest, including how he, dick, and speake had made a dive for safety, came rapidly and in the fewest possible words. "from all of which it appears," remarked glennie quietly, when the recital was done, "that we owe our lives to motor matt. but i can't understand this tolo business. why was he playing the part of a chink?" "so you wouldn't know him," said matt, "and so he could still be with you." "but what was the use?" "that seems plain," went on matt, wondering a little at the ensign's failure to see the game that had been attempted. "as i figure it, mr. glennie, there is a japanese secret society consisting of a number of misguided young men who call themselves sons of the rising sun. their government does not sanction their acts, and presumably knows nothing about them. these independent protectors of the kingdom have heard of this wonderful submarine ship invented by captain nemo, jr., and they are well fitted to understand its possibilities in time of war." "granting all that, just what has it to do with the actions of tolo?" "i'm coming to that. tolo, i take it, is a member of the young samurai society. no doubt the society has had spies in central and south america. these spies reported that the _grampus_ had been sold to the united states government, conditional upon her making a safe passage around the horn and up the western coast to mare island. i don't suppose that the sons of the rising sun were at all pleased with this information. they are enthusiasts, and probably don't care a rap for their own lives, or for the lives of any other people, so long as they can do a good stroke of work for nippon." "but tolo," put in the ensign impatiently, "what of him?" "probably, too," continued matt, "it was known that the _seminole_ had dropped you at la guayra, and that you were to accompany the submarine on her long cruise. tolo was commissioned to watch you, get aboard the submarine if possible, make sketches, and then destroy her." "but do you consider what a crime that amounts to? that it is virtually an act of war and might embroil two countries?" "it is an act of piracy, mr. glennie. the steamer from which the japs came was not flying the japanese flag, nor any other flag, so far as i could see. they're working on their own hook." "then they are liable to be caught and punished by their own government!" "of course; but the sons of the rising sun have the bit in their own teeth and are going their own pace. i'll bet something handsome they'd sacrifice their steamer and their own lives, into the bargain, if they could be sure of destroying the _grampus_. the japs are fanatics on the subject of patriotism--everybody knows that. but to go on with tolo. he hired out to you, found a chance to steal your dispatches, and thought advisable to take them. probably he thought they contained information of value to the young samurai. after that he disguised himself as a chinaman--not a difficult task for a jap--and called on us in the harbor at port-of-spain. he was cunning enough to hand you that yarn about knowing tolo, and to hang out regarding the fifty dollars so that he could get you to take him down the coast to the amazon. on the way, tolo was snooping around and learning all he could about the boat. the blowing up of the gasolene tank was probably an accident, but mixing water with our fuel was done with a purpose." "what purpose?" "to delay us, and make it possible for the steamer to come near. this morning tolo must have heard how we had narrowly escaped running the steamer down during the night, and i am sure he knew the steamer was hanging around our course just before he went down to get breakfast. he had come aboard the _grampus_ equipped with his bomb and his drugs, and it's a wonder his scoundrelly plans did not carry. of course," matt added, after a long silence, "i am only putting two and two together, and making a guess. the guess may be close to the truth, or wide of it, but that's the way i size up the facts that have come to us." "you haf hit der nail righdt on der headt, py chiminy!" declared carl. "der sons oof der rising sun vas afder us, aber dey vill findt dot ve don'd vas ashleep. ve're a leedle punch oof badriots ourseluf, you bed you, und an american feller has got id ofer der chap like anyding." carl puffed out his chest and slapped his wishbone. "i am sure you have made a good guess, mr. king," said glennie, "and the way you have argued the thing out is mighty convincing. it shows us what we're up against during this cruise, and i'm wondering why the captain of the _seminole_ didn't tip me off." "it's likely he didn't know anything about these sons of the rising sun," replied matt. "we've only been able to get a line on them by facing considerable danger, and taking a lot of hard knocks." "ven dose leedle fellers whipped rooshia," put in carl, "dey got puffed oop like i can't tell. dere iss some chips on deir shoulters all der time now, und they ought to be knocked off." "don't make a common mistake, mr. pretzel," cautioned glennie. "the japanese government has always been a good friend of the united states, and----" "der handt vat dey holdt oudt to us iss der gladt handt," interrupted carl, "und der odder vat dey haf pehind deir pack iss toupled oop und ready to shtrike! yah, so helup me!" "there are hotheads in japan just as there are in our own country," proceeded glennie; "but both governments are on friendly terms and will always be so. the mikado's government doesn't know what these sons of the rising sun are doing, so what happens is just a little private war between them and us, with the _grampus_ as the bone of contention." "vell," and carl wagged his head decidedly, "ve got our teet' on der pone und dey can't shake us loose." "that's right," laughed matt. "mr. pretzel is a jingo," said glennie. "but what am i to do about those dispatches?" "we'll go right on to the amazon and para. when we get there, mr. glennie, i'd advise you to make a clean breast of everything to mr. brigham. perhaps he can help you get hold of the papers in some way." the ensign shook his head gloomily. "i see what will happen to me," he muttered, "but i guess i can face the music, all right. i'm sorry for the governor, though, when the news gets to boston." at this moment speake came in and began clearing up the scattered tin dishes that had been used in serving the morning meal. he reported gaines and clackett as feeling all right, and actively engaged in their duties. matt ordered the ballast tanks emptied so as to bring the submarine within a dozen feet of the surface. at this depth the periscope ball cleared the waves, the automatic valves opened, and those in the periscope room were able to take a look at the surface of the sea. the steamer was nowhere in sight--there was not even a smudge of smoke on the horizon. the _grampus_ was lifted further until the conning tower was clear of the waves. speake took the wheel, matt studied the chart and gave him the course and then turned in for a little sleep. dick and carl likewise sought a little rest; and while the king of the motor boys and his chums slept, the submarine plowed onward toward brazil at a swift pace. chapter x. under the amazon. three days and nights of uneventful traveling brought the _grampus_ to santa rosa bay directly in the great mouth of the amazon. para river, to the south, is not generally considered as an arm of the river, although unquestionably it forms a part of the vast delta. the mouth of the amazon matt knew to be two hundred miles wide, and full twenty-seven fathoms deep. it is full of islands, and a bar, running seaward from one of these islands, caused the _grampus_ an unforeseen delay. feeling positive that the mysterious steamer had reached the amazon ahead of them, or that she was perhaps watching along the coast; most of the latter part of the submarine's journey toward the para had been made under water. the boat was submerged when she reached the amazon, and the run across santa rosa bay was by periscope alone. matt saw the little rocky island, whitened with seabirds, and supposed he was giving it a wide berth. he did not suspect the presence of the bar, and the chart, most unaccountably, did not show it. the first news of trouble was contained in an announcement by gaines, from the motor room. "propeller's out of commission, matt." this was alarming information. with the propeller useless, the submarine would drift helplessly in the current unless stoutly anchored. quickly as possible the ballast tanks were emptied and the boat brought to the surface. matt, turning the wheel over to speake, rushed into the conning tower, threw open the hatch and made a survey of the situation. there were no boats of any kind in the vicinity of the _grampus_, and consequently no hope of being towed into safe quarters while repairs were being made. matt, when he broke out of the hatch, was confidently expecting to find the submarine being whirled out to sea by the swift current, but, to his surprise, the boat was setting in toward a small cove of the island. he got out on the deck for the purpose of making further observations. dick and glennie followed him. "what do you make out, matey?" queried dick. "from the looks of things, we're floating upstream." "we're in a back-set of the current," matt answered, studying the river in the neighborhood of the island. "that uplift of rocks parts the stream, sends the current around the upper part at sharp angles, and below, where we are, the current sucks back inshore." "a dangerous coast to run into," remarked glennie. "that cove looks like a quiet place for shipping a new propeller," said matt. "you ought to have a dry-dock for that, hadn't you?" "that would be fine--but we haven't got it. the next best thing is to shift all the weight forward and throw the propeller out of water. we can do that if our forward anchor can find holding ground on the bottom of the cove." matt stepped back to the conning tower. "speake!" he called. "aye, aye!" came back from speake. "send clackett to the torpedo room, and tell him to let go the forward anchor as soon as i give the word. carl might go down and help. when i give the word, i want the anchor dropped _at once_!" speake could be heard talking through the tank-room tube. matt, standing by the tower, watched sharply while the submarine drifted closer and closer to the rocks. the cove did not measure more than fifty feet across at its mouth, and was semi-circular in shape, and not more than fifty feet wide, measuring from a line drawn between the rocky headlands at the entrance. the shore was buttressed by high bowlders. the current was bearing the submarine into the cove midway between the headlands--the line of drift being straight toward the farthest point inland. dick had a hand lead, and forward at the bow he heaved it constantly. "mark three!" he cried. "eighteen feet," said glennie. "how much do you draw, mr. king?" "we ought to have ten feet," answered matt. "sharp with it, dick," he added anxiously. "we must get as close inshore as we can." "quarter less three!" called dick. "sixteen and a half," muttered glennie; "shoaling rapidly. you'd better get that mud-hook down, mr. king." "two and a half!" announced dick, then: "two and a quarter!" and finally: "mark twain!" matt was not as close to the shore as he wanted to be, but twelve feet was as little water as he dared keep under the _grampus_. "let go the anchor!" he yelled to speake. speake promptly repeated the order, and only a very short scope of cable was run out. the nose of the submarine was brought up short and the stern moved around into the cove as though on a pivot. "the anchor's not fast!" cried glennie. "it's dragging!" matt had already discovered that. the anchor afforded sufficient resistance to keep the bow of the boat toward the entrance of the cove, but they were sliding stern-first farther into the shoaling waters. dick hurried aft and began heaving the lead close to the stern. "two and a half!" he cried. "great guns!" exclaimed glennie. "wouldn't that knock you? it's deepening!" "mark three!" shouted dick. "three fathoms," murmured glennie, "and within two jumps of shore! the rocks must lie steep-to. the current's responsible for that." the pull of the anchor continued to draw the boat around so that she was drifting broadside on. "deep four!" reported dick, and began coiling up the line. the submarine was rubbing against the rocks, and there was no room to cast. "good luck," said matt gleefully, "even if it does come out of a damaged propeller. we can pass a couple of cables ashore and tie up to the rocks. on deck, speake!" he called through the hatch. "there's some old hose and canvas in the storeroom, and you, and clackett, and gaines had better bring it up. fetch a couple of cables at the same time." matt leaped to a shelf notched out of one of the rocks, climbed to the top of the bowlder, and picked out the stones most convenient for mooring. when the cables were brought up and bent to their stanchions, the spare ends were passed ashore. while he was making them fast, clackett, gaines, speake, and carl were festooning the old hose over the submarine's side and padding the plates with canvas blankets as fenders against the jagged rocks. "now," called matt, talking from the top of a bowlder and looking down on the deck of the _grampus_, "the next thing is to weight the forward part of the boat so that the propeller will be thrown up clear of the water. move everything possible from aft. if the anchor has taken hold, a little pulling on the chain may help. if this don't fill the bill, then we'll pile rocks on the bow and force it under that way. now, then, get busy, all hands." speake, carl, gaines, and clackett went below. matt began tossing loose stones to dick, and he built them up forward of the flagstaff, passing ropes around the pile in order to hold it to the deck when the boat began to cant forward. by degrees the bow went deeper and deeper, and the stern rose. at last, after some two hours of trying work, the propeller was brought into view. the blades were fairly buried in a mass of ropy seaweed. matt gave vent to a relieved laugh. "it won't be necessary to ship a new propeller, after all," said he. "traveling under the amazon is hard on the screw. that bar was covered with seaweed, and the propeller twisted itself up in it. pass a rope aft and secure it to the periscope guys. you can hang to the rope, dick, slip over the stern, and cut away the grass." "easy enough," answered dick, dropping on the deck to pull off his shoes and stockings, and roll up his trousers. "we'll clear away that propeller in a brace of shakes." "while you're at it," said matt, "i'll mosey off around the island and see what it looks like. i'll not be gone long." he dropped from the top of the bowlder, and vanished. glennie looked after him as though he would have liked an invitation to accompany him, and stretch his legs on hard earth, but he did not follow. instead, he picked up a coil of rope, and began securing an end to one of the wire periscope guys. "i'll attend to that, mr. glennie," said dick, still with an undue emphasis on the "mister." "you're an innocent bystander, you know, and are here to look on." glennie dropped the rope, flushed, and drew back. matt had not asked him to go on the exploring expedition, and now dick refused to have him render even trifling aid. "i'm sorry you fellows have taken such a dead set at me," said glennie. "you told us where we stood when you first came off to us from the port-of-spain landing," returned dick. "i don't see that you've got any kick coming because we took you at your word." glennie started to say something, but closed his mouth suddenly, and left the words unspoken. perhaps he was beginning to see where he was at fault. while he stood by the conning tower, watching dick move aft with the rope in his hands, a sharp cry came suddenly from among the rocks. "dick! clear the propeller, and sink the boat in----" it was matt's voice; although faint, it was unmistakable, and each word was strangely clear-cut and distinct. dick halted and faced about. "something's happening to matt!" he cried. the next moment he dropped the rope and started to spring ashore. but glennie was already on the rocks. "you heard what he said!" shouted glennie. "clear the propeller and sink the boat! i'll help king if he needs help--but your duty is clear." the ensign whirled about and jumped from the bowlder. as he disappeared, dick saw his revolver glistening in his hand. chapter xi. hand-to-hand. from what matt could see of the island as the _grampus_ drifted into the cove, and from the further observations which he made while standing on the rocks and helping dick, he knew that it could not be very extensive. probably it would have covered an acre of ground, if measured in a square, but its surface was vastly greater than that, inasmuch as it consisted of barren hills and valleys. matt's intention, when he left the submarine, was to climb to the highest point and take a look around. he was still worrying about the mysterious steamer, and the no less mysterious japs. from what he had heard and read of the japanese, he understood that dogged persistency was a national trait. if the sons of the rising sun had made up their minds to destroy the submarine, it would take more than one rebuff to discourage them. that they were still on the trail of the _grampus_ matt had not the least doubt, and if they should happen to sight the boat in the cove, and make an attack while the propeller was being cleared, they would stand a fair show of success. in looking for the steamer matt did not intend to confine his gaze to seaward, but to give fully as much attention upstream as below. he had already selected the hill he was going to climb, and picked out the narrow valley that would lead him to its base. a little scrambling over rough ground brought him to the valley. projecting rocks, weather-stained and wind-worn, rose to right and left. flocks of gulls arose out of them, alarmed by his approach, and winged away across the river. the valley was not over twenty feet wide, and angled back and forth sharply on its way to the hill. matt stepped off at a brisk gait, for he would have to be quick if he finished what he had in mind by the time dick and the rest had cleared the propeller and got the boat once more in trim. matt was not expecting any trouble on the island, and, as usual, it was the unexpected that happened. the flapping of the birds' wings made a noise that drowned the crunch of his footsteps in the gravel. this, it may be, accounted for the surprise that met him as he rounded a sharp turn, for his approach was not heard, and he came suddenly face to face with a creeping savage. the native was nude, save for a short kirtle that hung from his waist, and he was carrying an ugly-looking spear. it seemed clear that the fellow was creeping up on the boat. his surprise was as great as matt's, and for a brief space both stood staring at each other. then, as matt's gaze wandered farther on along the valley, he saw four other natives, all of whom had been on their hands and knees and had leaped erect the moment the young motorist presented himself. then it was that matt lifted his voice and shouted the warning heard by dick and glennie. matt did not finish what he was saying, for a suggestive movement of the native's spear hand made it necessary for him to take quick action to protect himself. like lightning the king of the motor boys leaped forward, and his fist shot out straight from the shoulder. a grunt was jolted from the lips of the stricken native, and he staggered backward. this caused the hand holding the spear to rise quickly, and the spear point caught in matt's leather jacket, which was unbuttoned and flying open. the native fell backward, keeping a convulsive grip on the spear, and dragging matt down with him. in a twinkling the other four savages had surrounded matt and were menacing him with their spears. the spear points were of steel, ground to a sharp point. they had a greenish, corroded look, which suggested that they had been poisoned. judging this to be the case, matt put forth every effort to avoid being pricked or scratched by the flourished weapons. seizing the handle of the spear held by the man who had fallen, matt wrenched it away and swept it around his head in a circle. the other four savages leaped back to the edge of the circle and continued their hostile demonstrations. the fellow on the ground, who evidently possessed a large amount of courage, reached up abruptly and caught hold of the spear. with exultant shouts, the other four began to close in. hampered in using the spear, matt found it necessary to change his tactics. releasing the weapon, he laid hold of the native to whom it belonged, grabbed him about the waist, and flung him heavily against the foremost of his companions. the men were all of short stature, although heavily muscled and of great strength. the human missile launched by matt overset the first of the four advancing indians, and this man, in his turn, tumbled backward and knocked down another. the remaining two were between matt and the end of the valley it would be necessary for him to traverse in order to regain the boat. flourishing his fists and shouting an angry command for them to clear his path, he leaped directly at them. one of them launched his spear. matt ducked downward, and the weapon whipped over his head, just grazing his cap. this unarmed native was the one matt speedily made up his mind to pass. but again the unexpected happened. as matt dashed forward a stone gave way under his foot. he sought vainly to recover his balance, and plunged headlong and rolled over and over. before he could get up all the natives were upon him. it looked, just at that moment, as though nothing could save him. yet he did not give up. rising to his knees, he caught the ankles of one of his foes and jerked his feet out from under him. a fierce order in an unknown tongue was given, and four figures sprang with murderous celerity to obey it. at that juncture--a critical juncture for motor matt--the sharp, incisive note of a revolver rang out. one of the savages, with a cry of pain, stepped backward, dropped his spear, and clasped his right wrist with his left hand. there followed another shot, accompanied by a sound of running feet in the shingle and the loud voice of glennie: "get away from there, you scoundrels! i'll give you a taste of more metal if you don't clear out." the second bullet had done no harm, but the natives, not knowing how many men were following glennie, whirled and made off, one of them picking up the fallen spear as he went. "are you hurt, king?" panted glennie, coming to a breathless halt beside matt. "not at all, glennie," matt answered; "but i had a tight squeak of it." "shall we chase those rascals?" "no," was the answer as matt regained his feet; "we'll make tracks back to the _grampus_, and thank our lucky stars that we got out of this as well as we did. there may be a lot more of the indians hiding among the rocks, and i've a notion that their spear points are poisoned. we'll not give them a chance to dig their spears into us, if we can help it." watching behind cautiously, matt and glennie immediately set out on their return to the boat. "i didn't think there was a human being anywhere near the island, apart from ourselves," said matt. "when those rascals came face to face with me the surprise was mutual--and far from pleasant, so far as i was concerned. did you hear me yell?" "that's what brought me ashore," said glennie. "ferral was bound to come; but i told him he had better carry out orders regarding the ship and let me go. this six-shooter carried the day." "and saved my life," added matt. "i'll not forget that, mr. glennie." a flush of pleasure ran through glennie's face. "bosh!" he exclaimed. "you'd have done the same for me, if our positions had been reversed." by that time they were at the place where it was necessary for them to leave the valley and pick their way through the scattered bowlders to the shore of the cove. while they were climbing the rocks, carl suddenly thrust his head out from behind one of them. "hoop-a-la!" he cried joyfully. "id vas matt, himseluf! my olt bard, modor matt, alife und kicking like alvays! matt, der sighdt oof you makes me so habby as i can'd dell!" "same here, old ship!" chimed in the voice of dick, as he showed himself beside carl. dick was armed with an old harpoon, and carl carried a hatchet. "you're a nice pair, i must say!" cried matt. "the last order i gave instructed you to clear the propeller and sink the _grampus_." "the propeller is cleared, matey," said dick; "but you wouldn't catch carl and me going to the bottom of the cove in the _grampus_ until we had found out what became of you. we heard a couple of shots, and nothing could keep us from coming ashore, after that. who did you mix up with?" "five savages. i don't know whether they live on the island, or whether they came from the river bank. anyhow, i came front to front with them, and they were creeping in the direction of the boat." "den dey knowed der poat vas in der cove!" said carl, casting a cautious look behind, in the direction of the valley. "vas dere more as fife, matt?" "i don't know. five are all i saw. we'd better get away from here as soon as we can, though, and get up the river to para." a moment later the boys reached the shore of the cove and found speake unloosening the cables. "all right, matt?" called speake. "yes; but in a tearing hurry," matt answered. "is the _grampus_ ready for sea?" "she's as fit as a fiddle! clackett is putting the stuff below back where it belongs, and we just dumped that load o' rock off the bow." matt, dick, carl, and glennie dropped on the submarine's deck. in short order the cables were hauled aboard, coiled, and stowed, and speake leaped from the rocks and was caught and steadied by matt as he came down. matt got into the tower and signaled the engine room. the motor got busy, and the cheerful splash of the propeller was heard. slowly the _grampus_ picked her way out of the cove, those on her deck watching the receding rocks for some sign of the savages. but they saw none. chapter xii. boarded! in order to reach the arm of the river that led to para the _grampus_ had to pass through a little strait known as south channel, then on by tucuria and around cape magoari. dick, carl, and glennie remained on deck, dick using a pair of binoculars, and matt attending to the steering from the top of the tower. they were traversing the tortuous channels without the chart to guide them, and most unexpectedly they found that what they supposed to be south channel had emptied them out into the river close to the island where matt had had his recent exciting experience. "well, wouldn't that put a kink in your hawser?" cried dick. "here we are back at our old stamping-grounds once more, after racing around for an hour and getting nowhere." "und dere iss der leedle cove!" cried carl. "vat a funny pitzness--gedding losdt on der amazon." "we couldn't have been in south channel," said the chagrined matt. "this is new country to me," observed glennie; "but i looked at the chart early this morning, marked the location of south channel, and could have sworn we started into it when we left this island." "come below, you fellows," called matt disgustedly. "you can take the wheel, dick, and steer by the periscope while i overhaul the charts. there's no sense wasting time and gasolene like this." matt dropped down the ladder and the rest followed him. "we're mixed up, gaines," matt called through the motor-room tube, "and a pilot who knows the coast would be mighty handy about now. quarter speed while we study the maps. dick," matt added, "run circles off the island while we get our bearings." matt opened the locker and dug up the chart. laying it on one of the stools, he examined it, with carl and glennie looking over his shoulder. "here's where we are now," said matt, sticking a pin in the chart, "and there's the entrance to south channel just below mixiana island." "the passage we got into by mistake," remarked glennie, "was that crooked little passage that runs into mixiana island, bends around in the shape of a big 'o,' and then lets us out again at the same place we went in." "exactly," agreed matt. "it was easy to make the mistake." "easy, yes; but i ought to have been sure. we should have had the chart on deck with us, but i thought i had the thing firmly fixed in my mind." "a chart is a hard thing to carry in your mind." "i'm beginning to think so myself. head south by east, dick," matt went on to his chum. "you'll know the passage we took when you see it. skip that, and head into the one west of it." "sou' by east it is, matey," answered dick. "if you wanted to," suggested glennie, "you could pass to the north of mixiana island and get to cape magoari by going around it. it looks to me as though that would be our shortest course." "short, yes; but it would take more time." "how so?" "well, if we went to the north of mixiana island we would be in the open bay, and that pesky jap steamer may be standing off and on, hoping to get sight of us. in order to avoid that, we should have to run submerged, which would mean no more than half-speed, the best we could do. by going through south channel we won't need to fear the steamer, and can run on the surface, and put every ounce of our motor's power into moving ahead." "correct," said glennie. "i find that there are a good many things about running a submarine that i have yet to learn." dick gave a grunt as he bent over the periscope table. his face was hidden by the periscope hood, so the disgusted expression which he wore could not be seen. dick ferral did not easily forgive a slight. from the first, glennie had struck him "on the wrong side," and it would take time before dick got over his dislike. carl, in this respect, was like dick. neither of the boys could ever forget the lordly air assumed by the ensign when he hove to alongside the submarine in the launch. the "mister" which glennie had imposed upon them still rankled in their bosoms. up to that moment off port-of-spain there had been no "misters" on the _grampus_. the formality demanded by glennie had been a strain on the friendly relations of the crew--and perhaps on the crew's temper as well. glennie heard dick's grunt, even though he could not see the disgusted expression on his face, and he whirled and stared sharply at dick's back. "tiscipline iss going to der togs on dis ship," mourned carl in mock dejection. "oof ve don'd haf more tiscipline dere iss going to be some drouples, ain'd it? fairst t'ing you know i vill haf to be calling my olt bard misder matt, und my odder olt bard misder tick, und den oof somepody ton't call me misder i bet you i preak his head." "that will do, carl," said matt, noting the flush that crossed glennie's face. "that's all right, mr. king," spoke up the ensign. "i started that, and they're within their rights, i suppose, when they rub it in. all i can say is that i didn't understand your method of running this boat. now, in the navy, we have to have discipline; we have to have our gun crews, our watches, and all that; and we have to insist on a certain amount of respect from subordinates. the admirals require it from the captains, the captains from the commanders, the commanders from the lieutenants, and so on down through the various ranks of commissioned officers. even a passed midshipman," and he smiled a bit grimly, "has the pattern always before him, and he is taught to exact his due from all the non-coms. but, as i say, i didn't understand how matters were when i boarded the _grampus_. i--i am sorry i took the stand i did." just how much it cost glennie to make that apology probably none of the boys, not even matt, could realize. but he made it right manfully, and matt stepped toward him and put out his hand. "say no more, old fellow," he cried heartily. "we all of us get out of our course a little, now and then. before we get through with this cruise the lot of us are going to understand each other a whole lot better. carl----" matt turned with the intention of making his dutch chum take the hand he released, but carl had faded mysteriously out of the periscope room. whether he expected what was coming, or not, and dodged away to avoid meeting the issue, matt could only guess. "dick," and matt turned to his sailor chum, "i want you----" "here we are," cried dick, "just taking the entrance to south channel. and it's the right channel, too, old ship, because we slammed right past that other one where we go in and come out the same place." glennie could not fail to note how both carl and dick had avoided matt's attempt to put him on more friendly footing with them. there was a noticeable constraint in his manner, but he did not allow it to interfere with his stating the desire he had in his head. "when i came aboard," he went on, "i believed i was merely the representative of the united states government, that i was to look on, keep hands off, and write up my own log. but i can see very plainly where i can be of service to you, matt; and i can also see where, by helping you, i can get a much better insight into the capabilities of the _grampus_. i should like to have you let me do my part in running the boat. if you want me for quartermaster, i can spell you, or mr. ferral; with a little instruction, i could also run the motor, or do the work in the tank room. if it would be any help, i might even learn to cook the meals. all i want is to be useful--and to learn the _grampus_ from top to bottom, inside and out, as well as you know her." dick gave another grunt; but this time it was more subdued. the idea of any one learning the _grampus_ as well as the king of the motor boys knew her! in order to do that, a fellow would have to be born with a working knowledge of explosive engines in his head--just as matt had been. "thank you for that, glennie!" said matt. "you can get busy right now, if you want to." "just tell me what i'm to do," glennie answered. "go up on deck and keep a sharp lookout while we're passing through the channel. we must be vigilant, even when we can see no reason for it. wily enemies are after us, and eternal watchfulness is the price of success, fully as much as it is of liberty." "aye, aye, sir," said glennie, and started forthwith up the ladder. "he's too top-heavy, matt," scowled dick, pulling his head away from the periscope. "he's a good fellow at heart, dick," averred matt. "we're all going to like him a whole lot when we know him better." dick sniffed and jerked his chin over his left shoulder. "if he takes hold on this boat he'll make a monkey's fist of everything. i don't like the cut of his jib, nor the soft-sawdering way he overhauls his jaw-tackle now that he sees his first bluff didn't go. if----" there was a muffled shout and a bounding of feet on the deck. a wide grin parted dick's face. "there he goes--in hot water already." dick ducked back into the periscope hood. but the periscope did not show the deck of the _grampus_, nor the waters immediately adjacent, being constructed for reflecting objects at longer range. matt hurried up into the tower. the moment he was able to look over the hatch he was thrilled by what he saw. a dugout canoe was alongside the steel hull--and it had evidently brought three natives from the neighboring shore. they were exactly the same kind of savages matt had encountered on the island--perhaps, even, they had formed part of the same crowd. one of the savages had gained the deck forward. glennie had caught his spear, and the two were struggling for possession of the weapon. a second native was climbing up the rounded deck with the apparent intention of attacking glennie in the rear. the third of the trio kept to the canoe, paddling, and keeping it alongside. so intent were all three of the indians on the struggle which glennie was carrying on that they did not notice matt. swiftly the young motorist got out of the conning tower. "look out behind you, glennie!" shouted motor matt as he hurried forward. chapter xiii. a prisoner--and a surprise. matt's shout acquainted the savages with the fact that there were two whites to be dealt with instead of one. the scoundrel in the canoe dropped his paddle and picked up a spear. the dugout dropped a little behind, but the savage brought the ungainly craft nearly to the conning tower with two sweeps of the paddle. the next moment he let his spear fly, and there came a blood-curdling whoop from the tower hatch. carl, as usual, happened to be in the way of trouble. he had flung through the periscope room and chased after matt up the ladder. matt avoided the spear by dropping to his knees. it passed over his head, snapped carl's cap off his shock of tow-colored hair, and carried it on for a dozen feet, dropping out of sight with it beneath the water. "vat a vay iss dot!" bellowed carl. "tick, handt me oop a gun, or a gannon, or somet'ing. matt, look oudt a leedle! ach, himmelblitzen!" carl forgot the loss of his cap, forgot even that he had asked dick for a weapon, and scrambled to get out of the tower and go to his chum's aid. the savage who had been climbing up the rounded deck had made a spring for glennie's back. motor matt leaped about the same time, grabbing the native before he could do the ensign any harm. matt, and the man he was holding, fell to the deck, rolled over the rounded plates, and splashed into the water. "a rope!" howled carl, jumping up and down on the deck to attract dick's attention; "a rope! matt iss in der vater mit a inchun, und he vill be trowned!" dick came hurrying up the ladder with a coil of line. "here!" he cried, tossing the coil to carl. "get busy, mate. i'll lay the _grampus_ closer, and mind matt gets hold of the rope." matt and the native were still struggling. the fact that they were in fifteen or twenty fathoms of water did not seem to impress either of them with the necessity of swimming to keep afloat. when they first tumbled into the water, there was a great splash, and they disappeared; when they came up, they were puffing like porpoises, but matt had his hands around his antagonist's throat, and the savage was hanging to matt's hair. "help glennie!" sputtered matt, who, by then, was some distance astern. "capture that man!" "glennie be hanged!" growled dick. "we'll save our old raggie, no matter what happens to the blooming ensign." carl, standing ready to heave the rope, was mixed up in the ensign's battle by an unexpected trend of it which nearly knocked him overboard. the two, still twisting and striving for possession of the spear, struggled toward the conning tower and collided with the dutch boy. the matter of self-defense suddenly presented itself to carl, and he dropped the rope and went for the savage like a tiger. it wasn't the spear carl wanted, but the savage himself. the ensign was eliminated, and carl and the native went down on the deck, rolling and pummeling. "ju-jutsu!" exclaimed the ensign, astounded at the science the untutored savage was showing. "great moses, he's using ju-jutsu and trying to break pretzel's arm!" "save the arm, then!" snorted dick. "run that spear through the swab." glennie didn't impale the savage on the point of the spear, but he used the handle, and gave the arm that was bending carl's a stout thump. a gasp escaped the savage's lips, and his arm dropped away as though paralyzed. carl rolled over on top and got his fingers about his antagonist's throat. "gif me der rope!" he cried. "misder glennie, schust put a leedle piece oof der rope aboudt der feller's handts!" dick ferral was not paying much attention to the fight carl and glennie were having. they were two to one, and there could not be much doubt as to the result of the contest. dick's worry was reserved for matt, for it seemed as though the savage in the water was bending every effort to drag matt under and drown the two of them. the other savage in the dugout was paddling like mad in an effort to get alongside the combatants. it had taken some time and space for the submarine to turn about on her course, and dick was now driving her straight for the two in the water. so far as dick could see, both matt and the savage were almost at the last gasp. how they ever kept afloat at all was a mystery. as the boat shot in between the dugout and the pair in the water, the third savage could have thrown his spear to good effect--if he had had it. but he did not have it, and all he could do was to paddle off and furtively await the issue. the submarine glided alongside matt and the indian, and dick immediately made a discovery that took his breath. the savage was yellow in spots--half yellow and half mahogany color. "here, matt!" cried the voice of glennie as he knelt on the deck while the submarine slowed in answer to dick's signal. "drop that fellow and catch this rope!" "i can't drop him!" gurgled matt. glennie reached over with the spear and tapped the savage on the head. instantly the fellow, with a fierce snarl, let go of matt and vanished under the hull of the _grampus_. matt, thus left with his hands free, caught the rope and was dragged aboard. glennie snaked him to the top of the deck, and, for a space, the young motorist lay there. "did you capture the other fellow?" asked dick, as soon as he had rested a minute. "he's tied to the other end of the rope that i used for pulling you in," replied glennie. "good enough! did you notice how that rascal i was fighting with changed color in the water?" "keelhaul me!" cried dick. "i saw that! was it war-paint he had on?" "no war-paint about it, dick," declared matt. "there was a yellow skin under that brown paint." "und dis feller iss der same vay!" called carl. "look ad here, vonce!" all eyes turned in the direction of the dutch boy. he was sitting on his enemy's chest, holding him down, and there were dabs of brown pigment all over carl's face. his hands were fairly coated with it. "these savages have a yellow skin, matt," said glennie, "and it must be that they paint themselves a brown color when they go on the warpath." "if what i have read is true," returned matt, "there are no savage tribes at the mouth of the amazon. all the indians in these parts are at least half civilized." "then where did these rascals come from, and why have they attacked us in this venomous manner?" "they came from that island where we cleared the propeller," said matt. "these are members of that gang?" "don't you recognize them, glennie?" "they all look alike to me. of course, i suspected they were from the same tribe, but i didn't know they were the same men. there were five of them on the island." "you wounded one of the others. probably one of the fellows stayed behind to look after the wounded man's injury." "but how could they get here in that dugout, and lay us aboard, like they did? we're a good ways from that island." "no doubt, dick," said matt, "they surmized that we would take the south channel on our way to para. while we were meandering around in that blind passage they were paddling for this place, and getting ready to attack us." "i like their nerve!" muttered dick; "three of 'em tryin' to capture the _grampus_!" "you don't think they live on that island, do you?" asked glennie. "they live on an island, all right," returned matt, "but it's a good many thousand miles from here." carl took a furtive look at motor matt. "you vas joshing!" exclaimed carl. "if you fellows had your eyes," smiled matt, "there wouldn't be any joshing." "some of that chink's dope is still fogging your brain, old ship," observed dick. "but what's the use of talking? you've got your prisoner, mr. glennie. better bring him downstairs. first thing you know he'll be in the water, and take carl along with him." "nod me!" piped carl. "dere iss a rope aroundt his handts, und i'm holting him on der top oof der teck. aber, i guess, ve might schust as vell dake him by der beriscope room." "look at him first," suggested matt. "glennie, you give him a close observation. i'm surprised at you fellows." glennie, dick, and carl were at a loss to know what matt was driving at. walking over to the prisoner the ensign bent down and stared at him. "what!" he gasped, straightening up and peering excitedly at matt. "tolo!" "now you've struck it," laughed matt. "those supposed savages were merely a detachment of our old friends, the japs. i discovered that as i dropped into the water. that's why i called out as i did. here's our resourceful acquaintance, tolo. first he's a jap, next he's a chinaman, and now he's a native of the amazon. there's no telling what he'll be next time if we allow him to get away from us. take him below, and let's have a talk with him." glennie and carl, between them, succeeded in getting tolo down the tower hatch. before matt went below he took a look behind. the dugout was far in the distance, with two men at the paddles. from this evidence it was plain that matt's antagonist had gained the canoe and was now, with his companion, paddling swiftly away to rejoin the rest of their friends. chapter xiv. the old slouch hat. "i'm a dunderhead, all right," glennie cheerfully admitted when they were all in the periscope room with the prisoner, lashed hand and foot, lying before them. "i saw this rascal try a ju-jutsu trick on carl, in an attempt to break his arm, and yet i never suspected that he was a japanese, let alone tolo!" "it's plain enough now, isn't it, glennie?" queried matt. "these yellow men are always hard to identify, but this fellow is certainly ah sin, otherwise tolo. notice how closely his hair is clipped. he had to have a close haircut when he got into his chinese disguise. all the rest of those make-believe savages had long hair." "i wonder where the rascals came from? their steamer wasn't anywhere in sight." "it's tucked away among the islands. this, you know, is a peaceable country, and the japs would have to be wary in carrying out their designs upon the _grampus_. i'll bet those fellows know all about our route, and what ports we expect to call at. it was easy for them to get into the mouth of the amazon ahead of us, and then wait for us to come along." a sudden idea occurred to glennie, and he went down on his knees and began searching the jap. inasmuch as the only garment the jap wore was a short kirtle, the search did not consume much time. glennie got up disappointedly. "the packet isn't there, eh?" asked matt. "no." "he was probably wise enough to leave it on the steamer." "where it has already been opened, no doubt, by the leader of these sons of the rising sun. i'm in as deep as ever, and the capture of tolo hasn't helped me." the dejection in glennie's voice was too pronounced to be passed over. "don't take it so hard," urged matt. "go to mr. brigham, in para, and tell him the whole story. perhaps a way can be found to make tolo talk." "we'll try him now," said glennie, a flash of forlorn hope crossing his face. "why do you want to treat me like this, tolo?" he queried, addressing the prisoner. "what i do i do for nippon," was the slow answer. "banzai, nippon!" "panzai!" exclaimed carl. "dot's a funny vay to yell hooray, ain'd it? panzai! ach, du lieber!" "you stole my dispatches, there in la guayra," went on glennie, still addressing himself to the prisoner. "what sort of way was that to treat me?" "for nippon," muttered tolo; "all is for nippon, for my beloved country." "nippon!" grunted carl. "vy don'd he say chapan, like a vite feller? my, sooch a savageness as some nations haf!" "what did you do with those dispatches?" demanded glennie. "i will say nothing," answered tolo, with careful emphasis. "your country will be held to account for this, proceeded glennie severely. "my country has nothing to do with it. i am a son of the rising sun, and i should like to die for my country. if my hands were free, and i had a sword, then--hari-kiri! it is pleasant to kill oneself for one's country." "guff!" growled dick. "hear him talk--and all for effect." "you're wrong, dick," said matt. "the poor fellow means every word he says." "und he say dot it vas bleasant to tie for vone's country!" murmured carl. "i don'd agree mit dot. i vould radder lif for my gountry. a deadt hero don't amoundt to nodding, aber a live feller iss aple to do t'ings vat count. yah, so helup me! id iss pedder to lif for vone's gountry as to tie for id." "there's a whole lot of sense in that, mr. pretzel," said glennie. "t'ank you for nodding," returned carl, with mock politeness. "i know dot pefore you shpeak id oudt, misder glennie." the ensign looked at carl in a disappointed way, for it must have been plain to him that he wasn't breaking the ice any, so far as carl and dick were concerned. "you pretended to be ah sin just so you could get aboard this boat, and destroy it, didn't you?" glennie pursued, still focusing his attention on the prisoner. "i am saying nothing," was the reply in calm, even tones. "why did you and your companions make an attack on this boat?" put in matt curiously. there was no response. "you three didn't think you could take her away from the lot of us, did you?" still no answer, merely a cool, passive glance. "you can't rattle him, matey," put in dick, "nor get him to say anything that's incriminating. he's tolo, hard and fast, and it's not so queer why he and his two comrades hove alongside of us. they were engaged in some quiet work, and when mr. glennie went on deck, according to your orders, he interrupted them and sprung a fight where no fight was intended." "now, dick," said matt whimsically, "_you're_ the deep one. just what do you mean by that?" "suppose there was a bomb in that dugout," continued dick; "and suppose those fellows fastened it to the side of the _grampus_, fired the fuse, and then paddled silently away. what would have happened. will dynamite cause damage sideways as well as up and down?" matt gave a startled jump--a jump that caused his wet clothes to rustle, and the water to slosh around in his shoes. "great spark-plugs!" he exclaimed. "you've got your finger on the right button, dick! that was a point that bothered me tremendously--why three men should try such a foolhardy thing as making an attack on a submarine with a full complement below decks. now i understand, and the whole situation clears. tolo and his companions stole up alongside of us to put a bomb somewhere about the hull of the _grampus_. by luck, glennie went on deck in time to frustrate the design. by jupiter, but it was another narrow escape!" "once in a while," grinned dick, "i blunder onto something that's worth telling." "i should say so!" "excellent reasoning, mr. ferral!" approved glennie. the grin left dick's face on the instant, and a frown took its place. he turned to the periscope abruptly. matt was surprised at the depth of feeling which this action on the part of his chum made manifest. glennie settled back grimly on the locker. carl began to hum a dutch song under his breath--and for that dick and matt were thankful. if he had sung the song aloud they would have had to throw something at him. a certain captain pierce-plympton, in belize, had set the fashion, and now, whenever carl burst into song he had to dodge everything that was handy. in the embarrassing silence that followed dick's action, matt began to take off his shoes and socks. "i've got to get into something dry," he remarked. "you fellows better make sure tolo is well lashed, and then take him into mr. glennie's room. that, glennie," matt added, removing his water-logged coat, "used to be our prison chamber." "a good place for me, then," observed glennie, with a side glance at dick and carl. "you might get off the locker a minute," went on matt. "i've an outfit of clothes somewhere in that long box you're sitting on." "pardon me!" glennie got up and helped carl examine the prisoner's bonds. while they were busy with that, matt began rummaging for his dry clothes. about the first thing he laid hands on was the old slouch hat with its attached queue. "wow!" cried matt. "what did you put this in here for, carl? it looked like a snake." with that matt jerked the hat and queue out of the locker and hurled them across the room. as he was about to return to the locker again and go on with his rummaging, matt caught a gleam in the prisoner's eyes that caused him to straighten up and watch tolo more carefully. tolo's gaze was on the hat. for once he was betrayed out of his grim passiveness, and there flamed in his eyes something unusual--and significant, to matt. the king of the motor boys studied tolo's face keenly. the jap's eyes continued to rest on the hat until he saw that matt was watching him, then the eyes turned away absently and lost their telltale gleam. "vat's der madder mit der feller?" muttered carl. "he seemed to vake oop, for a minid, und now he iss like he alvays iss. vat ails him?" "queer he took on that sort of look all of a sudden," mused glennie. "probably he t'ought oof somet'ing mit a bomb in id," suggested carl. "i moof ve tie somet'ing heafy aboudt his neck und make him shvim agross der amazon. hey?" no one seconded carl's suggestion. matt arose, walked over to the hat and queue, and picked them up. tolo paid no attention, or did not seem to. with the old slouch hat in his hand matt sat down on a stool and began feeling of the crown with his fingers. "vat's dot for?" chirped carl. "i tell you," said dick, "our old raggie has still got a twisted brain. tolo's coffee is continuing to have its effect." matt laughed, suddenly turned the old hat over, tore out the lining, and pulled forth a crumpled envelope, closed with a red seal. glennie gave a yell. "my dispatches!" and, with that, he staggered across the small room, grabbed the envelope, and waved it above his head. "my dispatches!" he repeated, his voice husky. "i thought so," said matt. "they have been in that old slouch hat, in the locker, ever since we made that dive to get away from the japs." "und i pud dem dere," remarked carl pompously. "how mooch iss id vort'?" chapter xv. para. ensign glennie was a happy man. in that blissful moment, when he was hugging his dispatches, he wanted to be friends with everybody, and would have shaken hands as rapturously with dick and carl as he did with matt. "before you do too much rejoicing, glennie," said matt, "you'd better first examine the envelope, and see if it has been tampered with." an examination showed the seal to be intact. "i don't believe tolo had any right to tamper with it," said glennie. "what i mean is, that those other sons of the rising sun who are leading the expedition against the _grampus_, would probably demand that they be allowed to open the dispatches with their own hands. tolo didn't have time to see the others of the young samurai between the time he left la guayra and the time he presented himself to me, in the rôle of ah sin, on board the _grampus_." "ah sin!" commented carl. "i nefer t'ought vat a goot name dot vas for der feller. ven he dook dot he dook der vone vat fitted." "we can begin to understand, too," spoke up dick, "why he never took off that old hat. he kept it on so the letter wouldn't get away from him." "and so that we wouldn't see him without the queue," added matt. "if he had removed the hat, dick, he would have been recognized." "by jove, fellows!" said glennie, "i'd like to do something to celebrate." "ain't you fellows getting hungry?" called speake through the torpedo-room tube. "i'll jump in and scrape together a meal, if you say so. i reckon we can all get a square feed in para, in the mornin'." "get us something, speake," answered matt. "that's the way we'll celebrate, glennie," he added to the ensign. "it's the biggest streak of luck i ever had in my life!" declared glennie. "and you brought it to me, matt!" "dot's vat i say," cried carl. "anypody vat dravels mit modor matt iss pound to haf some oof der luck vat comes py him. i know, pecause i have hat id meinseluf. ain'd dot so, tick?" "luck hands around her favors to everybody that ships with matt, matey," agreed dick. "it don't make any difference whether they're entitled to the favors or not, they get 'em." this last remark may have been a bit of a slap at glennie, but the ensign was too happy to notice it. "what gave you the notion of looking into that hat, matt?" inquired glennie. "i'd have thrown it overboard to get it out of the way." "why, glennie," answered matt, "you and carl both saw what i did, and spoke about it." carl and the ensign exchanged astonished glances. "now you haf got me some more, matt," said carl. "vat's der answer?" "didn't the prisoner seem to wake up and brighten perceptibly a little while ago?" "yah, i rememper dot." "so do i." "well, he did it when i threw the hat out of the locker. his eyes followed it as it flew across the room, and they rested on it as it lay on the floor. i read a good deal of concern in that glance--more concern, in fact, than the old headgear and the attached queue called for. there could be but one thing to make tolo act like that, and i figured that he had put the envelope in there. it's not a new place for hiding things, boys. lots of people, out in the western part of the united states, stow valuable things away in their sombreros." "nod me any more," wailed carl. "subbose i hat peen foolish enough to pud my money in dot cap oof mine? den vat? id vould now be in der pottom oof der ocean. dalk aboudt your glose shafes! vy, dot chap feller vat looked like a safage, sent dot shpear so near my headt dot he dook a lock oof hair along mit der cap. i don'd like dot. shpears iss pad pitzness. vat for dit der chaps use shpears ven refolfers is handtier?" "they were playing a part, carl," said matt, "and whenever a jap plays a part he does it well. if tolo and those with him had had firearms they would have been playing out of their character." "dey don'd got mooch character to be oudt oof, anyvay. dey hat bombs, und safages don't haf dose." "the bombs weren't in sight." a few minutes later speake came up with the supper. after the meal was out of the way, speake took dick's place at the wheel in order to give him a chance to rest, and later assume gaines' place at the motor. carl went down to give clackett a rest, and matt stretched out on the locker. it was midnight when the _grampus_ rounded cape magoari and turned into the para arm of the amazon. the port of para was seventy-five miles up the river, and matt decided to submerge the _grampus_, pass the rest of the night on the river bottom, and then ascend to the town with daylight to help. this arrangement enabled all hands to sleep, and morning found the submarine's complement fresh and ready for whatever fate held in store. the ascent of the river was made on the surface of the stream, with all who could be spared on deck, searching the shipping with careful eyes. matt and his friends were looking for the mysterious steamer that carried the fighting contingent of the sons of the rising sun, and were vastly relieved when they failed to sight the vessel. it was nearly noon when the red roofs of para came into view. the river, opposite the town, was about twenty miles wide, but so cut up with islands that the steamer with the black funnel and the red band might have lain among them and so escaped observation. however, matt and his companions chose to think that the young samurai were too discreet to make them any trouble in a peaceable port. the _grampus_ was moored alongside a wharf, and a gayly uniformed harbor official came aboard to learn the submarine's business, and to find whether there was any need of a customs inspector. the sight of glennie, and his declaration that the boat had merely put in at the port to give some of her crew a chance to pay their respects to mr. brigham, the united states consul, was enough. matt, although he fancied the boat secure, did not intend taking any chances. dick, carl, and speake were to be left aboard as an anchor watch, while matt and glennie called on the consul, and gaines and clackett whiled away a few hours in the river metropolis. the prisoner was to be left in the steel room until the consul should advise what had better be done with him. consul brigham, matt and glennie quickly learned, lived on the finest avenue in para--the estrada de sao josé. through this thoroughfare bordered with a colonnade of royal palms, matt and glennie were driven on their way to the consulate. in the office of the consulate was a gentleman in shirt sleeves and white duck trousers. his feet were elevated on the top of a table, and he was trying to keep himself cool with an immense palm-leaf fan. the sight of a united states naval uniform brought the consul to his feet immediately. "mr. brigham?" asked glennie. "what's left of him, my dear sir," was the answer. "i've melted considerably during this spell of hot weather. you'd naturally think the trade winds, which blow continually in this section, would temper the air. but trade winds, my dear sir, are not what they're cracked up to be." glennie introduced himself, and then presented matt. mr. brigham smiled expansively, and drew a bandanna handkerchief over his perspiring brow. "i've been expecting the pair of you," he announced, shaking each by the hand. "expecting us?" queried glennie, astonished. "sure. read that." the consul tucked a cablegram into glennie's fingers. it had come from belize, and was signed by the captain of the _seminole_. glennie read it aloud: "motor matt and ensign john henry glennie, u. s. n., will reach para in submarine _grampus_. glennie carries dispatches for you. read them, and see that both matt and glennie understand them thoroughly." "nice, long message, eh?" queried brigham, slapping glennie on the back. "plenty of useless words, but what does the captain of the _seminole_ care? uncle sam stands the cable toll, and, besides, on grave matters it is well to be explicit. hang a few extra dollars, anyway. where's the dispatches?" glennie imagined how he would have felt if he had been obliged to report, in view of that cablegram, that his dispatches had been lost and not recovered. "i want to tell you something about those dispatches before you read them, mr. brigham," said the ensign. "well, sit down, my lads. what's the good word, ensign?" thereupon glennie told the whole story connected with the loss of the dispatches and their final recovery. everything went in, and a half hour was consumed in the telling. more than once brigham whistled and puckered his brows ominously. but he was absorbed in the narrative. when it was done, he reached his hand toward matt. "pardon me, youngster," said he, "but i never miss a chance to shake hands with a live one. possibly it's because i've lived so long in this dead place, where you can't turn around without having some sluggard tell you 'mañana.' you're the clear quill, and i'll gamble you'll get along. if i was younger, blamed if i wouldn't like to trot a heat with you myself. put 'er there!" matt, flushing under the compliment given him by the consul, allowed his hand to be wrung cordially. "now," said brigham, "look out of the windows at the beautiful palms while i go through these papers." the consul was all of half an hour getting the gist of his dispatches. "i'm ready for you two lads," he presently called. matt and glennie returned to the chairs they had previously occupied. they were surprised at the change that had come over mr. brigham's face. on their arrival, it had been bright and smiling, while now it was dark and foreboding. "i guess you lads know how it feels to be in the jaws of death, and just slip out before they close," said he, "but you don't know the whole of it, not by a jugful. of all the high-handed proceedings i ever heard of, this certainly grabs the banner. now, listen." chapter xvi. a desperate risk. "did you know, motor matt," asked the consul, by way of preface, "that captain nemo, jr., right there in belize, had been approached by an agent of the japanese government and offered two hundred thousand for something he's selling to our government for just half that?" "no, sir," answered matt. "but i know the captain well enough to feel sure that he wouldn't sell the _grampus_ to any other country but the united states, not if he was offered a million. he has invented a submarine that is better than any other craft of its kind that was ever launched, and the captain is patriotic enough to want his own country to reap the benefit." "exactly. captain nemo, jr., is a man after my own heart, by gad! well, he refused the offer, and two days later he received a warning signed simply, 'the sons of the rising sun,' saying that if he did not reconsider the _grampus_ would be sunk in the bottom of the ocean. how was that for audacity? but the captain thought it was all bluff--the japs have learned a lot from us, my lads, and bluff is not the least of their acquirements. "the captain said nothing to you, motor matt, about this warning from the sons of the rising sun. he treated it with silent contempt, well knowing that you would do everything possible to safeguard the submarine without any unnecessary talk from him. "now, from what you lads have told me, we must change our minds about that warning being a bluff. if it was a bluff, then the japs are trying to make good. but the japanese government knows nothing about this. if the high boys among the japs in tokio knew, they would be the first ones to send a warship after these precious sons of the rising sun. the young samurai are going it on their own hook; they're going to help their beloved country whether the country wants them to or not. "the _grampus_ is a good thing. the japs are able to tell a good thing when they see it, and that's what makes the sons of the rising sun so hungry either to buy the submarine or send her to the bottom in such a way that she can't come up. they're a lot of hotheads, that's what they are, and they don't care a picayune what happens to them just so they can get in some wild stroke that, in their overheated estimation, may benefit nippon. "i don't know as we can blame them. it hasn't been so mighty long since they broke through their chrysalis of heathendom, and they are drunk with their success in their late unpleasantness with russia--russia, a country that has been our firm friend ever since the pilgrims landed on plymouth rock. "well, you have faced desperate risks, and you may be compelled to face more. i wish i could assure you that there were no more troubles in sight, but the japs are a persistent race, and whenever young firebrands like these sons of the rising sun get started at anything they never know when to let go. but," and here the consul brought his fist emphatically down on the table, "i don't think you can possibly meet any greater dangers than you have already met and successfully passed through. bearing that in mind, i'd be willing to bet every dollar i've got that motor matt will make good, and deliver this old catamaran at mare island, right-side-up with care, and everybody smiling--except, of course, the sons of the rising sun. i'll back young america against young japan any day. catch my drift? that's about all. come in and eat with me--we have to eat, you know, no matter how hot it is. after dinner we'll look after mr. tolo, and i'll give matt a letter to an agent who will supply him with gasolene, or any other old thing that happens to be necessary in order to make a submarine go. there won't be any water in the gasolene, either. come on, now, and let's try and be cheerful. heaven knows you boys have got enough ahead of you to make your hair stand on end like quills on the fretful porcupine, but what we're not sure of hadn't ought to trouble us." matt and glennie had a good dinner, and after it was over the consul went with them to the _grampus_ and gave the craft a sizing. he was charmed with the boat, and all the useful odds and ends of machinery with which she was packed. following that, he went to the prison chamber and surveyed tolo as he lay bound and helpless on the floor. "you're a nice young patriot, i must say!" exclaimed the consul, as he looked down on the quiet, uncomplaining japanese, "but you met more than your match when you went up against motor matt. where are the rest of your rascally outfit?" "i speak nothing, honorable sir," replied tolo, "not because of any disrespect for you, but out of regard for my dear nippon." the consul stared, and then he groaned. "high-handed outrage stalks the seas," he muttered, "and this poor fool calls it love of country! well, well! i wonder what commodore perry would say if he could hear that? the japs are our great and good friends, all right, but we don't count for much when there's a little thing like a patent boat on the programme. i'll take care of you, my lad," he added to tolo. "you'll stay in para until the first united states warship comes along, and then you'll travel to the states and give an account of yourself." a few minutes later the consul left the boat, and, an hour after he was gone, police officers arrived and carried the misguided tolo to the municipal bastile. that was the last matt and his friends ever saw of him. matt and glennie refused a pressing invitation to stay all night at the consul's palatial home. they explained to him that, in view of the vague dangers threatening them and the _grampus_, they felt as though they ought to stay with the boat. mr. brigham commended their zeal, repeated his encouraging auguries for their ultimate success, and warned them again of dangers ahead. "desperate risks are what you're to take," said he. "it may be that you have clipped the claws of the dragon, and that nothing more will be heard of the sons of the rising sun. that's the bright side of the picture, but please don't look at it. in a case of this kind it is better to expect the worst; then, if better things come to you, they will be in the nature of a happy surprise." on the second day of their stay in para dick went ashore and got their supplies. it had been on the schedule that the _grampus_ was to put in at rio, but mr. brigham advised the boys to give that port a wide berth. "your itinerary," he explained, "is probably known to these hotheaded japs. the way to fool them is by dodging the itinerary and putting in at the places where you are not expected." "we'll have to stop somewhere before we round the horn," said matt; "and i believe we'll call at----" "don't tell me!" protested the consul. "don't tell any one in para, or even talk it over among yourselves until you are well away at sea. then, when you speak the name of your next port of call, go down to the ocean bed and whisper it. do you think i'm piling it on? well, perhaps so, but i am only trying to let you understand how necessary it is to keep your own counsel. i'm mightily interested in you, and in your ultimate success, and what advice i give i give earnestly, and trust you will take it so. you'll get around the horn, all right, and you'll get to mare island, and the _grampus_ will become part and parcel of our country's navy, perhaps with ensign glennie in command. that's a cinch, my lads; but what you're to go through before you reach 'frisco is a horse of another color. don't be overconfident. remember what i say, and keep your eyes on the dark side of the picture. good-by, and luck go with you." on the morning of the third day after their arrival at para the _grampus_ slipped down the river toward the open sea. she carried confident hearts and determined wills--and, in spite of the fact that all had their eyes on the "dark side of the picture," there was plenty of hope and also of good cheer in the stout steel hull of the submarine. for the king of the motor boys was in command. he had brought the _grampus_ through many perils, and all had faith to believe that he could bring her through many more. the end. the next number ( ) will contain motor matt's defiance; or, around the horn. tell tale sparks--clipping the dragon's-claws--the overturned boat--gallant work--the five chilians--treachery--turning the tables--the man-of-war--aboard the "salvador"--the tightening coil--dick on his mettle--desperate measures--a dive for liberty--english reach--sandoval explains--northward bound. motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction new york, june , . terms to motor stories mail subscribers. (_postage free._) single copies or back numbers, c. each. months c. months c. months $ . one year . copies one year . copy two years . =how to send money=--by post-office or express money-order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. at your own risk if sent by currency, coin, or postage-stamps in ordinary letter. =receipts=--receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. if not correct you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once. ormond g. smith, } george c. smith, } _proprietors_. street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york city. in the hands of the enemy. jim dean's face looked ugly when the portuguese, who was called da silva, deliberately thrust the muzzle of a revolver against his chest. "you confounded disgrace! what are you going to do?" he inquired spitefully. "you putty-colored dago, do you think you can intimidate me with your theatrical performances? man, i've looked inside more gun muzzles that you've ever heard of." "this, then, is the last the senhor shall have the pleasure of examining," answered the portuguese imperturbably. the insults he waved aside with his lemon-colored left hand, and he blew out between his lips a serene stream of cigarette smoke. "the senhor is what you call a fire-eater, is it not? but even with a good appetite it is possible to eat too much. is the senhor going to take his last meal?" da silva talked leisurely as though he enjoyed the conversation. he looked carelessly around the trading office, where in orderly confusion lay books and papers containing records of many a cargo of cotton, palm oil, rubber, mahogany logs and the like from the opulent interior. for this, the highest trading station on the bawa river, was the channel through which the produce of a vast savage country went to the coast, where cotton goods of pronounced colors went in exchange for lumps of wild rubber, and where square-face gin or various jimcracks bought so much oil or kernel. jim dean managed this factory, from which he had to account to a board of directors in liverpool for his doings, and for his profits and losses. of late there had been losses, for from the wild interior had come tales of caravans attacked, of laden canoes cut off, of villages, where stores were accumulated, raided, with rumors and threats of worse things. so far as he was personally concerned, this present incident was the apex of the unexpected. he was sitting in his office sweating at his books when three natives, coming in as he supposed on trading business, without ceremony, gripped him in their odorous arms, flung a grass rope about him, and trussed him up like a fowl ready for the roast. a fourth man, da silva, had superintended the operation. "i'd give six months' wages to have a quarter of an hour at handling you with bare fists," snapped dean. "i should hate touching your hide with my fingers, but i'd do it like i might have to lift a bit of dirt out of my food." "the senhor makes it no easier for himself," said the portuguese with a show of teeth. "you just put your gun away and give me my hands free and i'll show you something," returned dean spitefully. the patience of the dago man suddenly came to an end. he withdrew his eyes from sight of the brown river beyond the veranda, whither they had dreamily wandered, and suddenly set them viciously on the white man. "i'm going to give you three minutes," he said. "if you are still acting the fool, then i shall shoot. you know what i want. down river at the bawa factory is a steamer just arrived from a british port. among her cargo are a thousand rifles, with ammunition. for purposes of my own, not unconnected with my desire to be top dog in this portion of africa, i want to get possession of those arms, and to do so i want to send such a message to the coast as will insure the steamer hurrying up the river with this part of her cargo aboard. therefore, you will write on the company's note paper, in your own hand, something to the effect that the station is in the extremest danger, that the whole hinterland is risen, and that unless you have arms and ammunition in plenty sent you at once, the whole factory and those in it will be wiped out of existence. it's a million to one they'll send the steamer up, for it would be the quickest, and there's deep water all the way. now, i'll dictate the exact words to you. you won't mind writing it, anyhow, because it's true." "and when the ship comes up, what then?" asked dean. "i make arrangements to acquire the cargo on--well, on easy terms," answered the half-breed with a smile. "all right, you disgrace of two continents, you do all the arranging. i'm not in it. you shoot, my friend." it was quite true that jim dean had looked into death's face more times than once, but he had hardly been nearer making his exit than during the next five seconds; for da silva's revolver muzzle was pressed over his heart and an angry finger was on the trigger. then the half-blood hesitated, not because he had either fear or scruples, but because dean at the moment was worth more to him alive than dead. he had great ambitions, for the realization of which the cargo of arms was necessary, and he could think of no better way of obtaining them than by using dean in the way he had indicated. "on the whole, i think shooting would be too sudden," he said. "if you refuse to do as i say i will invent a method of putting you out of this world of misery that will give you the longest dose of pain that a human body can stand. savvy?" jim dean did understand. da silva had in the hinterland an unsavory reputation for a ferocity that, rumor said, stood at nothing, and he was credited with one or two dark doings in the back no-man's land that will not bear repeating. he lighted another cigarette, and with malicious deliberation he detailed the manner in which he would inflict death on the other which had something with a slow fire in it and added refinements, and then he retired to make arrangements for the exit, as he termed it, leaving dean under the guard of one negro. these circumstances set dean thinking furiously, and after a while he decided that though a death by torture might be picturesque, there would not be much common sense in submitting to it when there was a way out, which, though humiliating enough, might yet afford him another chance. with his life he might get the game into his own hands--with death was the end of the game. "all right," he said. "you've got the bulge on me this time. just free my hands, and i'll write what you say." da silva dictated with his finger on the trigger of his weapon, and the muzzle of it somewhere between dean's shoulder blades. * * * * * macfarlane, manager of the coast factory on the bawa river, ran across the strip of sun-scorched beach and tumbled into a dugout boat of cottonwood, and with a speed that indicated he was handling matters of great urgency, he pushed the boat out into the yellow stream and paddled for all he was worth toward the rusty tramp steamer which lay in mid-river. lettering under her stern indicated the double fact that she was classically called the _athena_, and that she hailed from liverpool. an inspection of her decks would have shown that in the midday heat her crew were resting. the steam winch sizzled, the drip from a steam pipe falling on the hot iron deck almost dried before it touched the plates, the heat rose from the iron hull as from a stove; there was probably not a bearable spot in the ship. macfarlane came up the ladder in a hurry, and he mounted to the chart room on the little bridge deck with a speed that made some eyes open in surprise. captain bingham, who was reclining on a locker dressed in pajamas open at the chest, looked mild surprise at the agent's hurry, when the latter thrust into his hand a somewhat crumpled piece of paper and bade him read it. "a nigger has just brought it," he said. "dean, our man up the river, is in danger. in fact, you might say more. the whole back of the country is in danger. there's a rising in progress, and the first thing they'll attack is the upper factory, that being the sign and token of white aggression. their cry is the black man's country for the black man, which may be all right, only we're white men, and we're here, and we want to keep on our trade. now, i shouldn't be surprised if there isn't some one at the back of all this. there's a brainy, unscrupulous beggar called da silva, who's portuguese. he's got some sort of a crack-brained notion of a black republic with himself as president, and incidentally owner of our factories and trading posts. he's been in the hinterland for the last six months to my knowledge, and up to no good, i'll stake my swizzle stick. if this trouble is da silva's palaver, you can bet it's going to be a jugful, and the thing in such a case, or any other like it, is to blow the froth off it early. strike a blow at once. here's dean writing in a hurry saying that while he has men he's no arms worth reckoning, and that practically the fate of the whole colony depends on his having enough rifles and ammunition in his hands within twenty-four hours." "you're making me hotter than i was," breathed the skipper of the _athena_. "what do you want? i'm not an advice merchant." "if you'll read what dean's written you'll see he says that if i have any arms, the best way is to charter the best steam craft i can put hands on, put the stuff on it, and send her upstream. now, there are a dozen cases of rifles in your hold, which were going into portuguese territory. they haven't been unloaded yet, see?" "i can see you are going to put me in for something that my owners don't reckon on," said bingham with a laugh, opening the jacket of his pajamas, and throwing out his broad chest. "i reckon your owners value the trade on this bit of coast," said macfarlane dryly. "it means losing it all if dean doesn't get his guns. and there's a twenty-foot channel all the way upstream." "if we can keep in it--i know. this old craft is no mud plugger. still, with more cargo out of her she'll swim a bit higher. i'll just rouse up that crew of mine. and you get your boats around sharp, because i'm going to make that cargo buck." thereafter came a continual roar for many hours of both fore and aft steam winches, and the way the cargo was vomited out of the _athena's_ hold was a pretty good record for that river mouth. half an hour before sunset the _athena's_ anchors broke mud, and with her plimsoll and the red streak of her watermark high up out of the brown wash, she started nosing her way up against the current. the night fell suddenly like the quick closing of shutters, and from the river and the dank vegetation on its banks rose the mist that spelled fever and sickness. there was a ladling out of quinine that night to all hands. macfarlane took a double dose. this river with its sickening smell of crushed marigolds, where the mangroves threw hideous twisted roots into the slime, and noisome creatures sprawled in the gloom, had a breath of poison. "i'm hanged if i don't think," said the agent, as he took his second dose of quinine wrapped in a cigarette paper, "that we'd be better off with da silva in possession and us at home. i'm homesick. and this is west africa. my stars! listen to the splashing of that crocodile!" the skipper swore softly when a little shiver went through the hull. "that's the bottom," he said. "that deep channel may be there, but it takes keeping in. now, if you take my tip, you'll get those shooters of yours unpacked. your man may want a few in a hurry. gosh! there's the bottom again. it'll be no soft thing if we get stuck, either for us or your man." but they went up the waterway in safety till dawn came, when captain bingham breathed more freely. "all the same, i'm not enjoying myself," he said. "the salt sea is a dashed sight more to my liking. how much further is it?" "we shall strike it this evening," said macfarlane. "if we had been crows we could have got there in one-third the distance. this river winds about some." it was the long, roundabout journey that the vessel had to go which enabled the plotter, da silva, to get news of her approach, and of the success of his plans, for the native runner, who had in the first place conveyed the letter, forced from dean, by way of direct forest paths, went back the same way, carrying promise of immediate assistance. therefore the half-blood went on with his arrangements. to begin with, he sent runners out to various villages both near and distant, whence fighting men could come. he sent word that for each man there would be a rifle and cartridges, and that the war to regain the black man's country for the black man was ripe to commence. and then he constructed a simple, unsuspicious arrangement for trapping the ship that was nosing her way up the river. four hundred yards down from the strip of sun-baked beach in front of the trading factory the river was divided by a lush, swampy island into two channels. the near one was the only practicable way, and this he carefully filled up by dropping a couple of giant cottonwoods from the bank into it. the parts of the trees above the water lopped off till their presence was inconspicuous, and so came about as he intended the catching of the _athena_ like a jackal in a trap. going many miles at half speed, more miles at dead slow, the ocean tramp, making her uncertain way up this muddy channel into the heart of africa, did not arrive within sight of her destination till close on midnight. "we're close now," macfarlane was saying. "why not give a tootle on our siren just to buck up dean, and give his enemies a shiver if they are near?" bingham got hold of the string, but with the first stabbing of the tropic night by the shrieking whistle there came a sudden shiver through the ship, a violent scraping, and a bumping on the plates below water. the siren stopped short, and the telegraph handle was suddenly dragged over to full speed astern while captain bingham said things. the propeller swirled up whirlpools of mud, and cast up enough crushed marigold smell to choke them; but the ship did not move, and captain bingham let his soul go out in bitterness. "we've got to wait till daylight, anyhow," he said finally. "we're fast, and we can't do anything till we can see what's holding us." meanwhile things were happening ashore. for three days jim dean had sweated, a prisoner in his own office. he had seen little of da silva, one big negro, who smoked black cigars all day long, and wore a nautical cap, being his guard. the black seemed to possess the faculty of infinite wakefulness. if he ever slept he did not seem to. his eyes were always open, dreamily watching the smoke from his tobacco. dean thought and thought, and produced nothing. the negro was twice his size, armed and wakeful. he, while not trussed up, had the area of his activity circumscribed by a thong fastened round his waist and made fast to the floor. the odds were too great for any effective dealing with the situation, until by accident he alighted on a small possibility of at least freeing himself. and with freedom of movement much was possible. he wriggled on the floor. a prick in the calf of his leg betrayed the point of a nail sticking up in the floor. he altered his position so that he could get a bend of the thong against the nail point, and then he tried gently rubbing it, or rather letting the nail peck at the hide. there was not much strength in the nail, so that the operation had to be done with care; but it was done ultimately, and when there fell on dean's surprised ears the fragmentary shriek of the steamer's siren he was both ready and able to go! he fell on the negro as though a steel spring propelled him, and he bowled him over, and hammered the black head on the floor before the brain inside the woolly skull had awakened to what was happening. it was a thick skull, but the blow was in proportion, and the big body rolled over on the floor. possessing himself of the black's revolver, sheath knife, and belt, and the nautical cap to save his head from thorns, dean slipped out from the veranda and down into the garden. but this had not been done without some noise, and as dean ran away toward the gate of the inclosure, he heard voices in the darkness, and cries of warning and alarm. the door of the inclosure was fast. precious moments were wasted unbolting it. by the time he was fleeing across the strip of beach he knew he was pursued. he ran along the water's edge as far as he could till the thick brake of mangroves, which succeeded the beach, prevented him, for they grew right to the edge of the water, and the giant twisted roots snaked far out into the very slime of the river itself. he struck into the thick mass of vegetation, away from the river, but keeping as near parallel to the bank as he could. ropes of prickly creeper held him again and again. boughs of sickly sweet blossoms dashed against his face, and to force his way through the tangled mass of greenery he had to slash out with his knife at almost every step. then he made for the river bank again. he could hear the pounding of the ship's propeller, and he rightly guessed she was struggling to get free from the trap that she had got into. he came out upon the river bank and picked his way through the sprawling roots of the mangroves. he sank knee-deep into the slime, then he made a plunge and bore out into the river. he could see the steamer scarce a hundred yards away, and he put his best work into his swimming, not the less because he knew there were crocodiles in the water. he had not covered more than half the distance when he heard the sound of paddles no great way off. he looked over half a shoulder, and he saw a dug-out canoe shoot from the shore with half a dozen paddles at work. he swam till every muscle and sinew ached with the strain. he tore through the water, and grasped a rope that hung over the cathead of the _athena_, thirty yards ahead of the pursuing canoe. he was over the edge of the forecastle just as the canoe came below. a moment later, with the water dripping from him, he had turned, and was firing at the black heads that sprang up above the cathead. a short spear plunged at his head, and stuck quivering into the forecastle planks; but two big splashes followed his shots, and there came a discordant chorus of yells from below, that a moment later was broken into by a deep-throated cry of inquiry from the bridge. "you are trapped, that's all," answered dean, taking aim at the retreating canoe. "gad, is that jim dean?" macfarlane came running forward. "have you had to swim for it at the finish? are we too late with the arms?" "no, you're just in time," said dean, watching the effect of his shot, "that is, if you have some men who can use them." "you said you'd got plenty." "i'd better own up," said the young man, "although it hasn't a pleasant taste in my mouth. i wrote that letter at da silva's dictation with a pistol at my head. there was likewise a pleasant alternative of being spitted over a slow fire. he wants this cargo himself. odds are on it that we shall get an attack before dawn." "then, by the great james, we'll have some handshakes ready for them," declared captain bingham. "now, you just loosen out some of our cargo, mr. macfarlane." * * * * * the expected attack came about half an hour before dawn, when the white mists at the river edge were thickest. half a dozen big canoes filled with men shot out from the banks. there were one or two firearms among them, but these were discharged at too great a range for savage marksmen, and they did no more than emphasize the alarm, though that was not needed, for watchful eyes had kept a careful lookout on the _athena_ all night. "they'll be monkeys, and a bit over, if they climb up here," observed macfarlane; for the ship with no cargo in her stood high out of the water, but the attack had been arranged by a brain. the first canoe to reach the vessel's side wasted, for savages, little time in shouting and brandishing spears, but straightway made casts with looped lengths of grass rope, and before the defenders were quite up to the move half a dozen black bodies were swarming up toward the mizzen chains. shots accounted for three, but the other three got up to the rail, and it was an ugly fight before accounts were settled. each canoe was supplied with these ropes, which were cast with amazing skill, and wherever there was the slightest hold or projection there was a rope quickly looped over, and a black body swarming up the next instant. axes and cutting knives hacked at them, but many a savage got aboard, and there were gashes and spear thrusts in plenty among the crew of the _athena_ when dawn broke. the affair finished just as the sun slipped up over the trees, with the canoes, such as had men to propel them, paddling away to the shore, while two others drifted downstream, with only dead and wounded men in them. the daylight showed half a dozen blacks, either dead or badly wounded, on the ship's decks, and the second engineer lying on the fidley with a gashed head and wounded thigh. "and there's ane de'il ah hae made prisoner after a vera bonny fecht," said the scotch bosun. "ah'm thinking he's no' a'together a nigger. the scoondrel's a bit tae yellow." they found the dago, lying on the main deck, panting and furious, clothed only in a loin cloth, with half a dozen of his own grass ropes around him. "sae ye're the captain o' this dirty crood, air ye?" observed the bosun critically, as the half-blood lay there swathed in the grass rope. "mon, ye started something outside yere weight. but perhaps ye'll be useful. when we've had a bite o' something tae eat, we shall want a few hondy niggers tae chop awa' the trees we've rinned upon, and mebbe ye can whustle up a few." but while they were snatching a hasty scrap of food, the prisoner, unwatched for a few minutes, managed to partly wriggle out of the rope, and to crawl toward an open sally port. they heard him splash over the side, and a moment later, as they saw him swimming, in spite of rope-encumbered legs, he was seen to suddenly turn over in the water and to cast a look of fear back at them. the next moment he gave a shriek, and sank from sight. a little eddy in the brown water showed only for a moment where he had disappeared. "a crocodile," said dean with a shudder. "and i swam over there myself last night. poor beggar. when you're ready i should like to go ashore. i expect my office will be a bit upset." latest issues brave and bold weekly all kinds of stories that boys like. the biggest and best nickel's worth ever offered. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --two chums afloat; or, the cruise of the "arrow." by cornelius shea. --in the path of duty; or, the fortunes of officer dan deering. by harrie irving hancock. --a bid for fortune; or, true as steel. by fred thorpe. --a battle with fate; or, the baseball mascot. by weldon j. cobb. --three brave boys; or, adventures in the balloon world. by frank sheridan. --archie atwood, champion; or, an all-around athlete's career. by cornelius shea. --dick stanhope afloat; or, the eventful cruise of the _elsinore_. by harrie irving hancock. --working his way upward; or, from footlights to riches. by fred thorpe. --the fourteenth boy; or, how vin lovell won out. by weldon j. cobb. --among the nomads; or, life in the open. by the author of "through air to fame." --bob, the acrobat; or, hustle and win out. by harrie irving hancock. --through the earth; or, jack nelson's invention. by fred thorpe. --the boy chief; or, comrades of camp and trail. by john de morgan. motor stories the latest and best five-cent weekly. we won't say how interesting it is. see for yourself. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear. --motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto. --motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward. --motor matt's air-ship; or, the rival inventors. --motor matt's hard luck; or, the balloon house plot. --motor matt's daring rescue; or, the strange case of helen brady. --motor matt's peril; or, castaway in the bahamas. --motor matt's queer find; or, the secret of the iron chest. --motor matt's promise; or, the wreck of the _hawk_. --motor matt's submarine; or, the strange cruise of the _grampus_. --motor matt's quest; or, three chums in strange waters. --motor matt's close call; or, the snare of don carlos. --motor matt in brazil; or, under the amazon. --motor matt's defiance; or, around the horn. --motor matt makes good; or, another victory for the motor boys. tip top weekly the most popular publication for boys. the adventures of frank and dick merriwell can be had only in this weekly. =high art colored covers. thirty-two pages. price, cents.= --frank merriwell's patience; or, the making of a pitcher. --frank merriwell's pupil; or, the boy with the wizard wing. --frank merriwell's fighters; or, the decisive battle with blackstone. --dick merriwell at the "meet"; or, honors worth winning. --dick merriwell's protest; or, the man who would not play clean. --dick merriwell in the marathon; or, the sensation of the great run. --dick merriwell's colors; or, all for the blue. --dick merriwell, driver; or, the race for the daremore cup. --dick merriwell on the deep; or, the cruise of the _yale_. --dick merriwell in the north woods; or, the timber thieves of the floodwood. --dick merriwell's dandies; or, a surprise for the cowboy nine. --dick merriwell's "skyscooter"; or, professor pagan and the "princess." --dick merriwell in the elk mountains; or, the search for "dead injun" mine. _for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address on receipt of price, cents per copy, in money or postage stamps, by_ street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york =if you want any back numbers= of our weeklies and cannot procure them from your newsdealer, they can be obtained from this office direct. fill out the following order blank and send it to us with the price of the weeklies you want and we will send them to you by return mail. =postage stamps taken the same as money.= ________________________ _ _ _street & smith, - seventh avenue, new york city._ _dear sirs: enclosed please find_ ___________________________ _cents for which send me_: tip top weekly, nos. ________________________________ nick carter weekly, " ________________________________ diamond dick weekly, " ________________________________ buffalo bill stories, " ________________________________ brave and bold weekly, " ________________________________ motor stories, " ________________________________ _name_ ________________ _street_ ________________ _city_ ________________ _state_ ________________ a great success!! motor stories every boy who reads one of the splendid adventures of motor matt, which are making their appearance in this weekly, is at once surprised and delighted. surprised at the generous quantity of reading matter that we are giving for five cents; delighted with the fascinating interest of the stories, second only to those published in the tip top weekly. matt has positive mechanical genius, and while his adventures are unusual, they are, however, drawn so true to life that the reader can clearly see how it is possible for the ordinary boy to experience them. _here are the titles now ready and those to be published_: --motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. --motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. --motor matt's century run; or, the governor's courier. --motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the "comet." --motor matt's mystery; or, foiling a secret plot. --motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear. --motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto. --motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward. --motor matt's air ship; or, the rival inventors. --motor matt's hard luck; or, the balloon house plot. --motor matt's daring rescue; or, the strange case of helen brady. --motor matt's peril; or, cast away in the bahamas. --motor matt's queer find; or, the secret of the iron chest. --motor matt's promise; or, the wreck of the "hawk." --motor matt's submarine; or, the strange cruise of the "grampus." --motor matt's quest; or, three chums in strange waters. to be published on june th. --motor matt's close call; or, the snare of don carlos. to be published on june st. --motor matt in brazil; or, under the amazon. to be published on june th. --motor matt's defiance; or, around the horn. to be published on july th. --motor matt makes good; or, another victory for the motor boys. price, five cents at all newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, by the publishers upon receipt of the price. street & smith, _publishers_, new york transcriber's notes: added table of contents. italics are represented with _underscores_, bold with =equal signs=. retained some inconsistent hyphenation from the original ("dugout" vs. "dug-out"). page , expanded oe ligature in "manoeuvre" to oe; ligature retained in html edition. page , removed unnecessary quote before "the ready." page , "curaçoa" is probably a typo for "curaçao" but has been retained in case it is an archaic spelling. page , corrected typo "hapened" in "anything happened to the submarine." page , corrected typo "ferrall" in "i can spell you, or mr. ferral." page , corrected "let go of dick" to "let go of matt." courtesy of the digital library@villanova university (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction no. july , five cents motor matt's defiance _or_ around the horn _by the author of "motor matt"_ [illustration: _"clear away the boat if you can!" shouted glennie. "hooray for motor matt!"_] _street & smith, publishers, new york._ motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction _issued weekly. by subscription $ . per year. entered according to act of congress in the year , in the office of the librarian of congress, washington, d. c., by_ street & smith, _ - seventh avenue, new york, n. y._ no. . new york, july , . price five cents. motor matt's defiance or, around the horn. by the author of "motor matt." contents chapter i. telltale sparks. chapter ii. clipping the dragon's claws. chapter iii. the overturned boat. chapter iv. gallant work. chapter v. the five chilians. chapter vi. treachery. chapter vii. turning the tables. chapter viii. the man-of-war. chapter ix. aboard the "salvadore." chapter x. the tightening coil. chapter xi. dick on his mettle. chapter xii. desperate measures. chapter xiii. a dive for liberty. chapter xiv. english reach. chapter xv. sandoval explains. chapter xvi. northward bound! the spider water. beaver in peril of extinction in michigan. rare cage birds. characters that appear in this story. =motor matt=, a lad who is at home with every variety of motor, and whose never-failing nerve serves to carry him through difficulties that would daunt any ordinary young fellow. because of his daring as a racer with bicycle, motor-cycle and automobile he is known as "mile-a-minute matt." motor-boats, air ships and submarines come naturally in his line, and consequently he lives in an atmosphere of adventure in following up his "hobby." =carl pretzel=, a cheerful and rollicking german boy, stout of frame as well as of heart, who is led by a fortunate accident to link his fortunes with those of motor matt. =dick ferral=, a young sea dog from canada, with all a sailor's superstitions, but in spite of all that a royal chum, ready to stand by the friend of his choice through thick and thin. =john henry glennie, ensign, u. s. n.=, representing the u. s. government on board the _grampus_ during her long trip around south america. =captain enrique sandoval=, of the chilian warship _salvadore_, a sailor who has a faculty for gathering wrong opinions, and an equal facility for setting himself right and doing justice to those whom his mistaken ideas have wronged. =captain ichi=, and other officers as well as the crew of the mysterious steamship which plays many parts and sails under many flags, the sons of the rising sun, fanatic patriots of young japan, to whom nothing is considered valueless that benefits nippon! =garcia and his four comrades=, escaped convicts from the penal settlement at punta arenas. =gaines, speake and clackett=, crew of the _grampus_. chapter i. telltale sparks. "we have finished repainting the ship, captain ichi." "very good, lieutenant." "what flag shall we fly?" "where are we?" "off cape virgins." "then break out the chilian ensign, lieutenant. my compliments to the officer of the deck, and tell him to double the lookout and have a sharp watch kept. if we raise a chilian ship, haul down the flag, and run up the british flag; if a british ship is sighted, then haul german bunting to the gaff. in any other event, leave the chilian flag flying. eternal vigilance is the price of our success for our beloved country, lieutenant." "banzai, captain." "banzai, nippon!" "any other orders, captain ichi?" "watch the wireless. as soon as anything is received, let me know." "ay, ay, sir." the swarthy little lieutenant withdrew, his slant eyes gleaming. a few minutes later he clattered to the bridge and repeated captain ichi's orders to the officer of the deck, then, descending, he walked to the door of the wireless room. "anything yet, kaneko?" he inquired, lounging in the door. a young man in his shirt sleeves bent over a table, the wireless "receivers" pushed close to his ears and held there by his fingers. at sight of the lieutenant, whose lips he could see moving, although his stopped ears had not allowed him to hear the question, kaneko removed the helmet. "nothing yet, lieutenant," said he. "i have been two hours getting the instrument to spark properly. a damp helix and a feeble motor were the cause; but now i am ready, and waiting." "captain ichi must know as soon as anything is received." "i shall inform him immediately, lieutenant." the lieutenant turned away from the door and passed to the port rail. the steamer was standing off and on the coast near the entrance to magellan strait. as the lieutenant peered landward, he surveyed the cape, and the long spit of low, sandy land stretching southward. he was somewhat familiar with the english coast, and this south american headland he likened to berry head, at the north of torbay. turning from the rail, the lieutenant lifted his eyes to where the phosphor-bronze aërials swung between the mastheads, the wires of each "t" held rigidly apart by their wooden stretchers. a passionate look flamed into his yellow face and gleamed from his slant eyes. "come, honorable hertzian waves," he murmured, with a queer gesture of appeal directed at the swinging wires; "give the sons of the rising sun the telltale sparks, the beautiful blue sparks! let them spell success for nippon and disaster for the american submarine!" taking a little image from his pocket--the image of a sitting buddha--the lieutenant placed it on the heaving deck and prostrated himself before it. then, in low breath, he murmured his supplications to the senseless ebony. in the midst of his appeal, a stifled crashing sound came from the wireless room. starting to his feet, the lieutenant caught up the little idol and returned it to his pocket. exultation arose to his lips, for his upward-turning eyes saw a blue spark wavering at the ends of the aërials, and to his ears came the hiss and crackle of broken sound as the wires plunged back and forth with the roll of the ship. the operator appeared in the door of the "station" and nodded. the lieutenant rushed aft to notify the captain. presently captain ichi arrived in the wireless room and sank into a chair by the table. "getting anything important, kaneko?" the operator shook his head respectfully and continued to listen and to pencil what he heard on a tab of paper. finally he settled back in his chair. "there's a wireless station at punta arenas, in the strait, captain," said he. "then it must have been recently put there," answered captain ichi. "the chilians also have a convict settlement at the place." "every one knows that." "punta arenas is calling the chilian war ship _salvadore_." captain ichi wrinkled his brows. "your instrument is perfectly tuned with the one at punta arenas, kaneko?" "perfectly, captain." "and you can send in the spanish so that the trick could not be detected?" "i know the spanish as well as i know my native tongue." "then answer," was the calm reply. "say this is the _salvadore_ and ask what punta arenas wants." there was not a quiver in the captain's voice, and not a tremor in kaneko's fingers as he caught the handle of the big key. slowly but firmly he worked the key up and down. a blue spark exploded in the gap between the brass knobs of the discharging rods. sounds like the explosion of firecrackers echoed through the room. throwing off his switch, kaneko jerked the phones over his ears. the captain watched kaneko's pencil moving over the white paper. "five convicts escaped from punta arenas last night in a sloop-rigged boat. watch for them." the captain studied the words; then, taking his pencil, he wrote underneath: "very well. anything else?" kaneko sent the message. five minutes, ten minutes, passed; then came the question: "is that the chilian gunboat _salvadore_?" "yes," lied the blue, telltale sparks. "the united states submarine, in charge of one matt king, is going around the horn. watch for her; pay her a visit if you can, and have the craft carefully looked over. the submarine _grampus_ is a marvel of her kind, and a long way ahead of any other under-water boat yet launched." a shout of exultation escaped the captain. "where is the submarine now?" he penciled, with shaking fingers. "three days out from the river plate," was the answer, "and must be well below cape virgins by now." "we will watch for her." "try to pick her up before she gets far into the pacific." "we will try." as the spark and sputter ceased, kaneko jerked off his helmet. captain ichi had leaped to his feet, and now reached out to grip the operator's hand. "for the present, kaneko," he cried, "this is the chilian war ship _salvadore_, and we of the young samurai are in the chilian naval service." "that is good, captain!" "the _grampus_ will be expecting a call from us," pursued the captain. "who knows but the united states authorities have asked the chilian government to have the _salvadore_ meet the submarine and escort her to valparaiso, thus affording her protection from the sons of the rising sun?" "exactly so, captain! we shall find the _grampus_, and we shall prevent her from falling into the hands of the united states government at mare island." "we shall!" and a look of grim determination crossed the captain's face as he moved hurriedly toward the door. "banzai, nippon!" called kaneko. captain ichi, pausing a moment, pulled a flag of his island empire from his pocket and pressed it to his lips. just outside the door of the wireless room he met the lieutenant, repeating to him what had taken place in the "station." the lieutenant slapped his hands ecstatically. "we will call on these americans who are taking the submarine to mare island," said the lieutenant. "it is a rare chance to accomplish our work, captain ichi!" "there could not be a better chance! if possible, the submarine must be destroyed in these southern waters. that, you know, will give us an opportunity to change the color of our vessel and continue our peaceful cruising toward europe! our government will never know that we were the ones who destroyed this menace to our beloved nippon!" "if they knew it at home----" the lieutenant did not finish, but winced and shrugged his shoulders. "we should be heavily punished. even if the united states found it out, their government would demand that we be hung." "harikari before that!" "harikari? yes--perhaps that may be best, anyway. we have but one life to give for nippon." "and we have vowed to give it! captain, may i be one of those who visit the _grampus_?" captain ichi shook his head. "i am sorry," said he, "but those who put off to the submarine must have _straight eyes_! this motor matt is one of the sharpest americans i ever had anything to do with. slant eyes, lieutenant, would prove that we are not chilians. only those who have such eyes can go in the boat." "she is below the cape?" "so punta arenas reports." the captain turned and made his way to the bridge. there were two lookouts at the masthead, each watching the surface of the ocean with powerful binoculars. captain ichi gave the quartermaster his course and signaled the engine room for the best speed. the steamer, flaunting her false colors, bore swiftly away to the southward and toward cape horn, bent upon an act of treachery which, to the misguided minds of officers and crew, seemed an act of the highest patriotism. chapter ii. clipping the dragon's claws. "will it work, matey?" "it ought to--providing there is anything for it to work with. when you talk by wireless, dick, you know there has got to be a second instrument within reach of your hertzian waves. lucky we were able to pick up that wireless instrument in buenos ayres. lucky, too, that ensign glennie knows how to use the key and to talk spanish." just behind a bold headland to the north of cape virgins and within the mouth of the river gallego, the submarine _grampus_ was anchored. the shore of the little bay lay steep to, the submarine being moored within a jump of the wooded bank. wires issued from the conning-tower hatch of the craft, crossed the stretch of water, and climbed a high tree that had been stripped of its branches. from the top of the tree hung the aërials. below deck, in the periscope room, was the instrument, with john henry glennie, ensign, u. s. n., waiting at the key. motor matt and dick ferral were on deck. "are you sure, matey," went on dick, "that that was the jap steamer our lookout raised from the headland?" "we can't be sure of anything where those japs are concerned. the steamer was of about the same size, although differently painted. but, then, paint is cheap, and it sometimes makes a big difference in a boat's appearance. the suspicious circumstance is that, while she was passing the mouth of the gallegos, she pulled down the cross of st. george and ran up the chilian flag." "and she had two wireless masts!" exclaimed dick. "these sons of the rising sun are wily chaps, but, seeing that we have come from para, all down the eastern coast of south america without any trouble, i was beginning to think the japs had given up, and that they were going to let us finish our long cruise without paying us any more attention." "remember what mr. brigham, the american consul at para, told us, dick--that these fanatical young japs never turn back once they have set their hands to a piece of work. our business is to get the _grampus_ around the horn and into the hands of the commandant of the navy yard at mare island, and collect a hundred thousand dollars for captain nemo, jr. the sons of the rising sun came near winning while we were on the way from port of spain to para, and the mere fact that we got the best of them isn't going to cause them to throw up their hands and haul off."[a] [a] how motor matt and his chums were commissioned by captain nemo, jr., to take the _grampus_ around south america to san francisco, how they met unexpected enemies, and how they worsted them, was set forth in no. of the motor stories, "motor matt in brazil; or, under the amazon." "if there's a wireless machine on that steamer," observed dick speculatively, "it doesn't seem to me that she can belong to the japs." "it was probably easier for the japs to install a wireless apparatus than it was for us. undoubtedly they had every part of the machine in the hold of their vessel when they left their own country. as for us, we had to pick up a second-hand instrument at buenos ayres. i don't know that wireless telegraphy is going to help us any; but there's a chance that it may, and we can't neglect any chance if we want to clip the claws of the dragon." "right-o, old ship! brigham told us not to let any one know what ports we were to call at, or what course we were going to take. if that steamer belongs to the japs, those aboard won't know whether we're going through magellan strait or around the horn." "our orders," said matt reflectively, "carry us around the horn, but those orders were given when it was not known that the sons of the rising sun were after us." "it was a good scheme putting in here and sending a lookout up on top of that headland," and dick peered up toward the high point where speake was sitting with a glass to his eyes. "if you hadn't done that, you'd never have seen that steamer, or----" dick was interrupted by a blue flash from the top of the tree. "strike me lucky!" he broke off, grabbing matt's arm in a tense grip. "what does that mean?" "it means," answered matt excitedly, shaking off dick's hand and hurrying toward the conning tower, "that glennie is in communication with somebody. stay here and watch, dick, while i go below." in the periscope room all was excitement. clackett, gaines, carl, and glennie were grouped about a table which, loaded with sending and receiving apparatus, completely filled one end of the chamber. ensign glennie, stripped to his shirt, was humped over the key, cramming the ear phone to the side of his head and listening breathlessly. matt pushed close and looked on with deep interest. "what is it?" he asked, as glennie leaned back on his seat. "i can't make out," was the ensign's disappointed answer. "this old second-hand instrument don't seem to be keyed properly, or else we're out of the zone of the ether waves and only catch snatches of---- ah!" he finished, jumping for the table again. after a few moments he lifted his head. "i caught that," he said. "it was spanish. 'this is the chilian war ship _salvadore_,' ran the message; 'what do you want?' it was clear as a bell, and was sent from some 'station' fairly close. there comes the answer, and i can't make head or tail to it--the sending instrument is too far away." "it must come from punta arenas, in the strait," averred matt. "that's a chilian settlement, and the station there is talking with the war ship." "or with that mysterious steamer that passed here a few hours ago," qualified glennie. "py chimineddy!" muttered carl. "schust to t'ink dot all dose t'ings vas t'rown troo der air, und----" "hist!" warned matt as glennie began to take another message off the sounder. "the supposed war ship answers," said glennie, "'all right; anything else?'" "try and make out what follows, if you can," returned matt. the chronometer on the wall ticked off seven minutes. "i guess that's the end of it, matt," said glennie. "our spark won't carry to the land station?" queried matt. "if theirs won't come here distinctly, ours won't be able to reach them." "then we'll get into communication with the boat. ask if she's the chilian war ship _salvadore_." the spanish words ran crackling up the wires to the top of the tree and jumped off into space. "the answer is 'yes,' matt," said glennie. "now give them this," said matt: "'the united states submarine, in charge of one matt king, is going around the horn. watch for her, pay her a visit, if you can, and have the craft carefully looked over. the submarine _grampus_ is a marvel of her kind, and a long way ahead of any other under-water boat yet launched.'" glennie stared in blank amazement. "vy, matt, dot's a gifavay!" gasped carl. "prigham saidt dot ve vasn't to dell anypody vere ve're going." "that's my notion, matt," said glennie. "send the message, glennie," ordered matt. the perplexed ensign bent to his key. "it's gone," he muttered, "and here's something else coming back." a few minutes later glennie translated into english the words that had come to his sharp ears. "they want to know where the submarine is now." "tell them," said matt resolutely, "that she's three days out from the river plate, and may be well below cape virgins by this time." "ach, lisden!" whispered carl. "pelow cape firgins--und here ve are to der nort', in gallegos pay." "they say they will watch for her," reported glennie, after sending the message and getting the answer. matt smiled grimly. "tell them, glennie," said he, "to try and pick her up before she gets around the horn." "they say they'll try," announced glennie presently. "now," he finished, removing the ear phones, "i'd like to know what you're trying to do, matt." "it's a cinch, i think," replied matt, "that you've been talking with that steamer that passed the headland, bound south, a few hours ago." "no doubt about that." "she hauled down the british ensign and hauled up the chilian flag as she passed." "exactly, and that looks suspicious, although it might be explained." "she says she's a chilian war ship," went on matt, "but she had no guns. if she's not a war ship, she's not chilian; and if she's not chilian, she's japanese; and if she's japanese, she belongs to the sons of the rising sun, who are trying to lay a trap for us. here's where we have a chance to clip the dragon's claws--and we've virtually accomplished it by wireless." matt whirled away. "gaines," said he, "you and clackett strip those wires off that tree and call speake down from the top of the hill. carl," he added, "you help glennie clear these instruments out of the periscope room. they've served their purpose better than i ever dreamed they would when we took them aboard at buenos ayres." gaines and clackett at once shinned up the iron ladder to carry out their orders. carl and glennie began carrying the wireless machine into the steel room abaft the periscope chamber. meanwhile matt was overhauling some charts, which he had spread out on top of the locker. dick, speake, clackett, and gaines--the two latter with the coil of wire and the aërial points--came down into the periscope room before matt was through. "what's the next move, matey?" asked dick. "get up the anchor and cast off the mooring ropes, old chap," matt answered, getting to his feet. "if that boat we were talking with really belonged to the japs, then she's hustling for the horn to overtake us. while she's beating around the southern end of terra del fuego, we'll pass through the strait of magellan and reach away up the coast of chili." "hoop-a-la!" exulted carl. "dot's der vay der king oof der modor poys fools der chaps! vile dey look for us von blace, den ve scoot out some odder blace!" "that's the trick!" cried ferral; "and it's the trick that wins." "but our orders carry us around the horn," demurred glennie. "you're aboard as the representative of the united states government, glennie," said matt. "if we try to go around the horn, there's no telling what will happen. a hundred thousand dollars is trembling in the balance, and ought we to take chances with it? it's for you to say." "then go through the strait," answered glennie. motor matt had reasoned wisely; but the failure of their wireless instrument to catch the messages from punta arenas was to cause them a vast amount of trouble. chapter iii. the overturned boat. matt knew why the original orders given him by captain nemo, jr., carried the _grampus_ around the horn. for a vessel that depended on anything but sails for motive power rounding the horn was no difficult matter. in those southern waters bad weather prevails, but it was possible for the submarine to dive downward and escape the gales and the rough seas. magellan strait, on the other hand, was difficult of navigation. captain nemo, jr., had specified a course around the horn in order to expose the _grampus_ to as little hazard as might be. he had not known, of course, that matt and his friends were to be beset by such relentless foes as the sons of the rising sun. matt preferred to risk the difficult passage of the strait rather than to take chances rounding the southern tip of the continent. it would have been possible for him, of course, so to word his wireless message as to carry the mysterious steamer through the strait, leaving the _grampus_ free to take the course originally laid down for her. but that would have given the steamer the shortest course to the pacific, and she could have been waiting in smyth channel, at the western end of the strait, when the submarine came picking her way among the islands. on the whole, it seemed to matt better that he should send the mysterious steamer around the horn, and so get ahead of her for the run up the chilian coast. the barometer had been falling rapidly all afternoon, and matt was in a hurry to round cape virgins and find anchorage in possession bay, there to submerge to a good depth, avoid the storm, and pass the night. while in the strait they would have to do their navigating by daylight, and either sink to the bottom or tie up during the hours of darkness. while the _grampus_ was still at the surface, matt pushed through the hatch to get a look at the sky. off to the south the heavens were black as the inside of a tar barrel, and through the heavy gloom ran vivid lines of lightning. the wind was high and constantly increasing, so that the waves were lashed furiously. but the rollers were long, and when the submarine crossed one high wave, she slid down the watery hill like a toboggan, ramming her sharp nose into the next comber, and flinging the scud high over the conning tower. our friends aboard the craft were hurled about at every angle, and it was necessary for those who had to remain at their posts to lash themselves securely in order to avoid being thrown against the machinery, or the steel plates of side or bulkhead. matt closed and secured the hatch, after which he slid down the ladder. speake, tied to rings in the forward bulkhead of the periscope room, was watching the periscope and doing the steering. the floor underneath seemed to tumble around like the back of a rearing horse. "we're getting it good an' proper, matt," said speake. "for exercise in ground an' lofty tumblin', a submarine in a seaway takes the banner." "we'll submerge," said matt, "but i'm in hopes we can get around cape virgins and into possession bay before the worst of it hits us." he turned to the tank-room speaking tube. "a ten-foot submergence, clackett!" he called. the pounding of waves against the hull caused a dull roaring throughout the boat, almost deadening the "ay, ay" that came from clackett. presently, as the ballast tanks slowly filled, the _grampus_ sank until only five feet of the periscope mast was out of water. the motion of the boat was perceptibly easier, but steering by periscope was difficult. huge waves flung themselves at the ball that capped the mast and thus sponged out the view that should have been reflected on the mirror. only at intervals could a view above the surface be obtained. matt called dick and had him lash himself at the periscope table, thus leaving speake free to attend to the wheel. "keelhaul me!" muttered dick. "it's as black as your hat all around us. and lightning! i'm a fiji if i ever saw it so sharp." "can you raise cape virgins?" queried matt. "i can see something off to starboard that looks as though it might be the cape." "well, after we once get around that we'll be in quieter waters and will submerge for the night. keep your eyes peeled, dick. this would be a bad time to collide with some steamer just leaving the strait." matt, braced on the locker, fell to examining the chart again. while he was at it, a yell of amazement and consternation came from dick. the shout lifted matt off the locker. "what's the matter?" he asked, ranging alongside his chum. "an overturned boat," gasped dick. "i saw it in a trough of the waves just as the periscope cleared--_and there were men lashed to the bottom_!" "positive of that?" returned matt, fixing his eyes on the mirror. "watch, matey, and mayhap you'll see them for yourself." just then the periscope ball shook itself free of the waves, and the tumbling sea lay under matt's eyes. as the darkness was lighted by a glare of lightning, the young motorist was thrilled by the vivid glimpse thus given him of the overturned boat. it was about a hundred feet away on the starboard side, and, at that moment, was being hurled high on the top of a comber. there were five dripping forms on the boat's bottom--matt saw that much before another wave drenched the periscope ball. whirling away, he turned to the motor-room tube. "is glennie or carl down there?" he shouted. "glennie's helping me," answered gaines, "and carl's with clackett." "send 'em both up here on the jump." "what're you going to try to do?" demanded speake, as matt began throwing coils of light, strong rope out of the locker. "there are five men on that overturned boat," was the determined answer, "and we're going to save them." "it's as much as your life is worth, matt," returned speake earnestly, "to bring the _grampus_ to the surface and venture out on deck." matt had thrown off his coat and hat and was now taking off his shoes. "it's our duty to do what we can," said he. "we can't leave those five men to be washed into the sea and drowned." "no more we can't," seconded dick, likewise beginning to peel off his extra clothing. "watch your old periscope yourself, speake. i wouldn't give tuppence for those fellows' chances if we don't snatch 'em off." at that moment carl and glennie came rolling into the periscope room. it took matt only half a minute to tell them of the work that lay ahead. "hoop-a-la!" shouted carl, beginning to strip, "dot means me!" "and me, too," averred glennie, likewise preparing himself. "dick and i will tie ropes around us and go on the deck," said matt. "glennie will stand in the tower and do the steering. dick and i will each carry the spare ends of a couple of ropes with us, and the coils will be left down here in the periscope room. as soon as one of the men makes fast to a rope, carl and speake will tail onto it and haul him aboard." matt turned to the tank-room tube. "empty the ballast tanks, clackett!" he shouted. clackett must have thought that a strange order, but he was there to obey, and the tone of matt's voice told him clearly that instant compliance was wanted. the splash of the turbines could be heard, and the _grampus_ began rising into rougher water. "i'll go out first," said matt, stepping to the ladder. "you follow me, dick, and, glennie, you come last." matt lingered a moment to pick up an iron wrench and secure it to the end of one of the ropes that was going aloft with him, and then made his way up the ladder. by then the _grampus_ was rolling and pitching on the surface, and when matt opened the hatch, a wave swept over his head, nearly smothering him and hurling him fiercely against the inner wall of the tower. it looked like suicide to venture out into the waves that hurled themselves over the rounded deck of the submarine, but he watched his chances, got over the edge of the tower and crawled to the steel periscope mast. just as he reached it, another wave flung itself over the boat. had his arms not been around the mast, he would have been plucked bodily from the deck and swept into the sea. as soon as the wave had passed, he tied his life line to the stout steel upright, and stood erect. just then the submarine was riding a wave, and he saw the overturned boat to the north and on the port side--twice as far away as when he had first seen her through the periscope. dick was on the other side of the tower, lashing himself to the flagstaff, and glennie was out of the hatch to the waist line. talking, at such a time, was impossible. matt pointed in the direction of the overturned boat, and the faint tinkle of the motor-room bell below was heard as glennie signaled for a turn on the port tack. as the _grampus_ came around, she was rolled like a barrel, matt, glennie, and dick, all three, being entirely submerged. but the stout craft was nothing more than a big air chamber, and so long as her plates held together she was practically unsinkable. righting herself, the submarine brought the three boys up out of the whirling maelstrom of water. matt looked behind. glennie, dauntless and determined, still reared above the hatch, peering ahead and directing the course; and dick, farther aft, was hauling at one of his spare lines, coiling it in his hand and making ready to cast as soon as the _grampus_ came close enough to the overturned boat. chapter iv. gallant work. the southern horizon had become almost a continuous glare of lightning. this was a help to the rescuers, otherwise the deep gloom that prevailed would have rendered it impossible for them to do anything. the thunder rolled heavily, and this, united with the splash and roar of the sea, lent an accompaniment to the scene well calculated to try the strongest nerves. at times, matt, glennie, and dick seemed to be adrift in the waste of waters with no substantial foothold under them. rounded deck, and even the conning tower, were covered with the creaming waves. when they were not completely deluged, the stinging spray was hurled into their faces, temporarily blinding them. glennie, however, kept his wits about him. dick and carl had never liked the ensign, principally because his naval rank and his family pride seemed to have gone to his head, enlarging it. but the way glennie hung to the conning tower, keeping his eyes in the direction of the overturned boat and his hands on the steering and signaling devices in the inner side of the tower, made a good deal of a hit with dick. by dexterous manoeuvring, glennie brought the _grampus_ to windward of the five men. he did not dare halt the submarine, for to try and hold her powerless in that rolling tumult would have invited disaster. matt and dick, understanding this, prepared to hurl their ropes as they came close to the other boat. in some manner the five men had contrived to lash themselves to the keel of their boat. they saw how gallantly the king of the motor boys and his friends were trying to rescue them, and waved their arms encouragingly. they must have shouted, too, although their voices were lost in the bedlam of sounds that surrounded them. matt, being forward of the conning tower, came near the overturned boat first. he had his weighted rope coiled in his hand, but did not cast it immediately. he was holding back until the next wave should lift the submarine. at that time the five men would be in the trough, and this would give him a "downhill" cast. dick preferred not to wait. his line flew out, but was caught by the fierce wind and twisted from the hands that were stretched to grasp it. the next moment the _grampus_ was lifted high, and matt swung the wrench. the rope uncoiled in his hand, was caught by one of the men on the forward part of the wreck, and there was a cable stretched between the two boats. but what happened during the next minute was hardly expected. as the submarine poised on the crest of the wave, her propeller was out of the water, and racing; then, as the wave rushed on, the _grampus_ fell away in the trough, rolling her deck plates under. the wreck was lifted, and the pull of the line and the motion of the sea threw it over almost on top of the submarine. the wooden hulk struck the iron plates a tremendous blow. all three of the boys had a narrow escape. had the _grampus_ delayed two seconds in taking the windward roll, they would have been crushed under the impact of the two grinding hulls. the submarine, however, righted just in the nick of time. two of the men on the wreck were thrown off. glennie managed to catch one of them, and dick laid hold of the other. this left three still on the boat's bottom, with only matt to deal with the situation. quick to think, the king of the motor boys flung the second of the two ropes he had brought with him. it was caught, and two of the men fastened themselves to it. the other man had already lashed the first line about his waist. as the _grampus_ plowed her way onward, placing a rapidly widening distance between herself and the wreck, the three men flung themselves into the water. glennie, although busy with his steering, with his signals to the engine room, and with his work of holding the man he had grabbed from the wreck, contrived to let carl and speake know that they were to haul in on matt's two lines. while those in the periscope room were engaged in this, glennie was passing his man down the hatch, and dick was getting the other one forward. by the time dick's man had followed glennie's, carl and speake had dragged the other three close to the submarine. a wave threw them with crushing force against the plates. one was rendered unconscious--matt could not tell, in the lightning glare, but that he was killed. as his limp body slipped downward over the rounded deck plates, matt jumped for it, and wrapped it in his arms. a smother of water engulfed the _grampus_. when she shook herself free, glennie and dick had the two men on the other line, and matt was still clinging to the one he had rescued. glennie and dick passed their half-drowned charges to the safe regions below, and dick helped matt with the last of the five unfortunates. in some manner, the boys could never tell just how, they succeeded in getting the man below deck and in following him themselves. matt, who was the last to leave, was so nearly fagged that he had not the strength to close the hatch. carl bounded up the iron ladder, got the hatch in place, and slid down again. matt, dick, and glennie, utterly exhausted, were lying on the floor among those whom they had rescued. water, which had entered the open hatch, was churning back and forth and splashing through scuppers into the tank room. clackett had set a pump to work, and was ejecting the water as rapidly as possible. "were any of the port plates sprung by that collision with the wreck, carl?" inquired matt, rousing himself. "did all this water come down the hatchway?" "efery pit oof id, matt," declared carl. "clackett looked ofer der blates, und he say dot dey vas all righdt." "then submerge until the periscope ball is awash," went on matt. "these poor fellows can't stand this knocking around." the violent rolling and pitching of the boat was throwing the five men in every direction. carl communicated at once with clackett, in the tank room, and the _grampus_ was soon riding easier, some ten feet under the surface. "we're off cape virgins," announced speake, once more at the steering wheel and with his eyes on the periscope. matt crawled to the locker and pulled out one of the charts. after a few moments' study of it he gave speake the course. "as soon as we get into possession bay," said matt, "we'll be out of this gale. be careful, speake." "it's hard to be careful, matt, when you ain't able to see the surface more'n a third of the time," was the answer, "but i'll do the best i can. i think you fellows are entitled to a little rest after what you done on deck. je-ru-sa-lem! but that was a plucky fight you made. i wouldn't have given the fag end o' nothin' for your chances of savin' those fellows--and not much more for your chances o' gettin' back yourselves." one by one the rescued men began to recover. carl had been working over the unconscious man, and when he opened his eyes he began to groan. "he's hurt," announced carl. "he vouldn't make a noise like dot oof he vasn't hurt." "i'll see if i can tell what's the matter with him," said glennie. picking his way to the man's side, he and carl lifted him and laid him on the locker. the man's groans redoubled as he was raised. "it's his arm," announced glennie, after a brief examination. "there's a fracture." "do you know anything about surgery?" queried matt. glennie shook his head. "then it's up to me," said matt, leaving the periscope chamber. there was a chest in the torpedo room well stocked with everything necessary in the medicine line, also with lint, bandages, and splints. selecting a set of splints and bandages, matt returned to the periscope room. glennie and carl had already stripped the water-soaked flannel shirt from the injured man, and matt, dick, and glennie at once got busy. it was a painful piece of work. while glennie held the man down on the locker by the shoulders, dick pulled at the arm, matt pressing his hands about the fracture so that he might know when the bones got into place. the patient groaned and yelled, for the pain must have been terrific. "there you are, dick," said matt suddenly. "now hold it that way until i get it bound up." adjusting the splints, matt wound them rapidly with bandages, and presently had the arm rigidly in the cast. the work had required some time, and when it was finished, speake turned from the periscope table. "here we are in possession bay, matt," said he. "the chart shows twenty feet of water under us." "all right," answered matt. "drop to the bottom, speake, and then get busy and make us a little hot coffee. we all feel the need of a bracer, i guess." clackett could be heard opening the tanks, and the downward movement of the submarine became perceptible. the motor was stopped, and in a few minutes the boat touched bottom gently and came to a rest in undisturbed waters. speake went below to attend to getting the supper, and clackett and gaines, all agog with curiosity, came into the periscope room. matt was just preparing to give his attention to the rescued men, and to learn how they had come to be in their desperate plight. glennie, in a few words, explained to clackett and gaines how the rescue had been effected. chapter v. the five chilians. the five rescued men were swarthy and undersized. all were barefooted and bareheaded, and clad only in coarse linen shirts and dungaree trousers. they were a dejected-looking lot, and seemed hardly able to realize, as yet, that they had been saved. the injured man was still lying on the locker, while his mates were sitting up around the sides of the periscope chamber and leaning back against the steel walls. "who are you?" inquired matt, seating himself on one of the low stools with which the room was supplied. four pairs of eyes were turned on him blankly, then three pairs swerved to the largest and heaviest man of the lot, who appeared to be the leader. "_no sabe_," said this individual. matt had picked up a little spanish while he was in arizona, but he did not feel that it was sufficient to enable him to hold an extended conversation with the rescued men. "unlimber your spanish, glennie," said he, "and translate it as you go along. i know something of the lingo, but not enough." thereupon the following passed between the ensign and the spokesman for the five, all being translated as the conversation proceeded: "who are you?" "we come from valparaiso, chili, but have been at sandy point (punta arenas) in the strait for a week." "what is your business?" "we worked in the quicksilver mines, but left the mines to ship on a guano boat that was going to the falklands." "how did you happen to be at sandy point?" "the guano boat proved unseaworthy. her seams opened in the strait, and while we were feeling our way along toward sandy point her boilers blew up. some of us got ashore and made our way to sandy point." "then, after that, how did you happen to get wrecked?" "there was no work for us in sandy point, so we hired a small sailboat and were going to the river plate. the squall struck us, and our boat went over on her beam ends. the owner of the boat was swept into the sea and drowned, but we managed to get on the boat's bottom, and tied ourselves there. we had given ourselves up for lost when you came to our aid. we are grateful to all of you, señors." there was no reason why matt and his friends should not believe the chilian's story, and they accepted it exactly as given. "tell them, glennie," said matt, "that we are not going into the atlantic, but around into the pacific. ask them what they want to do." glennie gave the chilians the substance of this, and their startled looks aroused matt's surprise. "they say," went on glennie, repeating the spokesman's words, "that they do not want to go to sandy point or to any port in chili. they want to know how far north we are going along the pacific coast. if we are going as far as peru they would like to travel with us." "dowse me!" muttered dick. "we haven't room for them aboard. they'd only be under foot, say nothing of consuming our fresh air and making an inroad on the stores." "why don't they want to go to punta arenas?" asked matt. glennie put the question, and all four of the chilians began to expostulate excitedly, while the wounded man redoubled his groans. finally, when the clamor died out, the spokesman answered as follows, his words being faithfully translated by glennie: "they say they were suspected of being mixed up in a chilian revolution, and that if they are landed at any chilian port they will be arrested and shot." "py shinks," grunted carl, "i hope dot ve ain'd going to have somet'ing more to do mit refoludions. i hat enough oof dot oop in cendral america." "we all did," seconded dick. "we're not going to be caught in any more revolutions," declared matt. "these sons of the rising sun are giving us plenty to think about. i hadn't intended to stop at punta arenas, but we'll have to put in there long enough to leave these men. if they don't want to take chances in the town, we'll leave them outside. the injured man we'll take with us, and do our best to look after him. tell them, glennie, that that is all we can do." "and it's right, too," declared dick. "we can't run the risk of getting into trouble on account of the revolutionists when we've got so much at stake. why didn't these chilians explain about the revolution business at the first? it looks like they were keeping something back." glennie's announcement was received with black looks and hearty objurgations in the spanish tongue, but gradually the four men settled down to a sulky attitude which did not look promising. "they're a grateful lot, i must say!" scowled dick. "look at 'em, mates. and to think that we risked our lives to pull 'em in out of the wet!" "it don't make any difference who they are, dick," returned matt. "in rescuing them we did only our duty, and that's something we can chalk up to our credit. we've got to work through the three hundred and sixty miles of this strait just as quick as we can. we've sent that other boat around the horn, and if we don't reach smyth channel ahead of her, all our trouble will go for nothing. the fact that we shall have to lay up nights makes it all the more necessary for us to travel at top speed by day. all these men will go ashore at punta arenas--the injured man into the bargain. there must be a hospital in the town, and he can be better taken care of there than here." glennie repeated this ultimatum, and the looks of the spokesman underwent a change. the sullen expression faded from his swarthy face and he began speaking volubly. "he says," reported glennie, "that he is very sorry if he and his companions have put us to any extra trouble. they will go ashore at punta arenas--for they would rather be captured and shot, although they are innocent men, than to inconvenience us. if it hadn't been for us, he says, they would all have been dead men, anyway." "that's the spirit," approved matt, "although i don't think, if they are really innocent, that any harm will happen to them." just then speake came in with tin plates heaped with food, and with tin cups of steaming coffee. he had to make several trips below, but finally all were supplied and fell to eating. the chilians devoured their food more like famished animals than human beings, casting aside the knives and forks and using their fingers, and gulping down the hot coffee as though it had been ice water. "they eat like cannibals," remarked dick. "vat a safeageness!" exclaimed carl. "dey act like dey don'd haf nodding to eat for a mont'." even the injured chilian used his left hand and went at his food with the frantic haste shown by his comrades. "they'll do," rumbled dick. "you couldn't kill 'em with a meat axe. that chap on the locker has forgot all about his broken arm." when the chilians had emptied their plates they clamored for more. "we haven't any more," said speake. "i cooked just enough and made an equal division all around." glennie explained to the chilians, and once more they looked resentful; but, as before, their faces finally cleared and they resigned themselves to the situation. matt emptied some of his food upon the plate of the injured chilian, and without so much as a _gracias_ (thank you) he devoured it with fierce celerity. "we'll have to let them sleep in the steel room with you, glennie," said matt, when the meal was done and the eating utensils cleared away. "you've got a revolver and you can watch them. it may not be necessary to have a guard, but it will be just as well. some one of us will keep awake in this room--gaines can put in a two-hour watch, then call speake. speake can call clackett, and clackett can call dick. i'll follow dick, and by that time, i hope, it will be light enough so we can start through the strait. we must take advantage of every hour of daylight." matt's orders were immediately carried out. the four uninjured chilians were shown into the room abaft the periscope chamber, and the injured man was left on the locker. carl and matt went down into the torpedo room, and dick, clackett, and speake sprawled out in the tank room and motor room. gaines, in pursuance of orders, went on guard in the periscope chamber. matt, being dog tired, was asleep almost as soon as he lay down on his blankets. carl was tired himself, but he would have liked to talk a little, in spite of that. as matt slipped off into slumber under his first remark, the dutch boy had to go to sleep. all was quiet in the boat, save for the ventilator fan humming softly in the motor room and sending fresh air throughout the steel hull. no matter how wildly the gale howled over the surface of possession bay, thirty feet down in its depths all was quiet and serene. when matt was awakened, it was by a wild yell echoing weirdly through the vessel. at first he thought he had been dreaming, and he sat up, in the stygian blackness of the torpedo room, and listened in bewilderment. a moment more and he knew that what he had heard was not a dream. the boat, poised on the ocean bed, rocked with the frantic movements of some one in the periscope room. "vat id iss, matt?" came the voice of carl through the darkness. "give it up," answered matt. "switch on the light, carl, so we can see what we're about." carl could be heard getting to his feet and groping for the electric switch. presently the torpedo room was flooded with light and matt rushed for the open door in the bulkhead. just as he reached it, a revolver exploded in the tank room, and a bullet whizzed past his head and struck the torpedo tube. matt paused only a moment. he knew that the chilians were up to some rascally piece of work, and that it would stand him and his friends in hand to get busy without delay. chapter vi. treachery. with a shout to carl to follow, matt plunged through the doorway, and was met with a terrific blow that threw him, half stunned, backward against carl. carl tripped over a box, grabbed at matt to save himself, and both fell sprawling. before they could get up four chilians were upon them, holding them by main strength. "_que quiere?_" cried matt, as he struggled. one of the chilians had a rope. none of them answered matt's question, but proceeded without delay to put lashings on his hands and feet. carl was treated in a similar manner, and thus the two chums were rendered absolutely powerless to do anything for themselves, or for their friends. and where were their friends? they asked themselves. as soon as matt and carl were secured, the leader of the treacherous chilians left the torpedo room with one of the others. "here iss a fine keddle oof fish?" wheezed carl. "der nexdt dime vat ve see some fellers on der pottom oof a poat, py shinks ve vill leaf dem vere dey are. ach, vat a lot oof sgoundrels!" "hello, there!" came the voice of gaines from the tank room. "did that bullet do you any damage, matt?" "no. where are you, gaines?" "here, in the tank room, lashed hard and fast. we heard a noise, and speake went up to investigate. he didn't come back. those rascally chilians have turned on us." "who was in the periscope room?" "dick." "any one else below with you?" "no. i'm alone." "you don't know anything about glennie or clackett?" "not a thing." just then glennie entered the torpedo room. the big chilian walked behind him with a revolver pressed to the back of the ensign's neck. glennie's hands were bound. "here's a go, matt!" muttered the ensign angrily. "how did it happen?" asked matt. "i ought to have kept awake, i suppose, but i was so deuced tired i dropped off and slept like a log. the big chilian got my revolver while i slept, and then the four of them laid hold of me, kept me from giving an alarm, and got ropes on my wrists and ankles. after that they gagged me. then one of them went out into the periscope room. dick was on guard there, and the chilian asked for a drink--making motions to let dick know what he pretended to want. dick couldn't tell him how to get the water, so he started to get it himself. he had hardly turned his back before the chilian downed him with a cowardly blow from behind. he was tied and dragged into the steel room by two of the chilians, the other two staying behind to deal with speake, who came up to see what was going on. speake was taken by surprise and captured, and then clackett. speake and clackett were hauled neck and heels into the steel room. i wonder if you can imagine how i felt, lying there on the cot, bound and gagged, and able to look through the door and see what was going on?" "i can imagine it, glennie," said matt. "we're in a fix, all right, but we're not going to let that discourage us. they've brought you down here to talk, i suppose, and to let us know what their plans are." the leader of the chilians had allowed glennie to speak with matt, inferring, no doubt, that he would explain how securely the _grampus_ had passed into the hands of him and his companions. now, as glennie faced him, the man began to speak. "he says," translated glennie, "that he and his friends do not intend to go to sandy point. they are determined that we shall take them to the river plate." "meppy he iss," struck in carl, glaring at the leader of the rascally chilians, "aber ve're tedermined anodder vay." "we won't do anything of that kind, glennie," said matt, "for the chances are we'd have trouble with that mysterious steamer. i wonder," he added, as a startling thought flashed through his mind, "if the sons of the rising sun had anything to do with this?" glennie shook his head. "it can't be possible," he answered. "from the little i have overheard passing between the chilians, i believe that they are convicts. there's a penal settlement at punta arenas, and i feel sure the rascals escaped from there. that was a tall yarn they gave us--but they had to explain their situation on the bottom of that boat and to do it without exciting our suspicions." "well, ask the leader how he expects to get the _grampus_ to the river plate." glennie put the question. "he says," the ensign went on, "that he intends to have you and one other run the boat." "ah!" exclaimed matt. "unless we run the boat they won't be able to carry out their plans. i believe i see a chance here to do something. we can at least take the boat to the surface--and when we get her there we'll not sink her again. if we're on the surface, we may have a chance to communicate with some vessel passing through the strait. tell him, glennie, that there will have to be three of us given our liberty, one to run the engine, one to run the tanks, and another to steer. i think that dick, you, and i are the ones. you can steer and dick will look after the tanks. perhaps the three of us can get the better of these scoundrels." "it's my chob to look afder der tanks," put in carl. "vy nod led me haf a handt in der scrimmage? i vould like, pedder as i can tell, to haf some mix-oops mit der sgoundrels." matt, however, did not change his plans. carl was a good man in a set-to, if there should be one, but he was apt to lose his head. glennie repeated matt's words to the chilian, and the latter's face cleared as if by magic. no doubt he thought that he and his comrades were to have their own way on the _grampus_. "he says all right, matt," said glennie, "but he warns us that if we try to do anything more than obey orders he will shoot. he and his comrades are determined to reach the river plate, and are willing to give up their lives trying to do so." "if he can take chances," said matt grimly, "then so can we." the chilian gave an order to the three men with him, and the ropes were taken off the ensign's hands. the three chilians then led him out of the room. "count on me to do everything that's possible, matt," called glennie. when they were gone, the leader himself cut the cords that bound matt. presenting the revolver, he motioned sternly for matt to rise and proceed through the door. matt did not intend to rebel just then. he was anxious to get the _grampus_ to the surface; then, after that, he and his two friends could do whatever they thought best. the chilians were playing a desperate game; and the fact that they were obliged to rely on their prisoners for running the boat made it all the more hazardous. the young motorist proceeded forthwith to the engine room. kneeling behind him, his captor continued to keep him covered with the weapon. presently dick, followed by another chilian armed with a harpoon that belonged on the boat, appeared in the tank room. "keep your offing, you loafing longshore scuttler!" cried dick angrily as the chilian touched him with the sharp point of the harpoon. "you're the swab i saved from the wreck, and i wish now i had let you go to the sharks. matt, old ship, what do you think of this?" "never mind, dick, what i think of it," answered matt. "we'll get the _grampus_ to the top of the water; then, if they want her sunk again, you'll find there's something wrong with the ballast tanks. there'll be three of us free, and perhaps we can do something." "all i want is half a chance," growled dick savagely. "the first thing you do," spoke up gaines, "cut me loose. that will make four of us--only one apiece." the leader of the chilians said something fiercely. undoubtedly it was a command for silence. "quiet now, fellows!" warned matt. "pretend that you are scared to death and go ahead with your work." "hello, matt!" it was the voice of glennie rattling through the speaking tube. "what is it?" replied matt. "i'm at the wheel. whenever you're ready you can count on me." "what's the situation up there?" "clackett and speake are locked in the steel room. two chilians are watching me like cats watching a mouse. one of them has the key to the room." "well," called matt, "don't do anything until i give the word." matt and his chums had the advantage of being able to talk among themselves without their captors understanding a word. on the other hand, glennie could hear what the chilians were talking about and communicate it to matt and his chums. "empty the tanks, dick," called matt, getting the engine to running preparatory to switching the power into the propeller. dick was a good all-round hand. he had made it his business to learn the engine so that he could relieve gaines, and he had also learned how to use the turbines, the compressed air, to load and fire torpedoes, to steer, and everything else connected with the operating of the submarine. the turbines got to work with a splash, and the _grampus_ began slowly to rise. the two chilians watched operations with considerable curiosity, although they did not fail to give their closest attention to matt and dick. presently the boat was at the surface. "great scott!" exclaimed glennie, through the tube, "we almost came up under a canoe with----" matt did not hear the rest. just at that instant there was a fierce yell from carl. matt whirled just in time to see the dutch boy flinging himself on the chilian with the harpoon. the chilian, watching dick, had his back to the door of the torpedo room, and this gave carl his chance to make an attack. chapter vii. turning the tables. how carl had managed to release himself matt did not know, and he was too busy, just then, to spare time to ask. the leader of the chilians, leaning out into the narrow passage, lifted the revolver with the intention of firing it at carl. the position of the fighters did not give the man the chance he wanted--but it did give matt an opportunity of which he was not slow to take advantage. while the face of the chilian was turned, the young motorist leaped at him and clasped him about the neck with his arms. there was no head room in the passage between the engine room and the tank room. in order to get through it a person had to go down on his hands and knees and creep. matt caught the leader of the chilians just where a step downward led from the passage into the engine room--the farthest point aft in the boat. the swarthy rascal gave vent to a yell, shouting something to the two men above. as matt pulled him backward and downward, dick rushed forward and lent his aid. "fine-o!" panted dick, gripping the hand that held the revolver and wrenching the weapon away. "we're turning the tables quicker than i ever thought we'd be able to do. it's a main lucky thing carl was left in the torpedo room. quiet, you treacherous swab!" dick added to the fiercely battling chilian. "stop your fighting or i'll put a bullet into you." "give me the revolver, dick," said matt, "and i'll take care of him. you go and lend carl a hand." carl was having a hard time of it. the chilian was not large, but hard labor in the penal settlement of punta arenas had developed his muscles. carl, at the bottom of the hatchway leading up to the periscope room, was doing his utmost to bear the chilian down in the passage leading to the tank room. he was on the rascal's back, throttling him with his hands, and trying to force him forward. the man, holding the harpoon point up, was jabbing with it over his shoulder. it was a dangerous instrument, and if carl had been struck fairly with the lance-like point, he would surely have been badly hurt. "you t'ought you hat got der pest oof modor matt, hey?" carl was whooping as he continued compressing his fingers about the brown throat and gave no attention to the harpoon. "vell, you got some more t'oughts coming. i peen modor matt's chum, und i vas a rekular horned ven i got my mad oop--a yellow chacket mit some stingers, yah, so! vy don'd you fall mit yourseluf? vy don'd----" just then the point of the harpoon ran through carl's hair, raking his scalp. "shdop id, oder i vill shdrangle you!" carl cried. the chilian, so to speak, had got the range. he was breathing in choking gasps, but he still had strength enough to stand upright, and he was preparing for a backward thrust with the harpoon, which might have won the day for him had not dick interfered. at the critical moment dick seized the fellow's arm and wrenched it so severely that the harpoon fell clanging to the steel floor. the next instant the boys had the chilian down. "get a rope, carl!" puffed dick. "i can hold him while you're doing it. better get two ropes--one for matt to use." carl darted into the torpedo room, and was soon back with the ropes. they were the same ones that had been used to secure him and matt. "durn aboudt iss fair blay," chuckled carl. "der ropes ve use on dem vas de vones dey use on us! ach, vat a habbiness!" the man was quickly bound, and carl and dick crept on to where matt was threatening the leader of the treacherous clique with the firearm. "you and carl can take care of the fellow, dick," said matt. "i'll leave you and go up to the periscope room. there's no telling what's been going on there." "slant away, matey," said dick. "carl and i can handle this dago, with ground to spare." "you bed you!" echoed carl; "ve can take care oof all der tagos on der poat." matt waited for no more, but crawled back to the ladder and hurried to the periscope chamber. what he saw from the door alarmed him. glennie was lying on the floor, and the two other chilians were nowhere to be seen. "glennie!" shouted matt, rushing forward. glennie lifted himself on one elbow and gave the young motorist a bewildered look; then abruptly his brain cleared and he realized what had taken place. "all right, matt," said he. "as soon as that row was turned on below i was knocked over. cæsar, what a thump i got!" glennie sat up and lifted both hands to the back of his head. "what's going on?" he asked. "we've captured the two villains who were below with us," matt answered. "what has become of the other two?" "give it up. my wits went woolgathering the minute i dropped." matt ran to the door of the steel room and tried it. it was locked. "hello, out there!" came the voice of speake. "what's all the excitement about?" "we've captured the boat back again," replied matt. "hooray!" exulted clackett. "let us out, matt." "as soon as i find the key." matt turned to glennie. "who did you say had the key?" he asked. "one of the two who were here with me," said glennie. "they must have gone up on deck." matt sprang to the iron ladder and mounted swiftly to the hatch. the hatch was open and the morning sun was streaming down. the moment he got his head through the opening, he saw a sight that still further increased his alarm. at least a dozen canoes were in the bay, arranged in a circle at a good safe distance from the _grampus_. the boats were constructed of rough planks rudely tied together with the sinews of animals. there were four warriors in each canoe; small, fierce little men wearing cloaks of the sea otter and with faces like those of baboons. the warriors were armed with bows and arrows, and in each canoe the small fighters had their bows in hand with an arrow laid to the string. matt recalled what glennie had said just before carl made his attack on the chilian with the harpoon. evidently this flock of canoes had been in the bay, the warriors intent upon some nefarious expedition, when the _grampus_ lifted herself to the surface of the water. this apparition, emerging from the depths of the bay, must have filled the superstitious natives with panic. they had fled, matt reasoned, but had plucked up heart when the monster had failed to attack them and had drawn closer. in grim silence the warriors surveyed the youth. they made no attempt to attack, but watched with glittering eyes, their steel-pointed arrows ready. "that's a layout for you!" came the voice of glennie from below. he was looking into the periscope, and had as good a view of the canoes and warriors as matt had himself. "don't let them get a whack at you, matt," the ensign cautioned. "they're a treacherous lot of savages, and many a good ship they have coaxed to her doom by lighting fires on shore in stormy weather. it was those false beacons that gave their land the name of terra del fuego--the land of fire." "i thought the country was named that because of the habit the natives have of carrying fire with them to keep them warm." "some say one thing and some another, but----" "no use debating that question now. what i'd like to know is where have those other chilians gone?" "can't you see them? they're beyond the canoes in a boat of their own, and pulling ashore." the periscope ball, being fifteen feet above the deck of the _grampus_, afforded glennie a wider view than matt had from the top of the tower. matt climbed higher up the ladder and looked shoreward over the heads of the savages in the canoes. he saw the two chilians. they were in one of the rough boats and getting hastily toward the shore of the bay. "how do you suppose they ever managed to get that canoe and pass through the circle of fuegans?" asked glennie. "why, the savages are not even chasing them!" "probably," guessed matt, "the fuegans thought the chilians were visitors from the bottom of the sea, inasmuch as they came out of the boat, and were afraid to molest them. but we're not going to let the scoundrels get away so easy as all that." stepping back down the ladder until his fingers could touch the steering device and the bell pushes, matt rang for full speed ahead. the jingle of the bell reached the fuegans, and perhaps gave them the idea that this monster of the deep was making ready to do battle with them. dropping their bows, they seized their paddles and shot their canoes to a safer distance. the churning of the propeller still further alarmed the savages, and when the submarine headed shoreward, pointing straight for one segment of the canoe-draw circle, there was a wild scramble among the boats to get out of the way. the chilians, looking over their shoulders and seeing the _grampus_ pursuing them, redoubled their efforts to get away. but they would not have succeeded had not the fuegans unexpectedly changed their tactics. whiz-z-z--zip! an arrow flashed past matt's head. "come down, matt!" shouted glennie. "if you don't they'll put one of those arrows through you! it's a wonder that one missed." matt needed no second bidding. emboldened by the attack of the first savage, all the others prepared to launch their shafts. as matt dropped into the tower and closed and secured the hatch, a veritable cloud of arrows came pecking at tower and deck, some of them gliding off into space, and some of them splintering and breaking upon the tough steel. matt continued to remain in the tower, his eyes at the lunettes and his hand on the steering device. any further attempt to chase the escaping chilians was only a waste of time. even if the _grampus_ overhauled them it would have been impossible for those aboard to get out on deck and effect a capture. their canoe might have been run down and destroyed, but that would merely have thrown the convicts into the water, where they would have been drowned or pierced with the sharp-pointed fuegan arrows. rather than have the chilians slain, matt chose to let them get ashore and take their chances on dry land. the fuegans, however, had no intention of giving up their attack. when matt vanished below the conning-tower hatch, they divined instantly that he was afraid of their arrows. he could be no god of the ocean's depths if a fuegan arrow frightened him. reasoning in this primitive fashion, the savages gave vent to loud cries and urged their canoes toward the submarine from all sides. chapter viii. the man-of-war. with an armor of steel between him and the arrows, matt could laugh at the puny efforts of the fuegans to do any harm. with his eyes at the lunettes, he guided the _grampus_ toward the outlet of the bay. the savage ardor of the fuegans increased as they saw the monster apparently running away. closer and closer they drew their circle of boats, two in each small craft using the paddles and the other two continuing to discharge their arrows. the canoes on the side toward which the submarine was making did not give way an inch, but continued to come boldly on. two warriors in each leaped to their feet and hurled taunts at the frightened leviathan, letting their arrows fly directly against the bow. in a few moments the _grampus_ was upon one of these canoes, staving it in and tossing its splintered pieces to right and left. four fuegans were in the water. they were canoe indians, however, and as much at home in the water as on dry land. swimming away, they were picked up by some of their comrades in the other canoes. meanwhile, three canoes had managed to come alongside. some of their occupants clambered to the deck of the _grampus_ and began stabbing at the plates with the points of their arrows. fearing they might come to the tower and damage the lunettes, matt ordered a ten-foot submergence. as the submarine began to sink, the fuegans flung themselves from the deck--and that was the last matt saw of them. "take the wheel below, glennie," called the young motorist. "we'll travel a short distance submerged and see if we can't leave those troublesome little fellows behind." glennie went to his work and matt descended. ten minutes later the _grampus_ again sought the surface, and a look from the conning tower showed that the savages had been left out of sight around a point of land. "here is our course, glennie," said matt, laying a chart on the periscope table, and running his finger along the route they were to take; "through the first and second narrows, and so on to cape negro. i've got to leave you to do the steering for a time while i open the door and release clackett and speake. one of those two chilians got away with the key, and, for all the good it can do us, it might as well be in the bottom of the ocean." "i can take care of the _grampus_, all right," answered glennie. "how's your head?" "it feels as big as a barrel, but otherwise it's comfortable." matt went below. dick was at the motor and carl was in the tank room with gaines. the latter had been released and was keeping a watchful eye on the two chilian prisoners. "what's been going on overhead, matey?" called dick. "the other two chilians got away," replied matt, "and we were attacked by a lot of fuegans in canoes. but their attack didn't amount to much." "dose fellers," and carl nodded to the prisoners, "vas in der vay. vy nod take dem oop to dot shdeel shamper, matt?" "that will be all right, carl, just as soon as i can get the steel chamber opened. just now it's locked, and the key is somewhere in the pocket of one of the escaped chilians. i've got to break the lock in order to let speake and clackett out." matt went on to the torpedo room, opened a tool box and possessed himself of a hammer and cold chisel. with these he was not long in smashing the lock on the door of the steel room. speake and clackett rushed out. "jumpin' jerushy!" exclaimed clackett disgustedly. "we didn't cut much of a figure in the recapture of the boat, matt." "we didn't need you," answered matt. "carl turned the trick. once the rest of us got started there was no stopping us. two of the rascals we rescued got away, but the other two are nicely tied down in the tank room. you fellows had better go down and relieve dick and carl, so they can bring up the prisoners. or, better still, speake, you might let gaines take the motor, clackett the tanks, and you get something for us to eat. we don't want to neglect our appetites during all this excitement." "i'm hungry myself," replied speake, following clackett out of the room, "and i'll not be long getting our whack ready." "get every ounce of power out of the motor down there," called matt. "we've already lost a couple of hours--and we didn't have any time to waste." matt took a look at the periscope. they were gliding past the low, sandy shores of patagonia, on one hand, and the rugged mountains of terra del fuego on the other, headed for the narrows. "we ought to be at punta arenas late this afternoon," said glennie, "providing we keep up this rate of speed. shall we put in there?" "we might as well pass the night there, glennie," answered matt. "there's danger in it, but we've got to land these prisoners." "where's the danger?" asked glennie. "our worst enemies are sailing around the horn; we're well to the north of them and are due in the pacific before they are." "you forget one important point: the japs have a wireless outfit aboard, and there is another station at punta arenas. suppose the news is flashed out that the submarine _grampus_ is in the harbor? what's to prevent the japs from picking it up?" "that's so," muttered glennie. "i hadn't thought of that, but it isn't much that gets away from you, matt." "i've got a big responsibility on my shoulders and can't afford to let anything get away from me. even if the news did reach the japs that we're in the harbor at sandy point, headed west, we'd still be ahead of them and their steamer. but they're so full of wily tricks they might hatch up something to make us trouble." "i'm mighty glad they're going around the horn, and not us," said glennie. "you were wise when you made that change in the programme, matt." at that moment, dick and carl came dragging the leader of the escaped convicts into the periscope room. the fellow began to talk as soon as he saw glennie. "pay attention to him, glennie," said matt, taking the wheel out of the ensign's hand, "and let us know what he's saying." glennie stepped over to the prisoner and listened to his talk. "he's making threats," observed glennie, "and his talk's not worth listening to." "what does he say?" "why, he says that if we turn him over to the authorities at sandy point he'll make us more trouble than we can take care of." "the duffin' old jailbird!" exclaimed dick angrily. "tell him that if he talks too much like that we'll toss him overboard, tied as he is." "he's talking for effect," said matt. "take him into the steel room." "i vish, py shinks," cried carl, "dot i could dalk spinnish so i could tell dis feller vat i t'ink oof him!" when both men had been brought up from below and put into the steel room, speake had breakfast ready. it was ten o'clock, and rather a late hour for breakfast aboard the _grampus_. some attempt was made, while the boys were eating, to get some information from the wounded chilian, but he would not say a word. he ate with his usual heartiness, however, and when the meal was finished, dick went into the prison chamber and supplied the other chilians. no boats were passed, and hour after hour drifted by with the motor singing its song of speed, and the _grampus_ just "humping herself" through the strait. matt kept to the steering himself. he had made a long study of the chart and felt that he was more competent than any of the others to keep the submarine out of danger. at cape negro the scenery began to change, and for the better. the low brushwood became good-sized trees, and there was some character to the shores the submarine was passing. "it was just our luck to fall in with a bunch of convicts--that is the way our luck has been running ever since we left port of spain," grumbled speake. "avast dere a leedle, shpeake!" warned carl. "don'd go finding some fault mit our luck. ditn't ve got der poat pack from dem confict fellers? dot vasn't a pad luck, you bed you!" "yes, but look at the time we've lost." "we're making it up, speake," said matt. "by the way, carl," and he turned his eyes on his dutch pard, "how did you get those ropes off your hands down there in the torpedo room?" "i vas some foxy fellers, you bed my life," chuckled carl. "ven you shkipped oudt, i t'inks, py shiminy, dot i vill make some surbrises. der dool shest hat its gorner in der shmall oof my pack, und i rupped der ropes oop und down der gorner ondil i rupped dem in doo. den i vas retty, und you saw vat i dit. some shtar blays, eh?" "one of the finest things you ever did, matey," averred dick, "and you've done a lot of things that stand pretty high on the record." "t'anks," said carl. "i ain'd von oof der pragging kindt, aber you bed somet'ing for nodding i'm a hot von ven i durn meinseluf loose. now----" "ship ahoy!" exclaimed matt suddenly, his eyes fixed on the periscope. every one in the periscope room leaped up excitedly. "what is she?" came from all of them in chorus. "a chilian war ship," said matt. "not the--the jap boat?" gasped glennie. "hardly. the jap boat wasn't a war ship. this isn't the same steamer, but an armor-clad. run up the hatchway, dick, and hail her. we can turn our prisoners over to the captain and won't have to go ashore at punta arenas." "a capital piece of work!" applauded glennie. but it was not to turn out such a capital piece of work as they all thought. chapter ix. aboard the "salvadore." the _grampus_ was between elizabeth island and the island of santa madalena when the war ship was sighted. she was headed eastward, and by the time dick got the hatch opened and looked out, the distance between the two boats had rapidly narrowed. there was a good deal of excitement on the deck of the war ship. officers were crowding the bridge and sailors were pressing against the rail, forward. several of the officers had glasses to their eyes and were studying the submarine with ill-concealed curiosity. the waters of the strait were as smooth as a pond, and it was possible for the _grampus_ to come close alongside the larger vessel. "ahoy!" roared dick. an answer was returned in spanish. "can't savvy your lingo," roared dick, making a trumpet of his hands. "haven't you got any one aboard who can talk english?" "what ship is that?" cried an officer, so heavily embroidered with gold lace, brass buttons, and epaulettes that dick was sure he must be the captain. "it's the submarine _grampus_," answered dick. "english?" "no, american, although _i'm_ english, fast enough." "where's your flag?" the war ship had slowed her engines and was lying to. dick signaled the engine room for just enough speed to give the submarine steerageway. "we're under water so much," said dick, in answer to the officer's question, "that we can't fly our colors." "is that a government vessel?" "not now, but she will be as soon as we get her to mare island navy yard." "i'd like to send a man aboard of her to look her over," said the captain. "come closer alongside and heave to." "we can't allow you to look her over," said dick. "there are improvements on this boat that no other nation is going to get hold of." dick was not very tactful. whenever he wanted to make a point, he took the shortest way to it. his answer seemed to anger the officer. "you're talking to a captain in the chilian navy," cried the officer, an ostrich plume in his hat quivering with the wrath that shook his body. "if i want to look that boat over i'll do it. who's your captain?" "better let me come up and talk with him, dick," said matt, who, at the foot of the iron ladder, had heard all that had passed between his chum and the captain of the war ship. instead of coming down the ladder, dick got out on the deck. "i am in charge of this boat, captain," matt called up to the commander of the war ship, "but there is a representative of the united states navy with us, and his orders are that the boat is not to undergo inspection. i am sorry, but, you see, this boat has virtually been purchased by the united states government." "if you're in charge," came from the man on the war ship's bridge, "then come up here--i want to talk with you." "i shall be glad to do so," matt answered, "but, first, we have some prisoners we should like to turn over to you." "prisoners?" "yes, escaped convicts." "ah, ha! you found those five rascals, did you?" "yes, captain. their boat had overturned and we picked them off the craft's bottom not far from cape virgins during the storm late yesterday afternoon." "good enough! we were looking for those men. come up close under our lee and we'll send down a rope for the prisoners and a sea ladder for you." "better drop a bosun's chair, captain," suggested dick. "one of the men has a broken arm." the officer turned and gave some directions. while these were being carried out, the _grampus_ was manoeuvred around the stern of the war ship and up under the lee. as they passed the stern, matt and dick saw the war ship's name. it was the _salvadore_. "that other ship, we talked with by wireless," commented dick, "wasn't the _salvadore_, by a long shot." "i had a hunch to that effect right along," answered matt. as soon as the _grampus_ was close in, on the lee side of the larger vessel, a bosun's chair and a sea ladder were in readiness. dick went below to help bring up the prisoners. the leader came bellowing and roaring his wrath. he fought against being placed in the bosun's chair, and a rope was flung down from the steamer's rail. dick caught the end of the rope and it was tied around the chilian's body, under the arms. the rascal was still howling as he was snatched aloft and dragged to the war ship's deck. another rope was sent down for the second uninjured prisoner. he went up quietly, but with a stern face and glittering eyes. the man with the broken arm made no struggle, but silently took his place in the bosun's chair. when he had been safely lifted over the war ship's rail, the captain leaned over and called down: "where are the other two? there were five who escaped." matt explained how the two missing convicts had got away. just as he finished, a junior officer stepped to the captain's side, touched his arm, and said something in a low tone. "now you come up," called the captain, beckoning to matt; "i want to talk with you." the captain turned away from the rail. "you vould t'ink dot brass-plated feller owned der eart'," remarked carl. "ve vas free american cidizens, py shinks, und he don'd got some pitzness shpeaking to us like vat he dit." "nonsense, carl," laughed matt, "that's only his way." the sailors on the war ship gave the rope ladder a heave that sent it close enough for matt to catch it. gripping the iron rungs, matt allowed himself to swing from the submarine's deck. he was jarred a little as he struck the armored side of the war ship, but he went on up to the rail quickly and easily. an officer said something to him and took him by the arm. leading him aft, they entered a passageway at the break in the poop, walked along it a few steps, and then turned in at an open door. two men, who were armed with muskets and looked like marines, stepped on each side of matt as he entered. dick, glennie, and carl, down on the deck of the _grampus_, had watched matt vanish over the rail with anything but easy minds. "i don't like the looks of things, mates," said dick, "and that's a fact." "me, neider," added carl. "dot feller in der brass drimmings shpeaks like ve vas togs. he iss some shmard alecs, i bed you." "i don't think matt ought to have gone aboard the war ship," averred glennie. dick turned on him in a flash. "then why didn't you say so?" he demanded sharply. "you're an officer in the united states navy, and these chilian swabs wouldn't dare lay a finger on _you_. what did you let matt go for, when you could have gone just as well?" "hold your luff, ferral," answered glennie, reddening. "you didn't think i stayed off that war ship because i was _afraid_, did you?" "i'm a fiji if i know why you stayed off," scowled dick. "that dago captain is hot because he couldn't come aboard the _grampus_----" "he's hot because you refused him the privilege in the way you did." "oh, my eye!" scoffed dick. the dislike dick had for glennie was increased by a vague alarm for matt, and the ensign and matt's sailor chum were never nearer an open rupture than at that moment. dick's fists had clinched, and a dangerous gleam had leaped into glennie's eyes. carl, to his great credit be it stated, interfered. he had as little liking for glennie as dick had, but he saw the folly of quarreling under the eyes of the _salvadore's_ sailors. "dot vill do you, tick!" growled carl. "you vant dose tagos to t'ink modor madd's friendts vas a punch oof yaps? keep shdill mit yourseluf; und you, glennie, nodding more schust now, oof you blease." glennie turned and walked to the base of the conning tower. there he sat down moodily and watched the war ship, hoping every moment to see matt reappear. "i don't like that swab a little bit," muttered dick to carl. "there's something wrong with his top-hamper. do you recollect the time he came aboard the _grampus_, carl? how he laid it down that we were all to 'mister' him?" "we can't forged dot," said carl, "aber id vas pedder dot ve try, tick." "i guess he'd like to make us black his boots, if he could." "nod so pad as dot. he's a prave feller--you saidt dot yourseluf ven he vas heluping you und matt safe dose fellers on der poat." "of course he's got nerve, but he spoils it all with that way of his. why didn't he put in his oar, while that cock of the walk up there was ordering matt around?" "he knowed pedder as to inderfere mit matt's pitzness, same as you und me. modor matt knows vat he's got to do, und chenerally, you bed you, he does id. _nicht wahr?_" dick remained silent. he was not acting at all like himself, but was angry because something had not been said or done to keep matt off the _salvadore_. half an hour passed, with the war ship and the submarine lying alongside of each other. at the end of that time another officer, who could not talk english quite so fluently as the captain, thrust his head over the rail. "we go to punta arenas," he called down. "you come 'long in your leetle boat." "where's our skipper?" roared dick. "he iss arrest'," was the calm answer. "you know more w'en you get to punta arenas!" dick said a good many wild and unreasonable things, then, but no one on the war ship paid any attention to him. carl said quite a few things, too, but, strange as it may seem, he had himself under better control than dick. the war ship got under headway again, put about and started westward along the strait. there was nothing for the _grampus_ to do but to follow. chapter x. the tightening coil. matt, supposing that the actions of the two marines was a mere formality, made no comment. the captain sat in a chair before a desk, smoking a cigar and scowling at him. he did not ask matt to sit down. "who owns that submarine?" the captain jerked out. "captain nemo, jr., of philadelphia," matt answered, a little resentful because of the captain's curt manner. he and his chums had captured the convicts and had thus performed a good deed for the chilian government. it seemed to matt as though he was entitled to a little more courtesy. "captain nemo, jr.," muttered the captain. "_carramba!_ a fictitious name. there is a story about a captain nemo. why do you talk to me like that?" "i am telling you the truth!" answered matt. "will you tell me your name, sir?" "why do you wish to know that?" "so i may report this conversation to the naval officer aboard the _grampus_. he will enter it in his log, which, at the end of this cruise, will be submitted to the navy department of our government." the captain's eyes glimmered like coals. "so!" he snapped. "you think me afraid? ah, ha! i am captain enrique sandoval, of the chilian war ship _salvadore_. report it. what is it to me? now, if you please, have you a wireless telegraph instrument aboard the submarine?" "we have. what of that?" "then you admit it!" "i don't know why i shouldn't admit it," answered matt coolly. "why have you a wireless machine on your boat?" went on the captain. matt had no intention of telling this captain sandoval about his trouble with the sons of the rising sun. "that is my business, captain sandoval," said he. "_si_, and mine, too, as you will find. yesterday, this war ship was in smyth channel. her wireless machine was out of commission and could not be used. the station at punta arenas kept calling for me. _you_ answered! _you_ replied that your boat was the _salvadore_! _you_ took the message about the escaped convicts from the air. why? because you wanted to find them, take them aboard, and help them escape! _carramba!_" matt was astounded. captain sandoval punctuated his words by jabbing a long forefinger into the air, but matt hardly saw the finger, or the wildly triumphant look on the captain's face. "that is not true, captain sandoval," said matt, his face flaming indignantly. "if we were trying to keep the convicts out of your hands, why should we turn them over to you, here in the strait?" "garcia told me," went on the captain. "he and his men were to pay you money to take them to the river plate. you took them off the sailboat, and then you lost your courage and came westward along the strait to leave them at punta arenas." "that is not the truth!" "don't talk so to me!" frowned the captain. "be respectful." "i shall tell you what i think," answered matt. "what you say is worse than foolish. who is this garcia?" "he is the leader of the convicts--the one who planned the escape. i say you helped them, because you thought they would give you money." "there is not a word of truth in what you say!" declared matt. the captain started up from his chair. "ah, ha!" he screamed. "you dispute the word of captain enrique sandoval?" "oh, splash!" exclaimed matt disgustedly. "i'm going, but this insult shall be reported to our state department." "your state department!" sneered captain sandoval. "when you try to help chilian convicts escape, you put yourself out of the protection of your state department." matt stepped to the door. two muskets dropped across the opening in front of him. the king of the motor boys whirled around and drew himself up to his full height. "what does this mean, captain sandoval?" he asked crisply. "am i not to be allowed to leave this ship?" "no; you are under arrest." matt, waiting no longer for an invitation, sat down in a chair. "you are piling up a lot of trouble for yourself, captain sandoval," said he coolly. "you're a reasonable man, or ought to be, as captain of a war ship, but is there any sense in arresting me on such a ridiculous charge as the one you have just mentioned?" "the charge is enough," growled the captain. "but there is another." "what is it?" the captain's talk was so outrageously nonsensical that matt, in spite of his desperate situation, could not help but find some amusement in his preposterous assertions. "you, over your wireless machine, claimed to be the war ship _salvadore_. that is enough, more than enough, to cause your arrest." matt was beginning to see through the whole proceeding. captain sandoval, for reasons of his own, chose to take the word of the convict, garcia, in preference to matt's. garcia had made his threats that, if matt persisted in turning him over to the chilian authorities, he would make trouble for the _grampus_. this, undoubtedly, was what the convict was now trying to do. garcia had been the first one sent aboard. he had at once told his false story to one of the petty officers, who, in turn, had carried it to the captain. as for the wireless part of it, the machine on the _grampus_ had not been strong enough either to receive messages from punta arenas, or to send them there. punta arenas had heard the japanese boat talking. the japs had claimed to be the war ship for nothing else than to receive a possible message regarding the whereabouts of the _grampus_. but matt could not explain the case of the sons of the rising sun to captain sandoval. sandoval might attempt to get into communication with the japanese boat, either to confirm matt's story, or for some other purpose. the result would be that the sons of the rising sun would learn that they had been tricked, and that the submarine was in magellan strait. then, if the _grampus_ was held any length of time in punta arenas, pending an investigation, the japanese boat would have time to get around to smyth channel before matt and his friends could reach the pacific. the young motorist took a look ahead, and held his peace regarding his jap enemies. "you are making a big mistake, captain sandoval," said matt quietly. "i shall appeal to the american consul at punta arenas." the captain showed his teeth in a snaky smile. "i shall have much to say about what you will do," he answered. "you will not allow me to return to the submarine?" asked matt. "i shall take you, a prisoner, on this war ship to punta arenas." "how about the submarine?" "the submarine will follow us. we----" an officer appeared at the door. "captain," said he, "one of the prisoners would speak with you." this report was made in spanish, but matt translated it. "let him be brought here properly guarded," said the captain. a few minutes later, the wounded chilian was brought in by two marines. this was the man matt had taken such a desperate risk to save at the time the five convicts were taken from the overturned boat. "_amigo_," said the prisoner, looking at matt and tapping his bandaged arm. here, then, was a friend where matt had least expected to find one. for some time the convict talked, the captain listening incredulously. when he had done, the captain ordered him away. "the fellow says," observed the captain, to matt, "that garcia speaks lies, nothing but lies. but this fellow wants to help you, for he says you saved his life." "he is truthful," said matt. "i reason for myself," declared the captain shortly. "if you delay the _grampus_ at punta arenas," went on matt, "our government will hear of it and will make trouble for you and your government." "i do my duty," answered the officer, patting his gold-laced chest; "captain enrique sandoval always does his duty. it is not for you to tell me what i must do." "will you take me to jail in punta arenas?" asked matt. "no, not to the jail. the house of the harbor master will do. you will be kept there until the convict, garcia's, story is looked into." "how long will that take?" "a week, two weeks--i do not know how long." "i shall not stay in punta arenas more than a day, at most!" declared matt. "the submarine must be taken into the pacific and up the coast without delay." "we shall see," said captain sandoval, pulling at his mustache and shrugging his shoulders. "we shall see," repeated matt, "if the american consul, when appealed to by the naval officer aboard the _grampus_, has any power to undo this outrage." the captain waved his hand to the marines and gave them an order. the guards stepped to matt's side, motioned for him to stand up, and led him off to a small room opening upon the same passage that led to the captain's quarters. here matt was locked in, and presently he heard muffled orders, a jingling of bells, and the _salvadore_ began putting about for the run back to sandy point. chapter xi. dick on his mettle. it was dark when the submarine arrived off the town, and those aboard her could not have taken in the city's appearance even if their curiosity had prompted them. all the way in from the point where they had met the war ship those on the _grampus_ had been holding a council of war. why had matt been arrested? why was he being taken to punta arenas? what was to be done with him there? how long would the _grampus_ be delayed? would the japanese steamer have time to round the horn and reach the other end of the strait before the submarine pushed her nose into the pacific? these were some of the questions canvassed by those aboard the _grampus_. no one was very much worried over matt's safety, for they all felt that the chilian authorities would not dare go to any desperate length with him. the worst that could happen would be the delay to the _grampus_--but that was likely to be grievous enough if the jap steamer was in a position to take advantage of it. "i shall go ashore," declared glennie, "just as soon as the _grampus_ reaches the town, and lay the matter before the american consul." "the british consul's my man," declared dick. "our boat sails under the american flag," said glennie, "and the logical man for us is the american consul." "the british consul cuts more ice," affirmed dick, "and i shall go to him." "vere iss it for me to go?" piped up carl. "i vant to do somet'ing for my bard, modor matt." "you, and all the rest of the submarine's crew," said dick, "will stay on board and watch the boat. if any one tries to come aboard, close the hatch and sink to the bottom. i guess they won't go after you in diving suits." on reaching the town, the _salvadore_ took up her berth a cable's length off the wharf. the submarine, being of light draught, lay to alongside the wharf, and dick and glennie went ashore. as soon as they had landed, carl, who was left in nominal command, backed off for half a cable's length and let go the anchors. it was arranged that a sharp whistle from the shore was to bring the _grampus_ back to that particular part of the wharf as soon as the mud hooks could be lifted. all on board were to keep awake and remain ready, at a moment's warning, to assume their duties. when this arrangement was made, none of those concerned in it had the remotest idea of the importance it was to hold in the progress of events. it went to prove that carefully laid plans are always best, even when an excess of care does not seem essential. neither dick nor glennie knew where their respective consuls were to be found. happening to meet a soldier from the garrison, however, he directed them. having secured their bearings, dick and glennie separated. for this dick was not sorry. the ensign had a number of little mannerisms, entirely unaffected, although they did not seem so, which dick was far from admiring. then, again, dick ferral had been an apprentice seaman in his british majesty's navy, and glennie was a commissioned officer. the fact that glennie held his commission in the united states and not in the british navy did not seem to lessen the breach that lies between the forecastle and the quarter deck. at least, it did not in dick's estimation. dick was not long in finding the vice-consul's house--and not much longer in discovering that the vice-consul was out of town for a week, having taken a horseback journey into the interior. his affairs, meanwhile, had been left in the hands of the german consul. "i'll be shot," grumbled dick, to himself, as he came away from the vice-consul's door, "if i call on any dutchman. i guess it's up to mr. glennie, so here's hoping that he puts his conceit in his pocket and gets the united states consul to do something." dick, loitering back along the street, suddenly came face to face with glennie, who struck into the thoroughfare dick was following from a crossroad. "well!" exclaimed glennie, recognizing dick by a street lamp. "is it?" returned dick, none too well pleased by a meeting. "is it--what?" queried glennie. "why, well. what did the consul promise to do? and, if he promised anything, why isn't he along with you to do something? you don't want to have matt spend the night in the war ship's bally old brig, do you?" "i had hard luck," said glennie disappointedly. "the american consul has taken a horseback ride into the country and won't be back for a week. he left his affairs in the hands of the german consul." "keelhaul me!" growled dick. "that's just what i was told at the british vice-consul's. that's all we have here now is a vice-consul. he left _his_ business with the german consul, too. i wonder if those two fellows went into the country together?" "more than likely," was the gloomy response. "what are we to do now?" "call on the dutchman. i'd rather be flogged than do it, for carl's about the only dutchman i ever saw who was worth knowing. but i'll go, if it's going to help matt." "let's hunt up some one to tell us where the german lives." having agreed on their course, the two boys set off to follow it. a sailor gave them their directions, from which it appeared that the consul they were looking for lived on the other side of the city, not far from the shore. as the easiest way of reaching his house, dick and glennie returned to the wharf and followed it for a short distance. it had been their original intention to keep along the wharf until they reached a point opposite the square of houses containing the german's residence, but something occurred to interfere with their designs. just as they were abreast of the spot where the chilian war ship was anchored, they heard a splash of oars. "a boat's coming ashore," said dick. "let's draw back and watch. if the captain's in the boat we'll tackle him and make him tell us something about matt. it's no more than fair that we should be told what matt's been arrested for." "quite right," agreed glennie. "here's a good place to wait, ferral." the ensign pointed to a pile of timbers close to the wharf. "just the place," assented dick, and, in a few moments, they were screened from sight and watching the approaching boat. the launch hove alongside the wharf and five figures could be seen climbing up on the old timbers. just who the persons were the darkness made it impossible for dick and glennie to discover. their ears, however, soon gave them the knowledge that their eyes could not yield. "i claim the right to be taken to the american consul!" said a voice. dick was so startled he almost dropped. "it's matt!" he whispered hoarsely. "by glory, they've brought my old raggie ashore!" "listen!" urged glennie. "you will not go to the american consul's to-night," an authoritative voice answered the young motorist. "there will be trouble over this, captain sandoval," went on matt, "if you don't take me to my country's representative." "it is impossible." "why?" "because the american consul is not in the town. he has gone away for a week. when he comes back, you may see him." "are you telling me the truth, captain sandoval?" "_carajo!_ i will not allow you to talk to me like that." some words in spanish followed, evidently an order to those who accompanied the captain and matt. "stop!" commanded matt. "before you take me to the house of the harbor master, i have another demand to make." "we are wasting too much time over your demands," replied the captain sternly. "the harbor master may have gone to bed if we wait too long. i do not wish to put him to any inconvenience." "his convenience is as nothing compared to mine. if the american consul is not in town, then i ask you to take me to the british consul." a laugh arose to the captain's lips. "as it happens, _amigo_," said he, "the british consul left town with the american. neither will be back here for a week." "that is too much of a coincidence to be true," answered matt. "you have disputed my word too much, already," snapped the captain, "and i will bear no more." again he gave the order to move, and again matt hung back. "if necessary," cried the captain, "i will have the marines carry you. forward, i say." "let me have a word with my friends on the submarine," continued matt. "i shall allow you to talk with no one but me--and the harbor master. in a week you may see your consul." "i tell you i can't stay here in punta arenas for a week. the submarine must leave sandy point in the morning." "if so," was the sarcastic rejoinder, "then she leaves without you." motor matt had borne patiently with captain sandoval, but now his patience seemed to have given out. "captain sandoval," he cried, "i defy you to go ahead and do your worst; and, at the same time, i warn you that the more trouble you make me the more you are making for yourself. i can't understand what you are trying to do, for your excuse for arresting me and taking me away from the submarine is as unreasonable as it is foolish. if----" "do you threaten me?" stormed the captain. "yes," was the calm response, "and defy you, at the same time. now go ahead and let's see how far your crazy ideas will carry you." the captain, in a tone that bespoke his fierce anger, gave orders for a third time to the marines who were with him. the orders were obeyed, and the marines started. "i'm a fiji," whispered dick, "if they're not coming this way!" "i believe you're right," answered glennie, carefully watching the direction taken by the dark forms. "they'll pass close to the end of this pile of timber," continued dick. he spoke rapidly, and there was a good deal of excitement back of his words. "i guess that's so, too. but what of it?" "what of it?" repeated dick. "say, glennie, if you're the right sort, now's the time to show it." "i'm over my head," said glennie. "what are you thinking about?" "i'm on my mettle to-night," pursued dick. "from your excited condition i should judge that that might be the case." "do you want to see the _grampus_ held up for a week in this blooming place at the south end of nowhere?" "of course not!" "well, that's what will happen, sure as fate, if those fellows take matt to a lockup. neither the american consul, nor the british vice-consul, will be back for a week, or----" "but there's the german consul we're going to call upon." "ten to one he'll play safe, and make us wait until the american consul gets back. now we know matt hasn't done a thing that calls for this sort of treatment. it's an outrage. but that's not the worst. the delay to the _grampus_ may throw us into the hands of those sons of the rising sun, and that _might_ prove the destruction of the submarine. everything hangs on us, right here and now. matt has given his defiance to the captain of the war ship. let's match him, and go him one better by giving defiance to all the powers of chili, naval and military." "how?" "why, by laying for that blooming lot of swabs and taking matt away from them by main force! are you with me? in other words, john henry glennie, are you a man or just an imitation of one with a uniform and a commission in the united states navy?" dick ferral certainly was on his mettle! his proposition almost took glennie's breath; but, notwithstanding, there was a taunt in the last words which did not escape the sensitive ensign. "by jupiter!" he exclaimed. "it's a wild, impossible piece of work, but i'm with you!" "then lie low here and wait for those fellows to come along!" chapter xii. desperate measures. ensign glennie was as brave and gallant an officer as ever left annapolis, but he was taught to look at such enterprises as dick had broached in a sane and logical manner. this desperate measure, viewed in that light, seemed the height of reckless folly. matt had four guards--the captain of the war ship and three marines. the captain was armed--probably with the sword alone--but the marines certainly had muskets. here, then, was the situation: he and ferral, with only their two hands for weapons--glennie had left his revolver on the submarine--were to attack four armed men in the attempt to rescue matt! even if fortune was kind to them, and they were able, in some manner, to get matt away from his guards, there was a barracks full of soldiers within sound of the captain's voice; and how could matt, and dick, and glennie run the gantlet of the whole town? but glennie had given his word, and he would stand to it, no matter what the cost. it was a matter of pride with him to meet any plan dick ferral might propose. the ensign did not think, for a minute, that there was anything unjust in taking matt by force away from the captain of the war ship. a mistake had been made by the captain, but there was no time to let the blunder be rectified by the ordinary course of events. as dick had said, the fate of the _grampus_ might depend on her leaving punta arenas the next morning. the cause was a just one--but foolhardy. matt and his guards had landed at quite a distance from the pile of timbers behind which dick and glennie were lying concealed. the path from the wharf led past the end of the pile, and it had not been difficult to discover that the approaching party was following the path. the party was close, very close, as the two youths knelt near the ends of the timbers, listening to the crunch of footsteps and prepared for their reckless work. "what's your plan?" whispered glennie. "nothing but to jump out at 'em with our fists," whispered dick. "as soon as matt knows what's up, he'll help. and say, he's got a 'right' that could put any one of that outfit to sleep!" "i hope none of us will be put to sleep while we're getting matt in shape to use his 'right.'" "don't croak!" "never. i'm merely thinking of what might happen." "hist now! here they come. jump when i give the word." in that critical moment glennie thought how much better off he and dick would have been, and how much more certain of success, if they had brought speake and clackett along with them. but it was too late to think of what might have been. dick and glennie were face to face with the emergency, and must, alone and unaided, deal out the desperate measures themselves. the crunching footsteps approached. glennie caught a glimmer of starlight on a musket barrel, and saw dimly two marines marching ahead, followed by matt, with a uniformed figure and another marine bringing up the rear. "now!" roared dick. his voice was loud enough to arouse the town. dick made it so purposely. he aimed to startle the guards--to hold them panic-stricken, if possible, until matt could be apprised of conditions and help in the resulting battle. in this dick was entirely successful. every member of the party jumped, even matt. "it's dick and glennie, matt!" cried the young sailor. "get into it, old ship! everything hangs on our success!" dick, while he spoke, was plunging at one of the marines. glennie leaped at another. matt, quick to realize what was afoot, turned on the third. captain sandoval drew his sword. before the sword could be used, matt whirled about, the marine's musket in his hands. _clash!_ the sword struck the musket barrel and matt, by a dexterous jerk, flung the blade a dozen feet away into the darkness. captain sandoval, thus suddenly unarmed, set his face toward the barracks and ran with all his speed, shouting at every jump for the soldiers. "don't hurt anybody!" panted matt. "don't make this a serious matter instead of a--a farce!" "it will be a mighty serious matter if we don't get you down to the _grampus_ in short order," puffed glennie. he had toppled over the marine whom he had chosen for an antagonist and was struggling to get his musket; but the marine, agile as a monkey, rolled out from under the ensign's gripping fingers, bounded erect, and made off into the gloom like an antelope. a blow, and then a grab and a jerk, all judiciously given, had placed ferral in possession of the weapon belonging to the other marine. those who were unarmed had rushed away on the track of the captain. the one who had retained his musket, however, paused somewhere among the shadows and began to fire. bang! a bullet whistled through the air close to glennie's head. "cut for it!" shouted dick. "don't let any grass grow under you! this way, matt." dick started for the wharf, pointing so as to reach it at the nearest point to the submarine. matt and glennie pushed after him--three fleeing streaks rushing for the water front of punta arenas with the clamor of alarmed soldiers awaking frantic echoes around the barracks. bang! went a revolver. the marine, emboldened by the sounds from the barracks, pursued the fugitives, firing as he came. his bullets, launched while he was running, went wide of their targets. "we'll never make it!" breathed the ensign. "we've got to make it!" flung back dick over his shoulder. "but the _grampus_--it will take time for those aboard to get up the anchors and to come to the wharf for us!" "we'll win out!" asserted dick stoutly. "save your breath and run!" stumbling over the litter that had been scattered from the wharf, the three fugitives reeled and sprawled their way through the darkness. even a fall, if it was in the right direction, was a distinct help. dick, being in the lead, was the first to reach that part of the wharf nearest the _grampus_. the boat, looking like a black blot on the water, was tantalizingly out of reach. dick whistled shrilly. bang! it was not another bullet, but the hatch cover being thrown open. "vat it iss?" came the wavering voice of carl. "pull up your mud hooks and come to the wharf!" shouted dick. "matt's with us--and we're defying the whole town. everybody in the place is tight at our heels." "himmelblitzen!" cried carl. "der anchors vas coming oop alretty, aber id dakes a leedle time----" the marine blazed away again. carl, interrupted in the midst of his remarks, gave a hollow gurgle. "vat a safageness!" he exclaimed, "aber pulleds vat don'd hit don'd amoundt to nodding." "start the motor!" called matt. "if the anchors are clear they can be carried this way while the chain is being taken in." the jingler could be heard answering carl's pressure on the push button. the propeller began to churn the water, but the boat did not move. "they're sticking to the bottom!" groaned dick. "oh, what a beastly run of luck!" a yelling pack was rushing toward the wharf from the barracks. "we can't wait here until that outfit comes within rifle shot," declared glennie. "we've got to get behind the iron walls of the submarine." "how can we do it if the anchors hang to the bottom?" returned dick. "swim!" splash! the ensign was in the water. then there were two more splashes as matt and dick followed. chapter xiii. a dive for liberty. carl fell over the top of the conning tower, descended the rounded deck with one hand clinging to a wire guy, and reached out over the water. "schust a leedle vay farder, bard!" he cried encouragingly. "shvim a leedle fasder! der fellers on shore iss pooty glose!" glennie was first to clasp carl's outstretched hand, and, with its assistance, to reach the deck; then glennie, dripping wet, laid hold of another guy and bent down to give a hand to matt. carl assisted dick up the sloping deck at the same time. by then the soldiers were almost upon the wharf. sudden flares lit the night, and each flare meant the explosion of a gun. "quick!" cried matt, "get below. we're in the right, but those fellows don't know it yet." carl pushed dick toward the conning tower. the sailor was loath to be the first to seek safety, but hesitation on his part only blocked the way for the others. down dick went, carl close after him. then glennie took a dive through the hatch, and had no more than cleared the way before matt followed. flashes were shooting up in the darkness all along the wharf. leaden hail pattered on the steel sides of the _grampus_, but the stout iron merely gave a ringing laugh and flung the softer metal off. an unexpected event happened just as matt ducked below the hatch. the propeller, working against the pull of the anchors, suddenly took a grip and hurled the _grampus_ ahead. carl had set the rudder for a move toward the wharf. it was in that direction, therefore, that the boat plunged, thus carrying those aboard nearer their enemies. matt grabbed the tower steering device just in time to turn the craft. so narrow was the margin that the rounded side of the hull brushed the wharf timbers as the boat swept by. this gave the soldiers a chance to do some shooting at close range; it likewise gave them a chance--for the fraction of a minute--to jump aboard, but no one improved the opportunity. another minute and the submarine was headed out into the strait. "take the wheel, carl, until i get down," called matt. "dot's me!" boomed carl from below. matt closed the hatch and descended to the periscope room. "stop the engine, gaines!" he called through the tube. "fill the tanks, clackett!" he added. "hooray!" came from clackett as the splash of water echoed from the filling tanks. "it's good to hear your voice again, matt. how far down are we going?" "till we touch bottom. there's where we're to pass the night." the bottom was reached at forty feet. clackett announced the depth as the _grampus_ came to a rest. "we're forty feet from all the military and naval forces of punta arenas," said glennie. "but it's forty feet of water," added dick, "and, even if those ashore knew where we were, it would puzzle them some to get at us." "we're safe enough," said matt. "in the early morning we'll rise until we show just the periscope ball and will start for the pacific. now that there's nothing particular for all hands to do, let's be comfortable and find out how it all happened." "you're the cause of it, matey," declared dick. "i know that, of course. if i hadn't been held a prisoner by captain sandoval, there wouldn't have been any need of you and glennie taking all those chances to rescue me. what i mean is, what suggested such an audacious proceeding?" "you did," persisted dick. "explain how?" "why, when you landed from the war ship, you stood up there on the wharf and defied this captain sandoval. it was motor matt's defiance that suggested to me a plan that was a little more comprehensive. you had defied sandoval, so why couldn't the three of us defy all the chilians in the town? well, we did, didn't we? and we got clear with whole skins, every one of us." "i can hardly believe it possible," muttered glennie. dick turned on the ensign. "you had as big a finger in the pie as any one," said he, "and you took the foolhardy risk like a whole man. i like you better this minute, john glennie, than i ever thought i could. toss us your fin!" glennie looked surprised, then a pleased look crossed his face and he reached forward and caught the young sailor's hand. "if i've won your friendship by that piece of work, then i've had a double gain," said he. "vat in der vorld," chimed in carl, "dit dose fellers shpeak to you like you vas a tog for? und arrest you und keep you apoardt der var ship? i hat id all fixed oop in my mindt to put a dorpeto indo dot gruiser oof she ditn't led you go." "it isn't very clear to me yet," answered matt, "what i was made a prisoner for. garcia started the trouble for me----" "he said he would, you remember," put in glennie. "yes, and he carried out his threat as soon as he got on the deck of the war ship. he told one of the officers that he had hired me to take him and his friends out of that sailboat in the _grampus_, and that i had lost my courage and was heading for sandy point with them." "you don't mean to say that this captain sandoval believed that?" cried glennie. "he professed to," answered matt. "i was to be held in punta arenas until garcia's yarn could be verified, which, the captain said, might take a week or two. the american consul, and the british consul, the captain also told me, were both out of town for a week----" "which is a fact," spoke up glennie. "dick and i went ashore to see the two consuls, and were informed, at their residences, that they had gone into the interior for a week." "then i owe captain sandoval an apology," said matt, "for i doubted his word." "vell, he owes you some abologies, too, don'd he?" asked carl. "well," smiled matt, "a few." matt got up and turned off the electric light that flooded the periscope room. "what's that for?" asked dick. "the light might shine through the lunettes and be reflected up to the surface," was matt's answer. "i just happened to think of it." "well you did, matt!" exclaimed glennie. "there was something else that captain sandoval told me," went on matt, "which had to do with the jap steamer." "what was that?" came the questioning chorus. "why, at the time we were doing our wireless work from gallegos bay, the war ship _salvadore's_ wireless apparatus was not working. sandoval discovered, from the station at punta arenas, that, at that very time, the station was communicating with a ship which claimed to be the _salvadore_." "it was the jap steamer, eh?" put in dick. "yes. you see, our second-hand machine wasn't powerful enough to communicate with punta arenas nor to receive messages from there; but the jap steamer was closer, and so we exchanged messages with her. but the japs were able to communicate with the punta arenas station, and the chilians thought it was us. at least, that is what captain sandoval said. i couldn't explain without getting us into more trouble with the sons of the rising sun, so i kept quiet." matt cut short the general comment by declaring that he was tired, that they were perfectly safe from pursuit, and that he was going to sleep. all the rest were of the same mind, and presently the echoes of the excited voices had died out, and only sounds of deep and peaceful breathing disturbed the silence that reigned within the _grampus_. matt was astir at five o'clock the next morning, and went around waking his friends. "we must get an early start," he explained, "so all take your stations quietly. we are still off the town, remember, and we shall have to come close enough to the surface so that our periscope ball will be free of the water and show us the course. if the red ball should be seen as it glides over the water, we might have trouble, so we must proceed as warily as we can." with matt at the wheel and the periscope table, gaines and dick in the motor room, carl and clackett in the tank room, and speake working at his electric stove in the torpedo room, the ballast tanks were slowly freed of a part of their watery load. matt, watching the periscope, signaled to clackett to stop unloading the tanks just as the reflected image of the surface appeared in the mirror. "how is everything, matey?" queried dick through the speaking tube. "the _salvadore_ is within twenty fathoms of us," replied matt, "but everything is quiet. full speed ahead, gaines," he added. "we'll not come to the surface until we're several miles nearer smyth channel." with all the machinery working smoothly, the _grampus_ glided as softly as a huge fish away from the dangerous port of punta arenas, the red periscope ball alone showing, and flashing a crimson trail in the direction of the pacific. chapter xiv. english reach. when safely beyond punta arenas, the _grampus_ arose to the surface and rode as high as completely empty ballast tanks would let her. the higher she was in the water the more speed she would develop--and speed was the one crying need at that time. luck had favored the chums in punta arenas, and all were hoping that the good fortune would hold until they passed the western end of the strait. but in this they were destined to be disappointed. with everything working perfectly they passed port famine, and, a little later, the southernmost point of south america that enters the strait--cape froward. here the weather usually changes, but it did not change for motor matt and his friends. they had, what was rare in those waters, a fair day, which, so far as the barometer could foretell, was likely to hold. but after passing cape froward, and while mount sarmiento's snowy crown was still visible in the distance, the motor developed a serious complaint. it refused absolutely to run, and the trouble was too much for gaines and dick. matt had to go down and give the machinery his personal attention. the batteries were not working properly. matt replaced some of the cells. that, however, did not remedy the matter. further examination developed carburetter trouble, and, as the examination continued, one ill after another showed itself until it seemed as though every part of the motor had gone into a decline. matt, of course, remedied the matter, but it took hours of time and made it impossible for the _grampus_ to glide into the waters of the pacific that day. after supper, smothering their disappointment as best they could, the submarine descended to the bottom according to her usual fashion, and her crew had supper together in the periscope chamber. "how long does it take a good fast steamer to sail around the horn?" asked speake. "about a year, i guess," grinned dick. "it would depend on the number of sails the steamer had. probably she could steam around in two or three days." "from that," spoke up clackett, "i should infer that the jap boat has had time to get somewhere near the end of the strait and lay for us?" "it's hard to tell where the jap steamer is," said matt. "we've done the best we can, so let's not borrow any trouble. our periscope ball is a pretty small thing for the crew of the steamer to see. we could pass within a mile of the japs and they'd never know we were anywhere in their vicinity." "we'll get through, somehow, mates," averred dick cheerfully. "after we pulled off that little game in punta arenas, i'm beginning to think there isn't anything we can't do." "there'll be more accidents," said gaines seriously. "something else will happen to the machinery. i've noticed always that motor troubles come in pairs." "why, gaines," laughed matt, "our last motor troubles came in bunches of a dozen! every part of the motor seemed to have developed a weakness." "they all came at the same time," continued gaines, with superstitious firmness. "there'll be something else, you mark what i'm saying." the following morning there was another early start. everything went swimmingly for several hours; then, on rounding a particularly bold headland, speake, who was in the conning tower, steering, saw something which nearly caused him to fall off the ladder. "oh, christopher!" he called down the hatch. "look, matt!" matt and glennie both sprang to the periscope, drawn there by a quick jump on account of the wild alarm that throbbed in speake's voice. english reach lay ahead of the _grampus_, and there, out across the surface of the water, quietly and expectantly waiting, was the jap steamer! speake had been on the lookout, on the crest of the hill at gallego bay, at the time the steamer had been raised the other time. he recognized her on the instant. there was a chilian flag flying, and from a swift movement of men over the steamer's decks it was certain that the _grampus_ had been seen. "they see us now," said matt, "but they won't in a minute. clackett," he called through the tank-room tube, "we'll go down the usual depth for periscope work." matt's voice was calm and steady, in spite of the fact that the thing for which he had planned in gallegos bay--namely, the avoiding of the steamer--had failed. minutes passed without bringing the usual swish of water filling the ballast tanks. through the periscope matt could see that the japs were lowering a boat. speake had come down into the periscope room, closing the hatch behind him in preparation for a dive. he stood with his hand on the wheel and looking over matt's shoulder. "what's the matter, clackett?" called matt. "the intake valves won't work!" came back the disgusted voice of clackett. matt ran down to give his personal attention to the matter. for a few minutes he struggled with the valves, but all to no purpose. "i'll get at the bottom of this trouble," declared matt, "if it takes a leg." "i told you something else would happen," called gaines from the motor room. "that's what it is--tank trouble." "and just when we need the tanks," said matt. "that jap boat is close by, and we ought to be under the surface." matt, seeing a way whereby he thought the valve trouble might be remedied, was just beginning a new line of attack when glennie called frantically through the tube: "_do_ something, matt! one boat is on its way to us from the steamer, and another is dropped into the water. if you can't do anything down there, then come up here." matt turned to dick, explained to him what his new idea was regarding the valve trouble, asked him to work along that line, and then hurried up to the periscope room. speake was in the room, hardly knowing what to do. "if we try to run," said he, "the jap steamer will catch us, and if we don't run, the rowboats will be on top of us. if we can't dive, matt, we're in another kind of a hole." "don't lose your nerve, speake," said matt. "go down and see if you can help dick. glennie will go up into the tower and steer. i'm for the deck to watch and see how matters progress." "i'm for der teck, too!" declared carl, who happened, at that moment, to be in the periscope room. he had a keen scent for trouble, and always tried hard to be around whenever any was going to happen. without paying much attention to carl, matt opened the locker and took out the submarine's copy of the stars and stripes. "if the sons of the rising sun try any of their old tactics," said matt, "i'll make it plain that it's a ship carrying old glory." "what do they care for any flag?" demanded glennie. "why, they're flying the chilian flag now, and every man of them is got up in chilian naval uniform. it's hard to tell them from the real thing, at a distance, too." matt ran up the ladder, gained the deck, and bent the flag to the halyards. presently he had it flying, and drew back from the staff to look at the approaching boats. carl was on the after deck. in order, perhaps, to make himself look more nautical, the dutch boy had crowded himself into sailor clothes. they were too big for him, up and down, and too small the other way. glennie, braced in the top of the conning tower, was running the boat from that position. the first boat that had put off from the steamer, and consequently the nearest one to the submarine, contained an officer and two sailors. they were rigged out in genuine chilian style, and matt had to admit to himself that the imitation was admirable--so admirable, in fact, that he would have been deceived had he not had prior knowledge of the identity of the steamer. the submarine's motor was doing her best, but the craft had to follow the contour of the coast, and this threw her nearer and nearer the first of the approaching rowboats. "we're in for it, matt," said glennie grimly. "we'll try and keep ourselves out of harm until our diving gear is put in shape, glennie," matt answered. "after that we'll drop away and leave our jap friends up above." "vell, vat oof der tiving gear don'd vas got retty in time, matt?" asked carl. "don't cross that bridge until you get to it, carl. if the stars and stripes can't protect us on a peaceable cruise, then the sons of the rising sun are taking long chances and running big risks." a hail came from across the water. the officer in the nearest boat was standing and trumpeting through his hands. "spanish!" exclaimed glennie. "they're not overlooking many details, those japs. they want to know what boat this is, matt." "just as if they didn't know!" muttered matt. "tell them, glennie. then ask them what boat they're from." glennie followed his orders, receiving some more spanish talk from the officer. "he says," reported glennie, "that he's captain sandoval, of the chilian war ship _salvadore_, and, he says further, that he has been requested by his government to meet us at the pacific end of the strait and give us safe conduct to valparaiso." "talk about nerve!" murmured matt. "we've seen sandoval, and sandoval's ship, the _salvadore_, and we know what sort of a bold game our friends, the japs, are playing. ask him how he knew we were coming through the strait." "he replies," pursued glennie, "that our government communicated with his, and requested that a chilian gunboat protect the _grampus_ from jap miscreants known as sons of the rising sun." "continued displays of nerve," murmured matt, "and of the monumental order. tell him we don't want his safe conduct, and to sheer away from us." the first boat was almost upon the submarine. glennie repeated matt's order. "the officer insists on coming aboard," said the ensign. "just tell him we know he's a jap, and that we left the _salvadore_ and captain sandoval at punta arenas." there was no waiting on the part of the japs in the rowboat for matt's words to be translated into spanish. the japs took the words as they fell from the lips of the king of the motor boys, dropped their mask, and the sailors fell to with their oars. "stave in their boat, glennie!" called matt, his eyes flashing. "i hate to do it, but it's all we can do to avoid trouble. the sailors in the other boat will pick up these when they drop in the water." "dot's der dicket!" chirruped carl, who had been shaking his fists at the japs and taunting them with various epithets. "sink der poat! den, afder dot, sink der odder poat; und vind oop by drowing a dorpeto indo der shdeamer. make some cleanoops vile you vas aboudt id." glennie so manoeuvred the _grampus_ that her sharp prow struck the rowboat broadside on. instead of staving the boat, however, the _grampus_ ran under her, the forward part of the small boat's keel sliding over the deck. all the japs were hurled into the water. "clear away the boat if you can!" shouted glennie. "hooray for motor matt!" the _grampus_ flung onward. matt started ahead to clear the rowboat off the deck, but, before he could reach her, she had cleared herself. the speed of the submarine and the drag of the rowboat had accomplished the work. "don't cheer too soon, glennie!" warned matt. "look behind you!" glennie turned in the tower and cast a glance rearward. a war ship was just rounding the headland, enveloping the top of the uplift in a dense cloud of black smoke. "the _salvadore_!" fluttered glennie, his despairing eyes returning to matt. "anyhow," said matt, "we're saved from the sons of the rising sun. look at them! that rowboat is hardly taking the necessary time to pick up the japs we knocked into the water, she's so anxious to get back to the steamer." "i don'd know vich gifs me der mosdt colt chills," cried carl, "der sons oof der rising sun oder der fellers on der _salfatore_!" chapter xv. sandoval explains. "it looks," remarked matt, "as though we were between two fires. however, of the two enemies, i had rather fall into the hands of sandoval. he certainly has no destructive designs on the _grampus_." "the war ship is heading up for us," remarked glennie. "it's a wonder they don't open on us with some of their small calibre guns." "vatch der chaps," chuckled carl. "der sons oof der rising sun acts schust like dey vas aboudt do set. ach, du lieber, how dey row pack py der shdeamer!" "they're pulling down the chilian flag," laughed matt. "they don't intend to have sandoval see that." "but what's the reason the war ship is coming for us, and acting so peaceably?" queried glennie. "i don't know, glennie, but i wouldn't trust sandoval the length of a lead line. i wish we could dive! call down and ask dick what he and clackett are doing, if anything." glennie bent down beside the tower and put the question. "they haven't found the trouble yet," said glennie, lifting his head out of the tower. "that means," remarked matt, "that we've got to face sandoval." "ah!" shouted carl, "dere goes a flag signal." the signal was a common one, and matt did not have to send for his code book. "wish to communicate with you," read the flags; "come alongside." "'communicate with you,'" repeated matt. "that sounds rather mild--for sandoval. get us alongside, glennie." "don't you go aboard the war ship, matt," cautioned glennie. "thank you," said matt, "once was enough." as the submarine came along on the lee side of the war vessel, the big ship slowed her pace. presently both craft were jogging along as companionably as a lad and his lass going to market. "señor," called sandoval through a megaphone, "i beg your pardon ten thousand times." "vat's dot?" muttered carl, with bulging eyes. "can i pelieve vat i hear? ten t'ousant dimes he pegs modor matt's bardon. for vy?" "why do you do that, captain?" asked matt. "because of the little mistake. i made it. when captain enrique sandoval makes a mistake he admits it like a man." "what was the mistake?" "why, this, that your wireless instrument was not the one that claimed the submarine was my war ship." matt was puzzled. "how did you find that out?" he asked. "by a ruse, which i thought of myself. early last evening i sent out calls, through the _salvadore's_ wireless instrument, for the _salvadore_. you see? my ship was calling for herself. the call was answered by a ship which claimed she was the _salvadore_, captain sandoval commanding." matt was amazed, not so much by what the captain had found out as by the fact that he had had sense enough to think of such a ruse. "how did you know, captain," returned matt, "that i did not answer that second call as you accused me of answering that other one?" "_carramba!_ you would not have been so foolish. there is a ship somewhere in these waters that is trying to make others think she is the _salvadore_. where is she?" "yonder," said matt, pointing to the japanese steamer. "that is the vessel that claims to be the _salvadore_. one of her officers told me that was her name, and that her captain was enrique sandoval." sandoval whirled about on his bridge and picked up a pair of binoculars. for several moments he studied the steamer. "she was flying the chilian flag when we first sighted her," he went on to matt through the megaphone, "and now she's flying a piece of german bunting." "that's because she don't want you to make her any trouble," said matt. "_car-r-ramba!_ i will make her trouble. i will pursue her and take her to punta arenas while the conduct of her officers and crew is being looked into. it will be easy for the real _salvadore_ to overtake the counterfeit. _adios_, señor, and good luck to you!" "wait a minute, captain!" called matt. "what is it you wish, señor?" "how about that story garcia told you about me?" "ah, it was a fairy tale, a child's story, and unworthy of full-grown ears." "but you believed it?" "for a time, yes. the injured convict told me that garcia was not telling the truth. i did not believe, even then. it was only when the other convict supported the one with the broken arm that i believed. garcia had two against him. what better proof could you want?" "you are not out of patience with us for what my friends did in helping me escape from you?" "no! it was a gr-r-rand fight! you and your two friends worsted me, captain enrique sandoval, and three marines. of course, had i been armed with my pistol, the result would have been vastly different. yet you escaped, after bidding defiance to all the chilian authorities in punta arenas. ah, marvelous! i am filled with admiration for your disregard of life. all punta arenas is talking about it. no one was killed, no one was even hurt, and yet you were rescued. i am glad it was so. how would i have felt had i been compelled to face you in your prison room at the harbor master's house, and admitted that i had made a mistake? what could i have said to his excellency, the american consul? i should have perished of shame and mortification. i have your pardon, señor?" "you have," said matt, very gravely but with a mischievous twinkle in his gray eye. "we are friends, captain?" "forever!" the smoke of the jap steamer was vanishing rapidly to southward. the _salvadore_, a few minutes after the captain ceased speaking, turned her bow on the other tack and started in pursuit. "what do you think of that, glennie, you and carl?" queried matt. "it shows," replied the ensign, "how fortune changes when you least expect it. i was counting, first, on losing the _grampus_; then, when the war ship showed up, i was thinking only that we should have to return to punta arenas. and now here we are, safe on the high seas, with not even the japs to molest us!" "von enemy has peat off der odder!" said carl. "that's the way of it," said matt. "if----" some one called from the periscope room. glennie bent down to hear what was said. "it's dick," said glennie, looking toward matt with a smile. "the tank valves are fixed, and he wants to know if we are ready to dive." "tell him no," answered matt, "and add that, if the valves had been in shape, when we first sighted the jap steamer, we would have dived and would have missed the biggest chance that has come our way since we left port of spain--the chance to make a friend out of an enemy, and to set our new-made friend against our implacable foes, the sons of the rising sun." glennie repeated this somewhat lengthy statement to dick. "dick says he can't understand it," said glennie, "and wants you to come down and make it clear." "we might as well go down," said matt. "ve ditn't got no fighdt oudt oof dot," remarked carl, with a disappointed air, "so ve mighdt as vell go pelow und shday dere. it looks like dere vouldn't be any fighding any more for anypody." chapter xvi. northward bound! it was a jovial crowd that the submarine carried into smyth channel, practically free of the strait and ready to reach out along the coast up the western edge of two continents. speake was serving dinner, and all were in the periscope room with the exception of gaines and clackett, who had to be on duty below. but gaines and clackett were listening at their speaking tubes and hearing all that was taking place in the chamber overhead. "these experiences of ours, during the last few days," said glennie, "prove that luck wears as many disguises as those japs." "dot vas some deep talk," said carl; "so deep, py shinks, dot i can't onderstand id." "you're getting terribly thick-headed all at once, carl," said dick. "oh, i don'd know," said carl easily. "who vas id got loose mit himseluf in der beriscope room und got pack der _grampus_ from der gonficts? leedle carl, i bed you. a feller vat vas t'ick-headed couldn't do dot. hey, matt?" "you're right, carl," laughed matt. "it took a pretty bright fellow to do that; and your brightness flashed up at just the right time." "and then flashed out again," said dick, with a wink at matt, "and we haven't seen it since." "vell, meppy," observed carl. "anyvay, subbose glennie oxblains vat he means ven he say dot luck vears so many tisguises as der chaps. i nefer see luck but in two vays--von iss goot luck, und der odder iss pad luck. i can shpot dose fellers so far as i can see dem." "do you know good luck when you see it, carl?" went on glennie. "don'd i say dot? sure i do." "well, was meeting those convicts good luck or bad for motor matt and the rest of the motor boys?" "vat a foolish kvestion!" muttered carl. "it vas pad luck righdt from der chump off. ditn't modor matt, und you, und tick come pooty near going off der poat drying to ged dose fellers? vas dot goot luck?" "well," went on glennie, "what was it when captain sandoval made up with motor matt and went after the japs' steamer, thereby leaving us free to proceed north without having anything to fear from the sons of the rising sun?" "dot kvestion iss more foolish as der odder," said carl disgustedly; "dot vas goot luck." "then if we hadn't had the bad luck we couldn't have had the good luck." "you vas gedding grazy, glennie. i von't lisden to sooch a ignorance." there was a general laugh at this. "now, wait a minute, carl," proceeded glennie. "i want to change your views on the subject of luck. if we had not taken the convicts aboard we should not have delivered them to captain sandoval; and----" "und oof ve hatn't telivered dem to santoval," continued carl, taking up the theme, "matt vouldn't have gone on der poat und got indo drouple." "and if matt hadn't got into trouble, we should not have put in at punta arenas; and if we hadn't stopped there, we wouldn't have got matt away from sandoval; and if sandoval hadn't been trying to test matt's story about the convicts, he wouldn't have come after us when we fled from punta arenas; and if he hadn't found us and made his peace with matt, he wouldn't now be chasing the sons of the rising sun or----" "ach, himmelblitzen!" groaned carl, clapping his fingers over his ears, "shdop it! you vill haf me grazier as a pedpug." "well, you see, don't you, that helping the convicts, which you called bad luck, really resulted in bringing us in touch with captain sandoval, who is now our friend and doing his utmost to overhaul the japs. he will keep the sons of the rising sun so busy that they won't have any chance to follow us up the coast." "you've run the bell with your remarks, glennie," said dick. "we can't always tell whether things are happening to us for the better or for the worse. but, taking 'em full and by, they usually pan out what's best for us." "my little scheme for gaining time on the japs by sending them around the horn didn't work," put in matt. "it was a clever scheme, all right," declared glennie, "and it would have worked if the motor hadn't balked on us and compelled us to lose a day." "we've given the sons of the rising sun something to think about," said dick. "keelhaul me if i don't think they'll just about throw up their hands and quit after this." "if sandoval gets them," returned glennie, "he'll keep them in punta arenas until we reach mare island." "and if he don't get them," queried matt, "what then?" "there's no doubt about his getting them, old ship!" exclaimed dick. "the war ship is a faster boat than the steamer." "but sandoval hasn't the cunning nor the brains that the leader of those japs has!" "that may be, but it doesn't take much cunning or brains for a straight-away race. the fastest boat will win, and i'm banking on the _salvadore_. you don't mean to say, matey, that you're expecting to meet the young samurai somewhere up the coast?" "i'm not expecting it, dick," answered matt, "but i'm not going to let anything surprise me. the things you least expect are the things those japs are certain to do." "i hope like anyt'ing dot der resdt oof dis gruise don'd vas going to be some suntay-school bicnics," piped carl grewsomely. "i vould like to haf a leedle chincher shdill lefdt in der expetition." "i guess we'll have ginger enough left, carl," said glennie, "even if we don't have anything more to do with the sons of the rising sun." "where's our next port of call, matey?" queried dick, directing the question at matt. "you know what brigham said we were to do when we mentioned any place where we were to put in with the _grampus_?" laughed matt. "he said," replied glennie, "that we ought to go down in the deepest part of the ocean and then whisper it." "vat dit he mean by sooch grazy talk as dot?" inquired carl. "he meant," said matt, "that the japs were full of guile, and that the plans we least expected them to overhear would be the very ones they discovered. we came down the east coast of the continent from brazil and the river plate, and laid in at gallego bay. if we hadn't done that, we shouldn't have discovered that the japs were following us, their boat newly painted and two wireless masts on her deck. those lads had their wits about them when they did that wireless work; and it was only an accident that enabled us to catch their messages, and answer them, putting them on a wrong tack." "but that isn't telling us, mate, where our next port of call is to be." "i was trying to emphasize mr. brigham's advice of keeping such matters to ourselves." "but it isn't necessary, now that the sons of the rising sun are out of the running." "possibly it isn't. well, we shall have to have more gasoline about the time we reach valparaiso. you can draw your own inferences from that." "that means," said dick, "that we put in at valparaiso. that will do, fine. i've been there a lot of times, and i'm a fiji if i wouldn't like to renew some old acquaintance among the chilians and the english colony. let's lay over a day or two, matt, when we get there, and not just paddle ashore, get the gasoline, and put to sea again." "how long we stay in the place, dick," returned matt, "will have to depend on circumstances. we've got to make good, you know, by delivering the _grampus_ safely at mare island navy yard." "well, i guess we've nothing but plain sailing ahead of us," said dick. "you won't have to set a pattern of defiance for the rest of us again, or use our wireless apparatus to send a disguised jap steamer around the horn." "when we ought to have gone around the horn ourselves," added matt. "i don't agree with you there," said glennie. "by coming through the strait you took the most dangerous passage, and it will count more as a test of the submarine's capabilities than rounding the horn." "i agree with you on that point, glennie," returned matt, "and i am glad you take that view of a case that was practically forced upon us by the sons of the rising sun." "to their own undoing," finished glennie. the end. the next number ( ) will contain motor matt makes good; or, another victory for the motor boys. off the chilian coast--hurled into the sea--saved by a torpedo--weighing the evidence--a surprising situation--another attack--a bad half hour--chasing a torpedo--northward bound--a halt for repairs--dick makes a discovery--a wary foe--pluck that wins--a little work on the inside--a star performance--conclusion. motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction new york, july , . terms to motor stories mail subscribers. (_postage free._) single copies or back numbers, c. each. months c. months c. months $ . one year . copies one year . copy two years . =how to send money=--by post-office or express money-order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. at your own risk if sent by currency, coin, or postage-stamps in ordinary letter. =receipts=--receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. if not correct you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once. ormond g. smith, } george c. smith, } _proprietors_. street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york city. the spider water. i. not officially: i don't pretend to say that. you might travel the west from fresh water to salt without ever locating the spider water, by map or by name. but if you should happen anywhere in the west to sit among a gang of bridge carpenters, or get to confidence with a bridge foreman; or find the springy side of a road master's heart--then you might hear all you want about the spider water; maybe more. the sioux named it; and, whatever their faults, no man with sense ever attempted to improve on their names for things--whether birds, or braves, or winds, or waters; they know. unfortunately our managers hadn't always sense, and one of them countenanced a shameful change in the name of spider water. some idiot dubbed it the big sandy; and the big sandy it is to this day on map and in folder. but not in the heart of the sioux or the lingo of trackmen. it was the only stream our bridge engineers could never manage. bridge after bridge they threw across it--and into it. one auditor at omaha, given to asthma and statistics, estimated, between spells, that the spider water had cost us more than all the other watercourses together from the missouri to the sierras. then came to the west end a masterful man, a scotchman, pawky and hard. brodie was his name, an edinburgh man, with no end of degrees and master of every one. a great engineer, brodie, but the spider water took a fall even out of him. it swept out a howe truss bridge for brodie almost before he got his bag opened. then brodie tried--not to make friends with the spider, for nobody could do that--but to get acquainted with it. for this he went to its oldest neighbors, the sioux. brodie spent weeks and weeks, summers, up the spider water, hunting. and with the sioux he talked the spider water and drank fire water. that was brodie's shame, the fire water. but he was pawky, and he chinned unceasingly the braves and the medicine men about the uncommonly queer creek that took the bridges so fast. the river that month in and month out couldn't squeeze up water enough for a pollywog to bathe in, and then, of a sudden, and for a few days, would rage like the missouri, and leave our bewildered rails hung up either side in the wind. brodie talked cloudbursts up country; for the floods came, times, under clear skies--and the sioux sulked in silence. he suggested an unsuspected inlet from some mountain stream which, maybe, times, sent its stormwater over a low divide into the spider--and the red men shrugged their faces. finally they told him the indian legend about the spider water; took him away up where once a party of pawnees had camped in the dust of the river bed to surprise the sioux; and told brodie how the spider--more sudden than buck, fleeter than pony--had come down in the night and ambushed the pawnees with a flood. and so well that next morning there wasn't enough material in sight for a ghost dance. they took brodie himself out into the ratty bed, and when he said heap dry, and said no water, they laughed, indian-wise, and pointed to the sand. scooping little wells with their hands, they showed him the rising and the filling; water where the instant before was no water; and a bigger fool than brodie could see the water was all there, only underground. "but when did it rise?" asked brodie. "when the chinook spoke," said the sioux. "and why?" persisted brodie. "because the spider woke," answered the sioux. and brodie went out of the camp of the sioux wondering. and he planned a new bridge which should stand the chinook and the spider and all evil spirits. and full seven year it lasted; and then the fire water spoke for the wicked scotchman, and he himself went out into the night. and after he died, miserable wreck of a man, the spider woke and took his pawky bridge and tied up the main line for two weeks and set us crazy, for it cost us our grip on the california fast freight business. but at that time healey was superintendent of bridges on the west end. his father was a section foreman. when healey was a mere kid, he got into brodie's office doing errands. but whenever he saw a draughtsman at work he hung over the table till they kicked him downstairs. then, by and by, healey got himself an old table and part of a cake of india ink, and with some cursing from brodie became a draughtsman, and one day head draughtsman in brodie's office. healey was no college man; healey was a brodie man. single mind on single mind--concentration absolute. mathematics, drawing, bridges, brains--that was healey. all that brodie knew, healey had from him, and brodie, who hated even himself, showed still a light in the wreck by moulding healey to his work. for one day, said brodie in his heart, this boy shall be master of these bridges. when i am dust he will be here what i might have been--this irish boy--and they will say he was brodie's boy. and better than any of these doughheads they send me out he shall be, if he was made engineer by a drunkard. and healey was better, far, far better than the doughheads, better than the graduates, better than brodie--and to healey came the time to wrestle with the spider. stronger than any man he was, before or since, for the work. all brodie knew, all the indians knew, all that a life's experience, eating, living, watching, sleeping with the big river, had taught him, that healey knew. and when brodie's bridge went out, healey was ready with his new bridge for the spider water, which should be better than brodie's, just as he was better than brodie. a bridge like brodie's, with the fire water, as it were, left out. and after the temporary structure was thrown over the stream, healey's plans for a howe truss, two-pier, two-abutment, three-span, pneumatic caisson bridge to span the spider water were submitted to headquarters. but the cost! the directors jumped the table when they saw the figures. our directors talked economy for the road and for themselves studied piracy. so healey couldn't get the money for his new bridge, and was forced to build a cheap one which must, he knew, go some time. but the dream of his life, this we all knew--the sioux would have said the spider knew--was to build a final bridge over the spider water, a bridge to throttle it for all time. it was the one subject on which you would get a rise out of healey any time, day or night, the two-pier, two-abutment, three-span, pneumatic caisson spider bridge. he would talk spider bridge to a chinaman. his bridge foreman, ed peeto, a staving big one-eyed french-canadian, had but two ideas in life. one was healey, the other the spider bridge. and after many moons our pirate directors were thrown out, and a great and public-spirited man took control of our system, and when ed peeto heard it he kicked his little water spaniel in a frenzy of delight. "now, sport, old boy," he exclaimed riotously, "we'll get the bridge!" and after much effort by healey, seconded by bucks, superintendent of the division, and by callahan, assistant, the new president did consent to put up the money for the good bridge. the wire flashed the word to the west end. everybody at the wickiup, as we called the old division headquarters, was glad; but healey rejoiced, ed peeto burned red fire, and his little dog sport ate rattlesnakes. there was a good bridge needed at one other point, the peace river, a treacherous water, and healey had told the new management that if they would give him a pneumatic caisson bridge there, he would guarantee the worst stretch on the system against tie-up disasters for a generation; and they had said go ahead; and ed peeto went fairly savage with responsibility and strutted around the wickiup like a cyclops. early in the summer, healey very quiet, and peeto very profane, with all their traps and belongings, moved into construction headquarters at the spider, and the first airlock ever sunk west of the missouri closed over the heads of tall healey and big ed peeto. like a swarm of ants the bridge workers cast the refuse up out of the spider bed. the blowpipes never slept, night and day the sand streamed from below, and healey's caissons sank like armed cruisers foot by foot toward the bed-rock. when the masonry was crowding high-water mark, healey and peeto ran back to medicine bend to get acquainted with their families. peeto was so deaf he couldn't hear himself sing, and healey was as ragged and ratty as the old depot; but both were immensely happy. next morning, sunday, they all sat up in buck's office reading letters and smoking. "hello," growled bucks, chucking a nine-inch official manila under the table, "here's a general order--number fourteen." the boys drew their briars like one. bucks read a lot of stuff that didn't touch our end, then he reached this paragraph: "the mountain and inter-mountain divisions are hereby consolidated under the name of the mountain division, with j. f. bucks superintendent, headquarters at medicine bend. c. t. callahan is appointed assistant of the consolidated divisions." "good boy!" roared ed peeto, straining his ears. "well, well, well," murmured healey, opening his eyes, "here's promotions right and left." bucks read on: "h. p. agnew is appointed superintendent of bridges of the new division, with headquarters at omaha, vice p. c. healey." bucks threw down the order. ed peeto broke out first: "did you hear that?" healey nodded. "you're let out!" stormed peeto. healey nodded. the bridge foreman dashed his pipe at the stove, jumped up, stamped across to the window, and was like to have sworn the glass out before healey spoke. "i'm glad we're up with the spider job, bucks," said he. "when they get the peace river work in, the division will run itself for a year." "healey," said bucks, "i don't need to tell you what i think of it, do i? it's a shame. but it's what i've said for a year--nobody will ever know what omaha is going to do next." healey rose to his feet. "where you going?" "back to the spider on number two." "not going back this morning. why don't you wait for four to-night?" "ed, will you get those staybolts and chuck them into the baggage car for me when two pulls in? i'm going over to the house for a minute." they knew what that meant. he was going over to tell the folks he wouldn't be home for sunday as he expected--as the children expected. going to tell the wife--the old man--that he was out. out of the railroad system he had given his life to help build up and to make what it was. out of the position he had climbed to by studying like a hermit and working like a hobo. out--without criticism or reason or allegation. simply, like a dog, out. bucks and callahan looked down on the departing train soon afterward, and saw healey climbing into the smoker. every minute he had before the new order beheaded him he spent at the spider. one thing he meant to make sure of--that they shouldn't beat him out of the finish of the spider bridge as he had planned it. one monument healey meant to have; one he has. after he let go on the west end, healey wanted to look up something east. but bucks told him frankly it would be difficult to get a place without a regular engineer's degree. it seemed as if there was no place for healey but just the mountains, and after a time finding nothing, and bucks losing a roadmaster, healey--callahan urging--agreed to take the little job and stay with his old superintendent. it was a big drop, but healey took it. agnew meantime had stopped all construction work not too far along to discontinue. the bridge at the spider was fortunately beyond his mandate; it was finished to a rivet as healey had planned it. but the peace river bridge was caught in the air, and healey's great caissons gave way to piles, and the cost came down from a hundred to seventy-five thousand dollars. incidentally it was breathed from headquarters that the day for extravagant appropriations on the west end was passed. that year we had no winter till spring, and no spring till summer; and it was a spring of snow and a summer of water. the mountains were lost in snow even after easter. when the snow let up, and it was no longer a matter of keeping the track clear, it was a matter of lashing it to the right-of-way to keep it from swimming clear. healey caught it worse than anybody. he knew bucks looked to him for the track, and he worked like two men, for that was his way in a pinch. he strained every nerve making ready for the time the mountain snows should go out. there was nobody easy on the west end. healey least of all, for that spring, ahead of the suns, ahead of the thaws, ahead of the waters, came a going out that unsettled the oldest calculator in the wickiup. brodie's old friends began coming out of the up-country, out of the spider valley. over the eagle pass and through the peace cañon came the sioux in parties and camps and tribes. and bucks stayed them and talked with them. but the sioux did not talk, they grunted--and traveled. after bucks healey tried, for the braves knew him and would listen. but when he accused them of fixing for a fight, they denied and turned their faces to the mountains. they stretched their arms straight out under their blankets like stringers, and put their palms downward and muttered to healey, "plenty snow." "i reckon they're lying," growled bucks listening. healey made no comment; only looked at the buried mountains. now the spider wakes regularly twice; at all other times irregularly. once in april; that is the foothills water. once in june; that is the mountain water. now came an april without any rise; nothing rose but the snow, and may opened bleaker than april; even the trackmen walked with set faces. the dirtiest half-breed on the line knew now what the mountains held. section gangs were doubled, night walkers put on. bypasses were opened, bridge crews strengthened, everything buckled for grief. gullies began to race, culverts to choke, creeks to tumble, rivers to madden. from the muddy to the summit the water courses swelled and boiled; all but the spider; the big river slept. through may and into june the spider slept. but healey was there at the wickiup, with one eye always running over all the line and one eye turned always to the spider, where two men and two, night and day, watched the lazy surface water trickle over and through the vagabond bed between healey's monumental piers. never an hour did the operating department lose the track. east and west of us everywhere railroads clamored in despair. the flood swept from the rockies to the alleghanies. our trains never missed a trip; our schedules were unbroken; our people laughed; we got the business, dead loads of it! our treasury flowed over; and healey watched, and the spider slept. but when may turned soft and hot into june, with every ditch bellying and the mountains still buried, it put us all thinking hard. it was the season for floods. to be concluded. beaver in peril of extinction in michigan. unless the state lawmaking body intervenes with protective legislation, there will be a great slaughter of beavers in upper michigan less than a year hence. the law which prohibits killing the little fur-bearing animals expires with the close of january, . for more than eight years beavers have been protected, and that they have thrived is shown by the fact that large colonies are to be found on many streams in different portions of the peninsula. whether the animals are worthy of continued protection is a question concerning which divergent views are held. from a humanitarian standpoint most persons doubtless would be sorry to see the closed season abolished. it is the opinion of lumbermen, however, that beavers are a nuisance. this is because of the work of the animals in building dams. the streams obstructed in this manner, the water is often backed up and extensive areas are flooded, interfering with the log drives and frequently resulting in considerable property loss. the dams in most cases are amazingly well constructed. marvelous ingenuity is shown by the builders, and so systematically are the operations carried on that the work accomplished is almost beyond belief. last fall when the water in dead river fell to such a low stage that it was hardly possible to keep marquette's municipal electric plant in commission, investigation resulted in the discovery that the stream was dammed at more than a score of places. large reservoirs had thus been created. the obstructions were the work of beavers, good-sized colonies of which were domiciled at every point where the river was found to be blocked. so stanchly constructed were the dams that the use of dynamite was necessary to destroy them. it was found that trees as large as ten inches in diameter had been utilized, and in almost every instance the timber had been cut into four-foot lengths. firmly set into place and plastered with mud, the logs formed a substantial barrier, and, augmented with small sticks and brush, they were successful in backing up the river until at one point the stream was more than a mile in width. however, although the beavers occasion material havoc of this sort, they do not want for friends who would resent such action as would leave the animals open to wholesale slaughter. it is pointed out that, while the beavers have multiplied greatly the last few years and are now very plentiful, as the result of the imposition of the closed season, it would require only a few months' work to exterminate the animals entirely. choice beaver skins, such as are procurable in upper michigan, are in demand from furriers, and it is unquestioned that with the expiration of the present statutory protection, waters frequented by the little animals would witness a swift and sanguinary onslaught by scores of trappers. rare cage birds. lovers of cage birds have hitherto confined their attention chiefly to the canary, the parrot, and the mocking bird. now, however, there is a tendency to acquire rare varieties and dealers are preparing to meet this novel demand. the bulbul is among the feathered pets now in demand in this country. "a few bulbuls have been hitherto brought from india," said a bird dealer. "these have not included, however, the bulbul of persia, the oriental counterpart of the european nightingale, but gifted with a richer, sweeter, and more plaintive song." the hill minas of india sometimes eclipse parrots in their lingual abilities, yet very few have been imported into the united states. they now retail at $ apiece. japanese robins, sometimes called pekin nightingales by english aviculturists, are peculiarly colored--dark and greenish, with distinctive yellow and orange on breast, bill, and wings. they are easy to keep, possess a sweet and musical song, and have a song period lasting ten months. the skill of japanese breeders is also shown in several varieties of cage birds that are coming into notice in this country. a pure white variety and a buff-and-white variety of one species--the japanese nun, also known as bengelee or mannikin--bear testimony to the assiduity of the japanese fanciers. nuns are small birds of different species, such as the black-headed and tri-colored nuns, the spice bird or chestnut finch, and others. most of them have more or less dark brown in the coloring. cage birds from africa are notable for beauty of plumage rather than song. the african weaver, in addition to attractive coloring, offers a striking exhibition of his skill in the art that has given him his name. at nesting time, if furnished with worsted or other suitable material, the birds will weave this in and out of the wires of their cage, making neat and compact examples of their handiwork. bishops and madagascar weavers are brilliant red and black in coloring, cutthroats have a band of red across the throat from which is derived the name, and whidah birds (sometimes but incorrectly called widow birds) have extremely long tails. waxbills form a family of african cage birds which are just beginning to attract fashionable notice. these include the dainty little cordon bleu, or crimson-eared waxbill, various species of silverbills, and several other kinds. the violet-eared waxbill, a bird of radiant prismatic beauty, though for some years past popular in europe, has just been brought to this country. edelsingers, or african gray singers, are an african species with a pleasing song. lady goldfinches from australia have hitherto been extremely rare in this country, although they are said to reach the highest point of beauty and elegance attained by any of the smaller cage birds of the world. these birds tame readily, are not pugnacious with cage mates, and exhibit many individualities of disposition. among their accomplishments is an interesting and graceful little dance. latest issues buffalo bill stories the most original stories of western adventure. the only weekly containing the adventures of the famous buffalo bill. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --buffalo bill's cumbres scouts; or, the wild pigs corralled. --buffalo bill and the man-wolf; or, the mystery of the adobe castle. --buffalo bill and his winged pard; or, indian against indian. --buffalo bill at babylon bar; or, the mountain pirates. --buffalo bill's long arm; or, the game-cock of shasta. --buffalo bill and old weasel-top; or, the man from nowhar. --buffalo bill's steel arm pard; or, old weasel-top's mission. --buffalo bill's aztec guide; or, the white indian. --buffalo bill and little firefly; or, playing with death. --buffalo bill in the aztec city; or, little firefly's friendship. --buffalo bill's balloon escape; or, out of the grip of the great swamp. --buffalo bill and the guerrillas; or, the flower girl of san felipe. brave and bold weekly all kinds of stories that boys like. the biggest and best nickel's worth ever offered. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --two chums afloat; or, the cruise of the "arrow." by cornelius shea. --in the path of duty; or, the fortunes of officer dan deering. by harrie irving hancock. --a bid for fortune; or, true as steel. by fred thorpe. --a battle with fate; or, the baseball mascot. by weldon j. cobb. --three brave boys; or, adventures in the balloon world. by frank sheridan. --archie atwood, champion; or, an all-around athlete's career. by cornelius shea. --dick stanhope afloat; or, the eventful cruise of the _elsinore_. by harrie irving hancock. --working his way upward; or, from footlights to riches. by fred thorpe. --the fourteenth boy; or, how vin lovell won out. by weldon j. cobb. --among the nomads; or, life in the open. by the author of "through air to fame." --bob, the acrobat; or, hustle and win out. by harrie irving hancock. --through the earth; or, jack nelson's invention. by fred thorpe. --the boy chief; or, comrades of camp and trail. by john de morgan. motor stories the latest and best five-cent weekly. we won't say how interesting it is. see for yourself. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear. --motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto. --motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward. --motor matt's air-ship; or, the rival inventors. --motor matt's hard luck; or, the balloon house plot. --motor matt's daring rescue; or, the strange case of helen brady. --motor matt's peril; or, castaway in the bahamas. --motor matt's queer find; or, the secret of the iron chest. --motor matt's promise; or, the wreck of the _hawk_. --motor matt's submarine; or, the strange cruise of the _grampus_. --motor matt's quest; or, three chums in strange waters. --motor matt's close call; or, the snare of don carlos. --motor matt in brazil; or, under the amazon. --motor matt's defiance; or, around the horn. --motor matt makes good; or, another victory for the motor boys. _for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address on receipt of price, cents per copy, in money or postage stamps, by_ street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york =if you want any back numbers= of our weeklies and cannot procure them from your newsdealer, they can be obtained from this office direct. fill out the following order blank and send it to us with the price of the weeklies you want and we will send them to you by return mail. =postage stamps taken the same as money.= ________________________ _ _ _street & smith, - seventh avenue, new york city._ _dear sirs: enclosed please find_ ___________________________ _cents for which send me_: tip top weekly, nos. ________________________________ nick carter weekly, " ________________________________ diamond dick weekly, " ________________________________ buffalo bill stories, " ________________________________ brave and bold weekly, " ________________________________ motor stories, " ________________________________ _name_ ________________ _street_ ________________ _city_ ________________ _state_ ________________ a great success!! motor stories every boy who reads one of the splendid adventures of motor matt, which are making their appearance in this weekly, is at once surprised and delighted. surprised at the generous quantity of reading matter that we are giving for five cents; delighted with the fascinating interest of the stories, second only to those published in the tip top weekly. matt has positive mechanical genius, and while his adventures are unusual, they are, however, drawn so true to life that the reader can clearly see how it is possible for the ordinary boy to experience them. _here are the titles now ready and those to be published_: --motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. --motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. --motor matt's century run; or, the governor's courier. --motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the "comet." --motor matt's mystery; or, foiling a secret plot. --motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear. --motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto. --motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward. --motor matt's air ship; or, the rival inventors. --motor matt's hard luck; or, the balloon house plot. --motor matt's daring rescue; or, the strange case of helen brady. --motor matt's peril; or, cast away in the bahamas. --motor matt's queer find; or, the secret of the iron chest. --motor matt's promise; or, the wreck of the "hawk." --motor matt's submarine; or, the strange cruise of the "grampus." --motor matt's quest; or, three chums in strange waters. to be published on june th. --motor matt's close call; or, the snare of don carlos. to be published on june st. --motor matt in brazil; or, under the amazon. to be published on june th. --motor matt's defiance; or, around the horn. to be published on july th. --motor matt makes good; or, another victory for the motor boys. price, five cents at all newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, by the publishers upon receipt of the price. street & smith, _publishers_, new york transcriber's notes: added table of contents. italics are represented with _underscores_, bold with =equal signs=. this text edition expands oe ligatures to "oe"; the html edition retains the ligatures. retained inconsistent spelling of gallego vs. gallegos. page , corrected typo "atempt" in "any further attempt to chase." page , corrected typo "glitering" in "stern face and glittering eyes." changed "hs" to "he" in "he iss arrest." page , corrected typo "arested" in "why had matt been arrested?" page , changed "secondhand" to "second-hand" for consistency ("our second-hand machine"). page , corrected "volet-eared" to "violet-eared." courtesy of the digital library@villanova university (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction no. may , five cents motor matt's queer find or the secret of the iron chest _by the author of "motor matt"_ [illustration: _swiftly motor matt secured the end of the rope to one of the iron handles_] _street & smith publishers new york_ motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction _issued weekly. by subscription $ . per year. entered according to act of congress in the year , in the office of the librarian of congress, washington, d. c., by_ street & smith, _ - seventh avenue, new york, n. y._ no. . new york, may , . price five cents. motor matt's queer find; or, the secret of the iron chest. by the author of "motor matt." contents chapter i. the hut by the bayou. chapter ii. yamousa. chapter iii. the attack on the car. chapter iv. smoke pictures. chapter v. a queer find. chapter vi. foul play. chapter vii. dried frogs--and luck. chapter viii. the plotters. chapter ix. the head of obboney. chapter x. on the trail. chapter xi. a black mystery. chapter xii. at close quarters. chapter xiii. three in a trap. chapter xiv. an astounding situation. chapter xv. the treasure. chapter xvi. diamonds galore. the masked light. characters that appear in this story. =motor matt=, a lad who is at home with every variety of motor, and whose never-failing nerve serves to carry him through difficulties that would daunt any ordinary young fellow. because of his daring as a racer with bicycle, motor-cycle and automobile he is known as "mile-a-minute matt." motor-boats, air ships and submarines come naturally in his line, and consequently he lives in an atmosphere of adventure in following up his "hobby." =carl pretzel=, a cheerful and rollicking german boy, stout of frame as well as of heart, who is led by a fortunate accident to link his fortunes with those of motor matt. =dick ferral=, a young sea dog from canada, with all a sailor's superstitions, but in spite of all that a royal chum, ready to stand by the friend of his choice through thick and thin. =townsend=, a wealthy though eccentric gentleman, who owns a remarkable submarine boat on which our friends have seen various adventures in the past. =whistler=,} =jurgens=, } a trio of rogues bent upon gaining possession of a prize. =bangs=, } =yamousa=, the hideous voodoo woman of the louisiana swamps. chapter i. the hut by the bayou. "lisden, vonce, you fellers! i t'ink i hear someding." carl pretzel turned back from the forward rail of the _hawk_, gave his chums, motor matt and dick ferral, a warning look, and then leaned out over the side of the air ship, his eyes on the earth below. the _hawk_ was sweeping over the tongue of land between lake pontchartrain and lake borgne, bound for new orleans by way of the lower mississippi. night was coming on, and the boys in the air ship had been looking anxiously for a place in which to effect a landing. interminable stretches of cypress and live oak covered the low ground beneath them, and there did not seem to be a gap anywhere in the dense growth. "you must have bells in your ears, mate," said dick, in response to carl's announcement that he had heard "something." "dowse me if i heard any noise." "listen, pards, both of you," called matt from his seat among the levers. "if you can hear a voice, down there, it will be a pretty sure sign that we're close to a clearing. we've done enough flying for to-day, and these louisiana air currents are so changeable i don't want to do any night traveling. if you----" "dere it vas some more!" cried carl excitedly. "you hear him dot time, tick?" "aye, matey," answered dick, "i heard a voice, fair enough. it was a sort of screech, as though a woman might have piped up--or a panther." "where away was it?" asked matt. "two points off the starboard bow, matt." matt shifted the rudder, thus altering the course of the _hawk_; he also depressed the horizontal plane and threw the air ship closer to the tree tops. "it's getting so blooming dark, down there among the trees," observed dick, "that it's hard to see anything, but i believe i can make out a bit of a river, and an arm of it like a bayou." "yah, so helup me," put in carl, "i can see dot meinseluf, i bed you. und dere iss a light like a fire, vich geds prighter und prighter as ve go aheadt. vat you t'ink is dot anyvay, tick?" before dick could answer, the cry that had already claimed their attention was wafted up from below, this time so clear and distinct that there was no mistaking it. "_a moi! a moi!_" it was a screech, as dick had said, and resembled greatly the yell of some wild animal; nevertheless, the call was plainly human, for it was broken into words. "french lingo, or i'm a fiji!" averred dick. "it's the same as some one calling for help. and a woman, too. no man could make a sound like that." as if to prove dick's words, the cry was repeated, but the words were english, now, and not french. "help! help!" "py chiminy grickets!" gasped carl. "dere iss someding going on vat means drouple for der laty." "we've got to land," declared matt, "and see what's the matter. can you find a place?" both dick and carl were leaning over the forward rail and staring ahead and downward. suddenly the tree tops broke away and a heap of blazing wood could be seen. the fire had been kindled on a cleared stretch of bayou bank, and not far from it was a log hovel. but there was no one in sight, either near the fire or around the hut. the two boys on the lookout announced their discoveries to motor matt. "we'll come down on the bayou bank," said matt. "give me directions, dick." the young canadian, watching sharply below, called their bearings to matt, and the _hawk_ was safely manoeuvred to the surface of the ground. the calls for aid had ceased, an ominous silence reigning in the vicinity of the fire and the hut while the boys got out their mooring ropes and secured the _hawk_ to nearby trees. "where's the woman in distress?" queried dick, coming around the front end of the car and joining matt and carl. "she was making plenty of noise, a while ago, but she's quiet enough now." "she may be in the hut," said matt. "you stay here and watch the air ship, dick, while carl and i take a look through the shanty." matt pulled a blazing pine knot from the fire, and, with this to light the way, started toward the hut. carl dropped in at his side and they proceeded onward together. suddenly carl drew to a halt and laid a hand on matt's arm. "i tell you someding, matt," said the dutch boy, "und dot iss, i don'd like dis pitzness. br-r-r! i haf some greepy feelings all droo me." carl could be as brave as a lion when brought company front with any danger he could understand, but he was so full of superstition that if a black cat crossed the road in front of him he was at once thrown into a panic. "nonsense!" exclaimed matt. "we're here to help some one who is in trouble, and we don't want to get scared at our own shadows." "der blace itseluf iss enough to make my shkin ged oop und valk all ofer me mit coldt feet; and den, for vy don'd we hear dat foice some more?" there _was_ a sort of weirdness about the place, and no mistake. the great live oaks, uncannily festooned with spanish moss, completely inclosed the little clearing, bending about it in a half circle and coming down to the very edge of the bayou. the fact that there was a fire, of course, proved that human beings had been in the clearing, even if they were not there now. but there was something ghostly about the fire, and while it threw flickering shadows across the clearing it seemed only to make the darkness deeper in the depths of the wood. "it may be, carl," said matt, "that the woman who was calling for help has become unconscious. that makes it all the more necessary for us to find her as quick as we can. come on!" waving his torch, matt hurried along toward the hut. the door was open, and the torch glare struck whitely against some object suspended over it. "vatt iss dot ofer der door, eh?" asked carl excitedly. "py shinks, it iss some pones! it iss a skeleton oof someding! whoosh! dis iss gedding on my nerfs like anyding." the young motorist whirled on his dutch chum. "you go back to the air ship, carl," said he, "and send dick here. your nerves are troubling you so much that you're not of much help." carl was only too ready to go back to the _hawk_. with a mumbled apology for himself, he turned and hurried away. when dick came up, a moment later, matt was looking at the object over the door of the hovel. "what is it, matey?" queried dick. "it looks like the skull of a cat, or a dog," answered matt. "then i suppose it was put up there to bring luck. people around here must be a jolly lot." "we'll see what's inside," and matt, holding his torch high, passed through the door. the hut contained but one room. there was a fireplace in one end, and over a bed of coals a kettle was hanging. a "shake-down" on the floor, in one corner, was covered with ragged blankets. but the strangest feature of the place was this: the whole under part of the thatched roof, and every crevice of the walls, was hung with rags, feathers, bones of cats, alligator teeth, and a thousand other objects, equally curious. "well, strike me lucky!" mumbled dick. "this is a rummy old place we've got into. between you and me and the mainmast, old ship, i'd just about as soon give it a good offing. but where's the woman that wanted help?" the question was hardly out of dick's mouth before it was answered by another screeching, "_a moi! a moi!_" the call did not come from anywhere about the hut, but from outside and somewhere in the timber. "this way, dick!" shouted matt, and rushed out of the hut. "_a moi! a moi!_" the call was again repeated, and the two boys, guiding themselves by the call, flung up the slight slope and darted in among the trees. "careful, matey!" panted dick, from close behind his comrade. "there's no telling what sort of a jolly mess we're running into. better dowse that light--it'll be safer; besides, i can see the gleam of a lantern ahead, there, through the trees." "i just caught a sight of that myself, dick," answered matt, in a low voice. "your suggestion about the torch is good," and matt dropped the blazing fagot and crushed out the fire with his foot. "now, then," he finished, "we'll go on, and go quietly." a dozen yards, perhaps, brought the boys to a spot from which they could behold a scene that caused their pulses to leap. an old crone was bound to a cypress stump, and beside her stood a man with a lithe switch. the hag was swarthy, and her kinky hair was white. evidently she was a mulatto. the man at her side was white. the moment matt's eyes rested on him, the young motorist gripped dick's arm with tense fingers. "that man!" whispered matt excitedly; "do you recognize him, dick?" "whistler, or i'm a hottentot!" gasped dick. for a moment, blank amazement held the two boys spellbound. then, as whistler lifted the switch and brought it viciously down on the old woman's shoulders, the spell was broken and the two boys started forward. "will you tell?" demanded whistler, pausing after the blow. "_a moi! a moi!_" screeched the woman. "you can call till you're blue in the face," went on whistler savagely, "and you'll not bring anybody. i'll find out from you what i want to know, yamousa, or i'll flay you alive. will you tell?" at that moment, matt and dick broke into the lantern light. the lantern was suspended from the broken limb of a tree, and the glow was so faint that the boys had not been seen until they were close upon the man and the woman. whistler, with an oath of consternation, jumped backward. the next moment, he had whirled his gad and brought it down on the lantern. a crash followed, and stygian blackness shrouded the spot. a sound of running feet, fading away in the timber, came to the boys' ears. "never mind whistler, dick," said matt; "let's look after the woman." chapter ii. yamousa. no sound had come from the woman since the two boys had reached the scene. groping their way to her, they found that she had become unconscious and was drooping heavily in the cords that held her bound to the stump. "of all the things that ever happened to us, mate," remarked dick, "this captures the prize. we get cast away on a little turtle back in the bahamas, and lat jurgens and this old hunks, whistler, come to the island in nemo, jr.'s submarine. we capture the pair and leave 'em roped in our tent; then we capture the submarine. later we send ashore for jurgens and whistler and the landing party reports that they have vanished. now, dropping down here in answer to a cry of distress, we find whistler giving an old woman a taste of the cat. whistler, of all men! i'm fair dazed with it all."[a] [a] for an account of the adventures of motor matt and his friends in helping archibald townsend, otherwise captain nemo, jr., recover his stolen submarine from jurgens and his rascally followers, see no. of the motor stories, "motor matt's peril; or, cast away in the bahamas." "so am i," said matt, "but we'll not let that bother us now. this old woman has been brutally treated, and has fainted away. we must get her to the hut and see what we can do to revive her." "right-o," agreed dick. "i've my sheath knife handy and i'll cut her loose from that stump in a brace of shakes." matt held the limp form upright while dick severed the cords; then, picking the woman up, they carried her through the woods, back to the clearing, and laid her on the ragged blankets in the hut. "i think i saw a candle on the shelf over the fireplace, dick," said matt. "better light it." dick found the candle. it was a tallow dip stuck in an old tin candlestick. with the light in his hand, he walked to the old woman's side and bent downward. the face of the woman was scarred and hideous. there were big gold earrings pulling down the lobes of her ears, and another large ring pierced her nose and fell down over her upper lip. her cheeks were hollow, and the yellow skin resembled parchment. her clothing was a motley garb of patched rags. two claw-like hands, with finger nails an inch long, lay on the blankets beside her. matt lifted his eyes to dick's with a shudder. "she's not what you'd call cinderella, exactly," grinned dick, "and i don't think her beauty will ever prove fatal." "anyhow," said matt, "she's a woman and needs help. that's enough for us to know." a tin water pail stood on a bench, and there was a gourd dipper hanging over it. matt filled the gourd and returned and dashed the water in the old woman's face. the effect was magical. with a screech that caused the boys to start backward in consternation, the old woman sat up suddenly and glared about her, with eyes like coals. abruptly her attention fixed itself on the boys and she began to croon in a harsh, mumbling voice: "si to te 'tit zozo et moi-meme mo te fusil mo sre tchoue toi--_boum!_" she exploded the last word like the crack of a revolver, lifting and aiming her fingers as she might have done with a weapon. "avast, there, old lady!" cried dick. "we're friends of yours. can't you understand that?" "american?" shrilled the woman, rising slowly to her feet. "yes," said matt. "where is ze man zat take me from my home and beat me wiz ze stick?" she demanded, crouching like a cat, while her talon-like hands clawed the air angrily. "he ran away," answered matt. "we cut you loose from the stump and brought you here. do you know that man?" the old woman staggered to the fireplace and stirred up the coals under the kettle; then she turned back, took the candle out of dick's hand and studied his face. from dick she turned to matt, giving him a similar scrutiny. her eyes were bright and fiery--age had not seemed to dim them. as she turned from matt, the hag gave a croaking laugh. "i guess we'd better send the 'blue peter' to the masthead, old ship," said dick, "trip anchor and slant away. this don't look like a comfortable berth, to me." "you not go 'way yet," cried the woman, whirling about. "you are ze good boys, you help yamousa, ze obeah woman, and by gar, yamousa help you! sit on ze bench." she waved one hand toward the bench on which the water pail was standing. dick, heeding a significant look from matt, followed to the bench and sat down. "do you know that man who was beating you?" asked matt, again, determined if possible to get a little information about whistler. "_oui_, i know heem!" answered the woman, with a spitting snarl. "one time he work on ze sugar plantation near ze bayou, and he come many time to see yamousa and have her tell him ze t'ings he do not know. he come now from ze bahamas and ask about ze iron chest, and where zis townsend take heem. but yamousa, she no tell. for why yamousa no tell, eh? well, she see zat whistler haf ze bad heart. whistler try to beat her, _make_ her tell; zen ze american boys come and drive heem away. how you get here, eh?" "we came in an air ship," matt answered. "_sacre tonnere!_ i know zat you come--i seen him in ze smoke." yamousa had said things which had aroused the intense curiosity of the two boys. whistler had tried to force her into telling him the whereabouts of an "iron chest." that iron chest had been found in a sea cavern of an uninhabited island among the bahamas, had been taken aboard townsend's submarine, and had been in the submarine when matt and his chums turned the boat over to her owner on the florida coast. townsend had taken the chest to new orleans, and jurgens and whistler were eager to recover it. what the chest contained, no one knew. a man who called himself simply the "man from cape town" had given townsend a chart and secured his promise to find the chest, carry it to new orleans, and open it in the presence of a woman whom the cape town man claimed was his daughter. these two were then to divide the contents between them. the fact that whistler, and presumably jurgens, as well, still had designs on the chest, was surprising information for matt and dick. the three boys were proceeding to new orleans in the _hawk_, in response to a request from townsend; and it might easily chance that the business which had led townsend to call motor matt and his friends to new orleans was to cross the evil designs of jurgens and whistler. "do you know anything about that iron chest, yamousa?" inquired matt. "not now, but i find heem out," replied the old woman. "by gar, i find out anyt'ing zat ees wanted to be known." "you say you knew that we were coming?" "_oui._" "i can't understand how you discovered that. we didn't know ourselves we were coming until we got a telegram at palm beach, florida, yesterday." "i tell by ze smoke," repeated the woman; "i read heem in ze smoke." "what sort of a place is this, anyhow?" muttered dick to matt uncomfortably. "is the old lady a fortune teller? i never took much stock in that sort of thing, you know." "yamousa ees ze obeah woman," chirped the hag, her ears having evidently been sharp enough to overhear what dick had said: "i am ze voodoo queen. i know t'ings ozzers don't know, an' ze people come from ever'where to see yamousa--from new orleans, _oui_, and from algiers, plaquemine, st. bernard--all up and down ze river an' ze coast--zey all come to haf yamousa tell zem t'ings zat zey don't know. i tell you ze same. you are my franes--_mes amis_--an', i do planty mooch for you. where is ze ozzer of you? in ze smoke i see t'ree, all in ze flying boat zat come to bayou yamousa." "she means carl," muttered dick, "and how the old harry she knew anything about him is a fair dazer." "in ze smoke i see heem," replied the hag, again catching dick's words. "i think i'm beginning to see through this a little, dick," said matt. "in some way, jurgens and whistler got off that island in the bahamas and----" "zey hide in a cave till you go 'way," broke in yamousa, "an' zen zey come out an' bymby ze boat come from ze great bahama an' pick zem off. _oui, hé_, zey ees bot' ver' bad an' haf ze bad heart." "how did you find that out, yamousa?" asked matt. "not in ze smoke, not zat, _non_. whistler tell me." yamousa's knowledge, which, for the most part, seemed to be derived from unusual sources, filled matt and dick with growing bewilderment. "sink me," muttered dick, "but my nerves are beginning to bother me. go on, though, matey. what about whistler?" "why, he's still after the iron chest, he and jurgens. they got away from that turtle back in the bahamas, landed in this vicinity, and whistler came here to get this voodoo priestess to tell him where he could locate the chest." "all my eye and betty martin, that! just as though yamousa could tell him!" "anyhow, whistler must have thought so or he wouldn't be here. we saw and heard enough to convince us that what yamousa said about his designs was true. we got here in time to drive him off and----" just there occurred a startling interruption. a frantic yell came from the clearing--a yell that was plainly given by carl. "more trouble!" boomed dick, leaping from the bench, "and it's carl that's flying distress signals now." matt did not reply, but he led the way to the door and through it into the dying glow of the fire on the bayou bank. chapter iii. the attack on the car. carl was having a fight. matt and dick were able to discover that much as they rushed from the house. and the fight was against hopeless odds, for at least a dozen men could be seen in the faint glow of the fire. they were pressing around the car, and carl, standing in matt's chair, was laying about him with a long-handled wrench, keeping the attacking force temporarily at bay. "keelhaul me!" cried ferral, as he raced after motor matt. "what does that gang mean by making a dead-set at the _hawk_? they're negroes, the lot of them!" "there's one white man, dick!" answered matt. "whistler is there. he must have recognized us in the woods and he's setting the negroes on to smash the air ship, or else capture it." "the confounded swab! he'll not find it so easy, i warrant you." whistler, leaving the negroes to get the better of carl, was working at one of the mooring ropes. this made it look as though he was trying to steal the air ship rather than to destroy it. carl, sweeping his makeshift weapon in a fierce circle about him and now and then bowling over a negro who came too close, caught sight of his two chums hustling for the scene. "hoop-a-la!" carl bellowed. "here comes my bards, und now you fellers vas going to ged more as you t'ought. dere vill be doings now, und don'd forged dot! slide indo der scrimmage, matt, you und tick! it vas going to be some hot vones, i dell you dose." just then the wrench hit a negro and knocked him off his feet. "dot vas me," yelped carl, "und i gif you some sambles oof vat you vas to oxpect! i peen der olt missouri rifer, py shinks, und ven i shvell my banks den it vas dime peoples took to der hills! i vas der orichinal pengal diger, fresh from der chungle und looking to gopple oop vatefer geds in my vay! ach, vat a habbiness! sooch a pooty fighdt vat it iss!" it was perhaps a sad thing, yet nevertheless true, that carl pretzel loved a fist fight better than he loved a square meal; and that was saying a good deal--for carl. while he was fighting it was his custom to waste a good deal of valuable breath boasting about his own prowess and taunting his foes. just now he was the old missouri river and the original bengal tiger, both rolled into one. but he had hardly finished introducing himself to the negroes before one of them hit him with a stone. the wrench dropped from carl's hand and he turned a back somersault over the rail of the car. before he could get up, half a dozen husky negroes had piled on top of him and he was helpless and unable to make a move. matt and dick, bearing down with all speed upon whistler, saw their chum as he tumbled out of the car. they could not do anything for carl at that moment, however, as whistler had straightened erect and flung a hand to his hip. the boys knew what that motion meant. whistler was a desperate man, and as quick to use a revolver, when he had one, as he was to use his fists when he hadn't. "land on him--before he can shoot!" as dick yelled the words, matt cleared the distance separating him from whistler with a wild leap. his body struck whistler's squarely, and with a terrific impact. both went down and rolled over and over on the ground. the revolver, which whistler had just drawn from his pocket, fell from his hand. dick saw it and was less than a second in grabbing it up. "we've drawn whistler's fangs, mate," he shouted to matt, who had regained his feet. "he'll not trouble us, and this piece of cold steel will give the negroes something to think about. break away, there!" and dick, flourishing the weapon, jumped for the crowd that had laid hold of carl. the negroes, from what matt could see of them, appeared to be laborers from some neighboring plantation. nearly all of them were big and powerful, but ran to brute strength rather than to science. the attack on the car, there was no doubt, had been engineered by whistler. he recognized in matt and his friends a source of peril, and by capturing the _hawk_ and injuring one or more of the boys, he would be able to reduce the peril to a minimum. it had been strange, indeed, that the boys should have encountered their old enemy there on the bank of that louisiana bayou. but whistler, either acting for himself or in conjunction with jurgens, was scheming to regain possession of the iron chest. inasmuch as the chest was presumably still in the hands of townsend, the man whom matt and his friends were going to new orleans to meet, there was a reason for whistler and the boys being in that part of the country at the same time. so their meeting was not such a remarkable coincidence, after all. the sight of the revolver threw the blacks into a panic. those who had captured carl sprang away from him and retreated warily toward the edge of the timber. at the same time, the others began to draw back from the car. "go for 'em, you cowards!" yelled whistler, scrambling to his feet. "you're getting a dollar apiece, all around, for this, but by thunder you've got to earn it." "keep away from this air ship," shouted matt sternly, posting himself near the end of the car. "the man who lays a hand on the _hawk_ does so at his own peril." "never mind him!" bawled whistler, "sail into 'em with stones if you can't do any better." stones could be used at fairly long range, and the negroes, screened by the shadows of the timber, began at once to act upon whistler's suggestion. missiles, large and small, began raining down upon the boys, banging against the car, slapping into the silken envelope of the gas bag, and menacing the motor. something would have to be done, and quickly, or disaster would overtake the _hawk_. "stay with the _hawk_, carl!" shouted matt. "this way, dick! we've got to scatter those fellows into the timber or they'll put a hole in the gas bag or do some damage to the motor." as he spoke, matt flung away in the direction of the timber line. with a whoop, dick followed him. before matt had got half way to the timber, he was struck in the shoulder and knocked down. half stunned, and with his whole right side feeling as though it was paralyzed, he rose to his knees. dick had fared little better. a rock, thrown by one of the black men, had hit the revolver he was carrying and knocked it from his hand. the weapon flew off somewhere in the darkness, and while the stones continued to hail through the air, dick went down on all fours and tried to locate the six-shooter. "now you've got 'em!" came the voice of whistler. "they've lost the gun and are all but done for. rush 'em!" the negroes, considering that they were only receiving a dollar each for helping whistler, were putting a lot of vim and ginger into the one-sided combat. giving vent to exultant yells, they rushed from the timber and, in a few minutes more, would have overwhelmed matt and his friends by sheer force of numbers. but the unexpected happened. from the door of the hut came old yamousa, her tattered garments flying about her as she ran. over her head she held a gleaming white skull--either of a cat or a dog--and the picture she made, gliding through the firelight, was enough to awe the fiercest of the superstitious blacks. "stop!" she screeched. "zis ees somet'ing i will not have. zese boys are my franes--_mes amis_--an' i will not haf zem hurt. you hear? t'row one more stone an' yamousa puts _obi_ on ze lot of you, ev'ry las' one. how do you like zat, you niggers? how you like ze evil eye on you?" instantly the headlong rush of the blacks was stopped. halting in trepidation, they drew together, hands drooping at their sides and every ounce of hostility oozing out at their finger tips. the boys were amazed at the old woman's power. under the spell of their superstition, the negroes were held as by iron chains. "don't let the old hag fool you!" shouted whistler. "she can't hurt you as much as those white boys can if you leave 'em alone. they came out of the sky in their bird ship, and if you don't capture them they'll put something worse than the evil eye upon you. never mind yamousa!" a murmuring went up from the blacks and they began to move undecidedly. hissing like an enraged wild cat, yamousa flung herself forward and laid the skull she was carrying in the forward end of the car, just where the firelight would show it to the eyes of the black men. "ze white man talk," she screamed, tossing her arms, "an' what he say ees nozzing. you know what yamousa can do--how she can spoil ze luck an' bring ze long sickness. zis air ship ees under ze protection of obboney. touch heem if you dare! an' zeese white boys are my franes--hurt zem an' you hurt me. shall i put ze spell on you? spik!" lifting herself to her full height, yamousa raised her skinny arms and waved her talon-like hands. a yell of fear went up from the blacks. to a man they fell on their knees, imploring the obeah woman not to work any evil spells. whistler raged and fumed, but all to no purpose. the negroes were completely dominated by yamousa and would not listen to him. "zis white man who gif you ze dollar apiece to do zis what you try," went on yamousa, "come to yamousa's place zis night, drag her to ze stump in ze wood, tie her zere an' beat her wiz ze stick----" roars of consternation went up from the blacks. "zese white boys save yamousa," the hag went on, "an' now you come an' try to keel zem an' take zeir bird ship! _sacre tonnere!_ me, i put _obi_ on zat white man wiz ze black heart! you catch heem, bring heem to me, give heem blow for blow zat he struck yamousa, an' i gif you each ze lucky charm. zat ees better zan a dollar each, eh?" by then the blacks were completely under yamousa's influence. as she finished, they sprang up and made a rush for whistler. that worthy, understanding well how cleverly he had been worsted, took to his heels and fled into the timber, the blacks whooping and yelling, and pushing him hard. "you all right now," said yamousa, turning to the boys with a cackling laugh. "come back in ze house while i show you somet'ing in ze smoke." "i don'd vant to shtay py der _hawk_ mit dot t'ing!" whooped carl, pointing to the white skull. "my nerfs iss vorse as dey vas, a heap! don'd leaf me alone, bards!" "you go on with matt, carl," said dick, "and i'll stay and watch the air ship. i guess there's not much danger now, anyhow. yamousa has got the negroes under her thumb in handsome style, and whistler will have his hands so full looking after himself that he won't be able to try any games with the air ship." carl was not in love with the idea of going into the house; still, he liked it better than staying out in the open all by himself. a supernatural twist had been given to the course of events and carl was anything but easy in his mind. when matt followed yamousa back toward the hut, carl took hold of his arm and kept close beside him. chapter iv. smoke pictures. "sit on ze bench," said yamousa, when they were all in the house again, pointing to the bench where matt and dick had rested themselves a little while before. carl made it a point to keep a grip on matt, and he walked with him to the bench and snuggled up close to his side when they sat down. the dutch boy's eyes were almost popping from his head. the queer assortment of odds and ends with which the roof and walls were decorated cast over him a baneful spell, and he was beginning to wish that he had stayed with the car. yamousa hobbled back and forth, getting together materials for the work she had in prospect. first, she took an earthen jar from one corner of the room and set it down in front of the boys. as she moved across the floor with the jar she sang the creole song which matt had already heard, finishing by aiming her finger at carl and shrieking out the final "_boum!_" carl gave a howl of consternation, his feet went into the air, and he would have tumbled from the bench if matt had not held him. "donnervetter!" gasped carl huskily. "i dradder be some odder place as here. vat's der madder mit der olt laty? she gifs me some cholts." "don't be afraid," whispered matt. "she has proved herself a friend of ours." "yah, meppy, aber i don'd vant her to boint her finger ad me like dot some more." yamousa got a small box from a cupboard and emptied a brownish powder out of it into the jar; then, with a pair of tongs, she removed a live coal from the fireplace and dropped it into the jar with the powder. a wisp of smoke floated upward, accompanied by a sizzling noise. the noise increased until it resembled the buzzing of a swarm of bees, and the smoke spread out until it filled all that part of the room, growing denser every moment. in and out through the vapor, stumbling around the jar in a sort of dance, moved yamousa, tossing her arms and crooning a chant. "di tems missié d'artaguette, hé! ho! hé! c'était, c'était bon tems, yé té ménin monde a la baguette, hé! ho! hé!" the boys stared breathlessly. yamousa's candle was on the other side of the room, glowing like a coal through the vapor. suddenly figures began to take shape in the smoke, the filmy fog thickening in places and decreasing in others as though some invisible hand was moulding the black haze into a scene _en silhouette_. by degrees the picture perfected itself until, at last, it lay clearly before the boys. they saw a broad river on which a small boat was floating. there was no one in the boat, but on the stern thwart, in plain view and unmistakable, was townsend's iron chest. the boat and the chest heaved and rolled on the waves, and the oars in the oarlocks played up and down on the surface of the water. then, as the two boys watched, scarcely breathing, so great was their interest and excitement, a vague shape came gliding over the river out of the distance. presently the shape resolved itself into the form of the air ship. the _hawk_ glided low and halted hoveringly over the boat. there were three passengers in the air ship's car, and matt and carl had no difficulty in recognizing themselves and ferral. a rope was thrown downward by ferral, and matt could be seen climbing over the rail and descending the rope. on reaching the boat, matt made the rope secure to the iron handles of the chest and carl and dick laid back on the rope and drew the chest upward. the moving picture had proceeded thus far when carl, overcome by the uncanny nature of the whole proceeding, lifted a hair-raising yell, hurled himself from the seat, and bolted for the door. the frenzied shout seemed to destroy the spell. the smoke billowed shapelessly into a blank fog, and matt darted from the house after carl. dick, startled by the dutch boy's shout, had run toward the cabin, meeting carl a few yards from the air ship. "der olt laty vas der teufel," carl was excitedly explaining to dick. "she makes moofing bictures, py shinks, oudt oof nodding but shmoke. ve see der air ship, und meinseluf, und you, und modor matt, und ve vas doing some t'ings vat i don'd know und vat ain'd peen done, yah, so helup me. led's ged avay from here, mitoudt losing some more time." carl was in a nervous condition, and while he talked he jumped up and down and flourished his arms. when he was through, he made a bolt for the _hawk_, but matt was close enough to catch hold of him. "don't get excited, carl," said matt. "calm yourself down." "how i vas going to do dot," exploded carl, "ven i see der hocus-pocus dot olt laty make mit us? himmelblitzen! she iss some relations mit der olt nick, und oof ve know ven ve vas vell off ve vill pull oudt oof here righdt avay." "chuck it, carl!" said dick. "i guess there ain't anything going to hurt you. give me a line on this, matt. i can't overhaul carl's talk and get much sense out of it." matt proceeded to describe what had taken place in the hut. dick listened with wide eyes. "keelhaul me if i ever heard anything like that before!" he exclaimed, when matt had finished. "it sounds like a yarn for the marines. you two must have been hypnotized and imagined you saw all that. fakirs in india do stunts of that sort, but they only make people _think_ they see such things; they don't really see them." "i know ven i see somet'ing, you bed my life," fluttered carl, "und i see der air ship, und you and matt und meinseluf in der shmoke, und ve do t'ings schust so natural like life. it don'd vas some treams, i tell you dot. oof----" carl was interrupted by a shrill cry from the hut door. "come once more an' see ze smoke picture! come queek!" "nod me!" and carl galloped on toward the air ship. "we'd better go, dick," said matt. "do you think carl will try to unmoor the _hawk_?" returned dick, with a hurried look in the direction carl had gone. "no, he won't do that." matt and dick thereupon retraced their course to the hut. yamousa had vanished from the door and the boys groped their way through the stifling, pungent vapor to the bench. the smoke picture had already been formed and showed the interior of a room with stone walls. on the floor of the room lay a man, bound hand and foot and, to all appearances, a prisoner. he had gray hair and mustache, and his features, although vague and indistinct, were easily recognized. "townsend!" whispered matt. "aye!" returned dick, "townsend, as i live!" the stone chamber faded into the front of a building, and along the front was a sign, the lettering of which could easily be read: "m. crenelette, antiques." this second picture faded and yamousa laid a piece of board over the top of the jar. slowly the air cleared and the old woman stepped close to the bench, shaking her withered head until the gold rings in her ears and nose danced glimmeringly. "you know ze man in ze stone room?" she asked. "yes," replied matt, in a stifled voice. "ah, ha! zat will be in new orleans. me, i live zere one time. ze front of ze buildings you see has ze stone chamber in ze basement. eet ees in royal street, on ze french side of canal. you look an' you fin' ze sign, zen you get ze white-haired man away from ze enemies. go 'way an' sleep; zen, in ze morning, i gif you breakfus, an' you go on to ze big city an' safe your frane. _bo' soir, mes amis!_ sleep an' do not fear." without answer, matt and dick stumbled out of the house, full of wonder and bewilderment. "strike me lucky!" breathed dick. "this is the first time anything like that ever crossed my hawse. the question is, is there anything in it, or is it all a fake?" "i don't take much stock in wonder-workers like yamousa," answered matt, "because they usually prey upon the ignorant and the superstitious. i haven't the least notion how she make the pictures. that part of it is strange enough, and maybe, as you say, she only hypnotizes us and causes us to think we see something that isn't really in the smoke at all. but i don't see how those pictures can really mean anything, and i'm going to bunk down in the car and get some sleep." matt tried to persuade himself that the smoke pictures of yamousa were merely a trick, but somehow the idea that there _might_ be something in them clung to his mind. although his thoughts kept him unsettled and restless for a time, yet he finally fell asleep. there was no sleep for carl, however. he found the revolver that had been knocked out of dick's hand by the flying stone. the mechanism had been damaged and the weapon was useless, but nevertheless carl felt safer with it, and placed himself on guard. dick, like matt, was able to get some rest, and the night passed uneventfully. it was only when morning dawned that anything of an unusual nature occurred. a shout from carl brought matt and dick to their feet. carl had retreated until he was standing midway between the air ship and the edge of the clearing, his fearful eyes on yamousa, who was crouching at the side of the car. "queek!" cried yamousa, "hurry away. your enemies come--i see zem in ze smoke--an' zey come close. leesen!" she held up one talon-like finger in token of silence. from somewhere, off in the timber, could be heard faint sounds as of some one approaching through the undergrowth. in another moment the boys were actively at work casting off the ropes. "take zis," said yamousa, handing matt something wrapped in a piece of newspaper. "it will breeng you ze luck. you haf helped yamousa, an' yamousa she try to help you. but hurry; zere ees no time to lose." carl, gathering courage from the prospect of an early departure from that ill-omened spot, ran forward and helped dick with the ropes. matt laid the small parcel yamousa handed to him in the bottom of the car and immediately got the engine to going. the woman, meanwhile, with an apprehensive look over her shoulder, had started toward the timber. as dick and carl leaped into the car, yamousa gave a screech of warning and pointed toward the other side of the cleared space. one look in that direction was enough for matt. half a dozen white men had hurried into sight. whistler was in the lead. "let 'er go, matey!" yelled dick. "they'll be on us in half a minute." matt, with a twist of a lever, threw the power into the machinery and the _hawk_ took the push and glided upward. chapter v. a queer find. had the boys been a minute later in casting loose, there would certainly have been trouble--and perhaps they would not have been able to get away at all. whistler, who was well in advance of the others, strained every nerve to reach the car, but the _hawk_ was well in the air before he reached the spot where it had been moored. neither he, nor any of those with him, seemed to be armed. no shots were fired, and whistler shook his fist upward and shouted maledictions. "py chiminy," whooped carl, "ve'll led him vistle some. he ought to be good at dot." swiftly the clearing vanished behind the _hawk_, and the tops of the trees soon hid it entirely. carl drew a long breath. "i vas nefer so habby ofer anyt'ing as i vas to ged avay from dot blace," he averred. "der olt voman vas pad meticine, und ve vas lucky dot ve vas aple to ged avay ad all." "avast there, matey!" answered dick. "yamousa tried to be a friend of ours." "i don'd like friendts vat iss so spookish," went on carl, kicking the cat's skull off the front of the car and watching it tumble into the green tree tops below. "dere iss all kindts oof drouples come oof sooch pitzness." "she said she looked into the smoke and saw whistler and those other fellows coming," muttered dick. "meppy she dit, und meppy she saw dem, or heard dem." "if she saw whistler and his outfit in a smoke picture," went on dick, "and then came to warn us, it not only proves that she means well, but that there's something in that smoke business." matt smiled a little. "we'd better forget all that happened last night, pards," said he. "we can't make head or tail out of it, anyhow, and i don't believe in worrying over things you can't understand. we helped yamousa; and yamousa, in her own way, has tried to befriend us. suppose we let it go at that and sponge out the occult part of it? the biggest, and possibly the most amazing discovery we made, was that whistler got clear of the bahamas and seems to have got this far on the trail of the iron chest. if whistler is on the trail, no doubt lat jurgens is, also. perhaps townsend knew about this when he telegraphed us to come to new orleans." "i hope nothing has happened to townsend," murmured dick, his mind reverting to the smoke picture he had seen. "there you go again," laughed matt. "you're still thinking of what yamousa showed us, and imagining there may be something in it. cut it out, dick. if there's anything in the picture we'll know it before long. dip into the ration bag and get out some breakfast--i'm nearly starved." while dick held to the post of lookout, carl drew on the food supply and all hands ate a cold breakfast. after the meal the boys passed an hour discussing jurgens and whistler, their designs on the iron chest, and the way they had probably escaped from the sand key in the bahamas. for the most part, the discussion led nowhere. the boys could make guesses, but unless they were to put their faith in what yamousa told them, their talk could bring them to nothing definite. the conversation was interrupted by dick. "mississippi, ho!" he cried. "the river's dead ahead, mates, and hard under our forefoot." "good!" exclaimed matt. "we'll follow the river to new orleans." "where we going to keep der air ship when we reach der city?" inquired carl. this was always a conundrum to the boys. the _hawk_ was so big and unwieldy, and withal so easily damaged, that to stow it away where it would be safe from wind and storm was a difficult problem. "we might anchor the _hawk_ on some scow in the river," suggested dick, "and then put the canvas cover over her. if we find we're going to stay in new orleans long, it might pay to build a roof over the scow." "that would cost too much," objected matt. "it would take a mighty high roof to clear the top of the gas bag, and a mighty big one to cover it. why not berth her on one of the docks? the docks are high, they're roofed, and there's always a watchman in charge." "right-o!" said dick. "you've tagged on to the right rope, old ship. we'll use the docks. stuyvesant dock will about suit us. i was in this port once on the old _billy ruffin_. we coaled over in algiers, and some of us had shore leaves. a great town, that, and----" carl, who had been leaning over the rail, went limp and white all of a sudden and looked around with staring eyes. "what's the matter with you, mate?" demanded dick, startled by the dutch boy's manner. "sick?" "n-o-o," gurgled carl, "i vas vat you call flappergasted--so astoundet mit vat i see dot i can't shpeak. look ofer der site, und see vat you see py der rifer. ach, du lieber! i don'd know vat to t'ink." matt had already swerved the _hawk_ into an upstream course. the murky waters of the mississippi lay no more than a hundred feet below, and the light, variable winds were helping rather than retarding the air ship. matt and dick both cast downward looks over the guard rail, and what they saw caused them to straighten erect and stare at each other in amazement. for a moment or two, neither could speak. ahead of them drifting downstream with the current was a skiff. although there were oars over the skiff's sides, trailing in the water, the boat was empty. in the stern sheets, however, was the iron chest! the boys had seen that particular iron chest so many times that they were perfectly familiar with its appearance. during the interval that passed while the lads were staring at each other, before the mental eyes of all of them floated that smoke picture seen the evening before in yamousa's hut. "der olt nick has somet'ing to do mit dot," muttered carl, drawing one hand over his puzzled eyes. "it's the queerest find i ever heard of!" stuttered dick. "from the way you described that first smoke picture to me, matt, this event is fitting into it in a way that takes my breath." "it--it might be a coincidence," mumbled matt, hardly knowing what to believe, now that he was face to face with such a reality. "coincidence nothing!" averred dick bluntly. "yamousa has powers we never dreamed of. she may be a clairvoyant, or something like that." "i never took much stock in clairvoyants," demurred matt. "well, anyhow, there's the chest. in some manner it's got away from townsend." "exactly," said matt, throwing aside the uncanny feeling that had come over him. "no matter how we happened to make this queer find, nor how little we understand the manner in which we made it, our duty is clear. we've got to recover the chest, find townsend, and turn it over to him." "stand by, then, to go aboard the skiff," called dick. "port your helm, matt. i'll do the conning for you." "keep away!" shouted carl. "don'd go near dot poat und don'd fool mit dot safe. it's pad meticine! eferyt'ing iss pad meticine vat has anyt'ing to do mit dot olt laty. ach, blitzen, i vish ve hatn't seen dot poat!" but matt and dick knew what their duty was and paid little heed to carl's protests. guided by dick, matt brought the _hawk_ within a dozen feet of the boat, cut off the power, and the air ship hovered in the air, motionless save for the slight influence of the wind. dick tossed a rope over the side. matt, leaving his seat among the levers, prepared to get over the rail and lower himself into the boat. "hadn't i better go, matey?" queried dick. "i'm used to sliding up and down ropes and backstays." "you and carl stay here and make ready to hoist the safe aboard," replied matt. "i'm a pretty fair hand at rope climbing." probably none of the boys thought, at that moment, how closely they were copying the smoke pictures shown matt and carl by yamousa. that smoke scene seemed to have depicted the event with the sureness of fate. matt dropped over the side quickly, in order to get into the boat before the _hawk_ should drift away from it. he succeeded in carrying out his design and, still clinging to the rope, stepped from the gunwale of the skiff to one of the midship thwarts and then into the stern. there was nothing in the boat to show who the occupant had been. a bailing tin lay in the bottom, but there was absolutely nothing else in the skiff apart from the iron chest. "work quickly, old ship!" ferral called down. "the wind is freshening and we'll be blown away from you if you don't hustle." swiftly, motor matt secured the end of the rope to one of the iron handles. "haul away," said he, stepping back. carl and dick seized the rope and began to pull. the chest rose slowly into the air; and then, when it was lifted about half way, one of the sudden gusts of wind which the _hawk_ had been encountering all along the gulf coast struck the air ship, and she leaped sideways nearly to the shore of the river. carl and dick secured the rope frantically. while the chest continued to swing below the car, dick jumped into the levers and got the propeller going. this gave him a better command of the air ship and he attempted to manoeuvre the craft back and into matt's vicinity. again and again he tried, but, as the wind was now high and shifting quickly from one quarter to another, no success attended his efforts. "take the chest aboard," matt cried, standing up in the skiff and making a trumpet of his hands, "and go on to town. berth the _hawk_ on one of the docks, if you can, and, if you can't, make a landing farther inland. i'll follow you." there was nothing else to be done, and matt watched the _hawk_ bear away up the river, dick at the motor and carl heaving in the chest by slow degrees. chapter vi. foul play. matt was greatly worried over the way that experience with the boat and the chest had worked out. dick knew enough about handling the air ship to be able to look after her in ordinary weather, but those shifting air currents had bothered even matt. it was so easy for some little thing to go wrong and either wreck or cause irreparable damage to an air ship. in that respect, an air ship was totally unlike any other craft. but there had been no other way out of the dilemma and matt, facing the situation with all the grace he could muster, dropped on the midship thwart, seized the oars, and headed the skiff upstream. fortune favored him a little, for a lugger from the oyster beds came lurching up the river, all sails set and bound for the landing. matt hailed the lugger and the oysterman took him aboard. he said nothing to the lugger's crew as to how he had happened to be in the skiff. had he done that, one explanation would have led to another and it would have been necessary to speak of the iron chest--a subject which it was well enough to keep in the background. when the lugger tied up at the landing, matt left the skiff with her crew and went ashore. his object now was to find carl, dick, and the _hawk_, and he made his way along the river front in the direction of canal street. he could see nothing of the _hawk_ in the air, but along the wharves he encountered several groups of roustabouts who were talking excitedly about the "flying machine" that had recently passed over the town. by making inquiries, he learned that the _hawk_ had settled earthward in the vicinity of the stuyvesant docks. instructions were given him as to the best way for finding the docks, and he hurried on. fully three hours had passed since the chest had been recovered and the _hawk_ and matt had parted company. a good many things could happen in three hours, and matt continued to feel worried. as he was passing the morgan line docks he saw dick bearing down on him. the look of elation in dick's face was indirect evidence that all was right with the _hawk_. "hooray!" shouted the canadian. "you were so long turning up, matey, that i was afraid something had happened to you. i hope we won't ever again part company like we did down there on the river. confound this louisiana wind, anyhow! it never blows twice from the same direction, seems like. you didn't row all the way to town against the current?" "if i had, dick," answered matt, "i couldn't have got here before night. a lugger picked me up. where's the _hawk_?" "safely berthed on the big dock. i gave the dock watchman a five-dollar note to look after her and keep curious people away. we've stretched a rope around the air ship and no one can get within a dozen feet of her. she's as snug as possible, and there couldn't be a better place for her. why, the dock's better than that old balloon house in south chicago!" "where's carl?" "he went away with bangs, and----" "bangs? who's bangs?" "why, he introduced himself to carl and me as soon as we got the _hawk_ moored. he's a friend of townsend's and has been hanging out on the levee looking for us ever since townsend sent that telegram asking us to come. he was there by townsend's orders, and was to tell us where to berth the _hawk_ and where to go our selves." "i should think townsend would have been there to meet us," observed matt. "oh, that's all right--bangs explained that point. townsend is full of business, these days, and asked bangs as a favor to watch for us." "what did you do with the iron chest?" "bangs and carl took it away in an express wagon. as soon as carl delivers the chest to townsend, he's coming back to the docks. i told him that, by that time, you'd probably be there, and that we could all go up to see townsend. bangs said that carl would surely get back to the docks by noon." as dick finished speaking, the noon whistles took up their clamor. "did bangs identify himself in any way?" asked matt. "why, no," answered dick, puzzled. "it was identification enough, i thought, to have him meet us, tell us all about townsend, and say townsend had sent him to watch for us." "that might be a yarn, dick, with not a particle of truth in it." "but he was on the levee----" "everybody up and down the river front could see the _hawk_, so you were known to be coming. well, maybe everything is all right. carl went with bangs and the chest, anyhow. he'll see that the chest is properly delivered." "bangs insisted on either carl or me going with him to see townsend," pursued dick, "and that gives the whole business a straight look. if there was anything crooked about bangs he wouldn't have wanted any one to go with the chest, see?" dick was so honest himself that he was rarely looking for treachery in others. matt made no response to what he had just said, but turned the subject, as they walked together in the direction of the stuyvesant docks. "did you have any trouble making a landing, dick?" he asked. "there was a big freight boat alongside the docks and she blanketed us against the wind. if it hadn't been for the freighter, carl and i might have had more than we could attend to. we just grazed the steamer's stacks, ducked under the dock roof, and rounded to as neat as you please. we were lucky rather than skillful, you see, for it would have been an easy matter to smash the _hawk_ into smithereens." the boys continued on along the levee, and on every hand the queer craft that had dropped out of the sky was the topic of conversation. not many people were allowed on the dock where the _hawk_ was moored, but there were a few curious ones clustered around the guard rope and surveying the craft. carl pretzel, however, was not in evidence. "he's probably been delayed," suggested dick. "we'll just hang around and wait for him." while they were waiting, the watchman came up to them. "it's none o' my business," said he, "and i reckon you'll think i haven't any call buttin' in, but that feller that drove away with your friend, in the express wagon, hasn't got a very good character in this town." "is that straight?" queried dick. "straight as a plumb-line. he's as crooked as a dog's hind leg. proctor used to run a boat on the river, but he took to drinkin' an turned 'shady,' an' now he's not much better than a loafer. i'd have told you before, only i supposed you knew what you was doin' an' that you wouldn't thank me to interfere. i heard proctor say, though, that your friend would sure be back here by noon. well, it's noon, an' he ain't here. that's why i'm talkin' now." "proctor?" cried dick. "why, he said his name was bangs." "he's been known to change his name before now, so i ain't surprised at that. but his real name is proctor." the watchman went on about his business, and matt and dick withdrew by themselves in no very easy frame of mind. "dowse me!" growled dick. "can't carl and i be away from you for a few hours, old ship, without making fools of ourselves? but bangs told such a straight yarn----" "if a trap was laid, dick," interposed matt, "it was a clever one and i don't see how you could avoid dropping into it. it's a pretty safe guess, i think, that there has been foul play. this fellow proctor, or bangs, wanted the iron chest and laid his plans to get it." "but how could he lay his plans?" muttered dick. "sink me if i can understand that part of it. first off, he couldn't have known we had the iron chest, seeing that we fished it out of that skiff so recently." matt listened thoughtfully. he was trying to figure the matter out in his own mind, but it was a difficult problem. "then, again," continued dick, "bangs was here watching for us. if he wasn't a friend of townsend's how could he have known we were coming?" "from what we knew of archibald townsend," answered matt, "we can bank on his being honest and square. if that's the case, he'd hardly have a friend like bangs, would he? and certainly, if he knew bangs, he'd hardly trust him to meet us, as bangs told you he had done." "i'm a swab," growled dick, with profound self-reproach, "and carl's a swab. we've dropped into a tangle of foul play, and it don't make it any brighter because we can't understand where bangs got the information that enabled him to carry out his plot. i had an idea that i wouldn't let bangs touch that iron chest until you got here, but he told such a straight story that i was argued out of my original intention. oh, keelhaul me!" dick fumbled in his pocket for a handkerchief. when he drew it out, a bit of crumpled newspaper came with it. "ah," muttered dick, picking up the bit of paper, "maybe carl will have some luck. he unwrapped that little parcel yamousa gave you as we were leaving the bayou. what do you think we found in it?" "a rabbit's foot?" "no, a dried frog! carl, before he started away in the express wagon, put the frog in his pocket. he said he'd try it out before he turned it over to you. if we're right in thinking that bangs is playing a treacherous game, then carl will have plenty of chance to find out what the charm is good for." "we've got to be doing something, dick," said matt. "we can't hang around and wait for the dried frog to help carl." "we might slant away and look up that expressman," returned dick. "he could probably tell us where he took carl, and bangs, and the box." "a good tip!" exclaimed matt. "we'll go on a still hunt for the expressman." after reassuring himself that the _hawk_ would be safely looked after by the watchman, matt and dick left the docks and began hunting for the man who had been hired by bangs to take the iron chest into the town. chapter vii. dried frogs--and luck. mr. bangs had a very dark complexion, black hair, black eyes, and a ropy black mustache. his face had a puffed, unhealthy look--probably due to dissipation--and his walk was a sort of slumping process which proved, beyond the power of words, that he was dead to ambition and lost to hope. in the worst sense of the term, he had ceased to live for himself and was living for others--a mere tool for the unscrupulous whenever there was a dollar to be turned. and yet there was something very plausible about bangs. he had an engaging way with him, whenever he desired to put it forward, and he used it to the limit when accosting dick and carl on the docks. carl, no less than dick, believed firmly that everything was all right, and that bangs was really the friend of townsend and had been sent to the levee to watch for the air ship. it pleased the dutch boy to think that he was to go with bangs and the iron chest, and he was delighted with the dried frog amulet, which matt had seemed to forget about since leaving the bayou. of course carl believed in charms. having a wholesome regard for yamousa's powers, it was natural for him to have abundant faith in the dried frog. stowing the relic away in his pocket, he mounted the express wagon with the utmost confidence, waved his hand to dick, and then rolled away with bangs, the expressman, and the iron chest. carl's "luck" began the moment the express wagon turned into canal street. the old, square stone flagging, in that part of town, was deeply worn. the front wheel of the wagon on carl's side plunged into a rut, and carl fell forward on the backs of the mules and then rolled down under their heels. the hind heels of a mule are dangerous objects to tamper with, and in less than half a second the expressman's team got very busy. carl distinctly remembered pitching over upon the backs of the mules, and he had a hazy recollection of slipping down inside the pole, but after that he drew a blank. when he opened his eyes and looked around, he was sitting up in the street, supported by bangs. the expressman was picking up his hat, and a crowd was gathering. "it was a right smart of a jolt," grinned one of the bystanders. "don't you-all know it's bad business t' tampah with the south end of a mu-el goin' no'th?" asked another. "vas it an eart'quake?" inquired carl, mechanically taking his hat. "der puildings vas shdill shdanding on der shtreet, und nodding vas dorn oop mooch, aber somet'ing must haf habbened." "you done drapped on de mu-els," said the colored proprietor of the express wagon. "dey's gentle, an' dey'll eat oats off'n de back of a choo-choo engyne, but dey won't stan' fo' no meddlin' wid dey feet." "hurt?" inquired bangs, helping carl erect. "vell," answered carl, feeling himself all over, "dere don'd vas any vone blace vere i feel der vorst, but dere iss a goneness all ofer me, oop und down und sideways. oof i hat a gun," he finished, his temper rising, "i vould go on a mule hunt." carl slapped the dust from his clothes and climbed back into the wagon. before he gripped the seat with both hands, he transferred the dried frog from the left-hand pocket of his coat to the right-hand pocket. "meppy i ditn't put it in der righdt blace," he thought. the express wagon turned from canal street into royal, and from royal into st. peter, halting before a dingy building, with iron balconies, not far from congo square. a mulatto woman sat in the doorway of the building with a basket of pralines in front of her on the walk. carl took one handle of the chest, and bangs the other. the chest, being of iron, was heavy. somebody had spilled a pitcher of milk on the sidewalk and carl's foot slipped as he crossed the wet spot. his end of the chest dropped, barking one of his shins and landing on the toes of one of his feet. carl gave a yell of pain and toppled over, sitting down with a good deal of force in the basket of pralines. the praline vendor had been knitting, but she sprang up, when she saw the destruction the dutch boy was causing to her stock in trade, and tried to make a pin cushion of him with her knitting needles. bangs rushed to the rescue, and carl, after placating the woman with a silver dollar, once more picked up his end of the chest and limped after bangs. the doorway through which they passed led them into a narrow, ill-smelling corridor, open to the sky and filled with rubbish. out of the rubbish grew a number of untrimmed and uncared-for oleander bushes. "now," remarked bangs, not unkindly, "you can sit down here and rest. i'll have the creole gentleman who lives here help me up to townsend's room with the chest; then i'll tell townsend about you, and he'll come down and give you a hearty greeting." "mebby i pedder go mit der chest?" objected carl. a look of pained surprise crossed bangs' face. "you don't think for a moment, my dear friend," said he, "that i'm trying to deceive you? i merely wish to announce your coming to my friend townsend so that he'll come down here personally and give you welcome." "ach, vell go aheadt," muttered carl, dropping down on a box near a clump of oleanders and nursing his foot. bangs gave a whistle. the creole gentleman, barefooted and wearing a red flannel shirt and tattered trousers, appeared in the courtyard from nowhere in particular, and he and bangs passed a few words in french. the creole gentleman grinned a little and laid hold of one of the iron handles. bangs took the other, and they carried the iron chest up a stairway to a gallery on the second floor. carl watched the two mount the stairs and pass around the gallery to a door; then the door opened and the two men and the iron chest disappeared. the creole gentleman did not show himself again, and if he left the room into which he had gone with bangs he must have passed out by some other way than the gallery. the moment carl was by himself, he changed the dried frog to the breast pocket of his coat. "i don'd got him in der righdt blace for luck," thought carl. "meppy dot iss pedder. oof i lif long enough to ged der frog vere he ought to be, i bed you i haf some goot fortunes." while carl leaned back, and waited, there came a shrill cry from behind another clump of oleanders: "get out of here! get out! get out! sic him, tige!" carl, fearing the onslaught of a dog, snatched up a piece of wood and jumped to the top of the box. no dog came. "don'd you set some dogs on me!" he called. "i got as mooch righdt here as anypody. i vas vaiding for misder downsent. who you vas, anyhow?" "you're the limit!" came the shrill words. "go soak your head! police! police!" as the last word rang through the courtyard, carl's cap was jerked off his head from behind. with an angry shout, he whirled just in time to see the branches shaking as the thief got away. "i'm der limid, am i?" he muttered, crashing through the bushes. "want me to go soak my headt, hey? vell, py chiminy, i show you somet'ing." when carl got through the bushes the thief had disappeared, but a wild, rollicking laugh came from behind the other thicket of oleanders. running in that direction he came upon a yellow-crested parrot chained to a perch. the parrot seemed to be getting a good deal of fun out of the situation, for he was lifting himself up and down and chuckling fiendishly. "vy," gasped carl, a slow grin working its way over his face, "it vas a barrot! pooty poll! sooch a nice pird vat it iss! vant some crackers? say somet'ing, vonce, und----" just at that moment, something hit carl on the back of the head. whirling away from the parrot, he looked upward. a black monkey was clinging to the ironwork of the gallery overhead. in one paw the monkey held carl s cap, and with the other paw he was fishing bits of plaster out of the wall and throwing them downward. "und dere iss a monkey, too!" exclaimed carl. "it looks like i vas in a menacherie. say, you monk, gif me dot hat!" "sic 'im, tige!" shrilled the parrot. "police! police!" the monkey chattered and flaunted the cap defiantly, at the same time getting ready to throw another piece of plaster. "nice leedle monk!" wheedled carl. "iss der leedle monkey hungry? den come down und ged some peanuds vich i ain'd got! pooty leedle monk! py shinks, i vill preak you in doo oof you don'd----" biff! the piece of plaster came downward, straight as a die, and landed on carl's chin. that was more than carl's temper could stand, and he started up the stairway toward the gallery. in order to get near the monkey he had to run around the gallery, past the door through which the creole gentleman and bangs had vanished with the chest. there was a window, set in a sort of embrasure, beside the door, and one of the lights was broken out. as carl passed under the window, on his way around the gallery, he heard a voice that brought him to a gasping halt. all thoughts of his stolen cap, and the monkey, left his mind. staggering up against the balcony rail, he stood there blinking in stunned bewilderment. "vas i ashleep?" he whispered; "vas i treaming? i vonder oof i can pelief vat i hear, or----" he broke off his words abruptly, turned and stepped to the wall. here he paused just long enough to shift the dried frog from his coat to his trousers pocket, then, softly, climbed into the embrasure and peered through the broken pane of the window. no, he had not been asleep, or dreaming. he was peering into a room in which were two men, neither of whom was the creole gentleman. one of the men was bangs, and the other was--lat jurgens! between them stood the iron chest. chapter viii. the plotters. "you're a good one, proctor!" jurgens was saying, leaning over the chest and rubbing his hands. "this is the biggest piece of luck that ever came my way. did whistler have anything to do with it?" "whistler?" returned bangs. "how could he have anything to do with it? he's not in town." "i know that, but he went to see the voodoo woman to try and have her give him a line on the chest. he left yesterday, and here the chest drops into our hands. it looks to me as though old yamousa had been giving us a helping hand." "bosh!" returned bangs disgustedly, "yamousa didn't have a thing to do with it. i was waiting for that air ship to come in, accordin' to that telegram townsend sent to motor matt and which you found out about. it came, but there were only two boys in the car. they landed on stuyvesant dock, and they hadn't any more than got the craft secured before i was right there. i told 'em the yarn we had framed up--how townsend was expecting them but was so busy he couldn't come, so had sent me." bangs chuckled. "they swallowed the yarn, all right," he went on. "while i was talking i saw the iron chest in the car. say, that almost took me off my feet. however did it happen to get into the hands of those boys?" "pass the ante, proctor. didn't they tell you?" "nary a word. they said motor matt would be along, in a little while, but that's all they told me about him. i suggested that one of them go with me to take the chest to townsend, and the dutch boy was the one who came. he's down in the courtyard now, waiting for townsend to come and give him a welcome." bangs dropped into a chair as he finished and gave vent to a low laugh. "didn't they ask you how townsend had come to get separated from the chest?" asked jurgens. "yes." "and what did you tell 'em?" "the truth; that the chest had been stolen from townsend. even then the two boys wouldn't tell me where they had found the chest. i reckon motor matt, who seems to be pretty long-headed, must have warned them to keep mum." jurgens continued to chuckle and rub his hands. "blamed if things aren't coming our way better than i had imagined they would!" he exclaimed. "this is rich, and no mistake. and you say the dutchman is down in the court?" "that's it." "waiting for me to slip down and give him the glad hand?" "that's what he's waiting for," guffawed bangs. "well, i'll give him the hand, all right, but there'll be something in it. we've got to take care of him, in some way, until----" whatever jurgens' plans were concerning carl they did not appear. fate, at that moment, hastened events toward a conclusion. the square window, against which carl was leaning and listening, was far from secure. in his interest and excitement, he bore rather harder upon the window than he intended. as a result, the window suddenly gave way and carl fell crashing with it into the room. just how much the dried frog in carl's pocket had to do with the mishap is for those versed in superstitious lore to answer. ever since he had taken possession of the charm he had encountered a run of hard luck, but everything that had so far happened to him was trivial as compared with this final catastrophe. before he could get to his feet he had been pounced upon by bangs and jurgens, dragged clear of the broken glass and held firmly down on his back. "he's not so much of a fool as you thought, proctor!" growled jurgens. "he was in the window, listening." "much good it'll do him!" grunted bangs. "we've got the chest, and what he discovered won't do him any good." "you bet it won't! get a rope." bangs secured a rope from somewhere in the room and carl was expeditiously lashed by the hands and feet. "himmelblitzen!" ground out carl. "you vas a humpug, pangs! you say you vas somet'ing, und you peen somet'ing else. py chincher, oof i hat der use oof my handts i vould make you t'ink you vas hit mit some cyclones." "oh, come," laughed bangs, "don't be so fierce. we've got you, and we've got the chest, and that pal of yours is away off on stuyvesant dock and hasn't the least notion where you are. sing small, my fat kiskidee; it won't do you any good to take on." "vait, py chinks!" flamed carl; "schust vait ondil modor matt findts oudt vat iss going on. den, i bed you, someding vill habben. i don'd know nodding, und tick he don'd know nodding eider; aber matt--vell, dere iss a feller vat knows more as you. look oudt for him, dot's all." "where is motor matt?" demanded jurgens. "ask me," said carl. "that's what i'm doing." "veil, keep on; und ven i dell you somet'ing, schust led me know. churgens, you vas a pad egg, und you vill ged vat's coming by you vone oof dose tays. how you ged off dot islant in der pahamas? "ask me," taunted jurgens. "vat a frame-oop!" muttered carl dejectedly. "look here, vonce: vere iss downsent?" "ask me again," said jurgens mockingly. "how you steal dot chest from him?" "i don't mind telling you that," grinned jurgens. "the information can't possibly harm us, because we'll be out of the way long before you can tell any one; and i'd like to have motor matt, who's been bucking us ever since we first went on the trail of the chest, know just what we've done to his friend townsend. "townsend bobbed up off the levee in that submarine boat of his, a few days ago, and whistler and i were on hand watching for him to arrive. he got here at night, unloaded the chest, and had a man start for town with it on a wheelbarrow. it was a foolish thing for townsend to do--try to wheel the chest away with only himself and the man at the wheelbarrow to look out for it." jurgens paused and gave bangs a wink. "townsend never got to the place he was going with that chest, eh, proctor?" he continued. "we'd just lowered the chest into a rowboat when a couple of watchman came along. we got off from the levee to wait until the watchman got past, and then, when we went after the boat, it had disappeared. we hunted good and hard for it, but haven't seen the boat since. whistler went to talk with a voodoo woman he used to know to see if she could tell him what became of the boat and the chest. he hasn't got back yet; but here's the chest, big as life, all safely locked and ready for us to open it. where did you fellows pick up the chest, dutchy?" "talk aboudt der vedder," suggested carl. "oh, well, if you don't want to loosen up you needn't. we knew you were coming here to help townsend. townsend sent you a telegram--or, rather, cassidy, one of his men, sent the telegram the next day after we got hold of the chest. townsend hadn't shown up on the submarine, but cassidy had his orders, i reckon. an assistant of mine was shadowing cassidy, and he discovered the contents of the message. after that, i had proctor down on the river front waiting for you to arrive in the _hawk_. proctor was surprised when he found that you were bringing the chest with you. it was a joyful surprise for all of us, and you and ferral dropped into proctor's trap too easy for any use. i wonder if you've got anything of importance about your clothes? search him, proctor." carl never had much money, and very little else of any importance, in his pockets. he had nothing, now, but, as bangs knelt beside him and began his search, carl thought instantly of the dried frog. so far from being a luck bringer, the frog was a hoodoo. carl was thoroughly convinced of that; and he had a feeling that no good fortune could come his way so long as he kept yamousa's charm in his pocket. he wanted to unload it, and he would rather unload it upon bangs or jurgens than any one else. if he could give them the same run of hard luck that he had been having, it might be easier for matt to recover the chest. "i don'd got nodding," said carl, squirming and playing a part which he had swiftly mapped out for himself. "i reckon what he says is true," bangs reported, having discovered only a jackknife, a fishline, a stump of a lead pencil, and a ham sandwich. "he's panning out mighty slim, jurgens. if---- ha! what's this?" bangs pulled the dried frog out of carl's hip pocket, looked at it curiously and held it up for jurgens' inspection. "great guns!" exclaimed jurgens. "it looks like a dead frog." "gif it pack!" cried carl, to all appearances greatly perturbed. "it vas moder matt's charm, his luck pringer. it don'd vas vort' anyt'ing to you." "motor matt's luck bringer, eh?" muttered bangs. "well, from all i heard of that fellow his luck has been phenomenal. do you want this thing, jurgens?" "not i, proctor," answered jurgens. "then," went on bangs, coolly appropriating the charm, "i'll just take it myself and see if some of motor matt's luck won't come my way." "i thought you didn't believe in such things?" "no more i don't, but i'm going to test this amulet and see what it will do for me." "take efervt'ing else vat i got," begged carl, "only gif me pack dot charm!" "not on your life!" said bangs. "if it's so valuable to motor matt it ought to be worth just as much to me." carl, it is needless to say, was delighted to have the trouble maker in bangs' possession. it was the first bright spot in his experiences since leaving the docks with bangs and the expressman. "get a cold chisel and a hammer, proctor," said jurgens, briskly; "it's high time we got the chest opened and pulled out with the treasure." "you leaf dot chest alone!" fumed carl. "yes?" laughed jurgens. "well, hardly. just lie there, dutchy, and see us dig out more treasure than you ever set eyes on in your life before. when you leave here, you can tell townsend how we got away with the loot. inform him, for me that lat jurgens wasn't born yesterday, and that it will take a better man than nemo, jr., to get the best of him." at that moment, bangs came up with a cold chisel and a hammer and fell to work on the treasure box. chapter ix. the head of obboney. carl's pleasure in getting rid of the charm was rather tempered by this attack on the iron chest. that chest had had a checkered career. where the man from cape town got it, or what he had put into it, no one knew. the man from cape town had declared that it contained treasure, and he had drawn a chart, showing an uninhabited sand key in the bahamas and indicating a cave on the key where the chest could be found. the chest had passed rapidly into the hands of jurgens and whistler, then into the possession of motor matt and his friends, then to townsend, then back to jurgens, then once more to motor matt, and now, for the final time it seemed, to jurgens. all these changes were attended with more or less violence and astonishing adventure. with keen eyes carl watched proceedings. sturdy blows of the hammer drove the point of the cold chisel into the old lock, destroyed its mechanism and rent it apart. as bangs dropped his hammer and chisel and prepared to lift the lid, jurgens approached and leaned over excitedly. "there ought to be enough treasure in that chest," said he to bangs, "to make whistler and you and me independent, proctor." a gleam arose in bangs' watery black eyes and a deeper red ran into his puffy face. "all i want's enough to keep me in liquor," said bangs. "it's a modest ambition," returned jurgens. "i've got other plans for myself--but every man his own way. lift the lid." the heavy cover grated on its hinges as bangs pushed it back. the chest appeared to be filled with brownish particles. with a disappointed oath, jurgens scooped up a handful of the particles and held them close to his eyes. "sawdust!" he exclaimed; "mahogany sawdust!" and he cast the stuff from him fiercely. "that's your treasure, is it?" sneered bangs. "that's what we've been workin' for, and playin' tag with the law for, and gettin' into trouble for, is it? pah!" bangs got up disgustedly. "i was a fool ever to go into this thing. that man from cape town has been playin' a joke. sawdust! a box of sawdust!" carl chuckled, but the two men were so wrought up they did not hear him, or pay any attention to him. carl felt sure that the dried frog was getting in its work. the spell of the hoodoo was over jurgens, and bangs, and the iron chest. of course, carl was wide of his reckoning when he allowed his thoughts to take this course. but, then, he was superstitious. why yamousa, a friend of matt's, should want to load him up with hoodoo and tell him it would bring him luck, was a point carl had already considered. he explained that point, to his own satisfaction at least, by imagining that the charm would bring luck to matt alone, and bad luck to everybody else. explanations are always easy when a fellow wants to prove anything! "wait a minute, proctor," called jurgens. bangs had started for the door with the evident intention of going away and washing his hands of the whole affair. at this call, however, he turned back. "well?" he queried. "i'll bet money there's something in here besides sawdust. let's not form any snap judgments till we dig to the bottom." "pirates don't pack pieces-of-eight in sawdust!" scowled bangs. "pirates didn't have anything to do with this treasure. it came from south africa and was brought to the spanish main in a modern ship." "you half told me cap'n kidd had stowed that away on turtle key!" "i said that to get you interested, and secure your help." "and i've rung the creole gentleman that owns this house in on the deal! well, you'll have to make it right with him, that's all." "i'll take care of the creole gentleman!" with that, jurgens turned the chest upside down, pushed it away and began kicking the heap of sawdust right and left. something was found--but it was not what jurgens and bangs seemed to hope for. a round object rolled out of the brownish particles and stopped rolling directly at jurgens' feet. jurgens leaped back with a startled exclamation, and stood staring. bangs muttered something, and backed away. the round object was a carved head--and as hideous a bit of work as carl had ever seen. the eyes were black and beady, and set under heavy overhanging brows; the nose was wide at its base and suggested the negroid type; the mouth had thick lips and was twisted into a grin. but it was not a mirthful grin the face wore--far from that. there was something demoniacal, menacing and uncanny in that petrified grin--something that caught the heart with clammy hands and sent chill after chill along the nerves. carl turned his face away. bangs, with a terrified yell, jumped for the door, but jurgens grabbed him before he could get out of the room. "hold up, you fool!" stormed jurgens. "are you going to run from a piece of carved wood?" "hanged if i want to be anywhere near that thing!" palpitated bangs. "let's get out of here!" "wait. put a clamp on your nerves and don't make a fool of yourself." leaving bangs to watch him with bulging eyes, jurgens returned to the head and picked it up. "there are letters carved in the top of it," said he. "do they spell anything?" whispered bangs, moistening his dry lips with his tongue. "'obboney.' that's what i make out of them." "what's obboney?" queried bangs. "does it mean anything? if it does, what?" "dere iss a baper in der sawdust," spoke up carl, whose interest in the head was about as terrifying as bangs. jurgens looked down, saw a bit of white in the sawdust, then reached for it and shook it clear of the brown particles. he unfolded a note, written on parchment or some sort of tanned skin. "well!" he exclaimed. "what is it?" asked bangs, anxiously. "it's a key to the mystery. listen." thereupon bangs read the following: "'the head of obboney. read and give heed, for the head of obboney contains many things, perilous and otherwise to human beings. "'obboney is a malicious deity of the koromantyn, or gold coast negroes, of africa; he is the author of all evil, and when his displeasure is signified by the infliction of pestilential disorders, or otherwise, nothing will divert his anger but human sacrifices; and these sacrifices are selected from captives taken in war, or, if there be none, then from the slaves of the koromantyns.'" jurgens paused. the paper shook in his fingers and fell fluttering to the floor. he lifted a hand to his face and rubbed his eyes. "what's the matter with you?" demanded bangs. "i don't know," answered jurgens, hoarsely. "do you smell a peculiar odor in this room?" "i've been smelling that for several minutes. where does it come from?" "i--i don't know, but it seems to lay hold of muscle and brain, like--like poison." jurgens had been holding the head of obboney in the crook of his left arm. just when he finished speaking, the head dropped with a thump into the sawdust; jurgens staggered back, tried to recover his balance, failed, and crumpled to the floor. "are you sick?" demanded bangs, stepping hurriedly to jurgens' side. "i--i don't know what's the matter with me," whispered jurgens. "some--some infernal power has--has laid hold of me and----" his head sank back, his limbs relaxed, and he lay with closed eyes, silent save for his stentorous breathing. carl was also conscious of a slow stupor creeping through his nerves. "let me oop!" he gasped, struggling to sit up. "take der ropes off oof me und led us ged oudt oof here. oof ve don't leaf, ve vill be deadt men pefore you can say chack ropinson!" "but--but where does that--that odor come from?" demanded bangs, himself rapidly losing consciousness. "from--from der headt!" stuttered carl, wildly. "take it avay! trow it from der vindow! it iss pad--pad meticine! it vas a hootoo, py shinks, und----" carl's words faded into silence. like jurgens, he fell backward and began breathing heavily. bangs stared for a moment, then staggered toward the door, intent on reaching purer air. but he never gained the entrance. the mysterious odor claimed him and he sank to the floor with a hollow groan. he tried to roll away, but gave a gasp and his senses left him. thus the malicious obboney was doing his deadly work. the head, lying face upward in the sawdust, grinned vindictively and the jetty eyes glittered. could any one have seen the carved head, just then, it would have seemed to be exulting over its power, and what its power had accomplished. heavier and heavier came the breathing of the sleepers, and thicker and thicker grew the odor in the room. it seemed certain that death must overtake the three who were under the head's evil influence. then, suddenly, a black shape bounded into the embrasure of the window. it was the monkey, and the monkey was still playing with carl's cap. standing on all four paws in the embrasure, the monkey danced up and down and surveyed the scene below him. he seemed to wonder at the silence of the figures sprawled on the floor. his simian senses were attracted by the gleaming eyes of obboney, and he began to chatter; in another moment he had leaped into the room, bounded to the heap of sawdust and picked up the head. then, like a thief fearing detection, he bounded chattering back to the window, dropping the cap and clinging with both his forepaws to the head. in the space of a breath, he was out of the room and upon the gallery. chapter x. on the trail. it looked as though bangs, in carrying out his plot to secure the chest, had overreached himself in one important particular. the expressman he hired to carry the iron chest to the house in st. peters street had a stand near the railroad station, close to the levee, and it was here that matt and dick found him. prudence in carrying out his treachery should have made bangs wary about hiring an expressman who could be found so easily. however, bangs had probably but little time to spare, and no doubt he expected to be away from the st. peters street house before any one could suspect what he was up to and follow him there. "you're the fellow who came to stuyvesant dock about half-past ten this morning and took away an iron chest, aren't you?" inquired dick, facing the expressman. "ah reckons you-all's got de wrong pig by de ear, boss," said the darky. "ah didn't tote no iron chest fo' nobody." "stow it!" cried dick, looking at the man keenly. "you're the swab, all right." "positive of it, dick?" put in matt. "i'd take my solemn alfred he's the man!" "then," went on matt, quietly, "bangs has probably paid him something to keep still! i'll watch him, dick, while you go and get a policeman." at that, the darky rolled up the whites of his eyes, and showed other signs of trepidation. "hol' up dar, cap'n," he called to dick, who had started away. "doan' go an' hurry off daterway. mebby ah was de feller. what ob it?" "now you're talking sensibly," said matt. "do you remember where you took the chest?" "ah doan jis' riccolect," the negro answered, scratching his woolly head. "ah wisht ah did, sah, if it would be any help t' yo, but mah mem'ry is dat sho't ah done kain't seem tuh remembah nuffin'." this was so plainly a falsehood that matt turned to dick. "go on after the officer, dick," said he. "this fellow don't intend to play fair with us. perhaps we can take him to jail and make him talk." "wait, dar!" cried the darky. "you-all is so quick tuh go off an do somefin'. yassuh, ah reckons ah kin remembah de place. hit was in toulouse street. ah'll take yo' dar if yo' wants tuh go." "we'll go," answered matt. "get into the wagon, dick." the darky drove over his former course, but instead of keeping on to st. peters he turned to the left at toulouse, and brought up before a building two blocks from royal. "dar's de bery place," said he, pointing to the building with his stump of a whip. matt had one of his swift "hunches" that the darky was still trying to fool them. "you stay here with him, dick," said he, starting to get down from the wagon. "it won't take me long to find out whether or not the chest is in that house. if it isn't there, we'll know we haven't been brought to the right place, and then we can call in the officer." "ah reckon yo' bettah sot right down ag'in, boss," said the expressman to matt. "dishyer ain't de place. hit's on st. peters street, an' dis time i'll take yo' dar, hones'. 'clar tuh goodness, ah nebber seen sich fellers as you-all tuh stick an' hang. now, den, we's goin' tuh de right place." he started up his mules again. "you're going to run foul of a lot of trouble if you keep trying to fool us," warned dick. "ah ain't gwine tuh try hit no mo'," returned the darky, earnestly. "how much did bangs give you to keep still about that iron chest?" queried matt. "bangs?" echoed the darky. "whaffur yo' call him bangs, boss? dat feller's name is proctor." "well, proctor, then. how much did he give you?" "he done gib me five dollahs. yo' ain't expectin' tuh take hit away from me, is yo'?" "if we find you're still trying to fool us," answered matt, severely, "we'll not only have the money taken from you, but your license, as well." "ah's gwine tuh do de right thing now, boss," was the earnest response. "you-all kin bank on dat." a little later he stopped at the right place, and matt and dick got down from the wagon. the praline woman had repaired the damage carl had caused her stock in trade and was still in the doorway. "how long have you been here, aunty?" matt asked, dropping a quarter in the negress' lap. "all day, boss," was the answer. "did you see a man and a boy go in here with a big iron box?" "'deed ah did, sah!" said the woman, vehemently. "de fat boy done slipped on de walk an' squashed down en mah basket ob pralines. i was paid fo' dat, dough, an' dey went on into de house." "the trail's getting hot," spoke up dick. "who lives in the house?" asked matt. "m'sieu rigolette." matt turned and pulled a bell at the door. after a minute or two some one came out on an iron balcony over the door and looked down. it was the creole gentleman, still in his bare feet and wearing his tattered trousers and flannel shirt. there was a wild, apprehensive look in his face, and he would have withdrawn as suddenly as he had appeared if dick had not caught sight of him and given a yell. "ahoy there, you!" "vat you vant?" came the query. "your name rigolette?" "_oui_--yes. why?" "come down here," said matt. "we want to talk with you." "i haf done nozzing wrong," returned rigolette, in a whining, apologetic voice. "we don't say you have," answered matt, fully convinced now that something unusual had taken place in the house, "and all we want you to do is to come down and talk with us." the fellow disappeared from the balcony and presently showed himself in the door. "vat eet ees?" he inquired. there was fear in his shifty eyes as he flashed them over matt and carl. "is there a man named townsend in your house?" returned matt. "_non_--no. zere ees no man lak dat.' "a man named jurgens, then?" rigolette started and hunched his shoulders. "no, jurgens ees not here, m'sieu." "he's talking double, matt," struck in dick; "i can see it in his eyes." "zere ees no sooch man," cried rigollette, "_non_, i swear eet!" "or proctor?" rigolette quailed under matt's steady look. the creole, with a groan, flung out his hands. "_oui_--yes," he murmured, "zey was here, _mais_ not no more. zat ees ze trut'." "where are they? and where is the german boy who came with proctor? and the iron chest they brought with them?" "zat ees ze puzzle--ze riddle, wat you call. ze chest, ah, ha, i show heem; _mais_ ze boy, proctair an' jurgens, zey haf gone. one by one zey go, run down ze stairs lak ze wild man, zen t'roo de court and out ze door, and away. zey was cr-r-razy, an' zey keel ze p'tit joujou!" rigolette wrung his hands. "ze p'tit joujou," he wailed. "the more he talks," said dick, "the less we know." "take us to the chest," ordered matt, turning to the creole. "zen _allons_!" returned the owner of the house. "i haf done nozzing wrong, for i be ver' good frenchmans, creole frenchmans," he called over his shoulder. "something has happened, we can be jolly sure of that, matey," remarked dick, moving along at matt's side. "that's an easy guess, dick," said matt. "the question is, what's happened?" in the court the creole paused beside a black shape lying on the ground. it was a monkey, and the monkey, as could be seen at a glance, was dead. its hairy arms were embracing the head of obboney, holding it in such a position that the beady eyes stared upward into the faces of the boys. "wow-whoosh!" gulped dick, starting back. "keelhaul me if i ever saw anything like that before. br-r-r! it sends the cold shivers up and down my spine. what do you make of it, matt?" matt, an odd, uncanny feeling racing through him, bent down and examined the head. "it looks like the head of some heathen idol, dick," he replied. "what killed the monkey, rigolette?" he asked. "zat i do not know, m'sieu," whimpered the creole. "ze poor p'tit joujou!" "i smell something that's powerful strong," observed dick, lifting his head and sniffing. "don't you, mate?" "yes," said matt, "and it's something that makes me dizzy. where did that head come from, rigolette?" "me, i do not know, m'sieu. ze hor-r-rible head! ou, ai, i don't like zat to be here, but i plenty scare' to take heem away from ze p'tit joujou." "well," and matt turned away, "where's the chest? take us to the chest, rigolette." the creole led the way to the stairs and up to the room on the first balcony. "here ees w'ere zey breeng ze chest," said he, "an' zere you see heem." with the last words he stepped into the room and pointed. the chest, with the lid thrown back, lay to one side of the room. near it was the pile of sawdust. dick, catching sight of something near the heap of sawdust, stepped forward and picked the object up. "carl's cap!" exclaimed matt. "right-o!" returned dick. "but why should the cap be here and not carl? we're in deep waters, matey. look at that raffle of cord on the floor. some one's been tied, here, and slipped the lashings. sink me, but it must have been carl!" matt whirled on the creole. "did proctor and jurgens make the boy a prisoner?" he demanded. "i know nozzing, m'sieu," replied the creole; "i haf done nozzing wrong." "did you----" just at that moment a door opened--a door opposite the one leading upon the gallery that overlooked the court. "bangs!" shouted dick, pointing to a wild figure that appeared in the doorway. with a snarl like that of an angry panther, the figure turned and leaped for an open window. matt and dick both sprang in pursuit. chapter xi. a black mystery. bangs, it seemed clear, had entered the other room through a window in the side of the house. the roof of a one-story building came close up under the window, so that it was comparatively easy to enter rigolette's house in that manner. and bangs was trying to make his escape in the same way he had come. he jumped from the window to the neighboring rooftop and started for the edge of the roof. matt and dick, however, were upon him before he could get over the roof's edge and drop to the ground. bangs fought fiercely, clawing and growling, like a wild animal. his eyes were wild, he was bareheaded and his hair was tumbled over his forehead. "the man's crazy," said matt. "is it drink did it?" asked dick. "has he been topping the boom too much?" "no, it wasn't drink; it's something else. let's get him back to rigolette's and see if he's able to give us any information." getting the squirming bangs back to the creole's was not an easy matter. however, rigolette dropped the pieces of rope lying in the room where carl had been confined, from the window, and the boys made their captive's wrists and ankles secure; then they heaved bangs upward, and the creole caught him by the shoulders and dragged him through the opening. "he ees wild," chattered rigolette; "ever'body ees wild. i was wild myself." "i say, bangs!" called dick, kneeling beside the prisoner and shaking him. "what's the matter with you?" bangs mumbled incoherently and stared fiercely. "do you think he's putting it on, mate?" said dick, appealing to matt. "no, he's not putting it on. the man's really daft." matt turned to rigolette. "you say the boy and jurgens were like bangs, here?" "_oui_--yes," said the creole. "zey run from ze house; now proctair, he ees come back by ze roof. w'y he do zat w'en he could come by ze door? zat ees a mystery." "aye, a black mystery!" cried dick. "carl was certainly here," mused matt; "the finding of his cap proves it. and it's almost equally clear that he was a prisoner. something locoed him, as well as bangs and jurgens; and carl, in some manner, got out of his ropes. where is he now? that's the point. and the iron chest--was that all that was in it?" and matt nodded toward the heap of sawdust. at that moment the scrap of paper, which jurgens had dropped, met his eyes. he picked it up. "what is it, mate?" asked dick, anxiously. "does it shed any light?" matt read the paper aloud. "strike me lucky!" exclaimed dick. "that head--it must have been in the box. wasn't there anything else?" matt dropped to his knees excitedly and began running his fingers through the sawdust. "that was all," said he, "the head of obboney and this paper." dick laughed harshly. "and that's the treasure jurgens and whistler have been hunting for!" he exclaimed. "the head of an idol--a heathen idol! i wonder what townsend will say to this? the man from cape town seems to have pulled the wool over the eyes of everybody." "why didn't jurgens take the head away with him if it was in the box?" matt queried, thoughtfully. "probably he didn't think it was worth bothering with; either that or else he was too crazy to think of it." "go down and get the head, dick," said matt. "we might as well put it back in the chest and try and deliver everything to townsend just as we found it." "aye, aye," answered dick, and started. matt was astounded by the situation which confronted him and dick in the creole's house. bangs had engineered a piece of successful treachery, but, in the end, the treachery had somehow turned against him and jurgens. what had caused the death of the monkey? and what was it that had turned the brains of bangs, jurgens and carl? bangs was clearly demented, and if rigolette was to be believed, so were jurgens and carl. and only that idol's head had been in the iron chest! yes, truly, the affair was a mystery--and a black one. while matt was struggling to think of something that might help to a solution of the problem, dick came bounding up the stairs and along the gallery. "it's gone!" he panted. matt whirled on him in consternation. "what, the head of obboney?" he asked. "nothing else, old ship! it's not where we saw it and it isn't anywhere in the court. the negro woman at the door says that a man answering jurgens' description rushed into the house and out again. he had something when he went out, but she couldn't see what it was. i'll bet it was that idol's head, mate!" "it must have been!" exclaimed matt. "perhaps a little reason returned to jurgens and he came back after the head. did he seem to be crazy, or in any manner off his balance?" "the woman says he looked wild, didn't say a word and went like a streak." "well," said matt, regretfully, "we've been beaten out, after all. what we've got to do now is to find carl." "where'll we look for him? we can go cruising around, but this is a big town and, if carl is off his bearings, there's no telling where he'll go." "if he's very much off his bearings, the police will pick him up. and the same with jurgens. but----" matt halted and gave a glance at rigolette, who was leaning moodily against the wall. "come over here, dick," said matt, stepping to one side. when his chum joined him, he lowered his voice so the creole could not hear what was said. "you remember that smoke picture of yamousa's--the one you and i saw?" "dowse me, mate, if i could ever forget that!" "what do you think of yamousa and her smoke pictures, by now?" "why, i'm not much of a hand to believe in things like that," replied dick, slowly, "but that first smoke picture, showing the boat and the chest, with the _hawk_ overhead and you below--why, that was a dead ringer for what happened. blow me tight! i'm fair dazed to account for that picture." "so am i," continued matt, earnestly, "but this is what i'm trying to get at. if one picture gave a truthful forecast of what was to happen, isn't it possible that the second picture was equally truthful and to be depended on?" "more than possible, matt--_probable_." "do you recollect what that second picture was? "why, a room with stone walls and a man who looked like townsend lashed by the hands and feet and lying on the floor!" "then, if you remember, we saw the outside of the building--or what yamousa said was the outside of it--and the lower story was occupied by an antique shop." "right-o! the sign above the shop bore the name of crenelette." "exactly. now, dick, it strikes me we ought to go down royal street and look for crenelette's place of business. there's nothing we can do for carl, just now, inasmuch as we don't know where to go to find him, and there may be something we _can_ do for townsend." "your head's level, matey, like it always is. we'll go on a hunt for townsend. if the contents of the iron chest can't be recovered, we must do the next best thing and help townsend out of a hole--provided he _is_ in a hole, which seems almost certain." matt turned away and addressed himself to rigolette. "how long was jurgens here, in your house, rigolette?" he asked. "two--t'ree day, m'sieu." "what was he doing here?" "zat i do not know. _sapristi!_ my head ees buzzing wit' all dese zings vat i don't onderstan'." "you may not have been doing anything wrong, of your own knowledge, by harboring and helping jurgens and proctor, rigolette, but those men are criminals, and you've got to walk pretty straight from this on if you don't want to get yourself into trouble." "i no want ze trouble, m'sieu!" whined the creole. "i have ze trouble enough wizout making more." "then keep proctor here, just as he is. he may come to himself, before long, and when he does we'll try to get back and have a talk with him. comprenny?" "_oui_--yes. he ees my friend, but i keep heem lak you say. zen, bumby, eet may be he can tell what keel ze p'tit joujou." "i haven't any doubt but that he can let in a good deal of light upon the mystery. we'll try and return here, in a few hours. meanwhile, if the dutch boy wanders back, try and keep him." "i do w'at i can, m'sieu." matt and dick, puzzled and bewildered but hoping for results from their fresh line of inquiry, inquired their way to royal street and turned along it in the direction of canal. fortune favored them, for they had not gone a block along royal street before they saw an antique shop with the sign, "m. crenelette, antiques," over the door. matt and dick went to the other side of the street and took in the appearance of the building. in every particular it conformed to the smoke picture which they had seen, miles away, in the hut of yamousa. "i'm all ahoo!" admitted dick. "yamousa must know a whole lot of things that scientists haven't yet discovered. that's the building, to a dot!" "it's amazing!" murmured matt. "our cue seems to be a good one and it's up to us to follow it and see where it leads." "right-o! heave ahead and i'll tow along, ready for anything that happens." as the boys pushed across the street toward the door of the antique shop, a face dodged away from a second-story window. and it was a face which, if the boys had seen it, would have warned them to be on their guard. chapter xii. at close quarters. m. crenelette was a gray-haired, benevolent looking man with mild blue eyes. it was impossible to associate him with anything in the nature of lawlessness, and the boys were tempted to think they were on the wrong track. m. crenelette was french, but he talked english like one to the manner born. his establishment was a veritable junk shop. "what can i do for you, my friends?" he asked, getting up from a desk where he had been writing. "have you any objections to letting us take a look through your basement?" asked matt. "basement? basement?" repeated the antiquarian, puzzled. "yes, through the cellar under your store." "my dear young man, there are no cellars in new orleans. the ground is too low, and there is water too near the surface." once more matt and dick began to feel that they were making a mistake in coming to m. crenelette. "is there a room in this building that is inclosed with stone walls?" "ah!" and m. crenelette's face brightened, "you speak now of the vaults of the old bank. they are on the second floor. i do not use the second floor, and it was rented, a few days ago, to an american gentleman. he has not moved in, yet. what interests you in the old vault?" "we simply want to look it over," matt answered. "will you show us how to get up there? if the man who rented the place hasn't moved in yet i suppose there won't be any objection?" "certainly not. come this way." the frenchman passed out the rear of his store and pointed to an open back stairway. "the door may be locked," said he, "and, in that case, you will be disappointed, for i have given the key to the new tenant. you might go up the stairs and try the door." as matt and dick ascended the stairs, m. crenelette posted himself to watch. the bell at his front door suddenly tinkled, however, announcing a customer, and he had to go away. the boys tried the door and found it open. "the new tenant," remarked dick, "isn't a very careful man. i wonder if his name is jurgens?" "probably," said matt, stepping into the room beyond the door. it was a small room, and there was another door opposite the one by which he had entered. "dowse my toplights!" exclaimed dick. "this doesn't look much like a bank. and then the idea of a bank being on the second floor! all my eye and betty martin!" "perhaps the bank was on the first floor and the vaults on the second," suggested matt. "it was probably an old institution. from the looks of this building it must have been standing at the time jackson whipped the britishers." "i'm a britisher, you know, old ship," laughed dick, "and i don't like to have you rub that jackson fight into me. push ahead and let's see what's in the next room." matt opened the door and was confronted by a windowless room as dark as egypt. the only daylight that reached it came from the room in which the two boys were standing. "shiver me!" muttered dick. "i guess we've reached the vaults, matey." "they wouldn't have a door like this to a bank vault, dick. we'll go in and see if there isn't a door on the other side that we can open." matt entered the room, groping his way through the thick gloom. dick followed him closely. suddenly, the door through which they had just come slammed shut and a key was heard grating in the lock. "trapped!" muttered dick. "there was some one here and laying for us." "quick!" called matt, whirling around. "try the door." before dick could get back to it, matt heard a muttered exclamation and the sound of a struggle. it was impossible to see a thing, and the young motorist could only guess at what had happened. "dick!" he called, leaping forward. "look alive, mate!" panted dick. "some one's got hold of me." before dick had fairly finished speaking, a pair of stout arms went around matt, and he was forced to fight on his own account and leave dick to look after himself. it was a struggle at close quarters, and a very unequal one. slowly but steadily matt was forced across the floor. "who are you?" he panted. "what are----" "whistler!" came a husky voice, "i'm closer to you, now, than i was at the bayou. saw you coming across the street and opened the door to make it easy for you to get in. i don't know how you found out about this place, but your call here won't do you any good. you've bothered jurgens and me as long as you're going to, and you and ferral will never live to get away from this building!" with that, matt felt himself hurled roughly backward. he struck against a wall and dropped half stunned to the floor. the next moment dick came banging against him, and there followed the clang of an iron door, the rattle of a key, then silence. "matt?" called dick, his voice echoing and reëchoing strangely. "here," answered matt. "blest if we smoked whistler's roll quick enough! we came easy for him--so easy that i'm ashamed of myself. the fact that he was here proves that this is a sort of headquarters for him and jurgens." "if this wasn't a rendezvous of theirs, of course whistler wouldn't have been around." "where are we?" "i guess," answered motor matt, slowly, "that we have found the old vault. that was an iron door that closed on us, if the noise it made counts for anything." "oh, glory!" grunted dick, disgustedly. "how long can we stay in here without smothering to death?" "the air seems to be fairly pure, at present--purer, in fact, than it was out in that other room. but, whistler! why he was the last man i was expecting to see." "and we didn't see much of him, at that," growled dick. "my eye, but here's a go! whistler didn't lose much time coming in from that bayou. i wonder if he's found jurgens, and if the two of them have got the hooks on carl?" "there are a whole lot of things i wish i knew, dick," said matt. "same here, matey. whistler had some one with him, and that other man may have been jurgens." "well, if it was jurgens, then it's a cinch jurgens wasn't so much off his balance as rigolette led us to believe. but i don't think it was jurgens." "why not?" "jurgens would have said something to let us know that he had a hand in our capture." "right-o. jurgens is a good deal of a boaster and likes to run up his signals whenever he gets the chance. we've had a nice time of it since we reached new orleans, i must say! with you and me locked up, and carl running around with his mind in a haze, i wonder what's going to become of the _hawk_? she can't roost out there on the dock indefinitely." "we're not going to stay locked up for long," returned matt. "just as soon as we catch our breath we've got to take a look around here and see if we can't get away." "with an iron door to batter down, matey, the outlook isn't what you might call promising. i've heard of men being shut up in bank vaults, but they usually smothered. oh, hang the luck! and hang the way we dropped into this bunch of trouble! we ought to have suspected there was some one in here when we found the door open." "no use crying over spilt milk, dick. don't you think it might have been whistler instead of jurgens who rushed into the house of rigolette's and took the idol's head away from joujou?" "one guess is as good as another," said dick, heavily. "well, we'll stop guessing and try and get down to facts. have you any matches?" "a pocketful." "then strike one and we'll find out where we are." the floor of the room was of brick. dick scratched a match on the floor and then got to his feet and held the light in the best position for him and matt to make a survey of their quarters. the room in which the boys found themselves was about ten feet square. the walls and ceiling were of stone, and there was only one opening, and this was closed with a heavy iron door. dick stepped to the door and pushed against it. although rust encrusted the iron plates, yet the door rigidly resisted his push upon it. "we might blow the door down with a stick of dynamite," said dick, "but that's the only way we could do the trick, mate. i'm a fiji if----" "look!" came hoarsely from matt; "on the floor, there, off to the left of you!" the flame of the match was eating close to dick's fingers, but in the last, dying glow he swerved his eyes in the direction indicated by matt, and an astonishing duplicate of yamousa's second smoke picture burst on his eyes. on the brick floor lay a man with gray hair and gray mustache, bound hand and foot and gagged. it seemed to matt and dick as though they were again in the hut by the bayou and peering into the smoke arising from the earthen jar under the spell of yamousa. "townsend!" gasped dick. chapter xiii. three in a trap. the boys knew archibald townsend, otherwise captain nemo, jr., of the _grampus_, well. the matchlight was feeble, but there could be no mistake. both of them crept forward, and while dick groped about with his hands to unloosen the cords that bound the prisoner, matt removed the gag. "king!" gasped townsend, as soon as he could speak; "and ferral! this is the most amazing thing i ever heard of! how is it you happen to be here?" "that will be even more amazing, townsend," answered matt, "when we tell you about it. how long have you been here?" "it must be all of two days, although there's no telling the difference between night and day in such a black hole. gad, but it's good to see you boys again. when did you get here?" "to-day," answered matt. "and it's been our busy day, too," added dick. "we've been on the jump ever since we struck the town." "i was so astounded when you boys were thrown in here that i could hardly think," continued townsend. "later, when you began to talk, what you said aroused my curiosity. you got my telegram, of course?" "yes, and started at once as soon as it came to hand." "what happened to you? i might as well tell you, before you begin to talk, though, that jurgens has got the iron chest away from me again." "we know that," said matt, "for we picked it up out of an empty boat in the river." an exclamation of astonishment burst from townsend. "start at once," said he, "and give me the whole of your experiences. after that i'll tell you what happened to me, and we'll have a fair understanding of the situation." matt and dick, between them, related their adventures, beginning at bayou yamousa. townsend was absorbed in the recital, but made no comment until the last word was spoken. "mystery seems to have been following mystery!" he exclaimed. "the obeah woman has helped you, and me, in a most remarkable way. i am not particularly credulous, and that talk of yours about the smoke pictures, coming from any one else but you, would be hard to swallow. most remarkable--in fact, astounding! by some arts of her own she seems to have thrown into the screen of smoke events that were to happen, as well as to give you a view of my situation, many miles away--a view that was complete in every particular. "all that is strange and incomprehensible, but it is hardly a marker to the rest that happened. the head of an idol in that iron chest! i wonder if it had anything to do with the unbalancing of jurgens, bangs and carl? furthermore, i wonder how it happened that bangs was on the levee to spring that cock-and-bull story on you when you arrived? these are all inexplicable things to me." townsend fell silent, apparently musing in the blank gloom. "you are probably anxious to hear how i lost the chest a second time," he presently went on. "it happened principally because i was ignorant of the fact that our old enemies, jurgens and whistler, were in new orleans. i had not heard a thing about them since they vanished so mysteriously from that little island in the bahamas. "as soon as the _grampus_ reached this port, i immediately laid my plans to have the iron chest removed to a place of safety. it was night, and i hired a man with a wheelbarrow to take it into town. i went with the man, but, before i left the _grampus_, i arranged with cassidy to send you a telegram on the following day. it was not my intention to return to the _grampus_ that night, and i expected to be busy locating the lady for whom the man from cape town had asked me to look. "while we were crossing the levee, and were in a dark and obscure place on the water front, i and the man with the wheelbarrow were set upon by a gang of roughs. the man who was wheeling the chest was knocked down and left unconscious, and i was bound, put in a closed carriage and brought here. since that time my mind and body have both been shrouded in total darkness. twice a day a negro has come and given me food, but i have seen nothing of either whistler or jurgens. "however, i surmised the reason for my capture and detention in this place. my scoundrelly enemies wished to keep me in limbo until they had divided the treasure in the iron chest and got well away with their booty. yet the time i spent here has not been altogether lost. i have cultivated my negro jailer. he would tell me nothing about my captors, nor why i had been captured, but he has promised to release me if i would give him $ . the last time he came with food i wrote a line to cassidy telling him to pay over the money and ask no questions. the negro may get the money and then fail to carry out his part of the contract--but it was a chance i had to take." "isn't there any other way to get out of here except by the negro's aid?" asked matt. "i have had little else to do, while lying here, but turn such expedients over and over in my mind. i believe there is a way, matt, providing we were armed with a crowbar. you will notice that the air in here is pure and wholesome--something you would not find in an air-tight vault." "matt noticed that, townsend," returned dick, "as soon as we landed in here." "well," pursued townsend, "light another match, ferral, and then watch the flame." the match was lighted, held about a foot from the floor, and the flame was seen to be sucked sideways and downward, as though by a draught of air. "there's a current of fresh air blowing through here," observed matt. "i noticed that the first time the negro brought my food to me," said townsend. "he had a candle, and the flame of the candle, like that of the match, inclined downward and burned with a hissing sound as though fanned by a draught of air. i managed to roll about and investigate a little, tapping with my heels on the brick. there are crevices in the brick, over near the end of the vault, and i am sure that a little work with a crowbar would bring us either into the outside air, or into the shop below. but," and townsend gave a grim laugh, "we have no crowbar; and, at the time i made my discoveries, i did not even have the use of my limbs." "i've got a dirk, old ship," said dick. "give me time enough and i could dig through a stone wall with it." "it will be just as well to wait until night," answered townsend. "the man in the store below might hear us and he may be in league with jurgens and whistler." "he's not," averred matt, "i'll answer for that. if there was ever an honest frenchman, he's one." "but he's letting jurgens and whistler use this floor for lawless purposes." "he doesn't know what they're using it for. in fact, he doesn't think they've moved in here yet." "then we might go ahead with our work," said townsend. "can you work in the dark, ferral?" "if i have to, aye, aye," answered dick; "and it looks as though i'd have to, considering that the only light we have is furnished by matches." "well, start in. you can tell where the place is by the cool air along the floor. it will be a long job, and matt and i will relieve you from time to time." dick lost not a moment in getting to work. "the chances are, townsend," observed matt, "your negro will never have the opportunity to get into this vault again. whistler has been away and has come back. he will take the vault key and act as jailer, if i'm any prophet." "from what whistler said when he and his man threw us in here," spoke up dick, "it's my idea that he intends to leave us here to starve. he wouldn't be above that sort of thing." "he and jurgens," said townsend gravely, "wouldn't be above anything. this is a rare opportunity to get all of us out of the way--too good an opportunity, i'm afraid they'll think, to be allowed to pass. we'd better depend upon our own efforts, and dig out as quick as we can. we'll have to be quick, too, before hunger and thirst get the better of us." "have you any idea, townsend," asked matt, "why that man from cape town should put an idol's head in that iron chest?" "not the slightest," declared townsend. "i can't believe it possible that he is trying to hoax anybody. we must not lose sight of the fact that the lady i am to look for, in this city, he claimed to be his daughter. i was to find her, you may perhaps remember, open the chest in her presence and divide the contents of the chest equally. it would be difficult for us to divide an idol's head, and there would be small gain for us, even if we did it. no, no, boys, there is something more back of this--another mystery among the many that have already put us at sea." "something must have turned the brains of jurgens, bangs and carl," remarked matt, "and that could not have happened until the chest had been opened. could you make a guess as to what it was, townsend?" "guesses are easy--but profitless. bangs, you say, is a prisoner. if he recovers his wits, perhaps he will tell us what we want to know." "that creole in st. peters street," put in dick, "may not hang onto bangs if we don't show up at the house to-night. we told him we'd come, but he may think we've slanted away for good and let bangs go. he told us bangs was a messmate of his." "well," suggested townsend, "there's carl. he'll be able to tell us something when he comes to himself and finds you again. if----" there came a snap as of broken metal from dick's end of the vault, followed by a muttered exclamation. "what's the matter, ferral?" asked townsend. "i've broken my dirk short off at the hilt!" growled dick. "keelhaul me for a bungler! _now_ what are we going to do? we haven't even a knife to work with." a pall of dejection settled over the three in the stone and iron trap. each, perhaps, was casting vainly about in his mind for some expedient which could help them to their freedom. before any of them could speak, there came from the door a sound as of some one trying to push a key into the lock. "whistler!" whispered matt. "he'd not come here alone, mate," said dick, "knowing that two of us are free and that we have surely released townsend. if it's whistler, you can lay something handsome he has a gang at his heels." "no matter if he has," spoke up townsend, "it's a chance to fight our way out of this dungeon. group yourselves about the door and, when it opens, spring out and do what you can with your fists." the suggestion captured the instant approval of matt and dick. all three of the prisoners huddled close to the door, and when the key grated, and the door was pulled ajar, they all sprang out. contrary to their expectations they met with no resistance. a negro with a candle had unlocked the door, and he was nearly overturned by the concerted rush of the prisoners. "why," cried townsend, "it's the man who has been bringing my meals." "great spark plugs!" exclaimed matt, "we know him, too. he's the fellow that hauled bangs, carl and the iron chest to the house in st. peters street!" "well met, old ship!" jubilated dick. "we can forgive you a whole lot for this." chapter xiv. an astounding situation. from his appearance, the expressman was not feeling at all easy in his mind. his knees were knocking together, the candle was shaking in his hand, his teeth were chattering, his eyes were rolling frenziedly, and a grayish pallor had overspread his black face. "ah's got de feelin' dat ah's er gone niggah," he mumbled. "da's right, cap'n. ah's done seen t'ings, dis ebenin', dat ah ain't nevah gwine tuh git ober." "you got the five hundred?" asked townsend. "sho'ly, sho'ly. en ah's er hones' niggah er ah'd nevah come hyeh afteh what ah seen." "did you have the key?" "whistler got de key away f'om me, along endurin' de aftehnoon, cap'n; but i come hyeh en ah--ah done got it back, but ah mos' died a-doin' it. oh, by golly, hit's de wustest t'ing ah evah did!" "you didn't have to kill whistler to get the key, did you?" went on townsend, startled by the darky's fright. "no, no, boss, ah ain't dat kind." "where's whistler?" "he's heah----" "here!" "da's whut! en jurgens is heah, en anudder white man--dey's all heah." "where are they? what are they doing? can't they overhear us?" townsend fired his questions like the reports of a gatling, meanwhile looking about him as though to fight whatever peril might show itself. "you ain't got tuh feah dem no mo', cap'n," went on the darky. "ah took de key f'om whistler, en he didn't stop me--he wasn't able. i's feelin' monsus out ob sorts wif mahse'f, en now dat ah's let you-all loose, ah's gwine tuh cl'ar out. take de candle if you want tuh stay heah, but ah's gwine." the darky forced the candle into townsend's hand and whirled away. "hold up!" cried townsend. "don't be in such a rush. tell us what----" but the negro was gone, clattering across the floor of an outer room and rushing down the outside stairs. "what do you suppose put him in that kind of a taking, mates?" asked dick. "it puzzles me," answered townsend. "suppose we look around," said matt. they were in the dark room in which matt and dick had had their short struggle at close quarters with whistler and his man. dick opened the door on the right. it led into the room that opened upon the outside stairs. the door at the head of the stairs was ajar, and the released prisoners could see that dusk had fallen outdoors. "nothing in this direction, mates," announced dick. "try that other door next to you, matt." matt opened the door, and instantly a peculiar odor was perceptible. "we've sniffed that before, matt," said dick. "i remember it," returned matt; "it was in the court of rigolette's house. i wonder what it can be, and how we are able to smell it here?" shielding the flaring candle with his hand, matt stepped into the other room. in doing so he stumbled against something on the floor and stooped downward. it was the form of jurgens! as matt recoiled, startled cries came from townsend and dick. "three of 'em, or i'm a hottentot!" exclaimed dick. "look, will you! and there's the head of obboney!" dick's report was literally true. lying sprawled about the floor, breathing heavily, was not only jurgens, but whistler and one other man, as well. they lay around the idol's head, and the head, face upward, offered a most diabolical spectacle in the candlelight. the beady eyes gleamed and glittered, and the distorted face took on an expression it had not held in the broad light of day. "most remarkable!" murmured townsend, stepping over the form of jurgens and picking up the head. "what a monstrous thing!" he added, shuddering as he held the head up and looked into its face. "what heathen mind was ever able to conjure that out of a block of wood? the arch fiend himself must have had a hand in the work." "but how do you account for all this layout?" queried dick, waving his hand at the forms on the floor. "jurgens, after he took the head from the court of rigolette's house," surmised matt, "must finally have reached here with it. he arrived after you and i were thrown into the vault, dick, and that unknown man, lying near whistler, must have been the one who helped put us into the stone chamber. jurgens, whistler and the other man came into this room, and in due course they fell under the baneful spell of obboney. i don't know what else to call it." "that's the way of it, matt," said townsend; "that must have been the way of it. when the negro came here, he found these men sprawled out, just as we see them now. negroes as a rule are superstitious, and you can understand what a tremendous effort it must have taken for that darky to step across jurgens, pass this head and take the key of the vault from whistler's pocket! no wonder the fellow was half scared to death! it speaks pretty well for him that he dared to do what he did and earn the five hundred i asked cassidy to give him." "a main fine thing for us," remarked dick, "that he had nerve enough for the job." "there must be something about this head that is valuable," muttered townsend. "it would not have been in that chest if it wasn't valuable. still, i can't understand why the man from cape town should want the chest opened and the idol's head revealed before a woman. why, this thing is enough to send a woman into hysterics." "he had a scheme," said dick, "but shiver me if i can fathom it." "i'm beginning to feel a bit queer in the head," spoke up matt. "i wonder if i only imagine it?" "no imagination about it, matey," declared dick. "i'm feeling some queer myself." "i don't see why we should," said townsend. "what is there about this head to exert such an evil influence?" "there must be something," returned matt, "to stretch out fellows like whistler and jurgens as we see them." "whoosh!" exclaimed dick. "hear 'em breathe! their breath seems to be coming harder and harder. i wonder if that odor could kill a man?" "it must have killed the monkey," said matt. "if it would kill an animal in that way, i don't see why it wouldn't kill a man." "have you that paper that was found in the chest, matt?" asked townsend. "yes." "read it to me." matt drew the parchment from his pocket and stepped closer to the candle which, a few moments before, he had handed to dick. then, while he read the written words, townsend kept his keen, inquiring eyes on the idol's head. "it may be," observed townsend, when the reading was finished, "that there is a hidden meaning in that communication. the question is, what is that hidden meaning? does it deal with high finance, or thaumaturgy, or any of the other arts, black or white, with which princes of the black art are supposed to arm themselves? ha! answer me, some of you." matt gave a jump and stared at dick. dick, also startled, returned matt's stare with interest. townsend was talking nonsense--and he was always a grave, earnest man with no use whatever for anything foolish or extravagant. was the deadly odor taking effect upon his brain? holding the head as hamlet held the skull of yorick, townsend struck an attitude. "alas, poor yorick!" he began. but he got no further. just at that moment some one bounded into the room, snatched the head of obboney from his hands and hurled it against the wall. there was a smash, a tinkling clatter as of pebbles upon the floor, then silence. "ged oudt oof here! ged oudt or you vas all deadt men! helup me, matt, to pull dose fellers on der floor indo der odder room. ach, himmelblitzen! you don'd know vat a shance you vas daking. aber _i_ know--yah, so helup me!" "carl!" gasped matt, staggering toward the dutch boy. "you bed you," answered carl. "ged downsent avay, kevick! tick, you do dot. matt und i vill look afder der fellers on der floor." chapter xv. the treasure. townsend was babbling shakespeare as dick grabbed him and hauled him out to the room at the top of the stairway. there, seated on the landing, with the cool night air fanning his face and clearing his brain of the deadly influence of the odor, he slowly regained his poise. matt and carl dragged jurgens, whistler and the other man out of the fatal room, and carl, the last to leave, shut the door tightly. a few minutes in the night air served to revive carl, matt and dick. then, quite naturally the others wanted to know what had happened to the dutch boy, and where he had been. carl related his experiences in the house of rigolette, holding his listeners spellbound with his recital. "afder i dumpled ofer," he went on, "i ditn't know nodding ondil i seemed to vake oop und foundt meinseluf in a shdreed. i don' know der shdreed, und i vas losdt. vat i vanted vas to findt my vay to der tock, und der air ship, for i got der notion dot you vould be dere, matt, und dick, too. i vanted to dell you vat a mess tick und me made oof it py hafing anyt'ing to do mit dot pangs feller. "veil, i feel kindt oof hazy yet mit meinseluf, und i vander aroundt ondil id pegins to ged tark. i know vere i vant to go, aber i don'd seem to haf der sense to ask somepody vich vay it iss. den, pympy, i see dot jurgens feller comin' along der shdreet. he has der headt under his arm, und he iss valking fasdt, baying no addention to any vone. i follow him, und he comes py dis blace. oop der shdairs i come afder him, und he valks indo dot front room. i vould haf valked in dere, too, only i see dot whistler und anodder mans, so i packs oudt. "you see, my mindt vas gedding clearer und clearer, und i know a leedle how to dake care oof meinseluf. i ged indo der pack room und vait, und t'ink vat i shall do; und vile i vait und t'ink, i keep vishing und vishing dot matt und tick vas somevere aroundt. "vell, pympy, pooty soon, along comes dot nigger feller vat took pangs und me und der chest py dot house vere ve vent. he comes droo der room vere i vas und goes in der odder, und i hear him yell. i shday avay, und greep town der shdairs, t'inkin' i vas pedder off oudt oof der house as in id. den i t'ink meppy i go pack, but i vait some more for der nigger feller comes down der shdairs so kevick as anyt'ing und runs avay. "all der time i vait in der air, oof course my headt vas gedding clearer mit itseluf. in a liddle vile it geds so clear dot i haf der nerf to come oop der shdairs some more. den vat a surbrises! i look in der front room und i see whistler, und jurgens, und der odder feller on der floor, und matt, und tick, und downsent shdanding oop, und downsent looking at der itol's headt. den i rush in so fast as bossiple, snatch dot teufelish t'ing avay, und--und--vell you know der resdt. "it's der headt vat has der otor dot makes peobles grazy! und oof der headt shdays long enough py a feller, it vill make him as deadt as some mackerels. yah, so helup me!" silence followed carl's talk. "rigolette's monkey got the idol's head, carl," said matt. "the animal must have crawled in through the window that gave way under your weight, picked up the head and scampered off with it." "hooray for der monkey!" said carl. "if it hatn't peen for him you vouldn't have a dutch bard some more, matt und jurgens und pangs vould have peen some goners, too." "it seemed," said townsend, with his usual gravity, "as though i was somewhat affected by that head." "sink me if you weren't, townsend," answered dick. "you were spouting shakespeare and using words a fathom long." "i have no remembrance of that--only a hazy recollection that i didn't know what i was doing. i presume the idol was carved out of some kind of wood that has that deadly odor, and that the mahogany sawdust in the iron chest helped the head to retain the baneful influence. but why should the man from cape town pack the deadly thing in the chest and then ask me to open the chest in the presence of his daughter? there are features of this case which it is difficult to reconcile with the facts." matt started up suddenly. "did you break that idol's head, carl, when you smashed it against the wall?" he asked. "vell, i bed you!" answered carl. "i made oop my mindt dot i vould preak him indo a t'ousant bieces. dot von't shtop der shmell oof der vood, aber it vill shpoil der headt, all righdt." "we'll have to go back there," said matt. "nod on your life!" cried carl. "we can't leave the fragments, for one thing," insisted matt, "because they would be a source of peril to whoever found them and did not understand their power; then, for another thing, i have just thought of something." "of course we'll go back," said townsend. "there can't be any danger in going into the room for a few minutes." "den," said carl, "der fairst t'ing vat ve do vill be to put der bieces oof der headt in my coat und tie dem oop tight; und der next t'ing afder dot vill be to go to der rifer und shake out der bieces indo der vater. dot vill be der lasdt oof obboney." "good idea, carl," approved townsend. "pull off your coat and come on." dick had left the candle in the room where jurgens, whistler and the other man were lying. the three men were lying just as when townsend and the boys had left them, a short time before, but it was plain that their breathing was becoming easier by slow degrees. matt picked up the candle and preceded his companions into the front room. the head of obboney was not in a thousand pieces, but it had been smashed utterly beyond repair. carl sprang forward, his coat in his hand, to pick up the pieces and wrap them in the garment. before he got near the wall, however, he started back with a shout of surprise. "look!" he cried; "see dere, vonce! vot you call dose t'ings?" matt held the candle nearer the floor, and the light fell over little scattered objects that gleamed like dewdrops. there were several handfuls of them, and in two or three places they were heaped up in irridescent piles. "by jove!" gasped townsend, starting forward and dropping to his knees. he picked up several of the glimmering objects and examined them under the flame of the candle; then he turned to the boys with an odd, exultant look and spoke but one word: "diamonds!" "tiamonts?" echoed carl. "strike me lucky!" muttered dick. "do you mean to say those are diamonds, townsend?" queried motor matt. "yes, and of the first water. they're south african stones. there was quite a little method in the madness of the man from cape town, after all. get the pieces of the head in your coat, carl, and put up a window, dick. we can't take any chances with these stones while those fellows are in the next room." carl hurried to spread out his coat and pile the fragments of the head upon it. while he was engaged in that, dick hoisted a window and allowed the outdoor air to purify the noxious atmosphere of the room. after that, matt, townsend, dick and carl spread their handkerchiefs upon the floor and gathered up all the scattered stones. "you had an idea that idol's head was hollow and that there was something in it, hadn't you, matt?" queried townsend, as they hunted the floor over for diamonds. "yes," was the answer. "i dug it out of the first paragraph written on that piece of parchment. 'read and give heed, for the head of obboney contains many things, perilous and otherwise.' i got to thinking that those words might be read in two ways." "it was a great scheme that," observed townsend, "hiding a treasure of diamonds in the head of an idol which gives off a deadly odor. i wish we knew more about the man from cape town and where he got the stones; but he is dead, and the mystery will no doubt always remain unsolved." "unless his daughter can tell us something about her father," said matt. "that is possible, of course. there must be fully two hundred of these stones, and they are all of the very finest. a fortune, my lads! part of it comes to me, and out of my part we shall share and share alike." the boys, with the exception of carl, began to protest, but townsend silenced them with a word. "it is only right," he averred. "you have borne many dangers on account of that iron chest, and mere justice calls upon you to have your due share of the treasure. i shall make it my business to see that you get it." when the last stone was gathered off the floor, and the handkerchiefs were all carefully tied up, the little bundles of stones were turned over to townsend. he stowed them carefully away in his pockets. "the question now arises," said he, "as to what we shall do with jurgens, whistler, bangs and the unknown? no doubt we could make them smart for what they have done, not only here in new orleans, but also for jurgens' and whistler's criminal work in stealing the _grampus_. but will it pay to bother with them?" "not to-night," returned matt, promptly. "the thing for you to do, townsend, is to get safely aboard the _grampus_ as quick as you can. you have the price of a king's ransom about your clothes and it would be foolish to take any chances with it." "like alvays," chirped carl, "modor matt has hit der nail righdt on der head. vat he says goes mit me, und it ought to go mit eferypody else." "it does," asserted townsend. "i have lain a prisoner in that old bank vault for two days, and the inconvenience and discomfort i have been put to i shall not soon forget; but jurgens and whistler have been beaten at their own game. besides, my lads, it was, on the whole, a good thing that bangs worked his little game successfully. if he hadn't, i should have opened that iron chest in the home of a lady on st. charles avenue, and who knows what the consequences would have been? jurgens and bangs first tested the deadly effluvia of the idol's head, and we were able to profit by their experience. yes, it is best to leave them here and allow them to recover and go their ways. the knowledge that they are beaten will be punishment enough for them." having settled the matter in this way, townsend and the boys passed the prostrate forms in the other room, gained the apartment at the head of the stairs, blew out the candle and went away. fifteen minutes later they were on the levee; and ten minutes after that they were boarding the _grampus_ and slipping down under her decks through the top of the conning tower. chapter xvi. diamonds galore. before carl climbed downward through the conning tower of the _grampus_, he shook the fragments of the idol's head out of his coat upon the rounded deck of the submarine and heard them glide off and splash into the water. "dere vill be some foolishness among der fishes, i bed you!" he chuckled; "aber, all der same, it vas goot-py to obboney! und may nodding like him efer come oudt oof africa again." cassidy, mate of the _grampus_, was the only one of the crew aboard. he had had no idea of the perils through which townsend had passed, nor of the troubles encountered by the boys. he knew, of course, that the boys had arrived, for all up and down the river front the _hawk_ was the topic of conversation. in the conning tower of the _grampus_, that evening, there was a spread. cassidy opened canned goods and made coffee on an alcohol stove. the guests at the "feed" sat around with their tin plates in their laps, and while they ate they talked over recent exciting events. carl offered information of value by telling how the iron chest had been stolen from townsend, placed on a boat in the river, and had then vanished while jurgens and whistler were dodging the watchmen. "that boat must have been adrift on the river for two days!" exclaimed townsend. "strange that some one else did not find the chest instead of you boys." "i reckon she caught in the eddies below the town and drifted back and forth until she finally got out in the current," surmised dick. "that's the only way you can account for the fact that she wasn't picked up." "you vas bot' wrong," asserted carl, solemnly. "dere vas a gaptain on dot rowpoat all der time. it vas captain obboney, in der chest. nodding could habben py dot poat mit dot itol's headt apoard." "there may be something in that," observed townsend, half smiling and half serious. "this new orleans affair appears to be wrapped up in a great deal of occultism. personally, i never took much stock in occultism, but i don't know how i can dodge the facts developed by those smoke pictures." "and then there's a whole lot more to yamousa than just those smoke pictures," said dick. "whistler went to see her to find out if she couldn't tell him what had become of the chest." "voodooism used to be quite strong in new orleans, among credulous blacks and superstitious whites," said townsend. "of course, there's nothing in voodooism as it is usually practiced, but this yamousa seems versed in many peculiar things. really, i don't know what to think of her." "well," asserted carl, "she makes a misdake vonce in a vile." "how so, carl?" "vy, she gave matt a charm vich vasn't no charm ad all, but a hootoo. i tried it oudt, und i know. tick," and here carl faced his chum, "dot dried frog don'd vas any goot as a luck pringer. it got me indo lods oof drouple. i safed dot from you, bard," and carl shifted his gaze to matt. "where is that charm now, carl?" inquired matt. "pangs dook it avay from me," chuckled carl, "und i bed you someding for nodding dot it made all der drouple for pangs, jurgens und whistler." "we might just as well explain it that way as in any other," said townsend. "many things have happened which defy explanation, so carl's guess is just as good as any one's else." "i can tell you somet'ing vich ain'd a guess," continued carl, "und dot iss dot jurgens hat a feller vatching cassidy, und ven cassidy sent dot delegram to modor matt, jurgens' man vas aple to findt oudt vat vas in it. dot's der vay pangs habbened to be on der levee ven der air ship come down on der dock. he knowed dot ve vas coming." "where were you this afternoon, cassidy?" inquired matt. "i took the _grampus_ over to algiers yesterday," answered the mate, "and didn't get back until about four this afternoon." "that's the reason we didn't see you," put in dick. "if you had been around the levee bangs would never have been able to pull off that game of his." "i told cassidy to drop over to algiers if he thought best," said townsend. "it was unlucky that he happened to be there at just the time he might have been of service to matt and his friends. however, as i told you in the rooms over the antique shop, it's just as well events turned out as they have. we have won out against jurgens and whistler, and if they know when they're well off they'll steer clear of all of us in future." "dose fellers hat two hang-oudts," remarked carl. "vone vas ad rigolette's blace, vere der chest vas dook from der tock, und der odder vas ofer der antique shop. vone, i reckon, vas vere dey dook us in, und der odder vas vere dey viped us oudt. but der itol's headt fooled der lod oof us. i vish, py shinks, you couldt haf seen jurgens und pangs ven der chest vas obened und dey saw nodding more as sawdust!" carl threw back his head and laughed till he shook. "i vasn't in der blace vere i could enchoy dot, at der time," he went on, "but i can haf fun mit it now. id vas a derriple tissapointment. den, ven jurgens kicked der headt oudt oof der sawdust, eferypody vas scart, including me. yah, i vas as afraidt as anypody. den, pympy, i tropped ashleep und i vasn't affraidt no more." "you were tied, weren't you, carl, while you were in that room at rigolette's?" "you bed you i vas, matt, handt und feet." "how did you get clear of the ropes?" "dot vas some mysderies. i don'd know dot, onless i vorked meinseluf loose ven i come to und vas grazy. anyvay, ven i vas aple to know vere i vas i vas in der shdreed und dere vasn't any ropes on me. vat you say rigolette call dot monkey?" "joujou," replied dick. "den i vas mooch opliged to chouchou. how t'ings fall oudt mit demselufs oof you leaf dem alone! dere vas me, und jurgens, und pangs, lying in dot room mit der itol's headt, und passing oudt oof der game py inches, ven along comes chouchou. he hat dook my hat, pefore dot, und i oxbect he vas looking for me to gif it pack. anyvay, he leafs der hat und goes off mit der itol's headt, safing me, und dose odder fellers, aber killing himseluf in der oberations. yah, chouchou vas a goot monkey, i tell you dot. dit you see der barrot?" "no," said dick. "has rigolette a parrot?" "yah, so, und dot barrot make some foolishness mit me aboudt der time der monkey shdeal my cap. vell, anyhow, it vas all ofer now, und i feel dot i can laugh at some t'ings vich ditn't blease me pefore." "what will you and your chums do now, matt?" inquired townsend. "we seem to have wound up our business in new orleans in short order," laughed matt, "so i suppose we had better bear away for atlantic city." "you haven't helped me, yet, in the work for which i wired you to come on here." all three of the boys were startled. "wasn't it to help you recover that chest?" asked matt. "not at all. at the time i requested cassidy to send you the telegram, i had the chest safely in my hands and hadn't the least idea that jurgens and whistler were around and still had designs on it. you got here in good time to be of invaluable assistance to me, and fate so played the cards that i couldn't have won out without you--but i wanted you for something else." "in that event," returned matt, "we'll have to stay and give you our assistance." "the _hawk_ has an excellent berth on the big dock and will be amply protected in case of high winds or bad weather; and, so far as i can see, you and your friends will be as well off as though you were in atlantic city. so far as profit is concerned, there will be diamonds galore for all of you, and by this one trip to new orleans you will have cleaned up more than you could possibly have made in a dozen years at atlantic city." "tiamonts galore!" caroled the dutch boy. "dot soundts goot. i like tiamonts pedder as anyt'ing else, und ven you ged a whole lod, all in a punch, it makes you feel like you vas somepody. i vould like to haf some oof dem set in pins, und rings, und pud dem all ofer me. i vant to be a prilliant feller," he grinned, "und i guess dot's der only vay vat i can be dot." "to-morrow morning," went on townsend, "i will hunt up this lady about whom the man from cape town told me. following the division of the gems, i will call on this rigolette and, if he has not already released bangs, will have him do so. then, when we have a clear slate, i will lay before you the business which i have in prospect." "iss it easy?" queried carl. "no, very difficult." "dot's vat ve like. anypody can do der easy t'ings, aber it dakes modor matt to do der hard vones." "carl has an armful of bouquets, to-night," laughed matt, "and he don't care where he throws them." "iss id t'rilling vork?" continued carl. "likely to be," smiled townsend, "and perhaps a bit dangerous." "den be sure und keep id for us. all vat i ask iss, dot you cut out der foodoos. a leedle oof dose iss more as enough." the end. the next number ( ) will contain motor matt's promise; or, the wreck of the _hawk_. on the levee--mixed identities--double trouble--tricked--motor matt's promise--dashington dashed--a hot starter--a bullet from below--the wreck--the unexpected--a friend from the enemy's camp--the bag of diamonds--a daring plot--on the road--a new man takes a hand--conclusion. motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction new york, may , . terms to motor stories mail subscribers. (_postage free._) single copies or back numbers, c. each. months c. months c. months $ . one year . copies one year . copy two years . =how to send money=--by post-office or express money-order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. at your own risk if sent by currency, coin, or postage-stamps in ordinary letter. =receipts=--receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. if not correct you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once. ormond g. smith, } george c. smith, } _proprietors_. street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york city. the masked light. san josé lighthouse shone from the back of a tunnel-like creek on a barren stretch of the chilian seaboard. passing ships caught its secret rays most suddenly; much in the same manner as a lonely wayfarer might be startled at a swift glance of a light far down a secret entrance. the moment the light of san josé fell upon a ship, that vessel at once hugged the land and crept warily along the inshore water. a false order, a mistake at the helm, and the "devil's teeth," the offshore reef, would grind her ribs to matchwood. the light was built on top of an old chapel whose ponderous walls could have carried the eddystone itself. this building crouched in the left-hand corner of the creek, with its back built into the angle of the cliff, which, on that side, rose plumb as a wall and ran out into deep soundings. there was, however, one break in it about eighty yards in front of the lighthouse. from this opening an overhead traveling cable passed across the creek to the mid-level of "cassandra mine," which honeycombed the right bank. this latter side, though rocky, was fairly easy of ascent by means of buttress-like masses of rock jutting out from the cliff, and the rubbish shot out from the mine. such was the lonely creek of san josé when the revolution broke out against president balmaceda, and left us, gilbert and myself, stranded helplessly on a foreign shore. nine months before, we had departed from our homes in the states, appointed engineers to the cassandra coppermining company, limited. nine months before! and now our situation was worse than any bowery loafer's; he, at all events, could try the station house when the nights grew colder. "i knew it was too good to last," cried gilbert, one morning as we awoke to find ourselves in a dismal plight. the mine was deserted: every man had gone to shoulder a musket on the principle of "compulsory volunteering." we transferred our worries by means of a letter to the head office, and then fell to unlimited euchre, awaiting instructions. meanwhile, our funds melted away. at last came one day of maddening heat that drove us to the shade of the mid-level of the mine. there we did what we ought to have done a month before: we held a council of war. "we've just three and a half pesos left--that's about three dollars," quoth gilbert sourly. "then we've got to tramp." "tramp!" echoed gilbert, "in _that_!" and he cast an exasperated glance at the landscape. it was an open oven. below us, the lighthouse lenses flashed back the sunlight in such brightness that if we had not known that all the lights on the coast had been extinguished by order, we might have thought the lamps were still burning. the village huts seemed to shrink and huddle from the glare. not a creature was abroad; the very air seemed to have swooned in the heat of that narrow creek. and yet, over the hill crest where the village path cut the upland, a tiny speck rose to sight, and without a pause descended the slope toward us. "impossible!" gasped my chum, starting up in amazement. "he's stark, staring mad!" it was a man running at a sling trot. "madman number two," cried gilbert, and another speck breasted the crest, and hurriedly descended on the heels of the first comer. and then, by ones and twos, more men appeared and swung downward, hurriedly and without a halt, until we counted twenty-one of them on the slope. they came nearer and lower, and we saw sparkles of light breaking off them as they ran; then we both cried together: "soldiers!" and at that word all the world was of interest. by this time they were up to the first huts, and at a cry every soul rushed outside. some of the runners had fallen by the houses, and people began to carry water to them. "poor beggars," cried gilbert, "but if they _will_ run on a day like this--why on earth don't they go inside and rest peacefully?" but that was the last thing they gave us any impression of so doing. we saw henrico, the old sailor with the earrings and spanish handkerchief for a cap, talking among a group of the soldiers. now and again they looked back to the crest, and then toward our side of the creek. something of great interest was meanwhile passing from hand to hand. suddenly henrico turned to the villagers, addressing them in no little heat. the soldiers seized their guns, and then, led by henrico, the whole crowd, villagers and soldiers, began to ascend the talus of the mine. halfway up, henrico turned and called back to the women, "all you in siesta again." but one of them, chloe, the sharp-tongued beauty of the village, broke away, and headed the whole crowd. striding along with her buoyant energy, she soon outstripped them all, and in a few minutes she appeared on the ledge in front of us, two hundred feet above the creek. for a moment she stood silent, a swarthy black-eyed beauty, holding the two plaits of her hair in outstretched hands: just in the same attitude and with just the same smile on her arched lips we saw her every morning when she called us to breakfast; for she was henrico's niece and we lodged with him. "fortune, señors!" cried she. "here are soldiers with a message; we do not read in our village; we come to you to speak it to us." and now the soldiers filed in, and henrico proffered me a crumpled paper. i read on it: "to capitan barras." "here!" cried i, "this is not for us." "no," said a dusty, sweat-soaked soldier, "capitan barras is killed. i am his sergeant. read, señor, i am the next." "i nodded and read on: "the enemy are reënforcing by sea. have correct information that they intend capturing the lighthouse at san josé on the th, and light it to guide the transports which are due to pass the inshore channel of the devil's teeth. detail a command to destroy the lighthouse beyond repair. i have wired to the cruisers; latter will be able to overtake and capture transports if delayed off san josé on the night of the th. you have six ( ) hours start of the enemy. "rodrique gomez." as i finished this terse and emphatic message the sergeant cried "ho!" and "is that the lighthouse?" "yes," sang out the villagers as one man. "advance!" cried the sergeant, shouldering to the front of the crowd; chloe was already on her way out, but with a sharp, smothered cry she stopped dead in the opening, turned round, and thrust back the following men, hissing the while through her teeth: "silence! not a breath; the enemy!" there came a sudden metallic rattling, a rapid snapping of rifle breeches, then dead, nervous silence. the lighthouse was in possession of the enemy! already a couple of soldiers leaned over the balcony round the lenses, and we could hear their voices as they sang out to a mounted officer below. about this latter, and standing at ease, were some eighty men. "and the videttes," growled the sergeant, as he pointed to the hill crest. at this an angry murmur arose about us. they were completely outnumbered by the balmacedians; and outmaneuvred by the fatal mischance to their captain in a skirmish at daybreak. he had been shot through the throat. with a last effort he had thrust the note into the sergeant's hands and bade him haste to san josé, halting neither to fight nor to rest. this we learned afterward. from the first appearance of the soldiers in the mine, gilbert had been eying them with undisguised irritation. he now called out in a sharp voice for their attention. "if you stay here those other soldiers will attack you and 'gastado' the whole set of you. and this mine being american property and not a battle field, the best you can do is to clear out by the level on the far side before they discover you." at this the sergeant looked blankly in his face. "it's no good," quoth gilbert, "you must clear out." the sergeant's face changed. he slapped the breech of his rifle, swore a round oath, and cried heartily: "this place is our last stand; i shoot the first of my men that leaves!" gilbert dropped his eyelids in his tired way, and pulled out his watch. "i give you five minutes," he said, in a level, matter-of-fact voice. "and we," cried the sergeant, "have to destroy that lighthouse!" here chloe thrust herself into the front of the gathering storm. "the soldier has it," she cried, "the lighthouse must be destroyed. you, señors, engineer chiefs will show us the way; it will be done." "i'll see you all hanged first," broke in gilbert in terse english. then he added in spanish: "clear out! only another two minutes." chloe lifted her head in a passion, and her black eyes narrowed. "señors," she cried with scorn, "have we idled in the fetching of water when water was so scarce, for the big 'tub' every morn? and you have had meat and your coffee roasted to the hour. all; and not one pesos these months. have we cried 'clear out' to you when you could not no more than these soldiers?" gilbert thrust his watch back in his shirt. we both flushed hotly, and we both found it disconcerting to look in one another's faces. but it had to be done. "that's a bitter pill to swallow," growled he. "it's true enough," i said. gilbert, with a short, grim laugh in his throat, growled out, "well, let us begin to earn our grub." chloe read our decision in our faces. "huzza," she cried, "the engineer chiefs--capitanos--will show us how to destroy it. we are the legs, the arms; they are the head. the lighthouse shall not be there to-night!" in this manner gilbert and i became "capitanos" in the revolutionary army. from an inert and baffling position we were lifted on a wave, and flung into a rushing current. there was work for our hands and brains: a problem to solve, a thing to accomplish. and we were no longer weary. henrico and the sergeant joined us in a short council of war. and as at any moment the enemy's scouts might blunder on us and bring on a fight, we decided to retreat to a lower level, where we could hold an army corps at bay. safe in this, gilbert and i sat apart; the soldiers scooped out resting places, and, with their knapsacks for pillows, fell instantly asleep. "confound that girl," said gilbert, "and confound the whole place and their tin-pot armies too! but it is a fine problem, eh? i suppose the only way to do it is by--well, anything else but fighting." i quite agreed with him. but as hour after hour passed, and scheme after scheme was rejected, we began to think a little less of our abilities. we wrestled with the problem till our heads reeled. if only we could get a side glance even at a workable scheme. but no. at last gilbert pulled out his waterbury. "five o'clock!" he cried, "we are undiluted frauds if we can't do it in another hour. it will be dark by six!" chloe had, in the meantime, crawled out by another level to report what was doing in the creek. she had just come back. the enemy were bivouacked round the lighthouse. on the upland, and commanding every approach, sentries and videttes marked the land as far as she could see. however, she had brought one piece of comfort in the shape of a cool jar of water. as she served us she asked for news of our scheme. "how soon do the hands and legs begin to work, capitanos?" she asked with a complacent smile. gilbert, with a diplomatic, spanish-fashion wave of his hand, replied: "so! so!" "ah, señors," said she, "i should want to do it--how? why, shut up that lighthouse like flinging a blanket over it: so!" "and," cried gilbert, "that's just what we are going to do! tell the men to be ready on the instant." as she departed he turned to me with dancing eyes. "see?" he whispered. "no; not an atom." "no? well, old man, she has struck the only plan possible! observe the overhead traveling wire. it lands on the flat just outside the other opening, doesn't it? well, suppose we hang a curtain--even chloe's skirt, if it were big enough--on that wire, and run it out, and cut off the light from flashing out to seaward." "but," i objected, "we can't make a screen big enough to intercept all the light at a hundred feet distance--it is impracticable." he laughed in my face, and cried out: "my boy, rays of light from lighthouses are _parallel_!" i had forgotten this elementary fact. i cried "eureka!" and then we faced our task: a race against time. the men streamed up to us, heard, and set to work immediately. we requisitioned the tarpaulin covers from the bags of cement; even emptied the bags themselves. we stripped hundreds of yards of telephone wires in the galleries. we descended to a still lower level; we were all tailors, sailmakers, anything, everything. some patched holes, while others sewed cover to cover until a sheet, fifty feet square, grew beneath our hands, sewn together with wire, and impervious to a single ray of light. as the last hole was stilettoed with the point of a bayonet, gilbert and i sought the upper level. we found the night had fallen. the cold sea breeze tasted like nectar after the candle-burnt atmosphere in the workshop below. our eyes sought the lighthouse; a couple of men were in the lantern; one held a candle, and was clumsily striving to light the argand burners. "good!" cried gilbert, "they'll smash some glasses, or i'm an idiot. now for the launch!" we descended to our workshop. the flushed, wet faces of the screen makers confronted us, and gilbert spoke. "we want a volunteer to cross to the other side and clear the wire, and to signal back when ready for us to haul out the screen. it must be one of you from the village, one who knows every stone in the darkness. and one who is not afraid. who volunteers?" there was a silence in which we heard the water dripping in far-deep levels. gilbert looked from face to face; in vain, it seemed. the villagers were, however, weighing the risk of failure. chloe stepped quietly from the group, and as quietly said: "this is a woman's business; is it not so, uncle henrico? who knows so well as i the rock paths through the lines of the sentinels? and if i meet them--well, i am a woman and i laugh. if i were a man--well, the end of me and our venture." "'tis true," growled henrico, "chloe must go." he had hardly spoken before she had given a swift wave of her hand to us, and vanished up the adit. we followed, dragging our great screen, and presently we peered out into the night. in that little time they had managed to get some at least of the lamps to burn, and now we saw a glowing circle of light. henrico, gilbert, and myself alone crept on to the ledge outside. everything had to be done by touch. henrico had been a sailor, and to him fell the delicate task of hooking the screen on to the traveling wire. foot by foot it disappeared overhead, and presently henrico swarmed back to us and we crept together, and laid our ears on the wire cable. it sang and hummed in the night wind like a harp string. little jars and metallic jingles broke the even rise and fall of sound. was it chloe? should we hear the signal clear or confused, loud or soft? on a sudden our doubts were settled. our ears rang as a clear sharp blow quivered on the wire. "safe," we cried in delight, and soon after that came the arranged three clear blows across the wire. in another second we were all heaving hard and fast at the traveler overhead. foot by foot it crept along, until we saw, with breathless delight, a huge blackness slicing into the circle of light. an unforetold eclipse! it intersected it completely. not a ray escaped seaward. so far we had won. dripping with sweat, and nigh breathless, we dropped to the rock and looked toward the lighthouse. the lantern seemed to be utterly deserted. against the lower windows of the chapel we could see the silhouettes of the guard. they were playing cards. not an eye had seen our operations. as we rejoined the sergeant, gilbert chuckled and said: "the game is ours! joker, right bower, and left!" "not yet," quoth henrico grimly, "the fight is at the dawn." "across there," added the soldier, nodding his head toward the other landing place of the wire. we had much yet to learn of the ups and downs of war; and more, too, to learn about our mine. for we now found every villager busily polishing up a rifle; and soon, too, they were dragging up half a dozen cases of ammunition from secret places in the far levels. and we were the engineers of this same mine! henrico served round the ammunition. the sergeant inspected every new rifle. he handed one to each of us in such an ordinary way of routine, that we accepted them and fell immediately into line to wait the coming of events. two hours later, the tide had fallen sufficiently to enable a crossing to be made outside the mine. fifteen men were to guard the other landing place of the wire. they passed out in single file, five soldiers and ten villagers, the sergeant in command. he carried two rifles. "one for our 'advance guard,' chloe," he said, with a laugh wrinkling his brown face as he passed us. the next instant he stepped through the opening. and so he passed from our life: a little, sinewy man, of few words, but of most prompt decision; following his trade cheerfully, and uncomplaining if in the day's march bad tools or adverse luck befell him. he died across there in the dawn; perhaps he saw the sun rise, and knew the end of the night's work; i hoped so. it was now close upon ten o'clock, and there were about seven hours for us to keep most vigilant and secret watch upon the lighthouse. from time to time we saw a man enter the lantern and trim the lamps. once he stepped out on the balcony, and, leaning over the rail, quietly smoked his cigarette. gilbert clutched my arm like a vise. "if that man moves to the other side we are done! he will see his shadow on the screen!" but, to our infinite joy, he passed in and down to join his comrades. below, in the chapel, they played cards, changed sentries, and slept; all in complete unconsciousness of the ill trick we had played them. night was waning. henrico pointed to a paler shadow on the crest above the creek. the wind had dropped; the air was filled with the sound of the tide seething in the rocks and weeds below us. save that, all was still. everything seemed to be watching and waiting. presently we could see one another's hands and faces. henrico at once mustered all the defenders and posted them among the serried rocks on the talus. it was an ambuscade in an amphitheatre. some one dropped a musket, and, at the sound, we all glanced nervously at the lighthouse; no one stirred within, and we were crouching down--when a most horrid crash and volleying of shots broke out across the creek. "on guard!" cried henrico; "the patrol has found our outpost." even while he spoke, and even above the din, we caught the ring of quick hoarse cries of command from the lighthouse. the door was flung open and a stream of soldiers sallied forth--to instant death. from every stone of our ambuscade, spitting flashes converged on the open door. it was a butchery at such a point-blank range, and with a light behind to show the mark. the crash of our volley died away as swiftly as it commenced. for a moment i thought that not a man had escaped uninjured. nothing but a tumbled, dark heap filled the doorway and the little circle of light. but, suddenly, from the shelter of the interior, some one struck down the candle inside with the butt end of a musket, and the darkness swallowed all up, for it was as night yet down there. then we became aware of the hushed silence that was about us. not a shot resounded from the direction of our outpost. had the attack failed or had they captured our post? involuntarily i glanced at our screen. it was still there, now just dimly outlined on the paling sky. gilbert called softly to henrico to know what he thought of the silence at the other side. we saw henrico craning over his rock, and striving to pierce the blackness at the foot of the creek; his hand was up to keep silent. at last, out of the vagueness of empty sounds, we caught a faint patter of footsteps, and, as we heard it, it came nearer and nearer: men running in desperate haste. in a trice they were below us in the shadows. some one cried "up here"; another called to henrico: "they have left the post," and all in the same breath we were fighting for our lives! to be concluded. latest issues brave and bold weekly all kinds of stories that boys like. the biggest and best nickel's worth ever offered. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --madcap max, the boy adventurer; or, lost in the land of the mahdi. by frank sheridan. --always to the front; or, for fun and fortune. by cornelius shea. --caught in a trap; or, the great diamond case. by harrie irving hancock. --for big money; or, beating his way to the pacific. by fred thorpe. --muscles of steel; or, the boy wonder. by weldon j. cobb. --gordon keith in zululand; or, how "checkers" held the fort. by lawrence white, jr. --the boys' revolt; or, right against might. by harrie irving hancock. --the mystic isle; or, in peril of his life. by fred thorpe. --a million a minute; or, a brace of meteors. by weldon j. cobb. --gordon keith under african skies; or, four comrades in the danger zone. by lawrence white, jr. --two chums afloat; or, the cruise of the "arrow." by cornelius shea. --in the path of duty; or, the fortunes of officer dan deering. by harrie irving hancock. --a bid for fortune; or, true as steel. by fred thorpe. --a battle with fate; or, the baseball mascot. by weldon j. cobb. --three brave boys; or, adventures in the balloon world. by frank sheridan. motor stories the latest and best five-cent weekly. we won't say how interesting it is. see for yourself. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. --motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. --motor matt's century run; or, the governor's courier. --motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the "comet." --motor matt's mystery; or, foiling a secret plot. --motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear. --motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto. --motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward. --motor matt's air-ship; or, the rival inventors. --motor matt's hard luck; or, the balloon house plot. --motor matt's daring rescue; or, the strange case of helen brady. --motor matt's peril; or, castaway in the bahamas. tip top weekly the most popular publication for boys. the adventures of frank and dick merriwell can be had only in this weekly. =high art colored covers. thirty-two pages. price, cents.= --dick merriwell's "dip;" or, the mysterious movements of a hat. --dick merriwell's rally; or, making a fighting finish. --dick merriwell's flier; or, the champions of the ice. --frank merriwell's bullets; or, a steady nerve and a sure hand. --frank merriwell cut off; or, the result of the great spring rise. --frank merriwell's ranch boss; or, big bruce and the blossoms. --dick merriwell's equal; or, the fellow with the flying feet. --dick merriwell's development; or, the all-around wonder. --dick merriwell's eye; or, the secret of good batting. --frank merriwell's zest; or, the spirit of the school. --frank merriwell's patience; or, the making of a pitcher. --frank merriwell's pupil; or, the boy with the wizard wing. --frank merriwell's fighters; or, the decisive battle with blackstone. --dick merriwell at the "meet"; or, honors worth winning. _for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address on receipt of price, cents per copy, in money or postage stamps, by_ street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york =if you want any back numbers= of our weeklies and cannot procure them from your newsdealer, they can be obtained from this office direct. fill out the following order blank and send it to us with the price of the weeklies you want and we will send them to you by return mail. =postage stamps taken the same as money.= ________________________ _ _ _street & smith, - seventh avenue, new york city._ _dear sirs: enclosed please find_ ___________________________ _cents for which send me_: tip top weekly, nos. ________________________________ nick carter weekly, " ________________________________ diamond dick weekly, " ________________________________ buffalo bill stories, " ________________________________ brave and bold weekly, " ________________________________ motor stories, " ________________________________ _name_ ________________ _street_ ________________ _city_ ________________ _state_ ________________ adventures of a boy genius motor stories the boys who want to learn something from what they read, as well as to be interested by it, will never find another publication that will satisfy them so well as motor stories. "motor matt" is not an impossible boy character. he is simply a youth who has had considerable training in a machine shop where motors of all kinds were repaired, and who is possessed of a genius for mechanics. his sense of right and wrong is strongly developed, and his endeavors to insure certain people a square deal, lead him into a series of the most astonishing, but at the same time the most natural adventures that ever befell a boy. _here are the titles now ready_: --motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. --motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. --motor matt's century run; or, the governor's courier. --motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the "comet." --motor matt's mystery; or, foiling a secret plot. --motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear. --motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto. --motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward. --motor matt's air ship; or, the rival inventors. --motor matt's hard luck; or, the balloon house plot. --motor matt's daring rescue; or, the strange case of helen brady. --motor matt's peril; or, cast away in the bahamas. to be published on may th. --motor matt's queer find; or, the secret of the iron chest. to be published on may th. --motor matt's promise; or, the wreck of the "hawk." to be published on may st. --motor matt's submarine; or, the strange cruise of the "grampus." to be published on june th. --motor matt's quest; or, three chums in strange waters. price, five cents at all newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, by the publishers upon receipt of the price. street & smith, _publishers_, new york transcriber's notes: added table of contents. italics are represented by _underscores_, bold by =equal signs=. all oe ligatures have been expanded to "oe" for this text edition; the ligatures are retained in the html edition. page , changed "se" to "see" in "i can see dot meinseluf." page , added missing apostrophe to "an', i do planty." page , changed "srceech" to "screech" in "screech of warning." page , changed "all sail sets" to "all sails set." added missing quote after "into smithereens." page , changed "anwered" to "answered" after "knew of archibald townsend." changed "handkerchif" to "handkerchief" ("fumbled in his pocket for a..."). page , added missing open quote to "the more he talks." page , added missing open quote to "a pocketful." page , changed "indentities" to "identities." page , changed "matallic" to "metallic" ("metallic rattling"). changed "fact" to "face" in "the sergeant's face changed." courtesy of the digital library@villanova university (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction no. july , five cents motor matt's launch or a friend in need _by the author of motor matt_ [illustration: _"steady!" cried motor matt; "you'll be all right in a minute."_] street & smith, publishers, new york. motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction _issued weekly. by subscription $ . per year. entered according to act of congress in the year , in the office of the librarian of congress, washington, d. c., by_ street & smith, _ - seventh avenue, new york, n. y._ no. . new york, july , . price five cents. motor matt's launch or, a friend in need. by the author of "motor matt." contents chapter i. new friends and new fortunes. chapter ii. the raffle. chapter iii. ping pong objects. chapter iv. another rescue. chapter v. an odd tangle. chapter vi. the rich man's son. chapter vii. a plan that failed. chapter viii. a chase across the bay. chapter ix. the lion's mouth. chapter x. the mouth closes. chapter xi. surprising events. chapter xii. m'glory's run of luck. chapter xiii. waiting and worrying. chapter xiv. ping stars himself. chapter xv. a new twist--by george. chapter xvi. another twist--by matt and m'glory. the man-eater. characters that appear in this story. =matt king=, otherwise motor matt. =joe mcglory=, a young cowboy who proves himself a lad of worth and character, and whose eccentricities are all on the humorous side. a good chum to tie to--a point motor matt is quick to perceive. =george lorry=, a lad who has begun steering a wrong course, and in whom matt recognizes a victim of circumstances rather than a youth who is innately conceited, domineering and unscrupulous. =ping pong=, a young chinese who wins a motor launch in a raffle and insists on working for motor matt. full of heathen vagaries, he drops mysteriously out of the story--but is destined to be heard from again. ="red-whiskers,"= otherwise "big john," an unscrupulous person who takes his dishonest toll wherever he can find it; but, in crossing motor matt's course, he meets with rather more than he has bargained for. =kinky and ross=, two pals of big john. =landers=, another pal who proves treacherous. chapter i. new friends and new fortunes. "what next?" not often does a boy put that question to himself and receive an answer as quickly as motor matt received his. the king of the motor boys was out among the sand dunes on the presidio military reservation. he had started to walk to the old fort at the golden gate, but had dropped down on one of the sand heaps, thinking--a little moodily, it must be admitted--over his present situation, and what lay ahead. it was a fine morning. the sky was pale blue and without a cloud, and the bay was as blue as indigo. the trade wind blew over him, and tempered the heat, and the salt tang in the air reminded him of the long voyage around the horn which he and his chums had completed no more than a week before. alcatraz was so close that it almost seemed to matt as though he could take a running jump from the shore and clear the intervening stretch of water, and beyond alcatraz, like a purple pyramid, arose tamalpais, looking westward across the pacific. matt was gloomy because, early that morning, he had separated from his two chums, dick ferral and carl pretzel. dick had received a telegram from his uncle, in denver, asking him to come east at once. at his invitation, carl had gone with him. both lads urged matt to accompany them, but he had declined, thinking more seriously than he had ever done of some "prep" school and a course at leland stanford. if he was to take that step, seeking new friends and new fortunes, why not take it now? there was something more in life, matt told himself, than just knocking around the world, meeting all kinds of trouble and getting the upper hand of it. but there were the motors, the explosive engines matt loved so well, and had worked among so long. if he entered some academy, he would have to turn his back on the humming cylinders, the rushing wheels, and the racing propellers. that thought gave him a pang. the gasoline motor was just coming into its own, and the field that lay before it was so wide as to stagger the imagination. could matt tear himself away from the fascination of terminals, commutators and spark plugs, from differential and transmission gear, from spray nozzles and float feeds, from the steady explosion, the perfect mixture of air and gasoline, the humming of the coils, and the beautifully balanced reciprocity of a running motor? well, after a while, perhaps, but not--not right away. "what next?" he asked himself. "huh!" came a sound, half-grunt and half-greeting, from directly in front of him. during his reflections, matt's head had bowed forward and his eyes had fixed themselves vacantly on the gray sand. he raised his glance abruptly, and saw within a yard of him a young fellow in dingy sombrero, faded blue flannel shirt, and corduroy trousers. the lad could not have been more than seventeen. his face was tanned a deep bronze, and his eyes were as black as midnight. his nose was what is termed a "snub," and gave his face a droll, humorous look. as he slouched in front of matt he had his hands in his pockets. for a full minute matt and the stranger surveyed each other. "huh!" said the stranger again, pulling a hand out of his pocket to jerk the brim of his hat down over one eye. "got any sand?" he inquired. "sand?" echoed matt. "sure--s-a-n-d, sand. i'm game as a hornet myself, and i reckon i can lay holt of you and wind you up like an eight-day clock. say, try me a whirl, catch-as-catch-can. if i can't put you on your back in a brace of shakes, i'll eat my spurs. dare you!" the stranger backed off, and pushed up his sleeves. a wide grin crossed his face and his black eyes twinkled. "what have you got against me?" asked matt. "why do you want to fight?" "shucks! you got to have a reason for every blamed thing? come at me. dare you--dare you! i'm hungry to caper--and you ain't going to hold back on a feller when he's _hungry_, are you?" matt laughed. "well, no," he answered, getting up. then, without any ifs, ands, or whyfors, the king of the motor boys and the stranger rushed together. it was the "double grapevine" that did the business for the stranger. in ten seconds, by the watch, he went into the air and dropped down on the soft sand with a _chug_ that left him dazed and bewildered. then he sat up and stared. "well, well, well!" he sputtered. he was still grinning, and his black eyes traveled over matt with wonder and admiration. "you the tur'ble turk in disguise?" he inquired. "hardly," laughed matt. "you must have learned wrestling in an agricultural school." "mebby," answered the other, picking himself up, "but i ain't diving into my wannegan any, at that. you can't give me another jolt like that, pard. two out of three, you know. first fall for the gent in the leather cap--but the next one's mine. whoop-ee!" the stranger, bareheaded and sleeves rolled to his elbows, rushed at matt like a hurricane. matt side-stepped, whirled, caught his antagonist from behind and shouldered him like a bag of meal. the next instant he had dropped him, and squirmed out from under his gripping fingers. "gee, man!" gasped the stranger, rubbing his hand over his eyes. "speak to me about that, oh, _do_! he lifts me up and sets me down, and all my caperin' don't amount to shucks. ain't it scandalous to be hip-locked with like that?" "got enough?" asked matt. "plenty, _amigo_." the stranger climbed to his feet, picked up his hat and reflectively slapped the sand out of it. "down where i come from, a feller can 'most always tell when he's got enough. when did you break out on this part of the map?" "a week ago." "what label do you tote?" "king, matt king." the strange youth came within one of dropping his hat. "speak to me about _that_!" he gasped, his eyes widening. "why, i might as well have wrestled with a locomotive and tried to stand it on its headlight in the right of way! say, i've read about _you_! you're the king of the motor boys--the big high boy who brought that submarine around south americy, and turned her over to uncle sam here in 'frisco. _gracias!_" "what are you thanking me for?" "because you could have tied me into a bowknot and tossed me into the bay--and you didn't. next time i hip-lock with a cyclone i hope somebody will put a tag on me and ship me to an asylum for the feeble-minded. my name's mcglory, joe mcglory, and when i'm to home i hang up my lid in tucson. shake, motor matt. you sure stack up pretty high with me." "glad to know you, mcglory," said matt, highly edified, giving the youth's hand a cordial pressure. "is it your custom to take a fall out of every acquaintance you make?" "well, it's sort of satisfyin', when you make friends with a galoot, to know which is the best man. it shows you what he's got in him that you can depend on in a pinch, see? i reckon you think i've got everything but the long ears, eh? don't make a mistake about that, pard. i'm not so foolish as you might think. tell me something!" "what?" "while you've been in 'frisco have you seen anything of a feller about my heft and height, scar an inch long over his right eyebrow, answerin' to the name of george lorry?" matt shook his head. "haven't seen him," he answered. "are you looking for a fellow answering that description?" "i am, a heap." the grin, which seemed almost perpetual on mcglory's face, faded into an earnest expression as he mentioned the lad he was looking for. "did you come to this reservation looking for him?" went on matt. "nary, pard." mcglory faced the boy, and waved his hand toward the life-saving station ahead, and to the left of them, on the shore. "i'm mortal fond of boats," he went on. "kind of queer, that, don't you think, for a galoot that's passed pretty near his whole life in the mines and in the cattle ranges? anyway, that's me. i can't cross the ferry without gettin' seasick, but, all the same, everything that floats tickles me more than i can tell. i've been down to the life-saving station looking at the surf boat." "i'm fond of boats myself," said matt, "especially motor boats. there's something on the ground that must belong to you, mcglory," he added, pointing to the sand near where mcglory had fallen, the first time. the young cowboy looked at the object, and then recovered it with a whoop. the object was a small, oblong square of pasteboard. "it's a ticket for the raffle," mcglory explained. "there's two hundred of 'em out, and i've got sixty." "raffle?" queried matt. "sure. a little old motor launch is goin' to be raffled off, over at tiburon, this afternoon. say, that boat's a streak! she can show her heels to anythin' in san francisco bay. speak to me about that, will you! i've got sixty chances out of two hundred for baggin' her. come over with me to the raffle, pard. i've cottoned to you, and you're my style from the ground up. what say?" "can you run a motor launch?" asked matt. "don't know the first thing about it." "what do you want with such a boat, then, if it makes you seasick to ride on the water, and if you don't know how to run a motor?" "shucks! whenever i get a notion i play it up strong, no matter whether there's any reason in it or not. that's joe mcglory from spurs to headpiece, and everybody in tucson will tell you the same. are you with me, matt? if you are, we'll slide back through the reservation, and jump the cars." matt had already conceived a liking for young mcglory. there was something mysterious about him, and a mystery is always attractive. a few moments later the king of the motor boys was strolling along the old board walk between the big presidio barracks and the row of officers' houses, side by side with his new friend. new friends and new fortunes, ran his thoughts. how were they to turn out, and what were they to be? chapter ii. the raffle. "there she is, matt; and it's apples to ashes she's the fastest thing that floats. why, she can run like a scared coyote makin' for home and mother. i've seen her perform, pard, and when she goes any place she arrives just before she starts. speak to me about that, please. squint at her good and hard, and tell me what you think." motor matt and joe mcglory had eaten their dinner at a restaurant in market street, and had caught the one-o'clock boat across the bay to tiburon. it was now a quarter to two, and they were standing on a small wharf, not far from the ferry landing, looking down on a trim little boat. there were about a dozen others, men and boys, lounging on the wharf. the raffle was to come off at two, and most of the idlers, presumably, had bought tickets, and were waiting to "put their fortune to the touch." the boat was an eighteen-footer, some three feet beam, and looked as though she could "git up and git" if enough ginger were thrown into her propeller. she was in charge of a boy who had let her drift out to the end of a ten-foot painter. "pull her in," called matt to the boy. "i'd like to look at her engine." the boy laid hold of the painter, and drew the boat up alongside the wharf. matt dropped into her, and lifted one side of the hinged hood that protected the motor. he found that the engine consisted of two horizontal opposed cylinders, and was as neat, simple, and compact a marine motor as any he had ever seen. the gasoline tank was in the nose of the boat. "ten horse power," mused matt. "you've struck it," said the boy. after a five-minute examination the only fault matt had to find with the machinery lay in the reversing gear. the brake band was not properly adjusted, but was set so that it dragged on the drum, which could hardly fail to result in a reduction of speed. when matt climbed up on the wharf again mcglory met him with an eager question as to what he thought of the _sprite_, which was the name of the little craft. "she's all right," answered matt, "and ought to run like a singed cat." "worth a couple of hundred plunks?" "the motor alone is worth a hundred and fifty, and seems to be as good as new." "whoop!" exulted mcglory. "somebody's going to get her for a cartwheel--one single, solitary piece of the denomination of eight bits. mebby it's me? _quien sabe?_" "there were two hundred tickets, you say, and they were sold at a dollar each?" "keno, correct, and then some." "and you have sixty tickets, joe?" "again your bean is on the right number, pard." "well, if you get the boat she will have cost you sixty dollars." "but it's only one ticket out of the sixty that wins her, matt. fifty-nine plunks are squandered, and it's one big dollar that pulls her down to me. i'd have bought more, if i'd had the _dinero_." "i might take a chance myself," observed matt, "although i haven' any more use for a motor launch here in 'frisco than has a stray cowboy by the name of mcglory." "nary, you won't, matt," said mcglory. "tickets are all gone." "what in the world are you going to do with the craft if you win her?" "i can't tell how nervous you make me, wanting a reason for every blooming thing. the notion hit me plumb between the eyes, matt, and that's all there is to it. but if i can't use the _sprite_ i can sell her, can't i? and if i did want to go cruising, i've got you to run her for me! oh, speak to me about that. but," and here mcglory's face fell, "i'm not going to get her. johnny hardluck has been running neck and neck with me ever since i was knee-high to a clump of cactus. if i'd have bought a hundred and ninety-nine tickets, the pasteboard i failed to corral would be the one that bobbed up when the wheel stopped runnin'. that's me, but i'm so plumb locoed that i keep trying to bust this hard-luck blockade. what's that--a twenty-dollar gold piece?" matt had stooped down while mcglory was talking, and picked up a flat object from the ground in front of him. "a baggage check," answered matt. "some of the crowd here must have dropped it. if we could find----" just then, a man appeared carrying his derby hat in his hand. the hat was filled with numbered slips. "gents," called the man, "this here drawin' for the _sprite_ is now a-goin' to take place. somebody's a-goin' to get that little streak o' greased lightnin' for a dollar. she's a good boat, an' wouldn't be sold for twice two hundred if her owner hadn't tumbled into a stretch of hard luck. she's done her mile in four minutes, the _sprite_ has, right here in the bay. this here hat is filled with slips o' paper numbered from one to two hundred, like the tickets. one of 'em's goin' to be drawed by the kid, who'll be blindfolded for the occasion. the lucky number the kid first pulls from the hat takes the boat." cheers from the assembled crowd greeted the "kid" as he climbed out of the boat and allowed a handkerchief to be tied over his eyes. then, with much formality, and while the breathless crowd watched, the youngster's grimy hand went into the hat and pushed around wrist-deep among the slips. "if the feller that gets the boat lives over in 'frisco," pursued the man, while the boy dallied provokingly with the slips, "he won't have to wait for the next boat back. all he's got to do is to jump into the _sprite_, head her where he wants to go, and cut loose. she's full o' oil and gasoline, an' could go from here to vallejo without takin' on any more." the boy's hand lifted from the hat and held up a slip. "number seventy-three," read the man; "number seventy-three is the lucky ticket, an' gets the _sprite_. who's got number seventy-three?" "stung again!" said mcglory gloomily, taking a handful of tickets from his pocket and tossing them into the air. "i might just as well say moo and chase myself. sixty _pesos_ gone where the woodbine twineth, and mcglory's got another lesson in the way luck's cut him out of her herd. mebby it's just as well. i've got about as much use for a motor launch as a yaller dog for the tin can tied to the end of his tail, but the notion that i wanted the thing sure hit me hard." "you ought to put a curb on those notions of yours, joe," said matt. "they seem to be pretty expensive." "shucks! well, i get a couple o' square miles of fun nursing the notions along, anyways. it's hoping for things that makes a feller feel good; he never steps so high, wide, and handsome after he gets 'em. now----" just here there came an excited chirp, followed by a shrill cackle of joy. a chinese boy, not more than fifteen or sixteen, broke through the disappointed throng of whites, his queue flying, and his blue silk blouse fluttering. "my gottee! hoop-a-la! my ticket him seventy-tlee! my gottee chug-chug boatee." "happy days!" scowled mcglory, his eyes on the young chinaman. "if that washee-washee yaller mug hasn't pulled down the prize i'm a sick injun. and here's me with sixty tickets, and him with only _one_! speak to me about that! what sort of a low-down thing is luck, anyway, to pass up a respectable white, with sixty chances, and dump that boat onto a chink with only one! sufferin' sister! let's go some place, matt, where we can be away from the crowd and by ourselves. i'm in a mood for reflection--like old jack bisbee was when the government mule kicked at him and set off a box of dynamite. i've got it in the neck, as per usual, and i want to say things to myself." "wait a minute, joe," returned matt. "let's watch the chinaman." the man who had "bossed" the drawing examined the chinaman's ticket. "it's seventy-three, all right," he remarked. "where you gettee, charley?" "'melican man no gottee dol pay fo' laundry," the celestial answered; "him givee china boy ticket." "it was sure a good play for you. there's your boat. take her." the yellow boy ran down to the edge of the wharf, dancing around in his wooden shoes, and crooning ecstatically to himself. "my gottee boat, my gottee boat! hoop-a-la! where row sticks?" he demanded, turning to the man who had been in charge of the raffle. "that's a motor boat, charley," grinned the man. "you don't need any row sticks." the yellow boy, still chattering to himself, slipped from the wharf into the boat. one of the men, alive to the humor of the situation, pulled the painter off the post and threw it into the craft after him. "how you makee lun?" inquired the new owner of the _sprite_, taking his seat at the steering wheel. the bystanders began nudging each other in the ribs. there was a delightful prospect ahead of them, in watching this guileless celestial, who knew nothing about motors, trying to run a motor boat. half a dozen voices called down directions for switching on the spark, starting the flow of gasoline, and getting the engine to going. "he'll get into trouble," cried matt, pushing his way through the crowd. "what's the diff?" guffawed a blear-eyed individual, with a husky laugh. "it's only a chink, anyhow." matt paid no attention to this remark. "you'd better look out, charley," he called to the chinaman. "my gottee, you no gottee," the yellow boy answered. "you no savvy china boy's pidgin; him savvy plenty fine. hoop-a-la!" the motor began to pop, and then to settle down into a steady hum. the china boy was fairly palpitating with excitement. grabbing at a lever, he threw the power into the propeller and the _sprite_ jumped ahead along the wharf, rubbing her gunwale against the planks. frantically the celestial yanked at the steering wheel. the _sprite_ turned her nose into the wharf and tried to climb out of the water. "she ain't no bubble wagon, chink!" roared the delighted crowd; "don't bring her ashore!" "turn the wheel the other way!" shouted some one else. "if we can head the rat-eater right, he'll go plumb through the golden gate to china." in the confusion of yells, the yellow boy caught the suggestion and whirled the wheel the other way. in answer to this sudden twist of the helm, the boat made a hair-raising turn, going over so far that she almost showed her garboard strake, then she flung away like a race horse. a group of three piles arose out of the water, half a cable's length from the wharf. the _sprite_ caught them a glancing blow. there was a terrific jolt, and those on the landing had a glimpse of a chinaman in the air, his hat and sandals flying in three different directions. he came down headfirst in fifteen feet of water, while the _sprite_ sheered away from the piles and struck a bee line for sausalito. matt, seeing that disaster was sure to happen, had jumped into a rowboat, and was bending to the oars. there might be fun in baiting a chinaman in that way, but he could not see it. chapter iii. ping pong objects. motor matt's first intention was to fish the china boy out of the water. he had barely started in the lad's direction, however, when he saw mcglory teetering on the edge of the wharf and throwing a rope. "whoosh!" gulped the china boy, as he bobbed to the surface and laid hold of the rope. "no likee boatee! my gottee, no wantee. whoosh!" seeing that the lad was as good as rescued, matt turned his attention to the runaway launch. by some freak of the steering gear the boat was cutting away in a straight line. the rowboat matt had secured for the occasion had been tied well to the south of the piles into which the chinese had run the _sprite_. the launch, describing a turn before she struck into a straightaway course, would have to pass a point directly abreast of matt. by quick work with the oars he could reach the point in time to lay hold of the launch. under his strong arms the rowboat leaped out across the water, and then, with a quick push on one oar and an equally quick pull on the other, the boat was laid broadside on to the course the runaway _sprite_ was taking. not a second too soon was this accomplished. hardly had matt dropped the oars when the _sprite_ came plunging up beside him. leaning out over the side of the rowboat, he grabbed the gunwale of the _sprite_. both boats were hauled together, and the rowboat was towed along at a fierce clip--but only for a moment. out of one boat and into the other matt scrambled, deftly avoiding the swamping of either craft. a minute later he was at the steering wheel and the levers, and had slowed down and turned the _sprite_ back. yells and cheers greeted his successful manoeuvre; and when he regained the wharf, towing the rowboat, a dozen willing hands reached down to catch and secure the painters. "a dandy piece of work, you hear _me_!" bellowed one of the crowd. "you didn't expect motor matt to play lame duck while pullin' off a trick like that, did you?" came the voice of mcglory. "shucks! that was as easy for him as sitting in at grub pile." "say," cried the blear-eyed person, "is he the young thunderbolt as brought that submarine around from the atlantic?" "he's the chap." this piece of information caused the crowd to develop a tremendous amount of interest in the king of the motor boys--more interest than he cared to claim. "where's the chinaman, joe?" he asked, with difficulty extricating himself from the crowd, and making his way to mcglory's side. "right here, matt," answered the cowboy, leading the way to a pile of old timber on which the dejected celestial was sitting. "he ain't feelin' quite as chipper as he was a spell ago. 'melican man's boatee didn't set well, and he's got a bad attack of the blues." "hello, charley!" exclaimed matt, leaning forward and slapping the yellow boy on his wet shoulder. "where do you want that boat? i'll take it across the bay for you if that's where you want it to go." "no wantee," was the doleful reply. "him debble boat; go sizz-sizz-sizzle, mebby so sendee china boy topside." "but you've won it, and it's yours." "no wantee," was the decided response. "my givee you fi' dol you takee." mcglory exploded a laugh and fell down the timbers. "speak to me about that, will you?" he gasped. "he's willing to give you five dollars, matt, to take the boat off his hands." the blear-eyed man pushed closer. "see here, chink," said he, "don't you be a fool jest because you got a chanst. what's the use of givin' a feller money to take the boat? i'll give you a ten-dollar bill for it, if that's the way you feel." mcglory pulled himself off the pile of timber and stepped in front of the man. "i wonder if you wouldn't?" he scoffed. "what's it to you, anyhow?" growled the man. "who give you any right to butt in? if the chink wants to sell the boat i got a right to buy it." "you ain't got a right to rob him, howsumever, and i'm not going to loaf around with my hands in my pockets and see you do it." "blather! what's a chink, anyhow?" "a chap's got to be treated square," spoke up matt, "no matter whether his skin's white, black, or yellow." "look here, charley," persisted the man, "i'll give you fifty cold dollars for that boat." "i'll give him seventy-five," put in another man. "if the launch is going at a bargain i might as well hand over a bid. what do you say, charley?" the china boy's little eyes began to snap and sparkle as the idea of profit drifted through his head. "let them bid, charley," said matt. "i'll give you ten dollars more than the highest bid they make." this headed off any further attempt to get the better of the chinaman. after lingering in the vicinity for a few minutes, the last of the crowd departed in the direction of the ferry house. "you takee boat," said the chinaman to matt. "you ketchee, you takee. huh?" "for how much?" queried matt. "i haven't any use for the craft, charley, and i was merely bidding to keep those other fellows from robbing you." "wisht i had some money," muttered mcglory. "i'll get a letter from tucson in a day or two, and i reckon it'll have a wad of _dinero_ in it for me. lend me enough to buy that boat, matt, and i'll fork over as soon as i make the raise." "i'd be glad to lend you money, joe, for anything but that," answered matt. "you don't need the _sprite_ any more than i do, so, if i don't lend you any funds you can't buy the boat." "that's just like a hired man, matt, and not like a real pard," mumbled mcglory. "but you're doing the right thing, at that." "me allee same ping pong," piped up the celestial, picking up the slack of his kimono and wringing the water out of it. "ah choo makee lun launly, fire ping pong, you savvy? whoosh! my no gottee job allee mo'." "that's rough," commiserated the cowboy, with a wink in matt's direction. "little ping pong here worked for ah choo, and the old sneeze pulled the pin on him. what was that for, ping?" "my takee ticket flom 'melican man fol washee-washee," explained the china boy. "ah choo no likee; him tellee ping pong makee skip, nevel come back allee mo'." "listen to that!" went on mcglory. "a flat-faced swatty owin' ah choo a dollar for the week's wash, blows into the laundry emporium and trades a ticket on the raffle with ping pong here for the amount of his debt. when ah choo hears the particulars, he ditches ping. ping comes over to tiburon, wins the boat, and tries to make it do a handspring over a clump of piles. between you and me, matt, we pull him out of the briny and save the boat, and here he is, worryin' because he's out of a job and never thinking about the eighty-five _pesos_ that are bound to drop into his yellow palms!" "china boy workee fo' you," chirped ping pong, reaching out to grab matt's hand. "you takee boat, givee ping pong job." "there's your chance," grinned mcglory. "take on the chink, matt, and you corral the boat. it's no rhinecaboo he's running in, either. he means every word of it." matt's eyes wandered in the direction of the ferry house. "the next boat is about to leave," said he hurriedly. "you take ping and go on the boat, joe, and i'll follow you with the _sprite_. you'll find me on the water front near the foot of clay street. when we get back there we'll find some way out of this difficulty. i haven't any more use for the chinaman than i have for the boat, but i should think we could sell the boat for somewhere near what she's worth and then turn the proceeds over to ping. that ought to keep him going until he finds a job that suits him." "keno!" agreed mcglory, grabbing the celestial by the arm. "come on, ping, and we'll strike a bee line for the ferry." as they hurried off, motor matt returned to the landing and to the _sprite_. he was only a few moments casting off and starting across the bay. destiny was lying in wait for him. fate knows her business, and never juggles events into such a state as they were then without having a well-defined object in view. chapter iv. another rescue. matt fell in behind the big ferryboat as she moved out of the slip and churned up the water in the direction of san francisco. drawing back far enough to be clear of the steamer's troubled wake, he jogged along, and tried out the _sprite_ with various manoeuvres calculated to test her motor and her rough-weather qualities. a keen delight ran tingling through every nerve as he handled the steering wheel and manipulated the levers. the engine worked perfectly; and, by flinging the little craft ahead into the rough water thrown up by the steamer, he was surprised and delighted at the easy work she made of the big waves. for a while, mcglory and ping grouped themselves aft and watched him. every now and then the cowboy would wave his hat and shout something which the distance between the boats rendered indistinguishable to matt. a tug came towing a two-masted ship in from the gate. matt allowed the _sprite_ to fall off, so that the tug and its tow would pass between him and the ferryboat. as he headed westward in order to round the stern of the sailing ship, matt became suddenly aware that sailors were running about the deck of the towed vessel, shouting back and forth, and some of them hurrying to pick up coils of rope. abruptly the excitement ceased. the sailors dropped their ropes, and two or three of them ran up on the poop deck, waved their hands to matt, and pointed southward, along the track of the ferryboat. matt could not hear what the sailors shouted to him, but from their gestures he knew there was something demanding his attention on the other side of their vessel. as the schooner gurgled and lurched past, matt saw a human form bobbing about in the water, and he also saw that the ferryboat was in the act of putting about. waving a reassuring hand to the captain of the boat, matt forced the _sprite_ to her best speed, and laid a direct course toward the struggling form. the captain of the ferryboat, no doubt assuming that the launch would easily effect a rescue, signaled his wheelman to keep on across the bay. as matt steadily diminished the distance that separated him from the form in the water, the form suddenly vanished. with his eyes on the spot where it had gone down, the young motorist was just making ready to shut off the power and dive overboard when the form once more shot to the surface. "keep afloat!" shouted matt encouragingly, "i'm almost alongside." it was a young fellow, matt could see that, and there was despair in his face as he turned his head in response to the call. he tried to say something, but the words were lost in a watery gurgle. his arms were working feebly, and it was evident that he was nearly at the last gasp. coaxing the last ounce of speed out of the _sprite_, matt laid her bow within a foot of the youth, then swiftly shifted the wheel in order to bring the side of the launch as close as possible. hanging to the wheel with one hand, matt leaned outward and downward, grabbing the collar of the youth's sweater with his disengaged hand. "steady!" cried motor matt; "you'll be all right in a minute." then, with a heave that caused the little boat to dip at a dangerous angle, he hoisted the young fellow aboard and dropped him splashing against the stern thwarts. there was plenty of life in him, and matt felt, just then, that the boat required more attention than he did. after getting the _sprite_ back on her proper course, matt slowed her speed and looked around. the young fellow was sitting up in the bottom of the boat, leaning back against the rear thwarts. he was about matt's own age, his hands were slender and white, and his sweater, trousers, and shoes were of the most expensive material. "did you ship much water?" asked matt. "not much," was the answer. "fall off the boat?" "yes." the youth did not seem inclined to go into particulars. when he answered matt's question, he leaned over the gunwale to peer around matt and get a look at the ferryboat. "she's going right on," he said, as though to himself; "she won't stop to take me aboard." "it won't be necessary for the ferryboat to stop," spoke up matt. "i've got you aboard, and that's enough." the youth started, stared, and lifted one hand tremblingly to his head. "how did you happen to drop overboard?" inquired matt. "i--i don't know," was the indefinite rejoinder. "i just happened to, that's all. where are you going?" "to san francisco--where you must have been going." "can't you put about and take me to sausalito?" the request surprised motor matt. "changed your mind about going to 'frisco?" "i don't want to go there. i want to go to sausalito. it don't make any difference to you where you land me, does it?" there was an arrogant, domineering air about the youth, even in his present half-demoralized condition, that struck the wrong kind of note in matt's ears. "it just happens," returned matt, "that i'm to meet a friend at the foot of clay street, and he'll probably be waiting for me when i get there. i don't see how it makes very much difference to you, when it's certain you must have been going to the city when you dropped off the ferryboat." "well," was the ungracious response, "it does make a difference to me--a whole lot of difference. will you take me to sausalito after you meet your friend?" "i guess the ferryboat can do that for you," answered matt stiffly. the strange youth had not had a word of thanks to say to his rescuer, on the contrary, he was acting as churlish as possible in the circumstances. "i'm in a nice fix to ride on a ferryboat," grumbled the young fellow, looking down at his soggy clothing and his water-logged shoes. "what's your name?" asked matt. "what do you want to know that for?" "curiosity," was the cool response. "i'd like to chalk it up in my memory as belonging to a young chap who couldn't even be civil to the fellow who saved him from drowning." a tinge of color ran through the youth's pale face. "the captain of the ferryboat would have saved me, if you hadn't," said he. "he couldn't have got there in time. you were about to sink as i grabbed you." there was a silence, broken at last by the youth. "my name's thompson," said he, "and i live in sausalito." "you got on the boat at tiburon?" thompson was recovering his normal condition by swift degrees. he flashed a strange look of suspicion at matt. "well, yes," he answered. "i've been staying there for a while; but i live in sausalito. give me a cigarette." "you've come to the wrong shop for cigarettes, thompson. i'm beginning to understand why you couldn't keep yourself afloat in the water better than you did--too many paper pipes. they play hob with a fellow's endurance." the _sprite_, by that time, was abreast of the docks, and off the unsavory quarter known as the "barbary coast." thompson paid little attention to matt's remarks, but fixed his eyes gloomily on the shipping as they glided past. there was something at the bottom of thompson's mind, and matt wondered what it could be. "i suppose," thompson continued, tiring of looking at the ships and the sweating stevedores, "that it's a lucky thing for me you happened to be around to pick me up." "you might call it that," returned matt dryly. he had his back to his passenger, so that he might pick a berth for the _sprite_ somewhere in the vicinity of the foot of clay street. when he spoke he did not look around. "well, i'm obliged to you," proceeded thompson. "i guess you needn't take me to sausalito, after all. i'll get out and go to a hotel. there's a lot of hotels on the 'front.'" "stay away from the hotels on the 'front,' thompson; that's my advice to you. they're not the right sort of place for a fellow like you to stop, even for a short time." "i guess i can take care of myself," was the haughty rejoinder. "i guess you think you can, thompson. you seem to have a pretty large opinion of yourself." "are you trying to insult me?" "great spark plugs, no! why should i want to do that?" "i don't like the way you talk, that's all. you act as though you didn't believe what i said." "that's where your imagination is working overtime. what is it to me, one way or the other, whether you're telling the truth or not?" matt saw the berth he was looking for, and turned the _sprite_ into the slip. two minutes later he was alongside the dock, and had his painter fastened to a post. as he faced about, after making the painter secure, he saw that thompson had gained the dock, and was starting off toward the street, his feet sluicing around in his wet shoes, and his trousers slapping about his legs as he walked. he was intending to leave without any further talk with matt, and the latter leaned against a post and watched him with half-humorous, half-wondering eyes. before he reached the street, however, mcglory and ping pong dodged around the end of a loaded dray and came face to face with him. mcglory stopped short, and stared. so did thompson. then mcglory jumped forward with a whoop, countered the half-hearted blow thompson aimed at him, and grabbed him around the waist. "sufferin' joseph!" cried mcglory, "if it ain't cousin george! speak to me about that, will you? cousin george lorry, that i've been bushwhackin' all over 'frisco to find! easy, george! you couldn't get away from me in a thousand years, and you know it. whoop-ee, matt! come this way, and come a-running!" chapter v. an odd tangle. in a flash motor matt recalled what mcglory had told him among the sand dunes beyond the presidio barracks. he had described a fellow, about his own heft and height, whom he named as george lorry. could it be that matt had picked up the very chap mcglory was looking for? and mcglory had referred to him as his cousin! matt hurried forward to where the so-called thompson was struggling to get away from the cowboy. "hands off of me, mcglory!" panted the bedraggled youth. "you haven't any right to lay a finger on me, and you know it!" "i haven't, eh?" growled mcglory. "well, you just try to bolt, and i'll give you a run for your alley. you're a pretty specimen, ain't you? oh, shucks! i'm plumb disgusted with you, and so's everybody else. what do you suppose the folks think, back in madison?" there was an exasperated rattle in the other's throat, but words and strength failed him, all at once, and he drooped limply in mcglory's arms. "he's played out, joe," said matt. "let him sit down for a minute and rest." "what a mess he's made of this business," muttered mcglory angrily, as he allowed the flabby form he was holding to slip down on the rough cobblestones. "he hasn't as much sense as the law allows, and you can spread your blankets and go to sleep on that." "you're positive he's the fellow you were looking for, joe?" inquired matt. "positive? why, pard, i know him as well as i know my own picture in the looking-glass. see that scar?" and he indicated a thin red line over his cousin's right eyebrow. "i don't need even that to prove who he is," mcglory added. "he told me his name was thompson, and that he lived in sausalito." "he's liable to talk anything but straight--_now_. let's get him somewhere to a hotel. sufferin' sand hills! his folks would throw a fit if they could see him like this. his name's george lorry, and he lives in madison, wisconsin. what's more, he's a cousin of mine, although that's nothing to congratulate myself about." mcglory bent down. "able to walk, george?" "yes," was the sullen rejoinder. "any particular place you'd like to be taken?" "bixler house, around in kearney street. get a cab." "got any money, george?" lorry's hands went slowly into his pockets. "all i had with me is in the bottom of the bay," he answered sulkily. "i don't think i can dig up enough to pay for a cab, but i reckon it's just as well for us to ride." "i'll foot the bill," chimed in matt. "here, ping!" ping was almost as hard a sight as was lorry, but he came blandly forward in his bare feet. "yasso, missul matt," said he. "go and get a cab for us, ping." "allee light. my workee fo' you," and he darted away along the street. "i thought there was something queer about lorry," remarked matt. "it's queerer than you think. matt," replied mcglory. "the whole yarn, when you go over it from end to end and crossways, is enough to make a feller's hair stand like the fur on a buffalo robe." lorry looked up with a scowl. "how did you know where i was?" he demanded. "didn't you buy a ticket to san francisco?" "i bought a ticket to chicago." "and from there, george, you bought one for here. think you could fool the wise boys your father had scramblin' around chicago lookin' you up? i got a telegram at tucson asking me to hustle for 'frisco, and do what i could to locate you. i've been in this burg for a week, and had just about made up my mind you'd taken a boat for somewhere on t'other side of the pacific. and to think you were riding from tiburon on the same craft that was carrying me!" "i saw you on the boat, and i jumped overboard to get away from you." mcglory went up into the air and came down with an astounded look at matt. "say something about that!" he gasped. "sufferin' hottentots, matt, did you hear him? he jumped overboard to get away from his cousin, joe mcglory! don't tell me, george!" he growled to lorry. "you're not such a fool as that comes to. we're out of the same family, mind, and i'd hate to think it." "you--you don't know everything," faltered lorry. "keno, i don't; but i'm goin' to know everything, george lorry, before we part company." all this, of course, was more or less greek to motor matt. it was clear enough that george lorry had come of good stock, and equally clear that he had been pampered and spoiled. as for the rest of it, matt was completely in the dark. just at that moment the cab arrived. as it drew up, ping pong threw open the door and jumped out. "my gottee, missul matt!" he chirruped. "my workee fo' you, huh?" "for a while, yes, ping," matt answered, unable just then to think of any other satisfactory method for dealing with the chinaman. "stay here and watch the boat till i come back. savvy?" "can do," crowed ping pong, "you bettee. my workee fo' motol matt. hoop-a-la!" the chinese boy seemed as delighted as he had been over in tiburon, when ticket number won the boat. he had insisted on working for matt, and the pleasant feeling that comes with a job brought a grin to his face and satisfaction to his soul. matt, mcglory, and lorry loaded themselves into the cab, and were driven away in the direction of kearney street. "let's get right down to cases, george," said the cowboy when they were well on their way. "first off, just understand that i'm your friend, that i'm representin' the folks back in madison, and that i haven't trailed you to get back those ten thousand plunks." with an effort, lorry braced back in his seat and pushed the straggling hair out of his eyes. "i didn't know what you were after, mcglory," he answered; "but i wasn't going to be bagged by _you_. when i'm ready to go home i'm ready, and not before." "oh, you ain't?" grunted the cowboy sarcastically. "that's flat. the folks haven't treated me right, and they know it. they----" "oh, cut that out," growled mcglory wearily. "haven't you got any sense, or are you just half fake and half false alarm? the trouble with uncle dan and aunt mollie is that they've done a heap too much for you. if you'd had to knock about the mines and cattle ranges, same as me, earnin' your grub by hard knocks, i reckon you'd see things a lot different." "i know my own business," snapped lorry. "you haven't been in madison for a year, joe mcglory, and you don't know how the old man has been rubbing my fur the wrong way. i told him i wouldn't stand for it--and i didn't." "you're a pill!" snorted mcglory, in a temper. "what's more," pursued lorry, in a temper that matched his cousin's, "i'm not going to take any insolence from you. you're nothing but a rowdy, anyhow. your father was a rowdy----" mcglory leaned over and dropped a hard hand on lorry's knee. "that'll do you, my buck," said he, his low voice ringing like steel. "while my father was alive he had my respect, and i did what he told me to. what's more, he steered me plumb right. he didn't have the money your father had, but that wasn't his fault. as for the rest, just remember that my mother was your mother's sister. whenever i go to that hill, just out of tucson, where those two mounds are heaped up, side by side, i can stand between 'em and say, with a clear conscience, that i'm livin' square. in my place, george lorry, you couldn't do that, and you know it." mcglory's eyes flashed, and, on the instant, the liking matt had already conceived for the cowboy intensified into a fast and enduring friendship. joe mcglory had character, and the right kind of an outlook upon life. at that moment the cab came to a halt. "here's the place," announced mcglory, pushing open the door, "and a fine old honkatonk it is. i've been to this place huntin' for you. wonder why i didn't find you?" "probably," was the sarcastic comment of lorry, "you didn't ask for thompson." matt paid the driver of the cab, and then followed mcglory and his cousin into the dilapidated building. a frowsy-looking clerk bestirred himself and leaned over the counter, his curious gaze centring on lorry. "gee christopher!" he exclaimed, "is that you, mr. thompson?" "give me the key to my room," snarled lorry. the key was handed over, and lorry led the way out of the room and up a flight of narrow stairs. a hall was traversed, and near the end of it lorry unlocked a door, and bolted across the threshold. mcglory rushed after him, and when matt stepped into the bare little room, the cowboy was jerking a revolver out of his cousin's hand. the drawer of a bureau, at one side of the room, was open. "now what do you think!" cried mcglory, whirling away and pushing the revolver into his pocket. "he yanked this pepper box out of that drawer, matt, and turned it on himself. with all his highfalutin' airs, that cousin o' mine hasn't got the backbone of a jellyfish. look at him! did you ever see any one of his age and size with less manliness in his make-up?" matt turned and looked at lorry. the next moment lorry stumbled to the bed and fell on it at full length, burying his face in the pillow. chapter vi. the rich man's son. "blubbering!" muttered mcglory, with a look of profound disgust. "i might overlook his attempt to shake a cartridge into himself, but this baby act is too much for me." george lorry was a puzzle to motor matt. and all matt had overheard between mcglory and lorry had only made the puzzle more perplexing. "don't be too hard on him, joe," said matt. "there must be something pretty serious at the bottom of this or lorry wouldn't have tried to shoot himself." "_did_ he try," asked mcglory darkly, "or was it only a bluff?" "according to his story, he jumped off the ferryboat to get away from you. that alone proves he was desperate." "maybe he was talking with two tongues when he said that." matt stepped over to the side of the room. "why did he leave madison, joe?" he asked in a low voice, as soon as mcglory had joined him. "he got to be more than uncle dan could handle. you see, pard, uncle dan's money runs up into seven figures, and george corralled the notion that whenever he wanted anything all he had to do was to order it sent up to the house. he joined a yacht club, and wanted to put a motor boat in a race, so what does he do but order a five-thousand-dollar racer, and drew on dad. dad lands on the proposition with both feet, and little george over there is so mad he sulks in his room for a week, then he chases himself out of the house, and trots a heat with a swift bunch of thoroughbreds, who spend their time gamblin' and drinkin'. george does that, you know, just to show how mad he is; but dad's dander is up good and plenty, and he vows he'll send george to a military academy, where they'll straighten the kinks out of him or else break him in two. george was more worked up over the military school than he was over the racing boat, so he opens dad's safe one night, takes out ten thousand in cold cash, and slips away from madison between two days. "uncle dan is a pretty good sort of fellow, although he never did anything for the mcglorys--not so you could notice it. he writes me all this that i've been tellin' you, matt, and says that, if i see anything of george, will i please rope down, and tie him, and wire. the day after i get the letter, along comes a telegram saying george went to chicago and bought a ticket for 'frisco, and asking me to hit only the high places between tucson and the golden gate. i went, and i've been here a week, walkin' my boot soles off, and askin' questions till i was blue in the face--but nothing doing. i got the notion that george had used his ten thousand for a trip to furrin parts, and so i was just beginning to cut loose on my own account and enjoy the boats when you and i came together, and this business of the _sprite_ was pushed into the grooves. if it hadn't been for you and the _sprite_, pard, i'd never have found george. now that i have found him, what am i going to do with him? speak to me about that. i'd like to unload a little of the responsibility onto you." "he's spoiled," observed matt, after a little reflection; "and that's a cinch." "oh, no, he ain't spoiled!" scoffed mcglory. "he's just mildewed with conceit and cobwebbed with ideas of his own importance. back of all that, he's got about as much s-a-n-d as a gopher. he's over there now leaking great big briny tears like a piute squaw who's been caught stealin' a string of glass beads. wonder if he thinks he can melt _me_?" mcglory's black eyes glittered as they wandered to the heaving form on the bed. "you'd think he was seven instead of seventeen," he grunted. "there may be something in him, joe," suggested matt, "for all that." "there ain't anything in him worth while--you couldn't find it with a mikerscope." "let's give him a chance, anyhow." "chance? i'm willing. but what's the number? and how you going to play it?" "your first move is to get hold of that ten thousand. he doesn't seem to have it with him, and it may be that he's feeling cut up because he gambled with the money, and lost it. if you can't get the money, then find out where it is. don't go at him hammer and tongs, but use a little tact." mcglory grinned. "smooth him down with a piece of velvet, eh?" he queried. "dust him off with a few sweet words, and gently lift him back on the pedestal where he's already stood for more years than have been good for him. not me, pard. anyhow, i'm short on tact. you do it." matt laughed a little as he looked at the cowboy and listened to him. it was plain that matt's sympathy for george wasn't appreciated, and that if any diplomacy was used it was matt who would have to use it. without further words matt walked over to the bed and pulled up a chair. "george," said he, "we're friends of yours, and we want to help you. everybody makes a mistake now and then, and you've made a big one, but there's no use fretting about it. that ten thousand is the principal thing. if we can get hold of that, you'll be able to work out of this thing in good shape, and perhaps we can fix it so you can return to madison and cut a better figure there than when you left the town." "i don't want to go back to madison," came the muffled reply from the pillow. "the governor has treated me like a dog, and i've washed my hands of him." "suppose we could arrange matters so the governor would treat you better?" "you can't," snuffled george; "nobody can. the governor's a brute." "i think we can make your father see things in a different light," went on matt; "but the first thing to do is to send back that money." george jammed his head deeper into the pillow. "i haven't got it," he whispered. "you must have done a lot of gambling to----" "no, i didn't. it was stolen from me. the red-whiskered man with a mole on his face took it." "how was that? turn over here, george, so we can hear you." "that's all there is to it," declared george, lifting his face a little so his words were more distinct. "i met him, and kinky, and ross on the train. i thought they were nice, sociable fellows; but that's where i made a mistake. they got on the train at salt lake city, and when we reached 'frisco they got me to come to this hotel. the red-whiskered man had business over in tiburon--i don't know what it was--and he went over there the next day after we reached 'frisco, and lost his trunk check. they wouldn't let him have the trunk without the check, and he was awfully worked up. kinky told red-whiskers that maybe i had swiped the check, and they all seemed to believe it. anyhow, red-whiskers said the trunk was worth more'n ten thousand and they made me turn over that money i'd brought from home. red-whiskers said that when i found the check, or when he proved his property and made the railroad company give up his trunk, he'd give me back the money. i went over to tiburon, the next day, myself, and when i got back here, kinky, ross, and the other fellow had left. i've been going over to tiburon every day since, but i couldn't find the check or hear anything about it. and i haven't heard anything about red-whiskers, either. he and his two pals have stolen the money, that's what they've done. i was an easy mark, and--and--what's the good of living, anyhow?" george jammed his head down into the pillow again. this strange recital left matt and mcglory gasping. it was clear that george had fallen into the hands of sharpers, and had been robbed, but there was that baggage check matt had picked up near the little tiburon wharf. that looked as though there might be something in the yarn red-whiskers had told about losing the check. "well, speak to me about this!" breathed mcglory. "that check you found, pard, may be the very one this chap with the auburn wind teasers lost! wouldn't that knock you slabsided? sufferin' jew's-harps! why, i never heard anythin' to match it. fate is workin' you into this game for fair." lorry hoisted himself up suddenly on the bed. "did you find a trunk check over in tiburon?" he demanded. "yes," replied matt, and took the flat piece of brass from his pocket. "by jove!" exclaimed lorry. "it would be a big load off my mind if that check could be used for getting back the money. light the gas, mcglory." it was falling dark outside, and the cowboy scratched a match and touched the flame to a jet. as soon as the light was going, lorry took the check in his own hands and looked it over exultantly. then, abruptly, he jumped for the bed and rushed toward a suit case that lay on a chair. "what are you going to do, george?" inquired mcglory. "get into some dry clothes and then hunt for red-whiskers. this means a whole lot to me. i'm going to honolulu, and i need that ten thousand." "don't be in a rush, lorry," said matt. "was there just ten thousand in the roll? didn't you use any of it?" "not a cent! i had enough to get me to 'frisco, and pay a few other expenses, aside from that. and it wasn't a roll; it was a packet with a band around the middle stamped with the name of the merchants' and traders' bank, of madison. jupiter, but this is a good clue, and----" some one rapped on the door. mcglory answered the summons and found the frowsy-looking clerk and a boy of about nine in the hall. the clerk pushed the boy forward and pointed to motor matt. "that's him," said the clerk, "an' i'll bet money." "you motor matt?" queried the boy, rushing into the room. "yes," answered matt. "den dis here's fer you. dere's an answer, an' i'll wait fer it." the boy handed over an envelope. matt opened the envelope and read the inclosure. a strange light leaped into his gray eyes. "who gave you this, my lad?" he asked of the boy. "dunno de cove, but he had red lilocks an' a face like er ape." "well, i'm not giving him anything till he proves his property, see? you tell him that. also tell him that i won't meet him in turk bremer's place, but will be at the foot of clay street in half an hour. understand?" "sure thing," grinned the boy. matt snapped a quarter into the air and the boy grabbed it and made off. "what's it all about, pard?" asked mcglory. "did you tell anybody in tiburon about my finding that trunk check, joe?" asked matt. "i told the galoot that bossed the raffle." "then that explains it," muttered matt. "listen." thereupon he read the note aloud. "'motor matt: several days ago i lost a baggage check somewhere in tiburon, and a couple of hours ago i was told that you had found one there. it's a cinch it's mine. give it to the boy; or, if my bare word that it belongs to me isn't enough, then come to turk bremer's place on the "front" in half an hour and i'll prove property. john smith.'" mcglory fell back in his chair. lorry, with a startled exclamation, grabbed the note out of matt's hand to look at it for himself. chapter vii. a plan that failed. motor matt was as profoundly surprised at the way matters were falling out as were mcglory and lorry. as mcglory had said, fate seemed to have selected matt for the particular work of recovering lorry's money. "this is luck!" whispered lorry. "if you can get back that money for me, motor matt, i'll give you five dollars." "don't strain yourself, george," grinned mcglory. "i will," declared lorry. "but you've got to get it back to-night. there's a boat for the sandwich islands to-morrow, and that's the one i was planning to take." "you're not going to emigrate, george," asserted mcglory. "we need you right here in the united states for a spell yet." matt gave the cowboy a swift and expressive look. "i think, joe," said he, "that lorry has been dictated to too much. leave him alone and let him make his plans." mcglory stared incredulously. "that's the talk," expanded lorry, puffing up like an angry tomtit. "i'd been bossed altogether more than was right or necessary. from this on i'm my own master. you've got a little sense, motor matt. i give you credit for that, anyhow." "thanks," answered matt, with an irony so slight lorry let it get past him. "will you stay right here in this hotel while joe and i are getting the money for you?" "sure, i will! but i want it to-night." "we'll get it as quick as we can. red-whiskers, otherwise john smith, may not have it about him, so it may be some time before we can lay hands on it." lorry's face fell at this. "you'll get it, though, won't you? you've got to get it. do that for me and i'll give you five dollars apiece." "fine!" rumbled mcglory, with a wink at matt. "if george's generosity ever strikes in it'll bother him worse than the measles. how did red-whiskers know we were here, pard?" "probably he traced us through the _sprite_," answered matt. "he found the launch at the foot of clay street, and ping must have heard us tell the cab driver to drive us to the bixler house. ping, of course, told the fellow." "and he sent the boy with a note, knowing it wasn't healthy to come himself!" crowed mcglory, slapping his hands. "the old rooster didn't know how we had tangled up with george--ping didn't tell him that." "we haven't much time to work our plan, joe," said matt, starting for the door. "you'll stay right here lorry, until you hear from us?" "of course," answered lorry. "all i want is that money. get it so i can sail for honolulu to-morrow." "we'll do the best we can," replied matt, as he and mcglory left the room and the hotel. "you've got me guessing good and plenty, pard," said the cowboy, while he and matt hurried toward the water front and the foot of clay street. "it wouldn't be right to let george pull out for furrin parts." "of course not!" answered matt. "but you told him----" "that he had been dictated to too much. you see, joe, i wanted to reassure him, as much as i could, so he'd be sure and stay at the hotel. after we recover the money we can do with that cousin of yours whatever we think best." "that's you! shucks! now, i reckon, you understand how much tact i've got. but george--say, ain't he the limit? but he'll not be absent a whole lot at the wind-up, i can promise you that. i'm in this to help uncle dan and aunt mollie, and you can bet your moccasins that what george wants or don't want won't cut much of a figure in the final scramble. but, tell me: do things always come your way, like this? as this business opens up more and more, the strangeness of it makes my skin get up and walk over me with cold feet." "well," laughed matt, "just so you don't get 'cold feet' yourself." mcglory chuckled. "i come from a country," said he, "where it's too hot for chilblains. but what's the plan?" "we'll get a policeman," answered matt, "and have him keep in the background while we're talking with red-whiskers. as soon as we're sure he's the man we want, we'll signal for the officer to come forward and take him in tow." "keno! we'll let the law juggle with red-whiskers. but wouldn't it have been better to let the law get in its work at turk bremer's? there'd be plenty of light there so we could see what's doing." "those dives on the 'front' are dangerous places, joe, and it's well for us to leave them alone. as it is, we'd better walk in the middle of the road when we get to clay street." "surely, surely. i reckon your head's as level as they make 'em. how am i for a pard, anyhow?" "a one," said matt heartily. "shake!" cried mcglory, and they stopped to seal their friendship with a cordial grip. when close to the "front" they encountered a policeman and told him as much as necessary in order to get him to lend a helping hand. "if we're going to make an arrest," demurred the officer, "we ought to have a warrant." "there's no time for that, officer," said matt. "well, let me see that note this chap you call red-whiskers sent by the boy." matt passed it over, and the policemen withdrew into the glare of a street lamp to read it. "this here is pretty good evidence that you're handin' me a straight story," said the officer, returning the note, "but i'm a gopher if i'd help you on such a showing if it wasn't that you're motor matt. your picture was in the papers"--here he gave matt a swift sizing--"and there's no doubt but you're the fellow. heave ahead, and don't pay any attention to me. when i'm needed just yell 'come on!' and i'll be in the game before you can say scat." matt and mcglory continued on, taking the middle of the street until they reached the "front." here, as they passed along the docks with their masses of shipping, they kept a sharp watch for the man they were seeking. for some distance they followed the docks without success, passing the dozing form of ping pong curled up at the foot of the post to which the _sprite_ was moored. ping did not see them, and they did not let him know they were passing. "the chink stacks up pretty well for a heathen," commented mcglory; "and he's bound to go on your pay roll, matt, whether you want him or not. if he was any----" "hist!" warned matt, his quick eye observing a dark figure emerging from the shadows on the right. the form came close and halted in front of the two boys, not far from a flickering light. it was the form of a tall man, in a slouch hat and dark, respectable clothes. he had a beaklike nose and red whiskers, but it was too dark for the boys to see the mole mentioned by lorry. however, there was no doubt about his being the man. "motor matt?" inquired the stranger briefly. "yes," replied matt. "well, i'm the man that wants the trunk check. the railroad people won't let me have the trunk unless i pass over that brass tag. mighty accommodatin' set, i must say." "is your name john smith?" "didn't i put that to the note?" demanded the other. "what's that got to do with it, anyhow?" "not much, but i'd like to have you tell me where ross and kinky are, and----" the fellow muttered an oath and jumped back. his hand, at the same instant, darted toward his hip pocket. matt had mentioned "ross" and "kinky" merely to make assurance doubly sure. the man's actions proved that he was one of the three thieves, and that he had come prepared for anything that might develop to his disadvantage. mcglory, watching red-whiskers like a hawk, jumped for him and grabbed the hand that was reaching for his hip. matt likewise jumped forward. "come on!" he cried to the officer. a tramp of running feet was heard--but the sounds came from two directions, from behind the red-whiskered man and also back of matt and mcglory. another moment and matt saw two figures leaping out of the heavy shadow. one of them came on toward the place where the boys were struggling with red-whiskers and the other turned aside and set upon the policeman. matt heard a scuffle, a sound of angry voices, and then a _thump_ as of a savage blow. before he could draw a full breath, a heavy fist had struck him in the shoulder and thrown him reeling backward. "it's a fall!" panted a husky voice. "cut for it, on the double quick. the launch--it's the only thing for us." three figures leaped away along the docks. they were the three men, red-whiskers, kinky, and ross--for, in matt's mind, it was clear that the two latter had been in hiding, waiting to help their pal if he needed it. the suggestion about the launch aroused matt's fears for the _sprite_. he started toward the place where the launch was moored, but halted when he saw the three men vanishing in another direction. chapter viii. a chase across the bay. the suddenness with which the red-whiskered man's accomplices had interfered with motor matt's plan, and caused it to fail, was as startling as it was unexpected. matt, standing back toward the edge of the dock with a thumping pain in his shoulder, felt a spasm of chagrin and disappointment. mcglory picked himself up, assisted the policeman to his feet, and both came toward matt. the policeman was rubbing his head, and seemed dazed. "sufferin' snakes!" exclaimed mcglory. "i'm trying to figure out what happened. who were the other two that blew in on us, pard, just as we had everything our own way?" "they must have been kinky and ross," replied matt. "who are they?" demanded the officer. "two pals of this red-whiskered man. he probably had them waiting in the background, just as we had you waiting to help us, officer." "this ain't the last of this!" cried the officer hotly. "which way did they go?" matt indicated the direction. the officer started off at a run, tugging at his pocket. "why don't you come along?" he demanded over his shoulder. "one of them said something about getting away in a launch," returned matt. "i didn't know but it was a boat that i have here, and i think it's well to stand around and see if they come back." "i'll see where the scoundrels go, anyhow," said the officer, and vanished at a rapid pace. "are you hurt, joe?" inquired matt. "my feelin's are badly injured," answered the cowboy. "the rap i got on the block don't count for much, although it was enough to drop me, right where i stood. they're a fine lot, those galoots. i reckon, it's a cinch that they're the chaps we want--and the ones we won't get. george will weep some more when he hears about it." "listen!" said matt. the exhaust of an engine struck on his ears, faintly but distinctly. it came from somewhere to the south of the place where he and mcglory were standing. "what is it, pard?" queried the cowboy. "a boat! didn't you hear red-whiskers speak about a launch?" "yes, but i reckoned it was the _sprite_ he meant, and that he changed his mind when he saw you hustling to get between him and the boat." "it wasn't the _sprite_, but another launch, and---- ah, see that!" matt pointed into the darkness to the southward. a light could be seen moving around the end of a slip, gliding across the dark water like a star. "there they go!" cried mcglory excitedly. "this way, joe," called matt, whirling and running toward the _sprite_. "hurry!" the chinese boy was still dozing by the post, the noise caused by the recent scrimmage not having been sufficiently loud to disturb him. he was on his feet, however, the instant matt dropped a hand on his shoulder. "you motor matt?" palpitated ping. "you wantee----" "cast off the rope, ping," cut in matt, sliding from the edge of the dock into the boat. "quick! get in behind, joe," he added to mcglory. "we haven't an instant to lose." "well, hardly," answered the cowboy, scrambling aboard while matt started the engine. "time's plenty scarce for us if we're to overhaul that other boat." the painter fell into the boat and ping fell along with it. "i didn't intend to take you, ping," said matt, switching the power into the propeller and turning the nose of the _sprite_ toward the open bay. "by klismus," said ping, with unexpected firmness, "my workee fo' you! where you makee go, my makee go, allee same. me plenty fine china boy." "got any sand, ping?" asked mcglory. "have got. fightee allee same like sam hill. whoosh! plenty big high china boy, allee same boxer. you watchee, motol matt watchee. my workee heap fine fo' motol matt. workee, fightee--him allee same." while this brief cross-fire was going on between mcglory and ping, matt was driving the _sprite_ down the slip for all she was worth. the water slithered up along her sharp bow and flung itself in spray over the crouching forms of the cowboy and the chinese. the launch, because of the weight aft, was very much down by the stern; but this, by throwing the bow high, helped the boat to slip over the water. after dropping from the dock into the launch matt had not seen the moving light until, when he was halfway out of the slip, the little gleam danced across the open space between the outer ends of the two piers. "great spark plugs!" muttered matt, "that's the other boat." "she's going north!" exclaimed mcglory. "which makes it easy for us to pick up her trail and follow. if she had gone south, she might have got away from us." "she's rippin' along like an express train," murmured the cowboy, watching the light vanish around the end of the pier. "she's not speedy enough to leave the _sprite_ behind," exulted matt, his nerves quivering in unison with the little tremors the humming cylinders sent through the boat. "if those tinhorns see us, pard----" "they won't. we're not carrying any lights, and i'm surprised to see them with one." "mebby they can hear us if they can't see us." "we'll have to drop behind far enough so they won't hear us. their own boat makes twice as much noise as the _sprite_, and that will drown the throb of our exhaust and the whir of the cylinders." just then the _sprite_ dashed out of the black maw of the slip, wheeled in a foamy arc and turned her nose northward. there were many lights in the bay--red and green side lamps and white masthead lights, and others, but matt was not confused. the white gleam straight to northward was the one he knew he should follow. a lightish streak surged in the wake of the other launch. matt could not make out much about the craft except that she was considerably larger than the _sprite_ and had a canvas or wooden canopy over the cockpit. but the _sprite_ was the faster boat. matt, studying the distance that separated the _sprite_ from the launch ahead, found it necessary to choke down the motor in order to keep from overhauling the three thieves. "i thought you wanted to catch them," complained mcglory, conscious of the lessening speed. "what good would it do for us to overhaul them out in the bay?" queried matt, humping over the wheel and speaking without turning his head. "there are three of the scoundrels, and they're armed and would probably be only too glad to have us tackle them. if red-whiskers could lay me by the heels, you know, he'd get his trunk check." "correct, pard. it wouldn't do to run alongside of them in the bay. but what're you thinking of?" "we're just shadowing them to find out where they go. when we discover that, we'll hold a council and decide what's to be done next." "waugh!" sputtered mcglory. "queerest ever that i can't ride on the water without getting a gone feeling in the pit of my stomach." "have you got it now, joe?" "awful. if i had any supper aboard, i reckon i'd unload. and i can go through all kinds of rough weather on a buckin' bronk! no matter how much a bronk pitches, or bucks, it never makes me squeamish--but boats! well, the minute i get into one i begin to have cramps. funny, ain't it? they got a fake boat in a picture gallery in tucson, and if a galoot wants a tin type of himself, at sea, he gets into the fake boat and lets the camera snap. honest to mack, every time i go to that place for a tin type i get seasick." matt laughed. "and yet you like boats!" he exclaimed. "achin' for 'em all the time. it's human nature to be contrary with yourself, i---- sufferin' centipedes! i'm an injun if that other boat isn't making for tiburon." "i don't think so, joe," said matt. "there's a place around the point that's called belvedere cove. the other boat is either going to put in there or else go farther up the bay. we can tell in a minute." a little later matt announced that the other launch had doubled the point and put into the cove. for a brief space the point of land hid the larger launch from the eyes of those in the _sprite_; but, as the _sprite_ pushed around the point, a multitude of lights burst suddenly on the gaze of her passengers--stationary lights they were, with the exception of one that was gliding among them like a shooting star. "tell me about that!" muttered mcglory, standing up for a better look. "the surface of the cove looks like a town. where are all those lamps?" "on houseboats, joe," replied matt. "the tide-water inlets, in and about san francisco bay, are full of house boats at this season of the year. that's the other launch--that moving light, over there." mcglory continued to stand up, bracing himself with a hold on ping's pigtail, which happened to be the most convenient thing handy. the _sprite_, keeping to the trail of the moving white gleam, darted in and out among the house boats. from many of the anchored boats came sounds of mirth, music, and gay talk. some one, on an ungainly craft which the _sprite_ passed within a short fathom, shouted a warning for matt to put out a light. this warning, of course, could not be heeded, and the little launch foamed onward out of earshot. suddenly matt shut off the power and brought the boat to a halt. "the other launch has tied up alongside a house boat, joe," he announced, "and we're at the end of our trail. what shall we do? go to tiburon after a policeman or two or go on with the work ourselves?" chapter ix. the lion's mouth. mcglory made a survey of the surface of the water directly in front of the _sprite_. a hundred feet away was a large house boat, with the launch snugged up close to its side. the house boat was of the ordinary two-deck variety, the upper deck covered with an awning. a short staff extended upward from the highest point of the boat and supported the riding light. while the cowboy was looking, a light flashed in the windows of the house boat's cabin and then settled into a steady gleam. "i'm not one of those ducks who wear a sixteen collar and a number five hat, pard," observed mcglory, as he dropped back on the thwart, "but, at the same time, what you've thrown up to me takes more sense than i've got to decide. if we leave here and chase over to tiburon after a few policemen, these birds we're after may fly the coop while we're gone. then, taking it t'other way around, if we go ahead on our own hook we may make another bobble like that we got tangled up with at the foot of clay street. those tinhorns are heeled, and you can chalk that up good and big; so, if us longhorns go prancing in there and begin pawing for trouble, the result looks like a cinch--for brick-whiskers and the trunk check. you say what we're to do." "i don't think we could accomplish much by coming company-front with those fellows and demanding lorry's ten thousand dollars," said matt. "as a matter of fact, we don't know whether they have the money with them, or whether they've spent it, or whether they've left it somewhere ashore." "they've got it in their clothes, matt, i'll gamble on that. when these tinhorns freeze to a roll of that size, they keep it handy and quiet." matt flashed a look at the house boat. "they seem to be the only ones aboard the house boat," said he, "and they're evidently having a talk in the cabin. i believe we'll run alongside the other launch and then i'll leave you and ping to watch the _sprite_ while i do a little reconnoitring." "meaning," added mcglory, "to get right in among 'em, big as life, and run the risk of having them put the kibosh on you?" "it's not much risk, joe, if i'm at all careful." "mebby not, but what's the good?" "perhaps i can find out something of importance about the money." "you're putting your head in the lion's mouth. if the mouth should happen to close----" mcglory finished with a shrug and a gurgle. "speak to me about that!" "if that should happen," said matt, "i'll have you and ping to fall back on." "don't fall too hard, that's all." matt started up the motor again, proceeding slowly and as noiselessly as he could. mcglory went forward over the hood of the motor and prepared to make the _sprite's_ painter fast to the larger launch. the noise of the motor did not arouse any one in the cabin--at least, no doors were opened and no one showed himself on the house boat. shutting off the power as soon as the _sprite_ had gathered headway enough to carry her to the other launch, matt lay over the wheel and watched while mcglory leaned out and gripped the upright supporting the canopy over the cockpit of the larger boat. then, pulling the _sprite_ along hand over hand, the cowboy came to the bow and made the painter fast to an iron ring. a mumble of voices could be heard coming from the cabin of the house boat. when all was fast, mcglory came back and got down off the hood. "how'd it be if i went with you, matt?" he whispered. "a good deal worse, joe, than for me to go it alone," was matt's equally guarded reply. "one can crawl around, and be more quiet about it, than two." "keno." "mebby so my makee go with motol matt," murmured ping, who, for the most part of that trip across the bay, had been content to use his eyes and ears and let his tongue rest. every move matt made about the machinery had been watched by the chinese, and so intently that he had not complained when mcglory used his queue for a support while standing up in the boat. "that _would_ fix things," muttered the cowboy. "why, you little rat-eater, you'd get matt into more trouble than he could take care of. you'll stay right here with me, and that shot goes as it lays." "awri," whispered ping meekly. matt went forward on hands and knees. in getting up to step from one boat to the other, the name of the larger boat stood out clearly under the falling rays of the lamp. she was the _san bruno_. the young motorist made mental note of the name, for it might be of value in catching red-whiskers and his pals in case the work of the night proved useless. crossing the forward deck of the _san bruno_, matt stepped easily to the passage that ran along the side of the house boat's cabin. then, on all fours, he crawled to the window through which came the glow of light. rising up cautiously, he peered into the cabin. the three men were there, seated on the cushioned benches that ran along the sides of the little room. all were smoking cigars, and the air was thick with the vapor. the rascals had thrown off their hats and removed their coats, so matt had a good chance to study their evil faces. red-whiskers' mole was in plain evidence, but it could hardly be called a disfigurement, as the face itself was brutal and mercenary in every line. the other two men were of like calibre, if their features could be relied upon. they were talking, but it was impossible for matt to overhear what they were saying. from their earnestness, however, it seemed plain that an important topic was being discussed. presently, as matt continued to look, red-whiskers bent down and pulled a satchel out from under the bench on which he sat. the other two craned their necks toward him as he took the satchel on his knees and opened it. shoving one hand into the bag, the red-whiskered man removed a thick packet of banknotes and held it up. the packet was encircled by a paper band, and matt's heart thumped sharply against his ribs as he realized that this was certainly the money stolen from lorry. while the red-whiskered man held the packet in his hand, the other two talked to him. they appeared to be pleading or arguing, matt could not decide which. abruptly the money was dropped back into the bag and the bag shoved under the bench once more, the red-whiskered man shaking his head as he straightened up on his seat. "they wanted him to divide it, and he refused," was the thought that ran through matt's head. this was followed by another idea, whose audacity caused matt to catch his breath. wouldn't it be possible to take the satchel out of the cabin? if matt could get the money, he would be perfectly satisfied to let the thieves keep their liberty. for the king of the motor boys and his two companions to attempt to capture the three men would have been foolish, and no doubt have ended in disaster; but to secure the satchel by stealth, or through some ruse, seemed feasible and worth trying. dropping to the deck again, matt crawled to the end of the house boat. at each end there was a wider strip of deck than at the sides, so that the young motorist had ample room to manoeuvre without making any noise. a door opened out of the end of the cabin upon the rear deck, and beside the door was a flight of steep stairs leading to the cabin roof. there was nothing to be gained by going to the upper deck, and to open the door and get inside the cabin promised more danger than matt deemed it wise to face. the strip of deck on the starboard side of the cabin might repay investigation, and matt started around the corner. but he did not turn the corner. he had no more than reached a point where he could get a view of the starboard alley than his startled eyes rested on a figure tilted back in a chair against the cabin wall. well for motor matt was it that the man was asleep. had he been awake, the lad would surely have been discovered, and every hope of securing the satchel and its contents would have gone glimmering. drawing back. matt crouched on the deck and turned the situation over in his mind. what could he do to secure that satchel? his plans, whatever they were to be, would have to be laid quickly, for there was no telling how long the sleeping man would remain asleep, nor how long it would be before red-whiskers, kinky, and ross finished their discussion and came out of the cabin. one move after another passed through matt's mind, only to be rejected and cast aside. there was a window in the starboard wall directly back of the place where the red-whiskered man was sitting. in seeking to gain the starboard alley, matt had had that window prominently in mind. but what he could do when he reached that window had not yet occurred to him. any move on that part of the deck was out of the question, so long as the man occupied the chair. the king of the motor boys, usually so resourceful in expedients, could think of nothing, at that moment, that pointed the way to possible success in the matter of the satchel. the only ruse that suggested itself was to have mcglory and ping start some sort of a row that would draw the three men out of the cabin, thus affording matt a chance to run in through a door, or climb in at a window, and secure the grip. but this plan had many disadvantages--for what would it avail matt, or lorry, if he was to secure the satchel and then be left on the house boat with it, at the mercy of the red-whiskered man and his two pals? a talk with mcglory was advisable, in the circumstances, and matt began crawling across the after deck of the house boat toward the _san bruno_. before he had covered half the distance that separated him from the edge of the house boat's deck his knee rested heavily on some hard object attached to the boards. it proved to be an iron ring, made fast in a hatch cover. instantly the young motorist's plans underwent a change. he would not leave the house boat just yet, but would open the hatch, drop below and explore the lower part of the boat. if there was another hatch leading up under the part of the cabin where the three men were holding their secret session, then fortune might point a way for something worth while. the hatch cover was hinged. softly matt lifted the trap and threw it back; then, letting himself down into the scowlike hulk, he lifted the hatch again and cautiously lowered it. chapter x. the mouth closes. when the hatch was closed, and matt had shut himself into the hull of the boat, he found that he was in cramped quarters. the air was stifling, and the smell of bilge water was extremely unpleasant. he could not sit up without knocking his head against the deck beams, and he was entangled in a scattered pile of firewood. but if he got where he wanted to go he must contrive to move forward. taking a match from his pocket, he struck it on his trousers, and looked about him in the feeble gleam. the firewood was not all he had to contend with. in addition to that, the hold was half full of boxes and casks. making mental note of a course that would take him forward with least trouble from the fuel and food supplies, he pinched out the match and crawled carefully. he realized, presently, that the voices from the cabin were coming to his ears in increased volume; in fact, he was hearing them much more distinctly than when he had been at the window outside the cabin. their distinctness became much more apparent the farther he advanced; not only that, but they served to help him locate himself. when the voices were directly over his head he paused. the floor boards of the deck had spread slightly, and the cracks were lined with threads of lamplight. this explained the distinctness with which the voices reached his ears. sitting up, he stifled his breathing while he listened. "you fellers might just as well understand this from the start off--that money stays together, all in a wad, until we get safe out o' 'frisco. then there'll be a divvy, and not before." red-whiskers was the speaker. matt had no difficulty in recognizing his raucous voice. "is that square, john?" demanded one of the others. "ain't ross an' me entitled to our share, here an' now, if we want it?" "you're entitled to your share, kinky, and you're going to get it, but not until we're out of the woods. i'd have whacked up to-night, but for that raw deal we had worked on us at the foot of clay street. this motor matt, it's as plain as a pikestaff, is trying to help lorry. lorry himself wouldn't have the nerve to play a game like that. why, he stole the money himself, see, and he ain't goin' to ask the law to step in and help him get the stuff back. but this motor matt--well, from all i can read about him, he's all nerve and is given to meddling. we've got to quit this house boat and sail on that jap steamer to-morrow. i'll pay our passage to honolulu out of the funds, and when we get to where we're going we'll go snucks, share and share alike." "i want mine now," struck in a third voice. "that's you, ross," growled red-whiskers. "you want to do some gamblin' and drinkin', which is the worst things you could possibly do, not only for yourself, but for kinky and me. i'll not have it that way. when we get in a safe place, we'll split the loot into three parts, and you can take what's coming to you and go to ballyhack, if you want to. but you can't tune up around 'frisco while i'm in the town." "what's to be done with the _san bruno_?" asked a voice which matt identified as belonging to kinky. "we'll use her to take us to 'frisco, in the morning, just before the steamer leaves. then we can turn her over to her owner, pay him what's coming, and hustle for the dock where we load ourselves for the sandwich islands. i'm calculating we'll be safe enough there." "o' course," spoke up the voice of ross, "all i want's to do the right thing by everybody an' have the right thing done by me. i ain't putting up no holler, an' don't think that for a minute; but i'm just about strapped. i haven't got more'n two bits in my jeans." "well, you'll have three thousand of your own before you're a week older, ross, and i'd advise you to do the same as i intend to do--invest it in a pineapple plantation in the islands." "oh, splash! i'm going to invest my money in a distillery," and ross finished with a reckless laugh, only he used a harsher expletive. "it wouldn't be like you if you didn't," grunted red-whiskers. "speaking along this line," spoke up kinky, "reminds me that i'm dryer'n the desert of sahary. suppose we open a bottle?" "that hits me," agreed ross promptly. "i'll go you--for just one bottle," came from the red-whiskered leader of the trio. ross chuckled. "john likes his nip jest as well as anybody," said he. "what of it?" demanded the leader. "if i've got the sense to take no more than is good for me, what's the odds? the trouble with you, ross, is that you never stop until you make a fool of yourself. let me tell you something: whisky is the worst enemy a man ever had. it'll give him a little 'dutch courage' for a piece of crooked work, i grant you, but if a crook hangs onto the drink it will ruin him in the end. that's right." this was refreshing doctrine to come from such a man as red-whiskers. matt listened to his talk with a half smile. "get the stuff, kinky," said the impatient ross. there was a sound of moving feet across the floor. the next moment a match was lifted directly over matt's head and a flood of lamplight revealed him to kinky. the scoundrel flung back with a wild yell. matt waited for no more. with a pounding heart he scrambled over boxes and casks and stove wood on his way toward the other hatch. a confused babel of voices reached him from the cabin; feet could be heard running over the floor, and some one raised a great clatter dropping into the hold. "come out here!" shouted a fierce voice. "come out, i say, or i'll shoot!" matt was willing to run the risk of stopping a bullet, there in the darkness, and he was in altogether too big a hurry to throw up a barricade between him and the man with the gun. rising on his knees, he lifted his hands to the hatch. no shot was heard, and matt reflected that the scoundrels would not dare fire a revolver for fear of attracting attention from the other house boats in the cove. to throw back the hatch took only an instant, but, as the young motorist scrambled through the opening, he was seized by the shoulders and hurled roughly to the deck. he was up again almost as soon as he was down. "landers!" bellowed a gruff voice; "where the deuce is landers? take him, kinky. i guess the two of us are enough without landers. i'll head him off on this side." matt felt a pair of arms go around him from behind. with a fierce effort, however, he twisted clear of the clutching hands, whirled and struck out with his fist. an exclamation, more forcible than polite, was jolted out of kinky. "hang it!" the scoundrel added, "he's got a fist like a pile driver. lay for him, ross! i'm wabbling." before motor matt could turn and defend himself against ross, red-whiskers bolted through the open cabin door. "don't make so much noise, you fellows!" he called angrily. "every house boat in the cove will be----" then he saw matt. the latter had sprung to the edge of the deck with the plain intention of diving overboard. before he could carry out his plan ross and the leader of the three men had him by each arm and had jerked him roughly back. matt struggled with all his power, but there were three against him, and he was thrown to the deck and dragged into the cabin, one of the men holding a hand over his mouth to prevent outcry. the cabin was divided into two rooms, and matt was half dragged and half carried through the darkness of the first room into the glaring lamplight of the one beyond. "put him in that chair over there," ordered the red-whiskered man. "you needn't be afraid he'll yell, kinky," he added, with savage menace, "so take your hands from his mouth. if he lets out a whoop, or tries to bolt, i'll fire, even if the noise brings a tender from every house boat in the bay." one look into the gleaming eyes of red-whiskers was enough to warn matt that discretion demanded passive compliance with the wishes of his captors. kinky removed his hands from matt's lips, and ross released his arms. both men stepped to one side, glaring at him curiously and vindictively. red-whiskers, a revolver lying on his knees, was sitting on the cushioned bench, directly facing matt. with a steady hand he was lighting a fresh cigar. "pull the window shades, kinky," said he calmly. "ross, lock both doors and put the keys in your pocket. we'll have a little heart-to-heart talk with motor matt, and i don't want landers to see what we do, or hear what we're talking about." motor matt, blaming himself for what had happened, sat quietly and wondered what was to come. chapter xi. surprising events. "you're a daring youngster," remarked red-whiskers, leering at the prisoner through the smoke of his cigar. "i suppose you think you're pretty smart, eh? well, there are others. how did you find out we were here?" "i found out," said matt. "i don't think it would help me any if i told you how." "don't get gay," admonished red-whiskers, his eyes dropping significantly to the weapon on his knee. "remember where you are, motor matt. you're interfering with a game that doesn't concern you in the least. poor policy, boy, poor policy. you ought to have sense enough to know that without being told. where did you meet young lorry?" "i'm not talking about lorry or any one else," returned matt. "you might as well let me go." "all in due time, my lad, and after you satisfy our curiosity. you rowed over from tiburon?" matt was silent. "that's what he must have done," spoke up ross. "how could he have got here if he hadn't rowed over? he didn't swim, that's sure, for he's got on all his clothes an' they're dry as a bone. i'll go out and see if i can discover his boat." ross turned to the door, but red-whiskers lifted a restraining hand. "we'll look after the boat in due time, ross," said he. "just now we'll give all our attention to motor matt. i'll trouble you for that trunk check, my lad," he finished, facing the prisoner once more. matt, knowing it would be worse than useless to resist, drew the check from his pocket and tossed it to red-whiskers. "much obliged," said the leader grimly, examining the tag. "this is the one, sure enough," he added to kinky and ross. "how did you know i had it?" asked matt. "the gent that raffled off that boat put me next. how much pleasanter it would have been," red-whiskers pursued, slipping the check into his pocket, "if you'd been nice and sociable, over there at the foot of clay street, and let me have that brass tag without trying to make trouble. what have you gained, motor matt, by roughing things up like you did? and what have you gained by sneaking in here? are you any better off?" "cut it out, john," growled kinky. "what's the good o' readin' him a lecture?" red-whiskers scowled at kinky. "be so good as to dry up," he requested. "you never was able to see anything an inch or two beyond your nose, so you can't guess what i'm driving at. motor matt," he went on, to the prisoner, "what did you lug that cop along with you for, when you came to the foot of clay street? what was your object? was you afraid of that part o' town, and was he just a sort of bodyguard?" matt laughed at that. "hardly that," said he. "you've got ten thousand dollars that belongs to young lorry, and the policeman was there to get it." "well, well!" exclaimed the red-whiskered man, with a humorous glance at ross and kinky, "he thinks we've got ten thousand dollars! but," he continued, "assuming that we _have_ got that much money, how do you figure that it belongs to lorry? did lorry steal it from his old man? if he did, does that make it his? if it does, motor matt, then if we stole the money from young lorry it ought to belong to us." "that's foolish," said matt, trying to guess what red-whiskers was driving at. "possibly it is. now, you're a pretty good sort of fellow, only a trifle headstrong, and i don't mind saying that we _did_ take that ten thousand from young lorry. and why? let me tell you it was all perfectly legitimate." he leaned over confidentially and tapped matt on the knee with the muzzle of the revolver. "we're detectives, motor matt, chicago detectives, and old mr. lorry, that lives in madison, wisconsin, commissioned us to recover that money. we've recovered it; and you"--red-whiskers leaned back and laughed softly--"thought we was thieves and tried to have us pinched! what do you think of that for a joke?" "then," said matt, "it's all a joke about you and your pals sailing for honolulu to-morrow and dividing the money between you when you get there?" enjoyment immediately faded out of the situation for the red-whiskered man. he straightened up, pulled at his fiery beard and glared at motor matt. matt realized that he had made a mistake. by speaking as he had done, he had virtually admitted that he knew more about the plans of the three rascals than they had thought possible. "ah," and a crafty smile crossed red-whiskers' face "i thought you'd let out something, if i prodded you a little, but i'll be hanged if i expected that. this is beginning to look mighty serious for you, motor matt. where did you learn all that?" "i was under the floor," replied matt. "exactly--under the floor listening to a conversation that didn't concern you. because of that, you're going to stay two weeks on this boat, and landers is going to keep you. by then we'll be where we're going and out of harm's way, and it won't be possible for what you know to have any effect. you've only yourself to blame for this. who's that chink that won the boat in the raffle?" "i don't know much about him," replied matt. "you took his boat across the bay for him, didn't you?" "yes." "well, he knew where you had gone, because he told me. that's how i was able to send that note to the bixler house. the chink said you had a couple of fellows with you--one, in particular, who had fallen off a ferryboat and whom you had picked up. was that young lorry?" "i'm not saying a word," said matt, "about lorry. you say you're going to keep me on this house boat for two weeks. if that's your plan, all right, go ahead with it." for several minutes matt, from where he sat, had been trying to locate the satchel under the bench. it was impossible for him to see it, and he supposed that it had either been moved by red-whiskers, or taken away. "we're going to leave for parts unknown," continued the leader of the three rogues, "and we're going to take young lorry with us. i guess if we give him a thousand of his father's money he'll be satisfied." "you're a scoundrel, on your own showing," cried matt angrily, "but i don't think you'd be such a contemptible scoundrel as to take that boy away and make him a thief, like you and your pals!" "softly, motor matt," warned red-whiskers. "what is the boy now but a thief, and on his own showing, at that? i don't think we can hurt him any, and by taking him away we'll be doing a good thing for him--and for us." "you'll ruin him, that's what you'll do," proceeded matt indignantly. "haven't you a thought for his people, back there in wisconsin?" "what are his people to us? i had intended all along to compromise with the cub and give him a thousand, but you got to him before we did. he doesn't dare appeal to the law----" "there are others who will act for him," broke in matt. "there's the making of a man in young lorry, and if you do as you say you intend to, you will end by making him no better than you are." "you're not very complimentary, it strikes me," said red-whiskers easily, bending down and groping under the bench with one hand. "we might just as well take our boodle and get away from here. i had planned to stay on the house boat all night, and run over to 'frisco in the launch in time to catch that steamer to-morrow, but you've compelled us to change our plans. we'll take a night train, and---- where in blazes is that satchel?" failing to find the satchel with one hand, red-whiskers had used both hands. even then the treasure grip eluded him, and in a sudden flurry he dropped to the floor on his knees and looked under the bench. the next instant he had leaped up, maddened and furious. "it's gone!" he shouted. kinky and ross jumped as though they had been touched by a live wire. "gone?" they echoed blankly. "you know something about this!" cried red-whiskers, facing ross furiously. "what're you givin' us?" retorted ross menacingly. "if you think you can throw any such bluff as that, john, and make it stick, you've got another guess coming. you've taken the satchel yourself! you never intended to whack up with kinky and me, and this is a move to corral all the money." "don't be a fool!" snapped red-whiskers, studying ross' face for a moment, and then swerving his eyes to kinky. the affair had a dark look, for a space, as both kinky and ross had reached their hands under their coats. if the three scoundrels had a quarrel among themselves, matt felt that he would have a chance of escape. his eager eyes traveled to the doors, and then to the window. "look here, you two," went on red-whiskers, his eyes glittering fiendishly, "the satchel's gone. i'll take back what i said about you two having had anything to do with trying to lift it. certainly i didn't--you ought to know that. we've all been in this room----" "except when we ran aft to ketch that fellow," fumed ross, indicating matt with a jerk of the head. "you was in here alone with the satchel then, john. how do we know you didn't hide it on us?" "mebby it was him!" stormed kinky, stepping toward matt. "how could it have been him?" objected ross. "he was under the floor, and we kept him busy every minute until he bobbed up through the after hatch." "then it was landers!" cried kinky. "i never did like that feller's looks. i'll bet it was landers! if----" just at that moment the _chug-chug_ of a motor was heard outside. "he's turning over the engine!" cried red-whiskers, jumping for one of the doors. "landers has got the satchel and he's getting away with it in the boat." red-whiskers threw himself against the door, trying to break it down. "wait, confound it!" yelped ross; "here's the key, john. i'll unlock the door if you'll gi' me a chance." the three men paid no attention whatever to matt. as soon as ross could unlock and throw open the door they all rushed out. the _san bruno_ was still lying where she had been moored, but the wheeze of a boat could be heard, and a craft, a cable's length away, could be seen vanishing wraithlike into the shadows across the cove. "landers has got another boat, somewhere, and he's running away in it!" declared kinky. "we'll overhaul him with the _san bruno_," cried red-whiskers, throwing himself into the launch. "one of you stay behind and look after the prisoner----" "hang the prisoner!" answered kinky. "the money means more to us than he does." ross cast off the rope that held the launch alongside the house boat, and both he and kinky sprang aboard the _san bruno_. matt, bewildered by the surprising events that had followed each other so swiftly, stood on the forward deck of the houseboat and watched while the _san bruno_ got under way and started on the track of the other boat. that other boat, of course, matt knew to be the _sprite_. but why was she tearing off across the cove like that? why were mcglory and ping leaving matt when they must have known he was in difficulties? had they started for tiburon to get a few policemen and bring them back to help their comrade out of his trouble? as these questions sped through matt's bewildered mind a laugh echoed behind him--and he turned to face the most surprising of all the events that had happened that night. chapter xii. m'glory's run of luck. joe mcglory, judging from the way fortune had turned her back on him during his whole life, was positive that he had not been born "under a lucky star." it was more likely, he thought, that he had been born under the dipper, and that the dipper was upside down at the time. yet, be that as it might, luck had never had much to do with mcglory. whatever he got came to him always by hard knocks and persistent grubbing. but there was a bright lining to the cloud, and this lining was making ready to show itself. he sat impatiently on the stern thwarts of the _sprite_, while matt was doing his reconnoitring on the house boat, waiting impatiently for him to return and report. ping was forward at the steering wheel of the launch, feeling casually and with a certain amount of awe of every lever that manipulated the motor and the gear. the little _sprite_ was completely dwarfed by the larger boat alongside of which she cuddled, like a young duck under the lee of its mother, and the gloom of the higher bulwarks overshadowed mcglory and ping. from time to time, the cowboy stood up and looked across the cockpit of the _san bruno_ toward the house boat. he saw matt's head silhouetted in the light from the cabin window, and finally he saw him move away and vanish from sight behind the raised forward deck of the larger motor boat. after that, mcglory champed the bit, and waited. as is usual in such cases, the seconds dragged like minutes, and the minutes were like hours. the cowboy finally made up his mind that something had gone wrong, and that he ought to investigate. this feeling grew upon him until he could stand it no longer. creeping forward to where ping was caressing the steering wheel, he paused beside him for a moment. "motor matt's been gone so long, ping," said he, in a low tone, "that i'm afraid he has struck on a snag. if that's so, it's up to me to flock over to the house boat and do my little best to get him out of trouble. savvy?" "heap savvy," replied ping. "by klismus, china boy go 'long. mebbyso you makee fall in tlouble, china boy savee you, savee matt, savee evelbody. huh?" "never you mind about matt and me, ping," returned mcglory. "you stay right here--and stop fooling with that machinery, too. first thing you know you'll have the _sprite_ turning a summerset, and that would be about the worst thing that could happen to us. stay right here, mind, and wait until you hear from matt or me before you budge." "awri'," said ping meekly. mcglory crawled over the hood, got aboard the _san bruno_, and then stepped softly to the deck of the house boat. a quick look around revealed the fact that motor matt was not in evidence. slipping forward along the port alley, the cowboy took a hasty look through the lighted window. the three men were smoking, and in close converse, but mcglory was more interested in locating motor matt, just then, than in anything else. instead of returning toward the after end of the house boat, he passed on to the patch of deck at the forward end--and was thus out of the whirl of excitement that was turned on at the rear of the craft. the yell given by kinky when he lifted the trap in the floor of the cabin and caught a glimpse of matt reached mcglory's ears almost as soon as he had gained the wider deck at the end of the boat. almost immediately he heard the scramble inside the cabin, and then the rush of feet aft. he hesitated for a few seconds, not knowing what to do. matt had got into trouble, all right, but had he gotten out of it? stepping quickly to a door which led directly into the lighted front room of the cabin, mcglory softly turned the knob and pushed the door open. the room was empty. a trap in the floor was open, and also a door leading into a dark room beyond. from somewhere farther aft came angry voices and more sounds of scuffling. "that means me, i reckon," thought the cowboy, rushing across the lighted room and into the darker chamber farther on. it was his intention to keep going and find out just what the struggle he had been hearing might mean, and to do what he could for motor matt; but he heard a sound behind him, just as he gained the darkness of the rear room, which caused him to halt, turn cautiously, and peer backward. a tall, gangle-legged individual, with a mustache the color of dried buffalo grass, a nose like a wart and eyes that looked like a couple of wilted cactus blossoms, had entered the door which mcglory had left open. the manner of this person aroused the cowboy's interest and curiosity. if he was one of the gang, what was he doing there? and why was he acting in such a stealthy manner, as though in a hurry and fearing to be apprehended? mcglory, for a moment, curbed his desire to hurry on to the rear of the house boat and stood and watched the stranger from the safe screen of darkness. the man was looking for something, that was plain. dropping to his knees, he reached under a bench at one side of the room. what he wanted wasn't there. he turned to the bench on the other side and gave an exultant grunt as he pulled a satchel from under it. after flashing a wary look around him, he opened the satchel with trembling fingers and drew forth a package of banknotes that made mcglory stagger. money! george lorry's money! that is what the cowboy thought on the instant. with another jubilant grunt, the stranger snapped the satchel shut and faded through the front door. mcglory was about two seconds making up his mind, and then faded after him. the man was out of sight when the cowboy reached the deck at the forward end of the boat. heavy feet were coming through the dark room of the cabin, and mcglory knew it was hardly safe for him to stand in the exposed position where he had placed himself. wondering where the man had gone with the satchel and the money, he stepped around the corner of the cabin into the starboard passage--and saw the man just dodging around the opposite corner, on the after deck. "that's where i nail him!" thought mcglory, moving softly and swiftly along the alley. as he passed the lighted window on that side of the cabin a curtain was jerked down, and a door was slammed. following this, a key grated in a lock. then another door was slammed and another key grated. the cowboy hesitated, trying to guess whether all that had anything to do with the man who was making off with the satchel. unable to reach any conclusion, and convinced that his duty lay in following the man, mcglory moved noiselessly onward. the light on the upright staff of the houseboat cast a faint glow on the after deck, and here mcglory saw the man he was following again on his knees and examining the packet of bills. in two jumps the cowboy was on the man's back. "steady!" he hissed in the man's ear. the fellow began to struggle; and then, in a flash, the cowboy remembered the revolver he had snatched out of his cousin's hand and slipped into his pocket. in a twinkling he had the weapon out of the pocket--and commanded the situation. "don't shoot!" whined the man. "great guns, i ain't done anythin' to _you_." "put that bunch of green goods back into the grip," ordered mcglory. "thar she goes," said the man, letting the packet fall into the satchel. "now give the grip a shove," continued mcglory, "so it'll be closer to where i'm standing. that's the idea," he added, as the bag came sliding toward him. "now, pardner, i've got the money and you've got the experience, and things are looking real fine. who are you, anyhow?" "landers," said the man. "i'm in charge o' this boat for big john." "big john, eh? i wonder if that's my friend, mr. smith, otherwise red-whiskers?" "that's him," answered landers, "but you ain't no friend o' his, i'll gamble." "ain't i?" queried mcglory humorously. "you're a detective, an' you've come here to bag big john an' them other coves. but you don't need to bag me. i was only gettin' the money to turn it over to the police." "oh, speak to me about that!" chuckled mcglory. "look out behind ye!" whispered landers hoarsely. "big john is----" mcglory turned. as he did so, landers fell off the house boat and into the cockpit of the _san bruno_. "ain't i easy?" grumbled mcglory, marking a half run across the deck in the direction of the launch. "no," he muttered, "i won't do that, either. i've got the ten thousand plunks belongin' to uncle dan, and i guess i'll freeze onto 'em. matt needs me, i reckon. with the grip in one hand and george's pepper box in the other, i'll walk through the cabin and see what i can do for this new pard of mine." the rear door of the cabin was unlocked. mcglory passed through it and groped his way in the dark to the other door. he had barely reached the door when another commotion assailed his ears, accompanied by loud voices. the voices were so loud, in fact, that the cowboy could hear distinctly all that was said. big john had just discovered the loss of the satchel, and a violent scene was threatening. then came the popping of the motor, and the rush to get out of the cabin and pursue landers. mcglory, beginning to understand what had happened and how the thieves had been fooled, leaned against the wall of the cabin and sputtered with merriment. "speak to me about luck, will you?" he gasped. "this is once, anyhow, that i've got the winning number. i reckon it's because i'm hooked up with motor matt." he tried the bulkhead door, but found it locked. with a sudden thought, he returned to the other door, took the key he found there from the lock and tried it in the lock of the bulkhead door. it worked like a charm, and mcglory, satchel in one hand and revolver in the other, pushed into the lighted room. at the very least, he was expecting to find motor matt on the floor, tied hand and foot. mcglory's astonishment was great, therefore, when he discovered that matt was not in the room. a form stood just outside the door, on the forward deck, vaguely outlined in the darkness. it was matt, there was no doubt about it. thoughts of the way events had shaped themselves to befool the thieves rushed over the cowboy again, and once more he dropped against the side of the cabin. he exploded a laugh that brought matt into the room at a double quick, and held him, just inside the door, staring as though at a ghost. "mcglory!" muttered matt, rubbing his eyes. "keno, correct--and more, much more. it's mcglory, matt, and mcglory's got the _dinero_. come to me, put your little hand in mine for a good shake, and let's felicitate. this will be happy news for cousin george!" chapter xiii. waiting and worrying. "in the name of all that's good, joe," cried matt, as he and the cowboy shook hands, "where did you come from?" "from the _sprite_, pard," grinned mcglory. "but that was some sort of a while ago. i've been on the house boat for quite a spell." "where did you get that satchel?" "it's got the bundle of money in it, matt--uncle dan's money _sabe_?" "yes, yes, i know! i saw the red-whiskered man take the money out of the satchel, then put it back again and push the satchel under that bench. but how did _you_ get hold of it? that's what i want to know." mcglory dropped the satchel and collapsed on the bench. "oh, that's the best ever," he laughed. "those old hardshells were fooled at their own game. queer about that money of uncle dan's. it's been in a good deal of a taking ever since it left madison. george takes it from uncle dan, red-whiskers takes it from george, landers takes it from red-whiskers, and now here's me taking it from landers." "landers?" queried mitt. "did he take the money?" "took it the length of the boat. by then i was close enough to get hold of it myself. but you cut loose and tell me what went crossways with you--i've been worried a heap about that--and then i'll even up by tellin' how i jumped into the game." matt made short work of his end of the explanation, and mcglory consumed but little more time. while mcglory was talking, matt was not only listening but also putting two and two together in his own mind. the cowboy finished with another jubilant laugh, but matt suddenly became grave and got up from the bench. "let's go outside, joe," said he, "where we can keep an eye on our surroundings." "what's there in our surroundings to worry us? we've got the money, haven't we?" "yes, but the 'taking' you mentioned a few minutes ago may keep up--unless we're on the alert. suppose big john, kinky, and ross come back here in the _san bruno_? what would happen then? we haven't any _sprite_ to take us off, remember." "that's a fact," and mcglory went suddenly grave himself. "what ever came over that chink to run off? say, i'll bet he got to tinkering with the motor, and that it started on him and he couldn't stop it. consarn these chinks, anyhow!" "don't be too quick to blame ping, joe," remonstrated matt. "i don't think that's what happened." "what then?" "landers thought you were a detective, didn't he?" "that's what he said." "well, he was afraid of being arrested and jailed for helping big john and the other two. that's the reason he played a trick and tumbled off the boat." "well? go on, pard, and give me the rest of it." "don't you think it's likely that he climbed aboard the _sprite_, took her away from ping, and then rushed her across the cove to the nearest landing?" "oh, tell me!" muttered mcglory. "and i never, no, i never once let that drift into my head! and yet, why not? wasn't it the natural thing for landers to do? any day you can find in the almanac, pard, i'm shy something when it comes to headwork. but here's the point: can landers run the _sprite_ fast enough to keep her away from the _san bruno_? if he can't, i can see what will happen to ping and landers when that outfit of fire-eaters come up with them. oh, shucks! this ain't turnin' out so pleasant as i thought. suppose we hike for the deck and keep our eyes peeled. it may save us something, although i'm a heathen if i see what we could do if the _san bruno_ came back." "if we have to," said matt, "we'll take the money and swim to the nearest house boat." "it will be a damp roll of bills we take ashore with us if we have to do that." "better a lot of wet money, joe, than no money at all." "right, exactly right, as per usual. i've got this pop-gun of cousin george's. it looks like one of those toy fourth of july things that make a noise and let it go at that. still, maybe the sight of the thing would scare somebody." together they left the cabin, and, in order that their view might be more extensive, climbed the steep stairs to the house boat's upper deck. here there were comfortable chairs, and the boys sat down and allowed their eyes to wander about them over the shadowy surface of the cove. the lights of the house-boat settlement were still gleaming in every direction, but every sound had died away and a dead silence reigned. "if a launch was coming," said mcglory, "we could hear her a mile off--which is three times as far as we could see her." "that's right," said matt, "and i'm hearing one now. listen! unless i'm away off in my reckoning a boat is bearing this way from the direction of tiburon." mcglory bent his head. "you've made a bull's-eye, matt," said he. "a boat's coming, but is it the _sprite_ or the _san bruno_?" "it's the _san bruno_," averred matt. "how do you make that out?" queried the wondering cowboy. "why, a bigger volume of sound, distance considered, than the _sprite_ makes. i noticed that particularly when we were chasing the _san bruno_ across the bay." "well, you've got me beat, plumb. we've got to swim, i reckon, going off one side of the house boat as the launch ties up at the other?" "we'll not take to the water until we have to, joe. wait until we can get a good look at the boat." standing on the upper deck, the two boys faced in the direction of the approaching launch, and waited and worried. slowly, and after a period of time that seemed interminable, a blot of shadow came gliding toward them from among the clustered lights of the house boats. matt whirled to grip mcglory's arm. "what's to pay now, pard?" asked the startled cowboy. "why," answered matt, "two boats are coming!" "two?" echoed mcglory, squinting in the direction of the moving blot. "i can't make out more than one, and it's plenty hard to see that." "one is chasing the other--i can tell by the sounds, alone." "good ear--remarkable. put a lot of bronks on a hard trail and i can shut my eyes and tell you how many there are, up to five, by listening. but a boat's a different proposition. how do you know one is chasing the other, though? that's what gets me." "because," answered matt, "the boat ahead is the _sprite_ and the one behind is the _san bruno_!" "sufferin' whirligigs!" exclaimed mcglory. "how far ahead is the _sprite_?" "we can tell in a minute. both boats are close--and the _san bruno_ has put out her light. ah, look!" matt leaned over the rail and pointed. by that time the boats could be easily distinguished. the _sprite_ was pounding along in a distressing way that proved there was something wrong with her sparking apparatus or her fuel supply, but, in spite of that, she was doing nobly. "it can't be that ping is doing the work on the _sprite_," muttered mcglory. "it sounds as though it might be ping," said matt. "but he can't run the boat! didn't we see him try, at the tiburon landing?" "he's been watching me, and i think he's learned what to pull and push and turn in order to keep the boat moving. a chinaman is a good imitator, joe. the _san bruno_ is giving our launch a close race, and we'd better go down and stand ready to leap aboard the moment ping stops for us." hurrying down the steps, the two boys placed themselves at the edge of the house boat's after deck, ready to jump the moment the _sprite_ came close enough. chapter xiv. ping stars himself. ping was not impatient, while waiting for matt and mcglory to come back from the house boat, and he was not worrying. his callow mind was engaged with the wheels and levers of the _sprite's_ machinery, and he might be said to be enjoying himself, in his artless, heathen way. his first acquaintance with the _sprite_ had not been of a pleasant nature, but ping had overcome his awe and fear, to a large extent, by watching how readily the boat obeyed the touch of motor matt's hands. the chinese boy had observed all the details of starting, steering, and stopping. sitting alone in the launch, he touched the various levers in proper order, again and again--touched them lightly, for he had no desire to make the boat turn a "summerset," as mcglory had said she would do if he got too free with his attentions. the uproar and commotion that started abruptly on the house boat and continued at intervals for some time, naturally drew the chinaman's eyes across the _san bruno_. but the attraction of the motor was too much for ping to withstand, and he jumped at a conclusion to assure himself that everything was well with matt and mcglory, and returned to his childlike interest in the machinery. some one scrambled off the _san bruno_ into the _sprite_. the rough boarding of the little launch caused her to sway and shiver and dance at the end of her painter. "you makee plenty fuss, mcgloly!" complained ping, grabbing at the sides of the boat to hold himself upright. before he could look around a rough hand had caught his queue and jerked him over backward. "not a bloomin' word out o' you, chink!" hissed a menacing voice in ping's ear. "ahead with ye, now, and unloose the painter. if you don't hustle, i'll kick yer inter next week. this is a hurry-up call, and don't you fergit that!" ping didn't wait to argue the question. rolling over the top of the hood, he knelt in the bow and tore the painter loose from the iron ring. the engine was chugging by the time he had finished, and when the _sprite_ started, under the impulsive hands of the strange white man, she leaped away with a jolt that rolled ping back into the arms of the boat's captor. with an oath, the man hurled ping into the bottom of the boat. he would as soon have tumbled the chinese boy into the water, and it was luck, rather than design, that kept ping out of the wet. crawling back on the stern thwarts, ping leaned on his elbows, blinking his little eyes and trying to guess what had happened. behind, over the swiftly growing stretch of water, he heard an uproar on the house boat, then the pant and throb of another engine. the strange white man looked around and swore. "they're chasin' me, but they won't get me!" he muttered. "if this boat can put me ashore ahead of 'em, i'll save my bacon dry-shod; an' if it can't, by thunder, i'll take to the water and swim!" ping heard this, and dwelt upon the words for some time. the strange white man was running away from the other devil-boat. what had the strange white man done? were matt and mcglory on the other devil-boat trying to catch him? or was it the three bad 'melican men who were doing the chasing? ping couldn't figure it out. about all he realized was that there was a race between the _sprite_ and the _san bruno_. inasmuch as the _san bruno_ belonged to the enemy, ping hoped in his heart that the _sprite_ would leave her behind. they were making for the shore of the cove, but the strange white man was handling the boat badly. he didn't push or pull the way motor matt did, and the imprisoned devil under the hood--the power that made the propeller whirl--coughed and spluttered with rage and pounded on the machinery with iron hammers. it got on ping's nerves, and he hoisted himself to a sitting posture. "by klismus," he cried frantically, "you lettee ping lun engine! him makee go chop-chop, keepee _splite_ away flom othel boat!" the strange white man looked around with a snarl. "shut up!" he roared, "or i'll toss ye into the drink, so help me!" ping shut up. lying back on the thwart he watched the other boat draw nearer and nearer. the shore was yet a good way off, and it was plain the _san bruno_ would overhaul the _sprite_ before the land could be reached. and how the good devil under the hood was fighting to do better! how hard it was begging the strange white man to treat it right, and let it work easier and take the _sprite_ away from the other boat. ping gave a deep groan. oh, if he was only at the wheel, and the pull-things and the push-things! he looked around for something to throw at the strange white man. if a monkey wrench, or a hatchet, had been convenient, then one landers would probably never have known what struck him. but, fortunately for landers--and for ping, too--no weapon was available, and the race went on. the shore was near now, but the _san bruno_ was nearer. ping, straining his eyes through the dark, could see the men on the _san bruno_. there were three of them, and their boat was less than three lengths away! suddenly the _sprite_ slewed around, crosswise of the _san bruno's_ course. ping started up with a frightened yell, a splash echoing in his ears. there was no one at the wheel or the levers! ping's almond eyes turned swiftly shoreward, and there they saw a form in the water, swimming strongly toward the land. but ping was not thinking of the strange white man, but of the _sprite_. hurling himself forward across the midship thwart, he seized the steering wheel and turned the launch in a wide circle. a shout went up from the _san bruno_. "halt, landers! you can't get away with that money! stop and drop alongside or we'll cut you down to the water's edge!" ping, naturally, couldn't understand this. the voice that had called out was not the voice of motor matt or mcglory. since they were not on the _san bruno_, then, of course, they must still be on the house boat. the chinese boy started back over the watery trail which the _sprite_ had recently traversed under the guidance of the white man. carefully he doctored the motor, pulling and pushing as he had seen matt push and pull, all the while breathing choice prayers in his native tongue to placate the demon in the engine. the devil must have been placated, at least a little, for he did not clamor quite so loud, but at intervals he hammered in a way that was very distressing to ping. however, ping couldn't help it, so he settled himself down to his steering, occasionally throwing a look over his shoulder at the other boat. the _sprite_ was gaining on her slowly. ping continued to breathe his heathen prayers, and to beg the honorable demon to stop pounding in the machine and to put its extra power into the little wheel under the boat. as the _sprite_ came closer and closer to the house boat ping was able to see two figures on the upper deck. were they motor matt and mcglory? he guessed they were not, while hoping that they were. anyhow, he would have to stop. his nerves fluttered as he wondered if he would be able to stop. he had watched matt as he brought the _sprite_ alongside the _san bruno_. as he remembered it, matt had begun to play with the levers before the launch was very near the larger craft. matt, it will be recalled, had done this in order to let the _sprite_ glide noiselessly to her berth. ping repeated the manoeuvre, and mcglory danced around on the house boat's deck, fuming at the delay caused by the halted motor. the _san bruno_ was almost bunting into the stern of _sprite_ as the two boys made flying leaps to get aboard. the impact of their bodies came within one of swamping the little craft, and matt stumbled to the steering wheel and got busy without losing an instant. ping slid backward over the midship thwart, yielding his place meekly and gladly; and then, with mcglory, he watched while motor matt plucked the _sprite_ out of harm's way. it was so neatly done that ping's heart swelled within him, and he slapped his hands and said glad things in chinese. one touch of motor matt's hand, and the demon stopped pounding. a hum as of an industrious hive of bees came from under the hood, and the launch gathered itself together and flung onward with a fresh burst of speed. the _san bruno_, those aboard her still under the impression that landers was on the _sprite_--perhaps, in the darkness, mistaking ping for their renegade comrade--continued to give pursuit. it was a hopeless chase, however, and when the _sprite_ gained her old berth at the tiburon wharf the _san bruno_ had given up and turned back into the night. chapter xv. a new twist--by george. "speak to me about that!" gulped mcglory, as he, and matt and ping climbed out of the _sprite_ to the top of the wharf. "little slant-eyes has starred himself. but how he ever did it stumps me." "how did you do it, ping?" asked matt, leaning against the post to which he had secured the launch and peering across the water to see if there was any sign of the _san bruno_ in the gloom. "by jee-clickets," bubbled ping, "me allee same big high china boy. fightee like sam hill, workee allee same. whoosh!" "and that's the way he did it," commented mcglory. "my no savvy," admitted ping. "plenty quick 'melican man takee boat, plenty quick him dlop ovelbo'd, plenty quick my come back to othel boatee. no savvy ally mo." "you did well, anyhow," said matt. "awri'. my workee fo' motol matt allee time." "what now, pard?" asked mcglory. "we got out of that bunch of excitement with ground to spare, but why do we tie up here? why don't we keep right on to 'frisco? george is going to hand us five apiece, you know," he added, with a laugh, "providing we fork over this ten thousand before the steamer sails for honolulu." "george will have to wait while we send some officers out to that house boat," said matt. "you haven't an idea those three tinhorns will have the nerve to go back to the house boat, have you?" "they may, to pick up their traps. that makes it necessary for us to act quickly, if we are to accomplish anything. come on, and we'll hunt up police headquarters." ping hesitated. "what's the matter with you, chink?" asked mcglory. "ain't you coming with us?" "no can do," replied ping. "my no leavee boat. mebbyso my makee sleep in boat, huh? plenty fine place. my no lettee 'melican man lun away with him some mo'." "stay here if you want to, ping," answered matt. "that's the heathen of it," grunted mcglory. "he'd rather bunk in the bottom of the _sprite_, with his legs doubled over the thwarts, than to rest on a good mattress like a christian." "here's one christian that's ready to rest," said matt. "and here's another," added mcglory. "listen. do you recollect that we haven't had a feed since we took that quick-order lunch at noon?" "yes." "well, no wonder we're hungry and fagged. let's make rush work of this police business, and then tumble into our blankets." it was an hour before they got a detail of officers started in a launch for the house boat, and incidentally looking for the _san bruno_; and half an hour longer before they dropped into bed and went to sleep. they awoke late next morning, which was to be expected, considering the hour at which they retired, and their exhausted condition; and they would not have got up when they did had a smart summons not been pounded on their door. "speak to me about this," snorted mcglory, sitting up and yawning. "who's got the nerve to hammer on that door before we've done anything but go to bed and turn over?" "it's been several hours since we went to bed, joe," laughed matt, pointing to the sunlight streaming through the window. "the sun looks to be nearly noon-high. who's there?" he called, as the knocking at the door went on. "officer from headquarters," came the response from the hall. "sufferin' horn toads!" exclaimed mcglory, leaping out of bed and hurrying to the door. "mebby he's come to tell us big john, kinky, and ross have been bagged." but the officer had no such report to make. "we found the house boat deserted, when we went out to her last night," he said, coming into the room. "two men were left aboard of her and the rest of the detail went nosing around the bay looking for the _san bruno_." "did you find the launch?" asked matt. "yes--tied up at sausalito. no sign of the three men whom you described; but three passengers took a train from sausalito, in the small hours of the morning, and it may be that they are the fellows we were after. if they were, then they have made good their escape." "a nice handful of cold fish you're giving us, officer," said mcglory. "can't help it," returned the officer. "we did the best we could." "who owns that house boat?" asked matt. "a gentleman who lives in oakland. he rents the _griselda_ for part of the season when he's not using her himself." "he rented her to that precious outfit of crooks and tinhorns, did he?" struck in mcglory, scrambling into his clothes. "what sort of a gent is that oakland man, anyway?" "he's all right," declared the officer. "we talked with him over the phone, a while ago, and told him to send some one to look after the boat. he said he rented the _griselda_ to a stranger named higgins, who paid him eighty dollars in advance for a month's rent." "higgins!" muttered mcglory. "that's another label for big john. wonder how many names red-whiskers has got?" "well," said matt, "it's too bad, officer, but, as you say, it can't be helped." "we've placed your description of the rascals on file," finished the officer, as he turned to leave, "and if they ever show up here, or in 'frisco, again, they'll be run in." "mebby," qualified mcglory. "tie a string to that remark, officer." "we'll do the best we can to keep watch for them, anyhow," averred the officer. motor matt and mcglory had a late--a very late--breakfast; then, after matt had had a good meal put in a paper bag for ping, the two boys started for the _sprite_. to their surprise, neither ping nor the _sprite_ were where they had been left; nor could any inquiries develop their whereabouts. "it's good-by, ping," laughed mcglory. "i reckon he made up his mind that he didn't want to work for you any longer, matt." "i'm glad of it, joe, if that's really the case," answered matt. "i haven't the least notion in the world what i could have found for the chinaman to do. but i can't think that he's pulled out for good. he seemed too anxious to tie to me to break away so suddenly as that." "well, wherever he went he went in the _sprite_. we can feel sure that big john and his pals haven't had anything to do with the chink's disappearance. they're too busy getting themselves out of sight, pard, to bother with any one else." matt and mcglory went to the ferry house and caught the next boat for 'frisco. on the way across the bay matt gave ping's breakfast to a little chap who looked as though he needed it. mcglory carried the satchel with the ten thousand dollars. it had been glued to him ever since he got hands on it aboard the house boat. by one o'clock the boys were at the hotel inquiring of the frowsy-looking clerk as to whether "mr. thompson" was in his room. both boys thought the inquiry rather needless, but concluded to put it as a mere formality. they were a good deal taken aback, therefore, when the clerk informed them that mr. thompson had gone out about nine o'clock and hadn't returned. "now what?" muttered mcglory, taking matt's arm and leading him off into a corner. "we've got george's money, but no george. do you think, pard, that he raised enough money on something to pay his passage to honolulu?" "certainly not, joe," answered matt. "he wouldn't leave town until he had learned more about that ten thousand dollars." "but he promised to stay here! still, as for that, he always was a fine hand at making promises. if george isn't here, i don't reckon we're obliged to hang out in this honkatonk. the more i see of it, the more i'm sorry the earthquake didn't give it a few extra shakes and put it out of business. we'll go to some other hotel, and on our way there we'll just step into a telegraph office and shoot a few reassuring words to uncle dan." "we could make them more reassuring, joe," suggested matt, "if we waited to find george before sending the telegram." "i wouldn't bet a whole lot, matt, that we're going to find him." "oh, yes, we are, and perhaps quicker than you think." as a matter of fact, they found george a good deal sooner than even matt had any idea they would, for he was on the sidewalk, making for the hotel door, as matt and mcglory passed out. young lorry was quite a swell-looking boy, togged out in another suit, but there was an air about him that suggested conceit, carelessness of others' feelings, and a haughty confidence in himself that was too plain for a favorable impression. lorry was surprised at seeing matt and mcglory, and, quite naturally, matt and mcglory were not only surprised, but delighted to come upon the missing youth so soon. "howdy, george?" called mcglory. "we've just been asking for you." "you have--not," retorted lorry. "you didn't want to see me, and you know it." he turned to a policeman who was standing behind him, and who, up to that moment, had escaped the notice of matt and the cowboy. "there they are, officer," went on lorry. "arrest them." matt and mcglory were stunned. "arrest us?" queried matt. "for what?" "for trying to run away with ten thousand dollars belonging to me," asserted lorry. "you were to bring it back last night, and you didn't. arrest them, why don't you, officer? what are you standing there like that for?" "there are always two sides to a story," said the policeman. "we've heard your side, young man, and now we'll hear the other." matt's amazement remained with him, but mcglory's rapidly dispelled. "a new twist--by george," remarked mcglory dryly. "when you've known him as long as i have, matt, you'll not be surprised at anything he does. come back into this hotel with us, officer," the cowboy went on to the policeman, "and we'll tell you all you want to know, and perhaps more. but hang on to that false alarm who was towing you this way. he may try to bolt before we get through." chapter xvi. another twist--by matt and m'glory. "i don't like your attitude," said lorry haughtily, to the officer when they were all in the office. "naturally," grinned the policeman, "i'm not responsible for that." "well," ordered george, "search them, take the money and give it to me. that's all i want. they've got it, i know they have." "you bet we've got it, george," said mcglory, opening the satchel and fishing out the bunch of bills. "how does that look to you? everything's all shipshape, too, even to the name of the bank on the wrapper." george gave a cry of delight and started forward. "see him!" cried mcglory, calmly pushing his cousin back with one hand and thrusting the money into his breast pocket with the other. "i want that, mcglory," snapped george. "i know you do, but you don't get it." "come, come," put in the officer. "there's a whole lot of money in that roll----" "ten thousand, officer." "does it belong to this young fellow?" "not that anybody knows. he stole it, and we've just got it back from a bunch of crooks who lifted it from him." the officer frowned. "ah," he muttered, "this is beginning to look serious. he says you two boys are thieves, and now you're accusing him of being a thief." "there's a difference, officer," said mcglory. "difference?" "sure. we can prove our case, and he can't prove his." "how'll you prove it?" "why, by sending a telegram to this young chap's father, in madison, wisconsin. police headquarters will keep the money until an answer is received to that message." lorry went pale and began to tremble. "i won't have it that way," he declared hotly. "i guess you will," said the officer grimly. "that's a fair way to settle this business, and you ought to abide by your father's orders if these other young fellows are willing to." "they've got some game they're trying to play," scowled george, "and i won't stand for it. i'll make you all sorry for this," he threatened, turning away. the officer grabbed him before he had taken two steps. "where you going, lorry?" he asked. "take your hands off of me!" ordered lorry, striking feebly at the big fist that had collared him. "i'm going where i please, and you've no right to interfere with me." "you're going to headquarters," asserted the policeman, "and it's there you'll stay until an answer is returned to that telegram." "you gave the game a twist, george," grinned mcglory, "and now here's another twist, by motor matt and me." "what made you think of such a foolish move, george?" asked matt. "you didn't really think we were trying to steal that money, did you?" "how'd i know?" snarled lorry sullenly. "i haven't a very good opinion of mcglory, and if you travel around with him i can't have a much better opinion of you." motor matt was disgusted. "mcglory and i will go to headquarters with you, officer," said he, "and explain this to the chief. the quicker that telegram is sent, the better." the straightforward story which matt and the cowboy told the chief of police aroused nothing but pity and contempt for young lorry. a telegram was forwarded to george's father, at madison, and all three of the boys were treated as guests, rather than as prisoners, by the chief while they awaited an answer to the message. this interval matt put in to good advantage. in his memorandum book he had the number of the baggage check which had been turned over to big john, and also the name of the railroad by which it had been issued. at matt's suggestion, the chief sent a couple of officers to the depot to examine the trunk, and also to warn the railroad officials to call a policeman at once in case any man presented the baggage check and tried to claim the trunk. in two hours the two officers were back, highly elated. they had opened the trunk and had found it to contain, securely packed in a lot of clothing, a very complete burglar's kit. "we can understand now," remarked the chief, "why those rascals were so anxious to secure the trunk check. in order to claim the trunk without the check, they would have had to identify the property. they would have looked nice describing that set of burglar's tools, wouldn't they? my word for it, no one will ever show up at the station and try to claim that trunk. after what has happened, it would be altogether too dangerous." the trunk and the burglar's kit were confiscated by the police. it was evening before mcglory received a telegram from his uncle dan. the message was a long one, and entirely satisfactory to the authorities, even if not so pleasing to lorry. the message ran as follows: "thank you for what you have done. my desire is to have you take charge of money and to bring george back home. this motor matt, who has already been of so much aid, might be willing to come with you and help still further. use as much of the money as needed for your expenses. prefer to have george brought home by you than to send officers for him. bring him whether he wants to come or not. we will take care of him when he gets here." "i'll not go," declared lorry, when the telegram was read to him. "i guess you will, old chap," said mcglory. "there'll be two of us, and if we have to, you know, we can carry you to the train." if lorry's looks reflected his feelings, his frame of mind was anything but enviable. as a precaution, he was to be left at police headquarters until train time. "you're going along, eh, pard?" asked mcglory, as soon as he had got matt where he could talk to him privately. "it's a sudden turn for me," answered matt. "yesterday, at this time, i hadn't any more idea of going to wisconsin than i had of going to china." "what difference does it make to you where you are, matt, so long as you're making a little good money?" "money isn't everything, joe." "no more it ain't, but in this case, matt, you're helping a couple of mighty good people--and by that, i mean uncle dan and aunt mollie." "if i go, mcglory, it will be to help somebody else." "who?" "why, george, himself. i think there's good stuff in him if it could be brought out." "hear him! matt, george is as near a false alarm as you'll find anywhere. he's not more than half baked; if he wasn't all of that, do you think he'd have tried to have us arrested for stealing that money?" "he's all worked up, now, and has been for quite a while," explained matt. "when a fellow's in that condition, joe, he's not wholly responsible for what he does." "talk about making a man of george is all a summer breeze, matt. he hasn't a thing to build on, if you count out the cigarette habit." matt mused for a little while. "he likes motor boats, i believe you said, joe?" he queried at last. "well, yes," laughed mcglory, "a liking for boats seems to run in the family. it was a motor boat, you _sabe_, that started george on his last dash for the pacific slope and freedom. but what of that?" "i was thinking that a course of motor boats might develop george into a different person." mcglory whistled. then he laughed. "you're over my head, matt," said he, "but that's nothing. the point is, will you go? i don't care what sort of a fool notion takes you, just so you see me through to the end of the trip." "i'll go," replied matt. mcglory reached out his hand. the end. the next number ( ) will contain motor matt's enemies; or, a struggle for the right. on the road to waunakee--into a noose, and out of it again--george's sister--the "jump spark"--by express, charges collect--"pickerel pete"--george and mcglory missing--setting a snare--enemies to be feared--between fire and water--chums to the rescue--how fate threw the dice--under the overturned boat--a dash for the open--the power boat, minus the power--a reconciliation. motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction new york, july , . terms to motor stories mail subscribers. (_postage free._) single copies or back numbers, c. each. months c. months c. months $ . one year . copies one year . copy two years . =how to send money=--by post-office or express money-order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. at your own risk if sent by currency, coin, or postage-stamps in ordinary letter. =receipts=--receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. if not correct you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once. ormond g. smith, } george c. smith, } _proprietors_. street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york city. the man-eater. i was traveling on duty from kolicaad on the coast to an inland station, by a road, crossing the western ghauts, which was entirely new to me. two bullock carts carried my kit; my half a dozen servants marched alongside, while i headed the procession on horseback. before leaving kolicaad i had ascertained that the route was furnished throughout with travelers' rest houses; that after the first three marches the country became wild; that a few coffee plantations--managed by europeans--lay scattered about the loftier hills, and that from the third stage--cerrianaad--right away to the further foot of the ghauts, i would traverse heavy jungle, said to be swarming with wild animals. this last piece of information would have gladdened a seasoned shikarrie--or sportsman--but to me it was immaterial, as i was not much given that way. i was only nineteen years of age, owned nothing in the shape of firearms, and had yet to acquire that love of big game shooting which took such strong hold of me in after years. after we passed cerrianaad the country became more hilly, the track zigzagged and curved, the dense jungle shut in the road, hamlets grew fewer and further between, and the only natives to be seen abroad were wayfarers--all in large bodies--who told us that they purposely made up parties for the sake of security. i could see that my followers were fast becoming uneasy; they huddled together, while the bullock drivers frantically urged their sluggish cattle into keeping pace with me on horseback. we reached the next stage--wuddagherry--without adventure; but here we learned something that well-nigh drove my servants into a panic, and made me ardently wish that i had a gun of any description in my hands. soon after our arrival the head man of wuddagherry hamlet came to me and asked if i intended going on to malanaad the following day. i understood him, for i had already picked up the local language. "yes," i replied. "you must take care to reach it as early as possible, sir; for it is a long stage, fifteen miles; the road is difficult, and very dangerous." "how is it more dangerous than from cerrianaad to this?" i inquired with surprise; for no one at kolicaad had said anything about the stage in question being particularly perilous. "almost opposite to malanaad hamlet, sir, about a quarter of a mile off the road to the right, an english gentleman has lately commenced clearing the jungle to make a coffee plantation. he has built an iron house and iron lines for his coolies." "that's good news, head man: i shall certainly go and stay the night with the gentleman rather than at the malanaad bungalow--all by myself." "but, sir," continued the villager, now speaking in an awed whisper, "a man-eating tiger that is supposed to have wandered up from the low country on the other side is haunting the plantation! the malanaad hamlet is walled in; the people do not stir out after dark, so the tiger is preying on the gentleman's coolies, who are not so protected." danger, indeed! i had heard and read of man eaters, but had never encountered one. what if the demon happened to be lurking by the roadside as we passed? what if he should pop out on to us? what could i do? nothing! "is the gentleman by himself?" "no, sir; he has a son of about thirteen years, and a little daughter, much younger. i saw them all when they rested here on their way up." "no lady?" "no, sir; but there was an old ayah who attended on the little girl." i felt sorry for the isolated englishman, especially when i thought of his two children, leading a lonely life in a jungle, cut off from the society of those of their own color. knowing how gladly they would welcome me, i should certainly have claimed the planter's hospitality for one night at least had not the villager's news about the tiger put me off the idea. no, i was not going to run any risk: i would go straight to the malanaad bungalow. after dismissing the head man, i summoned my trembling followers, heartened them as best i could, and added that we would start sufficiently early in the morning to insure our reaching malanaad well before sundown. accordingly, we set out soon after dawn, and proceeded in close order, keeping a bright lookout on all sides. the road wound, dipped, and climbed; the thick jungle lined it on both flanks, and frequently formed a canopy over our heads. we heard occasional weird cries in the forest, but saw nothing; and we met no one till the afternoon, when, all at once, as we cleared a bend, i saw a narrow road branching off to the right, and three figures standing under a tree just where the two tracks joined. one was a european lad of some thirteen years, the other a flaxen-haired little girl of eight or so--both wearing sun hats--and the third an old ayah, or maid; the planter's children, no doubt, with the maid in attendance. but why there--a quarter of a mile from their home? why with only a solitary old native woman, while a man-eating tiger, not to say other dangerous animals, perhaps crouched in the very thicket behind them? my blood curdled as i thought it. no sooner did they behold me than all three ran forward. "halloa! who are you?" i asked, dismounting and signing my carts to halt. "oh, we are so glad to see you!" answered the boy, eagerly and breathlessly. "my name is jimmy simpson: this is my sister maud, and the old woman is her nurse. we are mr. simpson's children: we live up at the plantation, and--and we are in great trouble." "what trouble?" i demanded. "a man-eating tiger commenced coming here a few nights ago, and has killed several of our coolies. my father has not been able to shoot it. many of the coolies ran away; and, as father could not make the plantation without men, he and pote have gone down the other side of the hills to get some." "who's pote?" "father's assistant. they went the day before yesterday, leaving us in the care of the servants and the few coolies who still stayed. that night the tiger came about eight o'clock, the same time as before, and killed a man who had gone out of doors. the next morning every coolie and all our house servants ran away: they said they were too frightened to stop any longer. but the ayah wouldn't leave maud. we are afraid of spending another night by ourselves, so, as the tiger does not show himself till about eight o'clock, we came out here, and have been waiting all the afternoon in hopes of meeting some one who would stay at the bungalow with us. father won't be back for a week. oh, sir, do come and stay with us!" he concluded pleadingly. i thought that if i did halt here--even for a week--and i explained the reason to my superiors, they would not blame me. it was against human nature to leave these poor children alone in their fix. i did not see how i could suggest their abandoning the house, with all their father's property in it, and accompanying me to the comparative safety of the malanaad bungalow--the very fact of jimmy simpson's expressing no such wish barred the idea. i therefore decided to give them my companionship--little though it might afford in the shape of protection. so, telling my people to go on to the travelers' bungalow, i turned up the side road with the children. in the centre of a clearing stood a corrugated iron house, with a high-pitched roof, and a veranda running all round, above which opened some ventilating windows. several trees had been allowed to stand close to the house--evidently to give shade--while at the back was a range of out-houses for servants, and two long rows of "lines" for the coolies--all built of the same material as the main house. excepting the high ventilators, every door and window was closed, and not a sound save that of our footsteps broke the reigning stillness. young simpson unlocked a door, and we entered the bungalow. the ayah brought me some refreshing drink, which was very welcome after my journey, and i chatted for some time with the children, with whom i soon became fast friends. "well," said i at length, "i must leave you for an hour or so. i have got to see my things safely stowed away at the travelers' bungalow. then i'll trot back here for the night with some of my men." "please don't be longer than you can help, mr. geoffrey!" begged the lad. "i'll be as quick as i can," i replied. "be ready to open the door when you see us approaching." and i hurried away. my followers, however, were obdurate, and no amount of threats or coaxing would induce them to budge from the travelers' bungalow. during my absence the man in charge, and the villagers, had been telling them all about the tiger, and they flatly refused to accompany me to the plantation house. i had no alternative, therefore, but to go alone. i must confess to a strong sensation of nervousness as, with lantern in hand, i set out on my return journey to the simpsons'. but i had picked up an idea somewhere that a man-eating tiger was peculiarly regular as regarded the time of his visits to the locality he preyed on. jimmy had said that this brute appeared at eight o'clock or thereabouts; so, it now being only a little past seven, i imagined that i had forestalled the tiger. i reached the clearing, saw the light shining through the upper ventilator windows, reconnoitred as well as the darkness would allow, listened intently, and then pushed boldly across. i had hardly got halfway ere i heard jimmy's voice, muffled and indistinct, from within the building. "all right, jimmy!" i answered, dashing on. "here i am! open the door!" "climb! climb!" i now plainly heard him cry. "the tiger's close by somewhere!" the words temporarily paralyzed me. i looked to see the monster shoot into the rays of my lantern; i already felt his fangs at my throat! he must have observed my approach, and concealed himself--to pounce on me! jimmy must have marked the manoeuvre, and had shouted a warning in his childish way! with the beast at the door, so to speak, of course i did not expect the boy to open it: before i could slip in the tiger would probably be up, and either grab me or enter the house. no; the boy was quite right in keeping the door shut. these thoughts flashed through my mind in a moment: the next, nerved by despair, and roused to action by jimmy's reiterated cry of "climb! climb!" i glanced wildly about me and found myself close to one of the shady trees already alluded to. it was a moderately sized tree, with a smooth, straight stem, and much foliage at the top. dropping my lantern--fortunately, without upsetting it--i threw myself on that trunk, and frantically shinned up. i was just in time: i had barely got out of harm's way ere, with a hideous roar, a long, lanky, mangy-looking tiger squirmed round the corner of the house, came in a series of bounds to the tree, and then, rearing on end, tried to hook me down! i could hear his claws tearing the bark; i expected the cruel talons to pierce my flesh; but luckily he could not reach me, and i hauled myself up among the branches into comparative safety. it now remained to be seen whether the beast could and would follow me. at the time i knew nothing of the tiger's climbing powers; so i watched my enemy in an agony of doubt--to be inexpressibly relieved when i realized that he could not do it! he was old--as most man-eaters are: he hung on to the base of the stem, but, after many ineffectual attempts, he desisted: the task was beyond him: he was unable to draw himself up! for the present i was safe, then, and had time to look about me. taking my position in the centre of the tree, i topped the veranda roof, and i could almost see in through one of the ventilator windows; but a good six feet yawned between the inmost tree twig and the veranda eave; a gap that i could not cover even had i good foothold to spring from. nothing remained, therefore, but to make the best of it, and trust to the feline sneaking off at daylight. accordingly, i was about seeking a comfortable branch to spend the night on when jimmy called, "mr. geoffrey!" "halloa!" i shouted in reply; "i'm safe up the tree, jimmy, thanks to your warning." "but you are not safe!" he wailed hysterically. "why, where's the danger? the brute has tried to climb the tree, but failed: he can't get at me." "yes, he can, if he thinks of the wood stack!" "what wood stack?" "there, at the end of the veranda, just round the corner! if he climbs by it on to the veranda roof, he can jump from there into the tree! i've only just thought of it!" my lantern rays did not penetrate so far. i peered through the gloom in the direction indicated, and could dimly make out a number of log ends projecting beyond the side wall, and heaped to the full height of the veranda itself. clearly, then, if the tiger thought of that stack he would certainly climb it, come along the veranda roof to the tree, spring across the gap, seize and carry me with him to the ground! as i contemplated these probabilities i nigh yielded to despair: i broke into a cold perspiration, and i murmured a prayer for aid. that my prayer was answered is proved by my now living to tell this story. but i had yet to get out of my fix. i was given little leisure to reflect, for the tiger--as if jimmy's words had given him the hint--walked off and disappeared round the corner; a scrambling, scratching sound followed, and before i could well believe my eyes, there came the brute, sneaking along the inclined plane of the veranda roof! could i--after warning jimmy to unfasten the door--slip down the tree and dash into the house? no; though the varmint could not climb i felt sure he could drop, and that almost before i touched ground he would be upon me. the ugly cat crawled along the sloped iron sheeting, halted abreast of the tree, and set up a hoarse purr on spotting me--cowering amid the branches. he crept closer and closer to the eave till he could come no further--then gathered himself up for a spring! he strained and strained; i expected to see him shoot across and dig both teeth and claws into me; yet he came not! i stared at the beast in a wild fascination of terror. i remember--at that awful moment--being struck by his aged and unkempt appearance; i remember hearing the purr gradually give place to a growl of anger, and then all at once the truth broke on me: that outward and upward spring was beyond the man-eater; he would not attempt the feat; i was safe! my courage revived, and with it came a fierce longing to destroy my tormentor, whose foul breath reached and sickened me even at that distance. now, another thought suddenly struck me: was there possibly a gun of some kind in the house? hardly; for if so i should probably have seen it, or jimmy would have offered me the weapon when i left that afternoon. anyhow, i would find out. "jimmy!" i bawled, causing the tiger to start angrily. "yes, mr. geoffrey?" "the tiger has come on to the veranda roof--as you said; but he can't manage to spring into the tree, so i'm safe!" "oh, i'm so glad! i was----" "i say, have you a gun?" "father took one rifle with him; the other is in the case, locked up, to keep us from meddling with it." "are there cartridges?" "yes; a beltful in the case." "where's the key?" "father has it." "jimmy," i rejoined imploringly, "break open the case, load the rifle, open the door a wee bit, and fire at the beast through the veranda roof. the bullet will penetrate--i'm sure. he is crouching in a line with the ventilator, just short of the eave, so you'll know where to aim. i'll make it right with your father." "what's the good?" half whimpered the boy. "i don't know how to use a rifle." here was a facer! what more was left? but my brain was busy, and i determined to die hard. green as i was, shaken as i was, i resolved to try and shoot the tiger myself! "jimmy, do you think you could manage to pass me the rifle?" "i will if i can; but how?" "no use attempting the door--even while the brute is on the veranda roof; he'd hear you like a shot, and pounce down on you before you could wink. but could you reach the ventilator window from the inside? don't be afraid; it is too small for him to get his head and shoulders through, so he can't touch you." "but how am i to do it?" "can't you go hand-over-hand up the swing rope, with the rifle and belt slung on you?" "yes, i can," he answered readily. "then you could work along the tie beam and reach the window, couldn't you?" "i think so; but even if the window is large enough for me, how about the tiger outside?" "tell you what: get the rifle and cartridge belt, climb the swing rope, making as little noise as possible, and straddle along the tie beam to the window. directly i see you there, i'll pretend to descend the tree; the brute will either drop to the earth from where he now is, or go round by the wood heap; in either case you could scramble out, chuck me the rifle and belt, and get through the window again before the tiger is able to remount the veranda by the wood heap; that is, if he notices you. leave the rest to me." the boy was plucky to the backbone, and immediately agreed to carry out my instructions. presently i heard a rending, as of a box being broken open; then succeeded a silence of several minutes, and finally--to my joy--i saw the lad cautiously peeping over the window sill. promptly i made a show of climbing down, energetically shaking the foliage as i felt my way to the lower branches. my movement had the desired effect; the tiger raised himself, growled, and, evidently believing that he had me, down he dropped with a "thud" to the ground. the coast was clear for jimmy! "now, jimmy!" i shouted, frantically reclimbing upward and inward, "out you get! he's down below!" quick as thought jimmy slipped out the rifle and belt and proceeded to follow them. with my attention divided between him and the man-eater, i waited in desperate expectancy, but try as he would, the boy could not pass through! he essayed head first, then legs first, then this way, then that way; no, he failed! in my anxiety i had momentarily taken my eyes off the animal to watch jimmy. on recollecting myself, and looking down again, the brute was nowhere to be seen! merciful heaven! where had he gone? i peered on all sides, striving to probe the gloom beyond the rays of my still burning lantern, but i could not see him; the monster had vanished! while a sensation of superstitious terror threatened to overwhelm me, a smothered ejaculation of triumph came from jimmy; i glanced eagerly in his direction, to find that he had at last succeeded in getting out! he was in the act of dropping to the veranda roof, when the scrambling, scratching sound which i had once before heard that night smote on my ear; the disappearance of the tiger was no longer a mystery: he was climbing the wood heap! "jimmy!" i shrieked, "get back! for your life get back! the tiger's climbing the stack!" whether the boy heard me, understood me, or not, or had taken leave of his senses, i could not tell, for, instead of obeying me, he clutched both rifle and belt, and floundered down the slope toward the tree! at the same moment i saw that the tiger had gained the roof, and was approaching as fast as he could! "back! for mercy's sake, back!" i yelled despairingly; but the next instant the lad--after giving a hasty glance at the tiger--put forth all his young strength and hurled the rifle in my direction. mechanically i managed to seize the piece as it crashed into the branches; the belt followed; i secured it, and then the plucky boy, scurrying up the inclined roof, hauled himself to the window and wriggled through the aperture not half a second before the man-eater got up to it! intensely relieved at jimmy's miraculous escape, and burning with fury against the accursed animal--the cause of all our trouble--i simply sat there and sent bullet after bullet into his vile carcass, continuing the fusillade till he lay limp and lifeless on the veranda roof! no more need be said. i loved that boy, who had shown a courage and nerve beyond the wildest dreams of fancy. i love him now as a man, with a reputation for cool pluck and presence of mind, the promise of which he so signally exhibited on the occasion of my story. when mr. simpson returned, and i told him all, the satisfaction i derived by seeing the tears of admiration that dimmed his eyes as i described his son's gallantry more than compensated me for my own somewhat unpleasant share in that ever memorable adventure. latest issues buffalo bill stories the most original stories of western adventure. the only weekly containing the adventures of the famous buffalo bill. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --buffalo bill's cumbres scouts; or, the wild pigs corralled. --buffalo bill and the man-wolf; or, the mystery of the adobe castle. --buffalo bill and his winged pard; or, indian against indian. --buffalo bill at babylon bar; or, the mountain pirates. --buffalo bill's long arm; or, the game-cock of shasta. --buffalo bill and old weasel-top; or, the man from nowhar. --buffalo bill's steel arm pard; or, old weasel-top's mission. --buffalo bill's aztec guide; or, the white indian. --buffalo bill and little firefly; or, playing with death. --buffalo bill in the aztec city; or, little firefly's friendship. --buffalo bill's balloon escape; or, out of the grip of the great swamp. --buffalo bill and the guerrillas; or, the flower girl of san felipe. brave and bold weekly all kinds of stories that boys like. the biggest and best nickel's worth ever offered. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --two chums afloat; or, the cruise of the "arrow." by cornelius shea. --in the path of duty; or, the fortunes of officer dan deering. by harrie irving hancock. --a bid for fortune; or, true as steel. by fred thorpe. --a battle with fate; or, the baseball mascot. by weldon j. cobb. --three brave boys; or, adventures in the balloon world. by frank sheridan. --archie atwood, champion; or, an all-around athlete's career. by cornelius shea. --dick stanhope afloat; or, the eventful cruise of the _elsinore_. by harrie irving hancock. --working his way upward; or, from footlights to riches. by fred thorpe. --the fourteenth boy; or, how vin lovell won out. by weldon j. cobb. --among the nomads; or, life in the open. by the author of "through air to fame." --bob, the acrobat; or, hustle and win out. by harrie irving hancock. --through the earth; or, jack nelson's invention. by fred thorpe. --the boy chief; or, comrades of camp and trail. by john de morgan. motor stories the latest and best five-cent weekly. we won't say how interesting it is. see for yourself. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear. --motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto. --motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward. --motor matt's air-ship; or, the rival inventors. --motor matt's hard luck; or, the balloon house plot. --motor matt's daring rescue; or, the strange case of helen brady. --motor matt's peril; or, castaway in the bahamas. --motor matt's queer find; or, the secret of the iron chest. --motor matt's promise; or, the wreck of the _hawk_. --motor matt's submarine; or, the strange cruise of the _grampus_. --motor matt's quest; or, three chums in strange waters. --motor matt's close call; or, the snare of don carlos. --motor matt in brazil; or, under the amazon. --motor matt's defiance; or, around the horn. --motor matt makes good; or, another victory for the motor boys. _for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address on receipt of price, cents per copy, in money or postage stamps, by_ street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york =if you want any back numbers= of our weeklies and cannot procure them from your newsdealer, they can be obtained from this office direct. fill out the following order blank and send it to us with the price of the weeklies you want and we will send them to you by return mail. =postage stamps taken the same as money.= ________________________ _ _ _street & smith, - seventh avenue, new york city._ _dear sirs: enclosed please find_ ___________________________ _cents for which send me_: tip top weekly, nos. ________________________________ nick carter weekly, " ________________________________ diamond dick weekly, " ________________________________ buffalo bill stories, " ________________________________ brave and bold weekly, " ________________________________ motor stories, " ________________________________ _name_ ________________ _street_ ________________ _city_ ________________ _state_ ________________ a great success!! motor stories every boy who reads one of the splendid adventures of motor matt, which are making their appearance in this weekly, is at once surprised and delighted. surprised at the generous quantity of reading matter that we are giving for five cents; delighted with the fascinating interest of the stories, second only to those published in the tip top weekly. matt has positive mechanical genius, and while his adventures are unusual, they are, however, drawn so true to life that the reader can clearly see how it is possible for the ordinary boy to experience them. _here are the titles now ready and those to be published_: --motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. --motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. --motor matt's century run; or, the governor's courier. --motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the "comet." --motor matt's mystery; or, foiling a secret plot. --motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear. --motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto. --motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward. --motor matt's air ship; or, the rival inventors. --motor matt's hard luck; or, the balloon house plot. --motor matt's daring rescue; or, the strange case of helen brady. --motor matt's peril; or, cast away in the bahamas. --motor matt's queer find; or, the secret of the iron chest. --motor matt's promise; or, the wreck of the "hawk." --motor matt's submarine; or, the strange cruise of the "grampus." --motor matt's quest; or, three chums in strange waters. --motor matt's close call; or, the snare of don carlos. --motor matt in brazil; or, under the amazon. --motor matt's defiance; or, around the horn. --motor matt makes good; or, another victory for the motor boys. to be published on july th. --motor matt's launch; or, a friend in need. to be published on july th. --motor matt's enemies; or, a struggle for the right. to be published on july th. --motor matt's prize; or, the pluck that wins. to be published on august nd. --motor matt on the wing; or, flying for fame and fortune. price, five cents at all newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, by the publishers upon receipt of the price. street & smith, _publishers_, new york transcriber's notes: added table of contents. bold is represented with =equal signs=; italics with _underscores_. retained inconsistent spacing of "houseboat" vs. "house boat." replaced oe ligatures with "oe" -- ligatures retained in html edition. page , removed unnecessary comma from "rope down." corrected "you're" to "your" in "your father was a rowdy." page , added missing quote after "see if they come back." page , added missing "ing" to "catching red-whiskers." page , corrected double comma after "a humorous glance at ross and kinky." corrected typo "bame" in "only yourself to blame." page , added missing open quote to "don't be a fool!" page , capitalized "wait" in "wait until we can get." page , corrected "yawninig" to "yawning." page , corrected typo "ventilater" in "upper ventilator windows." courtesy of the digital library@villanova university (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction no. mar. , five cents motor matt's race the last flight of the comet _by stanley r. matthews_ [illustration: "i've got it, pard!" shouted chub, snatching the letter from motor matt's fingers.] _street & smith, publishers, new york._ motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction _issued weekly. by subscription $ . per year. entered according to act of congress in the year , in the office of the librarian of congress, washington, d. c., by_ street & smith, _ - seventh avenue, new york, n. y._ no. . new york, march , . price five cents. motor matt's race or, the last flight of the _comet_. by the author of "motor matt." contents chapter i. trouble on the road. chapter ii. the stampede. chapter iii. clip's note. chapter iv. m'kibben's tip. chapter v. a victim of circumstances. chapter vi. the pride of tom clipperton. chapter vii. laying plans. chapter viii. the rifled cache. chapter ix. the break in the road. chapter x. prescott. chapter xi. matt makes a new move. chapter xii. the old hopewell tunnel. chapter xiii. quick work. chapter xiv. steam versus gasoline. chapter xv. in court. chapter xvi. conclusion. the tennis-ground mystery. make queer catches at cape cod. cold fire. characters that appear in this story. =matt king=, concerning whom there has always been a mystery--a lad of splendid athletic abilities, and never-failing nerve, who has won for himself, among the boys of the western town, the popular name of "mile-a-minute matt." =chub mcready=, sometimes called plain "reddy," for short, on account of his fiery "thatch"--a chum of matt, with a streak of genius for inventing things that often land the bold experimenter in trouble. =welcome perkins=, a one-legged wanderer who lives with chub and his sister while their father prospects for gold--welcome is really a man of peace, yet he delights to imagine himself a "terror," and is forever boasting about being a "reformed road-agent." =tom clipperton=, known generally as "clip," a quarter-blood, who is very sensitive about his indian ancestry. =mckibben=, the sheriff who has both nerve and intelligence. =fresnay=, a cowboy who performs some mighty queer stunts. =pima pete=, an indian to whom clip is related. =hogan=, } =leffingwell=, } two deputy sheriffs. =short=, a lawyer. =burke=, sheriff of an adjoining county. =jack moody=, an engineer friend of chub. chapter i. trouble on the road. "ye're afeared! yah, that's what ye are! motor matt's scared, an' i never thought ye was afeared o' nothin'. go ahead! i dare ye!" an automobile--a high-powered roadster--was nosing along through the hills a dozen miles out of the city of phoenix. the vehicle had the usual two seats in front and a rumble-seat behind--places for three, but there were four piled aboard. matt king was in the driver's seat, of course, and equally, of course, he had to have the whole seat to himself. on his left were chub mcready and tom clipperton, sitting sideways and wedged into their places like sardines in a can. in the rumble behind was the gentleman with the wooden leg--welcome perkins, the "reformed road-agent." matt was giving his friends a ride. the red roadster, in which they were taking the spin, was an unclaimed car at present in the custody of mckibben, the sheriff. it had been used for lawless work by its original owners, and had fallen into the hands of the sheriff, who was holding it in the hope that the criminals would come forward and claim it.[a] [a] see motor matt weekly, no. , "motor matt's 'century' run; or, the governor's courier." mckibben and motor matt were the best of friends, and mckibben had told matt to take the red roadster out for "exercise" whenever he felt like it. directly after dinner, that day, they had started from the mcready home in phoenix. it was now about half-past one, and they were jogging at a leisurely pace through the foot-hills. welcome, on account of his wooden leg and the necessity of having plenty of room, had been given the rumble-seat. he was standing up most of the time, however, leaning over the back of the seat in front of him, and telling motor matt how to drive the car. that was the third time the old man had ever been in an automobile, but to hear him talk you'd have thought there wasn't anything about the machine that was new to him. his constant clamor was for more speed, and matt had no intention of taking chances with a borrowed car when a leisurely pace was entirely satisfactory to himself and his two chums, clip and chub. "oh, slush!" grunted chub, as welcome leaned forward and dared motor matt to "hit er up." "you'd be scared to death, welcome, if matt put on full speed and hit only a high place here and there. sit down an' shut up, or we'll drop you into the road. i wouldn't mind having that seat of yours myself; eh, clip?" "free kentry, ain't it?" snapped welcome. "you ain't got no call ter sot down on me, chub mcready, if i want to talk. go on," he added to matt; "pull the plug out o' the carburetter an' hit the magneto a lick jest fer luck." this was a sample of welcome's knowledge. chub let off a delighted yell. "yes," he laughed, "an' while you're about it, matt, strip the planetary transmission an' short-circuit the spark-plug. give welcome all he wants! make him sit down, hang on with both hands and bite hard on his store-teeth." "when you're running a car that don't belong to you, fellows," said matt, "it's best to be on the safe side." "sure," agreed clip. "we're going fast enough. no need to rush things." "ye're all afeared!" taunted welcome. "snakes alive, i could walk a heap faster'n what we're goin'. d'ruther walk, enough sight, if ye ain't goin' any faster'n this. this here ottermobill is an ole turtle. i hadn't ort ter brag about it, but when i was young an' lawless, i was that swift i could hold up a stage, then ride twenty miles an' hold up another, an' clean up the operation complete inside of an hour." "it wasn't much of a day for hold-ups, either," spoke up chub gravely. "anyways, that's what i done, smarty," snorted welcome, "but i didn't use no ottermobill--jest a plain hoss with four legs." "must have had six legs," said clip. "couldn't have gone that fast on a horse with only four." "now _you_ butt in," snarled welcome. "goin' to put the clutch on the cylinders, matt," he added, "an' advance the spark a couple o' feet? if y'ain't, i'm goin' to git out an' walk home. it's only five hours till supper, an' we must be all o' twelve miles from town." "you see, welcome," explained matt, with a wink at chub and clip, "it wouldn't do to put the clutch on the cylinders, for i'd strip the gear; and if i advanced the spark more'n a foot i'd burn out the carburetter." "d'ye reckon i didn't know that?" demanded welcome indignantly. "why, i kin fergit more about these here ottermobill's in a minit than some fellers knows in a year. but, say! what's that thing off to the side o' the road? looks like a gila monster." all three of the boys turned their eyes swiftly to the roadside. the next instant welcome had leaned far over, gripped the long lever at matt's side and shoved it as far as he could. they had been on the low gear; that put them on the high with a jump, and the red roadster flung madly ahead. matt shifted his eyes from the side of the road just in time to see welcome sail out of the rumble, turn a half somersault and land, astonished, in a sitting posture in the road. both chub and clip had had a scare, the sudden plunge of the machine having made them grab each other, and they only missed going over the side by a hair's breadth. as quickly as he could, matt brought the lever to an upright position and pressed the primary foot-brake. "the old freak!" shouted chub, as the car came to a halt. "he came within one of putting the lot of us overboard. if he had two good legs, i'm a farmer if we wouldn't make him walk back to town for that!" "if he don't agree to sit quiet in the rumble and enjoy the scenery," said matt, "we'll make him walk, anyway. i won't allow any one to mix up with the machinery as long as i'm doing the driving." welcome must have received quite a jolt. for a second or two he acted as though he were dazed; then he slowly gathered in his hat, got upright and shook his fist at those in the car. "dad-bing!" he yelled. "ye done it a-purpose, ye know ye did." "well, what do you think of that!" muttered chub. "ye jest coaxed me out in that ole buzz-wagon ter hev fun with me," ranted welcome. "wonder ye didn't break my neck, 'r somethin'. i hit the trail harder'n a brick house, an' if i wasn't as springy as injy-rubber i'd hev been scattered all around here like a chinese puzzle." "come on, welcome!" called matt. "but you've got to keep still and keep away from the machinery if you want to ride with us." "wouldn't ride in that ole cross between a kitchen stove an' a hay-rack fer a hunderd dollars a minit!" fumed welcome. "i've stood all i'm a-goin' to. ye've stirred up my lawlessness a-plenty, an' i'm goin' to hide out beside the road an' hold up the montezuma stage when it comes through. ye'll hear about it to-night, in town, an' then ye'll be sorry ye treated me like ye done. if ye got bizness any place else, hit yer ole gasoline-tank a welt an' don't let me detain ye a minit." rubbing the small of his back and muttering to himself, the old man started along the road in the direction of town. "let him walk a spell," said chub in a low tone. "he wants us to coax him to get back in; let's make him think we're taking him at his word." "all right," laughed matt, who knew the eccentric old man as well as anybody, "we'll lag along into the hills for a mile or two, and then come back. i guess welcome will be glad enough to get in by that time." chub got out and scrambled into the rumble. the machine took the spark without cranking and the red roadster started off. "so-long, perk!" shouted chub hilariously, standing up in the rumble and waving his hand. "tell susie, when you get home, that we'll straggle in by supper-time." the old man never looked around, but the way he stabbed the ground with his wooden pin showed how he felt. perhaps half a mile from the place where welcome had left the car the boys met a horseman riding at speed in the direction of town. the man drew rein for an instant. "turn around!" he yelled; "p'int the other way! can't ye hear 'em. thar's a stampede on, an' a thousand head o' cattle aire tearin' this way like an express-train! listen! if ye don't hike, they'll run right over ye!" startled exclamations escaped the boys. the cowboy's manner, quite as much as his words, aroused their alarm. the trail, for several miles in that particular part of the hills, was walled in on both sides by high, steep ground. this made a sort of chute of the road, so that those in charge of the cattle would not be able to get ahead of them and turn them. having given his warning and done what he could, the cowboy used his spurs and dashed on. at that moment a rumble of falling hoofs reached the ears of the boys, accompanied by the _click, click_ of knocking horns and a frenzied bellowing. "turn 'er, quick!" whooped chub. but the command was unnecessary. motor matt with a firm hand and a steady brain, was already manipulating the red roadster, backing and forging ahead in order to get faced the other way in the cramped space. meanwhile the ominous sounds, which came from around the base of a hill where the road described a sharp bend, had been growing in volume. just as the roadster jumped away on the back stretch the cattle began pouring around the foot of the hill. chapter ii. the stampede. it was the custom of the ranchers to keep their cattle in the hills until they were nearly ready for market, then drive them down into salt river valley, turn them into the alfalfa-fields and let them fatten before shipment. this herd of lean, brown cattle, wild as coyotes, had been started for the grass-lands of the valley. very little was required to start a panic among them, and this panic had hit them at the very worst place possible on the entire drive. with heads down, tongues protruding, foam flying from their open mouths, and horns knocking, the frenzied animals hurled themselves onward. even if the sight of the automobile had frightened them, there could be no turning back for the leaders of the herd, pressed as they were by the charging brutes in the rear. and, of course, the character of the roadside, at that point, prevented any turning out or scattering. all that lay between the boys and destruction was the speed of the car. if a tire blew up, or if anything went wrong with the machinery, the tidal wave of cattle would roll on over the car and its passengers. "we're in fer it, fellers!" shouted chub, who was in a good position to note the full extent of the danger. there was no hanging back on motor matt's part. he was on the high speed, and caressing the throttle-lever as he steered. "we're leaving 'em behind!" announced clip. "keep it up, matt." the red roadster was not only leaving the frightened herd behind, but was coming up with the cowboy, hand over fist. "we'll have to slow down!" called matt, between his clenched teeth, his flashing gray eyes straight ahead; "if we don't, we'll run over the man on the horse." just then they turned a bit of an angle that gave them a glimpse of welcome perkins. faint sounds of the uproar behind had reached the old man. planted in the middle of the road, he was staring back, wondering, no doubt, why the horseman was tearing along at such a rate of speed, and why the red roadster was letting itself out on the back track. but the old man was not kept long in doubt. through the haze of dust back of the automobile he saw the plunging cattle. the next moment he went straight up in the air with a terrified yell and made a dash for the side of the road. as fate would have it, the road at that point was hemmed in with banks too steep to be scaled; nevertheless, welcome clawed frantically at the rocks. "stand whar ye are!" roared the cowboy. "i'll take ye up with me." welcome's peril struck wild alarm to the hearts of the boys. they realized that if they had insisted on the old man getting into the car he would not now be in that terrible predicament. in order to get welcome up behind him the cowboy had to throw himself back on the bit and bring the horse to a quick halt. he leaned down to help welcome up, and welcome, who was almost as frenzied as the steers, gave a wild jump and grabbed saddle-horn and cantle. under his weight, and the weight of the cowboy, which was temporarily thrown on the same side, the saddle turned. welcome dropped into the road, and his would be rescuer pitched on top of him. the horse, thoroughly frightened, jumped away and continued his breakneck pace down the road. yells of consternation went up from chub and clip. matt had been obliged to bring the car almost to a halt while the cowboy was trying to pick up welcome. the leaders of the stampeding herd had come dangerously close. "they're on us!" whooped chub despairingly; "we're all done for!" "not yet," shouted matt, sending the car ahead toward the place where welcome and the cowboy were scrambling to their feet. "take 'em both aboard! quick on it, now, and we'll get away." the car rumbled up abreast of the two in the road. "jump in!" shouted clip; "hustle!" welcome threw himself into the front of the car and the cowboy made a flying leap for the rumble. clip grabbed one and chub caught the other. by then the foremost of the steers were almost nosing the rear of the car. matt, without losing an instant, threw the lever clear over, and the roadster flung away like an arrow from a bow, on the high speed; then, a second later, he opened the throttle and the six purring cylinders sent the car along at a gait that was double that of the pursuing cattle. "wow!" panted welcome, who had both arms around clip and was hanging to him like grim death. "keep holt o' me! i feel like every minute was goin' to be my next! slow down a leetle, can't ye? if ye don't we'll be upside down in the ditch! whoosh! i'd ruther take chances with them steers than ridin' a streak o' lightnin' like this. br-r-r!" welcome was getting all the fast riding he wanted. the red roadster whipped and slewed around the curves, and leaped like lightning across the straight-away stretches. matt, cool as a summer day and as steady as a clock, had eyes and ears for nothing but that terrible flight. two minutes sufficed to bring the car out of the hills and onto the level plains. "all right, pard!" cried chub from the rear; "slow down, now, whenever you please. the cowboys have got ahead of the herd and the leaders are beginning to mill." matt slowed the pace to a ten-mile gait, and welcome, with a gasp of relief, dropped in a limp huddle. "shade o' gallopin' dick!" he mumbled, pulling a sleeve across his dripping forehead. "i've been in snug corners a-plenty durin' my hootin', tootin' career, but dadbinged if i ever had a closter call than this here. when i uster ride," he added, with a sour look at the cowboy in the rumble, "fellers useter know how to cinch up their saddles so'st they _stay_." "the givin' way o' that saddle," returned the cowboy, "was the best thing that ever happened to us. if i'd got you aboard that cayuse, peg-leg, them cattle would hev nipped us, sure. the boss never could hev carried double an' got us out o' the way. this here devil-wagon," he finished, addressing the boys, "sartinly saved our scalps. i'm obliged ter ye fer what ye done." "where do those cattle belong?" asked chub. "to the fiddleback outfit, same as me. i'm josh fresnay, an' i'm ridin' to town with the ole man's check fer ten thousand in gold ter pay off at the ranch. got ter git ter the bank by three o'clock, 'r i won't be able ter git the money. i kin sojer back at any ole time ter-night, jest so'st the boys kin git their hooks on the dinero in the mornin'." chub introduced himself, matt, clip, and welcome. "ye don't mean ter say," cried fresnay, "that it's motor matt himself that made this devil-wagon cut that hole in the air?" "sure it is," laughed chub. "put him behind a motor an' you can bet your spurs there's somethin' doing." "waal, i reckon!" returned fresnay enthusiastically. "blamed few fellers in this part o' the kentry hevn't heerd o' motor matt. he's the one that ketched dangerfield, the feller that was smugglin' chinks inter the kentry, an' helped burke, the prescott sher'f, wind up the gang. shore i've heerd o' motor matt. put 'er thar, son!" and fresnay leaned over the back of the seat and offered matt his hand. the young motorist laughed as he gave the cowboy's hand a cordial shake. "it's easy to get talked about, fresnay," said he. "that's right!" declared the cowboy. "rob a bank, er save a gal from gittin' run over by a train--almost anythin'll do ter make yer name a household word. now, as fer me----" the cowboy broke off his remarks with a long whistle. he was standing in the rumble, holding himself upright by gripping the back of the two front seats. his eyes, traveling along the trail over the heads of matt and clip, had seen something which aroused his surprise and gratification. "waal, great horn spoons!" he cried. "if thar ain't ole beeswax, that cayuse o' mine, i'm a sinner! i'll be hornswoggled if i ain't playin' in luck, this trip. i'll be able ter git out now, mcready," he added to chub, "an' give ye a leetle more room." some distance away the horse was being held in the road. a tall man had the animal by the bridle. the man had a swarthy face, was roughly dressed, wore moccasins, and had evidently been footing it along the trail. as the red roadster came closer, matt stared at the man keenly, and a muttered exclamation escaped his lips. as he brought the car to a halt, matt's gaze swerved to clip. clip's eyes were like smoldering coals, and he was sitting rigidly erect. "feller looks like a half-breed," murmured welcome perkins. "got all the earmarks o' one. seein' as how he was travelin' afoot, it strikes me as some remarkable he didn't h'ist himself inter the saddle an' ride off with that hoss. half-breeds, as a rule, ain't got much regard fer other folk's property. mebby he was intendin' to. i see he's got the saddle back on top o' the hoss." fresnay tumbled out of the car and walked over to the half-breed. "hello, neighbor!" he called. "i see ye've caught up my hoss. he got away from me back there in the hills." the half-breed grunted, swept his eyes over the cowboy and then over those in the car, and stepped forward to lay the reins in fresnay's hand. "heap easy to ketch um," said he. clip and chub got out to stretch their legs. welcome gurgled delightedly as he sprawled himself in clip's seat. matt continued to watch the half-breed, but covertly. fresnay fished a silver dollar out of his pocket. "i ain't got much dinero about my clothes, neighbor," he observed, "but here's a cart-wheel fer yer trouble." the half-breed grabbed the dollar, spun it in the air, caught it as it came down, then slipped it into his pocket. as he drew out his hand, matt saw something in it that looked like a folded paper--perhaps a note. the half-breed tried to conceal the paper in his palm, and matt believed that he was the only one in the party who saw it. while fresnay was climbing to the back of the horse, the half-breed, tossing matt a significant look, brushed past clip and tucked the folded paper into his hand with a quick, stealthy movement, then whirled, left the trail and strode quickly away. clip, his eyes still burning and with a strange look crossing his face, hid the paper deftly in the pocket of his coat. "never did like a half-breed nohow," grunted welcome. "they ain't ter be depended on, an' i makes it a rule to walk around 'em just as i would a rattler." clip shot a glance of angry defiance at the garrulous old man. for the moment welcome had forgotten that clip was a quarter-blood, himself. chapter iii. clip's note. "mighty unsociable, that feller," laughed the cowboy, staring after the vanishing form of the half-breed. "waal," he added, "it was wuth a heap more'n a dollar ter hev him corral ole beeswax. you boys'll beat me inter phoenix, easy enough, but i got time ter jog along an' git thar by three. i'm a powerful obliged ter ye fer what ye done, an' if ever any o' ye need a friend, jest call on josh fresnay. so-long." chub and clip had climbed back into the car. all the boys shouted their good-bys to fresnay, and, after matt had "cranked up," the car sped away in the direction of phoenix. clip was silent and preoccupied, and matt attended quietly to his work of driving the car; but his thoughts were busy. while welcome jabbered in his usual strain, and chub flung back an occasional answer, matt's mind circled about the half-breed and the note. matt had recognized the half-breed at the first glance. he was none other than pima pete, and he was an uncle of clip's. but, what was infinitely worse, pete had been a member of a gang of smugglers headed by the notorious dangerfield. with a few others, pima pete had escaped at the time dangerfield and most of his gang had been captured. a reward of $ , each had been offered for the apprehension of every member of the lawless outfit, and this offer still held good so far as pima pete was concerned. that note which had been smuggled into clip's hand must have been of a good deal of importance, or pima pete would not have run the risk of capture in order to deliver it. when the boys reached town, clip got out of the car at the point nearest the place where he roomed, in the mexican quarter. chub and welcome were still in the car, and clip merely gave matt a significant look as he waved a good-by. matt knew that clip must be anxious to read the note and find out what his uncle had to say to him. chub and welcome got out in front of their home, and stood for a moment beside the car. "you've shut up like a clam, pard," remarked chub, with a curious look at matt. "what's the matter? anything gone crossways?" "what makes you think that, chub?" laughed matt. "don't a fellow ever do a little head-work except when things go crossways?" "everybody ain't shootin' off his mouth the hull blessed time like you, chub," put in welcome. "whenever you talk it's like a lot o' words rattlin' in a gourd. now, matt an' me's some diff'rent. by keepin' mum fer a while, we allers hev somethin' to say whenever we talk." "police!" grinned chub. "why, perk, you garrulous old parrot, you can talk more and say less than any man in arizona. when'll you be around again, matt?" "oh, i'll drop in on you to-morrow, some time. so-long!" matt returned the red roadster to mckibben's barn, where it was being kept, cleaned it up a little and made sure that everything was all right, then locked the barn door and left the key with mrs. mckibben. it was probably half-past four when he reached his boarding-place. as soon as he had dusted his clothes, and paid his respects to the wash-bowl, he dropped into a chair and fell to thinking, once more, about clip, pima pete, and the note. he had an idea that that note meant trouble for clip. it was a vague sort of feeling, but strong enough to make matt uncomfortable. pima pete had been a lawbreaker, and there was a reward out for him. being a relative of clip's, the half-breed was safe so far as clip and matt were concerned, but if any one who knew pima pete happened to see clip with him, there might be no end of trouble. thoroughly dissatisfied with the course events were taking, and not a little worried, matt went down to supper and sat through a half hour of incessant clatter from his landlady, mrs. spooner. when he got up from the table he had decided to find clip at once and get at the contents of pima pete's note. he went to his room after his hat, and when he opened the door there was clip in a rocking-chair by the window. the quarter-blood had slipped into the house and up-stairs to the room while matt had been eating his supper. "why, hello, old chap!" exclaimed matt. "i was just thinking about hunting you up." "hist!" warned clip. "not so loud, matt. maybe i shouldn't have come here. but i felt as though i just _had_ to talk with you." matt was "stumped." nevertheless, he was not slow in guessing that pima pete's note had something to do with clip's mysterious manner. "what's wrong, clip?" queried matt, lowering his voice and setting a chair closer to his chum. "matter enough. you saw what happened. when the cowboy got back his horse, i mean." "pima pete gave you a note." "that's it. not much gets away from you, matt. i was afraid chub and perkins might have seen it, too." "they didn't. i could swear to that." "you remember what dangerfield said when he was captured? that there was something he wanted you to do?" matt knitted his brows. he had not forgotten that. "i remember it, clip," said he; "and i remember, too, that i was to hear about the work through pima pete." "well, pima pete came to me. we're of the same blood, as you know." as usual, whenever he mentioned his mixed blood, a savage defiance blazed in clip's face. "i reckon that's why pete came to me. it would be easy for any one who knew him to give him away." "i wouldn't do that--on your account, clip." "sure you wouldn't. i know that. but pima pete don't. he saw us going into the hills in the automobile. then he wrote that note and waited for us to come back. he didn't dare enter the town. and he was taking chances, as it was. if that cowboy had happened to know him, pete's game would have been up." "did he tell you in the note about seeing us, and waiting for us to come back, clip?" asked matt. clip nodded. "where's the note?" "i burned it. got to be on the safe side, matt. pima pete's my uncle. i can't take any chances. are you willing to try what dangerfield wants done?" "if it's honest work, and i can help anybody by doing it, yes. but dangerfield was a lawbreaker, and i'd have to know all about the business before i took any hand in it." "there's ten thousand dollars in gold buried in the hills. it's cached near where pete met us. pete wants us to meet him out there to-night and get the gold. it's dangerfield's. pete says dangerfield earned it honestly. dangerfield's father is an old man, and lives in emmetsburg, iowa. we're to send six thousand dollars to emmetsburg, and pete, and you, and i are to divide the rest. that's the work." clip's keen eyes were fixed on matt's troubled face. matt was thinking hard and did not answer. "you don't like the work!" muttered clip. "i don't, and that's a fact, clip," returned matt. "that may be honest money, but how do we know? why didn't dangerfield tell the sheriff and let _him_ dig it up?" "the sheriff would turn it over to the prosecuting attorney. the government would confiscate it. you see, the federal lawyer would think it money dangerfield got for smuggling chinamen over the border." "well," said matt decisively, "if we fooled with that money we'd be apt to get our fingers burned. besides, it isn't a good thing to tangle up with pima pete. he's better off, and so are we, if we keep apart." a dark frown settled on clip's swarthy face. for several minutes he bent his head thoughtfully. "pete has to get his part of the money," said clip finally. "he can't get away to mexico until he has it." "if he knows where it is," suggested matt, "he could take it all." "yes--if he was an out-and-out thief." clip threw back his head and squared his shoulders. "he didn't reckon there was any harm helping dangerfield run a few chinks across the border. a whole lot of people think the same way." "that may be, clip," answered matt kindly, "but there's a law against it, and dangerfield and his men broke the law. that's put dangerfield in a hole, and it would put pima pete in a hole, too, if the officers knew he was skulking around near phoenix. take my advice, clip," matt added earnestly, dropping a hand on his chum's knee. "keep away from pete, just now. let him dig up the gold and send some of it to emmetsburg. there's no need of ringing you and me in on the deal." "you don't understand, matt. pete don't dare show himself anywhere. if you and i don't mix up with that gold, nothing will be done with it." matt puzzled his brain over the problem for several minutes. "i'll tell you, clip," said he finally, "you meet your uncle to-night, but do it carefully--understand? be sure no one sees you. let him tell you right where the gold is, and let him take a thousand of it, if he has to have it, and clear out. in two or three days, when your uncle has had time to get into mexico, i'll go to governor gaynor, lay the whole matter before him, and ask his advice. if he says for us to do what dangerfield wants, we'll do it. that's the best course. but don't you be with pima pete a minute longer than you have to." once more clip bowed his head. while he was thinking the matter over a rap fell on the door. starting up quickly, clip laid a finger on his lips, moved softly across the room and into a closet, pulling the door partly shut after him. all this secrecy of clip's matt did not think at all necessary; but clip was a queer fellow, although a fine one at heart, and doubly queer whenever anything connected with his ancestry came up. there was no time to argue with him, however, and matt stepped to the door and threw it open. mckibben, the sheriff, stepped into the room. chapter iv. m'kibben's tip. "howdy, matt!" cried mckibben. "just dropped in to see you on a little matter of business. mrs. spooner wanted to come up and announce me, but i told her that wasn't necessary. know where tom clipperton is?" this point blank question struck matt "all of a heap." if there was one thing he hated more than another it was a lie. only a coward will side-step the truth. however, matt couldn't very well tell mckibben that clip was in the closet, and he didn't see how he could refuse to answer mckibben's question without arousing his suspicions. fortunately, the official did not wait very long for matt to reply. "i've just come from the place where clipperton boards," said he, "and he wasn't there. i can have a little talk with you, though, and maybe it will do just as well." matt and mckibben were very good friends, and the sheriff dropped into the chair recently vacated by clip. "what's happened, mr. mckibben?" queried matt. "has some one turned up to claim that red roadster?" "no, and i don't believe any one ever will. the fellows who own that car know when to let well enough alone. what i want to see you about, matt, is an altogether different matter, although the roadster is indirectly concerned. you were out this afternoon with clipperton, mcready, and perkins, and you got away from a cattle stampede by the skin of your eye-winkers, at the same time saving josh fresnay, of the fiddleback outfit." "it wasn't much of a getaway," laughed matt. "when you open that red roadster up she can go about ten feet to a steer's one." "of course," returned mckibben, "with a cool head and a steady hand, like yours, there wasn't much danger. fresnay was telling me about it. he also told me how his horse was stopped by a half-breed, and how he had a notion that the half-breed was pima pete, one of dangerfield's old gang. fresnay has only seen pima pete once or twice, and one half-breed looks a lot like another, anyhow, so fresnay didn't think very much about it at the time he got his horse back. while he was riding into phoenix though, he got to turning the matter over in his mind, along with something else he saw, and he got a bit suspicious. as soon as he'd finished his business at the bank he came to see me. i heard what he had to say and went to see clipperton, but he wasn't at home. knowing you were a chum of clipperton's, i headed for here." matt was startled, although he tried not to show it. fresnay was a source of peril for clip--that point went home to matt in a twinkling. "naturally," resumed the sheriff, taking a whole lot for granted, "you wouldn't know pima pete from adam, but clip might know him. anyhow, on the supposition that fresnay's suspicions were well grounded, i have sent a couple of deputies out into the hills to look for the half-breed; but i'd like a little more information, if i could get it. there's another point, too, which looks a little bit queer, in case fresnay has got it right. he said he saw the half-breed hand clipperton something that looked like a scrap of paper. fresnay may have been wrong in this--i hope he is--for if the half-breed really proves to be pima pete, that note business will have an ugly look for your chum. see? what i want you to do, matt, is to find clip, if you can, and send him to me. i've only got the boy's best interests at heart, and i want to talk with him. a little heart-to-heart talk, just now, might save him some trouble." mckibben got up. "i reckon that's all," he finished, moving toward the door. "if you can find clipperton you'll ask him to come and see me?" "yes," answered matt. just then he was in a situation that was mighty unpleasant. how was he going to play square with the sheriff and at the same time be loyal to clipperton? certainly he could not tell what he knew about clipperton and pima pete. as soon as the sheriff had gone, and the front door of the house had closed behind him, clip emerged from the closet. his face was set and stern as he confronted matt. "fresnay has made much trouble!" muttered clip. "he recognized my uncle. and he saw him smuggle that note into my hand. more than that, two deputies are in the hills looking for pima pete." clip scowled his dissatisfaction over the prospect. "you can see, old chap," said matt, "what it means to tangle up with pima pete in this business of dangerfield's. cut pima pete out. it isn't safe for you to have anything more to do with him." "_you_ needn't, matt. you can't, after this. but i've got to. pima pete's my uncle. blood's thicker than water, even if it _is_ indian blood." the fiercely resentful look gleamed in clip's eyes. "pima pete came here on dangerfield's business. but for that, he'd have been across the border and safe by now. i'll see him to-night and warn him to clear out." "clip," said matt, in a low, earnest tone, "if you'll take my advice you won't go near pima pete, but you'll go to the sheriff and make a clean breast of the whole thing." clip made a gesture of savage dissent. "if it was _your_ uncle," said he, with a bitter note in his voice, "you'd see this thing differently. suppose pima pete's captured and brought in here. suppose it becomes known he's a relative of mine--he, one of dangerfield's gang!" clip's eyes became points of flame, and his breath came hard and fast. "why," and his voice was husky and thick with passion as he spoke, "they might try to take me out of the public school and send me to the indian school. i've--i've stood all i can on account of my blood. i'm not ashamed of it!" his head went up again and his shoulders went back proudly. "but i'm not going to be an object of contempt for the whites of this town. at the high school they've been trying to down me because i'm part indian. they couldn't have treated me worse if i'd been a nigger. you were my only friend." his voice softened. "you have made friends for me. now i'm not going to lose all i've gained by having pima pete brought in, and letting everybody know what he is to me. besides, he's my uncle. i'm not going to turn my back on him while he's in trouble." clip's words came whisperingly, but with an undernote of firmness and determination there was no shaking. matt was in a quandary. he could see clip's side of the question, and he knew how resolute he always was when he had made up his mind to a certain course. "look here," said matt, "you go and see the sheriff. tell him everything. he's a good friend of mine, and of yours, and he'll respect your confidence. while you're doing that, i'll get onto the _comet_, go out into the hills, and warn pima pete myself. it will be safer for me than for you." clip stared at matt for a moment, then walked up to him and gripped his hand. "that's like you," he returned. "but it won't do. if there's danger in meeting pima pete, it's _my_ danger. besides, it's my duty. another thing. i'll not tell mckibben, nor any one else, what pima pete is to me. i'll die first. and as long as you're my friend, you'll not breathe a whisper of it to any one." the last words were spoken slowly and deliberately. "no matter what happens, matt, that shot goes as it lays," went on clip. "i'm going to see pima pete and warn him. i'll start as soon as i leave here. but i'll put on some other clothes so no one will know me. and i won't take my motor-cycle. that would be a give-away. i'll walk." matt hardly knew what to do. "if it wasn't for that confounded note," he muttered, "this business would have a different look. i didn't think fresnay saw that." "he said he'd be a friend of ours," frowned clip gloomily. "now he's making me trouble." "fresnay meant well. he thought he was doing the right thing to carry his suspicions to the sheriff. in any other circumstances, clip, you'd have done the same thing, and so would i. i'll go with you out there. then, if anything should come of it, i'll have something to say. governor gaynor is a friend of mine, and so is mckibben. i'm sure they'd both of them listen to _me_." clip shook his head. "i'll do this alone. i'm not going to ring you in. if i ever meant anything in my life i mean that. you say you're a friend of mine. then prove it by staying right here in town. don't say anything about me to any one. that's all, matt." clip glided to the door, opened it softly, and made a cautious survey of the stairway and the hall. "the coast is clear," he whispered, turning back for a moment, "and i can get out without being seen. good-by, pard." "so-long, clip." clip vanished from the room. matt, looking from the front window, saw him emerge from the house and start for a back street on his way to the mexican quarter. his indian blood never showed in him more than it did then. there was savage wariness in every movement. heavy-hearted and full of foreboding, matt dropped into a chair. his judgment told him that clip ought not to go into the hills, but there was no way matt could prevent it. his hands were tied. for an hour matt sat in his chair; then, for an hour longer, he paced the floor. after that he tried to read, but his gloomy thoughts would give him no peace. it was about nine o'clock when he pulled covers, but for a long time he could only toss about sleeplessly and think of clip. he heard the clock in the court-house tower chime the hours up to midnight, and then dropped into heavy slumber. the gray dawn was looking in at his windows when he was aroused. somebody was pounding on his door. rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he jumped up, unlocked the door, and pulled it open. chub mcready staggered in. his face was gray in the dim light, and he was breathless from running and excitement. "what do you think, matt?" he puffed. "clip's been arrested. he's over in the jail, now." chapter v. a victim of circumstances. "arrested!" matt staggered back and dropped on the edge of the bed. "that's right! don't it knock you slabsided? clip! think of it! i've been on the blink ever since i heard it. welcome was up early this mornin' and he saw 'em passin' the house, taking clip to jail. hogan and leffingwell, two of mckibben's deputies, had him. and hogan's arm was in a sling--he'd been shot." "not by clip!" exclaimed matt, horrified. "no, but by pima pete, one of the dangerfield gang who was with clip. pete got away; and clip could have got away, too, only he didn't try. that ain't the worst of it, though!" chub mopped his face with a handkerchief and began fanning himself with his hat. "great horned toads, matt, but things have been happenin' so fast i'm fair dazed with 'em all." "what else has happened, chub?" demanded matt, getting up and beginning to scramble into his clothes. "go ahead. i'll listen while i'm getting dressed." "you remember what josh fresnay, that cowboy, told us," went on chub, "while we had him on the car racin' away from those stampeding steers? he said he was going to town after ten thousand in gold to meet the fiddleback pay-roll." "yes," put in matt, with a start, "i remember that." "well, fresnay was robbed, last night. he started for the ranch about nine in the evening, and when he struck the hills, close to the place where we met the stampeded herd, somebody roped him from the roadside and jerked him out of the saddle. he was pretty badly stunned, but he was able to see that there were two who turned the trick. they looked like half-breeds, to him, although it was too dark to see anything very plain. before fresnay could untangle the rope, the two robbers had cut his bag of gold from the saddle and made off with it. fresnay, as soon as he could corral his wits, started back to town. as luck would have it, he met hogan and leffingwell, and told them what had happened. they all three started for the place where the robbery had been pulled off, and ran smack into clip and this pima pete; what's more, clip was lugging a bag containing nine thousand dollars in gold, and pete had a buckskin pouch with the other thousand. now, what d'you think o' that!" matt was dumfounded. towel in hand, he turned gaspingly from the wash-stand and stared at chub. but matt knew what had happened. in spite of his advice, clip had gone with pima pete to dangerfield's cache and dug up the money. pete had probably needed the thousand to get away with. by an irony of fate, dangerfield had buried $ , in gold--just the amount which had been stolen from fresnay. "but it wasn't the same money!" declared matt. "yes, it was--anyhow, it looks like it. all double eagles, matt. it wasn't the same bag, though--but _that_ don't count. great guns! i'd never have thought that of clip. but blood tells, one way or another, and----" "don't you think it of him now, chub!" cried matt, scrubbing savagely at his face with a towel. "there's not a dishonest hair in clip's head. you know it and i know it. this thing can all be explained." "of course," said chub, "it's hard to think clip's a thief, but he's up against a hard lot of circumstances, and it's twenty-three for him, i'm afraid." "it's all circumstantial evidence," growled matt, "and that means a doubt on the face of it." "and then to be caught with the goods----" "it wasn't the 'goods.' chub, clip's a chum of yours and mine. now's when he needs us, more than at any other time. you take it from me, clip's innocent. we'll pull together and get him clear." matt's confidence aroused chub's. "but clip was _disguised_, matt," said chub, more than willing to be convinced; "how do you account for that?" matt knew how to account for it, all right, but he was not at liberty to tell chub or any one else. "that can be explained," said matt quietly. the shock of chub's news had passed, and matt's keen mind was now busy with the situation. every circumstance chub had mentioned was but another coil about the unfortunate clip. matt blamed himself for not insisting on going with clip to meet pima pete. had he gone, he knew he could have kept pete and clip from going to dangerfield's cache and getting the gold. but for that fateful gold, a little figuring would have let clip out of the whole affair. "you got all this from welcome?" asked matt. "that's how," replied chub. "welcome came on in with hogan and leffingwell, and they told him all of it." "didn't clip say anything?" "you can search me. he was riding behind leffingwell, handcuffed and tied to the horse. he looked all gloomed up, perk said." "why shouldn't he?" demanded matt. "why did they let pima pete get away?" he added angrily. "if they'd brought _him_ in, this whole thing could have been straightened out." "how? you seem to know something--put me wise, matt." "i can't tell you now, chub, but maybe i may after i talk with clip. did the deputies tell welcome how pima pete managed to escape?" "they said he pulled a gun, fired, and jumped into the rocks at the trailside. he dropped the pouch with the thousand, in his hurry. hogan was hurt, as i said, but leffingwell drew a gun and would have dropped pima pete if clip hadn't knocked the gun aside. and that's another point against clip. jumpin' tarantulas!" and chub shook his head ominously. "i don't see how we're ever goin' to get clip out of this, matt. even if he wasn't guilty, he acted that way right from the start." "but he didn't try to run himself! don't forget that, chub. what time were clip and pima pete met up with by the deputies?" "a little after ten last night." "and they didn't bring clip in till early this morning?" "no. hogan watched clip, and leffingwell chased after pete. leffingwell couldn't use his horse--you know the lay of the ground out there beside the trail--so leffingwell had to do his huntin' on foot. he used up several hours, i guess, but pete got away from him." "there's another point, chub," said matt. "how could hogan and leffingwell tell the man was pete, if it was dark?" "leffingwell knows pete pretty well. you see, leffingwell comes from prescott, an' that place used to be an old stamping-ground of the half-breed's. and then leffingwell got close enough to pete so he could see him. it was a clear night, and there was a good moon." matt knew, naturally, that leffingwell had made no mistake. "you say clip's in jail?" inquired matt, reaching for his cap. "that's where they were taking him." "well, we'll get a permit from mr. mckibben and go and have a talk with clip. i guess the sheriff will be in his office now, on account of this, so we'll slide for the court-house. come on." they descended the stairs quickly and let themselves out into the clear morning air. would clip still allow his pride to stand between himself and freedom? he had told matt that he would die before he would let any one in phoenix know that pima pete was a relative of his. could clip explain matters satisfactorily by keeping his relationship with pete in the background? the sheriff was in his office, and with him were hogan and fresnay. hogan's arm was hanging from his neck in a sling, and there was a strong smell of drugs in the room, proving that the arm had recently been dressed by a surgeon. fresnay also had a few bruises, caused by his fall from the back of his horse. on the sheriff's desk lay a dingy canvas bag and a greasy pouch of buckskin. there was a big pile of gold pieces stacked up by the canvas bag, and a smaller pile heaped up by the pouch. "hello, matt!" called the sheriff, motioning both boys to chairs. "i felt pretty sure you'd show up. tough luck, eh? but i was afraid of something like this when i called on you last night." "clip's innocent, mr. mckibben," asserted matt stoutly. "you've made a mistake, fresnay," he added to the cowboy. "wisht i had, pard," answered fresnay, "jest on yore account. didn't know, till mckibben told me, that you was sich a great friend o' clipperton's. but ye kain't dodge the facts, son." "if you'd got a good look at the two who robbed you," went on matt, "you'd have known at once that one of them wasn't clip." "i was kinder dazed, but them thieves looked like the half-breed and clipperton. anyways, we found 'em with the gold, an' that makes it a dead open-an'-shut." "is it the same gold?" "double eagles. the payin'-teller at the bank'll tell you that's how i drawed the pay-roll money. allers git it that way." "is it the same bag?" "waal, no, but it 'u'd be plumb easy ter change bags." "if your bag was a good one, why would a change be made to that other one?" and matt's eyes rested on the dingy canvas receptacle on the sheriff's desk. "give it up, pard. we got ter take things as we find 'em." "i know, matt," put in mckibben, "that you hate to think this of clip even more than i do, but we've got a clean case against the boy. in the first place, he was in the red roadster when fresnay told all of you he was coming to town after ten thousand in gold; then clipperton gets into a disguise and walks into the hills--_walks_, mind you, so no one will guess who he is, which wouldn't have been hard if he'd taken the motor-cycle; and then he's bagged with the money and refuses to say a word about that note pima pete gave him, or how he came to be in the hills with the half-breed. it looks mighty bad for clipperton, i can tell you that. i've sent for him, though, so as to have another talk with him. glad you came. maybe you can get him to say something. ah, here he is now." just at that moment the door opened and clip came into the room. he was handcuffed, and leffingwell had a hand through his arm. matt and chub got up and stepped toward their chum. "cheer up, old chum!" said matt, taking clip's hand. "we know you're innocent, and we're going to prove it." "you bet we are!" declared chub. clip looked his gratitude, at the same time there was a restraining gleam in the eyes he turned on matt. chapter vi. the pride of tom clipperton. at that significant look from clipperton, matt's hopes went down. apparently not even arrest, or the dubious prospect ahead of him, had shaken tom clipperton's resolve to hide his dealings with pima pete. defiantly he turned to face the sheriff. "you're in a bad hole, clipperton," said mckibben, "and i've brought you here to see again if you won't tell us something that will make this look a little less dark for you. i want to be your friend, but i can't do anything if you're not perfectly frank with me." "if you want to be my friend, look for the real robbers," answered clip. "i didn't take fresnay's money." "where did you get that gold, then?" "i dug it up." the sheriff looked incredulous, as well he might; hogan muttered sarcastically, and fresnay shook his head. "it's a fact!" declared clip angrily. "you can go and see the place. look at that bag!" he whirled and pointed to the dingy canvas sack on the desk. "there's sand on it yet." "it won't do, clip," said mckibben. "don't it strike you as mighty odd you should dig up just the amount of money that was taken from fresnay, and all of the same kind? but, assuming that you did dig it up, who put the gold in the ground? and what had pima pete to do with it?" "i can't tell you that," answered clipperton stiffly. matt went over to clip and whispered to him. "for heaven's sake, clip, don't you understand what this means to you? make a clean breast of everything!" "i'll go to prison for life first! you know how i've been treated here, and you know what would be said of me if they knew all about pima pete." "anyhow," pleaded matt, "tell the sheriff it was dangerfield's money. dangerfield himself will bear you out in that." "they wouldn't believe me, and they wouldn't believe dangerfield. i'll tell them that much, though. don't you forget! if you're a friend of mine you'll say nothing." "not to chub?" clip hesitated. "we're both of us going to help you out of this," went on matt earnestly, "one way or another. but we can work better if chub knows as much as i do." "tell him," said clip. "but make him promise not to tell any one else. i'm not ashamed of my blood, but if they knew pima pete was my uncle they'd be more ready to fasten this onto me." "that's a mistake, old fellow, and----" "i've made up my mind!" the black eyes flashed. "if you and chub find the real thieves, and get back the other ten thousand dollars, that would let me out. nothing else will." it was a terrible mistake clip was making, but his nature had been so warped because of the treatment he had suffered on account of his indian blood, that it was impossible for him to see the matter in the right light. matt drew back, his face showing his intense disappointment. "it was dangerfield's money," said clip to mckibben. the sheriff did not believe the statement, and neither did hogan nor fresnay nor leffingwell. "where did dangerfield get all that money?" asked mckibben; "and why did he hide it like that?" "ask him," said clip curtly. the looks on the faces of his inquisitors had brought his pride and defiance to the surface. "where is dangerfield now, mr. mckibben?" asked matt. "he has been taken to the government prison at leavenworth," answered the sheriff. "can't you write him, tell what has happened, and ask him for a statement?" "what's the use, matt? the whole thing sounds too fishy." "do it for me, mr. mckibben! i _know_ clip's telling the truth. why, dangerfield wanted me to help dig up that gold----" matt stopped suddenly. clip's eyes were on him and were telling him plainly he had said too much. "wanted _you_ to help dig it up?" queried the puzzled sheriff. "write and ask him about it," said matt. "i will," averred mckibben, "just because of what you say. my letter will go to the warden of the prison, however, and i'll have him question dangerfield. it's too improbable a yarn, though, and i haven't any hopes." he turned to clip. "what was in that note pima pete gave you?" he asked. "pete asked me to meet him last night and dig up the gold," replied clip. "have you the note?" "i burned it." "why did you do that?" clip was silent. "why did you disguise yourself when you went out to meet pima pete?" still clip would not answer. "why did you grab leffingwell's revolver and keep him from shooting the half-breed when he was running away?" the use of the word "half-breed" was unfortunate. it reminded clip how ready they were to think evil of him on account of his mixed blood. "that's my business," said he curtly. the sharp answer aroused the sheriff's resentment. "very well, if you're foolish enough to take that stand, clipperton. you'll have an examination this afternoon, but you might as well waive it, if you're going to keep that attitude." "he'll have a lawyer to look after his interests, mr. mckibben," spoke up matt. "who'll pay for the lawyer?" asked clip, turning on matt. "i will! dangerfield got you into this, and i'll spend every cent paid to me for his capture to get you clear." clip stretched out his hands quietly, the handcuffs rattling. matt clasped his chum's palm loyally, and clip turned away. mckibben motioned to leffingwell, and the prisoner was led out of the room. "you're certainly a mighty good friend of clipperton's," said the sheriff to matt, "but he don't deserve it." "you don't know him as well as i do," said matt. "he could explain a whole lot, if he would." "then why don't he do it?" "mistaken pride," flushed matt, "and it comes from the scurvy way people have treated him here in phoenix." "then that mistaken pride," said the sheriff gravely, "is going to land him in the penitentiary." "not if chub and i can save him!" "what have you and chub got to work on?" "the theory you won't accept--that the real thieves, with another lot of money, are hiding away somewhere, tickled to death to think that you're on the wrong track." "matt," and the sheriff came close to the boy and dropped a hand on his shoulder, "you're the clear quill, and i think a heap of you, but you're going it wrong. that injun was never born who wouldn't steal, and there's enough injun blood in tom clipperton to make him a thief. come! there's no use beating about the bush; we might just as well call a spade a spade and be done with it. let the law take its course with clipperton--you can't stop it." "i _will_ stop it," declared matt; "mcready and i will prove that clipperton is innocent." "i wish i had a few friends like you," muttered the sheriff. "same here," spoke up fresnay, stepping forward. "ye don't hold any grouch ag'inst me, do you, matt?" "no; you only did what you thought was right. and that's all tom clipperton did. all of you will be next to that, one of these days." "well," said mckibben, "i know you've got nerve, and i know that when you make up your mind to a thing you hang to it tighter than a dog to a bone. but you listen to me matt: if you spend all your money for clipperton you'll be sorry." "anyhow, you're going to write to leavenworth?" asked matt. "i'll do that at once." that was about all matt had gained by his interview in the sheriff's office. he and chub went out, and chub heaved a long breath as they went down the court-house steps. "there's a hen on somewhere, matt," said chub. "i'm pretty thick-headed, but i can see that. what was you whisperin' to clip about?" "i was trying to get him to make a clean breast of everything," replied matt gloomily. "and he wouldn't?" "no; but he said i could let you in on all i know, providing you'd agree to keep it to yourself." "sure i'll keep it to myself. that's all to the good. fire away." "come over to breakfast with me at mrs. spooner's. i'll tell you as we go along." matt began by telling chub how dangerfield had asked him to help in some work or other which pima pete knew about; then he went on to tell about the note given to clip by pete, of the former's call the afternoon before, and about clip's determination to see pete and warn him away. then matt made the whole thing clear by explaining that pima pete was clip's uncle. chub was so astounded he could only whistle. they were at mrs. spooner's before he could make any comment one way or another, and the landlady was waiting with a badly soiled envelope addressed to matt. "that there letter," explained mrs. spooner, "was left here by the worst-lookin' greaser i calculate i ever seen. he jest said that was fer you, matt, an' left straight off. i didn't ask his name, or anythin' else, bein' glad enough to see his back, i can tell ye." matt tore open the envelope and drew out a folded sheet of paper. grimy fingers had left marks all over the paper, but the writing--a mere lead-pencil scrawl--was legible enough. "com preskot tursda be att brigs hous wait." that was all. no signature, and nothing but the eight misspelled words. was it a clue that pointed to something worth while in clip's case? chapter vii. laying plans. while he and chub were eating their breakfast matt questioned mrs. spooner more at length regarding the mexican who had brought the letter. but he was not able to find out anything more than he already knew. mrs. spooner had about as much use for a mexican as she had for an indian, and that was no use at all. consequently she had paid but little attention to the messenger who had delivered the letter, and had been very glad to get rid of him so quickly. mrs. spooner was a good woman, but very inquisitive. from the questions matt put about the letter she knew it must be of considerable importance, and she tried hard to find out something about its contents. in order to get away, matt ate less breakfast than usual, and hustled chub up to his room. there he passed the letter over for chub's inspection. "i guess," remarked chub, after studying the scrawl, "that you can translate that to mean 'come to prescott on thursday. be at the briggs house, and wait for something to happen.' is that what you make of it, matt?" "yes." "a fair shake, do you think, or is somebody trying to string you?" "i can't imagine who'd want to string me, chub. it may have something to do with clip. and to-morrow's thursday." "i can get next to that, all right. it won't do any harm to follow up the tip and see what it amounts to. suppose i get that one-cylinder machine of clip's and we make the trip to prescott on our motor-cycles?" "bully! but we can't get away much before this evening, chub. when the bank opens i want to get some money and hire a lawyer for clip; then i'd like to ride out to the hills and look over the scene of the robbery. after that we could hike for prescott. do you know the road?" "i could go over it with my eyes shut." "good all the way?" "in dry weather. when it's wet there are whole miles of trail where the motor-cycle would mire clear to the forks. we could go on the train, though, if you wanted to. i know jack moody, one of the engineers. he runs up to ash fork in the afternoon and comes back the next afternoon; but whether his run's to-day or not i don't know." "it's better to use the motor-cycles. i haven't given the _comet_ a real spin since i took that hundred-mile run for the governor." "then we'll take the wheels and start this afternoon. but look here, matt. i think a lot of clip, but he's actin' mighty like he belongs in the foolish-house, seems to me. it wouldn't hurt him much if he told everything he knew--and it mightn't get him out of the scrape, either, but it would help, that's a cinch." "clip's a mighty queer fellow, and i don't know that i can blame him for feeling like he does. you know how pretty near everybody has thrown it into him here in phoenix, because he's part indian. he's trying to do the square thing, and it hurts. now, just as he's getting the better of that prejudice, if it came out that pima pete, one of the dangerfield gang, was a relative of his, that would be like turning the knife in an old wound. clip's got a lot of pride, and he feels as though he wanted to do everything he could for pima pete. it's possible he'll go to prison before he opens his head about pete; unless----" matt hesitated. "unless what?" asked chub. "why, unless you and i can find the real robbers and the other bag of gold." "it's a big order," said chub. "i've been filling big orders lately," smiled matt, "and i'd tackle anything if there was a chance of helping clip." "here, too. but what have we got to go on? nothing but a few words from a mutt who must have spent most of his time playin' hooky when he went to school. for all we know, it's just as much of a wrong steer as a right one." "well, it's a warm guess that mckibben won't strain himself looking for any more robbers." "he thinks there were only two robbers, and that he's got them. not knowin' what we do, matt, an' considerin' the way clip acts, you can't blame mckibben a terrible sight." "that's right, we can't. but it bats the whole thing up to us. maybe mckibben will shake himself together and send some deputies after the other robbers when he hears from dangerfield." "what do you think dangerfield will say?" "he'll tell the truth, and that will prove that clip wasn't lying when he said he dug up that money." "sounds like a pipe-dream, though, don't it, that dangerfield buried just ten thousand in double eagles--same as what fresnay got from the bank?" "that's a mighty bad coincidence for clip. everything's gone wrong for him. he disguised himself so he wouldn't be recognized when he went out to meet his uncle, and now they think he put on those old clothes so he wouldn't be known when he committed the robbery! and when he saved his uncle's life by knocking leffingwell's revolver aside, mckibben and the deputies drew their own conclusions about that." "if pima pete thought as much of helping clip as clip thought of helping him, he'll walk right into the sheriff's office as soon as he hears what's happened." "that's the last thing clip would want him to do. the whole business might come out--and i believe clip would rather go to prison than have it known a relative of his belonged to the dangerfield gang. clip knows that everybody thinks indian blood is no good, and he's been trying to change their notions. i've got something in my head. it's this: you know there were four or five of dangerfield's gang got away the time sheriff burke, of prescott, rounded the smugglers up at tinaja wells. it's the general idea they got over into mexico, but maybe some of them have been hanging out in the hills; and maybe two of them got wind of this trip of fresnay's after the pay-roll money and laid for him." "a cinch!" cried chub, electrified. "i'll bet money that's the way of it. but those two handy-boys may be on the way to mexico now. if that's so, i can see where we get off!" "if we can't catch the robbers," said matt, "maybe we can catch pima pete." "what good would that do? clip don't want him caught." "i don't mean to bring him to phoenix," pursued matt, "nor to turn him over to the officers. if we could find him, and make him swear to what he and clip did last night, that ought to help clip's case a whole lot." "that means, then, we've got two strings to pull--either find the two robbers or find pima pete." "this clue may help," and matt pointed to the note which lay on the table. "i'm not banking a whole lot on that. it's got all the earmarks of a false alarm. goin' to show it to mckibben?" "i'm not going to show it to anybody. it may not amount to anything, but we'll run it down and make sure." just then the pounding of a motor from the road in front reached the boys. "great guns!" exclaimed chub, looking from a window. "there's mckibben, now, and he's stopping in front." matt looked out. mckibben, in the red roadster, had pulled to a stop in front of mrs. spooner's gate. leffingwell was in the rumble-seat. the sheriff looked up and saw matt, then waved his hand for him to come down. "there's something up, chub," said matt. "let's go down and see what it is." the two boys hurried down-stairs and out of the house. "what is it, mr. mckibben?" asked matt. the sheriff reached into his pocket and drew out a yellow slip. "it's a telegram, matt," said he. "just came--and not more than half an hour after i had posted that letter to the warden of the government prison at leavenworth." matt unfolded the slip, hoping against hope that it contained good news of some sort. but he was far afield, for the news was anything but good. "dangerfield committed suicide in his cell here last night. advise name of next of kin, if you know it." matt's hands closed convulsively on the yellow sheet. another hope gone--and there were not many for clip to lose! chapter viii. the rifled cache. "tough luck!" exclaimed chub, looking over matt's shoulder and reading the message. "it never rains but it comes down in buckets." "it _is_ tough, and no mistake," said mckibben. "i'm anxious to give clipperton every chance, but he's his own worst enemy, and everything goes against him. why, here i'm in starting on a wild-goose chase into the hills, looking for that rifled cache where clip says he dug up the gold! jump in, matt, i want to take you with us. you, too, chub; get into this other seat with me, for i'm not going to do the driving myself when there's such a crack chauffeur as motor matt along." mckibben changed his seat, and chub climbed in. matt walked around to the other side. "what time is clip's examination, mr. mckibben?" he asked. "four o'clock this afternoon." "i want to get back before the bank closes and in time to hire a lawyer." "i expect to get back here by eleven o'clock." with that, matt cranked up the machine, got in, and they started. there was no tarrying on the road, for matt was anxious to get back, and he had leffingwell hanging to the rumble-seat with both hands half the time. "you're going to look for the place where clip and pima pete dug up the money, mr. mckibben?" asked matt. "for the place where clip _says_ they dug it up," qualified the sheriff. "he told you where to go?" "yes." "and if you see the place you'll believe his story?" "i'm not saying that, matt. clip and pete may have dug the hole for some other purpose, and clip may have been smart enough to call the hole a cache, and to say fresnay's money came out of it. by the way," the sheriff went on, deftly changing the subject, "you were with dangerfield quite a while, that time you brought him in from castle creek cañon. was that the time he spoke about having buried that money and asked you to help dig it up?" "i don't want to talk about that now, mr. mckibben," answered matt. "there's a whole lot to it that concerns clip, and i promised him i wouldn't explain." "you boys are keeping something back--i know that. if you want to get clip out of a bad hole, matt, you don't want to keep anything back, no matter what clip says. you've got to help him in spite of himself. this is no time for false ideas of loyalty to a friend." "what i know wouldn't clear clip," said matt, "although it would explain a few things that are counting against him. i'm in honor bound to keep it quiet." "well," went on the sheriff, "have you any idea who dangerfield's next of kin is?" "i understand that he has a father living in emmetsburg, iowa." "good enough! i'll wire that to leavenworth." under mckibben's direction matt brought the roadster to a stop close to the place where fresnay's saddle had turned while he was trying to pick up welcome during the stampede. leaving the car in charge of chub, matt, mckibben, and leffingwell got out, found the easiest place for climbing the steep bank, and made their way westward into the uplifts. as they proceeded, the sheriff eyed their surroundings keenly, apparently laying his course by landmarks about which clip had told him. after fifteen minutes of scrambling among the rocks, mckibben brought his two companions to a halt at the foot of a rocky hill. here there was a hole about three feet deep with a heap of sand lying beside it. close to the edge of the hole a dozen stones had been laid in the form of a cross. "there you are leffingwell," remarked mckibben. "what do you think about it?" "some 'un was at work here," replied the deputy, "an' not very long ago, at that." "it was clip and pete," put in matt, and pointed to the print of a moccasin and of a boot-sole in the soft sand at the side of the hole. "pima pete wore moccasins." "they dug up somethin' here, all right," commented leffingwell, "but i'll bet somethin' handsome it wasn't money." mckibben wandered around the vicinity of the hole for a few minutes and then turned and started back toward the road. "we've only clipperton's word for it," said he, as he descended the bank to the car. "and mine," added matt. "we'll never have dangerfield's--now." "would pima pete's sworn statement help any?" asked matt. "it might, matt; but just how much weight pima pete's affidavit would have with a jury is a question." on the homeward trip another halt was made at the place where fresnay had been robbed. the road was hard at this point, and the unyielding earth had left no sign of what had taken place. this was another disappointment for matt. if the ground had been soft, _and no moccasin-tracks found_, a good point would have been scored for clip. but fate seemed to be working against clip at almost every turn. the party got back to phoenix at half-past ten, and matt and chub left the car at the bank. here matt drew $ of the money that had been paid to him as a reward for bringing in dangerfield, and the boys proceeded at once to the office of a legal gentleman whom clip declared to be one of the best criminal-lawyers in phoenix. the man's name was short, and, oddly enough, he stood over six feet in his stockings. he had a gimlet-eye and a hawklike face, and was professionally brusk and brutally frank. but he had already heard of clip's arrest, and, as everybody in town knew motor matt--who had been a good deal in the public eye during the preceding weeks--the lawyer listened to the young motorist with attention. "how much money have you got to spend on this, king?" queried the lawyer. "i've got $ ," said matt, "but i'll need some of that for other expenses." "what expenses?" "i'll explain, mr. short, when you tell me whether or not you'll take the case." "the long and short of it is this: if we can't break down clipperton's stubbornness, and induce him to tell what he knows, he's a gone gosling. if i get him clear i want $ ; if i lose--which seems a foregone conclusion--$ will settle the bill." "here's a hundred on account," said matt, and short gave him a receipt and pocketed the money. "now, about the clues you have," said short. matt showed the note received at the boarding-house that morning. the lawyer examined it, puckered up his brows, and drummed on the desk with his fingers. "not worth the paper it's written on," said he. "that's my opinion, but it seems to be the only clue we have, so you'd better follow it. i'll go over and talk with clipperton. probably we'll waive examination. he'll be held to the circuit court, now in session, and the case will no doubt be taken right up. are you prepared to furnish bail and get clipperton out for a few days? i wouldn't advise it. he might run." "no danger of his running, mr. short," said matt sharply. "clip's as innocent of that robbery as i am." "that's my attitude--publicly; but to you, king, i'm frank. however, we'll do what we can. i don't want to lose out, for it means something to me if i win. you boys might go over with me to see clipperton, and try to get him in a receptive frame of mind. he ought not to keep anything from his lawyer." the lawyer put on his hat and started for the door. "how much bail will be required to get clip out?" matt asked. "i think i can get it down to $ , ." "i've got friends in town----" "you bet you have!" declared short; "governor gaynor, for instance." "but the way everybody feels toward clip, i can't ask any of my friends to go on his bail." "just as well. i think the case will come to trial in two or three days. the court is now sitting, and there's not much on the docket." mr. mckibben had got back to his office, and the necessary permit for the boys and the lawyer to see clipperton was quickly obtained. clip was a forlorn-looking figure, sitting in his cell with arms folded and head bent. matt's sympathy went out to him, and, after introducing the lawyer, he slapped him encouragingly on the shoulder and begged him to go into details as much as he could. clip was grateful to matt, and showed it, but not even to short would he give the true inwardness of the affair. matt did not tell clip about the note received through mrs. spooner, thinking he might imagine it had something to do with pima pete, and shut down on having the clue followed. when they left the jail short was tempted to withdraw from the case. "what can we do for a fellow who won't help himself?" he demanded, out of patience. matt prevailed on him, however, to do what he could, and the boys left him at the foot of the stairs leading up to his office. "we're up against it, pard," remarked chub gloomily, as he and matt went off down the street. "i'm no knocker, but hanging out like this is the worst kind of foolishness on clip's part. he's crazy, to act like he's doing. mckibben knew his business when he told you to do what you thought best, and never mind clip." "get that out of your head, chub," said matt. "we've got to win this game for clip on the lines he has laid down. when will you be ready to start for prescott?" "just as soon as i can tell sis, eat my dinner, and pick up clip's motor-cycle." "all right. when you're ready come around to mrs. spooner's." the two chums separated. matt, profoundly dissatisfied with the course of events, took his way toward his boarding-house. as if he had not already had enough to discourage him, mrs. spooner, tremendously excited, met him in the hall with another letter. "the same greaser brought this 'un that brought the other, matt," she explained. "i didn't like his looks any too well, but i tried to get him to tell his name, knowin' how curious ye was about it. he was that unmannerly, though, he jest bolted right off'n the front steps." "it doesn't make any difference, mrs. spooner," said matt, "for i don't think it amounts to much." matt went on up-stairs, and in the privacy of his room examined the letter. it was better written and better spelled than the other note had been, and was plainly from another hand; but there was no name signed and no other clue to the sender. the contents, however, were surprising. "if you start for prescott you'll never get there alive. take a fool's advice and keep away." matt was amazed. evidently that first communication was of some importance, or the present writer would never have taken the trouble to send such a threat. so far from being intimidated, a steely glint came into matt's eyes, and his square jaw set resolutely. "chub and i are going to prescott," he muttered, "and i guess we can take care of all the trouble that comes our way." chapter ix. the break in the road. several days before, when matt had been planning to start for denver on his motor-cycle, he had bought an auxiliary gasoline-tank. the tank that came with the machine was attached behind the saddle, and held five quarts, sufficient for a run of to miles. the auxiliary tank was attached to the top tube, and its tubes and connections were so arranged that it could be used independently of the tank behind. with both tanks filled, the _comet's_ radius of action was increased at least miles--enough to carry the machine half-again as far as prescott. matt had never experienced any trouble with the _comet_. as a rule, common sense and ordinary thoughtfulness are enough to keep any good motor-cycle on the road without repair bills. the _comet_ was always as spick and span as when it came from the factory, for matt groomed the machine as he would have groomed a race-horse, and cleanliness is one of the first points to look after if a machine is to travel right. on his return from a trip he never failed to go over the motor-cycle with wrench and pliers, to inject a few squirts of kerosene into the warm cylinders, and to "turn over" the engine a few times. he was busy making a final survey of the _comet_ when chub pounded up on clip's machine. a canteen, lashed to the head of the one-cylinder, showed that chub had been thoughtful enough to secure a reserve supply of gasoline. "all ready?" sang out matt. "ready's whole family," answered chub. two minutes later the boys were skimming north along the cave creek road. beyond the outlying canal they struck the hills, and here matt instructed chub a little in nursing his machine--not to open the muffler when there was no real necessity, to let the burned oil out of the motor base at least once every fifty miles, and to cut off the power when descending hills in order to cool and help the engine. they were well into the hills before matt told chub about the second letter, and showed it to him. "thunder!" exclaimed chub. "it must be a swift bunch we're up against. but i guess they're four-flushin'. anyhow," he grinned, "i'm not scared so you can notice it." "it makes me think," said matt, "that there's something in that first note, in spite of short's opinion." "sure," answered chub. "that first note is lookin' better and better to me. different fists worked on those two letters. the last one must have been jotted down by a fellow who'd been through the eighth grade, anyhow. how do you size 'em up?" "it's all guesswork, chub, but my guess is that some party intends giving us a tip, and that another one found it out, and is trying to backcap the first man. the tip must be important, or the second man wouldn't try to keep us away from prescott. to follow the thing farther, the second man may be one of the two who held up fresnay." "keno! and we've landed with both feet right in something that seems worth while. the second man is trying a bluff--but if he had known motor matt better he might have saved himself the trouble." "we'll keep our eyes skinned, all the same," said matt. "if it's really a bluff, we won't lose anything by being careful; while if it isn't, we'll have a lot to gain." "correct. an ounce of prevention is worth a ton of cure." the road, although it twisted back and forth between rocky hills, was smooth and even. both motor-cycles worked to perfection, and the boys went spinning along at a leisurely clip, keeping a sharp watch all around them. at the town-pump, in wickenburg, they stopped for a drink, then struck out for skull valley, where the railroad had an eating-house at which they had planned to get supper. they were still wary, although the prospect of trouble seemed to be growing more and more remote. chub, overconfident as usual, was just exulting over the way they had "called the bluff" of the unknown writer of the second note, when trouble materialized like a bolt from the blue. it was at a place where the road-bed was like asphalt, although crooked as a snake, and edged on both sides with rocky hills. in passing a gap between two of the hills matt heard sounds that aroused his apprehension. he might have been mistaken, but he thought he heard a scrambling of hoofs. "hit her up, chub," said he, in a low voice. "did you hear a noise on the left of the road? i did, and i don't like it." just as the two machines forged ahead at increased speed, a shout came from behind the boys: "stop! stop, or we'll shoot!" matt and chub stole a quick look behind. two horsemen were in the road, and one of them was armed with a rifle. "faster!" cried matt. "get around the next turn!" there was no need of a spur for chub. his idea that the writer of that second note was "four-flushing" had proved to be a dream, and he was coaxing his motor-cycle to the limit. _bang!_ the sharp report echoed and reechoed through the hills, and a spurt of dust shot up between the two racing wheels. "they're shooting at our tires!" called matt. "if they'll give us about a minute more," answered chub, doubled over his handle-bars, "they can blaze away all they please. they've got to haul up if they do any straight shooting, and while they're standing still we're getting into the distance. if---- wow!" chub broke off with a startled yell. one of the bullets had passed altogether too close to him for any sort of comfort. the next moment the shoulder of a hill intervened between the boys and the marksman. they were safe for the moment, but, above the noise of their machines, they could hear a flurry of pounding hoofs. "they mean business, all right," said chub grimly, "but if they've a notion they can overhaul us on a couple of cayuses, they've got another guess coming." "look!" shouted matt suddenly; "there, ahead!" chub stared, and instinctively a shout of despair escaped his lips. ahead of the boys was a long, straight slope. at the foot of the slope there was a break in the road, a gap crossing it at right angles and seven or eight feet wide. "there were planks across that gap!" cried chub. "those scoundrels have taken them away. they've got us, matt!" for a moment motor matt did not answer. he was gazing sharply at the break. the chasm seemed deep, even if it was not very wide, and was evidently the course of a small stream. just before the edge of the gap was reached, heavy freighting over the road had hollowed out the road-bed. a daring idea took form in matt's mind. "we'll get across!" he cried. "how?" gasped chub. "that hollowed-out place--our machines will be thrown upward at the other side of it--_they'll leap across_!" chub's heart almost stood still. he was brave enough, but he did not understand the possibilities of the situation so well as matt, and the attempt to hurl their motor-cycles across the gap looked like the worst kind of recklessness. "give her every ounce of power, chub!" shouted matt. "head straight for the gap and keep the middle of the road. watch me; i'll take it first." the _comet_ was a much faster machine than the one chub was riding. up to that moment matt had been holding back in order to stay alongside his chum; but now, in order to demonstrate the feasibility of the fearful leap he had suggested, he opened the throttle and forged into the lead. chub, every faculty centered in his handle-bars, saw matt duck downward into the hollow, shoot upward, spin through the air as though launched from a catapult, then alight on the opposite side of the break a good four feet from the edge. what was more, the _comet_ did not seem to mind the leap any more than a spirited horse would have done, and started on up the road in excellent style. matt, however, halted and turned back. there were some doubts in his mind about chub. clip's motor-cycle wasn't a very late machine and might not be able to duplicate the _comet's_ performance. far up the slope the horsemen could be seen racing after the boys at top speed. there was nothing else for it, matt knew, but for chub to take his chance. down into the hollow went chub, then up and out, the one-cylinder's wheels spinning in mid-air. down he came, safe by a scant margin, and a breath of relief rushed through matt's lips. baffled shouts came from the horsemen. matt's hopes were dashed somewhat by sounds which told him chub's machine was beginning to misfire. "use your pedals!" shouted matt. "open the throttle, chub!" matt knew that the jolt the machine had had was probably the cause of the misfiring. the jar had perhaps caused the carburetter-float to stick, thus interrupting the regular flow of gasoline. opening the throttle did not seem to help. matt, watching the horsemen, saw them getting ready to take the gap at a leap. to delay much longer would surely mean capture. "hold down the priming-pin for a second!" yelled matt. he was making ready to go back to chub's assistance, when the motor took hold in proper shape, and chub, white and worried but mightily relieved, came gliding along. "i'm a regular mutt in a pinch like that," said he. "lost my head completely, and wouldn't have known the first thing to do if you hadn't yelled." "let 'er out again," returned matt. "we'll leave those two scoundrels behind, now, for good and all. the main thing is to get out of rifle-range while they're leaping the gap." side by side the chums plunged away. looking behind them, just before they took a turn, they saw the two horsemen swinging into the air and taking the leap safely. "we'll lead 'em now," gloried chub, "clear into skull valley, if they want to follow!" chapter x. prescott. not again did the boys see their pursuers, and for five minutes they kept up their swift pace. when finally sure that they were safe, they slowed down their machines. "didn't you ever get rattled, matt?" asked chub. "lots of times, old fellow," laughed matt. "well, if you'd got rattled back there at the break in the road little reddy mcready would have been raked in too easy for any use. those two roughs were dead set on getting us. must be something mighty important ahead of us in prescott or they wouldn't have tried so hard to hold us back." "i'm getting more confidence in that first note all the time," declared matt. "that's the way i stack up. it was a regular raw blazer of a play, though, the way those fellows came at us. but they'd laid their plans pretty well. where they missed was in not riding out into the trail ahead of us instead of behind." "that wasn't a miss," said matt, "that was a part of their plan. they had taken up the planks across that break in the road, and thought they'd chase us to the chasm and stop us there." "i'll bet the air is some blue around where those two fellows are now," laughed chub. "but put me wise to this: how did they know we were intending to go to prescott on our motor-cycles?" "that's too many for me, chub. there's been quite a lot going on in phoenix that i can't understand. the same mexican delivered both notes to mrs. spooner, and it looks as though the two men who robbed fresnay had been staying in the town, and at the same place where the fellow who wrote the first note was hanging out." "if we'd had time to look up that mexican----" "couldn't have found him in a thousand years from mrs. spooner's description. if i'd been at home when he brought that second note, he wouldn't have got away until he had told me a few things." "my thinkin'-apparatus is all kinked up over the whole business," puzzled chub, "but it looks like those two handy-boys are playing the game all by themselves. one of them wrote that warning and sent it to us, then picked up his partner and slid for the hills in order to stop us if the note didn't scare us out. they're the robbers, matt; they're the ones that lifted fresnay's money, all right." "then what do they want to keep us away from prescott for?" queried matt. "they needn't worry about themselves. with two good horses, and their freedom, and ten thousand in gold, they could start for mexico. whatever we can do in prescott needn't bother them." "maybe they're not able to clear out just yet." all the speculations of the chums regarding the two notes, and the men who had recently tried to stop them, were mere guesswork. giving up their attempt to probe the mystery, they set themselves to the task of reaching prescott as soon as possible. at skull valley, a place consisting of only half a dozen houses and the railroad-station, they halted just long enough to eat a hurried meal. there was the chance, if they tarried too long, that their enemies might attempt to get ahead of them on the road they were still to cover. when they had finished eating, the boys went over their machines, tightened a few bolts, lighted their lamps--it was beginning to get dark--then mounted and hurried on. from skull valley north they found the worst part of the road. it was on low ground, and boggy. during the present dry weather the road was passably good, but after a rain it would have been difficult for wagons to travel it, to say nothing of motor-cycles. for the most of the way the trail tried to follow the railroad-track, dipping under high trestles and angling back and forth across the rails. it was poor up to within half a dozen miles of prescott, and then, abruptly, it became like an asphalt boulevard, level with the track and smooth and clean right up to the ends of the ties. it was nearly nine o'clock in the evening when the boys reached this good stretch of road, and their lamps, streaming out ahead, showed it to them clearly. "mighty good going for a motor-cycle race," said chub. "and a fine place for racing a limited train," added matt, his mind running on the possibilities of steam versus gasoline. "say," said chub, "i'd like to see the _comet_ splurging along by jack moody's big baldwin, with moody late and making up time! whoo-ee! that would be a race! when moody's behind his schedule you'd think a wildman was at the throttle." although the boys did not dream of it at the time, yet this talk of theirs was prophetic. presently the motor-cycles glided over a low hill, covered a couple of miles of level road, crossed the track, and entered the town of prescott. chub, who had been in prescott several times, knew the location of the briggs house, and led the way directly there. they registered, secured a room on the ground floor, and, in order to make sure there would be no tampering with their machines, trundled them into the room where they would be constantly under their eyes or else behind a locked door. the motor-cycles were looked over and taken care of, and then the boys, tired out with their trip, tumbled into bed and fell asleep. they were up in time for breakfast, and were eagerly expecting something to happen. it was thursday, the day specified in the note which had been so mysteriously delivered at mrs. spooner's. following breakfast, they sat around the hotel office, impatient and with every faculty on the alert. noon came, and they had dinner, then the afternoon waned, and they had supper. no one came near them to broach anything connected with the particular business that had brought them to prescott. by eleven o'clock matt gave up hope of hearing anything that day, and he and chub went to bed. chub was very much discouraged. "i'm beginnin' to think that wasn't much of a tip, after all," he grumbled, as he rolled into bed. "something may have happened to keep the man who wrote that first note from showing his hand," hazarded matt. "yes," returned chub, "and something may have happened to him that will keep him from showing his hand at all." "you mean----" "why, that those two roughs who chased us may have taken care of that fellow who wrote the first note. after we got away from them, those scoundrels may have decided to put the other man out of the way. that would keep the fellow from communicating with us, and it's a cinch that's what those handy-boys were afraid of. matt, i'd be willin' to bet dad's gold-mine against a peck of marbles that we're side-tracked, and won't be able to do a thing for clip." "we'll stay here, anyhow," said matt doggedly, "and see it through. i've got a hunch that something's going to turn up." "but by stayin' here we may be losing time--and we haven't any time to throw away." "what could we do if we weren't here?" asked matt. "you've got me now. this business is getting on my nerves so that it's hard for me to hold down a chair and wait. feel like i wanted to be up and moving." "you can go back to phoenix, if you want to," suggested matt, "and watch things there. i can hold down this end, all right." "not on your life!" declared chub. "i'm goin' to stick to you tighter than a woodtick. if anything _does_ happen here, maybe you'll need some one about my heft and disposition to help." "then," said matt decidedly, "we're going to stay right here until something turns up. it's the only chance we've got to do anything for clip." "it's a slim enough chance, at that, but i'll go you," and chub turned over and went to sleep. matt's resolution to remain in prescott was somewhat shaken next morning. as he and chub left their room and walked out into the office the clerk handed matt a telegram. "just came," said the clerk. matt knew the message had something to do with clip, and his hands shook a little as he tore it open. it was a night-message, and had been sent from phoenix the preceding afternoon. it was from short, and ran as follows: "clipperton's case on friday morning. no court saturday. will probably go to jury monday afternoon. need you as witnesses." matt's face went white as he read the message and silently handed it to chub. "they're making short work of poor old clip," muttered chub angrily. "we've _got_ to cut loose from here now, haven't we?" "i want to think about it," answered matt, heading for the dining-room. chapter xi. matt makes a new move. neither of the boys ate much breakfast. that telegram, showing how clipperton was being railroaded through the court, had taken their appetite. matt reflected bitterly that clip was a quarter-blood--little better than a half-breed--and that the foregone conclusion that he was guilty must have prompted sparling, the prosecuting attorney, to hustle the case through. there was evidence enough to convict him without hunting up any more. matt's first step, after breakfast, was to send a telegram to short. "adjourn the case if you can. must have more time. if anything is done, got to do it here. can't you send some one to take our affidavits?" following this, matt made a new move--one which he was sorry he had not made before. leaving chub at the briggs house, he hunted up his friend sheriff burke. because of what matt had done for law and order, burke had a hearty admiration for him, and welcomed him cordially. "i'm here on business, mr. burke," said matt, "and haven't got much time to talk. you've heard about the robbery of josh fresnay, and about my chum, tom clipperton, being held for it?" a sympathetic look crossed burke's face. "sure i've heard about it," said he. "the trial's on to-day. i'm wondering, matt, why you're not in phoenix instead of here." "i'm here trying to help clipperton. i can't explain how, but that's the way of it. short, clip's lawyer, telegraphed me the case will probably go to the jury monday. there's not much time to lose, and i'd like to have you send out some deputies to look for the real robbers, mr. burke." burke opened his eyes wide. "why," said he, "it looks like a clear case against clipperton, and----" "it isn't a clear case!" declared matt warmly. "day before yesterday the two men who robbed fresnay were in the hills between wickenburg and skull valley. that puts them in your county, mr. burke, and it's up to you to catch them, if you can." "how do you know all that?" demanded burke, a little excited. "because they chased me and my chum, mcready; but we were on our motor-cycles, and got away from them." "what were they chasin' you for?" matt did not care to tell burke about the tip which had brought him and chub to prescott. he got around the explanation in another way. "those two robbers, mr. burke," said he earnestly, "are two of dangerfield's old gang." burke shot out of his chair at that. "are you positive of that, matt?" he demanded. "i am sure of it as i am that i am sitting here this minute." "but those two scoundrels may be a hundred miles away from here by now!" "i don't think so. i've got a firm conviction that they're hanging around in the vicinity of prescott." "they must have recognized you as bein' the governor's courier, that time we made the sourround at tinaja wells," said burke, "and that's why they chased you." matt made no response to this. "will you try and locate them, mr. burke?" he asked. "you bet i will--if for nothing more than to do something for you. you stack up pretty high with me, my boy, and if this is going to help any, i'll get right at it." "hustle!" said matt. "if we don't dig up something to help clipperton he's going to be convicted. and we've only got until monday. they're not losing any time putting him through." "not much time to waste on a breed," returned burke. "i know how it is. how long will you be in prescott?" "can't tell. not long, i hope." "where are you stopping?" "briggs house." "if anything turns up i'll let you know. if you've gone back to phoenix, i'll wire you. keep a stiff upper lip," he added kindly, noting the gloom in matt's face. "you seem to always win out when you tackle anything." "there's got to be a first time for a fellow to fall down, mr. burke." "not for you, matt," said the sheriff cheerily. in somewhat better spirits, matt returned to the hotel. chub was in the office and was not long in telling matt that nothing had happened. "you're the one, anyway, a messenger will be lookin' for," fretted chub. "if anything's going to turn up, you'd better stay right here and wait for it. where you been, matt?" matt told him. "that's a good idea," approved chub, "but the deputies ought to have been started out right after we got here." "that's one place where my foresight slipped a cog, chub," said matt. "i believe i'm getting batty over this business of clip's. any telegram from short?" "no." nor was any message received that day. neither did anything else develop. the boys remained in the office until midnight, and then, with heavy hearts, went to their room and to bed. "we're a couple of dubs for staying here like we are," said chub. "let's get on our wheels in the morning and roll back where we belong." "we'll wait till monday morning," said matt. "if we can't find out anything by then we'll take the train that leaves here at nine in the morning. our motor-cycles can travel in the baggage-car. i wouldn't feel like taking chances of an accident to the machines on that trip." chub brightened. "that's the talk!" he exclaimed. "we'll wire short to hold the case open till we get there, then you can butt in and tell every blooming thing you know about clip and pima pete. maybe it will help." matt was beginning to think that this was the only thing to be done. if clip wouldn't talk, then, at the last moment, it might be best for his friends to talk for him. next morning there was a whole column in one of the prescott dailies about clip. he had been arraigned, a jury selected, and the taking of testimony had begun. before the closing-hour the prosecution had got in nearly all its evidence. fresnay had been put on the stand. he was made to tell about his ride in the red roadster, about his remark to the effect that he was going to phoenix after the fiddleback pay-roll, and then to describe the hold-up. welcome perkins was forced to testify that clip was in the roadster when fresnay said he was going after the pay-roll, and was questioned about the half-breed who had stopped the cowboy's horse. the paying-teller of the bank got in his evidence as to the amount of money drawn by fresnay, and swore that it was all in double eagles. hogan and leffingwell also added their mite to the evidence against clip; and the money, and the dingy canvas bag, and the pouch were shown. if short accomplished anything on cross-examination, it did not appear in the newspaper record. while the discouraged boys were reading and debating the court proceedings, a hack drove up with passengers from the train that had recently arrived from the south. among these was short himself. matt and chub jumped up excitedly when they saw him. he nodded to them in his usual curt fashion. "i've come up here just to get your affidavits," said he. "our side will have an inning monday morning, but it will be a short one. let's go some place where we can talk. bring pen, ink, and paper." chub got the writing-materials, and matt led the lawyer to their room. "there's not much hope," announced the lawyer, when they were all in the room, "and i don't believe there'd be any hope even if we could make clipperton talk. there isn't a white man who wouldn't believe the half-breed guilty on half the evidence brought out. if we could have butted into the prosecution with a sworn statement from dangerfield, we might have had something to work on. but that's out of the question now." this talk, from clip's attorney, seemed to ring the knell of his fate. "could we do anything if we went on the stand?" asked matt. "you could do something for the prosecution," answered short grimly. "when i saw the line the prosecutor was taking, i was mighty glad you weren't around. all i want from you, king, is a statement that dangerfield wanted you to help pima pete dig up that gold. that will bear out clipperton's story when i put him on the stand. you don't know anything about that, do you, mcready?" chub shook his head. short had arrived on the eight-o'clock train, and he had to leave at nine. by doing that he would reach phoenix early in the afternoon, and he had matters to attend to that couldn't be looked after sunday. having taken matt's statement, short conducted him to the office of a notary public, across the street from the briggs house, and had the document sworn to. then, when they were back at the hotel and waiting for the bus that was to take short to the railroad-station, matt told him about the second note received at mrs. spooner's, about the way he and chub had been pursued on the road to prescott, and about sheriff burke sending men out to look for the two horsemen. "this is all promising," said short, "but it doesn't lead anywhere. we've got to try and make the jury believe that clip and pete dug up dangerfield's gold. anything that helps that impression will do something for our side." the bus was at the door, and short got up to leave. matt, his face white and haggard, walked with the lawyer to the door of the waiting vehicle. "hold the case open, mr. short," said he, "until the train that leaves here at nine o'clock monday morning gets to phoenix. if nothing comes of our work here, i'll be down, go on the stand, and tell _everything_ i know. clip won't like it, and it will make him my enemy, but you can count on me to do that if the worst comes." the lawyer shook his head. "i'll see that the case doesn't go to the jury until that train reaches phoenix," said he, "but i don't think anything you can say will do any good. i've got here"--and he tapped the breast pocket of his coat where he had placed matt's affidavit--"all you can tell about dangerfield's gold. if you got on the stand, you might damage our case more than you'd help it. good-by," and mr. short got into the bus and was driven away. saturday passed, and sunday--blue days for the dispirited boys. sunday night brought on a tremendous storm. lightning flashed, thunder roared, and rain fell in torrents. it was to such an accompaniment of the elements that motor matt gave up hope of accomplishing anything for clipperton. "lucky you told short we'd come back to phoenix on the train, matt," said chub. "it would be three or four days, after this rain, before we could get over the roads on the motor-cycles. whoosh! listen to that, will you?" a tremendous peal of thunder shook the walls of the hotel. "it doesn't rain very much around here, but when it does we get a soaker!" just at that moment matt stepped to the table to put out the light before turning in. he had hardly leaned over the lamp before a pane of one of the windows crashed in and some object slammed against the foot-board of the bed and dropped to the floor. a spurt of wind and rain gushed through the broken window, and the light flared high in the chimney and went out. "somebody threw a rock!" yelled chub, jumping out of bed and darting for the window with a blanket. as soon as the hole had been stopped, matt struck a match and relighted the lamp; then he went over to the foot of the bed and picked up a stone the size of his fist. "fine business," said chub, "standin' out there in the rain an' shyin' rocks through a window! who d'you s'pose did a thing like that?" matt, pushing closer into the yellow lamplight, showed chub the stone: it was wrapped closely with twine, and under the twine was a folded paper. "it's what we've been waiting for, chub!" said matt huskily. chapter xii. the old hopewell tunnel. "well, great centipedes!" gasped chub, staring. "that's a nice way to hand a fellow a letter. why didn't he get a cannon an' shoot it in! suppose one of us had been in front of that window when the mail-wagon came through?" matt, his fingers none too steady, had been busy taking off the twine and getting at the folded paper. the paper was soaked through, and called for great care in opening it out. when it was finally straightened and laid on the table, this penciled message met the eager eyes of the boys: "ole hoapwel tunnnel tirty mundy morning keap it quite" "more news from our old friend that wrote the first note," said chub. "he hasn't improved any in his spelling, and he handles his capitals like a hottentot. give us a free translation, matt." "it's plain enough," said matt. "'be at the old hopewell tunnel at eight-thirty monday morning. keep it quiet.' do you know anything about the old hopewell tunnel, chub?" "why, yes. it's a played-out mine. we passed it coming into town." "could you go there?" "easy." "how far away is it?" "about three miles." "good! now let's go to bed and sleep--if we can. to-morrow," and matt slapped his chum jubilantly on the shoulder, "we're going to do something for clip. i had a hunch all the while that if we waited long enough something would come our way." "we'll be making quick connections with that nine-o'clock train, matt. it's moody's run, too, and i was going back on the engine." "this rain hasn't hurt the going any if the hopewell tunnel is out along the road we followed into town. even clip's machine can turn those three miles in six minutes. that's twelve, going and coming, with a margin of eighteen at the tunnel. i'm feeling better to-night than at any time since we struck prescott." contrary to his expectations, matt slept, and slept well. he had been so loaded down with worry that this ray of hope brought him a feeling of intense relief. it was that, no doubt, that calmed his excited nerves and gave him some rest. he was up bright and early and rousing chub. "turn out, you little runt!" he laughed. "see what a nice, large morning we've got for our work. we're going to get in some good licks for clip--i feel it in my bones." chub hopped out of bed and took a squint through the window. the sun was up, the sky was clear, and everything was glistening with the wet. "seven-thirty," announced matt, as they finished dressing; "that gives us half an hour for breakfast and plenty of time to get to the old hopewell tunnel. hope-well! that certainly sounds good to me." at sharp eight they were on the road, picking their way around street puddles in the direction of the railroad-station. they were to cross the track, close to the station, and reach out along the good road, smooth as macadam, for two miles, after which there was to be a little harder going across country. the train from phoenix was just pulling out for the north when they reached the tracks. the station-agent was out on the platform. "how's number twelve?" yelled chub. "thirty minutes to the bad," answered the agent. "she'll be along at nine-thirty." "we're fools for luck, and no mistake, matt," said chub. "that's the way with luck," returned matt. "when it makes a turn it comes your way in a bunch." the road along the railroad-track had perfect drainage, and it was already so nearly dry that the tires took firm hold without skidding. even after the boys left the road and took a little-used trail across country, they were not bothered to any appreciable extent. the road was sandy, and had soaked up the moisture like a sponge. it was a quarter past eight by matt's watch when they came opposite a tunnel opening in the hillside. there was a platform of rocks at the mouth of the tunnel where the useless matter from the bore had been dropped. "there's where we're going," said chub, pointing to the tunnel, "but we're ahead of time and----" "well, maybe the other fellow's ahead of time, too," broke in matt. "let's go up and see." leaving their machines against the rocks, the boys climbed a twenty-foot bank and arrived at the mouth of the tunnel. there was no one waiting for them, and matt and chub sat down on a couple of boulders to pass the time until some one should come. "who are you expecting to see, anyhow?" asked chub. "don't know," replied matt, "but certainly it's some one who's able and willing to give us a helping hand." "yes; and then again, matt, it may be those two men who tried to corral us at the break in the road. burke hasn't found them yet, or he'd have told you about it long before this. suppose they're working a dodge on us?" this was a startling suggestion, but matt wouldn't take any stock in it. "you're forgetting the writing, chub," said he. "that first note, and the last one, were both by the same fist. there's no doubt about it." the time passed quickly--all too quickly for the anxious boys who were hoping for so much from their interview with the unknown. eight-thirty came, then a quarter to nine, and matt's spirits were fast falling, when there was a noise inside the tunnel. both boys started quickly, and exchanged significant glances. the sounds were like the swishing fall of moccasined feet, and were approaching steadily along the dark passage. presently a swarthy face showed through the murk of the tunnel, and a roughly dressed man pushed into sight. matt bounded up as though touched by a livewire. "pima pete!" he cried. a gleam darted through the half-breed's eyes. "you savvy um, hey?" he returned. "you git um paper-talk, come plenty quick. ugh! _bueno!_" matt stood like one in a daze. he had not been expecting to see pima pete, although he wondered later how he could have expected to see any one else. "you know clipperton's in trouble, don't you?" said matt, suddenly getting control of his wits. "he's arrested, and being tried for stealing josh fresnay's money, and----" "all same savvy," interrupted pima pete, waving his hand. "savvy plenty before me leave phoenix, send paper-talk to motor matt. how we save um? clip heap fine boy. white men make um big mistake. you think um pete better go phoenix, give himself up?" "you told us to be here thursday," said matt. "why didn't you send word to us sooner?" "me no can make um. find trouble. two men b'long to ole gang make um trouble. no let um go to prescott. they hike off last night, then pete write um note, go prescott, throw um note through window. ugh! how we save um clip? odder two men want clip to go to prison. me no want um. what we do, huh?" "where are those other two men?" asked matt. "no savvy." "clip don't want you to come to phoenix," said matt. "if his lawyer can make the jury believe that you and he really dug up that gold, and that it was dangerfield's, there's a chance. understand?" "we dug um, sure!" declared pima pete. an idea rushed through matt's head, an idea that called for quick work. "if i write that out, pete," he continued, speaking quickly, "will you make oath that it's correct." "make um swear? sure. but how me swear, huh?" "we'll have to bring a man out here----" "no!" cried pete, and drew back. "me all same worth one thousan' dol'. you bring um man, he ketch um pete. huh! _muy malo!_ no like um." "there'll be only one man, pete," begged matt, "and he couldn't capture you. remember," he added solemnly, "if you don't make an affidavit there's nothing can save clip!" pima pete straightened up. his mind was none too keen, and he frowned as he thought the matter over. "hurry!" urged matt. "we haven't any time to lose. clip saved your life when the deputy sheriff was going to shoot at you. now's your chance to do something for him." "all ri'," said pima pete suddenly. "you bring um man, me make um swear." matt whirled on chub, his watch in his hand. "it's five minutes of nine, chub," said he, speaking hurriedly, "and here's what you're to do. get on the motor-cycle and rush for prescott. send out that notary public who took my deposition--or any other notary you can find the quickest. have him bring his seal along--don't forget that. we'll meet him at the road that runs along the railroad-track----" "but what good'll that do?" interposed chub. "think i can do all that, come out here, and then both of us get back to the station in time to catch the----" "wait!" broke in matt: "i've got this all figured out. after you start the notary in this direction, leave your motor-cycle at the hotel and go down to the station. if i can get there in time for the train, i will; if i can't, you get aboard, and when you see me along the road have your friend, the engineer, stop----" "stop! jack moody, with thirty minutes to make up! why, matt, he wouldn't stop for love or money." "then," and the old resolute gleam shone in matt's gray eyes, "you stand ready to take pima pete's affidavit from me as i ride alongside the train on the _comet_!" "you can't do it," murmured chub, standing like one in a trance; "you'll be----" "i can, and i will!" cried matt. "it's for clip. hustle and do your part and _i'll do mine_!" matt's very manner was electrifying. chub caught his spirit and arose to the occasion in his best style. "count on me!" he yelled, and tore down the steep slope to the place where he had left the motor-cycle. as matt watched him, he mounted, started the motor with two turns of the pedals--half a turn was all the _comet_ ever needed--and was off. chapter xiii. quick work. motor matt's work was mapped out for him, and he had plenty to do. whirling on the grim-faced half-breed, he dropped down on a boulder and pulled a small motor-cycle catalogue from his pocket. ripping off the cover, which was bare of printing on the inside, he laid it on top of his leather cap, which he placed on his knees. "this will be a queer-looking affidavit," said he, fishing a lead-pencil from his pocket, "but we'll have to make the most of what we have. you see, pete, we're working against time, and every second counts. now listen: "you met tom clipperton in the hills, on the night of the robbery, and took him to the place where dangerfield had buried his money. then you dug it up, went back to the trail, and were set upon by the two deputies. is that it?" "yes," nodded pima pete. "where did dangerfield get that money?" "he sell um cattle two month ago. money heap heavy, him no like to carry um. odder ombrays in gang mebbyso they get bad hearts, want to take um. dangerfield say, 'pete, we bury um; anyt'ing happen to me, you savvy where to find um' ugh! me help dangerfield bury um. he t'ink mebbyso when we ride to mexico from tinaja wells, he dig up gold. but him captured. you savvy. dangerfield send um note by big dog to pima pete, say for him, bymby, have motor matt take um money, send some to emmetsburg, iowa, motor matt keep some, clipperton keep some. whoosh! him bad business. no win out." "and you will swear that all of dangerfield's money was in gold double eagles, and that there was just ten thousand dollars of it?" "sure!" matt's pencil traveled rapidly over the paper. he was careful, however, to make the writing plain and to bear down hard. "what's your real name, pete?" asked matt. "huh?" matt repeated the question. "all same sebastian," said the half-breed, catching matt's drift, "pete sebastian, but me like um pima pete better." matt went back to the beginning of the affidavit and put in the full name, then dropped farther down and resumed his writing. presently it was finished, and matt looked at his watch. it was a quarter past nine! what if jack moody, matt suddenly asked himself, had made up some of his lost time? what if the train was already whipping along the rails on its way out of prescott? matt leaped up frantically and grabbed pete's arm. "come on!" he called. "we'll go down toward the main road and meet the notary." pete drew back. "mebbyso somebody see um pima pete," he demurred, "mebbyso ketch um?" "take a chance, can't you?" flung back matt. "it's for clip! he'd do more than that for you." pima pete hung back no longer, but scrambled down the slippery rocks with matt. "you ride," pete suggested, when they reached the motor-cycle, "me run along. heap good runner. you see." matt followed out the suggestion, and in this way they reached the road. there was no sign of any rig coming from the direction of prescott, and by then it was nine-twenty-five! "see um smoke," said the half-breed, pointing. matt gave a jump as his eyes followed pima pete's pointing finger. an eddying plume of black vapor was hanging against the sky in the vicinity of the prescott station. the smoke issued from a point that was stationary, and that meant, if it meant anything, that no. was alongside the prescott platform. as he watched, scarcely breathing, the fluttering fog of black began moving southward. at that moment a horse and buggy appeared in the road, the one passenger in the vehicle plying a whip briskly. but the horse was tired, and moved slowly. "there's the man we're waiting for!" cried matt. "come on! we'll meet him. i've got to have this acknowledged before that train gets here!" whether this was clear in pima pete's mind or not, was a question. but there was one thing too plain to escape him, and that was matt's wild eagerness to get the work over with as soon as possible. the two started down the road, matt still on his machine and pete running alongside. they could hear the low murmur of the rails, heralding the approach of the train, as they drew to a halt beside the man in the buggy. "well, if it ain't matt king!" exclaimed the notary. "i wasn't expecting to meet you this side the old----" "quick!" shouted matt, handing up the paper. "acknowledge that. i've got to get it aboard this train." "you can't," gasped the notary, "you----" "i _must_!" there was a compelling note in that "must" which caused the notary to jab his spectacles down on his nose and begin, in a rapid mumble, to read off what matt had written. the document began: "i, peter sebastian, otherwise pima pete, formerly one of the dangerfield gang of smugglers." in the excitement of the moment it is quite likely that those ominous words did not strike the notary with their full meaning. at any rate, he did not cease his droning mumble. as he read, he laid the paper down on his lifted knee, humped over it, and mechanically pulled a fountain pen from his pocket. equally as mechanically, and while he was still reading, he uncapped the point of the pen. his seal was on the seat beside him. matt pulled a five-dollar bill from his pocket; also an empty envelope. he wanted to enclose the affidavit in a cover so as to safeguard the pencil-work. "hurry!" he called. jack moody, on no. , was eating up the two miles that separated the prescott station from that point in the road with tremendous rapidity. the rumble was growing louder and louder. the notary was using the fountain pen. "do you solemnly swear," he asked as he wrote, "that this is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?" "ugh!" grunted the dazed pima pete. "yes or no!" roared the notary. "yes!" cried pete, with a jump. "there's your pay!" cried matt. "put the affidavit in that envelope, and be quick." the notary had dropped his fountain pen in the bottom of the buggy, had pulled the seal to his lap, and was bearing down on the handle. the train was almost abreast of them, and the horse, tired though he was, made a frantic jump for the opposite side of the road. pima pete rushed for the animal's head. the notary had come within one of going by the board, but he straightened up and tucked the document into the envelope. matt had turned the _comet_ so that it was pointing south. "there's your letter," called the notary, as matt came past. matt grabbed it, took it in his teeth, and dropped both hands on the grip-control. the last car of the train was opposite him, and the thick, acrid smoke of the engine streamed in his face. nothing daunted by the lead the limited had of him, he opened the _comet_ up for a record run. it was to be the _comet's_ last flight--and it came within a hair's breadth of being motor matt's. chapter xiv. steam versus gasoline. motor matt knew, as well as he knew anything, that there was more speed in the _comet_ than there was in moody's big baldwin engine. moody's running-time was perhaps forty miles an hour. he might, on such a favorable stretch of track, eat into his lost thirty minutes at the rate of fifty miles an hour, but he would hardly dare to do better than that. matt, on the other hand, could get sixty miles an hour out of the _comet_, and even sixty-five if he had to in order to get that letter into chub's hands before the good road jumped into the bog. this meant that he had four miles in which to come up with the locomotive--for chub was riding in the cab with moody, and matt, now that the smoke was behind him, could see his chum hanging from the gangway. the morning sun had dried the road completely, but there was a dampness in the air, and damp weather is a prolific breeder of motor-cycle troubles. if the _comet_ should begin to misfire on the high speed, if---- dread possibilities began to flash through matt's mind, but he thrust them aside. he was there to do his utmost for clip, and to hope for the best. out of the tails of his eyes he glimpsed excited faces at the car-windows. the passengers were watching him as he passed the swiftly moving coaches. naturally they could have no idea what his object was in racing with the train, but a look at his set, determined face was enough to convince them that there was a deep purpose back of his work. through the open windows ladies fluttered handkerchiefs, and men pushed out their heads and cheered him. it was a wonderful thing to see that gallant little machine close in on the rushing locomotive. two nerve-racking minutes had passed and two miles of the good road had been covered. this meant that matt had but two minutes more in which to transfer his letter to chub. the _comet_ was alongside the baggage-car now, and matt could see his chum plainly in the gangway. he was leaning far out, holding to the hand-rails with one hand and stretching the other toward matt. "mile-a-minute matt!" yelled chub, in wild encouragement, "king of the motor-boys! come on, pard! a little farther, a little----" just then a hand gripped chub's shoulder and yanked him back into the cab, while an angry voice commanded him to stay inside. matt saw this bit of byplay, and a thrill of apprehension shot through him. the engine crew were not going to let chub take any chances of breaking his neck. would they keep him from taking the letter? but chub himself had something to say about it. there was a scramble in the cab, and the red-headed boy ducked through the window on the fireman's side and reached the foot-board along the boiler. the fireman yelled, and his hand shot through the window after him. chub, however, was quick enough to evade the gripping fingers. holding to the hand-rail, he bent down. he was too high to reach matt, and matt would have had to come dangerously close. the engine was pitching, and swaying, and swinging, but chub hung to the running-board like a monkey, moved along it quickly, dropped to the top of the steam-chest, and flung his right hand to the lamp-bracket, under and to one side of the headlight. he could hear the fireman swearing at his recklessness and coming after him. meanwhile motor matt was whirling along abreast of the big cylinder. "ready?" he shouted; "look sharp!" "hand it up!" and chub leaned forward, one foot in the air and his weight on the lamp-bracket. matt's right hand left the handle-bar, took the envelope from his teeth, and extended it upward. "i've got it, pard!" shouted chub, snatching the letter from motor matt's fingers. a deep breath of relief and satisfaction flickered through matt's tense lips. a hundred small things had conspired to make that race with the limited a success, and a turn for the worse in any one of them would have spelled failure. but it was over and he had won. there was a chance for clip. matt diminished speed slowly. the cars of the train began gliding past him, and the thick smoke covered him as with a pall. he heard yells from the passengers. they were not cheers, but shouts of warning and cries of consternation. what did they mean? matt could see nothing for the moment, the vapor from the engine shrouded him so thickly that it blanketed his view in every direction. nevertheless, he instinctively cut off the power and gripped the brake. yet it is doubtful if he could by any possibility have saved himself, even had he known the full extent and nature of his peril. the _comet_ was under such tremendous headway that a short stop was out of the question. a frenzied whoop broke on matt's ears. at almost the same moment there was a shivering crash, so quick and sudden it was more like an explosion than anything else. it fell to chub to see all this. his chum's danger loomed full on his stricken eyes. with the letter, for which he and matt had risked so much, safe in his pocket, chub had turned and climbed from the top of the steam-chest to the foot-board. in this position he was facing the cab of the engine, and looking back along the wagon-road. matt was completely engulfed in the smoke, and chub could not see him; but chub saw something else that made his heart stand still and sent a sickening fear through every limb. with both shaking hands he hung to the rail that ran along the jacket of the boiler, dipping and lurching with the engine and staring back. a big freight-wagon, drawn by six horses and manned by two freighters, was at a standstill in the road. the horses, frightened by the train, had plunged for the roadside, turning the huge van squarely across the trail. the freighters were on the ground, hanging to the bits of the horses. chub, completely unnerved and his brain benumbed with fears for matt, stared at the huge wagon. the wheels of the vehicle were plastered with mud, for it had just labored through the bog and struck good road. could matt, engulfed as he was in that haze of smoke, see the wagon? certainly he could not _hear_ it, because of the roar of the train; but could he see it, and would he be able to stop the _comet_ in time to avoid a collision? so ran chub's agonized thoughts. although his brain seemed dazed to everything else, yet it was peculiarly alert to all that concerned matt and his peril. then, while chub stared into the receding distance, the sharp detonation of the crash reached his ears. a groan was wrenched from him, and his legs gave way. but for the timely support of the fireman he would have fallen from the locomotive. never had that particular fireman been so scared as he was then. he swore roundly as he dragged chub to the cab and jammed him back through the window. chub fell in a heap on the heaving floor. "you young fool!" roared jack moody, beside himself on account of the boy's narrow escape, "next time i take you in the cab with me you'll know it. i'd look nice facin' your father and your sister and tellin' them you'd dropped off my engine and been ground up under the drivers, wouldn't i?" and the exasperated jack moody said things to himself as he kept one hand on the throttle and the other on the air, and peered ahead. chub, half-lifting himself, caught moody about the knees. "stop!" he begged: "there was an accident back there! matt has been killed! let me off! moody----" "of course there's been an accident!" cried moody, without looking around. "why shouldn't there have been? with two reckless daredevils playin' tag between a motor-cycle and a limited, it's a wonder there wasn't a worse accident than there was." "let me get off!" screamed chub. "if you don't stop, i'll jump!" "sit down on him, jerry," said moody to the fireman. "if he won't act reasonable, lash his hands and feet. we're going to take him to phoenix. i'm an old fool to have such a rattle-headed kid around. we're ten minutes to the good," he added, "and we'll drop into phoenix not more'n five minutes behind the time-card. that's going _some_, eh?" meantime there were two amazed freighters, far back on the road, pulling a white-faced, unconscious boy out of a tangled wreck. "jumpin' gee-mimy!" muttered one of them, in consternation. "that two-wheeled buzz-cart butted into the wagon like a thunderbolt! did ye see it, nick?" "see nothin'!" grunted nick. "the leaders had me off'n my feet about then, an' i didn't have no time to observe nothin'. did he hurt the wagon any, joe?" "knocked the mud off the rear wheels. the wagon weighs twenty-five hundred, but she sure shook when the kid hit it. fine-lookin' young feller," and joe stood up and looked down at motor matt with a foreboding shake of the head. "killed?" queried nick, stepping to his partner's side. "his ticker's goin', but i don't see how he could come through a smash like that there an' live." "me, neither. we'd better load him inter the wagon an' snake him ter a doctor as quick as we kin." "i'll pile up some o' the blankets so'st ter make him comfortable. wait a minit." nick climbed into the wagon and made a cushioned bed in the springless box: then, very gently, motor matt was lifted up and laid down on the makeshift bed. nick climbed down again and found joe picking up scraps of the _comet_. it was a sorry wreck. the once beautiful machine, the pride of motor matt's life, was nothing now but a heap of junk. "purty badly scrambled up," remarked joe. "don't reckon it could ever be fixed. shall we tote scrap inter prescott, nick?" "nary, i wouldn't. leave the stuff whar it is. we got ter git the boy ter town as soon's we kin, an' hadn't ort ter lose time botherin' with sich truck as that." so the horses were straightened around, nick and joe mounted to the seat, the long whip cracked, and the creaking freight-wagon, with its unconscious passenger, got under headway. chapter xv. in court. court had taken up after the noon recess. the evidence was all in, and the prosecuting attorney had made a masterly address demanding a prison sentence for tom clipperton. the prosecutor had so marshaled the evidence that there did not seem a possible hope for clip. the jurymen looked convinced, and the defiant bearing of the prisoner, which at no time had appealed to their sympathies, was far from making such an appeal now. short was in despair. he was not the man, however, to throw up his hands until the jury had announced their verdict and had been polled. short had begun his plea at eleven o'clock. he could have finished by noon, but he was talking against time, and announced that he would complete his address after court reconvened. the train from prescott was due at one-thirty. one of his clerks brought him word that it was five minutes late. with one eye on the clock he continued to reiterate some of the remarks he had already made. the jury looked bored, the prosecuting attorney, who did not know what was up, smiled sarcastically, and the judge settled back in his chair with a look of resignation. just as the hands of the court-room clock pointed to a quarter of two there was a stir at the door. a crowd of excited men surged through, a red-haired boy, haggard, his face and hands covered with the grime of more than a hundred miles in a locomotive-cab, led the crowd. the boy staggered as he pressed through the room toward the enclosure. "evidence!" cried the red-haired boy huskily; "evidence for tom clipperton!" there was a brief period of silence, during which the prisoner jumped to his feet and peered wonderingly at chub mcready. leffingwell, in charge of clipperton, caught his arm and pulled him roughly back into his seat. in another moment a buzz of excitement ran through the room, and was rapidly increasing to an uproar when the bailiff pounded for order. "the room will be cleared," warned the judge, "unless we can have quiet." short, doubtful but snatching at a straw of hope, turned to the judge and requested that the case be reopened for the taking of further evidence. the prosecutor was instantly on his feet with an objection. objection was overruled. "i will call chub mcready to the stand," said short. another objection from the prosecutor. mcready's evidence was already in, according to the representative of the people, in the form of an affidavit. short begged to remind the learned counsel for the state that it was matt king's affidavit that had been read in court, and not mcready's. objection overruled. chub made his way unsteadily to the witness-chair, stood up while he was being sworn, and then dropped down in a way that showed how spent he was with recent efforts. fresh interest was injected into the case. the twelve good men and true in the jury-box were anything but bored now. chub bore all the marks of having passed through a trying ordeal of some kind, and it must have been in behalf of the prisoner. in the dead silence that fell over the room while short was impressively making ready to begin his examination, a piping voice floated through the intense quiet. "shade o' gallopin' dick! it's chub, my leetle pard, chub! him an' motor matt hev been workin' their heads off to git evidence fer clipperton, an' here----" "silence!" thundered the judge. "officer," he added, "if that man makes any more disturbance, put him out." welcome perkins subsided. the prosecutor frowned, and short looked pleased. something had got to the jury which would help, rather than injure, the defendant. "your name?" asked short, facing chub. "mark mcready," came the answer, in a voice that trembled from fatigue and excitement. "age?" "seventeen." "place of residence?" "phoenix." "occupation?" "inventor." somebody snickered. "waal, he is!" cried welcome. "dad-bing!" the officer started toward the reformed road-agent, and welcome ducked into a corner of the room and hid behind a fat man who hadn't been able to find a seat. "i will ask you to tell the jury, mark," said short, "just what you and matt king have been doing in prescott." the prosecutor was on his feet like a shot, objecting, of course. the judge knitted his brows. "if it is pertinent to any evidence already introduced," decided his honor, "it can go in." "it's an affidavit from pima pete!" quavered chub, holding up the letter. "wait!" shouted the prosecutor. "don't speak, my boy, till i ask you something," said short. the prosecutor and short got their heads together at the judge's desk, and the affidavit of pima pete was looked over. "this is entirely relevant," declared the judge, "and we will have it read." the affidavit was handed to the clerk, and he read the same in a loud, incisive voice. the document stated, in clear, crisp terms, that the deponent was one peter sebastian, otherwise known as pima pete, that he had been a member of dangerfield's gang of smugglers, told how dangerfield had sold cattle and buried ten thousand dollars in double eagles, had intended to dig the money up on his way to mexico, and had been captured before he could carry out his plans. the affidavit then went on to state how dangerfield had requested motor matt to dig up the money for him, claiming that it was honest money, and send the lion's share of it to dangerfield's father, in emmetsburg, iowa; how pima pete had given a note to clipperton, asking him to tell matt to come for the gold; how matt had refused to mix up with pete, and how clipperton had gone, had joined pete, had helped dig up the gold, and how both had been set upon by hogan and leffingwell. that affidavit, written by motor matt in a tearing hurry, was a model of clearness and brevity. the prosecutor was on hand with a whole lot of objections, aimed at having the affidavit stricken from the record. in the first place, the affidavit was in lead-pencil. this was unusual, and would allow of changing its contents; in the next place, how were they to know that pima pete, a proscribed outlaw, was the real author of the document? and what credence was a half-breed entitled to, anyway, even when under oath? by all these objections the prosecutor, to use a very figurative expression, "put his foot in it." short was obliged to show, by the witness, just how the affidavit had been secured, and an opening was made for the tale of pluck and daring in which matt and chub had just figured. chub, at times almost overcome with weariness and grief, told the story. it was a telling recital, and held the great roomful of people spellbound. the jurymen leaned forward in their chairs, the judge leaned over his table, everybody craned their necks and listened intently so that not a word might get away from them. chub told how he and matt had made up their minds to do everything they could to free their innocent chum; how matt had drawn from the bank some of the money paid for the capture of dangerfield, and had declared he would use every last cent of it to free clip, who had got into his trouble on dangerfield's account; how they had gone to prescott, after receiving the tip at mrs. spooner's; how they had been chased by the two horsemen, and had got away by leaping the break in the road; how the weary days had dragged by in prescott; how matt had started sheriff burke to searching for the real robbers; how the note, tied to the stone, had been hurled through the hotel window on the night of the storm; and how the witness and matt had gone to the old hopewell shaft and met pima pete. if the interest up to that point had been absorbing, it now became even more so. chub, in his quivering tones, went on to describe the meeting with pima pete, and matt's plan for taking his affidavit, having a notary rushed out from prescott, and then passing the document up to chub on the limited. chub had fortunately found the notary in his office; and in front of the office a horse and buggy were standing. he had hustled the notary off in short order, and had then gone to the station and taken the train, riding in the cab with jack moody, the engineer, who was a friend of the witness' father. just how matt had accomplished the taking of the affidavit, chub could not tell. all he knew was that when the limited dashed along the rails, some two miles out of prescott, the notary, matt, and pima pete were in the wagon-road, pima pete holding the notary's horse and matt climbing after the train on his motor-cycle, the _comet_, the machine matt had won in a bicycle-race. then chub, mightily worked up himself and showing it in every word and gesture, proceeded to tell how he had tried to lean from the gangway and take the letter from matt; how he had been thrown back by the fireman, only to get through the cab-window, hurry along the running-board, drop down on the steam-chest, and snatch the letter from motor matt's fingers. a sob came from him as he described how, standing on the foot-board and gripping the rail, he had seen the freight-wagon in the road and had heard a crash as matt had collided with it, being unable to see ahead on account of the smoke, and unable, even if he had seen his danger, to stop the terrible impetus of a motor-cycle going at the rate of a mile a minute. here, at the finish of his recital, chub mcready broke down. in spite of the bailiff's half-hearted attempt to keep order, pandemonium broke loose. susie mcready ran to her brother's side, and welcome, nearly oversetting the fat man, tore through the shouting crowd to get to the witness-chair. finally, order was again restored, and short, bland and mightily satisfied with the turn of events, asked the prosecutor to "take the witness." the prosecutor had nothing to say, and chub got down and walked wearily to a seat beside susie and welcome. and clip! the first real feeling he had shown he showed then. with his face in his hands he leaned across the table beside which he was sitting. short finished his plea. he did not consume much time, for he was an astute lawyer and knew when he had his jury with him. jurymen are emotional, as well as any one else; they can weigh the evidence, but sentiment cuts a big figure in any jury's decision--just how big probably even the jurymen themselves do not know. the judge's charge was brief. he asked the jurymen to weigh the facts irrespective of the impression the heroism of the prisoner's friends might have had on them. and when the charge was finished, without leaving their seats, a verdict of "not guilty" was rendered. then bedlam broke loose again. everybody crowded around tom clipperton to congratulate him. but clipperton, pushing his way through the crowd, started for the door. "my pard!" he cried. "he's hurt, perhaps dead! i must get to prescott." chapter xvi. conclusion. matt king opened his eyes in his old room at the briggs house. the roar of the limited was still in his ears, and the awful grinding crash that he had last heard. sheriff burke was sitting beside the bed and there were innumerable bandages about matt's body and a strong smell of drugs in the room. "how's everything?" matt mumbled, trying to sit up. burke gently pushed him back. "fine and dandy, matt," said he: "but, best of all, is the way you got out of that smash." "oh, is it you, mr. burke?" queried matt. "surest thing you know," laughed burke. "that was a great race you made. racin' the limited! first time it was ever done in these parts." "who brought me in?" went on matt. "a couple of freighters who were with the wagon you ran into. they thought you were going to turn up your toes, but 'not for him,' says i. 'that boy,' i says, 'wasn't born to be snuffed out in a little smash like that.' but you've been unconscious for quite a while." "how long?" "well, it's five o'clock now, and you had your race along about nine-forty, this morning." "what's the matter with me?" demanded matt, in consternation. "i'm not badly hurt, am i? i don't feel as though i was." "not a bone broken, and that's the wonder of it. you hit that wagon like an earthquake, they say. you've had the skin scraped off you in several places, but the doctor says you'll be as well as ever in a week--providing there are no internal injuries." "well," said matt, "there aren't any. i'd know it, i guess, if there was." "i guess you would." "heard anything from phoenix?" "got news that will make you feel like a fighting-cock! a telegram got here sayin' that clipperton has been freed----" "glory!" "mcready got there in time to flash the affidavit of pima pete's before the case went to the jury; but the telegram says it wasn't the affidavit that turned the trick so much as the grit and determination of you and mcready in getting the document to phoenix." "but clip's innocent! everybody's got to know that." "everybody _will_ know it, too," averred the sheriff. "the two men who took the money from fresnay were captured by three of the men i sent out on your tip. they brought the rascals in, not more than an hour ago, gold and all--not early enough to free clipperton, but in plenty of time to set him straight with anybody who still had a doubt of his innocence. i wired the news to phoenix an hour ago, and mckibben and some more people will be up on to-night's freight." there seemed to be nothing more that motor matt could wish for. but he roused up from a reverie to ask after the _comet_. "that motor-cycle," said burke, "is a mass of junk. you've had your last ride on it, matt. you did a lot of good work with that machine." "but the best work i ever did with it," said matt, "i did this morning. what i accomplished for clip was worth the price. and chub! talk about pluck and grit, he showed it if ever a fellow did." "you both showed it," said burke. "one of the captured scoundrels, torrel by name, has turned state's evidence. he told me all about everything. says he, and the fellow with him, have been staying at the house of a mexican in phoenix, ever since the dangerfield gang was put out of business. they knew dangerfield had buried ten thousand dollars in gold, not far away in the hills, and they knew pima pete had been let into the secret of the cache. they were in phoenix watching pete. a mexican, belonging to the place where the two outlaws were staying, carried a note to you that had been given him by pete. this was after the robbery----" "but how did torrel and his pal know about the pay-roll money?" interposed matt. "if they were watching pete in order to locate dangerfield's gold----" "that's right," broke in burke, "i'm getting a little ahead of my yarn. well, they heard from some one that fresnay had come to town after the ranch-money. that gave them the idea they could make a rich haul without bothering with pete, so they went out in the hills and made it. they learned, next morning, that clipperton and pete had been captured, that pete had got away, and that circumstances pointed to clipperton as the thief--clip and pete; see?" "then torrel and his pal came back into phoenix. that was the time they got next to the note sent by pete to you. the mexican messenger had read it. the real thieves knew at once that pima pete was planning to save clip, and, naturally, torrel and his pal didn't want it that way. if clip and pete were believed guilty, then the real thieves could enjoy their loot without having the authorities bother them. so torrel's pal tried to bluff you out by sending the mexican with a warning. you wouldn't be bluffed. the two scoundrels laid for you in the hills--and you showed them your heels." "what did torrel and his pardner want to hang around prescott for?" queried matt. "why didn't they skip when they had a chance?" "they were expecting to meet another of the old gang at the old hopewell tunnel. they went there to meet him, and found pima pete. then they held pete a prisoner in the tunnel until they thought the law had taken care of clip, got word that the man they were waiting for was in maricopa, and pulled out early sunday night, in the storm. that was the last of them, and their move once more gave pete a free hand, for since that money of dangerfield's had been taken in charge by the state as that stolen from fresnay, they had no reason to hold pete." "what about the fellow at maricopa?" "i wired that town and an officer went after him. but the man will not be caught--i'm positive of that." "have you captured pete?" a queer look crossed burke's face. "i reckon i could have captured him, if i'd tried to right hard," said he slowly, "but i didn't try." "why not?" "well, he showed himself a good deal of a man, for a half-breed, and i'm not hungry to make a thousand off of him." matt reached out his hand and gave the sheriff's big paw a cordial grip. "i'm glad you feel that way," said he. "i can't explain, but what you say does me a lot of good." it was half-past ten that night before the phoenix delegation arrived in prescott. mckibben and leffingwell came, and clip, and chub, and welcome perkins, and--last but not least--susie. susie was going to take care of matt until he was well enough to dispense with a nurse. it is useless to dwell on the meeting of these friends with matt. clip's dark eyes expressed his feelings, and henceforth only death could wipe out the close friendship born of recent exciting events. in a week, so well was matt looked after, that he was up and around--not quite as full of ginger as ever, but rapidly getting back into his old form. he had more money in the bank, too--even after short had corralled the $ --than he had before clipperton had got into difficulties. some of dangerfield's gold came to him--matt would only take enough to offset short's fee and other expenses--and there was a "rake-off" from the $ , burke received for the capture of tolliver and his partner. motor matt, when he went back to phoenix, found himself more popular than ever. he had lost the game little _comet_, but it was only a start for higher things in the motor line. just what these things were, and the fame and fortune they brought to motor matt will be touched upon in the next story. the end. the next number ( ) will contain motor matt's mystery or, foiling a secret plot. a dutchman in trouble--the runaway auto--the man at the roadside--the mystery deepens--matt gets a job--concerning the letter--the two horsemen--on the road--in the hands of the enemy--a shift in the situation--a surprise--escape--the hut in the hills--back to the car--a race and a ruse--in ash fork. motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction new york, march , . terms to motor stories mail subscribers. (_postage free._) single copies or back numbers, c. each. months c. months c. months $ . one year . copies one year . copy two years . =how to send money=--by post-office or express money-order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. at your own risk if sent by currency, coin, or postage-stamps in ordinary letter. =receipts=--receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. if not correct you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once. ormond g. smith, } george c. smith, } _proprietors_. street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york city. the tennis-ground mystery. by oliver k. rosse. it was about half-past six, one brilliant morning in june, and the boys of bidford school were dressing themselves, preparatory to "scudding" for the river, wherein to take their customary seven-o'clock "dip." every one was out of bed, skipping to and fro, as lively as grasshoppers, throwing wet sponges at one another, and indulging in divers other jocular vagaries, which sufficiently accounted for the many strange noises and the repeated loud bursts of laughter that greeted the listening ear. the inmates of dormitory number one were the younger members of the school, and the merriest and most popular of all were caggles and bottlebury. "i say, bottlebury," cried caggles, a youth who had a deal of confidence in his own powers, "i'll swim you this morning, and 'lick' you by a dozen yards." "all right," said bottlebury; "but you can bet your life i'll have the laugh on you! i've been putting in a lot of practise lately." "that's what you always say, 'bot,' old bird." "well! it's right enough. whoop! here's a black beetle in one of my shoes!" "don't kill it! it's mine," cried a lanky youth, dashing forward. "look here, fuzzy, you beast," said bottlebury, "you'll get punched until you're black and blue if you bring such disgusting creeping reptiles up here." fuzzy was an amateur naturalist, and delighted to keep a stock of living insects about his person, in pill-boxes. "this fellow got loose," he said, as he fearlessly picked up the coal-black beetle and popped it into the small cardboard prison which he had ready. "i say, 'cag,'" resumed bottlebury, "it's our turn to roll the tennis-ground." "so it is," said caggles; "won't it be hot work if the sun hangs out all day!" "i should say so!" assented his friend. "i say, though, you were dreaming like a madman last night." "was i?" laughed caggles; "i'm an awful fellow to dream. i used to walk in my sleep, but i've got over that. they say it comes of having an active brain." "aye; and they say that kids with active brains like that generally turn out to be tip-top poets and authors." "do they?" said caggles, suddenly imagining himself a budding genius. "oh," said bottlebury, with delightfully refreshing candor, "i don't suppose it means anything in your case, you know." "why?" asked the disappointed caggles, in an injured tone of voice. "well, i don't think you've got enough brains for 'em to be active. it'll be active nerves in your case. it's just the same, only it's different; see?" "was i talking in my sleep?" asked caggles, anxious to change the subject. "i think so. i just caught something about 'moles,' but i went to sleep pretty soon after." "well, i've been wishing for a mole," said caggles; "tupman says they've got no eyes, and i say they have. i'm going to hunt for one of the little beggars, just to see who's right." at that juncture the door was flung open, and crieff, one of the oldest boys in the school, rushed into the dormitory, red and breathless, and minus his cap. now, crieff was usually a very sedate fellow, and went about as stately as an oriental grandee. his neck was rather long, and at every stride he stiffened his legs and bulged out his chest, so that he was suggestive, somewhat, of a dignified stork. the boys of the dormitory were astonished, therefore, to see him in so breathless and limp a state. "what's up?" asked caggles, with mouth agape. "the tennis-ground!" gasped crieff, mopping his face with a handkerchief. the tennis-ground at bidford school was reputed to be one of the finest in the whole neighborhood. it had been specially laid, and its smooth surface was as level as a billiard-table. every boy was proud of it, and crieff tended it with the anxiety of a father. "what's up with it?" asked two or three voices. "spoiled! ruined!" said crieff, almost with tears in his eyes. "never!" cried bottlebury. "it is. somebody has dug holes all over it with a spade. i've just been down and seen it." "it was all right yesterday afternoon," said caggles, with an expression of disgust on his face. "some one must have done it in the night," said crieff; "i believe it's one of those village kids i thrashed last week for throwing stones." "very likely," said caggles; "they'll do anything for spite." "they used our spade, too," continued crieff; "the one out of the shed. the lock of the door has been useless for some time, you know. they must have gone in and taken out the spade; i found it lying on the ground." the inmates of the dormitory stood aghast. a grand match between themselves and a neighboring school had been fixed for this coming saturday. under the peculiar circumstances this, of course, would have to be postponed. hastily finishing their toilet, the boys accompanied crieff to the tennis-ground, where they saw that his account was only too true. the ground was dug up in a dozen places. exclamations of rage rose from the fast-increasing crowd of boys, and energetic discussions were entered upon, until quite a confusing uproar prevailed. "whoever it was," said caggles, almost bursting with wrath, "they ought to be kicked." "i say, crieff," said bottlebury, "do you think they'll come again?" "i don't think so," was the answer; "still, they may. i'm just trying to think of a way to catch the scoundrels." "put a lot of rat-traps about," suggested a small boy. "man-traps, you mean," said caggles. "yes; that's it--man-traps," said the small boy. "where'll you get 'em from?" asked caggles, as if bent on calling down derision on the youngster. "oh, anywhere--buy 'em," replied the small boy, in a vague way. "but where from, you young ass?" "where they sell 'em;" and the small boy fled in time to miss caggles' foot. "well," said dumford, "if there's a doubt whether they'll pay us a second visit, it'll be hardly worth while sitting up all night." suddenly caggles gave a cry of extreme pleasure. "i know a good plan," he said; "i'll get a ball of strong, thin twine, fasten one end to the spade in the shed, carry the ball across the field, and up-stairs to the dormitory, and then tie the other end to my big toe. if any one walks off with the spade, the string will pull my toe and waken me. then, down-stairs we go, and ask the midnight visitor if he wants any help." crieff laughed. "it's a good idea," said he, "and there's no harm in trying it. it may answer and it may not. the schoolhouse isn't a hundred yards away." "very well," said caggles, with a gleeful chuckle, "i'll get the twine and try it to-night. let's roll the ground. they'll very likely to come again if they see we've patched it up." this was done, the twine purchased, and that night caggles got into bed with his toe attached to one end of the string and the spade in the shed tied to the other. poor caggles! he little thought what a laugh there was to be at his expense. for a considerable time the inmates of no. dormitory lay awake in a state of anxious expectation, half-expecting to see caggles dragged out of bed and go hopping down the room, with his big toe nearly pulled out by the roots, so to speak. but nothing happened, and one by one they closed their eyes and went to sleep, until all were wrapped in slumber. even caggles--despite the uncomfortable sensation of the twine round his toe--was not long in succumbing to drowsiness, for he was very tired, having rolled the tennis-ground all that afternoon. just as the faint sounds of the schoolroom clock striking one floated up-stairs, bottlebury woke with a start, having dreamed that he was falling down a coal-mine. he wiped the perspiration of fear from his brow, rubbed his eyes, and sat upright. then, turning his gaze in the direction where caggles always slept, he saw by the light of the moon, which streamed in at the window, that his chum was not to be seen. his bed was empty! in an instant bottlebury was on his feet. "wake up, you fellows!" he cried, as he dragged his trousers on. "wake up! d'you hear?" dumford popped up his head and asked what the row was over. "caggles isn't in bed," said bottlebury excitedly; "he's felt the string tug, i s'pose, and has hurried off without us." in another minute every boy had donned his nether garments, and then away they went, pell-mell, down the darkened stairs. as they rushed outdoors they descried a figure, clad in naught but a night-shirt, making for the tennis-ground. "why, that's caggles!" said dumford. "what on earth has he come out like that for?" queried bottlebury; "he'll catch his death of cold." "make no row," warned dumford. "it strikes me there's something peculiar about this affair. let's follow him quietly." caggles made straight for the shed, and, opening the door, disappeared inside. in a few seconds he reappeared with the spade in his grasp, and, walking up to the tennis-ground, began to dig. the onlookers gasped with amazement, and a light dawned on their minds. "he's asleep," whispered dumford; "it was nobody but he who dug the ground before." "by jove!" was all that the astonished bottlebury could say--so unlooked-for was the revelation. suddenly caggles was seen to fall to the ground. the twine had twisted round his legs and thrown him. bottlebury was quickly at his side and assisted him to his feet. "what's this?" said caggles, in great bewilderment, the fall evidently having brought him to his waking senses. "come along in," said bottlebury; "you'll catch rheumatics, or something." caggles looked, in a dazed way, first at the spade and then at his now grinning companions. "did i do it?" he asked. "i suppose so," replied bottlebury; "but what in the name of goodness made you? what were you digging for?" "moles," said caggles, after a slight pause, in which he shivered with cold; "i--i suppose i must have come out to look for moles." and so he had. the assertion made by tupman that moles were blind had caused him to long to test the truth of the statement. he even dreamed of the subject, following which a somnambulistic desire to dig for moles in the tennis-ground was born within him. he never heard the last of the ludicrous adventure, and bottlebury had a thorough good laugh at him. the nocturnal mole-hunter thenceforth slept in a small room by himself, with the door securely locked and a patent "catch" on the window, "so that"--as some one facetiously remarked--"he should not again have necessity to tie spades to his toes." make queer catches at cape cod. many strange fish come to the nets of the weirsmen of cape cod. the collection of the amateur photographer who summered at provincetown a season would not be complete without a plate of some of them to show wondering friends on winter evenings. most striking, perhaps, would be the giant horse-mackerel, which were often seen. "four-hundred-pounders each" they were, according to the offhand estimate of the local old salt who named them for the summer folks edification. they were indeed a handsome couple, although only medium-sized representatives of a marine clan--_orcynus thynnus_--of which hundreds are annually taken at provincetown in the big "catchalls," commonly termed weirs. in a small way, the horse-mackerel is a gladiator. prior to his advent, the sand-lance, the mackerel, the herring, pollock, and dogfish make regular visitation in cape cod bay. when the breaching "sea-tiger," or horse-mackerel, with great goggle eyes staring stonily and lemon-hued, rearanal fins glittering goldlike in the shadow of its under body, comes rushing upon the scene, all minor species hurriedly decamp. the horse-mackerel, or its familiar, is common in the mediterranean, where it is known as the tuna, or tunny. for centuries the flesh of the tuna has been highly esteemed by the latin races. packed in oil, or salted, it has, since the days of the phoenicians, been a very widely known commodity in the mediterranean trade. the horse-mackerel occurs in the west atlantic as far north as the gulf of st. lawrence. it puts in an appearance at provincetown early in june customarily, remaining in the vicinity until about october. when much of the fishing-work there was performed by means of nets, the horse-mackerel was both a source of revenue and a pest to the small boatman; but the oil taken from it more than compensates for the loss resulting from its ravages upon nets. one would suppose that the fishermen's nets would speedily be ruined by the creatures, but such is not the case. upon striking a floating net, the horse-mackerel goes, bulletlike, straight through it--unlike the shark, which, rolling itself in the netting, tears the same enormously--making a clean, round hole, easy to repair. individuals weighing as much as , pounds have, it is said, been taken. specimens of that weight are not taken off provincetown, however, the average specimens weighing from to pounds, with an occasional or , -pounder. the average length is about eight feet. horse-mackerel were seldom, if ever, used for food in this country until within a few years. at present quite all specimens taken in weirs are sent to city markets, where a ready sale at a good price is assured among immigrants from the south of europe. no horse-mackerel need now be set adrift as worthless, as was formerly the custom. usually the capture of a weir-imprisoned horse-mackerel is not a matter of great difficulty. once in a while, however, the great strength of an individual nearly prevails over the efforts of its jailers. for instance: in july, , captain henry j. lewis, a skilful weir-manipulator, found in his harbor trap a big horse-mackerel, exhausted and apparently dead upon the dried-in "lint" when the crew gathered in the netting. the disengaged end of the main throat-halyards was made fast to the tail of the supposedly dead fish, the bight was loosely attached to the main-sheet traveler, and skipper lewis and his helper straightway began to bail in herring. all at once the stern of the boat settled. down it went, suddenly, and water began to pour into the standing-room. the horse-mackerel had regained consciousness and was making the fact known. mate james hurriedly unloosed the halyards, and the immense fish disappeared below the surface and renewed its fight for freedom. as the fish scurried away, the halyards tautened. the main-gaff started aloft, drawn by the hoisting-gear. the gaff-end caught, held securely for a moment, then broke, and up in a trice went the bellying sail, with broken spar dangling. for a moment all was confusion on the boat. the fish, a -pounder, in one of its rushes approached the boat's quarter. one of the crew, ax in hand, delivered a swinging blow at him, but the agile horse-mackerel easily avoided it. an instant later the strong wind struck full upon the bagging canvas and laid the boat over, well upon her side. a capsize seemed imminent. correctly sizing up the situation, mate manuel james seized a sharp knife and with one stroke severed the halyards. immediately the horse-mackerel, with all but a small portion of the main-halyards tied to its tail, vanished like a flash through the broadside netting of the weir, vanished for good. lewis, owner thereof, gave vent to sundry explosive ejaculations. cape cod weirs scoop in many unexpected water-creatures. recently a forty-foot-long--estimated--right-whale entered o'neil's head of harbor provincetown floating traps. annoyed a half-hour later by would-be captors, this huge animal, bearing within its mouth baleen worth probably $ , , with one rush burst through the heavy netting and went away to sea, leaving a badly torn weir behind. in august, , a baby finback whale, just out of leading-strings, evidently, it being only fifteen feet long, entered blatchford's weir and was slain. the creature was exhibited under a tent upon the main beach. the lewis-james weir captured, october of the same year, a bone shark seventeen feet long. the skin of that rare creature was removed intact, and is now being tanned for mounting by the purchaser, david c. stull, known as the ambergris king. this species--_cetophinus maximus_--a native of arctic seas, is one of the largest of sharks. sluggish in movement, the bone shark swims lazily at the surface, apparently indifferent to the approach of boats. food found in its stomach comprises a red, pulpy mass, probably the roe of sea-urchins. the teeth are small--the stull specimen hadn't the vestige of a tooth, being very young--and the gill-rakers--a sort of galway whisker worn inside, instead of outside, the throat--would indicate that it feeds at the surface, straining its food, as does the baleen-bearing whale. a half-dozen years ago a west indian sea-turtle, with a plump remora--sucking fish--adhering to its under shell, was taken from the "jim" lewis weir. very recently the largest lobster known to have been captured in provincetown harbor was taken from the eastern weir. its weight was twenty-three pounds, and its length, tail end to outer end of forward extended claws, was forty-two inches. this giant crustacean, carefully mounted, now graces mr. stull's museum of marine curios. recent sizable lot arrivals of fishes once deemed worthless at provincetown, include the shadine, scientifically known as _etrumeus sadinia_, a species which occurs as far south as the gulf of mexico, but is most commonly found in florida and carolina waters, and the species variously called saury, billfish, skipper, and skipjack, the latter because of its surface-bounding habit when pursued by the horse-mackerel and bonito. the shadine appeared at provincetown for the first time, and in large numbers, in october, . they are very valuable. the saury, or billfish--_scomberesox sauris_--is found in all parts of the north atlantic. cod feed voraciously upon them. this long-beaked, slender-bodied species feeds upon soft, pelagic animals, its teeth being very minute. this species, formerly considered worthless in provincetown, has suddenly leaped into favor. all caught there are eagerly sought by new york and boston commission men. cold fire. cold fire is a coming invention. so also is heatless light. you may find them in nature already, if you but inquire intelligently into her secrets. cold flame is exemplified in the firefly, and the glowworm gives forth heatless light. such flames and lights are not mysteries. their cause is due to one of the subtlest forces in the universe--ether. only in an indirect way are the human senses acquainted with this wonderful substance. yet ether flows through the earth's atmosphere in mighty currents, unchecked, resistless, and subtle. the ether is the direct parent of the x-ray and the speech of the wireless telegraph. when man shall attain the perfect vacuum, then the rude ether blush of the electric-light bulb will give forth many times more light, purified and heatless, soft and healing as the light of the stars, penetrating as the sun. an examination of the firefly, when emitting flames or light, shows bodily movements that cannot be understood to mean anything else than vacuum producing. the lights are always seen in the vacuum sac on the back. immediately before emitting light, the insect will flatten the body, draw the legs in, droop the head, seemingly contracting in all directions; then with the relaxation comes the flame and light. the bodies of the glowworm and firefly always are transparent when filled with flame. the blades of grass or other debris are seen plainly through the bodies. here are cases of nature anticipating man and dealing with x-rays. _especially important!!_ motor stories _a new idea in the way of five-cent weeklies._ boys everywhere will be delighted to hear that street & smith are now issuing this new five-cent weekly which will be known by the name of motor stories. this weekly is entirely different from anything now being published. it details the astonishing adventures of a young mechanic who owned a motor cycle. is there a boy who has not longed to possess one of these swift little machines that scud about the roads everywhere throughout the united states? is there a boy, therefore, who will not be intensely interested in the adventures of "motor matt," as he is familiarly called by his comrades? boys, you have never read anything half so exciting, half so humorous and entertaining as the first story listed for publication in this line, called "=motor matt; or, the king of the wheel=." its fame is bound to spread like wildfire, causing the biggest demand for the other numbers in this line, that was ever heard of in the history of this class of literature. here are the titles to be issued during the next few weeks. do not fail to place an order for them with your newsdealer. no. . motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. no. . motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. no. . motor matt's "century" run; or, the governor's courier. no. . motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the _comet_. large size pages splendid colored covers price, five cents per copy at all newsdealers, or sent postpaid by the publishers upon receipt of the price. _street & smith, publishers, new york_ numbers to tip top weekly are contained in the medal library we know that there are thousands of boys who are very much interested in the early adventures of frank and dick merriwell and who want to read everything that was written about them. we desire to inform these boys that numbers to are pretty well out of print in the tip top weekly, but all of them can be secured in the numbers of the new medal library given below. _the_ new medal library at fifteen cents [illustration] --frank merriwell's school-days. --frank merriwell's chums. --frank merriwell's foes. --frank merriwell's trip west. --frank merriwell down south. --frank merriwell's bravery. --frank merriwell's hunting tour. --frank merriwell in europe. --frank merriwell at yale. --frank merriwell's sports afield. --frank merriwell's races. --frank merriwell's bicycle tour. --frank merriwell's courage. --frank merriwell's daring. --frank merriwell's athletes. --frank merriwell's skill. --frank merriwell's champions. --frank merriwell's return to yale. --frank merriwell's secret. --frank merriwell's danger. --frank merriwell's loyalty. --frank merriwell in camp. --frank merriwell's vacation. --frank merriwell's cruise. --frank merriwell's chase. --frank merriwell in maine. --frank merriwell's struggle. --frank merriwell's first job. --frank merriwell's opportunity. --frank merriwell's hard luck. --frank merriwell's protégé. --frank merriwell on the road. --frank merriwell's own company. --frank merriwell's fame. --frank merriwell's college chums. --frank merriwell's problem. --frank merriwell's fortune. --frank merriwell's new comedian. --frank merriwell's prosperity. --frank merriwell's stage hit. --frank merriwell's great scheme. --frank merriwell in england. --frank merriwell on the boulevards. --frank merriwell's duel. --frank merriwell's double shot. --frank merriwell's baseball victories. --frank merriwell's confidence. --frank merriwell's auto. --frank merriwell's fun. --frank merriwell's generosity. --frank merriwell's tricks. --frank merriwell's temptation. --frank merriwell on top. --frank merriwell's luck. --frank merriwell's mascot. --frank merriwell's reward. --frank merriwell's phantom. --frank merriwell's faith. --frank merriwell's victories. --frank merriwell's iron nerve. --frank merriwell in kentucky. --frank merriwell's power. --frank merriwell's shrewdness. --frank merriwell's set-back. --frank merriwell's search. --frank merriwell's club. --frank merriwell's trust. --frank merriwell's false friend. --frank merriwell's strong arm. --frank merriwell as coach. --frank merriwell's brother. --frank merriwell's marvel. --frank merriwell's support. --dick merriwell at fardale. --dick merriwell's glory. --dick merriwell's promise. --dick merriwell's rescue. --dick merriwell's narrow escape. --dick merriwell's racket. --dick merriwell's revenge. --dick merriwell's ruse. --dick merriwell's delivery. --dick merriwell's wonders. --frank merriwell's honor. --dick merriwell's diamond. --frank merriwell's winners. --dick merriwell's dash. --dick merriwell's ability. --dick merriwell's trap. --dick merriwell's defense. --dick merriwell's model. --dick merriwell's mystery. =published about january th= --frank merriwell's backers. =published about january th= --dick merriwell's backstop. =published about february th= --dick merriwell's western mission. =published about march th= --frank merriwell's rescue. =published about march th= --frank merriwell's encounter. =published about april th= --dick merriwell's marked money. =published about may th= --frank merriwell's nomads. =published about june st= --dick merriwell on the gridiron. =published about june nd= --dick merriwell's disguise. street & smith, _publishers_, new york city transcriber's notes: added table of contents. bold is represented with =equal signs=, italics with _underscores_. changed oe ligatures to oe; ligatures retained in html edition. retained some questionable spellings of scientific names from the original. retained possible typos in dialogue due to possibility of intentional dialect. page , added missing period after "what we're goin'." page , removed unnecessary quote before "but the command...." page , changed "howdy, matt?" to "howdy, matt!" and "you eye-winkers" to "your eye-winkers." page , changed "peter" to "pete" in "pima pete came here." page , removed stray quote after "or any one else." page , removed stray quote after "spoke up fresnay." page , changed "saws he dug" to "says he dug." page , removed stray quote after "rolled into bed." page , "they'll very likely to come again" looks like an error, but this is retained as printed. courtesy of the digital library@villanova university (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction no. mar. , five cents motor matt's century run or the governor's courier [illustration: "take him, bolivar!" yelled the man, and motor matt was brought suddenly face to face with unexpected peril.] by stanley r. matthews street & smith, publishers, new york. motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction _issued weekly. by subscription $ . per year. entered according to act of congress in the year , in the office of the librarian of congress, washington, d. c., by_ street & smith, _ - seventh avenue, new york, n. y._ no. . new york, march , . price five cents. motor matt's "century" run; or, the governor's courier. by the author of "motor matt." contents chapter i. welcome takes a sudden drop. chapter ii. a queer situation. chapter iii. "rags." chapter iv. a dangerous mission. chapter v. the red roadster. chapter vi. surmounting the difficulty. chapter vii. smoke-signals. chapter viii. on the divide. chapter ix. a ruse that won. chapter x. at potter's gap. chapter xi. joe bascomb. chapter xii. bolivar turns up. chapter xiii. the red roadster again. chapter xiv. on to phoenix! chapter xv. the end of the mystery. chapter xvi. matt reports to the governor. one thousand dollars reward. characters that appear in this story. =matt king=, concerning whom there has always been a mystery--a lad of splendid athletic abilities, and never-failing nerve, who has won for himself, among the boys of the western town, the popular name of "mile-a-minute matt." =chub mcready=, sometimes called plain "reddy," for short, on account of his fiery "thatch"--a chum of matt, with a streak of genius for inventing things that often land the bold experimenter in trouble. =welcome perkins=, a one-legged wanderer who lives with chub and his sister while their father prospects for gold--welcome is really a man of peace, yet he delights to imagine himself a "terror," and is forever boasting about being a "reformed road-agent." =mckibben=, the sheriff who has both nerve and intelligence. =juan morisco=, a mexican of low degree, and a rascal as well. =tom clipperton=, known generally as "clip," a quarter-blood, who is very sensitive about his indian ancestry. =the governor=, head of the state, and a friend of matt. =gregory=, a rancher. =dangerfield=, the leader of the smugglers; who has another name. =burke=, another sheriff, who lands his man. "=rags=," a little girl waif whom matt befriends, to his profit later. chapter i. welcome takes a sudden drop. "ready, perk?" "hold up there, chub! don't ye git in sich a tarnal hurry. what am i goin' to do with this here rope?" "why, cast it off, of course. how can you expect to fly with the rope holdin' you back?" "waal, now, wait; le's understand this thing. it's my idee, ain't it?" "sure. you drew the plans an' i put the machine together." "if any picters is published in the papers, mine goes in bigger'n yours, don't it?" "that's all to the good, perk. when the reporters write this up, you'll be the king-pin. the invention is yours, and all i did was to put it together. but you're a pretty old man to try it out, perk. you'd better let me take the first spin." "bein' the inventor, i reckon i got a right to show off a little. purty nigh all my life i been a hootin', tootin' disturber o' the peace, committin' depperdations as makes me blush to think of; but right here is where i do somethin' fer civilization an' progress, which'll go a good ways to'rds makin' up fer the past. i'm plumb hungry, chub, to hear folks say: 'that there flyin' machine is the biggest thing o' the twentieth century, an' welcome perkins done it. he used to be a howlin', cut-an'-slash desperado in his younger days, but now he's turned over a new leaf, an' is devotin' his shinin' abilities to forwardin' the cause o' progress as much as he used to be fer holdin' it back.' that's what i wants to hear folks say as they're p'intin' me out, an'----" "oh, slush! if you stand up there chinning much longer, perk, somebody'll come. you want this to be a private flight, don't you?" "jest at the beginnin', till i see if everythin' works all right. if there ain't any hitch. i want to make it as public as possible. i'd be tickled to have the hull town come out an' see me cuttin' figger eight's in the clouds. 'it can't be that one-legged feller up there is welcome perkins, the ole ex-pirate o' the plains as has been living right here among us, can it?' the people will say, awed-like, turnin' to each other. then i'll fly low, so'st to let 'em make sure, an' laugh exultin'-like----" "back to the woods for you, perk; go ahead an' fly. don't stand there talkin' about it." "sure susie ain't got back yit, an' nobody else ain't lookin'?" "don't fret about that, perk. we're all alone out here, but there's no tellin' how long we'll be by ourselves if you lose much more time." there was a very peculiar situation in the mcready back yard. a stout pole, some thirty feet high, stood firmly planted in the ground. half way up the pole a platform had been constructed, and on this platform stood an old, one-legged gentleman surrounded by a lot of canvas wings. there was a canvas tail behind to be depressed or lifted, according as the old gentleman wanted to fly up or down; and there was a propeller just in front of the tail, which was to be worked by foot-power and keep the machine going. the aeroplane had been hoisted to its elevated position by means of a stout rope passing through a pulley at the top of the pole. the one-legged man was welcome perkins, and the red-headed boy on the ground was chub mcready--who was something of an inventor himself, although this flying machine had been designed wholly by welcome. slowly welcome untied the rope from the flying machine, and chub pulled it through the pulley and then coiled it up on the ground at the foot of the pole. thereupon welcome pushed into the manhole of the flying machine and began hoisting himself up and down, preparatory to springing off. he stopped suddenly, however, and pulled out of the machine to look down at chub. "i reckon, chub," he observed, as by an afterthought, "i'll fly around the dome o' the capitol half a dozen times an' then light on the weather-vane so'st the governor kin have a chanst to look out o' the cupola winder an' thank me fer this boon to the human race. mebby i'll perch on top o' the court-house, too, fer a spell, an' take a leetle fly out by the injun school. if i don't git back airly, don't be in a takin' about me, er----" "oh, shucks!" roared chub. "if you're afraid to start, perk, come down an' let me try it." "afraid!" snorted welcome. "you know blame' well i ain't afraid o' nothin' on the airth 'r over it. i wisht you'd stuck the 'merican flag on the machine, some'rs, but i won't stop fer that now. so-long, chub, i'm goin' to take wing. git out yer spy-glass if ye want ter watch me." while chub held his breath, old welcome made a few more up and down movements and then leaped from the platform. but something must have been wrong. it couldn't have been the machine, of course, for chub had o. k.'d the plans, so it must have been in the way welcome manipulated the tail or the wings. twenty feet from the foot of the pole flowed the town canal. by actual measurement, welcome flew twenty-five feet; then the canvas fabric turned itself inside out, and, with a wild yell, the old man dropped into the water. there was a tremendous splash, and a small-sized geyser shot upward. loud shouts came from around the corner of the house, and matt king and tom clipperton rushed into sight and darted for the canal to give welcome a helping hand. matt grabbed up the rope at the foot of the pole as he ran past. "great scott!" cried chub, joining in the race for the canal, "where'd you fellers come from?" "rode up on our motor-cycles," replied matt, "and hung around the corner to see the show. foolish business, chub. welcome might have broken his neck--or that other leg." "it was his own notion, that machine. i was sure it would fly, but i headed him for the canal, so if anything went wrong he'd have a soft place to drop." by that time the boys were at the canal, and matt threw the rope. welcome, sputtering and floundering, was tangled in the wreckage. he had sense enough left to catch the rope, and matt dragged him out of the torn canvas, and all three of the boys lifted him up on the bank. "that's the last time," fumed welcome, dancing around and holding his head on one side to get the water out of his ear, "the very last time, chub mcready, i'm goin' to try any more o' your fool contraptions. i might a' been kilt! 'tain't your fault i wasn't." "it wasn't my contraption, perk," answered chub, smothering a laugh, now that he was certain welcome hadn't suffered any particular damage. "it was yours." "dad-bing!" yelled welcome, more worked up over the fun the boys were getting out of the situation than he was over the accident itself. "ye goaded me on, ye know ye did! i ain't a-goin' to stand no more. lawlessness is b'ilin' around inside o' me, an' i'm goin' to git right out! instid o' helpin' progress, like i was intendin', i'm goin' to cut loose, out there in the hills, an' give it a back-set. you hear me? wow! laff! laff all ye want! when they git out the u. s. army to chase me, an' run me down, i reckon ye'll laugh on t'other side yer face. an' it was you done it, chub mcready! that's somethin' fer you to think about!" the old man whirled and galloped for the house, growling to himself, jabbing his wooden pin viciously into the ground with every step, and leaving a watery trail as he went. chub keeled over on the ground, kicked his feet in the air, and roared. "it's a cinch," he guffawed, "that that's the last flyin' machine perk'll try to invent. we thought we was havin' this experiment entirely private, an' i guess perk thought i'd given you fellers the tip, so you could be hangin' around. that didn't help his temper any." "we got here just before welcome jumped off," said matt. "i couldn't figure out what he was trying to do, at first, or i'd have rushed out and tried to stop him." "you couldn't have stopped him!" snickered chub. "the old boy had the bit in his teeth." "ducking was all right," grinned clip. "may have been a good thing. cooled his spirit, anyhow." "punk! his pesky spirit will break out somewhere else, you see. perk is a human volcano, an' he's got to have an eruption just about so often or he can't be happy. but why are you fellers showin' up here so early in the morning?" "clip and i are going to denver on our motor-cycles," answered matt. "we just came around to say good-by." chub's face fell. "on the level?" he asked. "hang it all, matt it can't be you're goin' to-day?" "we are, if nothing bobs up to keep us back. i've been trying to start for two or three weeks, but at the last moment i generally run into something that interferes with my plans. clip has bought penny's motor-cycle, we've laid out our route, and we want to get away early this afternoon." "say," exploded chub, "if i had a motor-cycle i'm hanged if i wouldn't go with you." "i've got a picture of you leaving phoenix now," returned matt, "while your father is getting to work developing his mine. you'll have to help him, chub. where's susie? i want to say good-by to her before i----" matt broke off his words. fate had already interfered two or three times with his start for denver, and just then fate was getting ready to repeat the old performance. a far-away rattle, growing steadily in volume, broke on the ears of the boys. whirling around, they stared across the canal and toward the road on the other side of the bridge. what they saw sent the blood racing through their veins. four scrubby cayuses, hitched to a wood-hauler's wagon, were running away. the wagon was nothing more than two pairs of wheels connected by a "reach." as the vehicle leaped and swayed from one side of the road to the other, the startled eyes of the boys made out a small figure clinging to the "reach" for dear life. "there's a girl on that wagon!" cried chub breathlessly. the girl could not have been more than five or six years old, and her dangerous situation appealed to matt and aroused a swift determination to save her if it could possibly be done. without a word, he picked up the rope with which he had dragged welcome out of the canal and darted for the gate in front of the house. as he ran, his fingers were busy knotting a noose in the rope's end. chapter ii. a queer situation. motor matt was never long about making up his mind as to what he was going to do. in the present instance an expedient flashed through his brain which might, or might not, succeed. the rope which had been used to hoist the aeroplane to the staging on the pole was a long one. as matt ran through the gate, he flung the noose which he had tied in the rope over a hitching-post, and then leaped across the road. by that time the four horses had crossed the bridge and were thundering on toward the front of the house. matt, holding the rope firmly, stretched it so as to bring it across directly in front of the leaders. clipperton, instantly divining matt's plan, started toward him, with the intention of helping him hang onto the end of the rope. but matt had other plans for him and chub. "keep back, clip!" he yelled. "when i make 'em slow down, you and chub grab the bits." just then the front wheels of the wagon separated from those in the rear. the "reach" went on with the forward axle, and the back wheels spun around, dashed across the road, and smashed into the fence. the end of the "reach" had struck the ground with terrific force, and the girl was dragged along with it. why didn't she let go? was the thought that plunged through matt's mind. the next moment he had no time to think or to do anything else but give his attention to the work in hand. there was a shock like an earthquake as the front horses of the team hit the rope. matt, clinging like grim death to the stout hemp, was jerked into the air and hurled forward and inward. the pace of the leaders was checked, and the wheel-horses tried to play leap-frog with them, the result being that the whole team became entangled in the harness. clip and chub, throwing themselves at the heads of the leaders, grabbed the bits. before the rope was pulled from matt's hands, the horses were at a standstill. as soon as clip and chub had the team in hand, matt ran to the girl. she was lying on the ground close to the end of the "reach" and an exclamation escaped matt's lips when he saw that she was tied to the piece of timber that had connected the front wheels with those behind. "is she hurt?" called clip. "she must be," answered matt. "i don't see how she could go through what she has without being hurt--and badly hurt at that. she's unconscious. some one tied her to the wagon." he went down on his knees, and, with his pocket-knife, severed the rope that secured the girl to the "reach." he was about to pick her up in his arms when a panting voice called out to him: "leaf her alone! i will be taking care of her." matt straightened on his knees and looked at the speaker. the man was a mexican, and had a surly, ill-omened face. he was covered with dust, and had evidently been racing after the team on foot. behind him another mexican was coming. the little girl was american--matt could tell that by her looks. that being the case, why was she with the two mexicans? and why had she been tied to the wagon? "does the team belong to you?" demanded matt. "yas, he b'long to me. i left him by de store, an' he git scare' an' make a run off. _carramba_! he bust my wagon all up. i take care of de girl, señor. she hurt, huh?" the other mexican, scarcely giving a look at the girl, passed on to the horses and began to pound them with a stick that he was carrying. his attack was so brutal that clip grabbed the stick out of his hand, and would have laid it over his back if chub had not interfered. "cut it out, clip," said chub. "the greaser don't know any better. about half o' these wood-haulers ain't any more'n half-baked." "he'll have the team running again," scowled clipperton. "he ought to have some sense pounded into him." meanwhile, matt, paying no heed to the other mexican, had picked up the little girl and was carrying her toward the gate. the mexican ran after him and grabbed his arm. "you gif her to me!" he shouted. "this is the most ungrateful outfit of greasers i ever met up with," cried clip, hurrying toward the second man. "that'll do for you!" he said angrily, catching the fellow by the collar and throwing him back. the mexican whirled, his little eyes glittering like a snake's. one hand darted toward the breast of his coat. "look out clip!" warned chub. "he's going to pull a knife on you." clip still had the club he had taken from the mexican's companion, and he squared away threateningly. there was a scar in the shape of a cross on the man's swarthy cheek, and it glowed redly with the anger that filled him. before the clash could proceed any farther, a man came galloping up on horseback. the boys recognized him at once as mr. mckibben, the sheriff. the mexicans also seemed to recognize him, for the one by the horses slunk in between the animals' heads, and the other at once lost his truculent manner. "what's going on here?" demanded mckibben, peering sharply at the mexican, and then swerving his gaze to matt and the unconscious form in his arms. "the team ran away, mr. mckibben," explained matt, "and this girl was tied to the 'reach.' it looks as though she was badly hurt. i want to carry her into the house and this fellow was trying to take her away from me." "h'm!" muttered the sheriff, getting down from his horse, "it's a cinch the girl don't belong to them." he stepped closer to the mexican, his eyes on the scar. "where'd you get the girl?" he demanded, one hand groping in his pocket. "the _niño_?" returned the mexican shiftily. "she b'long to a friend of mine, señor. i take her to him. i no like to leave her here." the sheriff's hand came out of his pocket with a rush, bringing a pair of handcuffs along with it. in less time than it takes to tell it, one of the cuffs was about the mexican's right wrist, while the other was snapped about mckibben's left. the mexican gave a backward jump, but the sheriff, with a pull of the arm, drew him back with a jerk that almost lifted him off his feet. once more the mexican's hand was plunged into the breast of his coat. it was the left hand this time, however, and he was awkward in using it. mckibben's fingers gripped the wrist of the hand as it was withdrawn and shook a knife out of it. "none of that, juan morisco!" growled mckibben. "you see, i know you. i've had you watched ever since you reached town, so you'll just walk along with me and not make any trouble about it." there was a rattle of hoofs up the road. "the other one's making a getaway, mr. mckibben," sang out chub excitedly. "he took one of the horses and---- holy smoke, watch him go!" the sheriff turned and flashed a look after the retreating horseman. "i can follow him," said clip. "i'll use your horse." "let him go," answered mckibben. "he's only the wood-hauler. this is the man i want. take the girl into the house, king," he added. "you might ride my horse to the corral, clipperton, and get a doctor." "do you know anything about this girl?" asked matt, looking down at the head that was lying limply over his arm. "not a thing; but i'll bet money there's crooked work of some kind going on. the girl didn't belong with these mexicans." "if they hadn't tied her to the wagon," said matt, "she would have got clear of that accident without being so badly hurt." "we'll get juan in the sweat-box and find out about it." "what have you pinched the greaser for, mr. mckibben?" asked chub. "don't get so curious, mcready," parried the sheriff. "hitch those three horses to the fence, and i'll send some one after them and the wreck of the wagon. do what you can for the girl, king." clip got on the sheriff's animal and started for the bridge; chub went to the horses which, by that time, had quieted down, and started toward the fence with them; mckibben took his prisoner toward town; and matt pushed on through the gate and into the house. this was a mysterious affair from start to finish, and he was wondering what would come of it. chapter iii. "rags." susie mcready, who had been visiting with a friend over in town, came home a little while after matt had laid the girl down on a couch. chub entered the house with his sister, and was excitedly telling her what had happened. susie went at once to the girl and began doing what she could for her. "it's too bad," murmured susie sympathetically, as she passed a wet cloth back and forth over the girl's face. "poor little thing! she hardly seems to have any breath left in her." "an' she don't seem to be hurt anywhere," said chub, standing close to the couch with matt, "that's the queerest part of it." "she may be hurt internally," spoke up matt, feeling a pang of pity as he looked at the pale little face. the girl's clothing was so ragged it was a wonder that it held together. her shoes were broken and scuffed out, and there were holes in her stockings. the cold water revived her, and when her big eyes flickered open, they passed in a troubled daze from susie to chub, and then to matt. when they rested on matt, a faint smile came to her lips. "yous is de one dat was runnin' acrost de road wid a rope," said she. "dat was bully, w'at yous done. put 'er dere, cull," and she lifted herself on one elbow and reached out her hand. "you're feeling a whole lot better, eh?" asked matt, taking the dirty little paw. "well, mebby," was the hesitating answer, "only i can't move me pins. what's de matter wid 'em?" she looked down at her feet as matt released her hand. susie cast a frightened glance at matt. "are you trying to move your feet?" matt asked, hiding as best he could the sudden consternation that swept through him. "sure i'm tryin'. funny, ain't it? dey feel like dey wasn't mine." "well, don't fret about it," said matt softly. "when the doctor comes he'll fix you up all right. what's your name?" "rags," was the answer. "you've got another name besides that, haven't you?" "sure; but yous don't hear me sayin' it, i guess." her face hardened a little as she added: "yous has done a lot fer me"--here she fixed her large eyes steadily on matt--"an' i'd do a lot fer yous, on'y don't ask me name or anyt'ing about meself; see? dat goes. come around here an' grab holt o' me mitt. dere ain't nobody treated me white fer quite a spell. de rest is all right, but yous is de one dat's made a hit wid rags." susie drew back a little and chub pushed up a chair. matt humored the child and sat down beside her. "w'at d'yous call yerself?" she asked, snuggling matt's hand against her cheek. "matt," he answered. "gee, but yous is fine! say, ain't yous de motor matt de push has been talkin' about?" "they call me that sometimes." she laughed, and her eyes danced as they looked into his. "ain't it great t' have a feller like yous stop a runaway team an' pull yous out o' de smash! why, yous saved me jest like yous did dirk hawley's goil, only she was ridin' a horse while i was hangin' to a busted wagon." "who were those men with you, rags?" queried matt. "cut it out, matt. dat's somet'ing i can't tell yous." "have you lived long in phoenix? "dere yous go ag'in! say, i hope dem pins git so's i kin use 'em before long. i ain't got no money an' i can't be spongin' on folks dat mebby don't want me around." "you can stay right here, rags, as long as you want to," put in susie, "and it won't cost you a cent." "not a red!" added chub heartily. "dat's mighty kind," answered rags, "but i got t' fly my kite jest as soon's i kin git on me uppers." "is juan morisco a friend of yours, rags?" asked matt, still trying to get some information from the girl. "what's dat?" demanded rags, starting up and looking hard at matt. "how'd yous know w'at his name was?" "the sheriff arrested him----" "jugged! are yous givin' it to me straight?" "yes." rags lay back and closed her eyes in a tired way. "well," she muttered, "dey won't git nuttin' out o' me." the doctor came, just then, and for several minutes he gave his undivided attention to rags. when he had got through, and had left some medicine, he beckoned matt to follow him out on the porch. the moment they were clear of the house the doctor's face became very grave. "not much hope for her," said he. "what!" exclaimed matt, taken aback. "do you mean she can't get well?" "chances don't favor it. there's an injury to her spine and she's paralyzed from the hips down. what do you know about her, king?" "not a thing, doctor, and she won't say a word about herself. but maybe the man the sheriff arrested can be made to tell something." the doctor, apparently, had been told all about the runaway and the arrest of the mexican, by clip. "there's something here that's mighty mysterious," said he, shaking his head. "this juan morisco must be a hard citizen or mckibben wouldn't have nabbed him. and what was the girl doing with morisco, tied to the wagon like she was? got to make her talk, king. you seem to have more influence over her than any one else. she's too young to have much strength of will, and i think she'll tell you everything if you keep trying to make her." "that's where you're wrong, doctor," said matt. "from what i've seen of her i'll bet she won't say a word. rags has got a reason for keeping back what she knows, and she'd let you kill her before she'd breathe a whisper." "well, i hear mckibben is giving juan morisco the third degree. if morisco can stand that, he's a better man than i think he is. one way or another, the truth about that girl is bound to come out." the doctor got into his buggy and drove off. matt stood at the gate for a few moments, looking for clip; but, as he could see nothing of him, he went back into the house. rags was asleep. susie, who sat beside the couch, looked at matt and laid a finger on her lips. matt tiptoed out through the kitchen to the back of the house. chub was sitting in a chair, tilted back against the wall. "what's old sawbones got to say, pard?" he asked. "not much hope for rags, chub," said matt gravely. "too bloomin' bad!" muttered chub, "but mebby old pills-an'-physic has made a wrong guess." "of course, there's a chance that he's off his reckoning. wish i knew why rags won't tell us anything about herself, or about those two greasers who had her tied to the wagon." "she's a nervy little piece! mebby she'll tell you, though, if you give her time. you seem to make a hit with all the girls, matt, little an' big, an' rags has taken to you like a piute squaw to a string of glass beads." "where's welcome?" asked matt. a slow grin worked its way over chub's freckled face. "he's out in his study, soothin' his turbulent soul with hair-raisin' literature." "didn't know he had a study," said matt. chub jerked a thumb over his shoulder at a neighboring barn. "it's over there," said he. "perk's got a box stall all to himself, an' his library contains everything about dick turpin that was ever written. come on over an' we'll take a look at him." matt was glad of something that would take his mind off rags for a time, and he followed chub toward the barn. approaching softly, chub placed an empty box under a square opening that ventilated one of the stalls and motioned for matt to get up beside him. some shelves had been put up along one side of the stall, and they were piled with a lot of grimy-looking books. one of the books lay open on a board placed over the manger, and welcome stood in front of it with an old butcher-knife in his hand. the old man had twisted up the ends of his mustache to make it look bristling and fierce, and he was mumbling to himself and flashing the butcher-knife around him savagely. "le'me see," the boys heard him mutter, as he bent over the book, "how does that there go? dad-bing! i wisht i had my glasses. the print's purty fine an' the light ain't none too good." then he read, tracing the words with the point of the knife. "'gallopin' dick pulled up his hoss clost by the coach an' drew a bead on the passengers with his trusty pistol. "stand!" he cried; "stand an' deliver!"'" welcome jerked himself away from the book, whirled around on his wooden pin and pointed his knife at the book-shelves. "stop where ye be!" he said fiercely. "it's eagle-eye perkins, pirate o' the plains, that's stoppin' this here stage-coach. stand an' deliver!" just then chub let off a whoop. welcome, startled by the unexpected sound, dropped the knife, jumped for the side of the stall, and tried to climb up the book-shelves. crash went the collection of literature, and welcome fell back on the floor of the stall, half-covered by a deluge of books. laughing to themselves, the boys dropped off the box and started back toward the house. "what do you think of that!" chuckled chub. "the old joke is a nice kind of reformed road-agent, ain't he? instead of tryin' to fight down his lawlessness, he's keepin' it alive with that stuff. i'll bet if sis ever finds out about his doin's there'll be a ruction, and---- hello! here comes clip, an' he's tearin' along as though he was goin' over the course for a record." the boys had reached a place where they could see the road. clipperton, on foot, was racing up from the canal bridge. clip was the best "miler" anywhere in that part of the country, and he was certainly hitting nothing but the high places as he rushed for the mcready front gate. "let's hike for the road and find out what he's got on his mind," suggested matt. he and chub reached the gate just as clipperton came up with it. "get the _comet_, matt," jerked out clipperton. "you're wanted on the jump. hustle." "who wants me?" demanded matt. "the governor. it's a hurry-up call. mckibben said for you not to lose a minute." "what does the governor want me for?" as matt put the question he was running for his motor-cycle. "that's too many for me," answered clip. "all i know's what i'm telling you. something in the wind. no getaway for denver for us to-day." "where'll i find governor gaynor?" asked matt. he was pushing his machine through the gate, and clip was getting his own wheel and making ready to follow. "in his office," answered clip. "he's waiting for you there." matt got into the saddle and began pedaling. the next moment the pistons took the push and the motor began to snap. by the time he reached the bridge the cylinders were purring softly and the _comet_ was going like a limited express. chapter iv. a dangerous mission. "i don't think the boy can make it, mckibben; i don't know whether it's right to ask him to try to make it." the governor was pacing back and forth in his private office, talking with the sheriff who sat near-by. something of importance was in the wind, as could plainly be told from the faces of the two men and from the nervous actions of the governor. "there's nothing that lad can't do when he sets his mind to it," declared mckibben. "if joe dangerfield and his gang are kept from reaching mexico, it's motor matt that does it. take my word for that, governor." "do you think you can believe what juan morisco told you?" queried the governor. "i'll take my oath it was the truth." "if word reaches the dangerfield gang about what we're doing, king will never be allowed to reach his destination." "how can word reach the gang? when the boy starts he'll go like a streak of greased lightning. he'll beat the news, even if there was a leak somewhere and the information that he was acting as your courier got started toward the hills." "i sha'n't let him start until i have told him all about the danger----" mckibben laughed. "that youngster don't know what fear is, governor. he won't gigg back on the job because of any trouble that may be staring him in the face. anyhow, he's our only hope. there's not a machine in town that can cover the ground like it's got to be covered, except the _comet_; and there's no one else to use the _comet_ except motor matt." "he's slow getting here, seems to me," muttered the governor, starting for a window to look out. before he reached the window a rap fell on the door. in answer to his call, the governor's secretary entered. "here's young king, sir," announced the secretary. "have him come right in," said the governor, a look of relief crossing his face. the secretary withdrew, and the next moment matt entered and stood before the two men, cap in hand. "you sent for me, sir?" he asked. this was not the first time governor gaynor had seen motor matt, but never before had he marked the sturdy bearing and resourceful air of the lad as he did then. somehow, his feeling of relief increased, and he sat down in the big chair before his desk. "yes, king," said he; "i sent for you. how would you like to do a little brisk, and perhaps exciting, work for uncle sam and the territory of arizona?" "i'll be glad to do anything i can," answered matt, not a little curious because of the governor's words and manner. "there may be danger in it, king," went on the governor, eying the lad's face keenly, "a great deal of danger." "that ought to keep me gingered up," smiled matt easily. mckibben chuckled and swerved his eyes to the governor. "there'll also be one hundred dollars in it for you." "that's all right, too, sir," said matt. "i could use the hundred." "briefly, then," proceeded the governor briskly, "the work is this: a man named joe dangerfield, with several other ruffians, is camped at tinaja wells, near painted rocks. they're a lawless set, those fellows, and have been engaged in smuggling chinamen into the united states by way of mexico and the arizona border. the federal government has offered a reward of one thousand dollars each for the capture of dangerfield or any of his gang. "jasper burke, the sheriff from prescott, is camped with a posse at potter's gap, just over the divide, at the head of castle creek cañon. dangerfield and his gang are known to be making for the mexican border, to get away from the authorities and so effect their escape. the trail south from tinaja wells passes through potter's gap, and burke and his posse are waiting there to catch the dangerfield outfit as it comes along. "it appears now, however, that dangerfield has got wind of the sheriff's move, and that he is going to leave tinaja wells some time to-night and start south by another route. now, potter's gap is a hundred miles from phoenix, and unless i can find a courier who will get a letter into burke's hands by five o'clock this afternoon, the dangerfield gang will escape into mexico." the governor's eyes sought a clock on the wall. "it lacks fifteen minutes of noon," said he. "if you can get started by twelve o'clock, you will have just five hours to make a 'century' run--and a rough run it will be for a part of the way. can you make it?" a large map of arizona hung near the clock. matt stepped toward it. "can you show me, mr. mckibben," he asked, "how i'll have to go to reach potter's gap?" "sure, matt," answered the sheriff, getting out of his chair and drawing his finger over the map as he talked. "this here's the black cañon road out of phoenix--you know that pretty well by this time, i reckon. the road forks this side of the bluebell mine, and you take the fork. that leads you to frog tanks and castle creek cañon. you go up the cañon to a point five miles north of hot springs; there you'll find a trail leading up the right-hand wall of the cañon and over the divide to potter's gap. the hard part of your trip will come getting over the divide." "any place on the trail where i can get gasoline?" asked matt. "the _comet's_ tank will only hold enough for about seventy-five miles. if i can't get any on the way, i'll have to take some with me. won't have to bother with oil. the oil-tank holds a quart, and that will keep me going for two hundred miles." "better take some gasoline along and make sure," said mckibben. "you might be able to get some at hot springs, or at frog tanks; but there's a doubt, and you can't be in doubt of anything on this trip." "very well, sir." "think you can find your way all right?" "it looks easy on the map, but i might take clipperton along. he knows the country like a book, and he's got a motor-cycle of his own now. his machine is a one-cylinder, and not as fast as the _comet_, but if i see clip can't keep the pace, i can leave him behind." "it's all right to take one of your chums with you, king," put in the governor; "in fact, it may be a mighty good thing for you to have some one else along. if dangerfield and his men are captured, it means that they will spend a good long time in the penitentiary; and if they find out you are carrying word to burke that will keep them from reaching mexico, they'll do everything in their power to stop you." "how'll they find out, sir? i'll keep ahead of the news all the way." "that's what i'm hoping you'll do; but this dangerfield gang is well organized, and the fact that they've discovered burke and his posse are laying for them at potter's gap proves they're keeping track of things." the governor whirled around to his desk and picked up an envelope. "i'll not keep you any longer," said he, "for you have little enough time for your 'century' run as it is. here are the instructions which you are to deliver to burke. put the letter away safely." matt opened his leather jacket and tucked the letter into the inside pocket. "did you find out all this from juan morisco, mr. mckibben?" he asked. the sheriff nodded. "that scar on juan's face gave him away," said he. "how's the girl?" the sheriff's eyes widened when he heard the report. "she won't say a word about herself, or about juan morisco," went on matt. "can't blame her for that," said the sheriff. it was plain that morisco had told the sheriff something about rags, and matt would have liked to hear what it was. time was pressing just then, however, and he had no wish to talk any longer. as he was about to leave the room, the governor caught his hand, shook it heartily, and wished him luck. "i have confidence in your ability to take care of yourself, king," said he; "if i hadn't, i shouldn't allow you to make this venture under any consideration. keep a sharp look-out for trouble, that's all, and put the _comet_ through for all she's worth." "i'll get your letter into burke's hands, governor gaynor," declared matt, "by five o'clock. good-by, sir." as he left the office the clock was striking twelve. "he'll do it, too," declared mckibben. a few moments after the door closed behind matt, the secretary presented himself. he wore a troubled air. "what's the matter, jenkins?" queried the governor. "perhaps nothing, sir," answered jenkins; "but when young king came in to see you, there was a rough-looking man loafing around the hall. after i had sent king into your office, i saw the man through the window. he was hurrying down the walk in front, and i watched until he got into a motor-car--a high-powered roadster. there was another man in the car, and i'm sure they exceeded the speed-limit as they broke away from the curb." the governor, with a trace of consternation, turned on the sheriff. "what do you think of that, mckibben?" he asked. mckibben laughed easily. "you're letting this dangerfield business get on your nerves, governor," said he. "what could that chap who was loafing in the hall discover just by seeing king come in here?" "he might have been friendly toward the dangerfield gang, and he may have made a guess as to why king had come here----" "nothing to it, governor, take it from me. motor matt will pull down that hundred just too easy for any use. a dollar a mile for that 'century' run looks pretty good to him, i'll bet. don't lose any sleep about _him_. he'll be back here some time to-morrow, chipper as usual and a hundred to the good. he's the bank that gets my gilt, no discount on that." chapter v. the red roadster. as matt hurried out of the capitol building he found clip at the curb, waiting for him. clip's motor-cycle was leaning against a hitching post, and there was an ominous look on clip's swarthy face--a look that somehow reminded one of his grim indian ancestors, for clip was proud of the fact that one of his grandparents had been a full-blood native of the soil. "what's on?" he asked, as matt rolled the _comet_ off the walk and into the street. "i've got to do a hard 'century' in five hours," answered matt, "and you're to go with me as long as you can keep up." a gleam of satisfaction darted through clip's eyes. "i was looking for your machine," said he. "where'd you leave it, matt?" "left it at the steps, in charge of the janitor. didn't intend to give any one a chance to tamper with it. how's your gasoline-tank, clip?" "full." "plenty of oil?" clip nodded. "same here," went on matt. "we've got to carry two quarts more of gasoline with us, and we'll pick it up at brigham's." brigham's was a general store in the "five points," and on the boys' direct course to the black cañon road. the machines were soon hustling through washington street as fast as the speed regulations would allow. "going up castle creek cañon?" asked clip, while he and matt were gliding along side by side. "how'd you know that, clip?" returned matt. "then it's true," muttered clip darkly. "by thunder!" the quarter-blood's manner was full of mysterious foreboding. "what's true?" came from matt sharply. "a red automobile stood in front of the capitol. was there when i came up. a rough-looking fellow was in the driver's seat. another tough-looking man ran out of the building and jumped into the red car. 'motor matt's carrying a message,' i heard the second man say to the driver. 'castle creek cañon, jem, on the high speed.' trouble ahead, matt," clip added. matt was astounded. "was that all you heard, clip?" he asked. "that was all." "ever see the two men before?" "no." "what kind of a car was it?" "roadster. looked like it could go." matt puzzled over this disquieting information all the way to brigham's. they were held up about five minutes at the general store, buying a couple of two-quart canteens and having them filled with gasoline. when they left the five points and shot along grand avenue, each had a receptacle securely lashed to the head of his machine. thirty miles an hour was about the limit of clip's motor-cycle. clip had recently bought the machine of ed penny, and had equipped it with new tires, so that it was in a perfectly serviceable condition. twenty miles an hour for five hours would turn the trick. but that was too close figuring. the boys were a quarter of an hour late getting away. this time would have to be made up, and, besides that, matt wanted to gain on the schedule so as to have a little leeway for possible accidents. "how's the going between the arizona canal and castle creek cañon, clip?" queried matt, as they whirled into the black cañon road. "fine to frog tanks," answered clip. "from there to the cañon not so good. in the cañon it's mighty poor." "then we'll have to make all the time we can at this end of the route. open 'er up, clip!" both boys opened the throttles and let the reserve power shoot through the machinery. the needle of matt's speedometer indicated thirty-two miles an hour. "great!" cried matt, after giving clip the figures. "that little one-cylinder is just naturally humping herself, clip. we've got five hours for the trip, but at this pace we could almost do it in three." "hard trail in the cañon, matt. there'll be plenty of lost time there. what's the game, anyway?" matt explained as they dashed along. the excitement of the work ahead brought a glow to clip's eyes. "fine!" he exclaimed. "motor matt, the governor's courier! you'll get through on time even if i can't." "whether you're in at the finish or not, clip, we split that hundred dollars right in two in the middle. if we ever get started for denver, old chap, the money will help." "but that red roadster!" scowled clip. "how did those roughs get next to this work of yours?" "that's too many for me," answered matt. "they must have suspected something. they were there, in front of the capitol, waiting. mighty queer!" matt's lips compressed into a thin line and his eyes flashed. "we'll have to keep a keen look-out for trouble," said he, "and dodge it, if any comes our way." a few minutes later they were crossing the bridge over the arizona canal. matt pulled out his old silver watch. "only sixteen minutes to one," he announced, with a note of exultation, "and we're fifteen miles on our way." "thirty miles to frog tanks and twenty to the next water," said clip. "we ought to have brought a water-canteen, too. the heat is something fierce." "we'll drink at the well, clip, and pick up something to eat at the same place. we ought to be there in forty minutes, at the outside." after they left the black cañon road, just beyond the bridge, matt was in a country entirely new to him. the road was a bit cut up and sandy in places, but clip whaled his machine along and they did a trifle better than thirty miles. two or three roads entered the one they were following, and they were all as well traveled. here matt's wisdom in bringing clip along, even at the loss of some speed on the _comet's_ part, was made manifest. but for clip, matt might have gone astray on the wrong trail. the boys were now in the region of big sahuara cacti, and the great trunks flashed past them as telephone-poles recede behind a rushing train. in the dusty places of the road the broad tracks left by the tires of an automobile could be plainly seen. the red roadster was ahead of them. matt studied the skyline in advance, wondering how far away the two ruffians were and what their designs could be. he saw nothing of the red car, and presently the square walls and flat roof of an adobe house broke on his vision. behind the house was a primitive stable, thatched with grass, and a small corral constructed of ocotilla poles braided together with wire. between the house and stable was an iron pump and a watering-trough. "that's the ranch where we get our water," remarked clip. "two bits apiece for a drink. there's gregory, the rancher, out in front." gregory, the rancher, got up in surprise as the boys came to a stop at the pump. he stared at the machines. "waal, i'll be hanged!" he muttered. "they've got them hossless wagons on four wheels an' two wheels. reckon they'll be havin' 'em on one wheel next. dry? help yerself. two bits apiece fer all ye kin swaller. water costs money in the desert." leaning their machines against the water-trough, the boys began working the pump. "did you see a horseless wagon on four wheels go past here, mr. gregory?" asked matt. "sure. two fellers was on the seat. they stopped fer water an' then hiked right on, jest as though they was in a hurry ter git some'r's. friends o' your'n?" "no, we don't know them," answered matt. "how long since they passed?" "less'n five minutes." "got anything to eat in your place?" went on matt. "we can't stop more than a minute or two." "sho!" exclaimed the man. "ever'body 'pears ter be in a hurry this arternoon. i got jerked beef, crackers, an' all kinds o' canned goods, say nothin' erbout----" "'jerked' and crackers'll do," interrupted clip. "we'll go in, gregory. get us a hand-out we can tote in our pockets." "sartain," answered gregory. the boys were not in the adobe house to exceed five minutes, and they wouldn't have been there to exceed three if gregory had been a little more spry in his movements. stuffing their crackers and dried beef into their pockets, they ran out of the house and to their machines. scarcely taking time to look the motor-cycles over, they pulled them upright and got into the saddles. matt pedaled away, twisting on the gasoline and the spark. but the motor did not work--he was still pushing the machine ahead with the pedals. he halted to investigate and find out what was wrong, and at that moment a startled cry came from clip. matt looked around. clip was having the same trouble getting his motor-cycle started. but clip had made another discovery which sent a shock of consternation through both him and matt. "our gasoline-cans!" cried clip. "where are they?" then, for the first time, matt saw that his reserve supply of gasoline had been removed from the head of the _comet_. clip's can had disappeared in the same mysterious manner. with a sudden, paralyzing thought, matt examined the tank back of his saddle. _the tank was empty!_ doubling up his fists, clip jumped for gregory. the latter sprang back and stared at clip in astonishment. "you know who did it!" shouted clip menacingly. "the men on that red roadster hired you to stop us! you had some one hiding here. while we were in the house the gasoline was taken away. we'll give you a minute to get it back. sixty seconds, gregory!" the rancher continued to stare. "i don't know nothin' about what you're gittin' at," he muttered blankly. "i ain't makin' trouble fer no one, an' them other fellers didn't hire me ter do a thing. keep away, i tell ye! thar's two o' you, but i'll give ye a hot time if ye git too hostile!" gregory picked up an ax as he stepped back, and then stood confronting the boys threateningly. chapter vi. surmounting the difficulty. while this clash was going forward between the rancher and clip, matt's mind had been busy. the result of his thinking forced the conclusion that gregory was innocent of any underhand work. first, the rancher seemed to be alone at the ranch. if that was really the case, then there had been no one belonging to the place to interfere with the machines. furthermore, some knowledge of the mechanism of the motor-cycles had been necessary in order to strip the machines of their gasoline in the short space of time in which the work had been done. it was not to be supposed that any confederate of gregory's could have had this knowledge. "hold up, clip," said matt, dropping a hand on his chum's arm. "you're on the wrong track. i'm sure gregory didn't do this, or have any one do it." "there wasn't any one else," flared clip. "if gregory didn't do it, he knows who did." "the red roadster may have stopped farther along the trail, and one of the men may have come back. have you got any gasoline, gregory?" inquired matt. "nary, i ain't," answered the rancher. "that's what them other two fellers wanted ter know." clip cast a quick look at matt. "mebby they're running short themselves," said clip. "they found gregory didn't have any. then they made a dead set at ours." "or," went on matt, "those fellows may have asked gregory just to make sure we couldn't get a fresh supply from him when they had taken what we had. we'll go on for a while and use the pedals." "we've lost out," cried clip angrily. "just at the start, too. nice thing for you to tell the governor." matt looked gloomily at his watch, then started off with all the speed he could throw into the pedals. but the weight of the machinery, now suddenly useless, pulled him back. his hopes were down, way down. his mysterious enemies had scored a telling stroke at the very start-off. "what time is it, matt?" asked clip, in a discouraged tone, toiling along beside his chum. "twenty-five minutes of two," was the answer. "we've got three hours and twenty-five minutes to go sixty-five miles!" clip laughed gruesomely. "we couldn't do it in two days, at this rate." while the boys were talking they came to a long slope that ran downward through a thick chaparral of greasewood, palo-verde, and ironwood. the road twisted serpentlike to avoid rough ground. from somewhere in the thicket below a muffled _thump_, _thump_, _thump_ came up to them, as though some one was wielding an ax. "what's that?" queried matt, looking at clip. "mexican wood-cutters, i reckon," was the response. the boys went on down the slope, coasting at a rapid gait. half-way down the descent, a turn brought them into the proximity of an automobile, and so suddenly that they had to clap on the brakes in order to avoid a collision. the car was a red roadster. it was at a standstill in the middle of the trail, and neither of the two men was near it. astounded at this stroke of luck, matt and clip, for a moment, could do no more than stare at each other. the blows of the ax, off in the chaparral, were louder in their ears now, and they could hear a mumble of voices. "wow!" gasped clip. "am i dreaming? can i believe what i see? say, matt, this is too blamed good to be true!" matt, getting quick control of his wits, had been running his eyes over the roadster. one of the rear tires was flat. on the ground near the flattened tire lay a new one, just taken out of the brackets that had supported it. "well, well, this _is_ luck!" breathed matt, getting off his machine and hurrying to the automobile. "a tire blew up on them. they haven't a jack along, and they've gone into the brush to cut a couple of pieces of ironwood, in order to lift the axle and get on a new tire." "they may be back----" "sure, and we've got to hustle." matt was already on the running-board. "here are our canteens," he went on excitedly, picking both of the gasoline-cans out of the rumble. "and they're full, too," he added. "take one, clip, and empty it into your gasoline-tank." it was a time for action rather than words. the chopping had ceased in the chaparral, but the talking was still going on, and, from the sound of it, the two men were not as yet coming any nearer. "we're using up our reserve supply," said clip, while they were emptying the canteens into the tanks. "we'll fill the canteens again out of the car-tank," returned matt, "if we have time." "bully!" chuckled clip. "then let the rest of the gasoline out into the road. give 'em a dose of their own medicine. it'll serve 'em right." clip was a lad of quick temper. the indian blood in his veins undoubtedly lay at the root of this, but the resentment he felt at being looked down upon by some of the phoenix boys who regarded the mixed blood as a taint had had a good deal to do with it. had matt not interfered at the well, clip would certainly have set upon gregory, for rarely did clip's temper allow him time to reason a matter out. this reprisal against the two men who had the roadster, however, had already taken form in matt's mind before clip had suggested it. by stranding the car in the desert, thirty-five miles from a gasoline-filling station, matt could clip the claws of his enemies and render them harmless. the moment the _comet's_ tank had been filled and capped, matt carried the canteen to the motor-car and proceeded to replenish it out of the supply belonging to his two enemies. then, while he was filling clip's canteen, clip was busy making matt's fast to the head of the _comet_. both boys were so hard at work that they did not notice the sound of voices had died out in the chaparral. as matt stepped back from the motor-car and finished screwing the cap on the canteen, a man jumped out into the road. the man was carrying a six-foot length of ironwood. with a yell of anger, he hurled the heavy stick straight at matt. matt dodged, and the timber just grazed his head. "jem!" whooped the man; "this way--on the jump!" running around the front of the automobile, matt made a rush for his machine, at the same time yelling to clip to get into the saddle and make off with a rush. the man, darting around the rear of the roadster, started to plant himself in matt's way. matt feinted as though he would pass on the right side. when the man had thrown himself in that direction, matt plunged by on the left, whirling the canteen by the strap and striking his enemy a fierce crack on the side of the head. the man toppled over against the automobile. by then matt had reached the _comet_. still hanging to clip's canteen, he jerked the motor-cycle away from the bushes, got into the saddle, and started the pedals. clip had already started, but was going slow and looking back to see if his help would be needed. jem, the driver of the roadster, crashed through the bushes just as the _comet_ was getting under its own headway. he carried an ax and another piece of freshly cut ironwood. "that's king!" whooped jem's companion. "stop him! you've got to stop him!" clip flung back a taunt. matt, as the _comet_ gathered speed like a mettlesome racer, wondered how jem was going to cover the fast-widening gap and do anything to stop either of the motor-cycles. the next moment he understood what the last resource was the two men were going to fall back upon. there came a "pop" like an exploding fire-cracker, and a bullet whistled past matt's ear. bending lower over the handlebars, he opened the throttle with a twist of his left hand. the road was down-hill and the _comet_ was going like a thunderbolt. in about two seconds matt had caught up with clip; then, in an instant more, both boys were screened from their enemies by a turn in the road. chapter vii. smoke-signals. "thunder!" muttered clip, as the breakneck pace was slackened a little. "just made it, matt. by the skin of our teeth. and we didn't dump their gasoline into the road, either. they'll be after us just a-smoking when they get that new tire on." "we're playing in great luck, clip, to get off as well as we did," answered matt. "here, take your two quarts of gasoline." clip took the canteen and hung the strap over his handlebars. "we're ahead now, anyway," said he, with grim satisfaction. "that's a heap better than being behind." matt listened to the steady hum of the _comet's_ twin cylinders with an exultation he could not conceal. what had happened had been almost like snatching victory from certain defeat. "how much time did we lose?" asked clip. "it's two o'clock," answered matt, juggling his watch with one hand. "and we're in the lead. that makes a heap of difference. there'll be no underhand work ahead of us, after this. we'll beat the news to potter's gap." the trail slid away into the flat desert at the foot of the slope. as the boys wheeled across the sandy level, they cast a look backward at the brush-covered slope, to see if they could discover any traces of the red roadster and of their enemies. the car was not in sight, but rising straight upward in the still air was a thin column of smoke. suddenly the column was broken, and one, two, three balls of vapor floated aloft; then the straight, grayish plume was in evidence again; after a moment the smoke-balls reappeared and wound up the spectacle. "great scott!" exclaimed matt. "what sort of a performance do you call that, clip?" clipperton's face was ominous as he answered: "smoke-signals. those two back there must belong to dangerfield's gang. they were telling some of the rest of the gang that we're coming." a look of savage pride crossed clipperton's face. "you know why i know," he added. "it was born in me." motor matt had been the first true white friend clipperton had ever had. perhaps that was because he had looked for the worth and manliness in the depths of clip's nature, and had found more than any one else had ever taken the trouble to hunt for. clip's ancestry was a raw wound, principally because there were some who took malignant pride in never allowing it to heal; and yet he was defiantly proud of it. "i wish i had had a little of the same kind of knowledge born in me, clip," said matt generously, and clip threw him a grateful look, and his surliness vanished. "see there!" cried clip abruptly, pointing toward a range of dim blue hills to the north. "the signals were read. they're being answered." a long way off, but perfectly plain in the clear air, arose a column of smoke. it was broken into little clouds, just as the other had been, and when it disappeared it vanished as quickly. "how do they do it, clip?" asked matt. "a fire of green wood and a wet blanket. that's all. there's frog tanks," and clip indicated a cluster of adobe walls and thatched roofs, midway between them and the point where the answering signals had shown themselves. it was twenty minutes after two when the boys wheeled through the little mexican settlement. there was no sign of the red roadster behind them, but, for all that, they were expecting trouble on account of the smoke-signals. "two hours and five minutes on the road," cried matt, "and we're forty-five miles from phoenix. we're still ahead of the schedule, clip." "the worst part of the road's ahead," said clip briefly. "here's where we begin to strike it." just at that moment the trail dipped into a rocky ravine and climbed a steep bank on the opposite side. there was no water in the ravine, but the rocks were jagged and sharp, and they had to use much care to save their tires. with all the reserve power thrown into the machinery, the _comet_ made hard work of the hill. clip had to get off and drag his motor-cycle up by hand. for a mile beyond the ravine the trail was heavy with sand. matt began to appreciate the difficulties ahead of him and to worry a little about the outcome. clip noticed the serious look that crossed his chum's face. "don't fret," said he. "the cañon won't be as bad as this. the bed of the cañon is hard enough. what makes it a tough trail is the boulders brought down in the freshets. that automobile couldn't get up the cañon at all. you and i can go around the rocks. there's the opening into the gulch. just ahead." at the edge of the flat matt saw a high, rocky ridge. the ridge was broken by a notch, and the road crawled through the opening and into the defile. the sides of the notch were steep, and the boys rode through it in single file, matt taking the lead. when they were about half-way through, a crash broke on their ears, followed by a rumbling sound that grew swiftly in volume. a yell of warning came from clip. matt had just time to catch a glimpse of a rock rushing down the side of the notch. in a trice he speeded up the _comet_ and leaped forward toward the cañon, sand and loosened pebbles dropping all around him. from behind him came a ringing shock. with his heart in his throat he shut off the power and clamped on the brake, stopping so suddenly that he was nearly thrown over the front wheel. when he turned to look around, the rumbling had ceased. clip's machine lay on its side, with a twisted and bent rear wheel, and clip himself was just rising from the ground. "are you hurt, clip?" matt asked, bracing the _comet_ against a boulder and running back. clip was frantic with rage and disappointment. one look at his machine was enough to tell him that he was out of the race. "those smoke-signals did it!" he snorted angrily, lifting his eyes to the slope of the notch wall. "some one loosened a rock. the skulking coyote! it's a wonder we weren't killed." matt saw the stone. it was round, water-worn, and as big as a barrel. evidently it had caught clip's machine just as it was all but out of the way. the impact had whirled it around and bent and twisted the wheel. "nothing but a repair-shop can ever fix that," said matt, almost as much disappointed as his chum was. "what'll you do, clip?" clip did not answer. he had seen something up the steep slope that brought a snarl of anger to his lips and sent him clawing and scrambling up the rocks. matt ran after him. if there was to be a fight with any of the dangerfield gang, matt was determined not to let clip go into it alone. the climb was a hard one, but the hard, well-trained muscles of the two boys made record work of it. twenty feet up the wall was a shelf. clip was over the edge of the shelf first, having had the lead of matt in the start. as matt crawled over, he saw a roughly dressed man scurrying to get up the wall at the back of the shelf. clip jumped for the man, clutched his feet, and pulled him down. a torrent of imprecations, in some unknown tongue, burst from the man's lips. throwing up his hands, he caught clip about the throat, and the two rolled over and over, struggling desperately. they would have gone over the edge of the shelf and rolled and bounded down the wall, had not matt, quick to note his chum's danger, darted for the fighters to grab and hold them back. catching the man by the shoulders, matt flung him sideways, on his back. the fellow had a knife in his hand, and made a vicious stab at matt's breast. clip, by a quick movement of his lithe body, caught the man's wrist and held the weapon back. then, while all three were on their knees on the rocky shelf, a strange scene was enacted. clip and the man stared at each other with startled eyes. the fight went out of each of them in a flash. an expression of amazement crept into their faces, and along with clip's astonishment came a tinge of bitterness. "what's the matter?" queried matt, getting to his feet. neither clip nor the man spoke a word. there was a clatter as the knife dropped on the shelf. the man was tall and wiry. his face was even more swarthy than clip's, his eyes were small and piercing, his hair was straight and black, and there were rings in his ears. he wore moccasins and buckskin leggings, and a dingy-blue flannel shirt, open at the throat. both the man and clip got up slowly. "_tio! tio mio!_" said clip, in a hoarse whisper. a slow grin worked its way into the man's face. from the edge of the shelf he looked down to where the disabled motor-cycle was lying. then he said something in a language matt could not understand, and took a step toward clip, with hand outstretched. clip muttered and struck the hand aside. the man did not appear very much cast down by this lack of courtesy, but bent over coolly and picked up his knife. returning it to his belt, he folded his arms, leaned back against the wall at the other side of the shelf, and studied the two boys curiously. clip clenched his hands as some strong emotion swept through him. then abruptly he stepped toward the man and began speaking. what he said matt could not understand. the words came swiftly, fairly tripping over each other. that clipperton was upbraiding the man there was no doubt; but why he should do that, or why either of them should act in the queer manner they were doing was a puzzle. clip's fierce words seemed to make an impression on the man. the grin faded from his lips and a more serious expression took its place. as soon as he could break into the torrent of clip's talk, the man spoke. he spoke for a full minute, and matt pricked up his ears as he heard the name of dangerfield mentioned. when the man had finished, clip said something in a sharp tone and started down the slope, beckoning matt to follow. the man came to the edge of the shelf and watched them as they slipped and scrambled to the trail, but he made no move to follow. "smoke-signals," said clip, in his usual terse fashion. "they got us into this fix. and brought me a big surprise. but it may be a help to you, matt, in the long run." clip's face was moody, although his words were spirited enough. "what in the wide world is that fellow?" queried matt. "what sort of a hold have you got over him, clip?" "there's a chain of men watching castle creek cañon," said clip, not seeming to hear matt's question. "the smoke-signals are passed on. from the other side of frog tanks, they reach dangerfield, at tinaja wells. some of the gang are laying for you above here. you'll have to go on alone. think you can find the way?" "it's right up the cañon, isn't it, until i get to the trail that leads over the right-hand wall?" "yes. take the first trail that leads over the wall. you can't go wrong. while daylight lasts," and a cunning look rose in clip's eyes, "there'll be more smoke-signals coming from here. i'll be back of them. _and they'll help you through._" clip turned and led the way to the boulder where matt had left the _comet_. "you'd better hike, matt," said he. "you can't lose any more time." "but who's that ruffian, clip?" asked matt again, as he got into the saddle. "that ruffian"--there was mocking bitterness in clip's voice, as he spoke--"is my uncle. he's a half-breed. his name is pima pete. he's one of the gang. he didn't recognize me when he rolled that stone down the hill. we haven't seen each other for two years." clip whirled around, as though he would make off without another word. matt was dumfounded. he recovered himself, however, in time to call sharply: "clip!" clipperton turned and saw matt holding out his hand. "can't you say good-by, pard, and wish me luck?" asked matt. clipperton hesitated a moment, then rushed forward, caught matt's hand, and wrung it fervently. but he could not trust himself to speak. another minute and motor matt was in castle creek cañon, headed north. chapter viii. on the divide. it was five minutes to three, and there were fifty miles of cañon and up-and-down trail over the divide to be covered. this meant that motor matt must average twenty-five miles an hour for the next two hours. in favorable parts of the trail he must do better than that, to off-set losses of time where the going was most difficult. the bed of the cañon was strewn with boulders, ranging in size from a bucket to a hogshead. the road was plainly marked, but the last freshet had sprinkled it with stones, large and small. mountain-wagons, constructed for service in such sections of the country, were hauled over the smallest of the boulders, and where the largest were met, and could not be avoided by a detour, the driver of the wagon got out and rolled them away. as clip had said, however, the trail was impassable for automobiles. a high-wheel wagon could bump and jerk its way over the stones, but a low-wheel car with pneumatic tires would not have lasted half an hour in the cañon, nor have traversed a mile of it. on the other hand, the narrow tread of a motor-cycle enabled it to dodge the rocks, leaving the trail only at points where the rocks were so close together the machine could not get between them. but sharp eyes, a firm hand, and unerring judgment were needed for every foot of the way. this, of course, made anything like the best speed impossible. for several miles matt weaved his way in and out, speeding up on the comparatively clear stretches, and slowing down for places where the most obstacles were encountered. the avoiding of sharp stones and boulders at last became almost mechanical. with his gaze on the road immediately in advance, his hands instinctively turned the _comet_ right or left, as the exigencies of the case demanded. when he could spare a little of his attention from the running of the machine, his thoughts reverted to clipperton and his heart saddened with the hurt pride smoldering in clip's eyes when they had parted in the notch. clip's uncle--his mother's brother, most probably--was a half-breed and a member of dangerfield's gang. how clip's sensitive soul must have recoiled from confessing the truth to matt! and yet clip had been manly enough to face the issue, and matt liked him all the better for it. "what a fellow's people are," thought matt, "don't amount to a picayune; it's what the fellow is himself that counts. but it was tough on clip to run into a relative and find him passing smoke-signals along for that prince of rascals, dangerfield. and then, it was pretty near the last straw to have that relative roll a stone down the bank and put clip out of the running. i don't blame him for getting worked up." a study of the speedometer showed matt that he was not averaging more than twenty miles an hour. this worried him. the necessity for doing better than that was vital to the success of his mission, and yet, without great risk to his machine, he did not see how he was going to accomplish it. hoping constantly for a better piece of road, he pushed doggedly on. the walls of the cañon were wide apart and high. they formed themselves into pinnacles, and turrets, and parapets, and a fanciful mind could easily liken them to the walls of a castle. from these features of the cañon it had, no doubt, derived its name of "castle creek." a stream flowed through the defile, but a stranger would not have discovered this from a casual survey of the cañon's bed. the stream was like most water-courses in arizona, and flowed _under the sand_ and next to the bed-rock. here and there, at irregular intervals, the water appeared in pools, pushed to the surface by a lifting of the underlying rock. once matt halted to snatch a drink from one of the diminutive ponds, but in less than a minute he was astride the _comet_ again and pushing resolutely onward. here and there he passed a "flat," or level stretch of earth, brought down by the waters from above and lodged in some bend of the gulch. these flats were free from stones and covered with a scant growth of cottonwoods and piñons. some time was gained by riding across these level, unobstructed stretches. a little more than half an hour after leaving the notch, matt passed a flat that lay at the foot of a gully running into the ravine. there was an adobe house on the flat, a corral, and other evidences of a rather extensive ranch. a man was standing in front of the house as matt hurried past. he was staring at the motor-cycle like a person in a trance. "what place is this?" called matt, as he went by. "hot springs," the rancher called back. "what sort of a contraption y'u got thar, anyways?" matt told him, but probably the backwoodsman was not very much enlightened. north of hot springs the road was tolerably clear for several miles, and the _comet_ leaped along it at top speed. when near the end of the good going, the road forked, a branch entering a gap in the right-hand wall and climbing steeply toward the top. matt's heart gave a bound. "here's where i take the divide!" he muttered, swerving the _comet_ into the opening and giving it every ounce of power for the climb. "now for potter's gap and sheriff burke." up and up went the trail, twisting back and forth in long horseshoe curves. but for those curves, no wagon could ever have scaled that frightful ascent. in places the road had seemingly been blasted out of a sheer wall, and it was so narrow that a wagon would have had to rub against the cliff-face in order to keep the opposite wheels from slipping over the dizzy brink. matt's view of the cañon and of the surrounding hills opened as he ascended. he had not much time for the view, however, for when he was not peering at the trail, or catching a look at the face of his watch, he was studying the speedometer. it was after four o'clock, and he was making barely four miles an hour! higher and higher he climbed, coming steadily nearer to the top of the divide. a light breeze fanned his face, and all around him he could see mountain peaks pushing upward into the clear blue sky. only the _chug-chug_ of his laboring motor-cycle broke the stillness. probably never before, since time began, had those hills echoed with the puffing of a steel horse. at last the climbing trail dipped into a level tangent just below the top of the mountain. after a straight-away run of a hundred yards, it coiled serpentlike around the mountain's crest. on matt's left was a broken granite wall running vertically to the top of the peak; on his right was a chasm, falling hundreds of feet into a gloomy gulch. between the chasm and the wall ran the ribbon of road, eroded in places by wind and weather until it had a perceptible slant outward. a skidding of the wheels, the relaxation for an instant of a cool, steady grip on the handlebars, or a sudden attack of dizziness would have hurled the young courier into eternity. in that hazardous place speed was not to be thought of. "slow and sure" had to be matt's motto. he finished the tangent and began rounding the curve. in no place on that fearsome bend was the road visible for more than a dozen feet ahead. while he was avoiding the fissures, and carefully picking his way around the curve, a savage growl broke suddenly on his ears. with racing pulses, he lifted his eyes and saw a huge dog crouching in the path before him. the dog was a great dane, big enough and seemingly savage enough for a bear. while matt stared, and wondered how and why the dog happened to be there, a man in a blue shirt, sombrero, and with trousers tucked in his boot-tops, emerged suddenly from behind a shoulder of rock. he carried a club, and a look of intense satisfaction crossed his face as he came in sight of matt. "take him, bolivar!" yelled the man, and motor matt was brought suddenly face to face with unexpected peril. with a vicious snarl, the dog lifted his great body into the air and plunged toward the _comet_. matt had come to a quick stop, disengaging his right foot from the toe-clip and bracing the motor-cycle upright. he had time for no more than to throw his left arm over his face, when the dog struck him. the impact of the brute's body was terrific. matt went down, with the motor-cycle on top of him, head and shoulders over the brink of the precipice. chapter ix. a ruse that won. of course, the smoke-signals, passed along by dangerfield's chain of guards, were responsible for matt's predicament. the man and the dog were at that difficult place in the trail to capture the governor's courier, and just at that moment it looked as though they had succeeded. unarmed as he was, what could motor matt accomplish against the ruffian and the dog? this problem rushed through the boy's brain as he lay at the edge of the trail. the great dane, crouching close and snarling, watched him as a cat watches a mouse. matt stared into the brute's fiendish little eyes, and reason told him that the bared white fangs would instantly fasten upon his throat if he moved. he was not injured, although somewhat bruised, and his mind was as keen and alert as ever. why not, he asked himself, "play possum" with the man and the dog, and pretend to be badly hurt and unconscious? the ruse might not help him any, but there was a chance that it would. closing his eyes until he could just see through them and keep track of what was going on, he held his breath, lay silent, and watched. the man drew close, leaned on his club, and stood looking down. "hello, thar, young feller!" he called. matt did not answer. "hello, i say!" repeated the man, nudging matt with the end of the club. "i reckon you're the one bolivar an' me's been waitin' here fer, an'--what's the matter with ye, anyhow?" still no answer from matt. "must hev hit his head a crack when he went down," muttered the man. "you're some sizeable, bolivar, an' when ye fall on anythin', ye come down like a thousand o' brick. git away from him! i reckon ye've done yore part. i'll get a rope on him now. clear out!" the dog slunk away along the road to a distance of two or three yards. then the man pulled the _comet_ away and leaned it against the rocks. "fust time i ever seen one o' them steel bronks," he remarked, talking to himself. "pussonly, i ain't got no use fer a hoss that drinks gasoline. they'd be hard ter ride, an' i don't reckon they'd be reliable." before picking up the machine, the man had dropped his club. he now laid hold of matt and drew him away from the brink of the precipice. when he finally let loose of matt, matt's hand was close to the small end of the club--one arm, in fact, was lying upon it. "if bolivar had knocked ye a couple o' feet farther, young feller," pursued the man, still talking to himself more than to matt, "ye'd hev tumbled inter the gulch, iron hoss an' all. now, we'll see what ails ye, an' then i'll make a stagger ter git ye ter tinaja wells, so dangerfield an' the rest kin size ye up an' find out what yer bizness is." bolivar, who did not seem to relish taking a back seat just as his prey had come under his paws, began growling and dragging himself forward. the man turned and, with a savage oath, ordered the animal to keep away. while his back was toward him, matt knew that then, if ever, was his time to bolt. like lightning the boy gained his feet, lifting the club with him. in two leaps he was beside the _comet_. hearing his quick movements, the man faced around with a frantic yell. "no, ye don't!" he roared, and flung at matt with his bare hands. the club whirled and matt brought it down on the man's shoulder with all his strength. it was a glancing blow, but it was enough to daze the man and send him reeling backward. matt lost not an instant in dropping the club, getting astride the _comet_, and starting. just as the motor got busy, the dog dropped beside matt, gripping his right sleeve and tearing a piece out of the stout leather. the boy reeled under the shock, but he was not again overturned. to get away from the man and the dog he must have speed, and he must set the _comet_ to going its best in spite of the perils of the trail. as he tore around the curved course, his resolute eyes following the path in front of the machine, he heard the snarling of the dog and the patter of his cushioned feet on the rocks. the loss for an instant of the control of the machine would have spelled death for motor matt. to keep the _comet_ away from the edge of the cliff, and away from the loose stones fringing the wall on the other side of the road, was the problem with which matt had to contend. it was a hair-raising problem, too, and called for every ounce of nerve and every particle of skill the boy possessed. he dared not look behind to note the situation in that quarter. the man, he knew, he could easily distance, and it was the bounding great dane he feared. his ears told him that the dog was holding his own--exerting all his power and neither gaining nor losing. but he was too close for comfort. should he snap at the rear wheel and puncture the tire--matt's thoughts could not carry the danger further. a good many things, just then, swung in the scales of chance, and what the dog might do was only one of them. a minute passed, a minute so full of peril that it seemed like an hour, and the darting _comet_ reached the other side of the peak and passed from level ground to a steep descent. below him, motor matt could see the trail, winding in steep horseshoes just as on the other side of the mountain. but there was no precipice at its edge to threaten destruction. by its own weight the machine would have coasted down the mountain at a clip never before equaled. matt diminished the power that fed the racing pistons, but still he continued to drop like a thunderbolt down the steep slope. the wind sang in his ears, and rock, bush, and stunted tree flashed by like so many missiles hurled at him by a giant hand. the speedometer could register up to sixty-five miles an hour, but the needle had gone out of business. if motor matt was not doing a good seventy an hour, on that hurricane drop toward the mountain's foot, he was far afield in his reckoning. it could hardly be called a ride. it was more like a fall through space. naturally, such a fierce gait could not last long. matt was at the base of the mountain before he fairly realised it, and the _comet_ was plunging away on a mesa toward a v-shaped cut in a ridge. he had time now for a quick look rearward. the great dane was not in sight. all motor matt had to show for the perilous encounter on the cliffside was his torn sleeve, a few bruises, and an uncomfortable remembrance. as if to make up for the worrisome struggle through the cañon and the snail's pace toward the top of the divide, matt had now a fine, hard road under him and plenty of room. how much time he had lost he did not know, but that down-grade had put his schedule many minutes to the good. he was going a mile a minute now, and he was still gaining on the miles lost in the cañon. as he closed in on the v-shaped opening in the ridge, he slowed down, to make a preliminary survey of the country ahead. the road led on through the bottom of the "v," and matt suddenly took note of a man on horseback, directly in front of the charging _comet_. the horse, frightened by the motor-cycle, was bucking and leaping sideways at the roadside. "what place is this?" shouted matt, as he swung past. "potter's gap!" answered the man. the boy's heart gave a bound, and he shut off and stopped the _comet_ within a dozen yards. facing about, he waited for the horseman to spur his prancing mount closer. "that's another o' them darned new-fangled machines that folks keep inventin'," remarked the man. "where'd ye come from, kid, an' what's yer bloomin' hurry? the way ye was shootin' along, it looked as though ye'd git to where ye was goin' purty nigh before ye started. whoa, blast ye!" he added to his horse. "if i had time, i'd make ye eat oats off'n that two-wheeled thing-um-bob." "my name's king," said matt. "can you tell me where i'll find sheriff burke, of prescott?" "you bet i can! go right around that projectin' rock an' ye'll be in our camp. what ye lookin' up burke fer?" matt did not stop to answer. turning his machine the other way, he sped on around a projecting spur of the ridge, and found himself among a dozen men and horses. the men were all armed, booted, and spurred. the camp had been pitched beside a spring, and some were watering their horses, and others were rolling up their blankets. matt's sudden appearance drew the attention of all, and there was a chorus of wondering exclamations as he brought his machine to a halt. "blamed if here ain't one o' them new kind o' bicycles!" cried one of the men. "slid right in on us afore we suspected a thing! it kain't be this kid's one o' the dangerfield gang?" a tall, broad-shouldered, red-whiskered man pushed through the crowd that was gathering about matt. "who are you?" the man asked sharply. "i'm looking for sheriff burke," replied matt. "then you've made a bull's-eye, first crack out of the box. i'm burke." "what time is it, mr. burke?" asked matt, getting out of the saddle and standing beside the machine. "what's that got to do with it?" demanded the prescott man, staring. "why, i was told to get here at five o'clock----" "ye was, hey?" asked one of the posse, looking at a watch. "then ye're ahead of time, my boy. it lacks five minutes of five." matt's delight must have been reflected in his face, for burke's interest in him manifestly deepened. "who told you to get here by five o'clock?" he asked. "governor gaynor." "gaynor?" repeated the sheriff. "yes. i left phoenix at quarter-past twelve----" "last night?" "no--at noon to-day." "an' you've come a hundred miles in five hours on _that_ thing?" "yes." the bystanders were astonished. not only that, but their respect for the _comet_ visibly increased. "what's the governor got to say?" proceeded burke. matt took the letter out of his pocket. "read that, mr. burke," replied matt, "and it will tell you. don't throw away the envelope. just write on the back of it, 'received at five minutes of five, thursday afternoon and sign your name. i want to take it back and show it to the governor." chapter x. at potter's gap. all those rough and ready men were amazed at motor matt's performance. their interest in the boy and his machine, however, was pushed to the background by their curiosity to learn what sort of a message the governor had sent to burke. the sheriff read the message through, then slapped the letter excitedly with the back of his hand. "here's a go and no mistake, boys!" he cried. "the governor and mckibben have picked up a hot clue about that dangerfield outfit. if motor matt, here, hadn't got this message through in the time he did, the smugglers would have got away from us." "how's that, burke?" asked the man matt had met in the gap, riding forward and joining the rest of the posse. "first off," burke explained, "juan morisco has been nabbed in phoenix. he was getting out of town with a wood-hauler, but he had been acting queer, and mckibben was having him watched. while in phoenix, morisco wore a piece of courtplaster on one side of his face. the wood-hauler's team ran away, just as he and morisco were leaving phoenix, and, in the excitement of catching it, the courtplaster must have got knocked off morisco's face. anyhow, when mckibben saw him after the team was stopped, there was that cross-shaped scar, plain as anything. that was all mckibben needed to see. morisco was taken to jail, and it was what mckibben got out of him that concerns _us_." "what in thunder was juan morisco doin' in phoenix?" queried one of the men. "i thought he was with dangerfield, an' movin' this way, on the road to mexico." "morisco told mckibben," went on burke, "that dangerfield sent him on an important piece of work. he also told mckibben that the smugglers are rounded up at tinaja wells, and that they have heard we're waiting for them at potter's gap, and that they're going to leave the wells to-night, give us the slip, and go south by way of the rio verde." this revelation caused a tremendous amount of excitement, all the men talking back and forth. "how'd dangerfield ever find out we was layin' fer him here?" asked one. "the governor don't say anything about that; but dangerfield must know it, or morisco wouldn't have been able to tell mckibben. the governor says," proceeded burke, glancing at the letter which he still held in his hand, "that morisco tells mckibben dangerfield is going to leave tinaja wells to-night, but that he--the governor, mind you--hopes to get this letter into my hands by five o'clock this afternoon, so we'll have a chance to rush the smugglers at the wells by daylight." he folded up the letter and shoved it into his pocket. "it's twenty miles to the wells, my lads, and if we start at once we can make it. saddle up in a hurry. one of you make my horse ready." instantly the camp became a scene of bustle and excitement. while the men were making ready, burke turned to matt. "i don't know how you ever got through in the time you did, king," he observed. "that machine of yours must be a jim-dandy." "it's the best ever," answered matt. "tell me about your trip--just the main points." matt began with the red roadster and the trouble he had had with the two men who were traveling in it. "dangerfield has a heap of friends through this part of the country," commented burke. "there's a whole lot of people, you know, who don't think smuggling chinks into the united states is very much of a crime. dangerfield must have been expecting something to go crossways in phoenix and had some of his misguided friends watching mckibben. but go ahead." matt told about the smoke-signals, and how they were passed on along the rim of castle creek cañon. the stern lines deepened in the sheriff's face. "dangerfield was sure doing everything he could to make a safe getaway into mexico," said he. "they say he has fifteen men, whites and half-breeds, working his underground railroad. i'm willing enough to believe about those smoke-signals. the two in the red automobile sent word ahead that you and your chum were coming. well, did that make any trouble for you, king?" matt told about the boulder which had been rolled down the side of the notch, and which had crippled clipperton's machine and put him out of the running; but he did not say a word about the half-breed. the sheriff was deeply interested in matt's recital. by that time the rest of the men had finished getting ready, and were pushing around matt and listening to his experiences. as he went on with the incident on the divide, and the way he had escaped from the man and the dog, several rough hands reached over to give him an admiring tap on the shoulder. "you're the stuff, son!" cried one of the men. "you're a fair daisy, an' no mistake!" added another. "if we clean up on the dangerfield gang, it will be you as helped more'n anybody else," dropped in a third. "some o' us, burke," suggested a fourth, "mout lope acrost the divide an' down the cañon, gatherin' in all them outposts. each one means a thousand apiece." "by the time you got there, meagher," returned the sheriff, "you wouldn't find any of the men, so it would be a bad play. besides, we're liable to need our whole force over at tinaja wells. what are you going to do, my boy?" he asked, turning to matt. "i'm going back to phoenix," replied matt. "take my advice, and don't try it to-night. it will be dark on the divide before you could get over it, and it's a ticklish enough place in broad day, say nothing of trying to cover the trail when you can't see where you're going. i'll leave a blanket here for you to sleep on, and a bottle of cold coffee, some crackers, and a hunk of 'jerked.' you can get an early start in the morning, and probably poke this envelope into the governor's hands at noon." fishing the stump of a lead-pencil out of his pocket, burke wrote a few words on the back of the envelope that had contained the governor's message, and gave it to matt. "before i leave, son," went on the sheriff, taking matt's hand, "let me say that i think you're the clear quill. you've done a big thing to-day, and if you hadn't had more pluck and ginger than common, it's a cinch you'd have lost out. now it's up to us, and if we can make good, as you did, everything will be all serene." burke turned away and jumped into his saddle. the rest of the men also shook motor matt's hand, and then got on their horses. "there's the blanket," called burke, tossing a roll in front of matt. "_adios_, my lad, and always remember that burke, of prescott, is your friend. spurs and quirts, boys!" away dashed the posse, burke in the lead. they vanished in the direction of the gap, although their road to painted rocks and tinaja wells was not to take them over the divide. matt was tired, and the prospect of a rest appealed to him mightily. with a cloth taken from his toolkit, he proceeded to dust off the _comet_, and to look it over and make sure it had suffered no damage. he attended to this before he looked after his own comfort. after finishing with the machine, he spread out the sheriff's blanket under some bushes near the spring, and ate a supper of jerked beef and crackers and drank the bottle of coffee. a feeling of relief and satisfaction ran through him. he had finished his "century" run and had delivered the governor's message to burke on time. now, if only clip had been with him, his enjoyment would have been complete. he fell to wondering what clip was about, and how he had expected to help with his smoke-signals. it would have been easy for clip, aided by the half-breed, to send signals along the line carrying information that the trouble was over with. but clip had not been able to do that, or the encounter would not have occurred on the divide. while matt's mind circled about his chum, darkness fell suddenly, as it always does in arizona, and coyotes began to yelp shrilly among the hills. feeling perfectly secure, matt lay back, pulled the side of the blanket over him, and fell asleep. he must have slept several hours, when he was aroused by a rustling in the bushes near him, and a sound as of some animal sniffing about his camp. reaching for the bottle that had contained the coffee, he threw it into the brush. there followed a yelp, and the animal--coyote or wolf--could be heard scurrying away. getting up, matt walked down to the spring and took a drink. as he lifted himself erect, far off across the hills toward the north and west he saw a fiery line rise in the air and burst into a dozen flaming balls. perhaps a minute later the rocket was answered by another, off to the south. "there's a whole lot going on in these hills to-night," thought matt, returning to his blanket. "by this time, i guess, burke and his men must have reached tinaja wells and done their work there. the smuggling of chinks across the mexican border is getting a black eye in this part of the country, all right." once more matt fell asleep. when he was aroused again it was by a sound of voices close at hand. he started up quickly, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. morning had come, and in the gathering light he looked through the bushes and off toward the spring. two men were standing by the pool, one an american and the other a mexican. they were both travel-stained and looked as though they had been doing some hard riding. the american was dressed after the fashion prevailing in the hills, and had a couple of revolvers dangling at his hips. each man had a horse, and the animals looked worn and tired. matt wondered who the two travelers could be, for he could not remember having seen either of them among the sheriff's men. as he gave the mexican more critical attention he was amazed to discover that he was the wood-hauler who had fled from phoenix at the time mckibben had arrested juan morisco. _this_ was a disquieting discovery, and matt thought that if he could levant without being seen it would be well for him to do so. the _comet_ was not far away, and matt got on his knees and began crawling toward it. a bit of brush snapped under him, however, and startled exclamations escaped the two men. matt sprang up, with the intention of making a run for the motor-cycle, but before he had taken two steps, an authoritative voice shouted: "halt!" over his shoulder he could see that the american was pointing a revolver at him. matt halted, of course. there was no reason in the world why the two men should interfere with him, and now that he had been unable to slip away unnoticed he faced them boldly. chapter xi. joe bascomb. as motor matt walked toward the man with the leveled revolver, the wood-hauler cried out a startled "_madre mia!_" and gave a jump for the other man's arm. "what's the matter with you, josé?" demanded the american, keeping his eyes on matt as he talked. josé launched into a torrent of spanish. matt could not understand a word of what he was saying, any more than he could understand the talk which clip had had with his uncle, the half-breed, but the change that came over the face of the american was remarkable. in the american's eyes there was a look like that in the orbs of a cornered panther. he had fine features--features that told of an iron will and a fearless spirit; nevertheless, they had a gloomy cast. while josé spoke, something akin to kindness crept through the hard, somber lines, the lips twitched and the eyes softened. the man lowered his revolver, tucked it away in the swinging holster, and turned to josé. then, in the same language josé had used, he spoke rapidly and at considerable length. matt stood and waited, trying to guess what the wood-hauler had said to cause such a change in the man's bearing. "who are you, my lad?" inquired the man civilly enough. "that's a fair question, all right," returned matt; "but you might have asked it before you went through all those motions with the gun. and then, too, i don't know why i should talk about myself until i learn a little about you." "that's straight, anyhow," said the man. "i like a fellow that comes out flat footed and says what he thinks. my name's joe bascomb, and i belong with burke's crowd." "you wasn't with burke's crowd when i saw them here yesterday afternoon." "no more i wasn't. yesterday afternoon, you see, i was on detached duty. but i was in at the skirmish at the wells!" bascomb frowned, as though the memory was not pleasant. "there was a fight?" matt asked eagerly. "were dangerfield and his gang captured?" "there wasn't much of a fight. you see, the smugglers weren't expecting trouble, and burke took them by surprise. a few shots were fired, mainly by burke and his men, but they went wild. the smugglers were making for their horses. six of their number were captured, but a few more got away. among those who escaped was dangerfield. i'm trying to get to phoenix on business, and i wonder if five hundred dollars would tempt you to let me have that wheel?" bascomb pulled a roll of bills from his pocket as he spoke, and held it up for matt to look at. "can you ride a wheel?" asked matt. "never rode one in my life!" "then you couldn't use the motor-cycle. you'd go off the trail on the divide as sure as fate." "bring the machine down here and let me look at it." matt rolled the _comet_ down. after bascomb had studied it a while he shook his head disappointedly. "i reckon you're right," he muttered. "what did you say your name was?" "matt king." "then you're the chap who covered the trail between phoenix and potter's gap yesterday afternoon?" "yes." "well, matt, i've got to get to phoenix as soon as i can, and if you're not in very much of a hurry, i'll climb into my saddle and we'll go together. if----" bascomb hesitated. "if any of dangerfield's scattered gang happened to waylay me, there's something i'd like to have you do for me in phoenix. that's why i'd like to have you along." "if you're waylaid, mr. bascomb," said matt, "they'd be liable to get me, too. dangerfield and his men aren't feeling any too friendly toward me after what i did yesterday afternoon." "no, they wouldn't get you," insisted bascomb. "you could run away from 'em like a streak on that motor-cycle. if i ask you to do anything for me," he added significantly, "i'll pay you well for it." "all right," said matt, "we'll travel together." bascomb turned to josé, and again spoke to him in spanish. the mexican immediately pulled off his ragged slouch-hat and his tattered coat. removing his own hat and coat, bascomb put on the mexican's; then, after transferring his personal belongings from one garment to the other, he turned to matt. "not much of a disguise, is it?" he remarked. "but maybe it's enough to keep the gang from spotting me." "what's that mexican doing here?" demanded matt. "he was with juan morisco in phoenix yesterday, when morisco was arrested. this fellow cut out a horse from the runaway team and got away." "sure he did; and he rode all day and most of the night to find me. we came across each other by chance, not more than two miles from here." "if he's a friend of yours," said matt suspiciously, "and a friend of morisco's, why----" "you don't know mexicans, king. josé doesn't know any more than the law allows, but i rendered him a service once, and he's never forgotten it." josé, apparently paying no attention to the talk, was putting on bascomb's expensive stetson, and a coat which was infinitely better than the one he had exchanged for it. "here's where our trails divide, josé," said bascomb, in english, taking the roll of bills from his pocket and stripping a bank-note from it and handing it to the mexican. "you've made some mighty bad mistakes, but i give you credit for doing your best. _adios._" "_adios!_" answered josé. both men mounted their horses; and when bascomb and matt made off, josé, on his jaded beast, sat watching them until they got around the spur on their way to the gap. bascomb led the way, spurring his animal into a slow gallop. matt followed, accommodating the speed of the _comet_ to the gait of the horse. the long flat was crossed and the mountain climbed and descended--all without mishap, and without a word of talk between the two travelers. matt's mind was busy. to pull the wool over his eyes was not an easy matter, and the story told by bascomb was figuratively speaking, too full of holes to hold water. josé had been with juan morisco. juan was one of the dangerfield gang. josé would not have run from the sheriff unless he had had a guilty conscience. yet, when he had run away, he had taken the trouble to ride a hundred miles and hunt for bascomb. bascomb had explained that josé was indebted to him, and had hunted him up for that reason. but that, as matt looked at it, was no reason at all. then what did that exchange of coats and hats mean? why was it necessary for an officer of the law to disguise himself? here, again, bascomb's explanation did not explain. although these reflections shattered matt's confidence in his companion, the boy did not allow it, for the present, to make any difference in his treatment of the man. bascomb grew talkative when they reached castle creek cañon and started over the clear stretch of road toward hot springs. "what became of the little girl that figured in that runaway?" he asked. there was an eagerness in his voice which matt did not fail to notice. "josé said you stopped the horses, picked up the little girl, and was going to carry her into the house when juan morisco interfered. josé didn't see any more, as the sheriff came up just then." "i took her into the house," answered matt, "and we sent for a doctor." the man started in his saddle and bent his piercing eyes on the boy. "was she as badly hurt as that?" he demanded. "the doctor said he didn't think she could live." "what!" bascomb's eyes were glaring like an animal's as they met matt's. "no, no," he added, dropping back in the saddle and brushing a hand across his forehead, "it can't be. i won't believe it. you stopped the horses, and i don't see how she could have been so badly hurt as all that." "she was tied to the 'reach' of the wagon," explained matt, "and the front wheels broke away from those behind just before we got the horses stopped. the girl was dragged for a ways. if she hadn't been tied, she wouldn't have been hurt so bad." "she's been living at josé's for a month," muttered bascomb to himself, but in a voice loud enough for matt to hear, "and she could stand him, but josé said she couldn't bear juan morisco. it was bad business sending juan after her. josé had to tie her to the wagon to keep her from running off when morisco came. but that doctor was wrong!" and bascomb raised his voice and once more turned to matt. this soliloquy of bascomb's gave matt fresh food for thought. bascomb spurred his tired horse cruelly, and they got past hot springs at a fairly good gait. "what did the girl say?" asked bascomb, when they were well to the south of hot springs, and picking their way among the litter of stones. "did she say anything about herself, or about her folks?" "she wouldn't say anything about herself or her people," replied matt. "true-blue!" muttered bascomb huskily. "she'll pull through--she always had grit; but i wish i was sure!" a mile north of the notch bascomb's horse fell under him. he had been forcing the animal ahead impatiently, and as he fell floundering to the ground over the horse's head, he swore a fierce oath. one of the revolvers had dropped out of bascomb's belt. unseen by its owner, matt picked it up. bascomb, in spite of his temper over the giving out of the horse, knelt beside the animal and unrove the cinches. pulling the saddle loose, he cast it aside; then he removed the bridle and threw it after the saddle. "you served me well, you poor brute," said he, "but not well enough." he whirled away. matt was looking at him along the barrel of the revolver. he started back with another oath. "what do you mean by that?" he cried. "haven't i got enough to torture me without----" he bit the words short, and glared. "take that other gun from your belt," commanded matt, "and throw it away. you can't fool me, bascomb! you're one of the dangerfield gang. i don't think you intended going to phoenix, but you're going now, whether you want to or not!" matt's voice was steady, and his gray eyes snapped in a way that meant business. chapter xii. bolivar turns up. "you're the last person in the world, king," said bascomb, with more injury than hostility in his voice, "who ought to butt in on me like this. if you knew _all_----" he stopped short and pursed up his lips. his gloomy face and haunted eyes were touched with sadness. "i know enough to figure out that you're trying to fool me," said matt. "the yarn you told me back there in the gap won't wash. it's my opinion, bascomb, that you're no more of a deputy sheriff than i am. anyhow, i'm going to take you to mckibben, in phoenix, and give him a chance to pass judgment on you. that other gun, if you please." bascomb thought the matter over for a moment, then drew the revolver. "do you want it?" he asked quietly. "throw it over there in the brush," ordered matt. bascomb obediently flung the weapon into the thicket. "you're right," said he, "i'm one of the gang. i ought to have known better than to try to fool you--you're too keen; but i wanted to go to phoenix, and i wanted you to be with me on the way, so if any of burke's men laid me by the heels i could get you to transact a little honest business for me. i'm going to town, king, and i want to get there in a rush. i'm willing to go as your prisoner and i'll make you no trouble, providing you take me to see that little girl before you take me to mckibben. is it a bargain?" there was something about the man that matt liked, in spite of the deceit he had practised at the start-off of their acquaintance. "when a fellow has lied to you once, bascomb," returned matt, "you never feel as though you could trust him. but i'll go you this time. i'm going to keep this gun, though, and watch you every minute." "that's not necessary, but i'm willing to have it that way if it will make you feel any easier in your mind." "what was it you were going to have me do?" went on matt. "i don't know as i want to mix up in any of your lawless operations." "i wouldn't ask you to do that," said bascomb sharply. "i can't tell whether i want you to do anything or not until after we get to the notch. we're losing time here," he finished, "and i've told you i'm in a hurry to reach town. you ought to know it's important when i'm willing to lose my liberty in order to get there." "well," returned matt, "start on, bascomb. you'll have to travel on foot, and i'll keep close behind you." without further loss of time, bascomb swung off down the cañon. "i can pick up a horse at the tanks," he called back, over his shoulder, "and when we leave there we'll make better time. we'll have to stop at the notch, but i hope we won't have to be there long." "if you're figuring on having some of the gang meet you in the notch, and side-track me," said matt, "i don't think we'll stop there at all." "i give you my word," protested bascomb, "that i'm not going to make you any trouble." "your word's not worth very much." bascomb made no answer to this, but gave his undivided attention to the road and swung into a dog-trot. in less than a quarter of an hour afterward he reached the notch, matt wheeling into it close at his heels. bascomb halted and looked around expectantly. apparently he did not see what he wanted to find, and he placed his fingers on his lips and gave a shrill whistle. matt had the revolver in his hand, and as he waited and watched his fingers closed resolutely on the stock. following the whistle, there was a sound of quick movements up the steep wall. a form bounded off the shelf and came tearing down the slope in the direction of bascomb. a startled exclamation escaped matt's lips. the newcomer was a dog, and the dog was the great dane! it was plain that the dog recognized matt. as the animal crouched at bascomb's feet, his baleful eyes turned in the boy's direction, and he growled menacingly. "i'll shoot the brute if he comes near me!" shouted matt. "i'll not let him touch you," answered bascomb, stooping to pat the dog's neck. "his recollections of you aren't of the pleasantest, i reckon. quiet, bolivar!" he added. the next moment bascomb had untied a cord from the dog's collar and removed a note. he read the note quickly, then tore it in fragments and threw the pieces away. taking a note-book from his pocket, he proceeded to pencil some words on a leaf. tearing out the leaf he folded it compactly and carefully secured it to the leather band. "clear out, bolivar!" he cried, when he had finished. "off with you, old boy!" he added, and waved his hand toward the hills. the dog got up, gave a final snarl at matt, then leaped away. in a few moments he had whisked out of sight. matt was somewhat in doubt as to whether or not he ought to stop this proceeding. it was dear that bascomb had received a communication from some of the scattered gang, and had sent one in return. was he planning to help them evade burke and his posse? bascomb must have divined what was going on in matt's mind, for he turned to him as soon as bolivar was out of sight. "there was nothing lawless about that note, or the one i sent back, king," said he. "it was private business, entirely. now i'm going to scribble a few lines for you, and you can read them in a few days, or any time after we get to phoenix." more pencil work followed in the memorandum-book. another leaf was torn out, folded, and handed to matt. he put it into his pocket along with the envelope returned to him by burke. the winding up of this incident seemed to give bascomb a good deal of relief. "now," he observed, "i'm ready for a quick trip to phoenix, and for whatever happens there." he whirled and started through the notch at a brisk pace. "it's not often," he continued, talking as he strode along, "that a boy makes the hit with me that you have, matt. you'll find out why as soon as we get to where we're going. how long have you been in this part of the country?" "a year," replied matt. "where did you come from?" "albany, new york." "i'd have gambled something handsome you were from the east. i'm from new york city, myself, but i've been knocking around these hills for two years. you see," he added, "i'm a close friend of dangerfield's, and his ideas and mine, about that chinese exclusion act, are identically the same. if this is a free country, how can we keep the chinks out, any more than the eskimos, or the dutch, or any one else that wants to come here? there's a hundred in cold cash for every chink that's run across the border, and dangerfield has been smuggling them in in droves. he has the system worked out fine, and there are good, reliable men at every station on his underground line. juan morisco is the first of the outfit that ever went wrong." for a while, bascomb hurried along in silence; then he commenced talking again. "i reckon you understand, by now, how well dangerfield had organized his gang. there wasn't a loop-hole he didn't have watched. men in phoenix were looking after mckibben, and the minute morisco was jugged they knew it; and when morisco turned traitor and told what he knew, they found that out, too. for more than a year dangerfield has been doing his work and laughing at the authorities. but things were getting too hot for him, and he was planning to go over into mexico and go to mining in sonora. he was ready for the dash across the border when burke got wind of it and went into camp at potter's gap, hoping to head the gang off. up at tinaja wells we knew what he was doing, and if dangerfield hadn't sent juan morisco on a special mission to phoenix the lot of us would have got away from burke and he'd never have caught us." bascomb fell silent again, and for a mile or more he kept up his steady, swinging gait. "it was you, king," he went on, but with no malice in his voice, "who put a spoke in dangerfield's wheel. if it hadn't been for you and the _comet_, the governor couldn't have got word to burke before we had all slipped past him and gotten well off toward the border. that's the way luck will take a turn sometimes." all this was information that might be used against those of the gang who had been captured, and matt wondered at bascomb's recklessness in telling it. "if josé had used persuasion with ollie instead of tying her to the wagon," bascomb continued, with a tinge of bitterness, "there wouldn't have been any trouble, and juan and josé would have gotten clear. but a greaser never does a thing like a white man. it was while josé was tying ollie to the wagon, telling her he was doing it just to keep her from falling off, that the team got scared and began to run." bascomb muttered something to himself, his shoulders heaved and his hands clenched spasmodically. some terrible emotion ran through him, as it had done before, and matt was puzzled to account for it. by that time they had drawn near the descent that led into the ravine. before they started down, some one sprang out into the road in front of them. "matt!" yelled a familiar voice. "great scott!" cried matt, astounded. "what are you doing here, clip?" "waiting for you," answered clip, peering at bascomb. "think i was going back to phoenix without finding out something about how you'd come out? who's this?" "one of dangerfield's gang," said matt. "i'm taking him in." "fine!" exclaimed clip. "but don't go on just yet. the red roadster is at frog tanks. those two roughs are in the _tienda_. if this is one of the gang, those two will make us trouble." "an automobile?" cried bascomb; "at the tanks?" clip nodded. with a leap bascomb sprang away down the slope. "bascomb!" shouted matt. "come back here!" the revolver was in matt's left hand. before he could do anything with it, clip grabbed it out of his hand, leveled it after the receding form, and pulled the trigger. a futile _snap_ followed. again and again clip tried to shoot, but always with the same result. "i'll get him!" said matt resolutely. but before he could start the _comet_, clip had caught him and tried to hold him back. "they'd kill you!" growled clip. "your life's worth more'n a thousand dollars. let him go." "i'll catch him before he reaches the tanks," answered matt. the motor started, and matt was dragged out of his chum's hands. chapter xiii. the red roadster again. bascomb was ascending the farther slope of the ravine as the _comet_ reached the bottom. he looked over his shoulder at matt, then promptly jumped into the rocks and started for frog tanks cross-lots. bascomb could scramble and make headway up the scarred bank, but there was no chance for the motor-cycle to follow. nonplussed, matt came to a halt and waited for clip to come up with him, wheeling his crippled one-cylinder. "tough luck!" said clip commiseratingly, "but it's a good thing, too. it wouldn't do for you to go to the settlement while those two men are there. they're armed. and there's something in their guns that will go off. how long were you driving the fellow in with that useless piece of hardware?" "something funny about that," muttered matt. "did you know the revolver wasn't loaded?" "no." "well, the other fellow didn't." clip chuckled. "you're the boy to do things. too bad you couldn't win out on this." "wait a minute, clip," said matt, "and you'll be as much at sea as i am. bascomb knew that gun wasn't loaded." "he did and you didn't?" clip's eyes widened. "then why did he let you drive him ahead with it?" "that's where the queer part comes in. he must have been willing to be a prisoner." "then he changed his mind. bolted as soon as he heard about the red roadster." "that makes it all the more mysterious. bascomb is a mighty hard fellow to understand." "let's forget it. he's gone, matt, and that's the last of him. where were you at five o'clock yesterday afternoon?" "potter's gap!" "bully!" clip jerked off his cap and waved it. "the governor knew what he was doing when he got motor matt to make that 'century' run. did our smoke-signals help?" "did you send up any?" queried matt. "did we! why, we started just as soon as you bolted up the cañon. 'false alarm; everything o. k.' that's the kind of smoke we sent up." "maybe they did help, old chap. i wasn't interfered with until i got to the divide." "then i was of some use, after all. there were two or three men between the notch and the divide. tell me all about it." matt sketched his experiences briefly. clip's black eyes glistened as he heard of the clash on the cliffside. matt followed on down and told of meeting bascomb and josé at the gap, and of his travel phoenixward with bascomb. clip was vastly puzzled over bascomb, just as matt knew he would be. "if he's one of the gang," said clip, "why is he in such a hurry to get to phoenix? why does he want to go to phoenix at all? it's putting his head in the lion's mouth." "that little girl has something to do with it," declared matt. clip was thoughtful for a minute. "here's how i size it up," said he. "that fellow, bascomb, is what he said he was, at first. he's one of burke's men. but he didn't want to argue the case with you. so he let you have your way. all he wanted was to get to phoenix as quick as he could. he thinks rags can tell him something about dangerfield and his gang. part of the gang's captured and part's on the run. if bascomb can find out quick enough, maybe some more of 'em can be nabbed." matt shook his head. "i don't think you've hit it off, clip," said he. "i'll bet money or marbles i have. that red roadster'll get bascomb to phoenix in short order." "if he's one of burke's men," argued matt, "what will he do with the two roughs who have the machine, and are working for bascomb?" "he'll get the best of 'em," persisted clip. "anyhow, bascomb gets the roadster. see if he don't." "he's not armed, and the other two men are." "never you mind, matt. watch how it comes out." matt got off the _comet_ and sat down on the rocks. "how long are we going to be hung up here, clip?" he asked. "till it's safe for us to pass the tanks. it won't be long, now, if bascomb gets in his work." clip braced his crippled machine up alongside the _comet_ and dropped down beside his chum. "what became of--of your uncle, clip?" queried matt, after a moment. it was a delicate subject, and he hated to approach it. still it covered a point that he felt he ought to know about. the look of hurt pride flashed into clipperton's face. "he left me last night, matt," said he. "i couldn't forget he was of my blood, low as he's dropped. i told him the gang was about done for; warned him to clear out. that's what he did. but he helped send up the smoke-signals." "you did right, exactly right," approved matt. "fine come-down for me, though," said clip, through his teeth. "nice family i've got! what's the use of trying to be somebody? sometimes, i--i----" a lawless light rose in clip's eyes. matt laid a friendly hand on his knee. "you've got it in you to be whatever you want to make of yourself, pard," said he. "at least you know who your folks are, but i don't. i know that my name's not king, but if i'm square with myself and play the game fair, what's the odds? i hate a chap who thinks he's somebody just because his people amount to something; and i'd hate a fellow just as hard who thought he didn't amount to anything because his relatives weren't all he'd like to have them. the thing to do is to stand on your own feet, and that's the _only_ thing!" "it takes you to put heart into a fellow," returned clip. "you've been a mighty good friend to tom clipperton. and in spite of his indian blood. if it was known in phoenix that my uncle----" clip gulped on the words and did not finish. "it will never be known there," said matt. "i know you'd keep still about it. if it got out in any other way, though, i'd never set foot in the town again." "it won't get out, clip, so let's forget it. you stayed in the ravine to wait for me?" "sure. i wasn't going back to phoenix without you." "you slept on the rocks?" "didn't you sleep in the gap?" "what have you had to eat?" "the stuff we took away from gregory's place." "there wasn't half a square meal in all of it!" "i started for the tanks, an hour ago, to get something. saw the red roadster in front of the _tienda_ and changed my mind." matt fished his last piece of jerked beef out of his pocket and put it in clip's hand. "now, regale yourself," he laughed. clip began on the meat, and while he was eating the pounding of a motor reached their ears. "the automobile!" he gasped. "and coming this way," added matt, swerving his eyes up the slope. "the three of them are coming back," went on clip. "they're after us, matt!" "how do you make that out, clip? if bascomb is one of burke's men, he couldn't be coming back with two of the dangerfield gang. if he's coming back alone he's unarmed, and we'll be more than a match for him." "maybe bascomb failed to get the roadster! maybe the two roughs are heading this way! if----" the words faded on clip's lips. just then the red roadster showed itself at the top of the rise. bascomb was on the driver's seat and the other two men were not in evidence. bascomb came down the slope slowly and halted the roadster in front of the boys. "all aboard for phoenix!" said he calmly. "one of you get in the rumble with the machines; the other climb up here beside me. hurry! you know i'm in a rush, matt." chapter xiv. on to phoenix! this was the biggest surprise the mysterious bascomb had yet sprung. clip stared at him for a moment, with jaws agape, then trundled his motor-cycle forward and lifted it into the rumble. he fixed himself on the seat, and leaned down to help matt lift up the _comet_. neither of the boys spoke--they were too bewildered. "what you got in that canteen?" asked bascomb. "gasoline," said clip. "good enough! hand it over here." clip unlashed the canteen and gave it to bascomb. he at once began emptying it into the roadster's tank. "i was afraid the fuel would play out on us," remarked bascomb, when he had emptied the canteen, "but now we're safe for the run to town. are you as handy with an automobile as you are with a motor-cycle, matt?" he asked. "i guess yes," matt answered. "then get in behind the steering-wheel. i'm not much good at it, and we've got to go over the line for a record. see how quick you can get us to phoenix." matt went down to the foot of the hill to turn around. when they had toiled up the bank to a level stretch, he let the roadster out, and they went through frog tanks like a red streak. jem, who had driven the car, and the other man who had left phoenix with him, were sitting on the steps of the _tienda_. they made no move to stop the car, but watched moodily as it passed them. matt could not see clip's face, but he knew his chum must have been thunderstruck. matt himself had begun to take all these surprises as a matter of course. "you thought i was running away from you, i reckon?" said bascomb. matt nodded. "well," went on bascomb, "i didn't have time to explain. i was afraid the roadster would get away before i could reach the _tienda_." "did you have any trouble getting it?" matt asked. there was a bitter undernote in the laugh bascomb flung back. "why should i have any trouble?" he returned. "those two men are not in the gang, but they're friendly toward dangerfield. when i told them it was dangerfield's business that was taking me to phoenix, they were willing i should have the machine. who's your friend, matt?" "my name's tom clipperton," said clip, answering for himself. bascomb started. "a relative of pima pete?" he inquired, turning around. "what's that to you?" "nothing; but it may mean a lot, one of these days, to you and to motor matt." there was a veiled meaning in the words, but bascomb was full of veiled meanings. neither matt nor clip pressed him for an explanation. the power of sixty horses was tucked away under the long hood of the roadster. all this energy was under matt's control. as always, whenever he had anything to do with motors, his delight grew as their headlong rush increased. up the slope they dashed, and past the place where matt and clip had had their encounter with jem and the other ruffian. the little adobe at the desert well leaped at them and fell away behind with the swiftness of thought. three men and two horses were standing in front of the adobe. one of the men was gregory. the other two were put to it to keep their horses from getting away. matt recognized both the horsemen as belonging to sheriff burke's posse. "do you know those two with the horses?" shouted bascomb, in matt's ear. matt ducked his head. "and you didn't stop! a good thing for you, motor matt. you're beginning to trust me a little, and you'll not lose by it." the afternoon sun was half-way down the sky. the gray desert sparkled and gleamed in front of the roadster, but behind it was blotted out by the dust of that mad flight. and _why_ they were racing, matt did not know. "hit 'er up! hit 'er up!" was the constant cry of bascomb. in the narrow seat behind, clip lurched, and swayed, and rattled the motor-cycles. "hang on, clip!" yelled matt. "we don't want to drop you off." "never mind me," roared clip. "i'm in the seat about half the time. on the motor-cycles the other half. but you can't loose me." they reached the black cañon road and went spinning into it, some of the wheels in the air. down the old familiar black cañon road they shot, and fairly jumped the bridge at the canal. "you're a wonder, motor matt!" cried bascomb huskily. "i've seen driving, in my time, but never any like this!" "if it's speed you want----" "you're giving it to me! it may be a race with death who--who knows?" matt pondered those words as well as he could with every faculty centered in the running of the car. "you're mighty anxious to get yourself behind the bars, bascomb," said he. "bars!" burst out the man. "what do i care for bars and stone walls at a time like this? take me to the house where you left ollie--the shortest way." "ollie?" "the little girl. didn't she tell you her name?" "she said it was 'rags.'" a groan came from bascomb's lips. "that's what it's been for the two years i've been in arizona. now that everything was going to be different, _this_ had to happen. hit 'er up, king! can't you do better?" every pound of power was purring in the cylinders. no motor ever made had run as sweetly, nor hurled a car over a road so surely and easily. the machinery responded instantly to the slightest touch. matt's blood tingled with the joy of it all. he ceased to bother his brain with bascomb and his affairs, wrapping himself completely in the noble work of the roadster. it was not necessary to go through phoenix to reach the mcready home. a cross-road from the black cañon road would place them in the thoroughfare that ran past the house. matt took the cross-road on two wheels, and, half a minute later, lurched into the main thoroughfare in the same way. a horse and buggy were standing in front of the mcready gate. matt slowed down so as not to frighten the horse. "why are you doing that?" asked bascomb hoarsely. matt nodded toward the rig. "we don't want to have a runaway," he answered. "how much farther have we got to go?" "that horse and buggy are in front of the house. they belong to the doctor." "that means," faltered bascomb, "that--that----" "that the doctor's making a call." matt brought up the roadster beside the walk, a little way from the horse. bascomb was over the side of the car before it had fairly stopped. he ran to the gate, threw it open, and hurried along the front walk to the porch. matt followed him as quickly as he could. he got to the gate in time to see welcome perkins and chub confronting bascomb at the steps. "what's the matter with ye?" welcome was demanding. "don't ye know we got sick folks in this house? ye're slammin' around like ye didn't care how much noise ye made." "is the little girl here?" queried bascomb, lowering his voice. "she's here, all right, but she can't be disturbed. the doctor's in there----" "matt!" exclaimed chub, catching sight of his chum for the first time. "well, i wasn't expectin' to see you. who is this feller? put me wise. what's the matter with him?" "he wants to see rags," said matt. "let him into the house." "but she can't last long, matt, and the doctor said she wasn't to be disturbed." bascomb leaped up the steps, pushed welcome and chub right and left with his strong arms, opened the door, and disappeared inside the house. "shade o' gallopin' dick!" scowled welcome. "that feller acts like he owned the place. what in tarnation ails him?" matt did not take time to answer. stepping to the open door, he looked in. bascomb, just over the threshold, was confronted by the doctor and susie. "what's the meaning of this?" asked the doctor, in a low tone. "i want to see the girl," panted bascomb. "this is no time to say no to me." "who are you?" "that's nothing to you. i've got as good a right here as anybody." bascomb hurried on to the couch. rags, her tangled hair lying all about her on the pillow, was lying quietly, with closed eyes. bascomb stumbled to his knees beside the couch. "ollie!" he murmured. "ollie?" matt saw the eyes open and stare upward into the face bowed over the couch. then, as he, and the doctor, and susie breathlessly watched and listened, the little girl's arms went up and twined about the man's neck. "dad!" she murmured. "am i dreamin', 'r w'at? is it yous, dad?" the doctor started, then, seizing his hat, he vanished from the room, got into his buggy, and whipped away as fast as his horse could travel. chapter xv. the end of the mystery. matt and susie withdrew to the porch and softly closed the door behind them. the minds of both of them were in a daze. there were tears in susie's eyes. "fellers useter act that way when i was rampin' around in the hills," growled welcome, with a fierce look at the closed door; "but they was mostly lawless, an' didn't keer fer no one. i got a mind to go right in there an' drive the feller out!" "sh-h-h!" admonished susie; "not so loud, welcome. it's rags' father." "father!" echoed welcome, chub, and clip. "yes," said matt. "don't it beat anything you ever heard of, clip? bascomb is rags' father! no wonder he was in a hurry to get here. josé, the mexican that was with juan morisco when the team ran away, found bascomb in the hills and told him of the accident. after i fell in with bascomb he started to asking me about rags. i'd no sooner told how badly hurt she was, when he got in the biggest kind of a hurry to reach phoenix." "we certainly got here on the jump," said clip. "if you want to get speed out of a motor, put motor matt in charge." "didn't rags tell you anything about herself?" asked matt. "not a word," said chub. "and she can't get well?" susie shook her head. "who's her father, anyhow?" spoke up welcome. "joe bascomb," answered matt. "he's one of the dangerfield gang." "you been mixin' up with that gang, matt king?" went on welcome. "you bet he has," said clip. "matt's done a lot of mixing. pretty hot, some of it." "where'd you go so sudden, pard?" came from chub. "what was it the governor wanted of you?" "he wanted me to turn a 'century' in five hours," answered matt. "up castle creek cañon and over the divide, at that," interpolated clip. "he did it in less than five hours. and fought smugglers all the way." "but where'd he pick up this bascomb?" persisted welcome. "that's what's worryin' me a hull lot." "it's too long a yarn to spin now, welcome," replied matt. "you'll get it all some time. what came over the doctor all at once? does anybody know?" "not me," said chub. "he dug out o' here like he had a hurry-up call over in town somewhere. never said a word, but just rolled into his buggy and began kicking up the dust." "he's coming back," reported clip, his eyes up the road. "seems to be in as big a rush to get back as he was to get away." "that isn't the doctor," said susie, as the rig drew nearer. "there are two men in the buggy and neither of them is the doctor." "one's mckibben," said chub, "and the other is sparks, his deputy. i'm next now. the doctor found out bascomb was one of the dangerfield gang, and hot-footed it for the sheriff's office." the rig drew up with a rush in front of the gate, and the two officers dropped out. leaving sparks to tie the horse, mckibben hurried into the yard. matt went down the porch steps to meet him. "ah, king!" exclaimed the sheriff, a sparkle in his eyes. "i thought you'd be back to-day. made good, as usual, eh? the doctor says one of the gang is here." "he's in the house," said matt. "he's the father of the little girl, and----" "the doctor told me that. ever since morisco told me what he knew, i've been half-expecting this would happen. the only thing in the way was having the girl's father find out how badly she was hurt. who told him?" "the mexican that rode off on the horse when you arrested morisco." "he couldn't have told him all--he didn't know it." "well, i told bascomb what i knew." "bascomb?" queried the sheriff. "that's the man's name." "oh!" "i'd leave him alone in there for a while, mr. mckibben," went on matt. "he's having a hard time of it." "i'll not bother him yet." mckibben turned to his deputy who was just coming through the gate. "go around to the rear of the house, sparks," said he, "and see that he don't get out that way." sparks disappeared around the corner of the building. "did morisco tell you anything about the girl, mr. mckibben?" queried matt. "he told me all about her," replied the sheriff. "morisco was sent on here to get the girl and take her out to the rio verde. when the gang came along her father was to pick her up and take her with him to mexico. this here bascomb came from the east, and left the girl behind him. from what i got from morisco, i figure that the little one had a hard time of it. bascomb, knowing the gang was soon going to change its location, sent east and had the girl come to phoenix. josé is a brother of juan's, and bascomb had the wood-hauler take charge of his daughter until he could get hold of her himself. when a man's a criminal, his operations are a bit hampered. that's the way it was with bascomb. he had to watch his chance, send juan in to town, and have him bring the girl to the rio verde. only juan didn't. matters went a little wrong for him. trust a couple of greasers to botch things up! why, one of my men had spotted juan morisco the minute he hit the mexican quarter. we couldn't just identify him, that was all. a piece of courtplaster covered the scar on his face. the governor will be mighty tickled, matt, when he hears how you've made good." "have you heard how burke came out?" "got a wire from prescott an hour ago. six of the gang were captured at tinaja wells; the rest, including dangerfield, made a run of it and got clear. but i reckon the smuggling of chinks into this section has been pretty well discouraged. you did a cracking good piece of work for uncle sam yesterday, my boy." "i wish it had turned out a little different," said matt, looking away. "different?" asked the sheriff. "how do you mean?" "if poor little rags could only have pulled through----" "we've got to take those things as we find 'em," said mckibben gruffly. "it's hard lines, of course, and i'm sorry for bascomb. but he brought it all on himself. if he'd have led an honest life, rags wouldn't have been left to shift for herself. every man that goes wrong pays the penalty--and sometimes makes others pay part of it. how long has he been in there?" the sheriff nodded toward the house. "about half an hour," answered matt. "i reckon that's long enough." mckibben walked to the steps and ascended to the front door. just as he was about to lay his hand on the knob, the door opened and bascomb shambled out. he hardly looked like the same man. his shoulders were drooping forward, his head was bowed, and his face was heavy with grief. mckibben stepped up beside him and laid a hand on his shoulder. bascomb started at the touch and lifted his head passively. "well?" said he, in a low tone. "you're under arrest, dangerfield," said mckibben. matt and clip hardly believed their ears. dangerfield! had mckibben made a mistake? "nothing much matters now, mckibben," returned the prisoner wearily. he held out his hands, wrists together. "i'm not armed, and i wouldn't make you any trouble if i was." a pair of handcuffs were snapped into place, and the sheriff tucked a hand under his prisoner's arm and led him down from the porch. "all right, sparks!" called the sheriff. while the deputy was coming around the house, the prisoner turned to matt. "joe bascomb dangerfield, king, is my full name," said he. "i only gave you part of it. some things you didn't understand before i suppose are perfectly clear to you now." he faced the sheriff. "understand this, mckibben," he went on, "it was matt king who brought me in. he took charge of me in castle creek cañon. the reward goes to him." "he'll be taken care of," said mckibben briefly. once more dangerfield turned to matt. "you did your best for ollie, king," he continued, a shake in his voice. "give me your hand." the handcuffs rattled as matt shook the prisoner's hand; then, between mckibben and sparks, dangerfield was led away. criminal though dangerfield was, matt pitied him from the bottom of his heart. instead of using the doctor's rig for the return to town, the officers appropriated the red roadster. sparks got in behind, with the prisoner, and mckibben took the driver's seat. they were soon across the bridge and lost to sight. "waal, snakes alive!" muttered welcome perkins. "blamed if matt didn't ketch the leader o' the gang without never knowin' it." matt whirled and went into the house. susie was already in the front room. she motioned toward the couch. rags was lying still and silent, her hands crossed on her breast. chapter xvi. matt reports to the governor. it was half-past five that afternoon when the _comet_ came to a halt at the steps of the capitol building. motor matt, in no very cheerful frame of mind, got off the machine and made his way to the governor's office. "why, it's king!" smiled the secretary, meeting him in the outer room. "is the governor here yet?" asked matt. "yes, and expecting you. mr. mckibben is with him. the governor usually goes home at half-past four, but he stayed later to-day, expressly to get your report. just a minute." the secretary went to the door of the private office, knocked, and vanished inside. "go right in," said he, when he had reappeared. cap in hand, motor matt passed into the other room. governor gaynor met him at the door with a warm handclasp. "motor matt, king of the motor boys!" exclaimed the governor, leading matt to a chair. "sit down, my lad," said he. "i'm not going to let you get away from here for quite a while." matt pulled the envelope from his pocket. "there, governor," said he, handing it over, "that will tell you what time i made on that 'century' run." governor gaynor read the penciled words on the back of the envelope, and laughed. then he passed the writing on to mckibben. the sheriff chuckled. "what's the matter with it?" asked matt, puzzled. "didn't you read it?" asked mckibben. "haven't had much time to read it, mr. mckibben, since the sheriff gave it to me." "listen," and the sheriff read the following: "'governor: this will certify that motor matt delivered your message to me at five minutes of five, of the same day he carried it out of phoenix. it will also certify that he made the pluckiest and most successful hundred-mile run ever pulled off in the southwest. you ought to make him your official courier, at ten thousand a year. burke.'" matt flushed. "oh, i don't know that the trip was anything to brag about," said he. "luck was with me--and the _comet_ can go." "luck and pluck have a way of moving along together," said the governor, taking a roll of bills from the desk and handing them to matt. "there's your hundred. but for your work, matt, burke would have been helpless. i am pleased to say that there'll be a thousand more coming to you just as soon as a few formalities can be attended to. you won't leave for denver until after that?" "had i ought to take that reward-money, governor? i don't feel right about it, somehow." "well, bless my soul!" exclaimed the governor. "it's good money, and well-earned." "what's more, dangerfield himself wants you to have it," put in mckibben. "it's the queerest situation i ever went up against, governor," he added, turning to gaynor. "in spite of the fact that matt captured dangerfield and brought him in, the boy seems to have made a bigger hit with dangerfield than with any one else." "i didn't really capture him, mr. mckibben," protested matt. "dangerfield was coming to phoenix, anyway." "well, he's trying to help you to the tune of a thousand dollars, and you'd better let him. of course," went on mckibben whimsically, "sparks and i can use the money if you can't." "there--there'll be some expenses on rags' account," said matt, "and i want those to come out of the money." the governor leaned back in his chair and studied matt thoughtfully. "you're a queer one, matt," said he, "and your sentiments are an honor to you. let it go that way, mckibben," he added to the sheriff. "sure!" said the sheriff heartily. "and now," went on the governor, handing mckibben a cigar and lighting one for himself, "tell us the whole thing, matt, from start to finish. don't leave anything out. i don't care if i never get supper." matt plunged into the recital. there were parts of it he tried to glide over, but neither mckibben nor gaynor would let him. one or the other was always ready with an adroit question which brought out the whole story. "why," said the governor, when matt had finished, "that 'century' run alone was enough to make you famous, but the finest part of your work was the way you came in with dangerfield." "you can't beat it!" declared mckibben. "i need a deputy sheriff, matt. how'd you like the job?" matt shook his head. the sheriff was joking, and matt knew it. anyhow, one job like that he had just finished was enough for matt. "i'm going to need a secretary pretty soon," remarked the governor; and he was in earnest, even if the sheriff had not been. "how would you like _that_ job?" "i'd like it fine," answered matt, "if there was a gasoline motor mixed up in it." "i wish there were," murmured the governor, "for i can see where your work is cut out for you." he got up and took his hat. "i'll see you again before you start for denver. it will probably be a few days before that thousand will be turned over." they left the office together, and the governor got into his automobile at the curb. "what will they do with dangerfield, mr. mckibben?" inquired matt, as he got ready to ride home on the _comet_. "he'll stand trial, along with the six men captured by burke," replied the sheriff. "all of them will get good, long terms in a government prison. also," added the sheriff, "the two rascals who got out of town ahead of you in that red roadster will have a chance to explain matters. i'm holding the car, and they'll have to come to me after it." * * * * * the red roadster was never claimed. probably this is not to be wondered at, considering the difficulties the two men would have gotten themselves into had they shown up at the sheriff's office. who the men were was never discovered. they had been boarding in an obscure hotel, and had kept the machine in a private garage. it was supposed that they were criminals of some sort, and, if not actually allied with the dangerfield gang, had been commissioned by the leader to keep watch of the sheriff. yet, be that as it might, both men vanished from frog tanks and were never afterward located. two days later ollie dangerfield was laid away under the palms and umbrella-trees in the phoenix cemetery. susie, chub, welcome, matt, clip, and many others of the townspeople attended the funeral. the little girl's story had become known through the town, and had excited much interest and a good deal of sympathy for dangerfield. during the days that followed, and while matt was waiting for the reward, a great plan had formed itself in clipperton's brain. he called on matt at mrs. spooner's, and placed it before him in all its dazzling grandeur. "that red roadster is a fine car, matt," said clip. "you ought to know. what do you say?" "it's a fast car," answered matt guardedly. "why, clip? what of it?" "suppose nobody claims it? what will be done with it?" "give it up." "couldn't it be bought? ought to be a bargain." "look here!" cried matt, starting up in his chair. "what are you trying to get through your head, anyhow?" "why, it would be a heap easier for us. on that denver trip, i mean. if we could get hold of that----" "that's a dream, old chap," laughed matt. "where's the money to come from?" "you'll have some. i can raise as much, i reckon." a motor-car! matt's enthusiasm must have shown in his face. he knew clip's project was impracticable, for, even if they could raise money enough between them to get the red roadster, it would have been madness to put all their funds into such a venture. "we can do it, matt!" cried clip excitedly. "no, clip," returned matt, coming down to earth again, "we can't do it. we'd look nice with all our money tied up in an automobile, wouldn't we? get your machine fixed----" "i've had it fixed." "well, the motor-cycles ought to be good enough for us." "don't you ever want an automobile? wouldn't you rather have it than a motor-cycle?" "sure; but we can't afford to own one. by the way, just to change the subject a little, i've got something here that'll interest you." matt took a folded paper out of his pocket. "what is it?" inquired clip, stepping to matt's side. "just a minute, clip," said matt. "did i tell you that dangerfield gave me a note, there in the notch, on our way to phoenix, and told me to read it any time after we reached town?" clip nodded. "well, i just read that note an hour ago. most of the things we couldn't understand about dangerfield have been cleared up, but here's a new mystery." "you say it concerns me?" asked clip, surprised. "in a way, yes. read it, and you'll see how." clip opened the note. it ran as follows: "motor matt: in a few days one of my men, named pima pete, will try to get your help in a certain undertaking. it's an honest undertaking, too, and i advise you to do what you can. _you will find it profitable to yourself._ bascomb." the name of pima pete brought a flush to clipperton's face. "if pete shows himself," said he, "he'll be arrested." "i guess he knows that, all right," answered matt. "whatever the work is, he may find a way of asking my help without doing it in person." "will you help him?" "that depends, clip. we'll cross that bridge when we get to it." "as you say," said clipperton, "it's a thing that interests me. promise me one thing: that you'll give me a chance to help pima pete myself, in case you hear from him." "i had already made up my mind to that, clip," replied motor matt. "it may be a false alarm, though, and nothing come of it." clip shook his head. "i don't think dangerfield is in the habit of giving false alarms. something is going to happen. and soon." whether clip would prove a true prophet or not, only the future could tell, but matt, having won out, did not mean to borrow trouble, and so, boylike, let the morrow take care of itself. the end. the next number ( ) will contain motor matt's race or, the last flight of the _comet_. trouble on the road--the stampede--clip's note--mckibben's tip--a victim of circumstances--the pride of tom clipperton--laying plans--the rifled cache--the break in the road--prescott--matt makes a new move--the old hopewell tunnel--quick work--steam vs. gasoline--in court--conclusion. motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction new york, march , . terms to motor stories mail subscribers. (_postage free._) single copies or back numbers, c. each. months c. months c. months $ . one year . copies one year . copy two years . =how to send money=--by post-office or express money-order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. at your own risk if sent by currency, coin, or postage-stamps in ordinary letter. =receipts=--receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. if not correct you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once. ormond g. smith, } george c. smith, } _proprietors_. street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york city. one thousand dollars reward. "i really think it was just the neatest thing that i ever did in that line," said the grizzled old captain gapsill. "to what do you allude?" i inquired, knowing that i was about to hear something interesting. "that little affair i had with black ben." "black ben? who is he?" "hain't you ever heard tell of him?" demanded the captain, in amazement; and then, recollecting himself, he added: "i forgot; that was before your time--at least, you must have been quite a younker then. black ben, next to mike fink, was one of the greatest pirates that ever infested the mississippi." "what became of him?" "i was going to tell you. in the first place, you mustn't imagine he was a negro because he was called black ben. he had a skin as dark as a mulatto's, and a fearful lot of great, black, bushy hair, which stood up like bristles; and, as he always went without a hat, i can tell you he was just about the most villainous-looking creature you ever saw. besides that, he had jet-black whiskers, short and sticking out like needles, and growing up almost to his eyes; so when you looked at him you saw about a bushel of black, bristling hair, and in the midst his great eyes glowing like coals of fire. he wasn't more than five feet in height; he had short legs, very long arms, and immense muscular power. he generally went dressed as a backwoodsman, and had two comrades--ordinary-looking men, but as bloody and merciless cutthroats as he. "black ben had been seen as far up as cairo, and as low down as natchez. he was such a queer-looking creature that it was impossible for him to disguise himself enough to go among the towns or where he would have run any danger. his principal hunting-ground was from the mouth of the arkansas north to the tennessee line. here he had all the opportunity he wished for hiding himself, and i don't believe a party of red indians ever could have hunted him to his hole. if he hadn't met his fate in the queer manner he did he might have hunted there until he died of old age. "in those days a great many flatboats used to pass down the mississippi on their way to new orleans, and these were the favorite prey of black ben and his men. as the river navigation, with its snags and sawyers, is always so dangerous, these boats often lay to under the bank during the night, when the chances are ten to one that the sharp eyes of these pirates detected them, and, at the dead hour of midnight, they stole out as silently as shadows, crept over the boat, cut the throats of the unsuspicious sleepers, gutted the craft, then scuttled it and set it afloat. out in deep water it would sink, and that would be the last ever seen or heard of that flatboat. "black ben was a horrid dog, and it was no wonder that there was such terror of him all along the river. captain hallongton, an old friend of mine, had his boat served in this manner, but the night was so dark that he managed to swim off, although his three men were every one of them murdered. the captain had a hard story to tell, and he offered five hundred dollars to any one who would shoot this bloody cutthroat. "i had been from cincinnati down to new orleans fully a dozen times without once encountering this redoubtable blue beard. i had lain to at a place where, it was said, he would be sure to find us; but never once did we catch sight or sound of him, and i would have doubted his existence but for the testimony of captain hallongton and his friends, whom i could not refuse to believe. "'it is strange that i never meet him.' i once said, when he and i were conversing together regarding this river outlaw. 'it must be that he is either afraid of me, or else has a feeling of friendship toward me.' "'don't congratulate yourself too soon,' replied my friend. 'depend upon it, black ben will yet pay you a visit.' "'i have heard so much of him that i must say my curiosity is really greater than my terror.' "'see here!' interrupted the captain, starting up in sudden excitement; 'you're going to start down the river next week?' "'a week from to-morrow.' "'good! you take dick and tom, your usual help?' "'of course.' "'i ship with you as a common hand, just on purpose to help you to a sight of black ben. what do you say?' "the proposition struck me very favorably, and i urged the captain to it. as he was ten times as rich as i was, i didn't exactly like the idea of his going as a common hand, although on my flatboat there was no other position for him. it was finally agreed that he should pass himself as one of my assistants; but as there was no need of his work, he was to do little more than dress himself as such, to deceive any one whom we might encounter, while he might accommodate the labor to himself. "we made all our arrangements as if certain of encountering this fellow. we went more fully armed than we ever did before, and it was agreed that when we reached that part of the river where we had reason to expect the appearance of black ben, or where there was the least likelihood of his seeing us, that nobody should show themselves above deck except captain hallongton and myself. this was for the purpose of making the pirate believe there were only two of us on board, and thus luring him on to what we hoped would be his destruction. "well, we swung loose from cincinnati one fine morning, and in due time reached the mississippi, and lay to at memphis, tennessee, one stormy night, where we fixed everything to our satisfaction. when we started next morning, tom and dick were sent down below in the cabin, with the understanding that they were not to show themselves until they had permission to do so. "it was late in the autumn of , and i remember that the weather was quite chilly, so much so that both hallongton and myself kept on our overcoats all the time. we passed to and fro, plainly showing ourselves to any one who might be along the bank. tom and dick were allowed to come up only when the night was dark, and then they exchanged places with us, so that under no circumstances were more than two of us visible at the same time. "down below helena, on the arkansas side, we had fixed as the place where we might reasonably look for the appearance. there was a long stretch of wood country, where the wretch's most inhuman deeds had been located. "it was a cold, blustering night that we worked our boat under the wooded shore and made fast to the identical spot, where my friend had had his memorable adventure with black ben. he recognized it by several landmarks, and assured me that we would hear from the gentleman before many hours had passed over our heads. "for the last few miles, before tying up, we had kept up a sharp scrutiny of the shores, in the hope of detecting some signs of the outlaw. i saw nothing; but hallongton was positive he caught several glimpses of a man flitting along the arkansas bank, and maintaining a sharp watch upon our movements. "after we had securely tied up our boat, we went below, after our supper, and then made our final arrangements. i should state here that my flatboat was one made after a fashion of my own. it was long and quite narrow, the cabin being, as usual, in the rear. this was made of double thick planking, immediately adjoining the cargo, which stretched away to the bow. a small orifice had been bored through this planking, so that one in the cabin could talk in a whisper to one who was in the main body of the boat among our cargo of pork. this was done at the suggestion of captain hallongton, in accordance with a plan which we had formed between us. "when it was fully dark, tom and dick crept carefully over the cabin, in among the pork, and took their position near the hole which i have just mentioned. when we had chatted together a while, hallongton did the same, while i maintained my place near the cabin. "we were so close under the bank that a long limb hung directly over the cabin. "as it looked quite thick and strong, i grasped it with my hands and swung myself upon it. the next moment i had climbed to the top of the tree, and seated myself near the trunk astride of a large limb, where i patiently awaited whatever was to come. "our plans were fully agreed upon, and i knew that i might have sat there until morning without hearing a word from them, or detecting an impatient movement upon their part. "the night, for a time, was pitchy dark, but the moon soon came up over the river, shedding a light which made the opposite shore visible, and gave me a little uneasiness as to whether i would not be detected from the ground below. however, as our line of action had been agreed upon, it was now too late for us to make any change in our part of the program. "i was speculating on these matters, when a slight noise below attracted my attention, and, looking down, i could discern a dark body, moving cautiously toward the boat. in the shadow of the wood, the gloom was too great to make out its identity; but, while i was looking, it leaped as lightly and dexterously as a monkey upon the gunwale, and the next minute i saw that black ben was on the flatboat. "in the bright moonlight he was plainly visible, and answered perfectly the description which i have given. he circled around the boat with the silence of a phantom, and finally halted near the cabin and listened as if to hear the breathing of those within. having finished his reconnoisance, he sprang lightly ashore and disappeared. "i had seen no one but black ben, but a slight noise heard when he was on the boat satisfied me that he had one companion at least with him, and i was sure that he would speedily return. "i was now anxious to hear whether captain hallongton had seen the pirate and whether he was 'posted.' "to satisfy myself, i gave a low whistle. it was immediately replied to--a fact which convinced me that my friends were 'all right.' "it was plain that black ben had no suspicion of the little plan which we had concocted for his benefit; but whether that same little plan of ours would miscarry or not was another question, for we knew that the outlaw was a desperate character, who would play the mischief if he should ever get into close quarters. "now came a period of watching and waiting, continued so long that i had great fear that black ben had scented danger and concluded to give us a wide berth. fully two hours passed away, with me shivering and cramped in the tree; but i had resolved to stay there until morning if the outlaw did not make his appearance before that time. "it could not have been far from midnight when i caught the rustling of bushes beneath me, and i felt sure that black ben was there; but, as i peered down, i was disappointed in discerning not a man, but a large black bear that was lumbering along the shore and awkwardly approaching the flatboat. reaching it, he waded into the water, snuffed around the boat, poked his nose against it, struck his paws against it, and made a racket which struck me as singular upon the part of a bear. "'i would soon stop your sport,' i reflected, 'if i were not watching for bigger game.' "i was watching the brute, when something in his manner of moving about attracted my suspicion, and i scanned him more narrowly than i had yet done. my heart gave a great leap as i penetrated the ruse, and discovered that instead of the object under me being a bear, it was only a man disguised as such. his object in making such a tumult around the boat was evidently to learn whether the men on board were asleep. "occasionally the creature paused and was perfectly still, as if listening; but nothing but the sullen surging of the muddy mississippi, or the dipping of some overhanging branch was heard, and, becoming satisfied that everything was in the shape desired, the bear withdrew from the water, and tumbled away into the wood, in a style which he hardly would have dared to use had he been aware that a pair of eyes were intently scrutinizing his every movement. "a half-hour later, a form sprang from the dark line of wood which lined the shore, landing on the gunwale of the boat at a single bound. one glance was sufficient for me to see that black ben had boarded the _general jackson_, and that the critical moment was at hand. "the hideous-looking creature glided as swiftly and silently as a shadow from one part of the boat to the other, in order to assure himself that no one was watching in any of the out-of-the-way places. he then glided back to the cabin and made a single motion with his arm. the response was in the shape of another dark form, which leaped beside him with all the agility of a monkey. "from where i sat i had both of these precious scamps in range, and i could have sent a bullet crashing through both of them; but, as that was not the plan agreed upon, i concluded to wait. "as i had always understood that black ben was accompanied by two men, i looked for the appearance of his companion; but, as the bushy-headed chief turned his head upon the shore the instant he was joined by his friend, i supposed that he was absent, and would not appear in this matter, which pleased me greatly, as it could not but make the matter all the more easy for us. "the two villains put their heads together and seemed to converse a while in the same manner that you frequently see horses or cows do. agreeing upon their course of action, black ben quietly drew back the slide which covered the door which communicated with the cabin. flashing a sort of bull's-eye lantern down into the gloom, he leaned his head forward and scanned every part of the cabin. "and i know what he saw. what were apparently two human forms wrapped up in their blankets and sound asleep. the next instant the sharp report of two pistols in immediate succession broke the stillness, and black ben and his comrade sprang down into the cabin. "just what we wanted. hardly a second had elapsed when i was on deck, and had slid the door back to its place at the same moment that captain hallongton and tom and dick hurriedly clambered up beside me. "'we've got 'em!' exclaimed the captain delightedly. 'be quick and fasten that down.' "everything had been prepared for such a dénouement as this, and not ten seconds passed ere we had black ben and his friend firmly imprisoned. "the next proceeding of captain hallongton was to dance a double shuffle upon the deck and exclaim: 'we've got him! we've got him!' "'keep still,' i said; 'you act like a crazy man.' "'do you know there is a thousand dollars offered for his head in new orleans?' said he. "i didn't know that, and i felt somewhat like making as big a fool of myself over it, but i did not. "the next thing we heard was a terrible rumpus below--swearing and yelling enough to raise the hair on your head. but what cared we? we had the mighty river-pirate, black ben, and one of his comrades in our power. "not knowing but what some of his friends might be in the neighborhood, we untied the fastenings of the boat and swung out into the stream. we ran considerable risk in so doing, as this was a dangerous part of the river, but captain hallongton understood the current better than i did, and we decided that this was the safest and best thing that we could do under the circumstances. "the tempest and tumult continued below until we were in the middle of the mississippi and gliding rapidly down the stream. then a silence came, and black ben called up to us and asked us what this all meant. we told him that we had caught him trespassing on our boat and intended to take him down to new orleans and sell him. the answer to this was a couple of pistol-shots fired at the spot where he supposed i was standing. it struck beneath my feet, and no doubt he imagined it would pass through the planking and kill me; but it was bullet-proof and there was no danger. finding he could do no harm he took a different course of action. he tried to bribe us to let him go, and made us repeated offers until he reached a figure as high as ten thousand dollars. we told him we would take time to think about it, but we were not quite fools enough to accept any offer which he could make. we knew that all he wanted was to get out on deck, and then there would be the tallest kind of a rumpus. our only safety was in keeping him just where he was and not give him the slightest advantage. "finding his efforts in this direction useless, he fell upon his first plan, of swearing. i have heard some terrible profanity in my time, but i don't think i ever heard anything to equal that of black ben. he kept it up until morning, and then all was still again. "i suppose you understand the way in which we trapped our bird? captain hallongton had taken the trouble of finding out black ben's manner of doing business and had laid his plans accordingly. it was his custom to wait until the crew of the boats he intended to rob went asleep, and he then stole aboard and quietly despatched them either with the knife or pistol. knowing this, we had arranged a couple of dummies, which, as we intended, were mistaken by the river-pirate for the entire crew of the _general jackson_. the small orifice which i first spoke of as connecting the cabin with the main body of the boat had been made by captain hallongton, so that in case there was parley between him and black ben before surrendering the boat, the latter personage could thus be made to believe that it came from one of the forms inside, but his course of action rendered this precaution unnecessary. "we ran a great deal more danger in capturing this renowned outlaw than any of us imagined. we had carefully removed everything in the shape of a knife or hatchet or any kind of a weapon from the cabin, and yet we had every reason to believe that both of these dogs would have their knives with them; but by a purely providential circumstance neither of them carried anything with them except their pistols. how it came about, i cannot say, for it certainly was odd. had either of them their weapons, it would have taken them but a few hours to cut their way through the planking, thick as it was, and we would have been compelled to shoot them to save ourselves from being shot. "if they had become satisfied that there was no hope for them, the next thing in order would have been the bottom of the boat. they would have made a leak which would have carried themselves and the flatboat to the bottom, and likely enough ourselves, too, for you must know it is no easy matter to make your way through the mississippi at high water. "we did not feel easy when we heard them thumping and rubbing the side of the boat, for we were well aware what wonderful things these desperate characters do when they find themselves in such desperate straits. "captain hallongton stood with his loaded rifle, expecting almost every moment to see black ben burst out to view like a raging fury. by placing our ears against the cabin we could hear a peculiar grinding noise, which told us that the gentlemen in there were doing something, although what it was we could only guess. we could hear them muttering and talking to each other, but i could not catch any of the words uttered. "toward the close of the second day, just as we came within sight of the crescent city, two pistol-shots broke the stillness. we could only conjecture what it meant. my supposition was that they had shot themselves, but captain hallongton suspected it was only a stratagem to get us to open the cabin door to give them a final chance to escape, or an opportunity to put a bullet through some of us who might look down. so we paid no heed, but kept on floating down the river. "when we had tied up at the wharf, we brought a number of police officers, acquainted them with our prize, surrounded the boat, and then removed the door of the cabin. we waited a long time, but no one came forth, nor did any sound betray the presence of the men within. at last, one of the officers, more venturesome than the rest, ventured to steal up to the cabin and look down. the next instant he uttered a shout and sprang down, while we rushed toward the cabin. "one glance showed all. black ben and his comrade had both shot themselves, and were stone dead. they had no knives, as i said, but with their simple pistol-barrels they had almost cut their way through the planking. i do believe that if new orleans had been a hundred miles farther off these two precious scamps would have got out of the cabin and, perhaps, effected their escape. "however, we had the satisfaction of receiving one thousand dollars reward, and of knowing that we had cleared the mississippi of one of the most desperate outlaws that ever infested its banks." _especially important!!_ motor stories _a new idea in the way of five-cent weeklies._ boys everywhere will be delighted to hear that street & smith are now issuing this new five-cent weekly which will be known by the name of motor stories. this weekly is entirely different from anything now being published. it details the astonishing adventures of a young mechanic who owned a motor cycle. is there a boy who has not longed to possess one of these swift little machines that scud about the roads everywhere throughout the united states? is there a boy, therefore, who will not be intensely interested in the adventures of "motor matt," as he is familiarly called by his comrades? boys, you have never read anything half so exciting, half so humorous and entertaining as the first story listed for publication in this line, called "=motor matt; or, the king of the wheel=." its fame is bound to spread like wildfire, causing the biggest demand for the other numbers in this line, that was ever heard of in the history of this class of literature. here are the titles to be issued during the next few weeks. do not fail to place an order for them with your newsdealer. no. . motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. no. . motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. no. . motor matt's "century" run; or, the governor's courier. no. . motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the _comet_. large size pages splendid colored covers price, five cents per copy at all newsdealers, or sent postpaid by the publishers upon receipt of the price. _street & smith, publishers, new york_ numbers to tip top weekly are contained in the medal library we know that there are thousands of boys who are very much interested in the early adventures of frank and dick merriwell and who want to read everything that was written about them. we desire to inform these boys that numbers to are pretty well out of print in the tip top weekly, but all of them can be secured in the numbers of the new medal library given below. _the_ new medal library at fifteen cents [illustration] --frank merriwell's school-days. --frank merriwell's chums. --frank merriwell's foes. --frank merriwell's trip west. --frank merriwell down south. --frank merriwell's bravery. --frank merriwell's hunting tour. --frank merriwell in europe. --frank merriwell at yale. --frank merriwell's sports afield. --frank merriwell's races. --frank merriwell's bicycle tour. --frank merriwell's courage. --frank merriwell's daring. --frank merriwell's athletes. --frank merriwell's skill. --frank merriwell's champions. --frank merriwell's return to yale. --frank merriwell's secret. --frank merriwell's danger. --frank merriwell's loyalty. --frank merriwell in camp. --frank merriwell's vacation. --frank merriwell's cruise. --frank merriwell's chase. --frank merriwell in maine. --frank merriwell's struggle. --frank merriwell's first job. --frank merriwell's opportunity. --frank merriwell's hard luck. --frank merriwell's protégé. --frank merriwell on the road. --frank merriwell's own company. --frank merriwell's fame. --frank merriwell's college chums. --frank merriwell's problem. --frank merriwell's fortune. --frank merriwell's new comedian. --frank merriwell's prosperity. --frank merriwell's stage hit. --frank merriwell's great scheme. --frank merriwell in england. --frank merriwell on the boulevards. --frank merriwell's duel. --frank merriwell's double shot. --frank merriwell's baseball victories. --frank merriwell's confidence. --frank merriwell's auto. --frank merriwell's fun. --frank merriwell's generosity. --frank merriwell's tricks. --frank merriwell's temptation. --frank merriwell on top. --frank merriwell's luck. --frank merriwell's mascot. --frank merriwell's reward. --frank merriwell's phantom. --frank merriwell's faith. --frank merriwell's victories. --frank merriwell's iron nerve. --frank merriwell in kentucky. --frank merriwell's power. --frank merriwell's shrewdness. --frank merriwell's set-back. --frank merriwell's search. --frank merriwell's club. --frank merriwell's trust. --frank merriwell's false friend. --frank merriwell's strong arm. --frank merriwell as coach. --frank merriwell's brother. --frank merriwell's marvel. --frank merriwell's support. --dick merriwell at fardale. --dick merriwell's glory. --dick merriwell's promise. --dick merriwell's rescue. --dick merriwell's narrow escape. --dick merriwell's racket. --dick merriwell's revenge. --dick merriwell's ruse. --dick merriwell's delivery. --dick merriwell's wonders. --frank merriwell's honor. --dick merriwell's diamond. --frank merriwell's winners. --dick merriwell's dash. --dick merriwell's ability. --dick merriwell's trap. --dick merriwell's defense. --dick merriwell's model. --dick merriwell's mystery. =published about january th= --frank merriwell's backers. =published about january th= --dick merriwell's backstop. =published about february th= --dick merriwell's western mission. =published about march th= --frank merriwell's rescue. =published about march th= --frank merriwell's encounter. =published about april th= --dick merriwell's marked money. =published about may th= --frank merriwell's nomads. =published about june st= --dick merriwell on the gridiron. =published about june nd= --dick merriwell's disguise. street & smith, _publishers_, new york city transcriber's notes: added table of contents. replaced oe ligatures with oe for text edition; html edition retains ligatures. bold is represented with =equal signs=, italics with _underscores_. page , changed "cast is off" to "cast it off." page , changed "animal's heads" to "animals' heads." page , normalized "potters' gap" to "potter's gap." page , changed "derived it's name" to "derived its name." page , changed "give up the slip" to "give us the slip." page , changed "chubb" to "chub" in "susie, chub, welcome, matt, clip, and many others...." page , added missing quote before "occasionally the creature...." courtesy of the digital library@villanova university (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction no. aug. , five cents motor matt's reverse or caught in a losing cause _by the author of "motor matt"_ [illustration: _"are you hurt"? cried the girl, as motor matt lifted himself and looked toward her._] street & smith publishers new york motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction _issued weekly._ _by subscription $ . per year._ _copyright, , by_ street & smith, _ - seventh avenue, new york, n. y._ =no. .= new york, august , . =price five cents.= motor matt's reverse; or, caught in a losing cause. by the author of "motor matt." table of contents chapter i. plotters three. chapter ii. the new aeroplane. chapter iii. treachery and tragedy. chapter iv. murgatroyd's first move. chapter v. a startling plan. chapter vi. the air line into trouble. chapter vii. nothing doing in sykestown. chapter viii. brought to earth. chapter ix. the coil tightens. chapter x. the door in the hillside. chapter xi. a revelation for matt. chapter xii. pecos takes a chance. chapter xiii. besieged. chapter xiv. the broker's game. chapter xv. cant phillips, deserter. chapter xvi. the losing cause. the doctor's ruse. stranded on a chimney. a scrimmage of lions. dredging for gold. characters that appear in this story. =matt king=, otherwise motor matt. =joe mcglory=, a young cowboy who proves himself a lad of worth and character, and whose eccentricities are all on the humorous side. a good chum to tie to--a point motor matt is quick to perceive. =ping pong=, a chinese boy who insists on working for motor matt, and who contrives to make himself valuable, perhaps invaluable. =amos murgatroyd=, an enemy of motor matt, and who cleverly manipulates the various wires of a comprehensive plot only to find that he has championed a losing cause. =amy=, murgatroyd's niece, who helps right and justice, turning against a relative in order to befriend a stranger. =siwash charley=, a ruffianly assistant of murgatroyd who proves to be one cant phillips, a deserter from the army. =pecos jones=, who has no principles worth mentioning, plays a double part with friend and foe, and abruptly vanishes. =lieutenant cameron=, an officer in the signal corps, u. s. a., who proves to be the cousin of an old friend of matt, and who nearly loses his life when the aëroplane is tested. chapter i. plotters three. "there's no use talkin', siwash," and pecos jones leaned disgustedly back against the earth wall of the dugout; "he's got one o' these here charmed lives, that feller has, and it ain't no manner o' use tryin' to down him." siwash charley was cramming tobacco into the bowl of a black pipe. he halted operations long enough to give his companion an angry look out from under his thick brows. "oh, ye're the limit, pecos!" he grunted, drawing a match across the top of the table and trailing the flame over the pipe bowl. "the cub's human, an' i ain't never yet seen a human bein' that couldn't be downed--purvidin' ye went about it right." pecos jones scowled discontentedly. "then i opine," said he, "ye ain't got sense enough to know how to go about it. that last attempt at fort totten wasn't nothin' more'n a flash in the pan. what did ye accomplish, huh? tell me that. here y' are, holed up in this dugout an' not darin' to show yer face where it'll be seen an' reckernized. the sojers want ye, an' they want ye bad. ye come purty nigh doin' up a leftenant o' the army, an' that's why the milingtary is on yer trail, but if they knowed as much o' yer hist'ry as i do, they'd be arter ye a lot worse'n what they----" "stow it!" roared siwash charley, leaning toward his companion and bringing a fist down on the table with force enough to make the flame leap upward in the chimney of the tin lamp. "ye'll hush arbout my past hist'ry, jones, or thar'll be doin's between you an' me." the place where this conversation was going forward was a hole in the hillside--an excavation consisting of a single room with a door and a window in the front wall. a shelf of earth running around three walls offered a place to sit, as well as a convenient ledge for the stowage of food supplies and cooking utensils. the window was darkened with a blanket, so that the light would not shine through and acquaint any chance passers with the fact that the interior of the hill was occupied. pecos jones was a little ferret of a man. his face had "undesirable citizen" written all over it. siwash charley was larger, and on the principle that there can be more villain in a large package than in a small one, siwash was the more undesirable of the two. he banged the table and scowled so savagely that pecos jones pulled himself together with a startled jerk. before he could say anything, however, a set of knuckles drummed on the door. pecos gasped, and stared in affright at siwash. the latter muttered under his breath, grabbed up a revolver that was lying on the table and stepped to the door. "who's thar?" he demanded huskily. "murg," came a muffled reply from the other side of the door. siwash laughed, shoved a bolt, and pulled the door wide. "come in, murg," said he. "i was sorter expectin' ye." a smooth-faced man, wearing gauntlets, a long automobile coat, and with goggles pushed up above the visor of his cap, stepped into the room. he carried a rifle over his arm, and for a moment he stood blinking in the yellow lamplight. siwash charley closed the door. "got yer ottermobill fixin's on, eh?" said he, facing about after the door had been bolted; "an' by jings, if ye ain't totin' of er winchester. them fellers at totten arter you, too, murg?" murgatroyd's little, gimlet-like eyes were becoming used to the lamplight. they shot a reproving glance at siwash, then darted to pecos jones. "who's that?" he asked curtly. "him?" chuckled siwash. "oh, he's the artful dodger. i reckon he does more dodgin' across the international boundary line than ary other feller in the northwest. whenever things git too hot fer pecos jones in north dakotay, he dodges inter manitoby, and vicer verser. hoss stealin' is his line." "never stole a hoss in my life!" bridled pecos jones. "thunder!" snickered siwash. "why, i've helped ye." "how does pecos jones happen to be here?" demanded murgatroyd. "he got ter know this place o' mine while we was workin' tergether. arter that flyin' machine was tried out at fort totten, o' course i had ter slope ter some quiet spot whar i could go inter retirement, an' this ole hang-out nacherly suggested itself. when i blowed in hyer, lo! an' behold, hyer was pecos." murgatroyd appeared satisfied. standing his rifle in one corner, he pulled off his gauntlets and thrust them in his pockets, sat down on the earth shelf, and hooked up one knee between his hands. for a while he sat regarding siwash reflectively. "is pecos jones known at fort totten?" he asked. "bet yer life i ain't," said pecos for himself. "what's more," he added, nibbling at a slab of tobacco, "i don't want ter be." "he works mostly around turtle mounting," explained siwash charley. "why?" "i think he can be useful to us," answered murgatroyd. "those other two fellows who helped you at totten--where are they, siwash?" "they was nigh skeered ter death, an' made a bee line fer winnipeg." "that was a bad bobble you made at totten," resumed murgatroyd. "motor matt, in spite of you, put traquair's aëroplane through its paces, met the government's requirements in every particular, and the machine was sold to the war department for fifteen thousand dollars." "things didn't work right," growled siwash. "i tampered with that thar machine the night before the trials--loosened bolts an' screws an' filed through the wire guy ropes--but nothin' happened till the flyin' machine was done sailin' an' ready ter come down; then that cub, motor matt, got in some lightnin' headwork an' saved the machine, saved himself, an' likewise that there leftenant cameron of the signal corps." "the boy's got a charmed life, i tell ye," insisted pecos jones. "i've heerd talk, up around turtle mounting, about what he's done." "think of a full-grown man like pecos jones talkin' that-a-way!" exclaimed siwash derisively. "motor matt is clever," said murgatroyd musingly, "and i made a mistake in sizing him up. but there's a way to get him." "what do you want to 'get' him fer?" inquired pecos jones. murgatroyd drew three gold pieces from his pocket and laid them in a little stack on the table, just within the glint of the lamplight. "pecos jones," said he, "siwash, here, has vouched for you. in the little game i'm about to play we need help. you can either take that money and obey orders, or leave it and get out." there was a silence, while pecos eyed the gold greedily. after a little reflection he brushed the coins from the table and dropped them clinking into his pocket. "i'm with ye," said he. "what's wanted?" "that's the talk," approved murgatroyd. "our plans failed at the aëroplane trials,[a] but i've got another scheme which i am sure will win. you know, siwash, and perhaps pecos knows it as well, that motor matt was demonstrating that aëroplane for mrs. traquair, who lives in jamestown. motor matt came meddling with the business which i had with the woman, and the fifteen thousand, paid by the government for the aëroplane, was divided between mrs. traquair and matt. half----" [a] what murgatroyd's plans were, and why they failed, was set forth in no. of the motor stories, "motor matt on the wing; or, flying for fame and fortune." "we know all that," cut in siwash. "well, then, here's something you don't know. mrs. traquair has a quarter section of land near here, on which her husband borrowed one thousand dollars of me while perfecting his aëroplane. after traquair was killed by a fall with his flying machine, i felt sure i could get that quarter section of land on the mortgage. now motor matt, by helping mrs. traquair, has made it possible for her to pay off the mortgage. she hasn't done it yet, because i haven't been in jamestown since your failure to wreck the aëroplane at fort totten. i've been traveling around in my automobile with my niece, who is in poor health. she is in sykestown now, while i am making this night trip out here. i visited this place once before, you remember, and i kept its location so well in mind that i was able to find it without much trouble. i felt fairly certain, siwash, that you would be here, so----" "well, what's your scheme?" interrupted siwash charley. "i'm getting to that," went on murgatroyd. "motor matt and his friend joe mcglory, together with the chinese boy, ping pong, have been at fort totten ever since the aëroplane was sold to the government. the war department will take another of the traquair aëroplanes at the same price paid for this one in case it can be finished and delivered by the first of the month, in time to go to washington for trials of dirigible balloons and other devices at fort myer. motor matt is building an aëroplane for this order, and it is nearly completed. i don't care anything about that. what concerns me is that quarter section of land. for reasons of my own, i want it--and i am going to have it, if not in one way, then in another." "what's yer scheme?" asked siwash charley impatiently. "my scheme is to give motor matt such a reverse that mrs. traquair will have to come to his rescue and buy his safety with the quarter section." "ye never kin do it!" "i believe that i can." murgatroyd took a letter from his pocket and laid it on the table. "that," said he, nodding toward the letter, "is to be delivered to motor matt at fort totten by pecos jones, and jones is to tell a story which will run substantially like this." thereupon murgatroyd entered into a more lengthened review of his crafty scheme, siwash charley's eyes gleaming exultantly as he proceeded. "it's goin' ter win!" declared siwash, thumping a fist down on the table to emphasize his declaration. "i've got ter saw off even with that young cub, an' i'm with ye, murg, chaps, taps, an' latigoes! so's pecos. ye kin count on the two of us." "very good," responded murgatroyd, getting up and drawing on his gauntlets. "succeed in this, siwash, and i'll not only secure the quarter section, but you and pecos will get more money and, what's better, a promise from the government not to trouble you because of what happened at fort totten--or what's going to happen. you understand what you're going to do, so no more need be said. i'll get away before my absence from sykestown arouses any remarks. so long." the door closed, and presently the two in the dugout heard the muffled "chugging" of a distant motor car fading into silence in the direction of sykestown. chapter ii. the new aeroplane. motor matt was as happy as the proverbial bee in clover--and fully as industrious. a quarter of a mile below the post trader's store, on the devil's lake indian reservation, a tent, with its sides rolled up, was being used as a workshop. outside the tent there was a portable forge, anvil, and full outfit of blacksmith's tools. inside there was a bench with an ironworker's vise, and also a carpenter's bench and well-equipped chest. for two weeks matt had been laboring about camp traquair, as the little rendezvous was called, assisted in his work by his cowboy chum, joe mcglory, and with the chinese boy, ping, in charge of the culinary department. immediately after matt had finished the aëroplane trials, with so much credit to himself, an order had been given for a new aëroplane at the same price the government had paid for the first one, providing only that it should be finished and tried out by the first of the month. this would enable the machine to be taken apart, crated, and forwarded to fort myer for a competitive test in an event that was to determine the abilities of an aëroplane for signal corps' services, as against other types of machines, such as dirigible balloons. matt and his two friends had plunged zealously into the work. while mcglory and ping were erecting the work tent, and furnishing it with wood and iron-working tools, matt had made a trip to jamestown for a talk with mrs. traquair, and then to st. paul after materials. the tough spruce needed for the wings, or "planes," every bolt, screw and wire guy, and the motor, matt had secured in st. paul. at a large cost for expressage these materials had been shipped direct to fort totten and had arrived there on the same day that witnessed matt's return. then began a season of feverish activity, during which lieutenant cameron and others from the post had watched the king of the motor boys with wonder and admiration. that motor matt was possessed of mechanical skill the officers at the post had long known, but that his genius in construction was fully equal to his ability as an aviator became evident from day to day, and was in the nature of a revelation. "you're the best all-around chap at this business i ever saw in my life," lieutenant cameron had declared. matt laughed. "why, cameron," he answered, "i used to work in a motor plant, in albany, new york." "that may be, matt, but building a motor is a different proposition from building a flying machine." "traquair laid down the plans. all i have to do is to follow them. it's really very simple. an aëroplane, you know, is nothing more than two oblong pieces of canvas, fastened together one above the other and pushed against the air by a motor and propeller. if the motor drives the wings fast enough, they're sure to stay up." but cameron shook his head and continued to believe that motor matt was something of a phenomenon, whereas matt knew that he had merely the "knack" for the work, just as he had acquired the "knack" for using the aëroplane in the first place. "the machine," he declared to cameron, "is only a big toy." "toy?" echoed cameron. "it's more than that, matt." "for the army and navy, yes. aëroplanes can be used for scouting purposes and for dropping bombs down on hostile armies and war ships--providing they can keep clear of bullets and shells fired from below; but, even for such work, the aëroplane has its limitations." "the government," laughed cameron, "is buying these traquair aëroplanes in spite of their limitations." "our war department," answered matt, "has got to keep abreast of other war departments, and poor traquair has given you fellows the best aëroplane so far invented." "don't you think the traquair machine will ever be used for commercial purposes? won't there be fleets of them carrying passengers and merchandise between san francisco and new york and making the trip at the rate of sixty or one hundred miles an hour?" "that's a dream," averred matt; "still," he added, "dreams sometimes come true. my old dirigible balloon, the _hawk_, was a wonder. she could be sailed in a pretty stiff wind, and a fellow didn't have to use his head and hands every blessed second to keep a sudden gust of air from turning his machine upside down. i traveled thousand of miles in the _hawk_, but there was always a certain amount of worry on account of the gas. if anything happened to the silk envelope, no amount of work with your head and hands could keep you from a tumble." "well, anyway, you're in love with air ships." "i'm in love with this," and matt's gray eyes brightened as he touched the motor which he was at that moment installing in the new aëroplane, "and i'm in love with every novel use to which a motor can be put. explosive engines will furnish the power for the future, and every new way they're used helps that coming time along. but i'm giving a lecture," he smiled, going back to his work, "and i couldn't tell you exactly how i feel on this gas-engine subject if i talked a thousand years. the motors have got a strangle hold on me--they're keeping me out of college, keeping me from settling down, and filling my life with all sorts of adventures. but i can't help it. i'm under the spell of the gas engine, and that's all there is to it." it was during this talk of matt's with cameron, along toward the last days of the busy two weeks, that ping came into camp traquair with a dagger. "you savvy knife, motol matt?" asked ping, offering the dagger for inspection. matt dropped his wrench and took the weapon from the chinaman. it was not more than seven inches in length from the end of the handle to the tip of the blade. the blade was badly rusted, and the handle was incrusted with earth. "where did you get this, ping?" inquired matt, beginning to clean the dagger with the edge of a file. "my makee find in woods. you savvy place siwash cally ping one piecee night he fool with flying joss?" "flying joss" was ping's name for the aëroplane. his heathen mind made a joss of things he could not understand, and this machine of traquair's had impressed him more than anything else he had ever encountered. "i remember," answered matt. "siwash charley carried you off into the timber, near the lake shore. you found the dagger there?" "all same." "some indian must have dropped it," put in cameron. "from the way it's rusted, it looks as though the redskin must have dropped it a hundred years ago." "hardly as long ago as that," returned matt. "it's a pretty dagger, as daggers go, although i don't admire things of the kind. the blade is of mighty fine steel, and the handle is of sterling silver, set with a ruby, or a piece of colored glass to represent a ruby, at the end. and here are some initials." a little scraping with the file had bared a flat plate in the handle. matt studied the initials. "no," he remarked, "this couldn't have belonged to an indian, cameron. redskins are not carrying silver, ruby-mounted daggers with initials engraved on them." "some red may have traded pelts for it," suggested the lieutenant. "possibly." "what are the initials? can you make them out?" "there are two letters, sort of twined together," answered matt. "i make them out to be 'g. f.,' although i----" an exclamation escaped cameron. "let me see it!" he cried, stepping forward and showing an astonishment and eagerness which bewildered motor matt. for several minutes cameron turned the blade around and around in his hands, staring in amazement and muttering to himself. "will you let me have this for a little while, matt?" asked the lieutenant when he had finished his examination. "this may be a most remarkable find--remarkable as well as of tremendous importance. i can't tell about that, though, till i have a talk with some of the others at the post." "of course you can take it," said matt. "but what makes that rusty piece of steel so important?" "i'll tell you--later." thereupon the lieutenant whirled in his tracks and made off at speed in the direction of the post. mcglory had been under the aëroplane fitting in the pipe that led from the tank to the carburetor. he had overheard the talk, however, and had caught a glimpse of the dagger while the lieutenant was examining it. "tell me about that!" he exclaimed, crawling out from under the aëroplane. "there was something about that rusty old knife that knocked cameron slabsided. what do you think it was?" "give it up, joe," answered matt. "how much too long is that pipe?" in this offhand way matt dismissed the dagger from his thoughts--but not for long. an hour later, cameron could be seen chasing down the road from the post trader's, wildly excited. "i've got to talk with you, matt," said he breathlessly, as he reached the side of the aëroplane. "you'll have to give me some of your time, and no two ways about it. there's a tragedy connected with this knife--tragedy, and a whole lot of treachery. it's more than likely, too, that siwash charley is mixed up in the whirl of events that have to do with the dagger. come into the tent with me for a little while." matt gave a regretful look at the motor. he would rather have kept busy with that than listen to the most absorbing yarn that was ever told. nevertheless, there was no denying the lieutenant, and the king of the motor boys, accompanied by mcglory and ping, followed cameron into the shade of the tent. chapter iii. treachery and tragedy. "i'm no hand at spinning yarns," remarked cameron after he and the rest had seated themselves comfortably in canvas chairs, "but this is no yarn. it's history, and has to do with the dishonor of a brother officer, one captain goff fortescue, of the --th infantry, who, two years ago, was stationed at fort totten. it isn't pleasant for me to tell of a brother officer's disgrace, but the story will have to be repeated or you won't be able to understand what the finding of this dagger means." "the knife belonged to captain goff fortescue?" asked matt, remembering the initials on the handle. "yes. there now appears to be not the least doubt of that. i went up to the post and showed the knife to a member of the signal corps who used to belong to fortescue's company. he declares that he has seen that dagger in fortescue's possession a dozen times. fortescue picked it up in italy once while he was abroad--in italy, the home of the stiletto. he was very proud of it, and always had the weapon about him, in a small sheath." cameron was silent for a little, examining with pensive eyes the rusted dagger which he had laid on a table in front of him. "fortescue came to totten from the presidio, at san francisco," he finally went on. "i presume you have heard how eager one nation is to secure the plans of another nation's defenses----" "i know a good deal about that," interjected matt grimly. "other nations are just as eager to find out about submarine boats belonging to another nation--and to destroy them, if possible. when your cousin, ensign glennie, went around south america with me in the submarine _grampus_, we had our hands full keeping clear of the japs." "exactly," said cameron. "i know about that. well, our defenses in and around san francisco bay, their strength as to guns and calibre of the guns, the situation and power of the disappearing cannon, and all that, might become of importance to several nations. such information, if it can be secured, is well paid for. that is the pit into which poor fortescue dropped--killing as bright a prospect as ever lay before any officer in the service. "while fortescue was stationed at totten, he went across to devil's lake city on a week's leave. his excuse was that he had to make a business trip to st. paul, and when he went he carried a suit case with him. the eastbound train was late, and fortescue checked his suit case at the hotel and went to pass an hour or two with friends. in some way, the clerk at the hotel mixed the checks, and a commercial traveler from omaha got fortescue's grip by mistake, while fortescue was visiting his friends. "both grips, it transpired, looked exactly alike--you've seen suit cases that way, i guess--and when the drummer took the grip to his room he was surprised to find that his key wouldn't unlock it. it was necessary for the drummer to get into the case, and he broke the lock. instead of finding what he was looking for, he discovered a mass of plans and blue-prints, with sheet after sheet of memoranda, all descriptive of our defensive works in and around san francisco! "naturally, the drummer was astounded. then, for the first time, he looked at the lettering on the end of the suit case. just as you found on that dagger, he discovered on the suit case the initials, 'g. f.' while he was looking over the documents fortescue burst wildly into the room and demanded his property. of course, the drummer gave up the suit case and the papers. he thought no more of the matter just then, for fortescue was an officer of the army and, the drummer believed, entitled to the documents. "three days later fortescue was discovered dead in the woods not far from the place where ping was found by the indian the afternoon of the aëroplane trials. he had been slain by a dagger thrust and stripped of all his personal possessions. there was no marks of a scuffle, and the affair became a great mystery, for fortescue's dagger--that dagger--was missing, although the sheath was still in fortescue's breast pocket. "the news got out. the drummer, who was at grand forks, read an account of the affair in a newspaper, and immediately started for totten. he told what he knew about the plans in fortescue's satchel. this information pointed to shame and disgrace, in the matter of fortescue, but every one reserved judgment, not wishing to judge the captain until more concerning the affair had come out. "fortescue had started for st. paul. why had he not gone there? instead, he was found south of the lake, in the woods, dead from a dagger thrust. "why had he the plans and memoranda in his possession? and where were the suit case and the plans?" "some thought he had been going to sell the plans to the agent of some foreign nation, that he was afraid the commercial traveler would tell of the mistake made in the hotel, and that he had got rid of the satchel and taken his own life. the bottom of the lake, just off the place where fortescue was found, was dragged, but the satchel could not be found. nor has it been found to this day." cameron paused. "that's what happened, cameron," said matt. "fortescue was treacherous. when he saw he had been discovered, his treasonable designs so worked upon him that he probably destroyed the satchel and the plans and killed himself." "wait, motor matt," proceeded cameron; "there's more to it. the same day fortescue started across devil's lake to take the train east, a soldier named cant phillips deserted from fort totten. this phillips also came from the presidio, and belonged with fortescue's company. the soldier was never found--and this, you will remember, happened two years ago." "but what has phillips to do with fortescue and the plans?" "here is where guesswork comes in. ping found the knife on the spot where siwash charley and two of his villainous comrades carried the boy the night the aëroplane was tampered with. suppose siwash charley had dropped the knife?" "more likely," returned matt, "fortescue dropped it after he stabbed himself." "no. the ground was searched all around in that vicinity, and the knife could not be found. if fortescue gave himself a mortal wound, he would have had to drop the knife on the spot. it wasn't there at that time. the knife, as a matter of fact, hasn't laid so long in the woods as its appearance would indicate. the rust is only on the surface of the steel, and fifteen minutes' work will clean the dagger so that it will be almost as bright as ever. i don't think it has been in the woods more than two weeks. in short, it's my notion that siwash charley dropped it when he and his pals carried ping to the place where he was left." this was rather startling, but still matt and mcglory were unable to puzzle out the point cameron was driving at. "how could siwash charley get hold of the knife?" asked matt. "siwash charley appeared in this part of the country, from nowhere in particular, some year and a half ago. he was accused of stealing horses, but the crime was never proved against him." "i'm a piute," breathed mcglory, "if i can see what siwash has to do with this fortescue party." without seeming to notice the comment, cameron went on: "cant phillips may have been concerned in the treachery that has to do with fortescue's plans. possibly he met fortescue in the woods, here to the south of the lake, the day he deserted; that he and fortescue quarreled; that phillips felled fortescue with a blow of the fist and then took the dagger from fortescue's pocket and completed his work; and then, following that, phillips may have skipped out with the suit case, the plans--and the dagger." "but how," said matt, still puzzled, "could siwash charley get the dagger from this man phillips, assuming that what you guess about the affair is true?" "i believe," and here cameron leaned forward and spoke sternly and impressively, "that cant phillips and siwash charley are one and the same!" matt, mcglory, and even ping were profoundly stirred by this announcement. "but," cried matt, "does siwash charley look like cant phillips?" "not much, so far as i've been able to discover. still, two years will make a big change in a man--especially if the man does what he can to help on the change. fortescue killed himself two years ago, and it was a year and a half ago that siwash charley appeared in this part of the country. at times there is a soldierly bearing about siwash charley which may have been the result of training in the army. besides, he is about the height and build of phillips. a soldier looks vastly different out of his uniform and in rough civilian clothes." "then," observed matt, watching through the open side of the tent as a horseman came galloping down the road from the direction of the post trader's, "the military have a double purpose in capturing siwash charley." "they will have," declared cameron grimly, "as soon as i air my suspicions. for the present, though, keep what i have said to yourself. ah," he finished, as the horseman drew up beside the tent, "a visitor, matt, and rather a rough one, at that." cameron excused himself, picked up the fateful dagger, and started back toward the post. matt stepped out to pass a few words with the horseman, while mcglory went to his work on the aëroplane. "my name's hackberry," said the horseman, a wiry, ferret-like figure of a man, "an' i got a letter here fer motor matt. which is him?" chapter iv. murgatroyd's first move. motor matt was a keen reader of character. at first glance, and from a distance, he had not liked hackberry's appearance any too well; and now, at closer view, he liked it less. "i am motor matt," said he. "sho," muttered the horseman; "hit it first clatter out o' the box, didn't i?" after a cautious look around, he dismounted and thrust his arm through the loop of the bridle. "what i got to say is private," said he, "an' i guess we better go off some'r's by ourselves." "we couldn't talk with any more privacy if we were a hundred miles away. where are you from, mr. hackberry?" "from over in wells county. ye see, i got a claim over there, an'---- but say, are ye plumb sure it's safe fer us ter talk? i was warned ter look out fer siwash charley an' his friends, and fer any other tinhorns that might be workin' fer murgatroyd." "who warned you?" "mrs. traquair." "then you're from jamestown?" "not much i ain't! mrs. traquair ain't in jimtown. say, what sort of a lookin' feller is this siwash charley?" "never mind about that just now. siwash charley isn't around here, nor are any other of murgatroyd's friends. tell me how you came to have a talk with mrs. traquair?" "well, as i was sayin', i got a claim over t'other side o' sykestown. it jines corners with a homestead harry traquair took up--the same harry traquair what mortgaged his quarter section fer enough ter go ter jimtown an' build a flyin' machine. well, i haven't put down a well on my claim yet, so i gits my drinkin' water from traquair's claim, that bein' the nighest. there ain't been any one livin' in traquair's shack fer a year, an' i was kinder surprised, t'other day, when i seen a man movin' around the place. i talked with the feller while i was gittin' a bucket o' water, an' he says he's come there ter take keer o' the crops. he was a tough-lookin' chap, an' i didn't like his looks any too well, but if mrs. traquair had sent him, and he suited her, why, he ort ter suit me, too. "while i was talkin' with the man, me by the pump an' facin' the side of the house, an' him standin' with his back to the wall, a piece of paper was pushed out from between the boards an' dropped down on the ground. "at first i was goin' ter tell the man about it, an' then i allowed it was purty queer--that shack leakin' a piece o' paper through the side that way, an' i held in about it. you know how these claim shacks is built--some of 'em jest throwed tergether, with cracks between the boards big enough ter heave a dog out of. "bymby the feller i was talkin' to excused himself an' went inter the house. the road i took carried me along the wall, an' as i went by i stooped down an' picked up the paper. there was writin' on it, an' i wah plumb surprised when i read that writin'. here, i'll let ye see it fer yerself." hackberry dug up a three-cornered scrap of brown paper from the depths of his pocket, shook some loose tobacco out of it, and handed it to matt. matt managed to make the following out of the hastily written scrawl: "i have been waiting, mr. hackberry, and trying to get word to you. if you see this, and pick it up, it will inform you that i was lured to this place from jamestown, that i am being kept a prisoner here, and that i must talk with you as soon as possible, or the homestead will be taken away from me. come quietly to the side of the house, where you picked up this paper, at night. i can whisper to you what i want, and the man who is keeping me a prisoner will never know. you used to be a friend of poor harry's, so i hope you will help me. "mrs. traquair." it would have been hard to describe matt's feelings as he read this penciled scrawl. it had been a week since he had received a letter from mrs. traquair, and the cunning murgatroyd might have carried out many underhand plans in a week! "did you go to the house that night, mr. hackberry?" asked matt. "did i? why, o' course i did. bein' such a friend o' harry traquair's, why shouldn't i try ter help his wife? they was allus good neighbors." "what did mrs. traquair say to you?" "what we said was all whisperin' an' through a knot hole that was broke out in the wall. she said a feller named murgatroyd had wanted ter git the homestead away from her, an' that he wasn't goin' ter let her go back ter her children until she give him a quitclaim deed ter the hundred an' sixty. i told her ter let me go ter sykestown an' git the deperty sher'ff, an' that him an' me 'u'd snake her out o' that shack too quick. but she wouldn't allow that. 'no,' she says, an' her voice was that sobbin' an' plaintive it would have moved a heart o' stone; 'no,' she says, ''cause then murgatroyd might hear what was goin' on an' have me took away ter some other place.' she d'ruther have me, she says, come ter fort totten an' give a letter ter motor matt. 'he'll know what ter do,' she says, 'an' he's a lad o' fine sperrit, an' i owe him a lot.' so she poked out this letter, an' i've rid hossback all the way from my shack, an' i been all o' two days makin' the trip." as he finished, hackberry dug up the letter from another pocket. it was inclosed in a soiled yellow envelope and was addressed to "motor matt, fort totten." matt tore off the end of the envelope, and drew out a sheet of paper of the same color as that which hackberry had already shown him. the letter was short, but sufficiently startling. "my dear friend: i have fallen into the hands of murgatroyd--mr. hackberry will tell you where i am. murgatroyd seems determined to get the homestead. i know you will come to my rescue, but come quickly. "mrs. traquair." "anythin' else you want ter know?" asked hackberry. "this is terrible!" exclaimed matt. "i can hardly think even murgatroyd would do such a thing." "i don't know nothin' 'bout that. i ain't acquainted none with this murgatroyd, but i can tell ye there's some mighty tough citizens in this here state." "how in the world could murgatroyd lure mrs. traquair away from jamestown?" "ye got me. mrs. traquair didn't say. we didn't talk much more'n we had to, seein' as how the feller that had charge o' the shack might come in on us at any minit." "and how," went on matt, "can murgatroyd hope to make mrs. traquair give up the claim?" "i guess he expects ter keep her a pris'ner until she signs the quitclaim." "a quitclaim deed, secured like that, wouldn't hold in law for a minute! murgatroyd has loaned enough money to understand that." "like enough, but it's some sich game he's tryin', jest the same." motor matt was puzzled. hackberry's story seemed straight enough, but there were points about it that made him incredulous. "what ye goin 'ter do, motor matt?" asked hackberry. "i'm going to look after mrs. traquair," declared matt. "sure! that's what she said ye'd do. better git a hoss an' ride back with me." "it has taken you two days to come, hackberry. why didn't you come by train?" "fer one thing, i didn't have no money. fer another, i was afeared murgatroyd might have some spies hangin' around sykestown, so i dodged the place by comin' cross-kentry. i reckon we'd better go back the same way i come, hey?" "no, it's too slow. i'll go by train." hackberry appeared disappointed. "what'll i tell mrs. traquair?" he asked. "you'll not be able to tell her anything--i'll get to her homestead long before you do. where is it?" "eighteen mile due west o' sykestown; anybody kin tell ye the place when ye git started from sykestown on the main road. i won't be able ter go with ye, seein' as how i got my hoss ter git back." "well, hackberry, you follow mrs. traquair's instructions and say nothing to any one. she evidently knows what it is best to do. i'll look after her, and after this man murgatroyd, too. mrs. traquair has money, and you'll be well repaid for your trouble." "money 'u'd come handy ter me, an' that's a fact," said hackberry, "though i'd have done this fer mrs. traquair if there hadn't been a cent comin'. when'll ye start?" "just as soon as i can." "ye'll go by the way of sykestown?" "there's no other way if i go by railroad." "all right, then. the responsibility is off'n my shoulders an' onter yourn. good-by." hackberry rode off along the road in the direction of the town of lallie, which lay on his homeward route. matt, as soon as the messenger had started, hurried up to the post. there was a telegraph office there and he sent a couple of messages. one was to mrs. harry traquair, jamestown, north dakota, and asked if she was well and at home. the other was to a lawyer in jamestown named matthews, with whom matt had some acquaintance, and requested the lawyer to let him know, at once, whether mrs. traquair and murgatroyd were in jamestown. matt was suspicious of hackberry, and wanted to be sure of his ground before he made any move. at the same time, matt realized that there was not a moment to be lost if mrs. traquair was really being held a prisoner in the shack on her homestead. in order to get to sykestown by train, matt would have to go to carrington, change cars, and proceed on the branch to his destination. at the post he learned that there was a train on the branch only every other day. more than that, the train south from minnewaukon had left for that day and there would not be another until the following morning. if he waited until morning and took the train, he would be set down in carrington on one of the days when the train was not running on the branch. it seemed as though he was bound to lose at least two days before he could get to sykestown, and that it might have been better, after all, if he had gone with hackberry on horseback. greatly disturbed, he went back to camp traquair and told mcglory the latest news. "it's a scheme o' some kind," averred the cowboy. "i'll bet money, pard, you get a telegram from mrs. traquair saying she's all right." but matt received no message from mrs. traquair. he did get one from matthews, however, and cameron brought it down from the post. hastily matt tore open the message and read it. "murgatroyd not in town for two weeks; mrs. traquair not in town for a week. can't find where either has gone. matthews." matt believed, then, that hackberry had told the truth and that the letter was genuine. and so it happened that murgatroyd's first move in his rascally game was attended with success. chapter v. a startling plan. "what's up, matt?" asked cameron. "you've been sending telegrams from the post, and here's an answer to one of them." matt repeated hackberry's story, then showed the lieutenant the ragged note and the letter. "it's a fishy yarn," mused cameron. "for a clever man of business, like murgatroyd, to extort a quitclaim deed from a woman in that way is rank foolishness, say nothing of the criminal part of it, which is very apt to get the scoundrel into trouble. no, i can't believe murgatroyd would do such a thing. who is this fellow hackberry?" "he says he has a claim joining traquair's on the----" "yes, i know what he says, but where is the proof that what he says is true? this villain, siwash charley, is a bitter enemy of yours, matt, and he isn't likely to stop at anything." matt told cameron of the messages sent to mrs. traquair and to matthews. "i haven't heard from mrs. traquair," he finished, "but here's the message from matthews." cameron read it over, his brow clouding. "do you know matthews very well, matt?" he inquired. "yes. he's a friend of mrs. traquair's and no friend of murgatroyd's." "then his word, in this matter, ought to be as good as his bond. but, how in heaven's name, was it possible for mrs. traquair to let herself be spirited away?" "murgatroyd is a loan shark," explained matt, "and he is full of plausible tricks. he's not in jamestown, and mrs. traquair isn't there. hackberry's story, hard as it is to believe, in some respects, is beginning to prove itself." "i don't like it, anyhow," and cameron shook his head forebodingly. "that's the way i stack up," declared mcglory. "i've got a hunch that there's a screw loose in all this crossfire of talk and letters--talk through knot holes and letters pushed through the walls of houses. rot!" he grunted disgustedly. "maybe there's nothing in hackberry's yarn," said matt decisively, "but i can't turn my back on it. if mrs. traquair is in trouble, i must do what i can to help her out." "sufferin' brain twisters!" cried mcglory. "why didn't she let hackberry bring the deputy sheriff from sykestown? but, no. she had to send hackberry over here, using up two valuable days, just to get you." "murgatroyd might have spies in sykestown watching the deputy sheriff," replied matt. "it would be easy for the spy to carry a warning to the traquair homestead and have the man in charge of the shack remove mrs. traquair to some other place." "gammon!" snorted mcglory. "somebody's playin' lame duck, you hear me." cameron brightened suddenly. "you got a letter from mrs. traquair the other day, didn't you, matt?" he asked. "that was a week ago," answered matt. "how does the handwriting compare? is it the same in the letter as it is in these two scraps brought in by hackberry?" matt rummaged through his satchel and brought out mrs. traquair's letter. then they all, even ping, began comparing the writing. "i give up," said cameron. "the writing's the same. suppose we take the train for sykestown to-morrow, matt, and go to the rescue of mrs. traquair?" "there's no train out of carrington until day after to-morrow," said matt. "let's get a hand car, or one of these gasoline speeders, and go over the branch to sykestown," suggested mcglory. matt's eyes sparkled at mention of the gasoline speeder, for as yet he had had no experience with one of them. "we wouldn't be liable to find such a thing as a 'speeder' in a small place like carrington," said he. "then we'll get an automobile from devil's lake city," put in cameron. "by jupiter, matt, i'm pretty nearly as warm about this business as you are. an automobile, that's the thing!" "it might be hard to get one," continued matt. "you fellows can come in an automobile, but i think i'll go by air line." "air line?" echoed the lieutenant, puzzled. "yes," was the quiet reply. "two hours' work will finish the aëroplane, and----" "great scott!" exclaimed the lieutenant, aghast; "it's a new and untried machine. you don't know whether it will fly or not." "if it won't fly, then the government won't buy it, and it will be a good thing for us to know that as soon as possible. but it will fly, cameron." "but, listen," proceeded cameron gravely. "you're proposing a two-hundred-mile flight, straight away--something unheard of in the use of aëroplanes. heavier-than-air machines have only been tried over a prescribed course, up to now--from the starting point, through the air, and then back to the starting point again. this plan of yours, matt, looks like madness to me." "it would be a fine introduction of the machine to the tests at fort myer if it could be said that the aëroplane sailed for two hundred miles over a straight-away course!" matt's face glowed at the thought. to do something different, something daring that would advance the science of aviation, _that_ would certainly be worth while. "besides this," pursued matt earnestly, "i'll have an advantage over murgatroyd and his villainous helpers. they will not be expecting a rescue through the air, while they may be prepared to ward off one by automobile. it is not impossible," he finished, with a trace of enthusiasm, "that i may be able to pick mrs. traquair up and bring her to fort totten in the aëroplane. think of that! she would be rescued by her husband's invention." "you wouldn't get her to ride in that aëroplane in a thousand years," declared mcglory. "she's scared of it, and has been even before her husband was killed. shucks! give it up pard, and go with us in the automobile." matt shook his head. "i'm going in the machine," he answered. "you fellows can follow in the automobile." "follow! speak to me about that. why, pard, if the automobile is any good at all we'll lead you all the way to wells county." "not if there's no wind, or only a very little. i figure that the new aëroplane can do better than sixty miles an hour. but let's get busy, joe; there's more work to be done." cameron left at once to go across the lake and secure an automobile, ping proceeded to get supper, and matt and mcglory put their finishing touches on the aëroplane's motor. "here's a thing you haven't thought of, pard," remarked mcglory, when the last bolt had been tightened, "and that's about sending this machine to washington. if anything happens to it, or if you're delayed in wells county, there's fifteen thousand gone up the spout." "the money is not to be considered if there's a chance of helping mrs. traquair," returned matt. but the possibility opened up by mcglory filled the king of the motor boys with regret. he had set his heart on building the new aëroplane, putting it to the test and then selling it to the government just as he had sold the first one. this particular machine was the work of his own hands, while the other had been traquair's. he was proud of it, and it struck a pang to his heart to think there was even a bare chance of his not being able to turn the machine over to the government, now that it was built. however, he put his regret resolutely behind him. "i'm not looking for a reverse, joe," said he, "at this stage of the game. luck's been on my side for quite a while, and i don't believe it will go back on me. i have yet to be caught in a losing cause--and this won't be a losing cause if we can find and rescue mrs. traquair." at that moment ping showed himself around the lower end of the tent and shouted, in his high cackle, "suppa' leddy!" the boys ate supper. there was not much talk during the meal, for all were thoughtful, and mcglory, at least, was troubled with forebodings. the meal over, matt and mcglory tried the motor. it failed to work as it should, and matt kept at it until it was going properly. then, cautiously, he turned the power into the propeller. the machine, when started according to custom, got its initial impetus by having the power applied to a set of bicycle wheels. the blades of the propeller, slapping the air, however, developed a force that started the aëroplane, and matt had to shut off the power in a hurry. "sufferin' race horses!" murmured the astonished mcglory. "who ever heard of the like of that?" "mr. maxim discovered it first," replied matt. "why, he drove a boat through the water, at the rate of six miles an hour, merely by having a propeller turn in the air! but let's go to bed; we've a lot on hand for to-morrow." if the intrepid king of the motor boys had only guessed what was waiting for him in wells county, his sleep would probably not have been so sound or so peaceful as it was. chapter vi. the air line into trouble. motor matt had the wells county country firmly fixed in his mind. he had never been over it, but he had studied the map and secured a fairly good theoretical knowledge. sykestown was at the end of the branch road, the railroads east and west, and north and south, forming a right angle with respect to fort totten. carrington, the junction point, was at the corner of the angle. by using the aëroplane, matt believed he could fly straight across the gap between fort totten and sykestown, giving carrington a wide berth. there were some hills, but what were hills and roads to him while in the air? rough country would bother the automobile--it could not affect the aëroplane. aëroplanes, matt had gathered from his reading on the subject, were peculiar in this, that no two machines ever conduct themselves exactly the same in flight. a pair of "flyers" may be built exactly on the same model, with all dimensions and power equipment identical, and yet the moment they leave earth and launch themselves into the blue each develops eccentricities peculiar to itself. in a great measure, every machine has to be "learned." this was the one point that bothered matt. would the new aëroplane be easy or difficult to learn? if difficult, he might have to make a few trial flights at camp traquair before setting off for sykestown. morning dawned propitiously. the sun was bright, the day cloudless, and only a breath of air stirring. while the boys were at breakfast, cameron came chugging into camp with a powerful touring car--a six-cylinder, sixty horse, so trim and "classy"-looking that matt had to smother a fierce desire to drop into the driver's seat and change his plans. soldiers, under sergeant o'hara, were to strip the camp while the boys were away, removing everything to the post. in building the aëroplane, matt had made a number of departures from traquair's original designs. one of these was the equipping of the flying machine with two gasoline tanks instead of one, the supply of fuel being taken from either at will. with tanks full and oil chambers brimming, mcglory and cameron pushed the aëroplane into the road. just before matt took his seat the lieutenant tried to force upon him a loaded six-shooter. matt waved it away with a laugh. "i'd rather trust to my heels, cameron," he said, "than to one of those things." "but you might need it," insisted cameron. "couldn't use it if i did. when a fellow's up in an aëroplane both hands are occupied." "we'll keep up with you, pard," said mcglory. "i don't think you will, joe, if everything works as i hope and expect. i'm going in an air line, while you fellows will have to follow the road. where'll we meet in case we get separated?" "sykestown, to-morrow morning," suggested cameron. "all right," matt answered as he took his seat on the lower plane and swung his feet to the foot rest. "don't run with her to give her a start--let's see if i can't get her off without any help." mcglory, cameron, and ping drew away and watched. the motor began to pop, and then to settle into a steady hum. a pull at a lever sent the power into the bicycle wheels. the aëroplane leaped off along the hard road, gradually increasing its speed as the air under the wings continued to lighten the weight on the wheels. at a distance of a hundred feet the aëroplane soared into the air, under perfect control. those on the ground, as well as the soldiers engaged in stripping the camp, gave three hearty cheers. "hoop-a-la!" chattered ping. "him plenty fine cloud joss." "matt's aëroplane is a better one than that of traquair's--it flies steadier," averred cameron, enthusiastically. "speak to me about this!" muttered the cowboy, his eyes on the great white machine as it swooped upward and onward toward the west. "let's dig out, pards," he added, suddenly starting toward the automobile. "we've got to put in some mighty good licks if we keep up with mile-a-minute matt." ping had already thrown a bag of rations into the tonneau of the motor car, and cameron sprang around in front and began cranking. just as the engine took up its cycle, and cameron was starting to take his seat at the steering wheel, mcglory called his attention to a trooper who was galloping down from the direction of the post trader's. "what do you suppose that swatty is after, cameron?" the cowboy asked. "he's coming this way just a-smoking, and look how he's waving his arms. something's up." "we've got to wait for him," growled the lieutenant, "and that means we lose a couple of minutes. and we haven't got many minutes to waste," he added, with a look at the swiftly diminishing white speck in the western sky. "telegram for motor matt, leftenant," cried the trooper, reining in his horse and jerking a yellow envelope from his belt. "you're too late, latham," said cameron. "motor matt's swinging against the sky, a mile away." "the operator says it's important," insisted latham. "i hate to tamper with pard matt's telegrams," remarked mcglory, "but i reckon i'd better read this one. what do you say, cameron?" "read it--and be quick. i'll start, as i don't think there'll be any answer to send back. anyhow, if there should be an answer we'll forward it from minnewaukon." the fretting motor had its power thrown into the wheels. as it glided away at steadily increasing speed, mcglory tore the end off the envelope and drew out the inclosed sheet. the next moment he gave a wild yell. the cowboy was on the seat beside cameron, and the latter caught his breath and gave him an amazed sidelong look. mcglory's face had gone white under its tan and he had slumped back in his seat. "what in sam hill is the matter, mcglory?" cried cameron. the cowboy jerked himself together and leaned toward the lieutenant. "overhaul the flyin' machine!" he shouted hoarsely. "you've got to! if we don't get a word with matt something's sure going to happen to him." "how's that?" asked the startled cameron. ping, catching the general alarm, leaned over the back of the seat. "telle pidgin!" he implored. "what tleleglam say, huh?" "it's from mrs. traquair," replied mcglory. "from mrs. traquair?" echoed cameron. "then she's got away from murgatroyd and his rascally hirelings." "got away from 'em?" bellowed mcglory. "why, they never had her at that homestead! the whole blooming business is a frame-up, just as i thought, all along. murgatroyd and siwash charley are trying to play even with matt. hit her up, can't you, cameron? for heaven's sake, let her out! if you don't matt will get away from us and drop right into the hands of those scheming scoundrels." cameron pushed the automobile for all it was worth. the ground raced out from under the flying wheels. the road was like asphalt, and the speedometer indicator ran up and up until it pointed to fifty miles an hour. "do better than that!" cried mcglory, his wild eyes on the white speck in the sky. "you've got to do better than that, cameron. matt said he could do sixty miles. if you can't equal that, murg and his men will beat us out." cameron had sixty horses under the touch of his fingers, but there was nothing he could do to send the automobile at a faster gait. "where did the telegram come from?" he shouted, bending over the wheel and watching the road as it rushed toward the swaying car. "from jamestown," yelled mcglory. they had to talk at the top of their voices in order to make themselves heard in the wind of their flight. "what does it say?" "it says that mrs. traquair has been making a little visit with friends in fargo; that she has just got back and found matt's telegram; and that she is well. that proves that this whole game is a trap--hackberry, hackberry's letters, and all. oh, sufferin' tinhorns! i'm crazy to fight, crazy to do something to stop matt and to put a crimp in in that gang of sharks and double-dyed villains. can't you do any better than this, cameron?" cameron was doing all that he possibly could. the aëroplane was a mere speck against the blue of the sky, steadily increasing the distance that separated it from the racing automobile. "we no ketchee!" panted ping. "by klismus, motol matt all same eagle bird. woosh! no ketchee!" "the chink's got it right, mcglory," cried cameron. "unless something happens to the aëroplane we'll never overhaul it. matt's gaining on us right along." "and all we can do is to watch and let him gain," fumed the cowboy. "i feel like i did, once, when i was tied hand and foot and gagged while a gang of roughs were setting fire to a boathouse in which pard matt lay asleep. oh, speak to me about this!" then, all at once, the motor went wrong, and the car lost speed until it came to a dead stop. mcglory groaned. "of course this had to happen," he stormed. "if you're ever in a hurry something is bound to go wrong with these blooming chug carts. we're out of the race, cameron. take your time, take your time. hang the confounded luck, anyway." cameron got down and went feverishly to work locating the trouble. ping tumbled out of the tonneau and fluttered around, dancing up and down in his excitement and anxiety. mcglory did not get out of his seat. gloomily he kept his eyes on the fading speck in the heavens until he could see it no more. "it's out of sight," he muttered heavily. "the aëroplane?" asked cameron, fumbling with the sparking apparatus. "what else do you think i mean?" snapped the cowboy, in his worst humor. "matt's done for, and all we can do is sit here and let him rush on at the rate of a mile a minute straight into the trap that has been set for him. sufferin' snakes! did you ever run into anything like this before?" chapter vii. nothing doing in sykestown. cameron, by a happy blunder, finally located the trouble, and repaired it. mcglory had a little knowledge of motors and he might have helped, but his dejection was so profound that all he could do was to sit in the car, muttering to himself. "buck up, mcglory," said cameron, jerking the crank and noting that the motor took up its humming tune as well as ever. "while there's life there's hope, you know. we'll be able to do something yet." "oh, yes," gibed mcglory. "with a car going fifty miles we'll be able to overhaul a flying machine doing sixty." "of course," went on cameron, getting into the car and starting, "we can't expect to overtake matt unless something should go wrong with the aëroplane, but----" "if anything goes wrong with the aëroplane then matt breaks his neck. that won't do." "i was going to say," proceeded the lieutenant as he teased the car to its best pace, "that we're to meet matt at sykestown in the morning. if anything is to happen to him, mcglory, it will be on the other side of sykestown. calm down a little, can't you? we'll reach the meeting point by morning, all right, and then we can tell matt about the message from mrs. traquair." the cowboy had not thought of this point, and yet it was so simple that it should have occurred to him before. instantly his worry and alarm gave way to hope. "right you are, cameron," said he. "when i go into a taking i always lose my head and slip a cog. we can't catch up with matt. that's out of the question. as you say, though, we can sure find him in sykestown." the car swung into minnewaukon, and there was a momentary pause for counsel. "if matt's taking the air line, as he said he was going to do," remarked cameron, "then he'll be cutting the corner between here and sykestown. there are poor roads and bad hills on that lap, and we'll make better time by taking the longer way round and going by carrington." "maybe he didn't go that way," said mcglory. "if he has to come down for anything he'll have to have a fairly good stretch of trail in which to get a start before the flying machine can climb into the air. like as not he went by way of carrington, himself." "we'll soon settle that," and cameron made inquiries of a man who was standing beside the car. yes, the man had seen the aëroplane. it had passed over the town and went southwest. "that settles it, mcglory," said cameron. "matt cut the corner. if he'd gone by way of carrington he'd have started south." "he's taking a big chance on his machine going wrong," muttered the cowboy, "but matt can take more chances and come out right side up than any fellow you ever saw. it's carrington for us, though." cameron headed the machine southward and they flickered out of minnewaukon like a brown streak. nothing went wrong, and they hit a steady, forty-mile-an-hour gait and kept it up through lallie, oberon, sheyenne, divide, and new rockford. here and there was an occasional slough which they were obliged to go around, but the delay was unavoidable. it was three o'clock in the afternoon when they reached carrington, and they congratulated themselves on the ease with which they had covered so much of their journey. they halted for an hour in carrington, cameron and mcglory going over the machine and replenishing the gasoline and oil. at four they pulled out for sykestown, and had barely crossed the carrington town line before accidents began to happen. first, a front tire blew up. a flying stone gouged the shoe and the inner tube sprung a leak. an hour was lost repairing the damage. nevertheless, the cowboy kept his temper well in hand, for they had not planned to reach sykestown and meet matt before morning. a mile beyond the place where the tire had blown up the electricity went wrong; then the carburetor began to flood; and last of all the feed pipe became clogged. "let's leave the old benzine-buggy in the road and walk the rest of the way," suggested mcglory. "a pair of bronks and a wagon for me, any old day." it was eleven o'clock at night when they got into sykestown and pulled to a halt in front of the only hotel in the place. there was no garage, and cameron backed the car under an open shed in the rear of the hotel. while he was doing this, mcglory was making inquiries regarding motor matt. "nothing doing, cameron," announced the cowboy, meeting the lieutenant as he came into the hotel. "matt hasn't got here yet?" "he hasn't been seen or heard of. that's some queer, i reckon. he took a crosscut. coming at sixty miles an hour, barring accidents, he ought to have reached sykestown by noon." "well," said the optimistic lieutenant, "it's a good thing to know he hasn't got here and gone on without waiting for us. matt knows we were not to meet until morning. he may be waiting at some farmer's shack, somewhere out of town. let's get a hand-out and then go to bed. wrestling with a refractory motor is tiresome work." this was sensible advice, and the cowboy, although he did not accept cameron's explanation of matt's absence, concluded to accept it. mcglory was up at dawn, however, inquiring anxiously for news. there was none. taking a chair out in front of the hotel he sat down to wait. an hour later, ping came scuffling around the corner of the hotel. "where have you been, ping?" mcglory asked. "my makee sleep in choo-choo car," replied the chinaman, taking an upward squint at the sky with his slant eyes. "cloud joss no makee come, huh?" "nary, ping. i'm which and t'other about this, too. we're up against a rough game of some kind, and i'd give my eyeteeth to know what it is." "plaps motol matt makee lescue melican lady all by himself." "there's no melican lady to rescue, and that's the worst of it." at this moment cameron issued from the hotel. he had his khaki jacket over his arm and the handles of a brace of six-shooters showed above the tops of his hip pockets. "no sign of matt yet, eh?" he asked cheerily. "nary a sign, cameron," replied mcglory. "unless something had gone crossways, he'd have been on here early this morning." "i don't believe in crossing bridges until you get to them," said cameron, dropping down on a bench. "you know motor matt better than i do, mcglory," he went on, "but i'm well enough acquainted with him to know that he keeps his head with him all the time and never gets rattled." "he's the boy on the job, all right," averred the cowboy, with a touch of pride. "but what good's a cool head and plenty of pluck if a flying machine up-ends with you a couple of hundred feet in the air?" cameron grew silent, and a little bit thoughtful. "there was a still day yesterday," said he, at last, "and only a bit of a breeze this morning. it's not at all likely that any accident of that kind happened." "i'm not thinking of that so much as i am of murgatroyd and his gang," went on mcglory. "that bunch of tinhorns may have laid for matt somewhere between sykestown and minnewaukon." "hardly. they wouldn't be expecting him by air ship, and across country, the way he started." "hackberry, you remember, wanted him to get a horse and ride cross country." "but matt told hackberry he expected to reach sykestown by train. because of that, no matter what the plans of murgatroyd and his men were, they'd have to give over their designs and lay for matt somewhere between here and the traquair homestead." "that's where you're shy some more," said mcglory. "hackberry, coming on horseback from minnewaukon, hasn't got to where murg is, yet, so he can't have told him what matt was expecting to do. take it from me, cameron, there was a gang on that cross-country road, last night, layin' for our pard." "well, if there was," returned cameron easily, "then motor matt sailed over their heads. but all this is mere guesswork," he added, "and mighty poor guesswork, at that. we'll just wait here until matt shows up." there was a silence for a while, ping getting a crick in his neck holding his head back and watching the sky toward the north and east. "no makee see cloud joss," he murmured. neither mcglory nor cameron paid much attention to the report. if matt had been coming in the aëroplane the excitement in the town would quickly have apprised them of the fact. "i can't understand," said cameron musingly, "what this murgatroyd hopes to accomplish by all this criminal work." "you can't?" echoed mcglory. "well, matt butted into murgatroyd's game and knocked his villainous schemes galley-west. that don't make murg feel anyways good, does it? then there's siwash charley. he's a tinhorn and _mucho malo_, and there's no love lost between him and the king of the motor boys. what's the result if murg and siwash get matt in their clutches?" the cowboy scowled and ground his teeth. "you ought to be able to figure that out, cameron, just as well as i can." "murgatroyd isn't anybody's fool," said cameron. "he's not going to go to any desperate length with matt and run his neck into a noose." "murg won't, but what does siwash charley care? he's already badly wanted, and he's the sort of cold-game gent who does things when he's crossed. murg will play safe, but siwash is apt to break away from murg's plans and saw off with matt in his own way. what that way is i'm afraid to think about, or----" the noise of a motor was heard up the road, accompanied by the hollow rumble of a car crossing the bridge over pipestem creek. "another car coming this way," remarked cameron, looking in the direction from which the sound came. buildings intervened between the front of the hotel and the bridge, effectually shutting off the view. a moment after cameron had spoken, however, a big car came around a turn in the road and headed for the hotel. the car carried two passengers--a man and a woman. the moment the car hove in sight, the proprietor of the hotel came out and leaned against the wall of the building near the door. "i don't know what's to be done now," muttered the proprietor. "there's only room in that shed o' mine for one automobile, an' your machine is there. what'll mr. murgatroyd do with his car?" "murgatroyd!" exploded cameron, jumping to his feet. "murgatroyd!" cried mcglory. "woosh!" chattered ping. "we no ketchee matt, mebbyso we ketchee murg, huh?" up to that moment there had been nothing doing in sykestown; but now, with startling suddenness, there seemed to be plenty on the programme. chapter viii. brought to earth. if mcglory, cameron, and ping were delighted with the start of the new aëroplane, motor matt was doubly so. matt was "at the helm" and capable of appreciating the machine's performance as his friends could not do. preserving an equilibrium, and riding on a more or less even keel, is the hardest point to be met in navigating an aëroplane. the centre of wind pressure and the centre of gravitation is constantly changing, and each change must be instantly met by manipulating the wings. in the traquair machine, equilibrium was preserved by expanding or contracting the wing area, giving more resistance to the air on one side and less on the other, as necessity demanded. matt, facing westward in the direction of minnewaukon, could give no attention to his friends, every faculty being required for the running of the flying machine. every condition that had so far developed the aëroplane was meeting wonderfully well; but new conditions would constantly crop out and matt was still in doubt as to how the great planes and the motor would take care of them. at a height of a hundred feet he steadily opened up the throttle. faster and faster whirled the propeller, and below the machine the prairie rolled away with dizzy rapidity. almost before matt realized it he was over the town of minnewaukon, with the jubilant cheers of the citizens echoing in his ears. he made a half turn to lay the machine on her new course. the inner wing dipped as the aëroplane came around, but the expanding and contracting device kept the craft from going to a dangerous angle, and it came level again on the straightaway course. even on a day that seems still and quiet the air is a veritable maelstrom of conflicting currents close to the earth's surface. barns, houses, hills, trees deflect the streams of air and send them upward to churn and twist in numberless whirlpools. to get out of this unruly atmosphere an aëroplane must mount. having made sure of the machine's performance at a lower altitude, matt climbed higher. three hundred--four hundred--five hundred feet upward he went soaring, then rounded gracefully into a level course and was off at speed along the air line. it would be hard to describe the exultation that arose in the breast of the king of the motor boys. it was not alone that he was doing with an aëroplane something which had not before been attempted--striking out a new line for the air navigators of the world--but it was the joy of a new sensation that thrilled him, spiced with the knowledge that he was rubbing elbows with death every instant the machine was aloft. on his clear brain, his steady eye, and his quick hand hung his hope of life. a wrong twist of the lever at a critical time would overset the machine and fling it earthway, a fluttering mass of torn canvas, twisted wire ropes, and broken machinery, himself in the very centre of the wreck. higher above the earth the wind was stronger, but steadier, and the motor hurried the aëroplane along at its top speed. it was difficult for matt to estimate the rate at which he was traveling. there were no landmarks to rush past him and give him an inkling of his speed. once, however, he saw a farmhouse in the distance ahead; and he barely saw it before it was swept behind and lost to his eyes under the lower plane. wherever he saw a road he followed it. if anything happened, and he was obliged to descend, a flat stretch of hard earth would help him to remount into the air again. matt had secured his watch on the seat beside him so that he was able to glance at its face from time to time. he had started from camp traquair at eight o'clock. when the hands of the watch indicated nine-thirty, he made up his mind to descend at the most favorable point on the surface below him. he presently found the place he wanted, hard by a farmhouse, shut off the power and glided downward. a kick at a footlever dropped the bicycle wheels into position, and the aëroplane brushed against the earth of a hard road, moved a little way on the wheels, and then came to a stop. a man and a boy, who had been watching the strange sky monster from a wheatfield, hurried toward the machine as soon as it had come to a stop. they were full of excitement, and asked many questions, to all of which matt patiently replied while looking around to see that wings, rudders, and motor were still in perfect condition. "how far is it to sykestown?" matt asked, as soon as his examination was finished. "about a hundred miles," answered the man. "and how far are you from minnewaukon?" "eighty miles." "great spark plugs!" laughed matt, resuming his seat in the machine; "i'm traveling some, all right. i've been only an hour and a half coming from totten." "do tell!" gasped the man, in wonder. "why, neighbor, them there hossless wagons couldn't travel much quicker'n that!" "i should say not! i've some friends following me in an automobile, but they're nowhere in sight." matt got the bicycle wheels to turning. when they were carrying the aëroplane at the rate of thirty miles an hour the planes took the lift of the air and swung upward clear of the earth. a pull at the gear turned the power into the propeller, and away rushed the machine like a new style of comet. "i'm going to reach sykestown in time for dinner," thought matt, "and mcglory and cameron are not expecting to meet me there until to-morrow morning. i'd have time to go to the traquair homestead to-night and perhaps get mrs. traquair out of the shack and carry her in to sykestown." the idea appealed to matt. talk about a test for an aëroplane! a manoeuvre of that sort would put the traquair machine far and away ahead of any air craft so far invented. what heavier-than-air machine was there that could travel away from its starting point and keep going, asking no odds of anything but gasoline and oil and a firm surface for launching into the void? this demonstration of the new aëroplane was succeeding beyond motor matt's wildest dreams. "we'll not take her apart and put her in a crate to send her to washington," thought the jubilant young motorist. "i'll fly her there. i didn't think the machine could travel and hold her own like this!" having plenty of time at his disposal, he began manoeuvring at various heights, slowing down and increasing his speed, and mounting and descending. in the midst of this fascinating work, he caught sight of an automobile in the road below him. the car contained only two passengers--a man and a woman--and was proceeding in the direction matt was following. the car was traveling rapidly, but not so rapidly as the aëroplane. matt decided to swing the aëroplane to a point alongside the automobile and not more than a dozen feet above the ground, traveling in company with the car and making inquiries of the man in the driver's seat. if he carried out his plan to go to the traquair homestead that night, it would be well to learn something about the location of the farm, and the man in the automobile might be able to give him the information he required. no sooner had he made up his mind what he was going to do than he proceeded to put the plan into execution. hovering over the automobile, he slowed down the engine, turned the small steering planes in front and slipped down the slope of air as easily as a hawk coming to earth. some fifteen feet above the prairie, just far enough to the right of the automobile so that the left-hand wings cleared the car safely, matt struck into a horizontal course. he had not had a good look at the man in the car, as yet, although both the man and the girl were watching his movements with the utmost curiosity. "hello!" called matt, still keeping his eyes ahead and holding his mind to the work of attending to the air ship. there was no answer, or, if there was, matt did not hear it. "are you acquainted with the country around here?" matt went on. "a little," came the response from the man. "could you tell me where harry traquair used to live?" "you'll have to bear off to the right if you go there. the traquair homestead is twenty miles from----" something in the voice drew matt's eyes quickly to the man. "murgatroyd!" cried the young motorist. "great spark plugs!" a twist of the rear rudder sent the aëroplane away from the road; a touch of the lever increased the machine's speed; then, the next moment, he would have mounted high into the air--had not something happened. the crack of a rifle came from below, followed by the crang of a bullet on metal, a woman's scream, and a sickening lurch of the aëroplane. matt tumbled from the lower wing, and then experienced a shock that almost drove his spine up through the top of his head. dazed and bewildered, he lay where he had fallen. chapter ix. the coil tightens. matt's brain was a jumble of vague and half-formed ideas. he did not seem able to grasp any notion firmly, or hold to it realizingly. as his brain began to clear, its first lucid thought had to do with the rifle shot and the man in the automobile. instinctively he turned his head so that he could have a view of the road. the automobile had come to a halt a little distance away. the woman, who had been riding in the tonneau and who must have given the scream which was still echoing in matt's ears, had thrown open the car door and stepped down from the machine. she was young and pretty, wore a long dust-coat and had the ends of a veil flying out behind her well-shaped head. matt shifted his eyes to murgatroyd. the latter was coolly getting out of the car. reaching back, as soon as his feet had touched ground, he pulled a rifle from one of the seats, turned and walked a little way toward matt, halted and leaned on the gun. he did not speak, but his dark, piercing eyes roved over matt and then leaped on beyond, to where the aëroplane was lying. matt withdrew his gaze to give it to murgatroyd's fair companion. "are you hurt?" cried the girl, as motor matt lifted himself and looked toward her. "what is it to you, or that scoundrel with you, whether i am hurt or not?" he answered angrily. a hurt look crossed the girl's face. she had been hurrying toward matt, but she now paused and drew back. "your business is with me, motor matt, and not with my niece," snapped murgatroyd sharply. "she doesn't know anything about our affairs, and is undoubtedly feeling hard toward me because i fired that shot and brought you down." "why did you do that, uncle amos?" demanded the girl shrilly. "you might have killed him!" "no danger of that, amy," was the cool answer. "i shouldn't have tried to bring him down if he had been high enough in the air for the fall to hurt him." "why did you try to bring him down, anyhow?" the girl's alarm was merging rapidly into indignation and protest. "well," said murgatroyd, "i wanted to talk with him, and he didn't seem at all anxious to stay alongside the automobile." "so you ruined his flying machine and took the chance of hurting him!" "get back in the car, amy," ordered murgatroyd sharply. "you don't understand what you are talking about. this young rascal deserves all he receives at my hands, and more." "he doesn't look like a rascal, or----" "will you mind?" murgatroyd turned and pointed toward the car. the girl hesitated a moment, then walked slowly back to the automobile and climbed into the tonneau. matt, meantime, had picked himself up, glad to find that he had no broken bones. he was bruised and sore, and his coat was torn, but he did not care for that. he had had a lucky escape, and just at that moment was more concerned about the aëroplane than he was about himself. the flying machine, so far as matt could see, did not appear to be very badly broken. "i'll hold you responsible for this, amos murgatroyd," said matt, turning on the broker. "it was an unprovoked attack." "you've given me plenty of cause to lay violent hands on you," answered murgatroyd. "what are you doing in this part of the country?" "that's my business, not yours." a snaky, malevolent smile crossed murgatroyd's smooth face. "it may be my business, too," said he. "you asked for the traquair homestead. is it your intention to go there?" "i don't care to discuss that point with you. just understand that you'll be called on to answer for all the trouble you have caused me and also mrs. traquair. this scoundrelly attack on my aëroplane will come in for part of the accounting." "yes?" was the sarcastic response. "the machine, to look at it from here, hasn't the appearance of being very badly hurt. suppose we give it a closer inspection?" matt wondered at the man's desire to learn more about the damage to the aëroplane. it was an hour or so before the reason was made clear to him. keeping a wary eye on murgatroyd's rifle, matt stepped over to the aëroplane. the bullet had struck one of the propeller blades, snapping it off. the blade, in turn, had struck and cut through one of the small wire cables that formed a stay for the rear rudder. "you've put the machine out of business," said matt. "the fall, too, may have damaged the motor pretty seriously. i can't tell that until i make a closer examination." "it will take you an hour or two, i suppose, to get the machine repaired?" "an hour or two!" exclaimed matt. "i shall have to get some farmer to haul it to the blacksmith shop, in sykestown." a guileful grin swept like an ill-omened shadow across murgatroyd's face. without another word he went to the automobile, climbed to the driver's seat, leaned the rifle against the seat beside him, and started the car. he did not continue on toward sykestown, but made a turn and went back over the course he had recently covered. "the scoundrel!" cried matt. "he knew i was here to do what i could for mrs. traquair--that question i asked him about the homestead would have proven that, even if he had not guessed it from the mere fact of my being in this section. he injured the aëroplane to keep me from carrying out any plan i might have for the rescue of mrs. traquair. he knows it will take me some time to get the aëroplane fixed, and while i'm doing that he'll be moving mrs. traquair from the homestead to some other place. that's why he was so anxious to find out how badly the machine was damaged. if it hadn't been seriously broken, no doubt he'd have put another bullet into it. he'll pay for this if i've anything to say about it." for a few moments matt sat down on the prairie and looked ruefully at the helpless aëroplane. this reverse meant much to motor matt. quite likely it would prevent the sale of the machine to the government, for it was now practically certain the aëroplane could not be repaired and turned over to the government for shipment east by the first of the month. this would have been impossible, even if matt had had leisure to repair the damage--which he did not have on account of the necessity he was under of helping mrs. traquair. how far back on the road the last house was situated matt could not remember. he would have to go there, however, and hire the farmer to transport the aëroplane to sykestown. the quicker this was done, and the sooner the damage was repaired, then the more speedily he could use the machine in helping mrs. traquair. if repairs were going to consume too much time, then he could join cameron, mcglory, and ping and go to the traquair homestead in the lieutenant's borrowed motor car. greatly cast down by his reverse, yet firmly determined to carry out his original purpose at any cost, matt set his face back along the road. he was guessing good and hard about the young woman who was in the automobile with murgatroyd. she was the broker's niece, but she was not in favor of any of his villainous designs--that fact was beyond dispute. if the girl felt in this way, why had murgatroyd had her along while pursuing his dark schemes against mrs. traquair? it was an enigma that baffled matt. he gave up trying to guess it, and began reproaching himself for becoming so easily entangled with the motor car and its scoundrelly owner. he should have made sure that the man was not an enemy before bringing the aëroplane so close. it is always easy to look back over our conduct and discover the mistakes. in the present case, matt was blaming himself when there was really no cause for it. if anything was at fault it was fate, which had brought the disastrous encounter to pass. every step matt took reminded him of his bruises. his head throbbed and every bone in his body seemed to ache. he continued to stride rapidly onward, however, keeping his eyes constantly ahead in the hope of discovering a farmhouse. suddenly he saw a fog of dust rising from the trail in the distance. the cloud was moving toward him and he had a quick thought that it might be the automobile. the next moment the dust was whipped aside by the rising wind, and he was sure of it. the car was coming, but there was only one man in the driver's seat. the girl had vanished from the tonneau. "murgatroyd took her to some farmhouse," ran matt's startled thought, "and he is coming back to try some more villainous work." the young motorist's fists clinched instinctively, and a fierce gleam darted into his gray eyes. "we'll see about that," he muttered, between his teeth. the automobile came on swiftly, and murgatroyd brought it to a standstill close beside matt. "get in here," the broker ordered, nodding his head toward the tonneau. "i've got other business on hand," answered matt. "if you're going on to finish wrecking the aëroplane----" "don't be a fool!" snarled the broker, standing up and lifting his rifle. "i've invited you to get into the car, but i can _order_, if you force me to do that, and back up the order with this gun." "you've used that gun once to-day, murgatroyd," said matt, giving the broker a defiant look, "and i guess you'll find that's enough." he passed on along the roadside close to the side of the automobile. the door of the tonneau was open. as he came abreast of it, a form that had been hiding in the bottom of the car leaped out. matt, taken by surprise, tried to leap away. before he could do so, however, he was in the grip of a pair of strong arms, and the face of siwash charley was leering into his. "this hyer's once things didn't come yer way, my bantam!" gritted siwash charley. "stop yer squirmin', or i'll give ye a tap on the head that'll put ye out o' bizness." chapter x. the door in the hillside. in spite of siwash charley's threat, matt struggled as fiercely as he could. with a muttered curse, the ruffian drew back one fist. "steady there, siwash!" cried murgatroyd. "don't be any rougher with him than you can help. wait! i'll come down there and lend a hand while we get a rope on him." murgatroyd picked up a rope from the bottom of the car, jumped to the ground and came rapidly up behind matt. between the two of them, the scoundrels succeeded in bearing the young motorist to the ground and putting lashings on his hands and feet. siwash charley lifted himself scowling and drew his shirt sleeve across his damp forehead. "he's a fighter, all right," he muttered, "but he kin gamble on it that we've got the upper hand o' him now." "you took the girl away and got siwash charley, eh, murgatroyd?" asked matt. "you're a young man of rare perception," was the broker's sarcastic response. "you'll both pay for this," went on matt steadily. "who'll make us pay?" grunted siwash charley. "not you, my bantam. i've got inter enough trouble on your account, an' i ain't intendin' ter git inter any more." this was a luminous remark of siwash charley's. matt would have liked to ask him how he expected to keep out of trouble by continuing his lawless work, but there was not time. lifting the prisoner roughly siwash charley heaved him onto the seat in the tonneau, and slammed the door; then siwash got up in front. murgatroyd was turning the engine over. when he was done, he climbed to the driver's seat and started the car. he did not go on toward sykestown, but, as before, made in the opposite direction. "what is the meaning of this?" demanded matt. "ye'll know," answered siwash charley, turning around savagely, "when ye find out--an' not afore." "where are you taking me?" persisted matt. "ye'll find that out quicker'n ye'll find out the other." there was clearly no satisfaction to be got out of siwash charley. "something will happen to that aëroplane," said matt, "if it's left alone on the prairie." "don't worry erbout that thar flyin' machine. we're goin' ter take keer o' it." "murgatroyd," cried matt, "if you do any more injury to that machine, you'll have to pay for it." "sing small," answered the broker, giving all his attention to his driving; "you'll be a whole lot wiser before i'm done with you." "that machine," went on matt, "is to be delivered to the government, at fort totten, on the first of next month. if it isn't, i'll lose the sale of it. if you keep me from making the sale, you'll have to pay the government price--fifteen thousand dollars." siwash charley lay back in his seat and guffawed loudly. "talks big, don't he, murg?" said he. "talk's cheap," was the laconic answer. owing to his bonds, matt had difficulty in keeping himself upright on the seat while the automobile pitched and slewed along the road. when two or three miles had been covered, murgatroyd turned the machine from the road and drove toward a range of hills, or coteaus, that fringed the horizon in the northwest. over the crisp, crackling grass the heavy car passed, now and then chugging into a gopher hole and slamming matt around in the tonneau. when they had reached the foot of the hills, murgatroyd followed along the foot of the range and finally halted. "this will do," said the broker. "take the ropes off his feet, siwash, and make him walk. i guess he won't try to get away. you can keep a grip on him and i'll trail along with the rifle." "oh, i guess he won't try any foolishness with me," cried siwash, swinging down from the car, "not if he knows what's best fer him." opening the tonneau door, siwash charley reached in and removed the rope from matt's ankles. "come out here," he ordered. murgatroyd stood up in front, rifle in hand, and watched to see that the order was obeyed. matt supposed that all this was to keep him from going to traquair's homestead and helping mrs. traquair. but, bound as he was, and with two desperate men for captors, he was helpless. without a word he got up and stepped out of the car. siwash charley caught his arm and led him toward a steep hillside, murgatroyd following with the rifle. at the foot of the almost perpendicular wall of earth they stopped. "hold the gun on him, murg," said siwash, "while i fix the winder so'st ter throw a little light inter the dugout." "go ahead," answered the broker curtly. siwash stepped apart. matt, with ill-concealed astonishment, saw him push a hand along the hillside and push back a square curtain of canvas painted the color of the yellowish brown of the dried grass. a small window was revealed. to the right of the window another curtain was lifted, disclosing a door. siwash opened the door and stepped back with an ill-omened grin. "conduct the gent inter the hang-out, murg," he leered. "go on," ordered murgatroyd, touching matt with the muzzle of the rifle. "what kind of a place is this?" asked matt, hesitating. "look at it from the inside an' mebby ye'll have a better notion of it," answered siwash, grabbing matt's arm and hustling him through the doorway. motor matt's heart sank when he looked around at the earthen walls of the excavation. it looked like a prison, and undoubtedly it was to be a prison for him. "i'll make him lay down on the shelf," observed siwash, "an' tie him thar." "put him in a chair and tie him to that," said murgatroyd. "he'll have to lie down at night, and change of position will be something of a rest for him. i don't want to be any rougher than we have to." "bah!" snorted siwash. "from the way ye talk, murg, a person 'u'd think ye had a weak heart. but i know diff'rent. i shouldn't think ye'd be so onreasonable when ye stop ter think o' the hole this feller's got us both inter." "he's going to get us out of the hole, and give me something i've set my heart on, besides. i reckon he's entitled to all the consideration we can give him." siwash kicked a chair forward and pushed matt into it; then, with another rope, he tied the prisoner with coil on coil, drawn taut about his legs, waist, and shoulders. when siwash was done, matt could hardly shift his position an inch. "now," proceeded murgatroyd briskly, "we'll have to hurry. i left my niece at a farmhouse, and i want to get back there and make sure that she doesn't cause any trouble." "trouble? what kind o' trouble kin she make?" "she's not used to this sort of work, and it was tough luck that she was in the car when motor matt came along in that flying machine. she's very much put out with me because i fired a bullet into the aëroplane in order to stop motor matt. she's a girl of spirit, and i must talk with her to make sure she doesn't do something that will play hob with my plans." "wimmen ain't no good, anyhow," growled siwash charley. "will ye go right on ter sykestown ter-night?" "i think not. it will be best to stay at the farmhouse until i make sure whether my talk will do any good. if i think amy will leave my hands free, we'll make for town in the morning." murgatroyd turned to matt. "where's mcglory?" he asked. "i don't know," matt answered. "was he to meet you in sykestown?" matt was silent. "ye kin gamble, murg, that cowboy feller was ter meet him some'r's. wharever ye find one of 'em ye're purty sure ter find t'other. i'm wonderin' why mcglory wasn't in the flyin' machine along with motor matt." "if they were to meet anywhere," said murgatroyd, "it was in sykestown. motor matt would hardly try to rescue mrs. traquair alone." a snaky smile accompanied the last words. siwash charley chuckled. "it worked like a house afire," the latter muttered. "bring writing materials, siwash," said the broker. the other went to a box cupboard, swinging against the wall, and brought out some paper and envelopes, a bottle of ink and a pen. these he placed on the table in front of murgatroyd. "how many letters ye goin' ter write, murg?" queried siwash, hanging expectantly over the table. "three," replied the broker. "one letter will be sent to lieutenant cameron, another to joe mcglory, and another to mrs. traquair." matt could not understand these allusions to mrs. traquair. if she was a prisoner at the homestead, why was murgatroyd writing a letter? it required an hour's time to write the three letters. murgatroyd allowed siwash to read each one as soon as it was finished. siwash became jubilant as the reading progressed. when the last letter had been gone over, he brought his fist down on the table with a smashing blow. "they'll do the trick, by jinks!" he declared. "ye'll git what ye're arter, murg, an' so'll i. thunder, but i wisht i had your head!" "it takes something of a head to make money and keep out of jail, these times," laughed murgatroyd, getting up. the letters were folded and put in the addressed envelopes, and murgatroyd slipped the three missives into his pocket. "i'm off, now, siwash," said he, stepping toward the door. "it may take a week to wind up this business, and it may not take more than three days. see that the prisoner don't get away, whatever you do." "waal, ye kin bank on me from the drap o' the hat!" cried siwash charley effusively. "blamed if i ever had anythin' ter do with sich a slick game as this afore, an' it does me proud ter have a hand in it. count on me, murg, count on me!" with a derisive grin at motor matt, murgatroyd stepped through the door in the hillside. a few moments later matt could hear his automobile gliding off across the prairie. chapter xi. a revelation for matt. motor matt, in spite of his helpless situation, was not at all worried about his own safety. what did alarm him, though, was the plot which murgatroyd seemed to be putting through with so much success. why had the broker written the letters to cameron, mcglory, and mrs. traquair? what did they contain? and why should a letter be written to mrs. traquair when she, like matt, was supposed to be a prisoner of murgatroyd's? these were all matters of grave import, and the king of the motor boys turned them over and over in his mind. he knew that murgatroyd, for some reason of his own, was intensely eager to secure the traquair homestead. probably he could have bought it for a fair amount, but that was not the broker's way. he had made his money by lending on mortgages, and then foreclosing, thus securing property for a fraction of its value. this seemed to be his desire in the present instance, and he was taking long chances to put his plans through. siwash charley, after the broker was gone, was in great good humor. he gave matt a drink of water from a pail on the earthen shelf, and then filled and lighted his pipe and dropped down on a cot. for purposes of ventilation the door was left open, and matt, his brain puzzled and bewildered, watched the sun sinking into the west. the afternoon was drawing to a close. somewhere, along the road to sykestown, mcglory, cameron, and ping were making their way in the borrowed motor car. during the night, if all went well, the party should reach sykestown. matt would not be there to meet them in the morning: but murgatroyd would be there, and would scarcely be able to evade cameron and mcglory. what matt's friends would do when they encountered the broker was problematical. matt had abundant faith in cameron's good judgment, and in his cowboy pard's courage and determination. something of importance would happen, the king of the motor boys was sure, and that something would be of help to mrs. traquair. "what's murgatroyd up to, siwash?" asked matt. "he knows, an' i know, but you don't," answered siwash, "an' what's more, ye ain't a-goin' to. so stop yer quizzin'." "why is he writing to mrs. traquair if she's a prisoner of his, out on the traquair homestead?" once more siwash enjoyed himself. "he's goin' ter send the letter out thar," replied siwash. "now stop askin' questions. ye'd better be congratulatin' yerself that we're handlin' ye so keerful. arter what ye've done ter murg an' me, knockin' ye on the head an' drappin' ye inter some slough wouldn't be none too good. howsumever, ye're wuth more ter us alive than ye air with yer boots on--which is mainly whar yer luck comes in. hungry?" "yes." "then i'll git ye a snack." siwash went to the cupboard from which he had brought the writing materials and secured some dried beef and crackers. removing a knife from his pocket, he began cutting the dried beef into small pieces. there was something about the knife that reminded matt of the rusty dagger ping had found in the woods, and recalling the dagger brought cameron's story of goff fortescue abruptly to matt's mind. the prisoner eyed siwash sharply. there was that about the ruffian that suggested the soldier--a certain precision of movement acquired in the ranks. matt began to whistle softly. for a moment siwash charley paid no attention; then, as the air matt was whistling came to him, he lifted suddenly and glared. "stop yer whistlin'," he snapped. "do you know what that is, siwash?" he asked. "no!" almost shouted the scoundrel. "they call it reveille up at the post. here's 'stable call'----" siwash made one spring at matt, the knife still gripped in his fist. he flashed the blade in front of matt's eyes. "if i thought--if i thought----" siwash breathed the words hoarsely and stared menacingly at matt. there followed an awkward silence. presently siwash turned away and went on carving the dried beef. "i don't want ter hear 'stable call' nor nothin' else," he snarled. "don't like whistlin' nohow. shut up, or i'll put a gag between yer jaws." matt deemed it best to keep silent after that. nevertheless, it seemed to him as though he had touched a raw spot in siwash charley's past history. had cameron got the matter right? was siwash charley really the deserter, cant phillips? when the food was ready, matt asked siwash to release his hands so that he could help himself. but siwash refused, and the prisoner was compelled to take his food from the ruffian's hairy paws. a change appeared to come over siwash charley. he was moody and reflective, and kept his pipe going continuously. leaning back against the earthen wall of the room, he surrounded himself with a fog of vapor, which, because of the poor ventilation of the dugout, almost stifled motor matt. the sun went down in a blaze of red, night fell, and siwash closed the door and lighted the lamp. he neglected to curtain the window, however, which may have been an oversight on his part. matt fell to musing upon the aëroplane, and about the watch which he had left on the aëroplane seat. would anything happen to the machine while he was a prisoner in the hands of murgatroyd and siwash? he roused up suddenly. "siwash," he asked, "what's going to be done with that flying machine?" "i've had all i want out o' you," growled the ruffian, with savage emphasis. "if ye know when ye're well off, ye'll hush." matt "hushed." frogs began to croak, and their husky voices came faintly to the prisoner's ears. somewhere inside the dugout a cricket chattered. a rat ran over matt's feet and a lizard crawled slowly along the earthen shelf at his side. "a pleasant hole, this," muttered matt grimly; then, again and again, thoughts of those three letters recurred to his puzzled mind. siwash fell asleep in his chair, and his snores were added to the weird sounds that drifted in from the prairie. matt's limbs, bruised and sore from the fall out of the aëroplane, felt numb from the bonds. his whole body was aching, and his head throbbed as though a thousand demons were pounding it with hammers. but, in spite of his pain and discomfort, he fell to wondering if there was not some way by which he could free himself from his bonds. he had an invincible nature, and never gave up a fight so long as there was breath in his body. slowly he began an effort to free himself. it was a fruitless attempt, doubly bound as he was, and his desperate labors caused the chair to overturn and land him sprawling on the clay floor. the noise awoke siwash charley. "tryin' ter git loose, hey?" he cried with an oath. "i ought ter make ye sit up all night fer that, an' i got a blame' good notion." roughly he jerked the chair upright and began removing the coils of rope. when they were off, he examined the cords at matt's wrists. "go over an' lay down on the cot," he ordered. matt's feet were free, and, had the door been open, he would have been tempted to make a dash through it and try to lose himself from his captor in the darkness of the open prairie. passing over to the cot he dropped down on it, and siwash tied him there with more coils of rope, passing them around and around the side pieces of the cot, under and over it. the change of position was a rest, in a measure, although the tight wrist cords kept matt's arms numb clear to his shoulders. it had been a trying day, and matt presently dropped off to sleep. the hour was late when he closed his eyes. although he had no means of telling the exact time, yet he knew it could not be far from midnight. a mellow chink as of metal awoke him. he opened his eyes and saw daylight shining through the window. siwash was at the table, humped over it and counting a small store of yellow gold. an old leather pouch lay on the table beside the coins. matt, cramped and in an agony of discomfort, was on the point of crying out and asking to be untied from the cot and put back in the chair, but he saw a head push across the window on the outside of the dugout, and the call died suddenly on his lips. it was the face of hackberry! hope arose in motor matt's breast. hackberry was a friend, in some manner he had learned where matt had been taken, and he had come to his rescue! scarcely breathing, matt watched the face of the man at the window. hackberry was not looking at matt, but had centred his attention on siwash. the latter, finishing his count of the gold pieces, swept them from the table and into the pouch; then, crossing to the wall by the cupboard, he knelt down, removed a flat stone, and pushed his yellow wealth into its cache. after placing the stone in position once more, siwash charley got up and stepped toward the door. before he could open it, the door was pushed ajar in his face. "pecos!" exclaimed siwash, startled. "shore," laughed pecos. "ye didn't think it would take me more'n a day and a night to git back from totten, did ye? the hoss is plumb tired, an' i've jest picketed him close to water an' grass. and the scheme worked, hey?" he went on, with a grin at matt. "i reckoned i'd put up a purty good bluff." here was a revelation for matt, a revelation that broke over him in a flash and brought with it a grievous disappointment. a clever trap had been laid by murgatroyd, and, in spite of all his precautions in testing hackberry's story, matt had walked into it! chapter xii. pecos takes a chance. "was that story of yours a lie?" demanded motor matt. "well," drawled pecos, "it wasn't exactly the truth, not as anybody knows of. i gave it to you jest as murg give it to me, an' it certainly took fine!" the astounded expression on matt's face caused siwash charley to go into another roar of mirth. it was a very good joke--to siwash and pecos jones. pecos, riding over to fort totten, had claimed to be an honest homesteader, doing his utmost to help a neighbor in distress. the idea of pecos jones posing as an honest homesteader still further added to siwash charley's enjoyment. "isn't mrs. traquair at the homestead?" inquired matt. "not onless she went thar o' her own accord--which i don't reckon possible." "and your claim doesn't join the traquair quarter section?" "oh, but that's rich!" whooped siwash charley, wiping his bleared eyes. when matt's amazement left him he felt a sense of relief. it was something to know that mrs. traquair wasn't in danger, something to feel that he had now only himself to think about. "i'm hungry," said pecos jones, throwing himself down on the shelf. "got any grub, siwash?" "don't i allers have grub?" returned siwash. "it's thar in the cupboard, pecos. help yerself." pecos helped himself to a chunk of beef and a handful of crackers. "i reckon," he observed as he ate, "i ought ter have a good bit o' money fer what i done, eh, siwash?" siwash charley immediately grew cold and formal. "why, you little wart," he answered, "how much pay d'ye want fer goin 'ter totten an' back? ain't sixty dollars enough?" "it was my work as done the trick," protested pecos. "i'll bet murg is givin' you a hull lot more'n sixty cases." "that's my bizness an' murg's. sixty you got, an' sixty's all ye git." pecos looked at his diminishing piece of beef reflectively. "well," he remarked, "you an' me's allers been good friends, siwash, so i reckon we needn't ter quarrel. oh, i come purty nigh fergittin'. on my way here i rode past jessup's shack. murg come out an' hailed me an' said he wanted ye ter come over there, right away." "thunder! why didn't ye tell me afore?" "ye ain't lost much time. take yer own hoss, don't put a bridle on mine. my critter's all tired out. how long'll ye be?" "it won't take me more'n an hour ter go an' come," answered siwash, picking up his hat. "if murg don't keep me long, i reckon i'll be back in an hour an' a half. what d'ye think he wants me fer?" "give it up. he ain't tellin' me any more o' his bizness than what he has ter." "no more he ain't, an' i reckon it's a good plan, too. i suppose it's somethin' about that niece o' his. don't let motor matt bamboozle ye. if he gits contrary, thar's murg's rifle leanin' in the corner." "i don't need no rifle while i got these," and pecos patted the handles of two revolvers that showed at his hips. "waal, so long, pecos," said siwash, moving toward the door. "the ole man may be in a hurry, so i'll tear away." he disappeared, and pecos continued to munch his bread and crackers. a few minutes later, through the open door, matt and pecos saw siwash pounding away across the prairie. immediately pecos jones' manner underwent a change. stuffing what remained of his crackers and dried beef into his jacket pockets, he ran to the door and watched. "he's gone," murmured pecos, "an' i got an hour, anyway. sixty cases, eh?" he snarled. "what i done's wuth more, an' if murg won't give it i take it, anyhow." without paying the least attention to matt, who was watching proceedings in amazement, pecos ran to the wall and dropped down on his knees. removing the big, flat stone, he threw it to one side and pushed his hand into the secret cache. presently he drew out the leather pouch and gave a croaking laugh as he shook it over his head and listened to the jingle of gold. "i'll l'arn 'em ter beat me out o' what's my due!" he cried. "i'll git on my hoss an' dodge away inter the hills. if siwash kin find me, then he's welcome ter take his money back. wonder if there's anythin' else in there?" again pecos bent down, thrust his arm into the hole, and drew out a suitcase, mouldy and stained. pecos weighed it in his hands, shook it, then cast it from him. "nothin' there!" he grumbled, and got to his feet. a thrill shot through matt. pecos had seen siwash counting his money and putting it away in the secret cache. being a man of no principle, and believing that he had been poorly paid, he had made up his mind to steal all he could get his hands on and leave while siwash was away at jessup's. while he was handling the suitcase matt had seen, on one end of the mouldy piece of luggage, the letters, "g. f." there was no doubt but that siwash charley was cant phillips! no doubt but that this satchel, drawn out of the earthen cache by pecos, was the dishonored officer's luggage--the very receptacle which had contained the san francisco plans! "pecos!" cried matt, as the thief darted toward the door. the man paused. "i ain't got no time ter bother with you," he answered. "you got me into this," begged matt, "and why not set me at liberty?" "i'm takin' enough from siwash, i reckon," said pecos. "but if it hadn't been for you i wouldn't be where i am now." "an' if ye wasn't where ye are now," answered pecos, by a strange process of reasoning, "i wouldn't be entitled ter this!" he shook the jingling pouch. "i've got money in my pocket----" "oh, ye have!" cried pecos, with a complete change of front. "that's diff'rent." he pushed the pouch into the breast of his coat and came to the side of the cot. "i'll give it to you," said matt, "provided you take the ropes off my hands." "ye don't have ter give, my buck, so long as i kin take! i'll not let ye go, but i'll take what ye got an' save siwash the trouble." matt's personal property had not been tampered with by his captors--probably on orders issued by murgatroyd, who seemed to have his own ideas about how the prisoner should be treated. pecos, in feverish haste, bent over matt and tried to get at his pockets. the tightly drawn coils of the rope interfered. swearing volubly, he grabbed up siwash charley's knife from the table and hacked one of the coils in half. this cutting of one coil released all the others, and pecos was free to pursue his search unhindered. with a grunt of exultation he drew a small roll of bills from matt's pocket, stuffed it into his trousers, and was away like a shot. matt had the use of his feet, and, now that the coils securing him to the cot had been severed, he was able to rise to a sitting posture. for a few moments his brain whirled dizzily. just as it began to resume its normal condition, a thump of galloping hoofs sounded outside the door, and matt struggled erect and reeled to the opening. pecos jones was putting his tired horse to its best pace. odd as it seemed to matt, he was hurrying in the direction of sykestown. perhaps that was the best course for pecos to take if he wanted to avoid siwash. he would not go into the town, but could give it a wide berth, and make for regions to the southward. weak and tortured with his numbed limbs, matt sank down on the earthen shelf. bound though he was, matt knew he could escape. siwash, as yet, had not been gone half an hour. he would certainly be back in an hour, full of wrath and eager for revenge. matt did not believe that murgatroyd had sent for siwash, but that pecos had told the story simply to get the other out of the way while the robbery was being perpetrated. if this was true--and matt felt positive that it was--the fury of siwash would pass all bounds. it would be better for matt not to be there when siwash returned, but there was goff fortescue's suit case. matt felt that he was in duty bound to take it with him, and this he could not do unless he had the use of his hands. how was he to free himself? the knife lay on the floor where pecos had dropped it--and the knife suggested possibilities. getting up from the shelf, he walked over to the knife and knelt with it between his feet; then, with his numbed fingers, he fumbled for the blade, lifted it upright, and shoved his feet together with the knife between his heels, edge side out. this manoeuvre took time, for matt had to try again and again, but at last the blade had a fairly rigid support, with the handle between his heels and the back of the knife against his body. after resting a moment--for the work, so trifling in the telling, had brought into torturing play every muscle--he pushed the wrist cords up and down the sharp edge. he cut himself slightly--it was impossible to avoid that--but the cords were severed, and, with a groan of relief, he drew his swollen hands around in front of him. almost fagged, he fell over upon the floor, feebly rubbing his arms to restore circulation. while he was thus engaged, the beat of hoofs, coming swiftly and the sound rapidly growing in volume, reached him. siwash charley! was the thought that darted through his brain. it did not seem possible that the man had been gone an hour. it was too late, now, to leave the dugout, and matt got up and staggered to the door. for a moment he stood there, looking. he was seen, and a furious yell came echoing across the prairie. there was no doubt of the approaching horseman being siwash charley. the crack of a revolver was heard, and a bullet thumped spitefully into the woodwork of the door frame. matt drew back, closed the door, and shoved the bolt. right then and there he and siwash charley would have out their little differences. but siwash was not the only one of the two who was armed. matt remembered the rifle which belonged to murgatroyd, and to which siwash had called pecos jones' attention. pecos, in his haste, had left without it, and matt now hurried to the corner and picked it up; then, returning to the door, he crouched there and waited. chapter xiii. besieged. the king of the motor boys hated the very touch of a firearm. he had seen so much wanton use of such weapons when in the southwest, that he had become imbued with horror and disgust for anything that carried powder and ball. but here he was forced to fall back on whatever he could find in order to withstand the attack of a frenzied and desperate man. counting out the rage siwash must feel over the trick that had taken him away from the dugout, if he once broke into the room, found his money gone, and the satchel in matt's possession, there was no telling what demons would be turned loose in him. having discovered the satchel, matt was determined to turn it over to cameron. it was this resolve that had held matt to the spot, and now forced him to brave the wrath of siwash charley. bang! bang! bang! leaden hail rattled on the door, but the door was of stout plank and the metal could not penetrate it. the barrier siwash charley had constructed for his own preservation, in time of possible stress, now proved a good shield for motor matt. having announced himself, in this violent fashion, siwash dismounted and tried the latch. the door, of course, refused to yield, and siwash hurled himself against it. the stout planks trembled, and the earthen wall quivered. "steady, there, siwash charley!" cried matt. "i've got murgatroyd's rifle, and i don't intend to let you come in here." this announcement seemingly carried an effect. the attack on the door ceased and siwash began a parley. "did that coyote of a pecos jones set ye loose?" he demanded. "no." "how'n thunder did ye make it, then?" "pecos jones robbed me--cut the ropes that tied me to the cot so he could get at my pockets. you had left my feet unbound, and i managed to juggle a bit with a knife that lay on the floor." "waal, it won't do ye no good. ye're in thar, an' i'm out hyer, ye've got a rifle an' i've got a brace o' colts, an' on top o' that ye've got the use o' yer hands, but that don't mean that ye're goin' ter git away. i ain't wantin' ter harm ye--ye heerd what murg said when he left--so ye might as well open the door an' let me in." "i'll not do that," answered matt firmly. "why won't ye?" "because, now that i'm free, i'm going to stay that way." "ye ain't free! all the freedom you got is ter run eround that two-by-twice hole in the ground an' dodge bullets. whar's that coyote? i got a bone ter pick with him." "he's not here." "i know that, kase i seen that his hoss wa'n't down by the spring whar he picketed him. whar'd he go?" "i don't know." "what did he play that bloomin' trick on me fer? murg wasn't at jessup's--he an' the gal had been gone from thar fer two hours." here was matt's chance to laugh, but he was not in a mood to take advantage of it. "do you remember counting your gold this morning, siwash?" asked matt. a startled exclamation broke from the ruffian. "did ye see that?" he returned. "i thought ye was asleep." "i wasn't the only one who saw it. pecos jones was looking through the window. pecos not only saw you counting the money, but he also saw where you put it." a bellow of fury broke from siwash. "why didn't ye tell me he was at the winder?" he fumed. "why should i?" returned matt. "you fellows had led me to believe that pecos jones' name was hackberry, and that he was a friend of mine. i had an idea that he was coming here to rescue me, and that's the reason i kept quiet." matt could hear siwash tramping about and easing his wrath as this shot went home. "what did that coyote do?" roared siwash. "tell me that." "he took your money and ran away with it." "did--did he take anything else?" "well, some of my money that i had in a vest pocket." "anything else?" "no." "ye know whar that cache is?" "of course. how could i help knowing when pecos jones rifled it under my eyes?" "i'm suspicionin' you," yelled siwash, "with yer whistlin' o' reveilles an' stable calls! ye kain't fool me, not fer a minit." matt had been afraid of this discovery, but there had been no way of preventing it. he had told siwash about pecos in the hope of having the ruffian trail away in pursuit of the thief. "why don't you take after pecos, siwash?" asked matt. "kase it's wuth more ter me ter plant myself right hyer an' look arter you. open this door, 'r i open up on ye, rifle or no rifle." "i'll not open the door," answered matt firmly, "and if you try to break it down i'll send some bullets through it. the planks can turn a revolver bullet, but a slug from a rifle will go clean through the wood. get away from here, siwash. your cue is to take after pecos jones." the words ended amid a crash of broken glass. siwash charley was shooting through the window. four shots had already been fired. matt counted three more. these made seven, and five more shots would empty the ruffian's revolvers. if he had no more cartridges, he would be helpless. but this was something on which matt could not count with certainty. "keep away from that window, siwash!" cried matt, pressing close to the door. "show yourself there and i'll fire!" bang! bang! bang! "seven and three are ten," computed matt. "he'll soon have those weapons emptied. i don't believe he'll show himself at the window, but perhaps i can coax him to shoot again." dropping down on hands and knees, matt crept to a point directly under the window. having reached this spot, he placed his cap on the muzzle of the rifle and lifted it. bang! "eleven," thought matt. then he gave a loud cry and allowed the cap to waver back and forth. bang! "twelve!" exulted matt. "now, if he hasn't any more cartridges, i'll be safe." matt had allowed the cap to drop at the last shot. outside he could hear a tramp of running feet. "i told the cub," came the voice of siwash. "he ought to've knowed better than ter----" siwash charley's head was thrust in at the opening, rimmed with its jagged points of glass. the scoundrel's words died on his lips, for his eyes were blinking into the muzzle of the rifle. "clear out, siwash!" said matt calmly. "i don't like guns, and i don't like shooting, but i dislike your society more than either one. go away from here, and go quick." what siwash said matt could not hear, but he vanished from the window as if by magic. there was no more firing. in order to test his theory regarding siwash charley's ammunition, matt showed himself boldly at the broken window. the ruffian was not more than twenty feet away. quick as a flash he raised one of his weapons and pulled the trigger. there was only a metallic click, which made it manifest that siwash had not kept such close track of the ammunition as motor matt had done. "go away, i tell you," ordered the king of the motor boys. "i've had enough trouble with you, and i intend to get to sykestown in time to prevent murgatroyd from carrying out his plans. if----" matt paused, aghast. across the prairie he could see a swiftly moving blot--a motor car, he was sure, and undoubtedly murgatroyd's. siwash charley was likewise looking at the approaching car. "oh," he yelled, "i reckon ye ain't got everythin' your way, arter all. hyer comes murg, an' ye kin bet murg ain't out o' ammunition even if i am!" matt's heart went down into his shoes. wasn't luck ever to turn for him? was there to be no end to this reverse which had come his way? as he continued to gaze at the approaching car, it grew plainer to his eyes. there was more than one man aboard, he could see that, and the car didn't look like murgatroyd's, but of a different color. this car was brown! as matt's hopes arose, siwash charley's began to sink. a moment later, siwash rushed for his horse. "cameron!" cried matt, hardly able to believe his eyes; "cameron and mcglory!" turning from the window he ran to the door, flung it open and leaped outside. yells came from the car, and some one stood up in front and waved his hat wildly. matt, pointing to the fleeing siwash, shouted at the top of his voice: "capture that man, cameron! he's phillips, the deserter! he is armed, but his revolvers are empty! capture him!" if matt's words were not heard or understood, at least his gestures were. the car turned and darted after siwash charley. the king of the motor boys, leaning against the front wall of the dugout, watched the race. chapter xiv. the broker's game. the remarks of the landlord, in front of the hotel, had given mcglory and cameron a clue of which they were not slow to take advantage. here was motor matt's enemy, the very man who had set in motion the plot which, through hackberry, had lured the king of the motor boys into wells county on a useless quest. coolly enough murgatroyd brought his car to a stop in front of the hotel and faced the angry lieutenant and cowboy. "your name murgatroyd?" demanded cameron. "my name, yes, sir," answered the broker, half turning in his seat so as to command a better view of the lieutenant. "but," he added quietly, "i believe that you have the advantage of me." "cameron's my name." "ah!" a flash crossed murgatroyd's face. "i might have known who you were, just by seeing you with mcglory there. this is a fortunate meeting." "fortunate!" cried mcglory, dancing around the front of the car. "speak to me about that! i should say it was fortunate, you old tinhorn--for us, if not for you. what's this game you've put up on motor matt?" "if we do any talking," said the broker mildly, "you'll have to express yourself in terms that i can understand." "you'll savvy a heap before we're done with you." "just a minute," went on murgatroyd. "my niece is in the car with me, and i think it well that she should not listen to your violent talk." he looked around. "amy----" the girl was white, but she made no attempt to get out of the tonneau. "i'm not going to leave, uncle amos," said she. "i want to hear more of this talk." "you will please obey me, amy, and leave the car." "it is your car," she answered, "and i haven't any right to stay in it if you don't want me to." cameron opened the door for her and held out his hand to help her down. she paid no attention to the extended hand, but passed into the hotel. "before we begin," proceeded murgatroyd, "let me ask you if you recognize this watch." he offered the timepiece as he finished. "it's matt's!" exclaimed mcglory, snatching the watch. "him motol matt's clock, allee light," breathed ping. the hotel proprietor was the only person, besides cameron, mcglory, and ping, within reach of the broker's words. "this conversation is of a private nature, brackett," said murgatroyd significantly, "even though it is taking place in the street in front of your hotel." brackett excused himself and passed around the corner of the building. "that watch," proceeded the broker, "will prove to you that your friend is in my hands. he is being kept safely in a place which you will not be able to find. i have written three letters, one to you, lieutenant cameron, one to mcglory, and one to mrs. traquair. it will not be necessary to post two of them, for i can tell you, face to face, what the letters contain. "the one to you, cameron, has to do with some little unpleasantness connected with the aëroplane trials recently held at fort totten. siwash charley and, through him, myself were wrongly suspected of complicity in an accident connected with the flying machine. this has been very annoying to me. your letter contained the information that, other matters being satisfactorily adjusted, your friend motor matt would be released under written promise from the authorities at fort totten to give over persecuting me and siwash charley for a crime of which we are entirely innocent." mcglory, to put it figuratively, immediately "went up in the air." before he could air his views, however, cameron silenced him with a look. "motor matt, according to your proposition, as i understand it," returned the lieutenant calmly, "is to be released providing the military authorities promise you and siwash charley immunity?" "that is one of the conditions governing the release," answered murgatroyd. "what are the other conditions?" "well, the letter to mcglory contained that. mrs. traquair, as satisfaction for the mortgage which i hold against the traquair homestead, west of here, is to turn over the quarter section to me. that is all. my letter to mrs. traquair contains that proposition, and my letter to mcglory requests him to write mrs. traquair that what i say, regarding the capture of motor matt, is true. mcglory is also to advise her to accept my terms. if those terms are accepted, and if the authorities at fort totten agree not to persecute me, or siwash charley, any further, motor matt will be released." the cowboy was so full of language that he could hardly restrain himself. cameron laid a hand on his arm and pushed him away. "murgatroyd," said the lieutenant, "you have just made the most impudent and brazen proposition i ever heard. you deliberately plan and commit a crime, and then plan and commit another to save you from legal responsibility for both." "you look at it in a prejudiced way," returned the broker, apparently not in the least ruffled. "what is your answer?" the lieutenant was thoughtful for a space. "i have no power to promise you immunity," said he. "you will take it up with your superior officer at fort totten?" "i won't say that, but i will say that i will think it over." "that is all i can ask. how about you, mcglory?" "sufferin' wildcats!" gurgled mcglory. "have i got to answer that? have i----" "he'll think it over, murgatroyd," broke in cameron, "just as i intend doing. where is motor matt?" "that is my secret," and the wily broker actually smiled. "is he far from here?" "another secret. while you are thinking the matter over, i will hunt for a place to stow my car." he got out to use the crank, and cameron caught mcglory's arm and led him into the hotel. "why didn't i hit him?" the cowboy was murmuring dazedly. "why didn't you let me hit him, cameron, or else hit him yourself?" "because, mcglory, we've got to talk this over and---- ah!" the lieutenant broke off as a slender form swept toward him across the office. "this is the young lady, i believe, who was in the car with mr. murgatroyd?" the girl was still pale, but there was resolution in her face and manner. "i have not much time to talk," said she, "for what i say must be said before my uncle comes in. mr. murgatroyd is my uncle. i am a school teacher and live in fargo with my mother. for some time i have been in poor health, and mr. murgatroyd suggested that i take an automobile trip with him through this part of the country, where he was coming to look up some of his investments. for a few days our headquarters have been here. yesterday afternoon we were riding to the north and west of sykestown when an aëroplane came sailing toward us, dropped down close to the automobile, and a young man whom i afterward learned was motor matt hailed my uncle and asked him some question. when my uncle answered, motor matt seemed to recognize him, and tried to turn the air ship away. my uncle had a rifle near him, and he fired at the aëroplane, injuring the machinery so that it fell and---- "no," the girl broke off, seeing the look of alarm that crossed the faces of her auditors. "motor matt was not seriously injured, but the aëroplane was damaged. this happened about ten miles out, on the road to jessup's. my uncle turned around and took me to jessup's, where he left me. i am very sure that he then went some place, secured siwash charley to help him, and made a prisoner of motor matt. i do not know where your friend was taken, but it could not have been a great way from jessup's home--west of the road, i think, and along the base of the hills, for that is the way my uncle came when he returned to the farmhouse. we stayed at jessup's all night and came here this morning. on the way, we passed the aëroplane, and my uncle got out, looked the machine over, and came back with that watch. "that is all i can tell you. do not try to keep me any longer, or to ask me any questions. i shall go back to fargo by train, for i do not like the way my uncle is doing. i--i hope that you will find your friend and that--that no harm has happened to him." the girl had spoken rapidly, and with nervous impatience, continually watching the door. when she finished, she turned away and passed hastily up the stairs leading to the second floor. the amazing news she had given held mcglory, cameron, and ping spellbound. while they stood, gazing at each other, murgatroyd entered the office. "as soon as you have come to a decision," said he, "let me know." then he, too, passed up the stairs. cameron was the first of the three to recover his wits. "quick!" said he, catching mcglory's arm, "there's no time to be lost. run over to the railroad station and send a telegram to mrs. traquair, mcglory. tell her to pay no attention to any letter she may receive from murgatroyd. while you're doing that, i'll get out the car and we'll make a run out on the road to jessup's." mcglory, inspired with the necessity for rapid work, hustled for the telegraph office. cameron hurried to the shed after the car. while he was getting the machine ready, ping mysteriously disappeared. as the lieutenant pulled out of the shed, he looked for the cowboy and the chinaman. neither was in sight. two minutes later mcglory appeared, and crossed from the railroad station to the car on a run. "where's ping?" demanded cameron. "that's too many for me," said mcglory. "i thought he was with you." "and i had the idea that he had gone with you. well, we can't wait for him," and cameron drove the car around to the front of the hotel. a man was crossing the street. cameron hailed him. "which is the road to jessup's?" he asked. the man pointed it out. barely had he given the directions when murgatroyd ran out of the hotel and vanished around the corner of the building. "he's after his car!" murmured mcglory. some one jumped to the footboard and scrambled into the tonneau just as cameron threw in the switch. it was ping. he was breathing hard, and his yellow face was as near white as it could possibly be. "what's the matter with you, ping?" asked mcglory. the chinaman held up one hand. as the flowing sleeve fell away his yellow fingers could be seen gripping a switch plug. "murg forgettee plug," chattered ping. "my findee car, takee plug----" cameron let off a shout as he coaxed the automobile into a faster pace. "that knocks out murgatroyd, so far as chasing us is concerned," said he. "shake hands with the chink for me, mcglory. i'm too all-fired busy." chapter xv. cant phillips, deserter. the car slammed its way across the bridge over the pipestem and hustled at a fifty-mile-an-hour clip in the direction of jessup's. "there's a schoolma'm that's worth her weight gold bullion," remarked mcglory. "her uncle must have found out that she told us something, or he wouldn't have scattered after his car like he did." "much good it will do him now," chuckled cameron, "since ping has robbed the machine of the important plug. for once the broker was careless." "and to think of him putting a bullet into the aëroplane and bringing it down!" said mcglory through his teeth. "i reckon that spoils the sale to the government." "it may," returned cameron, "but all i can say is i'm sorry if it does." "how we're to find matt is a conundrum," went on the cowboy. "turn west from the road to jessup's and follow the hills. that may be all right, and it may not. sufferin' horned toads, but all this is gettin' on my nerves." "siwash charley is taking care of matt----" "taking care of him! i can imagine how the tinhorn is doing that. i hope pard matt is able to stand it." ten miles were covered in short order, and those in the flying car had a glimpse of the aëroplane beside the road. "it doesn't seem to be hurt much," remarked cameron. "it must be damaged considerable, for all that," said the cowboy. "if it hadn't been, matt would have got away before murgatroyd could take the girl to jessup's, pick up siwash, and then come back and lay him by the heels." cameron brought the car to a halt, jamming down on both brakes. "ping," said he, "go back and watch the aëroplane. here's a revolver. don't let any one tamper with the machine. we'll be along after a while." ping was accustomed to obey orders. without a word he took the weapon cameron handed to him and got out of the car. the lieutenant threw in the switch and away they went again. "there's the hills," announced mcglory, after a period of speeding, pointing to the misty blue line of uplifts. "i believe i'll break from the trail and head straight for them," said cameron. "might as well," assented mcglory. "it's all a guess, anyhow, and that move is as likely to be right as any other we can make." there were broad marks of automobile tires in the dust. cameron had been watching them. although he said nothing about it to the cowboy, yet he turned from the road at a point where another car had made the turn. straight for the hills the lieutenant headed, and as they came closer, mcglory suddenly dropped a hand on cameron's arm. "do you hear it?" asked the cowboy excitedly. "hear what?" "firing. there it goes again." cameron heard it, but it was very faint. "that sounds as though we were going to get next to something," said mcglory. "and looks like it, too. isn't that a horse i see against the background of a hill, over there?" the cowboy looked straight ahead. "you're right!" he cried. "there's a horse there, and a man farther along. the man's shooting at the face of the uplift. there! hear that, cameron? what's he wasting ammunition like that for?" cameron did not answer; he was busy looking and listening and running the car. "thunder!" exclaimed mcglory, as the scene opened clearer and clearer before his eyes, "there's a hole in the hillside--two holes, or i'm a piute, for another just opened up." "and the man's mounting the horse," said cameron. "and some one is coming through that hole in the hill. sufferin' surprises! why, it's matt! look, cameron! he's pointing toward the man, and saying something. i can't hear what he says, but it's a cinch he wants us to follow the man." "and it's a cinch we'll do it, too!" cried cameron. "pull that other revolver out of my hip pocket, mcglory. don't use it, though, till i tell you to. the bare sight of it may be enough to bring the man to a halt." cameron had turned the car and was plunging across the prairie in hot pursuit of the fleeing horseman. the car was going five feet to the horse's one, and the pursuit was drawing to a rapid close. "it's siwash charley!" announced mcglory. "i'd about made up my mind to that," said cameron. "he was shooting at matt. it looks as though we had arrived just in time, mcglory." as the car leaped and swayed across the prairie, the cowboy stood up, hanging to cameron with one hand and waving the revolver with the other. "halt!" he shouted. siwash charley turned in his saddle and shook his fist defiantly. "he's going to fight," said cameron. "look out for a shot when we come close. but don't fire yet, mcglory." "what's the use of waiting?" demurred the cowboy. "it's a wonder siwash hasn't opened up on us before now." "we'll run him down in a minute. his horse---- ah, ha! see that." siwash had been giving rather too much attention to the pursuing car and too little to his horse. the animal dropped a foot in a gopher hole and turned a somersault on the dried grass. siwash shot out of the saddle as though he had been fired from a cannon, caromed across the prairie, and then lay still. cameron nearly ran over the scoundrel before he could shut off and clamp on the brakes. the horse, escaping a broken leg by almost a miracle, scrambled to its feet, gave a frightened snort, and dashed on at full speed, stirrups flying. "never mind the horse," said cameron. "let jessup have the brute. siwash is the one we're after." "he's coming easy," returned mcglory, dropping the revolver on the seat and following the lieutenant out of the car. siwash was lying silent and motionless on the ground. cameron knelt beside him and laid a hand on his breast. "is he done for?" asked mcglory. cameron shook his head. "stunned, that's all. if we had a rope----" "the only thing we've got in the way of a line is the piece of string ping tied around our lunch bag," broke in mcglory, picking the weapons out of siwash charley's pockets. "these are no good," he added, after a brief examination. "every cartridge has been used. let's load siwash into the tonneau, cameron, and i'll agree to keep him quiet until we can get to where matt is waiting for us." between them cameron and mcglory lifted the huge bulk of the unconscious ruffian and deposited him, none too gently, in the rear of the car. the cowboy climbed in beside him, and the lieutenant cranked up, took his seat, and started back along the foot of the hills. matt greeted them cheerily as they drew up at the door of the dugout. "how are you, pard?" whooped mcglory. "bruised a little and mighty hungry, but otherwise all right. how's siwash?" "in need of a rope, matt," said cameron. "have you got one handy?" matt ran into the dugout and picked up part of the rope that had been used to secure him to the chair and the cot. with this cameron and mcglory made siwash charley secure before his wits returned, thus avoiding a possible struggle. as soon as this part of the work was finished, the cowboy sprang from the car and gripped motor matt by the hand. "you've had a rough time, pard," said he, "and something of a reverse, if what we've learned is true, but you're stacking up pretty well for all that. what sort of a place is this, anyhow?" "it's phillips' old rendezvous," said matt. "phillips?" echoed cameron. "do you mean siwash charley, matt?" "no one else." "have you any proof of it?" "wait a minute." matt ran into the dugout and presently reappeared with the suit case. "chance threw that in my way," said he, "and, by trying to save it for you, cameron, i very nearly got myself into more trouble than i could manage. look at these initials." matt pointed to the letters "g. f." on the end of the stained and mouldy grip. "this must be the very satchel, don't you think," he added, "that the drummer received by mistake, over in devil's lake city?" cameron was so amazed he could not speak. taking the suit case from matt, he opened it up on the ground. it was not locked and opened readily. there were stained and mouldy documents inside--blue-prints, tracings, and pages of memoranda. cameron rose erect and stared down at the satchel's disordered contents. "there's no doubt about it," he muttered. "this is the identical suit case that captain fortescue carried across the lake with him that day it was supposed he started for st. paul, and----" a call came from the wagon. "what you fellers roughin' things up with me fer? murgatroyd has got somethin' ter say ter you. when you hear that you'll be lettin' me go." "he's still hazy," said matt. "he doesn't remember what's happened." they all stepped to the side of the car and looked down at siwash charley where he lay helpless on the tonneau seat. "murgatroyd," said cameron sternly, "has already told us what he had to say." "ye kain't do nothin' ter me fer takin' keer o' motor matt," rambled siwash charley. "i treated him white, an' he'll tell ye the same thing." "that's not what we've captured you for," went on cameron. "you're a deserter, and your name isn't siwash charley, but cant phillips. you're for totten, my man, and a court-martial that will probably land you where you won't be able to break the law for a long time to come." then, for the first time since his senses had returned, siwash charley appeared to understand all that his capture meant. chapter xvi. the losing cause. murgatroyd must have had an extra switch plug with him, for brackett, proprietor of the hotel, was authority for the assertion that he left town shortly after cameron, mcglory, and ping had taken their departure. murgatroyd, however, went east, while the other car took a western trail. what became of murgatroyd was for some time a mystery. he was not met along the road between sykestown and carrington, and he was not seen in the latter town. his niece likewise vanished, taking the train--this, also, on the authority of brackett--and presumably returning to fargo. for her, motor matt and his friends always thereafter treasured a warm regard. she had turned resolutely against a relative in order to make sure that right and justice were meted out to a stranger. cant phillips, alias siwash charley, was removed to fort totten. after a trial, during which it could not be proved that he had lost the dagger which ping had found in the woods, or that he had met captain fortescue by agreement or otherwise and dealt foully with him, or that he had stolen the suit case and the plans, he was sent to the government prison at leavenworth to serve a long term. phillips' story was to the effect that he had deserted to go into the "business" of stealing horses with pecos jones, and that the suit case and the plans were in jones' possession when he--phillips--joined him. but phillips could not deny his identity, nor the evident fact that he was a deserter. for this he received a sentence that was the limit for desertion, lengthened somewhat by the belief of those presiding at his trial that he had at least a guilty knowledge of the other crimes imputed to him. mrs. traquair was very much wrought up when she discovered how murgatroyd, using her name, had beguiled the king of the motor boys into a trap destined to free the broker and siwash charley of "persecution" by the military authorities, and, at the same time, to secure for the broker himself the traquair homestead. it was an audacious plan, and a foolish one, but the several steps by which it was worked were covered in rather a masterly way. mrs. traquair had departed suddenly for a visit with friends in fargo. learning of this, and from this one insignificant fact alone, murgatroyd had built up the whole fabric of his plot. it was a losing cause, and matt had been caught in it, for, if the audacious scheme was to be successful, the king of the motor boys would be the one factor that made it so. everything hinged on him. the aëroplane was guarded by ping until matt, cameron, and mcglory reached sykestown over the trail to jessup's and sent a team and wagon back to bring the damaged machine into town. the same wagon that hauled it into sykestown likewise hauled it across country and back to fort totten. matt, mcglory, and cameron, before leaving the dugout to return to sykestown with their prisoner, lingered to talk over recent events, hear each other's account of what had happened, and to make a further examination of the earthen room. nothing of any importance was found, save a slender supply of food in the box cupboard, which was promptly confiscated. when the friends left, they closed the door, allowed the painted screens to fall into place over the door and the broken window, and then marked with astonishment how, at a little distance, even they were at a loss to mark the particular place of that lawless retreat. "it's a regular robbers' roost," declared mcglory, looking back as the car carried them toward the road. "it ought to be destroyed," said cameron. "a knowledge of its presence is an invitation for some other lawless men to make use of it." "pecos jones, for example," added mcglory. "how much money did that fellow get from you, matt?" "twelve dollars," answered matt. "if he hadn't been in such a hurry, he might have found my money belt and secured three hundred more." "you got off easy," said cameron. "not so easy, after all, lieutenant. i wouldn't go through that set-to with siwash charley again for all the gold that was ever minted. i don't like guns, anyway." "somethin' queer about that, too," observed mcglory. "explosive engines are matt's hobby, but set off an explosion in a steel tube, with a piece o' lead in front o' it, an' he shies clear off the road." the next day, after the aëroplane had been brought in and sent on to fort totten, and the boys had learned various things from brackett concerning murgatroyd and his niece, the little party moved on toward devil's lake in the car, taking cant phillips with them. when the post was reached there was a disagreeable surprise awaiting matt. it came in the shape of a telegram from headquarters, announcing that the trials at fort myer had been indefinitely postponed, and that, therefore, another of the traquair aëroplanes would not be needed. "bang goes fifteen thousand!" mourned mcglory. "the department may change its mind," suggested cameron, "when it hears about that straight-away flight of the aëroplane into wells county." "while the war department is changing its mind," said matt, smothering his disappointment with a laugh, "mcglory and i will get busy putting the aëroplane into shape and then look for fresh fields and pastures new." "that hits me, pard," said mcglory. "i've been pining for a change of scene, but i hate to leave this vicinity while murgatroyd is at large." "forget murgatroyd, joe," counseled matt. "if he'll forget us, yes, but i don't think he will." the end. the next number ( ) will contain motor matt's "make and break" or, advancing the spark of friendship. the skeleton in the closet--what next?--bringing the skeleton out--marking out a course--the start--a shot across the bows--the man hunters--fooling the cowboys--the trailing rope--a bolt from the blue--"advancing the spark"--the trail to the river--unwelcome callers--an unexpected turn--a risky venture--conclusion. motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction new york, august , . terms to motor stories mail subscribers. (_postage free._) single copies or back numbers, c. each. months c. months c. months $ . one year . copies one year . copy two years . =how to send money=--by post-office or express money-order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. at your own risk if sent by currency, coin, or postage-stamps in ordinary letter. =receipts=--receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. if not correct you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once. ormond g. smith, } george c. smith, } _proprietors_. street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york city. the doctor's ruse. one morning in september, -, there came to the office of doctor frederic curtin, a young english physician in hongkong, a native junkman from the chinese city of swatow, about two hundred miles northeast of the english city. the junkman brought a letter to the doctor from an old acquaintance, the rev. james burren, a missionary in the vicinity of swatow; and the letter begged curtin to come and attend the missionary's young son, who was suffering from a puzzling and lingering illness. as none of his patients in hongkong demanded his immediate attention, curtin was free to respond to the call. the _silver moon_, the trading junk that had brought the letter of appeal, was to leave on the return voyage the next day at noon; and as this junk offered the only means of reaching swatow for several days, curtin engaged passage on the slow-sailing, clumsy vessel. there had been much activity that summer among the native pirates that infest the coast waters of the china sea; and although the doctor did not expect to encounter any of these gentry, he took the precaution of placing in his valise two heavy navy revolvers and a quantity of cartridges. the _silver moon_ sailed on the morrow at midday, as scheduled, and, driven by a wide spread of canvas, slipped through the deep-blue, lapping water of this eastern sea at a much better speed than the doctor expected. that evening a nearly full moon floated in the clear sky, and gave a glory to the ocean that curtin had never seen surpassed. he sat on deck until late, and when he did go down to his cramped berth in the cabin below, he dropped into a sleep so profound that his first intimation of danger was when he was awakened by fierce, wild cries and the scurrying and trampling of many feet on the deck overhead. he sprang to get his revolvers. but while he fumbled with the catches of the case, there was a rush of footsteps down the passageway outside; and the next moment the frail door burst in with a crash before the attack of half a dozen nearly naked chinamen, who had revolvers and short curved swords. the _silver moon_ had fallen a prey to pirates, and curtin calmly submitted himself to the invaders. he was allowed to dress. in the meantime the pirates rummaged through his baggage, including the rather portly black leather case in which he carried his medicines and surgical instruments. when he was hustled on deck a few moments later he found lying alongside the _silver moon_ a huge junk, and swarming over the captured vessel a motley horde of evil-looking barbarians. the crew of the _silver moon_, awed and cringing, was huddled forward under guard. but curtin was not placed with the other captives. at a word from the thin, wiry man who appeared to be the leader, two of the pirates marched the doctor straight aboard the strange junk, where they proceeded to bind his arms and legs with ropes, and left him near the foremast, to sprawl or sit on the hard deck, as he chose. then as soon as everything of value on the _silver moon_ had been transferred to the robber junk, the crew returned to their own vessel, and cast off, leaving their countrymen to go their way in peace. the pirate junk now headed to the northeast, following the coast. curtin, sprawling on the bare deck in his bonds, could only conjecture what was to be his fate. he knew that the native pirates often made a practice of holding prisoners for ransom, and he fancied that his captors intended to do so in his case, otherwise they would not have singled him out from all those on the captured junk. it did not reassure him to reflect that his bank account in hongkong was an extremely modest one, and that he had few friends in the city who could place any large sum at his disposal. about the middle of the forenoon his attention was attracted to one of the pirate crew--a big man who was restlessly pacing up and down the sun-scorched deck not far away, apparently in intense agony. on observing the fellow closely, the doctor saw that there was an angry, unhealed wound in the muscles of his bare left forearm, and noted that the arm itself was swollen to nearly twice its normal size. at once curtin's professional instinct was stirred. on the impulse of the moment he stood up awkwardly on his pinioned legs, and said in chinese: "that is a bad wound you have in your arm. i am an english doctor of hongkong. perhaps if you will let me see your arm i can relieve the pain." the big chinaman stopped his uneasy striding to stand and look doubtfully at the speaker. the pirate leader happened to be near, heard what curtin said, and, the wounded sailor continuing to hesitate, signed him to allow the doctor to examine his arm. the sufferer obeyed stolidly, and one glance at the inflamed wound, which evidently had been made by a sword thrust, was enough to tell curtin that he had to deal with a case of threatened blood poisoning. but he thought that if the arm was immediately lanced the chinaman would have a good chance for speedy recovery. this he told the pirate captain, who had come over to stand beside his fellow cutthroat. he said that if the black case that had been seized among his other baggage that morning was brought and his arms were released, he would at once treat the wound, although he would not guarantee to cure the man. to the doctor's surprise, the captain answered that he had lived in hongkong, and knew of the skill of the english doctors, and that he would be much gratified if curtin could save the sailor, as the fellow was one of his best men. the medicine case was quickly produced, and the doctor's hands were untied. first ascertaining that the contents of the case were undisturbed, he prepared the wounded arm by pouring a little alcohol upon it. then he took out his instruments and quickly performed the operation. the look of relief that came into the sufferer's face was apparent, but neither the captain nor the other members of the pirate crew, who had gathered round to watch, made any comment. curtin carefully dressed and bandaged the wound, and as soon as he had finished, his hands were rebound. his patient moved away without a word of thanks or appreciation, yet the doctor did not neglect to say that as often as was necessary he would attend the arm again. he was anxious to make a friend of this chinaman; for a friend, he felt, would not be a bad thing to have among that barbarous crew. shortly after sunset that evening the junk reached the mouth of a narrow river, and a quarter of a mile from the entrance to this stream the sails were lowered and anchor was dropped. curtin gathered from the talk of some of the crew who stood near him that the junk was to be taken up this river to an outlaw retreat, but that they would not enter the narrow channel until the high tide of the next morning. not long after the evening meal was over the pirates began to turn in for the night. most of them merely threw themselves down on the hard deck. by nine o'clock all were asleep, with the exception of a single watchman, whom curtin could see strolling back and forth across the afterdeck. hours passed, and as the doctor lay outstretched on the bare deck, he tried to work his hands out of the hempen cord that bound them together behind his back. he thought that if he could free himself from his bonds, the watchman might nap, and thus give him opportunity to slip over the side of the vessel into the sea and swim ashore. but he was unable to release his hands. not long after this, the watchman came forward and silently passed close to curtin, and he was rather surprised to see that the lone guard was no other than the man whose arm he had lanced that morning. he wondered idly if the fellow had been chosen for the post of watchman for the reason that suffering had rendered him sleepless. then suddenly, as he looked up at the big yellow man, a new idea for escape germinated, grew to a hazy outline, and in a moment took definite shape in curtin's mind. in his medicine case was a vial containing a quantity of a certain very powerful anæsthetic. he had told the pirate that he would dress the wound again when necessary. if on this excuse he could get his hands freed and the case in his possession, why would it not be easy to administer a few drops of the drug by a hypodermic injection, and almost immediately send the watchman into a coma that would last for hours--render him unconscious before he could rebind his captive's hands or think to make outcry? curtin fully realized the danger attendant upon so audacious a scheme. but he felt that as long as he was in the hands of these ruthless and merciless men his life was not safe from one hour to the next. immediately he hailed the watchman and asked him about his arm. the tall pirate paused and replied that it still pained him considerably. curtin suggested that he should bring the medicine case and have his arm treated there in the bright moonlight. the watchman was slow in answering. curtin began to think that the natural craftiness of his race had counseled him against the proposition, when with a gesture of consent he went to the companionway and disappeared. in a few moments he came back, carrying the familiar case in his hand. then the doctor's heart gave a joyous leap. as soon as his hands were loosened, he quickly opened the case and took out the vial he needed and the hypodermic syringe. he poured into the syringe a few drops of the colorless fluid from the vial. next, with hands that trembled with eagerness, he unwound the bandage from the wounded arm. curtin picked up the syringe nonchalantly, but it gave him a shock to note at this instant that the huge pirate had his right hand resting on the carved hilt of the short, naked sword slipped through his belt. however, the doctor did not hesitate. he resolutely grasped the proffered arm, and carefully inserted the needle point of the instrument into the flesh so far above the wound that the powerful drug could have but little harmful effect upon the irritated region. then, with even pressure upon the plunger, he completely emptied the vial. he withdrew the syringe, and keeping a strong grip upon his victim's arm, began to replace the bandage. he worked slowly, methodically, occupying as much time as possible in each step of the operation. the chinaman soon began to show signs of a strange, unnatural drowsiness. his head nodded on his broad shoulders, his eyes were half closed, and he opened them with difficulty. all at once the doctor's vigilant eye saw a startled, apprehensive look flit across the countenance of the pirate. the next instant the man gave a half-inarticulate cry and snatched out his sword. curtin threw up his hand to arrest the fall of the blade, but suddenly, in the twinkling of an eye, the chinaman wavered, the uplifted arm dropped nerveless, the sword fell clattering to the deck from the grasp of the relaxed fingers. as the watchman toppled over under the influence of the drug, the doctor caught him in his arms and lowered him to the deck. then curtin snatched up the sword, and, with one slash of the keen blade, severed the ropes that bound his ankles loosely together. he listened just a moment. all was still on the junk. he stooped down and finished adjusting the bandage to the senseless outlaw's wounded arm. but he did not linger long on the pirate craft. throwing a rope over the side of the junk, he slid down into the water and swam away. no mishap occurred to him in the water, and soon he was following the sands of the beach to the northeast. at daybreak he came upon a british gunboat lying a little way off the shore, and in response to his signals, a boat put out and took him aboard. that evening he was landed in swatow. he found the missionary's son very ill with a stubborn fever; but curtin took up the battle just in time, and at the end of a week had the satisfaction of witnessing the boy's recovery. stranded on a chimney. "unravel your stocking, john; begin at the toe," was a sentence which many an old-time schoolboy learned well, for it appeared in the school readers of a generation ago. it was the solution found by a quick-witted wife for the problem of rescuing her husband from the top of a tall chimney. when he had let down an end of a raveling, she tied a piece of string to it, and eventually sent him up a rope. something of the same sort happened not long ago to two chimney builders on staten island, n. y. they were up on the top of a big new concrete chimney, over one hundred and sixty feet tall, and started to complete their job by tearing away the scaffolding on the inside as they worked down. there was a ladder running all the way down. the men stood on some planks about ten feet down from the top. they ripped up the planks one by one, and shot them down inside the shaft. the next to the last one, however, went a little crooked, glanced from the wall, hit the ladder, and in a twinkling tore several sections out and left the men standing on a single plank, six feet long and two feet wide, with no means of going up or down. it was then noon, and for more than four hours they alternately whistled and shouted in a vain attempt to attract attention. it was nearly five o'clock when another workman happened to come into the chimney at the bottom and heard their cries. a crowd quickly gathered, and began to wonder what they could do to help. meanwhile, the prisoners had not been idle: they had torn their flannel shirts to narrow strips and made a rope of them, and this they sent down the chimney slowly. firemen were soon at hand, and attached a light line to the improvised rope, and sent it up. the chief's idea was that if they threw it over the top of the chimney and let it down to the ground, he could anchor it there, and they could safely slide down the inside. they threw it over the top, but there it stuck, fastened in the soft concrete, and soon they could neither pull it toward them nor pay it out; yet they dared not trust their weight on it. for some time the rescue was halted, but at last another rope was secured, and with the line already in hand this was hauled up and thrown over the chimney rim. it went without sticking, and was secured on the outside. the scaffolding that had held in place was only about fifty feet below the men, but they had used so much of their clothing in making ropes that they were both badly burned in sliding that distance. however, they reached ground in safety, and in a few days were back at work none the worse for the adventure. a scrimmage of lions. captive lions, like fire flames, are fine things when under control, but when once they get the upper hand then indeed they are terrible. in her book, "behind the scenes with wild animals," ellen velvin describes a battle between a number of these brutes which took place in a showroom at richmond, virginia. it came off at a rehearsal, so that the public lost the chance to see it. only one man was concerned in the fight. that was captain bonavita, who had managed twenty-seven lions at one time. the cause of the fight was the arrival of newcomers from their native jungles. when the arena was ready for the rehearsal, bonavita had considerable trouble in getting the animals out, and when the first one finally appeared, it was not in the slow, stately manner in which he usually entered, but in a quick, restless way, which showed that he was in an excitable state. he was followed by seventeen others, all in the same nervous condition. instead of getting on the pedestals in their usual way, the lions, with one exception, a big, muscular fellow, began to sniff at the corners of the arena, where the newcomers had been exercising, and every moment added to their rage. their fierce natures were excited by jealousy, so that when one lion presumed to go over to a corner and follow up the sniffing of another, the first one turned upon him and bit him savagely. the other promptly retaliated, and in the twinkling of an eye they were fighting fiercely. the temper of the others flashed up like gunpowder, and almost instantly seventeen lions were engaged in a wild, free fight. the one big fellow who had climbed on his pedestal when he entered still sat there, but at this moment the remaining nine lions appeared in the arena, followed by bonavita. the animals rushed forward into the battle; the big lion with an ugly snarl leaped from his pedestal into the thick of the fray, and in an instant twenty-seven lions were fighting with teeth and claws. in the midst of it all stood one man, calm, self-possessed, but with every nerve and muscle at their highest tension, for he knew better than any one else that his life hung in the balance. bonavita vainly tried to regain mastery over the fighting beasts. the lions were no longer the puppets of a show; they were the monarchs of the wild, turbulent and savage. seeing his power gone, bonavita did his best to save his own life. he succeeded in getting out, thanks to his wonderful nerve--for he had to jump over the backs of the fighting animals, and in doing so he received a deep wound in the shoulder. there was nothing to be done but to let the lions fight it out, which they did. for nearly two hours that awful battle raged; but, when the lions were exhausted, bonavita, wounded as he was, went in and drove them into their cages. many of the lions after this terrible fight were seriously injured, and had to be treated for wounds, cuts, and tears; but they had fought themselves out, and the next week they went through their performances as mildly as kittens. dredging for gold. the many varying conditions under which gold is found is not the least interesting feature of the history of the yellow metal. in rock, sand, and sea it has been discovered, and even in the deposit of hot springs now in activity. large nuggets have been discovered in dry gravels, while prospectors have acquired much wealth by extracting gold from river beds, by the process known as panning--i. e., separating the dirt and mud from the metal by shaking the gold-bearing earth or gravel with water in a pan. while, however, many rivers have been thus exploited, explorers and scientists are agreed that there are still millions of dollars' worth of gold waiting to be unearthed from the bottom of rivers in different parts of the world. in new zealand and south america, for instance, convincing proof has been obtained that rich deposits of the precious metal still lie at the bottom of many of the rivers of those countries. the gold is usually found in the form of grains at some depth below the surface, imbedded in mud and clay. there are only two ways of recovering it--namely, either the river bed must be dredged by floating dredgers, or the river must be diverted into another channel while its bed is being stripped. the former method is the one generally adopted, dredgers having been used with considerable success on the pacific slope. attention has been attracted of late years to the possibilities of recovering gold from the rivers of peru. for ages the gold-laden quartz of the land of the incas--the people who covered the walls of their temples with plates of gold and used the precious metal to fashion cooking utensils--has been broken down by the denuding agencies of frost, rain, and snow, and carried into rivers, where it has remained undiscovered, until recent explorations revealed an astonishing source of wealth. take the river inambari and its tributaries, for instance. an examination of miles of this river revealed the fact that it contained gold to the average value of $ . per cubic yard, which could be extracted at a cost of cents only. the result of this examination led to the formation of the inambari gold dredging concessions, limited. sir martin conway some time ago explored upper peru and the famous gold-producing valleys from which the incas gained most of their great store of wealth. he came to the conclusion that in a certain area no less than $ , , profit was to be made by extracting gold from the rivers, and in order to begin obtaining this gold it was only necessary to have a dredge on the spot. the same hour in which the dredge first begins to turn, gold will be won. the dredges used up to the present have been almost exclusively of the endless-chain bucket or steam-shovel pattern. at one end of the boat is a powerful endless-chain bucket-dredge, which scrapes the gravel from the bottom and elevates it to a revolving screen in the boat. this in turn sifts out the bowlders, which are at once thrown to the bank of the river, while the fine material flows over tables covered with cocoanut matting, which acts like fine riffles, catching the gold in the interstices. the matting is periodically lifted up and thoroughly rinsed off, the rinsings are panned for gold, and the matting returned for another charge. in the case of the inambari gold dredging company, a modern steel dredger has been made, which it is confidently estimated will work far quicker and in a much more effective and inexpensive manner than any other dredger which has yet been used. latest issues brave and bold weekly all kinds of stories that boys like. the biggest and best nickel's worth ever offered. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --three brave boys; or, adventures in the balloon world. by frank sheridan. --archie atwood, champion; or, an all-around athlete's career. by cornelius shea. --dick stanhope afloat; or, the eventful cruise of the _elsinore_. by harrie irving hancock. --working his way upward; or, from footlights to riches. by fred thorpe. --the fourteenth boy; or, how vin lovell won out. by weldon j. cobb. --among the nomads; or, life in the open. by the author of "through air to fame." --bob, the acrobat; or, hustle and win out. by harrie irving hancock. --through the earth; or, jack nelson's invention. by fred thorpe. --the boy chief; or, comrades of camp and trail. by john de morgan. --smart alec; or, bound to get there. by weldon j. cobb. --climbing up; or, the meanest boy alive. by harrie irving hancock. --comrades three; or, with gordon keith in the south seas. by lawrence white, jr. --a young snake-charmer; or, the fortunes of dick erway. by fred thorpe. motor stories the latest and best five-cent weekly. we won't say how interesting it is. see for yourself. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --motor matt's daring rescue; or, the strange case of helen brady. --motor matt's peril; or, castaway in the bahamas. --motor matt's queer find; or, the secret of the iron chest. --motor matt's promise; or, the wreck of the _hawk_. --motor matt's submarine; or, the strange cruise of the _grampus_. --motor matt's quest; or, three chums in strange waters. --motor matt's close call; or, the snare of don carlos. --motor matt in brazil; or, under the amazon. --motor matt's defiance; or, around the horn. --motor matt makes good; or, another victory for the motor boys. --motor matt's launch; or, a friend in need. --motor matt's enemies; or, a struggle for the right. --motor matt's prize; or, the pluck that wins. --motor matt on the wing; or, flying for fame and fortune. tip top weekly the most popular publication for boys. the adventures of frank and dick merriwell can be had only in this weekly. =high art colored covers. thirty-two pages. price, cents.= --dick merriwell at the "meet"; or, honors worth winning. --dick merriwell's protest; or, the man who would not play clean. --dick merriwell in the marathon; or, the sensation of the great run. --dick merriwell's colors; or, all for the blue. --dick merriwell, driver; or, the race for the daremore cup. --dick merriwell on the deep; or, the cruise of the _yale_. --dick merriwell in the north woods; or, the timber thieves of the floodwood. --dick merriwell's dandies; or, a surprise for the cowboy nine. --dick merriwell's "skyscooter"; or, professor pagan and the "princess." --dick merriwell in the elk mountains; or, the search for "dead injun" mine. --dick merriwell in utah; or, the road to "promised land." --dick merriwell's bluff; or, the boy who ran away. --dick merriwell in the saddle; or, the bunch from the bar-z. --dick merriwell's ranch friends; or, sport on the range. _for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address on receipt of price, cents per copy, in money or postage stamps, by_ street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york =if you want any back numbers= of our weeklies and cannot procure them from your newsdealer, they can be obtained from this office direct. fill out the following order blank and send it to us with the price of the weeklies you want and we will send them to you by return mail. =postage stamps taken the same as money.= ________________________ _ _ _street & smith, - seventh avenue, new york city._ _dear sirs: enclosed please find_ ___________________________ _cents for which send me_: tip top weekly, nos. ________________________________ nick carter weekly, " ________________________________ diamond dick weekly, " ________________________________ buffalo bill stories, " ________________________________ brave and bold weekly, " ________________________________ motor stories, " ________________________________ _name_ ________________ _street_ ________________ _city_ ________________ _state_ ________________ a great success!! motor stories every boy who reads one of the splendid adventures of motor matt, which are making their appearance in this weekly, is at once surprised and delighted. surprised at the generous quantity of reading matter that we are giving for five cents; delighted with the fascinating interest of the stories, second only to those published in the tip top weekly. matt has positive mechanical genius, and while his adventures are unusual, they are, however, drawn so true to life that the reader can clearly see how it is possible for the ordinary boy to experience them. _here are the titles now ready and those to be published_: --motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. --motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. --motor matt's century run; or, the governor's courier. --motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the "comet." --motor matt's mystery; or, foiling a secret plot. --motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear. --motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto. --motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward. --motor matt's air ship; or, the rival inventors. --motor matt's hard luck; or, the balloon house plot. --motor matt's daring rescue; or, the strange case of helen brady. --motor matt's peril; or, cast away in the bahamas. --motor matt's queer find; or, the secret of the iron chest. --motor matt's promise; or, the wreck of the "hawk." --motor matt's submarine; or, the strange cruise of the "grampus." --motor matt's quest; or, three chums in strange waters. --motor matt's close call; or, the snare of don carlos. --motor matt in brazil; or, under the amazon. --motor matt's defiance; or, around the horn. --motor matt makes good; or, another victory for the motor boys. --motor matt's launch; or, a friend in need. --motor matt's enemies; or, a struggle for the right. --motor matt's prize; or, the pluck that wins. --motor matt on the wing; or, flying for fame and fortune. to be published on august th. --motor matt's reverse; or, caught in a losing game. to be published on august th. --motor matt's "make or break"; or, advancing the spark of friendship. to be published on august d. --motor matt's engagement; or, on the road with a show. to be published on august th. --motor matt's "short circuit"; or, the mahout's vow. price, five cents at all newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, by the publishers upon receipt of the price. street & smith, _publishers_, new york transcriber's notes: added table of contents. italics are represented with _underscores_, bold with =equal signs=. converted oe ligatures to "oe" for this text version; ligatures retained in html edition. retained inconsistent hyphenation from original ("straightaway" vs. "straight-away"). page , changed "science of variation" to "science of aviation." page , added missing apostrophe to "can't catch up." page , changed "aim" to "air" ("high into the air."). page , corrected "pratically" to "practically." page , changed "waster" to "was ter" ("cowboy feller was ter"). page , corrected "earthern" to "earthen" ("pail on the earthen shelf"). page , corrected "himstlf" to "himself" ("how was he to free himself?"). courtesy of the digital library@villanova university (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction no. july , five cents motor matt's prize or the pluck that wins _by the author of "motor matt"_ [illustration: _unaware of his narrow escape the king of the motor boys flung the sprite onward to victory._] street & smith publishers new york motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction _issued weekly. by subscription $ . per year. entered according to act of congress in the year , in the office of the librarian of congress, washington, d. c., by_ street & smith, _ - seventh avenue, new york, n. y._ no. . new york, july , . =price five cents.= motor matt's prize or, the pluck that wins. by the author of "motor matt." contents chapter i. a clash in black and yellow. chapter ii. pickerel pete's revenge. chapter iii. a "dark horse." chapter iv. plans. chapter v. an order to quit. chapter vi. facing the music. chapter vii. gathering clouds. chapter viii. the plotters. chapter ix. firebugs at work. chapter x. saving the "sprite." chapter xi. out of a blazing furnace. chapter xii. what about the race? chapter xiii. mart rawlins weakens. chapter xiv. the race--the start. chapter xv. the finish. chapter xvi. conclusion. tricked by two. homes on the rio grande. pigeons as photographers. characters that appear in this story. =matt king=, otherwise motor matt. =joe mcglory=, a young cowboy who proves himself a lad of worth and character, and whose eccentricities are all on the humorous side. a good chum to tie to--a point motor matt is quick to perceive. =ping pong=, a chinese boy who insists on working for motor matt, and who contrives to make himself valuable, perhaps invaluable. =george lorry=, who, befriended by motor matt at a critical time in his career, proves a credit to himself and to his friends. =mr. lorry=, george's father; a man who knows how to be generous. =ethel lorry=, george lorry's sister; an admirer of motor matt. =pickerel pete=, whose elemental mind evolves a grievance against motor matt and is further worked upon by an unscrupulous enemy of lorry and matt. the result is almost a tragedy. =ollie merton=, a rich man's son with many failings, but rather deeper than he appears. chapter i. a clash in black and yellow. "woosh!" "fo' de lan' sakes!" then followed a bump, a clatter of displaced stones, and sounds of a fall. when quiet once more ensued, two surprised youngsters were on hands and knees, peering at each other like a couple of hostile bantams. between them lay a string of perch, and off to one side a hickory fishpole, and an old tomato can with a choice assortment of angleworms squirming out of it. one of the lads was a fifteen-year-old chinese, in fluttering blouse, wide trousers, wooden sandals and straw hat; the other was a diminutive moke, black as the ace of spades, barefooted, and wearing a "hickory" shirt and ragged trousers. the bank of fourth lake, where they had come together so unexpectedly, was an admirable place for such collisions. in this place the bank was some thirty feet high, steep and rocky. a narrow path, thickly bordered with bushes, angled from top to bottom. at the foot of the path was a boathouse. now, if a chinese boy, in a good deal of a hurry, went slipping and sliding downward from the top of the path, it will be readily understood that he could not put on the brakes in time to avoid an obstruction appearing suddenly in front of him as he scrambled around a bushy angle. and if that obstruction happened to be a diminutive darky, sitting squarely in the path, sunning himself and half asleep, too drowsy to take notice of sounds above and behind him, it will also be understood that a collision was certain. it happened. the chinese took a header over the darky, and when each flopped to his hands and knees, they were looking into each other's eyes with growing animosity. "by golly!" flared the negro, "is dem glass eyes en yo' haid? ef dey ain't, why doan' yu use dem?" "why blackee boy makee sit in china boy's load?" gurgled the other. "yo' own dishyer lake?" taunted the little moke; "yo' gotter mo'galidge on dishyer bank? go on wif yo' highfalutin' talk! ah'll sot wherebber ah wants, en ef yo' comes erlong en goes tuh shovin', by golly, yo'll fin' ah kin do some shovin' mahse'f." "my gottee light comee down bank," asserted the chinese boy, picking himself up. "my makee go allee same boathouse; you makee stay in load, you gettee shove. my plenty same choo-choo tlain, you makee sleep on tlack. savvy? you makee some mo' shove, my makee some mo' shove, too." the chinese boy stood his ground. the black-skinned youngster sat up and pulled his string of fish closer. "ah nebber did lak chinks," he grunted. "my no likee blackee boy, all same," averred the celestial. "ah reckons ah kin lick yu' wif one han' tied behin' mah back. go 'long, yaller trash! ah's er hurriclone en a cynader, all rolled intuh one, when ah gits sta'ted. look out fo' a big blow en a chink wreck, dat's all." "woosh! blackee boy makee plenty blow. me allee same cannon. my makee go bang, you makee go top-side. no likee your piecee pidgin." then a comical thing happened, and if any third person with a humorous vein in his make-up had been around, the proceeding would have been highly enjoyed. both youngsters glared at each other. each had his fists doubled, and each fiddled back and forth across the steep path. the black boy sniffed contemptuously. the chinese lad was a good imitator, and he also sniffed--even more contemptuously. "by golly," fumed the little moke, "ah dunno whut's er holdin' me back. ef any one else had done tuh me whut yo' done, ah'd hab tromped all ober him befo' now. ah's gwine tuh dat boathouse mah'se'f. git outen de way an' le'me pass, er ah'll butt yo' wif mah haid!" "my makee go to boathouse, too." a little curiosity suddenly crept into the black boy's hostile brain. "whut bizness yo' got at dat boathouse, huh?" he demanded. "gottee plenty pidgin. my workee fo' motol matt." "yo' workin' fo' motor matt?" grunted the other. "by golly, he's mah boss." "him china boy's boss." "naw, he ain't. yo's talkin' froo yo' hat. doan' yo' go er prowlin' erroun' dat 'ar boathouse. ah ain't a-lettin' nobody git dat job away f'om me." "motol matt my boss, allee same," insisted the chinese boy. "when you all git hiahed by motor matt?" demanded the darky. "long time, allee same flisco." "den dat let's yo' out, yaller mug. motor matt done hiahed me fo' days ergo, at two dollahs er day. skun out. doan' yo' try cuttin' me loose from dat 'ar job." the darky took a step downward, but the celestial planted himself firmly and put up his fists. once more there was a hitch in proceedings, but the affair was growing more ominous. "ah shuah hates tuh mangle yo' up," breathed the darky, "but de 'sponsibility fo' what's done gwine tuh happen b'longs on yo' had en not on mine." the chinese lifted his yellow hands and crossed two fingers in front of his face, then, in a particularly irritating manner, he snorted at the black boy through his fingers. that was about as much as flesh and blood could stand. the colored lad was so full of talk that it just gurgled in his throat. "dat's de mos' insulatin' thing what ebber happened tuh me!" he finally managed to gasp. "by golly, ah doan' take dat f'om nobody. dat snortin' talk ah won't stan', dat's all." "blackee boy makee heap talk," taunted the chinese; "him 'flaid makee hit with hands." "'fraid?" cried the darky. "say, you, pickerel pete ain't afraid ob all de chinks dat eber walked de erf. chinks--waugh! ah eat's 'em." "mebby you tly eatee ping pong?" invited the celestial. pickerel pete, watching his antagonist warily, stooped to pick up a small pebble. very carefully he laid the pebble on his shoulder. "knock dat off," he gritted, his hand closing on the string that held the perch. "yo' all ain't got de nerve. yo's got gas enough fo' er b'loon dissension, but dat's all dere is to yu. knock de stone offen mah shoulder! go on, now, you yaller trash." ping leaned over and brushed the pebble away. that settled it. there was no retreat for either of the two after that. pete gave a whoop and struck at ping with the string of perch. the string broke, and ping got a perch down the loose collar of his kimono, while another slapped him across the eyes. for an instant the air was full of fish, and under cover of the finny cloud the enraged chinese rushed at his enemy and gave him a push. pete sat down with a good deal of force, and, as it happened, he sat down on his fishhook. a fishhook was never known to lie any way but point up and ready for business, so pete got up about as quick as he sat down. the next moment he rushed at ping, trailing the line and the fishpole after him. this time the two boys clinched, and the noise they made as they rolled about among the perch and pummeled each other caused a commotion at the boathouse. motor matt and george lorry rushed out of the building and looked up the path. "great spark-plugs!" exclaimed matt. "there's a fight going on up there, george." "it looks that way, that's a fact," answered lorry. "let's go up and put a stop to it." matt was already bounding up the path. before he had ascended more than fifteen feet he was met by two rolling, plunging, tumbling forms coming down. a tremendous clatter of sliding stones accompanied the descent, and a towed fishpole whacked and slammed in the rear. bracing himself, matt succeeded in laying hold of the two closely grappled forms, and in bringing them to a stop; then, when he recognized who the fighters were, his astonishment held him speechless. "pickerel pete!" exclaimed george lorry. "and ping pong," added matt, as soon as he had recovered a little from his amazement. "the sight of ping pretty near gives me a short circuit." "my gottee job," whooped the breathless ping; "pickelel pete no gottee!" "hit's my job, en ah ain't er quittin' fo' no yaller feller like you!" thwack, thwack! "here, now," cried matt, "this won't do. stop it, you fellows!" pickerel pete had a firm grip on ping's pigtail--which is about the worst hold you can get on a chinaman. ping had one hand and arm around pete's black neck, and the other hand was twisted in the fishline. every time pete would pull the queue a sharp wail would go up from ping, and every time the fishline was jerked pete would howl and squirm. "you boys ought to be ashamed of yourselves," said matt, masking his desire to laugh with all the severity he could muster. lorry was leaning against a tree, his head bowed and his whole form in a quiver. "leavee go china boy's pigtail!" chirped ping. "stop yo' pullin' on dat 'ar fishline!" howled pete. "let go, both of you!" ordered matt; then forcibly he pulled the two lads apart. "here, lorry," he called, "you hang onto ping and i'll take care of pete." the youngsters were a disordered pair when separated and held at a distance from each other. "what's the meaning of this?" demanded matt. chapter ii. pickerel pete's revenge. for several moments neither pete nor ping was able to reply to matt's question. the darky was busy getting the fishhook out of his trousers, and the chinese was hopping up and down on one foot, shaking the perch out of his flapping garments. both the fish and the fishhook were extricated at about the same time. "say, boss," cried pete, "yo' all ain't done passed me up fo' dat yaller trash, has yu? ah's workin' fo' yu yit, ain't ah? dat 'ar slant-eye hefun was er sayin' dat he had de job, but ah 'lows yo' wouldn't go en cut me offen yo' pay-roll fo' de likes ob him." "my workee fo' motol matt," clamored ping, "allee time. blackee boy no workee. me one piecee fine china boy. lickee blackee boy allee same sam hill." "yo' nebber!" whooped pete. "ah kin git yo' on de mat wif mah eyes shut, en----" "stand right where you are, pete!" cut in matt sternly. "i'll not have any more rowdying. you and ping ought to be ashamed of yourselves." "you ketchee boat my sendee by expless, motol matt?" inquired ping. matt had "caught" the boat, all right. ping, without any instructions, had sent the eighteen-foot _sprite_, with engine installed and various accessories in the lockers, from san francisco to madison, wisconsin, by express, charges collect. at first the king of the motor boys had been considerably "put out" by this unauthorized move of ping's, but later he had been glad that the _sprite_ had come into his hands. "yes, ping," said matt, "i received the boat, and we have now got her in the boathouse down there, making some changes in her to fit her for the motor-boat race next week. where have you been, ping?" "makee come flom flisco," answered the chinese, hunting up his sandals and his hat. "my workee fo' you, so my come findee boss." "the boat got here quite a while ago. how long have you been in the town?" "ketchee town yessulday. makee ask chop-chop where my findee motol matt. thisee molnin' 'melican man say, so my come. blackee boy allee same stone in china boy's load; china boy no see um, takee tumble; blackee boy velly mad, makee fight. woosh!" pete, with snapping eyes, had been standing back listening to this talk. now he thought it about time that he put in his own oar. "ah's brack, boss," said he to matt, "but ah ain't yaller. cho'ly yo' ain't goin' tuh frow me down fo' dat 'ar no-'count hefun, is yo'? ah's workin' fo' you fo' two dollahs er day. ain't dat right?" "peter," said matt, "you're not to be depended on. i hired you for two dollars a day to pilot me around the lakes, and i paid you for a day in advance. you went with me through the canal to fourth lake, and then up the catfish to whisky creek. i left you to watch the boat, and you deserted, and i haven't seen you since until this minute. now you bob up, just as though nothing had happened, and want to keep right on working for me. i don't think i need you any longer, pete. you didn't work for me more than three hours, but you got paid for a full day, so you ought to be satisfied." ping puffed himself up delightedly. pickerel pete, on the other hand, seemed struck "all of a heap." "yo' doan' mean dat, does yo', boss?" he pleaded. "ah's er good li'l moke, en ah got testimendations f'om de gobernor ob de state. yo' ain't gwineter turn down dem testimendations, is yo'?" "i can't depend on you, pete," said matt. "i don't need a boy any more, anyhow; but i'm under obligations to ping, so i'll have to take him on." "den ah's kicked out?" shouted pete. "no, you're not kicked out. i don't need you, that's all." "we had er contrack, en yo's done busted hit!" flared pete savagely. matt could not restrain a laugh at the little darky's rage. "you got the best of our contract, pete," said matt. "you owe me about a dollar and a half, but i'm willing to call it square." "ah owes yo' more'n dat," fumed pete. "yo's done kicked me out, en ah ain't er gwine tur fo'git. hit's dat yaller trash dat's 'sponsible"--he shook his black fist at ping--"but ah's gwine tuh play eben wif yo' all fo' whut yo's done. jess watch mah smoke!" "you little rascal!" spoke up lorry; "what do you mean by talking that way? get out of here!" "ah's gotter right tuh stay anywhere ah please erround dishyer lake," cried pete. "yo' kain't drive me off, nuther. yah! dat ole boat you's fixin' up fo' de race ain't worf nuffin'. ollie merton he's gotter boat dat is er boat, en he's gwinter beat yo' outen yo' boots, dat's whut he is. ah wouldn't 'sociate wif no sich fellers as you, en ah wouldn't work fo' motor matt ef he paid me a millyun dollahs er day! jess yo' watch mah smoke--ah'll git eben, yassuh!" with that the angry little rascal turned and ran up the path. but he did not run far. as soon as a bend in the crooked course had hidden him from the eyes of matt and lorry, he plunged off along the side of the bank, hiding himself in the undergrowth, and working his way slowly down toward the boathouse. as soon as pete had vanished, lorry turned to matt with a laugh. "there's another enemy for us to deal with, matt," said he. "if he was bigger," returned matt, "he might prove dangerous; but pete's too small to count." "blackee boy no good," put in the smirking ping. "my knockee blame head off!" "don't be so savage, ping," said matt humorously. "so this is the chap that sent the _sprite_ to madison by express, eh?" inquired lorry, grinning as he gave the celestial an up-and-down look. "he's the fellow. why did you drop out so suddenly in san francisco, ping?" and matt turned to the chinese. "my waitee fo' you by tiburon landing, you savvy?" said ping. "bumby, my see launly boss come down landing likee house afire. woosh! no likee launly boss. my say 'goo'-by' and lun away. one, two, tlee day, my makee hunt fo' motol matt. him gone. p'licee man say he gone ma'son, wiscon', so my gettee 'melican man boxee boat, shippee ma'son. you ketchee awri'. velly fine. now my workee fo' you. hi-lee-lee, hi-lo-lo----" ping was happy. he had found matt, and he was back on the job again. not only that, but the "blackee boy" was cut out for good. "do you remember the three men who made us so much trouble in san francisco, ping?" asked matt. "allee same. red-whiskels 'melican----" "that's the fellow who's called big john." "sure; him big john, awri', and big lascal, too. woosh! my lecollect kinky and loss. all thlee makee matt heap tlouble." "big john, kinky, and ross, those are the men. have you seen anything of them, ping, since you left frisco?" "no see um, motol matt. my punchee head, me see um. where joe mcgloly, huh? him big high boy, joe." "mcglory's off around picnic point on a motor cycle, trying to find out how fast the boat is that the _sprite_ has got to beat. as the _wyandotte_ races through the lake, joe was to race along the road on the lake shore, just keeping abreast of the boat. then joe's speedometer will tell him how fast the boat is going." "no savvy," murmured ping, shaking his head. "your talk is too deep for him, matt," laughed lorry. "well, let's get back to the boathouse. you were just going to explain the changes you were making in the _sprite_ in order to make her fast enough to beat the _wyandotte_." "when joe gets back," said matt, "we'll know just how fast the _wyandotte_ can go, and just how fast the _sprite_ will have to travel." "merton may try to fool us, matt. if he knows joe is timing him, he'll not let the _wyandotte_ put in her best licks." "i told joe to be careful and not let any one on the _wyandotte_ see him. we've got to be just as careful. i'd hate to have merton know what we were doing to the _sprite_." "sure," nodded lorry, "it won't do to have our hand tipped at this stage of the game." matt and lorry started back toward the boathouse, ping following them and looking back up the path on the chance of catching sight of pickerel pete. "all the changes i'm making in the _sprite_," continued matt, "are drawn on that roll of papers i left on the work-bench. we'll go over those diagrams, one at a time, george, and i think i can make everything clear to you." "whatever you say, matt, goes," returned lorry. "you've got a head on you for such things. i know a good motor launch when i see it, and i can drive such a boat as well as anybody, but i'm no mechanic. all i want," and lorry's eyes flashed and his words became sharp, "is to get a boat that will beat merton's. you know how much that means to me." "i do," said matt, "and we're going to make a fast boat out of the _sprite_. we'll give ollie merton a run for that prize, and no two ways about it. when joe gets back, if he has had any kind of luck, we'll know just what we're up against." the boathouse was large and roomy, and the doors were open, front and rear. matt had transformed part of the interior into a workshop, and there was a bench, with a machinist's vise, under an open window at the side of the building. tools and parts of the boat's machinery were scattered about, apparently in great disorder, but really with a methodical carelessness that left them handily in the spot where they would next be needed. as the boys entered the boathouse, matt started directly for the bench to get the roll of drawings. they were not where he had left them, and he turned blankly to lorry. "did you do anything with that bundle of diagrams, george?" he asked. "never touched 'em, matt," replied lorry, with some excitement, "but i saw where you laid them--and it was right there." lorry dropped a hand on the work-bench, close to the open window. "they've been stolen!" exclaimed matt aghast. "they were taken while we were up the bank! who could have done it?" "who but merton and some of those rascally friends of his?" queried lorry, his eyes flashing. matt ran to the other end of the boathouse and stepped out upon the small platform above the water, but, strain his eyes as he would, he could see nothing of any boat on that part of the lake. chapter iii. a "dark horse." ollie merton was the only son of a millionaire lumberman. the millionaire and his wife were making an extensive tour of europe, and while they were away the son was in complete charge of the big madison mansion, with a large fund in the bank subject to his personal check. never before had such a chance to "spread himself" came young merton's way, and he was making the most of it. the lad was commodore of the winnequa yacht club, which had its headquarters near winnequa, on third lake. another institution, known as the yahara motor boat club, had its boathouse on fourth lake; and between the winnequas and the yaharas there was the most intense rivalry. twice, in two years hand running, the winnequas had contested against the yaharas for power-boat honors. by winning the first race the winnequas had secured a trophy known as the "de lancey cup," and by winning the second race they still retained possession of the cup. by winning a third time the cup would pass to them in perpetuity. the yaharas, feeling that their very existence as a club was at stake, were bitterly determined to snatch the prize from their rivals. a vast amount of feeling was wrapped up in the approaching contest. george lorry was vice commodore of the yahara club. in a secret session, months before, the yaharas had commissioned lorry to carry the honors of the club and secure a boat which would outrun any the winnequas might put in the field. lorry, no less than merton, was the son of a rich man. without consulting his father, lorry ordered a five thousand-dollar hydroplane, and, at the last moment, parental authority stepped in and denied the young man such an extravagance. george lorry at this time had rather more pride and conceit than were good for him. his father's action, in the matter of the hydroplane, stung him to the quick. he felt that he had been humiliated, and that his comrades, the yaharas, were giving him the cold shoulder on account of his failure to "make good" with a winning boat. george had been wrong in this, but, nevertheless, he resigned from the boat club and went to the other extreme of making a friend and associate of ollie merton. merton, recognizing in lorry the only source of danger to the prestige of the winnequas, had advised george to do certain things with the object of clearing a rival from the field during the forthcoming race. that merton had advised unscrupulous acts, and that lorry had tried to carry them out, matters little. motor matt met lorry at just the right time to keep him from doing something which he would have regretted to the end of his days. very recently lorry had discovered the false friendship of merton, and, coming to see the folly of what he had done in a misguided moment, had gone back to the yaharas and requested a renewal of the commission to furnish a boat for the coming race that would regain the de lancey cup for his club. lorry had been received by his former comrades with open arms, and they had immediately acceded to his request. from this it will be understood how great a stake george lorry had in the third contest with the winnequas. apart from the intense club spirit which prompted a winning boat at any cost, there was a personal side to the issue which meant everything to lorry. merton's specious counsel, given for the purpose of getting lorry out of the race, had almost brought lorry to ruin. now, to best merton in the contest had come to be regarded by lorry as almost a personal justification. to motor matt young lorry had turned, and the king of the motor boys had promised a boat that would regain the lost prize for the yaharas. matt felt that the _sprite_, with certain changes, could beat anything on the lakes. lorry shared his confidence, and matt was working night and day to get the swift little eighteen-foot launch in shape for "warming up" on the water before the regatta. the theft of the drawings was the first backset matt and lorry had received. well aware of merton's questionable character, it was easy for the lads to believe that he had slipped into the boathouse while they were up the bank and had taken the plans; or he need only have come to the window and reach in in order to help himself to them. lorry was terribly cut up. "merton has got the better of us," he muttered disconsolately. "he'll know just what we're going to do with the _sprite_ now, and will make changes in the _wyandotte_, or else arrange for another boat to stack up against us. it's too late for us to order another boat, and we'll have to go on with the _sprite_ and look at merton's heels over the finish line. oh, thunder! i wish this chink and that pickerel pete were in the bottom of the lake!" noticing the scowl lorry gave him, ping slunk away from his vicinity, and came closer to where matt was walking thoughtfully back and forth across the floor of the boathouse. "don't lose your nerve, lorry," counseled matt, coming to a halt and leaning against the work-bench. "no fellow ever won a fight unless he went into it with confidence." "it's all well enough to talk of confidence," grumbled lorry, "but this is enough to undermine all the hopes we ever had." "looked at in one way, yes. those were my working drawings. they contained all the measurements of the _sprite's_ hull, my plans for changing the gasoline tanks from the bow aft where they would not bring the boat down so much by the head, also my arrangement for a new reversing-gear, the dimensions of the motor, and the size and pitch of our new propeller." lorry groaned. "why, confound it!" he cried, "merton will be able to figure out just what the _sprite's_ speed should be--and he can plan accordingly for another boat. there's a way of getting those plans away from him, by jupiter!" he started angrily to his feet. "how?" asked matt quietly. "the police," returned lorry. "no, not the police! we don't know that merton has the plans; it's a pretty safe guess, all right, but we don't absolutely know. when you call in the law to help you, george, you've got to be pretty sure of your ground." lorry dropped back in his chair dejectedly, and matt resumed his thoughtful pace back and forth across the room. "i've thought for the last two days," matt went on finally, "that merton was rather free in showing off the _wyandotte_. he has her over here in fourth lake when she belongs in third, and he's trying her out on the other side of picnic point, almost under our noses. i'm not sure but that merton wants us to see his boat's performances." "then he's not running the _wyandotte_ at her racing speed, matt," averred lorry. "he's only pretending to, hoping that we'll watch her work and get fooled." "he'll not fool us much. the _wyandotte_ is a thirty-seven-footer, five-foot beam, semi-speed model. she has a two-cylinder, twenty-horse, two-cycle engine, five-and-three-quarter-inch bore by five-inch stroke. the propeller has elliptical blades, and is nineteen inches in diameter by twenty-eight-inch pitch----" lorry looked up in startled wonder. motor matt had reeled off his figures off-hand as readily as though reading them from a written memorandum. "where, in the name of glory, did you find out all that?" gasped lorry. matt smiled. "why," said he, "i got them in a perfectly legitimate manner from the builder of the boat, who lives in bay city. the name of the builder was easily learned, and a letter did the rest. the _wyandotte_ can log fourteen or fifteen miles--no trouble to find that out with pencil and paper, since we have all those dimensions. now, the _sprite_, as she was, could do her mile in four-twelve--possibly in four--and merton knows it. why, then, is he showing off a boat that is not much better than the _sprite_ has been all along? take it from me, lorry," and matt spoke with supreme conviction, "the _wyandotte_ is not the boat the winnequas will have in the race. _there's another one_, and i've felt morally sure of it all along." "you're a wonder!" muttered lorry. "why, you never told me you'd written to bay city about the _wyandotte_." "i intended to tell you at the proper time." "well, if merton is going to spring a surprise boat on us the day of the race, that makes it so much the worse." "i have other plans for changing the _sprite_, but i have been holding them back until i could make sure merton was holding another speed boat in reserve. those plans weren't in that roll that was stolen, george; as a matter of fact, they're not down on paper at all. from the drawings and memoranda merton has secured he can figure the improved _sprite's_ speed at a little less than sixteen miles an hour. let him figure that way. the other plans i have will enable her to do twenty." lorry bounded off his chair. "twenty?" he cried. "matt, you're crazy!" before matt could answer, joe mcglory staggered into the boathouse, dragging a motor cycle after him. both he and the wheel were splashed with mud, and bore other evidences of wear and tear, but the cowboy's eyes were bulging with excitement. "you've been gone two hours longer than i thought you'd be, joe," said matt, studying his chum with considerable curiosity. "what's happened?" "that's it!" exploded mcglory, breathlessly, leaning the motor cycle against the bench. "speak to me about that! sufferin' thunderbolts! but i've made a whale of a discovery." "what is it?" demanded george, wildly impatient. "why," cried mcglory, "merton's got another boat, and she's certainly a blue streak, if i know the brand. the fat's in the fire, pards. if the poor old _sprite_ gets into a race with this new boat of merton's, she'll be in the 'also ran' column." lorry collapsed. "a dark horse!" exclaimed matt. "i'd have bet a farm merton was planning to spring something like that. buck up, lorry! perhaps this isn't so bad, after all. tell us about it, joe." chapter iv. plans. "when i got over the point, pards," said joe, dropping into a chair and fanning himself with his hat, "the _wyandotte_ was just comin' down the lake to pull off her usual race with herself. i hauled up in the road, with the bushes between me and the water, ready to jump into the saddle the minute the boat came opposite. i was keeping shady, you can bet your moccasins on that, and it was some sort of a jolt when i saw a galoot perched on a stone. he looked like a hobo, and the way he grinned got on my nerves. "'i'm funny, all right,' i says to him, 'but where i come from a feller gets shot if he looks that way at some one else.' "'i ain't laffin' at you,' says the tramp, 'but at the joke them other mugs is playin' on you an' your push.' "'where does the joke come in?' i inquires. "'why,' he comes back, 'that other club is foolin' you with a boat here on fourth lake when the real boat is over on third. if what i'm a-sayin' is worth a dollar to you, just remember and cough up.' "well, say, that hobo wasn't a holy minute grabbin' my attention. i fell off the chug wheel right there and proceeded to palaver. it turned out that merton's gard'ner was sick for a few days, and that the tramp mowed the lawn and did a few other things around the place. there was an open window, ollie and some of his pards were on the other side of it, and the noise of the lawnmower didn't prevent the tramp from hearing what was said. you can bet your last dollar it was hot news he got hold of. "merton and the winnequas were plannin' to fool us with the _wyandotte_ on fourth lake while they were warming up the real boat on third. the hobo said i could wait there at the point till the _wyandotte_ came closer, and that i'd see merton wasn't aboard; then he allowed that if i'd sizzle over to the gun club on third lake i'd see the real prize winner doing stunts that would curl my hair. "the tramp was off for waunakee, and had just dropped down on a stone to rest. my coming along was a happenchance, as he hadn't intended to peddle the news he'd got hold of, but he recognized me as being a pard of motor matt's, and a dollar looked pretty big to him. "i waited till the _wyandotte_ was close, and then i saw that merton wasn't aboard. would i swallow the hobo's yarn or not? i decided that i would, so i threw him a dollar and burned the air in the direction of the gun club and third lake. "well, t'other boat was there, sliding around like a streak of greased lightning. half the time i couldn't see her for the foam she kicked up. i managed to pick up the label on her bow as she was making a turn, and it's the _dart_. but go--speak to me about that! say, she gets to a place pretty near before she starts. merton was aboard, and so was that red-headed pard of his, halloran. halloran was working the machinery. i watched my chance and kept abreast of the _dart_ for a mile. twenty-one miles is what the speedometer registered, although the count may be shy a little one way or the other. i was too excited to be entirely accurate. our hands are in the air, pards, and no mistake. the _sprite_'ll look like a turtle wallowin' along in the wake of a swordfish." matt and lorry had listened to this recital with varying feelings. matt was deeply interested, but lorry was visibly cast down. "how big is the _dart_, joe?" inquired matt. "twenty-five or thirty feet, matt." "you must be a little wrong in your estimate of the _dart's_ speed. it doesn't seem possible that she could turn a mile in less than three minutes." "well, look!" exclaimed mcglory, catching his first glimpse of ping. "if there ain't little washee-washee slant-eyes i'm a chink myself. when and how did he flash out in these parts?" matt, by way of relieving the tension aroused by mcglory's exciting news, told of the scuffle in the path leading up the bank, and then allowed the celestial to finish with an account of the way he had come from frisco. "let's get back to the boats," put in lorry impatiently, when ping had got through with his pidgin english. "hadn't i better withdraw the _sprite_, matt, and let some other fellow meet merton?" matt stared. "i didn't believe you were that sort of a fellow, lorry," he returned, "and i don't think so yet." "but if the _sprite_ hasn't any chance----" "she has a chance, and a good one, after i get her ready. there'll have to be more extensive changes, that's all." "what other changes are you thinking about?" "ping," said matt, turning to the chinese, "you go outside the boathouse and see that no one hangs around it while we're talking." "can do," chirped ping, and shuffled out. matt pulled up a chair close to lorry's and motioned for mcglory to join the inner circle. then matt explained about the loss of the roll of drawings. the cowboy was mad clear through in half a second. "it was merton, all right," he scowled, "and you can bet a ten-dollar note against a last year's bird's nest on that. by this time he'll know what the improved _sprite_ can do, and he'll also know that the _dart_ can run circles around her. we're jonahed, for fair." "no, we're not," said matt. "as long as i thought we had only the _wyandotte_ to beat, i was only planning to make the _sprite_ fast enough for that purpose. but i can make the _sprite_ the fastest thing on the lakes--it'll take a hustle, though, and i'll have to have a machinist helper." "i don't care how many men you have to have, matt, nor how many extra supplies," returned lorry, beginning to gather a little confidence from the quiet, determined air of the king of the motor boys. "go ahead, and call on me for what money you need." "over at the machine shop, where i've been getting some work done," proceeded matt, "they have a double-opposed, four-cycle automobile engine, capable of developing from eighteen to twenty horse-power at eighteen hundred revolutions per minute. the cylinders are five by five. that's a pretty stiff engine for the _sprite_, but the hull could be strengthened, and we could put it in and get about ninety or ninety-five per cent. of the horse-power by gearing down three to one. after the gears wear a little, the percentage of horse-power might drop to eighty. this motor will drive a three-bladed propeller twenty-six inches diameter, thirty-two inches pitch. if the vibration don't shake me out of the boat at eighteen hundred revolutions per minute, the speed we'll get will be astonishing." "whoop!" exulted mcglory. "i don't know what it all means, but it listens good. i reckon there's a kick or two in the old _sprite_ yet." "you can't run a boat engine like you run an automobile motor, matt," said lorry. "of course not. a steady load and steady plugging in the water is a whole lot different from the give-and-take a motor gets in an auto; but we can keep up the eighteen hundred revolutions for ten minutes, anyhow--and the race only covers five miles. i'm fixing the _sprite_ to win the race, that's all." "by george!" exclaimed lorry, "it takes you to make a fellow feel good, matt! you know what you're doing, every time and all the time. go ahead with the work, and bank on me to hold you up with both hands." "me, too, pard!" added mcglory. "what we're doing," said matt, "we want to keep strictly to ourselves. merton has our drawings, and probably thinks he knows just what we're about. let him think so. if he springs a 'dark horse' on us, we'll get even by springing one on him." "but can you get the _sprite_ ready in time?" asked lorry anxiously. "sure i can! i'll have to begin at once, though, and some of us will have to stay in this boathouse night and day to make sure that none of the winnequas come prowling around. if you'll stay here with mcglory, george, i'll borrow your motor cycle to go over to the machine shop and dicker for that second-hand engine." "go on," said lorry. "while you're there you might get a man to help you." matt got up and pulled the motor cycle away from the bench. "i'll be back in an hour, fellows," said he. leaving the boathouse, he dragged the wheel to the top of the steep bank, then, getting into the saddle, he gave the pedals a turn and was off like a shot along the wooded road that led past the insane asylum and by the waunakee road and sherman avenue into town. if motor matt loved one thing more than another, it was a good, clean fight for supremacy, such as the one that now confronted him and his friends. there was a zest in such a struggle, and the pleasure of winning out against odds, in a good cause, was its own reward. as he whizzed along the wooded road, mechanically steering the wheel while his mind busied itself with other things, he was confronted suddenly by a rail held breast-high across his course. it was impossible to turn out at that point, and matt had to shut off the power and jam down hard on the brake. he caught a glimpse of a silent form at each end of the rail, and then, as he halted, of half a dozen other forms rushing out at him from the bushes on each side of the road. in another moment he was caught and dragged from the motor cycle. chapter v. an order to quit. this unexpected attack, coming so suddenly, had taken matt at a disadvantage. he fought as well as he could, in the circumstances, but there were too many against him. there were eight of his foes, all told, and matt was carried into the timber at one side of the road and dropped unceremoniously in a small cleared space. bounding to his feet, he stood staring about him. his eight enemies had formed a narrow circle, hemming him in. they were all young fellows, well dressed, and carried themselves with an air of firmness and determination. the face of each was covered with a handkerchief, which left only the eyes visible. "what are you trying to do?" demanded matt angrily. "don't lose your temper, motor matt," answered one of the eight, in a voice that was plainly disguised. "we're not going to hurt you--now. do what we want you to and we'll remain good friends. all we've stopped you for is to have a little talk." "did you have to head me off with a rail in order to have a little talk?" asked matt sarcastically. "we wanted to make sure of you for about five minutes, and this was the only way we could think of. we were going over to your boathouse, but saw you coming down the hill from the point, and thought we'd better lay for you." "well," said matt, "here i am. hurry up with your talk. i'm in a rush, and don't want to stop here long." "we want to ask you a question: you're a professional motorist, aren't you?" "i've driven a racing automobile, if that's what you mean." "they say you know gasoline motors forward, backward, and sideways." "i've studied them, and i've worked in a shop where they were made." "then i guess we've got you dead to rights. do you want to make a hundred dollars?" "that depends on how i'm to make it," answered the king of the motor boys, immediately suspicious. "you won't have much to do. we'll give you the money now if you promise to leave town to-night, and not come back to this section for a month." "oh!" exclaimed matt, a light suddenly dawning upon him. "you're representative members of the winnequa club, i take it, and you want to keep me from running lorry's boat in that race." "we don't care how you take it," was the sharp retort. "the question is, will you accept that hundred and get out?" "certainly not," said matt promptly. there was a silence. one lad was doing all the talking, the others remaining silent and watchful. "will you leave for two hundred?" went on the spokesman. "no," was matt's indignant response, "nor for two thousand! what do you fellows take me for? i'm george lorry's friend, and i'm going to see him through this racing contest." "i don't think you will," was the significant answer. "you probably have an idea you will, but you'll change your mind before you're many days older." "i understand," observed matt quietly, "that your club is composed of pretty decent fellows. i'm pretty sure the rest of the members don't know what you eight are doing." "that's nothing to you. you're a professional racer." "there's nothing in the rules governing the race that bars out a professional driver," said matt. "that may be, but it's hardly fair to stack up a professional driver against an amateur." "halloran is not an amateur," returned matt. "he has handled motor boats for two years. i happen to know this. if halloran is going to drive merton's boat, i don't think you fellows can complain if i drive lorry's." matt's knowledge regarding halloran must have staggered the eight masked youths. silence reigned again for a space, one set of eyes encountering another and the glance traveling around the circle. the king of the motor boys was studying those around him. one of the eight he believed to be ollie merton, although of that he could not be sure. merton must have made good time from third lake, if he had left the _dart_, crossed the city, and come around fourth lake to that point. "we're not here to discuss halloran," went on the young fellow who was doing the talking for the rest of his party. "we don't want you backing up young lorry. there are going to be some bets made on that race, and we want merton's boat to have a cinch. if what we've heard of you is true, you're deep, and when you go into a thing you go in to win. if you won't take a couple of hundred and leave town, how much will you ask to throw the race?" matt stiffened, and his eyes flashed dangerously. once before, in the course of his career, an insult of that sort had been offered him. that was in arizona, and a gambler had approached him and offered him money to "throw" a bicycle race on which the gambler and his friends had been doing some heavy betting. matt had principles, hard and fast principles which he knew to be right and on which he would not turn his back. he had never seen any good come of betting, and he was against it. "i guess," said he sharply, "that if you know me better you wouldn't make such a proposition. i'm a friend of lorry's, and i'm going to stand by him. not only that, but if you fellows have been foolish enough to bet on merton's boat, i'll do my best to see that you lose your money. i guess that finishes our talk. break away and let me go on." "don't be in a rush," growled the spokesman. "if you won't take our money and leave town, and if you won't throw the race for a share of the proceeds, then we'll hand you an order which you'll do well to obey. it's an order to quit. understand? you're an outsider and we don't want you around here." "so is halloran an outsider," said matt caustically. "he comes from milwaukee." "we're talking about you, now, and not about halloran. lorry has got to stand on his own pins. he's got money enough to see him through this race without any of your help." "you're a one-sided lot, you fellows," went on matt. "all you say about lorry applies equally well to merton. why don't merton 'stand on his own pins,' as you call it? and why do you ask more of lorry than you do of merton?" "that's our business," snapped the other. matt laughed. "the trouble with you fellows," said he, "is that you're scared. you think the _wyandotte_ has got a little more than she can take care of in the _sprite_. what kind of sportsmen are you, anyhow, when you try to load your dice before you go into this game?" matt's mention of the _wyandotte_ was made with the deliberate intention of hoodwinking the eight. by speaking as he did the masked youths would infer that matt and lorry knew nothing, as yet, about the _dart_. that matt's remark had gone home was evident from the quick looks that passed around the circle over the tops of the handkerchiefs. "we've got you down pretty fine, motor matt," pursued the spokesman, who could not bring himself to give up the attempt to influence matt. "if it hadn't been for you, george lorry would be in san francisco now. you brought him back here, and you advised him to get back into the yahara club and go on with the programme the yaharas had laid down for him. that was all your doing, and you know it." "i'm glad to think," said matt, with spirit, "that i had something to do with that. but you're mistaken if you think i had _everything_ to do with it." "i suppose this mcglory helped a little." "he did; but the biggest help came from lorry himself. lorry has the right kind of stuff in him, and he'll show you, before long, that he's worth a dozen mertons." this goaded one of the others into speech--and it was the one whom matt suspected of being ollie merton. "oh, splash! lorry's a sissy and he always was." it was merton's voice, matt felt sure of that. but the king of the motor boys wanted to make assurance doubly sure. "_now_ are you done?" he asked. "you refuse to meet us half way in an amicable arrangement?" "your amicable arrangement," said matt ironically, "is an insult to a fellow who tries to be square. i'll have nothing to do with it, and that's the last word." "we're going to have the last word, my gay motorist, and from now on up to the hour of the race you and lorry are going to have your hands full of trouble. the _sprite_ will never enter the contest, and you'll save yourself something, motor matt, if you obey our orders to quit. there----" motor matt, watching his opportunity, had made a sudden leap forward. it was toward the side of the circle opposite the place where the chap whom he believed to be merton was standing. instantly the eight made a concerted move in that direction, leaving a gap in the cordon behind matt. like lightning, the king of the motor boys whirled about and darted through the gap. as he raced past the fellow he supposed to be merton he snatched the handkerchief from his face. the evidence, then, was plain enough. "merton!" shouted matt as he bounded toward the road. an angry yell went up behind him, followed by a crashing among the bushes as the eight began pursuit. but matt had the lead, and he was fortunate enough to find the motor cycle leaning against the tree near the place where it had been halted. to mount, start the gasoline, switch on the spark and pedal off took but a few seconds. by the time merton and his companions reached the road matt was sliding around a wooded bend like a shot from a gun. around the turn matt was compelled to sheer off to avoid a big touring car which, deserted and at a standstill, filled the road. he noted, as he passed, that it was the merton touring car. matt had seen the car before, and in circumstances almost as dramatic. chapter vi. facing the music. the automobile repair shop which matt had started for was in sherman avenue, not far from the park that skirted the shore of fourth lake. he did not make for the shop at once, however, but kept out of sight until ollie merton had passed with the big, seven-passenger car loaded to the limit. as soon as the car had vanished matt went into the shop. he was not long in transacting his business there. before beginning he placed the proprietor under seal of secrecy. the second-hand motor was secured at a bargain, matt paying spot cash for it. the engine was to be loaded aboard a launch and taken across the lake, in the afternoon, to the boathouse by picnic point. with the engine was to come a young machinist, a son of the proprietor of the shop, who was to be well paid for his services, and who promised to use his hands and eyes and not his tongue. matt's final request was that the engine, when carried down to the landing and while aboard the launch, should be covered with canvas. this was to prevent curious eyes from securing information which might be carried to some of the winnequas, and so to merton. from the machine shop matt rushed on into town for the purpose of sending a message. the telegram was to a supply house in milwaukee and requested immediate shipment of a new propeller. the sudden change in plans for the _sprite_ made quick work necessary. it was long after noon when matt got back to the boathouse, where lorry and mcglory were impatiently awaiting him. "you were longer than we thought you'd be," remarked lorry, a look of relief crossing his face as matt trundled the motor cycle through the open door. "did you get what you wanted, pard?" inquired mcglory. "yes," laughed matt, leaning the wheel against the wall, "and a little more than i was expecting. i was stopped by merton and seven of his friends, just this side of the asylum and----" "by merton!" cried lorry. "sufferin' brain-twisters!" exclaimed the cowboy. "how could that be? why, pard, i left merton on third lake, in the _dart_." "merton must have come ashore, joe, pretty soon after you left. he picked up seven of his friends somewhere and started around fourth lake to have a talk with me at the boathouse. they saw me coming down the hill from the point, stopped the automobile around a bend, tied handkerchiefs over their faces and stopped me with a fence rail. before i fairly realized what was going on, the eight of them had me off the wheel and into the timber." "what an outrage!" growled lorry. "you're getting more than your share of rough work, matt, seems to me. what did those fellows want?" matt pulled out a lunch box of generous size, opened it on the workbench and invited his two companions to help themselves. "i went into town to send a telegram for a new propeller," he observed, "but i didn't even take time to stop at a restaurant for a meal." "no matter what happens," said lorry admiringly, "you never forget anything. but go on and tell us what merton and those other chaps stopped you for." "they were trying to run in a rhinecaboo of some sort. i'll be bound," averred mcglory. "the plain truth of the matter is, fellows," declared matt, "merton and his crowd are scared. they offered me two hundred dollars to leave town at once and never come back." "tell me about that!" chuckled the cowboy. "scared? you bet they are! motor matt has put a crimp in the confidence they had about the outcome of the race." "and that leads me to believe," went on matt, "that, in spite of the fact that merton has that roll of drawings and knows what we were doing to the _sprite_, he's still afraid of us. the _dart_ can't be such a phenomenally fast boat as you imagined, joe. if it was, why should merton fear the _sprite_? he's judging her, you understand, according to our first plans for changing her. he doesn't know a thing about the automobile engine and the other propeller we're going to install." "listen, once," said mcglory; "it's not the plans that's making merton sidestep, but motor matt. he and his bunch will feel a heap easier if they can know the king of the motor boys is cut out of lorry's herd." "another thing," continued matt. "merton and his friends are doing some betting on the race." "i've heard about that," put in lorry. "merton is plunging with his father's bankroll, and going the limit. his friends are in the pool with him, and they're offering all sorts of fancy odds." "if i could rake together a stake," said mcglory, "i'd take a little of that winnequa money myself." "no, you wouldn't, joe," returned matt. "i'm out with a club for that sort of thing. good, clean sport is all right, but when you tangle it up with a lot of bookmakers it goes to the dogs." "mebby you're right, pard," grinned joe, "but any kind of a chance, with money in sight, is excitin'." "merton and the rest wanted me, if i wouldn't agree to pull out, to throw the race." "the scoundrels!" cried lorry. "they didn't know our pard very well, george," observed the cowboy. "what did they say when you turned 'em down, matt?" "ordered me to quit. said if i didn't the lot of us, over here, would have to face all kinds of music." "i always did like music," said the cowboy. "right this minute i'm feelin' like a brass band and i've got to toot." mcglory's "toot" was more like a steam calliope than a brass band, and it was so hilarious that ping, who was still acting as outside guard, pushed his yellow face in at the window over the workbench. "who makee low?" he inquired. "there's no row, you heathen," answered the cowboy, tossing him a sandwich. "there, take that and stop your face. i'm jubilatin', that's all." ping disappeared with a grin and the sandwich. "what are you jubilating about, joe?" inquired lorry. "don't you savvy, george? why, motor matt's on his mettle! all that talk that merton and his pards gave him just cinched him up for the 'go' of his life. you'll see things at that race. as for facing the music--there's nothing to it. why, the _sprite's_ as good as passed the stake boat and over the finish line right now." there was little doubt but that mcglory's jovial mood and confident forecast of coming events heartened lorry wonderfully. matt went more into the details of his experience with merton and his friends. "that's a nice way for the commodore of a rival boat club to act," remarked lorry sarcastically. "how did merton ever get to be commodore?" said mcglory. "that's what sticks in my crop." "money," was lorry's brief but significant response. "money cuts a pretty wide swath, and that's a fact. that work of merton's and his friends, though, was a pretty raw blazer. wonder what merton's thinking of himself, now that matt's found out he was in the gang?" "it won't bother him much," said lorry. "between you and me and the gatepost, i'll bet merton has been flying too high. when his father gets back from europe and finds out what's been going on, there'll be doings. like enough, merton is plunging on the boat race in the hope of getting back some of the money he has squandered. that would ease the tension somewhat when he makes an accounting to his father." "too bad if he's got himself into money difficulties," observed matt. "a little money has made many a good fellow go wrong, matt," returned lorry, with a flush. george was talking from experience, and it was an experience which he would never forget. "there's nothing to do, i reckon," said mcglory, changing the subject, "but to plug right along and hustle the changes in the _sprite_." "that's all, joe," responded matt. "we'll have to do some quick work, and do it well. the engine will be delivered this afternoon, and a young fellow is coming along with it to help me. we'll have to do more or less traveling between here and the machine shop, and i suppose it would be well if we had a boat. going around the lake takes too long." "i'll get a motor boat for you, matt," said lorry. "i'll bring her over before night." "bring a supply of gasoline and oil, too, lorry." "it will all come with the boat. if you can think of anything else you want, just let me know. some one ought to stay here all the time, don't you think? the _sprite_ ought to be watched every minute, night and day. it was no empty threat merton made when he said he'd make us trouble." "he and his friends," said matt gravely, "will do what they can to bother us. but i don't think they'll dare go too far. joe and i and ping will stay at the boathouse all the time. that will make quite a respectable force. then, too, the machinist will be with us during the day. whenever i have to cross the lake to the shop, he and joe can look after things here." "i want to do my share, you know," protested lorry; "i can't let you fellows do it all." "you'll have plenty to do, george," laughed matt. "there's a telephone at the asylum, and we can always get word to you if it's necessary. as for----" matt was interrupted by a shrill yell. it came from outside the boathouse and had plainly been raised by ping. on the instant, all three of the boys jumped for the door. chapter vii. gathering clouds. much to the relief of matt, mcglory and lorry, the chinese boy had not encountered intruders. his trouble was of quite another sort. in order to watch all sides of the boathouse, he had been tramping around three of its walls, from the waterfront on one side to the waterfront on the other. the day was hot and the exertion tiring. ping, after some reflection, conceived the brilliant idea of climbing to the roof and watching from the ridgepole. an elevated position of that kind would enable him to rest and keep eyes on the vicinity in every direction. some empty boxes, piled one on the other, lifted him high enough to reach the eaves. kicking off his sandals, he took the slope of the roof in his stocking feet and was soon by the flagstaff that arose from one end of the peak on the waterside of the building. a timber, equipped with rope and tackle, projected outward from the peak. for no particular reason, other than to test his agility, ping lowered himself astride the projecting timber and hitched outward to the end. here a sudden gust of wind struck him. lifting both hands to save his hat, he lost his balance and rolled sidewise off the timber. but he did not fall. his trousers caught in the stout iron hook by which the pulley was suspended; and, when matt, mcglory and lorry finally located him, he was sprawling in midair, badly scared, but as yet unhurt. "motol matt," howled the youngster, "savee ping! no lettee fall! woosh!" "sufferin' heathens!" gasped mcglory. "how in the name of bob did the chink ever get in that fix?" that was no time to guess about the cause. if ping's clothing was to give way he would suffer a bad fall on the planks of the boathouse pier. pulling the tackle rope from the cleat to which it was fastened, matt climbed hand over hand to the projecting timber. "catch hold of my shoulders, ping," he ordered. ping's arms went around him in a life-and-death grip. then, supporting himself with one hand, matt detached the chinaman from the hook with the other and both slid to the pier in safety. "you gave us a scare, ping," said matt. "we didn't know but you had found some one sneaking around the boathouse. how did you get in that fix?" ping explained, and the boys had a good laugh. shortly afterward lorry dragged his motor cycle to the top of the bank and chugged away home. it was about two o'clock when newt higgins, the young machinist, arrived with the new motor. his father had brought him across. the engine was unloaded by means of the block and tackle and carried inside. while higgins was taking the old motor out of the _sprite_, matt connected up the new one with gasoline tank and battery and got it to going. it ran perfectly. from that time on there were several days of feverish activity in the boathouse. the hull of the _sprite_ had to be strengthened. the original motor had been installed on short bearers, which, according to matt's view, was entirely wrong. the motor bed, he held, must be rigid and the vibration distributed over as great an area as possible. a heavy bed was put down, and on this two girders were laid, shaped up to take the rake of the motor and tapering off at the ends. these girders extended as far forward and aft as the curve of the hull would allow. lining up the shaft was an operation which matt attended to himself. this job gave some trouble, but was finally finished to his satisfaction. the new engine was set farther aft than the old one had been. this enabled matt to bring the gasoline tanks farther aft, as well. the hood had to be made longer, and a stout bulkhead was built between the engine space and the cockpit. all controls were to be on the bulkhead. the electric outfit was placed close to the motor, where it would be protected from wet and dampness by the hood. in addition to this, the eight cells of the battery were inclosed in a box and filled around with paraffine. the hull had already been covered with canvas, given two coats of lead and oil and rubbed down. the last thing would be a coat of spar varnish. saturday night matt dismissed the machinist. "i wish i knew as much about motors as you do," the machinist had said as he pocketed his pay. "you're class a, motor matt, and you've given lorry a boat that'll win. i'm goin' to see that race. the yahara boys are on our lake, you know, and this part o' town is with 'em to a man. it's surprisin' how this section of town is set on havin' the yahara club get back the cup." "we're going to do our best, newt," matt had answered, "and you'll see a pretty race, no matter how it comes out." "you bet you!" averred newt. "good-by and good luck, matt. i'd be tickled if we could work together all the time." during the work mcglory had made himself generally useful. he could run the small launch which lorry had brought to the boathouse for matt's use, and whenever there were any errands across the lake not requiring matt's attention at the machine shop mcglory attended to them. ping proved to be a good cook, and prepared the meals on a gasoline stove. when he was not busy in the culinary department he was guarding the boathouse against prowlers. the boathouse was nicely situated for the work matt and his friends were doing. there were no other boathouses for half a mile or more on either side of it, and the steep banks by which it was surrounded on every side but toward the water gave it an isolation which had commended it to matt and lorry. it had not been used for some time when lorry had leased it from the owner, but was in a very good state of repair for all that. it contained a well which opened directly into a protected cove. an incline fitted with rollers made it easy to launch a boat or to haul it out upon the floor. the water door came down to the lake level, and both door and well were wide enough to admit a craft of eight-feet beam. during all these days of work ping had not detected a single person skulking around in the boathouse's vicinity. matt worked until late every night, and there was always some one on guard on the outside from sunset till sunrise. generally it was mcglory, but occasionally lorry would come over and insist that the cowboy should sleep while he did the sentry duty. it was nine o'clock saturday night when matt finished with the varnish coat and, dropping his brush, stood back to look at the trim, shadowy lines of the boat. "she's a beauty, matt, and no mistake," called some one from the door. "hello, george!" answered matt, turning to place the lamp on the workbench and scrubbing his hands with a bunch of waste. "she'll do, i think. anyhow, the _dart_ won't run any rings around us." "you must be about fagged," said lorry as matt dropped down on his cot by the wall. "you've worked like a galley slave, and if we win the prize it will be all owing to you." "i'm tired, and that's a fact," matt answered, "but i've got some good feelings in me, as my old dutch pard used to say. if a fellow's mind is easy it doesn't matter so much about his body." "i came over to see if you'd heard anything from our friends the enemy yet," said lorry. "they haven't peeped," matt laughed. "i guess they've decided to let us alone." "don't you think that for a minute," returned lorry earnestly. "merton and his pals have been lying low, but the clouds have been gathering. the storm will break before tuesday, and i'm wondering and worrying as to how it is going to hit us." "we'll weather it," said matt lightly, "no matter what shape it takes. it's a cinch that merton hasn't been able to find out a thing about what we've been doing. that roll of drawings is all he has to base an opinion on, and the _sprite_ is as different from those plans as you can well imagine. we've fooled merton to the queen's taste." "and probably he thinks he has fooled us," smiled lorry. "have you been able to discover anything about the _dart_?" "not a thing. the winnequas are guarding her as though she was a lump of gold. but there are hair-raising tales, all over town, of the tremendous speed a new boat on third lake is showing." "the _wyandotte_ hasn't been kicking up the water around the point for a couple of days now." "i guess merton thinks we're so busy here we won't pay any attention to her. ever since he stopped sending the _wyandotte_ to fourth lake he has been speeding the _dart_ in the evening on third." "well, merton's consistent, anyhow, no matter what else you can say about him." "i've got orders from dad and sis to take you over to yankee hill to spend to-night and sunday," said lorry, after a slight pause. "will you go?" "sorry, old chap, but i can't," matt answered regretfully. "i'm going to be johnny-on-the-spot right here in this boathouse till the _sprite_ leaves to enter the race. i'm not taking any chances with her." "but can't mcglory and ping look after the boat?" "they can, yes, and there isn't anybody i'd trust quicker than i would mcglory; but, if anything should happen to the _sprite_ between now and tuesday, i want to be the one who's to blame." "i guess i know how you stack up," observed lorry, with a touch of genuine feeling. "you're doing a whole lot for me, matt, and my folks know it and appreciate it just as much as i do. i hope i can pay you back some time." "nonsense, george!" deprecated matt. "do you think there isn't any fun in this thing for me? i've enjoyed myself every minute i've been tinkering with the _sprite_, and the best part of it all will come when i show the _dart_ the way across the finish line next tuesday." half an hour later lorry got into his hired launch and started for home. all was quiet and peaceable in the boathouse, but, even then, a storm of trouble was preparing to break--a storm that was to try the three friends to the uttermost and to come within a hair's breadth of ruining their prospects in the power-boat contest. chapter viii. the plotters. merton and his seven companions were a disgruntled lot when they returned to madison after forcing an interview with motor matt, having their propositions rejected and then watching him get away after unmasking the "commodore." merton drove the touring car straight for home, turned it over to the gardener--who was also something of a chauffeur--and then ushered his friends into his father's study, in the house. the butler and the _chef_ had been left to look after merton's comfort. merton immediately sent the butler to the ice box for several bottles of beer, and the lads proceeded to drown their disgust and disappointment in drink. the idea that any human emotion can be blotted out with an intoxicating beverage is a fallacy. the mind can be drugged, for a time, but when it regains its normal state all its impressions are revived even more harrowingly than they were before. as soon as the glasses had been emptied merton produced several packages of cigarettes, and the air grew thick with the odor of burning "doctored" tobacco. "what're we going to do with motor matt?" demanded jimmie hess. "take it from me, you fellows, something has got to be done with him or the cup goes back to the yaharas. he's a chap that does things, all right." "and game as a hornet," struck in andy meigs. "wish we could find out what he's doing to the _sprite_." "that's what's worryin' me," said perry jenkins. "if he can coax twenty miles an hour out of the _sprite_ he's got the cup nailed down." "he don't know anything about the _dart_," spoke up rush partington. "as long as he thinks he's only got the _wyandotte_ to beat, i guess we can hold him." "hold nothing!" growled martin rawlins. "you don't understand how much that chap knows. where did he grab all that about halloran? he gets to the bottom of things, he does, and it's a fool notion to try and pull the wool over his eyes by sending the _wyandotte_ over to fourth lake every day. if i----" "mr. ollie," announced the butler, looking in at the door, "there's a little negro boy downstairs and he says he won't leave till he sees you." "kick him off the front steps, peters," scowled merton. peters would probably have carried out his orders had not the little negro quietly followed him up the stairs. as the butler turned away, the darky pushed past him and jumped into the study. "pickerel pete!" went up a chorus of voices. the colored boy was one of the town "characters," and was known by sight to everybody. "come here, you!" cried the exasperated peters, pushing into the room and reaching for pete's collar. "drag him out," ordered merton. "i haven't got any time to bother with him." "you all better bothah wif me," cried pete, squirming in the butler's grip. "ah kin tell yo' about dat motor matt, en ah got some papahs dat yo'd lak tuh have----" "come along, now, and stop your howlin'," grunted the butler, making for the door. a clamor arose from those in the room. "wait, peters!" "hear what he's got to say about motor matt!" "maybe he can give us a pointer that will be useful. let's talk with him, ollie." "leave him here, peters," said merton. the butler let go his hold on pickerel pete and went out of the study, shaking his head in disapproval of mr. ollie's orders. "now, then, you little rascal," went on merton sternly, as soon as the door had closed behind the butler, "if you're trying to fool us you'll get a thrashing." "en ef ah ain't tryin' tuh fool yu," returned pete, "is ah gwine tuh git two dollahs?" "you say," asked merton cautiously, "that you've got a roll of papers?" "dat's whut ah has, boss. ah stole dem f'om de boathouse ovah by the p'int where motor matt is workin' on de _sprite_." "why did you steal them?" "tuh git even wif motor matt, dat's why," snorted pete, glaring. "he done hiahed me fo' two dollahs er day, en den he turned me down fo' er no-count yaller chink. when er man gits tuh be 'leben yeahs old, lak me, he ain't goin' tuh stand fo' dat sort o' work, no, suh. ah jess sneaked up on de boathouse en ah swiped de papahs." it was plain to merton that pickerel pete believed he had a grievance against motor matt. this might make him valuable. "let's see the papers, pete," said merton. "if they're worth anything to me i'll pay you for them." "dar dey is, boss," and pete triumphantly drew the roll from the breast of his ragged "hickory" shirt. merton grabbed the roll eagerly, slipped off the rubber band and began examining every sheet. while his friends breathlessly watched, merton jammed the papers into his pocket, sprang to his feet and paced back and forth across the room. "what is it, ollie?" "found out anything important?" "do those papers really belong to motor matt?" "tell us about it, can't you?" "shut up a minute," growled merton. "i'm framing up a plan." for a little while longer merton continued to pace the floor; then, at last, he halted in front of pete. "there's five dollars for you, pete," said merton, taking a banknote from his pocket and handing it to the boy. "oh, by golly!" sputtered the overwhelmed pete, grabbing at the bill as a drowning man grabs at a straw. "ah's rich, dat's whut ah is. say, boss, is all dis heah money fo' me? ah ain't got no change." "it's all yours, pete," went on merton; "what's more, if you'll come here and see me sunday afternoon at four o'clock, i'll give you a chance to earn another five-dollar bill. will you be here?" "will er duck swim, boss?" fluttered pete, kissing the crumpled banknote and tucking it carefully away in a trousers pocket. "sunday aftehnoon at fo' erclock. ah'll be heah fo' suah, boss." "then get out." pickerel pete effaced himself--one hand in his trousers pocket to make sure the banknote was still there, and that he was not dreaming. "now, then, ollie," said martin rawlins, "tell us what your game is." "yes, confound it," grumbled meigs. "we're all on tenterhooks." "these papers, fellows," answered merton, drawing the crumpled sheets from his pocket, "contain motor matt's plans for changing the _sprite_. looking over them hastily, i gather the idea that he's making the _sprite_ just fast enough to beat the _wyandotte_." a snicker went up from the others. "we've got him fooled, all right," was the general comment. "don't be too sure you've got that motor matt fooled," counseled rawlins. "maybe he put that roll where the negro could get it, and expected he _would_ get it. this king of the motor boys is deep--don't let that get past your guard for a minute. i've put all the money i could rake and scrape into the betting pool, and i don't want to lose it by any snap judgments." that was the way with the rest of them. they had all clubbed their funds together and the result was a big purse for betting purposes. "i guess it means as much to the rest of us as it does to you, martin, to have the _dart_ win," said merton dryly. "motor matt's deep, as you say, but don't make the mistake of crediting him with too much knowledge. he's only human, like the rest of us. from the way matters look now, we've got him and lorry beaten, hands down. motor matt isn't sharp enough to steer those papers into my hands by way of pete. now, in all this betting of ours, the money is being placed with the understanding that if there is _no race_ we take the cash; in other words, if the yaharas back down and fail to send a boat to the starting line, we take the money." "they won't back down," said jimmie hess. "great scott, ollie, you don't think for a second that lorry will back down, do you?" "he may have to," was merton's vague reply. "anyhow, if you fellows make any bets outside of the pool, just make 'em in that way--that the stakes are yours if the yaharas back down and there's no race." "what's back of that, ollie?" said perry jenkins. "you've got something up your sleeve, i know blamed well." "and it's going to stay up my sleeve, so far as you fellows are concerned," returned merton. "if i evolve a plan, i don't believe in advertising it. this motor matt _may_ have steered those papers into our hands, and he _may_ be deep enough to make the _sprite_ a better boat than the _dart_ while not knowing anything about the _dart_, but i don't think so. however, i intend to be on the safe side. it means a whole lot to me to win--personally, and apart from my desire to see the winnequas keep the de lancey cup. just how much it means"--and merton winced--"you fellows are not going to know, any more than you're going to know what i've got at the back of my head for sunday night. put your trust in the commodore--that's all you've got to do. open up some of that beer, perry. i'm as dry as gunpowder's great-grandfather." the glasses were filled again. "to our success in the race," said merton, lifting his glass and sweeping his keen eyes over the faces of his friends; "may the _dart_ win, by fair means"--he paused--"or otherwise." four or five peered at merton distrustfully over their glasses; but, in the end, they drank the toast. the success of the _dart_ meant dollars and cents to them; and money, for those eight plotters, stood for more than club honors and the de lancey cup. chapter ix. firebugs at work. sunday was a beautiful and a quiet day at the boathouse by the point. mendota, otherwise "fourth," lake was never fairer. across the ripples, glimmering in the sun, the city of madison lifted itself out of a mass of green foliage like a piece of fairyland. the lake was alive with motor boats, sailboats and rowboats. matt and mcglory, sitting in the shade on the little pier in front of their temporary home, idled and dreamed away the afternoon until, about four o'clock, a snappy little launch, equipped with canopy and wicker chairs, untangled itself from the maze of boats out in the lake and pushed toward the cove. "visitors!" exclaimed matt, jumping out of his chair. "speak to me about that!" grumbled mcglory. "now we've got to get into our collars and coats and spruce up. oh, hang it! i like a boiled shirt about as well as i like the measles." mr. lorry, his daughter, ethel lorry, and george were occupying the wicker chairs under the canopy, while gus, the lorry chauffeur, was at the bulkhead controls. george waved his hand. matt returned the salutation and darted incontinently into the boathouse to fix himself up. ethel lorry was a fine girl and a great admirer of the king of the motor boys, and matt felt it a duty to look his best. by the time the boat drew up in front of the boathouse matt and mcglory, in full regalia, were out to welcome their guests. lorry, senior, and his daughter were firm friends of motor matt. they realized fully how much the young motorist had done for george. "a surprise party, matt!" cried george. "i'll bet you weren't expecting the lorrys, eh?" "always glad to receive callers," smiled matt, grabbing the rope gus threw to him and making it fast to a post. "we've got to see the _sprite_, matt," said ethel. "all our hopes are wrapped up in the _sprite_, you know." "and in motor matt," chuckled the millionaire, beside her. a vivid flush suffused ethel's cheeks, though just why her emotions should express themselves was something of a mystery. the party debarked and was conducted into the boathouse. matt opened the doors at the other end of the building and admitted a good light for inspecting the boat. all three of the boys were intensely proud of the _sprite_. in her fresh coat of varnish she looked as spick and span as a new dollar. mcglory was a nephew of mr. lorry's, and, while he was explaining things at one end of the boat to "uncle dan," matt was performing the same service for ethel at the other end of the craft. when mr. lorry and ethel had expressed their admiration for the _sprite_, and their confidence in her ability to "lift" the cup, chairs were carried out on the pier. mcglory went across the lake for ice cream, and the party visited gayly until sunset. when the launch departed, george remained behind, having expressed his intention of staying with his friends at the boathouse that night. ping was engaged in clearing up the dishes--part of the camp equipment--on which the ice cream had been served, and mcglory was making the doors at the other end of the boathouse secure. dusk was falling gently, and overhead the stars were beginning to glimmer in a cloudless sky, soft as velvet. it was a time for optimism, and a lulling sense of security had taken possession of all the boys. "the clouds don't seem to be gathering very much, after all, george," remarked matt. "i must have been mistaken about merton," returned george. "that roll of drawings, i suppose, has convinced him that the changes we were making in the _sprite_ were not of enough account to worry him." mcglory came from the boathouse in time to hear the words. "we've got merton fooled," he chuckled, dropping down in a chair, "and i ain't sure but that it's the best thing that ever happened to us, the theft of those drawings." "that's the way it may turn out, joe," agreed matt. "still, even if merton knew exactly what we had done to the _sprite_ i don't see how he could help matters any. the _dart_, from what i can hear, is supposed to be by long odds the fastest boat on the lakes. how could he improve on her, even if merton knew the _sprite_ was a dangerous rival?" "merton wouldn't try to improve on the _dart_," returned lorry. "what he'd do would be to make an attempt to make the _sprite_ less speedy than she is." "i'd like to catch him at that!" exclaimed mcglory. "that tinhorn would have to hip lock with me some if he ever tried to tamper with the _sprite_ while joe mcglory was around." "he'd make sure there wasn't anybody around, george," said lorry, "before he tried any of his underhand games. i've been thinking over the loss of those drawings, matt," he went on, after a pause, "and it strikes me that they weren't stolen by merton, after all, but by pickerel pete." "what!" cried the cowboy, "that sawed-off moke?" "i've thought a little on that line myself," observed matt. "pete was mad, when he left us up there in the path, and he could have circled around through the bushes and reached the boathouse before we got down to it with ping." "that's it!" assented george. "he hadn't any idea what sort of papers were in the roll, but they were handy to him as he looked through the window, and so he gathered them in. of course, pete knew that the papers would be valuable to merton, if to anybody. it's a dead open-and-shut that he carried them at once to the commodore." "which may account for the commodore layin' back on his oars and not botherin' us any while we've been jugglin' with the _sprite_," deduced mcglory. "we're all to the good, pards, and your uncle joe is as happy over the outlook as a piute squaw with a string of glass beads. i'm feelin' like a brass band again, and----" "don't toot, joe, for heaven's sake," implored george. "you've got about as much music in you as a bluejay." "some fellows," returned mcglory gloomily, "don't know music when they hear it. it takes a cultivated ear to appreciate me when i warble." "i don't know about that," laughed george, "but i do know that it takes some one with a club to stop you after the warbling begins. when are you going to 'warm up' the _sprite_, matt?" he asked, turning to the king of the motor boys. "every ship has got to 'find herself,' you know. we've kipling's word for that." "then," smiled matt, "the _sprite_ is going to begin finding herself in the gray dawn of to-morrow morning. glad you made up your mind to stay with us to-night, lorry. i was going to suggest it, if you hadn't. i want you and joe to hold a stop-watch on the boat." "i wish we had one of those patent logs," muttered lorry. "they go on the bulkhead, and work hydrostatically--no trailing lines behind." "too expensive, george," said matt. "besides, we didn't have time to bother installing one." "you're the most economical chap i ever heard of, matt," said lorry jestingly, "especially when you're using another fellow's money." "sufferin' bankrolls!" mourned mcglory, "i wish some one would be kind enough to ask me to spend his money." "dad told me, when we began fixing up the _sprite_," went on lorry, "that he wanted me to be sure and let motor matt have free play, no matter what it cost. that's the way the governor feels. there has been a big change in him, matt, and you're the cause of it." "that's all the more reason, george," answered matt, "why i should not abuse his confidence." "i guess dad knows that, and that it has a lot to do with the way you stack up in his estimation. he'd trust you with a million." "i'm glad he feels that way. there isn't any sign of a storm, joe," matt added to the cowboy, "but we must keep up our guard duty just the same." "keno! we're not going to let merton and his outfit catch us napping, if that's their plan. i'll stand guard to-night." "i'll divide the duty with you, joe," put in lorry. "i'll take the first watch, and will call you at midnight." "that hits me plumb. i can snooze in good shape for half the night. we'll let matt put in full time--he needs it." "matt ought not to do a thing between now and tuesday but rest," asserted george. "he's got to be fit as a fiddle for that race." "i'm generally in shape for whatever comes my way," laughed matt, getting up and yawning. "right now's when i'm going to turn in, and you can bank on it that i'll sleep like rip van winkle up in the catskills. you'll see something surprising in the morning, fellows! if the _sprite_, after she gets warmed up, can't do her mile in better than three minutes, i'm no prophet." "if she does that," jubilated mcglory, "we're apt to have the _dart_ lashed to the mast." "good night," said matt. the parting word was returned, and the king of the motor boys followed the wall of the dark boathouse past the well and on by the workbench to his cot. inside of two minutes he had turned in, and inside of three he was in dreamless slumber. how long matt slept he did not know, but it must have been well beyond midnight when he was awakened. he was half stifled, and he sat up in his cot struggling for breath. a yellowish gloom was all around him, and a vague snap and crackle came to his ears. suddenly, like a blow in the face, the realization came that the smothering fog was _smoke_, and that the flickering yellow that played through it was _flame_. "fire!" he yelled, springing from the cot. "lorry! mcglory! where are you?" matt's only answer was the whirring rush of the fire and the weird snapping as the flames licked at the wood. for a moment the heat and the smoke almost overcame him, and he reeled backward against the wall. chapter x. saving the "sprite." after a moment of inaction, matt realized something else besides the fact that there was a fire. ping and either mcglory or lorry should be in the boathouse with him; also either mcglory or lorry ought to be on guard outside. why had no answer been returned to his startled shout? what had happened to the guard outside, and what had happened to those inside the boathouse? in that terrifying moment, when so many dangers threatened him and his friends, motor matt had no time to think of the _sprite_. first he must get fresh air, and then he must find out about his friends. the landward end of the boathouse seemed to be completely wrapped in flames. a breeze had come up during the night, and it was driving the fire onward toward the waterfront of the building. drawing upon all his reserve strength, matt staggered to the window over the workbench. picking up a wrench, he smashed the glass, and a draft of cool night air rushed in. for a moment he hung over the workbench filling his lungs with the clear air; and then, at the top of his voice, he repeated his call for mcglory and george. still there was no response. bewildered by his failure to hear an answering shout from his friends, and dazed by the suddenness of the catastrophe which threatened the boathouse, matt whirled away from the window and groped through the blinding smoke toward the other cot. some one was lying on the cot, breathing heavily. it was impossible to tell whether it was lorry or the cowboy, but, whichever it was, the form was unconscious from the effects of the foul air. making his way to the door, matt unfastened it and flung it open. the breeze which swept through the building caused the roar of the fire to increase, giving an added impetus to the flames. darting back to the cot, matt picked up the form and staggered with it out into the night, falling heavily when a few yards from the blazing building. in the glare that lighted up the vicinity of the boathouse matt discovered that it was lorry whom he had carried to safety. lorry! that meant that it was after midnight, and that mcglory had been outside of the boathouse, on guard. the fire was not accidental--it could not have been accidental. firebugs must have been at work. what had become of mcglory that he had not interfered? it was impossible that the cowboy was in the burning building. ping, however, should be there. the chinese usually bunked under the workbench. whirling away, matt started again for the burning building; but, before he reached the door, ping, coughing and spluttering, his arms filled with clothes, reeled out and fell in a sprawling heap on the ground. rushing up to him, and thankful to find that he was safe, matt grabbed him by the shoulders and drew him farther from the boathouse. "where's mcglory?" shouted matt. it was necessary for him to talk at the top of his voice in order to make himself heard above the roar of the wind and the flames. "no savvy," panted ping, lifting himself to his knees, his terror-stricken face showing weirdly in the glare. "my no makee yell when you makee yell," he added, digging his knuckles into his smarting eyes. "my heap full smoke. my blingee clothes----" "never mind the clothes," cut in matt, wildly alarmed on mcglory's account. "you---- here, stop that, ping! where you going?" the chinese had abruptly gained his feet and plunged toward the open door. at that moment, the door looked like the opening into a raging furnace. "my savee _splite_!" blubbered ping. "no lettee _splite_ go top-side! woosh!" the yellow boy was as fond of the boat as were matt, mcglory and lorry. he had watched her rebuilding, in his curious, heathen way, and every step toward completion lifted his pride and admiration higher and higher. matt had grabbed ping and was holding him back. his mind, dealing with mcglory, worked quickly. the cowboy, he reasoned, had been on guard outside. those who had fired the boathouse must have had to take care of mcglory before they could carry out their nefarious plans. this being true, it could not be possible that the cowboy was in any danger from the fire. it was the _sprite_, therefore, that should now claim matt's attention. mcglory could be looked for afterwards. "we'll save her together, ping," cried matt, "but we can't go into the boathouse that way. we'd be overcome before we got anywhere near the well. we must get into the building by the other end." the _sprite_ was in imminent danger, there could not be the least doubt about that. after mr. lorry and ethel had left for home, during the afternoon, the boat had been placed upright on the rollers leading to the incline of the well. this, bringing her nearer the landward end of the boathouse made the boat's danger greater than if she had been left on the skids which had supported her while the work inside her hulk was going on. not only that, but, preparatory to the morning's trial, her tanks had been filled with gasoline. if the flames should reach the tanks---- "we'll have to hurry!" yelled matt. picking up a coat from the heap of clothing on the ground, matt ran to the edge of the lake and plunged the coat into the water; the next moment he had darted back to the open window, hoping to reach in and get an ax or hammer from the workbench for use in battering down the water-door. this door was secured on the inside, and would have to be broken if entrance was effected from the pier. ping, frantically eager to help, but hardly knowing what to do, rushed around after matt, copying every move he made. when matt picked up a coat and submerged it in the lake, ping followed suit; and when matt, with the dripping garment in his hand, rushed for the broken window, the chinese boy was close behind. as ill-luck would have it, there was nothing in the shape of an ax or hammer lying on the bench within reach of matt's groping fingers. the window was perhaps a dozen feet along the wall from the landward end of the building. the fire, apparently, had been started at the extreme end, and, although the flames were driving fiercely through the building, the blaze was not so formidable near the window as it was by the door. matt changed his plans about entering the boathouse by the water door. he would make an essay through the window, push the _sprite_ along the rollers and down into the well, unlock the water door from the inside, and then, under her own power, take her out into the cove. not a second was to be lost if this plan was to be carried to a successful conclusion. there was danger, plenty of it, in making the attempt to save the _sprite_. blazing timbers were already falling from the roof of the doomed building, and if one of those dropped on the barrel containing the gasoline supply, an explosion would result and the flaming oil would be hurled everywhere. but the king of the motor boys did not hesitate. hurriedly throwing the coat over his head and shoulders, he climbed through the window and rolled off the bench to the smoking floor of the boathouse. to see anything between the confining walls was now impossible. the smoke was thick, and the glare that shot through it rendered it opaque and blinding. matt, however, knew every foot of the building's interior as he knew his two hands. holding the coat closely around his head to protect his face, he hurried through the blistering fog and finally stumbled against the _sprite_. laying hold of the boat, he pushed with all his strength. in spite of his fiercest efforts, she stuck and hung to the rollers. it was not a time to hunt for what was wrong, but to force the _sprite_ into the well at any cost. while matt tugged and strained, the end of the building fell outward with a crash, and a flurry of sparks and firebrands leaping skyward. this released a section of the roof, which dropped inward. one blazing beam landed on matt's right arm, pinning it against the rubstreak. a sickening pain rushed through his whole body, and when he had hurled the timber away with his left hand, the injured arm dropped numb and helpless at his side. "matt! motol matt!" the shrill, frightened cry came from ping. he had followed through the window and had been feeling his way about the interior of the boathouse. the crash of the wall and the roof had frightened him, and he would have bolted had not the knowledge that matt was somewhere in that blazing inferno chained him to the place. "here, ping!" cried matt, hoarsely. "lay hold of the boat and help me get her into the water. lively, now--for your life!" their united strength, even through matt had only his left hand, was sufficient. the _sprite_ started slowly over the rollers, reached the head of the incline, and her own impetus carried her downward. matt and ping sprang into her blindly as she leaped away. across the well ran the _sprite_, her nose striking the water door and causing her to recoil backward until her stern brushed the incline. matt, dizzy and weak, pawed and floundered toward the bulkhead. overhead the roof was all in flames. any moment it might fall bodily, sinking the _sprite_ and those aboard her under the water of the well--holding them like rats in a blazing trap. matt's eyes were of no use to him. they were smarting from the smoke and heat. but he did not need his eyes. he knew the place of every lever on the bulkhead. a pull started the gasoline, another started the oil, and another switched on the spark. a third lever was connected with the starting device. two pulls at this and the boat took the push of the propeller. _boom!_ the fire had found the gasoline supply, and shafts of lighter fire shot through the yellower blaze of burning wood. there was no time to unlock the water door. already the fire-eaten wreck was swaying. the _sprite_, urged by the automobile engine, must ram the door and break it down. grabbing his companion, matt dragged him down under the protection of the bulkhead, while the _sprite_ flung herself toward the door, toward the cove--and toward safety. chapter xi. out of a blazing furnace. the cool night air quickly wrought its work, so far as george was concerned. sitting up on the ground, confused and unable to understand what had happened, he stared at the conflagration at the edge of the cove. rubbing his eyes and muttering to himself, he stared again. he remembered calling mcglory, and dropping down into the bunk after mcglory had got out of it. after that he knew nothing until he sat up there on the ground, with the fire dancing in front of his eyes. the fog was slower getting out of his brain than out of his lungs. rising to his feet, he started for the path leading up the bank, animated by the hazy idea that he ought to get word to the fire department. he stumbled over something. being none too steady, he fell headlong, only to lift himself again as the object over which he had fallen gave vent to a rumbling, inarticulate sound. "is that you, matt?" he asked. the answer was a desperate gurgle. by that time lorry had, in a great measure, recovered the use of his wits. creeping to the side of the person who was trying so hard to speak, he saw by the glare of the fire that it was mcglory. "great scott!" he murmured, his hands passing over the form. "it's cousin joe, and he's tied and gagged!" lorry was only a moment in freeing the cowboy's jaws of the twisted handkerchief. "tell me about this!" fumed mcglory. "i thought i'd never be found. what are you kneeling there for, george, gawping like you were locoed? get these ropes off me, and see how quick you can do it. don't you know that matt's in that boathouse, and that he and ping are trying to save the _sprite_? we've got to lend a hand. sufferin' blockheads, but you're slow! cut the ropes with a knife if you can't untie 'em." "i'm in my underclothes," answered george. "i don't know where my knife is." "i've got a knife in my pocket. take it out, but hustle, for heaven's sake, _hustle_!" george was shaking like a man with a chill. the terrors of the moment were dawning upon his bewildered mind. his hands trembled while groping through mcglory's pockets, and they trembled worse when he opened the knife and tried to use it. "who--who set the fire?" he mumbled. "do you think i'm a mind reader?" stormed mcglory. "i was to blame, for i was on guard and ought to have seen those negroes before they downed me and trussed me up in this fashion. if anything happens to matt, i'll be to blame for it, and if the _sprite_ is burned i'll be to blame for that, too. oh, i've got a lot to think of, i have!" the cowboy's self-reproach was keen. "did some one steal up on you, joe?" asked lorry. "what do you take me for, george? do you think i laid down and put my hands behind me so the blacks could tie 'em? they got me, right there at the corner of the boathouse, just as i was coming around. a blow dazed me, and before i could let out a yip, they had ropes on my wrists and ankles and that thing between my jaws. i heard matt calling, and, sufferin' jailbirds! here i lay without bein' able to say a word. oh, _can't_ you cut those ropes? take a brace--your nerves are in rags." george managed finally to saw the blade through one coil of the cord that secured mcglory's hands. with a swift tug from the shoulders the cowboy released himself, then caught the knife from his cousin's hand and slashed it through the ropes at his feet. the next instant he was up and bounding toward the boathouse. "where are you going?" shouted george. mcglory, rendered desperate by the knowledge that matt was in the boathouse facing death in a fierce effort to save the _sprite_, was heading straight for the door of the building. the door was merely a riffle in a wall of flame. before mcglory could reach it, the whole end of the boathouse crashed outward. he sprang backward, just in time to avoid the blazing timbers, and turned to lorry with a groan. "we can't help him!" he cried hoarsely. "motor matt's done for, the _sprite's_ done for--everybody's done for, george. and it was all on my account." here it was that lorry came to the front with a little common sense. "you were not to blame, joe," he asserted. "you were set on by some negroes, and you could no more help what happened than matt or i. pull yourself together and don't be a fool. motor matt knows what he's about. if he's in that boathouse he'll get out of it again. anyhow, we can't help him from this side. we'll go around by the pier and get the launch. if we can get the launch through the water door, maybe we can hitch on to the _sprite_ and tow her out." this talk had a salutary effect on mcglory. "the _sprite_ isn't in the water," he answered. "how could we tow her out?" "matt will get her in the water," said lorry confidently. "what do you suppose he's doing in there if he isn't getting the _sprite_ into the well? we left her on rollers at the top of the incline, and matt could launch her alone without any trouble. let's get the launch and be ready to help." the launch referred to by lorry was the one he had hired and brought across the lake for matt's use during the work on the _sprite_. the boat was kept at one end of the pier. while the _sprite_ was on the skids, the other boat was housed in the well at night, but this night she had been left outside so as not to interfere with the launching of the _sprite_ in the early morning. hoping against hope that they could yet do something that would help motor matt, the two boys ran alongside the boathouse, jumped to the pier and unfastened the painter of the launch. just as they tumbled into it and mcglory was turning the flywheel, a loud explosion came from inside the boathouse. a cloud of firebrands and sparks geysered up from the roof. "what was that?" gasped lorry. "the gasoline," answered mcglory, dropping down on the thwartships seat in front of the motor. "i don't know what we can do now, george." "we'll get into the boathouse," flung back lorry. "if----" lorry was interrupted by another crash. under the startled eyes of the two in the launch, the water door was ripped and splintered, and through the ragged gap as out of a blazing furnace sped the _sprite_. for a moment she reeled as though undecided which way to turn; then, suddenly, she shot off into the lake. neither lorry nor mcglory could see any one aboard her. "where's matt?" cried the cowboy. the echoes of his voice were taken up by another crash, and the remaining walls of the boathouse flattened themselves with a great hissing as the burning timbers dropped into the well, and off the pier into the lake. "if he was in there," added the cowboy huskily, pointing to the wrecked building, "then there's----" "he wasn't in there," cut in lorry. "he couldn't have been. do you suppose the _sprite_ started herself?" while speaking, lorry was "turning over" the engine. the motor took up its cycle, and lorry steered into the lake after the _sprite_. the _sprite_ was darting this way and that at terrific speed, following a course so erratic that it would be easily inferred there was no guiding hand on the steering wheel. away the boat would rush, directly into the gloom that hovered over the lake; then, before she could vanish, she would describe a hair-raising turn and jump to starboard or port. "but where's matt if he is in the boat?" demanded mcglory. "on the bottom, perhaps," replied lorry. "he started her, and that's all he was able to do. we've got to lay the _sprite_ aboard, somehow." "that's easier said than done," said mcglory. "she's jumping around like a pea on a hot griddle, and is just as likely to slam into us and cut us down as to do anything else. sufferin' sidewinders, look at that!" the _sprite_ had made a complete turn and was now headed shoreward and streaking straight towards the boys. "here's our chance!" said lorry. "if the _sprite_ hangs on as she's coming she'll pass close to us. will you jump aboard her, joe, or shall i?" "i'll do it," answered the cowboy. "can't you turn the launch and follow the _sprite_, side by side with her? she'll travel faster than we will, but it'll make it easier to jump without going into the lake." this manoeuvre was carried out, and lorry, who could handle a boat tolerably well for an amateur, brought the launch about and picked up the _sprite_ as she dashed onward. mcglory cleared a foot of water at a flying leap and dropped into the _sprite's_ cockpit. in a few minutes he had checked the boat's aimless racing and had brought her to a halt. "is matt there?" queried lorry anxiously, working the launch close to the _sprite_. "he's here," answered mcglory, "but he's unconscious. ping's here, too, and his wits are wool-gathering, same as matt's. they're both alive, though, and i reckon they'll be all right with a little care." "follow me across the lake," said lorry. "we'll go to the clubhouse. the quicker we can get a doctor, the better." the first gray of dawn was just glimmering along the eastern edge of the sky as the two boats stood away for madison. chapter xii. what about the race? matt opened his eyes in surroundings that were not familiar to him. the room was big and lofty, and the bed he was lying in was a huge affair of brass and had a mosquito canopy. he tried to lift his right arm. the movement was attended with so much pain that he gave it up. he saw that the arm was swathed in bandages. a sound of whispering came to him from the bedside. turning his head on the pillow, he saw two figures that had escaped him up to that moment. one was lorry and the other was mcglory. "the doctor says he'll have to stay in bed for a week," lorry was saying. "sufferin' speed boats!" muttered mcglory. "let's kiss our chances good-by. it's glory enough, anyhow, just to know matt got clear of the burnin' boathouse with his life." "don't be in a rush about bidding good-by to our chances," said matt. mcglory jumped around in his chair, and lorry started up and hurried to the bedside with a glowing face. "jupiter, but it's good to hear your voice again, matt," said lorry. "we were expectin' you to wake up any minute, pard," added mcglory. "how're you feeling?" "a one, except for my arm. what's the matter with it?" "a sprain and a bad burn," replied lorry. "i remember, now," muttered matt. "a blazing timber fell from the roof and pinned my arm against the gunwale of the _sprite_. it isn't a fracture?" "nary, pard," said mcglory. "you were in a heap of luck to get out of that blaze as well as you did." "i guess that's right. where am i?" "in the lorry home on fourth lake ridge," smiled george. "we took you across the lake to the yahara club, and when i called up dad on the phone, and told him what had happened, he insisted on sending the carriage after you. the doctor was here when we arrived. he has patched you up so you'll be as good as new in a week." "is ping all right?" mcglory chuckled. "you can't kill a chink, pard," he answered. "ping was unconscious, same as you, when we picked up the _sprite_, but he drifted back to earth while we were crossing the lake." "and the _sprite_--did she suffer any damage?" "she's blistered here and there, but otherwise she's just as good as she was when you hit her the last tap." "what about the race?" a glum expression settled over the faces of george and joe. "well," said george, "this is monday morning, and the race is to-morrow afternoon. the doctor says you ought to keep quiet for a week. of course, the race can't be postponed, and if the _sprite_ doesn't come to the line to-morrow, why, the winnequas keep the cup. also, merton and his clique keep the money they wagered. that has been their game all along, and every bet they made was with the understanding that if the yahara club failed to furnish a starter in the race the winnequa fellows were to pull down all the stakes." a glimmer came into matt's gray eyes. "it looks to me," he remarked, "as though merton and his friends had a feeling all along that something was going to happen to the _sprite_." mcglory scowled, and lorry looked grave. "have you heard anything about who started that fire?" went on matt. "the latest comes from merton indirectly," said lorry. "we hear that he's spreading a report that we were careless with matches, and that we kept our gasoline in the boathouse." "sufferin' boomerangs!" snapped mcglory. "i reckon, if we figure it down to a fine point, people will find that merton was careless in hiring niggers to do his crooked work." "negroes?" echoed matt. "that reminds me, joe, that i couldn't find you when i woke up and found the boathouse in flames. where were you?" "speak to me about that!" gurgled mcglory. "why, pard, i was lashed hand and foot and smothered with a gag. i could hear you callin', but it wasn't possible for me to answer you. that was torture, and don't you forget it. what's more, i could hear you and ping talking, and by turning my head i could see you getting into the boathouse through the window. it was only when george, half-dazed, stumbled over me, that i was able to let any one know where i was. george got the ropes off me, and i'd have gone into the boathouse after you, only the front of it tumbled and blocked the attempt. then we went around and got in the launch, thinking we'd get in by the water door and give the _sprite_ a lift into the cove. before we could do that the buildin' began to cave in, and the gasoline to let go, and then the _sprite_ came smashing through the door and began dancing a hornpipe out in the lake. lorry and i manoeuvred around until we managed to catch her, and then we brought you across to the clubhouse. that's where the _sprite_ is now, and she'll be well taken care of by the yahara boys." "but the negroes!" exclaimed matt. "you haven't told me anything about them." "keno!" grinned mcglory. "i told the last end of my yarn. i reckon the first end was left out because it don't reflect any credit on your uncle joe. lorry called me at midnight to go on guard duty. i slid out, and hadn't been watching the boathouse more than three hours when a couple of black villains nailed me as i was going around a corner. i was dazed with an upper-cut, and before i could get into shape to do any fighting, they had me on the mat. then i had to lay there and listen to 'em setting fire to the boathouse, with you, and lorry, and ping inside, never dreaming of what was going on. i reckon i'm a back number, pard. it was my fault." "you can't shoulder the responsibility, joe," answered matt. "you couldn't help being knocked down, and tied, and gagged." "nary, i couldn't," was mcglory's gloomy rejoinder; "but i might have stepped high, wide, and handsome when i went around that corner. if i'd had as much sense as the law allows i'd have seen that black fist before it landed, either ducked or side-stepped, and then let off a yell. all you fellows inside needed was the right sort of a yell. but i didn't give it. when it came to a showdown, pard, i couldn't deliver the goods." "i still maintain that you have no cause to blame yourself," persisted matt. "if george or i had been in your place, joe, the same thing would have happened." mcglory bent his head reflectively. "it's mighty good of you, pard, to put it that way," said he finally. "would you know those negroes again if you were to see them?" asked matt. mcglory shook his head. "it was plumb dark there in the shadow of the boathouse," he answered. "i could just make out that they were negroes, and that's all. i reckon, though, that ollie merton could tell us who those fellows were--if he would." "i'd be a little careful, joe," cautioned matt, "about involving merton in that fire. if it could be proved against him it would be a mighty serious business--just as serious as for the fellows who set the fire." "well, pard, why was merton and his friends making their bets in that queer way? in case there isn't any race because of the failure of the yahara club to produce a starter, the winnequas take the stakes. that looks as though merton and his pals knew what was going to happen. if the _sprite_ was burned, there'd be no boat for the yaharas to produce." "joe's right," declared lorry. "well, keep your suspicions to yourselves," said matt. "in a case of this kind it's positive proof that's needed, not bare suspicion. wasn't the fire seen from the city? didn't any one go across the lake to help fight it?" "we met a couple of boats going over as we were coming across with you and ping," replied lorry. "by that time, though, the boathouse was no more than a heap of embers. it went quick after it got started. but what about the race to-morrow? that's the point that's bothering me. i could take the _sprite_ over the course, and so could joe, at a pinch, but we wouldn't get the speed out of her that you would." "i'll drive her myself," said matt. "speak to me about that!" gasped mcglory. "why, pard, you've only got one hand--and that's the left." "a man who's any good at automobile driving has a pretty good left hand. in an automobile race, joe, the driver's left hand has to do a big share of the work. the racer steers with the left hand, holding the right hand free for the emergency brake. the left hand has to be trained to take full charge at all corners, and in a thousand and one other places as the need arises. i can do the racing well enough." "but the doctor says----" began lorry. "i know what i can do better than the doctor, george," laughed matt. "i'll be in that race every minute--watch me." both lorry and mcglory studied matt's face carefully. "pluck, that's what it is," muttered mcglory. "it's the sort of pluck that wins. but i don't know whether the doctor will let you----" just at that moment a servant stepped into the room. "what is it, james?" asked lorry. "mr. martin rawlins to see mr. king," was the answer. lorry looked bewildered. "mart rawlins!" he exclaimed. "why, he's one of the winnequa fellows, and a crony of merton's!" "he's here to pump matt," growled mcglory, "or else to find out what his chances are for being in that race to-morrow. sufferin' tinhorns, what a nerve!" "have him come up, lorry," said matt. "it won't do any harm to talk with him. if he's here to pump me, he's welcome to try." lorry nodded to the servant, and a few moments later mart rawlins entered the room. chapter xiii. mart rawlins weakens. "hello, lorry!" said rawlins, hesitating, just over the threshold, as though a little undecided as to how he would be received. "hello, rawlins!" answered lorry coldly. "you want to see motor matt?" "that's why i came. i hope he isn't hurt very much?" "there he is," said lorry, pushing a chair up to the bed; "you can ask him about that for yourself." mcglory, feeling sure that merton was guiltily concerned in the fire, was far from amiably disposed toward such a close friend of merton's as rawlins. as rawlins advanced to the bed the cowboy got up, turned his back, and looked out of a window. "i'm sorry you had such a rough time of it, motor matt," said rawlins, visibly embarrassed. "i was in luck to get out of the scrape as well as i did," returned matt. "you're a friend of merton's?" "i was. early this morning we had a quarrel, so we're not quite so friendly. have you any idea what caused the fire?" "yes," said matt bluntly; "firebugs." "you're positive of that?" "my friend mcglory, there, was watching outside the boathouse. he was set upon by two negroes, knocked down, tied hand and foot, gagged and dragged off where he would not be in the way. then the two scoundrels set fire to the building while lorry, the chinese boy, and i were sound asleep inside." something like trepidation crossed mart rawlins' face. "mcglory is sure that the men were negroes who assaulted him?" queried rawlins in a shaking voice. "he's positive." "then," breathed rawlins, as though to himself, "there's no doubt about it." "no doubt about what?" demanded mcglory sharply, whirling away from the window. "why," was the answer, "that there was a conspiracy to destroy the boathouse and the _sprite_, and that ollie merton was back of it." rawlins had paled, and he was nervous, but he spoke deliberately. matt, lorry, and mcglory were surprised at the trend rawlins' talk was taking. they were still a little bit suspicious of him, especially mcglory. "what makes you think that?" asked matt, eying his caller keenly. "did you lose a roll of drawings a few days ago?" "yes." "and did you have a disagreement with the little negro called pickerel pete?" "yes." "well, pete stole those drawings and took them to merton. it was just after"--rawlins flushed--"just after you were stopped in the woods by merton and the rest of us, and ordered to quit helping lorry. we had got back to merton's house, and pete came there with the roll of papers. merton bought them from pete, gave pete five dollars, and asked him to come to see him sunday afternoon at four o'clock--yesterday afternoon. merton said he had a plan he was going to carry out that would make success sure for the winnequa boat in the race. he wouldn't tell us what the plan was, but when i heard that the boathouse had been burned i went over to merton's and had a talk with him. it wasn't a pleasant talk, and there was a coldness between merton and me when i left." "you think, then," said matt, "that merton hired pete to get those negroes to set fire to the boathouse?" "that's the way it looks to me. as a member of the winnequa club, and a representative member, i won't stand for any such work. it's--it's unsportsman-like, to say the least." "it's worse than that, mart," frowned lorry. "it was unsportsman-like to stop matt, drag him off into the woods, and try to bribe him to leave town, or to 'throw' the race, wasn't it?" cried mcglory scornfully. rawlins stirred uncomfortably. "certainly it was," he admitted. "and yet you helped merton in that!" "merton fooled me. he said motor matt was an unscrupulous adventurer, and a professional motorist, and that the good of the sport made it necessary for us to get him out of that race. he didn't say he was going to bribe him to 'throw' the race. i didn't know that offer was going to be made, and i think there were some others who didn't know it. if we could have hired motor matt to leave town, i'd have been willing. i've got up all the money i can spare on the race, and naturally i want our boat to win--but i won't stand for any unfair practices. nor will the winnequa club, as a whole. we're game to let our boat face the start on its own merits. if we can't win by fair means, i want to lose my money." rawlins got up. "that's all i came here for--to find out how you are, motor matt, and to let you know how i stand, and how the rest of the club stands. i have come out flat-footed, and for the good of motor boating in this section i hope you will not press this matter to its conclusion. we all know what that conclusion would mean. it would go hard with merton, and there would be a scandal. in order to avoid the scandal, it may be necessary to spare merton." "sufferin' hoodlums!" cried mcglory. "that's a nice way to tune up. here's merton, pulling off a raw deal, and coming within one of killing my two pards, say nothing of the way i was treated, and now you want him spared for the sake of avoiding a scandal!" a silence followed this outburst. when rawlins continued, he turned and addressed himself to matt. "i think i know your calibre pretty well, motor matt," said he. "the way you turned down that bribe in the woods and declared that you'd stand by lorry at all costs, showed us all you were the right sort. of course, i can't presume to influence you; but, if you won't spare merton on account of the scandal and the good of the sport, or on his own account, then think of his father and mother. they'll get back from abroad to-morrow morning in time for the race. that's all. i'd like to shake hands with you, if you don't mind." rawlins stepped closer to the bed. "you'll have to take my left hand," laughed matt. "the right's temporarily out of business. you're the clear quill, rawlins," he added, as they shook hands, "and i'll take no steps against merton, providing he acts on the square from now on. you can tell your club members that." "thank you. i half expected you'd say that." "will merton be allowed to race the boat in the contest?" inquired lorry. "we can't very well avoid it. it's his boat, and it's the only entry on our side. he'll have to race her, with halloran. the club will make that concession. after that--well, merton will cease to act as commodore, and will no longer be a member of the club. good-by, motor matt, and may the best boat win, no matter who's at the motor!" as rawlins went out, ethel lorry and her father stepped into the room. they had heard the loud voices, and inferring that matt was able to receive company, had come upstairs. "you'd hardly think there was a sick person up here," said mr. lorry, "from the talk that's been going on. how are you, my lad?" and he stepped toward matt. "doing finely," said matt. "i'm glad," said ethel, drawing close to the bed and slipping her arm through her father's. "he's going to race the _sprite_ to-morrow, uncle dan," chirped mcglory. "no!" exclaimed the astounded mr. lorry. "fact. you can't down him. he's in that race with only one hand--and the left, at that." "it will be the death of you!" cried ethel. "you mustn't think of it." "you know, my boy," added mr. lorry gravely, "it won't do to take chances." "i know that, sir," returned matt, "but i'm as well as ever, barring my arm. i can't lie here and let the _sprite_ get beaten for lack of a man at the motor who understands her. i'd be in a bad way, for sure, if i had to do that." "i think he's a bit flighty," grinned mcglory. "i reckon i can prove that by telling you what just happened." "what happened?" and mr. lorry turned to face mcglory. the cowboy repeated all that rawlins had said, winding up with the promise matt had made to spare merton. a soft light crept into ethel's eyes. "what else could you expect from motor matt?" she asked. "i shall have to shake hands with you myself, matt," said mr. lorry, taking matt's left hand and pressing it cordially. "that was fine of you, but, as ethel says, no more than we ought to expect. i hope you'll be able to drive the _sprite_ to victory, but you'll have to have less talk in the room and more rest if you're going to be able to take your place in the boat to-morrow. come on, ethel." mr. lorry and his daughter left the room and lorry and mcglory resumed their chairs, but gave over their conversation. an hour later matt called for something to eat, and a substantial meal was served to him, piping hot. the doctor came while he was eating. "well," laughed the doctor, "i guess you'll do. don't eat too much, that's all." "he's got to corral enough ginger to get into that race to-morrow afternoon, doc," sang out the cowboy. "he don't intend to try that, does he?" asked the doctor aghast. "i've got to, doctor," said matt. "it may be," remarked the doctor, "that action is the sort of tonic you need. but, whatever you do, don't attempt to use that arm. that'll be about all. if you do get into the race, though, be sure and win. you see," he added whimsically, "i live on the fourth lake side of the town." chapter xiv. the race--the start. the winnequa-yahara race was open to all boats of the respective clubs under forty feet, each boat with a beam one-fifth the water-line length. it was to be a five-mile contest, each end of the course marked by a stake boat anchored at each end of fourth lake. the stake boat, with the judges, was to be moored off maple bluff. from this boat the racers would start, round the other stake boat, and finish at the starting point. furthermore, although the race was open to all members of the two respective clubs with boats under the extreme length, there was a mutual agreement, from the beginning, that one member of each club should be commissioned to provide the boat to be entered in the contest. inasmuch as a speed boat costs money, it was natural that the sons of rich men should be told off to carry the honors. mr. merton and mr. lorry were both millionaires. they were known to be indulgent fathers, and it had not been foreseen that mr. lorry would rebel, at first, against george's extravagance. but george had gone too far. mr. lorry, even at that, might have paid for george's $ , hydroplane had he understood that his son was bearing the yahara honors on his own shoulders and had been lured into extravagance by a misguided notion of his responsibility. however, this initial misunderstanding, with all its disastrous entanglements, was a thing of the past. both mr. lorry and george had buried it deep, and were meeting each other in a closer relationship than they had ever known before. the struggle for the de lancey cup had become, to madison, what the fight for the america cup had become to the united states. only, in the case of the de lancey cup, the city was divided against itself. the entire population had ranged itself on one side or the other. the gun that started the race was to be fired at o'clock, but early in the forenoon launches began passing through the chain of lakes, and through the canal and locks that led to the scene of the contest. the distance had already been measured and the stake boats placed. all along the course buoys marked the boundaries. later there were to be police boats, darting here and there to see that the boundary line was respected and the course kept clear. through this lane of water, hemmed in by craft of every description, the two boats were to speed to victory or defeat. observers, however, did not confine themselves to the boats. the cottages on maple bluff, and the surrounding heights, offered splendid vantage ground for sightseers. early in the forenoon automobiles began moving out toward maple bluff, loaded with passengers. and each automobile carried a hamper with lunch for those who traveled with it. most of the citizens made of the event a picnic affair. the asylum grounds also held their quota of sightseers with opera glasses or more powerful binoculars; and governor's island, and the shore all the way around to picnic point. the day was perfect. fortunately for the many craft assembled, the wind was light, and what little there was was not from the west. fourth lake was to be as calm as a pond. steadily, up to o'clock, the throng of sightseers afloat and ashore was added to. the sixty-five-foot motor yacht, serving as stake boat at the starting and finishing point, was boarded by mr. lorry and ethel. the judges were from both clubs, and so the boat was given over to the use of a limited number of winnequas and yaharas and their partisans. as mr. lorry and ethel came over the side of the yacht they were greeted by a tall, gray-haired man and a stout, middle-aged lady. "why, merton!" exclaimed mr. lorry. "you had to get back in time for the race, eh? madam," and he doffed his hat to the lady at merton's side, "i trust i find you well?" "very well, thank you, mr. lorry," replied mrs. merton. "how are you, my dear?" and the lady turned and gave her hand to ethel. "there's where they start and finish, lorry," said mr. merton, pointing to the port side of the boat. "bring up chairs and we'll preëmpt our places now." when the four were all comfortably seated, a certain embarrassment born of the fact that each man was there to watch the performance of his son's boat crept into their talk. "will george be in his boat?" inquired mr. merton, taking a glance around at the gay bunting with which the assembled craft were dressed. "no," said mr. lorry. "ollie will be in _his_ launch," and there was ever so small a taunt in the words. "ollie's boat is bigger than george's, merton," answered the other mildly. "george's driver figured that an extra hundred-and-forty pounds had better stay out of the _sprite_." "who drives for george?" "motor matt." mr. merton was startled. "why," said he, "i thought he was hurt in that boathouse fire and couldn't be out of bed?" "he's hurt, and only one-handed, but he's too plucky to stay out of the race." "probably," said mr. merton coolly, "the pay he receives is quite an item. i understand motor matt is poor, and out for all the money he can get." "you have been wrongly informed, merton. not a word as to what he shall receive has passed between george and motor matt. the boys are friends." "i'd be a little careful, if i were you, how i allowed my son to pick up with a needy adventurer." "motor matt is neither needy nor an adventurer," said mr. lorry warmly. "i'm proud to have george on intimate terms with him." "oh, well," laughed mr. merton; "have a cigar." ethel was having a conversation along similar lines with mrs. merton, and she was as staunchly upholding motor matt as was her father. so earnestly did the girl speak that the elder lady drew back and eyed her through a lorgnette. "careful, my dear," said she. ethel knew what she meant, and flushed with temper. but both ethel and her father, deep down in their hearts, pitied mr. and mrs. merton. if they had known of the unscrupulous attack their son had caused to be made on motor matt, they would perhaps have spoken differently--or not at all. fortunately, it may be, for the four comprising the little party, a band on a near-by cruising boat began to play. then, a moment later, a din of cheers rolled over the lake. "there's ollie!" cried mrs. merton, starting up excitedly to flutter her handkerchief. yes, the _dart_ was coming down the open lane, having entered the course from the boathouse, where she had been lying ever since early morning. she was a -foot boat, with trim racing lines, and she shot through the water in a way that left no doubt of her speed. "how's that?" cried mr. merton, nudging mr. lorry with his elbow. "nearly everybody was expecting the _wyandotte_, and just look what we're springing on you!" "she looks pretty good," acknowledged mr. lorry. "well, i should say so!" "but not good enough," went on mr. lorry. "have you got five thousand that thinks the same way?" "no, merton. i quit betting a good many years ago." the _dart_ raced up and down the course, showing what she could do in short stretches, but not going over the line for a record. halloran, the red-haired driver of the _dart_, and ollie merton were fine-looking young fellows in their white yachting caps, white flannel shirts, and white duck trousers. from time to time mr. lorry consulted his watch, checking off the quarter hours impatiently and wondering why motor matt and the _sprite_ did not put in an appearance. could it be possible that matt had not been able to leave the house on yankee hill, after all? if he was able to be out, then why didn't he come along and give the _sprite_ a little warming up? the boat had not had an actual try-out since the changes had been made in her. mr. lorry did not realize that it was too late, then, for a try-out; nor did he know that matt was saving himself for the contest, and not intending to reach the course much before the time arrived for the starting gun to be fired. five minutes before two a little saluting gun barked sharply from the forward deck of the stake boat. "i guess your boat isn't coming, lorry," said mr. merton. "there's only five minutes left for----" the words were taken out of his mouth by a roaring cheer from down the line of boats. the cheer was caught up and repeated from boat to boat until the whole surface of the lake seemed to echo back the frantic yells. mr. lorry leaped to his feet and waved his hat, while ethel sprang up in her chair and excitedly shook her veil. for the _sprite_ was coming! motor matt, a little pale and carrying his right arm in a sling, came jogging down the wide lane toward the stake boat. there was a resolute light in his keen, gray eyes, and his trained left hand performed its many duties unerringly. the danger from which matt had plucked the _sprite_ at the burning boathouse was known far and wide, and it was his gameness in entering the race handicapped as he was that called forth the tremendous ovation. dexterously he passed the stake boat and brought the _sprite_ slowly around for the start. the _sprite_ was charred and blistered, and, as mcglory had humorously put it, the "skin was barked all off her nose," because of her collision with the water door; but there she was, fit and ready for the race of her life. she did not compare favorably with the handsome _dart_; but then, beauty is only skin deep. it's what's inside of a boat, as well as of a man, that counts. slowly the boats manoeuvred, waiting for the gun. the silence was intense, breathless. then---- bang! the little saluting gun puffed out its vapory breath. matt could be seen leaning against the wheel, holding it firm with his body while his left hand played over the levers. it was a pretty start. both the _sprite_ and the _dart_ passed the stake boat neck and neck. "they're off," muttered lorry, with a wheeze, drawing a handkerchief over his forehead. it is nothing to his discredit that his hand shook a little. "oh, dad," whispered ethel, clasping her father's arm, "didn't he look fine and--and determined? i know he'll win, i just _know_ it." "say, lorry," asked mr. merton, "who's that youngster over there on that launch--the one that's making such a fool of himself." "that?" asked mr. lorry, squinting in the direction indicated. "oh, that's my nephew, mcglory. but don't blame him for acting the fool--i feel a little inclined that way myself." chapter xv. the finish. the doctor's guess was a good one. the excitement of that race was exactly what motor matt needed. it was a tonic, and from the moment he had entered the _sprite_ in the yahara club boathouse, he was the mile-a-minute matt of motor cycle and automobile days. his nerves were like steel wires, his brain was steady, and his eye keen and true. there was a good deal of vibration--much more, in fact, than matt had really thought there would be. the more power used up in vibration, the less power delivered at the wheel. but what would the vibration have been if he had not exercised so much care in preparing the engine's bed? perfectly oblivious of the spectators, and with eyes only for his course, matt saw nothing and no one apart from the boundary buoys, until he turned the _sprite_ for the start. then, while waiting for the starting gun, he caught a glimpse of the taunting face of ollie merton. "fooled you, eh?" called merton. "you'll do sixteen miles, at your best, and we'll go over twenty." motor matt did not reply. if merton had only known what was under the hood of the _sprite_, his gibe would never have been uttered. as they passed the stake boat side by side, merton and halloran began to suspect something. the _sprite_ hung to them too persistently for a sixteen-mile-an-hour boat. "he's got something in that boat of his," breathed halloran, "that we don't know anything about." "confound him!" snorted merton, enraged at the very suspicion. "if he fools us with any of his low-down tricks, i'll fix him before he leaves that made-over catamaran of his." "you'll treat him white, merton, win or lose," scowled halloran. "then you see to it that you win!" said merton. along the double line of boats rushed the racers. the waves tossed up from the bows rose high, creamed into froth, and the spray drifted and eddied around matt, halloran, and merton. at the edge of the lane, the craft of the sightseers rocked with the heave the flying boats kicked up. halfway between the stake boats the _dart_ began to draw ahead. a shout of exultation went up from merton. "good boy, halloran! in another minute we'll show him our heels." but what matt lost on the outward stretch of the course he more than made up at the turn around the stake boat. the shorter length of the _sprite_ enabled her to be brought around with more facility, and she came to on the inner side and was reaching for the home-stretch when the _dart_ got pointed for the straight-away. the hum of the engine was like a crooning song of victory in matt's ears. he _knew_ he was going to win; he felt it in his bones. halloran's juggling with gasoline and spark brought the _dart_ slowly alongside and gave her the lead by half a length. but still matt did not waver. he could juggle a little with the make-and-break ignition and the fuel supply himself. his brain was full of calculations. he knew where he was at every minute of the race, and he knew just when to begin making the throbbing motor spin the wheel at its maximum. the rack of the hull was tremendous. it seemed to grow instead of to lessen. would the hull stand the strain with the engine urging the wheel at its best? it _must_ stand the strain! the crisis was at hand and there was nothing else for it. hugging the steering wheel with his body, matt's left hand toyed with switch and lever. the yacht at the finish line was in plain view. matt did not see the waving hats or fluttering handkerchiefs, nor did he hear the bedlam of yells that went up on every side. all he saw was the _dart_, his eye marking the gain of the _sprite_. it was already apparent to ollie merton and halloran that the race was lost--_unless something unexpected happened to motor matt or the sprite_. halloran was getting the last particle of speed out of the _dart's_ engine, and steadily, relentlessly, the _sprite_ was creeping ahead. deep down in merton's soul a desperate purpose was fighting with his better nature. suddenly the evil got the upper hand. merton waited, his sinister face full of relentless determination. "when the _sprite_ takes the lead," he said to himself, "something is going to happen." in one minute more matt forged ahead. the finish line was close now, and merton was already stung with the bitterness of defeat. his hand reached inside his sweater. when it was withdrawn, a revolver came with it. why merton had brought that revolver with him, he alone could tell. it may have been for some such purpose as this. matt's back was toward merton, and matt's eyes were peering steadily ahead. if that left hand could be touched--just scratched--the king of the motor boys would be powerless to manage the _sprite_. many of the spectators saw the leveling of the weapon. cries of "coward!" and "shame!" and "stop him!" went up from a hundred throats. mr. merton, watching breathlessly, saw the glimmering revolver, and something very like a sob rushed through his lips as he bowed his head. what those who saw felt for his son, _he_ felt for him--and for himself. before merton could press the trigger, halloran turned partly around. "you're mad!" shouted halloran, gripping merton's wrist with a deft hand and shoving the point of the revolver high in the air. unaware of his narrow escape, the king of the motor boys flung the _sprite_ onward to victory. a good half-length ahead of the _dart_, matt and his boat crossed the finish line--regaining the de lancey cup for the yahara club, winning the race for george lorry and gaining untold honors for himself. the lake went wild; and the enthusiasm spilled over its edges and ran riot along the shores. steam launches tooted their sirens, and motor boats emptied their compressed air tanks through their toy whistles; the band played, but there was so much other noise that it was not heard. the yaharas and their partisans went wild. somewhere in that jumble of humanity was newt higgins, adding his joyful clamor to the roar of delight; and somewhere, also, was the doctor, letting off the steam of his pent-up excitement. but there was one man on the stake boat whose heart was heavy, who had no word for any one but his wife. to her he offered his arm. "come," said he, in a stifled voice, "this is no place for us. let us go." matt, as soon as he had checked the speed of the _sprite_ and pointed her the other way, jogged back along the line of boats and picked lorry and mcglory off one of the launches. lorry was radiant. "you've done it, old boy!" he cried. "by jupiter! you've done it. you sit down and take it easy--i'll look after the _sprite_!" "speak to me about this!" whooped mcglory, throwing his arms around matt in a bear's hug. "oh, recite this to me, in years to come, and the blood will bound through my veins with all the--er--the---- hang it, pard, you know what i mean! i've gone off the jump entirely. hooray for motor matt!" as lorry laid the _sprite_ alongside the stake boat, somebody tossed her a line. "come aboard, all of you," called a voice. it was spicer, commodore of the yahara club. while matt, lorry, and mcglory were going up one side of the yacht, mr. and mrs. merton were descending the other, getting into the boat that was to take them ashore to their waiting automobile. mr. lorry, red as a beet, his collar wilted, his high hat on the back of his head, and his necktie around under his ear, met the victors, giving one hand to matt and the other to george. "jove!" he said huskily, "i've yelled myself hoarse. oh, but it was fine!" ethel threw her arms around matt's neck and gave him a hearty kiss. "nice way to treat a one-armed fellow that can't defend himself," whooped mcglory; "and sick, at that. he ought to be in bed, this minute--the doctor said so!" "i--i thought it was george," faltered ethel. "oh, bang!" howled mcglory. "it's a wonder you didn't think it was me." the vice commodore of the winnequa club came forward, carrying the silver cup in both hands. he looked sad enough, but he was game. in a neat little speech, during which he emphasized the sportsman-like conduct which should prevail at all such events as the one that had just passed, he tendered the cup to lorry. lorry, blushing with pleasure, in turn tendered it to the commodore of the yahara club. one of the judges, coming forward with an oblong slip of paper in his hands, waved it to command silence. when a measure of quiet prevailed, he eased himself of a few pertinent remarks. "gentlemen, there was another supplementary prize offered in this contest. unlike the de lancey cup, which may be fought for again next year, this additional prize inheres to the victor for so long as he can keep it by him. it is not for the owner of the boat, but to the gallant youth who presided at the steering wheel and bore the brunt of the battle. had the _dart_ won, this extra prize would have gone to halloran, just as surely as it now goes to motor matt. it consists of a check for two thousand dollars, place for the name blank, and signed by mr. daniel lorry. there you are, son," and the judge pushed the check into the hand of the astounded matt. "great spark-plugs!" exclaimed matt. "i--i---- well, i hardly know what to say. i was in the game for the love of it, and--and i was not expecting this!" "that was dad's idea," said ethel happily. "bully for the governor!" cried george, grabbing his father's hand. "why, i didn't know anything about this, myself." "it was a 'dark horse,'" chuckled mr. lorry. "come on, now, and let's go home and get out of this hubbub. matt, you and mcglory will come with us. we're going to have a spread." chapter xvi. conclusion. all that happened, after matt received that check for $ , , was a good deal like a dream to him. he remembered descending into the _sprite_ for a return to the clubhouse, and finding ping pong in the boat. where ping pong had come from no one seemed to know. not much attention had been paid to him after matt boarded the _sprite_ and started for the stake boat. yet there the little chinaman was, kneeling at the bulkhead of the boat, fondling the steering wheel, patting the levers, laying his yellow cheek against the gunwale, and all the while crooning a lot of heathen gibberish. "what's the blooming idiot trying to do?" mcglory shouted. it seemed impossible for the cowboy to do anything but yell. his exultation suggested noise, and he talked at the top of his lungs. "don't you understand, joe?" said lorry. "he's trying to thank the _sprite_ for winning the race." "sufferin' hottentots! why don't he thank the king of the motor boys?" the next moment ping was alongside of matt, sitting in the bottom of the boat and looking up at him with soulful admiration. "him allee same my boss," pattered ping, catching his breath. "he one-piecee scoot." "oh, tell me about that!" guffawed mcglory. "one-piecee scoot! say, ping's not so far wide of his trail, after all." the next thing matt remembered was standing in the clubhouse, in the locker room, receiving the vociferous congratulations of the yaharas. before he realized what was going on, he and lorry had been picked up on the members' shoulders. "three times three and a tiger for motor matt and lorry!" went up a shout. well, the yaharas didn't exactly raise the roof, but they came pretty near it. matt was voted an honorary member of the club on the spot, and given free and perpetual use of all the clubhouse privileges. "there isn't any one going around handing me ninety-nine-year leases on a bunch of boats and a lot of bathing suits," caroled mcglory. "but then, i don't count. i'm only carrying the banner in this procession. matt's the big high boy; but he's my pard, don't forget that." mcglory's wail caused the yaharas to vote him an honorary membership; and then, in order not to slight anybody, or make a misdeal while felicitations were being handed around, ping was likewise voted in. after that there was a ride to yankee hill in the lorry motor car, with gus at the steering wheel; then a spread, the like of which motor matt had never sat down to before. a good deal was eaten, and a great many things were said, but matt was still in a daze. every time he made a move he seemed to feel the vibration of the twenty-horse-power motor sending queer little shivers through his body. what was the matter with him? he asked himself. could it be possible that he was going to be on the sick list? he remembered crawling into the same big brass bed with the mosquito-bar canopy, and then he dropped off into dreamless sleep. when he came to himself he was pleased to find that his brain was clear, and that he could move around without feeling the vibrations of the motor. his health was first class, after all, and he never had felt brighter in his life. while he was dressing, mcglory and lorry came into the room. "what you going to do with that check, pard?" asked mcglory. "i'm going to cash it, divide the money into three piles, give one pile to you, one to ping, and keep the other for myself," said matt. "don't be foolish, matt," implored the cowboy. "a third of two thousand is more'n six hundred and fifty dollars. what do you suppose would happen to me if all that wealth was shoved into my face?" "give it up," laughed matt; "but i'm going to find out." "and ping! say, the chink will be crazy." "i can't help that, joe. he's entitled to the money. i wonder if you fellows realize that we've never yet paid ping for the _sprite_? here's where he gets what's coming to him. he's full of grit, that ping. you ought to have seen how he helped me at the burning boathouse." "what are you going to do with ping, matt?" queried lorry. "i haven't given that a thought," said matt, a little blankly. "well," suggested mcglory, "you'd better hurry up and think it over. he's walking around the servants' quarters lording it like a mandarin. he says he's working for motor matt, and that you're the high mucky-muck of everything between waunakee and the forbidden city. better find something for him to do." "we'll talk that over later," said matt. "what about ollie merton?" "you can hear all sorts of things, matt," answered lorry. "they say he had a violent scene with his father, that he has squandered fifteen thousand dollars while his parents were in europe, and that he is to be sent to a military school where there are men who will know how to handle him." there was a silence between the boys for a moment, broken, at last, by matt. "that's pretty tough!" "tough?" echoed mcglory. "if merton had what's coming to him he'd be in the reform school. don't waste any sympathy on him." "why," spoke up george, with feeling, "he's just the fellow that needs sympathy. it's too bad he hasn't a motor matt to stand by him and help him over the rough places he has made for himself." george lorry was speaking from the heart. he knew what he was talking about, for he had "been through the mill" himself. the end. the next number ( ) will contain motor matt on the wing; or, fighting for fame and fortune wanted: a man of nerve--foiling a scoundrel--matt makes an investment--matt explains to mcglory--ping and the bear--a new venture--a partner in villainy--matt shifts his plans--dodging trouble--blanked--siwash shows his teeth; and his heels--"uncle sam" takes hold--on the wing--dastardly work--the government trial--fame; and a little fortune. motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction new york, july , . terms to motor stories mail subscribers. (_postage free._) single copies or back numbers, c. each. months c. months c. months $ . one year . copies one year . copy two years . =how to send money=--by post-office or express money-order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. at your own risk if sent by currency, coin, or postage-stamps in ordinary letter. =receipts=--receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. if not correct you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once. ormond g. smith, } george c. smith, } _proprietors_. street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york city. tricked by two. "this is a public path," said guy hereford quietly. "ay, but you can't use it," returned the man he faced, with an ugly glint in his eyes. "all the same, i'm going to," said guy coolly. "i'll trouble you to move out of my way, mr. harvey blissett." for a moment the two faced one another on the narrow sandy road between the bare, barbed-wire fences over which hung the fragrantly blooming orange branches. both were mounted, hereford on a well-groomed florida pony, blissett on a big, rough montana, an ugly beast with a nose like a camel and a savage eye. "i'll give you one more chance," growled blissett. "turn and make tracks." "this is my road," said hereford, as serenely as ever. "then 'twill be your road to kingdom come," roared blissett, and flashed his pistol from his hip pocket. but hereford's steady eyes had never wavered. he was no tenderfoot. with the bully's movement he ducked, and at the same moment drove spurs into his pony's flanks. as blissett's bullet whistled harmlessly into the opposite trees the chest of hereford's pony met the shoulder of the montana with a shock that staggered it, and before blissett could pull trigger a second time the loaded end of the other's quirt crashed across his head. blissett dropped like a shot rabbit. at the same time the montana gave a vicious squeal, lashed out violently, and bolted. hereford was off his pony in a moment, and, with an exclamation of horror ran to blissett and stooped over him. but a single glance was enough. one of the montana's heels had caught the unfortunate man exactly on the same spot where hereford's blow had fallen and crushed his skull like an eggshell. he was dead as a log. "this is a rough deal!" said hereford slowly, as he rose to his feet. "wonder what i'd better do." the trouble was that every one for miles round knew the bad blood which existed between the young orange grower and his neighbor. blissett was a cattleman who had bitterly resented the fencing of the land which hereford had bought. he had deliberately cut the wires and let his scrub cattle in among the young trees, doing endless damage. hereford had retaliated by pounding the whole bunch so that blissett had to pay heavily to regain them. then blissett had brought a law suit to force hereford to give a public road through his place. he had won his suit, but done more than he intended, for the authorities extended the road through blissett's own land and forced him to fence it. it was on this extension of the road that the tragedy had taken place. "if i go to the sheriff there's sure to be trouble," said hereford aloud. "ten to one they'll bring it in manslaughter." "murder, more likely," came a voice from behind, and hereford, starting round, found himself face to face with his cousin, oliver deacon, who, hoe in hand, had just come through the fence from among the orange trees. "why murder?" asked hereford sharply. the other, a sallow-faced man some years older than hereford, gave a disagreeable chuckle. "my dear guy, every one knows the terms you and blissett were on. there'll be a jury of crackers, all pals of the late unlamented, and they'll be only too glad to have a chance of taking it out of a man they think an aristocrat." "what's the good of talking rot?" exclaimed hereford impatiently. "if you were working in the grove i suppose you saw the whole thing?" "yes, i saw it," replied deacon slowly. "that's all right then. you know he brought it on himself." there was a very peculiar look in deacon's close-set eyes as he glanced at his cousin. "i saw you hit blissett over the head with the lead end of your quirt," he said in the same measured tones. "what in thunder do you mean, oliver? didn't you see his pony kick him on the head?" "i'm not so sure about that," was deacon's reply. guy hereford stared at his cousin in blank amazement. "will you kindly tell me what you do mean?" he asked icily. "yes, i'll tell you," said deacon harshly. "look here, guy, i'm full up with playing bottle washer, and it seems to me this gives me just the chance i've been looking for. need i explain?" "i think you'd better," said guy hereford grimly. "all right. i'll give you straight goods. i want to be paid, and well paid, for my evidence. here are you with a place of your own and a good allowance from your father, you've a decent house and a first-class pony. and as for me, i haven't a red cent, and am forced to do grove work like an infernal nigger. as i said before, i'm sick of it, and it's going to stop right here." hereford looked his cousin up and down. then he said, "i knew you'd sunk pretty low, oliver, but i didn't quite realize the depths you've dropped to. whose fault is it you are hard up? your own. you had more than i ever had, and chucked it all away. people were decent to you down here until you were caught cheating at poker. and now you want to force me to pay you hush money under threats of false evidence. may i ask how much you consider your evidence worth?" guy's tone of icy contempt brought a dull red flush to the other's sallow cheeks. but he answered brazenly, "i'll take a thousand dollars." guy laughed. "i wouldn't give you a thousand cents." "then you'll hang," retorted oliver viciously. "well, that won't do you any good." "oh, won't it? plainly, you don't know much about florida law, my good guy. i'm your cousin. don't forget that. and by the law of this state i'm your next heir. see? when you've left this vale of tears i come in for the whole outfit--your grove and everything. now, perhaps, you'll sing another song." guy's face went white. not with fear, but anger. and his gray eyes blazed with a sudden fury that made the other step hastily backward. "you mean, skulking hound!" he cried. "you're worse--a thousand times worse--than that fellow who lies dead there. get out of my sight before i kill you." oliver's eyes had the look of a vicious cur. "all right," he snarled. "you'll change your tune before i'm done with you. if you don't fork up the cash by this time to-morrow i'll go and give the sheriff a full and particular account of how you murdered harvey blissett." * * * * * "what's de matter, boss. warn't dat supper cooked to suit you?" "supper was first-rate, rufe. only i've got no appetite," replied guy. "you done seem plumb disgruntled 'bout something ebber since you come in dis evening," said rufus, guy's faithful negro retainer. guy looked at the man's sympathetic face. he felt a longing to talk over the black business with somebody, and rufe, he knew, would never repeat a word to any one else. "heard about harvey blissett?" he asked. "no, sah. what he been doing?" "he won't do anything more, rufe. he's dead." "you doan' mean tell me dat man dead?" "it's quite true." "how dat come about?" inquired rufus, his eyes fairly goggling with eager interest. guy explained how blissett had come by his end. "well, boss, i doan' see nuffin to worry about. 'twaren't your fault as dat montanny animile kick him on de head. an' anyways, we's mighty well rid ob him. dat's my 'pinion." "but suppose i'm accused of killing him, rufe?" "dere ain't nobody as would believe dat, sah," stoutly declared rufus. "but if some one who hated me had seen it and gave evidence against me?" rufus started. "i bet five dollar dat's dat low-down white man, mistah deacon!" he exclaimed. "you're perfectly right, rufus. that's who it is." "and he see you, and sw'ar dat it wasn't de hawse, but your quirt done it?" "that's about the size of it." "hab you done told de sheriff, sah?" "yes, i did that at once. rode straight into pine lake." "and what he say?" "told me i must come into the inquest the day after to-morrow." "den seem to me, sah, you done took de wind out of dat deacon's sail. he ain't seen de sheriff befoah you." "that's all right, rufe, as far as it goes. trouble is that he'll be in at the inquest to-morrow and he'll swear that it was my quirt did the trick. that is, unless i give him a thousand dollars to keep his mouth shut." the negro's face changed suddenly from its usual smiling expression. "den i tell you what, massa guy," he exclaimed with sudden ferocity. "you gib me your gun, an' i sw'ar dat man nebber go to dat inquest to-morrow." guy knew well that rufe meant what he said. he was touched. "you're a good chap, rufe, but i'm afraid your plan is hardly workable. you see you'd be hung, too." "not dis nigger! i nebber be found out!" cried rufe. "still we won't try it," said guy in his quiet way. rufe stood silent for some moments. then he turned to go back to the kitchen. his silence was ominous. "mind, rufe," said guy sharply. "no violence. you're not to lay a hand on my cousin." "all right, sah," said rufe reluctantly. "i try t'ink ob some odder plan." the time dragged by slowly. guy tried to write letters, but found he could not settle to anything. the fact was that he was desperately anxious. he knew deacon's callous, revengeful nature, and was perfectly certain that he would carry out his threat if the money to bribe him was not forthcoming. it was all true what his cousin had said. a jury of cattle owners, "crackers," as they are called in florida, would certainly find him guilty on his cousin's evidence, and even if he escaped hanging his fate would be the awful one of twenty years' penitentiary. for a moment he weakened and thought of paying the price. but to do so meant selling his place. he could not otherwise raise the money. sell the place on which he had spent four years of steady, hard work! no, by jove; anything rather than that. and even if he did so, what guarantee had he that this would be the full extent of his cousin's demands? absolutely none. no, he laid himself open to be blackmailed for the rest of his life. he hardened his heart, and resolved that, come what would, he would stick it out and let the beggar do his worst. presently he got up and went out of his tiny living room onto the veranda. the house was only a little bit of a two-roomed shack with a penthouse veranda in front. he had built it when he first came, and had been intending for some time past to put up a bigger place. now that dream was over. sick at heart, guy flung himself into a long cane chair, and presently, worn out by worry, fell asleep. he was wakened by the pad pad of a trotting horse, and looking up sharply saw in the faint light of a late-risen moon a figure mounted on one horse and leading another passing rapidly along the sandy track outside his boundary fence. the something familiar about the figure of the man struck him like a blow. "by thunder, it's deacon! what mischief is the skunk up to?" he muttered. and on the impulse of the moment he sprang from the veranda, and, slipping round the dark end of the house, made for the stable. in a minute he had saddle and bridle on dandy, and, leading the animal out through the bars at the far end of the grove, was riding cautiously on his cousin's track. at first he made sure deacon was going to pine lake. to his great surprise the man presently turned off the main road and took a cut across a creek ford, and round the end of a long cypress swamp. "must be going to orange port," he muttered. "there's something very odd about this. and what in thunder is he doing with that second horse?" they came to a bit of open savanna dotted with great islands of live oak. the moon was higher now, and the grassy plain was bathed in soft, silver light. as deacon passed out of the deep shadow of the pine forest guy gave a gasp. the horse that deacon was leading was blissett's montana pony. guy actually chuckled. "i'll bet a farm he's picked it up and means to sell it in orange port," he said to himself. "well, it mayn't save me, but at any rate i'll be able to make things hot for him." it was sixteen miles to orange port. deacon, with guy still at his heels, reached the place about six in the morning, and took the animal straight to a small livery stable, the owner of which was sebastian gomez, a mulatto of anything but good repute. guy dogged him cautiously, and when he had left the stable and ridden off, went in himself, put dandy up, and had him fed. then he went to work cautiously, and by dint of a tip to one of the colored men about the place, found that his precious cousin had indeed sold the montana to the owner of the stable, and had got fifty dollars for the animal. "not such a bad night's work," said guy to himself as, after breakfast and a bath, he rode home again. he reached his place about nine to find rufus much disturbed at his long absence. merely telling the negro that he had been away on business, he lay down and had a much-needed sleep. at four he woke and rode off to pine lake. he meant to find a lawyer to whom he could intrust his case on the following day, but to his deep disappointment vanbuten, a clever young bostonian and a great pal of his, was away at ormond for a week's sea bathing. there was nothing for it but to send him an urgent telegram, begging him to return at once, and then ride home through the warm tropic starlight. "wonder if i shall ever ride back to the dear little old shop again," thought guy sadly, as he opened the gate and led his pony in and up the neat path through the palmetto scrub. he loved every inch of his place, as a man can only love a property which by the sweat of his own brow he has carved out of the primeval forest. arrived at the house, he stabled dandy and fed him, a job which he never trusted to any one else, not even the faithful rufe. as he entered the house he could hear rufe busy with pots and pans in the kitchen. "he'll miss me, if no one else does," muttered guy; and, feeling desperately depressed, he went into his bedroom to change his boots and coat. hereford, being a boston-bred man, was one of those who, even when baching it alone in the wilds, still try to keep up something of their old home customs. he struck a match and lighted the lamp, then, as the glow fell upon his cot, he started back with a cry of horror. to be concluded. homes on the rio grande. the mexican indian huts in the villages and upon the ranches of the lower rio grande border region of texas have a style of architecture and construction that is distinctly their own. this type of primitive buildings is rapidly passing out of existence. modern structures are taking their places. at many places on the border families of mexicans have abandoned their jacals and moved into more pretentious homes. one thing that recommended the old style of residence to the poorer mexicans was its cheapness of construction. no money outlay is necessary in erecting the picturesque structures, neither is a knowledge of carpentry needed. a double row of upright poles firmly set or driven into the ground forms the framework for the walls. between these two rows of poles are placed other poles or sticks of shorter length, forming a thick and compact wall. at each of the four corners of the building posts are set, reaching to a height of about eight feet. roughly hewn stringers are laid from one post to another and to these stringers are tied the other poles that form the framework of the walls. the strong fibre from the maguey plant or strips of buckskin are used to tie the poles into position. the rafters are tied to the ridgepole and stringers in the same manner. at one end of the building is built the opening through which the smoke of the inside fire may ascend. stoves are unknown among these mexicans and the cooking is all done upon the ground. when the rafters are in position the thatched roof is put on. palm leaves form the most satisfactory roof, both as to durability and effectiveness in shedding the rain, but owing to the scarcity of this material on the texas side of the international boundary stream, grasses and the leaves of plants are used for the purpose. the roofing material is tied to the rafters in layers. some of the mexican house builders exercise great ingenuity in putting on the thatched roofs. the only opening in most of these mexican jacals is the door which extends from the ground to the roof. the floor is the bare earth. the ventilation is obtained through the crude chimney opening. the door itself is seldom closed. the mexican indian is usually a man of large family. a one-room house accommodates all. perhaps several dogs and a pig or two may share the comforts of the room with them on cool or disagreeable nights. pigeons as photographers. many wonderful feats have been credited to the instinct of the homing or carrier pigeon, but "the limit," to quote the phrase of the moment, seems to have been reached by herr neubronner, a kronberg chemist, who has actually trained pigeons to take photographs. for some time herr neubronner has been utilizing pigeons, not only for the transmission of messages to doctors in the neighborhood, but also to carry small quantities of medicine. the latter are inclosed in glove fingers slung about the birds' wings. the method has proved entirely successful, experiments showing that the pigeon can carry a properly distributed load of - / ounces a distance of miles. toward the end of last year one of the birds lost its way and did not arrive at its cote until after the expiration of four weeks. there was, of course, no means of ascertaining where and how the bird had got lost. it then occurred to herr neubronner that a pigeon, equipped with a self-acting camera, would bring in a photographic record of its journey. he thereupon constructed a camera, weighing less than ounces, which he fixed to the bird's breast by an elastic strap, leaving the wings completely free. the process of snapshotting is, of course, automatic. at regular intervals the machine operates by a clockwork arrangement, and registers pictures of the various places covered by the bird in its flight. the german government has taken a keen interest in herr neubronner's notion of utilizing pigeons as photographers, and there certainly seem great possibilities in the idea. the carrier-pigeon photographer would prove extremely valuable for obtaining information in times of war of the country, position, and strength of the enemy. the carrier pigeon flies at a height of between feet and feet, safe from small shot and very difficult to hit with bullets. pigeons might be released from air ships at any height within the enemy's lines, and they would carry home with them pictures of great value. the carrier pigeon is peculiarly well suited to service of this character, because when set free in a strange place it commences its flight by describing a spiral curve, in the course of which several pictures could be taken from various points of view. then, when the pigeon has determined the position of its goal, it flies thither in a straight line at a uniform speed of about miles an hour. as the moment of exposure can be regulated with a fair amount of precision, the object which it is desired to photograph can generally be caught. in besieged fortresses information concerning the besiegers can be obtained by tumbler pigeons, which, when released at their home, fly in circles for a time and then return to their cotes. latest issues motor stories the latest and best five-cent weekly. we won't say how interesting it is. see for yourself. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --motor matt's daring rescue; or, the strange case of helen brady. --motor matt's peril; or, castaway in the bahamas. --motor matt's queer find; or, the secret of the iron chest. --motor matt's promise; or, the wreck of the _hawk_. --motor matt's submarine; or, the strange cruise of the _grampus_. --motor matt's quest; or, three chums in strange waters. --motor matt's close call; or, the snare of don carlos. --motor matt in brazil; or, under the amazon. --motor matt's defiance; or, around the horn. --motor matt makes good; or, another victory for the motor boys. --motor matt's launch; or, a friend in need. --motor matt's enemies; or, a struggle for the right. --motor matt's prize; or, the pluck that wins. --motor matt on the wing; or, flying for fame and fortune. tip top weekly the most popular publication for boys. the adventures of frank and dick merriwell can be had only in this weekly. =high art colored covers. thirty-two pages. price, cents.= --dick merriwell at the "meet"; or, honors worth winning. --dick merriwell's protest; or, the man who would not play clean. --dick merriwell in the marathon; or, the sensation of the great run. --dick merriwell's colors; or, all for the blue. --dick merriwell, driver; or, the race for the daremore cup. --dick merriwell on the deep; or, the cruise of the _yale_. --dick merriwell in the north woods; or, the timber thieves of the floodwood. --dick merriwell's dandies; or, a surprise for the cowboy nine. --dick merriwell's "skyscooter"; or, professor pagan and the "princess." --dick merriwell in the elk mountains; or, the search for "dead injun" mine. --dick merriwell in utah; or, the road to "promised land." --dick merriwell's bluff; or, the boy who ran away. --dick merriwell in the saddle; or, the bunch from the bar-z. --dick merriwell's ranch friends; or, sport on the range. nick carter weekly the best detective stories on earth. nick carter's exploits are read the world over. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --three times stolen; or, nick carter's strange clue. --the great diamond syndicate; or, nick carter's cleverest foes. --the house of the yellow door; or, nick carter in the old french quarter. --the triangle clue; or, nick carter's greenwich village case. --the hollingsworth puzzle; or, nick carter three times baffled. --the affair of the missing bonds; or, nick carter in the harness. --the green box clue; or, nick carter's good friend. --the taxicab mystery; or, nick carter closes a deal. --the mystery of a hotel room; or, nick carter's best work. --the tragedy of the well; or, nick carter under suspicion. --the black hand; or, chick carter's well-laid plot. --the black hand nemesis; or, chick carter and the mysterious woman. --a masterly trick; or, chick and the beautiful italian. --a dangerous man; or, nick carter and the famous castor case. _for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address on receipt of price, cents per copy, in money or postage stamps, by_ street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york =if you want any back numbers= of our weeklies and cannot procure them from your newsdealer, they can be obtained from this office direct. fill out the following order blank and send it to us with the price of the weeklies you want and we will send them to you by return mail. =postage stamps taken the same as money.= ________________________ _ _ _street & smith, - seventh avenue, new york city._ _dear sirs: enclosed please find_ ___________________________ _cents for which send me_: tip top weekly, nos. ________________________________ nick carter weekly, " ________________________________ diamond dick weekly, " ________________________________ buffalo bill stories, " ________________________________ brave and bold weekly, " ________________________________ motor stories, " ________________________________ _name_ ________________ _street_ ________________ _city_ ________________ _state_ ________________ a great success!! motor stories every boy who reads one of the splendid adventures of motor matt, which are making their appearance in this weekly, is at once surprised and delighted. surprised at the generous quantity of reading matter that we are giving for five cents; delighted with the fascinating interest of the stories, second only to those published in the tip top weekly. matt has positive mechanical genius, and while his adventures are unusual, they are, however, drawn so true to life that the reader can clearly see how it is possible for the ordinary boy to experience them. _here are the titles now ready and those to be published_: --motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. --motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. --motor matt's century run; or, the governor's courier. --motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the "comet." --motor matt's mystery; or, foiling a secret plot. --motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear. --motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto. --motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward. --motor matt's air ship; or, the rival inventors. --motor matt's hard luck; or, the balloon house plot. --motor matt's daring rescue; or, the strange case of helen brady. --motor matt's peril; or, cast away in the bahamas. --motor matt's queer find; or, the secret of the iron chest. --motor matt's promise; or, the wreck of the "hawk." --motor matt's submarine; or, the strange cruise of the "grampus." --motor matt's quest; or, three chums in strange waters. --motor matt's close call; or, the snare of don carlos. --motor matt in brazil; or, under the amazon. --motor matt's defiance; or, around the horn. --motor matt makes good; or, another victory for the motor boys. to be published on july th. --motor matt's launch; or, a friend in need. to be published on july th. --motor matt's enemies; or, a struggle for the right. to be published on july th. --motor matt's prize; or, the pluck that wins. to be published on august nd. --motor matt on the wing; or, flying for fame and fortune. price, five cents at all newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, by the publishers upon receipt of the price. street & smith, _publishers_, new york transcriber's notes: added table of contents. retained some inconsistent hyphenation ("work-bench" vs. "workbench") from the original. for this text edition, oe ligatures have been replaced with the letters "oe." bold text is represented with =equal signs=, italics with _underscores_. page , changed "inisted" to "insisted" after "motol matt my boss, alle same," and "cred" to "cried" after "here, now." page , changed "out" to "ought" in "you and ping ought to be ashamed." page , changed "instiution" to "institution" ("another institution, known as..."). page , changed "sprit" to "spirit" ("said matt, with spirit"). page , corrected "stakeboak" to "stake boat" ("as good as passed the stake boat"). page , changed "wth" to "with" ("forcing an interview with"). page , corrected "larry" to "lorry" ("while speaking, lorry..."). page , added missing close quote after "prove that by telling you what just happened." page , corrected "red as a beat" to "red as a beet." page , corrected "villiany" to "villainy" in "next number" table of contents. courtesy of the digital library@villanova university (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction no. july , five cents motor matt's enemies or a struggle for the right _by the author of "motor matt"_ [illustration: _a hoarse laugh echoed in motor matt's ears as the burning launch leaped away through the thick shadows._] _street & smith publishers, new york_ motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction _issued weekly. by subscription $ . per year. entered according to act of congress in the year , in the office of the librarian of congress, washington, d. c., by_ street & smith, _ - seventh avenue, new york, n. y._ no. . new york, july , . price five cents. motor matt's enemies; or, a struggle for the right. by the author of "motor matt." contents chapter i. on the road to waunakee. chapter ii. into a noose--and out of it again. chapter iii. george's sister. chapter iv. the "jump spark." chapter v. by express, charges collect. chapter vi. "pickerel pete." chapter vii. george and m'glory missing. chapter viii. setting a snare. chapter ix. enemies to be feared. chapter x. between fire and water. chapter xi. chums to the rescue. chapter xii. how fate threw the dice. chapter xiii. under the overturned boat. chapter xiv. a dash for the open. chapter xv. the power boat--minus the power. chapter xvi. a reconciliation. the guardian of the pass. watch the sky. characters that appear in this story. =matt king=, otherwise motor matt. =joe mcglory=, a young cowboy who proves himself a lad of worth and character, and whose eccentricities are all on the humorous side. a good chum to tie to--a point motor matt is quick to perceive. =george lorry=, a lad who has begun steering a wrong course, and in whom matt recognizes a victim of circumstances rather than a youth who is innately conceited, domineering and unscrupulous. =lorry, sr.=, george's father; a rich man whose attitude toward motor matt, in part of the story, is as incomprehensible as it is uncalled-for. =big john=, an unscrupulous person who takes his dishonest toll wherever he can find it; but, in crossing motor matt's course, he meets with rather more than he has bargained for. =kinky=, a pal of big john. =ross=, another pal of big john; a desperate man with a grievance against motor matt. =ollie merton=, a rich man's son with many failings, but rather deeper than he appears. =pickerel pete=, a superstitious little moke who collects two dollars from motor matt for a day's work and abruptly resigns. chapter i. on the road to waunakee. "do you know what you're doing, john?" "if i didn't, ollie, i wouldn't be doing it. i'm not one of these fellows who take a jump in the dark and trust to luck." "then it's about time you put me wise. i've been taking jumps in the dark ever since you showed up in madison yesterday." the man with the closely cropped red hair, the smooth face, and the mole on his cheek laughed softly. "back the car off the road and into the bushes," said he, "then we'll sit where we can look around the bend toward waunakee and i'll tell you all you want to know." the young fellow with black hair and a sinister face threw in the reverse and backed the big automobile off the road and into the undergrowth. when he stopped the car it was all but screened from sight. jumping down, he walked out to where the man was standing in the highway thoughtfully smoking a big, black cigar. pulling a silver cigarette case from his pocket, ollie helped himself to a highly ornamental brand of turkish poison, each little cylinder cork-tipped and marked in gilt with his monogram. big john looked at him with frank disapproval as he took a silver matchbox from his vest and fired the imported "paper pipe." "you're the silver-plated boy, all right," muttered big john. "sterling, you big duffer," grinned ollie. "nothing plated about me." "the dope they roll up in that rice paper and hand you with your cute little monogram is plate, all right--coffin plate----" "oh, splash!" sneered ollie. "you're a nice one to lecture a fellow, i must say. cut it out, john, and tell me what we're here for." big john shook his red head forebodingly and moved off toward the bend of the wooded road. here he sat down just within a fringe of brush, in such a position that he had a good view of the straightaway stretch toward waunakee, and ollie pushed in beside him. "you know george lorry, all right, eh, ollie?" big john observed. a flush crossed ollie's sinister face. "you bet i know him!" said he. "the fellows used to call him 'sis,' because he was so nice and ladylike. but i've known for a long time there was good stuff in george, and that he'd be a first-rate chap if some one would only cut him adrift from his mother's apron strings. i got him started right," and a very complacent look drifted over ollie's dark features. "he can smoke cigareets as well as the next one, now, and play as good a game of cards as any fellow in our set. he's got _me_ to thank for that." big john stared at ollie, and once more shook his head. "what fools you kids can make of yourselves!" he grunted. "you're the one that started young lorry, eh?" "he was a sissy," asserted ollie, "and i was making a man of him. george's folks never treated him right. old lorry has got as much money as my governor, but he's a tightwad, all right, and put the screws on george's allowance in a way that was scandalous. george bought a five-thousand-dollar motor launch, and had it sent on here from bay city, c. o. d., and his skinflint father wouldn't foot the bill and the launch had to go back." ollie fired up to a white heat. "what sort of a way was that for a man to treat his only son?" he demanded. "awful!" commented big john sarcastically. "george told me how he was treated," went on ollie, failing to observe the sarcasm in big john's voice, "and i advised him to break away and show the old folks that he wasn't going to let 'em tramp on him. he joined our club and got to be one of the best card players we have." "beautiful!" expanded big john. "i suppose his folks were all cut up about that, eh?" "i guess they were, only old lorry took the wrong way of showing it. what do you think he did?" flared ollie. "i'm by. what did he do?" "why, he made arrangements to send george to one of these military academies, that's nothing more or less than a reform school. george came to me and told me about it, and asked what he ought to do." "and what did you tell him?" "i told him to skip, and to take with him all the money of his father's that he could get his hands on. old lorry is a brute, and i didn't make any bones of telling george what i thought." "and george skipped, taking ten thousand dollars from his father's safe," said big john. "he went to chicago first, then bought a ticket to 'frisco. when he got there he had made friends with three men, and one of those men was me. i'm a villain, ollie, and ought to be a horrible example to every young fellow who's got sense enough to know right from wrong, and the minute i learned lorry had ten thousand dollars i planned with my two pals, kinky and ross, to get it. we'd have got away with it, too, on a boat to the sandwich islands, where i could have bought a pineapple plantation and, mebby, have lived honest for the rest of my life, but something happened." big john looked through the bushes, out along the road, and scowled blackly. "what happened?" demanded ollie. "a chap named joe mcglory----" "i've heard of _him_," interrupted ollie. "he's a cousin of george's, and lives in arizona. a cowboy and a rowdy--nothing refined or genteel in his make up. go on." "well, mcglory got a message from young lorry's father asking him to go to 'frisco and hunt for george. mcglory went, but he'd never have found george in a thousand years if it hadn't been for some one else who butted into the game." big john scowled again, this time more fiercely than he had done before. "who was it?" queried ollie. "hold your horses a minute," proceeded big john. "mcglory and this other fellow took after kinky, ross, and me, and dropped on us like a thousand of brick. my, oh, my! say, that other lad was the clear quill, all right. i've seen a good many likely younkers, but never one to match him. i guess you'd call him a 'sissy,' seeing as how he don't smoke, or drink, or gamble, but just trains his muscle to keep in form and cultivates his brain along the line of motors, gasoline motors. and muscle! son, that fellow's got a 'right' any man would be proud to own, and what he don't know about chug-engines nobody knows." ollie's upper lip curled. "i don't believe in paragons," said he. "but what has all this got to do with our being here?" "i'm getting to that. with this young fellow's help, mcglory got the ten thousand away from us; not only that, but we had to get out of 'frisco on the jump to keep the law from layin' hold of us. but big john wasn't throwing his hands in the air, not as anybody knows of. i knew what would happen. young lorry would have to be brought back to madison, and this motor boy would have to help mcglory bring him back. also, the ten thousand dollars would be brought back--and i was still yearnin' for that money and the pineapple plantation. i had ross dodge back to 'frisco and watch. when mcglory and the other chap took the cars with lorry, ross was on the same train, but he had changed himself so no one would have known him. ross is good at that sort of thing, and that's the reason i made him do the shadowin'. kinky and me hurried right on to madison, where i called on you and reminded you of the way i'd once given you a tip on a hoss race in new york and helped you win a thousand. you remembered old times"--big john grinned widely--"and you wasn't leery of me." "i always liked you, big john," averred the misguided youth, "because you're so free and easy." "thanks," was the dry response. "well, to proceed," he went on, "ross dropped in on kinky and me, last night, and said that young lorry and t'other two hadn't come to madison, but had got off the train at waunakee and had gone to a little cabin on the bank of a creek that empties into the catfish. ross hung around the cabin, listenin', until he found out that one of the outfit was to walk into madison, this morning, to have a talk with mr. lorry. i don't know what the talk's to be about, but this motor boy must have something up his sleeve." big john gave an ill-omened grin. "as near as i can find out from ross," he continued, "this chug-engine chap thinks he can make a man out o' lorry--but he's going about it a little different from what you did, ollie. now, i don't care a whoop about anything but that money, and i rather believe i've fixed things so the motor boy won't have easy sailin' with mr. lorry. but that's neither here nor there. i got you to bring me out here in your benzine buggy, this mornin', so i could lay for the chap that goes into town and take the ten thousand. after i get it, you're to take me to dane, or lodi, or barraboo, and leave me there. that'll settle the debt you owe me on account of the tip i gave you on that hoss race, see? are you willin'?" the sinister face of the youth glowed with a fierce light. "i'm willing to help you get away, big john," he answered, "and i'm even willing to help you get the money. this motor boy you speak about is trying to undermine my influence with george, and, by jupiter, i won't have it. i know what's the best thing for george." "we won't talk about that part of it," said big john, who was a strange mixture of right principles and evil actions, "because i might say something you wouldn't like. as i was saying, i've got my heart set on an honest life and a pineapple plantation, and ten thousand ain't any more to lorry, the millionaire, than ten cents is to me. i'm going to get that money--and here's where i turn the trick. you can go farther back into the bushes and watch, for i don't need your help." unbuttoning his coat, big john began unwrapping coil after coil of light rope from around his waist. when he was through he had a thirty-foot riata in his left hand and was holding the noose in his right. ollie, who had never been the confederate of a man before in such a rascally piece of work, stared with wide eyes at big john; then, before pushing farther back into the brush, he turned his eyes down the wooded road. a young fellow, lithely built, and with the grace and freedom of movement that marks the perfect athlete, was swinging toward the bend from the direction of waunakee. "is that mcglory?" asked ollie in a whisper. "nary it ain't mcglory," replied big john, with a snap of the jaws. "it's matt king, otherwise motor matt, and here's where he gets what's comin' for meddlin' in affairs that's none of his business. get back, i tell you, and give me a free hand." chapter ii. into a noose--and out of it again. motor matt, swinging along the road toward madison, that morning, was particularly light-hearted. he and his new chum, joe mcglory, had accomplished something worth while; and whenever a young fellow does that he is pretty sure to be on good terms with himself. the long railroad journey from san francisco to a point within a few miles of madison had been safely accomplished. young lorry had not been a willing traveler, at first, but matt had gradually won him over by suggesting a plan which carried an appeal to lorry's heart. this plan had to do with the three boys leaving the train at waunakee, taking to the little cabin in the woods, and then lorry and mcglory staying there while matt went on to the city for a talk with the elder lorry and to deliver the ten thousand dollars. motor matt and mcglory had had some exciting experiences with big john and his two pals, kinky and ross, but those experiences had been passed through safely, and the end of the journey, if not of matt's work, was in sight. matt had faith to believe that there was "good stuff" in george lorry. the boy had fled from madison, and had committed a dishonest act before doing so. having far and away too much pride for his own good, the thought of being brought back, virtually under guard and in disgrace, was more than he could bear. matt had tried to think of a plan for giving lorry's return a different look--hence the reason for mcglory and lorry remaining in the cabin while matt went on to the city. the morning was fresh, the sun was bright, and the clear weather seemed a good augury for what lay before. matt always made it a point to look on the bright side of things, anyway. ahead of him lay a bend in the road. when he rounded the bend he felt sure that he would be able to catch a glimpse of the white dome of the capitol, and from that point onward he would not be long in covering the ground. he halted abruptly just before he got to the bend. the peculiar corrugated marks of automobile tires lay under his eyes in the dust of the road. it wasn't so much the marks themselves that claimed his attention as the strange way they curved from the roadside and entered the brush. why should an automobile be taking to the woods in that unaccountable fashion? from ahead of him, around the bend, he heard a car. the car was on the move, plainly enough, but the motor was in distress, pounding badly; not only that, but there was a smell of fried engine in the air, as though some reckless driver were burning up his transmission. was the car matt heard the one that had left its tracks there by the roadside? he presumed that this must be the case; so, instead of investigating the bushes, he started to run around the bend. if he could help the injured car, then perhaps the driver might give him a lift the rest of the way into town. as he started on, after a moment's pause, a sinuous, snakelike thing leaped noiselessly from the bushes behind him, unwound itself in the air, and a loop fell over his head and dropped on his shoulders. motor matt jumped as though he had been touched with a live wire. he half turned and lifted his hands to remove the coil, but it tightened before he could free himself, and a rough jerk from behind landed him on his back in the dust. matt had not been expecting such lawlessness on that peaceable country road. who was back of it, and what was the purpose? to escape, half-strangled as he was and with enemies bearing down on him, was out of the question--at that moment. the lad's resourcefulness suggested a trick, whereby he hoped to gain time and discover a chance for escape. although the fall backward had not injured him in the least, yet he gave a groan, tried to lift himself, and then fell back and lay still and silent. in his ears the pounding of the motor around the bend continued to echo, but, from the noise, he could not discover that the car was coming in his direction. a quick tramp of feet and a rustle of bushes were heard, and two figures bounded to his side. one of the figures was that of a man, and the other of a well-dressed, dissipated-looking youth. matt, peering from half-closed eyes, could scarcely restrain an exclamation at sight of the man. when he had seen the man last, in san francisco bay, he had worn a red beard. although the beard was gone, matt recognized the scoundrel instantly--and the mole served to make his identification complete. "confound it, john!" grumbled the youth, "_now_ what have you done? if he's badly hurt----" big john laughed. "hurt! motor matt badly hurt by a little drop like that! why, he's tougher'n whalebone and you couldn't damage him with a sledge hammer. he's just stunned and strangled, that's all. a good thing for me, too, because he'll never know who roped him and we can get away before he comes to himself. pull out that noose so he can breathe, ollie. i'll get what i want out of the younker's pocket and----" "there's another machine!" ollie muttered, staring toward the bend as he was about to stoop over matt and release the noose. "just heard it?" answered big john. "well, don't let it worry you. i've heard it for some time, and it's coming into this road from a branch and is bound for town. look sharp, now, for we've got to hustle." while ollie, with trembling fingers, pulled out the loop and drew it over matt's head, big john went down on one knee to search his pockets. matt knew, then, what big john was after. the rascal was foolish enough to think matt was carrying lorry's money in cash. this was not the case, for matt and mcglory had bought a draft in san francisco. matt, however, did not intend to lose even the draft. suddenly, and most unexpectedly, he became very much alive. with a quick move he hoisted himself upward, catching ollie by the shoulders and hurling him, with terrific force, against big john. both the youth and the man were caught at a disadvantage. ollie gave a startled cry as he carromed against big john, and the latter, as he staggered back, said something more forcible than polite. as for matt, if he had any comments to make, he preferred to send them by mail. without hesitating an instant, he took to his heels and tore around the bend. he could see the dome of the capitol, far off and embowered by trees, but he was thinking more, at that moment, of the other car than he was of the capitol. a hundred yards ahead was another road, coming from the timber into the one he was following. the moment matt raced around the bend a swagger little runabout was jumping from one road into the other. the car was not _headed_ toward madison, although it was proceeding in that direction. it was on the reverse gear, and a young woman in the driver's seat was craning her head around in order to see the way and do the guiding. there was only the young woman in the car, and matt, in spite of his dangerous situation, felt a distinct sense of disappointment. he had been hoping to meet a man, in that emergency, and now to meet a young woman---- but he had no time to waste in vain regrets. a look over his shoulder showed him big john hurrying after him at top speed. matt knew that big john was one of those lawless persons who carry weapons in their hip pockets, and, although matt's legs could outdistance big john's, the young motorist would hardly be able to keep ahead of a bullet. but big john held his hand and determined to trust to his sprinting ability. to use a revolver would, perhaps, have carried the matter farther than he wanted to see it go. besides, ollie was cranking up the big car and making ready to bring it along in pursuit. the smell of sizzling engine became stronger as matt drew closer to the runabout. the girl, with a very white face, had turned in her seat and was staring toward matt with startled eyes. at the same moment she had brought the car to a stop. big john, on seeing matt draw abreast of the runabout, halted and looked around for ollie and the touring car. "will you give me a ride into madison?" matt asked of the girl, as respectfully as he could in the circumstances. "what's--what's the matter?" asked the girl. "that fellow, back there, tried to rob me. i don't think he will follow me far, on a public highway in broad daylight--if you will let me ride in the runabout." "but the bearings are chewed up!" cried the girl; "i'm going home on the reverse." "take the other seat, please," said matt. "i know something about motors, and perhaps i can handle the car so as to get more speed out of it with less rack on the engine." without a word the girl changed to the other seat and matt leaped into the car beside her. the next moment he had advanced the spark, thrown in the high-speed clutch, and they were shooting down a long slope. matt's eyes were behind, and the girl's in front of her. "oh, hurry, hurry!" she cried, in a frightened voice. "they've got a big touring car, and i don't think anything can keep them from overtaking us!" chapter iii. george's sister. matt threw a look over his shoulder. big john was just making a flying leap to the running board of a large car. he fell aboard in a huddle, colliding with the dash and striking violently against his young companion, who was at the steering wheel. matt was not able to look longer. by doing wonders with the spark and the steering wheel, and by ignoring the bubbling in the radiator and the pounding of the engine, he nursed the runabout along at a good rate of speed. a low hill was before them, and it came near killing the car, but when they had reached the crest and were ready for the descent on the other side, an exclamation from the girl drew his attention. "what is it?" he asked. "is that other car close upon us?" "something has gone wrong with the other automobile," was the answer. "when that man jumped aboard he must have injured something." matt looked around again. big john and his companion were on the ground, looking over their car and trying to locate the trouble. matt laughed. "it's a good thing for those fellows that the car went wrong," said he. "in their excitement they might have done something that would have got them both into trouble. we'll go on for a little way and then i'll have a look at the runabout and see if i can't fix it up so we can run headfirst, like every respectable automobile ought to run." they coasted down the hill, and the tired and much abused motor must have appreciated the rest. "is this your car?" asked matt. "yes," was the reply. "i don't think you can fix it, for i've stripped the gear." "i'll look at it, anyway, if you don't mind, just as soon as we get to the bottom of this slope. i've had a lot of experience with motors." "you say that man tried to rob you?" queried the girl. "that's the way it looked to me, but it seemed like an audacious thing to attempt so near a big city like madison. you see, i was walking into town, and back there at the bend in the road some one threw a rope and i got tangled in the noose and thrown off my feet. i managed to get away, though, and the man took after me. if it hadn't been for you, that other car might have overhauled me. i'm much obliged to you, miss." "i'm glad i was able to help you," was the quiet reply. "as you say, it is strange any one should try to commit a robbery, in broad daylight, so close to the city. and on a public highway, too!" by then they were at the foot of the slope and matt brought the car to a halt. here he got out and turned to the girl. "if you'll jump down for a minute," said he, "i'll give that transmission a sizing and see if i can do anything with it." "but won't the other car come?" she demurred. "those fellows will think better of it. if they hadn't been excited they wouldn't have tried to chase me. they've had time to cool off, now, and to think better of what they're doing." matt helped the girl down, and, for the first time, saw that she was very young and very pretty. there was a familiar cast to her features, somehow, which aroused his wonder. was it possible that he had ever met her before? without trying very hard to answer this mental question, he stripped off the transmission cover and thrust a hand inside. the metal band encircling the low-gear drum had sustained a fracture. it was made of bronze, and had been slotted for convenience in lubricating, and the break was through two of the slots. "the low gear is chewed up," he remarked to the girl, "and that part of the machine is permanently retired. i guess we'll have to go into madison on the reverse, and it will be well to go slow so as not to overheat the engine. we can take care of that, all right, if we stop occasionally to cool off. how far are we from town, by the way?" "not more than two miles from sherman avenue and lake mendota." "we'll get over that quick enough. you don't mind my riding with you?" "i'm glad to have you," was the smiling reply. "you'll save me from twisting my head off and doing all the work." matt, with his gray, earnest eyes and fine face, was a well-favored lad, and it is not to be wondered at if the girl was impressed. "are you a stranger in this part of the country?" the girl inquired, when they were once more in their seats and backing away in the direction of town. "yes," he replied. "never been in these parts before." "you were walking into town, you say?" the girl eyed his neat, trim figure with a certain amount of surprise. "i was," he answered, with a laugh, "but please don't think i'm a tramp. i've a draft for ten thousand dollars in my pocket--and tramps are not usually as well fixed as that. the fellow who roped me must have known about that ten thousand, and perhaps he was foolish enough to think that i had it in cash." "ten thousand dollars!" murmured the girl. "that's a lot of money." evidently it was not such a vast sum--to her. that swagger little car, as matt figured it, was given to her for her very own, and she was wearing the latest thing in automobile coats, hats, and gauntlets. the dust coat had become parted at the throat and revealed a fraternity pin set with a big diamond. "after i take your car to the garage," said matt, "perhaps you could tell me where i can find mr. daniel lorry?" the girl started. "why," she exclaimed, "if we get to the garage about noon you will find dad in the house in the same yard. he's my father. i'm ethel lorry." "great spark-plugs!" exclaimed matt. "i guess this is my lucky day, after all. you're george's sister, are you?" a cry escaped the girl, and she reached out to drop a convulsive hand on matt's arm. "you know george?" she asked breathlessly. "i should say so!" returned matt. "where is he?" the girl was tremendously excited. "is he well? has he come back from san francisco?" "yes, miss lorry, he is back from san francisco, and he's feeling tiptop. but he didn't want to come to madison just yet. i left him not more than an hour ago. his cousin, joe mcglory, is with him." "but why didn't he want to come home?" cried the girl, with vague alarm in her voice. "i'm to see your father and tell him about that. that's what i was coming to town for." the girl suddenly whitened, a frightened look arose in her eyes, and she drew as far away from matt as she could. "what's the matter, miss lorry?" matt asked. "are you--can it be that you are the young man called motor matt?" "that's what i'm called. my real name is king, you know, matt king, but i'm always doing something with motors and that's why they call me motor matt." the girl was silent for a space. her face continued white, and she seemed to be thinking deeply. "i think, motor matt," she said finally, in a strained voice, "that you'd better get out of the car and let me run it back to madison alone." matt was "stumped." for a moment, so great was his astonishment, he could not do a thing but stare. "why," he exclaimed, "i want to see your father; that's why i'm going into town this morning." "i think it will be better for you if you don't see him." matt's bewilderment continued to increase. "i've got ten thousand dollars for him, and also a message from george," he managed to articulate. "you can give me the money and the message, mr. motor matt," was the terse reply, "and i will see that they are delivered." matt halted the car--it was time to cool off the engine a little, anyway--and straightened in his seat. "i am a friend of your brother's," he observed, "and joe mcglory will tell you what i have tried to do for him. your father sent a telegram to san francisco asking mcglory to have me come with him and george, if possible. now, at a good deal of inconvenience and expense to myself, i have come--and why shouldn't i see your father?" "because," answered miss lorry steadily, "he has recently heard something about you that--that is not to your credit. if you insist on seeing him, he might--he might have you arrested." if matt was "stumped" before, he was staggered now. arrested! george lorry's father might have him arrested! and for what? for helping george recover the ten thousand dollars, and for helping to bring george back to madison? "there's a big mistake, somewhere," muttered matt. "you'll not go on?" queried miss lorry. "i _will_ go on," matt returned firmly. "but i'll get out of the car and walk, if you want it that way, miss lorry. i can't give the money to you, or the message, either. as i say, there's a mistake, and i must see your father and explain away the bad impression he has of me. certainly he didn't get that from joe mcglory." "i don't know who told him what he knows," went on the girl, "and i don't know _what_ he knows, but he's very much incensed against you, motor matt." "i'll know why, before i'm many hours older," and matt got up to leave the car. once more the girl caught his arm. "i'm glad you show that sort of spirit," said she. "if you are really determined to see dad, and have a talk with him, then that proves on the face of it that there must be some mistake. please stay and take the car into town for me!" without a word, but with his mind working hard to evolve some clue to this puzzling situation, matt dropped back in the driver's seat. he threw in the switch, and the gas in the cylinders took the spark. but it was a silent ride that he and miss lorry had during the rest of the time they were backing into town. chapter iv. the "jump spark." into the grounds of one of the finest homes on "fourth lake ridge," otherwise known as "aristocracy hill," matt backed the little runabout. a brick-paved roadway, overarched with trees, led from the front of the premises to the neat garage in the rear. a middle-aged gentleman, stout of build and with a florid face, was sitting on the veranda of the house. the runabout, worrying backward up the street and into the yard, was an astonishing sight. the middle-aged gentleman leaned against the rail and stared; then, waving a newspaper which he held in his hand, he shouted something and hurried down the steps and toward the driveway. "dad!" murmured miss lorry, with an apprehensive glance at matt. a man--probably the lorry chauffeur--appeared in the open door of the garage and stared at the runabout in open-mouthed amazement. matt brought the car to a stop, and mr. lorry came puffing up alongside. "what in the world's the matter, ethel?" he demanded, his eyes swerving from his daughter to matt. "i smashed the low gear, dad, and had to come in on the reverse," miss lorry answered. "i was just coming into the waunakee road, two or three miles the other side of maple bluff, when the gear went wrong." mr. lorry's eyes continued to rest on matt, and they were becoming uncomfortably inquisitive. he was wondering, no doubt, who matt was, how he came to be in the car, and why his daughter did not introduce him. "call gus," went on miss lorry, jumping lightly out of the car, "and have him run _dandy_ into the garage. gus will know what to send for in order to make the runabout as good as new again." without waiting to speak further, the girl whirled about and ran into the house. mr. lorry stared after her, and then turned to give matt another look. "are you a chauffeur?" he asked. "i have been--a racing chauffeur," matt answered, springing to the ground, "but i haven't been driving a car for some time." "you helped my daughter--that much is plain, even though i _have_ been left in the dark on several other points." "i was coming into town along the waunakee road," matt went on, "to see you." "to see me?" mr. lorry's interest visibly increased. "yes, sir, on very important business. i happened to meet miss lorry and she kindly gave me a ride into town. the least i could do was to run her machine for her." "did you know miss lorry?" "not until she told me who she was." "quite a coincidence that you should meet her, when you were coming into town to see her father. but come up on the veranda--we'll be more comfortable there." mr. lorry turned toward the garage. "the runabout's in trouble, gus," he called. "take it into the garage, see what it needs, then order whatever's necessary. this way, sir," he added to matt. while gus removed the runabout to the garage, matt followed mr. lorry up the steps to the veranda and seated himself in a chair. "i don't remember ever seeing you before," remarked mr. lorry as he sat down close to matt, picked up a fan, and began stirring the air in front of his perspiring face. "but i'm obliged to you for giving ethel a helping hand. i'm worried to death every time she's out with _dandy_. it wasn't more than a week ago that she came near going over a bluff at mcbride's point." matt lost no time in plunging into his business. drawing the draft from his pocket, he handed it to mr. lorry. "part of my work," said he, "is to give you that." mr. lorry stared at the draft and opened his eyes wide. "ten thousand dollars!" he exclaimed, "and it's made payable to joseph mcglory." "on the back, sir, you will see that joe had indorsed it over to you." mr. lorry turned over the oblong slip of paper; then, suddenly, an idea darted through his mind and he stiffened in his chair. "is this--is this----" "it is the money george took when he left madison," said matt, dropping his voice. mr. lorry's face hardened. "then," said he raspingly, "inasmuch as you're not mcglory, i suppose you're that young rascal, matt king, better known as motor matt." "my name is matt king, sir," answered matt, "and you have no right to refer to me as a rascal." "i have, by gad," exploded mr. lorry, "and a very good right! i've heard about you, sir. you're the lad who was hand-and-glove with the three villains who made george so much trouble on account of this money. i wonder that you have the face to show yourself to me. do you know what i could do with you?" a hostile red had leaped into mr. lorry's face. as matt sat back and looked at him, he likened his anger to a "jump spark." the "make and break" system of ignition, while electrically simple, is complicated mechanically. the "jump spark" system, on the other hand, while complicated electrically is mechanically very simple. a simple error of some sort lay back of mr. lorry's anger, but it found vent in mighty puzzling expressions. "who is your authority for the statement that i was hand-and-glove with the three men who robbed george?" asked matt calmly. "i decline to quote anybody." "you can ask mcglory, or george, about me," proceeded matt, "and i think they will tell you that if it hadn't been for me that money would never have been recovered." "you have pulled the wool over mcglory's eyes, and over george's, too. but where's my son? why didn't he bring this money to me himself? why was it necessary for him to send it at the hands of a stranger?" "your son is a few miles out of town. he did not leave san francisco willingly, and it was only by promising him that we would not take him directly into madison that we got his consent to come with us." "a fine lay-out!" muttered mr. lorry. "the boy's got to come here, sooner or later, and what is he to gain by delaying the matter? can't he realize how worried all of us are?" "he feels the disgrace of his position very keenly, mr. lorry." "bosh! not much of what he's done is known to outsiders, and those who know, or think they know, anything about it, will forget the whole business within a week after george gets back." "are you going to send george to military school, mr. lorry?" at that the "jump spark" seemed about to set off an explosion. mr. lorry twisted angrily in his chair. "what business is it of yours, young man?" he snapped. "that boy has got to realize that he isn't of age yet, and i'm not going to let him run wild and bring disgrace on himself, and on me." "mr. lorry," said matt earnestly, "i have tried to be a good friend to your son, and it was your request, contained in the telegram you sent to san francisco, that i come with him and mcglory, that brought me here. i won't tell you what i have done--i will leave that to george and his cousin--but i will tell you, as plainly as i can, that george is just now in a place where he must be treated with consideration. one false move would prove his ruin, and----" "by gad," interrupted mr. lorry, "do you mean to sit there and lecture _me_? why, i'm old enough to be your father! such impudence as that is----" "sir," protested matt, "i'm not impudent. i know george pretty well, and i want to do what i can for him. he's got lots of pride, and he had his heart set on getting a power-boat that would make a good showing in the coming race of the winnequa yacht club. he had talked about what he was going to do to members of the club, and when he ordered that boat and you refused to pay for it and let it be sent back to the builders, the blow to his pride started him off on the wrong course." "a five-thousand-dollar boat, by gad!" growled mr. lorry. "his whims were getting too confoundedly expensive. if his pride is going to suffer every time i put my foot down on such a piece of folly, then he'll have to pocket his pride. i'm his father, and i guess he'll have to toe the mark for me for a while yet." "there's a way to make george the happiest fellow in madison, mr. lorry," matt went on, "and it won't cost you more than two hundred and fifty or three hundred dollars. i know a good deal about motors, and i'll help george fix up a boat that will win a prize in that yacht club race----" "not a cent more will he get from me!" stormed mr. lorry. "he'll come back here, and he'll go to that military school, and if what you call his 'pride' keeps him from being a dutiful son, then his pride will be broken. where is he? where did you leave him?" "if you go out to where he is now, without first giving him a chance to----" mr. lorry leaned forward and shook a finger in matt's face. "if you want to keep yourself out of trouble, my lad, you'll tell me where that boy is, and no more ifs nor ands about it." matt got up slowly. he was white, but none the less determined. "i am george's friend, mr. lorry," said he, "and i had to promise him that i would help him do certain things here in madison in order to get him safely back from the west. if i tell you where he is, while you feel as you do toward him, i would be breaking my promise. he is well, and he will be here in a few days. as for the rest, if you want to make trouble for me, why, go ahead." intensely disappointed with the result of his interview, matt passed down the steps and toward the street. mr. lorry gasped wrathfully and watched as he left the yard, but he made no attempt to interfere with him. matt was hardly out of sight, however, before he ran into the house and began using the telephone. chapter v. by express, charges collect. motor matt was surprised enough, as he left the lorry mansion, and his indignation equaled his surprise. who could possibly have furnished lorry with the information on which he had based his remarkable conclusions? certainly his attitude had changed most decidedly since he had sent his telegram to 'frisco requesting that matt accompany mcglory in bringing george home to madison. matt, as he descended the ridge and proceeded toward the capitol and the main part of the town, could think of only one possible cause for mr. lorry's actions. big john must be in some way mixed up in it. the knowledge that big john was in that part of the country had come like a thunderbolt to matt. the last the king of the motor boys had heard of big john, he and his two pals, kinky and ross, were getting out of california by way of sausalito. a bolt from the blue could not have been more astounding than the discovery of big john attempting a robbery there on the waunakee road. why had big john come to madison? and how had he known that matt was going to pass that particular point on the waunakee road that morning? no doubt big john's eastern trip had been inspired by the ten thousand dollars of lorry's. the rascal had been lured to wisconsin by the hope of recovering the money. this seemed clear enough--much clearer than the method by which big john had learned that matt was to go over the waunakee road that morning, on foot. yes, big john must have been back of that misinformation which mr. lorry had accepted as a true statement of facts. but it was odd how the scoundrel had been able to influence mr. lorry as he had. motor matt felt that he was embarked on a struggle for the right, and that he must go on with the battle in spite of his enemies. george lorry's whole future might hang on the result of that fight. had matt told mr. lorry where mcglory and george were waiting, the millionaire would certainly have proceeded to the place and attempted to bring george in to madison. this would have led george to believe that matt had broken faith with him, and the lad would have bolted for parts unknown. george had been allowed to have his way for so long that, when his father took another tack and resolved to be severe with him, the lad had thought himself abused and imposed upon. george was a spoiled youth, but matt believed that he had the right material in him and would prove a credit to his people if given the proper kind of a chance. just as surely, too, he would go down to ruin and disgrace if the wrong move was made at that critical time. lorry, senior's, obstinate determination to send george to the military school would be a step in the wrong direction. by paying out a little money for a motor launch, mr. lorry would have gone far toward healing the breach between him and his son, and would have paved the way for a perfect understanding. this affair of the launch looked like a trifling matter, but no one but matt and mcglory knew how much it meant to george. when matt reached the main part of the city his study of the situation had convinced him that he was doing exactly right. what his next step was to be he hardly knew. he hated to go back and tell george of his father's uncompromising attitude, and yet he felt the need of a talk with mcglory in order to lay future plans. it was about one o'clock, and matt went into a restaurant and ate his dinner. from there he went to the post office to see if any mail had followed him from san francisco. no mail had reached him from the west, but there was a postal card, posted that morning in madison, which informed matt that a certain express company had received, and was holding at his risk, a crated power boat on which there was a charge, for _transportation alone_, of $ . . when matt read the postal card he was positive there was some mistake, and that it had been given to the wrong person. the card was addressed, plainly enough, to "matt king, otherwise motor matt," but the king of the motor boys was not expecting a launch, had not ordered one, and was not intending to turn over $ . to the express company on what was manifestly an error. he was on the point of handing the card back to the man at the post-office window, with the information that the card could not be for him, when he suddenly changed his mind and decided to go to the express company's office and rectify the mistake at headquarters. a little inquiry put him on the right road, and within five minutes he was leaning over a counter at the express office, showing the clerk the card and telling him the boat must be for some other matt king. "there's no other matt king in madison," protested the clerk, "and it's a cinch there's no other motor matt. you're the fellow the boat is for." "but that charge!" exclaimed matt. "it can't be for transportation alone. it must be a c. o. d. collection for part of the price of the boat. i haven't bought any boat, and am not expecting any one to send me a boat. i'm a stranger here, and only reached madison to-day." "can't help that. if you're motor matt the boat's for you. if you refuse it we'll have to notify the shipper, and if we can't get any satisfaction from the shipper, the boat will have to be sold for the charges." "great spark-plugs!" muttered matt. "where's the boat from?" "san francisco." the king of the motor boys stared blankly at the clerk. "from san francisco, eh?" he repeated. "yes, and it's all complete--an eighteen-footer, with engine installed." "can--can i see it?" "come this way." the clerk opened a gate at the end of the counter and matt walked through and into the storeroom. there he saw the boat, securely crated. between the bars of the crate he read the name _sprite_, lettered on the bow. by that time the king of the motor boys was too far gone for words. leaning against the wall of the room, he bent his head and drummed a tattoo on his brow with his fingers. "who's the shipper?" he finally managed to ask. "i don't know whether the way bill has it right or not, but the name of the consignor is down as ping pong. it reads like a joke. eh?" matt left the room and retired to the other side of the counter in the office. there was no joke about it. "ping pong" might look to the express agent like a fake name, but it was _bona fide_ for all that. ping pong was the name of a chinese lad whom matt had befriended in san francisco. the celestial had won the _sprite_ in a raffle, and had turned the boat over to matt on condition that matt would allow ping pong to work for him. ping and the _sprite_ had disappeared mysteriously before the young motorist left 'frisco, and that was the last seen of either the chinaman or the boat until now. and here the boat had turned up in that madison office of the express company with transportation charges of $ . to be collected! the idea of sending a power boat, engine and all, by express, in a heavy crate, was a piece of folly of which even a ten-year-old american boy would not have been guilty. but ping was a chinaman, and probably he thought matt was a millionaire. "goin' to take it or leave it?" inquired the agent as matt walked back and forth across the office turning this new development over in his mind. "the charges ain't any more than what they always are--three times the merchandise rate." "i guess the charges are all right," said matt humorously, "for it's a long haul. and then, too, the crate, and the engine, and the boat weigh up to beat the band." "going to take it?" matt's mind had been rapidly going over the points of the case. madison was surrounded by lakes, and motor-boating was a hobby with a large number of the people. by sending the _sprite_ to matt, ping had undoubtedly determined that he should have the boat. the _sprite_ was speedy--matt had tried her out in san francisco bay and knew that--and with some changes in the reversing gear matt believed she could show her heels to anything from first lake to fourth. on such a showing, the boat could undoubtedly be sold at a good price, and while $ . was a big sum to pay out, just for express charges, still---- then matt had another thought, and it was a "startler." george wanted a motor boat for the race. the _sprite_ wasn't a five-thousand-dollar "speeder," but she could run like a streak with the right kind of a fellow at the engine. mr. lorry had refused to help george to a boat, and this unexpected arrival of the _sprite_ seemed almost providential. "i'm going to take the boat," said matt, pushing a hand into his pocket and stepping up to the counter. chapter vi. "pickerel pete." by bringing the submarine boat _grampus_ safely around south america the king of the motor boys had made a good deal of money. most of this he had invested on the pacific slope, but he had more than enough of the "ready" with him to settle the express charges and to keep him afloat until george lorry's affairs had been put in proper shape. having paid over the money and signed the express receipt, the question as to what should be done with the _sprite_ presented itself. "you can uncrate the boat in the storeroom, if you want to," said the obliging clerk, "and then we'll have her hauled down to the water for you." "much obliged," answered matt. "i believe i'll take off the crate and see how the boat has stood her long overland journey." the clerk furnished him with a hatchet, and matt threw off his coat and got busy. in an hour, the clean-cut hull of the _sprite_ had emerged from a litter of boards and old gunny sacks. an examination showed that both hull and machinery were in as good condition as ever. while matt was working he had noticed a map of madison hanging from the storeroom wall. the map gave a very clear idea of lakes monona and mendota, between which lay the long and narrow city. one of the express company's drivers had come into the storeroom and was looking over the _sprite_ with an air of deep interest. "i wish you would tell me something about this map, neighbor," said matt. "ask me anything you want to," was the cheerful response. "i was born and raised here and i know the place pretty well." "what's this?" matt inquired, laying a finger on a certain part of the diagram. "that's the yahara river, sometimes called the 'catfish.' it's been straightened into a canal, and connects third and fourth lakes. monona is third, and mendota is fourth. there's locks at the mendota end." "and what's the other river coming into mendota lake on the side across from the city?" "the yahara again." "then, if this boat was launched in lake monona, it could enter the canal over by winnequa, cross into mendota lake, and proceed up the yahara?" "she could, sure. lots of boats do that." "here's a creek entering the yahara. is that navigable for a boat drawing two or three feet of water?" "maybe. i guess a small boat could get up the creek a ways." as matt figured it, the cabin where he had left mcglory and george was on the creek. why couldn't he get the _sprite_ afloat and proceed by water to the cabin? "i don't know anything about these lakes," went on matt, "but i'd like to get some one who knows them and make a little cruise." "fourth lake is mighty treacherous. whenever there's a west wind she kicks up a big sea, and a lot of boats have come to grief on the rocks of maple bluff. that's here--that piece of land running out into the water, over where they've made a park. it used to be called mcbride's point. a mile across from the bluff is governor's island. the insane asylum is near the island. if you want to put your boat in fourth lake, why don't you launch it there instead of taking it to third lake?" "well, i want to try her out with a little longer cruise than just across fourth lake. do you know of any one i could get to pilot me around?" "h'm!" murmured the driver thoughtfully. presently his face brightened. "any objection to color?" he asked. "how do you mean?" "well, how'd a colored boy do? i know of one that's right to home on the lakes, and he's a character, you bet. his name's pickerel pete; that's all he's got, just pickerel pete." "he'll do," said matt. "how can i get hold of pickerel pete?" "tell you what i'll do; i'll get hold of him for you. when you going to put that boat in the water?" "right away." "'course we got to deliver it for you. i'll have some of the boys help me get it on the dray, and on the way down to the lake i'll pick up pete. you don't need to wait here. in half an hour you go down king street to wilson. there's a lot of landings and boathouses t'other side the railroad depot. if we ain't there when you reach the place, you wait, and we'll show up pretty soon afterward." "that's mighty good of you," said matt. "you'll be careful of the boat, will you?" "sure, you bet. no harm'll happen to her. we got a special dray for movin' boats like that." matt went to the capitol grounds and sat down on a bench. for half or three-quarters of an hour he was there, thinking of george and the unsatisfactory state his affairs had drifted into. the king of the motor boys did not want to appear to be helping george to dodge his father's authority, but he knew that the elder lorry would not have taken the stand he did if he had not acquired a whole lot of misinformation. the thing for matt to do was to get back to george and mcglory, tell them exactly what had taken place, and then ask them for suggestions as to the next move. on the way down king street, matt stopped at a store and bought a supply of gasoline, oil, and cotton waste. not having a hydrometer, he tested the gasoline as well as he could by other means, and convinced himself that it was, as the dealer assured him, the "right stuff." matt rode down to the lake with the expressman who took his supplies, and when he got there he found the _sprite_ in the water, moored to a small pier. the express driver, and those who had helped him with the boat, were gone. the only person in the vicinity of the launch was a barefooted little darky. he sat on the pier, absorbed in throwing a couple of dice. "come seben, 'leben, come seben, 'leben," he was saying, as the small cubes rattled on the boards. "pickerel pete!" called matt. the little negro jumped as though a bomb had exploded under him. "yassuh, yassuh, dat's me," he answered, grabbing up the dice and shoving them into a pocket of his ragged trousers. "come over here, pete, and give us a hand with this gasoline and stuff." "on de hop." the gasoline was emptied into the tanks and the oil cups filled. after that matt went over the machinery, carefully examining the ignition and all connections. pickerel pete helped him intelligently. "yo's de fellah whut's a-wantin' tuh hiah me?" he inquired. "yes," replied matt, highly pleased with the way pete divined whatever he wanted and handed it over to him from the tool kit. "do you know anything about a motor boat, pete?" "ah's done steered heaps o' boats froo dese yer lakes, boss," grinned the moke, "an' ah reckons ah knows de spa'k plug f'om de propellah." "you know the lakes, too?" "hones' tuh goodness, boss, ah could go froo all de lakes f'om first tuh fo'th, en cleah down de rock rivah, wif mah eyes shut. ah'm er phenomegon." "what's that?" "phenomegon. doan' you-all know whut a phenomegon is?" "you mean a phenomenon, i guess." "ah reckons ah knows whut ah means," answered pete, with sudden dignity. "you've mixed phenomenon and paragon, and----" "ah ain't mixed nuffin. ef you-all thinks ah'm er ignorampus, den ah 'lows ah ain't de fellah you wants tuh hiah." "yes, you are, pete--you're just the fellow." "how much does ah git?" "two dollars a day. there's pay for your first day's work." pete almost fell out of the boat. fifty cents a day was the most he had ever received. "does yo' think yo' kin stand dat, boss?" he inquired. "ah'd hate mahse'f tuh def ef ah thought ah was er strainin' yo' financibility." "i guess it won't be much of a wrench to give you a couple of dollars a day," laughed matt. "den yo's bought me. by golly, dis is de first time ah's evah had two whole dollahs knockin' togethah en mah clothes since ah was knee-high to a chickum. where you-all wants tuh go, boss?" "i want to go into fourth lake through the canal, then across fourth and up the catfish." "dat's easy. de catfish runs f'om one lake tuh de odder, intuh one en out ergin, cleah f'om fo'th lake tuh first. thutty miles you-all kin go in er boat, den intuh rock rivah en clean erroun' de worl'. but dat 'ar fo'th lake is right juberous when dar's er west win'. a boat ah was in once, on dat 'ar lake, turned ovah fo' times! yassuh. i got spilled out de las' time en swum fo'teen miles towin' de boat by de painter, which ah done happen tuh ketch when ah drapped in de watah. ah got er medal fo' dat. de gun club give me de medal." "they ought to have given you two medals, pete." "en it was er solid gol' medal, with er inscripshun sayin' dat pickerel pete was gallywhoopus tuh dat extent. golly, but dat was er fine medal! it was as big erroun' as er fryin' pan." "must have bothered you some to tote it." "sold it fo' fo' dollahs en fo'ty cents, en dey kep' it in de cap'tol fo' people tuh come in en look at. yo's got er pow'ful fine moke wo'kin' fo' yo', boss." "well, cast off, pete, and we'll start. i'll do the steering, and you can sit up front and tell me which way to go." matt started the gasoline, switched on the spark, and pete gave the fly wheel a turn. one turn of the wheel was enough to give them their first explosion, and the _sprite_ shook herself together and started out into the lake. chapter vii. george and m'glory missing. the hum of the motor was soothing to matt's troubled spirit, and even the kick of the wheel sent a joyous thrill through his every nerve. there were clouds in the west, and a promise of wind and rain in the air, but if there was to be a storm it would not come before night, and the _sprite_ would have ample time to nose her way up the catfish and into the creek. it was surprising how quickly the kinks of fortune straightened themselves out for motor matt whenever he found himself in control of an explosive engine. the sun was sinking behind the capitol as the _sprite_ headed toward winnequa on her way to the canal. the yellow rays pierced the gathering clouds, and madison peered from its enveloping greenery like a phantom city. a number of fishermen were rowing, sailing, and motoring home for supper, and they stared at the dashing little _sprite_, and some of them yelled a cheerful greeting to the diminutive colored boy perched on the launch's hood. "dat's de gobernor ob wisconsin," pete gravely explained, indicating a grizzled fisherman in one of the boats. "ah knows him as well as ah knows anybody. de fellah in dat rowboat wif de pipe is honnerbull tawm patterson, en he's done took me by de han' mo' times dan ah kin count. de lake is full ob notoribus pussuns tuhnight, seems lak." "where's the czar of russia?" asked matt soberly. "ah reckons he was too busy tuh come out tuhday," answered pete. "ah knows him, dough. ah done took him tuh a good fishin' place ovah by picnic p'int las' week." they passed the canal and locks, swept into fourth lake, and pete lined out a westerly course that carried the _sprite_ past the high bluffs of mcbride's point with the buildings of the asylum in clear view. pete's chatter enlivened the trip wonderfully. the little moke was a "notoribus" personage, to take his word for it, and there were very few famous people whom he had not shaken hands with or conducted around the lakes. matt was surprised to learn that he had dug bait for julius cæsar and had shown napoleon bonaparte a pickerel hole off governor's island. the catfish was comparatively easy for the _sprite_, but whisky creek--which, pete said, was the particular creek matt was looking for--was too shoal. after they had grounded twice, and backed clear with considerable difficulty, matt decided to tie up to a tree on the creek bank and go on to the cabin on foot. by then it was falling dark, and matt wanted to cover the remainder of his journey as quickly as possible. "pete," said he, getting out on the creek bank, "i'm going to leave you with the boat for a short time, while i go up the creek." pete immediately had an attack of the "shakes." "golly, boss," he chattered, "ah doan' lak de da'k when ah's erlone. hit's spookerous, en white things done trabbel erroun' lookin' fo' brack folks. where you-all gwine?" "not far. i ought to be back in an hour. you're not afraid of spooks, are you, pete? i should think a chap who was the friend of so many illustrious people would be above such foolishness." the gathering wind sobbed through the trees, and from somewhere a screech-owl tuned up in a most hair-raising way. "br-r-r!" muttered pete, hugging himself and dropping into the bottom of the boat. "ah ain't afraid, no, sah," he declared plaintively. "ah ain't afraid ob anythin' dat walks. hit's dem white ha'nts whut doan' walk, er fly, but moves erlong in er glide, dat gits me a-goin'. mebby ah better go along wif yo' en see dot yo' doan' git lost?" "i'll not get lost, pete, and i don't want the _sprite_ left alone." "yo'll be back in er houah, hones'?" "yes." "den hurry. ef ah was lef' in dishyer place twell midnight ah'd be skeered plumb intuh de 'sylum, sho' as yo's bawn. hurry up en git back, dat's all." pete cuddled up with his back against the stern thwart, and matt whirled away and vanished into the timber. as matt figured it, he was not more than a mile from the cabin. he had landed on the side of the creek where he knew the shack to be, and if he followed the little water course he knew he would soon arrive at the place where he had left george and mcglory. the timber was broken into by fields of corn, and by cleared pasture land. matt pushed through the corn and climbed pasture fences, and within half an hour came to the end of his journey. the cabin, nestling in a clump of oaks, seemed dark and deserted. george had known of the cabin as a rendezvous, in the fall, for duck hunters. it was a quiet and obscure place, and answered admirably the requirements of the boys while working out their plans in lorry's behalf. as matt drew closer to the hut the silence oppressed him with a foreboding that something had gone wrong. the door was open, and he stepped inside. still there was no sign of life about the place. "mcglory!" he called; "george!" his voice echoed weirdly through the one room of the cabin, but brought no response. striking a match, he peered about him. empty! there was no one in the room. the match flickered and dropped from matt's fingers. groping his way to a bench, he sat down, alarmed and bewildered. what had become of mcglory and george? this was the question he asked himself, and his mind framed a dozen different answers, none of them satisfactory. george was full of whims and unreasonable resolves. had he suddenly made up his mind that he could not trust matt to make peace with his father? had he broken away from mcglory, and had mcglory gone in pursuit of him? or was the absence of the boys due to some move against them on the part of big john? or had they gone to some farmhouse after milk and eggs, or to get a hot supper? that george had not "bolted," matt was almost sure. matt's plan for patching up a truce with the elder lorry had appealed to george too strongly for that. as for big john making george and mcglory any trouble, that was possible, although not very probable. matt did not see how big john could have any information about the cabin. and as for the boys visiting a neighboring farmhouse to secure food, it was not in line with their plan for either george or mcglory to show himself until their schemes were further advanced. rations had been secured in waunakee--cold rations, but enough to last all three of the boys for two or three days. giving over his bootless reflections, matt lighted another match, hunted up a candle, and soon had a more dependable glow in the room. a brief search showed him that george's suit case, mcglory's carpetbag, and his own satchel were missing. this was a staggering discovery. it meant, if it meant anything, that the two boys had left and did not intend to return. they would hardly go away, it seemed to matt, without leaving some clue as to their whereabouts, and the cause that had led them to make such a decided change in the general plans. george and mcglory understood that matt was to return as soon as he had talked with mr. lorry. matt had expected to get back to the cabin early in the afternoon. had his failure to return alarmed the two boys? matt hunted high and low for some scrap of writing which would let in a little light on the situation, but he could find none. the rations brought from waunakee had vanished along with the luggage--another fact that indicated a permanent departure on the part of the two lads. "here's a go!" muttered matt, leaning perplexedly in the open door of the cabin. "about all george and mcglory left behind them was that piece of candle. they might, at least, have tipped me off regarding their intentions, i should think. all sorts of things are liable to happen to a fellow when he's trying to do the right thing by another chap who's too proud and weak-kneed to put himself company-front with his responsibilities. but then, george is an odd stick. he can't be judged by any of the usual standards, and i'm pretty sure that if he's handled right, he'll come out all right. one or the other of them will certainly come back here. i'll return to the mouth of the creek, get pete, and we'll bunk down in the cabin. it's the only thing to be done." perplexed as he was, matt neglected to put out the candle before starting on his return to the catfish. on a corner shelf, the feeble gleam sputtered and flickered in the draft that came through the open door. matt hastened his steps on the return journey to the _sprite_. the clouds were slowly mounting and blotting out the stars, intensifying the darkness. as he came close to the bank where the launch was moored he experienced a feeling of relief when he saw the boat riding to her painter just as she had been left. the _sprite_ resembled a black blot on the water. the bank was rather high, at that point, and its shadow covered the boat. "hello, pete!" called matt. there was no answer to the call, and matt began to think that pete had vanished, as well as george and mcglory. "pete!" matt cried in a louder tone. "yassuh, yassuh," came the answer from below, and matt's apprehension suddenly subsided. "come up here, pete," matt went on. "we're going to spend the night up the creek. i guess the _sprite_ will be safe enough. there's a lantern in the port locker, amidships. bring it up with you." matt could see only the blurred outline of a human form moving around in the boat. he heard the lid of the locker as it was lifted. "ah kain't find dat lantern," came from the boat. "i'll get it," said matt. the next moment he had climbed into the launch. hardly had his feet found firm foothold when he was seized and flung roughly backward. two pairs of hands held him, and a hoarse, mocking laugh echoed in his ears. chapter viii. setting a snare. pickerel pete did not feel overloaded with responsibility. two dollars a day was a princely wage, but there were things he would not do even for that immense sum. he would try to stay with the boat for an hour, in spite of the owls and the queer crooning of the wind in the trees, but if he saw a "ha'nt," he'd resign his job, right then and there, and leave the _sprite_ to take care of herself. anyhow, he had two dollars. the fact that his services had been paid for until afternoon of the following day did not enter seriously into his calculations. "wisht de screech-owls would stop dat 'ar screechin'," muttered the darky, "an' i wisht de win' would stop dat ar' groanin' in de trees. dishyer's jest de time fer spookerous doin's, an' i'd radder be home in mah baid wif mah head kivered, so'st---- golly, whut's dat?" something fluttered among the tree branches overhanging the water, farther along the creek. it may have been an owl, or some other bird, changing its roosting place, but pete's fears magnified the cause into something connected with the "ha'nts." crouching in the boat's bottom, he stared through the darkness and held his breath. the fluttering had ceased and nothing else happened. as one uneventful minute followed another, pete gradually put the clamps on his nerves. "ah dunno 'bout dat," he whispered. "mebby dat floppin' noise didun' mean nuffin', en den, ag'in, mebby it _mout_. hey, you, dar!" he added, lifting his voice. the cry echoed across the creek, but the only answer was the echo. "if yo's one ob dem gliderin' spooks," called pete, "den you-all doan' want any truck wif _me_. ah's on'y a po' li'l moke, en ah ain't nevah done no ha'm tuh nobody. ah's fibilus, occasion'ly, en now an' den ah's tole a whopper, but dem yarns doan' amount tuh nuffin'." the silence continued, save for the soughing of the wind and the "tu-whit, tu-whoo!" from the depths of the woods. "ah done got tuh do somethin' tuh pass de time," thought pete. "ah'll frow de iv'ries, dat's whut ah'll do. wonner where dar's a lantern?" pete remembered having seen a lantern in one of the lockers while he was helping matt with the engine. after a little thought he located the lantern, and secured it. then he recalled having seen a box of matches in the tool-chest, and he soon had the lantern going. it's surprising what a soothing effect a light will have on a superstitious mind that dreads the dark. with the lantern on the stern thwart, pete knelt in the boat's bottom and cast his dice again and again, becoming so careless of his "spookerous" surroundings that he almost forgot his fears. the little white cubes dropped and rattled on the thwart, and pete bent low to read the faces. "ah's got two dollahs," he muttered, surprised at the lucky combinations turning up for him, "en ah wisht dar was some odder moke here tuh take er han' in dis game. ah's havin' mo' luck, here, all by mahse'f, dan i evah----" he straightened on his knees in sudden panic, then dropped his head down on the thwart and covered his face with his hands. "whut's dat?" he whimpered. "whut's dat ah hear? hit sounded monsus lak er chain rattlin'." but it wasn't a chain; it was a good, well-developed groan. it came from the darkness at the top of the bank and echoed shiveringly across the creek. "dat wasn't no screech-owl," murmured pete, in stifled tones. "golly! de ha'nts is comin' fo' me. wisht ah was out ob here! oh, i wisht ah was some place else where dar's folks, en buildin's, en 'lectric lights. br-r-r!" the groan was repeated. it was a hollow kind of groan, long drawn out, and given in the most approved ghostly style. pete groaned on his own account, and collapsed in the bottom of the boat, floundering forward and trying to crawl into the motor and lose himself in the machinery. while the wretched little darky lay in a palpitating heap under the steering wheel, a funereal voice was wafted toward him--a voice that made him gasp, and close his eyes, and shiver until he shook the boat. "who-o are you-u-u?" inquired the voice. "oh, lawsy! oh, mah goodness!" fluttered pete in tremulous, incoherent tones. "ah's as good as daid! ah's nevah gwine tuh git out ob dis alive! der ha'nts has cotched me! oh, if i c'u'd only git away dis once, ah'll nevah brag no mo'! ah'll nevah tell anodder whopper!" "who-o are you-u-u?" insisted the sepulchral voice from the darkness at the top of the bank. "ah's er moke," whimpered pete, "jes' a moke. you-all go 'long an' nevah min' me. ah ain't nevah done nuffin'--pickerel pete's a good l'il coon. please, marse gose, go off some odder place en do yo' gliderin'. oh, gee! oh, golly!" "go 'way, go 'way, go 'way!" ordered the "ghost." "ah'll go, yassuh," chattered pete, "on'y doan' yo' grab me as ah run by. dat's all. yo' ain't layin' fo' tuh grab me, is yuh?" "go 'way, go 'way, go 'way!" insisted the spook, with hair-raising emphasis. pete got up slowly and cautiously in the boat. the lantern threw a weird reflection over him, but the most noticeable thing about the frightened little darky, just then, was the white of his eyes. he shook like a person with the ague, and nearly dropped into the water while stepping from the gunwale of the boat. begging the spook not to grab him, he floundered up the bank and darted into the timber as though the old nick was after him. his piteous wail was lost in a crashing of bushes, and finally even that sound died out. a chuckling laugh echoed from the top of the bank, and a form disentangled itself from the shadows. "come on, kinky," called a voice. "that little nigger was scared white. he'll not stop running until he gets clear to madison. what kind of a spook do i make, eh?" "pretty raw," answered another voice, as a second form pushed out of the shadows and joined the first. "you can fool a superstitious, half-grown darky, ross, but i wouldn't make a business of this ghost racket. what was the good of it, anyhow?" "well, that darky never came here alone in that boat." "well." "some one must have come with him. maybe the boat's other passengers are the two kids we couldn't find in the cabin." "i don't know how it could be, ross, but mebby you're right. that's not a rowboat." "just what i was thinkin', kinky. let's go down and look her over. the darky was obliging enough to leave a lighted lantern for us." the two men descended to the boat, and ross picked up the lantern and swung it about him. "it's a motor-boat, blamed if it ain't!" kinky exclaimed. "right you are," chuckled ross. "she must have come up from the town. what's she doin' here at this time o' night? suspicious, that's what it is! i'll gamble heavy the boat has somethin' to do with the young fellers in that cabin." "well, like enough you're right," answered kinky. "but what's that to us? we came up the catfish in a boat, too, an' we'd better take to our oars an' go back to town huntin' for big john. if he overhauled motor matt and got that money, we don't want to give him a chance to get away from us." "we'll see to _that_," grunted ross decisively. "it looked as though big john was tryin' to sidetrack us when he wanted us to keep watch of that cabin to-night. what's the good of watchin' the cabin if he gets the money? what's the use of keeping track of the other two boys when king's the one we want?" "right again, kinky. that brain of yours seems to be doin' some brilliant work to-night. here, take a hack at this." ross turned and held out a bottle. "if i take too many hacks at that, ross," answered kinky, "the brilliant brain work is liable to stop." nevertheless he seized the bottle and a prolonged gurgling followed. when he had finished, ross took the bottle back and gave some attention to it himself. "all i want," growled ross, as he screwed the top back on the flask, "is to get a chance at this here motor matt." "big john has already had a chance at him," suggested kinky. "will big john do anythin' to even up with motor matt for the way we was treated in 'frisco bay?" flung back ross. "don't you never think it, kinky. if big john gets the money, he'll turn the cub loose to make some more trouble for us. i'm built along different lines, myself. i want revenge, with a big r. that's me." "oh, slush!" grumbled kinky. "you ought to have left more of that stuff in the bottle. _your_ brain work's anythin' but brilliant." "i mean what i say, anyhow," rapped out ross. picking up the lantern, he went forward, crawled over the hood, and made a close examination of the forward part of the boat. "thunder!" he exclaimed. "what've you found?" demanded kinky. "what was the name of that chug-boat the chink won in 'frisco, and that motor matt used in windin' us up?" "_sprite._" "well, wouldn't this knock you stiff? say, kinky, this here's the _sprite_." "go on!" "there's the name, plain enough." "then it's another _sprite_. it's a common name, and the 'frisco _sprite_ couldn't be here." "it's the same boat, you take it from me. it looks the same, and by thunder it _is_ the same." "i don't see how it got here." "nor i--but here she is, for all that. let's burn her!" "what for?" "if it hadn't been for this boat we'd have been on the way to the sandwich islands by now. i'll feel a heap better if we burn the blame thing." "aw, be sensible, can't you. if----" "hist!" ross interrupted kinky with the warning syllable; then, quickly, the lantern was extinguished, and ross crept back into the rear of the launch. "listen!" he whispered; "some one's coming." "then we'd better hike!" "not on your life! crowd up forward, there. i played the spook, a while ago, and now let's see how well i can play the rôle of the darky." "but what----" "sh-h-h!" thus suddenly did ross lay his snare. as kinky crept forward, ross crouched in the stern; then followed the brief colloquy between matt and ross, the latter imitating the voice of the negro. the instant motor matt dropped into the boat the snare suddenly tightened. chapter ix. enemies to be feared. as matt fell his head struck against the gunwale of the boat. his senses did not leave him entirely, but he was stunned for a few moments and rendered incapable of doing anything in his own defense. before he recovered sufficiently to struggle with his assailants the two men had found a rope and had lashed his hands. "now for his feet, kinky," said ross. "this is a haul i wasn't expectin', although we might have figured it out, i guess, if we'd had time to think things over." matt kicked out with his feet in a desperate attempt to overturn kinky, and, perhaps, leap upright and jump ashore. "he's a fighter, all right," snarled ross. "here, i'll hold him while you finish the job." with hands bound and two men to secure his ankles, resistance was worse than useless. when the binding was done, and matt was lying helpless, he had a chance to study the faces of his captors while kinky was relighting the lantern. ross' talk had already given matt an inkling of the two men's identity. the gleam from the lantern left no doubt about their being big john's pals. matt was not surprised that the two rascals should be in that part of the country. they and big john were birds of a feather, and it was quite natural that all three should flock together. what did surprise matt, however, was the fact that kinky and ross should be in that particular place, and have laid their plans to capture him. "surprise party, eh?" queried ross. "you weren't expectin' to meet a couple of old friends, eh, motor matt? oh, you're not so much. you're cracked up pretty high, but i reckon you're not any brighter than the rest of us. wonder if you've got ten thousand about you that we could borrow for a while?" "you're after that money," said matt, "and you're fooled. you won't get it, and neither will big john. it has been in mr. lorry's hands ever since noon. you didn't think i'd bring ten thousand dollars back with me in cash, did you? the money was in the form of a draft, payable to mr. lorry, and it wouldn't have benefited you or big john any if you had stolen it." "that's luck for old lorry, then," answered ross, pushing his hand into matt's pockets. "here's a roll," he added, drawing some bills out of matt's vest. "it's hardly big enough for the ten thousand, but i reckon we'll have to be satisfied with what we can get." "if you take that," said matt, "you'll be in trouble with the law before you're many hours older. so far as san francisco is concerned, i'm willing to let bygones be bygones; but if you take my money i'll do everything i can to have you caught." kinky seemed nervous. ross, however, was reckless and in an evil temper. "we'll _not_ get ourselves into trouble," he flared. "by the time we're through with you, my hearty, there won't be anybody to make us trouble." ross brought out his flask again and helped himself liberally to its contents. "here," he said, extending the flask toward kinky. "i guess i've had enough," demurred kinky. "take it, you fool!" cried ross; "you'll need it before we're done with this night's work." not until that moment did motor matt realize that here were two enemies who were seriously to be feared. he had thought, when he recognized his captors, that they had merely made a prisoner of him in the hope of securing the ten thousand dollars, but now he realized that there was something more villainous, perhaps more murderous, back of their scheming. liquor arouses the evil passions of men and makes them ripe for deeds they would not think of committing when in their sober senses. kinky and ross were partly intoxicated. kinky was the less desperate of the two villains, mainly because he was the more cowardly. matt hardened himself to face whatever might be coming. "you'd better think well about this, ross," said he. "all you've got to do to keep clear of the law is to return my money, set me at liberty, and take yourselves off. i'll forget what you've done, and what happened in san francisco bay----" "that's more than we'll do, you young cub," scowled ross. "you hadn't any notion i followed you all the way from 'frisco, on the same train, had you? you didn't know i got off the train at waunakee, when you got off, and that i trailed you and your two friends to that cabin in the woods, eh? and i don't believe, when you and your pards were talking in that cabin, that you had any notion i was hanging around and listening. but i was. i knew one of you was to go into town this morning with the money for old lorry, so it was me that put big john wise and had him waiting for you on the road. but do you think i rigged myself out in different clothes and followed you clear from 'frisco just in the hope of getting that money? you're wrong if you do think that. i was after something else--and that was to _play even_. it's a habit of mine always to settle my accounts. big john works differently--but i'm not responsible for what he does, or doesn't do. when i lay out a course and take the bit in my teeth, nothing can stop me." there was a short silence. "but, i say, ross," began kinky in faint protest, "you don't intend to----" "wait till i ask you to talk," cut in ross. "you can bobble more in your conversation than any man i ever knew." "do you know where my two friends are?" queried matt. "you know who i mean--young lorry and mcglory." "we don't know where they are. i don't object to telling you if that will make you any easier in your mind." "where's the colored boy that was here with the boat?" "i played spook and scared him out. he's on the way to madison, and is hitting only the high places. is this the old _sprite_ you used in 'frisco bay?" "yes." "glad to know it. she'll go up in smoke before we're done with her." ross' veiled hints of what he was going to do did not bother matt very much. he had a hearty contempt for a boaster--even a desperate boaster of ross' stamp. the scoundrel was in a communicative mood, and many points which had been dark to matt were being cleared away. "what has big john done," matt asked, "to get mr. lorry down on me?" ross laughed huskily. "how do i know?" he answered. "big john is about as sly as they make 'em. i didn't know he'd done anything to get lorry down on you--didn't think he'd have the nerve to go near lorry. you got away from that pal of ours?" "yes." "then i wish john was here with us. he's probably as mad as a hornet over losing that money, and would make a better stand-by than kinky." "i never go back on a pal," expanded kinky, "but i think a pal ought to be sensible and not kick up too big a row for his own good." "you'll find the row plenty big enough if you go too far," warned matt, speaking for kinky's especial benefit. kinky stirred uneasily. "it's a case," declared ross, "where we've got to go as far as we can. that's what'll make it safe for us. kinky and me have been loafing in the woods all day. we were not to report to big john until to-night. it's safer for us, you understand, to get together at night than at any other time." matt had been working desperately at the cord that bound his hands. the cord was drawn tight and firmly knotted, and his efforts had not met with much success. ross suddenly detected him in his work, and, with an oath, jerked him over and looked at the rope. "that's enough of that," he said sternly. "suppose you do get rid of the rope, how'll it help you? you lay still and be quiet, that's your cue." "what are we going to do, ross?" inquired kinky nervously. "you're going up on the bank and cast off the painter," returned ross. "i don't think you're any too steady on your feet, so be careful." "what do you want me to cast off the painter for? we've got a boat of our own, and we don't need this." "i'm engineerin' this deal, kinky," said ross sharply. "do as i say, or else take to the woods and let me do it alone." kinky got up and staggered ashore. although he worked awkwardly, yet he finally succeeded in releasing the painter and throwing the rope aboard. then he scrambled back into the boat himself. ross, meanwhile, had been starting the engine. he proceeded in a way that proved he had some knowledge of motors. turning the _sprite_, ross sent her slowly toward the mouth of the creek, peering sharply ahead as they moved through the water. "there she is," muttered ross, shutting off the power. as the _sprite_ came to a halt, ross reached over the side and caught the gunwale of another boat. "we'll tow our boat behind, kinky," announced ross. "climb into her and make sure the oars are safe inboard, then fasten her painter to the stern of the _sprite_." this rather difficult operation was safely accomplished, and then, with the rowboat in tow, the launch glided out of the creek into the catfish, and down the catfish toward fourth lake. how was that voyage to end for motor matt? chapter x. between fire and water. matt's position in the boat enabled him to watch one dark bank of the river as they glided down toward the lake. he was listening and looking for some sign of life on the bank. had he seen any one, a shout would quickly have apprised the person of the prisoner's predicament. but matt saw no one. steadily the _sprite_ glided onward--steadily, but covering so crooked a course that matt wondered they did not drive into the bank on one side or the other. the lake was reached. the storm promised by the late afternoon was slow in coming. the wind was no higher than it had been, two or three hours before, but the waves were beating sullenly on the rocks as if in warning of what was to come. far across the lake matt could see the glare of city lights. because of his position in the boat, the other shore of the lake was not visible to him. he was looking for other boats, but there were very few boats on the lake at the time. he saw one moving light, however, and essayed a lusty call for help. ross swore savagely. "clap a hand over that cub's mouth!" he snapped. at the same instant he jerked one hand from the wheel, caught up the lantern, and dropped it overboard. kinky, meanwhile, had forced his hands over matt's lips. the light matt had seen had shifted its position, and was gliding toward the _sprite_. "hello, there!" called a voice from the dark. "hello, yourself," flung back ross. "did you hail us?" "no." "i thought some one yelled. what became of your light?" "a lubber here with me knocked it overboard." "well, you'd better get out another. if you take my advice, you won't stay out long, either. there's nasty weather coming, and we're making for our berth over at the asylum." ross allowed this warning to go unanswered. the light of the other boat dwindled away and vanished in the gloom. "this is far enough, i reckon," ross remarked, halting the _sprite_. "you can leave him alone now, kinky," he added. "he could yell till he's black in the face and no one would hear him; but, if he knows what's good for him, he won't whoop it up while we're close to him. pull the rowboat up alongside, kinky." ross lifted the hood and leaned down into the space reserved for the motor and the gasoline tanks. "confound it!" he exclaimed, lifting himself erect, "i wish i had that lantern now." he continued to grumble and work around in the bow of the boat. at last he finished his labor, whatever it was, and turned to kinky. the latter was holding the rowboat alongside the launch. the task was none too easy, as the swell was bumping the boats together and then forcing them apart. "what am i to do, ross?" asked kinky. "i can't hang on here much longer." "get into the rowboat and take the oars," ordered ross. "ain't you going along with me?" "sure, when i get through." "what's your game?" "never you mind," was the angry retort. "it's my game, from now on, and you'll watch and do as you're told. get into the boat and hold her close to the _sprite_ with the oars. when i want you i'll let you know. mind your eye when you change or you'll find yourself at the bottom of the lake." kinky made three attempts to get from one boat into the other. at the last attempt he came near swamping the rowboat, and when he drew back and clung panting to the side of the _sprite_ the rowboat had got away from him. ross shouted his maledictions. "what can you expect of a fellow workin' like this in the dark?" grunted kinky. "i ain't no sailor, anyway." "you got feet and hands, haven't you? then why don't you use 'em?" with this retort, ross started the motor and laid the _sprite_ alongside the rowboat once more. "now," he ordered, "try it again, kinky. if you get a spill you'll stay in the lake for all of me." kinky's next effort was more successful. he had a narrow escape, but he finally plumped down into the bottom of the rowboat, righted himself unsteadily, and got on the 'midships thwart. a moment more and he had shipped the oars. "now what?" he demanded. his own temper was beginning to rise at the rough, and perhaps unnecessary, work he had been made to do. ross had again switched off the power of the motor and the launch was rolling in the waves. "wait, and i'll tell you," answered ross. he was lashing the steering wheel with a piece of rope. kinky could not see what he was doing, or he would probably have ventured some remarks. matt, however, was able to follow the scoundrel's movements, and a vague alarm ran through him. "what are you up to, ross?" asked matt sternly. ross snarled at him, but did not make any response that could be understood. "i suppose you could get at this wheel, bound as you are," muttered ross, turning around, at last, and facing matt. "but i'll fix that," he added with a brutal laugh. making his way to where matt was lying, he caught him by the shoulders and dragged him roughly forward. "what are you doing this for?" demanded matt. ross was strong, and, without deigning a reply, he heaved the helpless youth up onto the hood. bound as he was, matt's position was precarious in the extreme. "i never thought you were such a scoundrel, ross," matt said quietly. "it can't be you're going to leave me like this." "you wait till i get through," was the fierce answer. by craning his head around, matt could see ross pick up a pile of waste. from the pungent odor of gasoline which assailed matt's nostrils he knew that the waste had been soaked in the inflammable stuff. ross carried the waste back into the stern of the boat. "you like motors, king," called ross, "and i'm going to give you such a ride on a motor-boat as you never had before. i hope you'll enjoy it." "for the last time, ross," called matt, horribly conscious of the trend the scoundrel's work was taking, "i ask you to think of what you are doing." "i've thought of it all i'm going to. it's a fine plan, and i'm going to carry it right through to a finish." ross turned to the rowboat, which kinky was keeping close to the _sprite_. "come alongside, kinky," ross called. "i'm about ready to be taken off." "what have you been doin', ross?" demanded kinky, pulling the other boat closer. matt felt, at that moment, as though kinky was his only hope. "he's got me tied here on the hood, kinky," matt called, "and he's going to fire the boat! if you let him keep on, you'll be equally guilty with him, and the law will sooner or later take care of you both." "let him talk!" exclaimed ross. "much good it'll do him. a little more to the left, kinky." the man in the rowboat had turned to look. "is that him on that forward deck, ross?" asked kinky. "that's where i put him." "blazes! why, he's liable to roll off into the water and be drowned. what did you put him there for?" "i told you i was attendin' to this," retorted ross. "get that boat alongside here, and be quick about it." "but i'm not goin' to stand for any----" "you're going to do as i tell you. get alongside." kinky, unfortunately for matt, had the weaker will of the two. he was plainly afraid of ross, and the latter could bullyrag him into doing anything. as the rowboat came up, ross leaned over and grabbed the painter. securing the end of it to the driver's seat of the launch, he stepped back into the stern, struck a match, and dropped it into the heap of waste. a fire leaped upward instantly, and a yell of consternation broke from kinky. "ross, you're mad! you want to make a swinging job of this for both of us, i guess. put out that blaze or i'll put it out myself." ross did not reply. hastening forward again, he started the motor, and the _sprite_ began driving ahead, hauling the rowboat with it. "this course, motor matt," said ross, "will carry you direct to maple bluff. i hope you'll have a comfortable landing. good-by, and good luck to you! have i paid my debts? think it over." whirling swiftly, ross clambered into the rowboat. "i'll not stand for this!" yelled kinky. "this may be your idea of paying your debts, but----" ross pushed kinky backward, sending him sprawling across the 'midships thwart. "get up and take the oars," he cried. "pal of mine though you are, if you try to make me any more trouble something will happen to you. i've got the bit in my teeth, i tell you, and i'll settle for motor matt as i think best." ross leaned forward and slashed the blade of his pocketknife through the painter, and a hoarse laugh echoed in motor matt's ears as the burning launch leaped away through the thick shadows. chapter xi. chums to the rescue. matt was several moments realizing the terrible predicament in which ross had placed him. the glowing fire in the stern of the _sprite_ lighted the darkness with a ghastly glare. the boat was on fire and speeding, with a lashed wheel, across the troubled waters of the lake. what could matt do to save himself? it was a time when he must think quickly. he would also have to act with promptness and decision--an impossibility in his helpless state. if he could roll back over the hood, he might contrive to get aft and, in some manner, smother the fire. he made the attempt--and succeeded, although not until he had come within an inch of sliding off the rounded hood and into the lake. as he fell into the bottom of the boat, he struck the lever that controlled the sparking apparatus, throwing off the switch and causing the _sprite_ to slow to a halt. this was a little gained, for the speed of the boat would not now fan the flames; but matt was wedged in between the driver's seat and the motor, and found it impossible to extricate himself. his heart sank. was this to be the end? was the _sprite_ to burn and sink, there in the open lake, and carry him to the bottom? at this moment, just as his hopes were at the lowest ebb, he heard a shout from near at hand. "matt! where are you, pard?" mcglory! that was mcglory's voice! the wonder of mcglory's being there to help him was lost, for the moment, in the wild joy that swelled in matt's breast. "here!" he shouted. a whoop of delight came from mcglory. "we've found him, george!" matt heard him exclaim. then there came a splash of oars and a jolt as another boat bumped against the _sprite_. "hold her steady, pard," mcglory went on, "and i'll get matt out of this in a brace of shakes." the next moment the cowboy scrambled into the launch. "where are you, matt?" called mcglory. "never mind me," matt answered; "put out the fire. beat it out--use your coat." the fire looked worse than it was in reality. not much of the woodwork was afire, but the blazing waste had been scattered by the wind and was sending up smoke and flame from the stern almost to the driver's seat. mcglory was thinking more about matt than he was about the boat. however, he had his orders and did not stop to do any arguing. jerking off his coat, he got to work at once. lorry helped. fastening the skiff which had brought him and mcglory off from the shore, he likewise removed his coat, and the little _sprite_ rocked and pitched with the mad efforts of the two boys to get the best of the blaze. inside of five minutes they had the last flame smothered. while george dipped up water with his cap and deluged the smoking woodwork, mcglory pulled matt out of his cramped quarters. "well, speak to me about this!" gasped mcglory. "he's tied! say, this would make the hair stand on a buffalo robe. lashed hand and foot and turned adrift out in the middle of the lake! sufferin' volcanoes! who did it, pard?" "get the ropes off me," said matt, "and then i can talk to better advantage. my arms are numb clear to the shoulder." mcglory pulled a knife from his pocket and groped carefully while he cut the cords. "it seems like a dream," muttered matt. "nightmare, you mean," returned mcglory. "if i'd been in such a fix i'd 'a' thrown a fit." "and then to have you fellows come!" went on matt. "i don't know how you managed it, but here you are, and here i am, and i guess the old _sprite_ is good for several trips yet. shake!" mcglory caught matt's outstretched hand and gave it a hearty pressure. as soon as the cowboy was through, matt leaned over and gave lorry's hand a cordial grip. "i'll never forget what you have done for me," declared matt. "shucks!" muttered mcglory. "that's what pards are for--to help one another when they're in a tight pinch. and i'm an injun if this _wasn't_ a tight one. but see here, once, matt. you called this boat the _sprite_." "that's her name, joe." "queer they'd have another motor boat, same size and rig of that 'frisco launch and with the same name, here at madison." "it's the same _sprite_." "not the same boat you fellows used in frisco bay!" exclaimed lorry. "the same identical boat," returned matt. "wouldn't that rattle your spurs?" breathed mcglory. "but how did she get here?" "by express." "who sent her?" "ping." "ping! and did the yaller mug come with her?" "if he did i haven't seen him." "why," went on lorry, "the boat came through nearly as quick as we did!" "how did ping know where to send her?" asked mcglory. "he could have found that out easy enough. they knew at police headquarters that we were coming to madison." "and she came by express!" "yes, with charges of over two hundred and fifty dollars for transportation." "tell me about that!" mcglory nearly fell off his seat. "but that's just like a heathen chinee. probably he thought the charges wouldn't be more'n a dollar and a half. and they were over two-fifty! sufferin' millionaires!" "it's all well enough to talk," put in lorry, "but there are lots more comfortable places than a motor boat, with a dead engine, in the middle of the lake." "that's right, too," agreed mcglory. "every once in a while little george, the child wonder, gets a bean on the right number. it will be blowing great guns on this stretch of water before morning. i move we hike." "where'll we hike?" "did you fix things up in madison?" george inquired. "not the way i wanted to, george," said matt. "we'll have to talk about that." "then we won't go to madison," declared george, "and that's settled. we might as well haul off into the catfish and spend the night in the boat." "there used to be a 'tarp' for coverin' her in rough weather," put in mcglory. "was ping thoughtful enough to send all the stuff that belonged to her?" "he was," said matt, "at thirty-seven dollars and fifty cents a hundred pounds--three times the merchandise rate." "oh, glory! what did you take the boat off the express company's hands for, pard?" "for the reason, joe, that i had use for her." "and this is the kind of use you've been putting her to!" muttered the cowboy. "it wasn't worth the price, not by a whole row of 'dobies." the waves were rolling higher and higher, and the _sprite_ was pitching like an unruly broncho. "we'll have to get out of this," said lorry, as the skiff alongside smashed against the _sprite's_ bulwarks and gave them all a rough shaking. "the wind's carrying us toward maple bluff, and i don't want any experience with the bluff on a night like this. where's a lantern? is there one aboard?" "there was," answered matt, "but ross threw it into the lake." "ross!" gulped mcglory. "you don't mean to say you've seen him?" "we'll go over all that later," said matt. "we'll make for the catfish as fast as we can." "that's as good a place as any, i reckon, seeing as how george isn't ready to go to madison." matt opened the hood and sniffed at the engine to ascertain if there was any waste gasoline dripping from the tanks. he decided that the tanks were all closed. the engine was started and matt brought the boat's nose around into the wind. the trailing skiff was allowed to fall behind to the end of its mooring chain. there was thunder, off in the west, and an occasional sharp flash of lightning. the flashes served to guide matt over the course he had recently covered, while a prisoner in the hands of ross and kinky. as he held the _sprite_ steadily to her course, more and more the wonder grew upon him as to the timely arrival of mcglory and george. although matt, when bound and cast adrift, had left a fiery trail over the lake, yet he was positive that the grewsome beacon alone had not been responsible for the providential appearance of his two friends. but everything would soon be made clear, and matt hurried the moment of explanation by driving the launch at her best speed. the wind, of course, delayed the boat appreciably, but her sharp bows cut the water like a knife, and the white spray went swirling upward on both sides of the craft, high into the night. it was an exhilarating ride, and thoroughly enjoyed by matt and george. mcglory loved boats, but he had been built for a landsman, and the roll and tumble of rough water gave him unpleasant feelings in the region of the stomach. the cowboy drew a long breath of relief when the launch battled her way into the quieter waters of the catfish, and he sprang eagerly ashore to make the boat fast to a tree, under the lee of a steep bank. "there's a boathouse near here," said george, when the skiff had also been secured, "and the proper move for us is to make for it and break in. the rain will be coming down in sheets before long. the boathouse belongs to a friend of mine, and he won't make much of a fuss when he knows who it was broke into the place." before matt left the launch he spread the tarpaulin over it carefully and made the edges secure to the metal pins along the gunwale; then, led by lorry, the boys made their way to the boathouse. forcing an entrance was not difficult, and just as the lads got inside the rain began. chapter xii. how fate threw the dice. there was a rough but comfortable sitting room in one end of the boathouse. lorry, who was familiar with the place, left matt and mcglory near the door which they had forced open, and groped his way to the sitting room, where he lighted a tin lamp. there was a smell of stale cigarette smoke in the room, and the walls were papered with pictures of prize fighters, sailboats, race horses, and "footlight favorites," all cut from newspapers and magazines. this, and the acrid odor of cigarettes, attested sufficiently the taste of the owner of the boathouse. there were chairs enough to seat the three boys comfortably. "somebody has been here, pards," declared mcglory, "and not so very long ago, either." "he's a sherlock holmes, all right," grinned lorry. "how do you suppose he knew that, motor matt?" "oh, go on!" growled the cowboy. "your friend george is a cigarette fiend. why do you reckon the windows were draped like that?" there were two small windows in the sitting room, and each was covered with a double thickness of canvas, battened down on all sides. "give it up," said lorry. "ollie must have been having a game of cards here with some of the boys, and probably he didn't want anybody looking in." "ollie?" murmured matt, startled, suddenly remembering that, at the time of the attempted robbery on the waunakee road, big john had addressed his youthful companion as "ollie." "yes, ollie merton," answered lorry; "he's the fellow who owns this place." "what sort of looking fellow is he?" "why, he's about my build, rather dark, and with a face that's not much of a recommendation; but ollie's been a good friend of mine, just the same." matt was convinced that the ollie he had met on the waunakee road, under such evil conditions, was the same ollie who had papered that rude little sitting room--and had left behind him the reek of his cigarettes. "what are you asking about ollie for?" inquired lorry curiously. "we'll get to that in a few minutes," said matt. "just now i want to hear how you fellows came to leave the cabin on the creek, and what sort of a coincidence it was that enabled you to come to my rescue, out there on the lake." "i reckon we can explain that a heap easier than you can explain how you came to be lashed hand and foot and jammed between the thwart and the engine of a burning boat," returned mcglory. "you didn't get back to the cabin, that was one of the things that bothered george and me, and we couldn't savvy the why of it; then, all at once, we spotted our old friends, ross and kinky, standing among the oaks and piping off the cabin. _was_ it a jolt? say, speak to me about that. 'that means trouble,' said george, and i allowed that he had rung the bell. "there we'd been congratulatin' ourselves that no one knew of the hang-out, when along comes those 'frisco gents, loafing in the scrub and taking the sizing of our wickiup. having made up our minds that the appearance of ross and kinky spelled trouble with a big t, george and me got to guessing that those two lads had somehow interfered with your getting back to the cabin, matt. "'we'll duck out of this, george,' says i, 'and you can bet your moccasins on _that_. and when we duck,' i says further, 'we'll take the luggage and the grub along with us.' "'but what about matt?' says george. 'he's trying to do something for me, in madison, and it looks kind of rough to scatter when maybe he'll whistle for this siding even if he is somewhat behind his running time. didn't you tell me that motor matt usually does what he says he'll do?' "you must admit, matt, that this cousin of mine is improving a whole lot or he'd never have thought of that. up to now, he's been so busy taking care of number one that he hasn't had any consideration for the rest of the human race. but i explains to him like this: "'georgie, we're makin' a change of base. that's all. when we dodge those tinhorns, and pile our traps in another part of the woods, we'll sneak back here on the q. t. and watch for matt. like as not we can head him off on the waunakee road before he reaches the bridge over the creek.' "george thought that would be all right, so we get our plunder together, sneak out of the cabin, drop over the edge of the creek bank, crawl a mile downstream, and sashay right into the woods. i don't know whether you'll believe it or not--things like that happen mostly in story books--but we find the neatest cave you ever crawled into right on the banks of the catfish. george says it's a second edition of black hawk's cave. well, say, after we get the bats out of that hole in the rock, we are almost as snug as we are here, this minute. sufferin' niagara, hear it pour!" "never mind the rain, joe," said matt. "your talk is mighty exciting. go on with it." "of course," proceeded mcglory, "we couldn't enjoy our cave while you were due to arrive at the cabin any minute and drop into the hands of ross and kinky. i reckon it was about eight o'clock into dewfall when george and me crawled out of that hole and started to make a short cut for the waunakee road. then, right in the middle of the dark, we heard somethin' coming our way just a-tearin'. george guessed bears and i guessed injuns; but, no, we were both fooled. it was a little negro--george struck a match and got his color a minute after him and me had collided and i had flopped him on his back and was holding him down. then----" "pickerel pete!" exclaimed matt. "that's a guess for your life. sure, pard, it was pickerel pete, and a scared pickerel he was, at that. he thought george and me was a pair of 'ha'nts,' whatever they are; but george knew him, and he braced up some when he made sure that we were perfectly human. "then--speak to me about what that little ebony chap told us! motor matt had hired him for two plunks a day--you're getting reckless with your money, pard--and he had piloted motor matt from third lake to fourth, and from fourth up the catfish to whisky creek. motor matt had left the boat tied up there, with blackberry on guard, and gone on afoot up the creek. then spooks arrived, ordered pete to duck, and he had started for home like a singed cat. he was on his way when he ran into us. "well, george and me was all crinkled up with a scare. matt's gone on to the cabin, we figure it out, and he's dropped into the hands of ross and kinky. we make a run for the cabin. no one there, not even ross and kinky. but there's a candle still burnin' on the corner shelf. "was it motor matt who lit that candle, we asked ourselves, or big john's pals? of course we couldn't tell that, but we allowed it was probably matt who had struck a light. then it was us for the mouth of the creek to see what was going on at the launch. "i forgot to tell you, pard, that george and i had found a skiff, while we were fooling around the creek bank, waiting for you to get back. the skiff pleased me--i never saw a boat yet that didn't--and i suggested to george that we paddle down the creek in the skiff. that would save climbing fences and blundering around in the dark. well, we took the skiff. it didn't draw much more'n a drink of water, and, although the creek is lower than usual at this time of year, according to george, we got down it all right. just as we got within hailing distance of the launch, we heard the chug of an engine, and some one calling from the boat to some one else on the bank. we'd found ross and kinky--their voices give 'em away; and from what they said later we also knew that we'd found _you_. "george and i were up a tree for fair, then. ross and kinky were 'heeled'--we didn't have to guess any about that--while all i had was a pocketknife, and all george had was a scarfpin. "'well,' says george, 'i'm not going to leave those tinhorns to do what they please with matt.' surprisin', eh, the way this cousin of mine is beginnin' to act? he was as nervy as a ute buck with an overload of tizwin. i asks george what he thinks we can do against two men with a pair of hardware hornets that sting six times apiece. george didn't know, but allowed we'd better drop down the creek and get a closer view. "by the time we got down to where the launch was she had moved on and stopped again. when she moved on once more, something was trailing behind her. it was so dark we couldn't see what the thing was very plain, but after some sort of a while we made out that it was a boat. well, how we ever did it i don't know, but george--it was george, mind you--made our chain painter fast to the stern of the trailing rowboat--and that's the sort of procession we made down the catfish." mcglory threw back his head and laughed till he shook. "first, the launch," he went on; "then the rowboat, then george, and me, and the skiff. sufferin' side-wheelers! why, i nearly gave the snap away enjoying it." "great spark plugs!" muttered matt. "when we went down the catfish, i was watching the bank, hoping to see some one i could call to. and there were you and george behind us all the time! i wish ross and kinky knew about that." "it was too much fun to last, pard," continued mcglory, sobering a little. "when we got out into the lake the heavier swell made the chain break loose from the rowboat, and we had to follow with the oars, which was slow work. we were a long ways off when you spoke that other launch; and when you started like a streak of fire for the northwest end of the lake, we were still so far off that we didn't think we could reach you in time to do you any good. but we broke our backs at the oars, and managed to make it. you know the rest." "fine!" exclaimed matt admiringly. "say, you fellows are pards worth having. what became of pickerel pete?" "bother him!" put in george. "we didn't have any time to fool with the little moke after we heard what he had to tell us about you." "he kept on toward town, burnin' the air," said mcglory. "i think," said matt reflectively, "that this cave of yours would be a safer place for us than this boathouse." "safer," returned the cowboy, "but it hasn't got any chairs and nothing to make a light with. hear the rain, once! gee, _compadres_, i wouldn't move from here to the cave, through all that water, for a bushel of double eagles." "why is the cave safer?" asked lorry. "because this ollie merton isn't such a friend of yours as you think," said matt. george lorry stiffened in the old, arrogant way. "i guess i know my friends," he answered frigidly. "listen," went on matt. "when i left the cabin and started along the waunakee road, some one in the bushes threw a riata at me. it was big john threw the rope, and along with big john was this ollie merton. they were after that ten thousand dollars, but i played a trick on them and got away with the draft. it was your sister, george, that helped me get away." "what!" exclaimed george; "not ethel?" "yes. she was on the waunakee road with her motor car----" george scowled. "the governor would put twenty-five hundred in a runabout for sis," he growled, "and wouldn't scrip up when i wanted a motor boat. is that right? is----" voices were heard outside, accompanying a slushy crunch of wet gravel. matt leaped for the light and blew it out. "not a word!" he whispered. "that must be ollie merton, and we don't want him to see us. there's an overturned catboat--get under it." lorry tried to protest, but matt caught him by the arm and hustled him toward the overturned boat. the boat had been lying under the boys' eyes during their talk. barely had they secreted themselves when the door opened and two persons walked in, followed by a whirling gust of rain. "whoosh!" called a familiar voice, "i'm glad to get out of that, ollie." "big john!" whispered matt in lorry's ear. "he's come here with merton. keep quiet, now, and listen." chapter xiii. under the overturned boat. when matt, lorry, and mcglory had made forcible entrance into the boathouse, it had been through the door that fronted the river. merton and big john had entered through a door at the other end of the house. thus, for a time, at least, the broken lock on the other door was not discovered. "light up," went on the voice of big john. "and if you've got anything in a bottle, ollie, trot it out and mebby it'll drive the chill from our bones. i'm not pinin' for an attack of rheumatism." "i've got that, too," answered ollie, with a fatuous snicker. "always keep something for snake bites." "and it's a bad thing for a lad of your years. hurry up with the light." "give me time to get out of this mackintosh and then i'll hunt for matches." there followed the slap of a wet garment on the floor. the next moment a match was struck, and young merton could be seen making for the lamp. the moment he touched the chimney he jumped back with a cry and the match dropped from his fingers. "what ails you?" demanded big john. "why, the chimney's _hot_!" exclaimed merton. "somebody's been here, and they haven't been gone very long, either." "thunder! it must have been ross and kinky. they were to meet us here, you know, and ross had a key to the boathouse." "if they were here a few minutes ago," went on merton, "why aren't they here now?" "i'll have to pass that. but if any one was here, it was those pals of mine. go on and light the lamp. use your handkerchief for taking off the chimney." matt, under the overturned boat, drew a breath of relief. but it was only a temporary relief. already he was wondering what would happen when ross and kinky arrived at the rendezvous. ross had told matt that he and kinky were to meet big john that night, but had carried the impression that the meeting was to take place in town. merton's fears were apparently relieved, and he soon had the lamp lighted. big john divested himself of a raincoat and removed a dripping cap. coat and cap he hung very carefully from two nails in the wall. merton, meanwhile, was unlocking a cupboard. a bottle and two glasses came out of the cupboard. merton poured some of the liquor into the glasses. big john reached over and emptied part of merton's glass into his own. "that leaves enough for you, son, and a heap more than you ought to have," said he. "it ain't good for younkers--nor for old fellers, either." "oh, splash!" grunted merton. "you ought to go around with a pocketful of tracts," he grinned. "whenever you rob a man, leave a tract with him." "you're mighty cute," observed big john, setting his empty glass on the table and leaning back in his chair, "but the two of us wasn't cute enough to get the best of motor matt. there's a boy! he's a bright and shinin' example. he has backcapped me twice, and the more he does it the more i admire him." merton stared; then, developing his silver cigarette case and his silver match box, he proceeded to smoke. "you're a queer fish, big john," said he. "if you've got such high standards, why don't you live up to 'em?" big john shook his head gloomily. "i expect it ain't in me," he answered. "if you'd had ross and kinky with you, there at the bend in the waunakee road, this motor matt wouldn't have made a get-away." "mebby not; but ross is down on motor matt and wouldn't hesitate to hand him his finish. that's the reason i wouldn't have ross along; and i let kinky stay with ross as a sort of safeguard, in case anythin' went crossways and ross happened to find motor matt. only the hope of me gettin' that money has caused ross to hold back as long as he has. now that he knows there's no hope of gettin' the money, he'll be as mad as a cannibal. ross is worse'n an apache injun when he's worked up." "then he'll be mad when he comes here and finds you didn't get the money, won't he?" "he will; and i've laid my plans to make a quick jump for the west. i'll land that precious ross where he won't get us all into trouble." "you were telling me that you had set old man lorry against motor matt." a slow grin worked its way over big john's face. "anonymous letter," said he. "i just wrote lorry that i was a detective, and didn't think it wise to put my information over my own name, see? then i went on to tell him to look out for motor matt, and explained that he was in cahoots with the three desperate scoundrels who had stolen the ten thousand in 'frisco. that'll make lorry think a little. but see here, son. you haven't been private adviser for young lorry just to make a man of him in the gamblin' line, have you? what's your graft? i'll bet it's somethin' more than getting him away from his mother's apron strings, and out of the sissy class." merton's sinister face took on a crafty look. "you're right," said he. "the winnequa club has a race in a few days. for reasons of my own, i intend to win that race. see? lorry also wanted to have a boat in the race, and he's about the only one, apart from me, whose dad has money enough to furnish him with a boat that will make the rest of us climb. but old man lorry isn't furnishing george with the boat." merton chuckled. "when george asked me what he ought to do the time his father threatened to send him to military school, i told george to skip, and to get as far away as he could. that left me free to do as i wanted to in that motor-boat event." merton winked. "h'm!" murmured big john. "you're a foxy youngster. i'm not sayin' it's creditable in you, mind, but it shows sharp thinking, all right." the three boys under the overturned boat were able to see and hear all that went on. when the conversation between merton and big john had proceeded that far, matt heard a sharp breath escape lorry's lips. a few words, and merton's despicable planning had been laid bare. out of merton's own mouth lorry could judge him. this false friend, with whom lorry had associated, and whose advice he had taken, had headed him toward irretrievable ruin. "oh, i can be foxy if i want to," said merton. "all i want now is to make sure that lorry doesn't get in that race." "i guess you can be easy on that point," returned big john dryly. "the old gent won't put up money for the boat on a bet. motor matt called on lorry. i talked with gus, the lorry chauffeur, and he said there was a heap of coldness developed durin' the interview, and that when motor matt had left, lorry used the telephone and asked police headquarters to have a plain-clothes man pick up his trail and follow him. the fly cop followed motor matt from third lake into fourth, but lost him somewhere around the mendota end of the catfish. the last thing i did, before leaving madison to come here, was to drop another unsigned letter in the mails for lorry." "what was that for?" asked merton. "i told lorry that if he would cross fourth lake in the morning, and proceed up the catfish as far as whisky creek, then leave the boat and walk up the creek for a mile, he would come to the place where motor matt was having mcglory keep his son. i reckon _that_ will give motor matt something to think about. i'll not be here to see the fun, and i guess young king will get out of the scrape in his customary fashion, but it'll be something by way of remembering big john. king has made me a lot o' trouble, and has beat me out of a pineapple plantation, and that's all i can do to rough things up for him. you see----" big john broke off suddenly. some one else was approaching the boathouse. matt, mcglory, and lorry could hear the footsteps plainly. merton started to get up, but big john lifted a restraining hand. "if they're the ones we expect," said he, "they've got a key and can let themselves in. if they're not the ones we're looking for, then we don't want them here." a key rattled in the lock just as big john finished speaking. the next moment the door opened and two men blew in. they were ross and kinky! chapter xiv. a dash for the open. that visit of matt, mcglory, and lorry to the boathouse was worth all the danger it had brought, even if it had resulted in nothing more than opening lorry's eyes to the duplicity of his supposed friend. but other things had developed that were highly interesting, as well as edifying. matt was astounded to learn that an anonymous letter had made the elder lorry so bitterly hostile. if lorry had put so much faith in one unsigned letter, surely he would have equal confidence in the second, and might be expected to cross the lake on the following morning and make his way to the cabin on the creek. it was likewise refreshing to learn that big john was intending to take his two pals and return to the west. matt was not forgetting that ross and kinky had some three hundred dollars of his money, and before the flight something must be done to recover the funds. but just then a common danger suggested that the boys must get away from the boathouse. there were four enemies against them, and at least three of the enemies were armed. "we've got to get out of here, joe," whispered matt. "why not lay low till _they_ get out?" returned the cowboy. "it won't be possible. that hot lamp chimney is going to do the trick for us. big john will mention it and ask ross and kinky why they left the boathouse and went out into the rain. ross and kinky will say they didn't; then there'll be talk and a hunt for intruders. we've got to make a dash for the open--and at once." "you've got it right, motor matt," murmured lorry. "the quicker i can get away from here, the better i'll like it. i've learned a lot," and there was bitterness in lorry's voice as he finished. "let's heave over the boat and make a dash for the back door," suggested mcglory. "we're rushin' straight into the dark, and, if we're quick, we can get clear before there's any shooting." "that hits me," said lorry. "it's now or never, then," assented matt. "separate, just outside the boathouse, and then come together again at the launch. we'll go up to that cave you fellows found. you understand the plan, do you?" "yes," answered lorry and mcglory. "then lay hold of the edge of the boat," went on matt. in their narrow quarters the three boys knelt, waiting for the word to lift the boat's edge from the skids and throw the hulk entirely over. it was not a large boat, and their strength was fully equal to the task they had set for themselves. "_now!_" hissed matt. over went the boat with a crash. startled yells came from the sitting room, followed by silence broken only by a rush of feet as matt, lorry, and mcglory darted toward the rear door. "stop 'em!" roared big john. "guns!" cried ross; "use your guns!" mcglory halted and whirled. at the side of the boat he had found a small can of white lead, which was probably to do its part in giving the hull a coat of paint. when starting to run the cowboy had taken the can of lead with him. he paused to hurl the can. straight as a bullet it shot through the air, crashed into the lamp, and plunged the interior of the boathouse in darkness. another moment and mcglory had hurled himself through the door. acting upon matt's suggestion, the three friends separated as soon as they reached the outside air. ten minutes later they were all together again at the place where the _sprite_ was moored. there was a lull in the storm, and for a while, at least, the rain had stopped. matt began ripping off the boat's tarpaulin cover. "cast off the painter, joe," he called, as he worked. "you can help me with this, george," he added. "never mind the skiff--we can't bother with that now." clearing a working space aft of the hood, matt leaped into the boat and began getting the motor into action. george finished removing the "tarp," and mcglory scrambled aboard with the end of the painter. from the direction of the boathouse sounds of pursuit could be heard. "tumble in, george," called matt. "you can finish that from inside the boat." mcglory gave his cousin a hand and matt started the propeller. taking the launch up the river on such a night was hazardous in the extreme. but matt had the bearings of the stream in his head, and he urged the _sprite_ boldly onward. from behind them, somewhere, a revolver was fired. the leaden missile caused no damage, and the launch rushed on into the gloom. lorry, who knew the river well, pushed to matt's side to be of what help he could. "you never had a better chance to wreck a boat, motor matt," said lorry, "than you've got right now." "i'm hoping for the best," returned matt. "instinct, more than anything else, is guiding me. i don't know, but i seem to _feel_ it when we're going wrong." it was the same instinct, perhaps, which carries a horse over the right road when the rider is lost, or that carries a bird miles and miles through the air to the same nest in the same tree of the forest. this was not the first time matt had profited by that vague intuition. it was almost like a sixth sense. mcglory, time and again, held his breath, fearing that they were about to run upon the rocks; but, just as surely, time and again, the king of the motor boys turned the wheel and deep water remained under them. "it's up to you fellows to tell me where to stop," said matt. "i'm watching for the place," replied lorry, "but the shore line looks like a solid blur of shadow. i can't distinguish one point from another." "figure it out by dead-reckoning," suggested matt. "you must have some idea, george, how far the cave is from the lake." "two miles, i should say." "then, at this speed, we've covered the two miles," and matt shut off the power and let the boat's momentum carry her toward the bank. the _sprite_ came to a halt with a slight jar, which proved that she had struck. "that's all right," announced matt, "and we're close enough to tie up. never mind if we do get our feet wet; we're in luck to get out of that boathouse as well as we did." "you can gamble the limit on that," answered mcglory, splashing ashore with the painter. "i'm a digger, too, if this place don't look familiar to me, what little i can see of it." "it's familiar to me, too," exulted lorry. "why, fellows, we're within a hundred feet of the cave! talk about luck, will you? this lays over anything that ever came my way." matt replaced the tarpaulin, got over the side, and waded to the bank. lorry and mcglory led him upward for a dozen feet to a place where the bank broke away in a sort of narrow shelf. something like a hundred feet along this shelf was the opening into the cavern. the entrance was masked with hazels, but the boys crowded in, and soon found themselves in dry quarters. "speak to me about that boathouse, please!" guffawed the cowboy, stretching himself out on the uneven stone floor. "were big john and his pals surprised! i rather guess they were." "tell us more about that attempt big john and merton made to rob you on the waunakee road," said lorry. "it seems strange that merton should have a hand in anything like that, or that he should be mixed up with this gang of scoundrels at all. merton's folks are immensely wealthy. they're traveling in europe now, and merton is in madison attending the university. mert is a spender, all right, and all he has to do when he wants money is to ask for it. why should he help big john try to get that ten thousand from you, matt?" "possibly it wasn't the money end of the deal that attracted merton," answered matt. "it may be that all he wanted, lorry, was to make you as much trouble as he could." lorry muttered angrily under his breath. "i don't know how i ever let him pull the wool over my eyes," said he, "but it's a fact that i considered ollie merton my best friend. it was by his advice that i took that money and went to 'frisco." "that, alone," remarked matt earnestly, "proves that merton was not a friend." "i'm beginning to see it in that light myself," admitted lorry. "it's hard to have to say so, but it's the truth." "hard!" scoffed mcglory. "why, pard, the way you're showin' up is sure hard to beat. but don't hang fire with that yarn of yours, matt. you've got ours, and all george and i need is a statement of facts from you in order to get the whole business straight in our own minds. heave ahead now, and be quick about it. i'm about ready to doze off." matt began with his start for waunakee, related the attempted robbery, and the manner in which he and ethel lorry had backed the runabout along the waunakee road and into madison. the part matt dreaded to tell had to do with his interview with lorry's father; but lorry had shown such a surprising change in his whole manner of thought and action that matt detailed the conversation between himself and mr. lorry exactly as it had occurred. a few days before, such a report would have sent george into a furious tirade against his father, but he now listened quietly and without comment. matt, highly pleased, proceeded to tell how he had taken the launch from the express office, had engaged pickerel pete, and had run the _sprite_ into fourth lake and up the catfish; then followed his visit to the cabin, his failure to find mcglory and lorry, his return to the launch, his capture by a ruse on the part of ross, and, finally, the murderous attempt which ross had made and which had come so near being successful. "that ross must be bug-house!" growled mcglory angrily. "he had been drinking," said matt. "a man will do things when he's partly intoxicated that he wouldn't think of doing when sober." "you're out three hundred dollars, matt," spoke up lorry, "and i don't think that money will ever come back to you. when we made that dash from the boathouse, big john and his pals knew we had been there long enough to learn a whole lot about their plans. ross and kinky have discovered that you were saved from the burning boat, even if they didn't know it before, and all three of the rascals will not lose a minute getting away from this part of the country. i doubt if it would do any good for us to go to madison and report to the police. big john and his pals are done with madison, and with you. they'll make tracks for where they came from, and they'll do it at once." "that sounds like pretty good reasoning to me," observed matt, "but i guess that what we've accomplished is worth all it cost us. what are your plans, lorry?" "i'm going home in the morning," declared lorry. "if i'm to go to a military school--well, there are worse places." "listen to george!" cried mcglory. "oh, tell me about george! ain't he a surprise party, though?" "now," said matt jubilantly, "i'm _sure_ that what we've accomplished is worth the price. good night, pards. i've found a soft stone, and i've got material for pleasant dreams, so i'm going to sleep. in the morning, we're for across the lake--and aristocracy hill!" chapter xv. the power boat--minus the power. the boys were astir early, it being their intention to reach madison and the lorry home before mr. lorry could get away to cross the lake--providing that proved to be his intention. the boys had a frugal breakfast off the cold food mcglory and lorry had brought from the cabin, and immediately after they emerged from the cave upon the narrow shelf that ran in front of it. the rain seemed to be over, and the leaden clouds were being scattered by a fierce wind from the west. "this is a bad morning to be on fourth lake," said george, casting an anxious eye upward. "i had hoped the wind would blow itself out, but it appears to be as strong as ever." "why not leave the _sprite_ here," suggested mcglory, "and hike for madison along the wagon road?" "it would take us too long," protested matt. "i think a boat that can stand the seas in 'frisco bay ought to be able to negotiate this fresh-water lake. the _sprite's_ reliable, i can say that for her; and, so long as we have power, i guess we needn't fear the wind." "we'd better have a look at the boat by daylight," said mcglory. "for all we know, pards, the end may have been burned off her." but an examination showed that the _sprite_ had suffered little damage from the fire. the luggage was thrown aboard and the boys climbed to their places. one turn of the flywheel and the cylinders took the spark; then, on the reverse, the boat was pulled from the shoal into deep water, matt changed to the forward drive, and they were off in a wide circle that pointed them for lake mendota. "i don't care a whoop what happens now," gloried the cowboy, "we've got george out of the woods, and that's the main thing." "call it that if you want to, joe," said lorry, "but there's music for me to face, over on fourth lake ridge." "and you're goin' to face it like a little man, georgie; and if uncle dan don't back down on that military-school proposition he'll get a cold blast from joe mcglory. and that, pards," the cowboy added, "is a shot that goes as it lays." "i'll take my medicine and not make much of a face, no matter how bitter the dose is," went on george; "but there's one thing that's bound to happen." "meanin' which, george?" inquired mcglory. "why, my father is going to be set right on the subject of motor matt." "don't let me cause any friction between you, george," urged matt. "the breach between you and your father is in a fair way of being healed." "so far as i am concerned," said lorry, a flush tinging his cheeks, "i'm willing to admit that i acted like a fool. i'll go on record with that, face to face with the governor; i'll even go further and say that it was weakness that made me hang back from madison, stop in that cabin, and send motor matt on to make a dicker and save my pride. but the governor has got to understand that motor matt's my friend, and that, but for him and you, joe, i'd not be here now. right is right, and motor matt is going to have justice, if nothing more." "i'm glad as blazes, george," caroled mcglory, "to hear you tune up in that fashion. the more i listen to you, since last night, the better i feel." "i was quite a while getting to sleep in that cave," pursued lorry. "i lay there, on the hard rocks, and reviewed everything i've done since leaving madison. it seems as though a fog had been cleared out of my brain, and that i was able to stand off and get a clean-cut, impersonal look at myself. the sight wasn't pleasing. i know why motor matt suggested that stop at waunakee, and a probation in the cabin on the creek. he read me better than i could read myself. he knew that i had pride which would not suffer humiliation and disgrace, and that if i was not pampered and humored a little i would probably go off on another rebellious splurge--and wind up my future prospects. by staying at that cabin, i brought all these dangers upon matt; and yet, if he had not suggested some such move as the halt at waunakee, i should very likely have bolted from the train between 'frisco and here. oh, what an unreasoning idiot i have been!" lorry dropped down on a seat and bowed his head in his hands. "speak to me about this, matt!" whispered mcglory, placing himself alongside the king of the motor boys. "who'd ever have dreamed my haughty, high-and-mighty cousin would ever have come to the scratch in such a way? sufferin' tyrants! i wonder if uncle dan is going to do the right thing by george, or make as big a fool of himself as george did?" "i think mr. lorry, after he sees and talks with george, will do the right thing," returned matt. just here the _sprite_ shot out of the river into the rolling waters of fourth lake. the west wind, marshaling its strength on the broad sweep of the prairies, caught up the waves and flung them headlong toward maple bluff. the launch leaped and staggered, shoved her bow into the highest waves, and then shivered and flung off the spray in a double cataract on each side. it was a nerve-tingling ride, and mcglory suddenly made up his mind that his stomach would feel better if he sat down. george, his face flushed with excitement, looked around him and gave a jubilant shout. "great!" he cried. "i wish i felt like that," groaned mcglory. "for heaven's sake, matt, see how quick you can get us to the other side." "we can tie up at the yacht club on the west shore," said lorry. "all right," answered matt. "look at that boat over there, george," he added, nodding his head in the direction of governor's island. "she's the only other boat on the lake, so far as i can see, and she's acting as though something is wrong with her." lorry stood up, braced himself, and peered ahead. "she's a bigger boat than ours," he remarked, "and looked to me like the _stella_. the _stella_ is a thirty-footer, and belongs to barkley cameron, a neighbor of ours up on the hill. by jupiter," he added, a few moments later, "it is the _stella_, and she's in trouble, as sure as you're a foot high." "the wind is driving her toward the bluff," said matt excitedly. "her engine's dead--she hasn't any power to fight the wind and waves." "and there are four men aboard her," went on lorry. "great scott! if they ever go on those rocks at the point, the boat will be smashed to kindling and every one aboard of her drowned. let's stand by the _stella_, matt, and try and do something for her." "i'm rushing the _sprite_ in the _stella's_ direction," answered matt, "and have been for some time. but we may not be able to do anything. she's half a mile nearer the rocks than we are, and she may go onto them before we can overhaul her." far off, just beyond the drifting and helpless launch, matt and lorry could see the white waves flinging themselves against the jutting crags of mcbride's point. the _sprite_ was coming up with the _stella_ hand over fist, but the _stella's_ drift was carrying her toward the cliffs with tremendous speed. "i can see the people on board," cried george, "and two of them are tinkering with the engine. if they can get the motor in shape they're all right, but if they can't----" george broke off abruptly, and stood clinging to matt and staring at the other boat with frenzied eyes. two of the _stella's_ passengers, as matt could see, were looking toward the _sprite_ and waving their hands frantically. "matt," called george huskily, "one of those men is my father!" "great guns!" gasped matt. "he started across the lake in the _stella_. we didn't leave the catfish quick enough. but keep your nerve, george. we're going to save them if we have to run into the breakers and pull the _stella_ off the cliff!" chapter xvi. a reconciliation. mcglory aroused himself for a moment, and learned what the excitement was all about. straightway he forgot his physical ills and became absorbed in the wonderful race motor matt was running with death. by every trick in his power the king of the motor boys was doing his utmost to urge the _sprite_ onward. the boat's speed became a terrific dash, a headlong hustle, with wind and wave helping the propeller. "we'll never make it!" groaned george. "buck up, george!" cried mcglory. "motor matt has done harder things than this." "but the _stella_ will be on the rocks before we can get to her! and there's the governor, likely to meet his fate right under my eyes! oh, what a scoundrel i have been! seeing the governor like this, perhaps for the last time, makes me realize what i have done. he was crossing the lake to find me, joe." george's voice died to a whisper and ended in a dry sob. "pull yourself together, i tell you!" roared mcglory. "now's the time to show yourself a _man_!" "yell to them to stand ready to throw a rope," said matt, between his teeth. "we can't get alongside of them before they hit the rocks, but we can come near enough so we can catch a rope if there's a strong enough arm to pass it." lorry cast aside his overpowering doubts and fears and flung himself into the fight with demoniacal energy. "stand ready with a rope!" he yelled, trumpeting through his hands and doing his best to make his voice heard above the roar and crash of the waves. again and again he repeated it, and mcglory joined in, timing his voice with his cousin's. one of the men who had been working at the engine suddenly left his thankless labor and placed himself well forward on the _stella_ at the point nearest to the approaching _sprite_. "make ready to grab the rope, both of you!" shouted matt. "if you're lucky enough to grab it, take a half-hitch around the stern stanchion, and lay back on the end of the rope with every ounce of power in your bodies! there, stand by! they're going to throw!" matt shifted the wheel and, for a minute, placed the _sprite_ broadside on to wind and waves. this gave the man with the rope a better mark. out shot the coil of hemp, but the resistance of the wind caused it to fall pitifully short. a cry of despair went up from lorry. "once more!" yelled mcglory, as matt pointed the _sprite_ straight for the _stella_ and flung her onward. the man rapidly coiled the rope in his hands. another man stepped forward and took the rope to make the next cast himself. he was a more powerfully built man than the one who had attempted the first cast. "this will tell the story," cried george. "if this throw fails the _stella_ will be smashed to pieces on the bluff." matt and mcglory knew that fully as well as lorry; and those on the _stella_ must have realized it. the man with the rope was cool and deliberate. it was plain he was not going to waste any valuable chances by undue haste; then, as he was whirling the rope to let it fly, matt again turned the _sprite_ broadside on. for an instant it looked as though the rope was again to fall short; but lorry, stretching far out from the side of the _sprite_, snatched the end of the rope out of the air with convulsive fingers, and fell with it to the bottom of the boat. a faint cheer went up from those on the _stella_. but the battle was not yet won. mcglory went to the assistance of lorry, and the slack of the cable was jerked out of the water. this gave sufficient rope for a half-hitch around the stanchion and a firm hand hold. the cowboy and his cousin lay back on the line, bracing their feet against the thwarts and clinging with all their strength. motor matt, meanwhile, had been busy with his part of the work. the instant the rope was made fast, he had shifted the bow of the _sprite_, switching off the power for a moment in order to lessen the shock when the launch should begin to feel the pull. yet even with this precaution the shock was tremendous. but nothing gave way, and slowly but surely the _sprite_ took up her burden. for a few moments the two boats seemed to stand stationary, the power of the _sprite_ just counterbalancing the push of wind and wave against both boats; then, a little later, the _sprite_ began to move, gathering headway by slow degrees. anything like speed was out of the question, but the _sprite_, without missing a shot, plowed her way like a tugboat through the churning waters, and brought herself and her tow safely along the yacht club's pier. matt and mcglory, busy making the _sprite_ fast, caught a glimpse of george rushing across the pier to meet his father. "george!" shouted the elder man. "dad!" cried george. and they came together, gripping each other's hands. with arms locked they walked the length of the pier and vanished inside the yacht club's headquarters. "reconciliation?" queried mcglory. "if it isn't, i don't know the brand. oh, i reckon uncle dan will do the right thing by george. that cold blast of mine will have to be permanently retired. matt, give us your paw! this is a grand day for the lorry tribe!" "no doubt about that, joe," answered matt, with feeling, as he and mcglory shook hands. half an hour later matt went into the yacht club to telephone police headquarters about his stolen money. he had only a very faint hope of ever seeing the money again, but he felt it his duty to do everything possible to recover it. over the 'phone he gave a description of big john, ross, and kinky. the man at the other end of the line had just promised to do what he could when matt was caught by a strong hand and turned around. he was once more face to face with lorry, sr. but there was a difference in the lorry of matt's first and second meeting. "by gad!" cried lorry, "i want to shake hands with a hero. nobly done, young man! but for you we'd have gone to smash against maple bluff, every last one of us on the _stella_. we had our little differences when we met, that other time, motor matt, but i didn't understand the matter then. george here has been telling me how much he owes to you, how much i owe to you, how much i owe to him, and we all owe to mcglory, and everybody owes to everybody else. gad! my head is fair splitting with it all. never mind that three hundred that was taken away from you; i guess"--and the rich man laughed--"that my bank account is good for three hundred. i'll see that _you_ don't lose anything. we'll have more talk about this later." lorry, sr., turned to where mcglory was standing, at matt's side, his black eyes gleaming humorously. "ah, joe, you rascal," went on lorry, placing two hands on the cowboy's shoulders, "you've done something to make us all proud of you--and i guess you'll find it out before you're many days older." "what are you going to do for george, uncle?" queried mcglory. "you watch! keep your eyes skinned and you'll see me do something for you as well as for george." lorry, sr., pushed himself between matt and mcglory and caught each of them by an arm. "come on, my lads!" said he, "you're both going up to the house with george and me. this is a happy day, and the lorrys are going to celebrate. naturally, the celebration won't be complete without motor matt and joe. never mind your boat--i've asked the people here to look after it. gus is outside with the big car, and all we've got to do is to get in and strike out for home. _home!_ how does that sound to you, my son?" "it has a truer ring, dad," answered george, "than it ever had before." "maybe it's a different home, george," answered mr. lorry. "anyhow, we'll try to make it so." the end. the next number ( ) will contain motor matt's prize; or, the pluck that wins. a clash in black and yellow--pickerel pete's revenge--a "dark horse"--plans--an order to quit--facing the music--gathering clouds--the plotters--firebugs at work--saving the "sprite"--out of a blazing furnace--what about the race?--mart rawlins weakens--the race--the start--the finish--conclusion. motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction new york, july , . terms to motor stories mail subscribers. (_postage free._) single copies or back numbers, c. each. months c. months c. months $ . one year . copies one year . copy two years . =how to send money=--by post-office or express money-order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. at your own risk if sent by currency, coin, or postage-stamps in ordinary letter. =receipts=--receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. if not correct you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once. ormond g. smith, } george c. smith, } _proprietors_. street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york city. the guardian of the pass. it was the sudden change in the color of the water that made nick salveson realize something was wrong. all day thunder had been muttering far up in the mountains, but down in the river valley the autumn sun had been shining warm; and, busy with his fishing, nick had paid no attention to the heavy clouds which hung over the jagged peaks upstream. suddenly the water lost its crystal clearness, and turned to a yellow, muddy hue, and the canoe began to strain at her anchor rope. "reckon it's about time to quit," muttered the young fellow; and, hastily reeling in his line, he laid the rod down and set to work to pull up the anchor. it was badly jammed between two rocks at the bottom. by the time he had cleared it the river had risen at least two feet, and was roaring down in a sheet of muddy foam. "guess there's been a cloud burst up in the hills," said nick to himself as he turned the bow of the canoe upstream. he was not uneasy. he had spent the whole summer in alaska, and could handle a canoe as well as most boys of his age. he had been anchored close in under the far bank. to reach his camp he had to cross the whole width of the river, and return nearly a mile upstream. but he had not taken six strokes before he realized that two strong men could not have paddled the canoe back against the flood that was now coming down. the only thing to do was to get across, land anywhere he could, pull the canoe up, and walk back. "great ghost! but it's strong," he muttered, as, in spite of his efforts, the bow of the canoe was swung sideways by the weight of the water. he leaned forward, drove the paddle deep in the yellow flood, and, with all his weight in the stroke, attempted to force her round. crack! the paddle, worn thin with weeks of hard wear, snapped like a pipestem. nick was left with a mere foot or so of useless stump. the blade was gone. instantly the rising flood seized the canoe and sent her flying madly downstream. like a feather she danced and spun among the whirling yellow eddies. recovering from the sudden shock of the accident, nick made a desperate effort to steer inshore by using the stump of the paddle. it was useless. the flood, rising every minute, mocked his best efforts. at last, streaming with perspiration, and with his heart beating like a hammer, he gave it up, and sat grimly quiet and silent. there was something of the stoicism of the indian in this son of a san francisco millionaire. he had done his best. now the only thing was to wait and see what the river would do with him. mile after mile the relentless current bore him flying westward. soon he was past all his landmarks, and speeding through country completely unknown to him. once or twice the river contracted dangerously between walls of rock, and the canoe pitched and plunged among foam-tipped waves. but for the most part the banks were hillsides covered with primeval forest of fir and hemlock. there was nowhere any sign of man. "it'll take me all my time to get back even if i do manage to hit the bank somewhere," said nick to himself grimly, as he noted the tangled thickness of the woods on either hand. he was in a tight place; he knew that. what he hoped was that some freak of the current would drive the canoe near enough to the bank to catch hold of a branch and so pull himself ashore. but this did not happen, and, after his mad flight had lasted for a full hour, nick became desperately anxious. in the distance, he could see that the valley narrowed greatly, and he more than suspected that he was approaching dangerous rapids. he swung round a curve. yes, he was right. barely half a mile away the whole river plunged into a gorge so narrow it looked like a mere crack in the cliff. the shriek of the tortured waters rang high above the roar of the flood which bore the canoe onward to its doom. nick was no fool. he knew that in all human possibility his fate was sealed. no craft that man ever built could hope to pass in safety down the raging flood that boiled through that rift in the mountain. "rotten luck!" he muttered. "well, there's one comfort--there's no one to miss me except old rube, and i don't remember i ever did any one a dirty trick in my life." every instant the scream of the rapids grew louder. nick could see the mouth of the rift and the yellow waves heaping themselves high against the black precipices on either hand. on flashed the canoe. every moment her speed increased. she was a bare one hundred yards from the top of the rapids, when a yell from the right-hand bank rose high above the thunder of the flood, and nick, turning his head, saw a small, slight figure dashing down through the trees. just above the gate of the rapids half a dozen great bowlders showed their black heads above the yellow foam. without a moment's hesitation the stranger leaped from the bank to the nearest, and so from rock to rock, till he stood far out near the centre of the raging river. nick watched him with straining eyes. was there still a bare chance? no! at that moment an eddy swept the canoe away to the left. with a groan nick realized that she would pass far out of reach of his would-be rescuer. the canoe shot like an arrow toward the lip of the fall. nick waved the broken stump of his paddle in farewell to the figure on the rocks. the latter's right arm whirled up, and, with a sharp hiss, a coil of rope flashed out and dropped clean and true across the canoe. nick snatched at it with the energy of despair. as it tightened, the canoe was drawn away from under him, and he, dragged over the stern, was struggling in the rushing water. a minute of gasping, stifling battle among the tumbling, roaring waves. the strain on the rope was so tremendous that it seemed to nick that either it must break or the man who held it must be pulled off his slippery perch. but neither happened, and inch by inch the boy was drawn in, until a hand grasped him and pulled him, gasping and exhausted, onto the solid summit of the bowlder. "can you jump?" he heard an anxious voice. "the water's still rising. it'll be over the rock soon." "you bet i can," replied nick, struggling to his feet and shaking himself like a dog. "come on, then!" cried the other. and, sure-footed as a goat, he sprang across six feet of raging torrent to the next rock. nick set his teeth and followed, and in another minute was safe ashore beside his rescuer. "mean to say you live here all alone!" exclaimed nick salveson in blank amazement, as he looked round the bare little log hut a little later. "yes, for the last four months, ever since my father left." "did he go down to the coast?" "i wish he had. no, he went inland, over the big snowies!" "great scott! what for?" asked nick bluntly. "gold," replied the other. "i'll tell you about it. my name's glenn--roger glenn. we came here a year ago prospecting. we heard there was gold down here, but we didn't do much, and an indian who was snowbound here last winter told my father that there was rich placer ground the other side of the mountains." "but no one's ever been across there," objected nick. "there's no pass." "the indian told us there was. he made a map. here's a copy of it." "so your dad tried it?" said nick, staring curiously at the rough map. "he went the first of june last, and i've not seen or heard of him since. he said he'd be back in six or eight weeks." "gee, but that's bad," replied nick sympathetically. "what do you reckon you are to do?" "what can i do?" cried young glenn bitterly. "i'm mad to go after him, but i haven't a red cent to grubstake myself or buy a pony or dogs or a sledge." nick stared in silence at the other for some seconds. then he said slowly: "say, mr. glenn, that flood may have done us both a good turn. what d'ye say to taking me along in your trip over the snowies?" roger stared violently. "b-but----" he began. "no 'buts' about it. i'm running this outfit. look here, roger--i guess you don't mind my calling you by your first name--i'm pretty well fixed. my people are dead; they were killed in the earthquake in san francisco. i'm my own boss, though i am only eighteen, and i came up to alaska this summer to get a holiday before i go to the university next christmas. there isn't a thing i'd like better than a trip over the snowies, and if we're smart we'll do it and be back before winter hits us. are you agreeable?" "i don't know how to thank you," said roger brokenly. "then don't worry to try, old man," replied nick comfortably. "just fix up a mouthful of grub, and give me a bunk. we ought to start before sun-up to-morrow morning." * * * * * "seems to me, rube, you were a bit out in your reckoning," said nick as early one morning, ten days later, he looked out of the tent and found the landscape white with snow. rube shook his grizzled head. "'tain't that altogether, boss. i reckon we're a matter of four thousand feet higher than your summer camp. winter comes here a sight sooner than down in them river valleys. howsomever, it ain't deep, and it'll melt when the sun gets good an' strong." all that day the little party of three struggled up a narrow valley that wound ever upward into the heart of a maze of great snow peaks. over and over again tall cliffs loomed up in front, and it seemed as if they could go no further. but always there appeared some fresh opening, and bit by bit they won their way upward toward the summit of the range. "i reckoned as i knew this here country's well as any," said rube, staring thoughtfully up at a tremendous pyramid peak, the snow on which was gold and crimson in the light of the setting sun. "but this beats me. 'tain't on any map as ever i seed." "the indian said no white man had ever crossed it," said roger. "hed he bin across hisself?" inquired rube. "no. he told dad that none of his tribe had ever been across. and when dad asked him why, he only shook his head, and said something about its being the country of two-tailed devils." "how did he know of this here pass then?" demanded rube. "the map was given him by his father. it had come down goodness knows how many generations. he tried awfully hard to persuade dad not to go." "they've got a mighty queer lot of legends about these mountains," put in nick. "you couldn't pay any injun i ever saw to put foot on 'em." they camped that night in bitter cold and deep snow on the very summit of the pass. rube took nick aside. "say, boss, do you reckon we're ever going to find roger's dad?" nick shrugged his shoulders. "i don't know. roger says that before he left his father told him he'd blaze a trail, so as if anything went wrong his son could come along after. roger found his father's mark on a tree near the eastern end of the pass." "seems to me the chances are ez something hez happened to old glenn," said rube thoughtfully. "chewed by a b'ar, i reckon. or maybe had a fall. it's a fool job fer any man to come into country like this by hisself." "i guess i'm going as far as roger wants," said nick, "seeing what he's done for me, it's about the least i can do for him." "you're right, boss," said rube. "he's a real white, that boy is!" "if we don't find his father, i'm going to take him back to the states," said nick. "but that's a bit o' news you can keep to yourself for the present." next morning the sun shone brilliantly on the snow, and, looking down, the party saw, thousands of feet below them, an unknown country covered with a forest heavier than any of them had ever seen before. "mighty curious-looking country this," observed rube doubtfully, as they slipped and slithered down the steep snow-covered rocks. "i don't reckon i ever seed woods as thick as them before." "what's that queer-looking little plain halfway down?" asked nick. "looks like a clearing of some kind." a smile crossed rube's leathery face. "thet's a pond, boss. it's fruz over, an' the snow's laying thick on it." further down they came to a place where the only possible track lay along the bottom of a three-hundred-foot slope, steeper than the roof of a house and thick in snow, which glared blinding white in the morning sun. the opposite slope was covered with the amazingly thick forest which they had seen from above. "go keerful," said rube. "'twouldn't take a great deal to start a snowslide down them rocks." "seems as if something had been falling already," said roger suddenly. "look at these pits in the snow." he pointed to a hole in the snow. it was circular and about two feet deep. "now that's strange," exclaimed nick. "there's a whole row of 'em." rube looked at the queer marks, grunted, and shook his head. he hadn't a notion what they were, but did not like to betray his ignorance to the boys. "reckon best not talk," he growled. "don't take much to start snow a-sliding." for the next half mile no one spoke. twice more roger noticed a series of the same queer marks in the snow. also in two places there seemed to be regular roads beaten back into the thick underbrush of the snowclad forest on their right. he did not pay much attention. his eyes were fixed on the tree trunks. suddenly he gave a shout. "dad's mark!" he cried, pointing to a blaze on a big trunk by the path. the words were hardly out of his mouth before there came a deep crashing sound from somewhere behind. "yew've done it now!" cried rube. "that's the snow!" "not a bit of it," retorted nick. "it's coming from the wood." "blamed if you ain't right!" exclaimed rube. "thet beats all. i never heerd a snowslide come down through a wood afore." "it's not snow; it's something alive!" shouted roger. "for heaven's sake, look there!" rooted to the ground with sheer amazement, the three saw the forest wave as if it were grass, heard the crashing of great boughs and trunks breaking like nettles under a boy's stick. there came a scream like the escape of steam from an express engine, and then there burst out from the forest a beast so huge and hideous that those who saw it stood gasping, unable to believe their eyes. as large as a four-roomed cottage, in shape it resembled an elephant. it was covered all over with a thatch of coarse, reddish hair, and high above its monstrous head it waved a trunk of incredible size. on each side of this trunk curled vast tusks, and its small, bloodshot eyes glowed with bestial fury. again came that awful trumpeting. instantly both the pack ponies were off at a mad gallop. "run!" shrieked rube. the warning was needless. nick and roger were off as hard as their shaking legs could carry them, and behind them came the monster at a shambling gallop, which, in spite of the snow, covered the ground at terrific speed. again he trumpeted, and one of the pack ponies, mad with fright, tried to wheel sideways into the wood. the poor brute slipped and fell, rolling over and over. before it could regain its feet the monster was upon it, and, lifting pony, pack, and all, bodily in its trunk, flung it against the cliffside with such frightful force as must have broken every bone in its body. the momentary delay gave the others a few yards' start; but almost instantly the gigantic brute was on their track again, and the solid ground shook beneath its ponderous weight as it thundered down the slope. it could not last. the monster was gaining at every stride. already roger felt his breath failing. there was no cover; in fact, the pass was opening out wider and wider as they went. "try the trees!" shrieked nick to roger. "no," came a gasp from rube. "the lake! that's our only chance!" they were close by the side of the little frozen lake, and the boys saw rube wheel and dash down the steep bank. it seemed madness, for on the open ice they were at the mad brute's mercy. roger was for going straight on, but nick seized his arm and swung him to the left and onto the lake. another of those ear-piercing squeals. roger, glancing back over his shoulder, saw the gigantic bulk of their enemy come plunging down the sharp descent toward the ice. it rushed straight toward him as though certain of its prey. then came a rending crack, and the whole surface of the ice rose and fell beneath the feet of the fugitives. a crash like the explosion of a shell, a terrific bellow, and a wave of icy water rushed across the frozen snow. "that's done it!" came an exulting yell from rube; and, swinging round, the boys were just in time to see the domelike head of their terrible enemy sink amid a lather of broken ice and foam. for another second or two that terrible trunk waved high in the air, as the huge beast fought for its ancient life in the hole its ponderous bulk had broken. then this, too, vanished. the last of the mammoths had sunk into the depths. while the three stood in awe-stricken silence, watching the black water heave and bubble, there came a loud shout from the woods at the far end of the lake. a burly man in furs stood waving a rifle. with a shriek of joy roger tore away across the ice toward him. "reckon that's his pa," observed rube. "guess so," agreed nick. "we might as well go and see." "dad!" cried roger, as rube and nick came up. "if it hadn't been for these good friends i could never have come to look for you." "then," said the man in furs with a grave smile, "i'm afraid i should have been hung up here for the term of my natural life." "what--did that old hairy elephant chase yer?" exclaimed rube. "he did, and i got away by the skin of my teeth by climbing a cliff," replied mr. glenn. "i've been living up in the hills ever since. time and again i've tried to find another way out, but there isn't one, and for the life of me i didn't dare risk conclusions a second time with the mammoth." "i reckon he won't trouble us no more," said rube dryly. "say, though, i'd like to have had them tusks. they'd be worth a mint o' money in the states." "they'd be awkward to carry," smiled mr. glenn. "they'd weigh about a quarter of a ton apiece. what do you suppose they'd be worth?" "a thousand dollars, i reckon," said rube. such a sum represented wealth untold to the old trapper. mr. glenn put a hand in his coat pocket, and pulled out a lump of dull yellow metal as big as his fist. "this isn't worth quite that much," he said quietly, as he handed it to rube. "but i'd be glad if you'd take it as a sort of consolation prize." "great gosh! it's a twenty-ounce nugget!" gasped rube. "yes, and plenty more where that came from," said the prospector. he turned to his son. "roger, i've made the strike of a lifetime. now to get back to dawson before the snow comes." watch the sky. the different colors of the sky are caused by certain rays of light being more or less strongly reflected or absorbed, according to the amount of moisture contained in the atmosphere. such colors do, therefore, portend to some extent the kind of weather that may naturally be expected to follow. for instance, a red sunset indicates a fine day to follow, because the air when dry refracts more red or heat-making rays, and as dry air is not perfectly transparent, they are again reflected in the horizon. a coppery or yellowish sunset generally foretells rain. the following has been advocated as a fairly successful way of prognosticating: fix your eye on the smallest cloud you can see: if it decreases and disappears, the weather will be good; if it increases in size, rain may be looked for. latest issues brave and bold weekly all kinds of stories that boys like. the biggest and best nickel's worth ever offered. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --two chums afloat; or, the cruise of the "arrow." by cornelius shea. --in the path of duty; or, the fortunes of officer dan deering. by harrie irving hancock. --a bid for fortune; or, true as steel. by fred thorpe. --a battle with fate; or, the baseball mascot. by weldon j. cobb. --three brave boys; or, adventures in the balloon world. by frank sheridan. --archie atwood, champion; or, an all-around athlete's career. by cornelius shea. --dick stanhope afloat; or, the eventful cruise of the _elsinore_. by harrie irving hancock. --working his way upward; or, from footlights to riches. by fred thorpe. --the fourteenth boy; or, how vin lovell won out. by weldon j. cobb. --among the nomads; or, life in the open. by the author of "through air to fame." --bob, the acrobat; or, hustle and win out. by harrie irving hancock. --through the earth; or, jack nelson's invention. by fred thorpe. --the boy chief; or, comrades of camp and trail. by john de morgan. motor stories the latest and best five-cent weekly. we won't say how interesting it is. see for yourself. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear. --motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto. --motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward. --motor matt's air-ship; or, the rival inventors. --motor matt's hard luck; or, the balloon house plot. --motor matt's daring rescue; or, the strange case of helen brady. --motor matt's peril; or, castaway in the bahamas. --motor matt's queer find; or, the secret of the iron chest. --motor matt's promise; or, the wreck of the _hawk_. --motor matt's submarine; or, the strange cruise of the _grampus_. --motor matt's quest; or, three chums in strange waters. --motor matt's close call; or, the snare of don carlos. --motor matt in brazil; or, under the amazon. --motor matt's defiance; or, around the horn. --motor matt makes good; or, another victory for the motor boys. tip top weekly the most popular publication for boys. the adventures of frank and dick merriwell can be had only in this weekly. =high art colored covers. thirty-two pages. price, cents.= --frank merriwell's patience; or, the making of a pitcher. --frank merriwell's pupil; or, the boy with the wizard wing. --frank merriwell's fighters; or, the decisive battle with blackstone. --dick merriwell at the "meet"; or, honors worth winning. --dick merriwell's protest; or, the man who would not play clean. --dick merriwell in the marathon; or, the sensation of the great run. --dick merriwell's colors; or, all for the blue. --dick merriwell, driver; or, the race for the daremore cup. --dick merriwell on the deep; or, the cruise of the _yale_. --dick merriwell in the north woods; or, the timber thieves of the floodwood. --dick merriwell's dandies; or, a surprise for the cowboy nine. --dick merriwell's "skyscooter"; or, professor pagan and the "princess." --dick merriwell in the elk mountains; or, the search for "dead injun" mine. _for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address on receipt of price, cents per copy, in money or postage stamps, by_ street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york =if you want any back numbers= of our weeklies and cannot procure them from your newsdealer, they can be obtained from this office direct. fill out the following order blank and send it to us with the price of the weeklies you want and we will send them to you by return mail. =postage stamps taken the same as money.= ________________________ _ _ _street & smith, - seventh avenue, new york city._ _dear sirs: enclosed please find_ ___________________________ _cents for which send me_: tip top weekly, nos. ________________________________ nick carter weekly, " ________________________________ diamond dick weekly, " ________________________________ buffalo bill stories, " ________________________________ brave and bold weekly, " ________________________________ motor stories, " ________________________________ _name_ ________________ _street_ ________________ _city_ ________________ _state_ ________________ a great success!! motor stories every boy who reads one of the splendid adventures of motor matt, which are making their appearance in this weekly, is at once surprised and delighted. surprised at the generous quantity of reading matter that we are giving for five cents; delighted with the fascinating interest of the stories, second only to those published in the tip top weekly. matt has positive mechanical genius, and while his adventures are unusual, they are, however, drawn so true to life that the reader can clearly see how it is possible for the ordinary boy to experience them. _here are the titles now ready and those to be published_: --motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. --motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. --motor matt's century run; or, the governor's courier. --motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the "comet." --motor matt's mystery; or, foiling a secret plot. --motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear. --motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto. --motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward. --motor matt's air ship; or, the rival inventors. --motor matt's hard luck; or, the balloon house plot. --motor matt's daring rescue; or, the strange case of helen brady. --motor matt's peril; or, cast away in the bahamas. --motor matt's queer find; or, the secret of the iron chest. --motor matt's promise; or, the wreck of the "hawk." --motor matt's submarine; or, the strange cruise of the "grampus." --motor matt's quest; or, three chums in strange waters. --motor matt's close call; or, the snare of don carlos. --motor matt in brazil; or, under the amazon. --motor matt's defiance; or, around the horn. --motor matt makes good; or, another victory for the motor boys. to be published on july th. --motor matt's launch; or, a friend in need. to be published on july th. --motor matt's enemies; or, a struggle for the right. to be published on july th. --motor matt's prize; or, the pluck that wins. to be published on august nd. --motor matt on the wing; or, flying for fame and fortune. price, five cents at all newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, by the publishers upon receipt of the price. street & smith, _publishers_, new york transcriber's notes: added table of contents. bold text is represented with =equal signs=, italics with _underscores_. page , added comma after "joe mcglory" in list of "characters that appear in this story." page , restored missing period to last sentence of chapter vi. page , corrected "rufe" to "rube" ("miss me except old rube"). courtesy of the digital library@villanova university (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction no. aug. , five cents motor matt on the wing or flying for fame and fortune _by the author of "motor matt"_ [illustration: _quick as a flash, motor matt caught the lieutenant's arm just in time to keep him from falling._] _street & smith._ _publishers._ _new york._ motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction _issued weekly. by subscription $ . per year. copyright, , by_ street & smith, _ - seventh avenue, new york, n. y._ no. . new york, august , . price five cents. motor matt on the wing or, flying for fame and fortune. by the author of "motor matt." table of contents chapter i. wanted: a man of nerve. chapter ii. foiling a scoundrel. chapter iii. matt makes an investment. chapter iv. matt explains to m'glory. chapter v. ping and the bear. chapter vi. a new venture. chapter vii. a partner in villainy. chapter viii. matt shifts his plans. chapter ix. dodging trouble. chapter x. blanked. chapter xi. siwash shows his teeth--and his heels. chapter xii. "uncle sam" takes hold. chapter xiii. on the wing. chapter xiv. dastardly work. chapter xv. the government trial. chapter xvi. fame--and a little fortune. tricked by two. idaho to feed elks. noisy avians. fish that cannot swim. characters that appear in this story. =matt king=, otherwise motor matt. =joe mcglory=, a young cowboy who proves himself a lad of worth and character, and whose eccentricities are all on the humorous side. a good chum to tie to--a point motor matt is quick to perceive. =ping pong=, a chinese boy who insists on working for motor matt, and who contrives to make himself valuable, perhaps invaluable. =mrs. traquair=, wife of the inventor, harry traquair, who lost his life by a fall from an aëroplane of his own invention. =amos murgatroyd=, a mortgage shark who gets the traquairs in his clutches and becomes a bitter enemy of motor matt. =siwash charley=, a ruffian who becomes the tool of murgatroyd in his desperate attempts to keep matt from flying the traquair aëroplane in the government trials. =lieutenant cameron=, an officer in the signal corps, u. s. a., who proves to be the cousin of an old friend of matt, and who nearly loses his life when the aëroplane is tested. =mr. black=, a friendly real estate man of jamestown, n. d., who owns an automobile which proves of good service to the king of the motor boys. =sergeant o'hara=, a good soldier, but who indulges in a game of cards at an inopportune moment. =benner=, post trader at fort totten, a bluff person who falls into a trap laid by siwash charley. =jake=, a teamster for benner, who uses a blacksnake whip in a novel, but effective way. chapter i. wanted: a man of nerve. "mr. amos murgatroyd?" "my name." amos murgatroyd whirled around in his office chair and measured his caller with a pair of little, gimlet eyes. the caller, at the same time, was measuring murgatroyd. the young man who had entered the musty office of the loan broker and was now undergoing his scrutiny, stood straight as a plumb line, his shoulders squared, his lithe, well-set-up form "at attention." he wore a cap, and his clothes were of dark blue and of a semi-military cut. he was prepossessing in appearance, which, most decidedly, the loan broker was not. murgatroyd's face was too lean and hard, his eyes too sharp and shifty, to give one a very exalted idea of his character. the caller drew a folded newspaper from the breast pocket of his coat and laid it on the broker's desk. "are you the man who put that 'ad' in the paper?" inquired the youth. murgatroyd picked a pair of nose glasses off his vest, carefully adjusted them, and lifted the paper. the following marked paragraph riveted his attention: wanted: a man of nerve, one who has had some experience with flying machines and can handle a gasoline motor. to such a person a chance is offered to fly for fame and fortune in a new aëroplane. sand and sagacity absolutely essential. call on or address, a. murgatroyd, brown block, jamestown, north dakota. the broker dropped the paper, leaned back in his chair, and swept the glasses off his nose. tapping the glasses against the knuckles of his left hand, he continued to regard the youth. "well?" he growled. "it's my 'ad.' what of it?" "i've come several hundred miles to answer it in person." "you? why, i advertised for a man, not a boy." "what difference does that make, so long as i can do the work?" amos murgatroyd had no answer for this, and his remarks took another tack. "had any experience with aëroplanes?" "no, but i have had a good deal to do with dirigible balloons. if you're hunting for a man who is experienced with aëroplanes, mr. murgatroyd, i guess you'll have to hunt for a long time. heavier-than-air machines are only just beginning to come to the front, and the supply of experienced drivers is limited. it was the chance to familiarize myself with flying of that kind that brought me here." murgatroyd continued to tap reflectively with his glasses. "do you know that the man who invented the aëroplane fell with one of the machines and was killed?" he inquired. "i heard that there had been an accident here, recently," was the answer. "that was ten days ago, over in the park. the aëroplane turned turtle, dropped fifty feet, and traquair was badly smashed. he lived about fifteen minutes and wasn't able to speak a word. the machine may be wrong in principle, i don't know that, but i've got to get some reliable person, who's not too much afraid of risking his neck, to learn the machine and then give an exhibition for the government, up at fort totten. the trial is set for two weeks from to-day. there's not much time, you see, to learn the ropes." "i believe i could learn the ropes," said the other confidently. "i seem to have a knack for picking up such things." "if anything happens to you, your relatives may come at me for damages." "so far as i know, mr. murgatroyd, i haven't any relatives." the beady, gimlet eyes gleamed with undisguised satisfaction. "you will have to sign a paper," went on murgatroyd, "releasing me from all responsibility, financial or otherwise, in case any accident happens." "i'm willing," was the cool response. "it can't be that you have very much confidence in your aëroplane, mr. murgatroyd." "solid ground is good enough for me. if man was intended to fly he would have been born with wings. that's where i stand in this aëronautical game. besides, traquair invented the machine--i didn't; and the fact that traquair was killed by his own invention doesn't give me superlative confidence in it." the youth wondered why murgatroyd was taking such an interest in a machine that did not command his confidence. the next moment the broker explained this point. "traquair owed me money, and the machine was the only thing belonging to him that i could get hold of. if the test at fort totten is satisfactory, the war department will buy the aëroplane at a good figure. this is the only way i can get back the loan, you see?" "what are you willing to pay for the work you want done?" the youth's tone was chilling and business-like. he was anything but favorably impressed with murgatroyd. "i won't pay a red cent," declared the broker. "i'll furnish the aëroplane, and you can use it for practice. if you please the war department, and they pay fifteen thousand for the machine, we'll split the amount even. that's fair enough. i won't be throwing good money after bad, and success or failure is put up to you." "is the machine you have the one that killed traquair?" murgatroyd gave a choppy laugh. "i should say not! there was nothing but kindling wood left of that machine. traquair was intending to fly for the government, and he had a machine constructed especially for the purpose. it's in storage at fort totten now. the machine he was using here was the first one he built. by the way, young man, what's your name?" "king, matt king." murgatroyd gave a grunt of surprise, jammed his glasses on his nose, and stared at his caller with renewed interest; then, suddenly, he pressed a push button at the side of his desk. a clerk appeared, a wizened, dried-up little man, who came in with a cringing air. "yes, mr. murgatroyd?" "file 'k,' prebbles. and dust it off. why don't you go around this place with a duster, once in a while? the older you get, prebbles, the less you seem to know." the clerk winced. with a deferential bow, he turned and slunk out of the room. he returned in a few minutes, a duster in one hand and a battered letter file in the other. murgatroyd took the file on his desk and sent prebbles away with a curt gesture. after a brief search through the file, the broker developed a number of newspaper clippings. "that your picture?" he asked, holding up a clipping with an electrotype reproduction of the king of the motor boys at the top of it. "it's supposed to be," smiled matt, wondering why this close-fisted broker had gone to so much trouble to collect the clippings. "you had a flying machine called the _hawk_, quite a while ago, didn't you?" pursued murgatroyd, studying the clippings. "it was a dirigible balloon," explained matt. "correctly speaking, a flying machine is not a motor suspended from a gas bag." "quite right. i got these clippings from a clipping bureau in the east, and ever since i found this aëroplane on my hands i've been trying to locate you. finally i had to give up, and then it was that i put that 'ad' in the paper. and now, here you come answering the 'ad'! looks like fate had something to do with this, eh?" "just a coincidence," answered matt, "and not such a remarkable coincidence, either. if you knew me better, mr. murgatroyd, you'd understand how anxious i am to become familiar with every sort of machine propelled by a gasoline motor. it's the coming power"--matt's gray eyes brightened enthusiastically--"and as motors are improved, and their weight reduced in direct ratio with the increase in the horse power, the explosive engine will be used in ways as yet----" "that's all right," cut in murgatroyd, who was coldly commercial and as far removed from anything like enthusiasm as night is from day. "a gasoline engine is a noisy, dirty machine and smells to high heaven. but that's neither here nor there. will you take hold of this aëroplane matter, learn how to run the traquair invention, and then test it out at fort totten, two weeks from to-day?" "i'll think it over," said motor matt. he would not have taken a minute to consider the matter if he had been more favorably impressed with murgatroyd. "i can't wait very long for you to make up your mind," went on the broker, visibly disappointed. "there's only two weeks between now and the fort totten trials." "i'll give you an answer by to-morrow morning," and matt turned toward the door. "fame and fortune are in your grasp," urged murgatroyd. "don't let 'em slide through your fingers." without answering, but nodding a good day to the broker, matt stepped into the outer room. as he passed through this other office, he saw prebbles on a high stool, humped over a ledger. the clerk's eye shade and little bald head, and his thin, crooked body, gave him the grotesque appearance of a frog, roosting on a stone, and getting ready to jump. matt passed on into the hall. before he could descend the stairs he heard a hissing sound behind him. turning, he saw the clerk standing in the open door, touching his lips with a finger in token of silence. matt paused with his hand on the stair rail, and the clerk came gliding toward him. "don't have anythin' to do with him," said prebbles, in a tremulous whisper; "he's a robber." "who's a robber?" returned matt. "murgatroyd. he's a skinflint and hasn't any more heart than a stone. he's a robber, i tell you; and, anyhow, if you try to run that machine you'll get killed. traquair got killed, and he invented it, and knew more about it than you can ever learn. if----" a buzzer began to sound its call in the outer office. prebbles whirled and shuffled away. pausing at the door, he turned to repeat, in a stage whisper: "leave him alone, i tell you. he's a robber, and you'll get killed." then prebbles vanished, and matt went thoughtfully down the stairs. chapter ii. foiling a scoundrel. near jamestown the "jim" river forms a loop, encircling a generous stretch of timber. wherever there is timber, in any prairie country, there is an invitation for men to make a park; so the ground encompassed by this loop of the river was beautified and obtained the name of "city park." after leaving the broker's office, matt started for the park. in the outskirts of town he met a youngster walking in the direction of the river, with a fishpole over his shoulder. "hello," said matt. "hello yourself," answered the boy. "do you know where mr. traquair lost his life in that flying machine?" "i guess yuh don't live in jimtown, do yuh?" returned the boy. "everybody around here knows where _that_ happened." "no," said matt, "i only reached jamestown last night." "well, the' was a hull crowd o' us seen traquair when his flyin' machine flopped over. he come down like a piece o' lead, all mixed up with ropes, an' canvas, an' things. gee, but that was a smash. i was one o' the kids that went to tell mrs. traquair. she was allers afeared traquair 'u'd git a drop, so she never went to see him do his flyin', an' she never let any o' the kids go, nuther. i wisht i hadn't gone. say, i dream about that there accident 'most ev'ry night, an' it skeers me stiff." "i'll give you half a dollar," went on matt, "if you'll take me to the scene of the accident. will you?" "you've bought somethin', mister," grinned the boy. "i was goin' fishin', but i'd pass up a circus if some un offered me half a dollar." they pushed on toward the park. "fellers that try to fly ain't got as much sense as the law allows, i guess," remarked the boy. "ever'body said traquair 'u'd break his neck, an' that's what happened." "what kind of a machine did he have?" queried matt. "doggone if i know. it had wings, an' machinery, an' a thing that whirled behind, an' three bicycle wheels, an' rudders, an' i dunno what-all." "what were the bicycle wheels for?" asked matt, interested. "traquair had to take a runnin' start afore he got wind enough under his wings to lift him. when the wheels begun to leave ground, he turned the power onto the whirlin' thing behind, an' that made him scoot up into the air; then, somehow, he folded the bicycle wheels up under the machine." "did traquair ever do much flying?" "did he? well, i guess! the day before he got killed he was in the air as much as two hours, twistin' an' turnin' an' floppin' ev'ry which way, jest like a big chicken hawk. the' wasn't much wind, that time, an' people say that's how he was able to keep right side up. the day he dropped, the wind was purty middlin' strong from the west." "how did the accident happen?" "that's more'n anybody knows. traquair was skimmin' over the tops o' the trees, an' a big crowd was down on the ground lookin' at him; then, all to oncet the' was a snap, like somethin' had busted. the wind grabbed holt o' them canvas wings an' slammed it plumb over, the hull bizness droppin' so quick we hadn't much more'n time to git out o' the way." by this time matt and the boy had reached a cleared space among the trees. in the middle of it was a level, grassless stretch, almost as hard as a board floor. "there, mister," said the boy, pointing, "is where traquair used to start. he'd git his bicycle wheels to whirlin' at one end o' that tennis ground, an' when he reached t'other end o' it he was in the air. he was comin' back to the startin' place when he dropped. here's the place." the boy stepped off to the left and pointed to a spot where the earth was grewsomely gouged and torn. "traquair was crazy," observed the boy, as matt stepped toward the bruised turf, and stood there reflectively. "ev'rybody says his flyin' machine was a fool killer." "traquair was a great man, my lad," answered matt, "and a martyr to science. he gave up his life trying to help the human race conquer the air. don't call him crazy." "gee, mister," scoffed the boy, "he'd better have helped his folks 'stead o' givin' so much time to the human race. mrs. traquair had to take in washin' to keep the fambly in grub." matt kicked up a twisted bolt. "that's a momentum," said the boy. "i guess you mean memento," laughed matt, tossing the bolt away. "mebby it's that where you come from," persisted the boy doggedly, "but it's momentum out here in dakoty. things is diff'rent in the northwest to what they is in the east." "where does mrs. traquair live?" asked matt. "what hotel yuh stoppin' to, mister?" "gladstone house." "then you can pass mrs. traquair's shack right on the way back to the hotel," and the boy proceeded to give matt minute instructions as to the way he should go in order to reach the house. matt flipped a silver coin to the youngster, and turned and started back toward the town. the boy pushed the coin into his pocket and went whistling in the direction of the river. several things were drawing motor matt in the direction of the traquair home. mainly, he distrusted murgatroyd, and thought that perhaps mrs. traquair might be able to tell him something about the man. then, too, matt was anxious to learn what he could about the traquair aëroplane, and felt sure there were papers containing drawings or descriptions at the house which would give a tolerably clear idea of the machine. the traquair home was in a squalid neighborhood. most of the houses were tumbledown structures with windows ornamented with old garments wherever a pane of glass happened to be missing. but, despite its unpainted walls and sagging roof, the traquair house had about it an air of neatness that distinguished it from its neighbors. there was no rubbish in the front yard, and two pieces of broken sewer pipe, set on end near the gate, had been filled with earth and were blooming with flowers. in the rear were two long lines of drying clothes. a pang of pity went to matt's heart. no matter how heavily the hand of grief had fallen on mrs. traquair, she could not neglect the toil necessary to supply the needs of herself and of her fatherless children. three youngsters--a boy and two girls, the boy being the oldest and not over six--stood in a frightened huddle on the front walk, near the gate. the smaller of the two girls was crying. "what's the matter?" asked matt, halting beside the forlorn little group. "we're 'fraid to go in the house," answered the boy, looking up at matt. "do you live there?" "yes'r, but we're 'fraid. he's in there with mom, an' he's talkin' like he was mad." "who are you?" "teddy traquair. i'm six, an' sis, here, is risin' five. mary jane's only three." "who's talking with your mother, ted?" "murg. i hate him, he's so mean to mom. he was mean to pap, too. but pap's dead--he got kilt when the flyin' machine dropped." there was a pathetic side to this for a lad with a heart as soft as matt's, but just then he had no time for that phase of the matter. the windows of the front room of the house were open, and covered with mosquito net. voices could be heard coming from the front room--a woman's voice, tearful and full of entreaty, and a man's sharp, clean-cut, and almost brutal. quietly matt passed through the gate and took up his post near one of the windows. "you sign this paper," murgatroyd was saying, "and i'll give you a receipt for two years' interest. what more do you expect?" "i can't sign away all my rights to my husband's invention, mr. murgatroyd!" a woman's voice answered. "the interest for two years is only three hundred dollars, and that machine he sent to fort totten cost nearly a thousand dollars to build. it isn't right, mr. murgatroyd, for you to take the machine the government is thinking of buying, and all my interest in poor harry's invention, for just three hundred dollars." "oh, you know a heap about business, you do, don't you?" snarled murgatroyd. "what good's the flying machine, anyway? it killed your husband, and it's likely to kill anybody else that tries to run it. by taking over the invention, i feel as though i was loading up with a white elephant, but i've got a chance to get a young fellow to try and fly in that aëroplane at fort totten. i'll have to pay him a lot of money to do it, and before i make an arrangement with him i've got to have your name down in black and white to this paper. do you think for a minute i'm going to spend my good money, paying this young fellow two or three thousand dollars to risk his neck in that machine, when i haven't got any writing from you to protect me? sign this paper. if you don't, i'll come here and take everything you've got in the house to pay that hundred and fifty, interest. don't whine around about it, because it won't do any good. if you want to keep a roof over your head, you do what i say--and do it quick." it would be impossible to describe the harsh brutality of the loan broker's words. the ruffianly bullyragging was apparent to matt, even though he could not see what was taking place in the room, and his blood began to boil. "i can't do what you ask, mr. murgatroyd," said the woman brokenly. "when the two years had passed, you'd have the homestead, and the invention, and everything i've got. my duty to my children----" a savage exclamation came to matt's ears, followed by a cry from the woman and the clatter of an overturned chair. prebbles had said that murgatroyd was a robber. matt, of course, could not understand all the ins and outs of the present situation, but he understood enough to know that the broker was seeking to browbeat a defenseless woman, and to intimidate her into signing away rights which meant much to her and her children. without a moment's hesitation, the king of the motor boys leaped through the window--with more or less damage to the mosquito netting. chapter iii. matt makes an investment. murgatroyd, his face distorted with anger and his little eyes snapping viciously, was clutching a slender, middle-aged woman by the arm. he had leaped at her, in a burst of rage, overturning the chair, which happened to stand in his way. matt's unceremonious entrance into the room startled murgatroyd. releasing his grasp of mrs. traquair's arm, he fell back a step, staring at matt as though at a ghost. mrs. traquair was so desperate and frightened that she was not nearly so startled by the lad's spring through the window as was murgatroyd. from matt's manner she was not long in realizing that fate had sent her a champion at just the moment when she needed one most. instinctively, she drew toward the youth, half fearful and half appealing. "ah, king!" exclaimed murgatroyd, struggling to get the whip hand of himself. "rather a peculiar way you have of coming into a house," he added, with some sarcasm. "it looked as though i was needed," returned matt grimly. "you'd better look again. you're not needed. this is a little money transaction between mrs. traquair and myself. isn't that so, mrs. traquair?" he queried, turning to the woman. "y-e-s," answered mrs. traquair, her voice so low it was almost a whisper. "don't butt in here, king," scowled murgatroyd. "you hear what the lady says. this is none of your business." "that's where i differ from you," said matt sturdily. "if i'm not mistaken, you were using me as a club to drive mrs. traquair into signing that paper," and he nodded toward a document that was lying on the table near pen and ink. "don't make any misstatements, sir," blustered the broker. "and don't you," cautioned matt. "i overheard you tell mrs. traquair that you would have to pay a thousand or two in order to get me to risk my life flying that aëroplane. as a matter of fact, mr. murgatroyd, you did not offer to pay me a cent. i was to exhibit the machine, then, if the government bought it for fifteen thousand dollars, i was to have half." the red ran into murgatroyd's face. "how do you know that i was referring to you?" he demanded. "i know it, and that's enough." matt picked the paper from the table. "i'll just look over this and see----" "give that to me!" cried murgatroyd, stepping toward matt and making a grab at the document. matt jumped back quickly and thrust the paper behind him. "mrs. traquair," said he to the woman, "i want to be a friend of yours. may i read this?" "so--so far as i am concerned," the woman whispered, with a frightened look at the broker. "by thunder," exploded murgatroyd, "i'll not stand for this! give that up, king, or i'll have the law on you." "the law won't touch me," said matt. "this paper was prepared by you for mrs. traquair to sign; as a friend of mrs. traquair's i have the right to look the trap over before you spring it." "well, of all the impudence---- say, i wouldn't let you fly that aëroplane for me if it never got a try-out at fort totten. i'll be even with you for this, my lad! i'll--i'll----" murgatroyd choked up with wrath and could not finish. meanwhile, matt had glanced at the paper. one glance was sufficient. "this, mrs. traquair," said he, "is a document conveying all your right, title, and interest in your late husband's aëronautical inventions, and in the aëroplane now in the post trader's store at fort totten, to amos murgatroyd. and the consideration is three hundred dollars. you will not sign it, of course?" "but what am i to do?" faltered the woman hopelessly. "whatever you do, mrs. traquair, you must not sign away your interest in what may perhaps prove valuable property, for such a small sum." then matt, with steady hands, ripped the document into ribbons. if murgatroyd had been angry before, he was fairly beside himself now. "you--you young scoundrel," he cried, shaking his fist, "i'll teach you to meddle in my business affairs. this isn't the last of this, not by a long chalk. i'll have this woman and her brats out in the street before night. i'll----" "you'll keep a respectful tongue between your teeth, that's what you'll do," and motor matt stepped resolutely toward the broker. there was something in the lad's bearing that caused murgatroyd to grab his hat and retreat precipitately to the door. "you'll hear from me, the pair of you," he snarled, "before you're many hours older." then the door slammed. through the open window, edged with its torn streamers of mosquito net, matt could see the broker hustling through the gate. a choking sob struck on the lad's ears, and he whirled to find mrs. traquair in a chair, her face in her hands. there were ample evidences of poverty in the bare little front room, and the appearance of the woman herself testified eloquently of a fierce effort to keep the wolf from the door by grinding toil. matt's heart was full of sympathy for her in her trouble. "don't take it so hard, mrs. traquair," said matt, stepping to her side. "there may be a way out of this." she lifted her head. "no, there is no way out," she answered, in a stifled voice, "you don't know mr. murgatroyd! you don't know what it means to owe him money and not be able to pay him even the interest." "how much do you owe him?" "just a thousand dollars." "but he said the interest due, if i recall his words, was one hundred and fifty dollars." "that's right--fifteen per cent." "fifteen per cent? great spark-plugs! why, that's usury." "not out here. harry borrowed the money on our homestead, up in wells county. he needed it to build his aëroplane, and he needed a lot more that he raised by selling his live stock and farming tools and some of the furniture. he thought he'd get everything back when he showed what the aëroplane could do, and sold it to the government. but--but the very machine that was to make our fortune has taken his life, and--and what am i to do?" mrs. traquair's face went down into her reddened, toil-worn hands again. "there may be a way out of this, mrs. traquair," said matt. "it's clear, i think, that murgatroyd is a thief and a scoundrel. if he didn't believe there was merit in your husband's invention he wouldn't be trying to get hold of it. have you any drawings, or papers from the patent office, that i can look at to get an idea of what the aëroplane is like?" "there is a model----" "good! a model will do better than anything else." mrs. traquair went into another room and brought out an old "telescope" grip. unbuckling the straps with fingers that still trembled, she lifted out of the grip and held up for matt's inspection the beautifully constructed model of an aëroplane. matt sat down in a chair and took the model on his knees. for all of ten minutes he studied the small machine, his eyes glowing with amazement and delight. "i haven't had much experience with aëroplanes," said matt finally, lifting his eyes to mrs. traquair's, "but i've put in a good deal of time studying them. i came to jamestown in the hope that i could make a deal with murgatroyd and get a little practical work with a real flying machine. when i first met murgatroyd i didn't understand the circumstance so well as i do now; and after overhearing what i did while standing outside that window, and after inspecting this model, i am more anxious than ever to make an acquaintance with the larger machine at fort totten. you haven't signed any papers giving murgatroyd a hold on that machine, have you, mrs. traquair?" "i haven't put my name to anything," declared the woman. "harry had arranged for the government test, and had sent the machine to fort totten before the--the accident. after that, mr. murgatroyd came here and said he would have to take the aëroplane, and get some one to fly it, unless i could pay him the interest money. what could i do?" the poor woman made a pathetic gesture with her hands. "there were the funeral expenses to pay, and i could not even think of paying the interest. mr. murgatroyd said that he would try and find some one who was fool enough to risk his neck in the aëroplane, and that if he could find such a person he would talk with me again. that was the reason he came here this morning." matt placed the model on the table, and walked thoughtfully up and down the room. "there are two or three ideas embodied in this aëroplane, mrs. traquair," said he, halting in front of the woman, "that seem to me to be of immense value. do you know whether mr. traquair protected the ideas with patents?" "harry said that all his inventions were securely protected. i can find the papers if you----" "your word is enough, for the present. a friend of mine came to jamestown with me, and we have a little money which we would like to invest. now, i will make this proposition: if you will give me an order on the post trader at fort totten for the aëroplane, i will go to the fort at once and familiarize myself with the machine; then, when the time for the government test arrives, i'll put the aëroplane through its paces. if the try-out is a success, then i and my friend are to have half of the fifteen thousand dollars to be paid for the machine. i will stand my own expenses, and, in addition, will give you five hundred dollars. you can take some of this money and pay murgatroyd his interest; then, if the trial at totten is a success, you will have plenty to take up the mortgage. understand, i am not buying an interest in the invention--that, i firmly believe, is worth more than i could pay--but i am buying a half interest in what the government is to hand over, providing the government officials are pleased with the performance of the aëroplane." mrs. traquair was so overwhelmed she could hardly speak. "i don't want to rob you," she protested; "i don't want to rob anybody, or----" matt interrupted her with a laugh. "i'm willing to take a chance, mrs. traquair," said he. "if you will come to the gladstone house at three o'clock this afternoon, we'll have a lawyer draw up the papers, and i'll give you your money. can i take that model with me to the hotel? i'm a stranger to you, so i'll leave twenty dollars in place of the model." "who'll i ask for when i come to the hotel?" inquired mrs. traquair. this unexpected stroke of fortune seemed to have dazed her. she had heard murgatroyd call matt by name, but she did not appear to remember. "matt king," the young motorist answered. a cry of astonishment fell from mrs. traquair's lips. "i've heard my husband speak of you dozens of times!" she exclaimed. "a friend of his, in chicago, sent him a newspaper clipping about you. motor matt is what you were called in the newspaper article, and you had a flying machine----" "a dirigible balloon, mrs. traquair," interrupted matt. "may i take the model?" "yes, yes," answered the woman eagerly, "do whatever you please--i am sure harry would have it so if he could be here and speak for himself. heaven is kind to raise me up a friend like you, at such a time." hope glowed in mrs. traquair's face--for the first time, it may be, since her husband's death--and matt was happy, for it was a pleasure to know that he was doing some good in the world while helping himself. a few minutes later, with the telescope grip in his hand, he left the house and made his way swiftly in the direction of the hotel. chapter iv. matt explains to m'glory. joe mcglory sat in front of the gladstone house wondering what had become of his pard. matt had been gone from the hotel for three hours, and when he left he thought he would be back in an hour. just as mcglory had made up his mind to go bushwhacking around the town, in the hope of picking up his pard's trail, the king of the motor boys turned the corner, carrying a telescope satchel, and walking rapidly. "thought you were lost, strayed, or stolen, matt," sang out mcglory. "what have you got there?" he added, his eyes on the grip. "a flying machine," laughed matt. "speak to me about that!" gasped the cowboy. "has it come to this, pard, that every man can tote a flying machine in his grip, then unpack, and hit a trail through the clouds whenever he takes the blessed notion? go on!" "it's only a model," went on matt. "come up to our room, and i'll tell you about it." "let's sit in at grub pile first. the dinner gong was pounded half an hour ago, and i'm as hungry as a buck injun on a diet of cottonwood bark." matt took the satchel into the dining room with him, and kept it between his feet all the while he was eating. "you act like that thing was full of gold bricks," remarked mcglory, as he and matt climbed the stairs to their room as soon as the meal was done. "not gold bricks," said matt. "there's the biggest little thing in this grip, joe, you ever saw in your life." "have you hired out to that murgatroyd person as the human sky-rocket?" inquired mcglory, as he unlocked and opened the door of the room. "i'm going to try out an aëroplane, up at fort totten, but not for murgatroyd. a lot of things came up this morning, and that's what took me so long. the only way for you to get the whole business straight is for me to begin at the beginning. now sit down, take it easy, and i'll tell you what i've found out, and what i've done." the cowboy was anxious to see what was in the satchel, but matt made no move to gratify his curiosity, just then; instead, he launched into his experiences at murgatroyd's office, at city park, and, lastly, at mrs. traquair's. when he was through, mcglory rubbed his eyes, stared, then rubbed his eyes and stared again. "what's the matter with you?" inquired matt. "dreamin'," answered the cowboy. "you're going to take a little fly for fame and fortune, and i'm in on the deal to the tune of two hundred and fifty cold plunks. it's all right, pard. i'd buy an interest in the north pole if you thought there was any profit in icicles; but tell me: will it be pleasant for your uncle joe to stand on the ground and watch you taking flyers in a thing that killed one fellow, and is hungry to wipe out another? remember, i'm putting up two-fifty for the privilege. it's all very fine to help out a poor widow in distress, and to backcap a loan shark like murgatroyd--that reads like a book, and i'm plumb tickled to help--but, son, there's your neck to think about." "i'm not going to take any foolish chances, joe," said matt earnestly. "i'm hungry to run an aëroplane with a gas engine--and this aëroplane is the goods, don't forget that." "um-m! suppose you let me look at the goods?" matt unbuckled the straps, and lifted the model of the aëroplane out of its case. "oh, tell me about that!" jeered the cowboy. "two strips of cloth, one above the other, with an engine between 'em and a propeller behind! fine! you'd look pretty a mile high in that thing!" "this," said matt, taking the model on his knee, "is the fruit of several hundred years of thought and study." "sufferin' buzzards! if i couldn't think up an arrangement like that in two minutes, and make it in three, i'm a piute." "when you understand it, joe, you'll think differently. an aëroplane is like a kite, but instead of a string to pull it against the air, it has a propeller to push it. it's easy enough to fly a kite, but when you put a man in the kite, and a gas engine and other machinery, and take away the string that connects the kite with the earth, you're confronted with problems that it has taken centuries to solve." "keno!" spoke up mcglory. "and do you mean to say, matt, that those two pieces of cloth have guessed the riddle?" "they'll come pretty close to it," asserted matt. "the thing that bothered, you see, was keeping the centre of wind-pressure coincident with the centre of gravity so the machine wouldn't turn turtle, or----" "help!" fluttered mcglory, throwing up his hands. "a german named lilienthal tried and failed, and so did an englishman named pilcher. it remained for the wright brothers to work out the conundrum. lilienthal and pilcher shifted weights to keep their machine right side up in the air, but the american scientists shift the ends of the wings, or planes. traquair's invention does away with the shifting of weights or planes. look here, joe." matt pulled a diminutive lever affixed to a platform in the middle of the lower plane. the ends of the left-hand wings drew in, and the ends of the right-hand wings simultaneously extended. by pulling the lever the other way, a contrary movement was effected. "sufferin' blockheads!" muttered the cowboy, pushing his fingers desperately through his thick hair. "i'm only in the primer, pard, and you're leading me through the hardest part of the fifth reader. shucks!" "you can understand, can't you," went on matt patiently, "that closing or opening the wings distributes the air pressure on each side of the machine and holds it level?" "never mind me, pard," said mcglory. "keep right on." "these bicycle wheels," and matt indicated three wheels under the aëroplane, "give the machine its start." "it's got to have a running start, eh?" "sure. when a bird begins to take wing it has to have some kind of a start. a small bird jumps into the air, and a big bird, like a condor, has to take a run before its wings take a grip on the atmosphere. it's the same with an aëroplane. a speed of twenty-eight miles an hour is required before the air under the planes will lift the flying machine. the motor of this machine is geared to the bicycle wheels, at the start. when the machine is running fast enough, the power is switched to the propeller--and up we go!" "mebby we do," muttered the cowboy, "but i wouldn't bet on it. then, again, if we go up will we stay up? and how can you guide the blooming thing skyward, or on a level, or come down?" "why," continued matt, "these two little planes in front of the big ones attend to that." he shifted them with a lever to show mcglory how they worked. "this upright rudder behind," he added, "shifts the course to right or left." "i'll take your word for it, matt," said the cowboy. "i've taken a good many slim chances in my life, but you'll never catch me taking a chance on one of those things." "i don't intend to ask you to take any chances, joe," proceeded matt. "all i want you to do is to trail along and attend to the work below while i'm in the air. traquair has invented something here that's scientific and valuable, and i'm sure we can make a winner out of it, and not only help mrs. traquair, but ourselves, as well. that work of ours in madison netted us more than twelve hundred dollars. the question is, do you want to put in two hundred and fifty dollars with me on the chance of raking in seven thousand five hundred up at fort totten?" "you couldn't keep me from takin' that bet with a shotgun," averred the cowboy. "if you're in on the deal, then that means me, too, any old day you find in the almanac. we'll go to fort totten, matt, and while you're paddlin' around in the air i'll hunt up soft places for you to 'light. your head's pretty level on most things, and it's a cinch you must have this business figured out pretty straight, but----" at that moment, a hullaballoo came up from the street. the room occupied by the boys was at the front of the building, and the two windows were open. "sufferin' cats," cried mcglory, starting for one of the windows, "i wonder if that's a fire? ever since we had that close call at the burnin' boathouse on fourth lake, i'm scared of a fire." but it wasn't a fire. a chinese boy was rushing down the street like a whirlwind, his silk blouse and baggy trousers fluttering and snapping in the wind of his flight, and his pigtail standing straight out behind him. back of the chinaman came a bear. the bear was muzzled, and there was a collar about its neck and some six or eight feet of chain rattling around its legs. the bear was going after the chinaman like a brown streak, and a whopping crowd of onlookers was gathering on the sidewalks. "great jump sparks!" cried matt, astounded; "why, it's ping!" "ping it is, pard, and no mistake!" gasped mcglory; "and we left ping in madison, workin' for lorry. how did he get here? and how in sam hill did that bear pick up his trail?" but matt was already out of the room, and halfway down the stairs on a run for the street. chapter v. ping and the bear. ping pong, the chinese boy, had long ago made up his mind that he was going to work for motor matt. he wasn't particular whether he got any pay or not; just so matt gave him enough to do to keep him around. ping had followed matt from san francisco to madison, wisconsin. when matt was ready to leave madison, he got ping a good job. the chinaman seemed a bit depressed, but he thanked matt for the interest shown in his welfare, and seemed reconciled with his lot when he bade him good-by. and now here was ping, dropping into jamestown like lightning from a clear sky. the chinese boy was full of surprises, and his surprises were always dramatic--sometimes tragic. when matt burst from the hotel into the street, ping was hustling for a telegraph pole. the bear was within a couple of lengths of him, and there was nothing for ping to do but to find something he could climb. behind the bear raced a rough-looking man in a buckskin jacket. he was flourishing his arms and yelling, but the roar of the crowd prevented his words from being heard. the people on the sidewalks were enjoying the spectacle immensely. the bear was muzzled, and the chinaman was scared. it did not seem possible that any harm could come to the fleeing celestial. "two to one on the bear!" whooped some one. "it's the chink gits my money!" guffawed some one else. "he's goin' like a limited express train, an' that telegraph pole's too handy." the crowd surged into the street and toward the pole. ping was already climbing, but the pole was slippery, and when he had got up about twelve feet, he lost his "clinch" and slid downward. the bear was standing erect and reaching upward with its front paws. ping slid down just far enough for the paws to reach for him and close on one of his feet. he gave a yell of fear, and once more began frantically climbing. one of his wooden sandals was left behind. the bear dropped it with a sniff, and once more straightened up along the pole. again the slippery surface proved more than ping could manage, and down he came with a rush. the bear got the other sandal before ping could check his sliding, and the crowd went wild with delight. the man in the buckskin coat had come close to the pole, but he made no move to interfere with proceedings. matt was not able to extract much fun from the situation. the bear's claws were sharp, and if they once came in contact with the chinaman's body, the consequences might prove serious. quickly as he could, matt forced himself through the edge of the crowd. "is that your bear?" he demanded of the man in the buckskin coat. "waal," drawled the man, with a scowl, "i reckon it ain't no one else's b'ar." "why don't you chase him away, then?" asked matt indignantly. "do you want him to kill the chinaman?" "it won't be much loss if the critter takes a chunk out o' him. he's only a chink, anyways, an' he desarves all he'll git." this line of reasoning did not appeal to matt. the man was leaning on a heavy club. that club was the only weapon handy, and matt made a grab at it and pulled it out of the man's hands. with his support thus suddenly removed, the man fell flat in the street, striking his head against the stone curb at the edge of the walk. no serious damage was done, and the man got up, swearing luridly. matt gave no further attention to him, but turned toward the bear and ping. the chinaman, tiring with his useless efforts, had started for the third time to slide down the pole. before the bear could use its paws, matt whirled the club and struck the brute a heavy blow on the head. the bear was dazed, and dropped down on all fours, blinking at matt. ping dropped to the foot of the pole, rolled off to one side, bounded erect, and continued his flight down the street. barely had ping got away when matt felt himself grabbed from behind. "i'll l'arn ye ter rough things up with me!" snarled a hoarse voice. then, before matt could make a move to defend himself, he was hurled backward so fiercely that he lost his footing and fell sprawling in the dust. the man, beside himself with rage, caught up the club, which had fallen from matt's hand, and would have attacked the lad with it had mcglory not interfered. while the club was still poised in the air, the cowboy hurled a stone. the missile struck the man's arm, and the uplifted hand fell as though paralyzed. there was now another vent for the man's seething anger. with a furious oath, he pushed his left hand under his buckskin coat, and jerked a revolver from his hip pocket. one of the bystanders caught the weapon away from him. just at that moment a policeman showed himself, stepping briskly between the man and mcglory. "what's the trouble here?" asked the officer. "what are you trying to do, siwash charley?" "i'm er peaceable man," roared siwash charley, "but i ain't a-goin' ter be tromped on!" "who's been tramping on you?" inquired the officer soothingly. "fust off, it was er chink. i was bringin' that tame b'ar inter town fer delivery ter hank bostwick, at the ginmill he runs, an' i sot down ter rest. i was ca'm, an' the b'ar was ca'm, but erlong comes the chink an' sets off a big firecracker he had left over from the fourth, i reckon. anyways, the blasted thing went off like er cannon, an' i was blowed clean over the b'ar. when i got up an' looked around, the b'ar was goin' after the chink, allymand-left an' all sashay. i took arter the b'ar. seein' as how bostwick is goin' ter gi'me twenty-five dollars for the brute, i wasn't wantin' him ter git loose. when i got hyer, that feller"--siwash charley nodded toward matt--"pulled a stick i was kerryin' out from under me. i sailed inter him an' then that other feller"--he indicated mcglory--"let loose with a rock an' purty nigh busted my arm. i ain't goin' ter stand fer no sich doin's--that ain't siwash charley's stripe, not noways." "did the chink throw the firecracker in the first place?" asked the officer. "he must er done it. if he hadn't, the b'ar wouldn't have took arter him. i'll fix that chink if i ever git hands on him; an' i'll fix you fellers, too," he added, scowling at matt and mcglory. "the chinaman was trying to climb the telegraph pole and get away from the bear, officer," spoke up matt, "but every now and then he'd slip down the pole, and the bear would slap at him with his claws. siwash charley, as you call him, stood by and never made a move to interfere. i grabbed the club and struck the bear, and the next thing i knew i was caught from behind and thrown on my back." "i'd 'a' welted you good, too," snarled siwash charley, "if that rock hadn't landed on me." the officer looked around. three men had caught the bear by the chain and were holding the brute warily. the bear seemed to be recovering its good nature, the chinaman had escaped, and little damage had been done. "let the matter drop, charley," said the officer. "you haven't any proof that the chink threw the cannon cracker, or----" "b'ars hes got sense," blustered siwash charley, "an' this un wouldn't hev chased the chink if he wasn't guilty." "well, you go on to bostwick's and let the matter drop. scatter," the officer added sharply to the crowd, "the fun's over with, and there's nothing more to see." matt beckoned to mcglory, and the two started back toward the hotel. a roar from siwash charley caused them to turn their heads. "i'll saw off squar' with ye, yet," shouted siwash charley, shaking his fist. "say moo and chase yourself!" taunted the cowboy. "you're more kinds of a fake and false alarm than i know how to lay tongue to." the officer gave siwash charley a push in the direction of his bear, and matt caught his chum by the arm and drew him into the hotel. annexing himself to the bear by means of the chain, siwash charley shook his head angrily, rubbed his forearm up and down the front of his buckskin coat, and proceeded on toward bostwick's. when he got clear of the crowd, a man stepped out into the street. it was murgatroyd, and there was an ominous gleam in his eyes. "i've got a job for you, siwash," said the broker. "is thar any money in it, murg?" demanded siwash. "it's got ter be spot cash an' good pickin's, er we don't hitch." "you'll get your pay before you begin. come to my office at five o'clock." "i'll be thar," and the ruffian continued on toward bostwick's, still rubbing his aching forearm up and down the front of his greasy buckskin coat. murgatroyd, muttering to himself, faded away into the building known as brown's block. chapter vi. a new venture. "that old persimmon is about ripe enough to be picked," growled mcglory, as he and matt climbed the stairs on their way back to their room. "he's one of those cold game gents that gets quick and deadly every time a fellow looks at him cross-eyed. the next time he and i come together there's going to be fireworks." "the chances are," said matt, "we've seen the last of him. we'll close up our business with mrs. traquair at three o'clock, and then we'll catch the first train for totten. that will finish our dealings with siwash charley, and with murgatroyd, too, i hope. there's a lot of work ahead of us during the next two weeks, and we'll----" matt and mcglory were just turning from the hall into their room. some one had arrived in the room during their absence. as fate would have it, it was ping. the chinaman sat in a rocking-chair near the window. he was nervous and uncomfortable, not so much because of his recent experience with the bear, perhaps, as because he feared the sort of reception he was to receive from motor matt. "well, if it ain't little bright-eyes himself!" grinned mcglory. "you're more kinds of a surprise party, ping, than i know how to describe. what did you set off that cannon cracker under the bear for?" "my no shootee fi'clackel," expostulated ping. "melican boy shootee. beal make one piecee mistake--chasee ping, no chasee melican boy. whoosh! no likee." "where did you come from, ping?" asked matt. "mad'son. my no workee fo' anybody but motol matt. tlakee tlain, come 'long." "you didn't intend to stay in madison any of the time, did you?" ping shook his head. "why didn't you tell me you were not going to stay there?" "plaps, my tellee, you no likee. my makee wait till come to jimtown, then tellee. you no likee, no can send back." a crafty grin worked its way over ping's yellow face. "you can't shake him, pard," laughed mcglory. "how did you know where we were coming?" asked matt. "no savvy the pidgin. come on same tlain." "then you got here on the same train we did?" "sure." "where have you been keeping yourself?" "my stay by othel hotel. bumby, thisee molnin', makee sneak fo' gla'stone house. watchee beal, then fi'clackel makee go bang. china boy lun allee same sam hill. teleglaph pole him heap slick. makee climb, makee slide down, thlee time. beal ketchee one shoe, ketchee othel shoe, mebbyso ketchee china boy neck, sendee top side, but fo' motol matt. whoosh! you heap mad with ping?" "what's the use of getting mad at you, ping?" smiled matt. the little chinaman bounded joyfully out of his chair. "my workee for you some mo'?" he asked. "you seem bound to work for me, whether i've got anything for you to do, or not." "my no havee luck 'less my workee fo' you. plenty queer pidgin. one piecee luck come plenty time when my stay 'lound motol matt; no gettee luck when my no stay. what you do now, huh?" "we're going to hit the clouds on two canvas wings, ping," said mcglory. "no savvy," returned ping. "matt's going to fly. savvy fly? all same bird," and the cowboy flapped the edges of his coat, and lifted himself on one foot. "my no makee good bird," said ping, the white running into the yellow of his face. "my makee fall, bleakee neck." "you'll wish you'd stayed in madison, ping, before you get through with this bag of tricks," went on mcglory, winking at matt. "we're going to let you----" the cowboy was intending to have a little fun with ping, but, at that moment, a boy from the office appeared in the doorway. "mrs. traquair is waiting for you down in the office, motor matt," he announced. "it's three o'clock!" exclaimed matt. "get your two hundred and fifty, joe, and come with me." "i've got it, pard, right in my jeans," answered mcglory. "you can stay here, ping, till we come back," went on matt to the chinaman. "can do," chirped ping. thereupon matt and mcglory went downstairs, and the king of the motor boys introduced his friend to mrs. traquair. the clerk directed them to a lawyer, and they were soon in the lawyer's office, stating their business. mrs. traquair had brought her husband's papers along with her, and also a duplicate of the mortgage on the wells county homestead. the lawyer's name was matthews, and he was no friend of murgatroyd. "murg's a skinner," observed matthews, "everybody in these parts knows him for that. i'll bet he's been planning all along to get his clutches on this invention of your husband's, mrs. traquair. motor matt is doing the handsome thing by you, i must say. he takes all the risk, spends all his time and money, and then gets nothing if the try-out at fort totten isn't a success. just sit down, please. i'll not be more than five minutes drawing up a memorandum of agreement." when the paper had been drawn up, signed, and witnessed, and the money turned over, the only thing that remained was for mrs. traquair to give the boys an order on benner, the post trader at fort totten, for the aëroplane. this second paper having been written out and signed, and the five hundred dollars turned over, matt and mcglory found themselves embarked on a new venture. it was different from anything matt had yet undertaken. driving a dirigible balloon was utterly unlike manoeuvring an aëroplane. in a "dirigible" one had only to sit calmly in the driver's seat, keep the motor going, and attend to the steering. in an aëroplane, on the other hand, there was a certain knack to be acquired. air pressure under the wings was never the same for two consecutive moments, and if the swiftly changing centre of air pressure was not met instantly by extending or contracting the wings, disaster would be sure to result. but matt had studied the subject, felt sure that he could acquire the necessary knack, and was determined to carry the venture through to a success. "you're a plucky young man," said matthews to the king of the motor boys when the business had been finally wound up, "but i want to warn you to look out for murgatroyd. it does me good to hear how you sailed into him, but that was something murg will never forget. as matters are now, you've beaten him, but he'll never let it rest at that. he'll move heaven and earth to get even with you. keep your eyes skinned, that's all. you're engaged in a worthy work, and i believe you'll succeed, but you've got to be wary. i'm going with mrs. traquair to pay this interest. murg won't attempt any bulldozing tactics while i'm around, you can depend on that." "you might see that he doesn't persecute mrs. traquair while we're at fort totten, mr. matthews," said matt. "if he gets his interest, he can't make her any trouble, can he?" "he can't make her any more trouble until next year, when the interest and principal both become due. long before that, i hope mrs. traquair will be able to settle up with murgatroyd in full. she can, too, if your work at totten is successful." "how much do i owe you for drawing up these papers?" matt asked. "not a red!" was the prompt response. "do you think i don't know what you are trying to do for mrs. traquair? and do you think i won't do as much as i can to help her? why, i got harry traquair's patents through for him, and i'm proud to say that he was my friend. he knew murgatroyd was a skinner, just as well as i did, and at the time of his death he was exhausting every effort to fit himself for making a 'go' of that deal at totten. he was planning on using that money to get himself out of murgatroyd's strangling grip. it looks like a special favor of providence, motor matt, that you happened along here just when you did." reference to her husband brought tears into mrs. traquair's eyes. stepping to matt impulsively, she caught one of his hands. "i appreciate what you are doing, motor matt," said she in a low tone, "and i thank you from the bottom of my heart. i know the risks you are running, but somehow i have the utmost confidence that you are going to pass safely through them all, and please the officers at fort totten." matt was touched by the poor woman's gratitude. he pressed her hand cordially and reassuringly. "i've gone into this thing to succeed, mrs. traquair," he answered, "and you may count on me to do my best." "when do you go north?" asked the lawyer. "we can't go before morning. the afternoon passenger has left, and we'll have to take the 'accommodation' at eight o'clock." "well, good-by, and good luck. if i can ever do anything for you here, in a legal way, don't hesitate to call on me." matthews gripped the young motorist's hand heartily, and the little party separated, the lawyer and mrs. traquair starting for murgatroyd's office, while matt and mcglory made their way back to the gladstone house. "little as i know about flyin'," remarked mcglory, "and scary as i am about letting you go up in that aëroplane of traquair's, just the same i feel like patting myself on the back. it's a brand-new venture, pard, but it's a good one. there's something in it, you see, besides just helping ourselves." "it's not going to be easy," remarked matt. "that's you! sure, it ain't going to be easy, hitting up a cloud trail and sliding around through the air in a machine that's----" "i don't mean that," interrupted matt. "during the last hour or so i've had a hunch that murgatroyd is going to get busy." "i'll take care of that old hardshell," declared the cowboy, with confidence, "if you do the rest of the work with that sky-scraper. that's what i'm along for, savvy?" chapter vii. a partner in villainy. murgatroyd's interview with matthews and mrs. traquair, at the time the one hundred and fifty dollars interest was paid, threw the broker into a spasm of chagrin and temper. one would have thought that murgatroyd would have been delighted to get his interest money. but it was not the interest that murgatroyd wanted, so much as financial embarrassment on the part of mrs. traquair, which would ultimately lead to foreclosure of the mortgage on the wells county homestead. to motor matt the broker rightly attributed the widow's ability to pay the interest. and if motor matt had given mrs. traquair the interest money, it was a foregone conclusion that matt had interested himself in the aëroplane at fort totten. matt, the wrathful broker reasoned, was to fly the aëroplane at the forthcoming government trial. if he pleased the government, and the machine was bought, then mrs. traquair would be able to take up the mortgage. murgatroyd paced his office for a long time after matthews and mrs. traquair left. in the midst of his reflections, prebbles thrust his head in at the door. "a caller, sir," he announced. "who is it?" demanded murgatroyd sharply. "siwash charley." a feeling of gratification swept through the broker's nerves. "send him in here. and, i say, prebbles, you can put on your hat and coat and go home. you're quitting an hour earlier than usual, but you can make it up some other day." precious few holidays old prebbles got without "making them up." "very good, sir," he said in his usual humble fashion, and faded into the other room. a moment later siwash charley faced the broker. "shut the door, siwash," said murgatroyd. "that looks like we was a-goin' ter talk over things that was mighty important," said siwash charley as he closed the door. "we are." "you're an ole fox, all right," chuckled the other; "reg'lar ole gouger. money layin' around ev'rywheres," siwash added, his eyes on the desk where the money paid by mrs. traquair had been left. "there's a hundred and fifty in that pile, siwash," said murgatroyd. "if you agree to help me, i'll give you that; and, if you carry out the work successfully, i'm going to give you a hundred and fifty more." siwash charley's eyes opened wide. "must be somethin' mighty tough on ter make ye loosen up like that," said he. "mebby it's so tough i won't dast ter touch it." "i guess it's not too tough for you," returned murgatroyd dryly. "i've done a heap o' things fer you, murg, as won't bear the searchin' light o' day," observed siwash charley. "from now on, though, i'm a-goin' ter be a leetle keerful." "if you don't want the job," rapped out the broker, "say so, and i'll get somebody else." "how kin i tell whether i want it or not till ye explain what the work is?" "i'll not go into details until you agree to take hold. i'd be in a nice fix, wouldn't i, if i told you what was up, and then had you back out on the proposition." "ye'll have ter tell me somethin' about it, that's shore." "i'll tell you this much, siwash, and that is that the two young fellows you mixed up with, when the bear treed the chinaman, are the ones you'll have to go after. that ought to be enough, hadn't it?" charley's eyes kindled viciously. "i'm arter them two," he growled. "of course you are," went on the broker, noting with satisfaction the effect his words had had on his caller. "you're pretty well acquainted up around devil's lake, aren't you?" "i spent a good many years thar, murg." "do you know benner, the post trader?" "him an' me uster be blanket mates." "well, this young fellow who roughed things up with you, is called motor matt." "that's his name, hey? i'm going ter saw off squar' with this motor matt. revenge is the sort o' por'us plaster i put on my grudges ter draw out the pizen. i'm wuss ner a rattler's bite when i land on a feller, murg." "there's a flying machine in the post trader's store at fort totten. traquair sent it up there for a government trial, two weeks from to-day." "i see." "this motor matt knows something about gas engines and flying machines, and i'm pretty sure he's going to totten on the train to-morrow morning to familiarize himself with the traquair flying machine, and try it out for the government when the time comes." "then i kin lay fer him around totten, hey?" "not alone, siwash." the burly ruffian gave a grunt of disgust. "think i kain't handle that outfit alone, murg? oh, thunder! why, them two fellers ain't much more'n kids. i kin pick 'em up, one in each hand, an' knock their heads tergether." "don't be overconfident, siwash. if you are, it'll lose the game for us. you ought to have two more men associated with you--fellows you can depend on. you can either get them at totten, or here in jimtown." "who'll pay 'em?" asked siwash cautiously. "i'll give them twenty-five dollars each, if the work succeeds." "that brings us down ter the work ag'in," said siwash. "what is it, murg?" "well, i don't want the flying machine tried out for the benefit of the government. i want something to happen so that this motor matt won't be able to give a demonstration of what the aëroplane can do." "got er axe ter grind, hey?" "that part of the game is my business, siwash, not yours," said the broker sharply. "the point is, do you want to follow out my plans, and make the money i'm offering you?" "i'm hungry fer money, all right, murg," ruminated siwash. "i jest sold that pet b'ar ter bostwick fer twenty-five--b'ar that i captered as a cub an' fetched up by hand. but twenty-five won't last me fer long. if i kin git three hundred off'n you it'll be quite a boost. still, fer all that, i'd about made up my mind ter be honest from now on, an' cut out these hyer crooked deals. the way ye come at me, though, kinder sets me ter calculatin' that i'll go inter pardnership with ye fer one more round, an' then start ter bein' honest arter that." siwash charley pushed up the right sleeve of his buckskin coat, unwrapped a reddened bandage, and exhibited a ragged wound. "this hyer's what makes me listen ter ye, murg," he gritted. "it ain't the three hundred dollars so much as this hyer arm. that's whar the young cub landed on me with the stone. i kain't never pass that up without sawin' off squar'." "of course you can't," declared murgatroyd, doing everything in his power to foster siwash charley's hard feelings, "it wouldn't be like you to forget a thing like that, siwash. i guess you haven't weakened to that extent." siwash charley swore under his breath, replaced the bandage, and pulled down the sleeve of his coat. "will you help me?" went on the broker. "i've got to have your promise, before i can tell you the plan i've thought out." "yes, i'll help you," answered the ruffian. "and you know of two trustworthy men you can get to go with you?" "i could pick up a dozen game fellers right here in this man's town all inside o' fifteen minutes. they're fellers, mind ye, who'd run the risk o' puttin' their necks in a noose fer twenty-five plunks." "those are the men we want. you're not to tell them anything about me, mind." "that's allers yer game, murg," and something like discontent pulsed in siwash charley's hoarse voice; "ye don't seem ter hev the sand ter stand up an' face the music." "i can't afford to. how long do you think my loan business would last if i was found out in a job like this? you've got to screen me, siwash." "i'll promise ter do that, an' i ain't goin' ter let no one find out that i'm mixed up in it, either, if i kin help. go ahead." the broker got up, and moved softly to the door. opening it quickly he peered into the outer office. apparently satisfied, he closed the door again, and returned to his chair. "walls have ears," he remarked with a grim smile. "draw your chair closer, siwash." the other, with another of his ill-omened chuckles, pulled his seat nearer to murgatroyd; then, for five minutes, siwash listened while the broker spoke in low, quick tones. when murgatroyd was done, siwash leaned back with an exultant expression on his face. "by jericho," he exclaimed, "we kin do it, murg! thar'll be no flyin' at the fort two weeks from terday. this motor matt kain't git ter totten afore termorrer. if ye'll start me an' them other two fellers in a ottermobill, an' land us at totten afore mornin', i'll agree ter take keer o' the flyin' machine. if i kain't do that, then i'll agree ter take keer o' motor matt. count on me, murg." "enough said, then," answered murgatroyd, getting up. "take your money, siwash, and get out of here. it won't do for us to be seen leaving brown block together. you go out first, and i'll follow, a little later. the automobile will be at the place i told you within an hour, and a trusty man will be along to drive it." two minutes later, siwash charley swaggered out of the entrance to the office building and slouched off toward a "shady" part of the town. five minutes after siwash left, murgatroyd emerged. the broker was hardly out of sight, before prebbles glided out of the brown block, his face puckered with fear and apprehension. but there was resolution in the clerk's face, too, and he made his way in the direction of the gladstone house. chapter viii. matt shifts his plans. matt, mcglory, and ping had their supper together. following supper, ping went back to the other hotel where he had been staying, for the purpose of getting his luggage. the luggage was not extensive, being completely wrapped in a yellow silk handkerchief, knotted at the corners. there was a pair of grass sandals in the handkerchief bundle, and the chinaman stood in need of new footgear. when ping had gone, matt and mcglory sat out in front of the hotel, waiting for early bedtime to roll around. while they sat there, a stoop-shouldered, wizened figure shambled along the walk. "prebbles!" exclaimed matt. "not so loud," croaked prebbles. "come along--drop in behind--don't let anybody notice." matt was surprised. "who's that?" queried mcglory. "a clerk in murgatroyd's office," whispered matt, getting up. "look out for him, then, for he may be----" "he's all right," cut in matt. "come along, joe. prebbles has something on his mind." deferring to matt's better judgment, mcglory arose, and he and matt followed prebbles around one corner of the hotel, and into the dusky regions that lay in the vicinity of the rear of the building. here, in a place where they could talk unheard by outsiders, prebbles halted. "what's the matter, prebbles?" queried matt, as he and mcglory drew close. "who's that with you?" asked prebbles guardedly. "a friend of mine." "is he the one that hit siwash charley with the stone?" "yes." "all right, then. i got to be careful. if i'm not, murg'll find out about this and pull the pin on me. i get eight dollars a week workin' for him, and i can't afford to lose it. eight dollars a week pays my board, takes care of my laundry bills, buys a _war cry_, and gives a little to the army every week. you boys belong?" "belong to what, prebbles?" asked matt. "to the salvation army," answered prebbles earnestly. "no," answered matt. "i do. soon's i leave here, and get my supper, i'm going to the barracks, get into my uniform, take my tambourine and march with the rest. i was converted two weeks ago. that's why i hate murgatroyd and his ways. he's a robber. i want to do right, and that's why i'm here." "what do you work for the old skinflint for, if you want to do right?" put in mcglory. "there's nothing wrong with tainted money," replied prebbles, "if you use it in the right way." "i shouldn't think your employer would like to have you in the army," said matt. "he likes it. you see, he thinks it gives the office a standing which it hasn't got, me being connected with the army. but little he knows what i'm doing on the side. it's because i belong, motor matt, that i spoke to you as i did when you left the office this forenoon; it's because of that, too, that i suspected something was up when siwash charley came into the office at close to five o'clock and murg told me to take my hat and coat and go home; and it's because of that that i'm here, now, to give you a warning." mcglory gave vent to a low whistle. "looks like siwash and murg were stackin' up against us, pard," said he. "does siwash charley know murgatroyd?" inquired matt. "well, i should say," breathed prebbles. "siwash is a hard citizen, and used to live by gambling, stealing, and other ways that the law wouldn't sanction if he was found out. he's a hard case, siwash is--most as hard a case as murg. i didn't leave the office when i was told to go. i put on my hat and coat, walked real heavy to the door, slammed it, and then slipped back to a curtain that hides a lot of old letter files. back of the curtain there's a stovepipe hole from the outside room into murg's. i climbed up on the letter files and listened at that hole. wouldn't have done it if i didn't belong. say," and prebbles straightened himself with feeble pride, "it makes a regular lion of a man to join the army. you ought to be in; you don't know what you're missin'." "the army's a good thing, prebbles," said matt, "and i'm glad you belong to it. siwash and murgatroyd talked about me?" "did they?" echoed prebbles. "well, they didn't talk about anything else. you see, murg has got a mortgage on the traquair homestead, up in wells county, and he wants to get the quarter section on the mortgage. i don't know why, but he's set, and determined to foreclose and annex the land. that's what he's workin' for. everything was coming his way, motor matt, till you blew in and befriended mrs. traquair. now murg's afraid you'll win that government money and fix things so'st mrs. traquair can pay off the mortgage. murg's goin' to fight you, and he's rung in siwash and two of siwash's friends to help him." "speak to me about this!" murmured mcglory. "that hunch of yours, matt, is panning out good color already." "how is he going to fight us, prebbles?" asked matt. "by fixing things so'st you can't exhibit the flying machine at the time set. if it ain't exhibited then, the government'll back out. in case siwash and his pals can't spoil the machine, then their orders are to eliminate motor matt. oh, it's a villainous scheme, i tell you that." "i guess we can take care of ourselves, prebbles," averred matt. "the first train for totten leaves in the morning, and we're going up on that. siwash and his pals can't get there ahead of us, and we'll be able to look after the aëroplane and see that nothing goes wrong with it." "that's where you're lame," fluttered prebbles. "siwash and his pals have already started for totten." "started!" exclaimed matt. "how?" "automobile. that gang of scoundrels will get to totten in time to carry out murg's villainous plans to-night. i've wasted an hour tellin' you this, waitin' for you to get through supper. you see, i couldn't walk into the hotel and talk to you; everybody would have seen me, and told murg about it. then murg would have pulled the pin on me." "what are siwash and his friends going to do at totten?" queried matt, more wrought up over the information of prebbles than he cared to admit. "i don't know that, motor matt. when they talked over that part of it, they dropped their voices so low i couldn't hear. but you can bet it's a slick scheme, if murg had anything to do with it." "sufferin' slow freights!" murmured mcglory. "it looks as though murg had knocked us out of the running right at the start off." "prebbles," said matt, "do you know of any one, here in town, who has a good automobile we could hire?" "well, there's a fellow named black, a real estate man, who has a car. in spite of his name, he's as white a man as you'll find in a month of sundays. real estate's kinder dull, just now, and i know he sometimes lets out his car." "where does he live?" "i pass his place on the way to my boarding house. if you want, i'll have him come around and see you." "there's not much time to lose, prebbles, as siwash and his pals are already on the road. call me up on the phone and let me know if he'll take us to fort totten to-night. if he will, have him hustle his car right around to the hotel." "he'll ask a heap of money for the trip," suggested prebbles. "how much are you willing to----" "tell him we'll give him fifty dollars if he'll get us to fort totten before morning." "that'll fetch him! i guess i better start right off. you won't tell anybody about me giving murg away to you? i don't want to have murg pull the pin, you understand." "certainly we won't tell anybody!" answered matt. "we're obliged to you, prebbles, and here's a five-dollar bill to pay you for your trouble." prebbles drew back from the money. "you can't make me take that," he declared. "murg's the only robber in the loan office. i'd be as bad as him if i took the money. i'm doing this because i want to be square. they'd kick me out of the army if i took money for doin' what's right." "take this," insisted matt, "and give it to the mission. you can do that, can't you?" "sure." prebbles pocketed the money. "i'm off, now," he went on, starting away. "i hope you won't have more trouble than you can take care of, but you've got a hard gang against you. good-by." "so long, prebbles." the clerk vanished, and matt and mcglory, their nerves tingling with the prospect ahead of them, went back into the hotel, and took chairs near the telephone booth. mr. black himself called up, fifteen minutes later. he was willing to take the boys to fort totten that night, for the sum of fifty dollars; his machine was ready, and he'd be at the hotel in five minutes. "bully!" exulted mcglory, when matt came out of the booth and reported what the real estate man had said. "say, pard," the cowboy added, "you're throwin' your money around like a nabob. at this rate, how long'll that stake last that you picked up in madison?" "till we pull down that government money on account of the aëroplane, joe," returned matt decisively. "you're banking on that?" "to the last cent. i'll soon be on the wing, joe, and making a fight for fame and fortune. that's got to be a winning fight, in spite of siwash charley and his pals, and in spite of murgatroyd." matt's quiet confidence always inspired confidence in others. "whoop!" jubilated mcglory. "you've got a cheery way about you, pard, that's as catchin' as the measles. sure we'll win; and we'll save the old homestead for mrs. traquair like the feller in the play." chapter ix. dodging trouble. the wagon road from jamestown to devil's lake follows the railroad all the way. at minnewaukon, near the western end of the lake, the wagon road to fort totten leaves the iron rails and points southeast. the trail from jamestown to minnewaukon crosses a prairie almost as level as a floor, and the trail itself is like asphalt. from minnewaukon southeast, the road is not so well traveled. formerly the mail was hauled from minnewaukon to the post by wagon, but the mail carrier was put out of business by a launch that crossed the lake from devil's lake city, on the north shore. the garrison at the fort, too, has dwindled to a corporal's guard, so that the post has become practically abandoned. black's car was not a late model. it had the obsolete rear-entrance tonneau, and was equipped with a four-cylinder thirty-horse-power motor. however, the car could "go." it would have been a poor car, indeed, which could not show its heels on such a road. it was eight o'clock when matt, mcglory, ping, and black ducked out of jimtown, and struck into the trail that followed the railroad track and the river. black attended to the driving, and matt occupied the seat at his side. mcglory and ping occupied the tonneau. matt explained to black that there was a car, somewhere ahead, which they wanted to beat to the post trader's store at fort totten; also, that the car ahead was filled with men who were not on friendly terms with matt and his companions. black was a man of spirit. "you want to pass that car, then," said he, "and you want to dodge trouble?" "exactly," agreed matt. "we don't want to butt into any trouble if we can help it. a whole lot depends upon our getting to the post trader's store right side up with care, and ahead of the other outfit." "we'll do what we can," and black nursed the car to its best speed. the night was cool, the sky was cloudless, and the two acetylene lamps burned holes in the dark far in advance of the car as it devoured the miles. the forward rush, and the motor's music, thrilled matt as they always did whenever he was connected with a speeding engine. they whipped through a little town, hardly glimpsing the scattered lights before they had left them astern. "this machine is a back number," remarked black, "but she can slide along pretty well, for all that." "you're right," said matt. "i never saw a car with a rear door that could hold a candle to this one. but the road helps. it's like a boulevard." "take these dakota roads, when they're neither too wet nor too dry, and they're hard to beat. we're going to lose time, though, going around the sloughs." "sloughs?" queried matt. "just bog holes," went on black. "they gully the prairie, here and there, have no inlet or outlet, and the water rises and falls in 'em like tides of the ocean. queer, and i don't think the rise and fall have ever been explained. a wagon with high wheels can spraddle through, but low wheels and a lot of weight have to go round. but the car ahead will have to go around, too. there's one of the sloughs, just ahead. we'll begin going around it right here." having been for several years in the real estate business, selling farms up and down the jim river, black had an accurate knowledge of the country. three extra miles were added to the journey by going around the slough north of parkhurst. but this was a whole lot better than taking a chance and miring down. "did you know harry traquair, mr. black?" matt asked, when they were once more in the road and forging ahead. "i did," answered black, "and he was one of the finest fellows you ever met. still, for all that, i thought he was a little bit 'cracked' on the flying-machine question. he was always of an inventive turn, and he built his first aëroplane in his head, up on his farm in wells county, long before he ever came to jimtown and built one of canvas, and spruce, and wire guys. the traquairs have had pretty hard sledding for the last three years. mrs. traquair had all the faith in the world in her husband, but she was possessed with the idea that some accident was going to happen to him, and she was never around when he flew the aëroplane. too bad harry traquair had to be killed just as he was about to give his machine the first government test." "that's the way luck runs, sometimes," said matt. "what town's that?" he added, as they whisked through another cluster of lights. "buchanan," answered black. "say, but we're coming! the next place is pingree, then edmunds, then melville. after melville we'll swoop into carrington, the biggest town between jamestown and the lake. here's where i'm going to hit 'er up for the last ounce of power in her cylinders. hold on to your teeth, everybody!" more gasoline and a faster spark hurled the car onward in a way that made ping chatter and hang to the rail behind the front seats. then something went wrong. the motor began to miss fire, the speed slackened, and the motor died with a gasping splutter. "oh, hang the luck!" growled black, getting down. while matt kept hands off, black tried out the primary circuit, then the secondary, then the buzzer. after that he cranked and cranked, but nothing happened except a distressing cough when the engine tried to start. "wouldn't that knock you slabsided?" growled black. "i guess i'll have to take the carburetor to pieces, run pins through the spray nozzle and sandpaper the float guides. if that don't work, i'll go under the car and take off the fuel pipe, and----" "it's a gravity feed, isn't it?" asked matt. "yes." "well, don't lose any time on the carburetor, just yet." matt got at the gasoline tank. what he did black couldn't see, but he wasn't more than a minute doing it. "now turn over your engine," said matt, as he climbed back into his seat. black gave the crank a pull, and the pleasant chug in the explosion chamber came to his ears. "what the dickens did you do?" he asked, dropping in behind the steering wheel and getting the car under way. "the tank vent was clogged," explained matt. "you can't feed by gravity if the gasoline tank is hermetically sealed." "that's right; but how did you know the vent was plugged?" "by the noise." black turned this over in his mind as they rushed onward. "i guess you know a thing or two about motors," he remarked. "i never heard of a fellow who could tell the tank was hermetically sealed merely by the noise of the engine." "it takes practice," said matt, "that's all." pingree, edmunds, and melville were passed in record time, and the car rushed into carrington at a quarter to ten. carrington was quite a town, and the party halted to make some inquiries about the car that was preceding them. from a man at one of the hotels they learned that a car had stopped at a filling station, about nine o'clock, and had dashed on to the northward about nine-fifteen. there were four men in the car, and one of them was siwash charley. siwash charley seemed to be well known through that section, and the fact that the man at the hotel knew him made matt and his friends certain that their enemies were less than an hour ahead. "we're gaining on 'em!" cried mcglory, as the car shot through the outskirts of carrington. "if we can keep on gaining, we'll reach the post trader's with ground to spare." "we're good for it," averred black. "hold onto your hair and eyebrows." the air fairly sang in the ears of the boys as the real estate man, throwing himself spiritedly into the contest, hurled his machine onward over the hard roadbed. they flashed through a couple of towns which, black said, were divide and sheyenne. "the next place," the real estate man went on, "is oberon. after that comes lallie, and then minnewaukon. but it's a waste of time to go to minnewaukon. if we went there, we'd have to come southeast to totten. we can leave the road at lallie and go northeast to totten, thus saving a few miles and considerable time. if----" he broke off with a startled exclamation. then, in a twinkling, it was out clutch, down brake, and a kick at the switch. another car, at a dead stop in the road ahead, had come like a blot under the glow of their lamps. at that point the prairie was level, and no such thing as fences were to be seen. "sufferin' hold-ups!" exclaimed mcglory. "something's gone wrong with the siwash outfit. look! two of the gang are plugging this way." the cowboy had "called the turn." two dark forms untangled themselves from the dusky blot in the road which represented the car, and were running back along the trail. as the figures came closer, it could be seen that they were carrying rifles. "quick!" hissed matt in black's ear. "go around the car--take to the prairie. we can make it if there's gas enough in the cylinders to take the spark." as luck would have it, the engine took the spark and black worked the car rapidly out of the road, heading so as to give the other car a wide berth. the dry grass crunched under the swiftly moving tires, and the car leaped away as black coaxed her to do her best. "halt!" shouted a husky voice; "halt, or we'll put a bullet into you!" "drop down!" ordered matt; "they're going to shoot." "let 'em shoot," said black pluckily. "it's pretty dark for accurate firing, and we'll be out of range in a minute. i----" sping! sping! two reports came from behind, two flashes leaped from the guns, and two bullets fanned the air close to the occupants of the car. but the car dashed on over the rolling turf, and presently regained the road, once more, well in advance of the other automobile. "i guess that's dodging trouble, all right!" muttered black, with a grim laugh. chapter x. blanked. only two shots were fired. before the two scoundrels in the road could send any more bullets after matt and his friends, their car had swept back into the road and the other automobile acted as a barricade. "siwash must have known who we were," remarked mcglory. "how do you reckon he found that out?" "the way we kept on going when he ordered us to halt was enough for him," said matt. "i'll bet it was a surprise," chuckled mcglory. "wish i could be close to murg when he hears about it. we're in the lead, now, and i hope we can keep it." "if the motor hangs together," returned black, "we'll not only keep it, but increase it. that's a murderous gang, back there," he added. "there must be something mighty important awaiting you fellows at the post trader's to cause siwash charley to break loose like that!" "murgatroyd is back of it," said matt. "murgatroyd? there's a double-dyed scoundrel, if i ever knew one." black's expressing himself in this manner opened the way for matt to tell him the true inwardness of that night's work. "you're the sort of fellows i like to help!" cried black, as soon as matt had placed the situation before him. "it's a fine thing for mrs. traquair, and it speaks mighty well for you that you've jumped into this thing like you've done. not many young fellows would have gone to all that trouble, with the prospect of a broken neck, or a bullet between the ribs as a possible reward. but let me tell you something, motor matt." black spoke very earnestly, and commanded the instant attention of the king of the motor boys. "what's that, mr. black?" "if i were you, i'd be more afraid of that aëroplane than of siwash charley or murgatroyd." "flying the aëroplane is the least of my worries. i'm sure i can handle it all right." "don't be too sure. traquair invented the machine, and it stands to reason that he knew it as well as any human being could; but see what happened! something snapped, a gust of wind hit the aëroplane, and the whole business came down like a piece of lead." "accidents are always liable to happen, of course," said matt; "the only thing to do is to guard against them as well as you can, and do your best." "this north dakota wind is a hard thing to figure on," pursued black. "it gathers terrific force coming across the prairies, and it's liable to come up quick. i don't think traquair's aëroplane could stand a sixty-mile-an-hour wind." "she couldn't make any headway against it, but i believe she could be kept upright." "that's your look out, motor matt, and i don't want to throw any wet blanket on your hopes. be careful, that's all, and----" black broke off with an angry exclamation. the motor began to miss fire, and finally came to a stop. matt, his head inclined, had been listening sharply. "what's the matter now?" asked black, getting out. "it's the carburetor, now," said matt. "sounds to me as though it was clogged." the carburetor was taken apart and freed of the obstruction that kept the gasoline out of the mixing chamber. a delay of half an hour was caused, and while they were at a halt an anxious look out was kept along the road, behind. much to the relief of the boys and the real estate man, the other car failed to put in an appearance. "they must be hung up with something serious," observed black, as he once more started the car in the direction of lallie. "it can't be too serious to suit me," laughed mcglory. "i won't make any kick if they're kept back there on the road for a week." "no such luck as that, joe," said matt. black was about to say something more when the motor went wrong again. it began to pound furiously. black's exasperation reached a point where he was tempted to say things. matt, however, laughed at his impatience, and proceeded to right the trouble, warning his friends to keep a sharp look along the back track while he was doing it. there was an hour's delay, this time, but still the other car did not show up, and matt and his companions finally continued on their way, congratulating themselves that they were still in the lead. not much time was spent in lallie. the town was dark, and all the inhabitants had undoubtedly been abed and asleep for several hours. matt looked at his watch just as they were bumping over the railroad tracks into the northeast road that led to totten. "two o'clock," announced matt. black groaned. "elegant time we're making," said he, "but we'll be at the post trader's by three o'clock, providing we don't have any more breakdowns." this road was not nearly so good as the one they had been following, mainly because it was not so well traveled. not more than fifteen miles an hour could be made. "there's another road to totten from oberon," observed black. "that road comes into this one about five miles this side of totten. we'll soon be at the forks, now. i didn't suggest taking the oberon road, because it's a good deal worse than the one we're following." when they were close to the forks, the creak of a wagon reached their ears, and the gas lamps showed them a loaded vehicle just pulling into the oberon road. this was the first team they had met since leaving jamestown. "say, there!" yelled a man on the wagon. "slow up a little with that chug cart o' yourn, will ye? my hosses ain't used ter sich sights." black lessened the speed and came on more slowly. the wagon was at a standstill, and the horses were snorting and rearing against the pole. the car got past without causing an accident, however, and, a little after three, drew up in front of the post trader's store. the store was at the foot of a hill which overlooked the lake, and was surrounded by the fort. as was to be expected, the store was dark, and seemed deserted. "benner lives in the back part," said black. "go around the side of the building, matt, and knock on the door. you'll not be long getting him up. i'll wait here till i see what luck you have, and then i'll put up the car and bunk down somewhere for the rest of the night." matt and mcglory jumped out of their seats and followed around the plank wall of the building. although it was dark as egypt in the shadow of the wall, yet they succeeded in locating the door, and pounded a loud summons on its panels. the post trader was a sound sleeper, and it took three or four minutes to develop any signs of life within the dark store building. at last, however, they could hear some one stirring around. a light appeared in a window, and a shuffling step was heard approaching the door. "if you're injuns," cried an angry voice, "get out! you can come after what you want in the mornin'." "we're not indians," said matt. "are you mr. benner?" "that's my name, yes." "then we've got important business with you. please open the door." "beats all a feller can't have no sleep," grumbled mr. benner, shoving a bolt and jerking the door open. a big, sandy-haired man, in undershirt and trousers, stood confronting the boys, a flickering candle upheld in his right hand. "what d'ye want?" demanded benner. "here's a paper i want you to read," answered matt, taking from his pocket mrs. traquair's order for the aëroplane, and handing it to the post trader. benner grabbed the paper in his left hand, and held the candle in front of it. "jumpin' mariar!" he gasped. "here's an order for that bloomin' flyin' machine." "yes. we're here to take charge of it, mr. benner." "oh, y' are, eh? well, i haven't got it. looks kinder suspicious, too, this here order does." "haven't got it?" repeated matt, staring at mcglory. "ain't i tellin' ye?" answered benner in an irritated tone. "did some men come here in an automobile, a little while ago, and take it away?" "any one would have played hob takin' that flyin' machine away in an automobile," scowled benner. "there's somethin' mighty queer about this. step inside, you two, an' i'll show you that telegram." intensely disappointed, the two boys stepped into the room. benner placed the candle on the table, and picked up a yellow sheet, which he handed to matt. "that come to the fort, about two hours ago, an' the leftenant sent it down ter me," explained benner. "i had to hustle some, but i worked through the trick. now, less'n an hour after i get to bed, here you fellers come askin' for the flyin' machine. that's more'n i kin understand, that is." the telegram read as follows: "send flying machine on the jump to oberon. get it off within an hour after you receive this. will settle for your trouble with the man who brings it." this message was addressed to the post trader, at fort totten; had been sent from oberon, and was signed by "mrs. traquair." "oh, sufferin' dummies!" cried mcglory. "blanked, or i'm a piute!" matt was fully as much wrought up as was his chum. "this message is a forgery, mr. benner!" he cried. "mrs. traquair isn't in oberon, and she never sent it." "how was i ter know that?" snorted the post trader. "soon's i got the message, i routed out my man, jake, an' we hitched up to the wagon, loaded on that consarned machine that i've been holdin here, an' jake started with it fer oberon." the cowboy gave a groan, and fell over against the wall. "that must have been him we passed, matt," he murmured. without pausing to reply, matt whirled and ran out of the room. the aëroplane was on the road to oberon, but the automobile could easily overtake the wagon. it was well, however, not to lose any time. chapter xi. siwash shows his teeth--and his heels. black's astonishment was great when motor matt reappeared at the front of the building and leaped into the car. "hustle for the oberon road, mr. black!" matt cried. "what's to pay?" asked black as mcglory flung himself into the tonneau. "you remember that wagon we passed?" asked matt. "of course, but----" "well, the aëroplane is aboard the wagon." "great cæsar!" black was already on the ground, cranking up. "how did that happen?" he asked, getting back into the car and turning it the other way. when they were well started, matt explained about the telegram received by the post trader. "it's easy to understand what happened," said matt. "murgatroyd's plan was to send siwash charley here after the aëroplane. if siwash had had all night and part of to-morrow to work in, he and his pals would have got away with the flying machine in spite of us. but siwash had to make another move when he saw us on the road. it was a clever move, too, although it only won out by a scratch. siwash went on to oberon and sent that message, signing mrs. traquair's name to it. if we hadn't had so many breakdowns, we'd have reached the post trader's before his man got away with the aëroplane." "well," declared black, "we can overhaul the wagon long before it gets to oberon. if siwash charley had used his head a little more, he'd have known there wasn't one chance in ten of this move of his succeeding. "and to think of us sailin' right past that wagon," muttered mcglory, "and even slowing up so as not to scare the horses! funny how things will turn out sometimes." the chinese boy had been using his eyes and ears a great deal more than his tongue. but his emotions, at every stage of that ride from jamestown, had changed with matt's and mcglory's. now ping was all chagrin, and a wild desire to "push on the reins" and overhaul jake. the road was fairly good until the automobile reached the forks; after that, it ran into hilly country where there was considerable sand. black forced the car all he could, but the poor speed it developed filled the impatient boys with dismay and anxiety. "we'll never overtake that wagon in a thousand years, at this gait," fumed mcglory. "you forget, joe," answered matt, "that if we're going slow, the wagon is going a lot slower." "that's the talk," said black. "we'll come up with the wagon several miles this side of oberon." as the car ground through the sand, and chugged up the hills, the boys kept a sharp watch ahead. dawn brightened in the east, and the gray streamers crept steadily toward the zenith. "five o'clock," said matt, looking at his watch. "the sun will be up in half an hour." "precious little i care for that," chuckled black. "there's jake!" the car had topped a hill which gave its passengers a long view out over the level prairie. far away in the distance the dim gray light showed the boys a dark blot on the plain. it was impossible to tell much about the blot, at that range, but there could be no doubt concerning it. surely it was the wagon; it could be nothing else. "jake must have punctured a tire," observed mcglory humorously. "what has he stopped for?" "possibly he stopped to breathe his horses," suggested black. "we'll eat up the ground, now, for the road is on the level, and there's less sand." black let the car out. as he and the boys came closer and closer, a startling scene slowly unfolded before their eyes. the wagon was at a standstill, just as the cowboy had said, and beside it was a motor car. four or five figures could be seen moving around in the vicinity of the wagon. abruptly these figures hunched together, and stood quietly. "it's the other automobile," said black between his teeth. "siwash charley and his pals came out from oberon to meet jake." "they've got together and are looking this way," breathed mcglory. "mebbyso they makee shoot," chattered ping. "shall we go on?" queried black. "it's for you to say, motor matt. i don't think siwash will dare rough things up so close to the fort, and in broad day." "yes," said matt grimly, "we've got to go on. for all we know, murgatroyd may have told siwash to destroy the aëroplane. in fact, that may be what he's doing, now. go on, mr. black, and go with a rush." the boys fell silent as the car bounded on along the road. all of them felt the danger of their position, but neither mcglory, black, nor ping would have thought of asking matt to turn back. in a few moments the boys were so close they could see the guns which siwash charley and his friends were holding in their hands. matt, however, had more concern for the bulky load in the wagon than for the guns. so far as he could see, the load was intact, and had not been tampered with. the wagon was facing toward oberon, and the car--drawn up alongside the wagon--was pointed toward fort totten. several yards in front of the car stood siwash charley, and two other men, who looked fully as villainous. all of these three had rifles. jake was standing up in the front part of the wagon, hanging to the reins with one hand and looking back. the driver of the automobile was leaning against the front of the car, watching passively for what was to come. an atmosphere of ugly foreboding hovered over the scene as black stopped his car within a dozen yards of siwash charley and his two pals. "that's erbout as fur as we reckoned we'd let ye come," shouted siwash charley. "if ye'd got hyer ten minutes later, ye'd hev found the flyin' machine scattered all over the perary." "do you mean to say," cried matt, standing up in the car, "that you were going to wreck the aëroplane?" "that's what," answered siwash charley, "an' we're goin' ter do it, yet. ye needn't think that yer comin' will make any diff'rence. i told you cubs i'd git even with ye fer what ye done, but when i showed my teeth ye didn't allow i'd bite. i'm showin' my fangs ag'in, an' this time thar's goin' ter be somethin' doin'." "siwash charley," said matt, "you don't mean to say that a trifling disagreement, like the one we had in jamestown, is enough to make you destroy that aëroplane?" "i reckon ye don't know me, motor matt," blustered siwash. "i allers make it a p'int ter saw off even, an' i reckon i kin squar' my account with you a heap better by bustin' up the flyin' machine than in any other way. i'll give ye two minutes ter turn that thar machine o' yourn and take the back track." simultaneously with the words, siwash lifted his rifle to his shoulder, and pointed it directly at matt. the king of the motor boys did not stir, but his gray eyes snapped dangerously as they looked into the eyes gleaming along the barrel of the gun. "you're not going to do any more shooting, siwash charley," said matt, his voice steady. "you took two shots at us last night, and if either one of them had struck me, or any of my friends, you and murgatroyd would have paid dearly for it." the mention of murgatroyd caused siwash to drop his gun suddenly. "murgatroyd hasn't got a thing ter do with this," he roared. "it's my own affair i'm settlin'." "murgatroyd has got everything to do with this!" retorted matt. "he got that car for you, and sent you out of jamestown last night. you hoped to reach the fort ahead of us--and you'd certainly have done so if we'd waited until this morning and taken the train. if you make any trouble for me here, murgatroyd will be arrested in jamestown just as quick as a message can be wired to the police. and you'll make trouble for yourself, too, for you played a trick in getting that aëroplane off the government reservation. you can show your teeth as much as you please, but if you try to bite you'll regret it." "i'm done chinnin' with you!" whopped siwash charley, once more bringing his gun to his shoulder. "turn that ottermobill t'other way, an' hike out o' this. ye got a minute left." black got out of the machine, and walked around to the crank. "leave the crank alone, black," ordered matt. "that scoundrel's a coward, and he doesn't dare to shoot." black hesitated. "better do as he says, pard," observed mcglory, climbing over the back of the seat and ranging himself shoulder to shoulder with matt. the cowboy's words were addressed to black. the latter retreated from the front of the machine, and stood at the roadside, watching developments anxiously. it was a situation of the gravest peril, but matt could not go away and leave the aëroplane to be wrecked. "are ye goin'?" yelled siwash furiously. "if ye think i dasn't shoot, i'll show ye i ain't afeared o' nothin'." "put down that gun!" ordered matt. the scoundrel's finger flexed on the trigger. in another instant the trigger would have been pressed. but something happened. jake, standing in the front of the wagon, whirled a long blacksnake whip about his head by the lash. suddenly he let it go, and the weighted handle shot through the air, and struck siwash charley's fated right arm. the end of the whip handle landed at about the place where mcglory's missile had struck, the day before. with a swirling bellow of pain, siwash dropped the rifle and staggered back, clasping his right forearm with his left hand. he swore terribly, but the torrent of profanity was cut short by one of his pals. "sojers!" cried the man, sweeping siwash charley's gun off the ground. "hustle out o' this, or we're done fer!" "swatties!" jubilated mcglory, waving his hat. "speak to me about this!" matt faced the other way. there, sure enough, were half a dozen mounted troopers galloping toward the scene. the pop of the other car's motor could be heard, and when matt looked around, once more, siwash charley and his comrades were kicking up the dust in the direction of oberon. "siwash charley showed his teeth," laughed black, immensely relieved, "and now he's showing his heels. motor matt," he added soberly, "i wouldn't have been in your shoes, a moment ago, for all the money in the united states treasury!" the king of the motor boys did not hear the last remark. he had leaped down from the car, and had run forward to the wagon, where he was reaching up and shaking hands with jake. chapter xii. "uncle sam" takes hold. "them fellers stopped me," said jake, "an' was allowin' to unload the flyin' machine. what could i do agin' the lot of 'em, and armed like they was? but the fust i knowed they intended ter smash the thing was when siwash begun talkin' with you. he'd have shot ye, too. i know him, an' i know he's desprit, so i took a chanst with the blacksnake. gosh-all-hemlocks, but i shore made a good throw of it." "you certainly did," said matt, "and i'm much obliged to you." matt turned away from the wagon to talk with the officer in charge of the troopers. the soldiers had come to a halt, and one of them, in the uniform of a lieutenant, had spurred forward. "what's the ruction here?" he demanded. "benner rushed up to the fort and said some one had stolen the traquair aëroplane. he showed us a telegram he had received, told us he had started jake for oberon with the machine, and that a couple of young fellows had happened along, pronounced the telegram a forgery, and had started in pursuit of jake in an automobile. are you one of the lot that chased up jake?" "yes," said matt. "harry traquair was killed in jamestown----" "that's stale news," interrupted the lieutenant, sitting back in his saddle and taking matt's sizing at his leisure. "well," went on the king of the motor boys, "i've come to totten to try out the aëroplane for the government." "you?" the lieutenant laughed. "why, my lad, the machine will do for you just as it did for traquair. who are you?" "matt king." the lieutenant almost fell out of his saddle. "not motor matt?" he asked. "that's what i'm called more often than anything else." "well, this certainly takes the cake!" muttered the lieutenant, pulling at his mustache. "my name's cameron, and i'm a lieutenant in the signal corps. by a coincidence, i'm here to watch the trials of the aëroplane for the government." "where does the coincidence come in, lieutenant?" asked matt. "do you remember a young fellow called ensign glennie?" "remember glennie?" cried matt. "well, i guess i do. why, he went around south america with me in a submarine." "representing the government, wasn't he?" "yes." "well, glennie's my cousin, and he wrote me all about you and that trip in the submarine. so that's where the coincidence comes in. he watched your work with the submarine for the government, just as i'm to watch your work with the aëroplane. give us your hand, motor matt! i feel as though we were old friends." matt was delighted. it was one of those meetings which sometimes happen, and which make a fellow overjoyed with the occasional workings of fate. mcglory, black, and ping were introduced, and then matt took the lieutenant off by himself and narrated the events that had taken place, and which had led up to the villainous work of siwash charley. lieutenant cameron was properly indignant. "siwash charley's a whelp," he averred, "and this murgatroyd is a thoroughbred scoundrel. but the aëroplane seems to be safe, and you'll have no further trouble with those villains. from this on, motor matt, you and your friends and the traquair aëroplane are under the protecting wing of uncle sam. we'll have the flying machine guarded, and you and your friends will stay at the fort with us. there's only a handful of boys at totten, now, but we're more than enough to look after siwash charley." the lieutenant rode over to the wagon. "jake," said he, "you'd better drive back with that machine." "that's what i was calculatin'," grinned jake. "somebody hand up my whip." mcglory gathered in the blacksnake, and tossed it to the teamster. "sergeant," called the lieutenant to one of the troopers, "you and the rest will convoy the aëroplane back to totten. if siwash charley or any of his gang show up, shoot them on sight." "all roight, sor," answered the sergeant, touching his cap. "ride back with us in the car, lieutenant," suggested matt. "one of the troopers can bring in your horse." "i'll go with you," said cameron promptly. he dismounted at once, and turned his horse over to the irish sergeant. he and matt rode in the tonneau, with ping, where they could talk to better advantage, and mcglory mounted to the front seat alongside of black. "my orders instructed me to be of all the assistance i could to traquair," remarked cameron, when they were sliding off toward the hills on the return trip; "so, of course, now that you represent the traquair interests, i consider it my duty to help you." "glad of that, lieutenant," responded matt. "after i get the aëroplane together i'll not need much help. you see, i've got to learn to run the machine. there's a knack i've got to get hold of." "you'll get hold of it, never fear. a fellow like you can learn whatever he sets out to." "but i've only got two weeks," laughed matt, "and there's a fair chance, according to a good many people, of breaking my neck." "that's what i was thinking, when i heard traquair had been killed, and that there was an advertisement in the newspapers for a man of nerve. but, somehow, i feel pretty confident of the outcome, now that i know you are to boss the air flights. let's see. i think glennie wrote me you had had some experience with a dirigible balloon?" "yes, i served my apprenticeship at that sort of flying before i tied up with the submarine." "then you can't be called a new hand at the game." "sailing a dirigible balloon is a whole lot different from driving an aëroplane." "learn it well, motor matt, whatever you do. according to conditions governing the aëroplane trial, you've got to stay in the air two hours, make not less than thirty miles an hour, and carry a passenger. i'm to be the passenger." so long as matt had only his neck to think about, the situation was tolerably clear; but, now that he knew he had to carry the lieutenant along, he began to worry a little. "i didn't know that part of it before," said matt gravely. "don't fret, pard," put in mcglory, turning around in his seat. "if the lieutenant hasn't got the nerve, why, i'll go with you. and i reckon you know about how much i enjoy the prospect of flyin'." "you can't cut me out of that, mcglory," declared cameron. "why, if mrs. traquair hadn't found some one to navigate the aëroplane, i was thinking seriously of offering to do it myself. i was attached to the balloon corps, for a while, but i'm handicapped by a very imperfect knowledge of gas engines. you're the fellow for the job, all right, matt, and you can bet something that i'll not pass up the chance of flying with you. know anything about the traquair aëroplane?" "only what i've found out from a study of the model. apart from that, i've been looking into the subject of aëroplanes for some time. it was the hope of adding to my knowledge of the subject that brought me to north dakota." "and you dropped into a villainous conspiracy right at the start off!" exclaimed cameron. "i'll send a message to oberon, just as soon as we reach the post, and see if siwash charley and his mates can be headed off." "it won't do any good to send a message, lieutenant," said matt. "siwash knows enough to make himself scarce. better let the matter drop--for the present, anyhow." "but there's murgatroyd. he's got himself into a pretty kettle of fish. you can go after _him_." "i don't want to bother with him, nor with any one nor anything else but the aëroplane for the next two weeks." "i guess your head's level on that point," mused cameron. "however, if siwash charley shows up on the reservation while you're at work, we'll lay him by the heels and throw him into the guardhouse. when are you going to put the aëroplane together?" "this afternoon," replied matt. "there's no time to lose." an hour later they were at the post. black had made up his mind to remain over until the following day, and matt paid him his fifty dollars, and thanked him for his work with the motor car. following a late breakfast at the post, matt went down to meet jake and superintend the unloading of the aëroplane. selecting a favorable site for the experiments with the aëroplane required time, and dinner was ready at the post before matt and cameron had picked out a spot which they considered most favorable for the initial trials. following dinner, matt and mcglory, in their working togs, and accompanied by the lieutenant, hustled down the hill to begin work with the aëroplane. chapter xiii. on the wing. the ground matt selected for his initial experiments lay about a quarter of a mile from the post trader's store on the road toward lallie, minnewaukon, and oberon. for a long distance, at this place, the road was level, flat as a board, and smooth as asphalt. it was just the right bottom to give the aëroplane a good start on the bicycle wheels. this part of the road, too, was free from timber, so there could be no accidents from collisions with stationary objects. lieutenant cameron had a large "a" tent brought down from the post, and pitched in a place convenient to matt's field of operations. here the young motorist and his assistants could rest, when they so desired, and make their headquarters at all times. four dismounted cavalrymen were to be constantly on guard, each detail relieving the other, morning and night. the post farrier placed his working tools at matt's disposal, and hammers, hatchets, and wrenches were carried down to "camp traquair," as the aëroplane headquarters came to be called, and matt set actively to work uncrating the machine. the two big planes of the flying machine measured thirty-two feet in length by five in width. for convenience in packing, carrying, and stowing, these planes had been cut into halves, one half dovetailing into the other by means of iron sockets. in assembling the aëroplane, matt worked from memory alone--his study of the model serving him in good stead. both of the thirty-two-foot planes were put together first, and then joined, in a double-deck arrangement, by tough spruce rods, which held the planes six feet apart. the rods were further braced by wire guys, which could be tightened at will by means of turn-buckles. for a width of about five feet the middle section of the lower plane was reënforced with light, tough boards. this platform formed a bed for the engine, the gasoline tank, the mechanism-operating propeller and bicycle wheels, and afforded seats for the operator and one passenger, as well as giving a rigid support for the various levers controlling motor and rudders. the sliding wing extensions, so necessary for keeping the machine's equilibrium while in the air, gave matt the most trouble of all. they slid on ball bearings from under each plane, and were so adjusted that when one extended the other contracted in the same proportion; for, if there was too much air pressure under one wing, it was necessary that the area of that wing should be reduced, while the area of the other was enlarged. the putting together of the two large planes consumed the afternoon; and when matt, weary and tired, answered the mess call of the colored cook sent down from the post, he was able to see that the aëroplane was gradually taking shape. "looks about as much like a bird as i do," commented mcglory. the next morning matt went to work on the two smaller planes which, in flight, went ahead of the machine, guiding up or down, and doing something toward distributing the air pressure. the vertical plane, which had its place in the rear, was likewise adjusted. so rapidly did the work proceed that, by noon, matt was ready to install the motor. traquair, it was evident, had built the aëroplane, put it together, and adjusted every part before shipping it to fort totten. the result of this forethought was apparent in the installing of the engine. every piece had its place and dropped into it readily. the exact point for every bolt and screw was marked. by seven o'clock the second night the aëroplane was ready. mcglory, just before he, matt, and ping went for their belated supper, stood in front of the forward planes. "every boat, pard," said he, "whether she sails the ocean or the sky, has got to have a name; therefore i, by virtue of my authority as assistant to the big high boy who is to navigate the craft, name this aëroplane the _june bug_." with that, the cowboy broke a bottle of adam's ale over the lower plane. "no likee _june bug_," chattered ping. "him velly bum name. why you no callee him _fan tan_, huh?" "_fan tan!_" jeered mcglory. "why, you squint-eyed heathen, this ship's no gamble, but a sure thing. remember the lines of that beautiful poem: "the june bug has no wings at all, but it gets there just the same." "that's good enough," laughed matt. "i'm going to eat and turn in, for to-morrow i fly." the motor was a four-cylinder, and matt judged, after taking measurements, that it would develop about twenty-five horse power. the next day came on with a very high wind, so high that matt deemed it worse than foolish to attempt his first flight. it was hoped that, later in the day, the wind would go down. time was not lost while waiting, however. gasoline was secured from the fort, together with a quantity of oil, and the motor was disconnected and given its own particular try-out. it worked splendidly. next the power was connected with the bicycle wheels, and the _june bug_ was sent along the road under its own power. matt, in the driver's seat, came very near taking a fly in spite of himself, for the wings caught the wind and lifted the aëroplane some four feet in the air. with a twist of the lever, matt quickly pointed the smaller planes downward, and glided into the road again without a jar. the wind held until nightfall, and, of course, all hope of a fly for that day went down with the sun. on the following morning there was hardly a breath of air stirring. all the troopers came down from the fort, and every person from the immediate vicinity of the trader's store assembled to see how well matt would acquit himself of his first attempt at flight in an aëroplane. after making sure that everything was properly adjusted and in perfect working order, matt had the _june bug_ pushed to the centre of the hard road. mcglory was stationed at one wing, and lieutenant cameron at the other, in order to run with the machine and help give it a start. "nervous, matt?" queried cameron, as the king of the motor boys took his place on the seat and lifted his feet to the foot rest. "not half so nervous as you are, old chap," smiled matt. "here, feel my pulse." "i'll take your word for it. don't go very high." "so far as results are concerned, if i'm going to fall it might just as well be from five hundred feet as from fifty. all ready?" "all ready!" mcglory's voice was a bit husky, for he was even more nervous than cameron. the engine was already humming like a swarm of bees. "let her go," said matt, switching the power into the bicycle wheels. in less than a dozen feet, the aëroplane was traveling too fast for cameron and mcglory, and they dropped out. standing breathless where the _june bug_ had left them, they watched the machine rush faster and faster along the road, then, suddenly, swing into the air and glide upward. cheers rang out from half a hundred throats, only to be suddenly stifled as the great wings tilted, fifty feet above ground, into an almost vertical position. matt, they could see, was almost hurled from his seat. a groan was wrenched from cameron's lips, and he turned away. "sufferin' thunderbolts, but that was close!" the lieutenant heard mcglory mutter, and then the cheering was renewed. cameron looked again. the _june bug_ had righted herself, and was rushing off toward the lake, mounting steadily, higher and higher. "that feller's head's level, all right," remarked benner. "how's that?" asked cameron. "why," laughed the post trader, "if he takes a tumble he intends comin' down in the water." "don't you believe it!" cried mcglory. "he don't intend to take a tumble. that pard of mine has his head with him, at every stage of the game." at the watchers judged, the _june bug_ passed over the post some two hundred feet in the air. the contortions of the machine were alarming. first one side would tilt, and then the other. half a dozen times it looked as though the _june bug_ must surely go over on its back, and come down a wreck with her intrepid young driver mangled in the machinery. but motor matt, calm and clear brained, was working to "get the knack." every second he was studying. not once did thoughts of a mishap flash through his brain. at the end of ten minutes he returned from the lake, glided downward, and brought the bicycle wheels to a rest in the road within a hundred feet of the place from which he had started. his face was flushed, and his gray eyes shining as he stepped from the machine to receive the congratulations of everybody, even of the bluff post trader. "i'll try it again this afternoon," said matt. "that's enough for this morning. i want to think over my experience, and see if i can improve my work in any particular point." "you wabble a good deal," said cameron. "i won't--when i get the knack." so that afternoon, and day after day thereafter, motor matt went up and practiced to acquire the "knack." little by little it came to him, every flight teaching him something that it was necessary for him to know. he went up in still air, in light winds, and in breezes that made his friends tremble for his safety; but not once did he get a spill, not once did anything go wrong with the machinery, and not once did he fail to bring the _june bug_ back to earth as gently and easily as he had done on the morning of his first flight. greater and greater crowds assembled to witness the trials. the people came from minnewaukon, from oberon, and from devil's lake city. even the indians gathered from various parts of the reservation, and gazed stolidly while "boy-that-flies-like-the-eagle"--as they called matt--continued to keep on the wing, and learn the knack. as tuesday--the day of the government test--drew nearer, the railroads advertised excursions, and from the department of the missouri came sundry men, high in the councils of the war department, to see how well motor matt would meet the supreme test. on monday afternoon, after matt had finished a flight during which he had kept the _june bug_ almost level in the air, lieutenant cameron caught his hand in a convulsive grip. "i'm ready, matt," said he; "you've got the knack." chapter xiv. dastardly work. ping was a badly demoralized chinaman. he had watched, with soulful admiration, every flight matt had made; he had swelled out like a toad every time the work of his master was applauded in his hearing; and he crept around matt as though he was a joss--a wizard more superhuman than a mere mortal. but the _june bug_ seemed to have become a part of the chinaman. he gloated over it, he patted it affectionately, he crooned strange gibberish to it, and he kept watch of it while in the air and on the ground as though it was the apple of his eye. after matt had finished his last flight before the tuesday trials, ping crept off into the woods by himself, dipped some water into a small china bowl, and dropped into it a cake of india ink. then he stirred the ink until it was dissolved, found a big, smooth bowlder that answered for a table, and squatted down beside it. first, he placed the china bowl on the bowlder; next, he brought from the breast of his blouse a camel's-hair brush, and half a dozen strips of rice paper; then, on each strip of paper, he began painting potent prayers. having finished his peculiar labors, he threw the little bowl into the lake, hid the slips of rice paper under the bowlder, put the brush in his pocket, and sneaked back to camp traquair, arriving just in time for supper. that night matt went to bed early, and mcglory soon followed him. the _june bug_, drawn up to the left of the tent, looked like a ghost in the gathering dusk. around her were the four armed and alert guards. then, again, ping stole away to the bowlder. on its flat top he started a little fire of dried twigs, and one by one he dropped the slips of rice paper into the blaze. when the last prayer was consumed, and the fire had died down to a little heap of white ashes, ping felt that he had done everything possible to insure motor matt's safety and success. it was nearly midnight when he stole back toward camp traquair. he saw a little glow of light in the vicinity of the aëroplane, and he wondered what it could be. creeping forward, he investigated, and laughed at himself for his fears. the guards had secured a lantern, and, in its light, they were smoking and playing cards on a blanket. with the idea of curling up under one of the wings of the _june bug_ and passing the night near the machine, ping made a wide detour around the soldiers, and started toward the aëroplane from the other side. suddenly his attention was arrested by a crawling form moving back and forth, now showing darkly against the white canvas of the planes, and now vanishing in the deeper shadow under them. presently he heard a queer, rasping note, as of a file biting into steel. in a second he knew what was going on. siwash charley was meddling with the aëroplane--was weakening it here and there so that an accident would be certain on the following day. with his heart in his throat, the chinese boy arose to his feet, and started toward the soldiers, his lips framing a cry. but the cry was never uttered. ping had not taken two steps toward the guards before he was felled by a cruel blow from behind, and a black, impenetrable pall dropped over his brain. "begorry, what was thot?" exclaimed sergeant o'hara, starting up from his seat on the ground and looking toward the machine. "what's the matter with you, sarg?" asked one of the others. "i've a notion, d'ye moind, thot i heard somethin'," answered o'hara. "your wits are woolgatherin', old man," said another of the men. "i'll make sure av it, annyways," averred the sergeant. taking the lamp, he walked over to the aëroplane, and looked under it, inside it, and all around. "iverything's all roight, so far as i can see," he reported, coming back to his comrades, "but divil another card do i play this noight. to yer posts, iviry wan o' ye, an' we'll kape our eyes peeled. th' leftinnint an' motor matt sail in thot machine to-morrow, an' there's a rumor thot siwash charley was seen in divil's lake city th' day. cut out th' card playin', b'ys. we've done too much of it already." in the shadow of the woods, three men were carrying a senseless chinaman. "let's toss him inter the lake, siwash," suggested one of the men. "what's the good, hey?" answered siwash. "we'll rope an' gag him. he'll not be found till too late, an' mebby he'll never be found." "but if he saw you, an' recognized who ye was----" "he didn't; he didn't have time. put the ropes on him. twist a cloth into a gag, pete." "the lot o' us would swing fer this if it's ever found out," demurred pete. ping opened his eyes before the scoundrels had left him. he recognized siwash charley by his voice, and he saw his face by a ray of moonlight that drifted in among the trees. ping tried to cry out, but his lips were sealed; and he tried to use his hands and feet, but found them bound. with an inward groan, he sank back and the night of unconsciousness once more rolled over him. when he again revived, the sun was high, and there was a murmur of life from far off in the direction of camp traquair. he lay on his back, his face upward, and he could see the high bluffs of the lake, over toward the post. they were covered with people. what was the matter? he asked himself. how had he come there? why was he bound, and why was the cloth tied between his jaws? in a flash, his bewildered mind remembered all that had happened. he heard again the rasp of the file biting into steel; he recalled his suspicions, his attempt to cry out to the soldiers, the blow that had felled him; then, too, the moment of consciousness in the woods came back to him, bringing the raucous voice and ill-omened face of siwash charley. the aëroplane had been tampered with by motor matt's enemies! and this was tuesday, the day of the trials! if matt attempted to fly in the _june bug_, there would be an accident, and he would be killed! like a demon, the boy fought to free himself. he must get to camp traquair and tell what he had seen and heard. if he did not, the fiendish work of siwash charley would spell destruction for motor matt and the joss of the clouds. what passed in that little heathen's mind will never be known. he was a chinaman, and the workings of a chinaman's mind, while following the same lines as the workings of a caucasian's, are yet never quite the same. ping's fight with the cords that bound his wrists and ankles brought pain and drew blood, and his tongue, from a frenzied gnawing of the gag, was sore and swollen; but he could not free himself. siwash charley and his mates had performed their work only too well. in sheer desperation, ping attempted to roll in the direction of camp traquair. he got perhaps twenty feet over the sharp stones and rough tree-roots, and then his mind faded into an oblivion--quite as much the result of his own horrifying thoughts as of his physical pain and weakness. he awoke to hear cheers, and to piece together, once more, his battered notions of the trend of events. as he lay staring dumbly upward, he saw the cloud joss winging across the woods like a huge bird, high, very high in the air. motor matt was there, guiding the joss, and making it do his will; and beside motor matt was lieutenant cameron. only a moment did the aëroplane show itself to ping's restricted vision, and then the tops of the trees shut it from his sight. far away somewhere the helpless boy could hear wild cheering. what good were choice prayers, painted on rice paper, and burned to the heathen deities? this is what ping's bruised and quivering mind asked itself. by every means in his power, ping had tried to avert disaster. one prayer had been for a calm day. this seemed to have been answered, for there was hardly a breath stirring the tree tops. another prayer was for a safe start. that, likewise, must have been answered, or matt would not now be on the wing. yet another prayer was for the flying machine's safety while in the air; a fourth had been for the machinery; a fifth for the wings; a sixth for a safe descent; a seventh had been general in its terms, and had most to do with motor matt's fame and fortune after the trial was over. ping had burned no prayer for lieutenant cameron. in some manner, he could not understand how, the lieutenant had escaped his mind. while he lay there, miserably going over these heathen things which were all terribly real and important to him, a roar of fear, horror, and consternation came from the distance. turning his head a little, ping was able to see people scrambling over the bluffs, wildly excited. the accident had happened. with a groan, ping closed his eyes, and turned his face to the earth. chapter xv. the government trial. matt awoke, on that memorable tuesday, to find that fortune was favoring him with a clear sky and not enough wind to ripple the flag over the tent. mcglory greeted him in a strangely subdued manner. the cowboy had a lot on his mind, and matt rallied him about his odd reserve. "where's ping?" asked matt, noting that the little chinaman was not hovering around his vicinity as usual. "give it up, pard," said mcglory. "suppose he's off asking his joss to give you luck." people were already gathering on the bluffs, and rounding up in wagons and automobiles in the near vicinity of camp traquair. while matt was looking over the aëroplane, cameron brought several dignified, gold-laced officers, who had come from distant points to witness the trials. the lieutenant presented them, and the boyish, unaffected manner of the young motorist had a good effect on the representatives of the war department. "you understand, do you, motor matt," said one of these gentlemen, "that you are to stay aloft two hours, with one passenger, and travel at the rate of thirty miles an hour?" "yes, sir," answered matt. "i can stay aloft three hours just as well as two, and i think you will see the aëroplane do fifty miles instead of thirty." the officers smiled at his enthusiasm. but they liked it, for it proved that his heart was in his work. "don't push the machine too hard," counseled one of the officers. "i'll not do that, sir," said matt. "before i take up the lieutenant, i'll go up alone, to make sure that everything is working well. i have just found one of the propeller blades loosened--and that looks a good deal as though some one had been tampering with the machine. of course, however," he added, "that's impossible, for the aëroplane has been guarded night and day." "i'd wager my life on o'hara," put in cameron, confidently. "he had charge of last night's detail." as matt's examination went further, he found bolts loose, here and there. in fact, so many parts were weakened that the general result could hardly be called accidental. however, he liked o'hara, and did not want to overturn the lieutenant's trust in him. so, saying nothing, he went on carefully with his examination, tightening everything that was loose. at last he was satisfied that the aëroplane was in as good trim as ever. "i'm a little late in starting," said he to mcglory and cameron, "but it's always well to be on the safe side. be ready, old chap," he added to the lieutenant, "when i come back from this little trial spin." in a way that had become an old story to him and his friends, but which was intensely new and novel to nine out of every ten of the onlookers, matt started the _june bug_ along the road, lifted her into the air, and sailed her far out over the bluff and the lake. everything was working as well as usual. the air craft met the strain in every part, seemingly as staunch as she had always been. at a leisurely jog--just enough to keep the aëroplane afloat with the wings but slightly tilted--matt turned above the lake and glided back to his starting point. he had done no manoeuvring, attempted no speed, and had not tried to break his record for staying aloft. nevertheless, the military representatives were enthusiastic. "wait until you see matt put the machine through her paces," said the lieutenant, smiling confidently at his senior officer, as he took his place in the machine. two signal corps privates ran with the _june bug_ to give her a start. the added weight of the lieutenant made her a little slower in taking the air, and not quite so swift in mounting upward, but matt soon found that she was more easily managed with this additional ballast. "by jove," cried the lieutenant delightedly, "but this is fine! north dakota has turned out a lot of people to see this exhibition, matt. the bluffs are black with them, and everywhere you look you can see people with their faces upturned, either gaping in wonder or yelling with delight. hear 'em cheer! i should think it would make your blood tingle." "i haven't any time for all that," said matt, busy with his levers, and watching everything with a keen, alert eye; "i've got something else to keep track of. you're watching the time?" "yes. it was ten-fifteen when we started." matt slowly speeded up the engine. the route, as already determined on, was to be across devil's lake and back, and then to minnewaukon and back, going over the course as many times as he could during the two hours the aëroplane must stay in the air. at a height of fifty feet above the surface of the earth, their flight through the air became a swirling rush. at top speed--a speed which matt reckoned as fifty miles an hour--he made a wide, sweeping turn over the roof tops of devil's lake city, and plunged off across the lake. a frenzy of cheering arose from the bluffs and camp traquair as the aëroplane darted over them on her way to minnewaukon. "can't we go higher, matt?" begged the lieutenant. "we'll go higher after we make the turn over minnewaukon," matt replied. after that, cameron did not bother matt with questions. the young motorist's every faculty was wrapped up in his work. his ear alone told him how well the motor was doing, and his eyes, ears, and his sense of touch were brought into play in preserving the aëroplane's equilibrium. the merest rise of one wing caused a mechanical shifting of the lever on which matt constantly held his left hand. that left hand of the young motorist had been trained to its work in many an automobile race, and its quickness and cunning did not fail him now. there were some people still left in minnewaukon--not all the town's inhabitants had gone to the bluffs or to camp traquair. those that remained in the place assembled on the streets or on the roof tops, and cheered wildly as the aëroplane veered in a circle and rushed back toward totten. the official recorder was here, as in devil's lake city, noting the time, and jotting it down on a pad of paper. once turned toward camp traquair, matt sent the aëroplane resolutely upward. up and still up the craft glided, forced by the whirling propeller and supported by the air under the planes. "how high do you think we are now, cameron?" asked matt. "three hundred feet, i should say," replied cameron. "i guess that will do. it's easier sailing up here. the air close to the earth's surface is in a constant state of agitation, but at this height it's quieter. don't you notice how much smoother we're gliding?" "i've been noticing that," said cameron. "it's like a boat on a mill pond, only we're traveling like an express train." again they were over camp traquair, and again the wild cheering of the crowds reached their ears. they crossed the lake, turned, once more hovered over camp traquair, then glided downward to a height of a hundred feet, and rushed over the air line to minnewaukon. three times they made the round trip. as they were coming back from minnewaukon the third time, cameron looked at his watch. "the two hours are up, matt," he announced, "and i am almost sorry for it. we'd better go down. you have won the test on every point, and the sale of the aëroplane to the government is assured. if you had a hand free, i'd give you a hearty grip along with my congratulations." "keep that until we land," laughed matt. the cheering came up to them like bedlam let loose as they drew near camp traquair, and matt slackened the pace, preparatory to descending. then it was that the unexpected--so far as matt was concerned--happened. there came a snap like the crack of a pistol, and matt had a sudden vision of a writhing wire rope coiling viciously in the air. it missed him, but struck the lieutenant on the forehead. instinctively the lieutenant arose on the footboard, and tossed his arms. it was a fierce blow he had received, and unconsciousness had claimed him. staggering in midair, he would have tottered off into space had it not been for the king of the motor boys. quick as a flash, motor matt caught the lieutenant's arm just in time to keep him from falling. the accident was witnessed by the thousands of spectators gathered below. for an instant it seemed as though the fluttering aëroplane would be overturned and come rushing earthward; then, as the horrified people watched, the reeling lieutenant was dragged out of sight between the canvas planes, the aëroplane righted suddenly, glided downward, and dropped on her wheels in the road. matt's face was white, but his voice was steady as he called to those who were rushing toward the machine. "cameron is only stunned--he'll be all right in a little while. here, lift him out and lay him on the ground." one of the epauletted, gold-laced officers brushed a handkerchief across his forehead with a shaking hand. "if he lives," said the officer, "he'll owe his life to motor matt. i never saw anything like that before, and i hope i never shall again. gad, how it strains a man's nerves." when cameron was removed from the machine, matt passed to the forward planes and examined the end of the broken wire guy. "it was notched with a file," he asserted, "and for more than two hours cameron and i have been playing with death, hundreds of feet in the air." he passed rapidly to the wire stay supporting the forward planes on the opposite side. "this, also, is notched," he added. "if this guy had snapped, nothing could have saved us!" "what murderous scoundrel could have done it?" demanded a dozen fierce voices. "his name is siwash charley," said matt. "it must have been done last night. find the scoundrel, if you can; he should be made to answer for this." chapter xvi. fame--and a little fortune. "the returns are in from devil's lake city and minnewaukon. time, two hours and seven minutes. distance traveled, ninety miles. this was at the rate of a little less than forty-five miles an hour, and the government ought to be completely satisfied. i know i am. motor matt, allow me to congratulate you." one of the officers was doing the speaking. it was three hours after the sensational finish of the trial. the crowds had departed. mcglory, a few officers, cameron, and matt were in the tent at camp traquair. cameron, his head bandaged, was lying on a cot, but he was wide awake and smiling. "i knew he could do the trick," said cameron; "in fact, i've been confident of that ever since i saw him wabble around on his first flight with the aëroplane. what beats me, though, is how those ropes became notched." "sergeant o'hara thinks he knows how it happened," explained the officer who had read off the _june bug's_ record. "he and the other three guards were having a game of seven-up, last night, when they should have been giving their entire attention to watching the aëroplane. o'hara thought he heard a noise around the machine. he investigated, but found no cause for uneasiness. after that, o'hara declares, the card playing stopped; but, it now seems clear, the evil had already been done." "we don't know that this fellow calling himself siwash charley was the scoundrel who filed the guy ropes," spoke up another officer. "it's a positive certainty, in my own mind," declared cameron. "what your individual belief is, lieutenant, would hardly stand at a court-martial, or in a court of law." "that's true, yes, sir. siwash charley was seen in devil's lake city yesterday----" "circumstantial, but hardly conclusive. he can't be found now. fully a hundred men have been looking for him and are now on the trail, but siwash charley, if he was here, has vanished." "i'm too happy over the way everything came out," put in matt, "to waste any thoughts on siwash charley. the aëroplane has made good. there's no doubt about the sale to the government?" "not the slightest," came a chorus from the officers. "there can't possibly be, matt," added cameron. "that telegram of mine was sent to mrs. traquair?" matt went on. "it was sent from the post within half an hour after the aëroplane landed. by this time, mrs. traquair knows what motor matt has done for her." "it wasn't that that i wanted her to understand, but the fact that a little fortune had come to her, and that she was no longer in the clutches of that loan shark, murgatroyd." "she knows that, too. a little fortune, i understand, has also come to motor matt." "and more fame," put in mcglory, "than one modest young chap like my pard knows how to shoulder." "what little fortune there is," smiled matt, "is to be divided with my chum, joe mcglory, who was a bigger help to me than i imagine he realized. part of the fame should be his, too." "speak to me about that!" chuckled the cowboy. "fame! oh, yes, i ought to be plastered with it. why, i wouldn't have gone up in the _june bug_ for all the fame they tacked onto napoleon." there was a general laugh at this. "i wonder what's become of ping?" matt inquired anxiously. "it isn't like him to hide out on us, in this fashion. the last i saw of him was last night." "there is something queer about that," averred mcglory. "he ought to have been around to exult, ping had, and it's----" o'hara stuck his head in at the tent flap, just at that moment. "beggin' yer pardon, sors, but there's an injun just come, totin' a half-baked chink. do yez want thim insoide?" "sure!" cried matt. "send them in." a sioux indian, looking anything but the noble red man in his moccasins and coat, hat, and trousers, pigeon toed his way into the tent with a brief but respectful "how!" behind him, half carried and half dragged, came ping! the boy was a sight. he was bareheaded and barefooted; his usually neat blouse and baggy trousers were torn and soiled; his hands were bleeding, and there was a wild, despairing look on his yellow face. the wildness and the despair vanished, however, when he caught sight of matt. "by klismas!" he gurgled. "shiwas charley no killee motol matt? hoop-a-la!" and ping ran to matt and dropped down on his knees in front of him, hugging one of his hands in a maudlin expression of joy. "where have you been, ping?" asked matt. "allee same woods. shiwas makee tie hands and feet, stoppee talk with gag. whoosh! my thinkee you go topside, my no come tellee what shiwas do. velly bad pidgin!" then, little by little, matt got the whole story of ping's experience. "you are positive siwash charley was one of the men who knocked you down, here at the camp, and carried you into the woods?" asked matt. "my savvy shiwas plenty much," declared ping. "i guess there's our proof, gentlemen," said cameron. "siwash can't dodge that." "hardly," said one of the officers. "if siwash is caught, he'll be taken care of. what a dastardly piece of work! what made the fellow such an enemy of yours, matt?" "he was only a tool in the hands of another," said matt. "that other man was an enemy of traquair's, and the fellow didn't want the aëroplane to stand the test she faced to-day. the money mrs. traquair is to receive will enable her to pay a mortgage which this other scoundrel holds on a quarter section of land in wells county." "and all this double-dealing is about a mortgage on a quarter section of prairie land! it hardly seems possible." "there is something about that land i don't understand," admitted matt. "but that's the way the matter stands, anyhow, no matter what is back of the mortgage. the government, i presume," he added, "merely buys the aëroplane? what it pays for the machine isn't a purchase of traquair's patents?" "not at all," went on the officer who had been doing most of the talking. "the government simply buys this aëroplane, called the--er--the _june bug_--a name, by the way, which i don't fancy--and the government likewise secures the right to purchase any other aëroplane using the traquair patents, or to build such machines itself, paying traquair's heirs at law a royalty." "that," said matt, "is liable to make mrs. traquair a rich woman." "well, hardly, unless the government goes into the aëroplane business rather more extensively than i think. still, mrs. traquair should be assured of a modest competence, say, a hundred thousand dollars, or such a matter." mcglory reeled on his chair. "modest competence!" he gulped. "sufferin' poorhouses! why, mrs. traquair wouldn't know how to spend a quarter of that money. she----" "tillygram, sor," announced o'hara, again thrusting his head through the tent flap. "it jist came down from th' post an' has th' name av motor matt on th' face av ut." matt took the envelope and tore it open. his face crimsoned as he read, and he started to put the yellow slip away in his pocket. but mcglory grabbed it. "listen to this once," said he, and read aloud: "'how can a poor woman thank you for what you have done? you, and you alone, have saved poor harry traquair's wife and children from more bitterness and hardship than you will ever realize. god bless you! mrs. traquair.'" the end. the next number ( ) will contain motor matt's reverse; or, caught in a losing cause. plotters three--the new aeroplane--treachery and tragedy--murgatroyd's first move--a startling plan--the air-line into trouble--nothing doing in sykestown--brought to earth--the coil tightens--the door in the hillside--a revelation for matt--pecos takes a chance--besieged--the broker's game--cant phillips, deserter--the losing cause. motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction new york, august , . terms to motor stories mail subscribers. (_postage free._) single copies or back numbers, c. each. months c. months c. months $ . one year . copies one year . copy two years . =how to send money=--by post-office or express money-order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. at your own risk if sent by currency, coin, or postage-stamps in ordinary letter. =receipts=--receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. if not correct you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once. ormond g. smith, } george c. smith, } _proprietors_. street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york city. tricked by two. conclusion. neatly ensconced under the bed clothes, and with its horrible fleshless head laid in ghastly mockery upon his pillow, was a human skeleton. for a moment guy hereford stared at the hideous object. then recovering himself with a strong effort, he shouted violently for his boy rufus. the negro came into the room, showing a double row of magnificent ivories in a grin that stretched almost from ear to ear. "what does this mean, rufe?" demanded guy angrily, pointing to the skull on his pillow. "doan' you get excited, boss," said the nigger, still grinning. "i done dat. i been all day gettin' him. nebber had such a job in all my bawn days." "have you gone clean crazy?" cried guy in amazed perplexity. "no, sah. _dat you!_" was rufe's amazing reply. "doan' you be angry, boss," he went on hurriedly, as guy stepped suddenly toward him. "i done discovered a splendiferous plan to obfuscate dat dar deacon, and dat am part ob de invention. i tell you dat am you." guy was beyond speech. he could only gaze helplessly at the beaming face of the negro. rufus, proud as a peacock, condescended to explain. "it dis way, sah. you going to build a new house soon, ain't you?" "i was," replied guy gloomily. "dat all right, den. now, doan' you be down-hearted, sah. dis niggah bossing dis heah job." "for heaven's sake explain, rufe," exclaimed guy. "i goin' to, sah. it dis way. dis am de time for burning de woods, ain't it?" guy nodded. for the life of him he could not imagine what the man was driving at. "an' grass am good an' long right up to de back ob de garden?" "yes." "den dis my plan, sah. i set out fire in de woods to-night, set him in ten, twelve places. dere's a win' blowin' from de west. ef we doan' touch it de house burn down sure." he paused with an illuminating chuckle. light began to dawn on guy. "you mean," he said slowly, "that we're to burn down the shanty and make them think that i've burned in it. that skeleton's to be me." "you done hit de bull's face in once, sah!" cried the negro in high delight. "dat just de way i figure it out. in de morning dat no-'count deacon, he come round to see you an' find out if you done got de money for him. den he find nothin' but de burned-up house an' de burned-up bones." "'pon my soul, rufe, i believe it's workable," exclaimed guy, a light of hope appearing on his puzzled face. "in course it am workable, sah. deacon, he can't get no money from a daid man. dat one thing mighty sure!" "but won't he suspect anything?" suggested guy. "not if dis niggah still alive," declared rufe emphatically. "i tell you, marse guy, i goin' to do down dat man proper. he find me hyah, just a-howlin' and a-carryin' on ober dem ole bones, an' i tell him all about how de fire come in out ob de woods an' how it cotch de house, an' how i done try to pull you out. oh, i fool him 'to eights.'" guy couldn't help laughing. rufe's enjoyment over the prospective humbugging of deacon was so intense. "you see, marse guy," went on rufe eagerly, "deacon he be so glad to think you daid, he never bother to t'ink whether you foolin' him. he next heir, an' all he t'ink be to get de place an' all de t'ings dat belong to you. he nebber go to dat inquisition at all." "and what's to become of me in the meantime?" asked guy. "you got money, ain't you?" "yes, luckily i've got twenty dollars or so in the house." "well, dat all right. take de train an' go down to tampa on de gulf. swimmin' in de sea do you a power o' good, boss. i reckon you better take some oder name an' den walk down an' cotch de train at some place furder down de line dan pine lake." after a little more talk guy and his man settled up all the details. it was agreed that the house should be sacrificed, and that guy himself should temporarily disappear and go down to tampa. after the inquest on blissett, rufe was to write to him there at the post office and tell him how things turned out. the worst of it was that dandy had to be left behind. it would arouse suspicion if the pony were taken away. but guy, who was anxious above all things that his horse should not fall into deacon's hands, even for a few days, thought of a way out of the difficulty. he gave rufe a note for his wages for two months, and told him that on the following day he was to go into pine lake and file a lien on the pony for his pay. then the two set to work to take guy's few articles of value out of the shanty and hide them. this they did by rolling them in a big rubber blanket and burying them in the dry, sandy soil in the orange grove. this took some little time, and it was nearly eleven o'clock when guy was at last ready to go. "now, mind you, rufe," were his last words to the negro, "don't you overdo it, and don't let deacon see that you hate him. a little soft sawder won't do any harm." "doan' you worry your haid, boss," replied rufe consolingly. "i reckon i keep up my end agains' deacon or any of dem folk. to-morrow, after i seen deacon, i go to pine lake an' hear de inquest on blissett. den i write an' tell you all dat happen." guy nodded. "i shall be desperately anxious to hear the verdict," he said. "if deacon doesn't give evidence, the worst they're likely to return is manslaughter." "doan' you worry, boss," said rufe confidently. "i reckon it am going to be 'justificational homeyside.' deacon, he won't give no evidence. he be too busy gettin' ready to move over heah." "only hope so," said guy. "now, good-by, rufe. remember all i've told you." master and man shook hands, and guy, slinging a small bag across his shoulder on a stick, walked away from the shanty which had been his only home for four long years of hard work and happiness, and disappeared into the forest. he had not gone far before a flickering glow gleamed redly on the serried ranks of tall, straight trunks. he turned. half a dozen pin points of fire were visible on the far side of the clearing. they grew rapidly, and presently the night sky was all aglow with leaping tongues of flame. the soft breeze which soughed through the tops of the pines sent the flames sweeping down upon the little house, which stood a squat, black mass between the watcher and the blaze behind. fascinated by the sight, guy stood motionless, watching the destruction sweep upon his home. the many little fires joined forces, and guy could plainly hear the roar and crackle as the tall, dry grass burst into hissing sparks. there was little chance of any one interfering to save the house. now that blissett was dead guy had no neighbor within a mile, and in the spring of the year fires are too frequent in the florida woods for any one to pay attention. the cattlemen are always busy burning off the old grass to get fresh pasture for their herds. now the whole sky was alight, and the blaze illuminated the sleeping woods far and near. red-hot sparks were falling like rain upon the shingle roof of the cabin. another minute, and little streaks of red fire were winding like snakes about the eaves. "she's going," muttered guy sorrowfully. yes, once the fire got hold of the sun-dried pine of which the house was built the flames rushed up in great leaping columns. the place burned like a tar barrel, and the glow became so intense that guy shrank away further into the woods for fear of being observed by any one who might possibly have been attracted by the blaze. still he could not tear himself away from the sight of the destruction of his old home. sheltering behind a huge pine trunk, he watched till, with a loud crash and a hurricane of sparks, the roof fell in, and of the shanty no more remained than a shapeless pile. with a deep sigh guy hereford turned away, and never stopped until at four o'clock in the morning he boarded the south-bound mail train at the small wayside station of kissochee. * * * * * "any letter for george hatfield?" the smart clerk took up a bundle of letters, ran them rapidly through, and flung them down. "nope!" guy hereford's face fell. "quite sure?" he asked. the clerk glared. "what do you think?" he asked sharply, and the other turned slowly away. "what's happened?" he thought uneasily. "why hasn't rufe written?" he was hardly outside the post office before a bare-legged nigger boy thrust a paper in his face. "here y'are, boss. _tampa sentinel!_ all de details ob de horrific tragedy up in orange county." guy grabbed a paper, shoved a quarter into the astonished youngster's hand, and, without waiting for change, was off like a shot. he reached his room in the boarding house where he had put up, and tore the paper open. yes, here it was--a whole column! "strange double tragedy near pine lake! well-known cattleman killed. his nearest neighbor burned to death. two inquests in one day." so much for the headlines. guy gave a deep sigh of relief. "nothing about murder, anyhow," he muttered. then he began to read rapidly. slowly his expression of anxiety changed to relief, and then to amusement. finally he burst into a fit of laughter. "fine! dandy!" he cried. "my good oliver, you are a peach, and no mistake. this is the absolute limit." and dropping the paper he lay back in his chair and laughed till the tears rolled down his cheeks. "dat am too bad, marse guy. i nebber t'ink you heah it all from dat fool newspaper." the deep voice made guy fairly jump. springing to his feet he swung round, and there was rufe, dressed in his best sunday-go-to-meeting clothes, and with an expression of deep annoyance on his ebony face. "you rufe?" "yes, sah. i come down all de way by de train to tell you de news, an' now dat blame paper done tole you de whole t'ing." "not a bit of it, rufe. it hasn't told me half. if you hadn't turned up i should have taken the next train back to see you and find out just what has happened. tell me, is deacon in possession?" rufe, somewhat mollified, grinned. "yes, boss, he dar right enough. he camping in de stable." "hasn't got dandy, i hope?" put in guy anxiously. "no, sah. dandy in de libery stable at pine lake." "that's all right. now go on. tell me what happened. did he come over yesterday morning?" "yes, sah; he come ober about ten. an' you ought to hab seen his face when he foun' de house burned!" "he asked for me, i suppose?" "yes, he done ask for you at once, an' i show him de bones, an' tell him you all burned up. fust he look flabbergasted, den he sort o' chuckle, and i feel like whanging him one ober de haid." "what happened then?" "he act like he think he boss an' i his niggah. he tell me go get a wagon an' carry de bones into pine lake. say it sabe trouble hab one inquisition 'stead ob two. i act meek, an go borrow a spring wagon an' hitch dandy up, an' we take de bones in, an' he tell de sheriff. i t'ink dat sheriff kind ob like you, marse guy. he mighty worried. den he say; 'quite right. hab one inquisition on bofe de bodies.'" "did you go, rufe?" "you bet i go, boss. firs' dey hab blissett's body. all dem cracker chaps look at de haid, an' deacon he gib evidence an say he seen it all. he say dat blissett done tried to shoot you, and you didn't hab no pistol, but you was real brave an' ride hard at him, an' knock him off de hawse, an' de hawse kick him an' run away into de woods." rufe stopped to chuckle at the remembrance. guy laughed too. he quite understood deacon's motive. his cousin wanted to pose in a good light before the jury, so that there could be no chance of suspicion falling on him that he was implicated in his--guy's--death. "den de sheriff he get up an' say dat you was a very nice gen'elman," went on rufe, "an' dat mistah deacon's evidence was very straight, an' dat dere was only one verdict for dem to give, an' dat he left de matter in dere hands. "so dey just talk a bit among demselves, an' den de foreman, old abe mizell, he get up and say dat dey was all agreed dat harvey blissett was killed 'cause his skull not so hard as de heel ob his hawse. "den dey hab de bones in, an' i gib evidence." rufe swelled with pride. "what did you say, rufe?" "dey ask me if i could 'dentify dem dere bones. i say i reckon dey mus' be you's, 'cause i find 'em in among de cinders ob your bed. i couldn't sw'ar, i tole 'em, because i warn't dar when it happens. i tell 'em i coming home from courting my gal, an' see de fire an' run; but t'ain't no good. i too late. all burned up before i get dar. anyhow, i ain't seed you since." "so they gave it accidental death?" "yes, sah. dat's what dey said, and said dey was sorry, 'cause you was a promising young gen'elman." "and what did deacon do?" anxiously inquired guy. "he go round to de record office to get your land put in his name," chuckled rufe. "den i see him ride out on a libery stable hawse." guy roared. "i reckon it going to be de wors' shock he ebber get in his life when you rides up to de ole place," remarked rufe presently. "i rather expect it will," replied guy feebly, wiping his eyes. "come on, rufe. there's a train back at twelve-thirty. just time for dinner, and then the sooner we're home again the better." guy's first task, when he arrived at pine lake, was to call on anderson the sheriff. anderson, who was fat and fifty, went positively purple at sight of the man upon whom he had held an inquest! guy told him the whole story, all about the quarrel between himself and blissett, about deacon's threats and rufe's plan. the only thing he did not mention was the fact that deacon had stolen and sold blissett's horse. anderson listened first in amazement, then with amusement, and finally went off into a fit of laughter. "that rufe's a wonder," he said. "i didn't reckon there was a nigger in florida with that much sense. but, look here, young fellow, you've been taking mighty big liberties with the law. according to law you're dead, and buried, too. what d'ye reckon we're going to do about that?" "don't know, i'm sure, mr. anderson. that's what i came to you about," replied guy coolly. "reckoned i could fix it for you, eh?" there was a sly twinkle in old anderson's eyes. "i guess i'll have to try. but, say, don't you go wasting time in here. ef that thar cousin o' yours hears as you ain't as dead as he hed supposed, chances are he'll be getting his gun." "all right, sheriff," said guy. "i'll get along. i am under obligations to you about the business. i'm afraid it's given you a lot of bother." "i ain't kicking," said anderson dryly. "the state pays my fees for an inquest. good-by." ten minutes later guy and rufe were in a hired buggy, with dandy in the shafts, spinning lightly homeward over the sandy roads. it was dusk when they reached the gate. "so you've brought the horse back," came a sharp voice as rufe pulled up in front of the stable. "a mighty good job you did. take him out and tie him up. then you can sling your hook as fast as you like." "what for should i git from my boss' land?" asked rufe with such a delightfully innocent air that guy, close by under a tree, almost laughed out loud. "git!" deacon roared, "or by----" a muscular hand gripped him by the back of the neck, and cut short his sentence. deacon squirmed round. his eyes fell on guy hereford; he gave a scream like a woman's, and dropped as if he'd been shot in the head. "now, oliver," said guy quietly. "perhaps you'll be good enough to explain what the thunder you mean by coming and camping on my property." the man rose slowly to his feet, and his eyes were venomous. "so you tricked me," he ground out between clinched teeth. "well, i rather think we did. rufe and i between us," replied guy coolly. deacon burst into a storm of furious invective. he cursed guy by everything he could think of. at last he wound up. "you needn't think you've got the best of me. i'll raise the country against you. they'll have to have one inquest over again. i'll see they have both. i don't care what happens to me. i'll see you hung yet. i swear it." guy waited until the other stopped, exhausted. then he said very quietly: "oliver, what's the punishment for horse stealing? five years' penitentiary, isn't it? i think that's the minimum." it was quite enough. deacon went white as ashes. "listen to me," said guy with sudden sternness. "if you're anywhere in orange county this time to-morrow i'll denounce you for stealing and selling harvey blissett's horse." without another word deacon slunk off into the gloom. guy never again set eyes upon him, for less than six months later the ruffian was killed in a brawl with a cuban cigar maker. idaho to feed elks. an effort will be made by the state to prevent as far as possible a repetition of the wanton destruction of large numbers of elk which took place in fremont county last winter. the animals had been driven by extreme hunger to approach the settlements, and, weak from starvation and struggling in the unusually deep snow when they reached the lowlands, were killed and skinned. in many cases, reduced to mere skeletons, their meat could not be used. the idea of the game warden is to arrange if possible to have cheap hay shipped into the country where the elk abound and place it where the animals, when their natural food supply gives out, will be able to find food. several of the ranches in the elk country have put out hay for the animals for a number of years, and they have not been long in locating it when the snow gets deep in the hills. in this manner they are enabled to keep in good condition throughout the winter, and when spring arrives return to their usual haunts. the eastern part of the state forms the principal range for these animals which the authorities are endeavoring to protect from the pot hunters and specimen seekers. stringent laws have been enacted, which, if carried out, will go a great way toward protecting the king of north american game animals. noisy avians. the bellbird, which makes perhaps, in its natural state, the greatest noise of any known avian, is found both in south america and certain parts of africa. its voice will carry on a still day a distance of quite three miles. its note is like the tolling of a distant church bell, and is uttered during the heat of the day, when every other bird has ceased to sing and nature is hushed in silence. the hornbill, a bird which is widely distributed in india, the malay archipelago, and africa, has also a very loud note. its call has been described as "between the shriek of a locomotive and the bray of a donkey," and can be heard a distance of a couple of miles. fish that cannot swim. more than one species of fish that cannot swim are known to naturalists. perhaps the most singular of these is the maltha, a brazilian fish, whose organs of locomotion only enable it to crawl or walk or hop. the anterior (pectoral) fins of the maltha, which are quite small, are not capable of acting on the water, but can only move backward and forward, having truly the form of thin paws. both these and the ventral and anal fins are very different from the similar fins in other fishes, and could not serve for swimming at all. other examples of non-swimming fishes include the sea-horse, another most peculiarly shaped inhabitant of the sea, and the starfish. latest issues buffalo bill stories the most original stories of western adventure. the only weekly containing the adventures of the famous buffalo bill. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --buffalo bill and old weasel-top; or, the man from nowhar. --buffalo bill's steel arm pard; or, old weasel-top's mission. --buffalo bill's aztec guide; or, the white indian. --buffalo bill and little firefly; or, playing with death. --buffalo bill in the aztec city; or, little firefly's friendship. --buffalo bill's balloon escape; or, out of the grip of the great swamp. --buffalo bill and the guerrillas; or, the flower girl of san felipe. --buffalo bill's border war; or, the mexican vendetta. --buffalo bill's mexican mix-up; or, the bullfighter's defiance. --buffalo bill and the gamecock; or, the red trail on the canadian. --buffalo bill and the cheyenne raiders; or, the spurs of the gamecock. --buffalo bill's whirlwind finish; or, the gamecock wins. brave and bold weekly all kinds of stories that boys like. the biggest and best nickel's worth ever offered. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --three brave boys; or, adventures in the balloon world. by frank sheridan. --archie atwood, champion; or, an all-around athlete's career. by cornelius shea. --dick stanhope afloat; or, the eventful cruise of the _elsinore_. by harrie irving hancock. --working his way upward; or, from footlights to riches. by fred thorpe. --the fourteenth boy; or, how vin lovell won out. by weldon j. cobb. --among the nomads; or, life in the open. by the author of "through air to fame." --bob, the acrobat; or, hustle and win out. by harrie irving hancock. --through the earth; or, jack nelson's invention. by fred thorpe. --the boy chief; or, comrades of camp and trail. by john de morgan. --smart alec; or, bound to get there. by weldon j. cobb. --climbing up; or, the meanest boy alive. by harrie irving hancock. --comrades three; or, with gordon keith in the south seas. by lawrence white, jr. --a young snake-charmer; or, the fortunes of dick erway. by fred thorpe. motor stories the latest and best five-cent weekly. we won't say how interesting it is. see for yourself. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --motor matt's daring rescue; or, the strange case of helen brady. --motor matt's peril; or, castaway in the bahamas. --motor matt's queer find; or, the secret of the iron chest. --motor matt's promise; or, the wreck of the _hawk_. --motor matt's submarine; or, the strange cruise of the _grampus_. --motor matt's quest; or, three chums in strange waters. --motor matt's close call; or, the snare of don carlos. --motor matt in brazil; or, under the amazon. --motor matt's defiance; or, around the horn. --motor matt makes good; or, another victory for the motor boys. --motor matt's launch; or, a friend in need. --motor matt's enemies; or, a struggle for the right. --motor matt's prize; or, the pluck that wins. --motor matt on the wing; or, flying for fame and fortune. _for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address on receipt of price, cents per copy, in money or postage stamps, by_ street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york =if you want any back numbers= of our weeklies and cannot procure them from your newsdealer, they can be obtained from this office direct. fill out the following order blank and send it to us with the price of the weeklies you want and we will send them to you by return mail. =postage stamps taken the same as money.= ________________________ _ _ _street & smith, - seventh avenue, new york city._ _dear sirs: enclosed please find_ ___________________________ _cents for which send me_: tip top weekly, nos. ________________________________ nick carter weekly, " ________________________________ diamond dick weekly, " ________________________________ buffalo bill stories, " ________________________________ brave and bold weekly, " ________________________________ motor stories, " ________________________________ _name_ ________________ _street_ ________________ _city_ ________________ _state_ ________________ a great success!! motor stories every boy who reads one of the splendid adventures of motor matt, which are making their appearance in this weekly, is at once surprised and delighted. surprised at the generous quantity of reading matter that we are giving for five cents; delighted with the fascinating interest of the stories, second only to those published in the tip top weekly. matt has positive mechanical genius, and while his adventures are unusual, they are, however, drawn so true to life that the reader can clearly see how it is possible for the ordinary boy to experience them. _here are the titles now ready and those to be published_: --motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. --motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. --motor matt's century run; or, the governor's courier. --motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the "comet." --motor matt's mystery; or, foiling a secret plot. --motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear. --motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto. --motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward. --motor matt's air ship; or, the rival inventors. --motor matt's hard luck; or, the balloon house plot. --motor matt's daring rescue; or, the strange case of helen brady. --motor matt's peril; or, cast away in the bahamas. --motor matt's queer find; or, the secret of the iron chest. --motor matt's promise; or, the wreck of the "hawk." --motor matt's submarine; or, the strange cruise of the "grampus." --motor matt's quest; or, three chums in strange waters. --motor matt's close call; or, the snare of don carlos. --motor matt in brazil; or, under the amazon. --motor matt's defiance; or, around the horn. --motor matt makes good; or, another victory for the motor boys. to be published on july th. --motor matt's launch; or, a friend in need. to be published on july th. --motor matt's enemies; or, a struggle for the right. to be published on july th. --motor matt's prize; or, the pluck that wins. to be published on august nd. --motor matt on the wing; or, flying for fame and fortune. price, five cents at all newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, by the publishers upon receipt of the price. street & smith, _publishers_, new york transcriber's notes: added table of contents. italics are represented with _underscores_, bold with =equal signs=. replaced oe ligatures with "oe" (ligatures retained in html version). page , corrected "tranquair" to "traquair" ("keep matt from flying the traquair"). page , added missing open quote before "rather a peculiar way." changed single quote to double quote before "no, there is no way out." page , added missing quote after "yes, yes." page , corrected "mat" to "matt" ("matt, taking from his pocket"). added missing apostrophe to "well, i haven't got it." page , changed single to double quote after "destroy that aëroplane?" page , added missing "with" to "'i'll go with you,' said cameron promptly." removed unnecessary comma from "my lad." page , changed "suspicious" to "suspicions" ("recalled his suspicious"). page , changed "forune" to "fortune" ("little forune had come to her"). in "noisy avians," changed "can be heard" to "can be heard." courtesy of the digital library@villanova university (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction no. feb. , . five cents motor matt the king of the wheel by stanley r. matthews. [illustration: a thousand dollars if you stop that boy! shouted the man in the back of the touring-car] motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction _issued weekly. by subscription $ . per year. entered according to act of congress in the year , in the office of the librarian of congress, washington, d. c., by_ street & smith, _ - seventh avenue, new york, n. y._ no. . new york, february , . price five cents. motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. by stanley r. matthews. contents chapter i. bad blood. chapter ii. the unexpected. chapter iii. dace shows his hand. chapter iv. welcome shows his hand--with something in it. chapter v. dace perry's craftiness. chapter vi. the try-out. chapter vii. the major's surprise. chapter viii. the rabbitt's foot. chapter ix. matt shows his colors. chapter x. a challenge. chapter xi. foul play. chapter xii. cool villainy. chapter xiii. the bluebell. chapter xiv. coming of the "comet." chapter xv. the flight of the "comet." chapter xvi. motor matt, king of the wheel! the man-hunter. the rat crusade. chapter i. bad blood. "hello, peaches!" the girl in the calico dress turned quickly. there was a startled look in her brown eyes, and she drew back a little from the gate. the laughing words had been flung at her breathlessly by a boy who was trotting along the road--a boy in running-togs with "p. h. s." in red letters across the breast of his white shirt. he came from the north, and the girl had been leaning upon the gate and looking south, across the bridge that spanned the canal and led into the town of phoenix. "i--i don't think i know you," murmured the girl, a look of repugnance crossing her brown, pretty face. "yes, you do," panted the boy, swinging in toward the gate and coming to a halt. "sure you know me." catching hold of the gate-palings he steadied himself and grinned in a manner which he must have thought engaging. "why, you've seen me a dozen times, anyhow. take another look." after stealing a furtive glance at him the girl took a step backward. "i've seen you, yes," she said quietly, "but i don't know you--and i don't think i care to know you." "don't jump at conclusions like that," the boy went on with a cool laugh. "you're old mcready's girl, susie, and i'm--well, right here's where i introduce myself. i'm dace perry, captain of the high school cross-country team. had the boys out for a practise run this morning, and as i'm 'way in the lead of all of them except clipperton, i reckon i'll linger in this fair spot until they come up. don't be so bashful, susie; i won't bite, honest." "i'm not afraid of your biting, dace perry," answered susie with a flirt of the head. "if all i've heard of you is true, you're more given to barking than anything else." temper flashed an instant in the boy's sloe-black eyes, giving an ugly hint of the darker side of his character. when the anger faded an unpleasant crafty look was left on his face. "you can't believe all you hear, and not more than half you see," he remarked. "where's nutmegs? i know him." "there's no such person as 'nutmegs,'" answered the girl tartly. "if you mean my brother, mark, he's in his laboratory down by the canal." perry stared a moment, then gave vent to an amused whistle. "laboratory, eh? well, that's a good one, susie. where's the reformed road-agent? is he in the laboratory joint, too?" "no, welcome has gone into town, but i can call mark if you----" "no, don't call him, susie," interrupted perry. "i've got something to tell you about matt king. say, i thought that would make you open your eyes. i reckon you don't think much of matt king, eh?" vivid color mantled the girl's cheeks. "matt is a chum of mark's, and a good friend of mine," she answered, "and everybody says he's the best all-around athlete in the high school. major woolford has picked him to represent the athletic club in the bicycle races with prescott and----" "king has got to make good at the try-out first," scowled perry. "he'll do that, all right," averred susie. "i guess there's no doubt about his being able to beat _you_." "if what i've heard about him is true," continued perry, "i reckon he won't have anything to do with the try-out, or with the race, either." sudden interest flashed in susie's face. "what have you heard?" she demanded curiously. so deeply concerned was she in this information about matt king which perry professed to have acquired, that she stepped eagerly to the gate. this was what perry had been waiting for. susie mcready had jarred his vanity and his temper several times during their brief interview, and it was his nature to try to "play even." his idea of squaring accounts with the girl was directly in line with his low ideals and his insolent nature. leaning forward quickly perry flung one arm about the girl's neck. "i reckon you'll know me after this," cried perry, and attempted to give the struggling girl a kiss. unseen by either of the two at the gate, a boy had glided noiselessly toward them on a wheel. he came from the direction of town and, as he crossed the bridge and saw susie and dace perry, an inkling of the situation at the gate darted through his mind, and caused him to put more power into the pedals. suddenly the captain of the cross-country team was caught from behind and hurled backward with such force that he measured his length on the ground. "oh, matt, matt!" exclaimed susie. "what's the matter with you?" snarled perry, quickly regaining his feet. his face was black with rage and he stepped toward matt with doubled fists. "i guess there's nothing much the matter with me," answered matt coolly, "but you're a good deal of a cur, dace perry." "what do you mean by butting in here like that?" fumed perry, anything but logical now that anger had got the whip-hand of him. "that's the way i was raised," answered matt. "i reckon the way you was raised gave somebody a lot of trouble," sneered perry. "well, you can bet i'm going to give somebody a lot of trouble if susie is bothered any more." "you're swaggering around with a chip on your shoulder all the time, ain't you?" "not so you can notice it," laughed matt, "but you'll always find a chip on my shoulder when a fellow acts like you were doing just now." "oh, punk!" dace perry changed his mind about wanting to fight and backed off down the road. "this isn't the end of our little ruction, matt king. i'll give you the double-cross yet, see if i don't!" "so-long!" answered matt. perry shook his fist, looked northward along the road in the evident hope of locating some of his team, then turned disappointedly and sprinted for the bridge. "i was never so glad of anything in my life, matt," breathed susie, "as to have you get here just when you did." "i'm a little bit tickled myself, susie," laughed matt, picking up his wheel and standing it alongside the fence, "but i guess perry won't trouble you any more." "i hate him!" cried susie, stamping her foot. "he's never been a friend of mark's, nor of yours, either, matt." "i guess mark won't lose any sleep over that, and i know i won't." "all the same, matt, you'd better look out for him. a coward who fights you behind your back is more to be feared than a braver enemy who faces you in the open." "that's a cinch. but let's forget dace perry for a while and think of something more pleasant. where's chub, susie?" before the girl could answer, a husky voice was wafted toward the two from along the road. "oh, a bold, bad man was this desperado, an' he blowed inter town like an ole tornado-- ta-rooral--ooral--ay!" susie and matt looked in the direction from which this burst of melody--if such it could be called--proceeded. an old man with a wooden leg was approaching, keeping the tempo of his song with jabs of the pin that took the place of his right foot. "here's welcome perkins," said matt, with a broad smile, leaning back against the gate-post and fixing his eyes on the old man. "he's been to town after something for mark," returned susie. welcome perkins, otherwise peg-leg perkins, otherwise the "reformed road-agent," always reminded matt of a picture out of a comic supplement. he was little, and wizened, and old--just how old no one knew, but it was popularly supposed that he was somewhere around seventy. he had a pair of the mildest washed-out blue eyes ever set in a man's head, notwithstanding the fact that he was constantly asserting that he had passed his early life as a "pirate of the plains"; and displayed with pride an old, played-out six-shooter whose hand-grip was covered with notches--notches that made welcome sigh and grow pensive every time he looked at them. welcome averred that he was trying to live down his lawless past, but that his roaring, rampant, untamed disposition made the effort a struggle and a burden. the old man wore a long and particularly vicious-looking mustache, which he was constantly training upward at the ends in order to make it even more desperate in appearance. his scanty gray locks were allowed to grow long, and they were surmounted with an old sombrero, always carefully whacked into the regulation denver "poke." his ragged blue shirt was drawn in at the waist with a u. s. army belt, from which depended a holster containing the notched and useless weapon already mentioned. _chaparrejos_, or "chaps," which, like their owner, had seen better days--or worse and more lawless ones if welcome's word was to be taken--covered his left lower extremity and all that was left of his right. the right leg of the chaps was cut away at the knee in order to give freer play to the wooden pin. silas mcready, the father and sole remaining parent of susie and mark, was a prospector, and constantly in the hills. welcome was an old-time friend of silas, and for years had been fastened upon the mcready household like a barnacle. "howdy, pard!" roared welcome as he drew near the gate and reached out his hand. "it's plumb good for a ole outlaw like me to grip a honest pa'm. it helps to make me fergit what i was and to brace up an' be what i ort. i'm a horrible example o' what happens to a man when he cuts loose in his youth an' bloom an' terrorizes all outdoors--but i can't begin to tell ye how pacifyin' to my reckless natur' is the grip of a honest hand." "then give it a good grip, welcome," grinned matt. "i'd hate to have you get turbulent and go on the war-path. if a man of your age----" welcome, still holding matt's hand, allowed his eyes to wander along the road to the northwest. suddenly the weather-beaten, leathery face grew stern and the faded eyes snapped. "scud for the house, you two!" yelled welcome; "scud! trouble's a-tearin' down on us out o' the hills, an' here's whar eagle-eye perkins, pirate o' the plains, gets busy!" the old man threw himself on matt and pushed him through the gate. in his excitement, the strap that secured the wooden pin to welcome's stump of a leg, broken and mended times out of mind, gave way and dropped welcome into the yard behind matt and susie. the eagle-eyed defender paid no attention to his fall, but as the gate swung shut drew himself up against the palings and jerked his obsolete weapon clear of the holster. "put your trust in eagle-eye perkins," he called valiantly to matt and susie; "if them red demons get at ye they walks over me to do it!" chapter ii. the unexpected. welcome perkins was as full of vagaries as a moving-picture show is full of trouble. although he proudly referred to himself as "eagle-eye," yet his sight was none too good, even when he had on his spectacles. matt and susie, standing in the background, laughed as half a dozen puffing boys in sleeveless white shirts, running-pants and spiked shoes came abreast of the gate and straggled on toward the bridge. when the last one had flickered out of sight, welcome muttered under his breath, sat upon the ground and began tinkering with the broken strap of his wooden leg. "all-fired queer," said he, "how my mind's allers a-huntin' trouble that-away. 'course if i'd a-had them spectacles on my nose i might have seen that them was runners from the high school, but i only ketched the flash o' them red letters on their white shirts, an' i jest up an' thinks o' injuns right off. it's the ole sperrit b'ilin' around inside me, i reckon, an' i'm afeared it'll make me do somethin' yet that i'll be sorry for. i used to be a powerful man in a tussle." welcome pulled at the mended strap and got the wooden leg back in place; then he picked up the old weapon and matt helped him to his feet. "it must be awful," said matt, with a sly look at susie, "to have the disposition of a royal bengal tiger and forced to keep a muzzle on it all the time." "tur'ble," answered the old man with a gruesome shake of the head; "i can't begin to tell ye how tur'ble onhandy i find it oncet in a while," and with that he started off toward the back yard. "welcome is as jolly as a show," laughed matt. "it's a mighty good thing that old pop-gun of his is harmless. if it wasn't for that he might make a mistake some time that would be anything but pleasant. it's a cinch he's an old false-alarm, but there's always a possibility that he'll explode by accident and do damage. where did you say my pal chub was?" "in his laboratory," said susie. "he sent welcome to town after something, and i guess the old humbug has gone to the laboratory with it." "what's chub trying to invent now?" queried matt, as he and susie started around the house on the trail of perkins. "i think it's smokeless powder," replied susie. "great hanky-pank!" gasped matt. "why, that's already been invented. besides, susie, chub hadn't ought to be fooling around with stuff like that." the back yard of the mcready home stretched down to the cottonwoods that fringed the bank of the canal. here, in an old poultry-house, mark, otherwise "chub" mcready, did most of his experimenting. a dozen feet from the "laboratory" was a tall pole rising some forty feet from the ground and overtopping the trees. at its lofty extremity was an arm with the tip of a lightning-rod swinging downward from its outer end. "how's the wireless working, susie?" asked matt as they moved toward the canal. "mark got a spark from the bluebell mine last night," said susie; "just one flash, that's all. after that something seemed to go wrong. that's generally the way with mark's inventions, matt. i wish he'd stop fooling away his time; but, even if his time isn't valuable, there's always the expense. welcome encourages him, though, and furnishes most of the money. i wonder where welcome gets it?" "welcome's a sly old possum in spite of his foolishness, and it's my opinion he's got a stake settled away somewhere. this wireless-telegraph experimenting is harmless enough, but i'm dutch if i think it's the right thing for chub to tamper with this smokeless-powder idea. something might happen, and----" just then something _did_ happen, something that was clearly not down on the program. there was a muffled roar from the laboratory, followed by a burst of smoke from the door and the open window. with a wild yell, welcome perkins rolled through the window, heels--or heel--over head. he was on fire in several places. a chunky, red-haired boy came through the door as though he had been shot out of a cannon. this was chub, and he was badly singed. "whoo!" yelled chub, coming to a dazed halt and rubbing one hand across his eyes. "that was a corker, though. i guess something went crossways. say, perk! hold up there, perk!" welcome perkins had scrambled erect and was stumping along for the canal like a human meteor. he was carrying his hat and seemed to think his life depended on getting where he was going in the shortest possible time. without waiting to explain matters to matt and susie, chub darted after welcome. "goodness' sakes," screamed susie, "the laboratory is burning up!" "small loss if it does burn up," answered matt, "but we'd better do what we can to put out the fire and keep sparks away from the house." matt ran swiftly into the kitchen of the adobe house, picked up a bucket of water and darted back toward the laboratory. there was a good deal of smoke, but not very much fire, and the single pail of water was enough to quench the flames. but the interior of the laboratory was completely wrecked. "there'll be no conflagration, susie," announced matt, coming out of the place and joining the girl near the door. "chub was a lucky boy to get out of that mess as well as he did. let's hike for the canal and see what he and welcome are doing." "mark might have killed himself," said susie, half sobbing with the strain her nerves had undergone, "and he might have killed welcome, too. he's got to stop this foolish experimenting. you tell him, matt, won't you?" "you can bet i'll do what i can, susie," answered matt; "i don't want chub to blow himself up. if welcome furnishes the money, though, i don't just see how we're going to keep chub from furnishing the time for all this fool investigating. the thing to do is to find where welcome keeps his grub-stake and take it away from him." when susie and matt reached the canal there was a spirited dispute going on between chub and welcome. the latter, from his appearance, must have jumped into the canal and extinguished the flames that had fastened upon his clothes, for he was as wet as a drowned rat. "perk," chub was shouting, "i told you to get alcohol, _alcohol_! what was it you brought back?" "no sich of a thing!" whooped welcome, jumping up and down in his excitement and raining water over everybody. "sulfuric acid, that there's what ye said--an' that there's what i got." "and there was me," snorted chub, "trying to mix sulfuric acid with gunpowder. say, perk!" "wow! talk to yerself, talk to anybody else, but don't ye talk to me. i've had plenty, i have. look! everythin' i got's sp'iled." "perk," counseled chub, "you jump into the canal again and stay there." "jump in yerself--yah! i'm goin' out inter the hills an' hold up stages an' things jest like i useter do--an' it's you what's driv' me to it. thar's somethin' for ye to think of when ever'body's huntin' me an' thar's a price on my head an' i ain't got no place to go. when that thar time comes, chub mcready, jest remember it was you driv ole welcome perkins to his everlastin' doom!" then, with his head high in the air, the ex-pirate of the plains stumped off through the cottonwoods, jabbing wrathfully with his wooden pin at every step. chub watched him a moment, then leaned against a tree and looked sheepishly at susie and matt. "i guess i was too hard on perk," remarked chub, a slow grin working its way over his freckled face, "for i was as much to blame as he was. by rights, we both ought to jump in the canal and stay there. how's the fire?" "matt put it out, chub," said susie. "i'm going to tell dad about this when he gets back. you've got to stop this nonsense before you kill yourself or somebody else." "all right, sis," answered chub humbly, "i'll stop. if i could only get that wireless-telegraph line to workin' between here and the bluebell i'd have somethin' to keep me busy. say, matt, if you've got time i'd like to have you tell me what's the matter with that wireless apparatus. got a spark from the bluebell last night, but that's all it amounted to. you're no inventor, but you're always pretty handy in telling me where i make a miscue in my machines. go up to the house, sis," chub added to susie, "and keep that old fire-eater from going out into the hills and slaughtering somebody. i don't think he'd slip out at all, and i know he wouldn't massacre a horned toad, but he likes us to believe he's just naturally a bad man trying to reform, and it's just as well to keep an eye on him." before susie left she cast a significant look at matt. "let's go up the canal a ways, chub," said matt, when he and his chum were alone, "where we can make ourselves comfortable and have a little quiet confab." "you've got more'n your hat on your mind, matt," returned chub, "i can tell that by the look of you; but if it's this business of mine that's put you in a funk----" "it's not that altogether, chub," interrupted matt. "you see, i've got to leave phoenix, and i want to talk with you about it." chub was astounded, and stood staring at matt with jaws agape. his hair and eyebrows were singed, there was a black smudge on his face, and his clothes were more or less demoralized. in his bewilderment he made a picture that brought a hearty laugh to matt's lips. "come on, chub, what's struck you in a heap?" said matt, catching his arm and pulling him off along the canal-bank. "you act as though i'd handed you a jolt below the belt." "that's just the size of it, matt," returned chub. "say, if you leave ph[oe]nix you've got to take reddy mcready along with you--or you don't go. that's flat. are you listening to my spiel, pal?" chapter iii. dace shows his hand. "first off, bricktop," said matt, after he had taken a comfortable seat on a boulder, "you've got to stop messing around with high explosives. smokeless powder has been on the market for some time, and you're wasting your energies." "shucks!" grinned chub, "sis has been talkin' to you. that's what i told her we were after, but that was only part of it. perk gave me the idea. if we could take a grain of powder and make it drive a bullet a mile, or ten grains and make it drive a bullet ten miles, we'd have the biggest thing that ever happened. three men with gatling guns could kill off an army before it got in sight. it's a whale of a notion!" "you bet it's a whale," agreed matt. "you'd have so much power back of that bullet, chub, it would blow the thing that fired it into smithereens--and i reckon the three men who were laying for the enemy would go along with the scraps, all right." "you're a jim-dandy, matt. say, i didn't think of that," gasped chub. "well, old chum, sit up and take notice of these things, and you'll save yourself a lot of trouble. i've been thinking over that wireless proposition of yours, and i've got a hunch that your ground-wire isn't anchored right. there's an old wire meat-broiler out back of your wood-shed--i saw it there the other day when you were poking around looking for scrap-iron. hitch your ground-wire to the handle and bury the broiler about six feet down; then, if everything is in shape at the bluebell, i'll bet something handsome you get all kinds of sparks." chub stared at his chum in open-mouthed admiration. "you're the wise boy!" he chirped; "if i had your head along with my knack of corralling stuff and getting it together i'd have edison, marconi and all that bunch lashed to the mast. king & mcready, inventions to order and while you wait. oh, gee!" carried away by his fancies, chub lay back on the ground and stared upward into the cottonwood branches above him, dreaming things munchausen would never have dared to mention. "come back," said matt dryly, "come back to earth, chub. this is a practical old world, and i'm right up against it. that's why i'm thinking of denver." chub sat up in a hurry at that. "now what are you trying to string me about denver for?" he demanded. "what's the matter with phoenix as a place to stay? it ain't so wild and woolly as a whole lot of other places in the west and southwest; but since you arrived here you've been mighty spry about catching on." "phoenix is all right," said matt. "wherever i hang up my hat"--and just a shade of wistfulness drifted into his voice as he said it--"is home for me; but the fact of the matter is, chub, i've got to knock off schooling and get to work--and i've got to do it _now_." "you're crazy!" gasped chub. "why, you'll graduate in june, and you can't think of leaving school before that." "i've got to," returned matt firmly. "i've been rubbing the lamp too long for my own good." "what do you mean by 'rubbing the lamp'?" "i've got to bat that up to you, chub, and when i'm done you'll be the first person i ever told about it. in the first place, i'm a stray--what they call a 'maverick' out here on the cattle-ranges. everybody calls me king, and i came by the name fairly enough, but for all i know brown, jones or robinson would hit me just as close." "you're king, all right," declared chub, with a touch of admiration and feeling, "king of the diamond, the gridiron, the cinder path, the wheel and"--chub paused "the king of good fellows, with more friends in a minute than i've got in a year." "and more enemies," added matt, gripping hard the eager hand chub reached out to him. "a chap that don't make enemies is a dub," said chub. "we've got to be hated a little by somebody in order to keep us gingered up. but go on, matt. i'll turn down the lights and pull out the tremolo-stop while you tell me the history of your past life." "i'm going to cut it mighty short, chub," returned matt, "and just give you enough of it so you'll understand how i'm fixed. as long as i can remember, and up to a year ago, i was living with a good old man named jonas king, in great barrington, massachusetts. i called him uncle jonas, although he told me he wasn't a relative of mine in any way; that so far as he knew i didn't have any relatives, and that he'd given me his name of king as the shortest cut out of a big difficulty. he sent me to school--to a technical school part of the time--but never breathed a word as to who i was or where i had come from. when he died"--matt paused and looked toward the canal for a moment--"when he died he went suddenly, leaving me by will a fortune of a hundred thousand dollars----" "bully for uncle jonas!" ejaculated chub joyously. "not so fast, chub," went on matt. "a brother of jonas king's stepped in and broke the will, and i was kicked out without a cent in my pockets. i got a job in a motor factory in albany, but i hadn't held it down more than a month before i received a letter enclosing a draft for three hundred dollars. the letter told me to come to phoenix, arizona, go to school, and wait for further word from the writer, which i should receive inside of six months." chub's eyes were wide with interest and curiosity. "that sounds like you'd copped it out of the arabian nights, matt," said he. "who sent you that letter? some uncle in india?" "it wasn't signed, and the letter was postmarked in san francisco. the six months went by and i never heard anything more; and now it's nearly a year since i reached phoenix and i'm"--matt laughed--"well, i'm about dead broke, and i've got to get to work." "three hundred dollars can't last a fellow forever," commented chub sagely. "i always knew there was a mystery about you, but i didn't think it was anything like that. you don't have to knock off your schooling now, though. just come out to our joint and stay with us. it's worth the price just to trail around with perk. what do you say?" chub was enthusiastic. his eyes glowed as he hung breathlessly upon matt's answer. "you know i couldn't do that," said matt. "i've rubbed the lamp for the last time, and what i get from now on i'm going to _earn_." he leaned over and laid a hand on his chum's arm. "it isn't that i don't appreciate your offer, chub, but a principle is mixed up in this thing and i can't afford to turn my back on it." chub was silent for a space. when matt king used that tone of voice he knew there was no arguing with him. "you can't break away from phoenix right away, anyhow," said chub gloomily. "there's the phoenix-prescott athletic meet, and major woolford wants you to champion his club in the bike-race. you'll not turn that down. why, it means as much as two hundred and fifty dollars if you win the race--and the try-out's this afternoon." "i'll not ride in the try-out," answered matt, "because i can't afford to hang on here until the meet. i've sold my wheel, and riding out here to see you is the last time i'll use it. with the money i get for that, and a little i have in my clothes, i can reach denver and find something to do among the motors. i'll be at the try-out this afternoon, but i'm going there to tell the major he'll have to count me out." chub picked up a pebble and flipped it disconsolately into the canal. "oh, gee!" he muttered, "this is too blamed bad! ain't there any way you can get around it, matt, without tramping rough-shod on that principle of yours?" before matt could answer a muffled sound caused him and chub to look up. both were startled and jumped to their feet. dace perry and his cross-country squad were in front of them. there were seven in the lot, and they carried a hostile air that threw matt and chub at once on their guard. matt was quick to comprehend the situation. perry, full of wrath because of the rough treatment young king had given him, had waited beyond the bridge for his runners to come up; then, after giving the lads his side of the story, perry had led them quietly back across the bridge and along the canal to the place where matt and chub were having their confidential talk. there were only one or two boys in the squad who were not completely dominated by perry. one of these was ambrose tuohy, a lengthy youth, who rejoiced in the nickname of "splinters," and tom clipperton, a quarter-blood indian, and the best long-distance runner in the school. clipperton was shunned by most of the students on account of his blood--a proceeding he felt keenly, and which made him moody and reserved, although sometimes stirring him into violent fits of temper. clipperton had never given matt a chance either to like or dislike him. with his black eyes narrowed threateningly, clipperton stood beside dace perry as the seven boys faced matt and chub. chub had not heard about the affair that had taken place at the gate, and naturally could not understand the hostility evinced by perry and his squad; but the evidences of enmity was too plain to be mistaken, and when chub got up he had a stone hidden in his fist. "surprised, eh?" sneered perry, advancing a step toward matt. "i never forget my debts, king, and right here and now is where i settle the score i owe you. i tipped off my hand at the gate, and here's where i'm going to show it." chapter iv. welcome shows his hand--with something in it. "why didn't you bring the whole gang, perry?" inquired chub, with one of his most tantalizing grins. "billy dill seems to be missing." clipperton, easily swayed by any one who took the right course, hated subterfuge, and was peculiarly outspoken. "dill sprained his ankle," said he, in his usual short, jerky sentences. "that's why he's not here. he wanted to come, but couldn't. i reckon there are enough of us, anyway." "i reckon there are," remarked chub, his grin broadening dangerously. "all you fellows need is a few feathers to be a whole tribe." a sharp breath rushed through clipperton's lips, his muscles tightened, his fists clenched, and the war-look of his savage ancestors swept across his face. chub's fling had caught him in the old wound. "cut it out, chub," muttered matt; "clip's not responsible for this." perry also said something in a low tone to clipperton. the latter's face was still black and relentless, but he held himself in check. matt advanced a little toward perry and turned slightly so as to face the boys with him. "if it's a fight you fellows want," said he, "i guess you'll find the latch-string out. i want to give you the other side of this, though, before you proceed to mix things." "that's right," snapped perry, "crawfish! it's about what i'd expect of you." there was a glint in matt's eyes as he whirled on perry. "you can butt in later," said he, "and i'll come more than half-way to give you all the chance you want. just now i'm going to have my say, dace perry, and i don't think"--matt's voice was like velvet, but it cut like steel--"_i don't think_ you're going to interfere." "we've got perry's side of it," said "ratty" spangler, a youth well nicknamed, "and that's enough for _us_. eh, boys?" the chorus of affirmatives was short one voice--that of splinters. "if i'm in on this," spoke up splinters, "we play the game right or we don't play it at all." he fronted matt. "perry says, king," he went on, "that you've had a grouch against him for a long while, and that you tried to work it off by taking him from behind and slamming him into the road." "i did have a grouch and i did slam him into the road," said matt. "if chub had been around i'd have left it to him--but chub wasn't handy." then, briefly, matt told of the affair at the gate. chub growled angrily and sprang forward, only to be caught by his chum and pushed back. "wait!" cautioned matt. "i guess you'll get all the rough-house you want, chub, before we're done." a chorus of jeers came from perry's followers--splinters excepted. "that'll do me," said splinters, turning on his heel and starting off. "where you going, tuohy?" shouted perry. "home," was the curt response. "you're taking this tenderfoot's word against mine?" "i'm sorry----" "come back here, then!" "sorry king didn't do more than slam you into the road. oh, you're the limit." "either you come back here or you quit the team," yelled perry, his voice quivering with rage. "much obliged," flung back splinters, keeping on into the timber; "it's a pleasure to quit." the rest hooted at him as he vanished. this defection from the ranks brought the tension of the whole affair to the snapping-point. what happened immediately after the departure of splinters came decisively, and with a rush. spangler and perry, hoping to catch matt at a disadvantage, hurled themselves at him. an instinct of fair play held clipperton back. he turned for an instant to see what the other three members of the squad were going to do, and in that instant another momentous thing happened. chub, hovering in the background, saw spangler and perry dashing toward matt. brass knuckle-dusters glimmered on the fingers of perry's right fist. chub caught the flash of the knuckle-dusters and, being too far away to place himself shoulder to shoulder with matt, he let fly with the stone he had been holding in his hand. in his excitement chub did not throw accurately. the stone missed perry by a foot and struck clipperton a grazing blow on the side of the head. clipperton staggered back, a trickle of blood rilling over his cheek, and whirled with a fierce cry. matt, notwithstanding the fact that perry and spangler claimed most of his attention, had witnessed chub's disastrous work with the missile. just as clipperton whirled, matt leaped backward and threw up his hand. this move, coming at that precious instant, gave clipperton the impression that it was matt who had hurled the stone. in everything that clipperton did he was lightning-quick. the blow had aroused all the passion that lay at the depths of his nature. with the face of a demon, and with a swiftness that was wonderful, he launched himself forward as though hurled by a catapault. the impact of his body knocked perry out of his way, and in a twinkling he and matt were engaged, hammer and tongs. on occasion matt could be every whit as sudden in his movements as was clipperton. just now his quarrel was not with clipperton, and he hated the twist fate had given the course of events. nevertheless clipperton, his half-tamed nature fully aroused, demanded rough handling if matt was to save himself. perry, perhaps not averse to having the fight taken off his hands, ordered his team-mates to keep back. in a group the five runners watched the progress of the battle. it was the first time any of them had ever seen clipperton cast aside all restraint and display such murderous energy. the quarter-blood was about matt's own age, and his perfectly molded body and limbs were endued with tremendous power. but he had more power than prowess, and his fiery energy lacked the cool-headed calculation which alone could make it effective. on the other hand, matt king had science as well as strength, and energy as well as self-possession. no matter what the pinch he was in, he could think calmly, and with a swiftness and precision which alone would have won many a battle. chub knew that matt had no love for a brawl; but chub also knew that matt tried always to play square with himself, and that if brawls came there was no dodging or side-stepping, but straight business right from the word "go." there was straight business now, and in many points it was brilliant. again and again clipperton, his eyes like coals, his straight black hair tumbled over his forehead, and his face smeared with the red from his wound, hurled himself at matt only to be beaten back. the one feature of the set-to that stood out beyond all others was this, that matt was merely on the defensive. the fury of his opponent offered opening after opening of which matt could have taken advantage; yet, strangely enough to perry and his followers, matt held his hand. watching clipperton constantly with keen, unwavering eyes, he countered every blow and beat off every attack. baffled at every point, clipperton at last grew desperate. rushing in he tried to "clinch," and matt, while seeming to meet him on this ground, suddenly caught him about the middle and flung him over the steep bank into the canal. a moment of silence followed the loud splash clipperton made in the water, a silence broken by a shout from perry. "let's throw the tenderfoot after clip, fellows! into the canal with him!" after the object-lesson which matt had given the runners in the manly art, no one of them was eager to try conclusions alone with the "tenderfoot," but by going after him in a crowd there was little risk and an almost certain prospect of success. chub ran to his chum's side. just as perry, spangler and the others started forward to carry out perry's suggestion, another actor appeared on the scene, heralding his arrival with a whoop that went thundering among the cottonwoods. "scatter, ye onnery rapscallions! here's me, eagle-eye perkins, the retired pirate o' the plains, drorin' a bead on every last one o' ye with ole lucretia borgia. scatter, i tell ye, an' don't force me to revive the gory times that was, when i wants to be peaceful an' civilized." perry and his friends stayed their advance abruptly and all eyes turned on welcome perkins. the reformed road-agent had never looked more desperate than he did then. he was wet, and singed, and his clothes were burned in places, but the ends of his mustache stuck truculently upward, his wooden pin was planted firmly in the moist earth, and his antiquated six-shooter was swaying back and forth in the most approved border hold-up style. in phoenix welcome was generally believed to be a boaster, with a past as harmless as that of a divinity student, and his loudly voiced regret for old deeds of lawlessness was supposed to result from a desire to be "in the lime-light" and to play to the galleries; but "lucretia borgia" looked big and dangerous, and there was no telling how far the erratic old humbug might go with the weapon. in the canal clipperton was already swimming to the opposite bank, apparently but little the worse for his fight and his ducking. it was clear that he was going to climb out and run for town. "come on, boys!" called perry sullenly, facing about and starting along the bank at a slow trot. the rest fell in behind him and trailed out of sight among the trees. chub began to laugh. "why, you old practical joke!" he gasped, "that gun's about as dangerous as a piece of bologna sausage." a twinkle stole into welcome's faded eyes. "don't ye know, son," said he, "it ain't the dangerousness of a thing that counts so much as the popperler impression about its _bein'_ dangerous? lucretia borgia ain't spoke a word fer ten year, an' she's all choked up with rust now, an' couldn't talk if she wanted to. but the sight o' her's enough--oh, yes, it's a-plenty. "i seen the hull o' this fracas, an' the ole sperrit that i'm tryin' to fight down an' conker stirred around inside o' me to that extent that i jest had to take holt or bust my b'iler. i heerd that young whipper-snapper say he'd tipped his hand to matt at the gate an' had come here to show it. waal, bumby i reckoned that i'd show _my_ hand--an' with somethin' in it. it's jest a bit of a sample o' what i useter be in the ferocious ole times. but come on; let's fergit about fights an' fightin', which is plumb unworthy of civilized folks, an' go up to the house." chapter v. dace perry's craftiness. the captain of the cross-country team was a shining example of what wrong bringing-up can do for some boys. his doting mother had spoiled him, and his father, a wealthy denver mining-man, had for years been too busy accumulating money to pay any attention to him. when his wife died, the elder perry suddenly realized that he had an unmanageable son on his hands. while his mother lived, perry had gone the pace. he was only sixteen when she died, but for more than a year he had been traveling in fast company, drinking and gambling, and doing his best to make, what he was pleased to call, a "thoroughbred" out of himself. his doting mother had been lenient and easily deceived. she had stood between perry and his father, and when the latter occasionally refused to supply the boy with money she would give it to him out of her own allowance. with the passing of mrs. perry all this was changed. mr. perry, in order to get dace away from dissipated denver companions, shipped him off to phoenix and left him there in charge of a friend who happened to be the principal of the phoenix high school. this was a change for the better in some ways. dace had naturally a splendid physique, and he had an overweening pride in becoming first in high-school athletics, no matter how he might stand in his studies. he cut out the "budge," as he would have called liquor, because it interfered with his physical development; also he cut out smoking for the same reason. but he continued to gamble, and the poor old professor was as easily hoodwinked as mrs. perry had been. perry, sr., kept his son rigidly to a small allowance. as a result dace was always head over heels in debt, for, although an inveterate gambler, he was not much more than an amateur at the game, though learning the tricks of the trade fast enough. when matt came to the school he aroused perry's instant and unreasoning dislike. from the best athlete among the seniors perry was relegated to the position of second best; and this, for one of his spoiled disposition and arrogant ways, constituted an offense not to be forgiven. now, for the first time, the strained relations existing between matt and perry had come to an open break. baffled in his plot to give matt a thrashing, perry trotted sullenly and silently back toward the bridge across the canal. before the bridge was reached his spirits had brightened a little, for his crafty mind had found something in the present situation that pleased him. "see here, fellows," said perry abruptly, coming to a halt and gathering his followers around him, "you all saw matt king throw that stone at clip, didn't you?" "it wasn't him," piped tubbits drake; "it was nutmegs, although it looked mighty like king did it." "i say it was king," scowled perry. "oh, well," grumbled tubbits, "if you say it was king, all right." tubbits was an impecunious brother. he was always trying to borrow two-bits--in other words, a quarter--from his large and select list of acquaintances, and the habit had resulted in the nickname of "two-bits," later shortened to "tubbits." "i say it," went on perry, "and you've all got to swear to it. savvy? if any one says anything different, i'll punch his head. chums are like those french guys in the 'three musketeers'--one for all, and all for one. what one chum does, the other has to stand for. king and nutmegs are chums, see? so, even if king didn't really throw that rock, he'll have to take the consequences on chub's account. clip _thinks_ king did it, and there's been trouble. just let clip keep on thinking the way he does." "sure," said ratty spangler. "if anybody wants to know about who shied the rock, we'll all say it was the tenderfoot." "that's all," responded perry curtly, and trotted on to the bridge. just as perry had imagined would be the case when he brought about this peculiar understanding concerning the one who threw the stone, tom clipperton was on the other side of the canal, waiting for his team-mates to come up with him. clipperton's scanty running-garb was wet through, but that was a mere trifle and didn't bother him. he had bound a handkerchief about his injured forehead, and was thinking moodily of the easy way in which he had been handled by matt. perry went up to him and dropped a friendly hand on his shoulder. "how're you coming, clip?" he asked. clipperton grunted petulantly, shook off the hand and started along the road. perry, used to his moods, fell in at his side and caught step with him. "it was a low-down trick, clip," said perry, with feigned sympathy, "but just about what any one could expect from a fellow like king." "he threw the rock," snarled clipperton, hate throbbing in his voice. "i didn't see the rock in his hand. when it hit me his hand was in the air. did any of the rest of you see him?" "we all saw him make that pass at you!" averred ratty spangler. "didn't we, fellers?" "we did!" all the rest answered as one. the breath came sharp through clipperton's lips. "he'll pay for it," he hissed. "you watch my smoke and see." "that's the talk!" encouraged perry craftily. "that tenderfoot ought to be kicked out of the school--he ain't fit for decent fellows to associate with. if that old one-legged freak hadn't pulled a gun on us, clip, we'd have settled with king for what he did to you right there. how are you going to get even with him?" "i know how," growled clipperton. "i'll meet him again. i'll meet him as many times as i have to until i do him up." "you're too headstrong, clip," returned perry, "if you don't mind my saying so. that's no way to make a saw-off with matt king. be sly. go after him in a way he don't expect. that's your cue if you want to get _him_--just take it from me." clipperton turned a half-distrustful look on perry. "i'm no coward," he muttered. "man to man. that's the way to settle everything." "sure, when you're dealing with a fellow of the right sort. but what's matt king? why, clip, he was afraid of you from the start, and that's the reason he tried to get in his work at long range with the stone." "d'you think that?" demanded clipperton huskily. "no think about it; it's a lead-pipe cinch. when you balance accounts with a fellow like that go after him in his own way." "what would you do?" "you're a crack shot, clip," observed perry. "i know that because i saw you making bull's-eyes in the shooting-gallery the other day." clipperton looked startled. "what's my shooting got to do with it?" "well," went on perry, "have you got a gun, or can you get one?" tubbits and ratty spangler grew morbidly apprehensive. "looky here, dace," demurred tubbits, "don't let clip go and do anything rash." "don't be a fool," snapped perry. "i reckon i've got some sense left. old peg-leg drew a cannon on us, but i'm too well up in law to advise clip to pull a gun on anybody--even matt king." his voice grew friendly and confidential as he went on talking with clipperton. "can you get a pistol and stuff it in your pocket when you come to the try-out this afternoon, clip?" "yes," was the reply. "what do you want me to do with it?" perry turned to the boys behind. "jog along, you fellows," said he; "clip and i have got business to talk over. and mind," he added, as tubbits, spangler and the rest moved off ahead, "keep mum about what you've already heard." "mum it is," said the cross-country squad obediently, and drew away from the plotters. "matt king had better take to the cliffs and the cactus," remarked ratty spangler, with a chuckle. "ginger, there's going to be doings at the try-out this afternoon. what do you s'pose they want with a gun, tubbits?" the uncertainty was just desperate enough to fill ratty with delightful anticipations. he hoped in his little soul that perry and clip wouldn't go far enough to involve the rest of the cross-country team, but he wanted them to be sure and go as far as they could. "blamed if i know," answered tubbits. "i'm shyer of guns than i am of rattlesnakes. when that old skeezicks of a perkins shook that piece of hardware at us a while ago, i thought i'd throw a fit. why, the mouth of it looked as big as the hoosac tunnel to me. no, thankee, no guns in mine." "we could jerk him up for that," asserted ratty. "say, if we'd have him arrested----" "arrest nothin'!" snorted tubbits. "we'd look pretty small hauling old perkins up before a judge and then telling why we'd gone back along the canal with perry. some things are well enough to leave alone--and that's one of them." the boys were well into town by then, and the party separated, each going his different way and wondering what was to happen during the afternoon. chapter vi. the try-out. "there he is, jack!" exclaimed major woolford, leaning across the railing of the judges' stand and pointing; "that's the youngster i was telling you about. by gad, he's the speediest thing that ever happened when it comes to a bike. give him a sizing, jack, and then take off your hat to young america at its best. you see, i know what he can do, and i'm the one who told carter to bring him to the track for a try-out. walks like he was on springs and handles himself without a particle of lost motion--every move decisive and straight to the mark. oh, i don't know! as long as the old star-spangled-long-may-it-wave can give us lads like that i reckon the country's safe." the major slipped his stop-watch into one pocket of his vest and pulled a cigar-case out of another. as he passed the case to his friend, governor gaynor, he noticed an amused smile on the governor's face. the major was president, and the governor an honorary member, of the phoenix athletic club. "protégé of yours, major?" inquired the governor, striking a match. "not much, jack," answered the major. "i don't believe in protégés, favorites, or any other brand of humbug that leads to the door marked 'pull.' give me a young fellow that stands on his own feet--the kind that does his own climbing, jack, without wasting valuable time looking around for some one to give him a boost. that's the sort of a chap matt king is. just keep your eye on him." below the judges' stand, in front of which ran the tape, a crowd of forty or fifty persons had assembled. fully half the crowd was made up of members of the club, young, middle-aged, and a few with gray in their hair--all devotees of clean, wholesome american sport. the other half of the crowd consisted mostly of high-school boys who were furnishing the majority of candidates for the try-out. matt, to whom the major had called the governor's attention, had leaped lightly over the fence that guarded the farther side of the track. lined up just back of the fence were susie mcready, chub and welcome perkins. they had come to see the try-out, hoping against hope that something would happen to make matt change his mind and become a candidate in the bike event. leaning against the top rail of the fence, matt stood watching the busy officers of the club and listening to the incessant clamor of the high-school boys. "'rah! 'rah! 'rah! do or die! phoenix! phoenix! phoenix high!" the athletic clubs of both phoenix and prescott were for the encouragement of amateurs. professionals were barred. the clubs could pick up material for their rival contests wherever they chose so long as they did not enlist any one who had ever competed for a money prize. there was an odd expression on matt king's open, handsome face as he looked and listened--a touch of wistfulness, it might be, softening the almost steelly resolution of his gray eyes. "what do you know about him, major?" asked the governor, staring across the track through the cigar-smoke and feeling an instinctive admiration for the trim, boyish figure in cap, sweater and knickerbockers. "our acquaintance lasted less than an hour, and was mighty informal," chuckled the major. "i was returning from the indian school in my motor-car, about a week ago, when along comes that boy on his wheel. he tried to go by, and--well, when i'm out for a spin in that six-thousand-dollar car i'm not letting anything on hoofs or wheels throw sand in my face. i tells the driver to speed her up, and by and by we have the boy's legs working like piston-rods. he was still abreast of us when some confounded thing or other slips a cog under the bonnet; then we begin to sputter and buckjump, and finally stop dead. the boy gives us the laugh and goes on. "mike, my driver, gets out to locate the injury. but it's too many for mike. he was just telling me he'd have to go to the nearest farmhouse and telephone the garage, when the boy on the wheel comes trundling back. he asks me as nice as you please if there's anything the matter, and if he can't help us out. i was just about to tell him that he had another guess coming if he thought he could make good where mike had fallen down, when he slips out of his saddle, makes a couple of passes at the machinery, closes the bonnet and begins to crank up. mike got back in his seat and laughed like he thought it was a good joke; then he pretty near threw a fit when the machine jogged off as well as ever. the boy gave us the laugh again, this time from the rear. and that's how he happened to make a hit with me. i've heard that he knows more about motors than----" "all ready, boys!" came the voice of the starter. dace perry and two other boys had their wheels at the tape, but matt king continued to lean against the fence and made no move to come forward. "hurry up, king!" shouted the starter. "what's the matter with you?" "i haven't a wheel any more, mr. carter," answered matt, "and i'm not a candidate. that's what i came out here to tell you." "not a candidate?" boomed the major, from up in the stand. "don't you know the prize that goes to the winner in this event when we meet prescott is as good as two hundred and fifty dollars? it's not a money prize, for we don't intend to make professionals out of you boys, but----" "he's lost his nerve, that's what's the matter with him." the words were so uncalled for, and the taunt in the voice so vicious, that every eye turned at once on the speaker. the captain of the cross-country team, arms folded and hostile gaze leveled at matt, stood leaning against his machine. "quitter!" scoffed a voice in the crowd. "dry up, perry!" called the starter. "you too, spangler. neither of you has any call to butt in." matt left the fence and advanced slowly across the track toward perry. "i've lost my nerve, have i, dace perry?" matt inquired, with a half-laugh. "what else do you call it?" demanded perry, keeping his black eyes warily on the other's face. as matt stood staring at perry his expression changed to one of the utmost good humor. finally, with a broad smile, he turned to the starter. "it looks as though perry was going to be lonesome, mr. carter," said he, "if i don't ride with him. can you dig up a wheel for me?" half a dozen in the high-school crowd set up a yell. "take mine, matt; take mine!" "i know something about yours, splinters," went on matt, facing one of the lads, "and if you'll oblige me i'll spin it around the track." "you bet!" chirruped splinters, bounding away. "i didn't come here for a try-out, mr. carter," said matt, "but i don't want perry or any one else to think that i'm a quitter or that my nerve is giving out. can i ride in this race even if i shouldn't be able to meet the fellow from prescott when the big event is pulled off?" "what's the use of jockeying around like that?" grumbled dace perry. "what's the use of a try-out if the fellow that makes good don't hold down his end at the big meet?" carter was in a quandary, and cast an upward look toward major woolford. "what do you say to that, major?" he asked. "if we select you to represent the phoenix athletic club in the bicycle-race, matt," inquired the major, "why can't we count on you to be on hand and see the thing through?" a touch of red ran into matt's face. "i may not be in phoenix when the prescott fellows come down, major," he replied. "i'll take chances on that," growled the major. "try him out, carter." splinters, at that moment, came up with his machine. "i was going into this myself, matt," said he, with a significant look at perry, "but changed my mind. my racing-clothes are over in the dressing-room. they wouldn't be overly wide for you, but they'd be plenty long." "much obliged, splinters," returned matt, rolling the bicycle to the tape, "but i'll race as i stand." a moment more and the four boys were shoved away at the crack of the starter's pistol. the major, watch in hand, followed the flight around the track with eager eyes. "see him go, jack!" he cried. "why, that boy is off like a scared coyote making for home and mother. dace perry hasn't a ghost of a show." the track measured a mile, and was a perfect oval. there were no trees to intercept the vision, and every part of the course could be seen by the major and the governor. at the quarter matt was the length of his wheel ahead of perry, and perry was the same distance ahead of the foremost racer behind him. at the half the distance, so far as matt and perry were concerned, remained the same, but the other two racers were hopelessly in the rear. "look at perry work!" rumbled the major. "he's got his back up like a kilkenny cat on the fence, and i can almost hear him puff clear over here. but that king boy has him beaten to a frazzle. look at the _form_ of him, will you? great! man alive, it's just simply _superb_!" "there doesn't seem to be any love lost between king and perry," observed the governor, following the major as he pushed excitedly around the stand in order to keep the racers at all times under his eyes. "the trouble with perry," said the major, "is that he's got the disposition of an apache indian. he wants to be the whole thing in the high school, and matt king, during the short time he's been in town, has been boxing the compass all around him. just look at the difference between the two, jack. they're at the three-quarters post and are still the same distance apart. king intends to beat perry, but he's considerate enough to hang back and win out by no more than a nose. if positions were changed so that perry was in the lead instead of king, i'll bet good money that----" just at that moment, when the two leading racers were making their final spurt along the home-stretch, and when every nerve was as tense as a back-stay and every spectator had dropped into silence preparatory to hailing the victor with all his lung power, a spiteful _crack_ cut the air from some point below the grand stand. simultaneously with the incisive note, matt's bicycle was seen to swerve suddenly across perry's path. perry's wheel rushed into matt's with a rattling crash and both riders were flung to the ground with terrific force. "great guns!" gasped the major, aghast. "i wonder if they're killed?" "we'd better go and find out," returned the governor grimly. hurrying down the stairs, the major and the governor joined the excited crowd that was flocking toward the scene of the mishap. chapter vii. the major's surprise. well in the lead of those who were hurrying to the scene of the disaster was chub mcready, his feelings about evenly divided between fear for matt and anger because of the foul play that had caused the accident. a little way behind chub, in a rushing crowd of excited high-school boys, came welcome perkins, his wooden peg traveling over the ground as it had never done before. susie was flying along not far from welcome, a look of wild alarm in her face. the major and the governor were pretty well in the rear. matt had picked himself out of the wreck, before any of the crowd reached the scene, and, with the assistance of the two other racers, was lifting dace perry and carrying him to the grassy paddock beside the track. matt's clothes were torn, and there was a rent in his right sleeve through which flowed a trickle of blood. "is he killed? how badly is he hurt? what caused the smash?" these and a dozen other questions were flung at matt by the breathless crowd as perry was laid down. matt's face was white, but he did not seem to be very seriously injured. kneeling beside perry he laid a hand on his breast. "he's all right, i guess," said he, looking up as the major elbowed his way to perry's side. "he's stunned, major," he added; "i don't think it's any worse than that." "is there a doctor here?" called the major; "telephone for a doctor, somebody! see if he has any broken bones, carter. egad, matt, you two fellows came together like a couple of railroad-trains. it's a wonder you weren't both killed. what was that i heard just before your bicycle ducked across in front of perry's?" "the tire blew up," answered matt coolly. "something funny about that," put in splinters, who was close to the major. "both tires are new. you didn't run over anything, did you, matt?" "some one fired a pistol," cried chub; "nobody ever heard a tire pop like that! it came from beyond the lower end of the grand stand. somebody put a bullet through that tire!" "nonsense!" scoffed the major. "what are you talking about, mcready? who'd do a dastardly thing like that? besides, it would take a mighty good marksman to put a bullet into a tire moving as fast as that one was." "look a-here," fumed welcome perkins, "i don't reckon there's a man in the hull territory that's heard as much shootin' as what i have. i'm tellin' ye a gun was fired, an' by the shade o' gallopin' dick, it was fired at matt there!" "clear out!" growled the major, "you're locoed. who'd want to take a shot at matt king? what do _you_ think about it, my lad?" and the major turned to matt. matt had dropped down and susie was pushing back his torn sleeve. "the tire went up, major," said matt quietly; "that's all i know about it." "see here," cried susie, holding matt's bare forearm for the major to see, "matt's hurt worse than dace perry." "you're wrong, susie," returned matt hastily, "it's only a cut, and not much of a cut at that. please tie my handkerchief around it, will you?" matt jerked a handkerchief out of his pocket with his left hand and susie began tying it over the wound. while perry was being pulled and prodded in a search for broken bones, he suddenly opened his eyes and sat up. there was a dazed look in his face, but he seemed to be all right. "how d'ye feel, dace?" inquired tubbits drake anxiously, bending down over perry. "i'm all right," replied perry; "a little bit dizzy, that's all. king fouled me! did you see him as we started down the stretch?" "listen to that!" snorted chub fiercely. "some of your gang played a low-down trick on matt, dace perry, or he wouldn't have got in your way." "tut, tut!" growled the major; "that's enough of that sort of talk. it was an accident, and nothing more. king would have been an easy winner, and there wasn't any cause for him to foul perry. you boys are lucky to get out of the scrape as well as you did. how are the wheels?" "perry's is pretty badly smashed," reported some one who had taken a little time to look at the two bicycles, "but tuohy's will be all right with a little tinkering. there's a hole in the rear tire, and the track is perfectly clean where the bicycles came together." the significance of these words was not lost upon the crowd. major woolford turned to horton and coggswell, two members of the club who were making the race with matt and perry. "you fellows were coming toward the lower end of the grand stand when the accident happened," said he; "did you see any one there?" "we were 'tending to our knitting strictly," answered coggswell, "and had no time to look at the grand stand. but we both thought we heard the report of a revolver." "you didn't, though," declared the major. "that report was the tire when it let go. you'd better try another brand of tires, tuohy." as neither of the lads had been seriously injured it became necessary that another trial be made in order to determine who was the better man; and this time matt started with grim determination in his eye, never once being headed, so that he wheeled across the line ten yards ahead of dace. this time there was no suspicious bursting of a tire, and at the conclusion the major spoke up: "king's our man for the fight with prescott; and if anything happens that he doesn't show up, we'll use perry. that will be all for to-day. will you ride home with me, jack?" the major was trying bluffly to appear at his ease, but it was quite clear that his mind was far from serene. "my man is here with the horse and buggy, major," replied the governor, "and i've got some important business awaiting me at the office. i think you've picked a winner for the race with prescott," and he gave the major a significant look as he turned away. mike was coming up with the major's motor-car, and the proprietor reached out and took matt by the arm. "i want you to ride back with me, king," said he, and in another minute matt was in the tonneau with the major beside him. "get the wheel fixed up, splinters," called matt; "i'll stand the damage." "no, you won't, old chap," answered splinters. "you've stood enough damage as it is." "home, mike," said the major, and the car moved off across the track and toward the wagon-road. matt waved his hand to chub, susie and perkins; and members of the club and some of the high-school boys stopped their heated discussion of the cause of the accident long enough to give a rousing cheer. "what's your candid opinion, king?" asked the major when the car had left the park and was spinning along the highroad. "you're talking to a friend, understand, and i want to get to the bottom of this." "i haven't any opinion, major," said matt. "you know as much as i do." "but did you hear the report of a revolver?" "i thought i did." the major muttered savagely. "have you any enemy lawless enough to take that way of doing you up?" "i don't think i have. we'd better let the thing stand just as it is, i guess. there was no great harm done, if you count out the damage to the wheels." "by gad, i like your spirit! the thing has an ugly look, but for the good of the club the less said about it the better. sure your arm's all right?" "it will be as good as ever in a few days." they met a doctor who had been telephoned for and was hurrying to the park. the major turned him back with the information that his services were not needed. for the rest of the distance to his home the major leaned back in his seat and said nothing. when they reached a street which was close to the place where he boarded, matt wanted to get out, but the major shook his head mysteriously, and they rode on. in due course the car halted in front of the small building which served for a garage, and the major told mike to leave the car outside and to go in "and bring out the other machine." "i've got something i want to show you, king," said woolford, getting out of the car, "and that's the reason i brought you here. if you're the kind of a lad i believe you are, the surprise i'm going to spring on you will keep you in phoenix for that race with prescott." the major's mysterious manner aroused matt's curiosity; then, a few minutes later, his curiosity was eclipsed by astonishment and admiration. through the open door of the garage mike was rolling a span new motor-cycle! motors were matt's hobby. anything driven by a motor had always appealed to him, but motor-cycles and motor-cars captured his fancy beyond anything and everything else in the motor line. "great hanky-pank!" he exclaimed, as the machine, glossy and bright in every part, was brought to a stop between him and the major. "like the looks of her?" laughed the major. "she's a fair daisy and no mistake!" cried matt delightedly. the mass of compact machinery would have been puzzling to a boy who knew nothing about gasoline motor-cycles, but matt's sparkling eyes went over the beautiful model part by part. "it's one of the latest make and not being generally sold, as yet," explained the major, still smiling at the unfeigned pleasure the sight of the mechanical marvel was giving matt. "notice the twin cylinders? seven horse-power, my boy. think of that! why, you could scoot away from a streak of lightning on that bike. what do you think of her name, eh?" on the gasoline-tank, back of the saddle, the word _comet_ was lettered in gold. "a good name for a racer," cried matt, "and i'm dutch if i ever saw anything to equal her. she's a jim-dandy, major." "i reckon you know how to ride one of the things, eh? jump on and try her a whirl." "may i?" returned matt, as though he thought the major's invitation too good to be true. "sure!" laughed the major jovially. "she's full of gasoline and all you have to do is to turn it on and throw in the spark." matt mounted while mike steadied the machine; for a few moments he worked the pedals and then, with a patter of sharp explosions, he turned on the power and was off up the road like a bird on the wing. it was a short spin, but the joy of it was not to be described. every part of the superb mechanism worked to perfection. matt tried it on the turns, tried it on a straightaway course, tried it in every conceivable manner he could think of, and the machine answered promptly and smoothly to his every touch. when he returned to the major and mike, matt's face was glowing with happiness and excitement. "how does she run?" asked the major. "it's the slickest thing on wheels!" returned matt enthusiastically. "i never saw anything finer." "how would you like to own her?" matt had got down from the saddle and mike was steadying the machine. the major's words staggered the lad. "own her?" cried matt; "i?" "why not?" the major leaned toward him and dropped a hand on his shoulder. "the _comet_ goes to the winner of the bicycle-race. you can own her, king, if you want to!" chapter viii. the rabbitt's foot. major woolford wanted matt in that bicycle-race. he hadn't any idea why the boy hung back at the try-out, or why he was thinking of leaving town, but in showing him the prize that went to the victor he had played a trump card. matt's bosom swelled as he eyed the beautiful machine, and his mind circled about ways and means for staying in phoenix until the phoenix-prescott athletic meet. what matt had received for his bicycle, together with what little money he already possessed, was barely sufficient to land him in denver. if he stayed on in phoenix, and used up some of this money for living-expenses, he might have a motor-cycle when he was ready to leave the place, but how was he to get to denver? even as he put the question to himself, quick as a flash the answer came: "ride the _comet_ to denver, to chicago, to new york--wherever you want to go!" the idea electrified the boy. "i'll be in that race, major," he cried, turning to the president of the athletic club, "_and i'll win the prize_!" "sure you will!" exclaimed the delighted major. "i reckoned you'd stay as soon as you saw what the prize was to be. a lad who likes motors as well as you do wouldn't let a machine like that get away from him." "who races for prescott?" asked matt. "a local celebrity called newton o'day. perry beat o'day in the bicycle-race last year, and although i hear o'day has developed a phenomenal burst of speed since then, i shouldn't wonder if perry could repeat the trick." "then you don't really need me, major?" said matt. "you bet we do! perry is so crooked he can't walk around the block without running into himself. i might trust him as a last resort, but it would certainly have to be that. the two clubs come together two weeks from to-day, and you're down for our side in the bicycle event, king, with perry for second choice in case anything should happen to keep you away. but you don't want to let anything happen; see?" the major talked with great earnestness and laid a confiding hand on matt's shoulder. "after what happened at the park this afternoon it might be just as well for you to step high, wide and handsome, and keep eyes in the back of your head. we're counting on you, don't forget that." the major turned to his driver. "take king's machine back into the garage, mike," he added. "we're going to turn it over to him in a couple of weeks." "you bet you are, major," averred matt, "if racing will win it." he walked to his boarding-place with a bounding heart, and seemed to be stepping on air. ever since motor-cycles had been on the market he had dreamed of owning one. now there was a chance that his dream would come true, and that he was to own a seven-horse-power marvel, fleet as the wind. small wonder the boy was elated. the machinery of the _comet_ was controlled by the grip on the handle-bars, and by various flexible twists of the wrist. matt's game arm had suffered somewhat through manipulating the grip control, but by the time the _comet_ was his he knew his arm would be as well as ever. matt lodged on first avenue, in the home of a woman who had lost her husband in a mining explosion, and had been compelled to take boarders for a living. he had a pleasant front room on the second floor, and when he bounded up-stairs and burst into his private quarters he was a little bit surprised to find chub there. there was an ominous look on chub's freckled face. "somebody died and left you a million?" inquired chub. "you look as chipper as an injun squaw with a string of new beads." "well," laughed matt, "i do feel just a little hilarious." "it must have tickled you a whole lot to pull out of that smash by the skin of your teeth," muttered chub. "shucks, matt, i never saw a fellow that takes things like you do." "it's twice as easy to laugh at your troubles, chub, as to throw a fit and pull a long face. all a fellow needs is to get the knack. but i've had something else to help me buck up," and matt, as he flung himself into a chair, proceeded to tell his chum about the motor-cycle, and about his decision to stay in phoenix for the athletic-club contests. chub's face brightened. ever since he had learned that matt was going to leave town he had been more or less gloomy, and the knowledge that he was to remain for the big meet was mighty cheering. "bully!" exclaimed chub. "you'll win that motor-cycle hands down--provided you're not interfered with." "i'll not be interfered with, chub," returned matt confidently. "for heaven's sake, don't go and make a wet blanket out of yourself. what's on your mind, anyhow? you're as blue as a whetstone." chub's face had gloomed up again. with hands jammed into his trousers pockets and with legs outstretched he slouched back in his chair and grunted savagely. "they can't fool me, nit," he growled. "a pistol went off when you were passing the lower end of the grand stand, and that's what busted the tire. there's only one chap in school who could shoot like that, and he's the only one, aside from dace perry, who'd try to do you any dirt. you know who i mean--tom clipperton." "that's mighty slim evidence for a charge against clipperton, chub," said matt gravely. "don't be rash." "rash!" muttered chub. "you don't want to shut your eyes to what clip can do, matt. he's never been more than half-tamed, and has a standing grouch at everybody on account of his blood. i nagged him some this morning, and he was ripe for anything when i whaled away with that rock. and then to have him get the notion that _you_ threw it. oh, gee!" chub's discontent was morbid. "say," he went on, "when susie and i and perk were coming from the track we met clip going home with perry, spangler, tubbits drake and that bunch. i waltzed over and told clip that he was off his mark a little about that rock, and that i, little reddy mac, was the author of that slam." "you didn't?" exclaimed matt. "don't you never think i didn't. but what good did it do? they gave me the frozen laugh, the whole gang of 'em, and perry said it was a raw blazer of a play, and that i couldn't succeed in putting myself between you and trouble. now, matt; perry, spangler, drake and the others _know_ i let fly with that stone, and they're letting clip think the other way so as to make him take you off perry's hands." matt was thoughtful for a minute. "well, what of it?" he asked presently. "what of it?" repeated chub. "oh, gee-whiskers! can't you see what it means to have a real injun in war-paint, like clip, camped on your trail? take it from me, matt, it means trouble for you between now and the day of the race." "all right," said matt cheerfully, "i've had trouble before." "not the sort clip, with perry and that cross-country team back of him, will hand out to you. seems like i'm always making a mess of things," chub snorted. "that's the way johnny hardluck spars up to me. i get in a few whole-arm jabs and then, just as everything looks rosy, there's an error, and fate gets past my guard. this day's a sample. i begin with powder and sulfuric acid, hit clip below the belt with a reference to his injun blood, and then land on him with a corker of a rock intended for perry. it wouldn't be so bad, matt, if _you_ didn't come in for the consequences." "never mind me," laughed matt. "i'm big for my size and old for my age, and i've always been able to take precious good care of number one. i'm sorry for clip. his mixed blood worries him, and perry knows how to keep him all worked up. but nobody knows just what happened at the try-out, so don't do any wild guessing, chub, and, above all, keep your guesses to yourself." "_i_ know what happened at the try-out," asserted chub, "and there's no guess about it, either. clip is superstitious. remember that rabbit's foot, mounted on a silver band, he always carries as a luck-bringer?" everybody in the school knew about clip's rabbit's foot. he had carried it the year before when he had beaten vance latham, the prescott champion, in the mile race. "what about that?" asked matt, wondering what the luck-bringer had to do with the affair at the track. "you know how the grand stand is built, out at the park," pursued chub. "any one can get under it and look out onto the track between the board seats. if any one wanted to, he could climb the timbers, rest the barrel of a revolver on a board and make a good shot at any one on the track. that notion struck me before i left the park this afternoon, and i stole away to do a little investigating. i'm beginning to think sherlock holmes is a back number compared to me. look here what little reddy hawkshaw found under the stand and close to the lower end!" chub jerked his right hand out of his pocket and flung an object at matt. the latter caught it deftly. it was a silver-mounted rabbit's foot, attached to a piece of fine steel chain. matt drew in a quick breath and turned his startled eyes on chub. "_now_ what have you got to say?" inquired chub. "i'm the original, blown-in-the-bottle trouble-maker, but you can bet i haven't gone wrong on _this_!" chapter ix. matt shows his colors. looking down on matt and chub from one of the walls were four lines carefully printed on a big white card. it was matt's work, the printing; and the four lines had been in his room at uncle jonas king's in the old house in the berkshires. "let me win if i may when the game's afoot; let me master my fate when i choose her: playing square with myself in the fight, my boy, if i fail let me be a good loser." from chub's triumphant face, matt's eyes wandered to the lines on the card and dwelt there for a time. "i guess you can't get around that rabbit's foot, matt," said chub, "and i guess major woolford can't, either. clip has been settled on for the mile race with prescott this year same as he was last, but you take it from me the major won't have anything to do with him when i show him that rabbit's foot and tell him where i found it. and maybe," finished chub, "he'll scratch dace perry's entry, too, for it's a dead open-and-shut they were both in this. perry, though, didn't figure on having your wheel jump across in front of his and cause a smash-up." matt, with that rabbit's-foot charm as an eye-opener, saw through the whole dastardly proceeding. crafty dace perry was egging clipperton on, thus "playing even" with matt at little cost to himself. "what did perry hope to gain by having clip shoot a bullet into my tire?" queried matt musingly. "if you'd taken a header from the bicycle, and broken a leg or an arm, that would have put you out of the running. perry would have been cock of the walk in the bike event, and clip could have soothed himself with the reflection that he'd squared up for that rocky deal he thought you gave him this morning. but we can fix 'em! let's go and have a talk with the major, matt." in his eagerness chub reached for his hat. "i guess we won't," said matt. "shucks!" gasped chub; "you're not going to show up that pair and make 'em take their medicine?" "i'm not going to give tom clipperton a black eye when perry is the one most to blame, and when the whole thing is the result of a misunderstanding. we can't say anything about perry without bringing clip into it. and i'm not sure," matt added, "that it's advisable to air the thing, anyway. all prescott would be tickled to hear of the bickering, and every person in phoenix who loves clean sport would be disgusted. i'll take care of the rabbit's foot, and we'll let the whole matter rest and not tell any one anything about it. you've kept quiet so far, haven't you, chub?" "yes, mum as a church mouse; why, i didn't even tell susie or perk. i had a mind to bat it up to clip, perry and the rest when i tackled 'em on the way from the track, but thought i hadn't better. the whole gang might have jumped me and taken the rabbit's foot away. but, look here. you don't mean this, do you?" "you bet i do mean it, chub. if you're a chum of mine you'll do as i tell you." chub heaved a sigh like a boiler-explosion. "another spoke in little chub's wheel," he muttered. "there's never any telling which way you're going to jump, matt, or how. you know what perry is. professor todd don't know he's mixing with dirk hawley, the gambler, and fellows of that sort; but he is, and he's going wrong." matt recalled what the major had said concerning perry, and about the little confidence he had in him. was this because perry associated with blacklegs, and particularly with dirk hawley? "what perry is doing doesn't make any difference with what we're to do, chub," said matt. "clip is only a tool of perry's, and some day he's going to find out how he's being made a catspaw. when that time comes, perry will have a little trouble on his own hands." "all right, matt," said chub, getting up, "have it your own way. it's pretty near supper-time, and i've got to hike. will you be over this evening? maybe i'll get into communication with delray, up at the bluebell." "if i get time i may run over," answered matt, "but don't look for me." just as chub was about to lay his hand on the door-knob a knock fell on the panel. he opened the door and found mrs. spooner, the landlady, outside. there was an odd look on mrs. spooner's face. "there's a man down-stairs as wants to see matt," said she. "he come in one of them gasoline wagons, an' matt may be as surprised to hear as i am to tell him that it's--_hawley, the gambler_!" mrs. spooner's voice sank to a frightened whisper. "dirk hawley!" muttered chub, staring at matt. "sugar, what in tunket can the blackleg want with you?" matt was as much surprised as were mrs. spooner and chub. he did not even know the man, although he had seen him many times, and had heard a good deal about him that was not to his credit. "i'm puzzled to know why he's coming to see me," muttered matt, taking a look at the motor-car through the window. "have him walk up, mrs. spooner, and i'll find out what he wants." chub hesitated a moment as though he would like to stay for the interview, but finally he left, passing hawley on the stairs. dirk hawley owned one of the largest gambling-dens in phoenix, and was reputed to be worth a mint of money. he wore fierce diamonds, had a racing-stable and cut a wide swath among the gambling fraternity. he stepped blandly into matt's room, and took his sizing for a moment with keen, shifty eyes. "you don't know me, i reckon," said he loudly, "but it's dollars to doughnuts i ain't a stranger to you for all that. ask anybody and they'll tell you dirk hawley's a good sport to tie to. rise to that? dirk hawley never goes back on his friends. i've come here to get acquainted with you, king, and to make a friend of you." he put out his hand. "shake," he added. "i don't care to shake," answered matt. "we're not traveling the same way, mr. hawley, and i don't know what good it would do for us to get acquainted." hawley drew down the lid of his right eye and chuckled. "no? well, there's nothing flatterin' about that, but i like your frankness, hang me if i don't. now, i'm going to drop down in one of these nice easy chairs and tell you just how much more i can do for you in a day than woolford could in a month." picking out the biggest chair, he sank into it; then, extracting a gold-mounted cigar-case from his pocket, he extended it toward matt. matt shook his head. hawley chuckled again, extracted a fat cigar and slowly lighted it. "i'm no hand for beating about the bush, king," he proceeded, studying the lad as he talked; "when i know what i want, i go right ahead and make my play, straight from the shoulder. ain't that right? sure. now, i reckon you know i ain't one of these goody-goody sports. woolford plays the racing-game for the game itself, but i play it for that--and for somethin' else. if it was only the game that made a hit with me, i wouldn't be ridin' around in a ten-thousand-dollar motor-car, or makin' a pleasure out o' business, same as i do. understand? who was it started paddy lee, the fastest hundred-an'-twenty-yard man that ever come down the cinder-path? why, me. i discovered paddy, and he's over in england now, taking money away from the britishers hand over fist. candy, just candy. now, say, mebby you ain't next, but i've been watchin' you ever since you hit phoenix. that's right. i've got an eye for a likely youngster, and if you want a friend to push you, for a part of the stakes you can pull down, why not try me out? this is the first time i ever went at a man like this--mostly, they come to me, an' are tickled to death if i take any notice of 'em. but here i am, flat-footed, askin' you to let me take your athletic future in my hands and make you a world-beater. what do you say?" matt was not expecting anything like this. for a moment it took his breath. misinterpreting the boy's silence, hawley fairly radiated genial confidence. "catchin' on, first clatter out of the box!" he murmured admiringly. "always knew you had a head on you. and what good's a runner or a bicycle-racer without a head? tush! from the minute a chap is on his mark till he comes in a winner, he has to use his brains as well as his heels. now, king, if you and i hook up, it's a professional i'm going to make you; see? you'll go in for big things and shake the biggest plum-tree. my idees o' what's right and proper, though, have got to govern. you're a young hand, while i cut my teeth on a hand-book at the sheepshead races. i become your manager, right from the snap of the pistol, and i begin by keepin' you out of small-fry contests. you can't race in the phoenix-prescott meet. i'll just send you to a friend o' mine up in denver to put you in trainin' for a big bicycle-race at the coliseum in chicago; an' jest to ease up your feelin's for scratchin' your entry in the phoenix-prescott side-show, i tucks five hundred of the long green in your little hand and sends you north to-morrow. what say?" matt was "stumped." the longer hawley talked the more astounded matt became. just what hawley wanted to do with him the boy did not know, but he gleaned enough to understand that he'd have to turn his back on a whole bunch of cherished "principles" if he fell in with the gambler's desires. "i guess you've got into the wrong pew, mr. hawley," remarked matt. "i haven't any desire to help you shake plum-trees, and if i ever went into racing for a business you're the last man i'd pick out to see me through." "ain't my money as good as anybody else's?" flared hawley, losing some of his amiability. "i'm not talking about money. what i want to say is that you and i can't hitch up worth a cent." "that's how you stack up, is it?" returned hawley. "well, look here"--he drew a roll of bills out of his pocket--"there's five hundred in that roll and it's all yours if you go to denver to-morrow and stay there for a month." matt had a thought just then that touched him like a live wire. "you're trying to keep me out of that phoenix-prescott contest, mr. hawley," said he, with a square look into the gambler's eyes. "what sort of an ax have you got to grind, anyhow?" dirk hawley got up, shoved the roll of bills into his pocket, and moved to the door. "you're too wise for your own good, my bantam," he sneered. "perry pretty near hits it off in what he tells me about you. if you think you're going to ride in that bicycle-race you've got another guess coming. just paste that in your little hat and keep your eye on it." then, with an angry splutter, dirk hawley let himself out of the room and slammed the door. a few moments later matt heard his big motor-car puffing away from the curb. chapter x. a challenge. for several days matt pondered over that queer talk he had had with dirk hawley. all he could make out of it only left him more mystified than ever. it seemed certain that hawley had mentioned putting matt into training for big racing-events merely as a ruse to get him to denver. the gambler wanted to keep him out of the phoenix-prescott race, and was willing to spend $ in order to do so. but what was his reason? even though dirk hawley had plenty of money he would not let go of $ unless he expected to get value-received for it. there was a possibility that, as a friend of dace perry's, hawley wanted to get matt out of the race in order to give perry a show. however, perry would hardly spend $ in order to win a $ motor-cycle; and certainly the gambler would not put up the money for him. it all looked very dark and very mysterious to matt. the gambler's threat did not bother him in the least; and he was so self-reliant that he did not take the matter of hawley's visit to the major. had he, at that time, the remotest inkling of what hawley's real purpose was, he would have acted differently and told the major everything. but when this knowledge came to matt, events happened which made it impossible for him to go to major woolford and lay bare the gambler's scheme. although perry had beaten o'day, the prescott rider, in the bicycle-race the year before, and matt knew very well he could beat perry, yet matt was taking no chances. o'day was working hard and, it was said, had developed phenomenal speed. in order to make assurance doubly sure, matt went into active training at once. the major furnished him a good racing-wheel, and morning and evening he was out with it. a youngster named penny, who was in his first year at the high school, had a one-cylinder motor-cycle, and matt got him to act as pace-maker. every afternoon penny and matt were at the track. for his morning spin, matt went out alone. perry, also, was taking hold of the practise-work in vigorous style. he was out as much as matt was, and often matt saw hawley's motor-car setting the pace for him. perry did some remarkable stunts in the wake of that six-cylinder machine. results were more spectacular than valuable, however. with the body of a big touring-car to split the air and act as a wind-break, it would have been strange if perry had not made a good showing. for his training matt dug out of his trunk the leather cap, coat and leggings for which he had had no use since leaving the motor-factory in albany. this cumbersome clothing hampered him somewhat, but he knew that if he could do well in that he would be able to work much better when stripped for the contest with o'day. "perry has taken to practise just as though he was to be the big high boy in that bicycle-race," remarked chub. "he was only second choice, and what's he working so hard for when he knows you're going to hold down the phoenix end against o'day?" "probably he wants to be fit for the race of his life in case anything happens to me," said matt. "well, you take care that nothing happens to you, matt," cautioned chub. during all this time matt saw very little of clipperton. whenever they met, which they were bound to do occasionally, clipperton threw back his shoulders and scowled blackly. ratty spangler, tubbits drake and a few more of perry's friends not only kept their hostile attitude toward matt, but influenced some of the other students to come over to their side. but matt was not lacking for friends. splinters formed himself into a committee of one and passed around a true version of the affair by the canal. splinters, of course, knew nothing about the matter of the rock, but he knew enough to turn the best boys in the school against perry. the prescott athletic club, with several hundred prescott rooters, was to come to phoenix by special train on saturday forenoon. on the afternoon of friday, the day preceding the "big meet"--as all loyal phoenix and prescott people called the athletic event--matt got back from the track to find a letter waiting for him on the table in his room. mrs. spooner explained that she had found the missive pushed under the front door, and hadn't the least idea who had left it. matt stared when he opened the letter and began to read. it was from tom clipperton, and was very much to the point. "matt king: you think you're a better man than i am. i'll give you another guess. we can settle our differences in one way. man to man. come alone to the place where you threw me into the canal. make it o'clock to-night. either i'll give you the worst thrashing you ever had, or you'll give one to "tom clipperton. "p.s.--there's a moon." "it's a challenge," muttered matt grimly. "i don't want to fight the fellow--it will only make a bad matter worse. i'll have to, though, unless i can talk with him and tell him a few things he'll believe. clip is not half bad at heart, and if he'd only get rid of some of his foolish notions, and stay away from perry, he'd make a mighty good chum." crumpling up the note, matt threw it into a waste-basket. "i'll have to give him a licking, though, if he won't have it any other way," he added under his breath. the mcready home was only a little way from the place of meeting selected by clipperton. it was about half-past seven when matt left mrs. spooner's, intending to call on chub, and leaving in time to meet clipperton on the bank of the canal at nine. chub and susie were at home, but welcome perkins was in town, taking his part in the general excitement preceding what was to be a red-letter day in the annals of phoenix. chub was in front of his wireless apparatus, for the accommodation of which a corner of the kitchen had been set apart. flashes were coming brightly in the spark-gap between the two brass balls of the home-made apparatus. chub had begun his experiments in message-sending with an ordinary telegraph-instrument, which he had manufactured himself. one end of the wire had been in the laboratory and the other in the kitchen. after susie had learned the code, and was able to operate the key, chub used to take fifteen minutes wiring his sister for something which he could have gone after in almost as many seconds. following the telegraph-instrument came experiments in wireless work, in conjunction with an old telegraph-operator who was watchman at the bluebell mine, twenty miles away. many weeks passed before chub finally got his materials together, and assembled the instruments and erected the necessary wires at home and at the bluebell. delray, the operator-watchman at the bluebell, helped chub as much as he could at that end of the line, and matt was constantly called upon for advice as failure succeeded failure. now, for the first time since he had begun operations, chub was in extended communication with delray, and his delight as he worked the key and the sparks flew between the terminals, was scarcely to be measured. "bully!" cried chub, as he sat back in his chair, "this is the first time the arizona ether has ever been stirred up like del and i are doing it now. i asked him if he wasn't coming to the fun to-morrow afternoon. let's see if he got it." chub had hardly finished speaking before the sounder began to click. chub bent forward with an eager, satisfied look on his face, and susie stood with bowed head reading the message as it came through. "he can't come," said chub; "says he'd give a good deal to see matt beat o'day, but that there's no one to relieve him, and he'll have to stay at the bluebell. he's the only man up there now, you know, matt. to-morrow night, about this time, i guess you'll be shooting along on the _comet_, eh?" "i'm going to win that race, chub," answered matt, with quiet confidence. "wish i was as sure of inventing a flying-machine as i am that you're going to beat out o'day." "is that what you're going to do next--invent a flying-machine?" laughed matt. "either that or build an automobile." "build an automobile," suggested susie; "you won't have so far to fall if anything gives out." just then chub thought of something he wanted to say to the bluebell and jumped for the key. matt talked with susie for a little while, but kept quiet about his expected meeting with clipperton. when he left, he proceeded the length of the front walk and passed through the gate, in order to give susie, who was watching him, the impression that he was going back to town. he could turn back along the canal just below the bridge, and so come to the place where clipperton would be waiting for him. on his way to the canal he most unexpectedly ran into welcome perkins, who was burning the air in the direction of home. "whoop!" cried welcome fiercely, "it's a wonder ye wouldn't look where ye're goin'--runnin' inter a one-legged ole pirate like a cyclone. where's yer eyes, anyway? think i ain't got nothin' else to do but---- shade o' gallopin' dick! why, if it ain't matt king--jest the very feller i wanted to see. there's the horriblest thing a-goin' on, pard, ye most ever heard of! i got so heathen mad i come purty nigh fallin' from grace, drorin' ole lucretia borgia an' damagin' every one in sight. nobody knows what a rip-roarin' ole fury i am when i cut loose, or----" "what's on your mind, welcome?" said matt, trying to pin the old man down to more facts and less language. "that's what i'm a-tellin' ye," fluttered welcome. "rushed around to mrs. spooner's--fine ole lady, mrs. spooner, but she's scart of me. soon's she saw who it was a-rappin' on the door she screams frightful, an' wouldn't talk with me till i'd got off the porch." welcome sniffed plaintively. "that's what a blood-curdlin' past'll do fer a man. don't you never turn into a hootin', tootin' road-agent, matt, or----" "i'll turn into something worse than that," broke in matt, "if you don't tell me what you're trying to. now, then, make another start." "mrs. spooner she says you ain't there, an' i reckons ye've gone to see chub," went on welcome, "so off i comes this way. whisper," he sputtered in matt's ear, excitedly, and drew him close to the fence at the roadside. "this is so tur'ble it won't bear tellin' above yer breath." chapter xi. foul play. "i don't b'leeve in gamblin'," whispered welcome, "an' bettin' is next door to knockin' a human down an' goin' through his pockets; but that's what dirk hawley is doin'--bettin' right an' left two to one, three to one, any odds he can git, that"--and here welcome grabbed matt's arm in a convulsive grip and brought his face close to matt's--"o'day'll win that race to-morrer! ain't that scandalous? an' him a phoenix man!" "of course hawley will bet," said matt, "that's his business. i don't believe in it, and i know major woolworth don't, but you can't keep it from figuring in athletic contests like those to-morrow. the major plays the game for the game itself, while hawley plays it for what he can get out of it." "that ain't all," breathed welcome. "if hawley was bound to bet i thought he ort to be bettin' on the best man--which is you. my, my, but i got in a twitter over the way hawley was actin', an' i a'most hate to tell ye how i cut loose, matt." "tell it, welcome," urged matt; "i'll try not to be shocked." "well," and the old man gulped on the words as though they came hard, "i met that spangler boy on the dark street alongside hawley's place an'--an'--well, i was so chuck full o' that ole pirate feelin' i jest pulled lucretia borgia, pushed 'er in his face, an' axed him real cross what hawley was doin', an' why. the spangler boy gits the shakes right off, an' his teeth chatters as he unloads the news. perry is bettin' on o'day himself, an' hawley has fixed it so's you won't race, matt, an' perry's agreed to throw the race. that's what the spangler boy told me, an' he got down on his knees an' begged me not to let hawley or perry know where i got the infermation. what d'ye think o' that?" matt was startled. he might easily have inferred that welcome was making a mountain out of a mole-hill, as he was too apt to do, but for the fact that there was evidence to support welcome's story. hawley had tried to get matt out of town so he would not take part in the race. this, of course, was to throw the phoenix chances of winning into perry's hands, and thus make sure that o'day would win. perry's training had been only a "bluff" in order to make phoenix people believe that he was preparing to do his best in case he had the opportunity to race with o'day. the whole contemptible plot drifted through matt's brain. the one thing that puzzled him was how hawley had planned to keep him out of the race. here it was almost the eleventh hour and hawley had not yet made any move to keep matt off the track--excepting, of course, that offer of a $ bribe. "somethin' has got to be did!" declared welcome in an explosive whisper. "it's up to you, pard." "look here, welcome," said matt earnestly, "you leave this whole thing to me, and don't breathe a whisper of what you have found out to any one, not even to chub. i'll do everything that's necessary." "but, say----" "not a word. go on into the house, calm your turbulent spirit and let me handle the difficulty. i'm going to some place now, and can't stop here any longer. mum it is, mind!" and matt hurried on to the canal. just below the bridge he waited until he heard the _pat_, _pat_ of welcome's wooden pin on the mcready front walk, then he turned to the left, vaulted over a fence and started along the canal through the cottonwood-trees. suddenly he paused, an idea plunging lightninglike through his brain. was that letter of tom clipperton's merely a lure? had clipperton written it for the purpose of getting him into the hands of a gang of roughs who would so handle him that he would be a candidate for the hospital rather than the track on the following day? standing there on the canal-bank, with the moonlight sifting through the cottonwood branches in silver patches, matt king did some hard thinking. he had always entertained a certain amount of respect for tom clipperton. he believed that clipperton was square, and that there were some things he would not do even while under the influence of dace perry--and this in spite of what had happened at the try-out. matt would have welcomed the chance to make clipperton his friend, for he believed there was more real manhood in the quarter-blood than in perry and all the rest of his followers put together. the question with matt now was, should he carry his trust in clipperton to the limit, and go on to the appointed place where he expected to find him alone? matt king was absolutely fearless. whenever he believed in a thing he always had the courage of his convictions. it was so now. having reached a decision, he continued on through the moonlight. as he stepped into the small open space where the clash had occurred two weeks before, a form untangled itself from the shadow of the trees and came toward him. it was clipperton. "you've come," said clipperton, in a voice of satisfaction. "i didn't know whether you would or not. thought you mightn't have the nerve. throw off your coat." "don't be in a rush, clipperton," answered matt. "i'm going to give you all the satisfaction you want before we leave here, but i'd like to talk a little before we get busy." "what's the good of talk? either you're going to get a good licking or i am. let's see which." "we'll see which in about two minutes. when we faced each other in this place nearly two weeks ago, you came here with perry. i told all of you why perry came----" "perry told us, too. i'm taking perry's word, not yours." "of course," said matt dryly. "perry stands pretty high with you now, but there's going to be a change. you must know, clipperton, that i have faith in you or i wouldn't be here to-night. it would be easy for you to have a gang in ambush and beat me up so i wouldn't be able to leave my bed for a week----" a snarl rushed from clipperton's lips. "if you think i'm enough of an indian to do that----" "i don't." "didn't i trust you, too? you could have brought mcready along. are you going to strip?" there was angry impatience in clipperton's voice. "there was a mistake about that rock," matt went on coolly. "it wasn't thrown at you, but at perry." "perry says different. that you threw it at me." "perry is careless with the truth. before we begin, let me give you your rabbit's foot. if you ever needed it, you're going to need it now." matt held out his hand. clipperton said something and recoiled a step; then, slowly, he advanced and took the luck-bringer from matt's fingers. "where'd you get this?" asked clipperton. "it was found under the grand stand where you dropped it when you fired at my wheel." clipperton was silent, standing rigid and erect in the moonlight. there was a queer gleam in his eyes as he fixed them on matt. "how many have you told that to?" he demanded. "not one. if i had, you wouldn't be in that mile run to-morrow." as matt finished speaking clipperton leaped forward abruptly. "look out!" he called. thinking clipperton was going to attack him, matt squared away and put up his hands. at that moment he was seized from behind and hurled to the ground. "stand off!" he heard clipperton yell furiously. "he's here to fight me! what does this----" "shut up, you fool!" threatened a voice, and was followed by a rush of feet in clipperton's direction. matt was struggling with all his might, but there were four boys crushing him down and strangling him to prevent outcry. who the boys were he could not see, as there were handkerchief masks over their faces. "quick!" muttered a voice. "where's that rope?" matt was turned roughly on his face, several hands fumbling at his wrists and ankles and at least one pressing a cloth, soaked with some drug, to his nostrils. presently, as in a dream, he felt himself lifted and borne hurriedly away. his senses were rapidly leaving him, and he had no idea as to what direction he was being taken. there was a mumble of voices in his ears and sounds of stumbling feet. presently he was lifted and crumpled into a cushioned seat. a _chug chug_ of a starting engine came faintly to his ears, and he felt a swift forward movement of the seat on which he was lying. the cloth was still covering his face and stifling him. then, a moment more, everything became a blank. chapter xii. cool villainy. it was several hours before matt regained consciousness. his first tangible feeling was one of nausea. opening his eyes, he found himself in a bare little room, lighted by a candle planted in its own drippings on the hard earth floor. matt's hands and feet were tied, and his limbs felt terribly numb and cramped. as his wits slowly returned, he began to note his surroundings more in detail. the walls of the room were of adobe clay, but they had caved in in several places and parts of the thatched roof had fallen to the floor. the litter of clay and tule thatching had been brushed aside to leave the center of the room clear. on the floor near matt lay his leather cap. close to the sputtering candle, squatting tailor-fashion, a doubled elbow on one of his knees and a black pipe in his fingers, was a resolute-looking man in cowboy clothes. alongside of him lay a broad-brimmed hat and a coiled riata. "where am i?" called matt. the man turned his grizzled face in matt's direction. "oh, ho!" he chuckled. "come back ter earth, have ye? i was allowin' it ort ter be time. whar be ye? why, ye're in a desarted mexican _jacal_ in the foot-hills o' the phoenix mountains, about twenty miles from the capital of arizony territory. anythin' else ye're pinin' ter know?" "who brought me here?" demanded matt. "you was brought in one o' them hossless kerriges, bub. that was a hull lot o' style, now, wasn't it? i've heern tell that lots o' people pays five dollars an hour ter ride in them benzine buggies, but you got yer ride fer nothin'. ain't ye pleased?" "this is no time for foolishness," said matt. "i was dragged away from phoenix against my will, and the best thing you can do is to take these ropes off me and let me go." "the best thing fer you, mebby, but not exactly the best thing fer myself, not hardly. jest lay thar an' be as comfortable as ye can, bub. we'll git along fine if ye're only peaceable. i'm goin' ter let ye go, bumby." "by and by? when will that be?" "after them races are over in phoenix." matt's freshly awakened brain was just beginning to get a grasp of the situation. "this is hawley's doing!" he cried. "he had me captured, there on the bank of the canal, and brought out here in his machine! this is his scoundrelly way for keeping me out of that bicycle-race. who are you?" matt asked angrily. "me?" grinned the cowboy; "oh, don't worry none about that. i'm only jest the feller that helps. roll over an' go ter sleep. i'll sit up an' see that nothin' comes in ter pester ye." "there's a way to take care of people like you and hawley," threatened matt. "if you want to save yourself trouble, you'll release me." "waal, i don't figger it jest that way, bub," drawled the cowboy. "to let ye go afore saturday night would be a mighty short cut ter trouble fer yours truly." "but i'm to ride in that bicycle-race to-morrow!" "ter-day, bub, not ter-morrer. that bicycle-race is ter-day, since it's some little past midnight. we passed the fag-end o' friday clost ter an hour ago. yep, i understood ye was goin' ter race with o'day at four o'clock p. m. but ye've changed yer mind about that." "i haven't changed my mind," answered matt desperately. "then somebody else changed yer mind fer ye, which don't make a particle o' difference, seein' as how ye can't help yerself. good night, bub. i'll jest set here an' smoke an' doze an' make shore that nothin' don't happen. the man as got me ter do this was powerful pertickler about that." there was nothing to be gained by talking with the fellow--matt was not slow in making up his mind to that. the terrible pains he had felt when he had first opened his eyes were leaving him slowly, and this afforded him some comfort. turning a little in order to make his position more easy, he closed his eyes and fell to thinking. when he went to that place on the canal to meet clipperton he had walked into a trap--but it was not a trap of clipperton's setting. hawley--and perry, perhaps--had, as usual, used clipperton as a tool. matt was positive of this from the way clipperton had acted when the trap was sprung. there were things about that challenge of clipperton's which he did not understand, and probably never would understand until some one of his enemies explained the matter to him. but, with the passing of recent events, fresh light was thrown upon the story told by welcome perkins. if matt could not get back to phoenix before o'clock, saturday afternoon, perry would ride against o'day--and major woolford's club would lose the bicycle-race. incidentally, hawley's scheming would enable him to win a lot of money. the betting part of hawley's schemes matt cared little about. what he did worry over was major woolford's disappointment, and the fact that the _comet_ would go to o'day--and go to him unfairly. besides, matt had set his heart on having the _comet_ for his own, and all his future plans clustered about his ownership of that splendid machine. he must get away, he _must_! by hook or crook he was in duty bound to get back to phoenix in time for the bicycle-race, and to confront hawley and perry and foil their villainous plans. but how was he to escape? carefully he began tugging at the ropes about his wrists. they were discouragingly tight, and he soon discovered that he could do nothing with them. while he was racking his brain in an endeavor to think of something that would serve his turn, the craving of his tired body for rest and sleep gradually overcame him and his thoughts faded into slumber. when he opened his eyes again it was broad day. the sun must have been two or three hours high, for its beams were shining in through an opening in the eastern wall that had once served as a window. "mornin', bub," drawled the voice of the cowboy. "had a fine snooze, didn't ye? an' ye jest woke up in time fer grub. i've had my snack, an' i kin give my hull attention ter passin' ye yours." the cowboy began fishing some crackers and cheese out of a paper bag. "can't you take the ropes off my hands while i eat?" asked matt. "waal, i'd like ter, mighty well, seein' as how i'm the most obligin' feller by natur' you most ever set eyes on, but i give my promise that i wouldn't take them ropes off'n yer hands until sundown. 'course ye wouldn't have a feller go back on his word, would ye?" there was no satisfaction to be got out of the fellow, and matt was obliged to wriggle to a sitting posture and have his jailer feed him. from time to time the cowboy would press a canteen of water to his lips. matt had a good appetite and he ate heartily, feeling that if he found a chance at attempting anything he could not do his best on an empty stomach. "thar ain't much variety to this here grub," apologized the cowboy, "but thar's plenty of it an' it does me proud ter see ye eat so hearty. i'm twicet as glad ter see ye chipper as i would be ter see ye down in the mouth." "i try to be a good loser," said matt. "that's you! bicycle-races ain't all thar is in this world." "what time is it?" "i ain't got no watch, but i kin figger purty clost by the sun." stepping to the doorway the cowboy cast a critical glance at the cabin's shadow. "half-past eleven, bub," he went on, turning back into the room, "is what i make it." a thrill of dismay passed through matt's nerves. half-past eleven and the bicycle-race, the last event on the list, was to be at four o'clock! only four hours and a half! and there was matt, a prisoner, and twenty miles from phoenix! "you seem to be a pretty good fellow," said matt eagerly, "and why is it you can help hawley in this cool villainy of his? that bicycle-race means a lot to me! i don't know how much hawley is paying you to keep me here, but if you will let me go, and give me a few weeks to pay it, i will double the money." the cowboy shook his head. "i'm some pecooliar, thataway," he observed. "when i give my word i'll do a thing, you can bank on it i'm right thar with the goods. now, if ye had a million, which it ain't in reason a boy yore age would have, an' if ye offered me half of it, i'd shore spurn yer money. when i hire out i goes ter the highest bidder, an' i sticks thar like a wood-tick ter a yaller dog. sorry, bub, but that's the way i stack up." there was no beating down the cowboy's resistance. he was there to do the work hawley had paid him for, and nothing could swerve him from what he believed to be his duty. apparently not caring to have any further conversation with matt, the cowboy began walking back and forth in the room, whistling to himself and now and then humming a snatch of song. finally he sat down, picked up his coiled riata and began braiding the brushy end of the rope and overlaying it with twine. the minutes passed. for a time matt tried to count them, his heart all the while growing heavier and heavier. this was a time when it was hard indeed to be a "good loser." there was a tremendous rivalry between the two athletic clubs--a rivalry in which the separate towns that claimed them took active part. in the contests the year before the prescott club had got the better of the phoenix club in the matter of points. phoenix had won the one-mile dash, the broad jump, the bicycle-race and the hammer-throw, but prescott had cleaned up all the other events. matt knew how eager the major was to have phoenix get the better of the rival town, and the loss of the bicycle-race, which counted high in the final summing-up, might turn the scale in favor of prescott. in his mind, as he lay helpless there on the floor of that abandoned _jacal_, the boy pictured the throngs of people moving along washington street toward the park. he heard the horns, the megaphones, the band, and he saw the white and blue of phoenix high waving defiance to the red and white of prescott high. above everything came the school yells, and he stifled the groan that rose to his lips. he ought to be there, and he was twenty miles away! yes, it _was_ hard to be a good loser. the cowboy must have divined something of what was going on in matt's mind, for, as he laid aside his repaired riata and got up, he looked toward matt. "i'm sorry, bub, honest," said he, "but thar ain't a pesky thing i kin do except watch ye till sundown. why, i ain't even got a hoss here. it's clost to two o'clock, now, an' if ye was loose ye couldn't git ter phoenix in time fer that bicycle-race." matt made no reply. he could not trust himself to speak. the cowboy picked up the water-canteen and tried to drink, but the canteen was empty. "i'm goin' ter the spring, bub," he remarked, starting for the door. "it ain't fur, an' i'll be back in a few minits. i'm dryer'n the desert o' sahary, an' i reckon you wouldn't mind havin' a drink neither." with that he left the room and vanished around the wall of the hut. matt could hear his thin-soled, high-heeled boots crunching the sand as he moved away. it was then that something happened which fairly took matt's breath. a face appeared in the door--a swarthy face set sharply in lines that suggested a fierce strain and failing strength. two gleaming black eyes looked in at the boy on the floor. the next moment a dusty form staggered into the room, reeled across the floor to matt and went down on its knees. "clipperton!" whispered matt, scarcely knowing whether he was awake or dreaming. without a word clipperton began cutting at the ropes with a jack-knife. slash, slash. it was quickly done, the severed coils falling from matt's wrists and ankles. "come!" breathed clipperton huskily. "time is short. the man will be back." matt was groggy on his feet. clipperton, none too steady himself, contrived to support him to the door. once outside they started hurriedly across the bare hills, matt speechless with the wonder of it all. chapter xiii. the bluebell. the two boys got out of sight in a swale before the cowboy returned from the spring. looking back, just before they dropped from view of the _jacal_, they were unable to see anything of the man. taking matt's arm, clipperton drew him along the swale, then over the western bank of it and into a shallow valley between two low hills. "it's nearly two o'clock," clipperton was muttering. "twenty miles--four o'clock. we'll get a horse at the bluebell. you can make it if you _ride_." "where did you come from, clipperton?" asked matt. "phoenix." "how did you come?" "on foot. didn't dare look for a horse. afraid they'd find out and stop me." matt halted and laid a hand on clipperton's arm. "did you come out here, all the way from phoenix, on foot, to help me?" he asked quietly. "why not?" flamed clipperton. "i got you into the trouble. i was afraid you might think i knew what perry and the rest were doing. i didn't. it was a put-up job, but i didn't know until too late. i--i could kill perry! he told me to write that letter. said he'd keep his hands off and stay away. you saw how he did it." swirling hate poured out with the words. clipperton was breathing hard and talked in husky gasps. "you were to do that mile race at two o'clock," said matt. "i did a twenty-mile race; somewhat earlier." "why, that race was as good as a hundred dollars to you!" "if i win this it'll please me more." "you've won it, clip," said matt, in a low tone. "you've got me away from that hut." "i haven't won it!" cried clipperton. "it's won when you face the starter on your wheel and cut out perry. the coyote!" "you've found out about perry?" clipperton muttered something in a savage undertone. matt put out his hand and clipperton clasped it quickly. "i guess we understand each other, clip," said matt. "how far away is the bluebell?" "at the end of this valley. hurry. you've _got_ to get to phoenix in time." "i don't see how i can, even with a horse." "you can. you _must_!" they made their way down the valley as fast as they could, matt's benumbed limbs slowly regaining their strength, and clipperton keeping up by sheer force of will. from time to time they gazed behind them, but they could see nothing of the cowboy. if he was looking for them he was evidently searching in the wrong direction. "how did you find out where i had been taken, clip?" queried matt. "tubbits drake knew," replied clipperton. "i went to him early this morning. i made him tell me. then i started. it was a long twenty miles. i had to wait at the hut until the man went away. if he hadn't gone when he did he would have had to fight. perry, drake, spangler and three men furnished by hawley captured you. they were hiding by the canal all the time, hawley's motor-car brought you out here. hawley wasn't with it. he sent his driver. i was a fool. but i know a few things _now_." by the time clipperton had finished, he and matt had come to the end of the valley. rounding the base of one of the hills an ore-dump broke into view, surmounted by a derrick. from the top of the derrick swung one of the aerial wires of chub's wireless telegraph-line. a few yards from the foot of the derrick was a small house. a man in his shirt-sleeves sat tilted back in a chair in the shade. he was watching the two boys curiously as they hastened toward him. "hello, neighbors!" he called, when they had come close. "kind of queer to see a couple of lads loose in these hills on foot. what are you---- jumping jerushy!" the man suddenly exclaimed. "if it ain't matt king! why, i thought----" "i know what you thought, delray," said matt hurriedly. "i was abducted from phoenix last night in order to keep me out of the race. i was being held a prisoner----" "at pedro garcia's old _jacal_," interpolated clipperton. "and clip, here, got me away," went on matt. "i have to get to phoenix by four o'clock." delray whistled. "mebby you could do it if you had wings, matt," said he. "why, it's nearly two o'clock, and there's twenty long miles between here and phoenix. that's a deuce of a note. abducted by hawley! thunder! what did he do that for?" "let him take your horse," cried clipperton, sinking down in the shade. "he can make it!" "horse?" echoed delray. "i haven't got a horse. there isn't a horse this side of the arizona canal, eight miles away. give it up, matt. there'll be bicycle-races after you're dead and gone." a half-stifled groan broke from clipperton's lips. matt and delray, looking toward him, saw that he had his face in his hands. "what's the matter with him, matt?" asked delray. "i've lost the race for king," said clipperton, lifting his haggard face. "i did it! but i got to him as quick as i could. perry--i--i----" the words died huskily away on clipperton's lips and he finished by shaking his fist menacingly in the direction of phoenix. matt walked over to clipperton. "you didn't lose the race for me, clip," said he, "and i want you to understand that here and now. you were no more to blame for it than the man in the moon. i ought to have----" matt halted abruptly. in front of him was the derrick, the lightning-rod point of chub's aerial wire glistening in the sun. he whirled and jumped like a madman for delray. "great cæsar's ghost!" cried delray, "have you gone dippy, matt?" "is that wireless apparatus working?" shouted matt. "it was, last night." "if it's working now," went on matt excitedly, "maybe i can put this trick through yet. get at your key, delray! try and get chub." "what the blazes----" delray stared. "say, matt, do you think i can send you through to phoenix by wireless?" "get chub!" yelled matt. "don't stand there like a stick, delray. get chub, i tell you! i'll tell you what to say when you get him. there's a chance, a _chance_!" while the dazed delray went into the house and sat down at his sending-key, matt hovered frantically around him. the minute delray touched the key the hertzian waves got busy, crackling and flashing between the two polished balls of the terminals. "i don't know why you think i can get anybody in phoenix this afternoon, matt," complained delray. "the whole town must have emptied itself into the park. it's a safe guess, anyhow, that chub will be there." matt's heart went down into his shoes. he hadn't thought of that. of course, chub would be at the track! chub was there to see matt win the motor-cycle! oh, the irony of fate! clipperton thrust his drawn face in at the door. his eyes glowed with a hope which was past his understanding. delray rattled the key and the flashes quivered back and forth between the balls, jumped off the lightning-rod tip at the top of the derrick and darted in every direction with the swiftness of thought. suddenly the sounder began to click. "what's this, what's this?" mumbled delray, bending over the relay instrument and listening intently. scarcely breathing, matt and clipperton kept their eyes on delray's face. "why, it's susie mcready!" exclaimed delray. "matt king is missing--chub and perk at the park hunting for him--everybody in town hunting--susie came back to the house to ask me to hunt--now, what do you think of that? talk about luck! but what good is it going to do? that's what gets me." "tell susie i'm here," said matt; "tell her i was abducted from phoenix last night to keep me out of the race; tell her to call up major woolford on the phone at the park; tell her to have the major lay quick hands on ed penny and send him along the black cañon road on the _comet_ as fast as he can come; have susie tell the major to tell penny that everything depends on the record he makes between phoenix and the bluebell, and that i'll walk along the black cañon road to meet him and save a little time. shoot 'er through! hustle, old chap." "oh, tell, tell, tell!" groaned delray. "why, you're talking like a house afire. here goes." _click_, _click_, _clickety-click_, sang the key, the crackle of the spark keeping a merry accompaniment. delray repeated the message. as he was finishing, matt started for the door. "wait," called delray, "here's an answer." the sounder began to click and then stopped dead. "no, there ain't," muttered delray; "something's slipped a cog and the home-made machine is out of commission. anyhow, matt, she held together until we got your message through. go it, and good luck to you!" matt was already through the door and striking a bee-line for the black cañon road, which ran past the derrick. clipperton had caught his second wind and was following him. chapter xiv. coming of the "comet." matt hardly dared hope for success. there was a chance--perhaps one chance in a hundred--that everything would work as it should, and penny arrive along the black cañon road with the _comet_ in time for matt to make such a run into phoenix as was never heard of before. but when matt thought of the many things on which success hinged, his heart stood still before the very audacity of his thought of winning out. in the first place, everything depended on the quickness with which a number of intricate details were accomplished in phoenix--and all these were left in the hands of a girl! true, susie mcready was a girl in a hundred, quick-witted, and able to hustle in a pinch, but it was not to be supposed that she could do as well as chub would have done. then, susie would have to take chances getting major woolford on the phone. in the crowd at the park it might be impossible to find the major for an hour--and it was quite likely a loss of ten minutes would spell disaster. but if susie _could_ get the major on the phone, matt knew that the energetic president of the phoenix club would move heaven and earth to find penny and start him along the black cañon road. the major, too, would delay the start of the bicycle-race as long as he could. prescott, however, if it saw a chance to pull off the race without matt, was allowed to insist, under the rules governing the contests, that the starter bring the racers to the mark on the dot. as the difficulties before him piled steadily up under matt's mental view, he halted his pace, almost discouraged by the outlook. clipperton toiled up alongside of him. "you shouldn't have tried to chase along with me, clip," said matt. "you're pretty near all in, old man. jupiter! but you've made a record this day!" "you can make a better one," panted clipperton. "i want you to make good. but how are you going to? put me next." matt explained about chub's wireless line, about the seven-horse-power motor-cycle which could do sixty-five miles an hour on the high speed if a rider was reckless enough and had the right kind of a road, and he finished by giving the situation at the phoenix end of the route. clipperton's eyes snapped and sparkled. he had been born to champion forlorn hopes, and certainly this idea of matt's was desperate enough to make the biggest kind of a hit with him. "great!" he muttered breathlessly. "if you win it will be the biggest thing on record. won by wireless, and a jump of twenty miles on the _comet_. fine! motor matt, mile-a-minute matt, king of the wheel. say, you're a wonder." "not so you can notice it, clip, not yet. just now, all i can do is to hope for the best." for some time they continued on through the hills, finally reaching a high part of the road which gave them a view of a flat stretch of desert leading away to the arizona canal. there were several canals in salt river valley and contiguous to phoenix, all constructed for irrigation purposes. it was the "town canal" that ran past the mcready home, and between that and the arizona canal there was still another of the artificial streams. the arizona canal, however, formed the outpost of the waterways. pausing on the "rise," matt and clipperton peered across the glimmering yellow sands. a fork in the road lay below them. "the branch goes to pedro garcia's old _jacal_ and beyond," said clip. "look!" he added excitedly. matt followed clip's extended finger with his eyes. off along the branch road, trudging slowly toward the main trail, a distant form could be seen. "the cowboy!" muttered matt. at that distance he could not identify the figure, but intuition told him who it must be. "yes," returned clipperton grimly. "he thinks we started for phoenix." "what time is it now, clip?" "we're four miles from the bluebell. it's taken us an hour. so it must be nearly three." "sixteen miles from phoenix and only a little more than an hour left! i'm expecting too much, clip. susie has had an hour to find the major and get penny started this way with the _comet_. somebody hasn't been able to make good and i guess i'm let out." "no!" shouted clip. "what's that coming this way? see!" clipperton pointed along the main road where it ran in a light streak across the desert. a cloud of dust, more like a column of smoke than anything else, was sweeping toward the hills. matt held his breath as he gazed. the dust cloud seemed fairly to jump at them; then, suddenly, the wind whipped it aside, and brave ed penny, glorious old penny, could be seen crouching upon the saddle of the _comet_. he was shooting for the hills like a cannon-ball. "hurrah!" yelled clipperton, jerking off his cap and throwing it into the air. "motor matt is going to win!" the _comet_ took the "rise" like a bird on the wing. penny, covered with dust and half-blinded, halted only when he heard matt's voice calling to him. clip sprang to support the machine while penny got off. "that you, king?" queried penny, dizzy and staggering. "yes!" shouted matt, gripping the brave fellow's hand. "bully boy, penny! how's everything at the park?" "panic! mile race lost because clip wasn't there. all phoenix wild because king is missing. major red-headed. jerked me out of the high-school bunch and snatched me into town in his automobile; threw me onto the _comet_ and offered me twenty-five dollars if i'd get the machine to you inside of an hour, and fifty dollars if you got to the park in time for the race. jinks, but that machine is a dandy!" matt and clip were lifting the _comet_ around. clip held the machine while matt rose to the saddle. "wait!" roared penny; "don't start yet." "why not?" asked matt. "hawley is coming! see that dust? pull the _comet_ out here beside the road and crouch down so we can't be seen when the dust blows away. the driver of the car may take the other road at the forks." here was startling news--news that might snatch success out of matt's hands just when the prospect of victory seemed brightest. another dust cloud was coming. as the three boys drew aside and crouched down the cloud dissipated slightly and through it they could see dirk hawley's motor-car, hitting nothing but high places and reaching for the hills like a streak. "he saw the major grab me and rush me away from the park," explained penny, referring to hawley. "his driver and another man were in the car besides himself. they took after me. i led them by a quarter of a mile at the bridge over the arizona canal. they stopped there and the man in the tonneau with hawley got out. the whole bunch means trouble! what's hawley got to do with this, anyhow?" "he's got a lot to do with it," muttered matt, "but i haven't time to explain now. ah, look at the cowboy, clip!" the cowboy, who was coming across fairly high ground, could be seen waving his arms. evidently he saw the motor-car and recognized those who were in it. "that does the trick!" whispered clipperton excitedly. "hawley was coming along the bluebell trail. the cowboy is drawing them into the other road. luck! that will clear the way so you can get past on the _comet_. wait until the car is close to the cowboy. then make a rush." "for heaven's sake," begged penny, "beat him in, matt! the _comet_ can do it." "the _comet_ is going to do it," said matt, between his teeth. all three of the boys watched while the motor-car flung itself up the gentle slope toward the cowboy. "now!" said clip, starting up and laying hold of the _comet_. they trundled the machine back into the road and matt got into the saddle and laid hands on the grip-control. "ready?" cried penny. "let her go!" answered matt. penny and clip gave him a shove. _pop_, _pop_, _pop_, snapped the motor, the explosions presently coming so fast that they sounded like a dull roar. off went the exhaust, and motor matt slipped down the slope like a brown streak, kicking the dust up behind him. "he'll win, he'll win!" cried clipperton. "the men in the motor-car see him. the cowboy is getting into the front seat alongside the driver. they can't head him! hurrah for motor matt!" hawley and those with him had seen the sliding streak rushing down from the hill and making for the canal. there was a scramble about the motor-car, a frantic cranking-up and jumping start on the high-gear. but it was plain to the two boys on the hill that matt would pass the forks of the road before the car and its passengers could get there. penny danced around excitedly. "why did hawley drop that man off at the bridge?" he fumed. "that's what i can't understand. that man at the bridge spells trouble with a big t. what's hawley butting into this game for, anyway?" "he's been plunging on o'day," answered clip. "he knows o'day loses if matt gets to the park in time. of course, he wants to stop him. put two and two together, penny." "that's right, clip," explained penny. "it's up to matt, now." "leave it to him. the game couldn't be in better hands." then, with staring eyes, clip and penny watched the two dust flurries. the cloud kicked up by the _comet_ passed the forks of the road a full minute ahead of the fog raised by the motor-car. "three groans for hawley!" chortled clip. "but that man at the bridge," groaned penny. "he sure is worrying me." chapter xv. the flight of the "comet." matt king was on his mettle. phoenix was sixteen miles away, and he had, as he figured it, forty minutes to get there and make his way to the park. could he do it? he _could_ and would! the presence of hawley in his crack machine added an element of danger, but matt knew in his soul he could slide away from the motor-car as a jack-rabbit slips clear of a bounding greyhound. he saw the dust-fog of the coming car as he whirled past the forks of the road. it was jumping at him with terrific speed, and he saw the chauffeur and the cowboy in front of the big machine and hawley in the tonneau, standing and leaning over their heads in his excitement and determination. if matt got clear, dirk hawley stood to lose a lot of money; and to touch the gambler in his pocketbook was to touch him in his tenderest spot. matt laughed as he rushed onward. he felt that the race was his, barring accidents; and the _comet_ was brand-new, and careful handling made accidents a remote possibility. seven horses were purring in the cylinders, whirling the racing tires, and showing heels such as seven horses never showed before. the steady murmur of the machine filled matt's heart with exultation. he was flying, and the tires seemed scarcely to touch the ground they covered. cactus, rock, greasewood brush shot toward him and were lost behind. at the start he was four miles from the bridge over the arizona canal; now the bridge lay before him at the foot of a long slope with a slight curve at the end. in two minutes he would be there! as the dust was left behind, he saw a dim figure standing by the bridge. then he remembered what penny had said about hawley dropping one of his passengers at that point, and a sudden fear shot through matt's nerves. the man waved his hand, ducked downward and disappeared under the canal. in the space of a breath, almost, he reappeared and dashed back toward the roadside. then on matt's startled ears there burst the dull _boom_ of an explosion. under his eyes the bridge seemed to rise up and drop back into the canal. matt slowed down, his heart in his throat and his nerves in rags. hawley had left that man behind to blow up the bridge, well knowing that matt could not pass the chasm on his motor-cycle, and that the nearest bridge he could reach was miles away. the whirr of the car behind him grew loud and louder in his ears, and above it came yells of triumph. dazed and feeling himself all but beaten, matt nevertheless continued on toward the wrecked bridge. the next moment he saw something that aroused his hopes. one stringer was left, spanning the gulf from bank to bank--a square timber that offered possibilities, albeit dangerous ones. a nail in the stringer would mean a bursted tire! even a sliver might cause damage that would stop the _comet's_ flight. gritting his teeth matt speeded up the machine, tore down the slope and took the end of the timber at a bound. the motor-car was close and he dared not look behind him. every faculty had to be centered upon that narrow, dangerous path over which he was rushing at perilous speed. he could not see what the cowboy was doing, nor know how a scant forty feet of rope fell short, for the cowboy, past master at throwing the lariat, had leaned forward over the long bonnet and made a cast. "a thousand dollars if you stop that boy!" motor matt heard this yelled fiercely in hawley's voice, and behind him the noose fell short! if there were nails or slivers in that square timber, the rubber tires missed them. matt gained the opposite side of the canal and sped up the bridge approach. the man who had set off the explosion leaped into the road, swinging his arms and shouting; then very suddenly he leaped out again, for the hundred-and-fifty-pound motor-cycle was coming toward him at deadly speed. matt was abreast of the man and beyond him in the space of a heart-beat, and he stole a quick look behind. dirk hawley had overreached himself. his evil machinations had resulted in destroying the bridge, but he had foiled himself and not the daring youngster who had taken a bold risk and crossed the gap. the motor-car was at a dead stop on the other side of the canal, and a baffled group of three surrounded it and called wild words to the man on the other side. a loud laugh escaped matt's lips and dwindled behind him in a mere wisp of sound. he was safe! now his race was against time alone. fortunately there were few travelers on the black cañon road. the traveling for that part of the day had mostly been done, and people from all the ranches were at the park. he had to slow down and turn out for a mexican wood-hauler, and the few other people he passed gave him a wide berth and watched wonderingly as he whizzed by. alfalfa-fields sped past him, and the cottonwood-trees lining the roadside ditches trooped behind so quickly that they became a mere blur. the road was like asphalt and rubber tires never had better going. like a dart matt hurled onward, minute after minute, ranch-houses doing strange dances as he met and left them. before he fairly realized it he was turning into grand avenue and plunging along beside the street-car track. into the five points he whirled, striking pavement that appreciably increased his gait. the stores seemed deserted, and only here and there could a man be seen on the streets. a yellow cur pranced yipping out at him, then whirled with his tail between his legs and ran howling from the monster that devoured distance with the combined speed of a dozen dogs. turning into washington street, matt found himself with a straight-away stretch clear to the park. there was more travel here, for this was the main thoroughfare of the town. every store and shop was dressed in bunting. matt must have been recognized as he raced, for everything got out of his way, and more than one cheer went up as he flickered by. in passing the court house plaza he caught the time from the face of the big clock. six minutes of four! he opened her out a little more, and the _comet_ ate up the miles as she had not yet done. mile-a-minute matt! he was true to the name, now, and phoenix had never been traversed from end to end as he was doing it. presently he was in the outskirts of the city, another minute and he was close to the park fence, another and he had slowed down for the wagon-gate. the man on duty there recognized him and leaped aside. "hoop-a-la!" roared the man, waving his hat. "in with you! not a minute to spare." toward the race-course he guided the _comet_. everywhere the edge of the great oval was black with people. like wild-fire the word traveled, "king is coming! here comes king! bully for king!" close to the dressing-rooms matt pulled up. the major was there, chub was there, susie was there--and perk. they _knew_ he would arrive, and they had everything ready. "oh, you!" howled the delighted chub, throwing his arms about matt and pulling him out of the saddle. "king of the motor boys, that's what you are." susie grabbed him and, in her excitement, landed an ecstatic kiss on his dusty face. "motor matt!" she cried, waving the high-school colors. "_now_ will prescott high be good?" "shade o' gallopin' dick!" yelled welcome, doing an odd war-dance on his wooden pin. "he's my pard, he is! watch me soothe my turbulent soul with a grip o' his honest pa'm." matt was torn from the selfsame grip by major woolford. "you're the boy!" said the major. "no time to lose, for the starter is calling the men for the race. here's your wheel. no time to change your clothes, but you can peel off your coat. mcready, help with his shoes." matt threw off his cap and coat. chub had unlaced one shoe and susie the other. matt kicked out of them and into lighter foot-gear. then, with time for hardly a word, he grabbed the racing-wheel that was waiting for him, and made his way to the track. "matt king is entered to race for phoenix in the one-heat one-mile bicycle contest," the starter was yelling through a megaphone. "as king is not here, and as, according to the rules, the race starts at four sharp, phoenix substitutes her second choice, dace----" "_king is here!_" it was the booming voice of major woolford, just crossing the track to take his place in the judges' stand. simultaneously with the words, matt, in his nondescript racing-attire, made his way along the track toward the tape. there followed a breathless pause. although the word had gone around that king was coming, the prescott rooters tried to treat it as a canard. they didn't want king. dace perry, as matt walked toward him, reeled back from his machine. his face went white as death, and a hopeless look arose in his eyes. without a word he caught his machine by the handle-bars and made for the paddock. his thunderstruck adherents, spangler, drake and the others, were waiting to offer what consolation they could give. following the breathless pause, a veritable roar went up from the grand stand and all around the track. it was a phoenix roar, of course, and it was phoenix people who stood on their seats, threw up hats and shook canes and handkerchiefs. the high-school boys, clustered together, let loose with their triumphant yell. colors were waved--phoenix colors--and the flags of prescott high were temporarily retired. "king, king, king-king-king!" chanted phoenix high, in unison. "oh, he ain't so much!" came a feeble wail through a megaphone. "hold your shouting until after the race!" "drown him!" whooped phoenix. "send him to the asylum! back, back to the padded cell!" o'day took matt's sizing with a troubled eye, then clenched his teeth. he would do his best--but he had doubts. a half-confidence is worse than no confidence at all. "buck up, o'day!" implored the prescott rooters. "you can do the trick! don't let him throw a scare into you. _he's ridden twenty miles and he must be about all in!_" that last was the key-note. when o'day heard it he brightened. matt was in from a trying trip, just in, and he had to go the round on a pound of crackers and cheese! but prescott didn't know him. the two racers took their places, hugged by a couple of men at the saddles. "all ready?" _bang!_ matt was hurled down the track. for the first time since he had left clip and penny his feet were busy, more than busy. chapter xvi. motor matt, king of the wheel! there have been walkaways and walkaways, but never before such a walkaway as king had over o'day, the crack cyclist from prescott. for matt all that had gone before seemed only to have paved the way for the best that was in him. he was "on his toes" every second, and left o'day at the quarter; at the half o'day was twice the length of his wheel behind and pedaling like mad; at the three-quarters o'day was hopelessly in the rear and working his feet in a mechanical way, merely as a matter of duty. matt crossed the tape a winner by fifteen feet and prescott put its head in its hands and groaned. phoenix swarmed down from the grand stand and tumbled over fences all around the oval. the phoenix high-school boys charged down upon the victor, yanked him off his machine, took him on their shoulders and galloped up and down the track. "'rah! 'rah! 'rah! do or die! phoenix! phoenix! phoenix high!" prescott made up its mind it had better go home. the special train left at six, anyway, and the bicycle-race closed the list of events. phoenix was a winner on points, although losing the one-mile sprint on account of the absence of clipperton, one of the shorter dashes and the hammer-throw. poor old welcome, howling for joy, tried in vain to tear his way through the high-school crowd and get at matt. susie, her face glowing with happiness, watched the conquering hero as he was bounced and slammed about on the shoulders of splinters and a few more of the seniors. the governor, forcing his way through the throng, reached up to grasp matt's hand. "well done!" cried the governor. "you're a marvel, king--not merely because you got the best of o'day but on account of the way you got here from the bluebell to do it." matt flushed. his honors, falling thick upon him, were embarrassing, and he would rather have taken himself off to some quiet spot and clasped just a few friendly hands. "this is yours, king," called major woolford blithely, pointing to the _comet_, now well groomed after her dusty trip, and sparkling like a brand-new dollar. "will you ride it home or shall we send it?" "send it, major!" cried chub, "he's going home with us!" a little later matt, finally tearing himself away from his adoring friends--and nearly every one seemed to be his friend now--got into a carryall with chub, susie and welcome perkins and was driven to the mcready home. while susie was getting the meal ready, matt sat in the place of honor and recounted all that had happened to him since he had left his friends on the preceding evening. just as he finished, tom clipperton showed himself in the doorway. "heard you were here, king," said he hesitatingly. "penny and i rode in with a freighter. it was all over but the yelling by then. i'm mighty glad you won out." clip would have turned away from the open door had chub not jumped for him and dragged him inside. "no, you don't, clip," said chub. "we're going to have a feast here, and you're invited. besides, i've got something to say to you. in the eyes of the mcready outfit, and of old perk, the ex-heathen, you stand as high as bunker hill monument. now, listen. i threw that rock down by the canal, and i threw it at perry----" "i know," answered clip. "got it out of drake." "are we pards? if i've ever said anything you don't like, i ask your pardon. how's that? shucks! i'm so plumb happy this afternoon i want to be at peace with all creation. shake!" chub extended his hand, and clipperton, with a slow, quiet smile rarely seen on his face, caught the same heartily. "i've been foolish," said clip, shaking hands all around. "it takes experience to show us some things. i've had a heap of experience since last night. but i don't want to butt in. it's your supper-party----" "get away if you can!" snorted chub, "i----" the sounder in the corner began to click. chub broke off abruptly and leaped for the machine. "dry up, all of you!" he cried. "delray's telling me something." "he must have fixed the machine, then," said matt. "it went wrong a little just after we had got through with it at the bluebell." "she's all right now, anyway. listen to this: delray wants to know if matt got here in time for the race. watch me knock the tar out of the ether in sending him the news!" chub grabbed the key and rattled away at it until the spark-gap was fairly blue. "i reckon that will put _him_ next," laughed chub; "hear what he's sending now--it's just one word--'hooray!'" a few minutes later a jolly party sat around the dining-table. matt interrupted the flow of conversation to do a little justice to one who had not, as yet, been prominently mentioned. "i want to propose a toast," said he, "and we'll drink it in adam's ale--standing, if you please." the party arose and picked up their water-glasses. "i give you miss susie mcready," said matt, "without whose efficient aid i should never have been able to get here from the bluebell or to meet o'day!" "hear, hear!" yelped welcome perkins, pounding with his wooden leg. susie blushed crimson and sank into her chair. "just a minute, before you sit down," said chub. "allow _me_ to give you tom clipperton, who was jointly responsible with miss mcready for the success of motor matt. tom clipperton, the fastest boy on the mile and the twenty miles in phoenix high or any other school!" this was greeted with cheers and it could be seen that clip was mightily pleased. a warm glow smoldered in his dark eyes. "jest one more," piped welcome, "an' keep on yer feet. i'm givin' ye ole lucretia borgia, who's more dangerous than what she looks--i mean, looks more dangerous than what she is. lucretia borgia, notches an' all, pards!" a roar of laughter greeted this toast. "now, it's my turn," said clip. "take this one from me. i give you matt king. a firm friend and a generous foe. mile-a-minute matt, king of the motor boys! motor matt, the best ever!" bedlam was at once let loose, and welcome perkins made a noise like a menagerie at feeding-time. matt, raising his hand, kept his friends on their feet. "i want to give you just one more, pards," said he, "and what clip said about a 'generous foe' reminds me of the duty. i give you o'day, dace perry, ratty spangler and tubbits drake. what's the use of holding any sort of a grouch at this joyous time? if they can't be friends of ours, let's treat them honestly as foes. will you take them?" a scowl had leaped to clipperton's face. the toast was intended for him, for his was a nature that rarely forgave an injury. perry had gained his enmity and matt was seeking to bridge the gulf to the extent of keeping clip from taking the offensive and doing something he might be sorry for. "they say that perry lost a pile of money backing o'day," said chub, breaking an embarrassing silence, "and that he's head over heels in debt to hawley. this has been a rough day for perry." "he brought it on himself," growled clipperton. "he made a fool out of me. i owe him something. man to man i want to pay the debt." "will you drink the toast, clip?" asked matt, fixing his eyes on the shining orbs of the quarter-blood. "i--i wish i was more like you, king," faltered clip. "o'day, perry, spangler and drake," went on matt. "will you take them, pards?" every glass was lifted but clipperton's. he continued to look at matt, then slowly raised his glass to his lips. it was a trifling thing, perhaps, but for tom clipperton it meant much. the end. the next number ( ) will contain another rousing motor story, in which matchless matt and some of his friends figure, and a stirring drama is unfolded in a fashion to delight the reader. it will be entitled: motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. the runaway motor-cycle--underhand work--mcready's "strike"--dace perry's duplicity--a disagreeable surprise--overhauling the thief--back to the bluebell--too late--held at bay--a daring escape--a hard journey--a stout heart and plenty of rope--matt wins and loses--a queer tangle--the last surprise--motor matt's triumph. motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction new york, february , . terms to motor stories mail subscribers. (_postage free._) single copies or back numbers, c. each. months c. months c. months $ . one year . copies one year . copy two years . =how to send money=--by post-office or express money-order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. at your own risk if sent by currency, coin, or postage-stamps in ordinary letter. =receipts=--receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. if not correct you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once. ormond g. smith, } george c. smith, } _proprietors_. =street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york city.= the man-hunter. jack percival started when an ugly black face peered through the long grass not two yards from where he sat, and his hands stole cautiously toward the butt of his rifle. 'twas seven weeks since he had seen a man, black or white, other than his chum, paul armstrong, but he felt no overwhelming rapture at the breaking of the monotony. when one is in a country inhabited only by cannibals, it is surprising how strong the love of solitude becomes. before him he could see the mountain of darkness thrusting its flat peak into the clear blue of the african sky; on every side the jungle closed him in like a wall--a dense mass of greenery spangled with flaming flowers. for the rest, he was encompassed by a most unutterable silence, and a hideous misshapen visage, black as coal, was staring at him from beyond the tangle of monkey-ropes that hung from the yellow-wood trees. jack was no greenhorn, and he kept perfectly cool, although he was expecting every instant to feel an assegai piercing his breast. turning his eyes from the direction of the ebon face, he fixed them thoughtfully on the camp-fire, as if oblivious to the presence of the motionless native. but all the time his right hand was creeping, creeping toward the rifle that lay within easy reach. it was nerve-shaking work, and he could not repress a gasp of relief as his gripping fingers closed upon the stock. the moment had come for action. with a lightning movement, he covered the impassive face beyond the curtain of monkey-ropes, and his forefinger was hard pressed upon the trigger as he bounded to his feet. "now, then, you black beast!" he hissed angrily. "what you think of that, eh? no soup for you to-night, old chap! i've got the drop on you, and i mean to keep it. cooee!" he ended his sentence with a long-drawn australian yell, and it was answered immediately by another from the gloomy interior of the jungle. jack had expected the aborigine to make an attempt to escape, but he did nothing of the sort. parting the trailing creepers with both hands, he continued his scrutiny with as much interest as if the young man had been the first specimen of his kind to penetrate into the region. "makes me feel like the fat lady in a side-show," jack muttered, shifting uneasily beneath this intent regard. "i wonder what's up with the beggar? ah, here's paul!" paul it was. he came leaping cheerfully through the undergrowth, with a brilliant-plumaged paroquet slung over his shoulder, his gun swinging in one hand. for a second he halted in amazement as he caught sight of the unwelcome visitor, and then, dropping the bird, he advanced warily, his firearm raised for action. "where on earth did you get that, jack?" he whispered. "is it tame?" "blessed if i know. he simply crept up and peered at me through the monkey-ropes, and he hasn't said as much as a word yet." paul, who had a tolerably wide acquaintance with the natives of the interior, surveyed the black wonderingly. he was a gigantic figure of a man, clothed only in a breech-clout, and armed with a wooden-pointed assegai. in appearance he was a cross between a full-blooded zulu and a kafir, but he seemed to possess all the immobility of an indian chief. "a new breed," paul announced, in a puzzled way. "all the other natives that i have tumbled across would have left their assegais as a sort of visiting-card before this. i'll try him with a bit of seleke. he looks like them, to my mind, and i've heard yarns about their trekking into the interior to escape the persecution of the zulus--don't blame 'em, either." lowering his rifle, he turned to the black man, who had gravely squatted down upon the ground, with his bare hands upturned as a sign of peace. "greeting, child of the seleke," he said solemnly. "have you any wish to lay before the white travelers who venture into your domains?" the native's face lighted visibly at sound of the seleke tongue, and he made reply in the same language, although in a slightly different dialect. "greeting, white men from the sun! you are welcome, and doubly welcome, to the realm of moshesh, chief of the dumalas. you are sent for a purpose, godsmen, and i am sent to pray you to break your march at the village of n'koto, not a noon's march from here." both paul and jack surveyed him suspiciously. his friendliness was both unexpected and extraordinary to any one cognizant, as they were, with the customs of the african of the interior. true, they might have some surviving veneer of civilization, being an offshoot from the selekes, but it was a very slender thread of safety to trust to. "we are sent for a purpose, are we?" paul muttered. "for the purpose of being converted into black man's pork pie, i suppose. jack, what on earth are we to do with this chap? he's getting on my nerves. i wish he'd move, and not look so much like a stuffed monkey." "ask him what he wants," proposed the other. "if we kick him out, he'll be potting at us with that sardine-opener." nodding, paul turned to the native again. "what are you called, o child of the seleke?" he asked, reverting to the man's own dialect. "i am called n'tshu gontze," was the dignified response. "the dickens you are! sounds like a kind of fish," interjected jack, who would have joked in the face of a simoon. "ask him what his grandfather's name is, paul." "why is our presence desired in the kraal of your chief?" paul continued, maintaining his gravity by an effort, and frowning at his irrepressible comrade. he knew that a seleke whose dignity has been tampered with is a more unpleasant companion than an enraged orang-otang. "we are the victims of a terrible scourge, and we would seek the lightning-rods of the brave white princes to aid us," gontze answered earnestly. "in a month our numbers have been decreased by dozens. every other night a man, a woman, or a child perishes, and we are powerless to help ourselves. we dare not hunt, our women scarce dare to venture beyond the bounds of n'koto, and we starve for want of food." the two hunters listened to this impassioned harangue with close attention. it not only explained the native's curious appearance, but, if true, it was a guarantee of their own safety. "we are not willing to break our march without reward," paul returned, after a short interval of thought. "the selekes are rich; they have much gold, and the white men need it in their kraals." gontze nodded. "it is known. follow me, godsmen from the sun, and you shall be feasted and rewarded royally." paul, who was quick in coming to a decision, nodded assent. in addition to the prospect of a rich haul of gold or ivory, from which he was by no means averse, the sporting fever had awakened in his blood at the prospect of a bout with a man-eating tiger, as he had surmised the terror of n'koto to be, and, having assisted jack to stamp out the ashes of the fire, he signified to gontze their readiness to follow. the man turned on his heel and strode into the jungle. the two lads hastily gathered together their goods, and silently followed the track he made. it was late evening when the thatched roofs of n'koto came in view, and the sun was painting the sky with a dye of crimson, touching the trees with rosy fingers, and transforming the crocodile streams to pools of blood. a strange silence fell for a few minutes, as though every living thing in the jungle lay frightened by the gathering gloom. then the night fell suddenly, and they were struggling through pitch-darkness, relieved only by the red glare of the fading sunglow in the western horizon. the village had been erected in a clearing made in the very heart of the forest, and was surrounded by a high stockade of tree trunks. within, the darkness was dispelled by the flare of a hundred torches, and, as the two white men and their guide approached, the central gate opened and a party of men burst into view, all shouting like demons, and thrashing the ground with their torches as they capered to and fro, filling the air with wreaths of smoke and flying sparks. "they are trying to frighten something--a lion, probably," paul whispered to jack, who was rather scared by the frenzied uproar. "haven't you noticed gontze lately? he has been nearly frightened out of his skin for the last half-mile." paul's conjecture proved a correct one. the instant that the white men had passed through the gateway the turmoil ceased as if by magic, and the selekes hurried after them, as though, like tam o' shanter, they had seen the evil one at their heels. it was an impressive scene within the compound. the way to the royal kraal was lined by three hundred men and women, all decked in gay plumes and brightly colored garments woven of dyed grasses, and the lights of the torches glittered on spear-points and greasy skins with weird effect, which was enhanced by the guttural thud-thud of the tom-toms and the eery, demoniac blast of cowhide horns. when they entered the kraal of moshesh, however, the uproar ceased abruptly, and in the midst of intense stillness they walked across the rush-covered floor to where the chief was seated upon a throne of buffalo-robes. he was an elderly, white-haired man, with a circlet of ivory upon his brow, as a symbol of his authority. he seemed even more civilized than the tribe, and as paul and jack bowed before him he addressed them in fluent english. "welcome, white men! may you live forever, and remember always the kraal of moshesh with happiness! be you seated." the two hunters obeyed in silence, knowing that it would not be etiquette to speak until food had been placed before them. moshesh, descending from his throne, squatted before them in a very unkinglike manner, and they were soon partaking of roast monkey, pressed betel-nuts, and similar dishes, to which they had become inured by custom. the repast concluded, moshesh, who had eaten enough for four ordinary men, rolled over so that he could lean his fat back against the wall, and in a few melancholy sentences conveyed to his guests the story that had already been told in part by gontze. the substance of his recital was that, a month previously, the headman of the village had mysteriously disappeared, and as--the chief said gravely--he was very useful, a search-party had been organized by the bereaved relatives. during the hunt they had come upon the lair of a monster lion, and one of the party had paid the penalty with his life. the lion, in a few days, had proved not only to be a man-eater, but a man-hunter. if a seleke ventured alone beyond the stockade, he was seldom seen again, and two men had been snatched literally from the very gates. hunting was at an end; they could only go for their water in a strong body and at a great risk, and were, in fact, living in a state of siege, while the man-hunter slowly but surely diminished their numbers, with a cunning and ferocity that proved him to be the dwelling-place of a very evil spirit indeed. if they organized a hunt, he disappeared entirely, and, said moshesh, they were at their wit's end when they heard that the mighty white hunters, with their lightning-rods, had honored the country of the seleke with their distinguished presence. paul, who was the spokesman, allowed the chief to bring his rambling recital to an end before he spoke. "we have been on the march all day and are weary," he said then. "but in the morning we will rid you of this scourge." he spoke as though he had only to raise his hand and the thing would be done. "but, o moshesh, if it find favor in your sight, we would crave a reward for the loss of our time." "two golden tusks shall be yours," the chief rejoined, with an air of indifference. "it is well. may my guests sleep long and happily, free from the spirit of evil dreams, and awake with the strength of fourscore lions. i have spoken." he made a signal, and three men came forward to conduct the white hunters to the hut that had been allotted to them. in spite of the strangeness of their quarters, they were soon wrapped in deep slumber, secure in the fact that their mission would protect them from the rapacity of the selekes. at ten o'clock the next morning the hunt set forth. conquering his fears, moshesh had made the occasion a species of celebration, and the selekes had turned out almost en masse to witness the destruction of the beast that had terrorized them for so long. gontze, who appeared to possess as much bravery as all the rest of the tribe put together, had constituted himself guide, as he was aware of the exact situation of the animal's lair. for half an hour they walked on through the jungle, which grew more and more impenetrable as they progressed, until they were forced to have a party of men with knives to carve a way through the undergrowth. "we near the spot, strongarm," gontze murmured presently, pointing to a cross hacked in the wood of a date-palm. "i placed that mark there myself when i was here before, knowing that the creepers spread themselves faster than one can cut them down. the lion's lair is through there." he paused as he spoke, pointing with outstretched arm to a dim, mysterious glade that lay directly ahead. it was a wild, bushy kloof, covered by a maze of kafir bean, acacia, spekboem, geranium, plumbago, euphorbia, and a score of other growths to which no man can put a name. shielded from the hot rays of the copper-colored sun, it looked cool and delightful to the eye, but the party of selekes shrank back at gontze's words, surveying the place with a horror that was half-superstitious. "so that is where my lord lives, is it?" paul muttered, as he stooped to peer along the dim aisles of jungle, starred with flowers like candles in some vast cathedral. "i see no sign of a spoor." "said i not that the weeds grow almost visibly, o strongarm?" gontze, to whom the remark was addressed, returned. "the lion gorged himself two suns ago, and still lies sleeping. the grass has covered his spoor." paul armstrong nodded, and stepped aside to confer with his chum. they were both anxious to obtain the two golden tusks that the chief had promised them, and they wanted to make sure of the man-eater at the first shot, if possible. if they allowed him to escape from his lair, it might be days before they could entice him within firing distance again. however, their plan of campaign was soon formed, and they returned to the place where they had left gontze, to find that the chief, with most of his retainers, had drawn off and left them to their own devices, a fact for which they were duly thankful. three of the selekes had been left behind--gontze and two other men, who had evidently been picked for their strength, to judge by their gigantic stature. "i am going to walk up to the lair and entice the beast out," paul said calmly. "my friend will be seated up in a tree, and will pop off mr. man-eater as he passes. you three had better be up in the trees, too; only don't stick those assegais into me by accident, please." the seleke listened in amazement to this proposition. "but the white man is surely mad!" he broke out, in dismay, so soon as he could speak. "it is sure death to walk up to the lair!" "it will take a lively lion to catch me, in this maze of trees," paul answered carelessly. "you'd better hurry up, i think, or the lion might take a fancy to come out before we are ready." jack percival was already settling himself, with a grimly determined air, in the tree that paul had indicated, and at a word from gontze, who still shook his head dismally, the two natives followed suit, clambering into a tree on the opposite side of the glade, and holding their assegais ready for instant use. waving his hand to jack, paul gripped his rifle firmly, and stepped carefully through the tangle of weeds that carpeted the kloof. before he had gone far he came suddenly upon a cavernous opening in the clay bank, around the mouth of which hundreds of bones were strewn, picked to an ivory whiteness by the voracious driver-ants, which swarmed in hordes, like poor relations, about the entrance to the great beast's den. with his heart thumping wildly, paul paused to listen, shuddering at the noisome odor that was wafted to his nostrils. from within he could hear the sound of deep, harsh breathing, varied occasionally by a long-drawn snore. stooping, he picked up a great chunk of earth and flung it with all his force into the cavern. he heard the dull thud of its fall distinctly, followed by the patter of the spreading fragments, and then a cry rose to his lips, but was resolutely stifled. the noise of the lion's snoring had ceased! in spite of himself, he shrank farther and farther from the mouth of the lair, and it was only by a tremendous effort of will that he could prevent himself from taking to his heels in precipitate flight. he could hear a soft pad-pad of velvety footsteps, and the rattling of dry bones one against the other. then suddenly came a roar louder than thunder, and before paul could move a step a tawny form flashed into view, as the lion, with one tremendous spring, bounded toward him. there was no time to fire. flinging his rifle aside, he fled like the wind, straight for the spot where his friend was waiting. another roar from behind seemed to shake the forest to its foundations, and he put all his strength into a mighty effort to distance the great beast that was overtaking him with enormous leaps. then a cry of agony burst from his lips as, catching his toe in a trailing creeper, he went headlong to the earth. in spite of the suddenness of the shock, he never lost consciousness for a moment. he felt a heavy, evil-smelling body come crashing down onto his own, and his right arm was seized in a grip that brought a shout of agony from between his clenched teeth. next instant the man-eater lifted him into the air with as much ease as if he had been a baby, and stood gazing round in splendid defiance, its tail lashing slowly from side to side. "i'm afraid to shoot from here, paul. i'm coming down." paul heard jack's voice as in a dream. he was beginning to feel faint with the pain of his crushed arm, but he did not mean to die without a struggle. stealthily drawing his hunting-knife, he raised it in the air to the full extent of his arm and plunged it up to the hilt in the lion's side, aiming for the heart. phat! phat! the sharp report of a rifle seared his brain, as jack, stealing up behind, gave the brute both barrels in quick succession. simultaneously with the detonations, as it seemed, the grip of those cruel jaws relaxed, and even as he fell back in a dead faint he had a vision of the selekes plunging their assegais again and again into the quivering body of the man-hunter. the rat crusade. the crusade against rats, begun in norway a few years ago, is gradually extending over the world. for many months san francisco has been waging remorseless warfare upon the rodent dwellers of the city, and several hundred thousand of the pests have been destroyed. the persons who are active in directing the slaughter predict that if the other cities of the state can be induced to assist, california can be entirely cleared of rats in the course of a couple of years. long ago scientists proved that the rat family is one of the worst enemies of mankind. by nature the rat is an unclean animal, and, dwelling in multitudes as it does, in the most populous parts of cities, it is a constant menace to public health. microscopic examination of fresh rat hides invariably reveals myriads of disease germs. almost every contagion known to the medical profession may be communicated, or, rather, is communicated, to persons living in rat-infested neighborhoods. the methods employed by the san francisco rat-hunters are simple, inexpensive, and most effective. traps are being used, but ferrets and terriers are most frequently employed. a ferret is started into the burrow of a rat community, while three or four dogs are kept in leash without. the tiny ferret explores the galleries of the house, sometimes chasing a dozen or more rats into the open. then begins the work of the dogs. the ferret is a bloodthirsty little creature, and is held in terror by most animals of several times his size. three or four diminutive ferrets and a half-dozen trained terriers will destroy several hundred rats in a day. especially important!! motor stories _a new idea in the way of five-cent weeklies._ boys everywhere will be delighted to hear that street & smith are now issuing this new five-cent weekly which will be known by the name of motor stories. this weekly is entirely different from anything now being published. it details the astonishing adventures of a young mechanic who owned a motor cycle. is there a boy who has not longed to possess one of these swift little machines that scud about the roads everywhere throughout the united states? is there a boy, therefore, who will not be intensely interested in the adventures of "motor matt," as he is familiarly called by his comrades? boys, you have never read anything half so exciting, half so humorous and entertaining as the first story listed for publication in this line, called ="motor matt; or, the king of the wheel."= its fame is bound to spread like wildfire, causing the biggest demand for the other numbers in this line, that was ever heard of in the history of this class of literature. here are the titles to be issued during the next few weeks. do not fail to place an order for them with your newsdealer. no. . motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. no. . motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. no. . motor matt's "century" run; or, the governor's courier. no. . motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the _comet_. large size pages splendid colored covers price, five cents per copy at all newsdealers, or sent postpaid by the publishers upon receipt of the price. _street & smith, publishers, new york_ numbers to tip top weekly are contained in the medal library we know that there are thousands of boys who are very much interested in the early adventures of frank and dick merriwell and who want to read everything that was written about them. we desire to inform these boys that numbers to are pretty well out of print in the tip top weekly, but all of them can be secured in the numbers of the new medal library given below. _the_ new medal library at fifteen cents [illustration] --frank merriwell's school-days. --frank merriwell's chums. --frank merriwell's foes. --frank merriwell's trip west. --frank merriwell down south. --frank merriwell's bravery. --frank merriwell's hunting tour. --frank merriwell in europe. --frank merriwell at yale. --frank merriwell's sports afield. --frank merriwell's races. --frank merriwell's bicycle tour. --frank merriwell's courage. --frank merriwell's daring. --frank merriwell's athletes. --frank merriwell's skill. --frank merriwell's champions. --frank merriwell's return to yale. --frank merriwell's secret. --frank merriwell's danger. --frank merriwell's loyalty. --frank merriwell in camp. --frank merriwell's vacation. --frank merriwell's cruise. --frank merriwell's chase. --frank merriwell in maine. --frank merriwell's struggle. --frank merriwell's first job. --frank merriwell's opportunity. --frank merriwell's hard luck. --frank merriwell's protégé. --frank merriwell on the road. --frank merriwell's own company. --frank merriwell's fame. --frank merriwell's college chums. --frank merriwell's problem. --frank merriwell's fortune. --frank merriwell's new comedian. --frank merriwell's prosperity. --frank merriwell's stage hit. --frank merriwell's great scheme. --frank merriwell in england. --frank merriwell on the boulevards. --frank merriwell's duel. --frank merriwell's double shot. --frank merriwell's baseball victories. --frank merriwell's confidence. --frank merriwell's auto. --frank merriwell's fun. --frank merriwell's generosity. --frank merriwell's tricks. --frank merriwell's temptation. --frank merriwell on top. --frank merriwell's luck. --frank merriwell's mascot. --frank merriwell's reward. --frank merriwell's phantom. --frank merriwell's faith. --frank merriwell's victories. --frank merriwell's iron nerve. --frank merriwell in kentucky. --frank merriwell's power. --frank merriwell's shrewdness. --frank merriwell's set-back. --frank merriwell's search. --frank merriwell's club. --frank merriwell's trust. --frank merriwell's false friend. --frank merriwell's strong arm. --frank merriwell as coach. --frank merriwell's brother. --frank merriwell's marvel. --frank merriwell's support. --dick merriwell at fardale. --dick merriwell's glory. --dick merriwell's promise. --dick merriwell's rescue. --dick merriwell's narrow escape. --dick merriwell's racket. --dick merriwell's revenge. --dick merriwell's ruse. --dick merriwell's delivery. --dick merriwell's wonders. --frank merriwell's honor. --dick merriwell's diamond. --frank merriwell's winners. --dick merriwell's dash. --dick merriwell's ability. --dick merriwell's trap. --dick merriwell's defense. --dick merriwell's model. --dick merriwell's mystery. =published about january th= --frank merriwell's backers. =published about january th= --dick merriwell's backstop. =published about february th= --dick merriwell's western mission. =published about march th= --frank merriwell's rescue. =published about march th= --frank merriwell's encounter. =published about april th= --dick merriwell's marked money. =published about may th= --frank merriwell's nomads. =published about june st= --dick merriwell on the gridiron. =published about june nd= --dick merriwell's disguise. street & smith, _publishers_, new york city transcriber's notes: added table of contents. some inconsistent hyphenation retained (e.g. "wildfire" vs. "wild-fire"). oe ligatures have been replaced with "oe" in this text edition; the html version retains the ligatures. italics are represented by _underscores_, bold by =equal signs=. page , changed "wiseless" to "wireless." page , added missing "s" to "chum's." page , changed "fencee" to "fence." page , added missing period after "superstitious" and changed "ringing" to "bringing." page , changed single to double quote after "ye yours." page , added missing t's to "matt" at start of chapter xv. page , changed "ascent" to "assent." available by villanova university digital library (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/) note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrated book cover. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h.zip) images of the original pages are available through villanova university digital library. see http://digital.library.villanova.edu/item/vudl: transcriber's note: text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=). motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction no. mar. , five cents motor matt's daring or true to his friends by stanley r. matthews [illustration: _"steady!" cried motor matt, reaching for the head of the runaway horse._] street & smith, publishers, new york. motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction _issued weekly. by subscription $ . per year. entered according to act of congress in the year , in the office of the librarian of congress, washington, d. c., by_ street & smith, _ - seventh avenue, new york, n. y._ no. . new york, march , . price five cents. motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. by the author of "motor matt." contents chapter i. the runaway motor-cycle. chapter ii. underhand work. chapter iii. m'ready's "strike." chapter iv. dace perry's duplicity. chapter v. a disagreeable surprise. chapter vi. overhauling the thief. chapter vii. back to the bluebell. chapter viii. too late! chapter ix. held at bay. chapter x. a daring escape. chapter xi. a hard journey. chapter xii. a stout heart and plenty of hope. chapter xiii. matt wins--and loses. chapter xiv. a queer tangle. chapter xv. the last surprise. chapter xvi. motor matt's triumph. characters that appear in this story. =matt king=, concerning whom there has always been a mystery--a lad of splendid athletic abilities, and never-failing nerve, who has won for himself, among the boys of the western town, the popular name of "mile-a-minute matt." =chub mcready=, sometimes called plain "reddy," for short, on account of his fiery "thatch"--a chum of matt, with a streak of genius for inventing things that often land the bold experimenter in trouble. =welcome perkins=, a one-legged wanderer who lives with chub and his sister while their father prospects for gold--welcome is really a man of peace, yet he delights to imagine himself a "terror," and is forever boasting about being a "reformed road-agent." =dirk hawley=, a sporting man who usually gets whatever he goes after; and being both rich and unscrupulous is reckoned a dangerous character to have for an enemy. =dace perry=, a school companion of young king, who has learned to hate matt so furiously that he is ready to go to almost any length in order to do our hero an injury. =tom clipperton=, known generally as "clip," a quarter-blood, who is very sensitive about his indian ancestry. =susie mcready=, the small sister of chub. =edith hawley=, the gambler's daughter. =mr. mcready=, a prospector. =delray=, a watchman in charge of the abandoned "bluebell" mine. =jacks=, } =bisbee=, } two ruffians in the employ of hawley. =pedro morales=, a mexican wood-hauler. chapter i. the runaway motor-cycle. "shade o' gallopin' dick! say, allow me to rise an' explain that i kin ride anythin' from a hoss to a streak o' greased lightnin'. i don't take no back seat fer anythin' on hoofs, 'r wheels, 'r wings. if ye think ye kin make eagle-eye perkins, ex-pirate o' the plains, take to the cliffs an' the cactus jest by flashin' a little ole benzine push-cart onto him an' darin' him to git straddle, ye're goin' to be fooled a-plenty. shucks! here, hold my hat." "you don't have to shed your hat, perk." "got to cl'ar decks fer action. when a man with a wooden leg goes gallivantin' around on a two-wheeled buzz-wagon, the less plunder he keeps aboard the better. hold the hat an' hesh up about it. which crank d'ye turn to make 'er start?" ed penny, on his one-cylinder motor-cycle, had come _chug-chugging_ across the bridge over the town canal and stopped in front of the mcready home. while he was out in front, talking with chub mcready, welcome perkins, the self-called reformed road-agent, had stumped out of the house and walked around the hitching-post against which penny had leaned the machine. welcome had snorted contemptuously. penny had then whirled on the old man and had asked him if he thought he could ride the motor-cycle. this led to welcome's outburst and the jerking off of his sombrero, which he handed to chub. both boys were enchanted with the prospect ahead of them. there was never anything welcome hadn't done or couldn't do--to hear him tell about it--and this looked like a good chance to take some of the conceit out of him. "ever ride a bike, welcome?" asked penny, his enthusiasm palling a little as he thought of what might happen to his machine. "ride a bike!" exploded welcome; "_me_! why, i was raised on 'em. never was scart of a reg'lar bike yet, so i reckon two wheels an' a couple o' quarts o' gasoline ain't goin' to make me side-step none. how d'ye start 'er, i ask ye? what knob d'ye pull?" penny showed him how to start the gasoline and to switch on the spark. welcome puffed himself up and patted his chest. "nothin' to it," he rumbled. "watch my smoke, will ye, an' see how easy ridin' a contraption like that comes to a feller that's knowed how to do things his hull life." he pulled off his coat and gave it to chub to hold, along with his hat. then he rolled up his shirt-sleeves. "snakes alive!" he muttered, with a sudden thought. "how am i goin' to keep that wooden pin on the pedal?" "we'll tie it there, perk," answered chub promptly. "wait a minute." he hung the coat and hat on the hitching-post and started off into the yard. while he was gone, welcome began pulling up the strap that secured the pin to his stump of a leg. by way of showing how calm and self-possessed he was, he sang as he worked. "i oncet knowed a gal in the year o' ' , a han'some young thing by the name o' em-eye-lee; i never could persuade her for to leave me be, an' she went an' she took an' she married me." when chub got back with a piece of rope, welcome was astride the saddle, his foot on the ground, with penny, who was shaking with suppressed joy, helping to hold up the machine. "tie 'er tight, son," said welcome. "don't you fret any about that, perk," answered chub, with a wink at penny as he lifted himself erect. "remember how to start?" "think i'm an ijut?" demanded welcome indignantly. "i got a head fer machinery, anyways, an' i could hev studied it out all by myself if ye'd given me time. are we all ready?" chub helped penny pull the machine upright. "all ready!" they answered, in one voice, with sly grins at each other behind the old man's back. "then see me tear loose." welcome worked the requisite levers, the machine began to sputter, and the boys gave it a shove. there was a good deal of wabbling, at first, but as the machine gathered headway it got steadier, and welcome dwindled away down the road. "not so much of a joke, after all, penny," observed chub, in gloomy disappointment. "the old freak seems to know how to stay on and keep right side up. i thought he'd scatter himself all over the road right at the start." "one on us, chub," returned penny. "ah," he added, his eyes on welcome, "he's turning 'round in that big open space near the canal bridge. gee-whiz! but that was a short turn. watch him, will you! he's comin' this way like the cannon-ball limited." "what's he yellin' about?" queried chub excitedly. "something must have gone wrong." both boys watched the approaching welcome with growing wonder. he was coming like a house afire, his long hair blowing out behind him, and he was howling like a comanche. there was a look of helpless consternation on his face. "gosh-all-friday! how d'ye stop 'er? ye didn't tell me how ter stop 'er!" welcome shot past them like a bullet out of a gun, his voice trailing out behind him and becoming all jumbled up in the distance. "he can stay on, all right," whooped chub, "but he can't stop! why didn't you tell him how to stop, penny?" "he never asked me!" answered penny. "the thing is runnin' away with him!" welcome described another hair-raising turn at another place that allowed him to circle, and came whooping back. "what'm i goin' to do?" he howled; "how long've i got to keep this thing up?" "jump off!" suggested chub. "can't! ye tied me on! wow!" by that time welcome was out of talking distance again. when he circled back on the next frantic round, it was plain that his gorge was beginning to rise. "i'll skelp somebody fer this!" he roared. "ye framed it up between ye, that's what ye done! dad-bing the pizen ole thing-um-bob!" welcome was now tearing toward the bridge over the canal. a man was coming across the bridge on foot. "great cæsar!" exclaimed chub, staring toward the bridge, "that's dirk hawley, the gambler, comin' this way?" "welcome ain't makin' any move to turn around," answered penny. "looks to me as though he was going to knock hawley into the canal." by a common impulse the boys started on a run toward the scene of threatened disaster. hawley had come to a standstill in the middle of the bridge. "slow down, you old catamaran!" he cried. "what d'ye mean by scorchin' like that?" "head me off!" begged welcome. "can't stop--don't know how to stop! trip me up 'r somethin'!" by the time hawley had got this through his head welcome was upon him. with a shout of anger, hawley hurled himself to one side. he escaped being struck, and missed going into the water of the canal by a scant margin; but he had been obliged to throw himself flat down on the bridge, and in doing so he had jarred his body a little and jolted his temper a good deal. as he picked himself up he said a good many unkind things about welcome, but the old fellow was plunging on beyond the bridge and had other troubles that took up his attention. just as he had about made up his mind to run into the side of a building, or a fence, and bring himself to a halt at any cost, his frenzied eyes caught sight of another motor-cycle, sailing toward him. a thrill of hope darted through his breast. "matt!" he yelped. "stop me! the blamed thing's got the bit in its teeth an' i can't do nothin' with it!" matt king slowed down, stared a moment at the frantic old man, laughed a little, then described a half-circle, put on more power, and raced along beside the runaway machine. it took him but a moment to lean over and shut off the engine. "how did you happen to get in a fix like this, welcome?" he asked, when both machines were at a halt and the old man was standing on one foot and trying to jerk his wooden leg loose from the pedal. "can't ye guess what onnery limb put this up on me?" glared welcome. "not sence i reformed hev i ever felt like p'intin' fer all outdoors an' becomin' a hootin', tootin' border ruffian, as i do this here minit! wow! the ole sperrit is a-bubblin' an' a-stirrin' around in me like all-possessed, an' i don't reckon i kin hang out agin' it." "buck up, welcome," said matt, who knew the old fellow's eccentricities as well as any one, and understood just how much of a false alarm he was. "it won't do for you to backslide now, after you've lived a respectable life for so long. here, i'll get the lashing off that wooden leg of yours." leaning his motor-cycle against a tree by the roadside, matt bent down and got busy with the rope. as soon as welcome could jerk the pin loose, he whirled and stumped furiously back in the direction of chub and penny. matt grinned a little as he looked after him. "i never saw the old chap stirred up as bad as he is now," he muttered. "i wonder what dirk hawley is doing over in this direction? welcome came within one of knocking him into the canal. if _that_ had happened there'd sure have been fireworks." after leaning penny's machine against the tree, matt mounted his own and started for the bridge. as he crossed the bridge he saw something white lying on the planks, and halted to pick the object up. it proved to be an old envelope with an enclosure of some sort, and was addressed to james mcready, phoenix, a. t. this address was in ink, but the "james mcready" had been scratched out and the name of "mark mcready" penciled above it. james mcready was a prospector, and was in the hills looking for gold most of the time. he was mark's father, and mark's nickname was "chub." evidently this letter was intended for chub, and had fallen from dirk hawley's pocket when he threw himself out of the way of welcome and the charging motor-cycle. but how was it that such a letter happened to be in the possession of hawley, the gambler? while matt was puzzling over that phase of the question, a heavy step sounded on the bridge, and a gruff, commanding voice called out: "what are you doin' with that letter? hand it over here; it belongs to me!" chapter ii. underhand work. that was not the first time matt king had met dirk hawley. the man was highly successful in his nefarious profession, owned a gambling-house in phoenix, and matt knew, from personal observation, that he was both tricky and unscrupulous. during the recent phoenix-prescott athletic meet hawley had tried to bribe matt to withdraw from the bicycle-race, and had even gone so far as to have him abducted from phoenix, in order to keep him out of it. the gambler, in conjunction with an enemy of matt's named dace perry, had "plunged" heavily on the prescott contestant, and only matt's timely arrival at the track had saved the day for phoenix.[a] [a] see motor matt weekly no. for an account of matt's exciting dash of twenty miles from the hills into phoenix, and his arrival at the track in time to race with o'day, the prescott champion, and win the prize in the bicycle contest--a seven-horse-power motor-cycle. the story was entitled "motor matt; or, the king of the wheel." because of all this, there was little love lost between hawley and matt. the gambler's face, as he stood on the bridge with one hand outstretched, was full of anger and determination. matt eyed him coolly. with a muttered imprecation, hawley snatched at the letter, but matt stepped back quickly and thrust the missive behind him. "what d'you mean?" panted hawley savagely. "i mean that this letter isn't yours," replied matt. "it's addressed to my chum, mark mcready." "never you mind who it's addressed to. i say it's mine, and that's all you need to know. give it here! this ain't the first time your trail's crossed mine, young feller, an' i'm gittin' mighty tired of havin' you butt in an' try to give me the double-cross. if you know when you're well off you'll mind your own business--if you've got any to mind. gi'me that, an' no more foolishness!" hawley finished with a snap of his big, protruding lower jaw. he was a man accustomed to having his way, and from his manner it was plain that he intended to have it now. but if he was determined, so was matt; and there was a glint in motor matt's gray eyes which hawley would have done well to heed. chub and penny had approached the bridge from behind the gambler, drawn to the scene by the other's loud voice and blustering manner. matt's face was toward the boys, but hawley had his back to them and did not know they were so close. as hawley made his last fierce demand for the letter, he sprang forward, intending to take it by force if he could not get it in any other way. matt, who was watching him warily, leaped back and jerked his motor-cycle in front of him. hawley came into violent collision with the hundred-and-fifty-pound machine, barking a shin on one of the pedals and getting a sharp dig in the stomach with one of the handle-bars. matt hung to the motor-cycle and kept it from going over, for he was not taking any more chances with the _comet_ than he was obliged to. breathless and fairly boiling with wrath, hawley fell back. "confound you!" he fumed, doubling up with both hands on the pit of his stomach, "i'll make you sorry for this! if you don't give me that letter, i'll----" "there it goes!" cried matt, flipping the letter deftly over the gambler's head. "catch, chub!" he added. "that's addressed to you, but it dropped out of hawley's pocket, here on the bridge. take care of it." chub grabbed the letter out of the air. "you bet i'll take care of it," he answered. "it was dad who scratched out his own name and wrote mine over it--i can tell his fist as far as i can see it. how in sam hill did hawley happen to have this?" the gambler turned on chub with an angry snarl. "i reckon it is yours," said he, with a puzzling change of tactics that matt could not understand, "but that's no reason i should give it up to that young cub," and he turned to glare at matt. "the letter came into my hands by accident, an' i was takin' the trouble to walk out here an' bring it to you when that old freak, perkins, came within an ace of running me down." "why didn't you give it to me, then?" demanded chub. "you had plenty of chance while matt was racin' after welcome an' stoppin' the other machine." "how could i give it to you," scowled hawley, "when it was layin' on the bridge?" "you never made a move to take it out of your pocket," scored chub, "an' you didn't know you'd dropped it on the bridge till you'd turned around an' saw matt pickin' it up." "aw, what's the use of chewin' the rag with a lot o' kids, anyhow?" snapped hawley, whirling around and starting across the bridge toward town. as he passed matt he gave him a hostile look. "i've got a big score to settle with you, my bantam," he said, between his teeth, "an' you can chalk it up that you're goin' to get all that's comin' before i'm done." matt did not reply, but returned the gambler's look steadily. then he watched him as he limped off down the road. "here's a go!" exclaimed chub, as soon as hawley was out of ear-shot. "he never intended to give me the letter. i'd never have got it if welcome hadn't come so near runnin' him down, an' if you hadn't seen it, matt, an' got hold of it first. what sort of a game do you calculate he was tryin' to play?" "what did he say to you while i was sailing after welcome?" asked matt. "why, he asked if i had heard anythin' from dad lately--wanted to know if anythin' had come by wireless from delray at the bluebell." chub was of an inventive turn, and had constructed a wireless apparatus that enabled him to communicate with the bluebell mine, twenty miles away in the hills. delray, the watchman at the bluebell, was an old telegraph-operator, and a good friend of chub's and matt's. "he didn't say anything about having a letter for you?" "not a yip. what's he developed such a sudden an' overwhelmin' interest in dad for? why, he wouldn't even pass the time of day with dad, even if dad was willin'--which he wouldn't be, not havin' a very high opinion of hawley anyhow. and yet, here's dirk hawley, walkin' 'way out here to bat up a few questions concernin' dad. but he wasn't intendin' to give me that letter, that's a cinch." "i'm dashed if i think he was, either," mused matt. "he made a sudden shift, after i got the letter into your hands, chub." "take it from me," chimed in penny, "dirk hawley's up to some underhand work. mebby you two can figure it out, but i've got to be goin'. hope old perk'll get over his mad spell, chub," he added, with a grin. "susie'll smooth him down, ed," laughed chub, "but i guess he won't buy that gasoline push-cart of yours for me, now." "was welcome thinking of doing that?" put in matt. "that's what he had in his mind, but after that wild ride, and the way he felt when he got through with it, i guess that little reddy mcready will have to pass up the motor-cycle." "well," said penny, starting off, "a hundred takes 'er, chub, if the reformed road-agent changes his mind." when penny got over the bridge, and had headed for the place where his motor-cycle had been left, chub and matt went on with their talk about dirk hawley and the letter. "it's the biggest mystery i ever went up against," declared chub. "maybe there's a way you can clear it up," said matt. "how?" "why, by reading the letter," laughed matt, "instead of standing there and bothering your head about it." "sure," returned chub. "that's the one thing to do, and it's the one thing i hadn't thought of." just as he started to take the letter out of the envelope, a shrill voice reached the boys from along the road. "mark! come here, mark--and _hurry_!" chub and matt shifted their gaze to the front of the house. chub's sister susie was standing by the gate and seemed to be considerably excited. as she called to her brother, she waved her hands frantically. "gee-whiskers!" exclaimed chub, pushing the letter into his pocket. "what's to pay now?" "perhaps welcome refuses to be smoothed down," suggested matt. "it's somethin' besides that," declared chub. matt mounted the _comet_ and kept abreast of chub as he hurried back toward the house. "come around to the kitchen--quick!" called susie, retreating hurriedly through the gate as the boys came close. matt took his machine into the yard and leaned it against the wall. chub had already followed susie into the kitchen, and they were standing in one corner of the room, looking down at the wreck of chub's wireless apparatus when matt ran in. "what d'ye think of that?" wailed chub, waving his hand toward the smashed instrument. "who did it?" queried matt. "i don't know, matt," answered susie. "i was in the front part of the house when i heard a smash out here in the kitchen. i came as quick as i could, but there was no one here. the kitchen door was open, and i ran and looked out. i heard some one running through the bushes, but i couldn't see who it was." it had taken chub several weeks to get together the materials for that wireless-telegraph apparatus. induction coils and batteries he had sent away for, but all the rest of the material he had picked up here and there, wherever he could find them. the instruments had been crude, but they served their purpose and had been the pride of chub's heart. as he stared at the wreck, chub clenched his hands and his lip trembled. "too bad, chub," sympathized matt. "have you any idea who could have done it?" "this seems to be dirk hawley's day for underhand work," muttered chub. "but hawley couldn't have done this--he was hiking for town when it happened. still, it may be that he was mixed up in it. read that letter, chub. there's a chance that it may give us a clue to the mystery." chub dropped into a chair and pulled the letter out of his pocket. chapter iii. m'ready's "strike." "why, it's from dad!" cried susie, looking over her brother's shoulder as he opened out a brown, greasy-looking sheet of paper. "that's what, sis," returned chub. "dad scribbled this on a piece of candle-wrapper." "how did the letter get here? where did it come from?" matt explained how the letter had been dropped by dirk hawley and found on the bridge. the girl's face flushed angrily. "what business had hawley with a letter of mark's?" she asked. "that's just what we're tryin' to find out, sis," replied chub. "matt and i are pretty much up in the air, an' if this candle-wrapper don't give us a clue i guess we'll stay up. if you'll subside for a brace of shakes, i'll read this aloud, and we'll see where it lands us." "go on," said the girl breathlessly. "i _do_ hope there isn't anything the matter with dad." there is always more or less peril attending the work of a prospector. mr. mcready had been gone for several weeks on his present trip, and this letter, which had fallen thus strangely into the hands of chub and susie, was the very first news they had had from him since he had left home. "it was written in the phoenix mountains," said chub, examining the sheet, "five days ago. it's hard to read, as the pencil didn't make much of a mark on the grease-spots, but i guess i can puzzle it out." chub read slowly, pausing from time to time to get over some difficult point in the writing. the letter was as follows: "my dear son: i am writing this in the phoenix mountains, about five miles northwest of the bluebell mine and a quarter of a mile to the left of the old pack-trail leading from yuma to prescott. above me is a peak with a 'blow-out' of white quartz in the form of a cross. you can see the peak and the cross easily from the pack-trail. at the base of the peak i have piled my monuments on a gold claim which promises big things for the mcready family--in fact, i am sure it is the 'strike' which i have been trying to make for years. the discovery is mine, but if i get it safely located you will have to help me. i have lost the blank location notices i had with me, and i can't leave the claim to come to phoenix after any more. a prospector named jacks--grub-staked by hawley, of phoenix--was spying upon me when i made the 'strike.' jacks is a ruffian, and if i left the claim for any length of time, he would put up his own location notice and rush to phoenix to put another on record. "i am sending this to you by a mexican wood-hauler named pedro morales. he's not the sort of messenger i'd like, but he's the only one i can find. i hope you'll get this all right. if you do, hire a horse somewhere and come out here at once with the two blank location notices. it is just as well to be careful when you come, so as not to have any trouble with jacks. if your wireless-telegraph line is working, i may try to reach delray at the bluebell and have him forward a message to you confirming this letter. "now, mark, the mcready fortunes are at stake, and it's up to you to make good. and, whatever you do, _hurry_. from your father." there were many comments from matt and susie while chub was reading. chub's eyes lighted with exultation as he read of his father's "strike," and the face of his sister glowed with happiness. "what d'ye think of that, sis?" cried chub, when he had finished with the letter. "hurrah for dad! it won't be long, now, before the mcreadys move over on easy street." "oh, it's great!" murmured the delighted girl. "don't you think so, matt? i just _knew_ dad would strike it, one of these days." "we'll move back east, that's what we'll do," went on chub, tramping excitedly around the kitchen; "we'll get right back to old connecticut, where we came from, and dad will stop his crowhopping around these arizona hills. hoop-a-la! i'm so tickled i can't stand still. ever feel like you was a brass band, matt, an' had to toot? well, that's me, right now! where's perk? the old joke ought to be around here and help us rejoice." "i hate to be the original and only wet blanket, chub," put in matt, "but you're side-stepping a whole lot of things you ought to be looking square in the face. first off, your father has got to have a couple of location notices before he can get a firm grip on that claim. that letter has been five days on the road--and when your father wrote it _he asked you to hurry_." chub stopped prancing around the kitchen and came to a sudden halt. "gee!" he gasped, with a wild look at his sister, "i was forgettin' all about that." making a jump for the wall, he grabbed his hat off a nail. "me for town after a couple of location blanks," he went on, "and then a hot-footed getaway into the phoenix hills." matt grabbed his arm before he could get through the door. "easy, chub," said matt. "you may gain time in the end if you delay a little to talk the thing over and find out just what you're up against." "why," returned chub, "dad's in the hills waiting for location notices. all i've got to do is to get 'em an' take 'em out to him." "sounds easy enough, i admit, but there's been underhand work already, chub, and i'll warrant there's going to be more. it might only take a few minutes to figure this thing out as well as we can, and it will be a big help to know what's ahead of you." "matt's right," nodded susie. "as per usual," answered chub. "what do you figure out from the letter, matt?" "hawley 'grub-staked' this fellow, jacks," went on matt. "that gives hawley an interest in whatever jacks finds, don't it?" "a half-interest," said chub. "well, somehow hawley got that letter from the mexican wood-hauler, who was bringing it to you. jacks, from out in the hills, may have sent hawley a tip to be on the lookout for the mexican, for all we know. anyhow, hawley got the letter. he knew at once, from reading it, that if jacks got the claim from your father it would be a good thing for hawley." "great scott!" muttered chub, staring at matt with falling jaw. "the gambler's out for a big graft, all right." "i'd believe anything of dirk hawley," put in susie. "if dad left that claim," went on chub, "this fellow jacks could slap up his own location notice and then ride for phoenix with a duplicate. if he got the duplicate on record before dad got his own notice to the recorder's office, the claim would belong to jacks and hawley. i'll bet a dime against a chalk-mark that's what hawley's workin' out! but what did hawley come over here for, this morning?" "no trick at all to figure that out, chub," said matt. "hawley asked you if you'd got any word from your father by 'wireless'----" "that's what he did!" "your father said in the letter that he'd try to reach delray and have him communicate with you. hawley wanted to find out whether he had, and whether you had sent or taken the location blanks out to the hills. that means a whole lot to hawley, if he's working to cheat your father out of his 'strike.'" "and it was hawley who had some one sneak in here and wreck the wireless machine!" cried susie excitedly. "if the instruments were smashed he knew chub couldn't get any word from the hills." "what d'you think o' that!" growled chub. "i wonder what hawley has done already, and how long he's had that letter." "he hasn't had it long," averred matt. "take it from me, chub, he wouldn't wait long, after he got hold of the letter, to come out here and see whether your father had been flashing any messages from the bluebell." "somethin' has got to be done, an' done quick!" declared chub. "we're fightin' a man that's as full of tricks as a 'pache injun, an' he's not going to let the mcreadys beat him out if he can help it. what's our next play, matt? you've got a whole lot better head than i have for planning a thing like this." before matt could answer, there came a rap at the front door. susie gave a startled jump. "do you think that's--that's hawley?" she whispered. "hawley's done at this end of the line," said matt. "if i'm any prophet, he'll pull off the rest of his work in the hills." chub was already on his way to the front door, and susie and matt followed him from the kitchen. when chub pulled the door open, all were surprised. tom clipperton, a quarter-blood indian, a school friend of matt's and chub's, was standing in the doorway. beside clipperton was a disreputable little mexican with gold rings in his ears. "howdy, clip!" called chub. "come in, and bring your friend. you'll excuse me if i duck. important business, you know." "wait," answered clipperton, in his quick, disjointed fashion. "this man's a wood-hauler. hear what he's got to say. it's got a lot to do with you." "what's his name, clip?" asked matt, pressing forward. "pedro morales. i've known him for a long time. helped him out of a bad scrape, once. he's never forgot it." there was an air of suppressed excitement about clipperton, and a smoldering light in his black eyes. catching morales by the arm, he pulled him into the sitting-room. "pedro morales!" exclaimed matt, turning to chub and susie. "why, he's the man your father gave the letter to. you'd better wait and hear what he has to say, chub. we're getting at the nub of this thing in short order." "who told you?" demanded clipperton, peering at matt. "about the letter, i mean," he added. matt explained briefly how hawley had dropped the letter and how he had picked it up. "hawley," scowled clipperton. "dace perry must have given it to him." "perry?" returned matt and chub, in a breath. "yes, perry," hissed clipperton. "there's a plot. he's in it as well as hawley. tell 'em, morales," clip added, nodding to the mexican. chapter iv. dace perry's duplicity. pedro morales was not feeling very easy in his mind. that fact was plain to be seen. with bent head, and holding his ragged hat in his hand, he shuffled from one foot to the other and shot shifty glances at matt and chub. "me, i was all same good mexicano," said he. "clipperton, he know; he always been good friend with me." "stow it, pedro," growled clip. "tell about the letter." "_si_," exclaimed pedro. "i haul de wood from de hills, from de phoenix mountains, _si_. i come dat way two day ago, and some mans he geeve me de letter, and say i bring him by phoenix and geeve him to some odder mans dat was call mcready, mar-r-r-k mcready. _madre mia_, me, i no _sabe_ mar-r-r-k mcready; i say i ask for him when i reach phoenix and sell de wood yesserday. den i come, make some question on de street, and feller say he know mar-r-r-k mcready and take de letter to him. '_bueno!_' i say, and geeve him it." "it was dace perry he gave it to," said clipperton. "perry was across the street from the city hall plaza. i was in the plaza. saw pedro talking with perry. was too far off to hear what they were chinning about. didn't think much about it then. saw pedro this morning. he told me about getting a dollar for bringing in the letter. i wasn't long in finding out he'd given it to perry. some crooked work about it--i knew that." "perry thinks about as much of chub as he does of me," spoke up matt, "and when pedro tackled him about the letter, he thought he saw a chance to do something crooked." "he never intended to give the letter to me," put in chub, "an' it's a dead open an' shut he read it." "of course he read it! when he found out what it had to say about jacks and hawley, why, he made a bee-line for the gambler and turned it over to him. that's the kind of a chap perry is." a fierce expression had crossed clipperton's face during this talk about perry. he felt that he had more cause to hate perry than either matt or chub; and matt was constantly fearing that clip, who had indian blood in his veins, would get himself into trouble by making some rash and desperate move against perry. "he's a two-faced schemer!" growled clipperton. "they say he owes hawley a lot of money. mebby that's why he's trying to help him." "hang his reasons!" scowled chub. "perry turned the letter over to hawley and that's enough for me to know. i'll get a hustle on and hit only the high places between here and dad's new 'strike.'" chub started for the door. "see you again, clip," he added; "matt'll tell you why i've got to tear away like this." "hold up a minute, chub," called matt. "i've lost a good deal of time now, old chap," returned chub, pausing at the door. "don't get a horse," went on matt. "borrow penny's machine. you can get out there quicker with that." "that's a prime idea!" declared chub. "i'll get the location blanks and then go for the motor-cycle." "when you get it, come back here, and i'll take the _comet_ and go with you." "why," cried chub, "i thought you were going to point the _comet_ for denver?" "my friends seem to need me," said matt quietly, "so i'll let denver wait." chub ran back to grip matt's hand and wring it warmly. "motor matt's a chum worth having!" he cried enthusiastically. "with you alongside of me, and two good motor-cycles under us, we'll win out against hawley and perry with ground to spare. i'll be back with penny's machine just as soon as i can get here, matt!" with that, chub bolted through the door and made a rush for the road. "what's up, matt?" queried clip. matt cast a significant look at morales, and clip took the mexican by the arm, led him out on the porch, and bade him good-by. when clip returned, matt and susie showed him the letter from mr. mcready, and told him everything they knew connected with the situation, including the villainous smashing of the wireless apparatus. "perry broke the machine," said clip promptly. "hawley told him to. he watched his chance, stole into the kitchen, and caused the wreck." "it looks that way, clip," admitted matt; "still, it's only a guess. we don't know for sure." "wish i was as sure of some other things as i am of that," answered clip darkly. "dace perry's a cur." "he got a wrong start, clip, that's all that ails him." "i'd like to go with you and chub. you may need me." "it's a cinch i'd like to have you go, clip, but there are only two motor-cycles in town, and you couldn't keep up with us on a horse." "well," said clip, after a few moments' thought, "if i can't go with you i'll stay in town and watch perry." "it's all right to watch him, clip, but keep your hands off him. hawley would like nothing better than to land you behind the bars, if he could." clipperton took this advice in moody silence. he and matt walked out on the porch to wait for chub, and, while they were sitting on the steps, welcome perkins turned in at the gate and came stumping toward them along the front walk. there was an aggrieved look on welcome's face. he carried a stick over his shoulder, and at the end of it swung a small bundle tied up in a red bandanna handkerchief. "what's the matter, welcome?" asked matt, casting a quizzical look at the old fellow. "blamed if i ain't stood it jest as long's i'm goin' to," answered welcome. "that onnery limb has played tag with me 'bout long enough. i been driv out o' my home, an' i'm goin' into the hills an' git lawless. that red-headed bandicoot of a chub has got into a habit o' playin' football with me an' usin' me fer the ball. i'm plumb tired, an' there ain't no use tryin' to be respectable, no-how. when i'm the terror o' the hills, an' everybody 'most is huntin' of me, an' there's a price on my head, chub mcready'll hev it to think about." "well," said matt, with a wink at clip, "if you've got to go, welcome, good-by and good luck. don't be any more lawless than you can possibly help." welcome looked disappointed. this was his usual "bluff" whenever things failed to go as he thought they ought to. he wanted matt to get excited and argue with him to stay away from the hills. "whenever i cut loose," went on welcome morosely, "i allers go the limit. that's my natur', an' ye can't git away from a feller's natur' anyways ye try. i'm plumb sorry fer law an' order now that i've backslid, an'----" "don't let us keep you, welcome," said matt. "i guess you're in a big hurry, and you've got a long walk before you get to the place where you can begin your depredations." "that's right," returned welcome. "i'd a-been gone long before now if i hadn't had to go over town arter some things i need." he pulled a can of sardines out of one pocket and looked at it moodily for a second, and then drew a can of salmon out of another pocket. "i've heern tell," he continued, "that a fish diet is pacifyin'. i jest drapped in ter say good-by to susie. she's allers been good to me, susie has. jim mcready's a mighty good friend o' mine, too, an' he's trusted me to stay here an' look arter susie an' chub while he's prospectin'. i want ye to tell jim, matt, how blamed hard i tried to do my duty, but that i jest couldn't stand the brow-beatin' an' bullyraggin' i got from chub." at that moment susie came out on the porch. "why, welcome!" she exclaimed; "what's the matter?" the old man gave a plaintive sniffle. "been driv out ag'in, gal," he answered, "an' this here's the last time. i stood enough to drive a preacher to drink, but never no more, never no more. good-by, susie. you've allers been good to me, you hev, but that brother o' your'n 's a case." welcome swung his stick over his shoulder and stepped forward to shake hands with susie. "welcome perkins," she cried, "you go right into the house and stop this foolishness!" "oh, let him go, susie," said matt. "right now, when the mcready family have a big fight on their hands, welcome makes up his mind he wants to leave. i didn't think it of him, but, if he's bound to go, tell him good-by and let him start." "what's that i'm hearin'?" queried welcome, pricking up his ears. "the mcreadys got a fight on?" "never you mind about that, welcome," returned matt cheerfully. "just hike right along. what do you care for the mcreadys, anyhow? after the way you've been treated here, i should think you'd be glad to cut the whole family and dig out. good-by!" "you dry up!" glared welcome. "i'm talkin' to susie. what's this about a fight, gal?" at that moment chub came dashing up to the front gate on penny's motor-cycle. "all ready, matt!" he sang out. welcome whirled around. when his eyes alighted on that motor-cycle of penny's, unpleasant memories were revived, and he turned his back and stumped around toward the rear of the house. "welcome is making a good bluff of it this time, susie," chuckled matt, getting up and starting to get his wheel, "but he'll calm down when you tell him the business chub and i have in hand." "you and chub be careful, matt," implored the girl. "hawley is capable of doing almost anything, and he has a grudge against you both." "and me," interpolated clip. "but i'll watch him. and perry, too." susie stood on the porch, watching anxiously while matt trundled the _comet_ down the walk and out of the gate. welcome, anxious to know what was going on, but in his present temper not caring to make any inquiries of chub or matt, stood peering around a corner of the house. "don't fret, sis," called chub encouragingly. "motor matt is helping the mcreadys, this trip, and you can bet we're goin' to win out. we'll cinch that 'strike' of dad's, and hawley'll be so badly beaten he'll never know what struck him. so-long!" matt waved his hand, and the sharp explosions of the two motor-cycles merged into a steady hum as the boys vanished up the road. chub had no suspicion as to what sort of a hard fight lay ahead of them, or he might not have been so sanguine of success. chapter v. a disagreeable surprise. penny's motor-cycle was a one-cylinder machine, and not a very late model. it weighed as much as the _comet_, which had two cylinders and twice as much horse-power. matt's machine, however, was the very last word in motor-cycle construction. in a pinch, it could streak along at sixty-five miles an hour, or, on the low gear, would do five just as readily. it was somewhere between these two extremes that matt had to travel in order to let chub keep alongside, but at no time were they doing less than a mile every two minutes. a highway known as the black cañon road led to the bluebell mine, and by taking a cross-thoroughfare shortly after leaving the house the boys whirled into their direct course. it was about eleven o'clock when they started, and they were planning to make their first halt with delray at the bluebell. "you could double the pace, matt, if it wasn't for me," said chub, leaning over the handle-bars and opening his machine up for all it would stand. "this thing-a-ma-jig of penny's ain't in the same class with yours." "oh, well, it's not so bad for a back number," answered matt. "we're doing our thirty miles an hour just now, and i guess that's plenty. we'll make the bluebell easily by noon," he added, cocking his eye at the sun. "i hope nothing has gone wrong with dad since he wrote that letter," went on chub, after a brief silence. "he's able to take care of himself, so far as bill jacks is concerned, but if hawley sends any roughs out there, something is sure goin' to happen." "i don't believe in crossing any bridges before you get to them, chub. we'll just push hard for the place where your father made his strike, and hope for the best." it was half an hour after they left phoenix when they crossed a new plank bridge over the arizona canal, fifteen miles out. "they weren't long getting another bridge over the canal," observed chub, as the machines left the planks and started up a gentle slope beyond. "that was one bridge, matt, you came pretty near not crossing, even when you got to it." chub referred to the time motor matt was racing for phoenix to take his place in the bicycle contest. a hireling of hawley's had blown up the bridge in front of the _comet_, and matt had been obliged to cross the chasm on a narrow stringer. from the canal it was only five miles to the bluebell mine, and the distance was rapidly covered. as the boys drew close to the derrick, the ore-dump, and the little house where the watchman usually kept himself, they slowed down their machines and looked around expectantly. there was no sign of life about the place. "probably del's in the shack, gettin' his dinner," hazarded chub. "i guess we could take time to eat a little something ourselves before we go on to the 'strike,' eh, matt?" "del's not getting dinner, chub," answered matt, coming to a halt and slipping out of his saddle. "there's no smoke coming out of the chimney, and that means there's no fire in the stove. i'll bet a picayune against a last year's bird's nest that delray isn't here." "hang it all!" returned chub, leaning his machine against the wall of the house, "he's the watchman, an' he's _got_ to be here. we'll investigate." they went into the house. the door had not been locked, but there was no sign of the watchman in the cabin's single room. "he can't be far away," averred chub, "or he wouldn't have left the door like that." "whether delray's here or not, chub, that doesn't cut much of a figure with our work," said matt. "we know where we want to go and how to get there." "sure, but i'd like to see del and ask him if dad has tried to shoot anything into phoenix by wireless. we can lose a little time here, i guess, without spoilin' the big end of our game." an exclamation from matt drew chub's instant attention. "great scott, chub, look there!" matt was pointing toward the table which supported the bluebell end of the wireless apparatus. sending and receiving-instruments had been completely wrecked, and parts of them were scattered over the floor. "well, what d'you think of that!" muttered chub. "hawley was bound dad wouldn't get any message through to me by way of the hertzian waves. wonder if dace perry did this, too?" "not much, chub. these instruments, like those at your house, must have been broken some time to-day--you see, del hasn't even had time to pick up the scrap. if perry smashed the apparatus at the phoenix end of the line, he'd have to be chain-lightning to get here and wreck these instruments, too. no, it wasn't perry." "think it was jacks?" "one guess is as good as another. i'd like to hear what del has to say about this. maybe he's down in the mine?" "we'll take a look," said chub, starting for the door. the ore-dump and derrick were only a little way from the house, and the boys were soon climbing the dump to the platform at the mouth of the shaft. kneeling down at the opening in the platform, they leaned over and shouted delray's name into the pitchy darkness below. no answer was returned. "he couldn't hear us if he was in some of the levels or crosscuts," remarked chub. "del was hired to keep a sharp watch on this mine while it's lying idle, an' i don't think he'd go 'way. he _must_ be down there. i'll go back to the house for a candle, and we'll take a hunt through the workings." chub was but a minute in getting back with a couple of candles. these were lighted, and the boys started down the rickety ladders, matt leading the way. the shaft was a hundred feet deep, and there were two levels opening off it--one half-way down, and the other at the bottom. matt and chub got off the ladders at the first level, walked to the end of the passage, and there, by means of a winze connecting the two levels, descended to the bottom of the mine and made their way back to the shaft again. thus they made the complete circuit of the workings--and without finding any trace of delray. they climbed disappointedly up the shaft, after having been in the mine for about half an hour. "this is tough luck, matt," muttered chub. "i wonder if there has been any foul play here? when hawley is out for a big winning, it isn't much that he'll stop at." "he wouldn't have the nerve to go too far with delray," answered chub. "hawley is unscrupulous, all right, but he's not going to get the law down on him if he can help it." "he might have had some of his roughs run delray off while those wireless instruments were bein' smashed." "no, i don't think he'd do even that. it looks to me as though some villain had stolen into the house and wrecked the instruments while del was out--just as the job was done at your place in phoenix." "the farther we go in this thing the more mysterious it gets." "and the more we see that hawley is leaving no stone unturned to beat your father out of that mining-claim. we'd better make a quick run to the 'strike,' chub, and see what shape matters are in there. from the looks of things this far, the prospect worries me." "i'm some worried myself," admitted chub, "and i'm gloomed up a heap because we can't find delray. i know where that pack-trail is, though, and we'll hit it good and hard." while they were talking they were stumbling down the ore-dump and making their way to the place where they had left their motor-cycles. "there's a lot of shady characters in these parts," chub went on, "who wouldn't pass up a ten-dollar bill if dirk hawley wanted any crooked work done. hawley's friends are mainly among that class." "bad as he is, though," said matt, "there are some good things about the gambler. they say he has a daughter in school in 'frisco, and that he keeps her there so that neither she nor her friends will find out what sort of a man he is." "that's edith hawley you're talkin' about, matt. i've heard the same yarn, but if hawley's keeping the girl in 'frisco an' tryin' to make her and her friends think he's a saint, he's going to get fooled. the girl's here on a visit, and if she's as bright as they say, she'll find out that----" the words died on chub's lips. he and matt had rounded the corner of the house, and had come to a halt facing the spot where they had left their machines. _the motor-cycles were not there!_ "stung!" gasped chub, staring at his chum in consternation. "am i in a trance? didn't we leave our machines here, matt?" "we did," answered matt excitedly, "and they're gone." "somebody must have come here an' rode 'em off while we were in the mine!" cried chub. "more of hawley's work, and i'll bet my hat on it. he's got us now. that's the one thing he could do that would knock us out entirely. oh, what a pair of dubs we were!" chub, in despair, dropped over against the side of the house and banged at the adobe wall with his clenched fists. matt, after a moment's thought, darted away toward the road. "where you goin', matt?" cried chub. "to see which way the thieves went," called back motor matt. "what's the use? think we could overhaul 'em on foot? this is where johnny hardluck puts us down and out, an' no mistake!" chub, terribly cast down, continued to lean against the house and say things to himself. he watched matt absently as he ran up and down the road, reading the signs left in the dust. suddenly matt halted, turned sharply about, and called to chub. "we've got a fighting chance!" he yelled, peeling off his coat and casting it by the roadside. "strip, chub, and unlimber those short legs of yours. there's a good hard run ahead of us." the bewildered chub got out of his coat and dropped it where he stood, then he started in motor matt's direction, wandering what was in the wind. how were the two of them, on foot, ever going to catch up with the motor-cycles? chapter vi. overhauling the thief. matt, headed in the direction of the canal and phoenix, set the pace. it was a fast one, and chub was blowing before they had covered a hundred yards. "if you want me to travel with you," puffed chub, "you'll have to be a little less hasty. what's the good, anyhow? those motor-cycles are going a dozen feet to our one." matt pulled down to a dog-trot in order to explain and to give chub a chance to get back his wind. "you're wrong, chub," said he. "even at this rate, we're traveling faster than the motor-cycles, or at least as fast." "the thieves can't be in much of a hurry to get away." "no one is riding the motor-cycles. there are only two motor-cycle tracks leading this way, and we made 'em ourselves when we rode to the bluebell." "mebby the thieves went the other way?" "no tracks on the other part of the road at all." chub dropped his eyes to the road and scanned it as he jogged along. the marks left by the pneumatic tires of the motor-cycles could be clearly seen; and on either side of them was a heavier mark. "put me wise to it, matt. has a wagon been along here since we got to the bluebell?" gasped chub. "a broad-tired freight-wagon from some of the mines," added matt. "there were four horses hitched to it and it was going to phoenix." "oh, slush!" exclaimed chub admiringly. "you've hit it off straight as a die, matt. why, thick-headed as i am, i can count the hoof-tracks of the horses and see which way they were headed, now that you've given me the tip. but what has the freight-wagon got to do with the machines?" "the wagon stopped close to the house on the bluebell," went on matt. "i could tell that by the way the hoof-tracks were all cluttered up. and then, too, around the place where the wagon stopped there were boot-marks. it's a cinch the freighter took our machines." "it can't be that freighter is graftin' on his own hook, matt, an' yet i'm a navajo if i can see how hawley ever put it up to have him run off with the wheels. i don't believe the gambler is keepin' track of us as close as all that." "the freighter has the two machines," averred matt. "why he took 'em needn't bother us very much just now; we know they're in his wagon, and that's the principal thing. it's up to us to get the motor-cycles back. a four-horse freight-wagon, even when it's empty, can't travel very fast. about all we've got to do is to outrun the gait of a walking horse. the faster we beat it, the quicker we reach the wagon." "it looks good to me," said chub. "say, i would have been up in the air, wouldn't i, if you hadn't been along? but for this mix-up in the hills, you'd have been starting for denver." "i was going to start for denver to-morrow," returned matt, "but i'm not particular about a thing like that, chub, when my friends need me." "true to your friends always, eh?" said chub, his blue eyes glistening. "no wonder motor matt makes a hit with everybody." "and connects with a few hits himself, now and then," added matt dryly. "how about another spurt, chub? that wagon didn't have much the start of us, and when we get to the top of the next 'rise,' i think we ought to see it." "spurt away! my legs are too short for sprinting, but i'll work 'em the best i can." elbows close to his sides, head up and shoulders back, matt dug out once more. chub rambled along beside him and bounced up the slight ascent. from over the "rise," and before they reached the top of it, the boys could hear the creaking of a heavy wagon, and the hoarse voice of a driver swearing at his horses. a few moments more and they were looking breathlessly down on the freighting outfit, trekking slowly phoenixward and not more than a hundred feet from where they were standing. there was one red-shirted, rough-looking man on the driver's seat--just one. the freighter had a long black-snake whip, and was snapping it about the ears of the leaders. but what appealed to the boys most was what they saw in the rear of the wagon. from their elevated position they were able to look down into the high box of the vehicle. evidently the freighter was going "empty" into phoenix after supplies for some mining-camp; but there was more in the box than there had been when it started from the mine, for the two motor-cycles were there, lashed with ropes to the sides of the high box. "there he is!" panted chub, "and thank our stars there's only one. but if he gets hostile--and if he happens to have a gun----" "peaceful freighters are not carrying guns," said matt, "and if he gets hostile--well, there are two of us." "sure," cackled chub, "and if we have a set-to, matt, you can count on me to make a noise like a prize-fighter, anyhow." the freighter's conscience did not appear to trouble him in the least, for he was not paying the slightest attention to the trail behind him. with one foot on the brake, he was whoa-hawing his four-horse team and talking like a pirate. matt and chub ran swiftly down the slope. when they were close to the wagon, matt swerved to pass around it and get to the heads of the horses, while chub, getting suddenly reckless, jumped up on the end of the "reach" and slammed into the end gate. the noise chub made drew the freighter's attention. the man turned and gave a savage yell when he saw chub. "git off'n thar, you!" he whooped, and with the words his long whip leaped backward in a sinuous coil. _snap!_ went the lash, like the report of a pistol, and chub tumbled into the road, holding both hands to the side of his throat. matt's temper began to mount at the brutal way chub was treated. the incident, while unpleasant for chub, afforded matt time to pass the man and gain the heads of the leaders of the team. "stop!" he shouted, grabbing the bits of the horses and pushing them back on the "wheelers." the freighter had already clamped the brake-shoes to the wheels, so that the wagon, although on a slope, did not run down on the wheel-horses. taking his attention from chub, the man turned in the seat and glared at matt. "git away from them hosses!" he shouted, jumping to his feet, with the whip in his hand. "git away, i tell ye, or i'll snap out one o' yer eyes with this here whip-lash. i kin do it--don't you never think i can't." "you'd better cool down," cautioned matt, his gray eyes glimmering, "if you don't want to get into more trouble than you can take care of." "i ain't goin' ter take none o' yer back-talk, nuther," whooped the man. "le'go them bits!" he began lifting the handle of the whip, preparatory to using the lash. "you've got two motor-cycles in the back of your wagon," said matt, keeping wary watch of the freighter, "and they belong to my chum and me. what business have you got taking them off?" "belong to you, eh? well, i reckon not. young perry told me they belonged ter him an' a pard o' his, an' he tucked a dollar bill inter my hand fer takin' 'em ter town." matt was astonished at this piece of information. "where did you see perry?" he demanded. "i don't know as i got ter palaver with you, but i don't mind sayin' that young perry was on a hoss clost ter the house on the bluebell as i come by. he stopped me an' told me ter take in the machines, jest as i was tellin' ye. now, drop them bits, or thar's goin' ter be trouble." "say," called matt earnestly, "you've been fooled. perry don't own those machines, but was---" "perry's a friend o' hawley's, an' hawley is a friend o' mine," roared the freighter, "an' i'm takin' his word agin' your'n. git away from thar. last call!" matt did not get away. a second more and the whip-lash leaped at him between the heads of the leaders. quick as a flash he ducked to one side, and the lash snapped harmlessly in the air. then, as the lash flickered for an instant on the neck-yoke, matt executed another quick move. reaching out, he caught the end of the writhing whip firmly, and gave it a jerk, in the hope of pulling it out of the freighter's hands. what happened was more than matt had expected. the whip did not come away, but the freighter was toppled out of the wagon-box and took a header earthward alongside the off wheel-horse. he gave a convulsive movement and then became quiet. "you've killed him, matt!" cried chub frantically. "rot!" flung back motor matt, hurrying around to where the freighter was lying and hauling him away from the hoofs of the horses. "he's just stunned, that's all. jump into the wagon, chub, and untie the wheels. when you're ready, i'll help you get them into the road. sharp's the word now, old chap. i'll watch the freighter while you're working with the machines." chub, chuckling to himself over the neat way fortune was coming to their aid, once more climbed into the wagon. matt, noticing a movement on the part of the freighter that told of returning consciousness, drew his big, ham-like hands behind him and twined the whip-lash about the wrists. it was well matt took this precaution, for, a moment after the tying was completed, the man's eyes opened. "tryin' ter kill me, was ye?" he snarled. "not at all," said matt coolly. "i was trying to take the whip away from you, and you fell out of the wagon." "all ready, matt!" called chub. matt whirled away from the freighter, to help chub get the motor-cycles down. hardly were the two machines on the ground, when the boys heard the freighter yell and saw him charge toward them. it had been impossible for matt to tie his hands securely with the whip, and he had freed himself and was hustling toward the rear of the wagon, to intercept the boys and prevent them from getting away. "quick, chub!" yelled matt. "get into the saddle and let your machine out for all it's worth. we've lost too much time as it is." there followed a wild scramble, a half-dozen revolutions of the pedals, and then the motors began to work. the two machines glided up the slope, leaving the baffled and swearing freighter far behind. chapter vii. back to the bluebell. "nothin' hard about that!" gloried chub, taking a look over his shoulder from the top of the "rise." "mister man had a little surprise-party sprung on him that trip. now it's down-hill--see us scratch gravel here! you're the clear quill, matt. the way you worked through that trick was some fine!" "luck," answered motor matt. "it's bound to come a fellow's way now and then. tie something around the side of your throat, chub. that whip-lash knocked off a piece of skin." "felt like it had knocked off my head, at first. i'll tie it up when we get back to the bluebell." "what's the good of stopping at the bluebell? dace perry is somewhere ahead of us on a horse. you heard what the freighter said about perry?" "there didn't any of that get away from me, matt. gee! but that was somethin' of a jolt. if perry smashed that wireless machine in phoenix, he didn't waste any time coverin' the twenty miles between there and the bluebell." "he must have reached the mine while we were down in the workings, looking for delray. he saw the two motor-cycles leaning against the wall of the house, and he didn't have to guess very hard to know who was around. the freighter came along just at the right time--for perry." "funny thing to me, matt, that perry didn't slash the tires." "probably he didn't have any too much time. besides, he might have thought we could fix the tires, while if the motor-cycles were sent on to phoenix, we'd be a lot worse off than if we had the crippled machines." "hawley's mighty clever--and don't you let that get past your guard for a minute! whenever he lays out to do a thing, he's right on the job from start to finish. what d'you suppose he's sent dace perry out here for?" "the way i size it up, hawley wants to get some word to jacks. perry must have been on his way to the hills when he stopped off at your place, chub, and smashed the wireless instruments. the way we got hold of that letter on the bridge has raised trouble with hawley's plans, and now he's rushing things for a quick finish. that means that we've got to hustle, too, if we save the 'strike' for the mcreadys!" "well, i guess we can. you're a reg'lar whirlwind, matt, when you start the gasoline and switch on the spark. i'm not built for rapid work, but i guess i'll do with you for pacemaker. but see here, why didn't we pass perry on the road? he left phoenix before we did, and got to the bluebell behind us--and he had to come the black cañon road." matt had been thinking of that. "it's a cinch we had to pass him, chub," said he, "and we probably did it in the hills this side of the canal. if he saw us coming, it would be easy for him to duck out of the way among the rocks." "that's what he did!" declared chub. "he had some reason to expect we'd be at the bluebell." "and after helping load our machines into the wagon," continued matt, "he spurred off to find jacks and tell him we were on the way with the location notices." a grave look crossed matt's face. "something's going to happen at the 'strike,' and we better not stop at the bluebell any longer than it takes to snatch up our coats." they were now close to the bluebell again, and were surprised to see a man run out of the house and wave a hand in their direction. "it's del!" cried chub. "he's got back from wherever he was just in time to miss the fun." "he's making a dead set for us," added matt, "and is bringing our coats." "great glory!" exclaimed the watchman, as he drew near the place where the boys had stopped, "i've been doing a pile of guessing ever since i picked up these coats. what did you leave 'em for?" "we haven't got much time to talk, del," answered matt. "while we were in the mine looking for you, dace perry rode up on horseback, and a man in a freight-wagon happened along at the same time. perry hired the man to carry our machines to phoenix, and chub and i sprinted after him and got them back. that's how we happened to leave our coats." "well, i'm blamed!" muttered delray. "there's been a lot of strange doings around here. this morning, while i was off to the spring getting some water, some one sneaked into the house and smashed the wireless instruments. what's goin' on, anyhow? why should dace perry try to take the motor-cycles away from you? same old grouch, or is it something new?" "have you heard anythin' from dad, del?" put in chub anxiously. "no. was he expecting to drop in here?" "i got a letter from him sayin' he might, just to send me a wireless message. he's five miles northwest of here," and chub went on briefly to tell of his father's "strike," the impending trouble with jacks, and what hawley was trying to do. "that gambler seems to be botherin' you boys a whole lot lately," remarked delray. "if you've got those location blanks, chub, you and matt'd better hike right on and help your father out of his difficulty before it gets any worse. and keep your eyes open, too. you've both had experience with hawley, and know the kind of a man he is. if i can help you any here, count on me." "we'll pull right out, del," answered chub. "where were you when we were going through the mine?" "taking a little _pasear_ through the hills, trying to see if i could locate the scoundrel that smashed the wireless instruments. you know how to get to the old pack-trail?" "i was over part of it with dad once." "then hustle--and don't forget to keep your eyes skinned. i've got a gun in the house if you'd like to borry it." the boys were away before the last suggestion reached them, and matt did not think it worth while to turn back. about a quarter of a mile north of the bluebell, at a place where the black cañon road ran through a small _barranca_, the boys came to the old pack-trail. a gully cut through the walls of the _barranca_ at a sharp angle, and the pack-trail followed the bottom of the depression. "here's where we leave the main road, matt," announced chub. "that old trail ain't much more than a bridle-path, an' i don't know what sort of work our machines are going to make on it, but we'll go ahead and see." "sure," said matt. "if perry could get over the pack-trail on a horse, i guess we can get over it on our wheels." "i'll take the lead," went on chub, turning into the gully. "i don't know such a terrible lot about the trail, matt, but i've been over a little of it, and that's more than you have." "all right, chub," assented matt, falling behind. "keep a good watch ahead. if you see jacks blocking the path, don't run into him, that's all." the old trail had never been used for wagons, but had been exclusively given over to pack-burros. consequently it was narrow, and there were places where bunches of cactus grew so close that the boys had to leave their saddles and trundle their machines past by hand, in order to keep the sharp spines from puncturing the tires. when the cactus bunches ceased to bother, the pack-trail swung into rocky ground, and the boys had to do some hair-raising stunts in following a bit of shelf with a sheer drop of thirty or forty feet on one side of them and a straight up-and-down wall on the other. at last the trail climbed over a ridge and into easier ground. huge piles of rocks flanked both sides of the way, but the going was smooth and level. while they were passing through this strip of country, matt suddenly heard voices behind him and to the left of the trail. the voices came from a considerable distance, and were muffled and indistinct, but matt heard them plainly enough. "chub!" he called in a guarded tone, "ride around that pile of rocks on the left. some one's coming behind us and we'd better wait and see who it is." without pausing to ask any useless questions, chub swerved from the trail and guided his motor-cycle around the heap of boulders referred to by matt. matt followed him, and they screened themselves and their wheels as well as they could and peered curiously back along the trail. chapter viii. too late! as the boys breathlessly watched, they saw a burro emerge from among the rocks on the left of the trail. there was no load on the burro's back, and the shaggy little animal was being driven by two ruffianly-looking men. one of the men had a club, and every once in a while he would reach over and hit the burro a heavy blow. the burro would flinch and leap ahead; then, apparently forgetting what had happened, would lag again and the blow would be repeated. "the brute!" muttered chub. "two brutes besides the burro," whispered matt, "if i'm any judge of faces. listen!" the men had headed the burro along the trail, and would soon pass the point where matt and chub were hiding. they continued to talk as they approached. evidently they were well pleased over something, for occasionally one of them would give a hoarse laugh. "hawley ort ter pay me well fer this," said one of the scoundrels. "you git half the claim, jacks, purvidin' hawley don't beat ye out o' it, but i'm only gittin' what i airn." "don't ye be in no takin', bisbee, erbout hawley beatin' me out o' my share in the 'strike,'" replied jacks. "he's an' ole fox, but he ain't no more of a fox'n what i am." "waal, i kin split on his game if he don't treat me right," scowled bisbee; "i kin tell about smashin' that machine at the bluebell this mornin', on my way out yar, an' i kin tell about what we done at the ole santa maria, with----" at that interesting point the two rascals passed out of ear-shot. chub, awed by what they had heard, stared excitedly at matt. "one of 'em was jacks!" he muttered; "the four-flush with the club was the prospector who was threatenin' dad with trouble!" "and the other's name is bisbee," said matt, "and he came out here this morning and smashed that wireless apparatus on his way. hawley didn't lose much time getting busy after perry gave him that letter!" "they're goin' after dad now, that's a cinch!" exclaimed chub. "let's follow 'em right up, matt, an' have a hand in what happens--that is, if anything is goin' to happen. i guess dad and you and me can take care of those two handy boys, all right." by that time the two men and the burro were well out of sight, and the boys, mounting their machines, started slowly after them, working laboriously at the pedals, so that their presence in the vicinity might not be betrayed by the volleying of explosions. as they proceeded, the rocks gradually disappeared from the sides of the trail and the country flattened into a level mesa. to the astonishment of matt and chub, nothing was to be seen of the two men on this level stretch. "where'd they go?" queried the puzzled chub, stopping his machine for a few words with his chum. "they must have left the trail again, back somewhere among the rocks," replied matt. "then maybe we're off the track," suggested chub anxiously. "if jacks and bisbee were going to the scene of dad's 'strike,' why----" "we're not off the track," interrupted motor matt. "look over there, chub!" matt pointed as he spoke. chub, following his chum's finger with his eyes, saw a dun-colored peak rising to the left of the trail, and half-way up the side of the uplift, the sun glimmered on a couple of intersecting lines that formed a cross. "the white cross!" whispered chub. "we're headed right, matt, and no mistake. but where in sam hill are bisbee and jacks? if they weren't coming here, where _were_ they goin'? put me wise." "let's stop fretting about bisbee and jacks. the fortune of the mcreadys lies over there, at the foot of that peak, and now's our chance to cinch it." the words sent a thrill through chub. once more he remembered what this "strike" might mean to his father, and susie and himself. their years in arizona had been lean enough, and all of them had felt the bitter pinch of poverty. now, suddenly, fortune had shown them her smile, and if they were to profit by it, they must beat down the evil schemes of the gambler. hawley and his confederates alone stood between the mcreadys and the goal toward which the prospector had been struggling for so long. with a bounding heart chub turned from the trail and headed straight for the white cross on the peak. "it takes you to ginger a fellow up, matt!" cried chub. "dad's claim is almost in sight, and it won't be long before we're racing back to phoenix with a location notice. i was beginnin' to feel discouraged, an' that's a fact, but i'm right on my toes now and sure we're goin' to win. hurrah for the mcready strike!" there was no trail where the boys were riding, but the ground was smooth and level and there was nothing to prevent them from making good speed. only a quarter of a mile lay between the pack-trail and the claim, and the distance was soon covered. "there are the monuments!" called chub, waving his hand. matt looked ahead and saw a collection of stones. there were five of these piles, four standing at the corners of an oblong square, and marking the limits of the claim. in the center of the square was a heap as large as two of the others, and chub kept on toward it. as matt followed, he saw that this large heap of stones had a short pole protruding from the middle. a board was fastened to the top of the pole, and there was a square, white paper tacked to the board. when chub reached the center monument he tumbled off his motor-cycle in the midst of a rude little camp. a pack-saddle lay on the ground, and near it was a canvas-wrapped bundle. a pile of wood was heaped near some smoke-blackened stones, and to one side were a dingy coffee-pot and a skillet. "dad's camp!" muttered chub. "he bunked right down by his center monument and was bound jacks shouldn't get the best of him. plucky old dad!" chub's voice trembled a little. "he's fought hard for this, matt--nobody, not even susie and me, knows how hard." "it's a long lane, chub," said matt, "that has no turning. hard luck can't dog a fellow always. is that your father's pack-burro?" chub looked in the direction matt was pointing. off beyond the confines of the claim, a burro was grazing on the mesquit-bushes. a small spring was close by. the burro was hobbled so that he could not stray far from the camp. "sure enough!" laughed chub; "that's old baldy himself. when we come into our money, we'll put baldy in a gold barn and let him stuff his old hide with patent breakfast-food." "maybe baldy'll like that," laughed matt, "and maybe he won't." "anyhow," grinned chub, "he looks like he could stand a little stuffing with just plain hay. he's helped dad through the hills for the last five years--the two of them have gone thirsty and hungry together, and knocked into more hardships and out of them again than anybody'll ever know. but right here's where they win. look at that 'blow-out,' will you, matt?" by "blow-out," chub meant a lot of white quartz that was littering the ground in every direction. he picked up a piece and held it under matt's eyes. the stone was flecked with little yellow grains. "gold!" cried chub; "the rock's just full of it. say, it's a wonder this claim's laid here as long as it has. i'll bet that dozens of prospectors have been around it--but it was dad that found 'er! whoop-ee!" chub jerked off his cap suddenly and hurled it into the air; then, in the excess of his joy, he caught hold of matt and whirled him around and around in the wildest kind of a dance. but there were some things about the situation which matt couldn't understand. he hated to throw any cold water on chub's effusive spirits, and yet he knew that they ought to probe to the bottom of the situation. "where's your father, chub?" matt inquired, as his chum let loose of him. "why, he must have set out for phoenix to file the duplicate location notice," replied chub, sitting down on the side of the rock pile. "you see, matt, that letter was five days gettin' to us. hawley had it for a day, and the mexican must have had it longer than he admitted, or else dad was wrong in his dates when he wrote it. i guess dad got tired waiting for me to come out, and so he began to scratch gravel for phoenix on his own hook." matt was wondering why jacks and bisbee had appeared so delighted during their talk on the pack-trail. from their manner, and what they had said, he had got the idea that they had accomplished something for hawley. "i thought your father didn't have any location blanks," went on matt, "and that he wanted you to come and bring them." "he must have found some blanks somewhere," returned chub. "did he have a horse with him, besides the burro?" chub stared. "why, no, matt," said he. "prospectors don't ride. they just walk, an' drive their pack-burros ahead of them." "your father only had one burro?" "that's all. what's buzzin' around in your nut, anyway, matt?" "i'm wondering why your father should pull out for phoenix and leave old baldy behind. he wouldn't walk all the way to town, would he, and leave the burro and his camp-truck here?" the words startled chub. a look of alarm drove all the joy out of his freckled face. "oh, slush! that's me, all right!" he muttered. "i'm goin' off half-cocked, as per usual. there's a whole lot of things i'm forgettin'. for instance, that talk we overheard between jacks and bisbee. that lacked a good deal of being encouraging to the mcreadys. and then, again, where's dace perry? he ought to be around here somewhere, but i'm not seeing much of him. anyhow," and chub looked up at the board on top of the pole, "dad found his location notice somewhere, and we can't be euchred out of the claim." "look at the notice, chub," suggested matt. "see what sort of a name your father gave the claim." "i'll make a guess that it's 'mcready's pride,' or 'mcready's hope,' or something like that," said chub, climbing to the top of the rock pile. hanging to the pole, he brought his eyes close to the notice. matt saw his hands grip the pole hard, while a cry of savage disappointment escaped his lips. "what's wrong?" asked matt. chub looked down dazedly at his chum. "why--why," he faltered huskily, "dad didn't put up this notice at all. the claim is named the 'pauper's dream,' and the locators are down as 'jacks and hawley.'" "jacks and hawley?" echoed matt. "yes," roared chub, grabbing the notice and jerking it fiercely off the board, "the gambler's won out on us, matt. jacks has put up his notice, and some one is now on the way to phoenix to file a duplicate." chub tumbled off the rock pile, sat on the ground at the foot of it, and covered his face with his hands. "we got here, old fellow," said chub brokenly, "but we got here _too late_!" a wave of consternation rolled over matt. he had been fearing that something was wrong, but up to this moment he hadn't entertained the least notion that hawley's dastardly plans had already succeeded. "and the worst of it is, matt," whispered chub, looking up, "we don't know anything about dad. what have they done with him?" chapter ix. held at bay. "don't worry about your father, chub," said matt. "hawley will steal this claim if he can, but it's a cinch he'll do it in such a way the law can't get a hold on him. your father has been trapped in some way, in order to get him off the claim so jacks could put up his own location notice. you can be sure, though, that jacks hasn't done anything very desperate. brace up, old chap!" "i can't," groaned chub. "it's back to the woods for me. the gimp has all been taken out of me. everybody in phoenix always has a joke to crack at the mcreadys. they call dad a 'rainbow-chaser,' and say he never can find any pay-rock the way he potters around. and now he's lost this chance! maybe we'll never get another." "look here, chub," said matt, walking over to his chum and pulling him to his feet, "you're not a quitter and never have been. don't try to be one now. pull yourself together and face the music. _there's a chance yet!_ but you're not going to help that chance any by acting like this." "chance?" repeated chub dully, lifting his hopeless, freckled face to matt's. "yes. you've got two location notices. fill 'em out. tack one on that board in place of the one you just pulled down, and we'll hustle the other one to the recorder's office in phoenix." "it's too late, i tell you!" insisted chub. "don't you understand what's been done? jacks tacked his own notice up, and perry is already on the way to phoenix with a duplicate." "perry hadn't started, up to the time we got here," pursued matt quickly. "if he had started, he'd have had to pass us. but suppose he did; suppose he has two hours the start of us--why, he's riding a horse that has already done twenty-five miles to-day, and a _motor-cycle can beat him out_!" matt's hopefulness and splendid confidence electrified chub. "you're a chum worth having if any one asks you," he burst out. "you're right, matt; there is a chance yet, and this is no time to pull off any baby-act. i was rattled, that's all. the idea that a fortune had side-stepped the mcreadys had got onto my nerves. give me a pencil. hanged if i don't jump dad's claim myself, just to save it from jacks and hawley." chub was now all energy and determination. sitting down on the rocks once more, he took two folded blanks from his pocket and laid them over a smooth, flat stone in front of him. "we'll call this claim the 'make or break,'" he went on, taking the pencil from matt and beginning to fill in the blank spaces; "it's in the winnifred mining district, and it's located by mark mcready." "hold up, chub," interposed matt, "before you write your name down as the locator. you're several years this side of twenty-one. would that make any difference?" "it might," said chub thoughtfully. "it'll be safer to put in dad's name, and then we'll be sure not to get stung. i'll fill out the two of them; then, while i'm tacking one to the board, you can take the other and make a getaway for phoenix." "what are you going to do?" "i'm goin' to hang around here an' look for dad. you'll make a quicker run to town than you would if i was along with that one-cylinder machine, anyhow." matt, whose mind was busy with the conversation he and chub had overheard between jacks and bisbee, evolved a sudden idea. "is there a mine around here called the santa maria?" he asked. "seems to me i've heard of an old, played-out proposition by that name," answered chub. "why?" "do you remember what bisbee said to jacks while they were coming along the pack-trail? '_i can tell what we done at the old santa maria._' those were his words, chub, and i've got a hunch that that's the place to go and look for your father." "bully!" said chub. "you've got more horse-sense in a minute, matt king, than reddy mcready has in a year. get ready to hike, old chap. i'll have this for you in about a minute." "i'll go over to the spring and get a drink," answered matt, "and then i'll turn the _comet_ loose." the spring was some little distance away from the center monument where chub was doing his writing. matt hurried toward it, gave old baldy a friendly slap as he passed him, and then went down on his knees at the edge of the rocky pool. matt was feeling tolerably easy in his mind. he knew what the _comet_ could do, and in order to help his friends, the mcreadys, he would make the miles spin out from under the pneumatic tires as they had never done before. it is usually at just such a time as that, when one feels as though he is about to accomplish something really worth while, that the unexpected bobs up to play hob with all his well-laid plans. while matt was on his knees, refreshing himself with the cool spring-water, a wild yell came from chub. matt was on his feet in a jiffy, and whirled just in time to see chub take a header from the rock pile. he must have finished filling out the notices and climbed to the top of the center monument to tack one of them to the board, when the unexpected arrived. matt saw jacks on top of the stone heap, and it was he who had given chub the shove that landed him on his hands and knees at the bottom of the pile. chub got up angrily, and gathered in a scrap of paper that had dropped beside him; then he turned and faced the prospector, who was roaring and shaking his fist. "what d'ye mean, ye red-headed whelp, by tamperin' with my location notice? tryin' ter jump this here claim, hey? waal, you scatter, an' do it quick! if ye don't, i'll kick ye clean off'n the map!" jacks was not the only enemy that had come to work havoc with the plans of matt and chub. bisbee was there, also, and so--to matt's intense amazement--was dace perry. perry was standing beside a saddle-horse. the animal had been ridden hard and was plainly far gone with fatigue. jacks and bisbee, it now seemed to matt, had gone off somewhere among the rocks to meet perry. jacks probably had pitched a camp near-by, where he had stayed while watching chub's father; and, naturally, it would be to this camp that perry would go to meet the ruffian. having joined forces, all three of the plotters had advanced covertly upon matt and chub. matt ran forward, to place himself shoulder to shoulder with chub. perry saw him coming, and called bisbee's attention to him. "you stay whar ye aire!" yelled bisbee. as he gave the warning he lifted his hand, and matt saw the sun glimmer on a piece of blued steel. "git over thar ter whar yer friend is," ordered jacks, from the top of the stone pile. "we mean bizness right from the drop o' the hat, young feller, an' if that red skelp o' your'n is of any valley to ye, ye'll jump mighty prompt whenever i tune up!" chub held his ground, however, and matt continued to come on. "you're a pack of thieves," clamored chub, "that's what you are! you're trying to steal this claim away from my father, but we're going to fool you." "ye're mcready's son, aire ye?" yelped jacks. "waal, now, mcready tried ter steal this claim away from me, an' when i git back, along comes you an' makes a similar kind o' break. git away from here! my mad's up, an' i'm li'ble ter do ye damage. what's that ye got in yer hand? grab it away from him, bisbee, then kick him off'n the claim." bisbee executed a rush in chub's direction, but matt was close enough by then to push out a foot and throw the ruffian heavily. bisbee, swearing furiously, arose to his knees and leveled the weapon he still clutched in his fingers. before he could use it, jacks had scrambled down from the rock pile and caught his wrist. "none o' that, bisbee!" said jacks. "so long as the young whelps don't try ter interfere with us." matt and chub ran back a few steps. "it's the location notice, matt," chub whispered, "that i wanted you to take to town." "give it here, chub," returned matt, and took the paper and thrust it into the breast of his leather coat. "it's a location notice!" sang out perry. "i heard mcready tell king it was. better take it away from him." "i know a trick wuth two o' that," laughed jacks hoarsely. "kin you ride one o' them new-fangled bicycles, perry?" "yes," replied perry. "then pick out the best 'un an' ride fer phoenix with that notice o' mine." perry gave an exultant laugh and jumped for the _comet_. matt started forward. "keep away from that machine, perry!" he cried. "draw a bead on him, bisbee," said jacks. "if he tries ter keep perry from gittin' away, you know what ter do." the gleaming weapon arose to a level with bisbee's wicked little eyes, and matt halted uncertainly. the pounding of the _comet's_ motor was already in his ears, and perry was starting for the pack-trail. while matt stood there, wondering what he could possibly do, the _comet_ did something it had never done before. with a wheezy sputter, it stopped dead, refusing to answer the frantic twists perry gave the handle-bars. "thought ye said ye could run it?" scoffed jacks. "something's loose or broken," replied perry, leaping from the saddle and letting the machine drop. "the other belongs to ed penny and i know it better. i'll take that." a few moments later he was on the other motor-cycle and scurrying toward the trail. jacks turned on matt and chub with a taunting laugh. "i reckon you won't file no location notice ahead o' jacks an' hawley _this_ trip!" he yelled. chapter x. a daring escape. there had been so many ups and downs for chub during the few hours he and matt had been fighting for the claim that his discouragement now took a philosophical turn. "there goes our last chance, matt," said he, with a grim laugh. "it's what they call stealing your own thunder, ain't it, when a swift bunch of toughs act like that?" matt was mad clear through. his eyes snapped vindictively as he watched the exultant ruffians. "the recorder closes his office in phoenix at six o'clock?" he asked. "yes." "then jacks has played his trump card. the only way that location notice could be got to phoenix in time to be recorded to-day was by sending perry on the motor-cycle. when we left delray, he said something about lending us a gun. i don't believe in guns, as a general thing, but if we had borrowed delray's we could have met these scoundrels in their own way." matt's voice was low, but it throbbed with a fierce desire to do something--anything--which might still win the day for the mcreadys. "the biggest steal on record, that's what it is!" breathed chub. "you could prove it in any court in the country, chub. with your father's testimony, and ours, you'll have a good case against jacks and hawley." "it takes money for lawsuits," said chub bitterly, "and the mcreadys have been living from hand to mouth for more years than i care to think about. there's no use talking about a legal fight, matt. possession is nine points of the law, and the man who files his location notice first always holds the ground. we'll just sponge the 'make or break' off the mcready slate right now. for the rest of it, all i'm worrying about is dad." "if you fellers hev got through with yer confab," shouted jacks, "ye'll jest turn face-about an' jog fer that scooped-out place in the foot o' the hill, right behind ye." matt looked around. the spot mentioned by jacks was a jagged notch among the rocks, twenty-five or thirty feet long by a dozen wide, and with precipitous walls on all sides, except, of course, at the opening in front. "what are you driving us into that hole in the rocks for?" demanded matt. "we like yer comp'ny so all-fired well," answered jacks, with a hoarse laugh, "that we're goin' ter keep ye with us all night. arter it gits dark, we kin hang onter ye easier if ye're bottled up in that cut-out." "you're a nice pair of grafters--i don't think," flared chub. "somebody's goin' to settle for this business, and the more you pile it on the more you'll pay." "we're able ter pay all we'll have ter," grinned jacks, "but jest now you're follerin' my orders, _sabe_? chase 'em in, bisbee," he added, to his companion. "shoo!" said bisbee, and started forward, waving his weapon. "you're a couple of cowards!" yelled chub, doubling up his fists. "you wouldn't dare shoot!" "come on, chub," said matt quietly, taking his chum's arm and leading him into the notch. "we'll have our innings later." "but i don't want to be hung up in here all night," demurred chub. "there's no tellin' what kind of a fix dad is in. we ought to be hunting for him." "don't fret. they've left your father so he'll be all right until you can find him, even if you can't take up the hunt until to-morrow. just let 'em think their bluff is working, that's all." bisbee, with the revolver on his knees, had taken up his position at the front of the notch. from this position, even after it grew dark, he would be able to keep the boys from emerging from the cut-out. matt and chub sat down on a couple of stones and leaned back against the steep wall behind them. through the opening they could look out toward the claim and see jacks taking perry's horse to the spring. saddle and bridle were stripped from the horse, and the animal was secured with a long rope and picket-pin. after taking care of the horse, jacks went back to mcready's camp, started a fire, and began getting supper. "consarn 'em!" growled chub, "they're taking everything in sight." "we'll not make any kick," answered matt, "so long as they give us our supper. i feel as though i'd been through a famine. besides, we need food for our night's work." he dropped his voice, to make sure bisbee could not hear. "night's work?" echoed chub. "about all the work we'll do to-night, matt, will be to sit on these boulders and try to sleep." "that's where you're wrong. when it's dark enough, and everything's quiet, i'm going to climb out of here, fix up the _comet_, and take this location notice to phoenix." "shucks! what's the use? even if you succeeded, you couldn't reach town before to-morrow. the other notice will have been recorded long before then." "i'll not say we're beaten until the recorder himself tells me it's too late." admiration for his chum rose in chub's eyes, although he shook his head hopelessly. "that's your style, matt--you never seem to know when you're down and out. how're you goin' to get out of here?" matt called chub's attention to one of the side walls of the notch. there was more of a slope to the wall there than anywhere else, and matt had already marked out his foot and hand holds, fixing half a dozen projecting stones and two or three straggling bushes firmly in his mind. "in broad day," said chub, "that climb would be hard enough, but at night you'd be sure to fall and break your neck. cut it out." "i'm going to make a getaway to-night," declared matt firmly. "why couldn't the two of us get the better of bisbee? we could drop on him during the night, and if we worked it right, that gun of his wouldn't cut any figure." "i'd thought of that," said matt, "but i've got to skirmish around the camp a little, you know, and tinker with the _comet_. all that will have to be done secretly. my way's the best, i think." "you'll have to excuse little chub from prancing up that precipice. he thinks too much of his neck to risk it on any such fool stunt." "when i'm ready to go i'll set up a yell. that will draw bisbee and jacks after me, chub, and you can walk out of this hole in the hill as neat as you please." that ended their talk for a while. just then jacks came to the opening of the notch, and set down a tin cup of coffee and a plate of soaked hardtack and fried bacon. "ye'll hev ter eat out o' the same dish an' drink out o' the same cup," said he. "this hotel's kinder short on plates an' cups. howsumever, i don't reckon ye're anyways partic'ler." he withdrew with a jubilant flourish, and the two chums fell to on their food. after it was eaten, both of them felt a hundred per cent. better. night comes suddenly in that part of the southwest. one minute it is daylight, and almost the next the stars are out and the coyotes yelping. as night advanced a deep quiet fell over the captives and their captors. the horse and burro could be heard tramping around the spring, but these sounds, and the occasional bark of a coyote, were all that broke the stillness. bisbee, sitting by the entrance into the notch, was as upright and silent as a black statue. jacks, with a blanket under him, was lying across the entrance and snoring. midnight was passed and the hour had come for matt to make his attempt, so he reached over and touched his chum on the shoulder. "i'm off, old chap!" he whispered, his lips close to chub's ear. "i've tied my shoes together by the laces and they're hanging around my neck--i can climb better and make less noise in my stocking-feet." chub reached out his hand and wrung matt's fervently. "i think it's foolish for you to try to get that notice to phoenix, old chum," he answered, "but i appreciate what you're tryin' to do for the mcreadys, just the same. if ever a fellow was true to his friends, it's a cinch that it's motor matt." "i hate to pull out and leave you, chub," went on matt, "but there's only one motor-cycle, you know, and, besides, you can't leave here until you find out about your father." "that's all to the good. we've got to separate. good-by and good luck." "be ready to run when you hear me yell," finished matt. "so-long, chub." it was as dark as a pocket in the notch, and chub could not see matt as he moved noiselessly across to the other wall. presently, by straining his ears, chub could hear muffled sounds--a sifting downward of sand, the faint crunch of a loose stone under a stockinged foot, a stifled breathing, as of some one working hard and trying to work quietly. steadily the sounds mounted up and up. chub, holding his breath, fixed his eyes on the blank darkness and waited. he almost fell off his boulder when he saw the blurred form of bisbee lean forward, and heard him call: "what ye doin' in thar, you two?" "what's the matter with you?" retorted the quick-witted chub. "we're tired out and want to sleep. move over a little, matt," he added, as though speaking to his chum, "you're takin' up more'n your half of the wall." the blurred form straightened again, and once more chub began to breathe. the sounds on the wall had ceased, and chub began to count the seconds and mentally to check off the minutes. five minutes--ten--fifteen. chub wasn't at all sure he was reckoning the time properly, but he began wondering what had become of his chum. the opposite side of the notch was the slope of the hill itself, and only child's play for matt to get down. if he had got down, where was he? chub reckoned up fifteen minutes more. his nerves were in rags and he was imagining all sorts of wild things, when a booming shout came from the distance. "good-by, jacks! you thought you had us, but you've got another guess coming!" bisbee leaped to his feet with a yell. jacks broke off his snores suddenly and lifted himself up. "what's the matter?" he demanded. "them kids hev got away!" cried the startled bisbee. a clatter of hoofs, rapidly receding in the direction of the pack-trail, could be heard. "they've took the hoss!" yelped jacks. "consarn 'em, anyways! why didn't ye watch, hey? come on! mebby we kin stop 'em yit!" bisbee and jacks scampered off into the shadows, talking and snarling at each other as they ran. chub, losing no time, laughed softly to himself and hurried out of the notch. it tickled him to think that motor matt's daring had won out, even though there wasn't much hope of his getting to phoenix in time to save the claim. but why had matt taken the horse? chub had been expecting the explosions of a gasoline motor rather than the patter of hoofs. chapter xi. a hard journey. there were few better athletes than matt king, and he was in the pink of condition. it was a matter of pride with him to keep himself at all times fit and ready for whatever fate threw his way. but scaling that steep wall, under the double necessity of doing it effectively and making little noise, was one of the hardest things he ever attempted. he had kept vividly in his mind the path he had mapped out, and the upward climb was merely the working out of a problem that he had already solved in theory; but he had to work out the problem in the dark, and to grope with his feet for the projecting stones and with his hands for the bushes. at last, with every muscle tingling and his breath coming hard through his tense lips, he drew himself over the crest of the wall. here he paused for a moment's rest, and to put on his shoes. there was cactus on the hill-slope, and he didn't want to hamper himself by picking up a bunch of fish-hooks in his unprotected feet. when near the top of the wall he had heard bisbee's demand to know what was going on, and he had chuckled at chub's response. chub's ready wit, it might be, had made the escape successful. once in his shoes, matt stole down the slope and made his way to the center monument on the claim. the _comet_ was lying just where perry had let it drop. how matt was to fix the machine in the dark he did not know, but he had had an idea that the motor-cycle had "bucked" because perry did not understand just how to operate it. his first disappointment came as he knelt down by the machine and detected a heavy odor of gasoline. after a minute or two of groping about, he made the startling discovery that the gasoline-tank was empty. the cap that closed the opening into the reservoir had become loosened in the fall, and all the gasoline had trickled out. here was a difficulty, and no mistake. matt remembered having seen a gasoline-stove at the bluebell, but he was under the impression that delray didn't use the stove very much. if there was no gasoline to be had at the mine, then matt would have to keep on to the arizona canal, and try to get some at the first ranch he came to. there was no use now in looking for the trouble that had cut short perry's flight on the _comet_--that could be attended to later. what matt had to do was to figure on getting a hundred-and-fifty pounds of mechanism to the bluebell mine. to pedal the machine that distance, over the rough pack-trail with its sharp rocks and cactus, and at night, was a task he did not care to think about. it was then that the idea of taking the horse appealed to him. the horse could carry both him and the machine, providing he used judgment in stowing the _comet_ on the animal's back. having made up his mind to get over the difficulty in this way, matt raised the machine and trundled it toward the spring. to his satisfaction, he gathered that everything was serene in the vicinity of the notch. not a sound reached him from there. if he had been nearer, perhaps he might have heard the resonant snores of the sleeping jacks. when he had come close to the horse, matt laid the motor-cycle down and went up to the animal, whispering and stroking his neck to prevent a startled snort or jump. with his knife he cut the picket-rope off close to the pin, and after twisting the rope about the horse's lower jaw, in lieu of a bridle, he cut the rope again. this gave him not only enough for a bridle, but also some twenty feet of lashing for the _comet_. to hang the machine from the horse's back so that it would ride without injury to its mechanism was the next problem matt had to solve. this was accomplished by first passing a loop of rope through the forks, and then drawing the machine up by the front with the rope over the horse's back. naturally, the horse objected to this unusual procedure, and a good part of the half-hour required by matt in effecting his escape was consumed in getting the horse accustomed to his strange burden. after the front of the _comet_ had been swung into place and fastened, matt repeated the operation with the back of the machine and drew the rear wheel off the ground. the right pedal and toe-clip dug into the horse's ribs and caused a good deal of shying and side-stepping. but the interfering pedal had an advantage as well as a disadvantage, inasmuch as it braced the machine away from the horse's side and gave matt room on the animal's back. his position, once he was astride the horse, was far from comfortable, but he thought he could make shift, at least, to ride until he had left the camp well behind. heading the horse toward the trail, he shouted his good-by to jacks at the top of his lungs, and then urged the horse into a gallop with his heels and the end of the rope hackamore. the _comet_ slipped, and plunged, and rattled, but matt supported it with one hand and let the frightened horse take his own gait. he heard jacks and bisbee chasing after him, but was soon so far away that these sounds of pursuit were lost in the distance. a little later he turned into the pack-trail, and the most difficult part of his night journey lay ahead of him. matt could have hidden his machine away among the rocks and left it there while he galloped on to phoenix. there would have been nothing to gain by this move, however, except an easier ride to the bluebell. the office of the recorder would not be open for business before eight o'clock the next morning, and matt had plenty of time to reach his destination. if he could get a supply of gasoline at the mine, and found that the _comet_ could be easily repaired, he would leave the horse with delray and get back to town on the motor-cycle. before matt had gone far along the pack-trail the difficulties of his position on the horse's back became so great that he was forced to dismount and walk. even though he could have ridden comfortably, he would soon have been obliged to fall back on his own feet anyway. the trail was rough and hard to follow when it could be plainly seen, and now, when it twisted and turned through black arroyos and clung to the edge of half-hidden chasms, progress could only be safely made by going slowly and carefully. leading the horse by the rope, matt picked out the course with the utmost care. once he lost the trail and was all of two hours finding it again; then the lashings of the _comet_ gave way suddenly, and the rear wheel dropped, causing the horse to give a frightened jump that nearly took him over the edge of a steep descent. at the most difficult part of the trail, where it ran along a shelf gouged out of the cliffs, matt had to unship the wheel and swing it from the other side, in order to keep it from colliding with the rocks and being broken. before the _barranca_ and the black cañon were reached, a quivering line of gray had run along the tops of the eastern hills. morning was at hand, and matt, who had been working like a turk through the dark hours, was not yet at the bluebell! "the _comet_ has made me a heap of trouble," he muttered, "but i'll take the kinks out of the old girl when we get to the bluebell, and then there'll be clear sailing all the way to town. it's about time i struck a streak of luck, seems to me. if delray has any gasoline----" matt broke off the remark suddenly, wincing as he thought of an added jaunt of five miles to the canal, leading the horse or pedaling a heavy motor-cycle. if luck ever did anything for him, he hoped it would show itself at the bluebell. the sky was bright with coming day when matt turned into the _barranca_, and the sun was up when he came in sight of the house and derrick at the bluebell. there was some one on foot in the road, far away toward the canal. when matt drew up by the house he saw that the approaching man was delray. "i wonder if del is still gadding about looking for the fellow who smashed the wireless instrument?" thought matt, setting to work unloading the _comet_. but it was something else that had taken delray abroad that morning. he came, puffing, just as matt got the _comet_ on the ground. "well, by thunder!" exclaimed the watchman. "what's the matter with the machine? where's chub? say, but i've had the duse of a time!" delray mopped his face with a handkerchief and looked excited, and curious, and a little bit chagrined. "first off, del," said matt, "have you got any gasoline? don't tell me you haven't! it's the one thing i need just now more than anything else." "that's right," cried delray, surprising matt with a fresh show of excitement, "if you ever needed gasoline, you need it now. but i don't think i've got a drop. haven't used the gasoline-stove for a month, and it seems to me the can was empty when i last tried it. but wait; we'll make sure." delray darted into the house. in a moment he came rushing back with a can. "there's some here, but i don't know how much," said he. "bully!" exclaimed matt. "a quart will take me to phoenix on the high speed." he began working while he kept up a flow of talk. "chub's in the hills, looking for his father, who's mysteriously missing from the claim. jacks and a rascal named bisbee held us up yesterday afternoon while perry got away on chub's wheel. jacks and bisbee tried to keep us bottled up in a hole in the rocks all night; but we managed to get away. chub's going to look around for his father, and i'm going to take his father's location notice to phoenix. seen anything of perry?" "_seen_ anything of him?" muttered delray; "well, i should say i had! he came puffing along here yesterday afternoon, on chub's motor-cycle, and i jumped for the road and headed him off. he tried to run me down, but i grabbed him. why, he was all night in the house with me. he begged me to let him go, and tried to bribe me, but i was thinking of chub and held onto him. about half an hour ago tom clipperton rode up on horseback. he was looking for you and chub. i stepped out to talk with him, and while i was explaining the situation, we heard the popping of that motor-cycle, and saw perry darting along the road. i had a rope on perry's hands, and how he ever got rid of it is more'n i know. clipperton took after him just a-smoking, but he might as well have tried to chase a lightning express-train on a hand-car. i ran down the road a ways, and was just coming back when i saw you." all this set matt's nerves to tingling. here was an unexpected stroke of luck. perry had been held up all night at the bluebell! even though he had got away, there was a chance to overtake him. matt flung down the can, adjusted the needle-valve of the gasoline shut-off which he had found out of order, and tried the motor. she took the spark finely, and was apparently in as good shape as before she had "bucked" with perry. "bully for you, del!" cried matt. "perry leads me by half an hour?" "yes; but that's a whole lot, and----" matt did not hear the rest. he was off down the road, with the cylinders sweetly purring and the rubber tires kicking up a cloud of dust. the fatigue of his night work dropped from him, and he felt as fresh and fit as though he had had his usual amount of rest and sleep. once more his face was set toward phoenix, and he felt equal to anything. chapter xii. a stout heart and plenty of hope. dace perry was only half an hour in the lead! had he been mounted on motor matt's two-cylinder, seven-horse-power marvel, this would have meant that, with fearless and skilful riding, he was already in phoenix; but perry was on a one-cylinder machine, that would have to be nursed by a proficient rider in order to do even thirty miles an hour. matt figured that perry would do twenty, or twenty-five. in other words, perry's lead, as matt reckoned it, was ten or twelve miles. could the _comet_ reel off a score of miles while perry was doing the eight or ten that lay between him and the recorder's office? reason assured matt that he had a fighting chance. there was a mile a minute in the _comet_ if matt cared to let her go the limit and risk his neck. notch by notch he opened her out. why not do a mile a minute? there was less sand just ahead and better ground. besides, he was working for chub and susie, and what good was a fellow who wouldn't risk his neck for his friends? this was a race for a fortune. it made little difference to motor matt that it was a fortune for the mcreadys and not for himself that trembled in the balance. the hills melted away behind the speeding motor-cycle. the rise and fall of the road had little effect on the speed, and the tremendous momentum of one hundred and fifty pounds of steel, backed by a hundred and thirty more of brawn and daring, fairly lifted the _comet_ over the high places. ahead of matt were a horse and rider. the horse was galloping in matt's direction, but took the roadside at a frightened leap as the motor-cycle sped by. the horseman shouted and waved an arm. it was tom clipperton, the descendant of a noble line of genuine owners of the soil--the indians. what he said matt could not hear, and matt dared not take a hand from the grip-control to wave an answering hail. however, he yelled a greeting, and the cry trailed out behind him and died suddenly in the speed of his flight. that was not the first time motor matt had raced along the black cañon road. he had done it once before, but his speed then was not what it was now. that other time the _comet_ was new to him, but since that he had come to know the machine in every part as he knew his two hands. before he fairly realized it, he was at the canal. the _comet_ seemed to take the bridge at a flying leap, and was off and away through shady lanes of cottonwood-trees. he passed several wagons and carriages coming toward him. they got out of the way and gave his charging steel wonder a wide berth. occasionally he had to slow down to pass a vehicle moving toward phoenix, but not often. the road was wide, and clean, and hard from edge to edge. speed and more speed! that was all matt was thinking of then. the itch to eat up the miles as they had never been devoured before was racing hot through his veins. he would make a record from the hills to phoenix this time which would stand unequaled for a long time. he whirred across the second canal. his next bridge would be the one that spanned the town-ditch, and then he would be only a short half-mile from the court-house plaza, and the place where location notices were put on file. as he struck the last lap of country road and looked away toward the beginning of the angling thoroughfare known as grand avenue, he glimpsed a flurry of dust. that was perry, fanning along on the one-cylinder machine. matt was gaining on perry hand over fist. as the dust blew aside, matt could see perry looking back, then turning again and coaxing penny's wheel to fresh endeavor. "i've got him," thought matt exultantly, "and he knows it! he'll begin to understand, one of these days, that crooked work can make lots of trouble, but was never known to pay in the long run." perry, no doubt, was greatly astounded at sight of motor matt. he had left matt in the hands of jacks and bisbee, and he had left the _comet_ temporarily useless. small wonder if his brain _was_ dazed and bewildered by the sight of that hurricane closing in on him from the rear. if chub and clip had any fault to find with matt, it was because they thought him too "easy." this was because he had a habit of looking for the good qualities in a fellow, rather than for the bad ones. perry, according to matt, would have been all right if he hadn't got a wrong start; and matt had even hinted to chub that there might be something good even in that scheming follower of fortune's wheel, dirk hawley. chub and clip couldn't understand this kind of talk. they realized that it didn't show weakness, for they had sampled matt's fiber too many times not to know his underlying strength of character. so they laid it up to eccentricity, and called it a hobby. matt, however, called it a "principle"--and he had been known to fight like a wildcat for his "principles." matt's mind was resting easy. he felt that the race was as good as won, that he would soon pass perry, reach the court-house, and have the mcready location on file a good two minutes before perry could reach the plaza. and just at that moment, when the whole matter of the mcready "strike" was looking its brightest, the unexpected happened again and changed the complexion of affairs. matt was close to perry--not more than a couple of hundred feet behind him, and still gaining rapidly--when he saw a white horse, ridden by a well-dressed young woman, riding toward them from the direction of grand avenue. the horse was mettlesome and high-spirited, and the sight of perry's motor-cycle sent the animal leaping toward the roadside. the girl was a good rider--matt could see that at a glance--but the horse was giving her all she could manage. perry's proper move, in such a case, would have been to slow down--even to stop, if the actions of the horse and the safety of the rider seemed to demand it. but perry was thinking only of the recorder's office and never slackened pace. the white horse plunged against the fence and reared high in the air. the girl, however, clung pluckily to the saddle. matt, completely absorbed in the girl's peril, lessened his speed and watched the progress of events. then, with his heart in his throat, he shut off the gasoline and clamped on the brake. one of the reins had snapped apart during the girl's frantic tugging at the bit. entirely out of control, the frenzied animal flung off down the road, the piece of rein dangling from the bit-ring and the girl clinging desperately to the saddle. her hat was lost and her yellow hair was streaming out behind her. matt's first impulse had been to leave his machine and rush to the girl's assistance, but before he could pull his feet from the toe-clips, the horse was past him and careering along on its wild course. there are times when, in the space of a lightning-flash, a person's mind will deal with every conceivable phase of a situation. it was like that with matt as the white horse and helpless rider went tearing past him. unless something was done to stop the runaway animal, the girl would probably be thrown and perhaps killed. against what he might do for the girl, matt, for the fraction of an instant, balanced his duty to the mcreadys. then he used the pedals, turned on the gasoline, and switched on the spark. but instead of going on to phoenix and the recorder's office, he turned the _comet_ and raced after the girl. chapter xiii. matt wins--and loses. motor matt had seven horses in the twin-cylinders to pit against that one frantic animal that was slashing along the road toward the canal. there was but one thought in his mind, and that was to spur the seven horses into a speed that could overtake the one before it reached the bridge and the water. he had been racing for a fortune before, but it was for a human life now. with keen, steady eyes he gaged the chances. the white horse was thundering along in the middle of the road, with the scrap of rein dangling on the left side of the bit. he aimed the _comet_ to bring up on the left side of the frightened beast. he was half a minute, perhaps, in coming alongside the horse, and during that brief interval he had a brief glimpse of the thrashing, steel-shod heels. a heart's beat later he was abreast of the girl and saw her white, fear-drawn face looking down at him. in another breath he was close to the horse's head. the time had come when matt was to put forth his best effort, and win or lose at a single throw of the die. if the horse got away from him---- but he was not thinking of that; he was thinking how he could best hold the animal and bring him to a stop. the girl, far gone with fright, was swaying dangerously in the saddle. "steady!" cried motor matt, reaching for the head of the runaway horse. his outstretched hand caught the piece of flying rein. it was his right hand he had to use, and he doubled the rein about the palm twice. then a twist of the left handle-bar caused the _comet_ to slow down, and he pulled back on the bit. the frenzied horse, however, was not to be stopped so easily. lurching ahead with a fresh leap, he dragged matt from the machine, and carried him, a dead weight, for a dozen yards. matt hung like grim death to the piece of rein, and his hundred and thirty pounds finally brought the horse to a standstill. as matt floundered to his feet, the girl toppled into his arms--and the horse jerked loose and went on. but matt was not concerned about the horse. the girl was saved, and that was enough for him. dizzy and weak, he staggered with her to the roadside and laid her down beside an irrigation-ditch. hearing some one behind him, he turned and saw a buckboard containing a man and woman. the man had halted the rig, and was handing the reins to the woman. the woman was leaning from the seat and peering anxiously at matt and the girl over the side of the vehicle. the man sprang down and hurried toward matt. "finest thing i ever saw!" declared the man. "that girl might have been killed if it hadn't been for you. say, you're a plucky piece, and----" the man stopped and stared. "why, hello!" he went on. "you're motor matt, the lad that won the bicycle-race at the park a few days ago. say, malindy," he called to the woman, "this is motor matt. you've heard about him. he's the boy that won the race from o'day, of prescott." "the young woman, silas!" returned the woman. "was she hurt?" "she's only fainted, i think," said matt. "it's a wonder the fellow on that other machine wouldn't stop," growled the man. "if he'd acted like he'd ought to, the horse wouldn't have run off with the girl. what was the matter with him?" "we were racing for the recorder's office," explained matt. "we've both got notices to file, and the one that gets there first----" "oh, ho! that's it, hey? and you thought more of saving the girl than you did of beating him! here, shake! it's sort of refreshing to meet a boy like you. if your machine isn't busted, you hike right along, and maybe you'll beat the other chap yet. we'll take care of the girl, and see that she gets where she belongs in town. hitch the horses, malindy," he added to the woman, "and come here and help." matt started off, limping as he went. "are you hurt?" shouted the man. "jolted up a little, that's all," answered matt, stopping to pick up his cap. he was worrying about the _comet_. had he smashed it when the horse jerked him out of the saddle? by what seemed like a miracle, the motor-cycle had escaped injury. the jar of its fall had closed the gasoline shut-off, and he picked the machine out of the dust and once more got into the seat. was there any use in going on to the court-house, he was asking himself. he felt more like going to his boarding-house and hunting for a bottle of arnica. remembering that he had told chub he wouldn't consider himself beaten until the recorder had told him perry had already filed jacks' location notice, he set the motor going and wheeled rapidly on toward grand avenue. he was about five minutes getting to the court-house. while he was bracing the motor-cycle up against the steps at the entrance, perry came out of the building, followed by dirk hawley. "here's king," laughed perry, "just a little bit late." "just a little," chuckled hawley. "it won't do you any good to butt in here, king." "how do you know what i'm doing here?" demanded matt. "oh, i'm a pretty fair guesser. run along home, an' tell the mcreadys their little scheme wouldn't work." matt, however, climbed doggedly up the steps, entered the corridor, and made for the place where location notices were filed. "was a location notice filed here just now for jacks and hawley?" he asked of the clerk. "right you are; just about two minutes ago." "much obliged," said matt. "that's all." he went out and got on his machine, but instead of steering for mrs. spooner's, he made for chub mcready's. susie was there, and he would tell her the whole story. if he hadn't stopped to chase that runaway horse, he would have been able to beat perry to the court-house and so save a fortune for his friends. they had to be told how he had failed and why. welcome perkins was smoking a pipe on the porch as matt rode up. he jumped excitedly to his feet when he saw who was coming. "howdy, pard!" he called. "did you an' chub do the trick? did ye beat out them villains, jacks an' hawley? snakes alive, matt, don't say ye didn't! from the looks o' yer face, i'm argyin' ye've had bad luck. oh, ye ort to hev took me! ye ort to hev let me take keer o' this." hearing welcome's loud talk, susie came out on the porch. "why, matt!" she exclaimed. "where's mark? didn't he come with you?" matt shook his head as he climbed up the steps. "what's the matter with ye?" demanded welcome. "i don't reckon i ever seen ye quite so cut up afore, matt. somethin' must hev gone a hull lot crossways to make _you_ pull sich a face." "nothing has happened to mark, has there, matt?" queried susie anxiously. "a good many things have happened to both of us, susie, since we left here," said matt; "but chub's all right." "you're kind of pale, matt," went on susie solicitously. "here, take this chair." "what makes ye limp?" queried welcome. "hawley been roughin' things up with ye? shade o' gallopin' dick! i never felt so all-fired worked up about anythin' as i do about that there 'strike' o' jim's. tell me right out, matt, hev ye saved the claim?" "no," answered matt heavily, as he sank into the chair, "we've lost out--and it's my fault." there followed a short silence, welcome muttering and twisting at his mustache, susie peering keenly at matt's pale face, and matt staring at the cottonwood-trees down by the town canal. susie was the first to speak. stepping quietly to matt's side, she laid a small hand on his shoulder. "you've lost out, matt," said she, "and if it's your fault, as you say, then there's a good reason _why_ you lost out. money isn't everything in this world." "mebby not," spoke up welcome dryly, "but it sartinly buys a lot o grub, an' clothes, an' critter comforts. the mcreadys could stand a few o' them same comforts, i reckon. sometimes, gal, when i see how ye're pinchin' along, an' chub is hampered fer money to git things to do his inventin' with, i vow i can't hardly keep from hikin' fer the hills an holdin' up a few stages. it ain't right, i know, but the ole lawless feelin' bubbles up mighty strong, oncet in a while. if you an' chub had waited an' asked fer my advice afore racin' off like ye done, matt, mebby ye'd be hevin' a diff'rent story ter tell. howsumever, tell the details. ye lost, an' the biggest part o' the shock is over. the mcreadys'll continner ter struggle along on bacon an' spuds, instid, as i had fondly hoped, bein' promoted to canned stuff. what ye hangin' fire fer, matt? go on an'----" "you don't stop talking long enough to give him a chance, welcome," said susie. "that's right," snorted welcome; "blame _me_! blame the ole ex-pirate o' the plains fer every bloomin' thing that happens. i'm expectin' ye'll be sayin' next that it's my fault kase matt an chub couldn't beat out jacks an' hawley. don't fergit, young lady, i'm grub-staked fer the hills, an'----" "dry up!" cried matt, and he said it so suddenly, and in such a tone that the old man keeled over against one of the porch-posts. matt smiled a little. "you're doing all the talking, welcome," he added, "and not saying anything, and here i sit with something to say and not able to get a word in edgeways." "git in yer word," snapped welcome, stamping his wooden pin on the porch, "git in a dozen words, or a millyun of 'em. 'pears like ye kin _talk_ a heap even if ye can't _do_ anythin'." welcome glared, began filling his pipe, and sat down on the top step of the porch. before matt could begin, tom clipperton hurried in at the gate and ran along the walk and up the steps. he was covered with dust, and was plainly just in from a hard, trying ride, but there was a glow in his black eyes as he reached over and grabbed matt's hand. "great! everybody's talking about it. i'm proud of you." "somethin' more we can't understand," growled welcome. "what's great? what's everybody talkin' about? where'd you come from, anyway?" "matt was racing for town with perry," went on clipperton. "perry had penny's motor-cycle. matt had the _comet_. matt was overhauling perry at every jump. he'd have beat him in and filed the mcready location before perry filed jacks' and hawley's. but matt stopped to catch a horse that was running away with a girl. perry's machine scared the horse. catch _him_ stopping! that's why motor matt lost out. claim or no claim, everybody's proud of matt." "did you do _that_, matt?" asked susie, a soft light in her wide, brown eyes as she looked at him. "why, yes," said matt. "i couldn't get out of it." "i'm proud of you, too," said susie quietly. "what you did was worth a dozen claims." "money's money," growled old welcome. "i ain't got no use fer dad-binged sentiment when it's so hard fer the mcreadys to scrub along." "there's more to it," said clipperton. "i've got something else to tell." "what's that, clip?" queried matt. "the girl you saved was edith hawley. dirk hawley's daughter." matt sank back in his chair, dumfounded. chapter xiv. a queer tangle. "waal, i'm stumped!" snorted welcome. "matt stops his race ter save dirk hawley's gal, an' dirk hawley wins a bonanzer mine bekase o' it. looks to me like a put-up job. mebby the gal was bein' run away with a-purpose." "welcome!" reproved susie sharply. "that's right," whimpered the old man. "jump onter me. anyways, you know dirk hawley wouldn't be above doin' of a thing like that." "they say edith hawley is a fine girl," said susie, "and just as different from her father as can be. i've heard that hawley fairly worships her, and it's nonsense to think he'd let her risk her life to keep matt from beating perry to the recorder's office. but it's a queer tangle, isn't it, matt?" she added, turning to her brother's chum. "mighty queer," answered matt. "i'd have stopped and helped the girl, just the same, even if i had known who she was." "of course you would!" declared susie. "you must have made a fast ride into town, clip," said matt. "hit a high place, now and then," answered clip. "you didn't hit any." "why did you leave town?" "saw perry's chum, ratty spangler. he told me where perry had gone. then i got a horse and started out early this morning. didn't know what i could do, but i wanted to do something. after you passed me on the road i tore in behind you. a good ways behind," clip added. "left my horse at the corral and hustled straight for here. it was the corral boss who told me what you'd done." "susie an' me hev been waitin' fer quite a spell to hear what matt done," complained welcome. "we got a right to know, seems like." "wait till i get dinner," said susie, "then we can talk while we eat." "prime idea," agreed matt. "i was too busy to eat breakfast, and chub and i had a mighty slim supper last night." "i'll hurry as fast as i can," said susie, starting into the house. "you're to stay, clip." the loss of a fortune hadn't seemed to make much of an impression on susie. on the contrary, she seemed pleased to think that matt had turned aside from the race with perry to stop the runaway horse and save edith hawley. clip went into the house after a bandage and a bottle of arnica, and proceeded to take care of one of matt's shins, which had been badly skinned when he was jerked from the motor-cycle. clip was a master-hand at anything of this sort, and, besides, inherited from his indian forefathers the keen eye and subtle sense that go to make a born tracker, whether in the woods, or on mountain and plain. "hawley an' perry hev been purty thick," mused welcome, while the bandaging was going on, "an' i'm kinder sorter wonderin' what hawley'll say when he l'arns it was perry as skeered his darter's hoss." "perry did a big thing for hawley by winning that race," said clip. "hawley's all for money, no matter how it's made. he'll forget about perry's scaring the horse." "an' only to think it was hawley's gal got between the mcreadys an' a fortun'," groaned welcome. "i shore won't sleep nights thinkin' about it. it's goin' to ha'nt me. mebey it'll drive me into the hills fer good an' all." "if delray hadn't come out of the house to talk with me," said clip, "perry wouldn't have got away from the bluebell. he went like a streak when he came. couldn't either of us stop him." "funny how things turn out sometimes," mused matt. "why don't you come back to school, matt?" asked clip, with his usual abruptness in jumping from one subject to another. "finish out the term, i mean, before you go to denver. you've got ten friends there to perry's one." a tinge of sadness crossed matt's face. "i haven't any folks that i know of, clip," said he, "and i'm up against a financial stringency. i'm going to denver and get something to do." "short on folks myself," grunted clip. "and about as short on money. what you going to do there?" "i think i'll get into the automobile business--driving a car, or something like that. i've got to be among the motors, clip, in order to be happy." "i'll buy perry's motor-cycle and go with you. never had a friend like motor matt. don't want to let you get away." clipperton was as sudden in his resolutions as he was in his talk. matt lifted his eyes quickly, and there was that in clipperton's look which led him to reach over and grip his hand. "we'd hook up like a house afire, clip," said matt heartily, "but you'd better think it over." "i've got my way to make, same as you. let me hitch my string to your kite. maybe i can help. don't have to think it over. you know they haven't ever made it very happy for me here," said clipperton, his eyes flashing and chest heaving with the indignation that filled his soul. at that moment, susie came to the door and announced dinner. while they were eating, matt struck into the experiences that had fallen to him and chub. beginning with the trouble caused by the freighter at the bluebell mine, he followed on down to the point where he had stopped the runaway horse. that incident he glided over, and finished by telling of his encounter with hawley and perry on the court-house steps. as he very well knew would be the case, susie began at once to worry about her father. welcome pushed away from the table, leaving his dinner half-eaten. "it's up to me," said he excitedly. "i knowed it u'd come. i'll git out ole lucretia borgia an' hike fer the mountings immediate. jim mcready's my pard, an' if a hair o' his head has been teched, i'll mow down jacks, an' bisbee, an' hawley an' everybody else that's had a hand in his undoin'. everybody listen to me! it's eagle-eye perkins, the terror o' the plains, what's talkin'. don't grieve, gal," he added, turning to susie, "i'll go out there an' i'll bring jim back, or i'll leave my ole carkiss among the rocks." welcome thumped his chest--and immediately began to cough. "where's lucretia borgia, gal?" he demanded. "i been missin' 'er fer a day or two." "lucretia borgia" was the high-sounding and significant name welcome had bestowed upon an ancient revolver. the weapon had not been discharged in a dozen years, and owing to its rusty condition firing it had apparently ceased to become a possibility. "i--i threw it down the cistern, welcome," said susie. "the old trinket was harmless enough, but i was afraid it would get you into trouble." welcome stared. "trinket!" he mumbled. "throwed it down the cistern! lucretia borgia, with all them tur'ble recordin' notches on the handle! this here's the last straw! i'm goin', right now, an' with nothin' on me no more'n a jack-knife with a busted blade! but i'll git jim. he's my pard, he is, an' he's allers treated me _white_." welcome grabbed his hat and started for the door. just as he reached it, a tall man with grayish hair and beard stepped through and collided with him. "father!" screamed susie. "jim!" whooped welcome. "waal, snakes alive! we was jest thinkin' ye'd never git back till ole welcome went out an' brought ye in!" "don't overlook me," piped the voice of chub, as he pushed through the door behind his father. "howdy, matt! i knew you were here when i saw the _comet_ out in front. clip, too! well, well, here's a gatherin' of the faithful, an' no mistake." chapter xv. the last surprise. mr. mcready and chub could not have arrived at a more fitting moment. at no time had matt done very much worrying on account of mcready, senior, for he had all along believed that the prospector was in no particular danger from jacks and bisbee. those two worthies would go as far as they dared, but they would stop short of any desperate work. hawley would have seen to that, even if jacks and bisbee had allowed their ardor to run away with their judgment. after the prospector had kissed susie and shaken hands with matt and clip, two more plates were put on the table, and for half an hour those present listened to what had happened to the head of the mcready family. "i've had a tough time of it, and no mistake," said the prospector. "for the biggest part of my trip it was just the same old scramble through the hills, gopherin' around and horn-spooning nothing that had a speck of color. i was near discouraged, thinking how old a man i was getting to be, and how my family was drifting along and kicking the wolf off the door-step every morning. i started for home, allowing i'd get some kind of a job in town, and chance brought me along that old pack-trail. knowing about the spring under the peak with the white cross, i went there to camp for the night--and then through sheer accident i struck that blow-out of white quartz with the rock just glittering with yellow specks. it took me half of the next day to locate the lode, and while i was pilin' the monuments i looked up and saw that villain, jacks. "i had been running across jacks frequently, during the trip, and it began to dawn upon me that seeing him so much wasn't altogether a coincidence. everybody knows that dirk hawley grub-stakes him, although why jacks wanted to trail after such an unsuccessful prospector as i am was a mystery. however, there he was, just at the time i had made my 'strike,' pushing toward me threateningly. he said that it was his claim, and that i had no business piling my monuments on it. i asked him why he hadn't piled his own monuments on the claim, if it was his. he hadn't anything to say to that, but tried to run me off the ground. "well, instead of his running me off he got run off himself, and i could see him hanging around at a safe distance, keeping an eye on me. when i got ready to put up my location notice, i was thunderstruck to find that i had lost my bundle of blanks. jacks, no doubt, had blanks, for they're a prime part of every prospector's equipment, but of course i couldn't expect him to let me have a couple; and if i left the claim and tried to get any, jacks could tack up a location notice of his own and make a run to phoenix with a duplicate. "chub was the boy i thought of to get me out of that fix, but i didn't even think of him as a possibility until pedro morales came along the pack-trail with a couple of burros loaded with mesquit and palo-verde. i stopped the mexican and made him wait while i took the wrapper off of some candles and wrote that letter; then, scratching out the original address on an old envelope, i wrote chub's name over it, told morales where to go to find the boy, and gave him some money and sent him on. "then i waited, and watched, and hoped, all the time keeping as wary an eye on jacks as he was holding on me. i never left the claim once, and i had a good-sized club of ironwood which i was ready to use on the slightest provocation. "well, the days passed and chub didn't come. i was hoping jacks might go away for a spell and give me a chance to slip over to the bluebell and flash a wireless message to phoenix, but the rascal seemed glued to the spot. finally, one day, jacks walked over with a white flag. he said he wanted to see if we couldn't compromise, as he called it. i kept my club handy and watched him like a cat as we talked. but the trouble was i didn't do any looking behind me. first thing i knew i was grabbed around the arms from the rear, then jacks jumped forward, and i found myself in the hands of two men, one of them being bisbee. hawley had sent bisbee out to help jacks get the better of me. too late i realized how i had been trapped, but there was nothing i could do. "the scoundrels tied me hand and foot, loaded me onto jacks' burro, and took me two miles away to the old santa maria shaft. the santa maria was abandoned years ago, and jacks and bisbee lowered me down to the bottom of the shaft, left a little food and water, and went away. the old ladders had long since decayed and fallen away, so i couldn't have been more of a prisoner if i had found myself behind bars and stone walls. chub can tell you the rest." "you bet i can," put in chub. "if it hadn't been for matt's plucky getaway from that hole in the rocks, it's a cinch dad would probably have been down in the old shaft yet. when you gave that husky yell, matt, jacks and bisbee thought we had both got away. they rushed off after you, and all i had to do was to hike out. i had time to take old baldy, and i set out on a night search for the santa maria, as you told me to do. i had a notion where the old mine was, although i didn't know exactly, an' of course night was a bad time to find anything i was so hazy about. but sure i had luck in my jeans. i stumbled on a camp of mexican wood-cutters, and one of 'em took me to the santa maria. i can tell you i was mightily relieved when dad answered me from down in the shaft and said he was all right. the wood-cutter got a rope and we snaked dad out in a brace of shakes. then we began to scratch gravel for the bluebell, gettin' there about half an hour after you had left, matt. "'course dad an' me felt good when del told us how he had held perry a prisoner all night, an' how he had only got away half an hour ahead of you. still, i wasn't indulgin' in any extra high hopes, and neither was dad. we just figured on coming into phoenix, taking turn about riding the horse you had left at the bluebell, when, just as though we had planned it, along came major woolford in his automobile. he had been out to the montezuma mine, and was on his way to town. he brought us in, and when we got here we heard how you came so near skinning perry out of that race, and how you lost by side-stepping to grab a runaway horse and save edith hawley from bein' killed, or hurt." chub paused. mr. mcready, with glowing eyes, leaned toward matt. "that was nobly done, my boy!" he cried. susie's eyes kindled. "i knew you'd say that, dad," she said happily. "you couldn't expect anythin' else of motor matt," chimed in chub. "that's his style, every time an' all the time. he's all to the good!" matt was deeply touched. all the mcreadys, notwithstanding the fact that his act in saving the girl had caused them to lose a chance at fortune which might never again come their way, approved heartily the course he had taken. the mcreadys were generous and whole-souled; and, although they were in bitter need of a "strike," yet they were great-spirited enough to place humanity above the sordid question of mere money. "dad-binged if i kin feel like you do," croaked welcome perkins dismally. "it ain't likely, jim, ye'll ever git another chanst at a 'strike,' an' i hate to think ye got juggled out o' this in any sich a way." the prospector laughed. "why, old friend," said he, "it may be a good thing. i'd have to do development work, you know, then hunt around for capital to put up a mill, and i would be loading up with lots of care and worry. now, however, i've made up my mind to get something to do right here in phoenix, so i can be with you, and susie, and chub right along. i'm getting to be pretty old for knocking around the hills." there was an undernote of wistfulness back of mcready's words that sent a pang to motor matt's heart. a moderate fortune would have enabled the prospector to pass his last days in comfort and give chub and susie a college education. matt's conscience didn't reprove him for what he had done, but he couldn't help looking at the other side of the picture. mcready pushed away from the table, put his arms around susie and chub, and started for the front room. "let's all go out on the porch," said he. "the sun is bright, the sky is fair, and it's easy to be happy if you only make up your mind to be thankful for all you've got. i'd rather be in my shoes, this minute, than in jacks', or hawley's." "or perry's," added chub. "i wonder what that fellow thinks of himself?" "if that there pedro morales had had a leetle more sense," grumbled old welcome, "he'd a-handed that letter over to chub instid o' to perry. consarn them mexicans, anyways. if ye told him where to go to find chub, jim, why didn't he go?" "probably he didn't understand the directions," answered mcready. "forget it all, welcome. come out on the porch and we'll have a smoke. this way, matt, you and clip." the day couldn't have been finer. in the vicinity of phoenix they say they have three hundred and sixty cloudless days out of every year, and perpetual spring is in the air. a slight breeze ruffled the branches of the cotton-woods, down by the canal, birds were twittering and singing, and the world seemed a pretty good place to live in, despite the fact that mining-claims were temporarily at a discount. hardly had the little party seated themselves on the porch when the chugging of an automobile came to their ears. a car was coming from the direction of town, and was at that moment crossing the bridge. "snakes alive!" chattered welcome, staring. "i ain't got my glasses on, but 'pears to me like that's dirk hawley's ottermobill." "that's what it is," answered chub, breathing hard. "he's sailin' by in all kinds o' style, he and his daughter. there's a little more money added to the pile he's got in the bank, an' i hope he's satisfied." "tainted money, at that," growled clip. "that last deal was the crookedest he ever worked. where's perry? he ought to be along." chub was mistaken. dirk hawley and his daughter were not going to "sail by." to the astonishment of all on the porch, the resplendent touring-car came to a halt in front of the mcready gate. "they needn't call here," muttered chub. "come to rub it in, i suppose." "or to talk it over," said mcready. "i'll go fish lucretia borgia out o' the cistern, that's what i'll do," flared welcome. "mebby i'll need 'er yet." "stay right where you are, old friend," cautioned mcready. "i'm ready to talk with hawley, if that's what he's here for." dirk hawley got out of the car and helped his daughter down; then the two of them came through the gate and walked toward the group on the porch. chapter xvi. motor matt's triumph. edith hawley was a stunningly pretty girl. there was little of her father's looks about her, however, and it was quite clear that she got most of her character from her mother's side of the house. she was a little pale, but otherwise showed no bad effects of the ordeal through which she had passed earlier in the day. all those on the porch got up as the two callers drew near the steps--that is, all except welcome perkins. the old ex-buccaneer of the plains just sat where he was and glared. "excuse me for buttin' in here," said hawley, "but my daughter's got a little business with king." he turned to the girl. "fire away, edie," he added. "which is mr. king?" queried the girl, in a low voice. matt stepped away from the others and came down the steps. "i saw you when you stopped the horse," edith hawley went on, fixing her hazel eyes on matt's face, "but i couldn't remember much, then. i want to thank you. father brought me here so that i could. i want you to understand how grateful i am." she put out her hand timidly and matt took it cordially. "that's all right, miss hawley," said he, flushing. "what i did for you i would have done for anybody caught in the same way." "i believe that," she returned significantly. "even if you had known who i was it wouldn't have made any difference." "not a particle," answered matt. "isn't there something my father can do for you?" she asked. matt shook his head. "well," she went on, "there's something i'm going to do for you." she turned. "father----" "wait a minute, edie," interrupted hawley. "let me tell all of you," and he faced those on the porch, "just how i stand in the matter of that minin'-claim. it won't take more'n a minute, and it may save a lot of hard feelin's. i've been grub-stakin' jacks for two or three years, and he ain't never yet found anythin' but country rock. i was gettin' tired o' puttin' up good money, an' the last time he started out i told him he'd got to find somethin' or we'd split up our partnership. i reckon that made him rather too keen for a strike, so that he didn't care much how he made it just so he delivered the goods. "well, when dace perry came to me t'other day an' says he's found a letter concernin' me an' jacks, of course i read it; an', havin' grub-staked jacks, quite naturally i took his side. i sent bisbee out to help jacks keep what was rightfully his an' mine, an' later i sent perry out on a horse to find out what they were doin' an' report. "well, perry comes in with a location notice, an' says he had to ride like sam hill to get ahead o' matt king, who was hustling for town with a notice o' mcready's. that's all perry told me. never a word, mind ye, about scarin' edie's horse an' makin' it run away, nary a word about what matt king done to stop the horse--all he said was what i'm tellin' ye. "by and by, edie was brought home by a man i know, who had seen the runaway from start to finish. he told me the whole of it." dirk hawley's coarse, heavy face was flushed. his voice shook a little as he went on. "edie's goin' to school in 'frisco, an' she come out here to make her father a short visit. there ain't anythin' i wouldn't do for her, an' about the first thing i did after she struck town was to buy ajax, that white riding-horse. she knows how to ride, edie does--none better--but the way perry scared the horse didn't leave edie much of a chance. if king hadn't taken after ajax, i--i----" hawley snapped his heavy lower jaw and remained silent for a moment. "well," he finished, "i gave perry three hours to get out of town an' to go back to denver where he belongs. he needs lookin' after, an' his father's the one to do it. i know king won't let me do anythin' for him, but i reckon he won't balk on takin' a little somethin' from edie." "i don't want any of your money, mr. hawley," began matt, "if that's what----" "sure you don't," broke in the gambler grimly, "you don't want any o' my money an' you're not goin' to get any." he pulled a folded paper from his pocket. "i'd have done this sooner," he went on, "only i had to send my automobile out after jacks. it was necessary for him to sign the paper along with me." he gave the document to edith, and she turned and placed the paper in matt's hand. "it's a quitclaim deed to that mine," she said, "and it's made out to james mcready. it's yours, mr. king, because you won it. if you hadn't stopped to save me, you'd have got to the recorder's office first. it isn't much to do for the service you rendered me, but i'm sure you wouldn't let us do any more. good-by!" she held out her hand again. after matt had clasped the small palm for the second time, she turned, took her father's arm, and they went back to the automobile. in astonishment the group on the porch watched the car turn in the road and disappear in the direction of town. "waal, waal!" gulped welcome perkins. "somebody please ter pinch me, so's i kin wake up. it must be a dream--can't be nothin' else. dirk hawley! actin' like that!" welcome picked up his wooden pin and looked hard at the brass tip on the end of it. chub was also staggered. "get next that he didn't say anything about that underhand work," he commented, "how he had the wireless instruments smashed, and all that." "he's keeping such things from his daughter," said susie. "can you blame him for that?" "let him be straight, then," put in clip. "if he wants the girl to think he's honest and respectable, let him act the part. it's the easiest way." "it was the gal as done it," grinned welcome. "dirk hawley never'd hev sashayed over here an' give up that quitclaim o' his own free will an' accord. not him!" "you don't know about that, welcome," said matt. "it isn't always wise to be so quick with your snap judgments." "and perry's gone," went on clip, scowling. "hawley ordered him out of town. he had to go. and i had no chance to settle our account. some day we'll meet again. those of my race do not forget easily. it will keep." "perry owes hawley a heap of plunks, i've heard," put in chub. "probably perry had to hike or face a whole lot of trouble." matt stepped over to the prospector and gave him the quitclaim deed. "that 'strike' of yours has made you a good deal of trouble, mr. mcready," said he, "but i don't think we have any of us got any kick coming on the way the business has turned out. i hope the claim will make a bonanza mine, and that the mcreadys will have more money than they can spend." "hip, hip, hurroo!" wheezed welcome. "canned stuff--that's what the mcreadys lives on fer all the rest o' their days." "canned stuff"--plenty of it--was welcome's idea of luxury. mcready, as he took the quitclaim deed, gripped motor matt's hand. "matt," said he, with feeling, "but for you, this would never have come about. it was a big day for the mcreadys when chub chummed up with you, my boy. you ought to share in this good luck; by every law of right and justice, you're entitled to an interest in the 'strike.'" matt shook his head. "it's a family affair," said he, "and you couldn't make me take even a piece of quartz from the 'blow-out.'" "that's matt king for you," observed tom clipperton gruffly, edging around until he stood at matt's side. "true to his friends. that's why he has made a hit with me." clipperton, on his own account, knew what it was to have motor matt for a friend. "we're going to denver," clipperton went on. "if chub don't buy penny's motor-cycle, i'll buy it myself." "i've got to hunt up that wheel," murmured chub, who appeared to be a bit dazed. "mebby i'll have to pay for the old terror without getting it. and there's old baldy, an' perry's horse out at the bluebell. wish i could call up delray by wireless and tell him all about this. matt, you're the best pal in the world. don't i wish i could go to denver with you. but it's me to the woods--or school." chub jumped for matt and grabbed his hand. "an' i'm wonderin'," said old welcome plaintively, stumping forward along the porch, "if ye'll let a pore ole reformed road-agent grip yer honest pa'm, matt? i've shore made some mistakes, an' among 'em i thought ridin' that benzine go-devil o' penny's was about the wust; but i've changed my mind. if it hadn't been fer me makin' hawley drap on the bridge like i done, that there letter wouldn't never hev been picked up by matt, an' hawley an' perry would hev had things their own way. shucks! i'm in on this rejoicin' some myself. ain't i now, honest injun?" "you are, welcome," declared matt heartily; "if you hadn't been so bull-headed, and had found out how to stop the motor-cycle as well as to start it, that letter wouldn't have been picked up." "bull-headed!" demurred welcome. "h'm! you hand out a word now an' ag'in, that kinder jars. anyhow, i'm proposin' three cheers fer motor matt. next ter the ole ex-pirate, he done more'n anybody else to save the claim. let 'er go, now. jine in hearty, all you mcreadys! hip, hip----" they made a good deal of noise for a small crowd, and it's safe to say that motor matt was the happiest one in the lot. the end. the next number ( ) will contain motor matt's "century" run or, the governor's courier. welcome takes a sudden drop--a queer situation--"rags"--a dangerous mission--the red roadster--surmounting the difficulty--smoke signals--on the divide--a ruse that won--at potter's gap--joe bascomb--bolivar turns up--the red roadster again--on to phoenix--the end of the mystery--matt reports to the governor. motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction new york, march , . terms to motor stories mail subscribers. (_postage free._) single copies or back numbers, c. each. months c. months c. months $ . one year . copies one year . copy two years . =how to send money=--by post-office or express money-order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. at your own risk if sent by currency, coin, or postage-stamps in ordinary letter. =receipts=--receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. if not correct you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once. ormond g. smith, } george c. smith, } _proprietors_. street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york city. among the alligators. a low, heavy mutter of thunder came booming through the hot, still air, and fred kinnersly looked up sharply from the potatoes he was peeling for his solitary supper. "another storm!" he growled. "two already to-day, and now a third. this is beyond a joke." he dropped his knife, and walked outside, onto the veranda of the little two-roomed shack. a huge blue-black cloud with hard, shell-like edges was rising over the pines in the northwest, and once again the air quivered and a spark of electric fire lit the heart of the great mountain of whirling vapor. "worst rains i've ever known," muttered fred, "and this is my fifth summer down south. we'll have the mine flooded if this goes on, and all those niggers out of work." he paused; then: "poor old sam," he smiled. "what an awful ducking he'll get coming home! well, thank goodness to-morrow's saturday. this steamy heat is the very deuce to work in, and i'll be glad of the lay-off on sunday. he was turning to go back into the house, when the thud of hoofs far up the track made him pause, and presently a pony shot into sight among the red pine trunks in the distance. its rider, bending low in the saddle, was sending the plucky little beast along at a furious gallop. "why, it's jack godfrey!" exclaimed fred, in surprise. "why on earth is he in such a deuce of a hurry?" the pony came tearing down the sandy track, sending spurts of wet sand and water flashing behind it. next moment jack godfrey pulled up at the door and flung himself off the panting, sweating beast. "what's up?" cried fred kinnersly. "you seem in a hurry." "is sam french back yet?" gasped the other. "no, of course not. he only left the mine after dinner. he generally gets back about ten. why, what's the matter?" as he saw godfrey's face go white under the tan. "ducane broke jail last night," said godfrey hoarsely. kinnersly staggered. "good heavens!" he muttered. "how?" "set fire to the place. he and his whole gang are out--five of them. they're armed, too. word came to orange port two hours ago that they'd raided lopez's place early this morning, and left in the direction of the big cypress." "where's the sheriff?" "on the wrong track. he thought they'd make for the sea, and he and his posse went toward wehila. anderson, the deputy, has got three men, and is on his way round the north end of the big cypress. he told me to warn you, and to say that as the water's so high it'll probably be midnight before he reaches black bayou." kinnersly was whiter than the other. the whole position was clear to him. in a few words it stood thus: he, kinnersly, was sub-manager of the big lone pine phosphate mine, which lay about a mile from the edge of the swamp known as the big cypress. this swamp was twenty-five miles long, but not more than two to three wide. on the other side of the swamp was lakeville, the county town. it was distant from the mine seven miles, as the crow flies, and more than twenty by road. every friday afternoon sam french, the manager of the mine, went to lakeville in his buggy, accompanied by one negro, to fetch the pay-money for the seventy hands employed in quarrying the phosphate. sam was well known and popular. but now--well, there was no one in south florida who had not heard of the atrocities of jean ducane. the man was a mulatto, half french, half negro, who had come to florida from new orleans. he had once been employed in the lone pine mine. trouble began with his getting drunk and insulting sam, who had promptly knocked him down, and next morning fired him. then ducane had disappeared. a week later sam french was shot at from the scrub. the mine-hands, who were fond of their manager, made the place too hot to hold the would-be murderer, and the next heard of ducane was down at key west. escaping from key west, the mulatto worked his way up the coast to tampa, where he burgled a bank. but even then he was not caught, and the climax came when he returned to the neighborhood of lakeville and deliberately fired two houses in the suburbs, causing the death of a woman and two children. the whole neighborhood rose in arms. ducane was caught, and four negroes with him, and jailed with difficulty by the sheriff in the face of a mob yelling to lynch him. and now this human wild beast was at large again, and both the young fellows knew that the first thing he would do would be to hold up the manager of the lone pine mine and rob and murder him. "you see, it's not only revenge," said kinnersly. "the money would mean everything to him and his gang. all in silver, too!" "and sam knows nothing!" cried godfrey. he pulled out his watch. "what time'll he be passing black bayou?" "about eight, i should think." "and it's nearly seven now," muttered godfrey despairingly. "no horse could do it in the time." "you're sure it will be at black bayou?" "not a doubt of it. the place is made for a hold-up. track narrow, thick bay scrub both sides, and there'll be water over the road there, so sam'll have to walk his horse. it's a death-trap, fred." fred kinnersly set his teeth. "i'm going to warn him," he said quietly. godfrey started. "my dear chap, it's fourteen miles by road. have you a horse here that can do fourteen miles in an hour over florida sand and in this storm? besides, you'd have to come through black bayou yourself, and get shot for your pains, to a dead certainty." "there's another way," said fred. "another way!" "across the swamp!" godfrey laughed harshly. "you're crazy, fred." "did you ever hear of the spanish causeway?" asked kinnersly quietly. "that! in this weather! man, it's under water! all of it. and rotten and broken. you couldn't do it in the dry season and in broad daylight. listen!" again the cloud spat blue fire, and the thunder bellowed angrily over the fast darkening forest. kinnersly's jaw hardened. "i'm going to try it. anything's better than that sam should be shot down and murdered." "i tell you it's sheer lunacy. it'll be black dark in half an hour. i wouldn't try it for ten thousand." "you'll try it for sam's life," said kinnersly quietly. godfrey stared hard at the other. "you mean to go?" "i do." "all right. i'm your man." in less than five minutes the two, heavily armed, were tramping rapidly along a narrow path which led down a long, gradual slope toward the swamp. by this time clouds had covered the sky and cut off the light of the setting sun. faster and faster the lightning-flashes shot through the gloom, while the thunder crashed louder and louder till the very ground trembled beneath the reverberations. then came the rain in sheets, as if a cataract was falling on the forest. in a few moments the path was swimming. the men were ankle-deep in water, which foamed under the lash of the falling torrents. they stumbled over twisted roots; long, pliant branches switched their faces; thorny creepers caught and tore their clothes and skin, while now and then the ominous folds of a water-moccasin could be seen in the tangled growth on either side the path. but the two young men never faltered. kinnersly leading, they pressed on in single file. the path grew narrower. here and there kinnersly was forced to slash the tough creeper with his knife before he could force a passage. they were on the level now, and the water was nearly knee-deep. to godfrey, who had never before traveled this path, it was a marvel how kinnersly found his way. gigantic cypresses rose on either side, shutting off the last remnants of light with their monstrous heads of matted foliage; long trails of melancholy spanish moss brushed their faces, and the air was thick with the pungent scent of palmetto bloom. slowly the storm died, passing away into the south, and as the rain ceased the mosquitoes rose in stinging, humming swarms, and the noises of the night swamp burst forth. bullfrogs bellowed, tree-frogs bleated like lost lambs, crickets shrilled, and owls hooted. suddenly kinnersly sank almost to his waist, but struggled up again immediately. "look out, jack. a hole in the causeway," he said quietly. godfrey felt the sucking mud beneath the water, and repressed a shiver. at every step the water seemed to deepen. "shall we do it, fred?" he muttered. "it's more open farther on," replied the other. "if the water's not too deep we'll be all right. if it is, we must do a bit of swimming--that's all." again they plunged on through the hot darkness. water and air alike were stagnant. the close steam of the swamp was suffocating, and the darkness was so intense that godfrey had to follow rather by sound than by sight. all of a sudden the bushes broke away. they were in the open once more. at that very moment the cloud broke, and the moon shone out clear. the white light fell upon a sheet of water, a wide lagoon, which lay smooth as oil, bounded on every side by a black wall of swamp vegetation. "this seems to be where we swim, fred," said godfrey quietly. "no," replied fred. "the causeway crosses, but it's out of sight below the water. come on." "anything's better than those horrible bushes and creepers," said godfrey. he looked at his watch. "fred, it's twenty to eight." "we shall do it," was the confident reply. "it's easier going the far side." as he spoke, kinnersly stepped out from the shore, and, feeling his way cautiously, walked steadily out across the lake. here and there were ugly gaps, but, in the main, the ancient masonry built for some unknown purpose by long-forgotten spaniards was sound. their spirits rose as they pressed on rapidly under the welcome light of the full moon. they were a couple of hundred yards from shore when, all of a sudden, a black object, for all the world like a floating log, rose noiselessly from the depths close on kinnersly's right. he stopped sharply, and godfrey saw him draw his revolver from the holster at his waist. godfrey needed no telling. he knew the nature of the new peril which confronted them. an alligator! slowly, very slowly, the alligator rose till not only its great gnarled head, but the whole of its long ridged back, was above the water. "what a brute!" muttered godfrey, instinctively drawing his big hunting-knife. "get on, fred. the alligator's coming closer." "there's an ugly place just here," replied the other, and godfrey saw his friend sink nearly to his shoulders, recover himself with an effort, and scramble up the far side. "wait; i'll help you, jack," he said, turning. he pulled his friend across the gap, and then as they both stood up on the far side, in water hardly more than ankle-deep, a simultaneous gasp of horror burst from them both. three more alligators had appeared, and, even as they watched, more and more of the hideous monsters rose in ominous silence above the quiet water and came gliding slowly onward toward the causeway. their cruel, unwinking eyes shone like green fire in the moon-rays, and the breathless air was full of a sickening odor of musk. there were dozens of them; from huge, rugged veterans of ten or twelve feet and weighing perhaps half a ton, down to fierce, active, hungry six-footers. for a moment the two young fellows stood hesitating, staring breathlessly at the nightmare spectacle before them. then kinnersly desperately cried: "come on, jack!" "shoot. why don't you shoot?" exclaimed godfrey. "not till i have to," replied kinnersly. "ducane may hear and suspect. if he does, he'll move farther up, and attack sam before we can reach him." "but the brutes are closing in." "never mind. come on. keep close to me, and splash as much as you can." kinnersly walked forward. even in the moonlight he could not see the causeway so much as a step ahead. the thick brown swamp water hid it completely. and both he and godfrey knew that one false step meant a death almost too horrible for words. an alligator fears a man upright on dry land, but in its native element it fears nothing, and will pull down a dog, a horse, a man, or a bull. closer and closer the dreadful brutes closed in till their yard-long jaws actually rested upon the crumbling edges of the sunken causeway. now and then one would open his vast jaws and blow the air through his nostrils with a noise like a giant snoring. then the great yellow tusks would clash together with a sharp, ringing sound horribly suggestive of a steel trap closing. kinnersly, who was leading, found the water growing deeper. "is there a hole there?" cried godfrey anxiously. "afraid there is, old man," replied kinnersly, feeling cautiously with one foot. "we ought to have brought sticks." "the 'gators are closing up behind," said godfrey desperately. "we must shove ahead at any price." "right; i have found bottom. come on." kinnersly dropped onto his knees. immediately the whole horde of alligators began moving up. godfrey, following close behind his friend and splashing vigorously, could not repress a shiver of horror. "quick!" he hissed; "quick, or they'll have us." at that very moment the surface of the water broke in front of kinnersly, and out of the depths heaved itself up a nightmare apparition. an alligator, bigger than any they had seen yet--a gnarled and rugged monster of huge length and enormous girth. getting its short, thick forelegs onto the stonework, it hoisted itself up, completely barring the way. its cavernous mouth gaped open, showing rows of huge, twisted tusks, which could have bitten a bull in two. its fetid breath blew full in kinnersly's face, nearly sickening him with the horrible, putrefying stench. "shoot him!" shouted godfrey. "the others are coming." there was no help for it. kinnersly thrust the muzzle of his pistol almost between the yawning rows of teeth and pulled the trigger. with the report the monstrous brute flung itself high into the air, and fell over sideways with a crash that sent a wave almost over their heads. next instant the placid water of the bayou was beaten into showers of spray, which gleamed silver in the brilliant moonlight. waves dashed over the causeway. the two men stood still, appalled at the fearful death-struggles of the monster. "thank goodness, you got him that time!" exclaimed godfrey, struggling up out of the water onto firmer ground. another moment and all was clear. the great alligator had vanished, and with him the others, frightened at the commotion, had gone, too. "now's our chance!" cried kinnersly, and pushed on with reckless speed. fortunately, the rest of the causeway was unbroken, and they reached the far side of the lagoon in safety. "they're coming up again," muttered godfrey, glancing back. "never mind. they can't hurt us now," cried the other. they were in the brush again, plunging in the mud under the thick shadows of the cypress. neither spoke. it was very near eight, and each moment they expected to hear shots. both dreaded they might be too late. on they rushed, now waist-deep in a morass of mud and rotting vegetation, now struggling through a tangle of wild grape and bamboo vine. at last, after what seemed an endless time, the footing grew firmer and the ground began to rise. the cypress and palmetto gave place to pine and wire grass. "we're close to the road," muttered kinnersly breathlessly. "and i only hope sam hasn't passed." "listen!" hissed the other, pulling up short. "yes, i hear horses' feet." once more they both rushed forward. the hoof-sounds grew plainer, and the red glow of a cigar shone through the pine trunks. kinnersly flung himself recklessly into the open. "sam, is that you?" he hissed desperately. there was a sharp exclamation. "who's that?" "i--kinnersly. stop!" the buggy came to a standstill, and kinnersly panted out his explanation. "you came through the swamp!" exclaimed french, as if he could not believe his ears. "yes, but don't you understand? ducane's loose." "oh, that's all right," said the other coolly. "he'll be down in black bayou, half a mile away. what fazes me is how you chaps came along the causeway. it was mighty white of you, and i'm real grateful. jump in, an' let's git along an' interview this here ducane." for the life of him kinnersly could not help laughing. "sam, don't be a fool! there are probably five of them, and you bet they'll be lying up in the timber. the first you know will be they've shot you." "i reckon not," returned french, as coolly as before. "it's going to cost me a horse, but that's a sight cheaper'n a thousand dollars in united states currency. get right in, boys. i've got it all planned inside here," touching the top of his head. with a shrug of his broad shoulders, kinnersly obeyed, and godfrey followed. "get your shooting-irons ready," said sam, in a low voice, at the same time throwing away his cigar. "now, don't say a word, any of you, or make any noise." he drove on till the ground dipped again and the narrow road descended toward the gloomy shadow of a thicket of bays. then he pulled up, got out, and motioned to the others to do the same. he took out the bags of coin, propped a cushion on the seat with a coat over it, tied the reins to the splash-board, and clucked to the horse to go on. kinnersly chuckled silently. "i see now," he whispered. "glad o' that," remarked sam. "now we'll keep along in the bushes a bit behind the wagon. you come along with me, kinnersly, an', godfrey, you take the nigger. i don't need to tell you to shoot straight when the chance comes." the horse went splashing slowly through the water, here about a foot deep. the four men stole noiselessly along through the bushes on either side. they had gone perhaps a hundred yards, and reached the bottom of the hollow, where the water was axle-deep, when suddenly a rifle crashed, and a spit of fire flashed from the bushes to the right. "got him," came a shout, and men came plunging out of the scrub and surrounded the wagon. "now, lads!" came a crisp command from french, and at the word four weapons spoke simultaneously. three of the robbers dropped in their tracks. the other two stood dumfounded, unable to imagine whence the sudden attack had come. then one of them--ducane himself--gave a yell of defiance, and came charging furiously toward french's party, firing as he ran. a bullet whipped kinnersly's hat from his head. then a second volley rang out, and ducane flung up his hands, and, without a sound, fell over on his back. the fifth man ran for his life. french walked up to the spot where ducane's body floated. a patch of white moonlight fell full on the twisted yellow face, and showed a red hole in the very center of the forehead. "saved the hangman a job," he said quietly. "now i reckon we'll walk back to lakeville, if these other wounded rascals can do the trick. we'll go to the hotel, and the supper's on me to-night, boys." _especially important!!_ motor stories _a new idea in the way of five-cent weeklies._ boys everywhere will be delighted to hear that street & smith are now issuing this new five-cent weekly which will be known by the name of motor stories. this weekly is entirely different from anything now being published. it details the astonishing adventures of a young mechanic who owned a motor cycle. is there a boy who has not longed to possess one of these swift little machines that scud about the roads everywhere throughout the united states? is there a boy, therefore, who will not be intensely interested in the adventures of "motor matt," as he is familiarly called by his comrades? boys, you have never read anything half so exciting, half so humorous and entertaining as the first story listed for publication in this line, called "=motor matt; or, the king of the wheel=." its fame is bound to spread like wildfire, causing the biggest demand for the other numbers in this line, that was ever heard of in the history of this class of literature. here are the titles to be issued during the next few weeks. do not fail to place an order for them with your newsdealer. no. . motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. no. . motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. no. . motor matt's "century" run; or, the governor's courier. no. . motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the _comet_. large size pages splendid colored covers price, five cents per copy at all newsdealers, or sent postpaid by the publishers upon receipt of the price. _street & smith, publishers, new york_ numbers to tip top weekly are contained in the medal library we know that there are thousands of boys who are very much interested in the early adventures of frank and dick merriwell and who want to read everything that was written about them. we desire to inform these boys that numbers to are pretty well out of print in the tip top weekly, but all of them can be secured in the numbers of the new medal library given below. _the_ new medal library at fifteen cents [illustration] --frank merriwell's school-days. --frank merriwell's chums. --frank merriwell's foes. --frank merriwell's trip west. --frank merriwell down south. --frank merriwell's bravery. --frank merriwell's hunting tour. --frank merriwell in europe. --frank merriwell at yale. --frank merriwell's sports afield. --frank merriwell's races. --frank merriwell's bicycle tour. --frank merriwell's courage. --frank merriwell's daring. --frank merriwell's athletes. --frank merriwell's skill. --frank merriwell's champions. --frank merriwell's return to yale. --frank merriwell's secret. --frank merriwell's danger. --frank merriwell's loyalty. --frank merriwell in camp. --frank merriwell's vacation. --frank merriwell's cruise. --frank merriwell's chase. --frank merriwell in maine. --frank merriwell's struggle. --frank merriwell's first job. --frank merriwell's opportunity. --frank merriwell's hard luck. --frank merriwell's protégé. --frank merriwell on the road. --frank merriwell's own company. --frank merriwell's fame. --frank merriwell's college chums. --frank merriwell's problem. --frank merriwell's fortune. --frank merriwell's new comedian. --frank merriwell's prosperity. --frank merriwell's stage hit. --frank merriwell's great scheme. --frank merriwell in england. --frank merriwell on the boulevards. --frank merriwell's duel. --frank merriwell's double shot. --frank merriwell's baseball victories. --frank merriwell's confidence. --frank merriwell's auto. --frank merriwell's fun. --frank merriwell's generosity. --frank merriwell's tricks. --frank merriwell's temptation. --frank merriwell on top. --frank merriwell's luck. --frank merriwell's mascot. --frank merriwell's reward. --frank merriwell's phantom. --frank merriwell's faith. --frank merriwell's victories. --frank merriwell's iron nerve. --frank merriwell in kentucky. --frank merriwell's power. --frank merriwell's shrewdness. --frank merriwell's set-back. --frank merriwell's search. --frank merriwell's club. --frank merriwell's trust. --frank merriwell's false friend. --frank merriwell's strong arm. --frank merriwell as coach. --frank merriwell's brother. --frank merriwell's marvel. --frank merriwell's support. --dick merriwell at fardale. --dick merriwell's glory. --dick merriwell's promise. --dick merriwell's rescue. --dick merriwell's narrow escape. --dick merriwell's racket. --dick merriwell's revenge. --dick merriwell's ruse. --dick merriwell's delivery. --dick merriwell's wonders. --frank merriwell's honor. --dick merriwell's diamond. --frank merriwell's winners. --dick merriwell's dash. --dick merriwell's ability. --dick merriwell's trap. --dick merriwell's defense. --dick merriwell's model. --dick merriwell's mystery. =published about january th= --frank merriwell's backers. =published about january th= --dick merriwell's backstop. =published about february th= --dick merriwell's western mission. =published about march th= --frank merriwell's rescue. =published about march th= --frank merriwell's encounter. =published about april th= --dick merriwell's marked money. =published about may th= --frank merriwell's nomads. =published about june st= --dick merriwell on the gridiron. =published about june nd= --dick merriwell's disguise. street & smith, _publishers_, new york city * * * * * * transcriber's note: a table of contents was added. the oe-ligature was used inconsistently in the word "phoenix." in this text file, all oe-ligatures have been expanded to the letters "oe." page , changed "macready" to "mcready." page , changed double to single quotes around "blow-out." page , changed ? to ! in "howdy, clip!" page , changed "topppled" to "toppled." page , changed "mat flung" to "matt flung." page , changed ? to ! in "howdy, matt!" page , changed "edth" to "edith." page , added missing em-dash to "next number" summary. page , removed unnecessary quote before "kinnersly staggered." page , changed incorrect character name from godfrey to kinnersly in "'not till i have to,' replied kinnersly." courtesy of the digital library@villanova university (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction no. oct. , five cents motor matt's double-trouble or the last of the hoodoo _by the author of "motor matt"_ _street & smith publishers new york_ [illustration: _"stop!" shouted motor matt laying back on the end of the rope_] motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction _issued weekly. by subscription $ . per year. copyright, , by_ street & smith, _ - seventh avenue, new york, n. y._ =no. .= new york, october , . =price five cents.= motor matt's double trouble or, the last of the hoodoo. by the author of "motor matt." contents chapter i. the red jewel. chapter ii. another end of the yarn. chapter iii. shock number one. chapter iv. shocks two and three. chapter v. a hot starter. chapter vi. m'glory is lost--and found. chapter vii. "pocketed." chapter viii. springing a "coup." chapter ix. motor matt's chase. chapter x. the chase concluded. chapter xi. a double capture. chapter xii. another surprise. chapter xiii. baiting a trap. chapter xiv. how the trap was sprung. chapter xv. back to the farm. chapter xvi. conclusion. hudson and the northwest passage. the death bite. migration of rats. some great catastrophes. characters that appear in this story. =matt king=, otherwise motor matt. =joe mcglory=, a young cowboy who proves himself a lad of worth and character, and whose eccentricities are all on the humorous side. a good chum to tie to--a point motor matt is quick to perceive. =tsan ti=, mandarin of the red button, who continues to fall into tragic difficulties, and to send in "four-eleven" alarms for the assistance of motor matt. =sam wing=, san francisco bazaar-man, originally from canton, and temporarily in the employ of tsan ti. by following his evil thoughts he causes much trouble for the mandarin, and, incidentally, for the motor boys. =philo grattan=, a rogue of splendid abilities, who aims to steal a fortune and ends in being brought to book for the theft of a motor car. =pardo=, a pal of grattan. =neb hogan=, a colored brother whose mule, stolen by sam wing, plays a part of considerable importance. neb himself engineers a surprise at the end of the story, and goes his way so overwhelmed with good luck that he is unable to credit the evidence of his senses. =banks and gridley=, officers of the law who are searching for the stolen blue motor. =boggs=, a farmer who comes to the aid of motor matt with energy and courage. =bunce=, a sailor with two good eyes who, for some object of his own, wears a green patch and prefers to have the public believe he is one-eyed. a pal of grattan, who is caught in the same net that entangles the rest of the ruby thieves. chapter i. the red jewel. craft and greed showed in the eyes of the hatchet-faced chinaman. he seemed to have been in deep slumber in the car seat, but the drowsiness was feigned. the train was not five minutes out of the town of catskill before he had roused himself, wary and wide-awake, and looked across the aisle. his look and manner gave evidence that he was meditating some crime. it was in the small hours of the morning, and the passenger train was rattling and bumping through the heavy gloom. the lights in the coach had been turned low, and all the passengers, with the exception of the thin-visaged celestial, were sprawling in their uncomfortable seats, snoring or breathing heavily. across the aisle from this criminally inclined native of the flowery kingdom was another who likewise hailed from the land of pagodas and mystery; and this other, it could be seen at a glance, was a person of some consequence. he was fat, and under the average height. drawn down over his shaven head was a black silk cap, with a gleaming red button sewn in the centre of the flat crown. from under the edge of the cap dropped a queue of silken texture, thick, and so long that it crossed the chinaman's shoulder and lay in one or two coils across his fat knees. yellow is the royal color in china, and it is to be noted that this celestial's blouse was of yellow, and his wide trousers, and his stockings--all yellow and of the finest canton silk. his sandals were black and richly embroidered. from the button and the costume, one at all informed of fashions as followed in the country of confucius might have guessed that this stout person was a mandarin. and that guess would have been entirely correct. to go further and reveal facts which will presently become the reader's in the logical unfolding of this chronicle, the mandarin was none other than tsan ti, discredited guardian of the honam joss house, situated on an island suburb of the city of canton. he of the slant, lawless gleaming eyes was sam wing, the mandarin's trusted and treacherous servant. a chinaman, like his caucasian brother, is not always proof against temptation when the ugly opportunity presents itself at the right time and in the right way. sam wing believed he had come face to face with such an opportunity, and he was determined to make the most of it. sam wing was a resident of san francisco. he owned a fairly prosperous bazaar, and, once every year, turned his profits into mexican dollars and forwarded the silver to an uncle in canton for investment in the land of his birth. some day sam wing cherished the dream of returning to canton and living like a grandee. but wealth came slowly. now, there in that foreign devil's choo-choo car such a chance offered to secure unheard-of riches that sam wing's loyalty to the mandarin, no less than his heathen ideas of integrity, were brushed away with astounding suddenness. tsan ti slept. his round head was wabbling on his short neck--rolling and swaying grotesquely with every lurch of the train. the red button of the mandarin's cap caught the dim rays of the overhead lamps and threw crimson gleams into the eyes of sam wing. this flashing button reminded sam wing of the red jewel, worth a king's ransom, which the mandarin was personally conveying to san francisco, en route to china and the city of canton. already sam wing was intrusted with the mandarin's money bag--an alligator-skin pouch containing many oblong pieces of green paper marked with figures of large denomination. the money was good, what there was of it, but that was not enough to pay for theft and flight. sam wing's long, talon-like fingers itched to lay hold of the red jewel. with a swift, reassuring look at the passengers in the car, sam wing caught at the back of the seat in front and lifted himself erect. he was not a handsome chinaman, by any means, and he appeared particularly repulsive just at that moment. hanging to the seat, he steadied himself as he stepped lightly across the aisle. another moment and he was at the mandarin's side, looking down on him. tsan ti, in his dreams, was again in canton. striding through the great chamber of the honam joss house, he was superintending the return of the red jewel to the forehead of the twenty-foot idol, whence it had been stolen. while the mandarin dreamed, sam wing bent down over him and, with cautious fingers, unfastened the loop of silk cord that held together the front of the yellow blouse. the rich garment fell open, revealing a small bag hanging from the mandarin's throat by a chain. swiftly, silently, and with hardly a twitch of the little bag, two of sam wing's slim, long-nailed fingers were inserted, and presently drew forth a resplendent gem, large as a small hen's egg. a gasping breath escaped sam wing's lips. for a fraction of an instant he hesitated. what if his ancestors were regarding him, looking out of the vastness of the life to come with stern disapproval? a chinaman worships his ancestors, and the shades of the ancient ones of his blood have a great deal to do with the regulating of his life. what were sam wing's forefathers thinking of this act of vile treachery? the thief ground his teeth and, with trembling hands, stowed the red jewel in the breast of his blouse. he started toward the rear door of the car--and hesitated again. sam wing was a buddhist, as the chinese understand buddhism, wrapping it up in their own mystic traditions. this red jewel had originally been stolen from a great idol of buddha. in short, the jewel had been the idol's eye, and the idol, sightless in the honam joss house, was believed to be in vengeful mood because of the missing optic. the idol had marshalled all the ten thousand demons of misfortune and had let them loose upon all who had anything to do with the pilfering of the sacred jewel. who was sam wing that he should defy these ten thousand demons of misfortune? how could he, a miserable bazaar man, fight the demons? but his skin tingled from the touch of the red jewel against his breast. he would dare all for the vast wealth which might be his in case he could "get away with the goods." closing his eyes to honor, to the ten thousand demons, to every article of his heathen faith, he bolted for the rear of the car. opening the door, he let himself out on the rear platform. a lurch of the car caused the door to slam behind him. meanwhile tsan ti had continued his delightful dreaming. his subconscious mind was watching the priests as they worked with the red jewel, replacing it in the idol's forehead. the hideous face of the graven image seemed to glow with satisfaction because of the recovery of the eye. the priest, at the top of the ladder, fumbled suddenly with his hands. the red jewel dropped downward, with a crimson flash, struck the tiles of the floor, and rolled away, and away, until it vanished. a yell of consternation burst from the mandarin's lips. he leaped forward to secure the red jewel--and came to himself with his head aching from a sharp blow against the seat back in front. he straightened up, and the alarm died out of his face. after all, it was only a dream! "say!" cried a man in the seat ahead, turning an angry look at tsan ti. "what you yellin' for? can't a heathen like you let a christian sleep? huh?" "a million pardons, most estimable sir," answered tsan ti humbly. "i had a dream, a bad dream." "too much bird's-nest soup an' too many sharks' fins for supper, i guess," scowled the man, rearranging himself for slumber. "pah!" tsan ti peered across the aisle. the seat occupied by his servant, sam wing, was vacant. sam wing, the mandarin thought, must have become thirsty and gone for a drink. the mandarin heaved a choppy sigh of relief. how real a dream sometimes is! now, if he---- his hand wandered instinctively to the breast of his blouse, and he felt for the little lump contained in the bag suspended from his throat. he could not feel it. pulling himself together sharply tsan ti used both hands in his groping examination. then he caught his breath and sat as though dazed. a slow horror ran through his body. his blood seemed congealing about his heart, and his yellow face grew hueless. the red jewel was gone! the front of his blouse was open! then, after his blunted wits had recovered their wonted sharpness, tsan ti leaped for the aisle with another yell. "say," cried the man in the forward seat, lifting himself wrathfully, "i'll have the brakeman kick you off the train if you don't hush! by jing!" the mandarin began running up and down the aisle of the car, wringing his fat hands and yelling for sam wing. he said other things, too, but it was all in his heathen gibberish and could not be comprehended. by then every person in the car was awake. "crazy chink!" shouted the man who had spoken before. "he's gone dotty! look out for him!" at that moment the train lumbered to a halt and the lights of a station shone through the car windows. the brakeman jammed open the door and shouted a name. "motor matt!" wailed tsan ti. "estimable friend, come to my wretched assistance!" "here, brakeman!" cried the wrathful passenger who had already aired his views, "take this slant-eyed lunatic by the collar of his kimono and give him a hi'st into the right of way. chinks ought to be carried in cattle cars, anyhow." tsan ti, however, did not wait to be "hoisted into the right of way." with a final yell, he flung himself along the aisle and out the rear door, nearly overturning the astounded brakeman. once on the station platform, he made a bee line for the waiting room and the telegraph office. there was but one person in all america in whom the mandarin had any confidence, but one person to whom he would appeal. this was the king of the motor boys, who, at that moment, was in the town of catskill. chapter ii. another end of the yarn. on the same night this oriental treachery manifested itself aboard the train bound north through the catskills, a power yacht dropped anchor below the town of catskill. there was something suspicious about this motor yacht. she carried no running lights, and her cabin ports were dark as erebus. she came to a halt silently--almost sullenly--and her anchor dropped with hardly a splash. a tender was heaved over the side, and four men got into it and were rowed ashore by one of their number. when the tender grounded, three of the passengers got out. one of them turned to speak to the man who remained in the boat. "leave the tender in the water, when you get back to the _iris_, pierson. if the tender is wanted here, a light will be shown." "all right, grattan," answered the man in the boat, shoving off and rowing noiselessly back to the yacht. "hide the lantern in that clump of bushes, bunce," went on grattan. "ay, ay, messmate," answered the person addressed as bunce. "look here, grattan," grumbled the third member of the party, "motor matt has cooked our goose for us, and i'll be hanged if i can see the use of knocking around the town of catskill." "there are a lot of things in this world, pardo," returned grattan dryly, "that are advisable and that you haven't sense enough to see." pardo muttered wrathfully but indistinctly. "now," proceeded grattan, "this is the way of it: we got motor matt and his chum, mcglory, aboard the _iris_--lured them there on the supposition that tsan ti had sent motor matt the red jewel to keep safely for him for a time. motor matt and mcglory walked into our trap. we got the red jewel and put the two boys ashore some fifteen or twenty miles below here. half an hour later i put the supposed ruby to some tests and found it was counterfeit----" "are you sure the ruby you stole from the honam joss house was a true gem?" "yes. tsan ti sent motor matt a counterfeit replica for the purpose of getting us off the track. motor matt and mcglory will take the first train for catskill from the place where we put them ashore. we'll lie in wait for them on the path they must take between the railroad station and their hotel. it's a dark night, few passengers will arrive at this hour, and we can recapture the two motor boys and take them back to the _iris_." "what good will that do?" demurred pardo. "motor matt hasn't the real stone--tsan ti must have that." "i'll find out from motor matt where tsan ti is," said grattan, between his teeth, "and then i'll flash a message to the mandarin that he must give up the real gem, or motor matt _will suffer the consequences_!" "you can't mean," gasped pardo, in a panic, "that you will----" "it's a bluff, that's all," snapped grattan. "it will scare the mandarin out of his wits. have you hid the lantern, bunce?" he demanded, as the other member of the party came close. "ay, grattan," was the reply. "first bunch of bushes close to where we came ashore." "all right; come on, then. i've figured out what train motor matt and joe mcglory will catch, and it should soon be at the depot." with grattan in the lead, the party scrambled up the slope through the darkness, passed some ice houses, crossed a railroad track, and finally came to a halt in a lonely part of the town, near the walk leading from the railroad station to the business street and the hotels. a billboard afforded them a secure hiding place. grattan had figured the time of the train pretty accurately. he and his companions waited no longer than five minutes before the "local" drew to a halt at the station. "if those boys are not on the train," muttered pardo, "then we're fooled again. confound that motor matt, anyhow!" "he has my heartiest admiration," returned grattan, "but i'm not going to match wits with him and call myself beaten. hist!" he added abruptly, "here come two people--and maybe they're the ones we're looking for. mind, both of you, and don't make a move till i give the word." breathlessly the three men waited. footsteps came slowly up the walk and voices could be heard--voices which were recognized as belonging to the motor boys. "well, pard," came the voice of mcglory, "new york for ours in the morning. tsan ti, with the big ruby, is on the train, bound for china and heathen happiness, grattan has the bogus stone and is making himself absent in the _iris_, and you and i are rid of the hoodoo at last, and have fifteen hundred to the good. that's what i call----" by then the two lads had passed the billboard and were so far away that spoken words could not be distinguished. and grattan had given no word for an attack! "what's the matter with you, grattan?" whispered pardo. "they're too far off for us to bag them now." "we're not going to bag them." grattan was a man of quick decisions. "we've changed our plans." while the other two mumbled their surprise and asked questions, grattan had taken pencil, notebook, and an electric torch from his pocket. snapping on the torch, he handed it to bunce. "put a stopper on your jaw tackle and hold that," said he crisply. then he wrote the following: "conductor, local passenger, north bound: fat chinaman, answering to name of tsan ti and claiming to be mandarin, on your train. he's a thief and has stolen big ruby called eye of buddha. put him off train in charge of legal officer, first station after you receive this. answer. james philo, detective." "this is a telegram," said grattan, and read it aloud for the benefit of his two companions. "you'll take it down to the railroad station, pardo," he went on, "and have it sent at once to the nearest point that will overtake the train matt and mcglory just got off of. bunce and i will wait here, and you stay in the station till you receive an answer." "but how do you know tsan ti is on that train?" asked pardo. "didn't you hear what was said when the motor boys passed us?" "but nothing was said about the mandarin being on _that_ particular train." "i'm making a guess. if the conductor replies that no such chink is on the train, then my guess is wrong. if he answers that the chink was there, and that he has put him off, red jewel and all, into the hands of the legal authorities, then james philo grattan will play the part of james philo, detective, and fool these country authorities out of their eye teeth--and, incidentally, out of the eye of buddha." the daring nature of grattan's hastily formed plan caused pardo and bunce to catch their breath. grattan was a fugitive from the law, and yet here he was making the law assist him in stealing the red jewel for the second time! "you're a wonder," murmured pardo, "if you can make that game work." "trust me for that, pardo. now you hustle for the railroad station and get that message on the wires. hurry back here as soon as you receive an answer." pardo took the paper and made off down the slope. he was gone three-quarters of an hour--a weary, impatient wait for bunce, but passed calmly by grattan. when pardo returned he came at a run. "your scheme's no good, grattan!" were his first breathless words. "why not?" demanded grattan. "wasn't tsan ti on the train?" "yes--and another chink, as well. fat chinaman, though, jumped off at gardenville, first station north of catskill. here, read the conductor's message for yourself." grattan, still cool and self-possessed, switched the light into his torch and read the following: "two chinamen, one answering description, came through on train from jersey city. fat chinaman jumped off at gardenville, although had ticket reading buffalo. don't know what became of other chinaman. two young men boarded train river view, talked with fat chinaman, got off catskill. conductor." grattan must have been intensely disappointed, but he did not give rein to his temper. while bunce spluttered and pardo swore under his breath, grattan was wrapped in profound thought. "we'll have to change our plans again," he observed finally. "we gave over the idea of capturing motor matt and mcglory for the purpose of getting tsan ti held by the authorities as a thief; now we've got to give that up. why did tsan ti get off the train at gardenville when he was going to buffalo? it was an oriental trick to pull the wool over my eyes. the mandarin is afraid of me. we must proceed at once to gardenville before tsan ti has a chance to get out of the town." "how are we going to get to gardenville?" demanded pardo. "if we take the _iris_----?" "we won't." "if we walk----" "we won't do that, either. we'll take an automobile. it may be, too, that our motor cycles will come in handy. you go down to the bank, pardo, signal the yacht, and have pierson bring the two machines ashore. while you're about that, bunce and i will visit the garage and borrow a fast machine. you know these hills?" "as well as i do my two hands." "on your way to the _iris_ i'll give you something to leave at the hotel for motor matt." grattan did some more scribbling on a blank sheet of his notebook; then, tearing out the sheet, he wrapped it around a small object and placed both in a little box with a sliding cover. "they may recognize me at the hotel," protested pardo. "i don't think so. it will do me good to have you leave this, anyhow. i don't want motor matt to think that i was fooled very long by that bogus ruby. if we're quick, pardo, we're going to catch tsan ti before he can leave gardenville. and when we nab the mandarin we secure the ruby." grattan was a master rogue, and not the least of his shining abilities was his readiness in adjusting himself to changing circumstances. fate, in the present instance, had conspired to place him on the wrong track--but he was following the course with supreme confidence. chapter iii. shock number one. when motor matt and joe mcglory dropped off that "local" passenger train at the catskill station they had just finished a series of strenuous experiences. these had to do with the great ruby known as the eye of buddha. a cunning _facsimile_ of the gem had been sent by tsan ti to matt, by express, with a letter desiring him to take care of the ruby until the mandarin should call for it. this responsibility, entirely unsought by the king of the motor boys, plunged him and his cowboy pard into a whirl of adventures, and ended in their being decoyed aboard the _iris_. here the ruby was taken from matt by force--grattan, who secured it, not learning until some time later that the object matt had been caring for was merely a base counterfeit of the original gem. and matt and mcglory did not find this out until they caught the train at fairview, when they discovered that tsan ti and sam wing were aboard. the twenty-mile ride from fairview to catskill with the mandarin proved quite an eye opener for the motor boys. they learned how tsan ti had deliberately set grattan on their track to recover the bogus ruby, while he--tsan ti--made his escape with the real gem. this part of the mandarin's talk failed to make much of a "hit" with matt and mcglory. the mandarin had used them for his purposes in a particularly high-handed manner, keeping them entirely in the dark regarding the fact that the stone intrusted to matt was a counterfeit. although the boys parted in a friendly way with the mandarin on leaving the train at catskill, yet they nevertheless remembered their grievance and were heartily glad to think that they were done for all time with tsan ti and his ruby. very often it happens that when we think we are done with a thing we have reckoned without taking account of a perverse fate. this was the case with the motor boys with reference to tsan ti and the eye of buddha. while they were climbing the slope from the railroad station to their hotel, glad of the prospect of securing a little much-needed rest, only a few chance remarks by mcglory prevented them from having an encounter with grattan, pardo, and bunce, who were lurking beside the walk. and at that same moment the faithless sam wing was engineering his stealthy theft in the darkened passenger coach. so stirring events were forming, all unheeded by the boys. upon reaching the hotel they proceeded immediately to the room which they occupied, hastily disrobed, and crept into their respective beds. in less than five minutes the room was resounding with mcglory's snores. matt remained awake long enough to review the events of the day and to congratulate himself that he and his cowboy pard were finally rid of the "hoodoo" gem and the "hoodoo" chinaman who had been looking for it. then the king of the motor boys himself fell asleep. it was mcglory's voice that aroused matt. "sufferin' thunderbolts!" matt awoke with a start and turned his eyes toward the other side of the room. the cowboy was sitting up in bed. "talk about your shocking times, pard," he went on, "why, i've been jumping from one shock into another ever since i hit this mattress. thought i was chased by a blind idol, twenty feet high, and sometimes that idol looked like grattan, sometimes it was a dead ringer for tsan ti, and sometimes it was its own wabble-jawed, horrible self. woosh! and listen"--mcglory's eyes grew wide and he became very serious--"the idol that chased me had _red hair_!" "what difference does that make, joe?" inquired matt, observing that the sun was high and forthwith tumbling out of bed. "what difference does it make!" gasped mcglory. "speak to me about that! don't you know matt, that whenever you dream about a person with red hair, trouble's on the pike and you've got up your little red flag?" "oh, gammon!" grunted matt. "pile out and get into your clothes, joe. we're taking the eleven a. m. boat for the big town, and we haven't any too much time to make our 'twilight,' help ourselves to a late breakfast, and amble down to the landing." "hooray!" cried mcglory, forgetting his dream in the prospect called up by his chum's words. "we're going to have the time of our lives in new york, pard! all i hope is that nothing gets between us and that eleven a. m. boat. seems like we never make a start for down the river but johnny hardluck comes along, jolts us with an uppercut, and faces us the wrong way. look here, once." "well?" "if you get a letter from tsan ti, promise me to say 'manana' and give it the cut direct." "what chance is there of our receiving a letter from the mandarin? he's on his way west with the eye of buddha, and grattan is on his way no one knows where with a glass imitation. both of them are satisfied, and i guess you and i, joe, haven't any cause for complaint. the mandarin is too busy traveling to write any letters." "well," insisted mcglory, "give me your solemn promise you won't pay any attention to a letter from the mandarin if you receive one. if you're so plumb certain he won't write, why not promise?" "it's a go," laughed matt, "if that will make you feel any easier in your mind." "it does, a heap. i'd rather have measles than another attack of mandarinicutis, complicated with rubyitis, and----" "oh, splash!" interrupted matt. "we've been well paid for all the time we were ailing with those two troubles. give your hair a lick and a promise, and let's go down to breakfast. they'll be ringing the last bell on us if we wait much longer." "lead on, macduff!" answered mcglory, throwing himself around in the air and then striking a pose, with one arm up, like ajax defying the lightning. "remember monte cristo like that, pard?" he asked. "'the world is mine!' that's how i feel. us for new york, with fifteen hundred of the mandarin's _dinero_ in our clothes! oh, say, i'm a brass band and i've just got to toot!" the cowboy "tooted" all the way downstairs and into the office; then, as they passed the desk on their way to the dining room, the rejoicing died on the cowboy's lips. "just a minute, motor matt!" called the clerk, leaning over the desk and motioning. "lightning's going to strike," muttered mcglory; "i can see it coming." he followed matt to the desk. as they lined up there, the clerk fished a small box out of the office safe. "this was left here for you last night, matt," went on the clerk. "i was told to hand it to you this morning by the night clerk when he went off duty." the little box was placed on the counter. matt and mcglory stared at it. that was not the first time they had seen that small receptacle. with the counterfeit ruby inside, it had first come into matt's hands by express, direct from tsan ti; then, by a somewhat devious course of events, it had gone into the possession of philo grattan. why should grattan have returned the box to matt? how _could_ he have returned it when, as matt and mcglory believed, he was at that very moment hurrying to get out of the country and escape the law? "shock number one," shuddered mcglory. "not much of a shock about this--so far," returned matt, picking up the box. "wait till you see what's inside." "we'll open it in the dining room," and matt turned away. "i'll bet a bowl of birds'-nest soup against a plate of sharks' fins it's going to spoil your breakfast." they went in and took their usual places at one of the tables. all the other guests had breakfasted, and the motor boys had the big dining room--with the exception of two or three waiters--wholly to themselves. "open it quick," urged mcglory. matt sawed through the string with his knife, pulled out the lid of the box, and dropped a gleaming red object on the tablecloth. "sufferin' snakes!" exclaimed mcglory. "the eye of buddha, or i'm a piute! how in blazes did old tsan ti get the thing back to us? when i saw that last it was in a silk bag around the mandarin's neck." "it can't be the eye of buddha, joe," said matt. "it looks to me more like the bogus gem than the real one." "how can you tell the difference?" "from the fact that the real stone could not by any possibility get into our hands again." "neither could the bogus gem--if it's where we think it is." "i guess here's something that will explain," and matt drew a piece of paper from the box. "who's it from?" queried mcglory, in a flutter. "from grattan," answered matt grimly. "listen," and he read: "'motor matt: you don't know what a tight squeak you and mcglory had to-night--not aboard the _iris_, but after you were put ashore. pray accept the inclosed piece of glass with my compliments. i don't think you knew, any more than i did, that it was counterfeit. if tsan ti gets into any more difficulties, you take my advice and let him weather them alone. grattan.'" "shocked?" muttered mcglory. "why, i feel as though somebody had hit me with a live wire. so grattan found out the ruby was an imitation! and he found out in time to send that back to you last night! say, that fellow's the king bee of all the crooks that ever lived. present the jewel to one of these darky waiters, and let's you and i get busy with the ham and eggs. i'm glad we're for new york by the eleven-o'clock boat, and that the mandarin isn't worrying us any more." the cowboy threw the box under the table, and would have reached for the gleaming bit of glass had not matt grabbed it first and dropped it into his pocket. chapter iv. shocks two and three. the motor boys were very much in the dark concerning philo grattan's movements and intentions. "he was right," observed matt, referring to grattan's note, "when he said i was in the dark as much as he was concerning that piece of glass. he wasn't fooled very long." "there's good advice in that note," said mcglory, who was beginning to have apprehensions that he and matt were not yet done with the eye of buddha. "i mean where he says that if the mandarin gets into any more difficulties we'll be wise to let him get out of them alone the best way he can." "that's more than a piece of advice, joe. if i catch the true meaning, it's a threat." mcglory at once saw a light in the general gloom. "then, if it's a threat, pard, grattan must be ready to make another try for the eye of buddha!" "that's the way it strikes me." "but what can grattan do? tsan ti ought to be whooping it up pretty well to the west by now. he's got a good long start of grattan in the run to 'frisco." "what grattan can do," said matt reflectively, "is as hard to understand as what he has already done. we know he has discovered that this red jewel is a counterfeit, we know he sent some one here to return the piece of crimson glass to me, and it's a fair inference that he's going to make another attempt to recover the real ruby. how he has managed to do all this, however, or what he can possibly accomplish in overhauling tsan ti, is far and away beyond me." "we're out of it, anyhow," remarked mcglory, with an airy confidence he was far from feeling. "you've promised not to pay any attention to any four-eleven alarms you receive from the mandarin, and i'd feel tolerably comfortable over the outlook if--if----" he paused. "if what?" queried matt. "why, if i hadn't seen that red-headed idol chasing me in my sleep. i had two good looks at it. one look means trouble, two looks mean double trouble. call me a piegan if i ever knew it to fail." matt laughed. "never trouble trouble," he admonished, "till trouble troubles you." "fine!" exclaimed mcglory; "but it's like a good many of these keen old saws--hard to live up to. i'll bet the inventor of that little spiel died of worry in some poorhouse. i'm always on my toes, shading my eyes with my hat brim and looking for miles along the trail of life to see if i can't pick up a little hard luck heading my way. can't wait till i come company front with it. well, maybe it's all right. life would be sort of tame if something didn't happen now and then to make us ginger up. but we're for new york at eleven o'clock, no matter what happens!" a few minutes later they finished their breakfast and went out into the office. as matt pushed up to the desk to ask the amount of his hotel bill, and settle for it, the clerk shoved a yellow envelope at him. "telegram, matt. just got here." "shock two," groaned mcglory, grabbing at the edge of the desk. "_now_ what? oh, tell me!" matt tore open the envelope, read the message, stared at it, whistled, then read it again. "somebody want us to run an air ship or go to sea in a submarine?" palpitated mcglory. "sufferin' tenterhooks, pard! stop your staring and whistling, and hand it to me right off the bat." matt caught mcglory's arm and conducted him to a corner where there were a couple of easy-chairs. "it's from the mandarin," he announced. "sufferin' chinks!" breathed the cowboy. "didn't i tell you? say, _didn't_ i? what's hit him now?" "i'll read you the message, joe." "go ahead. all i want you to do, pard, is just to remember what you promised me." "'esteemed friend,'" read matt, "'and highly treasured assistant in time of storm----'" "speak to me about that!" grunted the disgusted mcglory. "his word box is full of beadwork." "'again i call from the bottomless pit of distress,'" continued matt, "'and from this place named gardenville announce the duplicity of sam wing, who suddenly absented himself from the train with my supply of cash and the eye of buddha. having no money, i have requested of the honorable telegraph company to receive pay from you. if----'" "he's lost the ruby!" gasped mcglory, "and sam wing is the guilty man! oh, moses, what a throwdown! why, i had a notion sam wing thought the sun rose and set in tsan ti. and sam wing lifted the ruby and the mandarin's funds and hot-footed it for parts unknown! well, _well_!" "'if,'" continued matt, continuing the reading, "'i cannot recover the priceless gem, then nothing is left for me but the yellow cord. hasten, noble youth, and aid in catching the miserable sam wing.' that's all, joe," finished matt, with a frown. "then drop it in the waste basket and let's settle our bill and start for the landing. it's a quarter to eleven. while you're paying up i'll go to the room after our grips." the cowboy started impatiently to his feet. matt continued to sit in his chair, frowning and peering into vacancy. "mosey!" urged joe. "it seems too bad to turn tsan ti down in such cold-blooded fashion," said matt. "there you go! that's you! say, pard, the mandarin thinks he's got a mortgage on you. what's the good of helping a chink who's so locoed he totes a fifty-thousand-dollar ruby around with him rather than hand it over to the express company for transportation? take it from me, you can keep helping tsan ti for the next hundred years, and he'll never get out of the country till he separates himself from the eye of buddha and let some one else take the risk of getting it to canton. are you going?" "the poor old duffer," continued matt, "is always right up in the air when anything goes wrong with him. we know what the safe return of that ruby to the honam joss house means to him, joe. the ruler of china has sent him a yellow cord--a royal invitation for him to strangle himself if the ruby is not found and returned to the forehead of the idol." "look here," snapped mcglory, "time's getting scarce. are you going down the river with me, pard, or have i got to go alone?" before matt could answer, a well-dressed man hurried into the lobby from the street and rushed for the desk as though he had something on his mind. "that's martin," said matt, looking at the man. martin was proprietor of the local garage and had been of considerable assistance to the motor boys during the first days of their stay in catskill. it was martin who owned the two motor cycles which had been stolen from matt and mcglory by bunce and a pal. the boys had had to put up three hundred dollars to settle for that escapade, but tsan ti had made the amount good. martin talked excitedly with the hotel clerk for a moment, and the clerk leaned over the desk and pointed toward the corner where the motor boys had seated themselves. martin, a look of satisfaction crossing his troubled face, bore down on the corner. "look out for shock number three," growled mcglory. "sufferin' hoodoos! we've taken root here in catskill, and i'll bet we won't be able to pull out for the rest of our natural lives." the cowboy, apparently discouraged with the outlook, dropped down into his chair and leaned back in weary resignation. "matt!" exclaimed martin, "you're just the fellow i want to find." "what's wrong, mr. martin?" inquired matt. "a three-thousand-dollar car was stolen out of my garage last night. the night man was attacked, knocked over the head, and then bound hand and foot. it was a most brazen and dastardly piece of work." "too bad," spoke up mcglory, "but things like that will happen occasionally. think of matt and me getting done out of those two motor cycles of yours." "but i'll have to put up ten times what you fellows did for the motor cycles--that is, if we can't get the car back." "_we!_" boomed mcglory, starting forward in his chair. "if _we_ can't get the car back! are motor matt and pard mcglory mixed up in that 'we'?" "well, i thought when you knew the circumstances that----" "don't hem, and haw, and sidestep," cut in mcglory keenly. "you're in trouble, and whenever anybody in the whole country stumbles against something that's gone crosswise, then it's 'hurrah, boys,' and send for motor matt. i wish i had words to tell you how inexpressibly weary all this makes me. didn't you ever stop to think, martin, that, off and on, the motor boys might have troubles of their own?" "but listen. you haven't heard the facts." "what are the facts, martin?" asked matt. "why, the night man recognized one of the scoundrels who struck him down. the rascal was dressed in sailor clothes and had a green patch over one eye." "bunce!" exclaimed matt, starting up. "that's it," cried martin, glad of the impression he was making. "i knew you and mcglory had been mixed up with that sailor, and i naturally thought you'd be glad of a chance to help nab him." "about what time was the car stolen?" asked matt, quieting mcglory with a quick look. "about half-past two," answered martin. "i've got a car ready to chase the scoundrels. have you any notion which way that car ought to go?" "you're a trifle late taking up the pursuit," remarked matt. "here it is nearly eleven, and the automobile was stolen at half-past two--more than eight hours ago." "i was up at cairo," explained martin, "and didn't get back till ten o'clock this morning." "i've something of a clue," said matt, "but it may be too late to follow it." "where does the clue lead?" "to gardenville." "then we'll make a fast run to gardenville. will you go along?" "yes," said matt. "come on, joe." and mcglory dutifully went. as he, and matt, and martin passed out of the hotel, the down-river boat from albany whistled for catskill landing. the cowboy looked at it. "we'll never get to new york," he murmured; "not in a thousand years. we're out for two different kinds of trouble, and we'll be into both of 'em up to our eyes before we're many hours older." chapter v. a hot starter. motor matt disliked any further entanglements with tsan ti and the fateful ruby fully as much as did his cowboy pard, and he was greatly perturbed over the unexpected developments which had again drawn him and mcglory into the plots and counterplots hovering around the valuable gem. but it was impossible for the king of the motor boys to turn his back upon an appeal from any one in distress when it was in his power to be of help. nevertheless, matt might have cut loose from the mandarin, for he did not like his oriental methods, but his temper was stirred by that half-veiled threat in the note from grattan. matt and grattan had been at swords' points ever since the motor boys had been in the catskills. it was largely a battle of wits, with now and then a little violence thrown in for good measure, and up to that moment neither matt nor grattan had scored decisively. through matt's intrepid work, tsan ti had recovered the stolen ruby, but, as in the case where he had lost the counterfeit gem, matt's success had been merely a fortunate blunder. on the other side of the account, grattan could be charged with a theft of the two motor cycles and with sundry other sharp practices which had gone too much "against the grain" for matt to overlook. the daring theft of the automobile from the garage pointed the way not only for matt to help martin recover the machine, but perhaps, also, to recover the motor cycles, to worst grattan, and to be of some assistance to tsan ti. on the way to the garage with martin, matt explained these matters to mcglory. with the whistle of the new york boat still sounding in his ears, the cowboy listened to his chum, at first, with intense disapproval; but, at the back of mcglory's nature, there was as intense a dislike for being worsted by such a crook as grattan as there was at the back of matt's. cleverly the king of the motor boys harped on this chord, and aroused in his chum a wild desire to do something that would curb, finally and effectually, the audacious lawlessness of philo grattan. to such an extent did matt influence mcglory that the latter began to wonder how he could ever have thought of leaving the catskills while grattan was at large. "sufferin' justice!" exclaimed the cowboy. "grattan is trying to bluff us out of helping the mandarin. that's as plain as the pay streak in a bonanza mine. he must have been with bunce when the bubble was lifted, and if we chase the chug cart we can hand the boss tinhorn a black eye by getting back the machine and landing the thieves in the skookum house. say, that would be nuts for me! the mandarin and his idol's eye can go hang--it's grattan we're after this trip." matt left his chum with that impression, well knowing that if grattan could be captured, the affairs of the mandarin would adjust themselves satisfactorily. the night man at the garage, his head bandaged, was lingering in the big room, watching one of the day men give a final wipe to the lamps of a six-cylinder flyer that was to take the trail after grattan. the night man's face flushed joyfully when he saw matt and mcglory. "good!" he exclaimed. "i guess there'll be something doing in these parts, now that motor matt is going to help in the chase." "you're the man who was on duty when the automobile was stolen?" inquired matt. "don't i look the part?" "martin says you identified one of the men as the old sailor who wears a green patch over one of his eyes." "seen him as plain as i do you, this minute." "what did the other thief look like?" "didn't have a chance to tell, the attack was that sudden an' unexpected." "you are sure there were no more than two of the thieves?" "i could take my solemn alfred on that." "all aboard!" called martin, from the car. "i'm going to let you do the driving, matt. you can forget more about automobiles than i ever knew." matt stepped to the side of the car and drew on a pair of gauntlets that lay in the driver's seat; then he climbed to his place, mcglory got in behind, and the car was backed around and glided out through the wide door of the garage. with martin indicating the way, the machine slipped rapidly out of catskill and darted off on the gardenville road. "what sort of clue is taking us to gardenville?" asked martin, as they weaved in and out among the tree-covered hills, catching occasional glimpses of the sparkling waters of the hudson. matt informed martin briefly of tsan ti's predicament and of grattan's persistent attempts to get hold of the ruby. "you think grattan has gone to gardenville to intercept tsan ti?" asked martin. "it would be like grattan," matt answered, "to hire sam wing to steal the ruby from the mandarin. i don't know that grattan has done that, but it would be like him. if he did, then he would travel toward gardenville to pick up sam wing." "this looks too much like guesswork," muttered martin, "and not very bright guesswork, either." "i think the same way, martin; but it's the only clue we have. grattan and bunce certainly had an object in view when they stole the motor car. the theft, happening at the time it did, rather inclines me to think that grattan is beginning a swift campaign to recover the eye of buddha." "since half-past two he has had oceans of time to reach gardenville and pick up sam wing and the ruby--if that was his game." "exactly," returned matt. "i was telling you the same thing back at the hotel. what sort of a car was it that was stolen?" "it was a blue car, six cylinder, and had a tonneau and top. it belonged to a man from new york. he's been telegraphing and telephoning all through the mountains. if the thieves didn't get away last night, they'll have a hard time doing it to-day." matt was watching the road. it was a popular highway for motor-car owners, and the surface bore evidence of the passage of many pneumatic tires. half a dozen cars passed them, going the other way, and inquiries were made as to the blue car. the stolen automobile had not been seen or heard of. at least two of the passing drivers had come from gardenville, and their failure to have seen anything of the stolen machine promised ill for the success of the pursuers when they should reach their destination. "i guess i'm up against it, all right," growled martin. "this grattan is a clever scoundrel, and he'll know what to do to keep from getting captured." "what's that place ahead there?" asked matt. what he saw was a spot where the road curved a little to one side in a valley between two hills. there were two or three hitching posts planted beside the road, and from one of the posts swung a tin bucket. "that's a spring," said martin, "and it furnishes ice-cold water in the very hottest part of the summer. people stop there to water their horses--and to get a drink themselves if they're thirsty." "let's stop, pard," called mcglory, from the tonneau. "i'm dryer than a sand pile and my throat's full of dust." "we're only three miles from gardenville," spoke up martin, his words significant of the fact that there would be plenty of drinking water to be had in the town without delaying the journey at the spring. "we'll only be a minute," said matt, swerving to the side of the road and bringing the car to a halt. all three jumped out, and martin led the way to a small pool, shaded by overhanging trees. from beyond the pool came a tinkle of falling water. "horses are watered from this basin," remarked martin. "the water falls from the rocks, farther on, and we'll find a cup there." a well-worn path followed the rill that supplied the pool, and the three continued onward along the path in single file. half a dozen yards brought them to the rocky side hill where the water welled from a crack in the granite and fell in a miniature cataract to a bowl-shaped depression at the foot of the wall. a man was standing beside the spring when martin, matt, and mcglory emerged from the tangle of brush and vines. the man was just lifting himself erect after filling a tin cup that was chained to the rocks. startled into inaction, the man stood staring at the three newcomers, the filled cup in his hand. the surprise, it may be observed, was mutual. the man by the spring was a chinaman--a lean, hatchet-faced individual whose blouse and baggy trousers gave evidence of rough work in the undergrowth. "sam wing!" yelled mcglory. yes, it was the treacherous celestial, there was not the slightest doubt about that. simultaneously with his shout, mcglory leaped forward, closely followed by matt. sam wing awoke to his peril not a second too soon. casting the cup of water full in the cowboy's face, the chinaman gave vent to a defiant yell, whirled, and vanished among the trees. mcglory sputtered wrathfully as he shook the water out of his eyes. matt bounded on in frantic pursuit of the fugitive. "come back!" cried martin, thinking of nothing but the stolen car. "what's the use of chasing the chink?" "you freeze to the automobile, martin," the cowboy paused to answer. "matt and i will put the kibosh on this yellow grafter and then we'll rejoin you. we'll not be gone long." the words faded in a rattle and crash of violently disturbed bushes, and mcglory had vanished along his chum's trail. chapter vi. m'glory is lost--and found. this unexpected encounter with sam wing was certainly a "hot starter" in the matter of the stolen ruby, although of apparently small consequence in the matter of the stolen car. but motor matt was not particular as to which end of the double thread fortune wafted his way. he followed sam wing just as zealously as he would have followed philo grattan, had it been the white thief instead of the yellow who had fled from the spring. the cold spring water had run down the cowboy's face, under his collar, and had glued his shirt to his wet skin. "speak to me about that!" he breathed angrily, as he labored on. "if the rat-eater hadn't slammed that water into my face, i'd have had him by his yellow throat in a brace of shakes! wow, but it's cold! i feel as though i was hugging an iceberg. where's matt?" mcglory had not seen his chum since he had plunged into the bushes, but had followed blindly in a course he believed to be the right one, trying only to see how much ground he could cover. now, realizing suddenly that he might be on the wrong track, the cowboy halted, peered around him, and listened intently. the timber was thick and the bushes dense on every side. there were no sounds in any direction even remotely suggesting the chinaman's flight and matt's pursuit. "i'm off my bearings and no mistake," reflected the cowboy, searching the ground in vain for some signs of the course taken by sam wing and matt. "matt will have a time overhauling the chink in this chaparral, and the two of us are needed. but which way am i to go?" mcglory had been hurrying along the side hill that edged the valley and the road. he swept his eyes across the narrow valley, and then up the slope toward the top of the hill. "it's a cinch," he ruminated, "that sam wing wouldn't go near the trail, but would do his level best to get as far away from it as he could. that means, if i'm any guesser, that he climbed the hill and tried to lose himself beyond. me for the other side," and the cowboy began pawing and scrambling up the steep slope. ten minutes of hard work brought him to the crest, and here again he halted to peer anxiously around and to listen. he could neither hear nor see anything that gave him a line on matt and the chinaman. "whoop-ya!" he yelled at the top of his lungs. "matt! where are you, pard?" a jaybird mocked him from somewhere in the timber, and a frightened hawk took wing and soared skyward. "blamed if this ain't real excitin'!" growled the cowboy. "i'm going to do something to help lay that yellow tinhorn by the heels, though, and you can paste that in your hat. if matt came over the hill, then it stands to reason he went down on this other side. i'll keep on, by guess and by gosh, and maybe something will happen." mcglory kept on for half an hour, floundering through the bushes, making splendid time in his slide to the foot of the hill, and from there striking out on an erratic course that carried him toward all points of the compass. he climbed rocky hills and descended them, he followed ravines, and he sprinted across narrow levels, yelling for matt from time to time, but receiving no answer. then he discovered that something had happened--and that he was lost. trying to locate himself by the position of the sun, he endeavored to return to the road. instead of calling for matt, he now began whooping it up for martin. the sun appeared to be in the wrong place, and the road and the spring had vanished. the farther mcglory went, the more confused and bewildered he became. at last he dropped down on a bowlder and panted out his chagrin and disgust. "lost! me, joseph easy mark mcglory, arizona puncher and boss trailer of the deserts and the foothills! lost, plumb tangled up in my bearings, clean gone off the jump--and in this two-by-twice range of toy mountains where rip van winkle snoozed for twenty years. i wonder if rip was as tired as i am when he laid down to snatch his forty winks. sufferin' tenderfoot! i've walked far enough to carry me plumb to albany, if it had all been in a straight line. matt!" and again he lifted his voice. "martin!" the lusty yell echoed and reverberated through the surrounding woods, but brought no answer. then, suddenly, the cowboy was seized from behind by a pair of stout arms, pulled backward off the bowlder, and flattened out on the ground by a heavy knee on his chest. it had all happened so quickly that mcglory was dazed. he was a moment or two in recovering his wits and in recognizing the sinister face and mocking eyes that bent down over him. "grattan!" he gasped. "ay, messmate," gibed a voice from near at hand; "grattan and bunce. don't forget bunce." the cowboy turned his head and saw the sailor. the green patch decorated one of the sailor's eyes, but the other eye taunted the luckless prisoner with an exultant gleam. mcglory struggled desperately under grattan's hands. "stop it!" ordered grattan. as mcglory had made no headway with his frantic struggles, he decided to obey the command. "what are you doing out here in the woods?" inquired grattan. "ease up on that throat a little," wheezed the cowboy. "want to take the breath all out of me?" the thief's fingers relaxed slightly. "i left the road a spell ago," proceeded mcglory, "and went wide of my bearings somewhere--i don't know just where." "lost, eh?" laughed grattan. "well, my lad, you've been found." "how did you happen to find me?" "how?" jeered bunce. "you was makin' more noise than a foghorn. the way you was askin' motor matt for help, it's a wonder they didn't hear you in catskill." "tie his hands with something, bunce," said grattan. bunce looked taken aback for a space, then whipped his knife laniard from about his neck, removed the knife, doubled the cord, and contrived a lashing that was strong enough to answer the purpose. grattan heaved the cowboy over upon his face and pulled his wrists behind him. in less than a minute the cord was in place, and the prisoner was freed of grattan's gripping hands and allowed to sit up, his back against the bowlder. "this meeting," grinned grattan, "was entirely unexpected, and a pleasant surprise." "a pleasant surprise for you, i reckon," grunted mcglory. "what did you jump onto me for like this? what good is it going to do you?" "what benefit i am to derive from this encounter," replied grattan, "remains to be seen. tell me, my lad, are you and motor matt looking for tsan ti?" an angry denial was on the cowboy's lips, but he thought better of the words before they were spoken. "never you mind who we're looking for, grattan," said he. "it's for tsan ti, i am sure," went on grattan. "he's somewhere in this section, for he left gardenville on foot, early this morning, preceded by his man, sam wing. i don't know exactly what's up, but i'm rather inclined to think that the mandarin is afraid of me, and is trying to get back to catskill and place himself under the wing of his estimable protector, motor matt. you and matt heard he was coming and advanced to meet him. the same man who told me the fat chinaman was in the hills must have given you boys the same information." "who was the _hombre_, grattan?" queried mcglory, secretly delighted to think grattan's speculations were so wide of the mark. "a man in a white runabout with a red torpedo beard." "i wouldn't know a red torpedo beard from a piute's scalplock, but i do recollect a shuffer in a white car." this white runabout was one of the cars matt, martin, and mcglory had passed on the road, and the driver was one of those of whom they had made inquiries. the inquiries, of course, had been all about the stolen automobile and not about the fat chinaman. if grattan had been in the stolen car when asking the man in the white runabout for news of tsan ti, then why hadn't the runabout driver remembered the blue car and told matt something about it? "where were you," went on the cowboy, "when you hailed the man in the white car?" "on foot, by the spring," answered grattan genially. he was an educated man and usually good-natured--sometimes under the most adverse circumstances. that was his way, perhaps on the principle that an easy manner is best calculated to disarm suspicion. "where was the car you and bunce stole from the catskill garage?" asked the cowboy. "we tucked it away in a pocket of the hills that my friend pardo knew about," explained grattan, tacitly admitting the theft and, in his customary fashion, not hesitating to go elaborately into details. "we failed to finish the work that took us to gardenville last night. when we learned at the railroad station in that town that the fat chinaman had started south on foot, about break of day, following another of his countrymen, we rushed the car back into an obscure place. it is not advisable, you understand, to make that car too prominent. we shall have to use it by night. bunce and i rode to the spring on our motor cycles for the purpose of watching the road. the white runabout came along, and the driver told us, he had passed tsan ti, walking this way. we waited for him to pass the spring, but he did not. thinking he had taken to the rough country, bunce and i returned our wheels to the place where we have pitched temporary camp and began prowling around in the hope of finding the mandarin. then, quite unexpectedly, i assure you, we heard you calling. we came to this place, guided by the sound of your voice. you know the rest, and----" grattan bit off his words abruptly. from a distance came a hail, so far off as to be almost indistinguishable. "motor matt!" exclaimed grattan, with a laugh. "he's looking for you, mcglory. if this keeps up, we're going to have quite a reunion. put a hand over his lips, bunce," he added to the sailor. mcglory tried to give a desperate yell before the hand closed over his mouth, but he was not quick enough. grattan, leaning against the bowlder, threw back his head and answered the distant call. the voice in the woods drew closer and closer. "call again, excellent one!" came the weary voice from the scrub. "i heard you shouting some time ago, and you were calling the name of an esteemed friend for whom i am looking. speak loudly to me, so that i may come where you are." the three by the bowlder were astounded. "tsan ti," muttered grattan, "or i don't know the voice. luck, bunce! whoever thought this could happen? the mandarin heard mcglory calling for motor matt--and now the mandarin is looking for mcglory and is going to find _us_." a chuckle came with the words. "lie low, bunce, and watch mcglory. leave the trapping of tsan ti to me." chapter vii. "pocketed." for the cowboy pleasant fancies were cropping out of this surprising turn of events. he reflected that grattan did not know sam wing had stolen the ruby from tsan ti. by entrapping tsan ti, grattan was undoubtedly counting upon getting hold of the eye of buddha. if bunce had known how little love mcglory had for the mandarin, he would not have been at so much pains to keep a hand over his lips. just at that moment nothing could have induced the cowboy to shout a warning to the approaching chinaman. kneeling behind the bowlder, grattan lifted his voice for tsan ti's benefit. presently the mandarin was decoyed around the side of the bowlder, and his capture expeditiously effected. he was a badly demoralized chinaman. his usually immaculate person had been eclipsed by recent hardships, and he was tattered and torn and liberally sprinkled with dust. his flabby cheeks were covered with red splotches where thorny undergrowth had left its mark. he was so fagged, too, that he could hardly stand. at the merest touch from grattan he tumbled over. a most melancholy spectacle he presented as he sat on the ground and stared at grattan with jaws agape. "oh, friend of my friend," wheezed tsan ti, passing his gaze to mcglory, "was it you who shouted?" "first off it was," answered mcglory; "after that, grattan took it up." "and you are a prisoner?" "i wouldn't be here if i wasn't." "i'm the man for you to talk to, tsan ti," put in grattan grimly. "it's me you're to reckon with." "evil individual," answered the mandarin, "my capture will not help you in your rascally purposes. is not my present distress sufficient, without any of your unwelcome attentions? behold my plight! what more can you do to make me miserable?" "i can take the ruby away from you, for one thing." a mirthless smile crossed the mandarin's fat face. a chuckle escaped mcglory. grattan stared hard at the chinaman, and then flashed a quick glance at the cowboy. "what are you thinking of, mcglory?" he demanded. "i'm thinking that you're fooled again, grattan," answered mcglory. "you know so much that i wonder you haven't heard that the mandarin has lost the ruby." "lost it?" a look of consternation crossed grattan's face. "i'll never believe that," he went on. "tsan ti knows where the eye of buddha is, and there are ways to make him tell me." "ay, ay," flared bunce, with a fierce look, "we'll make him tell if we have to lash him to a tree and flog the truth out o' him." "wretches," said the mandarin, "no matter what your hard thoughts may counsel, or your wicked hands contrive, you cannot make me tell what i do not know." grattan would not trust bunce to search the mandarin, but proceeded about the work himself. two chopsticks, a silver cigarette box, an ivory case with matches, a bone-handled back scratcher, a handkerchief, a fan, and a yellow cord some three feet long were the results of the search. there was no ruby. grattan prodded a knife blade into tsan ti's thick queue in his search for the gem, and even ripped out the lining of his sandals, but uselessly. "you know where the ruby is," scowled grattan, giving way to more wrath than mcglory had ever seen him show before; "and, by heaven, i'll make you tell before i'm done with you." tossing the yellow cord to bunce, grattan drew back and ordered the sailor to secure the mandarin's hands in the same way he had lashed the cowboy's. tsan ti seemed to accept the situation philosophically. but that he was in desperate straits and hopeless was evidenced by his remark when bunce was done with the tying: "despicable person, i had rather you put the yellow cord about my throat than around my wrists." "you'll get it around the throat when we get back to the pocket," said grattan brutally. "take charge of mcglory, bunce," he added, "and come with me." tsan ti was ordered to his feet. thereupon, grattan seized his arm and pulled him along through the woods. mcglory would have given something handsome if he could have had the use of his hands for about a minute. bunce would have been an easy problem for him to solve if he had not been hampered by the knife laniard. as it was, however, the cowboy was forced to get to his feet and, with the sailor as guard, follow after grattan and tsan ti. captors and captives traveled for nearly a mile through uneven country, thick with timber, then descended into a ravine, followed it a little way beyond a point where it was crossed by a wagon road, and came to a niche in the gully wall. perhaps the term "cavern" would better describe the place where grattan, pardo, and bunce had pitched their temporary camp. the hole was an ancient washout, its face covered with a screen of brush and creepers. in front of the niche, standing in a place where it had been backed from the road on the "reverse," was the blue automobile. leaning against the automobile were the two motor cycles; and from the tonneau of the car, as grattan and bunce approached with their prisoners, arose the form of pardo. "well, well!" exclaimed pardo, thrusting his head out from under the top. "if we haven't got visitors! where did you pick up the mandarin, grattan?" "between here and the gardenville road," answered grattan. "it was easy work. both the chink and the cowboy were kind enough to yell and tell us where they were." pardo, understanding little of what had really occurred, opened his eyes wide. "tell me more about it," said he. "after i get the prisoners in the pocket. bunce, bring a rope. hold mcglory, pardo, while he's doing it." pardo jumped down from the automobile and caught the cowboy's arm. "i guess you're a heap easier to deal with than your friend, motor matt," was his comment. "no guess about it," said mcglory, "it's a cinch. but i'm not fretting any." the cowboy's eyes were on the stolen car. what a pleasure it would have been to snatch that automobile out of grattan's clutches, leaving him and his rascally companions stranded in the hills! but that was a dream--and mcglory had already had too many dreams for his peace of mind. tsan ti was shoved by grattan through the bushes, under the trailing vines and into the washout. pardo dragged mcglory through, close on their heels. "sit down, both of you," ordered grattan, when the prisoners were in the gloomy confines of the niche. tsan ti and mcglory lowered themselves to the bare earthen floor. bunce came with the rope, and it was coiled around the cowboy's ankles, and then around the mandarin's. "i've taken you in, mcglory," observed grattan, to the cowboy, "for the purpose of finding out what motor matt is doing; and i've captured the mandarin with the idea of getting the ruby. i'm a man who hews steadily to the line, once he marks it out. i'll have my way with both of you before i am done. mark that. you can't get away from here. even if you were not bound hand and foot, you'd have to pass the automobile in order to reach the road--and pardo, bunce, and i will be in the automobile. we're all heeled, which is a point you will do well to remember." having eased his mind in this manner, grattan went out of the niche, bunce and pardo following him. they could be heard climbing into the automobile, and then their low voices came in a mumble to the ears of the prisoners. "fated friend," gulped the mandarin, "the ten thousand demons of misfortune are working sad havoc with tsan ti." "buck up!" returned mcglory. "we're pocketed, all right, but matters might be worse." "what cheering thoughts can i possibly have?" mourned the mandarin. "the eye of buddha has escaped me, gone i do not know where, in the possession of that canton dog, sam wing, who----" "hist!" breathed mcglory, in a warning voice. "grattan doesn't know who has the ruby, and it may be a good thing if we keep it to ourselves. don't lose your nerve. motor matt is around, and you can count on him to do something." "motor matt is both notable and energetic," droned the mandarin, "but for him to secure the ruby from sam wing is too much to hope for." "there you're shy a few, tsan ti. i'll bet my scalp against that queue of yours that matt has already captured sam wing and recovered the eye of buddha." tsan ti stirred restlessly. "do not deceive me with hope, honorable friend," he begged. "well, listen," and mcglory proceeded to tell tsan ti what had happened at the spring. tsan ti's hopes arose. he had been ready to grasp at anything, and here mcglory had offered him undreamed-of encouragement. "there are many brilliant eyes in the plumage of the sacred peacock," he murmured, "but by them all, i vow to you that there is no other youth of such accomplishments as motor matt. and, by the five hundred gods of the temple at----" "cut it out," grunted mcglory. "you've got matt and me into no end of trouble with your foolishness. when you get that ruby into your hands again, stop fumbling with it. pass it over to some one who knows how to look after it, but don't try the job yourself. this is first-chop pidgin i'm giving you, tsan ti, and i don't know why i'm handing it out, after the way you hocused my pard and me with that piece of red glass. but it's good advice, for all that, and you'd better keep it under your little black cap." tsan ti relapsed into thoughtful silence. the mumble of voices continued to creep in through the swinging vines and the bush tops, but otherwise the quiet that filled the "pocket" was intense. the mandarin was first to speak. leaning toward the cowboy, he whispered: "there's a chance, companion of my distress, that we may be able to make our escape." "what's the number?" queried the cowboy. thereupon the mandarin began revealing the plan that had formed in his mind. it was the fruit of considerable reflection and promised well. chapter viii. springing a "coup." stripped of its ornamental trimmings, the mandarin's plan was marvelously simple. mcglory was to roll over with his back to him, and he engaged to gnaw through the knife laniard. when the cowboy's hands were free it would be only a few moments until he removed the ropes from his ankles and set tsan ti at liberty. this accomplished, mcglory was to set up a racket, calling grattan, bunce, and pardo into the pocket. as they crashed through the brush in one direction, the mandarin would crash through it in another, reach the motor cycles, and rush away on one before grattan or his companions had an opportunity to use their firearms. "h'm," reflected mcglory. "that's a bully plan, tsan ti--for you. you're the boy to look out for number one, eh? this surprise party you're thinking of springing reminds me of the way you unloaded that imitation ruby on motor matt, and then sat back and allowed matt and me to play tag with grattan." "what is the fault with my plan, generous sir?" asked the mandarin. "of course," went on the cowboy, with fine sarcasm, "i don't amount to much. i kick up a disturbance in here, and when grattan, pardo, and bunce rush in on me, you make a run for one of the motor cycles. in other words, i hold the centre of the stage and make things interesting for the three tinhorns while you burn the air on a benzine bike and get as far outdoors as you can. fine!" "pardon, exalted friend," demurred tsan ti, "but you overlook the point that i will be pursued." "i don't think i overlook a blessed point, tsan ti. but just answer me this: what's the good of escaping? grattan will have to let us go sooner or later. if we put up with these uncomfortable ropes for a spell, we'll both get clear and without running the risk of stopping a bullet." "accept my excuses, noble youth, and please remember grattan made some remarks about choking me with the cord in case i did not reveal the whereabouts of the ruby. that would not be pleasant." "sufferin' stranglers!" exclaimed mcglory; "i'd forgotten about that. can't say that i blame you for thinking twice for yourself and once for me. i'll help on the game." the cowboy rolled over with his back to the mandarin. "now get busy with your teeth," he added, "and be in a rush. there's no telling when the pallavering outside will be over with, and if those fellows get through before we do, the kibosh will be on us and not on them." the logic of this last remark was not lost upon the mandarin. he grunted and wheezed and used his teeth with frantic energy. while he panted and labored, both he and the cowboy kept their ears sharp for the mumble of talk going on outside. fortunately for the _coup_ the prisoners were intending to spring, the talk continued unabated. the laniard was gnawed in half, and mcglory sat up, brought his hands around in front of him, and rubbed the places where the mandarin's sharp teeth had slipped from the cord. "you've turned part of the trick, tsan ti," commended the cowboy; "now watch me do my share." with his pocket knife he slashed through the coil that held his feet, and he would then have treated the yellow cord about the mandarin's wrists in like manner had he not been stopped by a quick word. "the yellow cord, illustrious one," said the chinaman, "must be untied. it is a present from his imperial highness, my regent, and i may yet be obliged to use it in the customary way." "oh, hang your regent!" grumbled mcglory, but yielded to the mandarin's request and began untying the cord with his fingers. this was slow work, for mcglory's fingers were still numb from the effects of his own bonds. in due course, however, the cord was removed, and the chinaman lifted himself to a sitting posture. the cowboy used the knife on the rope that secured tsan ti's feet, while the latter was solicitously coiling up the yard of yellow cord and putting it away in his pocket. "now, courageous friend," whispered the mandarin, getting up noiselessly and stepping to the swinging green barrier at the mouth of the niche, "we are ready." "you know how to manage a motor cycle?" queried mcglory, suddenly stifling the roar that was almost on his lips. "excellently well, superlative one." "then good luck to you. here goes." above the fearsome commotion mcglory made, the words "help!" and "hurry!" might have been distinguished. startled exclamations came from the automobile, followed by a sound of scrambling as the three thieves tumbled out. then there was a crashing among the bushes and the vines, and mcglory rolled back at full length and shoved his unbound hands under him. "what's the matter?" cried grattan, who was first to enter the pocket. "mandarin tried to knife me!" whooped mcglory. "why didn't you take his knife away from him? i might have been sent over the one-way trail if i hadn't yelled." all three of the men were in the niche by that time. "where is the chink?" shouted grattan. the poppety-pop-pop of a motor in quick action came from without. "he's tripped his anchor and is makin' off!" yelled bunce. "stop him!" fumed grattan, and instantly he followed bunce and pardo back through the swinging screen of vines and bushes. chuckling with delight, mcglory leaped erect, sprang to the vines, and parted them so he could look out. tsan ti, his motor working splendidly, was streaking down the ravine toward the road. bunce, who had led in the rush from the pocket, had mounted the other motor cycle and was coaxing his engine into action with the pedal. "catch him, bunce!" bellowed grattan. bunce's answer was lost in a series of explosions as his motor got to work. as he whirled away, grattan and pardo ran after him to watch the pursuit as long as possible. and thus it chanced that good luck came mcglory's way, after all. he had pretended, when grattan and the other two came into the pocket, that he was tied, and the excitement following bunce's discovery that the mandarin was escaping prevented any examination of the cowboy's bonds. now mcglory had the neighborhood of the pocket to himself, and within a dozen feet of where he stood was the blue touring car, unguarded! a daring plan rushed through the cowboy's head. why not crank up the automobile's engine and rush down the ravine? there was a chance that he could reach the road. if grattan or pardo got in his way, he could run them down; if they drew off to one side and fired at him, he could trust to luck. "nothing venture, nothing win!" muttered the reckless cowboy, and pushed through the vines and bushes and jumped for the front of the car. an angle of the ravine hid grattan and pardo. one look made mcglory certain on this point, and another look showed him the rough surface which the automobile had to get over. there was a fine chance to blow up a tire or come to grief against a jutting rock, but the cowboy had staked everything on a single throw, and he was not to be frightened by difficulties. he gave the crank a couple of turns, and the engine answered with a fierce sputter and an increasing rattle of explosions. that sound, if grattan and pardo were near enough to hear, advertised plainly what mcglory was about. he lost not a moment in scrambling into the driver's seat and getting the car to going. the automobile started with a jump, and lurched and swayed over the uneven ground like a ship in a storm. bending to the steering wheel, mcglory nursed the car onward with the spark. the machine rounded the turn. the road was in plain view--but so were grattan and pardo. consternation was written large in the faces of the two thieves. the car was being hurled toward them, plunging and buck-jumping as it met the high places, and the two men had to throw themselves sideways to clear the path. "stop!" roared grattan, drawing a revolver. mcglory's answer was a defiant yell. as the car rushed by pardo he made a jump for it--and was knocked roughly back toward the ravine wall. _bang!_ that was grattan's weapon, echoing high about the racket of the unmuffled motor. something ripped through the rear of the top and crooned its wicked song within an inch of mcglory's head. but the cowboy laughed. he hadn't blown up a tire or smashed any of the machinery, he was turning into the road, and grattan and pardo were behind him! "we've knocked the hoodoo galley west!" mcglory exulted. "oh, what do you think of this! _what_ do you think of it!" and he let the sixty champing horses under the bonnet snatch him along the road at their best clip. chapter ix. motor matt's chase. meanwhile, the king of the motor boys, without the remotest idea as to what was happening to his cowboy pard, was exacting his own tribute from the realm of exciting events. when he started after sam wing, matt had no time to give to any one else. he supposed that mcglory was following him, but was altogether too busy to look behind and make sure. it was a trifling matter, anyhow. the main thing was to catch sam wing, and matt threw himself into the pursuit with ardor. mcglory, it will be remembered, had worked upon the theory that the chinaman, eager to get as far from the road as possible, had gone over the hill. but this was incorrect. sam wing hustled along the hillside slope, his course paralleling the valley and the road. very early in the chase the chinaman lost his grass sandals, and a little later his stockings, but loss of his footwear seemed to help rather than diminish his speed. motor matt was "no slouch" as a long-distance runner, but sam wing proved a handful for him. from time to time matt would gain, coming so close to the hustling celestial that he shouted a call for him to stop, but the chinaman, gathering himself together for a spurt, ducked away to his usual lead, and the chase went merrily on. once matt nearly had him. a section of treacherous bank broke away under sam wing's feet, and the pursued man flung up his arms and dropped straight downward. matt paused on the brink and looked below for three or four yards to a little shelf gouged from the bankside. sam wing, scarred and apparently senseless, was lying sprawled on the shelf. matt slipped and slid downward, fairly certain that he was at the end of his exciting trail; but, just as his feet struck the shelf, the chinaman rolled over the edge and carromed away in a break-neck descent that finally plunged him into the road. this was the identical road that led past the spring, and matt and sam wing were somewhere between the spring and gardenville. where martin was with the automobile, matt did not know, but if martin had been at that point in the road when the chinaman rolled into it, an easy capture could have been made. there was some one in the road besides sam wing, however, and the traveler was an old colored man, riding toward gardenville on a mule. the mule and the colored man were about a hundred feet away from wing when he got to his feet. as soon as the chinaman's eyes rested on the long-eared brute and its aged rider, he started at speed in their direction. matt jumped into the road with less than twenty-five feet between himself and sam wing. once more he deceived himself with the idea that the chase was narrowing to a close. the mule, throwing its head and swinging its long ears, was ambling leisurely along the way. the old darky appeared to be in a doze. matt, divining sam wing's intentions, gave vent to a warning yell. the darky aroused himself and flung a look over his shoulder. but it was too late, for wing had already grabbed him by one of his dangling feet. another moment and the negro had been roughly pulled into the road. wing scrambled to the mule's back and dug into the animal with his naked heels. probably the mule was as startled as his former rider, for he broke into a lumbering lope. the chase, just then, took on a hopeless outlook for motor matt. if martin had only happened along in the automobile, the fleeing chinaman could have been brought up with a round turn, but matt, with only his feet under him, could not hope to overtake the galloping mule. the darky, as matt came up with him, was gathering in his ragged hat and climbing to an upright position. he wore a look of puzzled astonishment. "ain't dat scan'lous?" he cried. "ah done been slammed into de road by er chinymum! en he's got mah mu-el! he's er runnin' erway wif mah gin'ral jackson mu-el. by golly, whaffur kind ob way is dat tuh treat an ole moke lak me?" "it was pretty rough, uncle, and that's a fact," replied matt, smothering an inclination to laugh at the ludicrous picture the old negro presented. "if we had another mule, i could catch the rascal, but it is too much of a job for me with nothing to ride." "you chasin' dat 'ar chinymum, boss?" inquired the darky. "yes." "has he been up tuh somefin' dat he hadn't ort?" "he has." "den yo' lis'en heah, chile," and a slow grin crept over the wizened, ebony face of the negro. "erbout er mile ahead dar's a bridge ovah a creek, en dat 'ar chinyman ain't gwine tuh ride gin'ral jackson ovah dat bridge." "why not?" "'case dat fool mu-el won't cross no bridge if yo' doan' cotch his off eah en give hit a pull. mu-els is mouty queer daterway, en gin'ral jackson is a heap queerer dan any othah mu-el yo' most evah see. he's skeered ob a bridge, en pullin' his off eah done takes his min' off'n de bridge, lak, en he goes ovah wifout mistrustin'. now, dat yalluh chinymum trash doan' know dat, en ef he try to mek gin'ral jackson cross de bridge wifout pullin' his off eah, dar's suah gwine to be doin's, en----" just at that moment a boy came along on a bicycle. he was evidently making a long journey, for he had a bag strapped to the handle bars. "wait a minute!" called matt to the boy. the bicycle halted, and the lad rested one foot on the ground and looked inquiringly at matt. "i wish you'd lend me your wheel for a few minutes," said matt. "a chinaman just stole this old darky's mule, and i believe i can overhaul the thief if you'll let me take your bicycle." "gee!" exclaimed the boy. "how much of a start has the chinaman got?" "about three minutes. the darky says there's a bridge a mile ahead, and that the mule won't cross the bridge unless he's coaxed. perhaps i can come up with the thief at the bridge." "there you are," said the stranger generously, getting out of the saddle and holding the wheel for matt. "much obliged," returned matt. "you and the darky come on to the bridge, and perhaps you'll find me rounding up the mule and the chinaman." "we'll do it," was the answer. matt mounted easily, thrust his toes into the toe clips, and got under way. when he turned an angle of the road, and vanished behind a screen of timber, he was going like a steam engine. it had been a long time since matt had ridden an ordinary bicycle, but he had by no means forgotten the knack. he was not long in coming within sight of the bridge, and there, sure enough, were the chinaman and the mule at the bridge approach. the chinaman was having trouble. general jackson would not cross the bridge, and he was braced back, immovable as the rock of gibraltar. sam wing was using his heels and the flat of his hand in a furious attempt to force the brute onward. general jackson did not budge an inch, but, from the way he wagged his ears, it was evident that his wrath was growing. matt remained silent and bent to the pedals. while sam wing was busy urging the mule, matt was planning to come alongside and treat the celestial as he had treated the old negro. this design might have been successfully executed had not general jackson interfered with it. the mule's temper suddenly gave way under the rain of kicks and blows, and he put his head down between his forelegs and hoisted the rear half of his body into the air. the manoeuvre was as sudden as it was unexpected, and sam wing went rocketing into space. the bridge was merely a plank affair, without any guard rails at the sides, and after the chinaman had done a couple of somersaults in the air he landed with a thump on the bridge, close to the unprotected edge. he started to struggle upright, and the hurried movement caused him to slip over the brink. he vanished from before matt's eyes just as he had disappeared from the caving bank--there was a flutter, a yell, a splash, and sam wing was gone. matt threw on the brake, jumped from the wheel, and, after leaning the machine against a tree, rushed to the bridge. the creek was narrow, but seemed to be deep, and the chinaman was floating down with the current. there was no time for matt to linger and explain events to the bicyclist and the negro. each would recover his property, however, and that ought to satisfy both of them. springing from the bridge approach, matt hurried down the bank of the little stream. the chinaman, the king of the motor boys thought, must have been made of india rubber to bear so well the series of mishaps that had come his way. he came out of every one with astonishing ability to keep up his flight. matt's rush down the creek bank was not continued for long. sam wing saw him and made haste to effect a landing on the opposite bank. he emerged, a dripping and forlorn spectacle, and left a damp trail up the bank and into the woods. matt did not care to swim the creek in his clothes, and a tree, fallen partly over the stream, afforded him an opportunity to cross dry-shod. the tree was not a large one, and there was a gap of water at the end of it, where the trunk had been splintered and broken away. with a clear, steady brain and sure feet the king of the motor boys passed to the end of his swaying, insecure bridge; then, with a leap, he cleared the stretch of water and landed on the bank. the force he had put into the jump displaced the tree and caused it to tumble into the creek. it had served its purpose, however, and matt, without a backward look, tore away along the watery trail of the chinaman. chapter x. the chase concluded. when matt came near enough to see sam wing, it seemed plain that the celestial was yielding to the "blows of circumstance." his flight dragged. time and time again he cast a wild look over his shoulder at the relentless pursuer, and tried in vain to increase his pace. his random course crossed a road through the timber with a line of telegraph or telephone poles on one side of it. after a moment's hesitation, sam wing chose the road. it was easier going, no doubt, and for that reason probably appealed to him in his fagged condition. but if it was easier for sam wing, so was it for matt. now, at last, the eventful chase was certainly approaching its finish. as the pursuit went on, matt resolutely closing up the gap between him and the chinaman, the timber suddenly broke away to give a view of a farmhouse and a barn. between the house and barn stood a farmer with a rake. sam wing, at the end of his rope and apparently determined on making a last desperate stand, swerved from the road and ran in the direction of the barn. "hi, there!" shouted matt, waving his arms to attract the attention of the farmer, "head him off!" it was not difficult for the farmer to understand enough of the situation to make him useful in the emergency, and he started energetically to do what he could. swinging the rake around his head, he hurried toward a point which would intersect the path of the chinaman. sam wing, even though he was weary and almost spent, continued "game." a small, v-shaped hencoop stood close to the point where he halted and confronted the farmer. "by jerry," threatened the farmer, "yew stop! don't yew try no shenanigin with me, or i'll comb out your pigtail with this here rake. what yew---- gosh-all-hemlocks!" it was absolutely necessary for sam wing to do something if he did not want to be trapped between the farmer in front and matt, who was hurrying up behind. calling upon all his strength, wing stooped, grabbed the small coop, and hurled it at the farmer's legs. the coop struck the farmer's shins and doubled his lank frame up like a closed jackknife. he went down, rake and all, and wing passed around him and lumbered on toward the open barn door. the farmer's ire was aroused. getting up on his knees, he began calling, at the top of his lungs: "tige! here, tige!" tige, a brindled bulldog, came scurrying from the direction of the house. "take 'im, tige!" bellowed the farmer, pointing toward sam wing with the rake. the chinaman's waterloo was close upon him. he had time to give one last frantic look behind, and then tige caught him by the slack of his dripping garments and pulled him down. "don't let the dog hurt him!" yelled matt. "watch 'im, tige!" cried the farmer. "good dorg, tige! watch 'im!" the farmer got up and gave the hencoop a vicious kick. "jee-whillikins, mister," said he, "what's that slant-eyed heathen been up to, hey? he looks like he'd dropped outen a wet rag bag." "he's a thief," answered matt. "he barked my shins somethin' turrible with that hencoop. but yew got him now, an' don't yew fergit it. that tige is the best dorg fer tramps an' sich yew ever seen." together they walked to the place where tige, growling savagely and showing his teeth, was standing over the prone chinaman. sam wing dared not make a move. had he so much as lifted a finger, the bulldog would have been at his throat. "order the dog away," said matt to the farmer. "i want to talk with the chinaman, and we'll take him into the barn where we can both sit down on something and rest a little. we've had a hard chase." the farmer spoke to the dog and the animal slunk away, still keeping his glittering eyes on sam wing. "looks purty meachin', don't he?" muttered the farmer, peering at the prisoner. "he's a bad chinaman," returned matt, "and he knows it. get up, sam wing," he added, "and go into the barn. don't try to do any more running. you haven't strength enough to go far, and it won't be best for you." with wary eyes on the dog, wing got up and moved toward the barn door. when they were all inside, matt took down a coil of rope that swung from a nail and started toward the prisoner. "what yew goin' to do, friend?" asked the farmer. "tie him," replied matt. "that ain't necessary. tige is better'n all the ropes that was ever made. all i got ter do is ter tell him ter watch the heathen, an' yew can bet a pair o' gum boots he'll do it." the farmer spoke to the dog, that had followed them into the barn, and the animal drew close to sam wing and sat down within biting distance. matt, satisfied with the arrangement for the time being, dropped the rope and seated himself on the tongue of a wagon. "sam wing," said the king of the motor boys severely, "you're a mighty bad chinaman." "me savvy," answered wing, whose english was far from being as good as the mandarin's. "you stole the ruby from tsan ti," went on matt. sam wing had strength enough left to show some surprise. "how you savvy?" he inquired. "i know it, and that's enough. you're a treacherous scoundrel to turn against the mandarin as you did." "all same," answered sam wing, in extreme dejection. "ten thousand demons makee heap tlouble fol wing. me plenty solly." "you ought to be sorry. tsan ti trusted you with his money and had a lot of confidence in you. and you betrayed that confidence." sam wing groaned heavily and caressed his numerous bruises. one of his hands finally reached the breast of his torn blouse, and he fished from it a very wet alligator-skin pouch. "here tsan ti's money," said he, offering the pouch to matt. "me velly bad chinaman. you takee money, lettee sam wing go?" "i'll take the money," and matt suited his action to the word, "but i can't let you go until you give up the ruby." "no gottee luby," came the astonishing assertion from sam wing. "you took it from the mandarin, didn't you?" demanded matt. "my takee las' night, no gottee now." "where is it?" "me losee when me makee lun flom spling. no savvy where me losee--p'laps where me makee fall down bank, p'laps on load, p'laps in cleek--no savvy. luby gone, me no gottee eye of buddha." it seemed strange to matt that sam wing could carry the alligator-skin pouch safely through all his varied adventures and yet not be able to retain the most valuable part of his cargo--the part which, presumably, he would take care to stow safely. "don't tell any lies, sam wing!" said matt sternly. "no tellee lie--all same one piecee tluth!" protested the chinaman. "i'll have to make sure of that," went on matt. he searched carefully through the chinaman's torn and waterlogged apparel, but without discovering anything of value--much less the missing gem. "where did you have it?" he asked. sam wing showed him the inside pocket where the ruby had been placed. "where have you been since you took the ruby?" a wave of emotion convulsed the chinaman's features. "evel place," he murmured. "my stay in galdenville one piecee time, makee tly keepee 'way flom tsan ti. bymby me makee lun fol countlee. tsan ti makee see, makee lun, too. my makee hide in hills, foolee tsan ti so he no ketchee. my heap hungly, heap thirsty. findee spling to takee dlink. you come." sam wing shook his head sadly. "you had the ruby when you were at the spring?" inquired matt. the chinaman nodded. "and you lost it while i was chasing you?" another nod. matt, oppressed with what he had heard, and which he felt instinctively was the truth, resumed his seat on the wagon tongue. the ruby might be lying anywhere over the wild course sam wing had taken in his flight. perhaps it was mixed with the loose earth of the side hill where the chinaman had fallen, or it might be under the leaves in the woods, or in the dust of the road, or in the bottom of the creek. of one thing matt was sure, and that was that to retrace the exact line of sam wing's flight would be impossible; and, even if it were possible, finding the red gem would be as difficult as looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack. the eye of buddha seemed to be lost irretrievably. this was like to prove a tragic event for tsan ti. it was strange what ill luck had attended upon all in any way connected with the idol's eye; and doubly strange was this final loss of the precious stone. while matt was busily turning the catastrophe over in his mind, the farmer suddenly gave a shout and pointed through the open barn door and along the road. "great sassafrass!" he exclaimed. "i never seen sich a day fer chinamen! look there, will yew?" matt looked, and what he saw staggered him. two motor cycles were coming down the road. bunce was riding one and tsan ti the other. here was another flight and pursuit, for the sailor was pushing hard upon the heels of the mandarin. for only a moment was matt at loss. gathering up the coil of rope which he had taken from the nail in the barn wall, he called to the farmer to watch the prisoner and ran out of the barn and toward the road. chapter xi. a double capture. matt was bewildered by the strange turn events were taking. encountering sam wing at the spring was odd enough, in all truth, and the weird happenings during his pursuit had been as novel as they were thrilling; but here, in a most inexplicable way, came the mandarin and the mariner on motor cycles, wabbling down the road, tsan ti in a panic and bunce aggressive and determined. matt shouted, but the two on the motor cycles were so deeply immersed in their own efforts that they paid no attention to the call. to stop the motor cycles was the first step, and the young motorist went about it in his usual resourceful way. swiftly he secured one end of the rope to a telegraph pole at the side of the road; then, bounding back, he took a turn with the free end of the rope around a convenient tree. hanging to the cable that was to form a blockade for the charging wheels, matt once more gave his attention to bunce and tsan ti. the pursuit of the mandarin had reached a crisis. the sailor had come close enough to reach out and grab the chinaman's flying queue, and he was hauling rearward, pulling the mandarin back until his hands had left the handle bars. "stop!" shouted motor matt, laying back on the end of the rope. the command was useless, for pursuer and pursued were obliged to halt in spite of it. the mandarin's swaying motor cycle was first to hit the rope. before the machine could topple over, bunce crashed into it. there followed a rasping volley of gasoline explosions, a roar from the sailor, and a chattering yell from the mandarin. the two were on the ground, tangled up with each other and with the motor cycles. dropping the rope, matt rushed at the struggling pair, seized bunce by the shoulders, and hauled him out of the mix-up. a revolver had fallen from the sailor's pocket. matt sprang to secure it, and then faced bunce, who was on his knees and staring about him dazedly. "noble friend!" cried the mandarin, carefully extricating his head from the frame of one of the motor cycles, "you have again preserved the wretched tsan ti! the evil personage yonder would presently have caught me!" bunce, having finally decided that the situation was one that boded him no good, started to get up and remove himself from the scene. "i don't believe you'd better leave us just yet, bunce," called matt, waving the revolver. "stay right where you are. this is a complication which you can help the mandarin explain." "by the seven holy spritsails!" muttered bunce, falling back in his original position and looking at matt and then at the farmer. "how, in the name o' davy jones," he cried, his gaze returning to matt, "do you happen to be cruisin' in these waters?" "never mind that, for the present. what i want to know is, where have you and the mandarin come from? and why were you chasing him?" "i have escaped, highly appreciated friend whose kindness is much reciprocated," babbled the mandarin, coming blithely to matt's side and carefully knocking the dust out of his little black cap. "i have made a never-to-be-forgotten escape from the hands of evil-minded enemies. it was your friend from the cattle districts who helped me." so far, all that matt had heard and seen had merely bogged him the more deeply in a mire of misunderstanding. at the mandarin's mention of mcglory, his speculations went off at a wild tangent. "did grattan and bunce capture the other car?" he demanded. "where did you find joe and martin? where are they now? what's happened to them?" "peace, distinguished youth," said the mandarin, putting on his cap and fluttering his hand reassuringly. "i know nothing about any car except the blue one by the pocket." "blue car? did you see a blue car?" "even so, my amazed friend. and beside the blue car leaned those go-devil bicycles. mcglory--faithful assistant in my time of need--helped me beguile grattan, pardo, and bunce into the pocket, whereupon i secured one of the go-devil machines and fled swiftly. the one-eyed sailor followed. which way we came i do not know. wherever i saw another road i turned into it. how long we raced is too much for my disturbed faculties to understand. we went, and went, and at last we were here, and i found you! oh, loyal defender of the most wretched of mandarins, to you i owe my peace, my happiness, and my life! may the six thousand peri of the land of enchantment afford you joy in the life to come!" "well, by gum!" muttered the wide-eyed farmer, shifting his rake to the other hand and rubbing a palm against his forehead. "i never seen a heathen that could talk like that before. some remarkable now, ain't it?" matt was too deeply concerned with what tsan ti had said to pay much attention to the farmer. he kept his watchful eyes on bunce, however, while seeking to get deeper into the perplexing situation that so suddenly confronted him. "let's begin at the beginning, tsan ti," said he, "and try and smooth out the knots of this amazing tangle with some sort of system. mcglory and i received your telegram. what happened to you after sam wing stole the ruby?" "i awoke from my dreams in great fright, inquiring friend," responded the mandarin, "and found the ruby gone, and sam wing gone. there was but one thing for me to think, and i thought it. the train was at a station, and i jumped from the steps. i looked for sam wing, but he had vanished; then i sent my telegram and waited until you might arrive. in the gray dawn that came into the east, i saw sam wing suddenly flash by the open door of the railroad station. i shouted and ran after him, but he evaded me. ah, the dreary heart-sickness in my breast as i pursued the traitor!" the mandarin clutched at his frayed yellow blouse and wrung a fold of it in his fat fingers. "who can tell of that? i followed the wagon road through the mountains, looking and listening. then i heard some one, afar off, shouting the name of motor matt. hope leaped high within me, for that name, notable sir, has a magic of its own. i turned from the road, climbed many rocks, and crushed through thick growths of prickly bushes, striving to reach the one who had shouted. also, i shouted myself, and presently, to my great but mistaken delight, other shoutings were returned to me. i went on, in my deceived state, and came to a place where i was captured--made a prisoner by grattan and that contemptible mariner of the single eye! your friend of the cattle districts was likewise a prisoner." "mcglory--captured by grattan!" gasped matt. "how did that happen? why, i thought he was with martin." "not so, deceived friend. he had tried to follow you in the pursuit of sam wing, and he had lost knowledge of his location, and was shouting to hear some speak and tell him where he was. that is what i heard. before i could reach your friend, grattan and bunce had also heard him, and made him a prisoner. then they heard me, and made _me_ a captive. verily, the ten thousand demons have had me under the ban." "i'm beginning to get at this," said matt grimly. "where did you and grattan come from, bunce, that you were placed so handily for entrapping mcglory and the mandarin?" "we'd made port in the hills," replied bunce, "an' was out lookin' for tsan ti an' the ruby." "they, miserable creatures," resumed the mandarin, with a glance of contempt at bunce, "had the blue car and the go-devil bicycles in a gashed-out spot among the mountains. a cavern, named by them a pocket, was in the wall of the rough valley. there were mcglory and i taken and bound. while grattan, bunce, and pardo, birds of evil feather, were plotting in the blue car, i gnawed the cord that secured your unfortunate friend's hands, and he freed himself and me. after that mcglory raised a great clamor. grattan, bunce, and pardo came hastily to observe what might be the trouble, and i went out of the pocket as they came in. then i took the motor cycle, as i have said, and moved away, followed by the mariner. is the matter clear, esteemed friend?" "i'm beginning to understand it," answered matt. "it's the queerest mix-up i ever heard of. strange that you and joe should fall into the hands of grattan and bunce, as you did, and that you should happen to lead bunce this way when you fled on the motor cycle." "matter-of-fact youth," remarked the mandarin earnestly, "do you not realize how strange events happen swiftly in the wake of the eye of buddha? the ten thousand demons are doing their worst continually, and their powers for evil are vast beyond imagining!" "we'll pass over that phase of the matter," said matt dryly, "and try to get at something that will benefit mcglory. can you take me to this 'pocket,' as you call it?" "not so," replied the mandarin. "i have no recollection how i came from it, or what roads i took. the roads were many, and the way was long, and my mind was too greatly disturbed to pay attention." "where's the pocket, bunce?" asked matt, addressing the sailor. "i know, messmate," scowled bunce, "but i'm not showin' ye the course." matt was in a quandary. he could not understand why grattan had captured mcglory, but he was not intending to let his chum remain any longer in the hands of the thieves than was absolutely necessary. a way would be found to make bunce lead him to the pocket. "generous and agreeable friend," spoke up tsan ti, "did you succeed in capturing sam wing?" "i did," replied matt. "then may i request of you the eye of buddha?" "i'll take you to sam wing and you can request it of him," said matt. "get up, bunce," he ordered, "and start yourself for the barn. will you," and matt shot a glance at the farmer, "kindly remove that rope from the road and set the motor cycles upright in a place where they will be safe?" "glad to do anythin' fer yew that i can," answered the farmer, dropping his rake and getting busy with the rope. matt, face to face with the ordeal of acquainting tsan ti with the fact that the ruby was irretrievably lost, was wondering, as he drove bunce toward the barn, what the result of the catastrophe was to be. chapter xii. another surprise. bunce was accepting his hard luck with all the complaisance he could muster. his pursuit of the mandarin had led him into difficulties undreamed of, but he still indulged a hope that the resourceful grattan might come to his aid. he went into the barn, and recoiled a little as a savage growl struck on his ears. tige was still guarding sam wing. "sit down," said matt, to bunce, nodding toward some bags of ground feed lying on the barn floor. "the dog won't molest you; he's looking after sam wing." bunce, plainly uncomfortable, seated himself, watching tige warily. the instant tsan ti came through the barn door and saw sam wing, a cry of rage burst from his lips, and he flew at his treacherous servant. matt grabbed the angry mandarin and held him back. "that won't do, tsan ti," said matt. "sit down and take things calmly. there's your money," and he pointed to the alligator-skin pouch which lay by the wagon tongue. "sam wing turned it over to me. you'd better count it and make sure it's all there. hereafter, it would be wise for you to take care of your money yourself." tsan ti glared at sam wing, then stooped down, and recovered the pouch. the receptacle was filled with soggy banknotes, and, while the mandarin was fingering them over, he kept up a running fire of talk in chinese. the condemnation must have been of the most scathing sort, for the wretched sam wing shivered as he listened. presently sam wing himself began to talk. he spoke at length, and must have been acquainting the mandarin with the dread fact that the eye of buddha was lost, for, suddenly, tsan ti dropped the alligator-skin pouch and the wet bills and reeled back against the barn wall. his eyes became glassy and his face turned white. presently he sank down on the barn floor, listless and staring. "has he told you about the ruby, tsan ti?" asked matt, his pity for the mandarin rising paramount to any other feeling he may have cherished against him. tsan ti did not answer; in fact, he did not seem to hear. he had suffered a blow that paralyzed his faculties. "blow me tight!" breathed bunce, astonished. "hasn't he got the ruby?" "didn't grattan search him?" returned matt. "ah, he looked through his pockets and his sandals, and even tried to find the eye of buddha in his queue, but it wasn't there. for all that, we thought the chink knowed where the stone was an' could be made to tell." "he knew where it was--sam wing had it." "hocused it?" "stole it--then lost it!" "shiver me!" exclaimed bunce, aghast. "then tsan ti ain't got the ruby, an' grattan won't never be able to put hands on it!" "it's gone for good," answered matt. "now you can see, bunce, just how much good grattan's trickery and double-dealing has benefited him. you and he stole the ruby from the honam joss house and brought it to america; tsan ti followed you, under orders from the regent of china to recover the idol's eye or else to strangle himself with the yellow cord; the ruby was recovered for tsan ti here in the catskills, but grattan kept up his wild scheming and committed one piece of lawless villainy after another in his attempts to get the ruby away from tsan ti; now we're at the end of the whole business, and neither grattan nor tsan ti has the ruby, or will ever have it." just at that moment the farmer came into the barn. "i got them machines where they'll be safe," he announced, "an'---- gosh all whittaker! what's the fat chinaman doin'?" matt turned to look at tsan ti. he had the yellow cord around his throat, rove into a running bowline, and was pulling at the loose end. the king of the motor boys hurried to him and jerked his hands from the cord with a quick movement. "that will do, tsan ti!" cried matt sternly. "can't you be a man? you're not going to strangle yourself while i'm around!" "there is no hope for tsan ti," mumbled the mandarin. "the august decree of my regent--may his years be many and glorious!--calls for my quick dispatch." matt pulled the cord from the mandarin's neck. "listen, tsan ti," said he; "don't give up until you know the case is really hopeless. we can go back over the ground sam wing covered while i was chasing him, and it is possible we can find the ruby." "not possible, deluded friend," answered the mandarin. "the contemptible canton dog says the gem may be in the water, or in many other places where its recovery is out of the question. the blandishments of hope pale into the heavy darkness of my certain destruction. present me with the cord, i beg of you. tsan ti, mandarin of the red button, is not afraid to join his exalted ancestors in the country dear to true believers." "wrong in the upper story, ain't he?" put in the farmer. "in a way," replied matt. "he sure had himself goin' with that piece o' yellow string. them heathens is queer, anyway." "i'll not give you this cord, tsan ti," declared matt, "until i can look over the course followed by sam wing and make an attempt to find the ruby." "there are other means for performing the quick dispatch," said tsan ti calmly. "i prefer the cord; it is an honor to use an instrument direct from the regent's hands; but, if the cord is not at hand, other means will avail me, ungenerous youth." matt studied the mandarin for a few moments. in his eyes he read determination. matt, matter-of-fact american lad that he was, could not understand the oriental custom now exemplified by tsan ti--he could not understand the thousands of years' usage which had made the custom part of a chinaman's faith, and he had nothing but contempt for the exhibition the mandarin was making of himself. "get the rope, please," said matt to the farmer. "i think we'll use it." the farmer brought the rope, and matt, with his assistance, tied tsan ti's hands and feet. the mandarin yielded passively. "this will not serve," was all he said; "the time for my dispatch will arrive, in spite of you." "if you keep on acting in this foolish way, tsan ti," answered matt, "i'll lose all the respect i ever had for you. face the music, can't you? there's no merit in throwing up your hands and quitting just because you have run into a streak of hard luck." "you don't understand, ignorant one." "i understand, fast enough, that you can't hurt yourself while you're tied up." he turned away. "do you think tige can watch two prisoners?" he asked of the farmer. "yew bet he can," answered the farmer enthusiastically, "two 'r a dozen. why, that dorg's quicker'n chain lightnin'." "then," went on matt, "just give tige to understand that he's to watch the sailor, as well as that other chinaman." the farmer spoke to the dog, and the animal took up a position between sam wing and bunce. the sailor tried to draw back, but tige stopped the movement with a savage snarl and a half move as though he would bite. "keelhaul me!" cried bunce. "is this what ye call treatin' a feller white? why, i wouldn't treat a hottentot swab like this!" "i've got you, bunce," said matt grimly, "and, no matter what becomes of grattan and pardo, the law won't be cheated entirely." "what've i done that ye can send me to the brig for? tell me that!" "isn't the theft of the ruby enough to send you to jail?" "that happened in chiny, an' we're in america now." "well, putting that aside, there remains the criminal work you did at the catskill garage last night. you can be sent to the penitentiary for that, bunce." that was a blow that left bunce gasping. "grattan done that," he cried; "it wasn't me planned it." "you helped grattan, bunce, and you were recognized by the night man. there's a clear case against you, and you'll deserve all the punishment you receive." "say," said bunce, with a sudden inspiration, "if ye'll let me go, i'll take ye to that pocket where mcglory is! i'll do more'n that, sink me if i won't! you let me slip my hawse and slant away clear o' these hills, an' i'll help ye git mcglory away from grattan an' pardo. what d'ye say, mate? it ain't a job ye could do alone, an' it ain't a place ye can find onless i show the way. what's the word?" "i've had enough experience with you, bunce," returned matt, "to know that you're not to be depended on. you'd play some treacherous trick that would----" here a voice--a very familiar voice--came floating through the open barn door. "whoop-ya! any one around? show up, somebody, and tell me where i am and how to go to get to the spring on the trail from catskill to gardenville! whoo-ee!" "woods is full o' strangers to-day, seems like!" exclaimed the farmer. matt bolted past him through the door, then halted, and gazed spellbound at a blue automobile with joe mcglory in the driver's seat. this might have been considered the culminating surprise of the day's events. and it was a mutual surprise, too, judging by the way mcglory acted. leaning over the steering wheel, the cowboy gazed like one in a trance. "matt!" he shouted at last, "is this a dream, or the real thing? say something, you old hardshell. sufferin' tenterhooks! i can't tell how nervous you make me." chapter xiii. baiting a trap. "is that the new york man's automobile, joe?" asked matt, "the one that was stolen from martin's garage last night?' "it's the one, pard," jubilated the cowboy. "i've come through a-smoking with it from that place where grattan had me pocketed with the mandarin. it's queer i stopped here, although i'm off my bearings, haven't the least notion where i am, and this is the first farmhouse i've seen for a dozen miles; but it won't seem quite so queer when i tell you that i saw those machines leaning against the corncrib, and that the familiar look of 'em brought me in to stir up the natives and ask a few questions." mcglory pointed toward a corncrib off at the rear of the barn. the two motor cycles were leaning against the structure, just where the farmer had left them. "i see," said matt. "are those motor cycles the ones that belong to martin, that were stolen from us and that we bled a hundred and fifty apiece for?" "they're the ones." "well, now!" chuckled mcglory, "what sort of a day's work would you call this, pard? we get back the stolen automobile and both motor cycles. i'm ready to hear the whistle blow." "there's something else to be done before we finish this piece of work, joe." "tell me about it." "sam wing is in the barn, there----" "whoop! then you _did_ get the kibosh on him, after all!" "and tsan ti," proceeded matt, "and bunce." "better and better; but i'd almost guessed that just from seeing the motor cycles. what have you been doing since we went two different ways from the spring?" the king of the motor boys sketched rapidly the main points of sam wing's flight and the pursuit, following with the blockade of the road and the capture of bunce. "and tsan ti is in the barn this minute," finished matt, "roped hand and foot to keep him from taking his own life on account of the lost ruby. if possible, i'd like to go over the course of wing's flight and look for the eye of buddha." "might as well look for a nickel in the pacific ocean," scowled mcglory. "it looks like a hopeless case, i'll admit, but i can't leave the poor old mandarin without trying to do something for him." "you're too easy with the crafty old heathen." "you'd be sorry for him, too, joe, if you could see what a plight he's in." "he was as hard-looking a sight as i ever saw when he fell into grattan's clutches a few hours ago. if you're bound to go rainbow-chasing after the eye of buddha, why, of course i'm in on the deal. we'll have to be about it, i reckon, while we've got daylight to help." "we can use this car for a part of the work. wing came along the road from that direction." matt pointed as he spoke. "why," said mcglory, "i came from that direction myself. i don't reckon it's safe to go back that way." "not safe?" echoed matt. "why isn't it safe?" "mainly for the reason, pard, that grattan and pardo are trailing this car. they didn't like to lose it. that hole through the back"--and mcglory turned to point it out--"was made by a bullet that grattan sent after me. i've been traveling roads that automobiles never took before, and the marks this car left would make easy trailing." "do you know positively that grattan and pardo are following the car?" "well, yes, if you want to pin me down. one of the electric terminals got loose when i was a short distance away from the pocket, and i had a time finding out what was wrong. while i was groping around, i saw grattan and pardo chasing toward me. they were a good ways off, but if you want a picture of a chap in a hurry you ought to've had a snapshot of me! i was lucky enough to find the loose wire just in time to screw it to the post, crank up, and fly. the tinhorns were within a hundred feet of the blue car when we jumped away on the high speed. and that's how i know grattan and pardo are after me. besides, now that the motor cycles are gone, those fellows need the blue car to help them make a dash out of the hills. jump in, though, if you want to take chances, and we'll go looking for that hoodoo ruby." but matt was not in so much of a hurry now. leaning against the side of the car, he fell into a brown study. "what's to pay?" asked mcglory. "something else on your mind?" "well, yes," laughed matt; "i'd like to use you and the blue car in baiting a trap." "oh, well, i don't mind. grattan used me for bait in trapping tsan ti, so i'm getting used to it. but what sort of a trap is it?" "if grattan and pardo are really following you," said matt, "why couldn't you go back down the road, stop the car, and pretend you had a breakdown?" "bee-yu-ti-ful!" rapped out mcglory. "i could do all that, pard, and grattan and pardo could show up and gobble me, blue car and all. fine! say, you're most as good a hand at planning as the mandarin." "but suppose," supplemented matt, "that two or three fellows were hid in the tonneau of the car and that they jumped out at the right moment and made things interesting for grattan and pardo?" mcglory lifted his clinched fist and brought it down emphatically on the steering wheel. "speak to me about that! i might have known you had something up your sleeve. i think it would work, pard, but who's to hide in the tonneau? you, for one, of course, but who else?" "the farmer who lives here seems to be rather handy and to have plenty of courage, and he's got a bulldog that's a whole team and something to spare. i guess the farmer, and i, and the dog will be enough." "keno! trot out the rube and the kyoodle and we'll slide back down the road with a chip on our shoulder." matt went into the barn for a talk with the farmer. he listened attentively while matt gave him a résumé of events and a synopsis of the plan he had evolved. "i'm with yew," cried the farmer, slapping his hands, "but yew'll have to wait till i tell josi' where i'm goin'. if we take the dorg away from the barn, josi' ought to watch these fellers till we git back." "we'll put ropes on the sailor and that other chinaman," said matt, "but it will be a good idea to have them watched, just the same." the farmer got some spare halters and helped with the tying. when it was finished, he hurried away to find "josi'" and to tell him what he was to do. in ten minutes he was back, bringing a long, spare individual clad in a "wamus" and overalls. "here's the fellers yew're to watch, josi'," said the farmer, waving a hand toward tsan ti, bunce, and sam wing. "don't yew let 'em git away, nuther." "if they git away, by jing," answered josi', pushing up the sleeves of his wamus, "they'll have to walk over me to do it. you be kerful, zeke boggs. 'pears mighty like you had the hot end o' this job." "don't yew fret none about me," answered boggs. "i wasn't born yestiddy." he called the dog, and he, and matt, and tige left the barn and crawled into the tonneau of the blue car. "how far down the road am i to go, pard?" queried mcglory, getting out to turn over the engine. "oh, a mile or two," answered matt. "maybe there'll not be anything doing," said joe, as he climbed back to his seat. "grattan and pardo may have become discouraged, and given up the trail. even if they hung to it, we'll have to wait some time for them." "they'll come," said matt. "i never had a day pan out so much excitement as this one has given us. events have been crowding our way so thick and fast that they're not going to stop until we have a chance at grattan and pardo." "i'm agreeable," expanded mcglory. "anything from a fight to a foot race goes with _me_. after the way i starred myself by getting lost in this little bunch of toy mountains, i'm hungry to square myself by doing something worth while." "you've squared yourself already by getting back the blue car," returned matt. "not so you could notice. tsan ti helped me along with that move. the chance jumped up when i wasn't expecting it, and hit me square between the eyes. anyone could have turned that trick." mcglory was pushing the blue car back along the road at a lively clip. matt stood up to look ahead, in the vain hope of getting track of the red jewel. "i know what you're looking for, pard," remarked the cowboy, "and you're not going to find it. a good many peculiar things have happened to-day, and no mistake; but picking that red stone out of a couple of square miles of country would be too uncommon. good luck won't strain itself to that extent. think we're far enough?" "this will do," answered matt, and mcglory halted the blue car in about the loneliest spot in the catskills. there was a marsh on one side of the road, bordered with stunted trees and matted bushes. on the other side was the timber. "maybe," suggested mcglory, "i'd better head the car t'other way? that's how i was going when grattan and pardo saw me last, and----" he cut short his remarks abruptly and peered off along the road. "what's the matter, joe?" asked matt. "car coming," was the reply. "i don't reckon many cars take this road, and it's possible grattan and pardo borrowed one from somebody who wasn't looking and are using it to hunt for the blue automobile. lie low, matt, you, and boggs, and the dog. here's where i begin to pretend--listen while i tinker." "if we have a fight," said boggs, as he and matt crouched down in the tonneau, "by gum, i want yew to let me do my share." "we'll all have plenty to do, mr. boggs," answered matt, well pleased with the farmer's spirit, "if those fellows who are coming are the ones we're after. don't make a move, though, and don't let tige loose until i give the word." silence fell over those in the tonneau. mcglory could be heard pottering around with a wrench, and presently the hum of the approaching car could be heard. "i don't like the looks of things," called the cowboy, in a guarded tone, from the front of the blue car. "why not?" asked matt. "can't tell yet. you fellows stay where you are and keep mum." the noise of the other automobile had grown to proportions which proved that it was almost at hand. mcglory said something, but it was impossible for matt or boggs to hear what it was. the other car stopped so close to the blue automobile that the mud guards almost scraped. matt, from the depths of the tonneau, caught sight of a high-powered roadster with two business-like appearing men on the seats. but they were not grattan and pardo. "that's the car, sure as shooting!" declared one. "get out, gridly," said the second man, "and look at the number." gridly jumped down from the roadster and hurried to the rear of the touring car. "we've won out, banks!" he called. "the number's eighty-one-two-sixty-three." "what's the matter?" inquired matt, rising in the tonneau and looking out from under the top. "matter?" grinned banks. "nothin' much, only i'm the sheriff and all you fellows are arrested. you stole this car from martin's garage in catskill last night. jest be peaceable, and everythin' 'll be fine: but try to make trouble and there'll be warm doings." "sufferin' jonah!" laughed mcglory. "wouldn't this rattle your spurs, matt?" chapter xiv. how the trap was sprung. matt remembered that martin had said the new york man who owned the stolen car had sent telegrams and telephone messages all through the hills. perhaps, if there was any wonderment to be indulged in, it should have been because mcglory had escaped the officers as long as he had. the king of the motor boys opened the tonneau door and stood on the footboard, facing banks. "you've made a slight mistake, mr. banks," said matt. "from your point of view," answered the sheriff, "i guess maybe i have. there happens to be five hundred dollars in this for me an' gridly, though, and we ain't takin' your word for it that there's a mistake. this car answers the description of the one that was stolen, right down to the number." "this is the car, all right," proceeded matt, "but we're not the fellows who stole it." "caught with the goods," jeered gridly, "an' then deny the hull job! nervy, but it won't wash." "where'd the car fall into your hands if you ain't the ones that stole it?" asked banks. "my chum, there, got it away from the thieves." "oh, that's what your chum did, eh?" "you're to get five hundred dollars for recovering the car?" said matt. "_and_ capturin' the thieves," returned banks. "was one of the thieves supposed to be a sailor with a green patch over one eye?" gridly and banks must have experienced something of a shock. for a moment they gazed at each other. "somethin' _was_ said in that telegraft about a sailor with a green patch over one eye, banks," observed gridly. "that's a fact," admitted banks reflectively. "but we've got the car and there ain't no sailor with it. i guess that part of the telegram must have been a mistake." "there's no mistake about it," said matt. "we have captured the sailor, and he's at the farm of mr. boggs, here." matt drew to one side so the officers could see the farmer. "well, if it ain't boggs!" exclaimed banks, startled. "zeke boggs an' his brindled bulldog!" added gridly. "what the young feller says is straight goods, banks," declared the farmer. "the sailor with the patch over his eye is up to my place in the barn. josi's watchin' 'im." "what're you doin' here? that's what i want to know,' said banks. "come out to help these young fellers spring a trap." "what sort of a trap?" "why," put in matt, "a trap to catch two pals of the sailor--one of them is the man who helped the sailor take this car from martin's garage." banks helped himself to a chew of tobacco. "jest for the sake of bein' sociable, an' gettin' at the nub of this thing," he remarked, "you might tell us who you are, young feller, an' what you happen to be doing in this part of the hills?" "my name's king, matt king----" "otherwise," cut in mcglory, "motor matt. maybe you've heard of motor matt?" "i have," said banks; "he's been doing things around catskill for the last few days." the sheriff passed his shrewd eyes over the king of the motor boys as he balanced himself on the footboard. there was nothing in the lad's appearance to indicate that he was not telling the truth. "i'm not doubting your word at all, young feller," remarked banks, "but i'll feel a lot more like believing you if you tell me about this trap you're arrangin' to spring." matt told how mcglory had run away from the pocket, and how grattan and pardo had followed him. he finished by describing the manner in which grattan and pardo were to be lured into the vicinity of the blue automobile and captured. "that sounds like a play of motor matt's, right enough," said gridly. "anyhow, i don't think it'll work," announced banks. "why not?" asked matt. "you can't be sure grattan and pardo are follerin' the car; an', if they _are_ follerin', maybe they've got off the track." "that's possible, of course; but the chances for success, though slight, are worth waiting and working for, don't you think? if the plan fails, we'll be out nothing but our time." "two boys, a farmer, an' a dog ain't enough to make the play if it should come to a showdown," declared banks. "gridly and i will be in on it, i guess. i'll take this machine up the road and tuck it away in the bushes, then i'll come back, an' gridly an' i will crowd into the tonneau with the rest of you. if the game works, i'll be capturin' one of the men i'm arter; if it don't work, then, as you say, all we'll be out is a little time. i'll be back in a minute. pull the crank, gridly." the roadster flashed up the road, and matt could see banks forcing the machine into the bushes at the roadside. in a little while the sheriff was back at the touring car. "the back part of that machine will be a little crowded," said he, "but we'll have to stand it if we make the play you've laid out, motor matt." "suppose you and gridly get into the tonneau," suggested matt, "and leave boggs, and me, and the dog to hide in the bushes at the edge of the marsh? we'll be close enough to help if anything happens, and won't interfere with you if you should have to work in a hurry." there remained in the sheriff's mind a lingering suspicion that this idea was launched with some ulterior purpose in view, but a look into motor matt's face dispelled the unworthy thought. "that's a good suggestion," said banks. "get in here with me, gridly." "you'd better turn the car around, joe," went on matt, as soon as the officers were in the car. mcglory started the engine and threw on the reverse, backing the blue car until he had it headed the other way. "now we're ready for whatever's to come," said banks. "and it can't come too quick, either," supplemented gridly. matt, boggs, and the dog retired to the edge of the marsh and made themselves comfortable among the bushes. the king of the motor boys was well pleased with the way the encounter with the sheriff had turned out. there had been, for a few moments, the promise of a serious complication, but banks had proved reasonable and there was nothing more to worry about. matt's hope now was that grattan and pardo would fall into the trap that was laid for them. if they did, the motor boys' account with the unscrupulous grattan would be settled for all time. they would always have some regrets on account of the poor old mandarin, but after they had looked carefully over the course of sam wing's flight, they would have done everything possible to help tsan ti. "by gum," remarked boggs, while he and matt were waiting, "i never knowed yew was motor matt!" "i didn't suppose you'd ever heard of motor matt, mr. boggs," answered the young motorist. "i take a gardenville paper, and that had a lot to say about what yew been doin' down to catskill. yew've given things quite a stirrin' up in that town. is that fat chink the one that come from chiny to get holt of the idol's eye?" "he's the one." "well, i'm s'prised; i am, for a fact! jest to think all this took place right on my farm! josi' won't hardly know what to think, and the----" "quiet in there, pard!" came the low voice of mcglory. "they're coming." "grattan and pardo?" returned matt. "sure, and they walk as though they were tired. now i've got to rustle around and pretend to be so busy i don't see 'em." the cowboy opened the hood and fell to tinkering with the wrench. all was quiet in the tonneau, but there was a load of danger for grattan and pardo in that blue car had they but known it! peering from the bushes, matt and boggs saw the two men come swiftly and silently along the road. mcglory, with steady nerves, kept at his work. pardo crept up behind the cowboy and caught him suddenly about the shoulders. "i guess that puts the boot on the other leg!" exulted pardo, drawing mcglory roughly away from the machine. "the fellow that laughs last," cried grattan, "laughs best. you've given us a good hard run of it, mcglory, but we just _had_ to have this car. it means everything to pardo and me. what's the trouble with it?" "loose burr," answered the cowboy, with feigned sullenness. "it's been bothering me ever since i left the pocket. if it hadn't been for that, you'd never have caught me." "probably not," said grattan. "small things sometimes lead to big results. show me the loose burr and i'll tighten it. after that, mcglory, we'll bid you an affectionate farewell and show these mountains our heels." "the wrench i've got isn't large enough," went on mcglory. "you'll have to get another out of the tool box." this was a clever ruse on the cowboy's part to draw the thief to the footboard of the car--placing him handily for banks and gridly. the tool box was open. grattan, entirely unsuspicious, went back around the side of the car and stooped over to get the wrench. the next moment banks had thrown himself on top of him, gridly had dropped out the other side of the car, mcglory had whirled on pardo, and matt, boggs, and tige were rushing out of the bushes. the trap had been sprung, and sprung so neatly that neither grattan nor pardo had the slightest chance of getting out of it or of using their firearms. chapter xv. back to the farm. the skirmish--for it amounted to little more than that--was over with in short order. grattan resisted stoutly, but boggs went to banks' assistance, while matt and gridly went to mcglory's. in almost less time than it takes to tell it, handcuffs were snapped on the wrists of the prisoners and they were loaded into the tonneau with the two officers. "it worked as slick as greased lightning, motor matt!" cried the delighted sheriff. "those two crooks never suspected a thing!" pardo was exceedingly bitter. "now, see what your confounded plans have done for me, grattan!" he cried angrily. "i was a fool to ever tie up with you." "if we'd been successful," returned grattan coolly "and secured the ruby, you'd have talked the other way. where's your nerve, pardo?" pardo, still dazed by the suddenness of the capture, sank back into the corner of the tonneau, muttering. "this is your work, is it, motor matt?" inquired grattan, leaning over the side of the car and fixing his gaze on the young motorist. "i helped plan it," said matt. "he was the whole works," spoke up mcglory. "maybe it wasn't _quite_ so clever as the way you played it on me and tsan ti, grattan," and a tantalizing grin accompanied the words; "but i reckon it'll do." "the more i see and learn about motor matt," declared grattan, "the more i admire his shining abilities. he's a wonder. we've matched wits several times, and he's always had a shade the best of it. will you answer a civil question, my lad?" "what is it?" "where's tsan ti and the ruby?" "tsan ti and bunce are at a farm near here, but----" "so that old idiot has got tangled in the net, too!" "but the ruby," finished matt, "has been lost." "lost?" grattan showed considerable excitement. "how was it lost?" "sam wing stole the ruby from tsan ti, on the train, and jumped off at gardenville. the mandarin discovered his loss in time to leave the train at the same station." "oh, thunder!" exclaimed grattan disgustedly. "so _that_ was why tsan ti followed sam wing out of gardenville!" "and you thought the mandarin was afraid of you, and that that was his reason for hot-footing it into the hills," derided pardo. "where and how was the ruby lost?" went on grattan, paying no attention to pardo. "i started out with martin to look for this automobile," said matt, "and we found sam wing at the watering place on the gardenville road. mcglory and i followed him, but my chum got lost and i was left to keep up the chase alone. it was somewhere along the course sam wing led me that the ruby was lost." "sam wing is fooling you!" "i think he's telling the truth, grattan." "bosh! the chink has hidden the ruby and is trying to make you believe he lost it. if you let him go, he'll find the stone and get away with it." "why not turn him loose, an' then follow him?" suggested banks. matt shook his head. "i'm positive sam wing is giving the straight of it," he declared. "well," laughed grattan, but with an undernote of regret, "i hope he is. if i can't have the ruby that i've worked for so long, i'm glad to think that no one else will have it. where are we bound for, gentlemen?" and grattan turned to banks and gridly. "to the boggs farm to pick up the sailor," banks replied, "then for the catskill jail." "very pleasant outlook," observed grattan. "can you drive a motor car, matt?" asked gridly. "_can_ he?" exploded mcglory. "say, pard," he added, turning to matt, "do you know a spark-plug from the carburetor?" "no offense," proceeded gridly hastily. "i was only going to ask matt if he would bring our roadster along." "boggs and i will come in the roadster," said matt. "you take the blue car to the farm, joe." "on the jump, pard!" came heartily from mcglory. "you motor boys are a great team!" exclaimed banks. "they're hard to beat," put in grattan. "if it hadn't been for them, i should have been in paris about now, in very comfortable circumstances." matt waited for no more, but, accompanied by boggs and tige, hurried along the road to the place where banks had left the roadster. matt was cranking when mcglory whirled past on his way to the farm. two minutes later the roadster was crowding the touring car hard, and matt was honking for the cowboy to make better time. "everybody seems to be your friend, motor matt," said boggs, "even that there thief." "grattan is a strange fellow, boggs," answered matt. "he's as talented a chap as you'll find anywhere, but he'd rather steal for a living than work honestly." "some folks is that way," ruminated boggs. "they'll waste more brains an' elbow grease pullin' off a robb'ry that'll bring 'em in a thousand dollars than they'd need for makin' ten thousand honestly. look at me, scrubbin' along on a stony farm, raisin' garden truck for the hotels, when i might go out with a drill an' a jimmy, an'----" "make a nice comfortable home for yourself in a stone house with iron doors and barred windows," laughed matt. "there are lots of worse places than a stony truck farm, boggs." "i guess yew're right." at that moment the touring car turned in at the farmyard and came to a halt near the barn. the roadster followed and stopped alongside. leaving gridly to take care of grattan and pardo, banks accompanied matt and boggs into the barn. josi' met them at the door. "what luck, zeke?" he asked. "best kind, josi'," replied boggs. "got our men, too easy for any use. the sheriff, here, and his deputy, gridly, come along jest in time to help. they want one o' the prisoners we left yew to take keer of." "they're all here, you bet," said josi', with laudable pride. "the' wa'n't any of 'em could git away from _me_." banks cast his eyes over the three men. "what's to be done with the two chinamen?" he asked. "i think they ought to go to catskill, too," said matt. "we can carry the sailor in the tonneau of the big car, and there's room for one of the chinamen on the seat alongside mcglory. t'other chink could go with you, in the roadster. which is the mandarin that got robbed of the ruby?" matt pointed to the dejected figure of tsan ti. "what is he roped for?" asked banks. "so he can't put himself out of the way," said matt. "the regent of china sent him a yellow cord, and told him that if he did not recover the ruby in two weeks he was please to strangle himself. i had to tie the mandarin in that way to keep him from obeying orders." banks was not a hard-hearted man, and something in the mandarin's plight touched him. perhaps it was the celestial's hopeless air, coupled with his torn and dusty garments. the sheriff stood for a few minutes in front of tsan ti, looking down at him and shaking his head. "they're a queer lot, these chinks," he commented finally. "their ideas are not ours, by a long shot, but i don't know as that's anything against them. do you want to take the mandarin with you in the roadster, matt?" "i think i'd better." matt bent down and removed the rope from tsan ti's ankles. the mandarin did not want to get up or make a move, but matt and banks lifted him to his feet and succeeded in getting him out of the barn. as they stood beside the roadster, the mandarin slumping limply in their supporting hands, a cry came from the road. "well, by golly! if dar ain't de man whut got ole gin'ral jackson back fo' me. ah's monsus 'bliged tuh yo', boss, ah is, fer er fac'." matt looked around and saw the old darky ambling toward the barn on his mule. "that's neb hogan," spoke up boggs. "he's got a cabin down beyond about half a mile. do you know him, motor matt?" although old neb hogan did not look it, yet he was, at that moment, engaged upon one of the most important missions of his life. chapter xvi. conclusion. "what can i do for you, neb?" asked matt, facing the darky as he pulled his mule to a halt. "ah dunno as yo' can do nuffin' fo' me, boss," answered neb. "ah reckons yo's done about all fo' dis moke dat he can expec'. yo' done got gin'ral jackson back fo' me, an' dat odder feller found his bicycle, too. ah 'lows yo' must hab been in er hurry, 'case yo' didn't wait fo' me to tell yo' ah was obliged fo' whut yo' done. lucky ah seed yo' while ah was passin' mars boggs' place. close tuh where dat white boy found his bicycle dar was somefin' right on de aidge o' de bridge. ah gaddered it in, en ah thought mebby yo' was de one whut drapped hit. ah was wonderin' en mah ole head how ah was gwine tuh diskibber whedder what ah found belonged tuh you--en heah, right when ah was gittin' clost tuh home, ah done sees yuh! ain't dat fine? somefin' strodinary 'bout dat." a faint hope was rising in motor matt's breast, but it was very faint. the foundation of it was almost too preposterous for belief. "what did you find, neb?" he asked. "ah don't know whedder hit amounts to nuffin' er not, but ah reckons yo' kin tell." thereupon neb shoved one hand into a pocket of his tattered coat and brought out, mixed in his yellow palm with two nails, a fishline, and a piece of chewing tobacco---- _the eye of buddha!_ it was almost sunset, and the early shadows were beginning to fly over the eastern borders of the catskills, but there was enough light to strike sparkling crimson gleams from the fateful gem that lay in the old darky's hand. "does dat 'ar thing b'long tuh yo', boss?" said neb hogan. "hold it just that way for a minute, neb," returned matt. then quickly he slipped the cords from the mandarin's wrists. "look up, tsan ti," went on matt. "see here a minute." apathetically the mandarin raised his head. his gaze fell on the red gem, glittering amid the poor treasures which the old negro "toted" in his pocket. the mandarin's body stiffened, his hands flew to his forehead, and he gazed spellbound; then, with a hoarse cry, he caught the ruby from neb's hand, pushed it against his breast, and fell to his knees, muttering wildly in his native tongue. "well, by thunder!" exclaimed banks. "is that the idol's eye, matt?" matt nodded. "you found that red jewel at the edge of the bridge, you say, neb?" "dat's whar ah done picked it up. what is dat thing, anyhow? by golly, dat chinymum ack lak he done gone crazy." "it's a ruby, neb," explained matt, "and very valuable. the chinaman who stole your mule had taken the ruby away from this other chinaman, and was trying to escape with it. general jackson wouldn't take the bridge, and the chinaman on his back kicked and pounded him so that the mule bucked and tossed him to the edge of the bridge. before the chinaman could save himself he fell into the creek. the ruby must have dropped out of his pocket upon the planks of the bridge. i didn't see it, though, and it remained for you to pick it up." "by golly!" breathed neb. "ain't dat a mos' 'sprisin' purceedin'? ah done finds de ruby fo' de feller whut got mah mu-el back fo' me. is we squar' now, boss?" "square?" laughed matt. "why, neb, we're a whole lot more than square. how much do you think that ruby's worth?" "kain't be hit's worf mo' dan ten dollahs, i reckons," he guessed. "it's worth thousands of dollars, neb!" "go 'long wif yo' foolishness! dat red thing kain't be worf all dat money, nohow. yo's foolin' de pore ole moke." "it's the truth, neb." tsan ti, jabbering wildly, arose from his bended knees and pulled his alligator-skin pouch from his blouse. "excellent stranger of the dusky race," said he, "i gather from what i hear that i am in your debt for the recovery of the eye of buddha. will it insult you if i offer, of my goodness of heart, five hundred dollars?" neb hogan nearly fell from general jackson's back. "whut's dat he's er-sayin' tuh me?" he asked, rolling up the whites of his eyes. "talkin' 'bout five--five hunnerd dollahs, en 'bout insultin' me wif it. by golly, ah's brack, but ah don't 'low no yalluh trash tuh mek spo't ob me. somebody hole mah mu-el twill ah climb down. five hunnerd dollahs! ah won't 'low no chinymun tuh say no such thing. ah--ah----" words died on the old negro's lips. tsan ti had pushed a bundle of money up in front of his face, and neb was gazing at the bills like one demented. "accept of my gratitude, illustrious one," chanted the mandarin. "you are worthy--it is little enough." the darky tried to talk, but the words stuck in his throat. mechanically he took the bills, smoothed them out in his hands, and finally pushed them into his pocket. "ah reckons dishyer's a dream," he managed to gasp finally. "ah reckons ah'll wake up tuh heah mandy buildin' de fiah fo' breakfus. eider dat, or ah's suah gone crazy." then, turning general jackson, neb hogan rode out of the gate, looking back fearfully as long as he was in sight, wondering, no doubt, if those he had left were not the phantoms of his disordered imagination. this little scene had been enacted under the eyes of mcglory and the prisoners in the blue touring car. grattan's feelings, perhaps, may be imagined better than described. mcglory was "stumped," as he would have expressed it. "now that tsan ti has got the ruby again, pard," called the cowboy, "i move we pack him in a box, idol's eye and all, and turn him over to the express company for safe transportation to canton. if we don't, something is sure going to happen to him." "nothing will happen to him now," said matt. "the men he had to fear are in the custody of the law, and from now on tsan ti will experience no more trouble." "esteemed friend," palpitated the overjoyed mandarin, "i shall yet deposit the ruby in the express company's care as soon as i get to catskill. the lessons i have had are sufficient." "that's the talk!" approved the cowboy. "what shall we do with sam wing?" asked matt. for an instant a flash of rage drove the happiness from the mandarin's eyes. but the flash died as swiftly as it came. "have you a knife, illustrious youth?" inquired the mandarin. "better keep it, pard!" warned mcglory. "tsan ti's going to do for wing!" but matt believed otherwise. taking his knife from his pocket, he handed it to tsan ti and the latter went into the barn. he reappeared in a few moments, and sam wing, freed of his ropes, accompanied him. harsh words in chinese broke from tsan ti's lips. he talked for perhaps two minutes steadily, the harshness leaving his voice as the torrent of speech flowed on. when he had finished, he reached into his alligator-skin pouch, brought out some money, and placed it in sam wing's hand; then, sternly, he pointed toward the road. "what a fool!" growled grattan. "why didn't he send the thief over the road?" muttered pardo. "speak to me about this!" cried mcglory. "looks like there was a few things we could learn from the chinks," pondered banks. "you're right, mr. banks," said matt. "tsan ti is the right sort, and i'm glad i did what i could to help him. let's start for catskill--i suppose martin is back there, by this time, and wondering what has become of joe and me. ready for new york in the morning, joe?" "i'm ready," was the prompt response, "but will we go?" "i believe we will," said matt, climbing into the roadster. "we've seen the last of the hoodoo. get in, tsan ti, and we'll hit it up between here and catskill. you're to ride with me." the end. motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction new york, october , . terms to motor stories mail subscribers. (_postage free._) single copies or back numbers, c. each. months c. months c. months $ . one year . copies one year . copy two years . =how to send money=--by post-office or express money-order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. at your own risk if sent by currency, coin, or postage-stamps in ordinary letter. =receipts=--receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. if not correct you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once. ormond g. smith, } george c. smith, } _proprietors_. street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york city. hudson and the northwest passage. a short time ago the newspapers announced that a feat which for four hundred years stout ships and bold crews have been attempting had been accomplished by a little norwegian vessel of forty tons and seven men. long ago, the news would have thrilled the harbors of england and holland with joy and keen expectancy. coming in the twentieth century, it has created little sensation. perhaps, of all those who read the announcement, only the few to whom "the northwest passage" was a name full of history and heroism and romance realized what an interesting achievement had been made. for the practical value of the discovery had long since been discounted, and no "merchant adventurer" of the present day would have sunk half his fortune in equipping an expedition to solve the riddle that puzzled the brains of the men of long ago. for the search for the northwest passage was from the first a business affair. it was a mercantile question. the whole inquiry arose out of a trade competition between the northern and southern seafaring nations. this was the situation: spain and portugal had been first in the field, as regards over-sea discovery; they had found the way to the treasure house of asia, and the unspoiled riches of the new world. the portuguese held the monopoly of maritime trade with india--the venetians had long governed the overland route, and grown wealthy thereby--and the spaniards looked upon south america as their private property. of the two, the spanish settlements on the american coasts with the mines behind them drew the eyes of the adventurer, who secured his prizes at the sword's point, but asia was the more tempting to the trader. the former dreamed of the sack of opulent cities; the latter dreamed of bustling wharves, and barter, and english ships coming home laden with spices and silks, the peaceful spoils of the market place and the tropical forest and the shark-haunted seas. how to reach india "by a quick route, without crossing the sea paths of the portuguese and the spaniards," this, in a word, was the origin of the long and arduous search for the northwest passage. it was the general belief that america was an island, but the size and shape of it was still only imperfectly known. that there was a water way round the southern end of the great continent had been proved by magellan, who, in his voyage round the world, had passed through the straits that bear his name. the question now was, did a similar waterway exist at the northern end? they believed that america tapered to a point northward, as it did southward. they little realized how the northern continent spread itself out into the cold arctic seas, and with what a network of islands and ice floes it ended. and so they sent out ships to search for a water way through those inhospitable seas, and the first to go was an englishman, martin frobisher. greatly did he dare. we in these days of perfectly appointed ships, built of steel and driven by steam, can appreciate the hardihood of this hero and his crews, setting forth in two tiny craft of twenty-five and twenty tons burden, respectively, to solve the riddle of the northern seas! they sailed away--queen elizabeth herself waving them adieu from the windows of her palace at greenwich--on june th, , and a month later they were off the coast of greenland. then came stormy weather. a pinnace with her crew of four was sunk, and frobisher found himself alone--one ship among the never-ending ice. for his consort had gone home, discouraged by the forbidding outlook. but almost immediately after this disappointment there came a gleam of hope. he beheld what appeared to be a passageway trending westward. it seems that this is still called frobisher bay. as he sailed through he thought that he had asia on one side and america on the other. it was but a happy delusion. the projecting corner of asia was far away; he was only abreast of what has since been named baffin's land. frobisher's second voyage, made in , was rather a gold quest than a journey of discovery. a lump of stone (probably iron pyrites) had been brought home by one of the sailors as a souvenir of the first voyage. the particles of gold in it fired the fancies of some londoners with the idea that eldorado might perhaps, after all, be among the northern ice. so frobisher's ships went out again, and brought home something like tons of the black stone. a third time they made the voyage, no less than fifteen ships taking part in the expedition, the object of which was to establish a sort of settlement for the working of the supposed "gold mine." but nothing came of the attempt. bewildering fogs and perilous storms and threatening icebergs beset the puny fleet; sickness followed hard upon the exposure and privations long endured by the poor fellows who manned it, and at last the scheme was abandoned. yet in this disappointing third voyage frobisher had unknowingly come very near the discovery which originally he had in view! for, in the words of the writer before quoted, "the truth was that frobisher's foremost ships had got farther to the south than was realized, and unwittingly he had discovered what is now known as hudson's strait--the sea gate of that very northwest passage on which his waking and sleeping thoughts so long had brooded." he had been carried some sixty leagues up the strait, but as he knew nothing as to whither it led he reaped no advantage. several years went by without another attempt being made to solve the problem, of the northwest passage, but at last, in the summer of , some english merchants planned a fresh expedition. two ships were fitted out--one the _sunshine_, of london, fifty tons; the other the _moonshine_, of dartmouth, thirty-five tons. the command was intrusted to a young devonshire sailor, captain john davis, whose name is familiar to all schoolboys who have drawn maps of the northern parts of north america. though the records of the voyage abound with incidents relating to the various encounters that davis' men had with spouting whales and basking seals, uncouth eskimos, and polar bears, the actual achievements of this expedition were not great. the ships traversed part of what is now called davis strait, and went some way up cumberland gulf, but by the end of september they were back in dartmouth. davis set forth again, next summer, with three ships and a pinnace. the latter and one of the ships were dispatched up the east coast of greenland, while the commander, with the two other vessels, sailed northwest. he got as far as hudson strait and farther. and in a third voyage he reached a headland not far from upernavik. the hardihood and pluck displayed in these attempts to penetrate the ice-encumbered seas were splendid, but the results did not throw much light on the question of how to get northwest by sea to the indies. soon after this the kindred question of a northeast passage forced itself upon the seafaring people of holland, and the city of amsterdam fitted out four ships, and sent them forth under william barents, in the june of . the story of this and subsequent expeditions cannot, however, be told here, though it is full of heroism and strange adventures. it was the idea of a northeast route which first laid hold of henry hudson, the intrepid englishman whose name figures so prominently on the map of north america. like barents, he made his way to nova zembla, but, baffled by the seemingly insuperable difficulties to the eastward, he turned westward in his third voyage, and again when he set forth on his fourth and last voyage. some of his men were evidently less stout of heart than their commander, and when there began to be real prospects of being caught in the ice, the spirit of mutiny got the upper hand. on june st, , with a cowardice that was happily in strange contrast to the usual behavior of english crews, it was decided to get rid of the captain. next morning he and his little son, a loyal-hearted sailor (the ship's carpenter), and half a dozen sick and helpless members of the crew, were put over the ship's side into one of the boats, and left to their fate. the years went by. other expeditions were fitted out and sent northward, but the old reasons for finding out the northwest passage were fast disappearing. the portuguese monopoly of the sea-borne trade with india and the supremacy of spain on the ocean highways were things of the past. the ships of other nations had no longer to skulk past these aforetime kings of the sea. arctic exploration went on, but the idea of reaching the north pole was beginning to take the place of the idea of "making" the northwest passage. that old problem, however, was in prospect of being solved by the attempts made to solve the former. so that by the year collinson was able to sail so far that he came within fifty-seven miles--a mere pin prick on the map--of accomplishing the northwest passage. finally, in , the passage, which, like a mountain tunnel, had been worked at from both ends, was penetrated from one opening to the other by the little _gjöa_, a norwegian sloop of forty tons, which sailed from christiania on june st, . she was under the command of captain roald amundsen, of that city, and his right-hand man was lieutenant godfred hansen, of the danish navy; the crew numbered seven. she had not been built with a view to arctic work, so that before she went north into the realm of the ice king she had to be fortified somewhat. an ice sheathing of two-inch oak planks added greatly to her resisting power, and her petroleum motor of horse power enabled her, when she put to sea, to attain a traveling speed of three knots in smooth water. but the _gjöa_ trusted chiefly, like the stout little barks of other days, to the skillful handling of her sails. the winters of and were spent in harbor on the shores of king william's land. only the premature closing in of the ice prevented the little vessel from achieving the passage in . the death bite. "well, ed, let us hear from you to-night. you are always talking of strategy, flanks, and other soldiering knickknacks. now tell us a story." the boys drew their chairs about the roaring fire, which cast its ruddy glow about the room, while without the north wind held revelry in the branches of the trees. ed looked over the top of his paper, and smiled. "what's that you say, bib? i can't tell much of a story." ed drew his chair to the fire. a chorus of supplications came from all parts of the room, and ed laid aside his paper. "in the early spring of we were encamped near the pamunky river, about the time they were undermining the enemy's fort on the other side of the river. one rainy night a party of us were formed and marched out. it was well known the enemy was not far off, and i felt anything but pleasant. the rain poured down in a deluge, and we picked our way through the woods by the blinding flashes of lightning which now and then illumined the forest. the heavy rains had transformed the ground into a swamp. near the edge of the forest we halted and separated in squads of five. "by good luck i had charge of one squad. from under our overcoats we drew our spades and waited for the rain to slack. "'now, ed,' said the lieutenant, 'you take your men and select a spot and dig a rifle pit, and if anything comes in your way bang away at it, for things are getting hot.' "a few minutes more and the lieutenant and his party were gone. between two huge trees we began to dig, and in a few hours we had finished our pit. the boys tumbled in and all were soon asleep, except barry; he was a down-easter and had been through most of the campaigns. "the rain ceased falling, and no sound reached us save the pattering raindrops as the wind dislodged them from the trees. "i had scarcely taken forty winks, when barry poked me in the ribs. i awoke immediately. "'look there!' he whispered. "i looked over the pit and saw a small light swaying to and fro. i thought at first it was a will-o'-the-wisp. "'will i fire at it?' asked barry. "'you know your orders, don't you?' i replied. 'let us both fire at it.' both of our muskets were shoved over the top of the pit, and taking a hasty aim, we fired. "a loud yell followed the reports, and we saw the light fly upward and fall to the ground; then all was darkness, and the same quietness returned. "'i wonder is he dead?' was the question that arose; and then the boys returned to their corners and slumbered on. "soon the faint gray streaks of morning began to light up the east; and as i felt very thirsty i took my canteen, and clambered out of the pit, and started off. a few minutes' walk brought me to a small creek, and i filled my canteen and stooped to drink. the snapping of a twig caused me to look up; and my hair fairly raised, for not two yards from me stood a powerful man dressed in gray; he had pistols, a musket and an ugly-looking toothpick. a low chuckle came from his lips, and i gave myself up for lost, as i had not even so much as a penknife with me. in my eagerness to get water i forgot all. the confederate seemed to read me through, for he said: "'well, yank, have you got enough water?' "i managed to say 'yes'. "'well,' he said, 'get away from here, and think yourself lucky.' "it did not take me long to get away from that spot. then i noticed, for the first time, that our pit was dug on the top of a little hill. a few yards off on the other side of the creek stood a large barn. i could see forms walking about from where i now stood. the man i had met walked toward the barn. the boys in the pit saw him, and the muzzles of their guns frowned over the top in a minute. at that moment a detachment of men came to relieve us. they had hardly reached us, when from behind the barn a party of soldiers hove in sight, dragging a small fieldpiece, and in a moment more a crashing iron ball came tearing in our midst. with whoops and yells the enemy dashed on our little party, and we were soon engaged hand to hand. i felt myself hurled to the ground and a hand tightening about my throat. then the fear of death stole upon me, and the strength of a hercules took possession of my limbs. i turned my assailant over and placed my knee on his breast. "in vain i looked about for something to put an end to the struggling man whom i held, but could find nothing. in his belt i saw the handle of a knife. i seized it with one hand, but in doing so my grasp relaxed upon his throat, and before i could prevent it he had my finger in his mouth, and his teeth closed upon it. i fairly howled with pain and drove the knife into his heart several times. his jaws grew rigid in death and his teeth cut slowly to the bone and partly bit that, too. how i yelled! if it had been taken off at once the pain would have been nothing, but being bitten slowly off was intense. i had to pry open his jaws with the knife to get my finger out of his mouth." ed paused and the boys crowded about him, and the second finger was minus an inch. we all dispersed that night thinking there has been many an adventure that befell the brave boys of which the public will never know anything. migration of rats. in nearly all countries a seasonal movement of rats from houses and barns to the open fields occurs in spring, and the return movement takes place as cold weather approaches. the movement is noticeable even in large cities. more general movements of rats often occur. in a multitude of migrating rats spread over several counties of western illinois. they were noticed especially in mercer and rock island counties. for several years prior to this invasion no abnormal numbers were seen, and their coming was remarkably sudden. an eye-witness to the phenomenon informed the writer that as he was returning to his home by moonlight he heard a general rustling in the field near by, and soon a vast army of rats crossed the road in front of him, all going in one direction. the mass stretched away as far as could be seen in the dim light. these animals remained on the farms and in the villages of the surrounding country, and during the winter and summer of were a veritable plague. a local newspaper stated that between march and april , , f. u. montgomery, of preëmption, mercer county, killed three thousand four hundred and thirty-five rats on his farm. he caught most of them in traps. in a similar migration occurred into parts of saline and lafayette counties, mo., and in another came under the writer's observation in kansas river valley. this valley for the most part was flooded by the great freshet of june, , and for about ten days was covered with several feet of water. it is certain that most of the rats in the valley perished in this flood. in the fall of much of the district was visited by hordes of rats, which remained during the winter, and by the following spring had so increased in numbers that serious losses of grain and poultry resulted. no doubt the majority of the so-called migrations of rodents are in reality instances of unusual reproduction or of enforced migration owing to lack of food. in england a general movement of rats inland from the coast occurs every october. this is closely connected with the closing of the herring season. during the fishing the rodents swarm to the coast, attracted by the offal left from cleaning the herring, and when this food supply fails they hasten back to the farms and villages. in south america periodic plagues of rats have taken place in parana, brazil, at intervals of about thirty years, and in chili at intervals of from fifteen to twenty-five years. these plagues in the cultivated lands follow the ripening and decay of the dominant species of bamboo in each country. the ripening of the seed furnishes for two or more years a favorite food for rats in the forests, where the animals multiply greatly; when this food fails they are forced to the cultivated districts for subsistence. in almost the entire crops of corn, rice, and mandioca in the state of parana were destroyed by rats, causing a serious famine. an invasion of black rats in the bermuda islands occurred about the year . in a space of two years they had increased so alarmingly that none of the islands was free from them. the rodents devoured everything which came in their way--fruit, plants, and even trees--so that for two years the people were destitute of bread. a law was passed requiring every man in the islands to set twelve traps. in spite of all efforts the animals increased, until they finally disappeared with a suddenness which could have resulted only from a pestilence. some great catastrophes. "it is the general opinion that earthquakes constitute the most terrible of the world's catastrophes, both as regards loss of life and destruction of property," says an english writer. "this, however, is not so. the convulsion in southern italy killed not less than two hundred thousand people, and in this respect it is easily the most dreadful occurrence of its kind. the historic lisbon earthquake, which ranks next below it in regard to the number of fatalities, caused fifty thousand deaths in that one city alone and about an equal number elsewhere. the south american one of was responsible for thirty thousand. that which destroyed aleppo in slew twenty thousand. these are the four worst earthquakes concerning which anything like reliable statistics are obtainable, and the total combined loss of life, it will be observed, did not, at any rate, exceed three hundred and fifty thousand. "but when the yellow river burst its banks in september, , more than seven million people were drowned in the resultant great flood, which covered to an average depth of six feet a populous chinese province the size of scotland. thus, in this one catastrophe, more lives were lost than in all the earthquakes recorded in the world's history. then, again, there is pestilence. the black death killed in china, where it broke out, thirteen million people; in the rest of asia, twenty-four million, and thirty million in europe, or sixty-seven million in all. in india alone, and that within the past twelve years, bubonic plague has slain over six million people, and the epidemic still rages. "famines run plagues a close second. the one that raged in bombay and madras in slew five million people; and that which prevailed in northern china in the same year, and which was due to the same climatic causes, cost nine million five hundred thousand lives." latest issues motor stories the latest and best five-cent weekly. we won't say how interesting it is. see for yourself. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --motor matt makes good; or, another victory for the motor boys. --motor matt's launch; or, a friend in need. --motor matt's enemies; or, a struggle for the right. --motor matt's prize; or, the pluck that wins. --motor matt on the wing; or, flying for fame and fortune. --motor matt's reverse; or, caught in a losing game. --motor matt's "make or break"; or, advancing the spark of friendship. --motor matt's engagement; or, on the road with a show. --motor matt's "short circuit"; or, the mahout's vow. --motor matt's make-up; or, playing a new rôle. --motor matt's mandarin; or, turning a trick for tsan ti. --motor matt's mariner; or, filling the bill for bunce. --motor matt's double-trouble; or, the last of the hoodoo. --motor matt's mission; or, the taxicab tangle. tip top weekly the most popular publication for boys. the adventures of frank and dick merriwell can be had only in this weekly. =high art colored covers. thirty-two pages. price, cents.= --dick merriwell's dandies; or, a surprise for the cowboy nine. --dick merriwell's "skyscooter"; or, professor pagan and the "princess." --dick merriwell in the elk mountains; or, the search for "dead injun" mine. --dick merriwell in utah; or, the road to "promised land." --dick merriwell's bluff; or, the boy who ran away. --dick merriwell in the saddle; or, the bunch from the bar-z. --dick merriwell's ranch friends; or, sport on the range. --frank merriwell at phantom lake; or, the mystery of the mad doctor. --frank merriwell's hold-back; or, the boys of bristol. --frank merriwell's lively lads; or, the rival campers. --frank merriwell as instructor; or, the skill of the wizard. --dick merriwell's cayuse; or, the star of the big range. --dick merriwell's quirt; or, the sting of the lash. --dick merriwell's freshman friend; or, a question of manhood. nick carter weekly the best detective stories on earth. nick carter's exploits are read the world over. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --the green box clue; or, nick carter's good friend. --the taxicab mystery; or, nick carter closes a deal. --the mystery of a hotel room; or, nick carter's best work. --the tragedy of the well; or, nick carter under suspicion. --the black hand; or, chick carter's well-laid plot. --the black hand nemesis; or, chick carter and the mysterious woman. --a masterly trick; or, chick and the beautiful italian. --a dangerous man; or, nick carter and the famous castor case. --castor the poisoner; or, nick carter wins a man. --the castor riddle; or, nick carter's search for a hidden fortune. --a tragedy of the bowery; or, nick carter and ida at coney island. --four scraps of paper; or, nick carter's coney island search. --the secret of the mine; or, nick carter's coney island mystery. --the dead man in the car; or, nick carter's hair line clue. --nick carter's master struggle; or, the battle with the man-monkey. --the airshaft spectre; or, nick carter's shrewd surmise. _for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address on receipt of price, cents per copy, in money or postage stamps, by_ street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york =if you want any back numbers= of our weeklies and cannot procure them from your newsdealer, they can be obtained from this office direct. fill out the following order blank and send it to us with the price of the weeklies you want and we will send them to you by return mail. =postage stamps taken the same as money.= ________________________ _ _ _street & smith, - seventh avenue, new york city._ _dear sirs: enclosed please find_ ___________________________ _cents for which send me_: tip top weekly, nos. ________________________________ nick carter weekly, " ________________________________ diamond dick weekly, " ________________________________ buffalo bill stories, " ________________________________ brave and bold weekly, " ________________________________ motor stories, " ________________________________ _name_ ________________ _street_ ________________ _city_ ________________ _state_ ________________ a great success!! motor stories every boy who reads one of the splendid adventures of motor matt, which are making their appearance in this weekly, is at once surprised and delighted. surprised at the generous quantity of reading matter that we are giving for five cents; delighted with the fascinating interest of the stories, second only to those published in the tip top weekly. matt has positive mechanical genius, and while his adventures are unusual, they are, however, drawn so true to life that the reader can clearly see how it is possible for the ordinary boy to experience them. _here are the titles now ready and those to be published_: --motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. --motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. --motor matt's century run; or, the governor's courier. --motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the "comet." --motor matt's mystery; or, foiling a secret plot. --motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear. --motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto. --motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward. --motor matt's air ship; or, the rival inventors. --motor matt's hard luck; or, the balloon house plot. --motor matt's daring rescue; or, the strange case of helen brady. --motor matt's peril; or, cast away in the bahamas. --motor matt's queer find; or, the secret of the iron chest. --motor matt's promise; or, the wreck of the "hawk." --motor matt's submarine; or, the strange cruise of the "grampus." --motor matt's quest; or, three chums in strange waters. --motor matt's close call; or, the snare of don carlos. --motor matt in brazil; or, under the amazon. --motor matt's defiance; or, around the horn. --motor matt makes good; or, another victory for the motor boys. --motor matt's launch; or, a friend in need. --motor matt's enemies; or, a struggle for the right. --motor matt's prize; or, the pluck that wins. --motor matt on the wing; or, flying for fame and fortune. --motor matt's reverse; or, caught in a losing game. --motor matt's "make or break"; or, advancing the spark of friendship. --motor matt's engagement; or, on the road with a show. --motor matt's "short circuit"; or, the mahout's vow. to be published on september th. --motor matt's make-up; or, playing a new role. to be published on september th. --motor matt's mandarin; or, turning a trick for tsan ti. to be published on september th. --motor matt's mariner; or, filling the bill for bunce. to be published on september th. --motor matt's double-trouble; or, the last of the hoodoo. price, five cents at all newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, by the publishers upon receipt of the price. street & smith, _publishers_, new york _for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address on receipt of price, cents per copy, in money or postage stamps, by_ street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york =if you want any back numbers= of our weeklies and cannot procure them from your newsdealer, they can be obtained from this office direct. fill out the following order blank and send it to us with the price of the weeklies you want and we will send them to you by return mail. =postage stamps taken the same as money.= ________________________ _ _ _street & smith, - seventh avenue, new york city._ _dear sirs: enclosed please find_ ___________________________ _cents for which send me_: tip top weekly, nos. ________________________________ nick carter weekly, " ________________________________ diamond dick weekly, " ________________________________ buffalo bill stories, " ________________________________ brave and bold weekly, " ________________________________ motor stories, " ________________________________ _name_ ________________ _street_ ________________ _city_ ________________ _state_ ________________ a great success!! motor stories every boy who reads one of the splendid adventures of motor matt, which are making their appearance in this weekly, is at once surprised and delighted. surprised at the generous quantity of reading matter that we are giving for five cents; delighted with the fascinating interest of the stories, second only to those published in the tip top weekly. matt has positive mechanical genius, and while his adventures are unusual, they are, however, drawn so true to life that the reader can clearly see how it is possible for the ordinary boy to experience them. _here are the titles now ready and those to be published_: --motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. --motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. --motor matt's century run; or, the governor's courier. --motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the "comet." --motor matt's mystery; or, foiling a secret plot. --motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear. --motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto. --motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward. --motor matt's air ship; or, the rival inventors. --motor matt's hard luck; or, the balloon house plot. --motor matt's daring rescue; or, the strange case of helen brady. --motor matt's peril; or, cast away in the bahamas. --motor matt's queer find; or, the secret of the iron chest. --motor matt's promise; or, the wreck of the "hawk." --motor matt's submarine; or, the strange cruise of the "grampus." --motor matt's quest; or, three chums in strange waters. --motor matt's close call; or, the snare of don carlos. --motor matt in brazil; or, under the amazon. --motor matt's defiance; or, around the horn. --motor matt makes good; or, another victory for the motor boys. --motor matt's launch; or, a friend in need. --motor matt's enemies; or, a struggle for the right. --motor matt's prize; or, the pluck that wins. --motor matt on the wing; or, flying for fame and fortune. --motor matt's reverse; or, caught in a losing game. --motor matt's "make or break"; or, advancing the spark of friendship. --motor matt's engagement; or, on the road with a show. --motor matt's "short circuit"; or, the mahout's vow. to be published on september th. --motor matt's make-up; or, playing a new role. to be published on september th. --motor matt's mandarin; or, turning a trick for tsan ti. to be published on september th. --motor matt's mariner; or, filling the bill for bunce. to be published on september th. --motor matt's double-trouble; or, the last of the hoodoo. price, five cents at all newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, by the publishers upon receipt of the price. street & smith, _publishers_, new york transcriber's notes: added table of contents. italics are represented with _underscores_, bold with =equal signs=. page , changed "come, on then" to "come on, then." page , added missing period after "asked pardo." page , corrected "mat" to "matt" in "matt continued to sit." corrected "let's some one else" to "let some one else." page , corrected typo "mardarin" in "bluff us out of helping the mandarin." page , corrected "mat" to "matt" in "matt and i will put the kibosh." page , corrected typo "tellling" in "no telling when the pallavering." page , corrected typo "folowing" in "excitement following bunce's discovery." corrected typo "gardenvile" in "between the spring and gardenville." page , expanded ligature in "manoeuvre." ligature is retained in html version. page , corrected typo "flutering" in "fluttering his hand reassuringly." corrected "spiritsails" to "spritsails." page , corrected typo "your'" in "while you're tied up." page , corrected typo "boad" in "marsh on one side of the road." page , added missing period after "kept at his work." page , removed unnecessary quotes around paragraph beginning "they believed that america tapered..." courtesy of the digital library@villanova university (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction no. aug. , five cents motor matt's engagement or on the road with a show _street & smith publishers new york_ [illustration: _motor matt, as he coaxed the last ounce of speed from the motor, shouted encouragingly to the terrified girl on the trapeze._] motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction _issued weekly. by subscription $ . per year. copyright, , by_ street & smith, _ - seventh avenue, new york, n. y._ no. . new york, august , . price five cents. motor matt's engagement; or, on the road with a show. by the author of "motor matt." contents chapter i. "on the banks of the wabash." chapter ii. in the calliope tent. chapter iii. an eavesdropper. chapter iv. queer proceedings. chapter v. motor matt protests. chapter vi. ablaze in the air. chapter vii. was it treachery? chapter viii. a call for help. chapter ix. black magic. chapter x. the mahout's flight. chapter xi. the paper trail. chapter xii. carl turns a trick. chapter xiii. the lacquered box. chapter xiv. the hypnotist's victim. chapter xv. "for the sake of haidee!" chapter xvi. the rajah's niece. saved by a falling tree. how they captured the python. on the road to mandalay. characters that appear in this story. =motor matt king.= =joe mcglory=, a young cowboy who proves himself a lad of worth and character, and whose eccentricities are all on the humorous side. a good chum to tie to--a point motor matt is quick to perceive. =ping=, a chinese boy who insists on working for motor matt, and who contrives to make himself valuable, perhaps invaluable. =carl pretzel=, an old chum who flags motor matt and more trouble than he can manage, at about the same time. in the rôle of detective, he makes many blunders, wise and otherwise, finding success only to wonder how he did it. =ben ali=, an elephant driver; a hindoo gifted in the arts for which his country is famous and infamous. the uncle of margaret manners, he revenges himself upon his brother, the rajah, in a way that proves his own undoing. =aurung zeeb=, another elephant driver, and a friend of ben ali, assisting in his scoundrelly work. =haidee=, whose real name is margaret manners, a girl from india, who becomes the hypnotic subject of ben ali, and is saved from him by motor matt and carl. =boss burton=, manager and proprietor of the big consolidated shows. a man who tries to be "square," in his own remarkable way. chapter i. "on the banks of the wabash." strange, how a few harmless ingredients, thrown together and mixed, will set the trouble pot a-boiling. saltpeter is an innocent and useful product, and so is charcoal and sulphur; but seventy-five per cent. of the first, fifteen per cent. of the second, and ten per cent. of the third, when properly mixed, will make gunpowder--an explosive that has slain millions, made kingdoms over into republics, and changed the map of the world again and again. so, on this beautiful morning, with the banks of the wabash river for a setting, fate was juggling with a few trifling elements for the purpose of combining them and manufacturing trouble. the big consolidated shows were pitching their tents near that part of the river, and two of the ingredients that helped form the dangerous mixture were connected with the "tented aggregation." one was the big elephant, rajah, who had a tremendous thirst and was wabbling along toward the river for a drink; the other was a chinese boy, dipping a couple of pails of water from the stream for the steam calliope. the third element--the one having no connection with the show--was a german youth with a weakness for bursting into song. the elephant, dryer than the desert of sahara, was making big and rapid tracks for the brightly gleaming water, the chinaman was leisurely filling his pails, and the german was strolling along the bank, dusty from a long tramp and with a stick over his shoulder from which swung a bundle bound up in a knotted handkerchief. if the german had known how to sing he would not have attracted the attention of the chinaman; and if the chinaman had not looked and grunted his disgust, the german would not have become hostile; and if rajah, the elephant, had not possessed such a playful disposition, the german and the chinaman would probably have separated with no more than a few mongrel words of personal opinion. but fate was working overtime that day, and had an eye for weird combinations. "ach, der moon vas shining pright upon der vabash, from der fieldts dere comes some shmells oof new-mown hay, droo der candlelight der sycamores vas gleaming, on der panks oof der vabash, righdt avay!" this was the german's song, and it sounded as though it had been played on a fish horn. the chinaman could be seen to shiver as he deposited a pailful of water on the bank, straightened erect, and looked at the singer. there was that in his slant eyes which brought the german to a halt. "don'd you like der song, shink?" demanded the dutchman, pushing out his chin in an irritating way. "woosh!" snorted the chinaman, "you makee sing all same like poodle dog makee howl." "py shiminy," cried the dutchman, "i fight pedder as i sing. i don'd let no monkey mit a pigdail make some foolishness mit me." "dutchy boy clazy," declared the celestial. "i nefer liked der shinks anyways," went on the other, dropping his stick and his bundle. "dey vas sheap skates, you bet you, und vas alvays taking avay goot shobs from american fellers. i vill tie you oop in some bowknots mit your pigdail und trop you py der rifer. yah, so." "dutchy boy makee spell 'able,'" and the chinaman, with supreme contempt, picked up his empty pail. "you peen afraidt mit yourseluf!" shouted the dutchman. "my plenty busy; makee cally water fo' calliope. no gottee time to fight. come 'lound after palade, china boy makee dutchy boy suppa' fo' lion." "dot's me," breathed the dutchman, picking up his stick and bundle. "i'll be aroundt after dot barade, you bed my life, und i don'd make some subber for der lion, neider." he started on slowly. unnoticed by either of the boys, the mahout on rajah's neck had kept the elephant close to the river bank. the mahout was dozing, and rajah was filling the piece of hose, more generally known as his trunk, with wabash water and squirting it into his open mouth. now, rajah was an eccentric elephant. there were times when he was full of mischief and playful, and other times when the wild jungle blood got the upper hand of him and he became dangerous. on two or three occasions, when old ben, the african lion, had tried to mix things with the royal bengal tiger, rajah had been called in to separate the fighters with a well-directed stream, hurled with catapult force from his trunk. rajah's cunning little eyes had been taking in the quarrel between the dutchman and the chinaman. something prompted him to elevate his trunk and throw a stream after the retreating dutch boy. the lad was knocked off his feet, his stick going one way and his bundle the other. he jumped to his feet, spluttering, and whirled around. rajah was innocently squirting a dozen or more gallons of the river into his capacious throat, but the chinaman, the empty pail still in his hand, was laughing so that he almost fell off the bank. it was the most natural thing in the world for the dutch boy, in the excitement of the moment, to lay the whole blame on the chinese boy's shoulders. the dutchman had not seen rajah use his trunk, and the chinaman had. it was very laughable, and the chinaman's cackling mirth was unrestrained. the dutchman saw only the empty bucket in the chinaman's hand, and it seemed certain the deluge of water had come from the bucket. "i gif you fits for dot, py shiminy!" whooped the teuton. "no can do!" declared the celestial. the dutchman came on with a bound, his dripping clothes sprinkling everything in his vicinity. the chinaman threw the bucket. the other dodged. the bucket sailed on through the air and struck delhi, rajah's mate, a sharp rap on her big, fanning ear. delhi trumpeted loudly and started furiously after the boys. both the chinaman and the dutchman, their faculties completely wrapped up in their quarrel, gave no attention to the elephants. coming together like a thousand of brick, they clinched and wrestled back and forth on the bank. delhi, wild with anger, gave no heed to the fierce prodding of her mahout, but rushed onward, her trunk stretched eagerly ahead of her and twitching and curving in its desire to lay hold of the struggling youngsters. for a second the prospect was very dark for the teuton and the celestial. what would have happened to them is problematical if delhi had had her way. but the big brute was not allowed to work her will. rajah interfered; not out of any desire to be of help to the boys, but rather to assist his mate in securing vengeance. quickly rajah aimed his trunk and hurled a stream of water. the jet struck the two boys, lifted them from their feet, and hurled them into the river. the lads were tossed from the bank in just the nick of time. hardly were they clear of the spot where they had been wrestling when delhi's disappointed trunk swept over it. rajah's mahout, of course, had aroused himself, and he and the other man got busy bringing the elephants into subjection. the dutchman and the chinaman had fallen into deep water. it was necessary to disentangle themselves from each other in order to swim and keep from being drowned. as delhi backed away from the water's edge, under the blows of her mahout's sharp, steel prod, she flung the dutchman's bundle and stick at the thrashing forms in the water, and followed these with the buckets. "i can do oop a shink mit vone hand," gurgled the dutchman, as his dripping head appeared above the surface of the river; "aber ven a goople oof elephants iss rung indo der game, den i don'd---- wow!" the handkerchief bundle, hurled with terrific force, struck him on the head and sent him under. "dutchy boy no good!" spluttered the chinaman. "him velly fine false alarm---- woosh!" one of the buckets hit the celestial in the small of the back and he vanished in a flurry of bubbles. when he and the dutchman again reappeared, delhi and rajah were under control and no further danger threatened. "what's the matter with you two kids?" cried delhi's mahout, excited and angry. "der shink drew some vater on me," answered the dutchman, "und made more monkey-doodle pitzness dan i vould shtand for." "him no savvy," declared the chinese. "el'fant makee thlow water." rajah's mahout was a hindoo. in a queer jargon of broken english, he described the way rajah had hosed down the dutchman as the latter was walking off. the other mahout lost his wrath in a flood of merriment. "it's all a mistake!" he called. "come out o' the wet and stop your foolishness. if ye try to do any more fightin', i'll set delhi onto you ag'in." the dutchman labored ashore with his stick and his bundle, and the chinaman followed with his buckets. "what do you s'pose motor matt would think of this, ping?" went on the mahout. "if he----" but what the mahout was intending to say was lost in a roar of amazement and delight from the dutchman. "vat's dot? modor matt? vere he iss, anyvay? say, i vas his bard, und i peen looking for him efery blace, longer as i can dell. shpeak, vonce! vere iss modor matt?" "china boy motol matt's pard," spoke up the dripping ping. "my workee fo' motol matt; dutchy boy no workee." "py shiminy, i dell you some more dot i peen carl pretzel," shouted the dutchman, "und dot i vas looking for der show, und ditn't know i vould findt modor matt at der same dime. vere iss he, misder?" and carl appealed anxiously to the mahout. "he's travelin' with the show, youngster," answered the mahout, "an' doin' a flyin'-machine stunt twice a day. if ye want to find him, hike for the show grounds." without paying any further attention to ping or the elephants, carl gathered in his cap--which lay at the water's edge, and was the only thing belonging to him that was not dripping wet--and laid a rapid course for the top of the bank. ping, filling the pails, started after carl, worrying not a little over this new pard of motor matt's who had appeared so unexpectedly on the scene. chapter ii. in the calliope tent. "i don't like it, pard, and you can bet your moccasins on that," said joe mcglory. "there are a whole lot of things about this business i don't fancy," returned motor matt; "but we're under contract, joe, and boss burton says he'll give us an extra fifty a week if we do the trick." "but the girl! what's her notion about it? hanging to a trapeze under the aëroplane isn't a stunt to be sneezed at." "she's anxious to do the trick. she'll get fifty dollars a week for it, and the money looks good to her." "there's the danger, pard. her neck's worth more than fifty plunks a week." "she's a little brick, that haidee--pure grit. i'll see that she's not placed in much danger." "you'll have your hands full looking after yourself and the aëroplane. sufferin' whirligigs! you know how hard it is to manage the _comet_ when there's a weight suspended beneath." "i can do it," declared matt. "of course you can do, old socks--you can do anything when you set your mind to it. but, tell me this, what has that old elephant driver, ben ali, got to do with haidee? ben ali's a hindoo, and haidee is almost as white as an american girl." "ben ali's her uncle, joe. haidee's mother was ben ali's sister, and haidee's father was an english officer living in bombay. the girl told me all this yesterday at the time she begged me to do what boss burton wanted and let her trail the _comet_ aloft on the trapeze." "funny combination," muttered joe. mcglory was in his overclothes, and had just finished getting the aëroplane ready for the parade. the "animal top"--that is, the menagerie tent--had been hoisted, and the small canvas lean-to that housed the steam calliope had been put in place alongside. the calliope was not in the lean-to, but was out on the grounds, being put in shape for the parade. matt and joe usually came to the calliope tent to make themselves ready for the street procession. they, together with ping, had been three weeks with the big consolidated, matt making ascensions in the aëroplane twice daily, following the parade and just before the evening performance--wind and weather permitting. so proficient had matt become in handling the flying machine that nothing short of a stiff gale or a hard rain kept him from carrying out his engagements for a double exhibition each day. the aëroplane had caught the popular fancy, and had proved the biggest kind of a card for boss burton, proprietor of the show. under its own motive power, the machine formed a star feature of the parade, traveling slowly on the bicycle wheels which were necessary in giving it a start when flights were made. from tip to tip, the wings of the aëroplane measured more than thirty feet. of course it could not travel in the parade with such a stretch of surface across the streets, so matt had arranged the bicycle wheels in such a manner that the _comet_ moved sideways in the procession, the king of the motor boys, his cowboy pard, and his chinese comrade occupying positions in the seats on the lower wing. when matt and his friends first joined the outfit, boss burton had supplied them with bespangled apparel, which, if they had worn it, would, according to mcglory, have made them "a holy show." matt and mcglory balked at the glittering costumes, but ping had hung to his beadwork and gilt trimmings with a fierce determination there was no shaking. mcglory compromised with burton by getting into a swell cowboy rig, but for matt there was no such thing as compromise. this engagement with the show was purely a business proposition, and he refused to make a spectacle out of himself. he looked well, too, in his unostentatious blue cap and clothes, and was given many a cheer as the aëroplane pitched and shivered along in the procession. boss burton was a shrewd manager, and it was said that he lay awake nights while section two of the show train was making its jumps between stands, thinking up new acts that would thrill the patrons of the big consolidated. his last idea was to hitch a trapeze to the bottom of the aëroplane, and have haidee, ben ali's pretty niece, perform on the flying bar while matt was manoeuvring the _comet_ over the show grounds. it was this new wrinkle that had drawn objections from mcglory when he and matt had retired to the calliope tent to make ready for the parade. about all matt had to do to get ready was to wash and brush himself. mcglory, on the other hand, had to get into a blue shirt, corduroy trousers, "chaps," tight, high-heeled boots, and a broad-brimmed sombrero. "what's become of ping?" asked matt, stepping to the tent flap and looking off over the busy grounds. it would be an hour before the parade could start, and the bright sun glowed over a scene of feverish activity. the side-show tents, the stable tents, and cook tent were already up. a small army of men was working on the circus "top," and the rhythmical thump of mauls on tent stakes could be heard on every hand. horses in two, four, six, and eight-horse teams were moving about; band wagons, cages, and chariots were being dusted and cleaned; the painted banners in front of the side-show were being laced to their guys; the candy "butchers" were getting their places in readiness, and throughout the various occupations of the men ran an orderly disorder, everywhere noticeable. but matt could see nothing of ping, and he turned away to where mcglory, his foot on an overturned bucket, was buckling a big-roweled mexican spur to his heel. "ping is always promptness itself in getting into his tinsel frills and furbelows," remarked matt, "and i can't understand what's keeping the boy so late this morning." "he's been put on the steam calliope, pard," laughed mcglory, dropping his foot from the bucket and stamping until the rowel jingled. "little squinch-eye seems to have fallen in love with that bunch of steam whistles. he tried to play 'yankee doodle' on the pipes, in indianapolis, and had almost stampeded the elephants before the calliope man could choke him off. sufferin' jangles, pard, you never heard such a sound." before matt could make any response, a soft voice called from outside: "motor matt! can i come in a minute?" "sure," replied matt heartily. a lithe, graceful form, in velvet and spangles, leaped lightly through the opening. "haidee!" exclaimed matt, staring. the girl bowed laughingly and threw a kiss, just as she was in the habit of doing after her trapeze work in the "big top." "yes, friends," she answered; "haidee, the flying marvel, who is to do a turn on motor matt's flying machine just before the doors open. i am also to ride on the top wing of the _comet_ during the parade. will i do?" lifting her arms, she pirouetted around for the observation of the boys, then paused and smiled bewitchingly. "do?" cried mcglory. "why, sis, you'll be the hit of the piece. all i hope"--and mcglory's face went rather long--"is that you and matt come through your trip in the air without any trouble." "i'm not afraid!" declared haidee. "no more you're not, sis. if you were riding on the lower wing with matt the whole game would be different; but you're to hang under the machine, and there'll be more pitching and plunging than if you were aboard a bucking bronk. hang on, that's all, and don't try to hang by your heels." "i'll get an extra fifty dollars a week!" cried the girl. it was plain to be seen that she placed great store on that "fifty dollars a week." "what does your uncle, ben ali, think of it, haidee?" asked matt. a barely perceptible frown crossed the girl's face. what was passing in her mind? whatever her thoughts were, they found no echo in her answer. "uncle ben is glad to have me do it," and haidee retreated toward the door. "have you seen ping, haidee?" inquired matt. "when i saw him last," was the response, "he was walking toward the river with a couple of buckets. i'll be going, now. i'll see you again when the parade starts. that trapeze act on the aëroplane will make a great hit, don't you think?" "it ought to," said matt. the girl vanished. "i'll walk over to the steam music box," remarked mcglory, "and see if i can spot our pigtail friend." "all right," returned matt, dropping down on an overturned bucket and pulling a pencil and memorandum book from his pocket. before he could begin to figure, he heard a voice addressing mcglory at the tent door--and it was a voice that brought him up rigidly erect and staring. "say, misder, iss dis der shteam cantalope tent?" mcglory laughed. "well, yes, dutchy, you've made a bull's-eye first clatter. here's where they keep the 'cantalope.' what's the matter with you? look like you'd gone in swimming and forgotten to take off your clothes." "i tropped in der rifer mit meinseluf, und id vas vetter as i t'ought. say, vonce, iss modor matt aroundt der blace?" "he's inside, and---- sufferin' whirlwinds, but you're in a hurry!" a bedraggled form, with a dripping bundle in one hand and a stick in the other, hurled itself through the opening with a yell. "matt! mein olt pard, matt!" the next instant carl pretzel had rushed forward and twined his water-soaked arms about the king of the motor boys. the dutchman's delight was of the frantic kind, and he gurgled and whooped, and blubbered, and wrestled with matt in a life-and-death grip. mcglory, in amazement, watched from the entrance. "carl!" exclaimed matt. "by all that's good, if it isn't carl! great spark plugs, old chap, where did you drop from?" "ach, from novere und eferyvere. vat a habbiness! i peen so dickled mit meinseluf i feel like i vas going to pust! my olt raggie, matt, vat i ain'd seen alreddy for a t'ousant years!" just then there was a rush behind mcglory, and some one nearly knocked him over getting into the tent. "my workee fo' motol matt!" shrilled a high, angry voice. "dutchy boy no workee!" ping was terribly hostile, but mcglory caught and held him. carl tore himself loose from matt and would have rushed at ping had he not been restrained. "looks like they'd both been in the river," remarked mcglory. "what's the trouble here, boys?" asked matt. chapter iii. an eavesdropper. both carl and ping tried to explain matters at the same time. each talked loud, in the hope of drowning out the other, and the jargon was terrific. finally mcglory got a hand over the chinaman's mouth, and carl was able to give his side of the question. after that, ping had his say. "there's been no cause whatever for this flare-up," said matt. "everybody knows that carl can't sing, but everybody who's acquainted with him, too, knows that he's got more pluck to the square inch than any fellow of his size. carl's all right, ping. he went around south america with dick ferral and me on that submarine, and we parted company in san francisco just before i met up with joe. shake hands," and matt pushed carl toward the chinaman. "my workee fo' motol matt," whispered ping, who had likewise been given a push by the cowboy; "dutchy boy no workee, huh?" "you're both pards of mine," said matt, "and you've got to be friends. now, shake hands." the shaking was done--rather hesitatingly, it is true, but nevertheless it was done. "now," went on matt, "you get into your regalia, ping. carl, you can get out of your wet clothes and put on joe's working suit. while you're about it, tell me how you happen to be here. you stay and listen, joe," the young motorist added. "i want you to like carl as well as i do." "that's me, pard," laughed mcglory, taking a seat on one of the buckets. "there's plenty of ginger in the dutchman, and that's what cuts the ice with me." ping, covertly watching and listening, moved over to his bag of clothes and began rigging himself out in his gorgeous raiment. carl, talking as he worked, removed his water-logged costume. "i vas a tedectif, matt," said he gravely. "what's that?" demanded mcglory. "detective," smiled the king of the motor boys. "my dutch pard has been making a sleuth out of himself." "yah, so," pursued carl. "tick verral vent off mit his uncle, in tenver, und i run avay to san francisco looking for matt. he don'd vas dere some more, und i can't find oudt nodding aboudt vere he vas gone. i haf to do somet'ing vile vaiting for him to turn oop, und so i go indo der tedectif pitzness. dot's great vork, i bed you. you findt somet'ing for somepody, und dey gif you all kindts oof money. fine!" "how much have you made at the business, carl?" queried matt. "vell, nodding, so far as i haf gone, matt. aber i don'd haf no luck mit it. i vas schust learning der ropes. a feller hat his money took avay in 'frisco. i ged oudt oof dot mit a proken headt, und don'd findt der money. vell, next a olt laty in salt lake city loses her parrot, und say she gif ten tollar vould i findt him. i ketch der parrot off a push schust ven anodder feller lays holt oof him. ve fight for der pird, der pird iss kilt, und some more i don'd ged nodding, only a plack eye und some fierce talk from der olt laty. aber i don'd ged tiscouraged, nod at all. i vork on mit meinseluf. "pympy, i peen in chicago--der blace vere ve vas, matt, mit der air ship. dot's a great town for der tedectif pitzness, i bed you. i try to hire oudt by a prifate tedectif achency, aber dey don'd vant me. i keep afder dose fellers, und afder i was t'rown from der office a gouple oof times i valked in on dem by der fire escape. den dey gif me some chobs." "what sort of a job did they give you, carl?" by that time the dutch boy had stripped and put on mcglory's clothes. reaching for his water-logged bundle, he untied it, and fished a folded newspaper from an assortment of rubber collars, socks, and red cotton handkerchiefs. the newspaper was very damp, and had to be handled with care. "dis iss some english papers, matt," explained carl. "id vas brinted in lonton, und dose tedectif fellers had him py deir office. how mooch iss a t'ousant pounds in unidet shtates money, hey?" "five thousand dollars." "veil, dot's der chob--making dot fife t'ousant. i bet you i get rich vone oof dose tays." "you have to do something, don't you, before you get the money?" queried mcglory, with a wink at matt. "ach, dot's nodding," answered carl, in a large, offhand manner. "readt dot, matt." matt took the wet newspaper and read a marked paragraph, which ran as follows: "£ , reward! this sum will be paid for any information concerning one margaret manners, last known to be in calcutta, india. miss manners is about eighteen years of age, and is the only daughter of the late captain lionel manners, of the english army, stationed at bombay. miss manners disappeared from her home, under mysterious circumstances, and it is possible she went to america and engaged in the circus business. any one with knowledge concerning the missing person, and desirous of obtaining the reward, will please communicate with arthur hoppleson, solicitor, kent's road, london, w. c. further information, which cannot be publicly printed, will be cheerfully furnished." motor matt, after reading the paragraph to himself, read it aloud. "why," grinned mcglory, "that outfit of detectives was working your german friend, matt. they gave him that and sent him on a wild-goose chase, just to get rid of him." "dot's a misdake," declared carl. "dose fellers saw i meant pitzness, py shinks, und dey gif me der hardest case dey hat. yah, so. since den i haf peen looking for shows. eferyvere i hear aboudt some shows i hike avay. aber i don'd findt miss manners. she don'd vas in der mooseums, oder in der vild vest shows, or in rinklings; und oof she vasn't in der pig gonsolidated, den i vas oop some shtumps. my money has blayed oudt, und i hat to rite in a pox car to lafayette, intiana. here i vas shdrolling along tovard der show groundts ven i see dot shink mit der puckets, und hat sooch a scrap. afder der scrap vas ofer, a man on a elephant shpeak about motor matt. den i don'd t'ink oof nodding more. i come, so kevick as bossiple, to findt my olt raggie. und here ve vas, togedder like ve used to be." a broad smile covered carl's face. "now i don'd care for nodding. oof you t'ink you could help me findt miss manners, den i vill be opliged, und gif you part oof der revard--a gouple oof pounds oof id, anyvay." "it looks to me, carl," said matt, handing back the paper, "as though the men in that detective office were trying to have some fun with you. have you written to london to secure further information?" carl looked startled. "vell," he admitted, "i ditn't t'ink oof dat." "you're a fine detective, you are," said matt. "you might as well hunt for a needle in a haystack as to hunt for this english girl. can't you see? you've got a pretty wide field to cover, and it is only _supposed_ that she came to america and engaged in the circus business." carl ran his fingers through his carroty hair. "meppy dot's right," he mused. "oof dose fellers in chicago vas making some monkey-doodle pitzness mit me, you bed you i vould like to fool dem. meppy i findt der girl. den vat? v'y, dose tedectif fellers feel like t'irty cent. you vas vorking for der show, matt?" "we've an engagement with the manager for making flights in our aëroplane." "vat's dose?" "what's an aëroplane? why, carl, it's a heavier-than-air flying machine." "so? und you go oop in id?" "yes." carl sat on a bucket and ruminated for a space. "you know pooty near efery vone dot vorks for der show, hey?" he asked. "yes, i know every one." "iss dere a girl mit der name oof markaret manners?" "no. but she'd have a different name if she was with a show, carl. performers hardly ever use their real names." "dot's righdt, too." once more carl ran his fingers through his mop of hair. "iss der any vone connected mit der show vat has a shtrawperry mark on der arm?" he asked, brightening. "strawberry mark on the arm?" repeated matt. "why, carl, that advertisement doesn't say anything about such a thing." "i know dot, aber efery young laty you read aboudt vat's lost has der shtrawperry mark on der----" mcglory let off a roar of laughter. carl straightened up with a pained look on his fat face. "carl," cried mcglory, "you're a great sleuth, and no mistake! you jump at too many conclusions." "dere don'd vas anyt'ing else to chump ad," returned carl. "dis vas a dark case, you bed you, und dere has to be some guessings. dot's vat i make now, der guessings." "pretty woolly guessing, at that, and----" mcglory broke off abruptly to follow a sudden movement on matt's part. the canvas forming the side of the menagerie tent had shaken, as though there was some one on the other side of it. matt, seeing the shiver of the canvas, leaped for the wall. the next moment he had lifted the canvas and was looking into the other tent. a tall, brown-faced man, wearing a turban and an embroidered jacket, was just vanishing through the tent entrance. matt dropped the canvas and turned away, a thoughtful look taking the place of the smile with which he had listened to carl's talk. "what was it, pard?" asked mcglory. "an eavesdropper," replied matt. "speak to me about that!" exclaimed mcglory. "if some one thought the dutchman's yarn worth listening to, then perhaps there's something in it." "perhaps." motor matt's brow wrinkled perplexedly. "who was the fellow? could you recognize him?" "it was ben ali." mcglory bounded up, excited, and his own face reflecting some of the perplexity that shone in his friend's. before the conversation could be continued, however, a man thrust his head into the calliope tent. "they're waiting for you fellows," he announced. "hustle!" chapter iv. queer proceedings. the place occupied by the aëroplane in the procession was almost at the end, and just behind the herd of four elephants. rajah, owing to his freakish disposition, was always the fourth elephant of the string, delhi his mate, immediately preceding him. with peaceable brutes ahead, rajah might usually be depended upon not to cut any capers. it will be seen from this that the _comet_ followed on the heels of rajah. the parade was almost in readiness for the start when matt, mcglory, and ping reached the aëroplane. hostlers were running about placing plumes in the head-stalls of the horses, drivers were climbing to their seats, the wild animal trainer was getting into the open cage, and the members of the band were tinkering with their instruments. haidee was standing by the aëroplane when matt, mcglory, and ping reached the machine. "all ready, haidee?" asked matt. the girl turned and looked at him blankly. her face was unusually white, and there was a vacant stare in her eyes. "what's to pay, sis?" asked mcglory, with a surprised look at matt. "don't you feel well?" "i am well." the words came in an unnatural voice and with parrot-like precision. boss burton came hustling down the line in his runabout. "hurry up, matt," he called. "help haidee to a place on the upper wing of the _comet_." matt stepped over to the runabout. "what's the matter with the girl?" he asked, in a low tone. "matter?" echoed burton, fixing a keen look on the girl. "by jupiter, she's got one of her spells again! she hasn't had one of those for a month, now, and i thought they'd about left her for good." "is she subject to spells of that kind?" "she used to be. there's something queer about them, but they don't last long." "we shouldn't put her on the upper wing, then. there's no seat there, and nothing to hold on to." the sharp, impatient notes of a trumpet came from the head of the line. "well, put her somewhere," said burton impatiently, and whirled his horse. "get on the top plane, ping," said matt, hurrying back to the _comet_. "haidee is going to ride on the lower wing with us." "awri'," chirped ping, and mcglory gave him a leg up. haidee, moving like an automaton, made no objection to this arrangement. she took her place obediently on the lower wing of the machine, between matt and mcglory, and the engine was started. when the elephants began to move, matt switched the power into the bicycle wheels, and the aëroplane lurched over the uneven ground. reaching the road, the _comet_ went more steadily; and when the procession wound into the paved thoroughfares, the movement was comparatively easy. ben ali, from the neck of rajah, kept turning around and looking back at the three on the lower plane of the _comet_. matt, mcglory, and haidee, on account of the wings of the aëroplane being turned lengthwise of the street, rode facing the sidewalk on the left. in order to see them, ben ali was obliged to keep rajah somewhat out of the line. "what's the matter with ben ali?" asked mcglory, leaning forward and talking in front of haidee. "he's showing a heap more interest in the _comet_ than he ever did before." matt shook his head, and met steadily the piercing eyes of the hindoo until they were turned forward again. "what is your uncle looking this way for, haidee?" he asked. "i don't know." the girl expressed herself in the same mechanical way she had done before. "haidee isn't herself," said matt, "and i guess her uncle is worried. change seats with her, joe." matt wanted to talk with his cowboy chum and did not want to be under the necessity of passing his words around the girl. "move over, sis," requested mcglory, standing up and balancing himself on the foot-rest. the girl quietly slipped along the plane. cheer after cheer greeted the aëroplane and the king of the motor boys as soon as the crowded thoroughfares were reached. ping, on the upper wing, and clad in all his barbaric finery, was as proud as a peacock. haidee, on the other hand, paid absolutely no attention to the crowds. she sat rigidly in her place, like a girl carved from stone, keeping her unblinking eyes straight ahead of her. "i'm plumb beat, and no mistake," breathed mcglory, in matt's ear. "i never saw haidee like this before. she acts to me like she was locoed." "boss burton told me, just before we started," answered matt, in a low tone, "that she was subject to 'spells.' this is the first one she has had in a month, burton says." "can you savvy it?" "no." "ben ali seems worried out of his wits. watch how he keeps rajah zigzagging back and forth across the trail, so he can get a look at the girl every now and then. i wonder if haidee knows what she's about?" "she must. if she didn't she wouldn't be riding in the aëroplane." the bands played, the crowds waved hands and handkerchiefs and cheered, the clowns carried out all their funny stunts, and the procession moved on through the city of lafayette. students from purdue university followed the paraders and blew long blasts through tin horns. rajah showed signs of becoming restless, and ben ali's attention had to be given entirely to the big brute. matt, with one hand on the steering lever, kept the unwieldy machine moving in a straight track. "what do you suppose ben ali was listening to carl's talk for, there on the inside of the menagerie tent?" inquired the cowboy, his voice so low it could not possibly reach haidee. "i had a notion that----" "sh-h-h!" matt interrupted. "i had the same notion, joe, but it was only a wild guess, at the most. he's a prying chap, that ben ali, and he might have had only a casual interest in what carl was saying." "i'll bet a ten-dollar bill against a chink wash ticket that there was something more to it than that." "well, if there was, it's bound to come out, sooner or later. say nothing, but keep your eyes open." "i've always felt that there was a mystery about the girl and ben ali, and that----" mcglory broke off suddenly. haidee, with the quickness of lightning, had leaned over behind him and jerked one of the levers at matt's side. the next instant the big aëroplane took a wild jump forward. the king of the motor boys was alive to the danger in an instant. "hold the girl!" he cried, and instantly flung the lever back. the front ends of the two great wings had hurled themselves against rajah. the huge animal trumpeted wildly and swung about on his hind legs with trunk uplifted. it seemed as though he would surely charge the _comet_, wreck the machine, and kill or maim the four who were riding in it. mcglory, with haidee in his arms, leaped from the foot-rest into the road. ping rolled off the opposite side of the upper plane. had matt deserted his post, the _comet_ would certainly have been seriously damaged, if not totally wrecked. but, in spite of the danger that threatened him, he kept his seat. quick as a flash, he threw in the reverse. the bulky machine began wabbling away on the back track, the clown in the donkey cart behind, and the acrobatic "haymakers" in their trick wagon, driving frantically out of the way. ben ali was using his sharp prod with apparent frenzy, but the jabbing point had not the least effect. rajah started for matt and the _comet_. then, had not delhi's mahout been self-possessed and quick, the worst would have happened. people in the street jumped for the walk, and those on the walk pushing into the open doors of shops. shrieks and cries went up from the women, and men yelled in consternation. across rajah's path, with a rush, charged delhi, coming to a halt and blocking the way. rajah tried to go around, but delhi backed and continued to cut off his retreat. by that time boss burton had whirled to the scene in the runabout, and half a dozen men, from the forward wagons, were all around rajah, belaboring the brute with cudgels, whips, and whatever they could get their hands on. rajah's incipient rage was soon quelled by this heroic treatment. "what happened?" demanded burton, drawing up beside the aëroplane. "the machine made a jump," answered matt, not wishing to put the blame on the girl. "rajah was too close. tell ben ali to pay more attention to the elephant and less to us, and to keep in the centre of the road." burton was angry. the fault seemed to lie with matt, but ben ali caught the brunt of the showman's ire. ping, his yellow face like a piece of old cheese, got back on the upper wing, and mcglory led haidee to the _comet_ and helped her to her seat. "speak to me about that!" gulped the cowboy. "i'm a piegan if i didn't think you and the old _comet_ were done for. what possessed the girl?" "give it up," answered matt grimly. "as you said a while ago, pard, these are queer proceedings. just watch haidee every minute." "she didn't know what she was doing, and you can gamble a blue stack on that." "of course she didn't. that's why i didn't tell burton the real cause of the trouble. keep it to yourself, joe." chapter v. motor matt protests. the parade was finished without further incident worthy of note, a huge crowd following it back to the show grounds to see the aëroplane flight. as soon as the grounds were reached, ben ali came for haidee. there was a burning light in his black eyes, and he was shaking like a man with the ague. "just a minute, ben ali," said matt, catching the hindoo by the sleeve of his embroidered coat and leading him apart. "what's the matter with your niece?" "salaam, sahib," chattered ben ali. "haidee all right soon." "she can't make an ascension with me, ben ali. she was the cause of that trouble, and it would be sheer madness to take her aloft on that trapeze." "yis, sahib, _such baht_" (that is true). ben ali drew a quivering hand over his forehead. "but she be well like ever soon, sahib." ben ali whirled away, took haidee by the hand, and vanished among the wagons. boss burton strode to the scene. "what ails that brown rascal?" he asked, staring after ben ali. "he's in as bad a taking as the girl. what did he say about her? i've never been able to get him to tell me anything about her spells." "he tells me that she will be all right in a little while," answered matt. "then we'll delay the flight. it will be half an hour yet before all the people get here." matt peered at the showman as though he thought him out of his senses. "you don't mean to say that you want the girl to ride a trapeze under the _comet_?" he demanded. "why not?" burton answered. "you said you'd take her, and she's willing to go--she wants to go." "when i said i'd take her," returned matt, "i didn't know anything about her spells. suppose she were to have one while we're in the air? why, burton, she might throw herself from the trapeze." "no," declared the other, "she wouldn't do that. after she has one spell, i understand she doesn't have another for days, or weeks. it's been a month since she had the last. why, in st. paul, she had one ten minutes before she went to the ring for her trapeze work--and she never did better. if ben ali says she'll be all right in a little while he ought to know." "i protest against allowing her to go up in the aëroplane," said matt firmly. "when the machine is off the ground it has to have my whole attention. i won't be able to look after haidee without endangering both our lives." a hard look came into burton's face. "i'm paying you five hundred a week for the stunt you pull off with the flying machine, ain't i?" he demanded harshly. "you are," was the young motorist's calm response. "and i'm giving the fifty on top of that for taking the girl up with you?" "that was your proposition." "and you agreed to it?" "that was before i knew haidee was afflicted in this way, burton." "bosh!" scoffed the showman. "the thing has got on your nerves." "so it has," acknowledged matt. "i'm not going to place haidee in any danger, if i can help it." "and that shot goes as it lays, burton," spoke up mcglory, who had been taking a deep interest in the talk. "if you think motor matt is going to risk the girl's neck, or his own, for a little fifty a week, you've got another guess coming." boss burton had set his heart on that trapeze act. it was a decided novelty, and he could not cut it out of his calculations. "am i to understand," he went on, taking a look at the gathering crowds, "that you'll break your contract rather than take haidee up with you?" "that's what you're to understand!" snapped mcglory. "we'll not hem, and haw, and side-step, not for a holy minute." "it's this way, burton," continued matt. "haidee can't go up on the trapeze--we have to take a running start, you know, and it would be impossible. she'll have to ride up on the lower plane; then, after we are well clear of the ground, she'll have to drop from the footboard with the trapeze in her hands. if she's not entirely herself, the drop from the footboard to the end of the trapeze ropes will be too much for her. she'll fall." "but i told you that after she comes out of these things she's as fit as ever," cried burton. "it's a still day--the best we've had for flying since you joined the show. i don't want to give up the idea." "and you don't want to see haidee killed before your eyes, do you?" asked matt coldly. "oh, splash! there'll be nothing of that kind. ah, look! here she comes, and she's just as well as ever." matt and mcglory turned. haidee, ready for the ascent, was hurrying toward the machine from the direction of the tent. she moved swiftly and gracefully, and there was nothing mechanical in her actions--as there had been during the parade. the pallor had left her cheeks and the vacant look was gone from her eyes. matt and mcglory were astounded at the sudden change in her. "are you all ready for me, motor matt?" she asked eagerly. the trapeze was ready. that had been attached to the under plane of the _comet_ and the bar lashed to the foot-rest before the parade. but matt was not ready. "how are you feeling, haidee?" asked matt kindly. "fine!" she declared. "do you remember what happened during the parade?" a puzzled look crossed her face. "i can't remember a thing about that," she declared. "in fact, everything has been a blank almost from the time i left the calliope tent, where i was talking with you, until i came to myself in the menagerie tent with uncle ben." matt bowed his head thoughtfully. "what's the matter?" asked the girl, in a quivering voice. "aren't you going to take me up with the _comet_?" "he's afraid you'll have a spell while you're in the air, haidee, and drop off the bar," jeered burton. the girl stepped forward and caught matt's sleeve. "oh, it can't be true!" she exclaimed tearfully. "motor matt, you're not going to keep me from making that extra money? i need it! i must have it!" the girl's earnestness made matt waver. "it won't do," spoke up mcglory decidedly. "joe!" and haidee turned on him. "why can't you understand that i'm just as able as ever to do my trapeze work? i'll not have another of those queer spells for a long time." "that's what you think, sis," answered mcglory, "but if anything happened to you my pard would remember it as long as he lived. he has just protested to burton against taking you up. and he had a bean on the right number when he said what he did." "_i'm_ taking the chances," said haidee, "and nothing will happen." the aëroplane was at rest on the hard roadway running across the show grounds. for a distance of twenty feet on each side of the road strong ropes were stretched to keep back the crowd. the throng was now pressing against the ropes, clamoring for the aëroplane to make its flight. "if this performance don't come off," said boss burton, "it will be a tough blow for the big consolidated. i advertised this trapeze stunt on the flying machine in the morning papers, wiring it ahead from indianapolis. it's _got_ to be done, that's all. every promise made in our bills is always carried out. that's what has given this show a hold with the people. i don't say one thing and then do another." "circumstances alter cases," returned matt. "if you don't want to take haidee, will you take archie le bon?" archie le bon was one of the le bon brothers, iron-nerved men who performed wonderful flying feats on the trapeze. "certainly i'll take archie le bon," replied matt, glad to find such a way out of the disagreement. "bring him here while i'm getting the machine ready." haidee began to cry, but burton took her by the arm and led her away, talking earnestly and in a low voice. a trick was worked on the king of the motor boys that morning, and it was something for which he never forgave boss burton. and it was a trick carried to a successful conclusion almost under the very eyes of mcglory and ping. matt, being busy with the aëroplane and the motor, did not discover it until too late. matt went over the machinery of the _comet_ with the same care he exercised before every flight. a loose bolt or screw might spell death for him if it escaped his attention. when he was through with his examination, and had taken his seat ready for the flight. le bon appeared. he was in his shirt sleeves, not having had time to exchange his everyday clothes for ring costume. "i'll run with the machine," said le bon, "and climb over the lower plane from behind when it gets to running too fast for me." "that will do," answered matt. amid the breathless silence of the crowd, matt set the motor to working. "ready!" he called. the machine started along the road, gaining in speed with every foot of its progress. at the end of fifty feet it was going faster than a man could run; and at a hundred feet it was darting along at thirty miles an hour. this was the gait that enabled the wing to pick the machine off the ground. as the _comet_ slid upward along its airy path, the astounded mcglory saw le bon far back toward the point from which the machine had started. thinking that, through some mistake, le bon had been left behind, mcglory turned toward the mounting aëroplane. then the trick dawned upon him. haidee was climbing over the lower plane toward motor matt, now and again turning to wave her hand at the cheering crowd! and mcglory saw something else--something that had a fearful significance in the light of later events. chapter vi. ablaze in the air. when the king of the motor boys was in the air with the _comet_, every power of mind and body was trained to the work of looking after the machine. flying in an aëroplane is vastly more difficult than sailing in a balloon. in the case of a gas bag, an aëronaut has only to throw out ballast, take his ease, and trust to luck; but, with a heavier-than-air machine, the aviator must rely upon the quickness of his wits and his dexterity. aëroplane flying, in a large measure, is a knack, and must be acquired. the air pressure never touches the machine in exactly the same point for two consecutive seconds, and, because of this, the centre of gravity is constantly changing. centre of gravity and centre of air pressure must coincide at all times if the machine is to be kept in the air, and the success or failure to do this proves the competency or the incompetency of the operator. the traquair aëroplane--upon which model matt's machine had been built--preserved its equilibrium while aloft by an elongation, or contraction, of the wing tips. a lever regulated this; and, whenever matt was flying, the lever was moving continuously, the ends of the wings darting out and in with lightning-like rapidity, one side presenting greater wing area to the pressure while the other presented less, and vice versa. motor matt's engagement with boss burton did not cover long flights. usually, if the weather was propitious, he made it a point to remain aloft about fifteen minutes, circling about the show grounds, turning sharp corners and cutting airy "figure eights," in order to show the capabilities of the aëroplane. "get your trapeze over, le bon!" he called, while they were steadily mounting. a laugh was his answer--a silvery ripple of a laugh that had a familiar ring in his ears and now filled him with consternation. he dared not look around. "haidee!" he exclaimed. "are you mad at me, motor matt?" came the voice of the girl. she cautiously slipped into the seat beside him, her heightened color and sparkling eyes showing her excitement. "this was a trick," went on matt calmly, attending to his work with an indifference more apparent than real, "which you and le bon and burton played on me?" "it was burton's idea, and he told it to me while we were going after archie le bon. archie was to pretend to run with the machine, and i was to be with him. when the machine got to going too fast for us, archie was to drop to one side and i was to spring to the lower wing. your back would be in my direction, and you couldn't see me." "that wasn't like you, haidee," said matt. "are you mad?" "what's the use of being put out with you? i'll have something to say to burton and le bon when i get back to the grounds." "you thought you were doing something to help me--i know that--but you didn't understand i was perfectly able to carry out my part of the programme. as it is now, i came along and you couldn't help yourself. are you going to try and keep me from dropping under the machine with the trapeze?" "no," was the grim reply, "now that you are here you can go on with your work. hold to the hand grip on the edge of the plane while you unlash the bar." perfectly cool, and in complete command of her nerves, haidee knelt on the foot-rest, clinging to the plane with one hand while she unlashed the trapeze bar with the other. "i'm ready, motor matt," said haidee. she was sitting on the edge of the seat, holding the bar in both hands. matt had brought the _comet_ to an even keel, some fifty feet over the show grounds. they were traveling about thirty miles an hour--a snail's pace for the _comet_--and matt was about to make a turn over the river and traverse the length of the grounds going the other way. "now, listen," said he to the girl. "i'm going to tilt the _comet_ sharply upward and ascend for about fifty feet, then i'm going to reverse the position and descend for fifty feet in the same sharp angle. when we turn for the descent, haidee, drop from the foot-rest when i give the word. the pull of your body, when it falls, will drag on the machine, but never mind that--hang on and don't get scared. as soon as i can i will bring the machine to a level. understand?" "yes." "and another thing. while you're moving on the bar, just remember to do it quietly and easily. you've seen the two japs at work in the show, i know. when the big fellow balances the pole on his shoulder, and the little fellow goes up, every move is made as though there would be a smash if they were not careful." "i understand," said the girl. the machine had been brought around and was heading toward the grounds. matt twisted the small forward planes, which laid the course for ascending or descending. at the same time he speeded up the motor. the _comet_ pointed upward; then, at the top of her course, was as quickly turned and aimed toward the earth. matt caught a glimpse of a sea of upturned faces. the machine was rushing downward at a frightful pace. "_now!_" shouted matt. he saw the girl poise birdlike on the foot-rest, then sink from it with the trapeze. so great was the slant of the aëroplane that she seemed to fall forward. there was a jar as the bar reached the end of the ropes, and, with the girl's weight, was caught and held. the _comet_ made an erratic wabble and lurched sideways like a great bird, wounded on the wing. haidee withstood the jolt admirably, and matt twirled the lever operating the steering planes. sounds from the earth always reach aëronauts with startling distinctness. the shouts of consternation which came from the throats of the spectators could be heard, and also the murmur of relief as the _comet_ righted herself, and the trapeze and the girl swung back under the machine. controlling the aëroplane was always more difficult when there was a weight suspended beneath, but matt had counted upon this, and he forced the _comet_ back and forth over the show grounds, holding the machine fairly steady. three times he and haidee circled over the "tops" with their gay streamers, cheer upon cheer following them from below. matt had been in the air more than fifteen minutes, and he was just manoeuvring toward the starting and stopping point, when the cheers were suddenly turned to cries of fear and alarm. he could see the people below waving their arms and pointing upward. for an instant the young motorist's heart sank. he felt sure that something had gone wrong with the girl. this conviction had hardly formed before it was dissipated. a smell of smoke came to his nostrils, and to his ears a crackle of flames. matt turned his head. the left wing of the aëroplane was on fire! a thrill of horror shot through him. in the air, he and haidee, with a blazing flying machine alone between them and death! the very thought was enough to wrench the stoutest nerves. "haidee!" yelled matt. "yes," came the stifled response, from underneath the _comet_. "are you all right?" "yes." "hang to the bar--don't lose your nerve!" matt's mind was grappling with the complex situation. to get safely to the ground in the shortest possible time was the problem that confronted him. how the wing had caught fire he did not know, and had not the time even to guess. it sufficed that the plane was ablaze, and that the longer it blazed and ate into the fabric the less resistance the plane made to the atmosphere. and it was this resistance that spelled life for the king of the motor boys and the girl! to drop the blazing aëroplane into that sea of heads below meant injury to some of the spectators. matt must avoid this and reach the earth in the roped-off lane from which the ascent had been made. he put the clamps on his nerves, and, with brain perfectly clear, drove the aëroplane about at a sharp angle. then, if ever, the machine was true to its name, for as it darted onward, the smoke and flame that streamed out behind must have given it the look of a comet. could he drop to earth, the young motorist was asking himself, before the fire struck either of the gasoline tanks? motor matt, as he coaxed the last ounce of speed from the motor, shouted encouragingly to the terrified girl on the trapeze. suddenly, below him opened the narrow lane roped off along the road. a buzz of excited voices echoed in his ears. with steady hand he shut off the power and glided downward. "drop from the bar and run, haidee," he shouted, "as soon as we come close to the ground." there was a response from the girl, but the clamor of the crowd prevented him from hearing what it was. the next moment the blazing aëroplane settled into the road and glided along on the bicycle wheels. mcglory, carl, and ping were on hand, the cowboy in charge of a detachment of canvasmen with buckets. a hiss of steam, as water struck the flames, rose in the air. "careful!" cried matt, restraining the impetuous assault of the fire fighters. "don't climb over the machine and damage it! keep them back, joe! here, some of you, drench the wings on the right side and keep the fire from spreading." ably directed by matt and mcglory, the fire was extinguished. leaving the damaged aëroplane in charge of carl and ping, matt limped off toward the calliope tent, accompanied by his cowboy chum. chapter vii. was it treachery? "where's haidee?" asked matt. "oh, bother the girl!" cried mcglory savagely. matt turned on him with a surprised look. "what's the matter with you, pard?" he asked. "well, it's apples to ashes that i was never so badly shaken up in my life before as i am this minute. sufferin' judas! say, i'd never have believed it." the crowd was dense. some of the people were moving off toward the city, some were making for the side-show, and others were trying to get close to the king of the motor boys. matt, having just finished a sensational flight, was an object of curiosity and admiration. neither he nor mcglory paid any attention to the demonstration around them, but moved briskly onward toward the calliope tent. "i can't rise to you, joe," said the puzzled matt. "what's on your mind?" "something more'n my hat, and you can bet your moccasins on that." "where did haidee go?" "that leather-faced tinhorn uncle of hers grabbed her and took her away the minute she dropped from the trapeze." "she wasn't hurt, was she?" "i didn't take any trouble to find out. she walked off spry enough." mcglory was gruff to the point of incivility. it was evident to matt that he had been mightily stirred. "what's the matter with you?" demanded matt. "wait till we get into the calliope tent, and out of this crowd and the dust--then i'll tell you." "didn't you discover the trick boss burton played on me with the help of haidee and le bon, joe?" "oh, speak to me about that!" snarled the cowboy. "nary, i didn't, pard, until it was too everlastin'ly late to stop the run of the cards. burton! we've got a bone to pick with him; and, after it's picked, i feel like cramming it down his throat. he was bound to have the girl go up, and he worked it in his sneaking, underhand way! i don't like this layout, matt. you've had the closest call that's ever come your way since you took to flying. sufferin' cats! say, my heart was in my throat all the while i was looking on. i was expecting that any minute the fire would reach the gasoline, that both tanks would let go, and that you, and the girl, and the _comet_ would all be wiped out in a big noise and a splotch of flame." by this time they had reached the calliope tent, and were able to duck inside and get away from the crowd. the calliope was there, and filling the larger part of the interior. the big steam organ was shrouded in a canvas cover, and only the lower rims of the wagon wheels on which it was mounted were to be seen. matt dropped down on a heap of straw and leaned back wearily against a side pole. mcglory threw himself down beside him, his face thoughtful and angry. "i hadn't any notion burton was running in a rhinecaboo," said the cowboy presently, "until the _comet_ had jumped into the air and i had looked back and seen le bon near the place from which the machine had started. when i turned and looked at you and the _comet_, there was the haidee girl perched on the lower wing, throwin' kisses to the crowd. i knew then that burton had turned his trick, and i lammed loose a yell; but there was too much noise for you to hear it. i kept my eyes on the aëroplane and the girl and--and i saw something then that made my hair curl later when the fire broke out." "what was it?" asked matt. "haidee, pushing something out on the left-hand wing and jabbing it down there with a hatpin, so it would stay." "we must have been three or four hundred feet away from you, joe," returned matt, "and how could you see it was a hatpin?" mcglory sat up, opened the front of his coat, and drew a blistered hatpin out of the lining. "i hunted around under the machine, while we were fighting the fire," he explained, "and picked up that. so, you see, i know it was a hatpin." a frown crossed matt's face. "what do you make out of that move of haidee's?" he asked. "she pinned a ball of something soaked in oil to the wing and touched it off," averred mcglory. "it smouldered for a while and then blazed up and set fire to the canvas." "joe," returned matt incredulously, "you must be mistaken. i've always been a friend of haidee's. why should she want to destroy the _comet_, or me? when you come to that, why should she want to take her own life? that's virtually what it would have amounted to if the fire had reached the gasoline tanks." "who could have started the fire, if it wasn't the girl?" demanded mcglory. "she was the one." matt was nonplused. his cowboy chum seemed to have drawn a correct inference, but the supposition was so preposterous the king of the motor boys could take no stock in it. "we've got to use a little common sense, joe," insisted matt. "the girl wouldn't have the least motive in the world for trying to do such a thing as set fire to the _comet_!" "we've got to bank on what we see," answered mcglory, "no matter whether we want to believe our eyes or not. look at it! haidee comes to the aëroplane for the parade like a wooden figure of a girl, moving like a puppet worked by strings. suddenly she flashes out of her locoed condition and pulls a lever that slams the _comet_ against rajah's heels. well, we protected the girl from that because we believed she was having one of her 'spells.' she came out of the spell all of a sudden and lopes down to where the aëroplane stands ready for the start. she seems as well as ever, and begs to go up on the trapeze. a trick is played on us, and she _does_ go up. then, once more, she gets the _comet_ into trouble. i can't savvy the blooming layout, but i'm keen to know that some one is starting in to do us up. and haidee is one of our enemies." just then boss burton pushed into the tent. he was nervous and cast furtive glances at motor matt. "great business!" he exclaimed. "le bon got juggled out of the ascension, after all, and haidee, the sly minx! did her stunt on the trapeze, just as she had planned. how in the world did the machine take fire? crossed wires, or something?" "you need not try to dodge responsibility, burton," said matt sharply. "you put up the trick that was played on me." "on my honor, king----" "don't talk that way," interrupted matt. "come out flat-footed and admit it." "well," grinned burton, a little sheepishly, "if you put it that way, i'll have to acknowledge the corn. but the girl was clear-headed, wasn't she? she didn't fall off the trapeze, and she pulled off some hair-raising tricks on that flying bar that set the crowd gasping. it was the biggest novelty in the way of an act that any show ever put up. results will show at the ticket wagon this afternoon. too confoundedly bad, though, that the thing should have been marred by that fire. how long will it take you to fix up the machine? can you do it in time for an ascent to-night? i've planned to have haidee shoot off skyrockets from the trapeze, and roman candles, and all that." "you'll have to cut out the fireworks, burton," said matt dryly. "it will take a full day to repair the _comet_." burton "went up in the air" on the instant. "think of the loss!" he exclaimed. "you've got to repair the machine in time for the ascent this evening. if it's a matter of men, king, i'll give you a dozen to help." "it's not a matter of men," said matt. "joe and i are the only ones who can work on the _comet_. and listen to this--i mean it, and if you don't like it we'll break our contract right here--haidee has gone up with me for the last time. i'll take archie le bon, or any one else you want to send, but not haidee." "is this what you call treating me square?" fumed burton. "sufferin' ananias!" grunted mcglory. "you're a nice lame duck to talk about being treated square! you've got a treacherous outfit, burton, and pard matt and i are not beginning to like it any too well." matt, thinking mcglory might tell what haidee had done, gave him a restraining look. "you're responsible for the trouble that overtook the _comet_, burton," proceeded matt. "me?" echoed the showman, aghast. "well, i'd like to know how you figure it." "through your schemes, and over my protest, haidee made the ascent with me." "i'll admit that." "if she hadn't made the ascent, there'd have been no fire." "do you mean to say----" "now, don't jump at any conclusions. i know what i'm talking about when i tell you that there'd have been no fire if haidee hadn't made the ascent with me. that isn't saying, mark you, that the girl is to blame for what happened. would she want to burn the aëroplane and drop herself and me plump into the show grounds? if----" just then a weird thing happened. the calliope gave a sharp clatter of high notes. all present in the tent gave astounded attention to the canvas-covered music box. "spooks!" grinned joe. "there was enough steam left in the calliope to play a few notes," suggested burton. "but the notes couldn't play themselves," said matt, and made a rush for the calliope. the keyboard was in one end of the calliope wagon, and the canvas was draped over the chair occupied by the operator when the steam wagon was in use. with a pull, matt jerked aside the canvas that covered the rear of the calliope, and there, crouching in a chair, was ben ali! chapter viii. a call for help. "well, sizzlin' thunderbolts!" gasped the amazed burton. at first, ben ali sat blinking at those before him, apparently too dazed to move. "he's an eavesdropper!" cried mcglory, "and this ain't the first time we've caught him at it, either. grab him, matt! wring that thin neck of his!" ben ali regained his wits, then, and very suddenly. with a panther-like spring, he cleared the wagon on the side opposite that where motor matt was standing, dodged mcglory, who tried to head him off, shook a glittering knife in boss burton's face, and vanished under the wall of the menagerie tent. it was all so neatly done that the three in the calliope lean-to were left staring at each other in helpless astonishment. mcglory rushed furiously at the menagerie tent wall, lifted the canvas, then dropped it and rushed back. "not for me!" he breathed. "rajah is right there, teetering back and forth from side to side, and winding his trunk around everything in sight." "where was ben ali?" demanded burton, a glitter rising in his eyes. "getting out under the cages on the other side of the tent," replied mcglory. "i'll see if i can't head him off." with that the cowboy shot out of the lean-to. matt didn't think the effort to catch ben ali worth while, and once more dropped down on the pile of straw. for a few moments boss burton walked back and forth in front of him, hands behind his back, head bowed in thought, and a black frown on his face. abruptly he halted in front of matt. "the infernal hindoo drew a knife on me!" he scowled. matt nodded. the fact had been too plain to call for comment. "i'd pull the pin on ben ali in half a minute," continued boss burton, "if it wasn't for haidee." "where did you pick up ben ali and haidee?" inquired matt. "in wisconsin," was the answer, "just as the show was starting out of its winter quarters. rajah had run amuck, wounded a horse, smashed a wagon, and come within an ace of killing his keeper. ben ali applied for the job of looking after him, and i let him have it. he's been the only one, so far, who could take care of rajah." "where did the girl come in?" "she came in with her uncle, of course. ben ali said his niece was good on the flying bar, and he brought her to see me. when she came she was in one of her spells, and looked and acted like a puppet, with some one pulling the wires. i wasn't much impressed with her, but gave her a try-out. she recovered from the spell and acted just as she did to-day, when she went up with the _comet_--perfectly natural. she gave a good performance--mighty good--and i made a deal with her uncle. that's the way i got tangled up with the pair. why?" the showman transfixed matt with a curious glance. "oh, nothing," said matt carelessly. "the hindoo and the girl have always been something of a mystery to me, and i wanted to find out what you knew about them. where did they come from?" "give it up. i never look into the past of people who hire out to me. if they're capable, and do their work, that's enough. from what mcglory said, and from what i've seen, ben ali appears to have been sneaking around here, listening to what you and your friends were saying. if he hadn't inadvertently touched the keyboard of the calliope we shouldn't have known he was under the cover. have you any notion what he means by that sort of work?" "no." "well, it's deuced queer, and that's all i can say. do you think he ought to be bounced?" "yes, but i wouldn't do it." "on haidee's account?" "partly that; partly, too, because, if you keep him on the pay roll, we may be able to learn something about him and the girl. i'm a bit curious about them, burton." "it's a bad habit--this of getting too curious. it's dollars and cents for me to have the two with the show. what's more," and his remarks took a more personal turn, "it's money in my pocket to have the _comet_ go up this afternoon with haidee shooting roman candles from the trapeze. when are you going to get busy with the repairs?" "after i eat something." "well, rush the work, matt. do the best you can." "it won't be haidee who rides the trapeze next time the _comet_ takes to the air," said the king of the motor boys firmly. "well, archie le bon, then," returned burton, with much disappointment. as he went out, mcglory came in, passing him in the entrance. "nothing doing," reported the cowboy. "where the hindoo went is a conundrum. i couldn't find anybody about the grounds who had even seen him since he walked haidee away from the burning aëroplane." while mcglory, disgusted with his ill success and the turn events were taking, there on the banks of the wabash, slumped down on a bucket and mopped his perspiring face, motor matt dropped into a brown study. "these hindoos are crafty fellows, joe," he remarked, after a while. "they're clever at a great many things we americans don't understand anything about. i knew one of them once. he was the servant of a man who happened to be the uncle of one of the finest young fellows that ever stepped--brave dick ferral. this particular hindoo i was able to study at close range." "what are you leading up to by this sort of talk?" asked mcglory, cocking his head on one side and squinting his eyes. he had this habit when anything puzzled him. "i'm leading up to the element of mystery that hangs over the events of to-day. india is a land of mystery. the people are a dreamy set, and now and then one of them will go off into the woods, or the desert, and spend several years as a devotee. when he comes back to civilization again he's able to do wonderful things. i've heard that these fakirs can throw a rope into the air and that it will hang there; and that they can make a boy climb the rope, up, and up, until he disappears. then rope, boy, and all but the fakir will vanish." "fakes," grunted joe. "such things ain't in reason, pard. you know what a fakir is in this country, and i reckon he's not much better in india." "of course it's a fake," said matt, "but it's a pretty smooth piece of magic. the hindoo devotees could give hermann and all the other magicians cards and spades and then beat them out." "i'm blamed if i can see yet where all this talk of yours leads to." "i'm only, what you might call, thinking out loud," laughed matt. "haidee's actions puzzle me. her uncle is a hindoo, and he may be an adept in magic. if he is, just how much has the girl's queer actions to do with ben ali? it's something to think about. i'm glad burton isn't going to cut loose from the hindoo and the girl. the more i see of them, the more curious i'm becoming." "ben ali, pard," grinned mcglory, "is a little bit curious about us, i reckon, from the way he's pryin' around. how do you account for that?" matt shook his head. "i can't account for it, joe, but perhaps we'll be able to do so later." he got up. "how about something to eat?" he asked. "we'll have to have dinner, then take something to the boys, and get busy patching up the aëroplane." "did you ever know me to shy at a meal?" asked mcglory, promptly getting up. "we'll hit the chuck layout, and then----" it was nearly time for the doors to open, and inside and out the two big "tops" there was a bustle of preparation. the "spielers" in the ticket stands at the side-show were yelling, people were crowding about the ticket wagon, where they were to buy pasteboards admitting them to the "big show," and a band was playing in the road beyond the grounds. above all these various sounds there came a call, wild and frantic. it reached the ears of the two boys in the calliope tent with strange distinctness, and cut mcglory short while he was talking. "helup! helup, somepody, or i vas a goner!" the cowboy gave a jump for the door, only a foot or two behind matt. "was that your dutch pard?" cried mcglory. "it was his voice, plain enough," answered matt, looking around sharply. "what could have gone wrong with him?" "i can't imagine--here, in broad daylight, with the grounds full of people." "it's trouble of the worst kind if we're to take the words as they sounded." matt believed this fully. carl pretzel was not the lad to give a false alarm, and he had clearly put his whole heart into the words matt and mcglory had heard. "where did the call come from?" went on mcglory, mystified. "it seemed to come from everywhere, and from nowhere," replied matt. "look into the menagerie tent, joe." while mcglory was lifting the canvas and taking a look through the animal show, matt rounded the outside of the lean-to, searching every place with keen eyes. carl was nowhere to be found. as matt drifted back toward the door of the calliope tent, mcglory emerged and joined him. "he's not mixed up with the animals," reported the cowboy. "and i can't get any trace of him out here," said matt. "let's walk over to the aëroplane. carl and ping were to watch the machine, and i'm pretty sure neither of them would leave it without orders unless something pretty serious had gone wrong." vaguely alarmed, the two chums pushed their way through the crowd toward the place where the _comet_ had been left. chapter ix. black magic. while the parade was passing through town, carl had been "sleuthing." the fact that he was wearing mcglory's working clothes gave him an idea. he didn't look like himself, so why not be some one else? all the detective books he had ever read had a good deal to say about disguises. carl was already disguised, so he made up his mind that he would be a dago laborer. after watching the parade file out of the show grounds, he slouched over to the side-show tent. a man was just finishing lacing the picture of a wild man to the guy ropes. carl shuffled up to him. "i peen der idaliano man," he remarked, in a wonderful combination of dutch and italian dialect, "und i, peen make-a der look for a leedl-a gal mit der name oof manners. haf-a you seen-a der girl aroundt loose some-a-veres?" the canvasman looked carl over, and then, being of a grouchy disposition, and thinking carl was trying to make fun of him, he gave him a push that landed him against a banner containing a painted portrait of the elastic-skin man. the banner was even more elastic than the image it bore on its surface, for carl rebounded and struck one of the "barkers," who happened to be passing with his hands full of ice-cream cones for the bearded lady and the zulu chief. disaster happened. the "barker" fell, with the dutch "tedectif" on top of him--and the ice-cream cones in between. the "barker" indulged in violent language, and began using his hands. carl was pretty good at that himself, and retaliated. two canvasmen pulled the two apart. carl had the contents of a cone in his hair, and the "barker" had the contents of another down the back of his neck. "where'd that ijut come from?" yelled the "barker," dancing up and down among the broken cones. "who left der cage toor oben?" cried carl, digging at his hair. "der papoon vas esgaped." "you put up your lightning rod," growled the "barker," "or you'll git hit with a large wad of electricity." "come on mit it!" whooped carl, fanning the air with his fists. "no vone can make some ice-gream freezers oudt oof me mitoudt hafing drouples!" "that'll do you," snorted the canvasman who had hold of carl, and thereupon raced him for twenty feet and gave him a shove that turned him head over heels across a guy rope. "dot's der vay," mourned carl, picking himself up and gathering in his hat. "der tedectif pitzness comes by hardt knocks, und nodding else. vere can i do some more?" his head felt cold and uncomfortable, even after he had mopped it dry with a red cotton handkerchief. he went over to the horse tent. the tent was nearly empty, all the live stock except a trick mule being in the parade. the mule would not have been there, but he was too tricky to trust in the procession. a man with a red shirt, and his sleeves rolled up, sat on a bale of hay close to the mule. the man was smoking. "hello, vonce," flagged carl. "hello yourself," answered the man. "i peen some idaliano mans," remarked carl, "und i vas make-a der look for markaret manners, yes. haf-a you seen-a der gal?" "take a sneak," said the man. "she iss-a leedle-a gal aboudt so high, yes," and carl put out his hand. "i peen-a der poor idaliano man, aber i gif-a you fife tollars, py shiminy, oof-a you tell-a me where-a der gal iss." "you can't josh me," went on the man earnestly. "hike, before i knock off your block." carl continued to stand his ground and ask questions; then, the next thing he knew, the hostler had jumped up and rushed for him. carl sprang back to get out of the way, unfortunately pushing against the hind heels of the mule. the mule knew what to do, in the circumstances, and did it with vigor. carl was kicked against the man with the pipe, and that worthy turned a back somersault as neatly as any "kinker" belonging to the show. the dutch boy limped hastily around the end of the horse tent and crawled into an empty canvas wagon. the mule's heels had struck him with the force of a battering-ram, and he felt weak up and down the small of the back. besides, the wagon was a good place in which to hide from the hostler. cautiously he watched over the wagon's side. the hostler came around the side of the tent, looked in all directions, and then retired, muttering, in the direction of the bale of hay. carl chuckled as he dropped down on a roll of extra canvas, but the chuckle died in a whimper as he became conscious of his sore spots. "i vonder how cherlock holmes efer lifed to do vat he dit," he murmured, curling up on the canvas. "der tedectif pitzness iss hit und miss from vone end to der odder, und den i don'd get some revards. meppy i vill shleep und forged id." when carl woke up, he looked over the side of the wagon and saw a burning flying machine in the air, and he heard the wild yells of the crowd. probably it was the yelling that awoke him. "py shinks," he cried, "dot's my bard, modor matt! he iss purnin' oop mit himseluf. fire! fire! helup!" and carl rolled out of the wagon and raced toward the spot where the machine seemed to be coming down. mcglory, white-faced but determined, was marshaling a lot of men with buckets of water. carl dropped in. when the machine landed, he set to with the rest and helped extinguish the flames. then, after he had congratulated matt, carl and ping were placed on guard. in spite of the fact that carl had shaken hands with ping, he continued to have very little use for the chinaman. and ping, to judge from appearances, had no more use for the dutchman. they did not speak. one sat down on one side of the machine and the other sat down on the other. then a brown man, wearing an embroidered coat and a turban, drove up on a small cage wagon drawn by one horse. he got off the wagon and stepped up to carl. "how-do, sahib?" said the man. carl remembered him. he was the fellow who had been dozing on rajah's back at the river. also he was the man who had taken charge of the girl who had dropped off the trapeze when the burning aëroplane came down. carl had a startling thought--it flashed over him like an inspiration. "how you vas?" answered the dutch boy genially. "you come 'long with ben ali," said the man. "nod on your dindype," replied carl. "i vas vatching der machine for modor matt." "_you come!_" hissed ben ali. then carl noted something very remarkable. the hindoo's eyes began to blaze, and dance, and show wonderful lights in their depths. "shtop mit it!" said carl. "you peen a mesmerizer, und i don'd like dot." carl knew he couldn't be hypnotized against his will, but the hindoo's eyes were working havoc with his nerves. "_you come!_" the words of ben ali were imperative. carl, seemingly unable to remove his own eyes from the hindoo's, followed as ben ali retreated toward the wagon. at the end of the wagon ben ali made some passes with his hands in front of carl's face, then opened the door. "you get in, sahib!" carl climbed into the wagon mechanically. slam went the door and click went a key in the padlock. the _comet_ had come down from its disastrous flight at a considerable distance from the tents. there were no people in the immediate vicinity save ping. the little chinaman, on hands and knees under the lower wing of the aëroplane, was watching covertly all that took place. after locking the door of the cage wagon, ben ali took a cautious look around him. he saw no one. climbing up on one of the forward wheels, he took a slouch hat and a long linen duster from the seat, removed his embroidered coat and his turban, got into the hat and duster, climbed to the seat, picked up the reins, and drove off. ping had seen it all, but had made no attempt to interfere. and he made no attempt now. he did not like the "dutchy boy." he was afraid carl would take away from him his job with motor matt. it was with secret rejoicing, therefore, that the chinaman saw carl locked in the wagon and hauled away. "hoop-a-la!" chattered ping, as he returned to his place and once more went on watch. the wagon used by ben ali, on this momentous occasion, was technically known as the monkey wagon. two of the monkeys had eaten something which did not agree with them, and had died in indianapolis. the three that remained had been taken out and put in another cage, with a collection known as "the happy family." this, of course, left the monkey wagon empty. burton was figuring on using it for one of the ant-eaters, but there were some repairs to be made before the wagon could be put to that use. the repairs dragged, and so ben ali found his opportunity to use the cage. straight across the show grounds drove the disguised hindoo. none of the employees who saw him recognized him or questioned his right to use the monkey wagon. different gangs had different duties, and no one knew but that this strange driver was off to town on some important mission. ben ali drove within a hundred feet of the calliope tent. when he was well beyond it, a yell came from inside the wagon. "helup! helup, somepody, or i vas a goner!" a shiver ran through ben ali. he made ready to leap from the wagon, but thought better of it when he saw that the call had attracted no attention and was not repeated. "sahib keep still!" he called, kicking the end of the wagon with his heels. and thus, with not a sound coming from the interior of the monkey wagon, the artful hindoo adept drove into the road and headed the horse away from the town and into the country. chapter x. the mahout's flight. when matt and mcglory, hurrying to the aëroplane to make inquiries concerning carl, came within sight of ping, they saw him calmly occupied twirling a set of jackstones. "ping!" called matt. "awri'!" answered ping, slipping the jackstones into a pocket of his blouse and immediately getting up. "where's carl?" "dutchy boy no good. him lun away." "run away?" echoed mcglory. "here's a slam! when and how, ping?" "ben ali dlive 'lound in wagon. him say to dutchy boy, 'you come.' dutchy boy makee come chop-chop. ben ali shuttee do', put on melican coat, melican hat, makee dlive off. woosh! dutchy boy no good." this offhand description of what had happened to carl was received with startled wonder by matt and mcglory. "when was this?" demanded matt. "plaps fi' minit, plaps ten minit. no gottee clock, motol matt; no savvy time." "you say ben ali drove up in a wagon?" "dlive up in monkey wagon. put dutchy boy in monkey wagon." "and then he locked carl inside?" "allee same." "and took off his turban and embroidered coat and replaced them with another hat and coat?" "melican hat, plenty long coat." "wouldn't that rattle your spurs, pard?" murmured mcglory. "what did ben ali do?" went on matt, resolved to get at the bottom of the matter, if possible. "him makee funny look with eye," replied ping. "by klismus! him blame' funny look. one piecee devil shine in eye." "hypnotized!" grunted mcglory. "you can't easily hypnotize a person against his will," averred matt. "it's not hard to guess that carl was a good way from being willing to go with ben ali." "what the dickens did ben ali want to run off carl for?" queried mcglory. "this business gets more and more mysterious, joe," returned matt, "the farther we go into it." "and that yell we heard!" "that certainly came from carl. ben ali must have driven past the calliope tent while we were talking inside. the fact that carl gave a yell for help proves that he wasn't wholly hypnotized." "he may have come out from under the influence just long enough to give a whoop," suggested the cowboy. "let's go back and hunt up burton," said matt. "he'll want his monkey wagon, and, of course, we've got to get hold of carl." "it's news to discover that ben ali is a hypnotist," observed mcglory, as he and matt whirled and started to retrace the ground over which they had just passed. "i told you these hindoos were a crafty set," answered matt. the doors were open and the crowd was vanishing inside the big tents. the grounds were not so congested with people as they had been, and it was easier to get about and hunt for burton. as it chanced, they ran plump into the manager just as they were rounding the dressing tent at the end of the circus "top." burton was red and perspiring, and there was wrath in his face. "i've been looking all around for you fellows," he cried. "you can run one of these here buzz-wagons, can't you, matt?" "yes," replied matt, "but----" "come along," interrupted burton, grabbing matt by the arm, "we haven't any time to spare." "wait!" protested matt, drawing back. "have you seen----" "can't wait," fumed burton. "i've hired a chug-car; and there's a race on. haidee has skipped. aurung zeeb, one of the other hindoo mahouts, has helped her get away. they've taken my runabout. confound such blooming luck, anyhow!" here was news, and no mistake. ben ali running off with carl, and aurung zeeb taking to the open with the showman's kentucky cob and rubber-tired buggy! "do you know where aurung zeeb and haidee went?" asked matt. "i haven't the least notion," was the wrathful answer, "but we've got to find them. i don't care a straw about zeeb, or the girl, but that runabout rig is worth six hundred dollars, just as it stands." "well, if you don't know which way the rig went," argued matt, "it's foolish to go chasing them and depending on luck to point the way." "we've got to do something!" declared burton. "where's ben ali?" "oh, hang ben ali! i haven't seen him since he flashed that knife in my face." "we've just discovered," proceeded matt, "that he has skipped out, too, and taken your monkey wagon along." "sure of that?" "ping just told us. not only that, burton, but he took my dutch pard--the lad that came this morning--with him. carl was locked in the cage." "worse and worse," ground out burton. "how'd ben ali ever manage to do that?" "on the face of it, i should say that ben ali had hypnotized carl." "nonsense! what does an elephant driver know about hypnotism? still, this begins to look like a comprehensive plan to steal a monkey wagon and a runabout and leave me in the lurch. what do you think of that haidee girl to do a thing like this? she seemed mighty anxious to earn money, yet here she skips out with about a hundred in cash to her credit." "it's hard to understand the turn events have taken," said matt. "but i wouldn't blame haidee too much until you know more about her--and about ben ali." "i want my horses and my rolling stock," fretted burton. "the rest of the outfit can go hang, if i get back the plunder." "you said something about an automobile," said matt. "there's a car here, and the man that owns it is seeing the show. he said i could have the use of the car all afternoon for fifty dollars. he thought i was an easy mark, and i let him think so. he's got the money and i've got the car. after he'd gone inside, i happened to remember that i couldn't run the thing, so i chased off looking for you. here we are," and the three, who had been walking in the direction of the road, came to the side of a large automobile. it was a good machine, with all of six cylinders under the hood. "if you're a mind reader, and can tell where we ought to go, burton," said motor matt, "i'll get you there. i feel right at home when i'm in the driver's seat of a motor car." "wait till i ask somebody," and burton whirled and flew away. "gone to have some fortune teller read his palm," laughed mcglory. "oh, but he's wild when he gets started." "i don't blame him for worrying," said matt. "he was offered four hundred, spot cash, for that kentucky cob, in indianapolis. shouldn't wonder if he stood to lose a thousand dollars if the runaways can't be overhauled. and he hasn't much time to overhaul them, either, joe. the three sections of the show train have got to be on the move toward south bend by three in the morning. i'm worried some myself, on carl's account. what has that crafty mahout got at the back of his head? i wish i knew. you and i are going to stay right here in lafayette until we can find out something about carl." "sure we are," agreed the cowboy heartily. "but here comes burton, and he looks as though he'd found out something." "one of the canvasmen," announced burton breathlessly, as he came up with the boys, "says that he saw the monkey wagon heading south into the country. can't find out which way the runabout headed, but we'll take after the other outfit. get in and drive the machine for all you're worth." matt passed around in front, and was pleased with the business-like manner in which the motor took up its cycle. "here's where we throw in the high-speed clutch and scoot," said matt, settling into the driver's seat with a glad feeling tingling along his nerves. it had suddenly occurred to him that he would rather motor in a high-powered car than do anything else that had so far claimed his attention. in such a machine, "miles were his minions and distance his slave." "here we go," he finished, and away bounded the car. matt took time to wonder at the nature of a plutocrat who, for fifty dollars, would trust such a beautiful piece of mechanism in the hands of a showman. but the fact was accomplished, and guesses at the reason were futile. they came to a hill--a steepish kind of a hill, too--and they went over it without a change of gear. motor matt laughed exultantly. "took it on the high speed!" he cried. "a car that can do that is a corker." on the opposite side of the hill, as they were scorching down with the speedometer needle playing around the fifty-eight mark, a team and wagon containing a farmer and his family were almost backed off the road. matt tampered with the brakes, but the car was going too fast to feel the bind of the brake grip. "never mind!" cried burton, from his place at matt's side. "that outfit is going to the show to-night. if i see 'em, i'll pass 'em all in with fifty-cent chairs. now, boy, hit 'er up. i've got to recover my property before night sets in, and this may be a long chase." "long chase!" yelped mcglory derisively from the tonneau. "how can it be a long chase when we're going like this? hang on to your hair, burton! mile-a-minute matt's at the steering wheel." chapter xi. the paper trail. the coils hummed merrily to the six-cylinder accompaniment. the wind whistled and sang in the ears of the three who were plunging along at a speed which was bound to get them somewhere in short order. then, as might be expected, something happened. it was no accident to the car. the road spread apart in two equally well-traveled branches, and matt shut off and came to a stop at the forks. "the canvasman, of course," said the young motorist, looking around at burton, "couldn't tell you which fork the monkey wagon would take." "here's a go!" muttered burton. "if we take one fork, we may be hustling off on the wrong scent. at a guess, i should say take the right-hand branch." "let's not do any guessing until we have to," matt returned. "my cowboy chum here is a good hand at picking up trails. show us how they do it in arizona, joe." mcglory was out of the car in a flash and giving his attention to the surface of the road. "you might as well try to hunt for the print of a rabbit's foot in the trail of a herd of stampeded steers," said mcglory, after five precious minutes spent in fruitless examination. "what sort of a cowboy are you, anyhow?" scoffed burton. "well, look," answered mcglory. "the ground is all cut up with people coming to the show, and it's none too soft. i couldn't pick out the tread of a traction thrashing machine in all this jumble of prints." "any one coming on either road?" queried burton, standing up and looking. "if there is, we could inquire as to whether they'd passed the monkey wagon." "see any one?" asked matt. "not a soul," and the showman plumped disappointedly down in his seat. "just a minute, joe," interposed matt, as the cowboy was about to climb back into the tonneau. "what's that white object in the road?" matt pointed as he spoke. "there's one, just over the left-hand fork, and another beyond it." "if you stop to bother with paper scraps," cried burton, "we'll never get anywhere." mcglory, however, turned back and picked up the object to which matt had called his attention. it was a scrap of paper, just as burton had said. the scrap was a ragged square, as though it had been roughly torn, and measured about two inches across. the cowboy examined it casually at first, then his face changed, and he gave it closer attention. "my handwriting," he declared, looking up at matt. "how can that be?" scoffed burton. "i don't know how it can be," replied mcglory, "but it's a fact, all the same. i had a memorandum book, and have jotted down various things in it." "where'd you leave the memorandum book?" jested the showman impatiently; "in the monkey wagon?" "nary, i didn't. i left it in the hip pocket of my working clothes." "and carl had on the clothes!" exclaimed matt, with a jubilant ring in his voice. "carl must have scattered that trail for our benefit." he stood up in the automobile and looked back over the road they had traveled. "why," he went on, "we haven't been as observing as we should have been. there's a paper trail, and carl must have started it pretty soon after the monkey wagon left the show grounds." "well, well!" muttered burton. "say, matt, that dutch chum of yours is quite a lad, after all. the idea of his thinking of that." "carl always has his head with him," declared matt. "climb in, joe. the left fork for ours." mcglory pulled the crank, before he got in, for the stop had killed the engine. "it's a cinch," said mcglory, as he resumed his place in the tonneau, "that carl wasn't hypnotized when he dropped those scraps. how _could_ he drop 'em? that's what beats me. why, he was locked in, so ping said." "there was a hole in the floor," explained burton. "not a very big one, but big enough for an ant-eater to get a foot through. i was going to repair the cage, but haven't had time to attend to it." "why didn't carl yell again?" went on mcglory. "if he had yelled long enough, and loud enough, some one would have been bound to hear him and stop ben ali." "this is another case where carl's using his head," put in matt. "he's playing some dodge or other." "he's showing up a whole lot stronger than i ever imagined he could," said the cowboy. "i had sized him up for a two-spot at any sort of headwork. got my opinion, i reckon, from the way those chicago detectives fooled him." "he's not so slow as you imagine, joe," said matt. "now keep an eye out for scraps!" "we can't get into a scrap with those hindoos any too quick to suit me," laughed mcglory, hanging out over the side of the motor car. once more the whirling, headlong rush of the car was resumed. no sooner had burton, or mcglory, discovered a bit of white in the roadway ahead than it was lost to sight behind. then, after four or five miles of this, the three in the car raised an object, drawn up at the roadside, which brought the car to a halt. the object was the monkey wagon, horse gone from the shafts, rear door swinging open, and not a soul in the vicinity. "here's another queer twist," grumbled burton, as all three got out to make a close survey of the wagon. "what do you think of it, matt?" matt and mcglory thrust their heads in at the door. "phew!" gurgled the cowboy, drawing back. "there's a mineral well, in lafayette, that's a dead ringer for the smell inside that cage wagon." "i haven't had it swabbed out yet," apologized burton. "here's the hole where carl dropped out the paper scraps," matt called, from inside the wagon. "and here's something else, pard!" yelled mcglory. matt came out of the wagon and found his cowboy chum calling burton's attention to marks in the road. "what do you make of it, joe?" asked matt, coming closer. "well," answered mcglory, reading the "signs," "a one-horse buggy with rubber tires stopped here, alongside the monkey wagon. look how the road's tramped up, ahead there. the horse was restive during the halt, and did some pawing." "great guns!" murmured burton. "my runabout!" "i think it's pretty clear now," observed matt. "aurung zeeb and haidee didn't get away at the same time ben ali and carl did, or else they took a different course. anyhow, they came up with the wagon. the runabout's faster, so the whole party went on with it." "they might get three people into the runabout, by crowding," said burton, "but they never could get four people into it." "that's why the horse was taken from the monkey wagon," went on matt. "aurung zeeb or ben ali must have ridden the animal." "by jove, king, i wish i had your head for getting at things! that was the way of it--it _must_ have been the way of it. let's pile back into the machine and hustle on." they all felt that the chase was drawing to a close. the runabout was a faster vehicle than the monkey wagon, but there was not the ghost of a show for the kentucky horse getting away from the automobile. from that point on, the paper trail was not in evidence. "carl wasn't able to drop any more scraps," said matt. "when he was inside the monkey wagon he was out of sight and could do about as he pleased; crowded into the runabout with ben ali and haidee, and with aurung zeeb riding behind, he couldn't possibly drop a clue to guide us." "the dutchman seems to have taken it for granted that he'd be followed," hazarded burton. "he knows very well," returned matt, "that i wouldn't stand around and let him worry through this run of hard luck alone. look out for the runabout. the way i figure it, the rig can't be more than ten or fifteen minutes ahead of us." "how do you figure it, matt?" asked burton. "well, from the time joe and i heard carl call for help. i don't believe it was more than half an hour from that time until we were hitting the high places with this automobile. eh, joe?" "no more than that, pard," answered mcglory. "i should think we'd have gained more than fifteen or twenty minutes on the hindoos, the rate we've been coming," remarked burton. "possibly we have. if that's so, then the runabout can't be even ten minutes ahead of us. now----" "runabout!" yelled mcglory. he was standing up in the tonneau and peering ahead. the road, at this point, was bordered with heavy timber on both sides, but in half a minute matt and burton could each see the vehicle to which the cowboy had called their attention. it wasn't a runabout, as it proved, but a two-seated "democrat" wagon, drawn by a team, and conveying another party townward--presumably for the evening performance of the big consolidated. mcglory's disappointment was keen. and his feelings, for that matter, were matched by those of motor matt and burton. matt halted the automobile and, when the wagon came alongside, asked the driver if he had been passed by a runabout farther along the road. the party had come five miles on that road and, according to the driver, hadn't been passed by anything on wheels going the other way. for a space those in the automobile were in a quandary. "what's amiss?" fumed burton. "are we on the wrong track, after all, in spite of your dutch friend and his paper trail, and mcglory's reading the signs at the monkey wagon?" matt suddenly threw in the reverse and began to turn. "only one thing could have happened," he averred. "what's that?" "why, the people in the runabout must have heard us coming and turned from the road into the woods." "let her out on the back track, then!" cried burton. "if the hindoos think they've dodged us, they've probably pulled out into the road and started the other way." this seemed to have been the case, for three minutes speeding over the return trail brought those in the automobile in sight of the runabout. this time it _was_ the runabout, and no mistake, and the kentucky cob was stretching out like a race horse under the frantic plying of a whip. burton reached behind him, under his coat, and brought a revolver into view. "we'll find out about this business before we're many minutes older!" he exclaimed grimly. chapter xii. carl turns a trick. something has been said about carl pretzel having an idea that was almost an inspiration, at the time he was approached by the hindoo at the aëroplane. this it was that led him into the monkey wagon. the slam of the door and the grate of the key in the padlock struck a sudden tremor to the dutch boy's heart. was he making a fool of himself or not? would a trained detective have proceeded in that manner? his heart failed him, and he gave the wild yell for help. he had hardly given the cry before he repented of it. what would motor matt think of his nerve if he could know the game he had embarked upon, and how he had been stampeded in playing it? no; if that call had done no harm, carl would not repeat it. he would see the business through and try and match wits with the hindoo. in spite of the noise on the show grounds, carl heard ben ali's heels bang against the end of the wagon, and also the stern voice commanding him to keep silent. carl kept silent. he was almost smothered by the closeness of his prison chamber, and the terrific odor that assailed him, but he comforted himself with the thought that detectives don't always have things their own way when they're tracking down a criminal. anyhow, even his present discomfort was better than the hard knocks his "sleuthing" had so far given him. he was not long in discovering the hole in the floor of the wagon. the memorandum book he had discovered soon after getting into the borrowed clothes. of course he knew that motor matt would follow him! that was the kind of fellow the king of the motor boys was; never had he turned his back on a pard in distress. carl, too, was morally certain that ping had seen him get into the monkey wagon. motor matt would discover this from the chinaman, and then would come the pursuit. the thing for carl to do was to point the way by which he had been carried off. the hole in the floor, and the memorandum book in his pocket, were not long in giving him the right tip. sitting down on the bottom of the cage, carl occupied himself in tearing the leaves of the book into scraps and poking the scraps through the opening. how far ben ali drove carl did not know, but it seemed as though the hindoo had been hours on the road. there was a pain in carl's back, where the mule had left its token of remembrance, and the jolt of the wagon was far from pleasant. presently there came the rapid beat of a horse's hoofs, a whir of wheels, and a sudden stop of the monkey wagon. the other sounds ceased at the same moment. for a second or two carl imagined that matt had overhauled ben ali, but this fancy was dispelled by the strange words that passed between ben ali and some one else. the mahout could be heard climbing swiftly down from his perch and moving around to the rear of the wagon. carl slipped the book into his pocket and drew away from the hole in the floor. once more the key grated in the padlock. the door was drawn open and ben ali was revealed, looming large in the rush of sunlight, a bared knife in his hand. "you come, sahib," said ben ali. carl got up and moved toward the door. there ben ali caught his eyes for a space and held them with the same weird looks indulged in near the aëroplane on the show grounds. the dutchman instantly grew automatic in his movements, keeping his eyes straight ahead and following ben ali's every gesture. carl had seen persons hypnotized, and knew how they acted. "you come," repeated ben ali sternly, and carl jumped down from the wagon. they were in a country road. there was a smart-looking horse and buggy beside the monkey wagon, and haidee was on the seat. if appearances were to be believed, she was in another of her spells. "sahib get in de buggy," ordered ben ali. carl climbed over the wheel obediently and sat down beside the girl. she paid not the least attention to him, nor he to her. ben ali climbed in beside them, squeezed into the seat, and took the reins from haidee's hands. meanwhile, carl had been looking at another brown man in a turban who was unhitching the horse from the monkey wagon. ben ali waited until the horse was out of the shafts and the second hindoo on its back, then he started the kentucky cob off along the road. his companion trotted along behind. dropping any more paper scraps was out of the question. carl was too tightly wedged in between ben ali and haidee to use his hands; besides, he could not have made a move that would not instantly have been seen. presently the hindoo on the horse called out something in his unknown jargon. ben ali answered, and the runabout was turned from the road and into the woods. possibly they proceeded a hundred feet into the timber. at the end of that distance their progress was halted by a creek with steep banks. ben ali got out. while standing on the ground facing carl, he made sinuous movements with his slim brown hands--passes, most probably, designed to keep carl in a hypnotic state. the girl shuddered, suddenly, and drew a hand across her eyes. "uncle ben!" she exclaimed, with a sharp cry, "where am i?" "you are safe," said ben ali. "you are not to work with de trapeze any more, not be with de show any more. we are quit with de show. _kabultah, meetoowah?_" "yes, yes," breathed the girl, "i understand. but where are we going? i don't want to be in a trance any more. i want to know what i say, what i do--all the time." the man's face hardened. "you come, haidee," he said, gently but none the less firmly. the girl got up and climbed down from the wagon. "sahib!" he cried sharply. "you come, too." carl likewise climbed to the ground. "you are asleep," went on ben ali, coming up to carl and bringing his face close. "you know not anything what you do. sit!" carl sank down on the bank of the creek. the other hindoo had dismounted. stepping away from his horse, he turned the runabout rig the other way, so that the cob faced the road. then he tied the animal. meanwhile, ben ali, seating himself cross-legged on the ground, had drawn a small black box from his breast. it was a lacquered box and shone like ebony in the gleam of sun that drifted down through the trees. haidee uttered an exclamation and stretched out her hands. "it is mine, uncle ben! it belongs to me." "yis, _meetoowah_," agreed ben ali, "it belong to you, but i keep it. that is safer, better." he put down the box and listened, hissing to attract the attention of the other hindoo. "aurung zeeb!" the other turned, and ben ali motioned toward the road. the sound of an approaching motor car broke the stillness. it grew rapidly in volume, passed a point abreast of those in the woods, and went on, dying away in the distance. excitement shone in the faces of the hindoos, and there was alarm in the face of the girl. "what is it?" she cried. "uncle ben----" "silence, _meetooowah_!" commanded the hindoo. taking the lacquered box in his hand, ben ali leaped erect and chattered wildly with aurung zeeb. after that, he came to carl, his face full of anxiety and alarm, and made more passes. "you come," he ordered, "get back in de buggy." carl followed as ben ali backed away in the direction of the runabout. the hindoo stood close to the wheel until carl was in the seat. at that moment a smothered scream came from haidee. aurung zeeb jumped toward her, letting go the bridle of his horse as he did so. ben ali muttered something under his breath, put the lacquered box on the runabout seat beside carl, and started toward aurung zeeb and the girl. "you must tell me what you are doing," panted the girl, facing the hindoos with flashing eyes. "that is boss burton's horse and buggy. why have you got the rig here? what are we doing here? tell me, uncle ben! i must know." ben ali tried to quiet her. carl was in a quiver. the lines were twined about the whip on the dashboard of the runabout, and both hindoos were fully fifteen feet away. it looked like a propitious moment for escape. carl had not accomplished much, but he was patting himself on the back because of the way he had fooled ben ali. now, if he could get away, and take the runabout with him---- carl never thought very long over any proposition. nor did he give much time to this. swooping down on the dashboard, he grabbed up the lines and the whip. "gid ap mit yourself!" he yelled, and struck the horse. with a snort the animal bounded forward, breaking the strap that secured him to the tree and almost throwing carl from the seat. the other horse took fright and bounded away, while carl went lurching and plunging in a wild dash for the road. how he ever reached the road without coming to grief against the many trees he grazed in his dash was something which would have puzzled a wiser head than his. he paid not the least attention to the hindoos, nor to haidee. he was thinking of carl, and trying to guess how much money he would get for bringing back the stolen horse and runabout. for once, he thought exultantly, he was making the detective business _pay_. whirling into the road, he headed the horse back toward town, plying the whip and hustling the best he knew how. it was a marvel that the runabout held together. but it did. suddenly a firearm spoke sharply from somewhere in the rear. carl did not look behind. he had but one thought, and that was that the hindoos must be phenomenal runners, and that they were chasing him on foot and firing as they came. he bent forward over the dashboard and urged the cob to a wilder pace. then, while he was using the whip, an angry voice roared from alongside the runabout: "stop lashing that horse! stop, i tell you!" carl became faintly aware that there was an automobile dashing along the road side by side with the runabout. "carl!" shouted a familiar voice. "stop your running! don't you know who we are?" then the excited dutchman became aware of the situation and pulled back on the lines. he chuckled delightedly as he jerked and sawed on the bit. he, carl pretzel, had been running away from his old pard! what a joke! and there, in the automobile with matt, was the manager of the show. it wouldn't be long, now, before carl found out how much he was to get for recovering the stolen horse and runabout. chapter xiii. the lacquered box. probably that kentucky horse of burton's had never been treated in his life as he was that afternoon. he was muddy with sweat and dust, and his high-strung spirits, by that time thoroughly aroused, rebelled against the curb. in order to help carl out, motor matt drove the car past the horse and partly across the road. this served to bring the animal to a halt. "by jove!" stormed burton, "i wouldn't have had this happen for a hundred dollars! it's a wonder if the horse isn't ruined!" he flopped out of the automobile and approached the horse's head. "whoa, colonel!" he murmured soothingly. "whoa, old boy!" then, getting one hand on the bit, he held the animal while he petted and wheedled and patted the lathered neck. "der rig vas shtole py der hindoo," said carl, "und i haf recofered it und prought it pack. dot comes oof being a goot tedectif, py shinks! how mooch iss id vort'?" "worth?" scowled burton. "if the animal is injured i'll charge you up for it. don't you know how to take care of a horse?" "don'd you vas going to pay me someding?" gasped carl. "pay?" snorted burton, in no mood to consider a reward after seeing his favorite horse mistreated. "why, i feel like i wanted to use the whip on you! what did you run away from us for?" "i t'ought you vas der hindoos," explained carl feebly. "say, matt," he added, turning to his chum, "der feller don't vas going to gif me someding! vat a miserliness! und me going droo all vat i dit!" "where did you get the runabout, carl?" asked matt. he thought boss burton was a little unreasonable, but was not disposed to make any comments. burton's ways were sometimes far from meeting matt's approval--and they had never been farther from it than during the events of that exciting day. "i shteal him from der hindoos," said carl, "und make some gedavays by der shkin oof my teet', you bed you! i hat to run der horse, matt, oder i vouldn't have made der esgape. vone oof der hindoos had a knife, und dey vas bot' det safage i can't dell. der odder horse vat pulled der cage vagon iss somevere aheadt. he got avay und vent like some shdreaks." "you climb down," snapped burton, coming back to the side of the runabout. "i'll take the rig back to the grounds and send one of the teamsters for the monkey wagon. you'll bring along the automobile, matt?" he added, getting into the runabout as carl got out. "yes," answered matt. "ain't you going on with us to look up the hindoos and haidee?" asked mcglory. "going to hang back before we run out the trail, burton?" "i don't care anything about them," was the reply, "so long as i've recovered my own property. what's this?" and the showman picked up the lacquered box. carl stared at it. evidently he had forgotten all about it, up to that moment. "py chimineddy!" he muttered. "dot's der hindoo's! he tropped id on der seat pefore i run avay mit der rig." "then i'll take it with me," said burton. "perhaps it's of enough value so that the rascal will come after it. if he does, i can read the riot act to him." "i guess you'd better leave that with carl, burton," spoke up matt. "you don't care to bother with the hindoos, and we may think it's worth while." "oh, well, if that's the way you feel about it," and the showman tossed the box to carl. "mind," he added, as he started off, "you're not to get into any trouble with that automobile." burton was soon out of sight. "he's the limit, that fellow!" growled mcglory. "he might have tipped carl a five-case note, but he wouldn't. he's a skinner." "nodding doing in der tedectif pitzness," said carl resignedly, getting into the automobile beside matt. "same like alvays i ged der vorst oof id. vile vorking on der manners gase, i haf peen in a row mit ping, in a row mit a canvasman und a 'parker' for der site-show, in some more rows mit a shtable feller, got kicked in der pack mit a mu-el, und carried avay in some vagons vat shmelled like a glue factory. und vat i ged? dot purton feller he say he vould like to pound me mit der vip. ach, vell, ve can't pecome greadt tedectifs mitoudt a leedle hardt luck at her shtart." "tell us what happened to you, carl," said matt, "and be quick about it." carl sketched his adventures, with now and then an urging toward brevity from matt. "ven i see dot hindoo coming, at der time he made some brisoners oof me," expounded carl, on reaching that part of his recital, "i remempered der girl vat come down in der flying machine, und vat he valked avay mit, und i got der t'ought, like lightning, dot meppy der feller know someding aboudt markaret manners, vat iss atverdised for in der lonton baper. abner nit, it don'd vas der case. i schust let meinseluf pertend dot i vas mesmerized so dot i could go along by der hindoo und meppy findt oudt someding. i don't findt oudt anyt'ing." carl's disgust was great, and he brought his story to a quick conclusion. "we'll go look for the hindoos and haidee," said matt. "as i jog along, carl, you keep watch for the place where you turned from the road. meanwhile, joe," matt added, "you take the lacquered box and open it. we'll see what's inside. the contents may shed a little light on this mystery of the girl." "der hindoos und der girl von't be vere dey vas," remarked carl, handing the box to mcglory. "they can't possibly be far away," answered matt. "they have to travel on foot, now, and will be compelled to go slow." "this box is locked, pard," called mcglory. "force the lid, then," said matt. "it's necessary, according to my notion, that we try and find out something about haidee. and for the girl's good." mcglory opened his pocketknife and inserted the blade between the box and the lid. the lock splintered out under pressure. "she's open, pard," announced the cowboy. "what's inside?" "a bundle of letters tied with a piece of twine." "ah!" "they have english stamps," went on mcglory, "and are postmarked at london." "better and better! and they're addressed to----" "miss margaret manners, calcutta, india." carl nearly fell off the seat. "ach, du lieber!" he sputtered, "i vas ketching my breat'. a clue, py shinks! dot haidee knows vere der fife-t'ousant-tollar girl iss, i bed you!" "knows where the girl is?" echoed matt. "sure t'ing. how vouldt haidee haf markaret manners' ledders oof she ditn't know somet'ing aboudt der english girl? a few more knocks, py shiminy, und i vill make der fife t'ousant tollars!" "carl," said matt, "you've got a wooden head when it comes to sleuthing. why, haidee is margaret manners herself. i've had a hunch to that effect for two or three hours." once more carl had to hold on with both hands to keep from going by the board. he could only breathe hard and think of what he would do with all the money that was coming to him. "what else is there in the box, joe?" asked matt. "anything but the letters?" "just one thing, pard," replied mcglory. "it looks like a decoration of some kind." mcglory held the object over matt's shoulder, so he could see it. it was a bronze maltese cross, with a royal crown in the centre surmounted by a lion, and the words "for valour" stamped on the cross under the crown. the cross hung from a v-shaped piece attached to a bar, and the bar was attached to a faded red ribbon. across the bar was engraved the name "lionel manners." "i feel like taking off my hat in the presence of that, pards," said matt. "why?" demanded joe. "it's a victoria cross," returned matt, "and is only given to persons for a deed of gallantry and daring. when the ribbon is red, it shows that the winner of the cross belonged to the army; when blue, to the navy. captain lionel manners must have been a brave man, and it's a pity his daughter should be treated as she has been. carl, you've blundered onto a big thing--and you couldn't have blundered so successfully once in a thousand times. put the letters and the cross back in the box, joe. we'll keep them safe for the girl. if----" "dere's der blace," interrupted carl, pointing to the roadside. motor matt brought the automobile to a stop. chapter xiv. the hypnotist's victim. "you and i will go and look for the hindoos, joe," said matt, getting out of the car. "carl will stay here and take care of the automobile." "vat oof der hindoos ged avay from you und come ad me?" queried carl, in a panic. "i bed you dey vas sore ofer vat i dit." "if they should happen to attack you," answered matt, "run away from them. you used to know something about driving a car, carl." "all righdt," said carl, with deep satisfaction. "i'll run avay from some drouples oof any come in my tirection. look oudt for ben ali. he has a knife." matt and mcglory, after securing a few further directions from carl, started into the woods on their way to the creek. they moved warily in single file, matt taking the lead. as they made their way onward, they saw evidences of carl's wild dash for the road in the runabout, broken bushes and trees blazed at about the height of a buggy axle. "it's a wonder that runabout wasn't strung all the way from the creek to the road," murmured mcglory. "the dutchman's luck has landed on him all in a bunch." "carl has a knack for blundering in the right direction," said matt. "but he has as much grit as you'll find in any lad of his size. think how he fooled that ben ali! made the hindoo believe he was hypnotized." "and carl had only the faintest notion what he was doing it for!" chuckled mcglory. "say, pard, i'd like to have seen those hindoos when carl woke up and used the whip on that horse of burton's." "hist!" warned matt, "we're close to the creek." there were evidences in plenty that the bank of the creek had been recently occupied--broken bushes and an imprint of human feet in the damp soil. as matt and mcglory had supposed, however, there was no sign of haidee or the hindoos in the vicinity. "here's where we're up a stump, pard," said mcglory. "i wonder if i could pick up the trail and find which way the outfit went?" "try it," said matt. mcglory skirmished around for ten minutes. "i reckon i've got it," he announced, at the end of that time. "unless i'm far wide of my trail, matt, they went down the creek." "then that's the direction for us. step off, joe, and be lively." although the boys believed the hindoos and haidee must be far in advance of them, yet they moved forward cautiously, being exceedingly careful not to rustle the bushes as they passed or to step on any twigs that would crackle under their feet. as a matter of fact, they had not been five minutes on their way down the creek before the cowboy whirled abruptly with a finger on his lips; then, motioning to matt, he dropped to his knees. matt followed suit and crept alongside mcglory. "we're in luck, too," whispered the cowboy. "they're right ahead of us, all three of them. listen, and you can hear them talking." matt raised his head and listened intently. a faint sound of voices was borne to his ears. "let's creep up on them, joe," he suggested. "they're two against us, you know, and they'll make a pretty big handful, if they're armed." "we know ben ali has a knife, but that is probably all the weapons they've got. if they had guns, then carl would never have made his getaway." redoubling their caution, the boys crawled forward, screening their advance by keeping bunches of undergrowth in front of them as much as they could. the voices grew steadily louder, until it became manifest that the brown men were jabbering in hindustani. finally the boys arrived as close as they deemed it best to go, for they had ben ali, aurung zeeb, and haidee in plain view. the three were in a little oak opening on the creek bank. haidee was sitting on a log, and the other two were standing and talking rapidly. a moment after the boys were able to see them and note what was going on, the hindoos stopping their talking. aurung zeeb drew off to one side, and ben ali stepped in front of the girl. "haidee, _meetoowah_!" he called. the girl lifted her head. "you must go into de trance, _meetoowah_," said ben ali. with a heart-breaking cry the girl flung herself on her knees in front of him. "no, no, uncle ben!" she wailed, "don't make me do things i can't remember--things i don't want to do! what happened during the parade this morning? and what happened while i was in the air with motor matt? you will not tell me and i do not know! oh, uncle ben----" "haidee!" the voice was clear and keen cut. there was something in the tones of it that lifted the girl erect and uncomplaining, and held her as by a magnet with her eyes on the snaky, dancing orbs of ben ali. the power of the hindoo over the girl must have been tremendous. the boys, shivering with horror, watched the hindoo as he waved his arms gracefully and made his sinuous passes. he was no more than a minute or two in effecting his work. by swift degrees haidee's face lost its expression and became as though graven from stone; her eyes grew dull and her whole manner listless. "haidee, you sleep," came monotonously from ben ali, as his hands dropped. "you hear me, _meetoowah_? you understand?" "yes," answered the girl, in the clacking, parrot-like voice with which the boys were somewhat familiar. "you are never to remember, _meetoowah_, what you do in de parade, or what you do on de flying machine," continued ben ali. "when you wake, you forget all that, and how i tell you to pull the lever when de parade reach de min'ral well, or pin de fireball as it smoulder to de wing of de machine. you forget all that, huh?" "yes." "you are bright, lively girl, _meetoowah_" went on the hindoo. "you are gay, happy, but you are under de power, yes, all de time. you go back to de show, and you tell them that ben ali and aurung zeeb ver' bad mans and run away with haidee, that you make de escape. then you get from boss burton the money he owe and come to linton hotel in lafayette sometime this night. you understand, _meetoowah_?" "yes." "and you not let anybody know you come to linton hotel, _meetoowah_." "no." "and at all time when you wake you forget you was margaret manners, and you remember all time when you wake that you only haidee." "yes." "also, you try get back de box that b'long to you, de little lacquered box. remember that, haidee. get de box if you can and bring it with de money to uncle ben ali at de linton hotel in lafayette." "yes." "and you all time forget when you wake dat you margaret manners, and----" something happened to the hypnotist, right then and there. unable to endure longer the scene transpiring under their eyes, the boys had crept forward until they were close to ben ali and aurung zeeb. matt, behind ben ali, arose suddenly and caught the hindoo by the shoulders, flinging him down on his back and holding him there with both hands about his throat. mcglory, it had been planned, should make a simultaneous attack, in the same manner, upon aurung zeeb; but that individual was keener-eyed than his companion. he saw mcglory just as the cowboy was about to spring. with a loud cry of warning, aurung zeeb broke away in a panic and fled into the timber. mcglory did not follow him. ben ali, choking and wriggling under the tense fingers of the king of the motor boys, had made a desperate effort and drawn his knife. the cowboy had glimpsed the blade, shimmering in a gleam of sun, and had leaped forward and caught the hindoo's hand. "we've got the scoundrel!" exulted mcglory. "i reckon this is the last stunt of this sort he'll ever lay hand to." ben ali tried to speak. matt saw the attempt and removed his rigid fingers from the prisoner's throat, slipping his hands down and gripping one of the man's arms. "hold his other arm, joe," panted matt. "i want to talk with him. i've got to talk with him. a great wrong has been done haidee, and if it is righted ben ali is the only one to do it." mcglory was puzzled, but yielded immediate obedience. "look at the girl," he whispered, as he laid both hands on the prisoner's other arm. there was a look of sharp pain in haidee's face. her hands were clutching her throat, and she was swaying where she stood. "haidee feel what you do to me," gurgled ben ali. "you hurt me, you hurt her. you do not understand de power." "he's talkin' with two tongues!" declared mcglory. "no," said matt, "he tells the truth. as i told you, joe, we've got to make use of the scoundrel for haidee's benefit. don't mind haidee--she'll be all right by the time we are through with ben ali." chapter xv. "for the sake of haidee!" motor matt knew something about hypnotism, having acquired the knowledge in the casual way most boys learn about such occult and, at times, fascinating subjects. the young motorist knew, for instance, that if it was suggested to margaret manners often enough in a hypnotic state that she was only haidee, the girl would come to forget her own personality. even when out of the trance she would be confused and bewildered in trying to recall her real name and her past life. it was to undo some of this evil that matt was eager for a talk with the hindoo. "ben ali," said matt sternly, "we have the box of letters and captain manners' victoria cross. in order to make you suffer terribly for what you have done, we have only to turn you over to the authorities and let them cable to london. there is a thousand pounds sterling offered as a reward for the recovery of margaret manners; and for you there would be a long term in prison. you understand that, don't you?" there was a crafty look on the hindoo's face as he answered. "yes, sahib. but you not do anything with me. de girl is in de trance. i have her in my power." "and we have you in our power," said matt, appreciating to the full the strong hold ben ali had on them, as well as on the girl. "but, by and by, when we have finished de talk, de young sahib will let me go." matt was deeply thoughtful for a few moments. "yes," he answered deliberately, "if you will answer my questions, and do what i tell you to do, we will let you go." "pard!" remonstrated joe. "i know what i am doing, joe," returned matt. "de young sahib is wise," put in the smiling ben ali, his eyes beginning to gleam and dance in an attempt to get the king of the motor boys under their influence. "pah!" murmured matt disgustedly. "you can hold his arm with one hand, joe. place the other hand over his eyes." "he's a fiend," growled mcglory, as his palm dropped over the upper part of ben ali's face. the hindoo laughed noiselessly. "will you talk with me frankly and answer my questions, ben ali," proceeded matt, "providing we promise to let you go?" "yes, sahib." "then, first, who are you?" "de brother of a great rajah in my own land, and de brother of de great rajah's sister. that sister married de captain manners, margaret's father." "i see," breathed matt, his eyes wandering to the girl. haidee had grown quiet, her face expressionless and her eyes staring and vacant, as before. "i, with my rich rajah brother," continued ben ali, with bitterness, "was only de driver of his elephants. no more. i work. he live in luxury and do not anything. captain manners die. then his wife, she die, too. _suttee._ she burn on de funeral pyre, as our custom is in my land. de husband die, then de widow die. margaret she live. my brother, de rajah, give me money, send me to calcutta after margaret. i go. i get de girl and we take ship to america. hah! on de way i tell margaret it is her uncle, de rajah's wish, that she go to de vassar school in america, that i follow order when i take her there. she believe what i say. on de steamer i begin de trances. she not like them, but she agree at first. by and by she not able to help herself. i tell her she not remember who she is when she wake, that she only haidee. she b'leeve." the scoundrel laughed. "i have de so great power with the eyes and the hands, sahib." "why did you join a show and take the girl with you?" demanded matt, a feeling of horror and repulsion for ben ali growing in his heart. "i have to live, sahib. my money give out. i know how to drive de elephant, so i hear of de show and go there. boss burton hire me. i speak of haidee. he hire her, too." "did she know how to perform on the trapeze--she, the niece of a powerful rajah and daughter of an english gentleman?" "she know not anything about that. i put her in de trance and tell her she know. then she perform on de trapeze better than any." "why did you want her to go up on the flying machine?" "cut it short," growled mcglory huskily. "i feel like using the knife on the villain, pard. he ain't fit to live." "you listened to me while i was talking with my friends in the calliope tent this morning," continued matt. "why was that?" "i was afraid of de dutch boy," answered ben ali, "and i was more afraid when i hear what he tell. after that, i be afraid of all of you. you understan'? i thought you take haidee away from me." "you hypnotized her before the parade and told her to do something to make me trouble?" "yes, sahib," was the prompt response. "i wanted you out of de way. i was afraid." "scoundrel!" muttered matt. "why, you placed haidee herself in danger." "i was rajah's mahout. i could have kept de elephant from hurting haidee." "was she hypnotized when she came to the aëroplane and played that trick to go up in the machine with me?" "she was, yes, sahib." "and you gave her something to be used in setting the aëroplane afire?" "yes, sahib. it was de smouldering fire ball, with de coal in its heart. when de machine go up, and de win' fan it, den by and by it break into flame and set fire to de machine." ben ali was frank, brutally frank. but he had motor matt's promise that he should go free, and he seemed to gloat over his evil deeds and to wish that not a detail be left out. "she did not act, when she was in the aëroplane, as she did when she was in the parade," said matt. "i make her act different, sahib. i tell her how she was to be. i have de so great power i do that. other fakirs not so great as ben ali." "we've heard enough," said matt. "now, as yet, you have only partly earned your freedom, ben ali. you have still to do what i shall tell you." "what is that, sahib?" "you will, by the aid of hypnotism, undo all the evil you have done, as much as possible. for instance, you will impress on haidee, as she stands there, the truth that she is margaret manners, and that she will remember it, and all her past, when she wakes. after that, you are to waken her and take yourself off." "yes," answered the hindoo. "my freedom is dear to me. perhaps"--and he smiled--"i have something yet to do with motor matt." "if you cross my path again, ben ali," returned the king of the motor boys, "there will be no promise binding me to let you go free. if you are wise, you will stay away from me and my friends, and from haidee." "i take my chance, if that is it. to awaken haidee i must be on my feet." "you will lie as you are!" declared matt sharply. "you can do your work as well this way as in any other." "i will try," said the hindoo, after a moment's pause. then, in a loud voice, he called: "haidee!" the girl turned her eyes upon him. "yes," she answered. "when you wake, _meetoowah_, you will remember that you are margaret manners." "yes." "you will remember all, everything--calcutta, your father, captain manners, your mother, your mother's brother, de rajah. but you forget ben ali, and you think no more of him. you understand?" "yes." this, in a little different language, ben ali repeated several times. "now, young sahib," said he, "let me up till i wake haidee." "hold to him on that side, joe," cautioned matt, "but give him the use of his hands. when haidee wakes, release him." "sufferin' fairy tales!" grumbled mcglory. "i hate to do it, pard, and that's honest, but i reckon, from what i've heard, that you know what you're about. it's a hard way to bring right and justice to the girl by letting this scoundrel escape the law, but there don't seem to be anything else for it." slowly the boys got up and permitted ben ali to struggle to his feet. when he was erect, both still gripped him by the waist in order to prevent him from committing any treachery. ben ali leaned forward and waved his hands. "awake, _meetoowah_!" he called sharply. "you are yourself again, margaret manners! awake!" the girl started, and lifted both hands to her temples. it was enough, and motor matt was satisfied. "let him go, joe," said matt, "but keep his knife." the boys, at the same moment, withdrew their hands and stepped back. ben ali, with a wild, snarling laugh, sprang into the woods and vanished. "what is it?" asked margaret manners, in a puzzled voice. "where am i? ah, is that you, motor matt? and joe!" "yes, sis," returned the cowboy, his voice full of gentleness, "it's your friend mcglory, and the best friend you ever had if you did but know it--motor matt." "come," said matt briskly, "we must hustle back to the automobile. carl will have a fit wondering what has become of us." chapter xvi. the rajah's niece. the events of that wonderful day all seemed like a dream to motor matt when he came to look back on them. the coming of carl, loaded with a joke sprung upon him by the detectives in chicago--a joke, by the way, that proved a boomerang--and the dangers and perils that trailed after the dutch boy and finally ended in most marvelous success--all these seemed but the figments of disordered fancy. but the damaged aëroplane remained to tell of the dangers, and carl was there in the flesh, and margaret manners was present, freed of the evil shadow that had blighted her young life. the afternoon performance had been over for some time when matt, joe, carl, and margaret--for now she must be margaret and not haidee--returned to the show grounds. the owner of the motor car was walking up and down in fretful mood, thinking, perhaps, that he had done a most unwise thing in letting his machine get out of his hands. burton was with him and seeking to pacify his fears. but the sight of the motor car alone did that. "well," exclaimed burton, "you've got one of 'em, matt. she is the most valuable of the lot, to me. where are the other two?" "they escaped," answered matt shortly. "and haidee, mr. burton, is no longer an employee of the big consolidated." "what!" cried burton. "do you mean to say she isn't going up on the aëroplane any more, and that she'll not touch off roman candles or----" "i told you she'd never do that, some time ago," said matt keenly. burton seemed to have a way of forgetting the things he did not want to hear. "well, anyhow," went on the showman, as soon as they had all alighted, and the owner of the car had got into it and tooted joyfully away, "come to the mess tent and tell me what happened." "haven't time, burton," said matt. "miss manners is going to the best hotel in town, and i've got some telegrams to send." "telegrams?" burton pricked up his ears and showed signs of excitement. "there isn't another show trying to hire you away from me, is there? don't forget your written contract, matt!" "i'm not forgetting that," returned matt, inclined to laugh. "the telegram i am going to send is to the british ambassador at washington, and the cablegram i am going to get on the wires is to an attorney in london, england." "jupiter!" exclaimed burton. "it looks to me as though you wouldn't get through in time to go on with section two of the show train." "we won't," continued matt, "and that's what i'm going to tell you about. we'll be a couple of days making repairs on the aëroplane, and we'll make them here. after the work is done, we'll join the big consolidated at the town where it happens to be at that time." "your contract, sir!" fumed burton. "you are----" "no repairs on the aëroplane would have been necessary," interrupted motor matt, "if you had not played that trick on me and substituted haidee for le bon. just remember that. i shall expect you to pay the bills for the repairs, too." burton received these remarks in silence. "when i and my friends are ready to join you," went on the king of the motor boys, "we'll go by air line in the _comet_, and if you have any good paper, we'll scatter it all along the route. it will be the biggest kind of an advertisement for you, burton." this was a master stroke, if burton yearned for one thing more than another, it was to make his name a household word. "great!" he cried. "but you won't be more than two days here, will you, matt?" "we'll try not to be." "and you'll scatter the paper?" "certainly." "fine! i'll have it for you. where'll i send it?" "to the bramble house." "it will be there. make the bill for repairs as light as possible, and draw on me for the amount. that's fair, ain't it?" "just about." "ask anybody and they'll tell you boss burton is the soul of honesty, and that every promise he makes in his paper is carried out to the letter. what will you do with the aëroplane?" "mcglory and ping will look after it to-night. tomorrow they will have it removed to some place where we can work on it comfortably." "all right--have it your way. i'm the easiest fellow to get along with that you ever saw, when i see a chap is going to treat me square. good luck to you--to all of you." the party separated. mcglory went over into the show grounds to join ping at the aëroplane, and matt and carl escorted miss manners to the bramble house. carl went to the show, when the tents were being pulled down that night, and got miss manners' trunk and his own clothes from the calliope tent. carl, it will be recalled, was wearing mcglory's work clothes, and mcglory was going to need them. most of the luggage belonging to matt and his friend went on by train with the show impedimenta, to be reclaimed at some town farther along the route. matt sent his telegram and his cablegram, and in neither did he conceal the fact that all the glory of the achievement belonged to carl pretzel. the dutch boy was terribly set up over his success. until far into the night he kept matt up, trying to find out what he should do with his five thousand dollars. carl was about evenly divided, in his opinions, as to whether he should buy an aëroplane of his own, or a circus. matt discouraged him on both points. next morning the _comet_, under its own power, dragged its battered pinions to a big blacksmith shop, and there the motor boys got actively to work on the repairs. the damage was confined almost entirely to the canvas covering the left wing. none of the supports were injured. in two days' time the aëroplane was as good as new. at the close of the second day, when matt and mcglory reached the hotel with their work finished, so far as the _comet_ was concerned, they found an english gentleman who represented the british embassy. this gentleman had come, personally, to assume charge of miss manners; and, by this very act, the boys understood that the young woman was something of a personage. the englishman said nothing about the reward, and carl began to worry. finally he broached the subject himself, only to learn that the five thousand dollars must come from india, and that it would be a month, possibly two months, before it could be turned over. carl was disgusted. he had expected to have the money all spent before two months had passed. "dot's der vay mit der tedectif pitzness," he remarked gloomily. "even ven you vin you don't get nodding." "but you're bound to get it, carl," laughed mcglory, "sooner or later." "meppy so mooch lader dot i vill be olt und gray-heated und not know nodding aboudt how to shpend him. how vas i going to lif in der meandime, huh? tell me dose." "come along with us," said matt, "and stay with the big consolidated until your money comes." "i don'd like dot purton feller," growled carl. "he iss der vorst case oof stingy vat i efer see. shdill, id iss vort' someding to be mit modor matt. yah, so helup me, i vill go." ping was not in love with this arrangement, but had to bow to it. the gentleman from washington took the next train back to the capital, arranging to have miss manners left in the care of an estimable lady in lafayette until word should come from india. the end. the next number ( ) will contain motor matt's "short circuit" or, the mahout's vow. the serpent charmer--a bad elephant--burton's luck--motor matt's courage--dhondaram's excuse--robbery--between the wagons--a peg to hang suspicions on--a waiting game--a trick at the start--in the air with a cobra--a scientific fact--ping on the wrong track--facing a traitor--meeting the hindoo--a bit of a backset motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction new york, august , . terms to motor stories mail subscribers. (_postage free._) single copies or back numbers, c. each. months c. months c. months $ . one year . copies one year . copy two years . =how to send money=--by post-office or express money-order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. at your own risk if sent by currency, coin, or postage-stamps in ordinary letter. =receipts=--receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. if not correct you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once. ormond g. smith, } george c. smith, } _proprietors_. street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york city. saved by a falling tree. winter still reigned, and louis and allen wright were snowshoeing back to the lumber camp where they worked. it was a small camp upon the tobago river, near the ottawa, close to the border between the provinces of ontario and quebec, and the pine had for the most part been cut long ago. there was a little pine left, however, with a good deal of pulp wood and mixed timber to be got out, and the foreman had sent the boys to look over a patch of spruce about twelve miles from the shanty. they were returning with their axes upon the frozen tobago river, which formed a convenient roadway through the tangled and snowy canadian forest. the boys were not professional "lumber jacks," but they were both deeply desirous of acquiring a couple of hundred dollars to cover the expenses of a course in mining engineering, and that winter high wages were being offered for even inexperienced men in the lumber camps. as they were country-bred youths, they took to the work naturally, and allen, although he had not yet come to his full strength, speedily developed a surprising dexterity with the axe. he could "lay" a tree within a few inches of where he desired it to fall, and had been the instrument of victory several times in lumbering matches with rival camps. it was late in february and still bitterly cold, but the deep snow was packing and softening. in a few weeks the ice might break up, and mountains of logs were piled upon the river in readiness for the drive. about three miles before it reached the shanty the river broke into rapids for about thirty rods before it fell tumultuously over a low ridge of rocks. it was necessary to make a detour round this obstacle, and allen went ashore at a cautious distance from the water. louis, however, remained upon the ice, walking almost to the verge, and looking over into the inky stream. "be careful, lou! that ice is getting rotten!" allen shouted from the bank. "it's as strong as rock. look!" answered louis, jumping in his rackets with a heavy thud upon the snow. he proved the reverse of what he intended. there was a dull cracking under the snow and a startled shout from the reckless snowshoer. a great cake of ice broke off, drifting away, with louis standing on it. he balanced unsteadily for a moment, staggered, and plunged off with a terrified yell, going clean out of sight under the icy water. the cake of ice drifted over the rapids and broke up. allen had scarcely time to move before his brother reappeared, struggling feebly, and evidently almost paralyzed by the cold immersion. by good luck he managed to catch the top of a projecting rock at the head of the fall, and there he clung, driven against the rock by the force of the current. "hold on a minute, lou! i'll get you out!" screamed allen frantically. louis turned a blue face toward him, without answering. allen tore and kicked off his snowshoes, and was on the point of plunging into the water; but common sense returned to him in time. louis was in the middle of the stream, thirty feet away. allen could never reach him through that swift, deep current, and if he could, he would be so chilled as to be incapable of giving any sort of help. but the boy certainly could not hold on long in his present position, and should he let go he would be swept over the rapids and under the ice at the foot. his life hung on seconds. allen could think of no plan. he shouted encouraging words without knowing what he said, while his eyes roved desperately up and down the snowy shores in search of some inspiration. if he had only a rope, or anything to make a bridge--and then his eye fell upon a tall, dead pine "stub," barkless and almost branchless, standing a few feet back from the stream. it was long enough to reach to the imperiled youth, if it could be felled so accurately as to lie close beside him. but a foot or two above or below him would make it useless, and to aim too closely would be to run a deadly risk of crushing the boy under the falling trunk. by a queer vagary of his excited brain he remembered william tell and the apple. he would have to perform a somewhat similar feat of marksmanship; but it was the only chance that he could think of. he plunged through the snow for his axe, wallowed back to the dead stub, and began to chop. in the need for action his nerves grew suddenly cool. the feat was a more delicate one than he had ever attempted, and his brother's life hung upon his steadiness of nerve and muscle. but he cut quietly and without haste. the great yellow chips flew, and a wide notch grew in the trunk. in a few moments he shifted to the other side, cut another notch, and sighted for the probable direction of the fall of the stub. he could not tell how the roots held. he would have to leave that important factor to chance, but he cut, now delicately, now strongly, till the tremor through the axe handle told that the trunk was growing unsteady. it was a critical moment. he sighted again most carefully, and cut out a few small chips here and there. the stub tottered. it was standing poised upon a thin edge of uncut wood, and he stood behind it and pushed, cautiously, and then heavily. the tall trunk wavered, and the fibres snapped loudly. it hesitated, bowed, and allen leaped away from the butt. down came the pine, roaring through the air. it crashed into the water with a mighty wave and splash that hid boy and rock. allen had a moment of horrified belief that his brother had been crushed under it. a moment later he saw that louis was unhurt. but the tree had actually grazed the rock. it had fallen within eight inches of the boy's body. it made a perfect bridge as it lay, but in his nervous reaction allen was almost too shaky to walk the trunk and pull his brother out. he did it, although how he got him to land he never quite knew. louis was almost unconscious, and his wet clothes froze instantly into a mass of ice. he would certainly have lapsed into sleep and died, but allen piled the pine chips about the stump and had a fire blazing in a few seconds. the dry stump burned like pitch, producing a furnace-like heat; and allen partly undressed his brother and rubbed him hard with snow. under this heroic treatment louis came back to painful consciousness, and the fierce heat from the pine did the rest. but it was several hours before he was able to resume the tramp, and it was dark when they reached the shanty. how they captured the python. hamburg, as many know, is the great headquarters of the trade in wild animals for menageries and "zoos." to hamburg are shipped lions, elephants, and giraffes, captured in south and east africa, tigers from india, jaguars and tapirs from south america, gorillas from the congo, orang-outangs from borneo, and, in fact, about every kind of beast, bird, and reptile from all quarters of the globe. the warehouses of the two principal firms engaged in this business are interesting places to visit after the arrival of a "beast ship," with news of unusually large specimens of animal life. the narrator made such a visit some months ago on the arrival of a remarkably large, brilliantly marked python, shipped from padang, sumatra. this colubrine giant is more than thirty feet in length, and was bespoken by the austrian government for a zoo at budapest. but the story of its capture is even more interesting than the huge creature itself, for this python had fallen a victim to its fondness for the notes of a violin. there is a telegraph line extending across sumatra, from padang, connecting that port, by means of submarine cables, with batavia, and singapore. along this line of land wire are a number of interior stations. one of these, called pali-lo-pom, has been in charge of an operator named carlos gambrino, a mestizo from batavia, java, educated at the industrial school there. the station is on a hillock in the valley of the river kampar, and is adjacent to dense forest, jungle, and a long morass. it is a solitary little place, consisting merely of four or five thatched huts, elevated on posts to a height of six feet from the ground, to be more secure from noxious insects, reptiles, and wild beasts. as a general rule gambrino has little enough to do, except listen to the monotonous ticking of the instrument. for solace and company, therefore, he frequently had recourse to his violin. thatched houses on posts in sumatra are not commonly supplied with glass windows; but gambrino had afforded himself the luxury of a two-pane sash, set to slide in an aperture in the side wall of his hut, and some five or six months ago, during the wet season, he was sitting at this window one afternoon, as he played his violin, when he saw the head of a large serpent rise out of the high grass, at a distance of seventy or eighty yards. his first impulse was to get his carbine and try to shoot the monster, for he saw that it was a very large python, and not a desirable neighbor. but something in the attitude of the reptile led him to surmise that it had raised itself to hear the violin, and he passed at once to a lively air. as long as he continued playing the python remained there, apparently motionless; but when he ceased it drew its head down, and he saw nothing more of it that day, although he went out with his gun to look for it. nearly a fortnight passed, and the incident had gone from his mind--for large snakes are not uncommon in sumatra--when one night, as he was playing the violin to some native acquaintances who had come to the hut, they heard the sounds made by a large snake sliding across the bamboo platform or floor of the little veranda. on looking out with a light, one of the party saw a huge mottled python gliding away. but it was not until the reptile appeared a third time, raising its head near his window, that the telegrapher became certain that it was really his violin which attracted it. in the meantime the operator at padang, with whom gambrino held daily conversations by wire, had told him that the german agent of a hamburg house at that port would pay ten pounds, english money, for such a python as he described. gambrino began scheming to capture the reptile. in one of the huts at the station there was stored a quantity of fibre rope, such as is used in sumatra for bridging small rivers and ravines. gambrino contrived three large nooses from this rope, which he elevated horizontally, on bamboo poles, to the height of his window, and carried the drawing ends of the nooses inside the hut. this was done after the operator had ascertained that at times the snake would come about the house and raise its head as if it heard the violin. some time later the python was beguiled by the music into raising its head inside one of the nooses, which a native, who was on the watch while gambrino played, instantly jerked tight. what followed was exciting. the reptile resented the trick with vigor, and showed itself possessed of far more strength than they had expected. the rope had been made fast to a beam inside, and the snake nearly pulled the entire structure down, making it rock and creak in a way that caused gambrino and his native ally to leap to the ground in haste from a back entrance. the reptile coiled its body about the posts and pulled desperately to break away. altogether, it was a wild night at this little remote telegraph station. the next morning a crowd of natives collected; and as the python had by this time exhausted itself, they contrived to hoist its head as high as the roof of the hut and to secure its tail. it was then lowered into a molasses hogshead, which was covered over and trussed up securely with ropes. in this condition the python was drawn to padang on a bullock cart. it is said to weigh more than four hundred pounds. on the road to mandalay. all of us who were singing "on the road to mandalay" a few years ago--and there were mighty few of us who let it alone vocally--will be a bit surprised to be informed that rangoon, where the dawn comes up like thunder and other interesting things happen, looks to the approaching tourist like an up-to-date american business centre. in fact, according to a writer, the capital of burma has many american towns beat a mile in the civic improvement line. "its electric-lighted highways, all broad, neatly paved and well drained; its brilliantly illuminated boulevards, with rows of graceful, well-trimmed trees bordering both sides; its blocks of buildings, all laid out after a carefully considered plan, showing little of architectural beauty but much of austere regularity, astonish the stranger. "when you take into consideration the fact that rangoon has a system of parks and parkways with beautiful shade trees, choice flowers, and crystal lakes, artificial and natural, dotted about them, and that it provides breathing spaces for people living in congested districts, you cannot but form a good idea of the aliveness of the municipal corporation. a good horse-carriage service, now being rapidly superseded by the trolley, makes transportation easy and cheap. the city has provided splendid schools and playgrounds. yet sixty years ago rangoon was a mere fishing village." one item from mr. kipling's picture of rangoon referred to the elephants hauling teakwood in "the slushy, squdgy creek." well, they are still at it, working with wonderful precision and an apparent sense of responsibility. they don't try to soldier, never get in one another's way or mixed up with the machinery, no matter how cramped they may be for room. some of them take the teak logs which have been floated down the river and tow them ashore. then they drag them to the sawmills, either rolling them with one foot while they walk on three, pushing them with their tusks, or pulling them with a chain attached to a breast strap. inside the mill an elephant selects a log, picks it out with his tusks, kicks it up to the saw with his toes, then tying his trunk in a kind of knot around the log, holds it against the teeth of the saw while it is made into boards, pushing aside the outside slabs as they are cut off and adjusting the log to make boards of the proper thickness. then he piles the boards up neatly, standing off to examine the effect, and if he finds a board out of line carefully adjusting it. sometimes a pair of elephants working together exchange peculiar grunts, as if they were giving and receiving directions. they are used in burma for various purposes. the young calves are ridden like horses, with a soft pad and stirrups. they are found especially valuable in bad country, and may be ridden fifty or sixty miles a day. a tap on the side of the head, a slight pressure of the knee, or a word whispered in the ear is all that is required to guide them. it is not at all a difficult matter for an elephant in prime condition to outrun a fast horse, but they cannot jump. a deep ditch only six or seven feet wide is impassable to them. working elephants are in their prime when they are twenty-five years old. they are expensive to feed, it being declared in rangoon that an elephant eats a quarter of his weight in feed every day. an average day's food for one is certainly eight hundred pounds. socially burma is unlike other oriental countries. men and women--even young men and women--walk together in the streets and mingle in social gatherings. courtship always precedes the marriage. the burmans are ardent lovers, and when a young man and woman find that their parents do not approve of the match they usually repair to the woods and return after a day or two as man and wife, sure of parental forgiveness. marriage among burmans is an extremely simple affair. the only ceremony performed is the eating together out of the same bowl of rice. usually a feast is given to the relatives and friends of the families concerned. no sacrifices are offered, no services are performed. the burman wears a smile on his countenance, laughs and looks upon life through rose-colored spectacles. both the women and the men wear rich-hued silken clothes. but while there is gayety there is no indecorum or impropriety. for women burma is a little heaven on earth, if we are to believe enthusiastic writers. mrs. burman is ubiquitous. jewelry stores containing untold wealth in pearls, rubies, and other gems are in charge of women. markets and fruit stalls are run by women. at the railroad station a woman sells you the tickets and another one is ready to take dictation and to do your type-writing. not long ago a woman stockbroker died leaving a fortune which she had made herself. but the burmese woman does not let business interfere with motherhood. she runs the shop with one hand and the children with the other. when she marries the woman retains her own name, and any property she may have inherited or acquired. when divorced she is expected to support her children, but this is no hardship for her, since she cared for them when she lived with her husband. the burmese child rarely sees the father, but is brought up to look to its mother for guidance and support. the burmese woman takes a great interest in public affairs, and the portals of the university of rangoon have been open to her for a number of years. her intelligence, her beauty, her freedom from racial caste prejudice, all make her an acceptable bride in the eyes of foreigners who go to burma. marriage with a foreigner means as a rule that she can live in plenty and comfort without working. naturally she looks upon such a marriage with favor. the burmans are of mongolian origin, and consequently the chinese and burmese marriage produces a virile race. with this exception the intermixture of races in burma has not proved desirable. this is especially so in case of marriages between europeans and burmans. the offspring of such marriages are termed eurasians, who unfortunately seem to be looked down upon both by full-blooded europeans and burmans. almost as difficult a problem as that of the eurasian is the tobacco problem in burma. men, women, and children smoke. the cheroot at which they almost incessantly puff is eighteen inches long and about a quarter of an inch in diameter. it is wrapped in a banana leaf, and its mouthpiece consists of bamboo. the burman tobacco is so strong that only one-fourth of the filling of the cheroot consists of tobacco. the balance is a mixture of innocuous herbs. if possible the burman exceeds other asiatics in hospitality. he is par excellence the host of asia. any stranger may stroll into a burman dwelling and demand hospitality for at least three days. no remuneration is expected. opposite a burmese house one usually finds earthen pots of water placed for the use of the traveler, under a roof especially made to shelter the water from the hot rays of the tropical sun. these pots are tightly covered with earthen lids, which protect the water from dirt and dust. the social life of the burmans is interesting in the extreme. they indulge in boxing matches, pony, bullock, and boat races, cock fighting, splitting cocoanuts, snake charming, and juggling. chess and dominoes are the favorite games. theatres are in great vogue. the plot of the play is usually somewhat monotonous, for almost invariably the hero is a prince of the blood royal, the heroine is a princess, and the rustics from the villages figure as clowns and jesters. the dancing, though different from what it is in the occident, is not without interest to a westerner. the motions of the dancers are graceful and spry. burman amusements last days and nights. the best known secular festival is the pwe. the entertainment is melodramatic. comedy and tragedy are introduced, music and dancing are included. the plot of the play is flimsy. the performance includes tricks of clowns who are masters of their art and intensely amusing. the musical instruments in the orchestra consist of a circle of drums, gongs, trumpets, and wooden clappers, and the music out-wagners wagner in its deafening noise. many religious festivals are celebrated. probably the occasion when presents are distributed to the priests is the most interesting. the people bring their presents and pile them up outside an alley made of bamboo latticework. one brings candles, another matches, another brass vessels, etc., as though some previous arrangement had been made as to just what each one shall give. for the most part the donors are women, and all of them are dressed in their best. the monks, attended by a boy carrying a large basket, pass down the bamboo alley in single file, and each basket is filled with presents. a trio of masqueraders with faces blackened, dancing to comic music, follows the procession. anything that has not been distributed to the priests is gathered up by them. latest issues buffalo bill stories the most original stories of western adventure. the only weekly containing the adventures of the famous buffalo bill. =high art colored covers.= =thirty-two big pages.= =price, cents.= --buffalo bill's balloon escape; or, out of the grip of the great swamp. --buffalo bill and the guerrillas; or, the flower girl of san felipe. --buffalo bill's border war; or, the mexican vendetta. --buffalo bill's mexican mix-up; or, the bullfighter's defiance. --buffalo bill and the gamecock; or, the red trail on the canadian. --buffalo bill and the cheyenne raiders; or, the spurs of the gamecock. --buffalo bill's whirlwind finish; or, the gamecock wins. --buffalo bill's santa fe secret; or, the brave of taos. --buffalo bill and the taos terror; or, the rites of the red estufa. --buffalo bill's bracelet of gold; or, the hidden death. --buffalo bill and the border baron; or, the cattle king of no man's land. brave and bold weekly all kinds of stories that boys like. the biggest and best nickel's worth ever offered. =high art colored covers.= =thirty-two big pages.= =price, cents.= --working his way upward; or, from footlights to riches. by fred thorpe. --the fourteenth boy; or, how vin lovell won out. by weldon j. cobb. --among the nomads; or, life in the open. by the author of "through air to fame." --bob, the acrobat; or, hustle and win out. by harrie irving hancock. --through the earth; or, jack nelson's invention. by fred thorpe. --the boy chief; or, comrades of camp and trail. by john de morgan. --smart alec; or, bound to get there. by weldon j. cobb. --climbing up; or, the meanest boy alive. by harrie irving hancock. --comrades three; or, with gordon keith in the south seas. by lawrence white, jr. --a young snake-charmer; or, the fortunes of dick erway. by fred thorpe. --checked through to mars; or, adventures in other worlds. by weldon j. cobb. --fighting the cowards; or, among the georgia moonshiners. by harrie irving hancock. --the mud river boys; or, the fight for penlow's mill. by john l. douglas. --grit and wit; or, two of a kind. by fred thorpe. motor stories the latest and best five-cent weekly. we won't say how interesting it is. see for yourself. =high art colored covers.= =thirty-two big pages.= =price, cents.= --motor matt's quest; or, three chums in strange waters. --motor matt's close call; or, the snare of don carlos. --motor matt in brazil; or, under the amazon. --motor matt's defiance; or, around the horn. --motor matt makes good; or, another victory for the motor boys. --motor matt's launch; or, a friend in need. --motor matt's enemies; or, a struggle for the right. --motor matt's prize; or, the pluck that wins. --motor matt on the wing; or, flying for fame and fortune. --motor matt's reverse; or, caught in a losing game. --motor matt's "make or break"; or, advancing the spark of friendship. --motor matt's engagement; or, on the road with a show. --motor matt's "short circuit"; or, the mahout's vow. --motor matt's make-up; or, playing a new rôle. _for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address on receipt of price, cents per copy, in money or postage stamps, by_ street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york =if you want any back numbers= of our weeklies and cannot procure them from your newsdealer, they can be obtained from this office direct. fill out the following order blank and send it to us with the price of the weeklies you want and we will send them to you by return mail. =postage stamps taken the same as money.= ________________________ _ _ _street & smith, - seventh avenue, new york city._ _dear sirs: enclosed please find_ ___________________________ _cents for which send me_: tip top weekly, nos. ________________________________ nick carter weekly, " ________________________________ diamond dick weekly, " ________________________________ buffalo bill stories, " ________________________________ brave and bold weekly, " ________________________________ motor stories, " ________________________________ _name_ ________________ _street_ ________________ _city_ ________________ _state_ ________________ a great success!! motor stories every boy who reads one of the splendid adventures of motor matt, which are making their appearance in this weekly, is at once surprised and delighted. surprised at the generous quantity of reading matter that we are giving for five cents; delighted with the fascinating interest of the stories, second only to those published in the tip top weekly. matt has positive mechanical genius, and while his adventures are unusual, they are, however, drawn so true to life that the reader can clearly see how it is possible for the ordinary boy to experience them. _here are the titles now ready and those to be published_: --motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. --motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. --motor matt's century run; or, the governor's courier. --motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the "comet." --motor matt's mystery; or, foiling a secret plot. --motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear. --motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto. --motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward. --motor matt's air ship; or, the rival inventors. --motor matt's hard luck; or, the balloon house plot. --motor matt's daring rescue; or, the strange case of helen brady. --motor matt's peril; or, cast away in the bahamas. --motor matt's queer find; or, the secret of the iron chest. --motor matt's promise; or, the wreck of the "hawk." --motor matt's submarine; or, the strange cruise of the "grampus." --motor matt's quest; or, three chums in strange waters. --motor matt's close call; or, the snare of don carlos. --motor matt in brazil; or, under the amazon. --motor matt's defiance; or, around the horn. --motor matt makes good; or, another victory for the motor boys. --motor matt's launch; or, a friend in need. --motor matt's enemies; or, a struggle for the right. --motor matt's prize; or, the pluck that wins. --motor matt on the wing; or, flying for fame and fortune. to be published on august th. --motor matt's reverse; or, caught in a losing game. to be published on august th. --motor matt's "make or break"; or, advancing the spark of friendship. to be published on august d. --motor matt's engagement; or, on the road with a show. to be published on august th. --motor matt's "short circuit"; or, the mahout's vow. price, five cents at all newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, by the publishers upon receipt of the price. street & smith, _publishers_, new york transcriber's notes: added table of contents. italics are represented with _underscores_, bold with =equal signs=. converted oe ligatures to "oe" for this text version; ligatures retained in html edition. page , changed "an an" to "as an" in "white as an american." page , changed "me" to "we" in "we were going after archie" page , corrected typo "msglory" in "mcglory was out of the car." page , changed "of" to "off" in "as he started off." page , corrected typo "metoowah" in "awake, _meetoowah_!" courtesy of the digital library@villanova university (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction no. aug. , five cents motor matt's make-and-break or advancing the spark of friendship _by the author of "motor matt"_ [illustration: _"catch the rope and hold fast!" cried motor matt, as the aeroplane skimmed over the surface of the river._] _street & smith, publishers, new york._ motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction _issued weekly. by subscription $ . per year. copyright, , by_ street & smith, _ - seventh avenue, new york, n. y._ no. . new york, august , . price five cents. motor matt's "make and break" or, advancing the spark of friendship. by the author of "motor matt." contents chapter i. the skeleton in the closet. chapter ii. what next? chapter iii. bringing the skeleton out. chapter iv. marking out a course. chapter v. the start. chapter vi. a shot across the bows. chapter vii. the man hunters. chapter viii. fooling the cowboys. chapter ix. the trailing rope. chapter x. a bolt from the blue. chapter xi. "advancing the spark." chapter xii. the trail to the river. chapter xiii. unwelcome callers. chapter xiv. an unexpected turn. chapter xv. a risky venture. chapter xvi. conclusion. mose howard's fish trap. photographs taken in dangerous places. costly fishes. characters that appear in this story. =matt king=, otherwise motor matt. =joe mcglory=, a young cowboy who proves himself a lad of worth and character, and whose eccentricities are all on the humorous side. a good chum to tie to--a point motor matt is quick to perceive. =ping pong=, a chinese boy who insists on working for motor matt, and who contrives to make himself valuable, perhaps invaluable. =amos murgatroyd=, the unscrupulous broker whose fight against the traquairs and motor matt finally results in complete disaster to himself. =prebbles=, murgatroyd's old clerk, who resurrects the skeleton from the family closet, fights a good fight, and, with the help of the king of the motor boys, finally banishes the skeleton altogether. =newt prebbles=, for whom motor matt undertakes to advance the spark of friendship; a youth who has erred, but who comes to a turning point and takes the right path. =lieutenant cameron=, an officer in the signal corps, u. s. a., who proves to be the cousin of an old friend of matt, and who nearly loses his life when the aëroplane is tested. =jed spearman=, "=slim=," "=hen=," =and three others=, cowboys belonging with the tin cup outfit, who make some mistakes and are finally set right by the sheriff. =roscoe=, sheriff of burleigh county, who plays a small but very important part. chapter i. the skeleton in the closet. "where's the old man, prebbles?" "don't ask me, jim. i haven't a notion." "well, there's a letter for him." the postman dropped a letter on the desk in front of the little old man on the high stool, and the door slammed. prebbles picked up the letter and blinked at it. for a while he sat staring like a person in a dream, then a gasp escaped his lips, and he slipped from the stool and carried the letter closer to the window. it was almost sunset, and a neighboring building shut off the light, but there, close to the dusty window pane, the light was good enough. the letter dropped from prebbles' shaking hand, and he fell back against the wall. "it's from _him_," the old man mumbled; "it's--it's----" the words died on his lips, and a choking gurgle arose in his throat. trembling like a man with the palsy, prebbles pulled himself together and staggered to the water cooler. he drew himself a glass, and the tumbler rattled against his teeth as he drank. "this won't do," he said to himself, drawing a hand across his forehead in a dazed and bewildered way. "i've got to brace up, that's what i have. but what's newt writing to _him_ for? i--i can't understand that." prebbles went back and picked up the letter. he was still greatly shaken, although he was getting firmer hold of himself by swift degrees. it was a very ordinary appearing letter to have aroused such an extraordinary state of mind in the old man. the address, in a peculiar backhand, was to "mr. amos murgatroyd, loan broker, jamestown, north dakota." prebbles was murgatroyd's clerk, and the only clerk in the loan office. for several weeks murgatroyd had not been in jamestown, and the work of the office--what little there was--fell to prebbles. during those weeks of absence, the broker had been doing unlawful things. prebbles, knowing his employer well, expected nothing better of him; but just what murgatroyd had been doing, the old clerk did not know. strange men, who might be detectives in disguise, were watching the office night and day. prebbles had been keen enough to discover that. it was the peculiar handwriting of the letter that had had such a powerful effect upon the old clerk. not one man in a thousand, perhaps in ten thousand, used a pen as the writer of that letter to the broker had used it. prebbles felt sure that he could not be mistaken--that there was not the least possibility of a mistake. he knew who the writer of the letter was, and for weeks the old man's dream by day and night was that he could discover the whereabouts of the man. the envelope was postmarked at steele, n. d. the writer might be there, or he might not be there. after setting hand to the letter, it was more than possible he had mailed the letter at steele and then gone to some other place. there was one way to make sure--and only one: in order to find out positively where the writer of the letter was, prebbles would have to open it and read it. although a clerk in the office, his position did not give him the right to open his employer's personal mail; in fact, murgatroyd had expressly forbidden this. the letters received during murgatroyd's absence--and they were but few--had been placed in the office safe. a week before, the collected letters had mysteriously vanished during the night, and in their place was left this scribbled line: "dropped in and got my mail. say nothing to any one about my having been here. a. m." that was all, absolutely all, prebbles had learned of his employer since he had left jamestown several weeks before. only two or three letters had collected in the safe since the others had been taken, and now this one from steele must be added to them, unless---- prebbles caught up a pair of scissors. before he could snip off the end of the envelope, he paused. to deliberately open a letter addressed to some one else is a crime which, if brought to the attention of the postal authorities, is heavily punished. prebbles was not afraid of the punishment, for he believed that murgatroyd himself was a fugitive; still, it was well to be wary. laying down the scissors, he ran the end of a pen-holder under the flap. but again he paused, realizing, with a tremor, that he belonged to the army, the salvation army. as a soldier in the ranks, had he the right to take this advantage of his employer? on the streets, prebbles, because of his earnestness in the army work, he was known as "old hallelujah." poor business, this, for old hallelujah to rifle his employer's mail! with a groan, prebbles pushed the letter aside and dropped his face in his hands. while he was thus humped over his desk, a picture of distress and misery, the door opened and a boy came in with a telegram. the message was for prebbles, and he signed the receipt. as soon as the boy had left, he tore the message open. "forward mail at once to george hobbes, bismarck. "hobbes." this was from murgatroyd, and it was not the first time he had used the name of "george hobbes." was prebbles to send that letter on without first seeing what was inside it? duty to his employer and duty to himself warred in his soul. that last letter received for murgatroyd might have been taken to the police. they could secure authority from washington to open it. but, if the letter came from the person prebbles suspected, he did not want the police to see it. the six o'clock whistle blew, but prebbles paid no attention. he was fighting with his salvation army principles, and the stake was the contents of that letter to murgatroyd. at seven o'clock, the haggard old man, the battle still going on in his breast, pushed the letter into his pocket and left the office, locking the door behind him. he did not go to the cheap eating house where he usually took his meals--there was no supper for him that night--but he proceeded directly to the "barracks," got into his dingy blue cap and coat, and took his cymbals. by eight, a dozen of the "faithful" were in the street, their torches flaring smokily, and the bass drum, the snare drum, the cymbals, and the tambourine whanging and clashing and rattling a quickstep. back and forth they marched, then rounded up on a corner and sang one of their army songs. old hallelujah was particularly earnest, that night. his voice was loudest in the singing, and his exhorting was done with a fine fervor. his thin, crooked body straightened, and his eyes gleamed, and he struck the cymbals with unusual vigor. "ole halleluyer is gittin' young ag'in," ran the comment of more than one bystander. "if he's so pious," observed some one, "it's a wonder he don't break away from that ole thief, murgatroyd." it _was_ a wonder, and no mistake. but the wonder was soon to cease. at ten o'clock prebbles and the rest were back in the barracks; and at ten-thirty prebbles was in his five-by-ten little hall bedroom, calmly steaming open the letter to murgatroyd. he had finished the fight, and had nerved himself for his first false step. but was it a false step? he had come to the conclusion that the end justified the means. the letter, carefully written, jumped immediately into the business the writer of it had in mind. "i must have more money or i shall tell all i know about you and the accident to traquair and his aëroplane. i can't live on promises, and i'm not going to make a fugitive out of myself any longer just to shield you. you're a fugitive yourself, now, but i reckon you can dig up enough money for both of us. i have dropped down the line of the northern pacific to mail this letter; as soon as it is in the office, i'm going back to my headquarters at the mouth of burnt creek, on the missouri, ten miles above bismarck. you'd better meet me there at once, as it's the safest place you can find. i suppose you've made arrangements to have your mail forwarded, so i'm sending this to your office. _bring plenty of money._ newt prebbles." for many a weary hour the old man paced the narrow confines of his room, reading the letter again and again and turning the contents over and over in his mind. "the boy don't care for me, he's mad at me," muttered prebbles wearily, "but if i can make up with him, maybe he can be saved. what's this about the accident to traquair? what does newt know about murgatroyd? no matter what happens, i've got to get the boy out of murgatroyd's clutches. if newt stays with him, he'll be as bad as he is." it was after midnight when prebbles dropped weakly into a chair. "motor matt will help me," he muttered. the thought had come to him like a flash of inspiration. and another inspiration had come to him, as well. he made a copy of the letter, then placed the original in its envelope, carefully resealed it, and went to the broker's office. to take the collected letters from the safe, place them and the one from steele in a large envelope and address the envelope to "mr. george hobbes, general delivery, bismarck, n. d.," consumed only a few minutes. "motor matt will know how to do the rest of it," thought the old clerk. "he's a clever lad, and he helps people. he helped mrs. traquair and he'll help prebbles. i'm done with this office for good, and i'm glad of it." he looked around the room with a grim laugh. "i never thought i'd be pulling the pin on myself," he said aloud. "maybe it's the poorhouse for mine, but i'll be glad to starve if i can make up with newt and save him from that robber, murgatroyd." he turned off the light and closed and locked the office door. an hour later he had dropped the long envelope into a letter box and was back in his room. at seven in the morning he had boarded the northbound train for minnewaukon and devil's lake. motor matt was at fort totten, on the south shore of the lake, and prebbles would be at the fort in the afternoon. the king of the motor boys was the old man's hope. prebbles knew matt, and had abundant faith in his ability to accomplish seemingly impossible things. "he'll help me," murmured prebbles, leaning back in one corner of the seat; "he helped mrs. traquair, and he'll help me." chapter ii. what next? "an elegant day--for ducks," said joe mcglory, turning from the window against which a torrent of rain was splashing. "i'd about got my nerve screwed up to the place where i was going to take a fly with you in the _comet_, pard." "well," laughed matt, "perhaps it will be a clear, still day to-morrow, joe." "the day may be all right, but whether i have the necessary amount of nerve is a question. it takes sand to sit on a couple of wings and let a gasoline engine push you through the clouds. sufferin' jack rabbits! why, ping, that little, slant-eyed chink, has got more sand than me when it comes to slidin' around through the firmament on a couple o' squares of canvas. i'm disgusted with myself, and that's honest." "it's as easy as falling off a log," remarked lieutenant cameron, of the signal corps. "i've been up with matt, and i know. he does all the work, mcglory. you won't have to do anything but sit tight and hang on." "'sit tight and hang on!'" echoed the cowboy. "sounds easy, don't it? at the same time, cameron, you know that if your hair ain't parted in the middle, the overweight on one side is liable to make the _comet_ turn turtle." "hardly as bad as that," grinned matt. the three--lieutenant cameron, motor matt, and joe mcglory--were in cameron's quarters in officers' row at the post. one window of the room overlooked the parade ground and, if the weather had not been so thick, would have given a view of the old barracks, beyond. another window commanded a prospect of the lake, just now surging high and lashing its waters against the foot of the bluff on which the fort stood. the post was practically abandoned, and no more than a handful of soldiers were in possession. most of these comprised a detail of the signal corps sent there for the try-out of the traquair aëroplane with which matt had acquitted himself so creditably. it was about three o'clock in the afternoon, and all day long matt and mcglory had been housed up at the post on account of the storm. ping pong, the chinese boy, was watching the aëroplane, which was in a big shelter tent not far from the post trader's store. the cowboy, grumbling over the cheerless prospect from each window of the room, finally returned to his rocking-chair and sat down. "what next, matt?" inquired cameron. "you don't remain long in any one place, and i've been wondering when you'd leave here and where you'd go." "we're liable to break out in any old place on the map," said mcglory. "that's what i like about trailing around with pard matt. you never know, from one week to the next, whether you're going to hang up your hat in alaska or panama. it's the uncertainty and the vast possibilities that hooked me." "i haven't laid any plans," remarked the king of the motor boys. "the failure of the government to buy that aëroplane, after joe and i had put up a lot of money and time building it, leaves me with the machine on my hands. it's something of a white elephant." "it needn't be a white elephant," returned cameron. "you can crate the _comet_ and leave it here at the post until you find a use for it. the other aëroplane which you and mrs. traquair sold the war department is going to prove such a success that i am sure the government will be after this one. it will take a little time. there's a certain amount of red tape connected with the matter, you know." "i'm hoping the government will buy the machine, but i don't feel like leaving it in storage while we're waiting for the war department to make up its mind." "why don't you go hunting for murgatroyd?" inquired cameron. "the government has offered a reward of one thousand dollars for his capture." murgatroyd had not only tried to wreck the first traquair aëroplane at the time of the government trials at fort totten, but he had also resorted to crime in an attempt to secure, from mrs. traquair, a quarter section of land in wells county, which, for some mysterious reason of his own, he was eager to get hold of. a deserter from the army, cant phillips by name, had assisted murgatroyd in his nefarious work; and, for that, phillips was now on his way to fort leavenworth to serve out a long sentence in a government prison, and amos murgatroyd was a fugitive. matt and his friends had been drawn into these lawless plots of the broker's, and cameron supposed that, apart from the reward offered for the broker's capture, the young motorist would be eager to see him brought to book. "i've lost interest in murgatroyd," said matt. "he's a scoundrel, and the government is dealing with him. what i want to do is to put the aëroplane to some profitable use. it was damaged considerably, when murgatroyd brought it down with that rifle shot, and joe and i have had to put up about three hundred more good dollars for repairs. now that it's all shipshape and ready to fly once more, i feel as though we ought to make it earn something for us, instead of leaving it here at fort totten in storage." "aëroplanes are built to sell, aren't they?" asked the lieutenant quizzically. "how can you make any profit off them if you don't sell them?" "well, for one thing," replied matt, "aëro clubs, in different parts of the world, are offering prizes for flights in flying machines. this machine of traquair's, as you know, cameron, is the best one yet invented. it can go farther and do more than any other aëroplane on the market." "i guess that's right," agreed cameron. "however, i'm not thinking of flying for a prize. we'd have to go to europe in order to get busy with a project of that sort, and i don't want to leave the united states--at least, not for a while yet." "i wouldn't go out of the country, matt," said cameron earnestly. "you're under contract, you know, not to dispose of any of the traquair patents to foreign governments." "i wasn't thinking of such a thing as that, cameron. what i was thinking of is this: yesterday i received a letter from a show---- one of these 'tented aggregations,' as they're called in the bills--offering five hundred dollars a week if we would travel with the outfit and give two short flights each day from the show grounds----" mcglory was on his feet in an instant, waving his hand above his head and hurrahing. "that hits me plump!" he cried. "i've always wanted to do something in a show. whoop-ya! matt, you old sphinx, why didn't you say something about this before?" "i've been turning the proposition over in my mind," answered matt. "frankly, i don't like the idea of traveling with a show so much as i do the prospect of earning five hundred a week. i'll have to find out, too, whether the manager of the show is good for the money before i'll talk with him." "are we going to st. paul for an interview?" "no, to fargo. the show will make that town in about a week, and i wired the manager that we would meet him there. the _comet_ will carry two light-weight passengers in addition to the operator, so you and ping, joe, will have to fly with me to fargo. we can save railroad fare by going in the aëroplane, and that's why i want to get you accustomed to being in the air with the machine." cameron listened to matt with an air that showed plainly his disapproval. "you won't like the show business, matt," he declared. "i understand that," was the response, "but it's the salary that appeals to me." "furthermore," continued cameron, "the manager of the show will probably dock your salary every time you fail to pull off a flight. you know how hard it is to bank on the weather. at least half of each week, i should say at a guess, you will find it too windy to go up." "we'll have to have an understanding with the manager about that. it will have to be a pretty stiff wind, though, to keep me from flying. i've got the knack of handling the aëroplane, now, and a moderate breeze won't bother me at all." "the show's the thing!" jubilated mcglory. "speak to me about that, will you? the king of the motor boys and the _comet_ will be top-liners. and _draw_? well, i should say! why, they'll draw the people like a house afire." the first traquair aëroplane--the one sold to the government after the fort totten trials had been christened the _june bug_ by mcglory; but this one, built by matt after the traquair model, he had himself named the _comet_. this name was to perpetuate the memory of a motorcycle which matt had owned and had used with telling effect in far-away arizona. "i'm sure i wish you all the luck in the world, matt," said cameron heartily, "although i tell you flat that this show project of yours doesn't commend itself to me worth a cent. however, you know your own business best. you have demonstrated, beyond all doubt, that the traquair aëroplane can travel across country equally as well as around a prescribed course. this makes it possible for you to take your friends aboard and fly to fargo, or to new york, if you want to--providing the wind isn't too strong and nothing goes wrong with the machinery, but----" cameron did not finish. just at that moment a rap fell on the door, and he turned in his chair to ask who was outside. "o'hara, sor," came the response from the hall. "what is it, o'hara?" "there's a little old man wid me, sor, who has just rained in from minnewaukon. he's as damp as a fish and about all in, sor, an' he's afther wantin' t' spake wid motor matt." "bring him in, at once." the door opened and sergeant o'hara entered the room, half dragging and half carrying a water-soaked individual who dropped feebly into a chair. "prebbles!" exclaimed the king of the motor boys, starting back in amazement. chapter iii. bringing the skeleton out. the old clerk was so wrought up over the business he had in hand that he had given scant consideration to himself. all his life--ever since he had been cast adrift to make his own way in the world--he had been a clerk. the only outdoor exercise he had ever taken consisted in walking from his sleeping quarters to his boarding place, and thence to the office, back to the boarding place for lunch, then back once more for supper and to his lodgings for sleep. during the last few months, since joining the "army," he had had evening exercise of a strenuous nature, but it came at a time of life when it merely ran down the physical organism instead of building it up. it was a bedraggled and shattered prebbles that completed the trip by wagon from minnewaukon to the post. this lap of the journey was through a driving rain, the old man being insufficiently protected by a thin horse blanket. his whole body was shaking, as he sat dripping in the chair, and his teeth clattered and rattled. several times prebbles tried to speak to motor matt, but the chill splintered his words into indistinguishable sounds. o'hara peered into the clerk's gray face, and then turned a significant look at his superior officer. "sor," said he, "th' ould chap ain't built t' shtand a couple av hours in th' rain." "get him something hot from the kitchen, sergeant," ordered cameron. then, when o'hara had left, the lieutenant turned to matt. "bring him into my bedroom, matt you and mcglory. i've some clothes he can put on. they'll be a mile too big for him, but they'll be dry." "don't try to talk now, prebbles," admonished matt, as he and the cowboy supported him into the next room. "you'll feel better in a little while and then you can talk all you please." o'hara came with a pitcher of hot milk, in which the post doctor had mixed a stimulant of some kind, and he was left in the bedroom to help prebbles out of his wet clothes and into the dry ones. "who is he?" inquired cameron, when he and the boys were once more back in the sitting room. "murgatroyd's clerk," replied matt. "i saw him once, when i first reached jamestown and called on the broker to make inquiries about traquair's aëroplane." "then, if he works for a scoundrel like murgatroyd, he must be of the same calibre. like master, like man, you know." "that old saw don't apply to this case, cameron," said matt earnestly. "prebbles is a good deal of a man. he belongs to the salvation army and tries to be square with everybody. why, the very first time i called on murgatroyd, prebbles warned me to beware of the broker." "the old boy is the clear quill," said mcglory, "you take it from me. but what's he doing here? sufferin' horned toads! say, do you think he's come to tell us something about murg?" "by jove," muttered cameron, with suppressed excitement, "i'll bet that's what brought him!" "perhaps," said matt. "we'll know all about it, in a little while." in less than half an hour the old clerk emerged from the room, in a comfortable condition outside and in. the only thing about him that was at all damp was a sheet of folded paper which he carried in his hand. "we had to swim, just about, from minnewaukon over here," muttered prebbles, as he lowered himself into a chair. "you're mighty good to an old man, motor matt, you and your friends." "when did you leave jamestown?" asked matt. "this morning." "then it was raining hard when you got off the train at minnewaukon!" "raining pitchforks!" "why didn't you wait in the town until the rain was over?" "there wasn't time," and the shake in prebbles' high-pitched voice told of his growing excitement. "i just had to get here, that's all. what i've got to say, motor matt," he added, with an anxious look at cameron and mcglory, "is--is mighty important." "perhaps we'd better go, then," said cameron, with a look at the cowboy. "wait a minute," interposed matt. "has what you've got to say anything to do with murgatroyd?" "he's a robber," barked prebbles: "he's worse'n a robber. yes, murg's mainly concerned in what i've got to say." "then it will be well for cameron to stay and hear it. he represents the government, and the government is after murgatroyd. as for mcglory, here, he's my pard, and i have few secrets from him." "all right, then," returned prebbles. "it ain't a pleasant story i'm goin' to tell--leastways not for me. i've got to dig a few old bones out of my past life, and i know you won't think hard of me, seeing as how i belong to the army. it's a great thing to belong," and the old man seemed to forget what he was about to say, for a few moments, and fell to musing. the young motorist, the cowboy, and the lieutenant waited patiently for prebbles to pull himself together and proceed. the old clerk's haggard face proved that he had suffered much, and his three auditors had only kindness and consideration for him. "it's like this," went on the old man suddenly, pulling himself together and drawing a hand over his eyes. "i was married, a long while ago--so long it seems as though it must have been in another world. i reckon i was happy, then, but it didn't last long. my wife died in two years and left me with a boy to raise. i wonder if you know how hard it is for a man like me to bring up a boy without a good woman to help? the job was too much for prebbles. i did the best i knew how, on only thirty-five dollars a month, givin' the lad an education--or trying to, rather, for he never took much to books and schooling. he ran away from me when he was fifteen, an' i didn't see him again until last spring, when he was twenty-one. "six years had made a big difference in that boy, friends. he had gone his way, and it wasn't a good way, either. he was in jimtown just a month, gamblin' and carryin' on, and then him and me had a quarrel. they were bitter words we passed, me accusin' him of dishonoring his dead mother and his father, by his ways, and him twitting me of bein' a failure in life just because i didn't have the nerve to be dishonest and go to grafting. i must have said things that were awful--i can't remember--but all i do know is that newt hit me. he knocked me down, right in murgatroyd's office. murg was out, at the time, and newt and me was alone there together. when i came to, newt was gone." again was there a silence, the old clerk fingering a scar on the side of his cheek. "how like a serpent's tooth is an ungrateful son," went on prebbles. "and yet, newt wasn't all to blame. i wasn't the right sort to bring up a high-spirited boy. i wasn't able to do my duty. he left four hundred in gamblin' debts, when he went away. murgatroyd showed me the i o u's with newt's name to 'em. that's why i kept right on workin' for murg, when i knew he was a robber, and after i had joined the army. i've been taking up those i o u's. three of 'em's been paid, and there's one more left; and here i've pulled the pin on myself before takin' up the other. i don't know what i'm going to do for a job," and a pathetic helplessness crept into the old clerk's voice, "but," and the voice strengthened grimly, "i started out on this thing and i'm going to see it through. what i want, is to make up with newt. lawsy, how that quarrel has worried me! i don't care about the way he hit me--he had the right, i guess--but i want to make up with him an' get him back." the old man dropped his face in his hands. the other three looked at him sympathetically, and then exchanged significant glances. "it isn't so hard, prebbles," remarked matt gently, "to advance the spark of friendship, and it ought to be more than easy in the case of you and your son." prebbles lifted his head and his forlorn face brightened. "i knew you'd help me, matt," and he put out his thin, clawlike hand to grip matt's; "you help everybody that wants you to, and i knew sure you'd see me through this business. i did what i could for you--remember that? mebby what i done didn't amount to such a terrible sight, but i put you next to murgatroyd the first time you ever came into his office." "of course i'll do what i can to help you, prebbles," said matt reassuringly. "it's make or break with me, this time," shivered prebbles. "i'm pretty well along to stand such a row as i had with newt." "where is newt now?" inquired matt. "that's the point!" murmured prebbles, trying to brace up in his chair. "somehow, he's got under the thumb of murgatroyd, or murg's got under _his_ thumb, i can't just understand which." prebbles smoothed out the damp sheet of folded paper on his knee. "i belong to the army," he quavered, "and i don't feel that what i've done's wrong. a letter came to murgatroyd, at the office, last night. it was addressed in newt's handwriting. i opened that letter and made a copy of it; then i sent the letter on, with some others, to george hobbes, bismarck. that's the name murg uses when he pretends he's lendin' money for some one else. he can gouge and strip a man, while sayin' he's actin' for hobbes, see?" every one of the three who had listened to prebbles was deeply interested. the bringing in of murgatroyd seemed to offer a chance for capturing the rascal. "here's the letter, motor matt," said prebbles. "read it out loud, and then you'll all understand. there's a way to get newt, and advance the spark of friendship, as you call it. by doin' that, the boy can be saved from the influence of murgatroyd--and that's what i want." matt took the copy of the letter from the clerk's nerveless hand and read it aloud. just as he finished, prebbles slumped slowly forward out of his chair and fell in a senseless heap on the floor. chapter iv. marking out a course. "poor old codger!" exclaimed mcglory, as he and matt lifted the clerk and carried him to the bed in the other room. "he's had more trouble than he could dodge, pard." "he didn't try to dodge it, joe," answered matt quietly, "and that's to his credit. he's worn out. i'll bet that, while he was scrimping in order to take up his son's i o u's, he has hardly eaten enough to keep himself alive. his constitution is broken down, and this trip in the rain from minnewaukon has topped off his endurance. it's only a faint, that's all, but it proves the old man has got to be looked after." matt and mcglory had revived prebbles before cameron came with the doctor. the latter, after listening to as much of the matter as the boys could tell him, felt the old man's pulse and shook his head gravely. "we'll have to keep him in bed for a day or two, i think," he said. "don't say that!" begged prebbles. "i got work to do, doctor! besides, this isn't my bed--it belongs to motor matt's friend, cameron, and----" "motor matt's friend," put in the lieutenant, "is only too glad to give you his bed, prebbles. i can sleep on the couch in the next room, and you can stay here until you're well enough to leave." "but i can't stay here," cried prebbles querulously. "didn't you hear me say i had work to do? i've got to help motor matt--all of you know why." "anyhow, prebbles," said matt, "nothing can be done until morning. you stay here and keep quiet until then. meanwhile, cameron, mcglory, and i will mark out a course, and we'll tell you all about it before we begin following it. if you're able, you can go with us. if you're not able, you can stay here and feel sure that i'll carry out this make-and-break affair of yours just as though it was my own. you can trust me to advance the spark of friendship, can't you?" "there ain't any one else i'd trust but you, motor matt," declared prebbles. "but i'm going with you, in the morning. i haven't any money----" "you don't need any," interrupted cameron. "you're welcome to stay here as long as you please, at the government's expense. you have brought a clue which may lead to the capture of murgatroyd, and the government has offered a reward of one thousand dollars for him." "if he can be captured, prebbles," added matt, "the money will go to you." "it'll come in handy, but--but it's newt i want." at a nod from the doctor, matt, mcglory, and cameron went into the other room and closed the door. "prebbles will never be able to leave here to-morrow morning," averred cameron. "it's up to mcglory and me," said matt, "to do what we can." "give me a share in the work," begged cameron. "perhaps i can do something. if necessary, i'll get a furlough." matt was thoughtful for a few moments. stepping to the window overlooking the parade ground, he peered out at the weather. the rain continued to come down in torrents, but there was a hint, overhead, that the storm would not last out the night. "we have a good clue to murgatroyd's whereabouts," said matt presently, coming back and taking a chair facing his friends, "but there are several points to be considered. prebbles sent on the original of his son's letter last night. that means that some time to-day murgatroyd got the letter in bismarck. if it is raining as hard, over on the missouri, as it is here, it is unlikely that murgatroyd went up the river to burnt creek to-day. with clearing weather, he'll probably go up to-morrow." "then," said cameron, "it's our business to take a train for jamestown at once, connect with a west-bound train there for bismarck, and then take a team and drive from bismarck to burnt creek." "the afternoon train has left minnewaukon," answered matt, who seemed to have considered every phase of the matter, "and there is no other train south until to-morrow morning. that train, i think, connects with one on the main line for bismarck, but we could hardly reach the town before late to-morrow afternoon, and it would be night before we could get to burnt creek. while we were losing all this time, what will murgatroyd be doing?" "why not get an automobile from devil's lake city," suggested cameron, "and reach jamestown in time to connect with an earlier train?" "how will the roads be after this rain?" inquired matt. "that's so!" exclaimed cameron, with a gloomy look from one of the windows. "these north dakota roads are fine in dry weather, but they're little more than bogs after a rain like this. we can't use the automobile, that's sure, and murgatroyd is likely to reach burnt creek before we can possibly get there. will he and young prebbles stay at burnt creek until we arrive? that's the point." "it's so uncertain a point," said matt, "that we can't take chances with it." "we've _got_ to take chances, pard," put in mcglory, "unless we charter an engine for the run to jamestown." "there's another way," asserted matt. "what other way is there?" asked cameron. "well, first off, we can send a message at once to bismarck, to the chief of police----" "sufferin' blockheads!" grunted mcglory. "i never thought of that." "how are the police going to locate murgatroyd?" went on cameron. "the scoundrel is there under an assumed name." "why," said matt, "tell the police, in the message, to arrest any man who calls at the post office and asks for mail for 'george hobbes.'" "easy enough," muttered cameron. "no," proceeded matt, "not so easy as you think, for it may be that murgatroyd has already received the letter. but shoot the message through at once, cameron, and let's do all we can, and as quick as we can." the message was written out and sent to the telegraph office by o'hara. "now," said cameron, "assuming that that does the trick for murgatroyd, there is still young prebbles to think about. he'll wait at burnt creek, i take it, for murgatroyd, and if murgatroyd is captured, and isn't able to leave bismarck, we can reach burnt creek in time to find our man and advance that 'spark of friendship'--which, to be perfectly candid, i haven't much faith in." "i believe," said matt, "that the greatest scoundrel that ever lived has an affection for his parents, somewhere deep down in his heart. if i'm any judge of human nature, that cowardly blow newt gave his father has bothered the young fellow quite as much as it has that old man, in there," and matt nodded toward the door of the bedroom. "leaving out sentiment altogether, though, and our ability to reach newt on prebbles' behalf, there's something else in his letter that makes the biggest kind of a hit with me." "what's that?" came from both cameron and mcglory. "well, young prebbles is asking murgatroyd for money, and hinting at something he knows about the accident to harry traquair. you remember that mrs. traquair's husband lost his life, in jamestown, by a fall with his aëroplane. it is possible that young prebbles knows more about that accident than murgatroyd wants him to know." "speak to me about that!" muttered the wide-eyed mcglory. "matt, you old gilt-edged wonder, you're the best guesser that ever came down the pike! give him the barest line on any old thing, cameron, and this pard of mine will give you, offhand, all the dips, angles, and formations." "this is plain enough, joe," protested matt. "i can see it now," said cameron, "but i couldn't before. there are big things to come out of this business, friends! i feel it in my bones." "and the biggest thing," declared matt, with feeling, "is making newt prebbles' peace with his father." "then," said cameron, with sudden animation, "i'm to get leave and go with you by train, to-morrow morning, to bismarck, on our way to burnt creek?" matt shook his head. "that depends, cameron," he answered, dropping a friendly hand on the lieutenant's knee. "depends on what?" "why, on whether it's a clear, still day or a stormy one." both cameron and mcglory were puzzled. "i can't see where that comes in," said the lieutenant. "if it's a fine day, joe and i will go to burnt creek with the _comet_." mcglory jumped in his chair. "that's another time i missed the high jump!" he exclaimed. "never once thought of the _comet_." "all roads are the same," went on matt, "when you travel through the air. apart from that, we can cut across lots, in the _comet_, and do our forty to sixty miles an hour between here and the missouri and burnt creek." cameron was dashed. he was eager to take part in the work of bagging murgatroyd, and in finding newt prebbles. "suppose an accident happens to the flying machine," said he, "and you are dropped on the open prairie, fifty miles from anywhere? you wouldn't be gaining much time over the trip by train." "we won't go by air ship," replied matt, "unless we are very sure the conditions are right. give me the proper conditions, and i'll guarantee no accident will happen to the _comet_." "but mcglory is scared of his life to fly in the machine," went on cameron. "why not leave him here and let me go with you?" "not in a thousand years!" clamored mcglory. "i'm going to ride in the _comet_. that's flat." "well, the machine will carry three," proceeded cameron. "why not leave the chinaman behind and take me?" "the _comet_ will carry three light weights," laughed matt. "you're too heavy, cameron." "that lets me out," deplored cameron, "so far as the _comet_ is concerned, but i'll go by train. maybe i'll arrive in time to be of some help." "we may all have to go by train, lieutenant," returned matt; "we won't know about that until to-morrow morning. for the present, though, the course is as i've marked it out." "well, let's go and eat," said cameron, getting up as the notes of a bugle came to his ears. "there goes supper call. i'll hope for the best, but i'm for burnt creek, matt, whether i go in the _comet_ or by train." prebbles, they found, was asleep. o'hara was brought in to sit with him while they were at supper, and all three left the room. chapter v. the start. the following morning dawned clear, and bright, and still. it was a day made to order, so far as aëroplane flying was concerned. matt and his cowboy chum spent the night at the post. before turning in, matt got into sou'wester, slicker, and rubber boots and churned his way down to the aëroplane tent to see how ping and the machine were getting along. everything was all right, and the heavy, water-proofed canvas was turning the rain nicely. ping was in love with the _comet_, and could be counted on to guard it as the apple of his eye. "as fine a morning for your start as one could wish for," observed cameron, with a note of regret in his voice, as he, and matt, and mcglory came out of the mess hall and started along the board walk that edged the parade ground. "i'm sorry, old chap, we can't take you with us," said matt, "but the _comet_ is hardly a passenger craft, you know." "what will you do with prebbles, if he's well enough to go?" "we'll let ping come with you by train. prebbles doesn't weigh much more than the chinaman." "suppose prebbles doesn't care to risk his neck in the machine?" "i don't think he'll make any objection. however, we'll go to your quarters and make sure of that, right now. how did he pass the night?" "slept well, so o'hara said. he was still sleeping when a private relieved the sergeant. mcglory," and here the lieutenant turned to the cowboy, "do you feel as much like flying, this morning, as you did last night?" "not half so much, cameron," answered mcglory, with a tightening of his jaws, "but you couldn't keep me out of that flyin' machine with a shotgun. if we join a circus as air navigators, i've got to get used to flying, and i might as well begin right now." "all right," answered the disappointed lieutenant, "i'll go by train." the doctor was with prebbles when cameron and the boys reached the lieutenant's quarters. what is more, the doctor's face was graver than it had been the preceding afternoon. the old man was throwing himself around on the bed and muttering incoherently. "delirious," said the doctor, examining a temperature thermometer; "temperature a hundred and three, and he's as wild as a loon. newt, newt, newt--that's the trend of his talk. you can't understand him, now, but he was talking plain enough when i got here." "is the sickness serious?" asked matt. "pneumonia. know what that is, don't you, matt? it's hard enough on a person with a good constitution, but in a case like this, where the powers of resistance are almost exhausted, the end is pretty nearly a foregone conclusion. however, we're taking the trouble right at the beginning, and there's a chance i may break it up." "get a good nurse for him," said matt, "and see that he gets all the care possible. the poor old chap was a good friend of mine, once, and i'll bear all the expense." "never mind that, matt," spoke up cameron. "if murgatroyd is caught, because of the tip he gave us, the government will be owing prebbles a lot of money." suddenly the old man sat up in bed, his eyes wide and staring vacantly, his arms stretched out in front of him and his hands beating together. his voice grew clear and distinct, echoing through the room with weird shrillness. "at the cross, at the cross, there i first saw the light, and the burden from my heart rolled away! it was there by faith i received my sight, and now i'm happy all the day!" one verse was all. spent with the effort, prebbles dropped back on the pillow and continued his whispered muttering. "it's one of those salvation army songs," observed the doctor. "he thought he was marching and playing the cymbals," said matt, in a low tone. "too bad!" exclaimed mcglory, shaking his head. "do all you can for him, doctor," urged matt. "i will, of course," was the answer, "but you may be able to do more for him than any one else, matt." "how so?" "why, by bringing back that scalawag son of his. that's the one thing the old man needs. if we can show prebbles the boy, and make him realize that he's here, and sorry for the past, it will do a world of good." "i'll bring him!" declared matt, his voice vibrant with feeling. "prebbles said this business would make or break him; and, as the work is on my shoulders now, it's make or break for me. come on, joe!" he turned from the room, followed by mcglory and cameron. out of the post went the three, and down the hill and past the post trader's store, the king of the motor boys saying not a word; but, when the shelter tent was in sight, he turned to his companions. "it's mighty odd," said he, "how chances to do a little good in the world will sometimes come a fellow's way. through that rascal, murgatroyd, i was led into giving a helping hand to mrs. traquair; and here, through the same man, i've a chance to help prebbles." "and you can bet your moccasins we'll help him," declared mcglory, "even though we lose that circus contract. hey, pard?" "we will!" answered matt. ping had cooked himself a mess of rice on a camp stove near the shelter tent. he was just finishing his rations when the boys and the lieutenant came up. "we're going out in the aëroplane to-day, ping," announced matt. "allee light," said the chinaman, wiping off his chop sticks and slipping them into his blouse. "you and mcglory are going with me," went on matt. the yellow face glowed, and the slant eyes sparkled. "hoop-a-la!" exulted ping. "by klismus, my likee sail in cloud joss!" "i wish i had that heathen's nerve," muttered the cowboy. "it's plumb scandalous the way the joy bubbles out of him. all his life he's been glued to _terra firma_, same as me, but, from the way he acts, you'd think he'd spent most of his time on the wing. but mebby he's only running in a rhinecaboo, and will dive into his wannegan as soon as we're ready to take a running start and climb into the air. we'll see." "pump up the bicycle tires, joe," said matt. "get them good and hard. ping," and matt pointed to the haversack of provender mcglory had brought from the post, "stow that back of the seat on the lower wing. we may be gone two or three days." "and mebby we'll be cut off in our youth and bloom and never come back," observed mcglory, grabbing the air pump. "this is matt's make and break," he grinned grewsomely; "we make an ascent and break our bloomin' necks. but who cares? we're helping a neighbor." ping crooned happily as he set about securing the haversack. he'd have jumped on a streak of chain lightning, if matt had been going along with him to make the streak behave. the _comet_ had two gasoline tanks, and both of these were full. the oil cups were also brimming, and there was a reserve supply to be drawn on in case of need. matt went over the machine carefully, as he always did before a flight, making sure that everything was tight and shipshape, and in perfect running order. even if anything went wrong with the motor, and the propeller ceased to drive the aëroplane ahead, there would have been no accident. the broad wings, or planes, would have glided down the air like twin parachutes and landed the flyers safely. cameron, having manfully smothered his disappointment, lent his hearty aid in getting the boys ready for the start. the machine, at the beginning of the flight, had to be driven forward on the bicycle wheels until the air under the wings offered sufficient resistance to lift the craft. a speed of thirty miles an hour was sufficient to carry the flying machine off the ground and launch it skyward. but there was disappointment in store for the boys. the three, seated on the lower plane, matt at the levers, tried again and again to send the machine fast enough along the muddy road to give it the required impetus to lift it. but the road was too heavy. the trick of fortune caused ping to gabble and jabber furiously, but mcglory watched and waited with passive willingness to accept whatever was to come. "i guess you'll have to give up, matt," said cameron. "the road's too soft and you can't get a start." matt looked at the prairie alongside the road. the grass was short, and the springy turf seemed to offer some chance for a getaway. "we'll try it there," said he, pointing to the trailside. "give us a boost off the road, cameron, and then start us." the lieutenant assisted the laboring bicycle wheels to gain the roadside, and then pushed the machine straight off across the prairie. matt threw every ounce of power into the wheels. usually the air ship took to wing in less than a hundred yards, but now the distance consumed by the start was three times that. for two hundred feet cameron kept up and pushed; then the _comet_ went away from him at a steadily increasing pace. finally the wheels lifted. quick as thought, matt shifted the power to the propeller. the _comet_ dropped a little, then caught herself just as the wheels were brushing the grass and forged upward. "hoop-a-la!" cried ping. mcglory said nothing. his face was set, his eyes gleaming, and he was hanging to his seat with both hands. chapter vi. a shot across the bows. the sensation of gliding through the air, entirely cut adrift from solid ground, is as novel as it is pleasant. the body seems suddenly to have acquired an indescribable lightness, and the spirits become equally buoyant. dizziness, or vertigo, is unheard of among aëronauts. while on the ground a man may not be able to climb a ladder for a distance of ten feet without losing his head and falling, the same man can look downward for thousands of feet from a balloon with his nerves unruffled. joe mcglory, now for the first time leaping into the air with a flying machine, was holding his breath and hanging on desperately to keep himself from being shaken off his seat, but, to his astonishment, his fears were rapidly dying away within him. the cowboy was a lad of pluck and daring; nevertheless, he had viewed his projected flight in a mood akin to panic. although passionately fond of boats, yet the roll of a launch in a seaway always made him sick; in the same manner, perhaps, he was in love with flying machines, although it had taken a lot of strenuous work to get him to promise to go aloft. the necessity, on account of wet ground, of juggling for a start, had thrown something of a wet blanket over mcglory's ardor. once in the air, however, his enthusiasm arose as his fears went down. matt sat on the left side of the broad seat, firmly planted with his feet on the footrest and his body bent forward, one hand on the mechanism that expanded or contracted the great wings, and the other manipulating the rudder that gave the craft a vertical course. on matt's quickness of judgment and lightning-like celerity in shifting the levers, the lives of all three of the boys depended. every change in the centre of air pressure--and this was shifting every second--had to be met with an expansion or contraction of the wings in order to make the centre of air pressure and the centre of gravity coincide at all times. upon matt, therefore, fell all the labor and responsibility. he had no time to give to the scenery passing below, and what talking he indulged in was mechanical and of secondary importance to his work. but this is not to say that he missed all the pleasures of flying. a greater delight than that offered by the zest of danger and responsibility in the air would be hard to imagine. every second his nerves were strung to tightest tension. ping sat between matt and mcglory, his yellow hands clutching the rim of the seat between his knees. he was purring with happiness, like some overgrown cat, while a grin of heavenly joy parted his face as his eyes marked the muddy roads over which they were passing without hindrance. up and up matt forced the machine until they reached a height of five hundred feet. here the air was crisp and cool, and much steadier than the currents closer to the surface. "great!" shouted the cowboy. "i haven't the least fear that we're going to drop, and i'd just as lieve go out on the end of one of the wings and stand on my head." "don't do it," laughed matt, keeping his eyes straight ahead, while his hand trawled constantly back and forth with the lever controlling the wing ends. "him plenty fine!" cooed ping. "fine ain't the name for it," said mcglory. "i'm so plumb tickled i can't sit still. and to think that i shied and side-stepped, when i might have been having this fun right along! well, we can't be so wise all the time as we are just some of the time, and that's a fact. how far do you make it, matt, to where we're going?" "a little over a hundred miles, as the crow flies." "as the _comet_ flies, you mean. how fast are we going?" "fifty miles an hour." "that clip will drop us near burnt creek in two hours. whoop-ya!" the cowboy let out a yell from pure exhilaration. not a thought regarding possible accident ran through his head. the engine was working as sweetly as any motor had ever worked, the propeller was whirling at a speed that made it look like a solid disk, and the great wings were plunging through the air with the steady, swooping motion of a hawk in full flight. a huddle of houses rushed toward the _comet_, far below, and vanished behind. "what was that, pard?" cried the cowboy. "minnewaukon," answered matt. at that moment the young motorist shifted the rudder behind, which was the one giving the craft her right and left course, and they made a half turn. as the _comet_ came around and pointed her nose toward the southwest, she careened, throwing the right-hand wings sharply upward. mcglory gave vent to a hair-raising yell. he was hurled against ping, and ping, in turn, was thrown against matt. "right yourselves, pards," called matt. "that was nothing. when we swing around a turn we're bound to roll a little. you can't expect more of an air ship, you know, than you can of a boat in the water. you keep track of the time, ping. joe, follow our course on the map. you can hang on with one hand and hold the map open with the other. we can't sail without a chart." matt had secured his open-face watch to a bracket directly above ping's head. the boy could see the time-piece without shifting his position. the map mcglory had in his pocket. removing the map from his coat with one hand, the cowboy opened it upon his knee. with a ruler, matt had drawn a line from minnewaukon straight to the point where burnt creek emptied into the missouri. this line ran directly southwest, crossing four lines of railroad, and as many towns. "how are we going to know we're keeping the course, pard?" inquired mcglory. "we ought to have a compass." "a compass wouldn't have been a bad thing to bring along," returned matt, "but we'll be able to keep the course, all right, by watching for the towns we're due to pass. the first town is flora, on the branch road running northwest from oberon. if i'm not mistaken, there it is to the right of us. hang on, both of you! i'm going to drop down close, joe, while you hail one of the citizens and ask him if i've got the name of the place right." there was plenty of excitement in the little prairie village. men, women, and children could be seen rushing out of their houses and gazing upward at the strange monster in the sky. everybody in that section had heard of motor matt and his aëroplanes, so the curiosity and surprise were tempered with a certain amount of knowledge. "hello, neighbor!" roared mcglory, as the air ship swept downward to within fifty feet of the ground, "what town is this?" "flora," came the reply. "light, strangers, an' roost in our front yard. ma and the children would like to get a good look at your machine, and----" the voice faded to rearward, and "ma and the children" had to be disappointed. having assured himself that he was right, matt headed the aëroplane toward the skies, once more. settlers' shacks, and more pretentious farmhouses, raced along under them, and in every place where there were any human beings, intense excitement was manifested as the _comet_ winged its way onward. in less than fifteen minutes after passing flora, they caught sight of another railroad track and another huddle of buildings. it was the "soo" road, and the town was manfred. "how long have we been in the air, ping?" asked matt. "fitty-fi' minutes," replied the chinaman. "manfred ain't many miles from sykestown, pard," said joe, "and we must be within gunshot of that place where we had our troubles, a few days back." "i'm glad we're giving the spot a wide berth," returned matt, with a wry face. "we've got to make better time," he added, opening the throttle; "we're not doing as well as i thought." the _comet_ hurled herself onward at faster speed. the air of their flight whistled and sang in the boys' ears, and hills underneath leaped at them and then vanished rearward with dizzying swiftness. "i'd like to travel in an aëroplane all the time," remarked mcglory. "sufferin' skyrockets! what's the use of hoofin' it, or ridin' in railroad cars, when you can pick up a pair of wings and a motor and go gallywhooping through the air?" the machine was well over the coteaus, now, and the rough country would hold, with only now and then an occasional break, clear to the missouri. another railroad, and a cluster of dwellings known as "goodrich," were passed, and the aëroplane slid along over the corner of mclean county and into burleigh. they were drawing close to burnt creek, and everything was going swimmingly. matt, notwithstanding the severe strain upon him, was not in the least tired. in a little less than two hours after leaving fort totten they crossed their last railroad--a branch running northward from bismarck. the town, near where they winged over the steel rails, was down on the map as "arnold." "speak to me about this!" cried mcglory. "there's a creek under us, matt, and i'll bet it's the one we're looking for." "we're finding something else we were not looking for," answered the king of the motor boys grimly. "what's that?" queried mcglory. "look straight ahead at the top of the next hill." mcglory turned his eyes in the direction indicated. a number of rough-looking horsemen, evidently cowboys, were scattered over the hill. they were armed with rifles, and were spurring back and forth in an apparent desire to get directly in front of the _comet_. "why, pard," shouted mcglory, "they're punchers, same as me. punchers are a friendly lot, and that outfit wouldn't no more think of cutting up rough with us than----" the words were taken out of the cowboy's mouth by the sharp crack of a rifle. one of the horsemen had fired, his bullet singing through the air in front of the _comet_. "that's across our bows," said matt, "and it's an invitation to come down." the "invitation" was seconded by a yell the import of which there was no mistaking. "hit the airth, you, up thar, or we'll bring ye down wrong-side up!" "nice outfit _they_ are!" grunted mcglory. "get into the sky a couple of miles, matt, and---- sufferin' terrors! what are you about?" motor matt had pointed the air ship earthward, and was gliding toward the hilltop. "no use, joe," matt answered. "they could hit us with their bullets and wreck us before we got out of range. they want to talk with us, and we might as well humor them." "mighty peculiar way for a lot of cowboys to act," muttered mcglory. "no likee," said ping. chapter vii. the man hunters. motor matt was not anticipating any serious trouble with the cowboys. the worst that could possibly happen, he believed, was a slight delay while the curiosity of the horsemen regarding the aëroplane was satisfied. armed cattlemen are proverbially reckless. a refusal to alight would certainly have made the _comet_ a target for half a dozen guns, and it was a foregone conclusion that not all the bullets would have gone wild. the cowboys, of course, knew nothing about aëroplanes. they wanted matt to come down, no matter whether the landing was made in a spot from which the aëroplane could take a fresh start, or in a place where a start would be impossible. the hill on which the horsemen were posted was a high one, and had smooth, treeless slopes on all sides. it was, in fact, a veritable turf-covered coteau. matt was planning to alight on the very crest of the hill. when he and his pards were ready to take wing again, he thought they could dash down the hill slope, and be in the air before the foot of the hill was reached. the horses of the men below were frightened by the aëroplane, and began to kick and plunge. the trained riders, however, held them steady with one hand while gripping rifles with the other. the flying machine circled obediently in answer to her steering apparatus, and landed on the crest of the hill with hardly a jar. as the craft rested there, the boys got out to stretch their cramped legs and inquire what the cowboys wanted. the latter had spurred their restive animals close, and were grouped in a circle about the _comet_. "well, i'll be gosh-hanged!" muttered one, staring at the machine with jaws agape. "me, too!" murmured another. "gee, man, but this here's hard ter believe." "hustlin' around through the air," put in another, "same as i go slashin' over the range on a bronk." the fourth man gave less heed to his amazement than he did to the business immediately in hand. "ain't either one o' 'em george hobbes?" he averred, looking matt, mcglory, and ping over with some disappointment. that name, falling from the cowboy's lips, caused matt and mcglory to exchange wondering glances. "what did you stop us for?" asked matt. "me an' slim, thar, thought ye mout hev hobbes aboard that thing-um-bob," went on the last speaker. "we're from the tin cup ranch, us fellers are. i'm jed spearman, the foreman. whar d'ye hail from?" "from fort totten." "when d'ye leave thar?" "about two hours ago." "come off! toten's a good hunnerd an' twenty miles from here." "well," laughed matt, "we can travel sixty miles an hour, when we let ourselves out, and bad roads can't stop us. but tell us about this man, hobbes. who is he?" "he's a tinhorn, that's what. he blowed inter the tin cup bunkhouse, last night, an' cleaned us all out in a leetle game o' one-call-two." "if you're foolish enough to gamble," said matt, "you ought to have the nerve to take the consequences." "gad-hook it all," spoke up the man referred to as "slim," "i ain't puttin' up no holler when i loses fair, but this hobbes person is that rank with his cold decks, his table hold outs, an' his extra aces, that i blushes ter think o' how we was all roped in." "he cheated you?" "cheat?" echoed jed spearman, "waal, no. from the way we sized it up when we got tergether this mornin', it was jest plain rob'ry. hobbes headed this way, an' we slid inter our saddles an' follered. but we've lost the trail, an' was jest communin' with ourselves ter find out what jump ter make next, when this thing"--he waved his hand toward the aëroplane--"swung inter sight agin' the sky. we seen you three aboard the thing, an' got the fool notion that mebby hebbes was one o' ye." "didn't you find out last night that you had been cheated?" asked matt. "nary. if we had, pilgrim, ye kin gamble a stack we'd have took arter this hobbes person right then. it was only this mornin' when slim diskivered the deck o' keerds belongin' ter the feller, which same he had left behind most unaccountable, that we sensed how bad we'd been done. the' was an extry set o' aces with that pack, the backs was all readers, an' the hull lay-out was that peculiar we wasn't more'n a brace o' shakes makin' up our minds what ter do." "what sort of a looking man was this hobbes?" "dead ringer fer a cattleman, neighbor. blue eyes, well set up, an' youngish." matt was surprised. he was expecting to receive a description of murgatroyd, but the specifications did not fit the broker. murgatroyd was a large, lean man with black, gimlet-like eyes. "what's yer bizness in these parts?" demanded jed spearman. "jest takin' a leetle fly fer the fun o' the thing?" "well," answered matt, "not exactly." "ain't in no rush, are ye?" "yes. now that you know the man hobbes isn't with us, we'll get aboard and resume our flight." matt stepped toward the aëroplane, with the intention of taking his place at the driving levers. but jed spearman stayed him with a grip of the arm. "i got er notion," said jed, "that i'd like ter take a ride in that thing myself." the other cowboys gave a roar of wild appreciation and approval. "ye say ye kin do sixty miles an hour," proceeded jed. "i'm goin' back ter the tin cup ranch ter see if the other party that went out arter hobbes had any success. it's thirty miles ter the tin cup, an' ye ort ter git me thar an' back inside o' an hour--onless ye was puttin' up a summer breeze when ye told how fast this here dufunny machine could travel. hey? how does it hit ye?" motor matt was taken all aback. an hour's delay might spell ruin so far as meeting newt prebbles at the mouth of burnt creek was concerned. "we're in too much of a hurry," said matt, "and we can't spare the time. i'd like to oblige you, spearman, but it's out of the question." "no more it ain't out o' the question," growled spearman. "i'm pinin' ter take a ride in that thar machine, an' ye kin help us in our hunt fer hobbes if ye'll only take me back ter the ranch. i reckon yore bizness ain't any more important than what ours is." "make him take ye, jed!" howled the other punchers. "if he won't, we'll make kindlin' wood out er the ole buzzard." the temper of the cowboys was such that matt was in a quandary. while he was turning the situation over in his mind, mcglory stepped forward and took part in the talk. "say, you," he cried angrily, "what you putting up this kind of a deal on us for? you can't make us toe the mark by putting the bud to us, and if you try it, we'll pull till the latigoes snap." "don't git sassy," said jed, in a patronizing tone. "we're too many fer ye, kid. ridin' in that thing'll be more fun fer me than a three-ring circus, say nothin' o' the help it'll be fer us ter find out whether the other bunch o' man hunters struck 'signs' er not. step back, an' sing small. here, slim, you take charge o' my hoss." the foreman passed his bridle reins to slim, dismounted, and laid his gun on the ground. "we'll have to wait here till ye git back, won't we?" asked slim. "sure," replied jed. "we've lost the trail, an' thar ain't no manner o' use ter keep on ontil we find out somethin'." "then i'm goin' ter git down," said slim. "we kin bunch up the critters an' smoke a little." mcglory's temper was rapidly growing. the cool way in which jed spearman was planning to appropriate the _comet_ was more than mcglory could stand. "you're a lot of tinhorns!" he cried. "this lad here," he waved his hand toward the king of the motor boys, "is motor matt, and he's making this flight on government business, mainly. you keep hands off, or you'll get into trouble." "that's me!" whooped spearman. "trouble! i live on _that_. get ready that flyin' machine, kase i'm hungry ter do my sixty miles an hour on the way back ter headquarters." an idea suddenly popped into mcglory's head. "this way, matt," said he, stepping off to one side and beckoning matt to follow. the cowboys were a little suspicious, but their curiosity prompted them to inspect the _comet_ and leave matt and mcglory to their own devices. "what do you think, pard?" asked mcglory, when he and matt were by themselves. "i think it won't do to have any delay," replied matt, "but i don't just see how we're going to avoid it. if it wasn't for those rifles----" he cast a look at the cowboys and shrugged his shoulders. "i've got a notion we can fool the punchers," said mcglory, "but ping and i will have to be left behind, if we do it. you'll be going it alone, from here on. think you can manage it?" "i'll try anything," answered matt. "all i want is to get away. who this gambler the cowboys call george hobbes is, i haven't the least idea. their description of the fellow doesn't tally with the description of murgatroyd, and the whole affair is beginning to have a queer look. i don't think there's any time to be lost." "no more there isn't," replied mcglory. "ping and i can wander on to the mouth of burnt creek on foot as soon as we can shake the punchers, and you can look for us there. what i'm plannin' is this." thereupon mcglory hastily sketched his swiftly formed plan. it had rather a venturesome look, to matt, and might, or might not, win out. there was nothing to do, however, but to try it. "what you shorthorns gassin' about?" yelled jed spearman. "i'm all ready ter fly, an' time's skurse." matt and mcglory, having finished their brief talk, walked back to the cowboys. chapter viii. fooling the cowboys. "if you're bound to make motor matt take you to the ranch, spearman," said mcglory, "that means that the chink and me'll have to wait here till you get back." "which is what i was expectin'," answered spearman. "i don't want ter feel cramped in that thar machine." "the rest of you will have to give the machine a start down the hill," went on mcglory innocently. "when the craft gets a start, and is in the air, you'll have to watch your chance, spearman, and jump aboard." "jump on when she's goin' sixty miles an hour?" howled spearman. "say, what d'ye think my scalp's wuth?" "it won't be going sixty miles an hour," parried mcglory. matt had already taken his seat in the _comet_. "why kain't i git in thar with him," asked spearman, "an' travel with the machine right from the start?" "sufferin' centipedes!" exclaimed mcglory, in well-feigned disgust. "say, i reckon you don't savvy a whole lot about flyin' machines. she's got to have a runnin' start, as light as possible; then, when she begins to skyhoot, you climb aboard. i guess you don't _want_ to take a trip aloft." "guess again," cried spearman. "i kin jump some, if it comes ter that, only"--and here he turned to matt, who was quietly waiting--"fly low an' slow." "all of you have got to help," proceeded matt's cowboy pard briskly. "lay your guns away, somewhere, so you can give both hands to your work." none of the cowboys had six-shooters, but all were armed with rifles. this was rather odd, but, nevertheless, a fact. when they started out after george hobbes, the tin cup men had been counting on target practice at long range. the horses had already been bunched with their heads together. four of the cowboys, who were still holding their rifles, stepped hilariously over to where slim and spearman had deposited their guns, and dropped their weapons. mcglory gave ping a significant look. the young chinaman stared blankly for a moment, and then a complacent grin settled over his yellow face. he was as sharp as a steel trap when it came to understanding guileful things. ping knew what was expected of him, and he was ready. the _comet_ was headed down the western slope of the hill. four of the cowboys placed themselves at the lower wings, two on each side, ready to run with the machine when they received the word. spearman, in his shirt sleeves, was tying one end of a riata to the timber which passengers in the aëroplane used as a footrest. "what are you doing that for?" demanded matt. spearman straightened up with a wink. "waal, it's fer two things, pilgrim," he answered jocosely. "fust off, by hangin' ter the rope, slim an' me kin pull while the rest o' the boys push. then, ag'in, if ye've got any little trick up yer sleeve, i'll have a line on yer ole sky sailer an' ye kain't leave me behind, not noways." that rope troubled matt, but he could voice no reasonable objection to it. already mcglory had played on the credulity of the punchers to the limit, and it was not safe to go much farther. "i'm goin' ter have yer job, jed," rallied one of the cowboys, "if ye fall outen the machine an' bust yer neck." "don't ye take my job till i'm planted, hen, that's all," grinned the foreman. "i been wantin' a new sensation fer quite a spell, an' i guess here's the place whar i connect with it." if the plans of matt and his friends worked out successfully, jed spearman was to "connect with a sensation" vastly different from what he was expecting. mcglory was chuckling to himself over the prospect. the cowboys, in their uproarious mood, did not seem to notice that neither mcglory nor ping were helping to give the aëroplane a running start down the hill. "ye'll be a reg'lar human skyrocket, jed," remarked slim, "if ye travel at the rate o' sixty miles an hour." "i'll be goin' some, an' that's shore," answered the foreman. "wonder what folks'll invent next? say, thar! if ye're ready, let's start." matt started the motor. this evidence of power rather awed the cowboys, and their grins faded as they watched and listened. "now," instructed matt, "the minute i turn the power into the bicycle wheels, you fellows begin to run the machine downhill." "let 'er go!" came the whooping chorus. jed spearman and slim, tailed on to a forty-foot riata, were some twenty feet ahead of the aëroplane. "now!" cried matt. the bicycle wheels began to take the push, and the _comet_ started down the slope, the two cowboys ahead pulling, and the four at the wings pushing. naturally, the descent aided the motor. there had not been as much rain, in that part of the state, as there had been in the devil's lake country, and the turf was fairly dry and afforded tolerably good wheeling. the cowboys roared with delight as they ran awkwardly in their tight, high-heeled boots. what happened was only natural, in the circumstances, although quite unexpected to the ignorant cattlemen. in less than fifty feet the aëroplane was going too fast for the runners. the four at the wings had to let go; and the two at the rope, finding themselves in imminent danger of being run over, dropped the rope and leaped to one side. all six of the cowboys watched while the _comet_, catching the air under her outspread pinions, mounted gracefully--and then continued to mount, the riata trailing beneath. "he ain't comin' back fer ye, jed!" howled slim. "here, you!" bellowed the foreman. "whar ye goin'? what kinder way is that ter treat a feller? come back, or i'll send a bullet arter ye!" matt paid no attention. he was following, to the very letter, the plan mcglory had formed, and was rushing at speed in the direction of the missouri and the mouth of burnt creek. "git yer guns!" cried the wrathful spearman. "shoot him up!" it is doubtful whether the cowboys would have been able to retrace their way up the hill and secure their guns before matt had got out of range. but they had not a chance to put their purpose to the test, for the contingency had been guarded against. when the cowboys reached the top of the hill, ping was at the foot of it on the eastern side, traveling as fast as his legs could carry him; and clasped in his arms were the six rifles! "blazes ter blazes an' all hands round!" fumed the enraged jed. "the chink's runnin' off with the guns so'st we kain't shoot. hosses, boys! capter the little heathen!" and here, again, were the cowboys doomed to disappointment. well beyond the foot of the hill, on the south side, was mcglory. he was riding one horse and leading the other five bronchos. "done!" gasped slim, pulling off his stetson and slamming it on the ground, "done ter a turn! who'd 'a' thort it possible?" "it was a frame-up!" raged the foreman. "the two of 'em hatched the plan while they were talkin'. i was a fool ter let 'em palaver like what they done, kase i mout hev knowed they was up ter somethin'. the chink lifted the guns on us, an' t'other feller lifted the hosses so'st we couldn't ketch the chink; an', as for _him_," and jed spearman turned and looked westward to where the aëroplane was a mere speck in the sky, "as fer him, i say, if that flyin' machine ever comes crowhoppin' eround whar i am, i'll shore put it out o' bizness!" "an' ye didn't fly, arter all!" bubbled slim. "you hesh," grunted spearman, "or thar'll be fireworks." "ye're purty good at jumpin'," jeered another, "so why don't ye jump aboard? i don't reckon she's more'n two mile off an' a mile high." "oh," fretted the foreman, "if i _only_ had a gun! say, let up er i'll use my hands." "an' we had to push," scoffed slim; "oh, yas, _indeed_! we had ter git off'n our hosses, an' put down our guns, an' push. never reckoned nothin', did we? never a thing. but they knowed, them fellers did--they knowed ev'ry minit jest what they was about. next time i fool with this here motor matt an' his flyin' machine, ye'll know it." "an' jed had a string on her," mourned another. "sure he did. why, jed had his rope fast to her so'st ter hang on in case motor matt had anythin' up his sleeve. well, well! i wonder----" but spearman could stand no more. with a fierce whoop, he rushed down the hill along the path taken by the chinaman. across, on an opposite uplift, ping could be seen. he was adding insult to injury by hopping up and down and making derisive gestures with one hand. "we got ter overhaul the chink an' git back them guns," shouted slim. "come on, boys!" the remaining five started after spearman. ping, observing the pursuit, hopped out of sight over the top of the hill. burdened as he was, he could not hope to escape the pursuing cowboys. but he had faith in mcglory--and mcglory did not fail him. when the cowboys reached the top of the next hill, they could look down and see mcglory and the six horses. ping was mounting one of the animals, and when he and mcglory vanished around the base of another coteau--which they were not slow in doing--they took the rifles with them. the cowboys had to pursue, and they had to do their pursuing on foot. if a cattleman hates one thing more than another it is walking, and the six disgruntled tin cup men limped and staggered and toiled onward through the coteaus, following the trail for at least four miles. when they finally ran it out, they found their horses and their guns, but mcglory and ping were conspicuous by their absence. chapter ix. the trailing rope. motor matt could not look behind and take note of how events were progressing on the hill. he could only hope that mcglory would carry out the rest of his plan without any setbacks, and that he and ping would get safely away from the foiled cattlemen. the ease with which the boys had played upon the ignorance and credulity of the high-handed cowpunchers, would have been laughable could the young motorist have known how successfully the rest of mcglory's plot was to be carried out. as the matter stood, matt was worrying too much to enjoy the situation. he carried away a memento of the recent trouble in the shape of the trailing rope. the forty-foot line hung downward, swinging to right and left and giving frightful pitches to the _comet_ in spite of matt's manipulation of the wing ends. bending down, he tried with one hand to untie the riata and rid the machine of its weight, but the knot had been drawn too tight by the pulling of spearman and slim. as a compromise, matt pulled the rope in and dropped it in the seats recently occupied by mcglory and ping. now for the mouth of burnt creek, and the carrying out of the purpose that had brought matt into that section. the mystery connected with the "george hobbes" the cowboys were looking for, and the success or failure of mcglory and ping in their final clash with the tin cup men, the king of the motor boys put resolutely from his mind. he was now to look for newt prebbles and advance the spark of friendship in behalf of the poor old man at fort totten. matt conceived that the easiest way to reach the mouth of burnt creek was to hover over the stream and follow it to its junction with the missouri. this manoeuvre he at once put into operation. the creek was as crooked as could well be imagined, and twisted and writhed among the coteaus, carrying with it, on either bank, a scant growth of cottonwoods. matt cut off the corners, flying high enough to clear the tops of the neighboring hills, and soon had the broad stretch of the upper missouri in plain view ahead of him. in a clump of cottonwoods, near the mouth of the creek, was a small shack. matt's view of the shanty was not good, on account of the trees, and he could not tell whether or not there was any one about the place. he was just looking for a spot, on the river bank, where he could make a comfortable landing, when he was startled by discovering a skiff. the skiff was in the river, well off the mouth of the creek, and was heading for the western bank of the missouri. there was one man in the boat, and he was using his oars frantically, watching the _comet_ as he rowed. "that may be george hobbes," thought matt, "and it may be newt prebbles. in any event the fellow, whoever he is, thinks i'm pursuing him. i'll drop lower and give him a hail." as the _comet_ settled downward over the surface of the river, the man in the skiff redoubled his efforts with the oars. he seemed to be seized with an unreasoning panic. "hello, below there!" shouted matt. to slow the aëroplane too much would mean a drop into the water, for a certain rate of flight was necessary in order to keep the machine aloft. as matt called, he passed on beyond the boat, described a turn over the middle of the river, and came back toward the eastern bank. the man made no response. "are you newt prebbles?" yelled matt. the other shouted something, in an angry tone, the exact import of which the young motorist could not catch. taking his right hand from the oar, the man jerked a revolver from his belt. "don't shoot!" cried matt. "i'm a friend of yours." the last word was snipped off in the incisive crack of the weapon. the bit of lead zipped past matt's head and bored a hole through the upper wing of the air ship. "stop that!" called matt sternly, pointing the aëroplane higher and turning again when over the eastern bank. whatever he did, he realized that he must not expose the motor and propeller to a stray bullet. but no more shots were fired. matt wondered at this until he had faced the machine about and was able to observe what was going on below. the man in the skiff had lost an oar. in releasing his hand to use the revolver, the oar had slipped from the rowlock into the water. a frantic effort was being made by the man to recover the oar; and so wild and inconsidered was the attempt that the skiff went over, throwing its occupant into the river. "help!" came the cry, as the man, thrashing and floundering, bobbed to the surface of the river between the overturned boat and the oar. it was evident, at a glance, that he could not swim, or that he could swim so little the mere weight of his clothes was enough to drag him under. "keep your nerve!" cried matt encouragingly. "i'll help you in a minute." the _comet_ was well to the westward of the man. matt turned her sharply, at the same time bringing her as close to the water as he dared. then, with one hand on the lever controlling the wing tips, with the other he reached for the rope on the seat beside him. laying a course to pass directly over the man, matt leaned forward and flung the riata downward. the sinuous coils straightened out as the rope descended, the lower end swishing through the water. "catch the rope and hold fast!" cried motor matt, as the aëroplane skimmed over the surface of the river. there would be a jolt when the _comet_ took up the slack in the riata, providing the man were successful in laying hold of the line. would the jolt disengage the man's hands, or have any serious effect on the _comet_? by that time the aëroplane was so far beyond the man that matt could not see what he was doing. holding his breath, the king of the motor boys braced himself and waited. in perhaps a second the _comet_ reeled and shivered as though under a blow. quickly matt turned full speed into the propeller, and the machine steadied itself and began to tug at the weight underneath and behind. then, slowly, the aëroplane mounted upward. at a height of fifty feet, matt could look down and see a dripping form, swaying and gyrating at the end of the riata. "can you hang on?" called matt. "yes," was the response from below, "if you don't want me to hang on too long." "no more than a minute. by that time i'll have you ashore." the heavy weight, swinging under the machine like a pendulum, made the aëroplane exceedingly difficult to manage. in the early stages of aëroplane flying, equilibrium had only been kept by swinging weights, and it had remained for the wrights to discover that bending the wing tips upward or downward kept an aëroplane's poise much better than any shifting weight could do; and to harry traquair had fallen the honor of inventing sliding extensions, whereby either wing area could be increased or contracted in the space of a breadth. now that the _comet_ had both a shifting weight and wing manipulations to keep her steady, she was not steady at all--one balance seeming to counteract the other. in spite of the terrific dipping and plunging, however, matt succeeded in getting to the shore. the moment the man on the rope found himself over solid ground, he let go his hold and dropped five or six feet to the bank. instantly the _comet_ came fairly well under control again, and would have been entirely so but for the weight of the rope. matt selected a cleared spot in which to alight, shut off the power, and glided to the earth easily and safely. stepping out of the aëroplane, he hurried to the spot where the rescued man was lying. "how are you?" asked matt, kneeling beside him. "i'm about fagged," he answered. "there's a cabin, about a rod up the creek on this side. go there and get the bottle of whisky you'll find on the table. a pull at that bottle will put some ginger into me." "you don't need that kind of ginger," replied matt. "i'll help you to the cabin, and when we get there you can get into some dry clothes. that will do you more good than all the fire-water that ever came out of a still." the man hoisted up on one elbow and peered at matt with weak curiosity. "that's your brand, is it?" he asked, with as much contempt as he was able to put into the words. "well, yes," replied matt. "it's my brand, and you'd be a heap better off if it was yours." he had been scrutinizing the man closely. he now saw that he was young, that he had blue eyes, and that he was wearing cowboy clothes. his hat, of course, was in the river. "who are you?" the young fellow asked. "i'll tell you later," was the indefinite reply. "how did you happen to be around here in that flying machine?" went on the other suspiciously. "you'll find that out, too, at the proper time." "if you're from the tin cup ranch----" "i'm not, so make your mind easy on that. but i know you. you're george hobbes, and you robbed the cowboys at the tin cup ranch in a game of cards, last night. you----" with a fierce exclamation, the youth sat up, and his right hand darted toward his hip. "you're not going to do any shooting," said matt. "your gun's in the river, and you'd have been there, too, but for me. what sort of way is that to act toward the man who saved you from drowning?" chapter x. a bolt from the blue. small, and seemingly trifling, events sometimes pave the way for vital undertakings. the performance on the coteau, in which the tin cup men had so prominently figured, had left the _comet_ equipped with a forty-foot riata. on the flight to the missouri matt had tried to untie the rope and drop it from the machine. in this he had failed--a very fortunate circumstance for the dripping young man on the bank. but for that trailing rope, matt would never have been able to effect a rescue. "it may be," said the young man, "that you have only pulled me out of the river to give me into the hands of the tin cup outfit." "i have already told you," returned matt, "that i have nothing to do with the tin cup outfit." "why were you chasing me in that air ship, then?" "i wasn't chasing you. you had a guilty conscience, and if a man had been coming this way on an elephant you would have thought he was after you." the other was silent for a space, surveying matt furtively and, apparently, trying to guess his business. "you knew about that work in the tin cup bunk house, last night," said he tentatively. "i heard of it from a party who are out looking for george hobbes. that is your name, is it?" "that's the way i was billed during that performance at the bunk house." "what are you, by profession--a cowboy or a gambler?" "cowboy." matt glanced at the young fellow's hands. they looked more like a gambler's hands than a cowboy's. and yet, skillful though he must have been with the cards, hobbes had not the appearance of a gambler. "do you live here?" matt went on. "yes," was the answer. "i told you, a moment ago, where my shack was." "then you're not doing much in the cattle line if you hang out in this deserted spot." hobbes gave a grunt and got up. "what are you trying to pry into my business affairs for?" he asked surlily. "do you think saving my life gives you a right to do that?" "well," fenced matt, "that depends. you don't talk like any cowboy i ever heard--your english is too good." "there are a lot of punchers who use better english than i do." "possibly," answered matt. "i haven't been in the cattle country very much. what was the amount of money you stole from the tin cup outfit?" a flush of color ran into hobbes' tanned face. "i didn't steal their money," he cried angrily. "i played cards for it." "you didn't play a square game. they found the pack you used, this morning, and there were extra aces, and the backs were printed in such a way that you could tell what cards your opponents held." "what of that?" was the scoffing response. "they didn't find me out. they had the right to beat me at my own game--if they could." "i'm not here to preach," said matt, "but you've got yourself into a pretty bad mix. i'm willing to help you out if you'll send back the money." "i'll not send back a soo," was the answer, "and you've got your nerve along to bat such a proposition up to me. who asked for your help? i didn't." hobbes turned away in a huff and started for the creek, his wet clothes slapping about him as he walked. "just a minute, hobbes," called matt, "and i'll go with you. i want to rope this flying machine to a couple of trees, so that it won't be blown into the river if a wind should happen to come up." hobbes was very wet, very tired, and very sulky, but he could hardly refuse such a trifling request. with the rope that had saved his life, he helped matt secure the _comet_. "do you know any one, in these parts, by the name of newt prebbles?" matt inquired, while they were moving toward the shack. "you used that name while i was in the skiff," said hobbes, "i remember, now. what's your business with newt prebbles?" "i'll tell him that when i see him. it's important. do you know the man?" "yes, i know him. he's a pal of mine and lives with me in the shack." "is he there, now?" asked matt eagerly. "no." "when will he be back?" "that's hard to tell. he won't come back at all if you don't tell me what your business is with him." "why so?" "i'll warn him away. you've found out a lot about me, but how much have you told me about yourself? not a thing. i haven't a notion who you are, and i'm blamed if i like mysteries." they were close to the cluster of cottonwoods and the shack, and matt fell silent. the house, as the king of the motor boys could see, now that he was close to it, was built of sod, and had a roof of grass thatched over cottonwood poles. it was in a fairly good state of repair and had evidently been occupied for some time. the door stood open, and hobbes stepped to one side to let matt enter first. it looked like a mere act of courtesy, and may have been no more than that; but, in view of what immediately happened, matt would have been entitled to suspicions. believing the shack to be empty, matt crossed the threshold. he was instantly seized by some one who threw himself from behind the open door. with a startled cry, the young motorist twisted around in the strong arms that held him and caught a look at the man's face. it was murgatroyd! another moment and all the fight in matt's nature flew to the surface. putting forth all his strength, he kicked and struggled until he had freed himself of the broker's grip. he was no sooner clear of murgatroyd, however, when hobbes set upon him. hobbes had not yet recovered his strength, and matt would have made short work of him had not the broker come savagely to his aid. between them matt was forced to the clay floor of the house and lashed with a rope in such a manner that he was powerless to move. murgatroyd, panting from his exertions, lifted himself erect and gave the prisoner a vengeful kick. "wasn't expecting to find me here, eh?" he asked. "you've led me a pretty chase, motor matt, but here we are at the end of the trail, and i've got the upper hand." somehow matt had fallen under the impression that the police of bismarck would take care of murgatroyd; hence, he had left the broker out of his calculations, and this meeting with him in that sod shack was like lightning out of a clear sky. "you know this fellow, then?" said hobbes. "i know him too well, and that's the trouble. he's meddled with my affairs until they're in a pretty tangle, and i'll have all i can do to straighten them out again. i wasn't expecting a chance like this," and a jubilant note entered the broker's voice. "how did he happen to come here, newt?" "that's too many for me, murg. he was in a flying machine. i saw him coming, and thought he was on my track for a little game that was pulled off at the tin cup ranch, last night. in my hurry to get across the river i lost an oar, and in my hurry to get the oar i overturned the boat. i can't swim much, and with all my clothes on i'd have gone to the bottom if he hadn't snatched me ashore." motor matt was not much surprised to hear murgatroyd call the supposed hobbes "newt." the young motorist's mind had been working around to that view of the young fellow's identity. he was newt prebbles, and was on friendly terms with the master scoundrel, murgatroyd. the broker seated himself in a chair, and did not seem particularly well pleased with the news prebbles had just given him. perhaps, for his peace of mind, he was wishing that matt had not rescued newt, and it may be he resented the "hold" this rescue gave matt on newt's gratitude--providing newt harbored such a sentiment, which seemed doubtful. newt began changing his clothes. before he began, he took a bottle from the table and poured himself a drink of its fiery contents. "when did you get here, murg?" he demanded, as he got into his clothes. "it must have been while you were having that trouble on the river. i didn't see anything of the flying machine, and i didn't hear anything of the fracas. feeling sure you'd be back soon, i hitched my horse among the cottonwoods and came in here to wait. i heard you and motor matt talking as you walked this way, and i had to rub my eyes in order to make sure it was really motor matt who was coming. jove, but this is a stroke of luck!" "you'll have to tell me about that, for it's mighty dark to me. you got my letter all right?" "naturally, or i shouldn't be here. the letter arrived in bismarck yesterday forenoon, and i pulled out of the town at once. stayed last night with a farmer, more to make certain i wasn't followed than anything else." murgatroyd scowled. "this being a fugitive," he finished, "gets on a man's nerves." newt laughed grimly. "did you bring the money?" he demanded. "don't talk about that here," and the broker flashed a significant glance at matt. "all right," agreed newt. "suppose we let this motor matt, as you call him, go free? we don't want him around, anyhow." "go free?" cried murgatroyd. "i'll catch myself doing that! i owe him something," and here a demoniacal look crept into the broker's eyes, "and i guess, as my old friend siwash used to say, i'll take advantage of this opportunity and 'saw off' with him." this threat, however, did not make matt feel at all uncomfortable. he had in his hands the material necessary to play off one of these men against the other. out of this might come a good deal of benefit to himself, and much good for newt prebbles. in case he did not succeed in this plan, there was mcglory and ping yet to be heard from. if they had safely escaped the tin cup men, it would not be long before they gained the mouth of burnt creek and played their part in events to come. just then matt felt like congratulating himself on having been made a prisoner. such a position gave him the advantage of being impartial in the hostility he was about to incite between his captors. chapter xi. "advancing the spark." "i'm not going to stand around and let you be rough with him," asserted newt, finishing his dressing and taking another drink from the bottle. "nobody asked you to stand around," said murgatroyd. "when i'm ready to get rough, you can go down to the river and stay there till i'm through." "why did you jump on him like that?" considering what he himself had done toward matt's capture, newt's stand was hardly consistent. "i'll tell you," and, with that, murgatroyd went on to relate the number of times his trail had crossed matt's, and the circumstances. newt's eyes widened as the recital proceeded, and when the end was reached it found him moody and preoccupied. "from all that," went on murgatroyd, "you can see just how much i am in motor matt's debt." "he saved my life," said newt doggedly, "and i'm not going to let you be rough with him." "don't make a fool of yourself, newt," scowled murgatroyd. "he did me a good turn," insisted the other, "and i'm not going to let him get the worst of this." "sit me up in a chair, can't you?" asked matt. "i want to talk a little, and i'm not very comfortable, lying here like this." "it's nothing to me," snarled murgatroyd, "whether you're comfortable or not." without a word, newt went to the prisoner and helped him get to his feet and drop into a chair. "leave his ropes alone," called murgatroyd sharply. "i'm not touching his ropes--yet," returned newt. "what have you got to say?" he asked, facing matt. "how many i o u's for gambling debts did you leave in jamestown, prebbles, when you left there?" a lighted bomb, hurled suddenly into the shack, could not have startled either of the two men more than did this question. it was a random shot on matt's part. he wanted both newt and murgatroyd to understand that he was well equipped with information. "i didn't leave a single gambling debt behind me," asserted newt, with rising indignation. the broker became visibly uncomfortable. "he's talking wild, newt," said he. "then," continued matt, "how did it happen that murgatroyd had several duebills, signed by you?" "he didn't have any signed by me." "of course not," agreed murgatroyd, laughing derisively, but there were demons rising in his sharp eyes. "too bad your father didn't know that, newt," said matt. "he's been slaving, and denying himself necessities of life, to take up a lot of i o u's which, murgatroyd told him, had been given by you for gambling debts." newt, his face full of rage, whirled on the broker in a fury. "is that the truth?" he cried. "not a word of truth in it," answered the broker coolly. "from what i've told you about motor matt, newt, you ought to understand that he's cunning. he's working some sort of a dodge, now. don't let him fool you." newt was quieted somewhat but not convinced. "who told you about those duebills?" he demanded. "your father." "when did you see him? and how did he happen to tell you anything like that?" "just a minute," said matt, playing with the spark before he advanced it fully. "there's a point about george hobbes that i'd like to have settled. which of you uses that name? or have you a partnership interest in it? newt plays cards at the tin cup ranch as george hobbes, and murgatroyd does business in that name and receives letters in bismarck when they are so addressed. now----" with a hoarse exclamation of astonishment and anger, murgatroyd flung himself from the chair and started toward matt. newt jumped in front of him. "you'd better sit down, murg," said newt. the two men stared at each other, the broker furious, and the younger man defiant. "he knows too much!" flared murgatroyd. "he says so much i know to be true that i'm inclined to believe everything he tells us. we'll hear him out, and if you try to lay your hands on him you'll settle with me." the spark was working splendidly. it would not be long, now, before it set off an explosion. "you wrote a letter to murgatroyd, newt," said matt, "and posted it in steele, north dakota. murgatroyd hasn't found it healthy to be in his jamestown office for some time, and the only person there, when your letter was received, was your father. he recognized your handwriting, and he opened the letter and made a copy of it before he sent it on to murgatroyd, in bismarck." the broker's face became fairly livid. he tried to talk, but the words gurgled in his throat. "your father knew i was a friend of his," pursued matt, "and he came to fort totten to see me. he got there yesterday afternoon, driving over from minnewaukon in a heavy rain. when he showed me the copy of your letter, i started for this place in the aëroplane." "what were you intending to do here?" inquired newt. "i was hoping to persuade you to go back to totten and see your father. he wants you." newt shook his head. "it won't do," he answered. "the old man and i had a tumble, and it's better for us to keep apart." "you don't _dare_ to go!" stormed murgatroyd. "what have i been paying you, for? tell me that. you'll stay away from fort totten, newt. i've brought money enough to take you to south america, and that's where you're going." newt's eyes brightened a little. "i wonder if you really mean to shell out enough to take me that far?" he asked. "yes," cried the broker, "and i'll pay you well for going, too." "you won't go, newt," put in matt. "you're not going to let this scoundrel wheedle you into leaving the country just to get you out of the way and prevent you from telling what you know about the accident to harry traquair." silence followed the launching of this bolt, silence that was broken only by the startled breathing of the two men. both of them kept their eyes riveted on the prisoner. "traquair, the inventor of the aëroplane," continued matt, "tried out his machine in jamestown, several weeks ago, and an accident happened. some part of the mechanism broke. why did it break?" matt's voice grew solemn as he turned his eyes on murgatroyd. "why did it break?" he asked, again. the broker's face turned ashen. drops of sweat stood out on his forehead, his hands clinched spasmodically, and his lips moved without sound. "murgatroyd," matt pursued mercilessly, "had a mortgage on harry traquair's homestead, in wells county. for some reason of his own, murgatroyd wants that piece of prairie land. if traquair had lived, he would have sold his aëroplane to the government, and have paid off the mortgage. but he didn't live, because a _supposed_ accident happened to his aëroplane." the broker's lips were dry, and again and again he moistened them with his tongue. the demons grew harder, and brighter, and more merciless in his eyes. the spark was doing well, but it had not yet been advanced to the limit. it was the spark of friendship, but it was coming into its own through devious ways. the friendship was to be between poor old prebbles and his son; but it was to result in something else between newt and murgatroyd, and prove powerful enough to force the two apart. "murgatroyd has been paying you money, newt," resumed matt, "to keep in the background and remain silent about what you know. is the scoundrel worth protecting? is it worth while to take hush money from him? the bribes he has been giving you, he collected from your father by means of duebills to which he had forged your name." fierce anger flamed in newt's face. matt, seeing that an explosion was close, hastened on. "your father is now lying ill at fort totten. it is doubtful whether he can live--and he certainly cannot unless you go back with me and be to him what you have not been in the past--a son." the red faded from newt prebbles' face and a deathly pallor came in its stead. stepping over to matt, he dropped both hands on his shoulders and looked him steadily in the eyes. "motor matt," said he, "are you telling me the truth about my father? he is dangerously sick at fort totten? don't you lie to me," he warned fiercely. "i am telling you the truth." "and those forged i o u's--where did you learn about them?" "from your father, as i have already told you." "it's like murgatroyd," said newt, between his teeth. "he did want traquair's homestead, because he happened to discover that there is coal under the soil, and the railroad company will buy the hundred and sixty at a fancy price and run a spur track to it, so----" the explosion came, at that moment, but it was not as matt expected. while newt prebbles stood facing matt, his back to the broker, there came the sound of a blow. pain convulsed newt's face for the fraction of a second, his eyes closed, and he dropped senseless, overturning matt and his chair with the force of his fall. lying bound and helpless, matt heard sounds of quick footsteps, and saw murgatroyd bending down over him. chapter xii. the trail to the river. joe mcglory and ping were in a fine good humor. they had left the horses and rifles for the tin cup men and, from the top of a distant hill, they had watched the party recover the live stock and the guns. then, laughing and congratulating themselves, the boys had ducked in among the cottonwoods of the creek bottom and started along the trail to the river. "plenty fine," chattered ping. "by klismus, my gettee heap fun this tlip. woosh!" "we played 'em to a fare-you-well," laughed mcglory, pausing to extend his hand to ping. "shake, my little heathen brother! you're the finest bit of the yellow peril that ever landed in the u. s. you've got a head on you, you have. why, you savvied right off what i wanted you to do with those guns, and i didn't have to say a word." "my savvy look you makee all same eye," chuckled ping. "top-side pidgin! one piecee fine bizness." then, abruptly, ping had a swift, paralyzing thought. "mebbyso melican men makee chase fo' mcgloly and ping, huh?" he cried. "plaps we lun, ketchee matt, no lettee melican men ketchee us?" "oh, shucks, ping!" exclaimed mcglory disgustedly. "when you forget yourself, now and then, and do a particularly bright thing, you spoil it all by some break of that sort. those punchers don't know where we're going! and what sort of a trail are we leaving?" the cowboy turned and looked back over the ground they had covered. "all buffalo grass," he finished, "and the tin cup outfit couldn't run us down in a thousand years." but ping's fears persisted, in spite of mcglory's attempt to smother them. "my no likee," he quavered, pausing again and again to look back as they traveled. "mebbyso they ketchee, they takee scalp. my no likee. losee pigtail, no go back to china ally mo'." "well, well, don't blubber about it!" exclaimed mcglory. "you'll keep the pigtail, all right, though what in sam hill it's good for is more than i know. buck up, step high, wide, and handsome, and don't lose so much time looking around. just stow it away in your mind, ping, that every step on the trail to the river brings us that much closer to pard matt." mcglory took the lead and set a brisk pace. "didn't matt get away in great shape?" he called out, as he strode along. "and that rope spearman tied to the machine didn't amount to a row of dobies." "cloud joss heap fine fo' tlavel," remarked ping. "feet tlavel plenty tough fo' china boy." "i guess the circus we pulled off, back there on that hill, was worth the price, ping. don't grumble. there was something doing, and you and i answered to roll-call during the height of the agitation. little chop suey and your uncle joe had something to say and do every minute the curtain was up. oh, shucks! i'm tickled to death with myself. i'll be plumb contented, now, if nothing happens to me for the next fifteen minutes. wonder how matt's getting along, advancing that spark? something gives me a hunch and whispers in my ear that he's having his hands full. put your best foot forward, ping, and let's see how quick we can get to where we're going." "no gottee best foot," complained ping. "both feets allee same bum. cleek makee bend, makee bend, makee bend; heap walkee to go li'l way." "that's right," agreed mcglory. "sufferin' serpents, how the creek twists! suppose we climb to the top of this hill on the right and see if we can't work a cut-off on the pesky stream." "awri'," agreed ping, and followed mcglory to the top of the hill. from the crest they had an extensive view in every direction; in fact, it was almost too extensive, for behind them they glimpsed the tin cup men, racing back and forth over the uplifts, scattered widely and hunting for "signs." mcglory muttered to himself and slipped off the top of the hill like a shot. ping gasped as he followed. "they ketchee china boy," he wailed, "him losee pigtail." "oh, hush about that," growled mcglory. "do you know where we was lame, ping?" "my plenty lame in feet," said ping. "i mean, where we made a hobble. it was by not keeping two of those horses and using them to take us to the mouth of burnt creek." "woosh! we ketchee matt now, melican men follow tlail, ketchee matt, too. motol matt go top-side, we all go top-side. plenty bad pidgin." "if they're really following us, which i don't think," remarked mcglory, "we'll fool 'em." "no fool 'em twice." "you watch. we'll take the longest way to the river and get that bunch away from the creek." ping groaned at the thought of more walking. he could have stood the journey better if he had not been compelled to hang onto his grass sandals with his toes. mcglory scuttled off between the coteaus, and every once in a while he would climb to the top of a hill to reconnoiter along the back track. finally, to his great satisfaction, he lost sight of the tin cup men. "that means," said he, when he reported the fact to ping, "that we're free, once more, to get to the mouth of burnt creek as soon as we can." from that on there was little talking. the boys needed their breath for the work before them. as before, mcglory led the way and ping hopped and scuffled along behind him. an occasional hill was scaled to get the bearings of the creek and watch out for the river. mcglory gave a shout of joy when he finally saw the broad ribbon of muddy water in the distance ahead. "we're close to where we're bound for, ping," he said cheerily. "we've been two or three hours on the hike, but you trail along and i'll land you at the junction of the creek and the river in less than twenty minutes. whoop-ya! i'm guessing about matt. has it been make or break with him? and how has the spark worked? i'm all stirred up with the notion that he's having a time. ever get a hunch like that and not be able to explain how you got it?" "no savvy hunch," groaned ping. "let's findee place to makee sit in shade. heap tired." "we'll sit in the shade and rest and enjoy ourselves after we find matt. keep a-moving, ping, keep a-moving." a pass between two hills brought them out into the creek bottom again. the sun was getting low in the west, but it was still uncomfortably warm, and the shade of the cottonwood trees was refreshing. ping tottered along with his eyes on mcglory's heels. suddenly the cowboy stopped and whirled around. "look!" he murmured, pointing. the chinaman swerved his weary eyes in the direction indicated and saw the sod shack. "hoop-a-la!" he exclaimed. "i hear voices in there," whispered mcglory, "and i'll bet pard matt's busy laying down the law to newt prebbles. let's not interrupt, but slip carefully up to the door and get the lay of the land before we butt in." ping was for getting to a place of comfort and refreshment in the shortest possible time; but, as usual, he deferred to the superior wisdom of the cowboy. silently they stole toward the open door of the hut. through the opening there came to them the sound of a voice. it was a strange voice, and the words were not distinguishable. while they were still some distance from the door, the voice was blotted out by the impact of a blow; and immediately there came a crash as of something being overturned. mcglory was no longer anxious to "get the lay of the land" before butting into matt's argument with newt prebbles. in an instant he jumped for the door and stood peering into the hut. the scene before him was difficult to comprehend. a chair had been overturned, and there was a form--no, two forms--lying on the floor beside it. then, too, there was some one else, a man, bending over one of the forms. the dark interior of the shack was not favorable to a clear survey of the scene by eyes but recently turned from the glaring sunshine. mcglory, however, caught one detail of the picture that wrenched a sharp cry from his lips. "murgatroyd!" he shouted. the bent form lifted itself with catlike quickness, _crack!_ the sharp note of a revolver rattled through the narrow room, followed by a warning shout in a well-known voice: "look out, joe! it's murgatroyd, and he's in a killing mood!" matt was in the room, bound and helpless. that was the next detail that flashed before the eyes of mcglory. murgatroyd's shot had missed. mad with rage, he was making ready to fire again. blindly, desperately, the cowboy flung himself across the room. pard matt was there, and in danger. think of himself, mcglory would not. the demons in the broker's eyes glowered murderously along the sights of the leveled weapon. it seemed as though nothing could save the cowboy. at just that moment, however, a window behind the broker crashed inward. a stone, hurled by ping with all his force, had shattered the glass, plunged across the gap, and struck murgatroyd's arm. the arm dropped as though paralyzed, and the broker staggered sideways with a cry of pain. mcglory sprang upon him, and the two were struggling fiercely when ping raced into the room and took a hand in the battle. murgatroyd, with only one hand, was no match for his wiry young antagonists. as newt and murgatroyd had overpowered matt, so the cowboy and the chinaman wrestled and secured the advantage of murgatroyd. one of the forms on the floor slowly lifted itself and became busy with the cords around matt's wrists. "i can do the rest, newt," said matt, sitting up and freeing his ankles. a few moments more and the tables had been completely turned. murgatroyd was now the prisoner, and the king of the motor boys and his friends were in command of the situation. chapter xiii. unwelcome callers. once more, during the course of that eventful day, ping was to be congratulated on his quickness and wit. mcglory had gone to the door to make his survey of what was transpiring inside the sod shack, and ping had approached a window. the revolver shot caused the chinese boy to jump, and to debate in his startled mind whether it would be better to run, or to hold his ground. he held his ground and used the stone--to the lasting benefit of joe mcglory. now, at last, it seemed, the brawling and the violence was over. murgatroyd lay in the place where matt had lain, newt prebbles was bathing his injured head in a basin of cool water, and matt, mcglory, and ping were sitting down and explaining to each other how everything had happened. "you were foolish to talk like you did to murgatroyd, when he had the best of you, matt," said mcglory. "he didn't have the best of me," asserted matt. "i had made a friend by that talk, and the friend was newt prebbles." "that's the truth," spoke up newt, turning his head for a look at matt. "well, then," bristled mcglory, "maybe you'll explain why you helped murgatroyd down matt, in the first place?" "i was to blame there," answered newt, "but i didn't understand the situation. everything had been sprung on me all of a heap, as you might say, and i was dazed and bewildered. murgatroyd had come here because i had written and asked him to. he had money for me, as i supposed, and i considered myself in duty bound to help him. later, when motor matt did his talking, i discovered some things which put up the bars between murgatroyd and me. that last thump on the head, of course, topped off the whole affair. murgatroyd was crazy mad, that's all. he hit me with something harder than his bare knuckles. was it the handle of his revolver?" "maybe it was this," and mcglory leaned forward and picked a pair of brass knuckle dusters off the clay floor. "that's what he used," declared prebbles. "i have always feared," said matt, "that our dealings with murgatroyd would end in some violent work, like this. and it was all for a hundred and sixty acres of coal land, which would have netted murgatroyd only a few thousand dollars, at the most!" the broker's anger had vanished with his capture, and left him miserable in spirit; but, even now, while his fortunes were at lowest ebb, his crafty mind led him to think of some way out of his troubles. "you've got me," said he, with a bitter laugh. "i didn't think you lads could do it, but you've turned the trick. are you any better off?" "speak to me about that!" muttered mcglory. "matt's a heap better off. i don't know what you were going to do, when ping and i showed up, but i'm feeling a whole lot easier to have this matter just as it is." "so am i better off," put in newt prebbles. "i've led a hard life, and i've been a hard man, but i'm the only one to blame for that. and i know this: association with amos murgatroyd, for any length of time, is an excellent passport to the penitentiary." "that's right, newt," said the broker scathingly. "you know on which side your bread is buttered. get on the side of the winning team, by all means. but i wasn't talking to you or mcglory, but to motor matt." his voice changed to a pleading tone. "i'm wrecked, motor matt," he went on, "if you turn me over to the authorities. there's nothing in my past life that's so very criminal. of course, knowing what i did about the traquair homestead, i was anxious to get hold of it. but that's out of my power, now. you've been put to a good deal of inconvenience, but i'll make that all up to you in dollars and cents if you'll take these ropes off me and let me clear out." "you say," said matt, "that there's nothing in your past that is so very criminal. if that's so, why are you afraid to face the music? why do you want to shirk the consequences?" "even a short term of imprisonment will ruin my loan business," answered murgatroyd. "i have built that business up very carefully, and i hate to see it go to smash. i tell you what i'll do. if you'll release me, i'll wipe out that mortgage of one thousand dollars which i hold on the traquair homestead, and i'll give you and your friends a thousand apiece, all around. what do you say?" "i'm sorry for you, murgatroyd," said matt, "but i haven't any authority to set you free, even if i was inclined that way. it's the government that wants you; and the government wants you so much that a price has been placed on your head. you've danced, and now you've got to pay the fiddler." "he says he hasn't done anything so very criminal," remarked newt prebbles, as he tied a handkerchief around his head. "i'd like to know what he calls criminal." "well," sneered the broker, "i haven't been bribed for keeping what i know away from the authorities." "as i was bribed," retorted newt hotly, "with money my own father paid you for forged duebills!" murgatroyd laughed, and it was the laugh of a wretch utterly devoid of conscience. "that _was_ rather a neat play of mine," said he. "but you haven't given me your answer yet, motor matt." "yes, i have," said matt. "you're going to fort totten." "and so am i," put in newt prebbles, "just as quick as i can get there. i'll take murgatroyd's horse and ride to bismarck. there's a night train i can catch for jamestown, and i ought to be at the post some time before noon, to-morrow." "you can't get there any too quick," observed mcglory caustically. he had no liking for newt prebbles. a man who would do what newt prebbles had done could never stand very high in the cowboy's estimation. "you'd better watch that fellow, motor matt," called murgatroyd. "he'll not go to the post, but will clear out for parts unknown." "he'll go to the post, i'm sure of it," said matt. "i will," declared newt. "my father and i never agreed very well, but i guess that was my fault, too. when you leave here, motor matt, just lock the door and bring the key. i don't know whether i'll ever come back to this shack or not--i don't think i will, as i feel now--but it will be well for me to have the key. good-by." he stepped toward the king of the motor boys and extended his hand. "haven't you forgotten something, newt?" inquired matt. prebbles gave him a blank look. the next moment he understood what matt had reference to, and pulled a jingling bag from his pocket and tossed it upon the table. "that's the whole of it," he said. "you'll see that it is returned?" matt nodded. "that means that i'll have to walk to totten, or ride murgatroyd's horse," prebbles added, as he moved toward the door. matt was about to lend him the money for his railroad ticket, when a form darkened the door and stepped into the room. "goin' somewheres?" queried a voice. "well, i wouldn't, george--not jest yet." it was jed spearman. behind him came slim, and back of slim trailed the cowboy who had been referred to as "hen." matt, greatly alarmed, sprang up and stepped forward. "don't lay a hand on that man, spearman," said matt. "his father is sick at fort totten, and he's got to go there in a hurry." "oh, ho!" guffawed the foreman. "if here ain't motor matt, who was flyin' this way on gov'ment bizness! an' the chink that run off with the guns, an' t'other chap as lit out with our live stock. waal, now, ain't this here a pleasin' surprise--fer us? don't git vi'lent, any o' ye. three o' us is in here, and thar's three more watchin' on the outside. i reckon the boot's on the other leg, this deal, hey, slim?" "i reckon," agreed slim. "this is a whole lot funnier than that other game, over on the coteau." "don't ye ask us ter put down our guns an' do no more pushin'," said spearman. "ye kain't work that joke on us twicet, hand-runnin'. we've cut our eyeteeth, we hev. got any weppins among ye?" newt prebbles, glaring at the tin cup men, had backed into a corner. he had his eye on the broken window, and spearman observed his intention. "don't ye never try _that_, george," he grinned. "ye'd be riddled like a salt shaker afore ye'd hit the ground." "spearman," said matt, "you don't understand this matter. if you did----" "thar was some parts o' it i didn't onderstand none too well, back thar on the hill, a few hours ago. but ye heered me say we'd cut our eyeteeth, didn't ye? i meant jest that." "i came here on government duty, just as i said," went on matt, "and if you interfere with me in any way, you'll regret it." "will i? waal, life is plumb full o' sorrers an' regrets. who's the gent on the floor?" "i'm a helpless victim of these young scoundrels," said murgatroyd plaintively. "release me, gentlemen, and do an act of simple justice!" "his name is murgatroyd," corrected matt, "and the government has offered a reward of a thousand dollars for his capture." "that's your story fer it, young man. i ain't takin' your word fer nothin'. slim, step over an' cut the gent loose." slim started. matt stepped in front of him. "leave that man alone!" ordered matt. "you fellows, i suppose," he continued, turning to spearman, "have come here after the money prebbles took from you at the ranch. he was leaving it with me to deliver to you, just as you came." "likely yarn," scoffed jed spearman, taking a chair in the doorway. "consider yerselves pris'ners, all o' ye. we ain't so terribly het up over motor matt, and we ain't so mad at t'other feller or the chink as we mout be, seein' as how they left us our hosses an' guns an' then trailed straight fer this place whar we diskiver george hobbes. it's hobbes we want, an' i tell ye plain we're goin' ter play bob with him afore we're done. that's flat." chapter xiv. an unexpected turn. motor matt was never more at sea than he was at that moment. what could he, and mcglory, and ping do against six armed cowboys who, because of their hostility, would not listen to reason? jed spearman and his companions could do exactly as they pleased. they could take the law into their own hands, so far as newt prebbles was concerned, and delay his departure for fort totten; and, in reckless defiance of what matt said, they could release murgatroyd. ping, so far from being a factor of strength in the slender force to be mustered against the cowboys, was a decided element of weakness. he was afraid he was going to lose his queue, and the fear had made him almost daft. "slim," called spearman, tilting back in his chair and fanning himself with his hat, "jest count the _dinero_ in that bag an' see how much it foots up." slim slouched over to the table, matt, meanwhile, standing guard between him and murgatroyd. with elaborate ease, slim dumped the contents of the pouch on the table and proceeded to count the gold pieces. "why, jed," he called, "i'm blamed if it ain't all here, an' a dollar more'n what we lost." "keep the dollar fer int'rest, slim," said spearman generously. "tell me, hen," he proceeded, "what we're goin' ter do to the low-down tinhorn who run in them fancy tricks on us at the bunk house?" "hang 'im," replied hen promptly. "oh, ye're altogether too desp'rit. somethin' lighter'n that. what say, slim?" "waal," replied slim, "i'd suggest runnin' him out o' the kentry, jed. we ain't got no room, in these parts, fer a robber like what this feller is. the law kain't tech him, ye know." "hev we got ter waste our vallyble time pusson'ly conductin' sich a missable galoot across the border?" asked spearman. "thar's a hoss among the cottonwoods, jed. let's tie the tinhorn ter his back, take off the hoss' bridle, an' then chase the critter fer a ways. that 'u'd do the trick." "gentlemen," came the imploring voice of murgatroyd, "that animal belongs to me. i beg of you not to use him in your scheme of punishment. how shall i get back to bismarck after you release me?" "stop yer talkin', you!" scowled spearman. "i reckon, if we turn ye loose, that ort ter be about all ye kin ask. slim," he added to his comrade, "yer suggestion is in good taste, an' hes my approval. the trick hes been done afore, an' allers, i make no doubt, with good an' lastin' effects ter the community. pris'ner, hev ye got anythin' ter say?" "only this," replied newt prebbles. "my father is lying sick at fort totten. he needs me. if you try to tie me to that horse and send me across the border, i'll fight till i drop. what more do you want?" he cried passionately. "i gambled with you, and i resorted to a gambler's tricks, but i have returned more money than i took." "ye returned the money bekase ye had ter," said spearman grimly. "if us fellers hadn't blowed in here, we wouldn't 'a' got it." "you're wrong there, spearman," called matt. "i have told you once, and i repeat it now, that prebbles gave up that moment before he, or any of the rest of us, knew you were coming here. i protest against such inhuman treatment as you're planning to give him." "all right," grinned spearman, "protest. now, we'll let that drap while we consider the case o' the gent on the floor. i reckon, motor matt, ye're plumb anxious ter take him ter totten, ain't ye?" "i am," answered matt. "as i told you, he's wanted by the government." "it 'u'd be a feather in yer cap if ye toted him in, wouldn't it?" "i don't know anything about that, and i don't care. he's a scoundrel, and ought to be punished." "an' thar's a thousand out fer him?" "yes." "which ye'd git?" "no. it goes to another man." spearman drew down an eyelid in a knowing wink. "'course i ain't swallerin' that, not noways. it was right funny, that thing ye done over on the hill. i reckon ye've laughed a-considerable about that, hey? i didn't git a chance ter fly with ye, an' the boys hev been joshin' me ever sence about it. ye ort ter be punished somehow, an' i reckon the easiest and best way ter do that is by letting yer pris'ner go. ye won't hev no feather in yer cap, an' ye won't hev no thousand dollars. slim!" "on deck, jed." "i ordered ye, a while ago, ter let that man loose. now, i order ye ag'in. this time, i want it done!" "wait a second!" cried matt. "spearman," he went on, "are you such a fool you think you can punish me by allowing this man his freedom?" "keerful!" warned the foreman. "don't git ter callin' names. i won't stand fer that, not fer a minit." "if you allow this criminal to go, you'll be getting yourself into hot water--you won't be hurting me." "i know what i'm about. slim!" slim started toward motor matt, swinging one hand carelessly but significantly behind him. "keep away," said matt, a dangerous light rising in his eyes. "you'll not let this man go." "are you going to let yourself be bluffed by a fellow of his size?" taunted murgatroyd, taking another tack. "no words from you," growled spearman. slim undoubtedly felt that it was up to him to let the foreman and hen know what he was good for. he had a natural delicacy about using a weapon against an unarmed youth, so he made the mistake of thinking he could eliminate the barrier with his hands. "side-step!" he commanded. matt held his ground. "waal, if ye won't, then take that." slim swung his fist. what happened, then, must have astonished him exceedingly. his fist clove the empty air, and before he could recover his poise he was struck a blow that heaved him over against hen, and toppled both of them against the wall. "jumpin' jee-mimy!" stuttered slim, rubbing his chin. "he hits like the kick of a mule--an' it was about as quick." "oh, blazes!" growled spearman, in disgust. "hen, you help. if the two o' ye ain't enough, i'll join in." mcglory had pressed closer to matt's side. the two chums were now shoulder to shoulder. "i'm a cowboy myself," cried mcglory, "and if you longhorns have come out prancin' for trouble, i guess we can accommodate you." but the matter was never brought to an issue. a shrill whistle echoed from the outside. spearman jumped to his feet. "that's from one o' our boys," said he. "what's doin'?" the next moment spearman knew. a khaki-clad officer appeared in the doorway, covered with the dust of a hard ride. standing there, for an instant, he surveyed the interior of the shack. "cameron!" cried matt joyfully. "whoop-ya!" roared mcglory. "lieutenant cameron, of the old u. s. a. speak to me about that! he's just in time." "who's leftenant cameron?" snorted spearman. "i don't know him from adam." "possibly not," answered cameron, "but, fortunately, i've got a man with me whom you do know. come in, roscoe!" called the lieutenant, stepping farther into the room. a burly individual slouched through the doorway and stood looking out from under his bushy brows at spearman. the foreman's careless air left him in a flash. he fell back a step. "roscoe!" "surest thing you know," replied the burly individual, "roscoe, sheriff of burleigh. now, what's been going on here?" there was something humorous, after that, in spearman's attempt to explain. the whole story was finally given by matt, and listened to with attention. the sheriff, when all the details were in, drew a large slab of tobacco from his pocket and nibbled off a corner. "who's got the money that was won at the bunk house?" he asked calmly. "slim, thar," answered spearman. "fork over, slim." slim promptly tossed the bag to roscoe. "if you tin cup men haven't got sense enough to keep from being skinned," remarked the sheriff, "you ought to be done out of your eyeteeth. and, furthermore, you haven't any call to chase the man that was too sharp for you and try to run him out of the country. you fellows at the tin cup are a heap too lawless. i've had my eye on you for quite a spell. the money goes to the man that took it. here, stranger! i'm not approving of the way it was come by, mark you, but, so far as the ethics of this case are concerned, the money is yours." "i don't want it," was the astounding response from newt prebbles. "i'm a different man from what i was when i got that away from the tin cup fellows." the sheriff stared, then calmly dropped the bag into his own pocket. "i'll accept the donation," said he, "and pass it along to the bismarck orphan asylum. now, spearman," and he stepped over and tapped the foreman on the chest, "i wish i could take you to town with me for planning to release a badly wanted man. but i can't. all i can say is that i've got my eye on you. scatter out of this. that will be about all." the tin cup men "scattered." as the galloping hoofs died away in the distance, lieutenant cameron stepped over and caught matt's hand. "i guess i was of some use, after all, eh, matt? you fellows have had most of the fun, but i managed to get here in time to save you some unpleasantness." "you did," answered motor matt gratefully, wringing the brave fellow's hand. "you've saved the prisoner, and made it possible for prebbles' son to get to the post in time to----" "wait," interrupted cameron, pulling a yellow slip from his pocket. "that reached me just as the sheriff and i were leaving bismarck." matt took the telegram. it was brief, but terribly to the point. "prebbles can't last more than twenty-four hours, at the outside. useless to bring his son." this was signed by the doctor. silently matt passed the telegram to newt. young prebbles read it, dropped into a chair, and buried his face in his hands. chapter xv. a risky venture. while roscoe was removing the ropes from murgatroyd's hands and replacing them with a pair of steel manacles, matt and mcglory stepped out of the shack for a brief talk. "young prebbles is pretty badly cut up," said cameron. "he ought to be," said mcglory. "i reckon this is a lesson for him, and for any other young fellow who feels like taking the bit in his teeth." "it's pretty tough," murmured matt, shaking his head. "there's good stuff in young prebbles." "that's pard matt for you, cameron," said the cowboy. "he always looks for the good stuff in a fellow and never sees much of anything else." "after all," approved cameron, "that's the best way. but i'll warrant matt can't find much to commend in murgatroyd." "he's old enough to know right from wrong," said matt, "and now that he's made his bed, he's got to lie in it. where did you find the sheriff, cameron?" "wired him i was coming, and he met me at the train with a couple of riding horses. they couldn't remember anything definite at the post office, although one of the clerks had a hazy recollection that some one had called for a letter addressed to hobbes. that's all we had to go on. we hit the trail and rode hard." "good thing you did. if you hadn't ridden so hard you might have got here too late." "what a day this has been! i should think you fellows would be about fagged." before matt could make any response, newt prebbles came out of the shack. "i'm going, just the same," said he doggedly. "there's no way you can get to the post in time, prebbles," returned cameron kindly. "i'll get there, anyhow, whether i'm late or not. good heavens! you don't understand what this means to me! you don't know----" he bit his lips to keep back the emotion that grew with the words. "i've just got to go," he finished. "i'll get through somehow." "how'll you get from here to bismarck?" inquired cameron. "on murgatroyd's horse." "your connections are poor all the way through. you'll not be able to reach totten before to-morrow afternoon." "i'm going." "wait," said matt. "are you willing to take a little risk, prebbles?" "risk? i'd take any risk if it could shorten my trip to totten by a single hour." "do you know the country between here and totten?" "every foot of it." "by night as well as by day?" "any time." "let's get a little something to eat," said matt, "and then i'll agree to get you to totten inside of three hours." "how?" "we'll use the aëroplane." there was a silence, then a protest from mcglory. "pard, you're not made of iron. you can't stand that trip, after all you've done. sufferin' cats! why, you're workin' every second you're runnin' the _comet_! and it's the hardest kind of work, at that." "i can do it," said matt, looking around at the gathering dusk. "but we'll have to start before it gets too dark." "look at the risk!" "we'll face it. besides, it's not so much." there was no arguing with matt. he had his mind made up and was like a rock. "you and ping, joe," said matt, "will come with cameron and murgatroyd. have you a lantern, newt?" "yes." "get it." the lantern was secured and lighted. after matt had hastily bolted a few mouthfuls of food, he took the lantern and started for the place where he had left the _comet_. cameron, ping, and mcglory accompanied the king of the motor boys and newt prebbles. roscoe remained at the shack with murgatroyd. the rope with which the aëroplane had been made fast to the trees was taken off, and matt, while he was going over the machine to see that everything was in proper order, told mcglory to hunt for a favorable place to make the start. when matt had finished his inspection, the cowboy had selected the nearest spot which was at all promising. "it's at the top of the bank, matt," said mcglory. "there's a clear stretch, sloping slightly to the east." "then let's get the machine up there." the _comet_, a ghostly monstrosity in the gloom, was pushed and pulled to the top of the bank and pointed down the slight slope. matt walked over the course of the start with the lantern, to make sure there were no stones in the way. "we don't want the lantern," said matt, coming back and handing the light to mcglory. "lock up the shack when you leave and bring the key with you, joe." mcglory was nervous and apprehensive. he grabbed matt's hand before he took his seat. "it's a risky venture," he breathed. "a little risk, of course," answered matt. "there always is." "but this is night, pard. you never tried to fly the machine at night before." "there's always got to be a first time." "there's some wind, too." "not enough to be dangerous." "you'll win out, motor matt," said cameron; "you always do." "there's got to be a first time when he won't," croaked mcglory dismally. "take your seat, newt," said matt. newt, without a word, placed himself as directed. "i guess we're all ready," called matt, starting the motor. "help us in the getaway, you fellows." cameron, mcglory, and ping pushed the car down the slope through the dusk. finally it drew away from them, and they saw it, like a huge spectre, sailing skyward. newt prebbles undoubtedly remembered more about that daring night trip than motor matt. the king of the motor boys had eyes and ears for nothing but his work. the propeller whirled the great planes on and on into the gloom, and sense of touch alone told matt when to meet the varying points of air pressure by a shift of the wing tips. newt said little, and what he did say was in the nature of directions for keeping the _comet_ on the right course. with eyes peering ahead and downward, he watched the dusky panorama flitting away below them. matt admired his courage. calm and steady, he kept rigidly to his place, interfered in no way with the freedom of matt's movements, and watched alertly for the landmarks with which he was familiar. whenever they swept over a cluster of lights, young prebbles named the town instantly. the stars came out in the dusky vault overhead, and a big moon crept up over the horizon. swinging through space, hung from the zenith as by invisible cords, the _comet_ glided steadily and surely onward. "oberon," announced newt, as they swept across a gleaming mat of yellow. "great spark plugs!" exclaimed the king of the motor boys. "i don't know, newt, but i've a notion we're making a record flight." "it's wonderful," mused young prebbles; "but there's something which, to my mind, is even more wonderful than this work of the flying machine." "what's that?" "why, that you're doing this for me--for a man who nearly drowned himself trying to get away from you, and who tried his best to cripple you, or the _comet_, with a bullet." "we all of us make mistakes, now and then," answered matt. "it's a mighty foolish man who won't rectify a mistake when he finds he has made one." from oberon the course led north and east. "there's the post trader's store," reported prebbles. "that means we're just about where we're going," said matt. "where'll we come down?" "on the parade ground at the post." when near the old fort, they could hear the call of the sentries, and were able to mark the fringe of oil lamps around the barracks and officers' quarters. silently, like a wraith from the unknown, they dropped downward, struck on the bicycle wheels, and glided to a stop. "be hivins," cried a voice, "it's th' _comet_. now what would you be afther thinkin' av that? th' _comet_, d'ye moind, rammin' around in th' dark th' same as if it was broad day. is that yerself, motor matt?" "yes," said matt, stepping out of the machine. "how's prebbles, o'hara?" "th' ould sawbones has given up hope, an' that's all i kin tell ye. but who is it ye have along?" "prebbles' son. take him up to cameron's quarters at once, will you?" "sure i will." "i'll see you in the morning, newt," matt added. young prebbles paused to grasp matt's hand. "i appreciate what you have done for me, don't forget that," he said. matt gave the _comet_ into the care of a guard, then hunted up a place to sleep. his head had hardly dropped on the pillow before he was off for the land of dreams. chapter xvi. conclusion. doctors are not infallible, and the post doctor was no exception in this respect. all his experience and skill in diagnosing the ills of humanity, made him certain that prebbles was booked for the other world. but there was an error--and, more than likely, that error was due to the arrival of newt, who, it will be remembered, the doctor had wired it would be useless to send. prebbles was singing his salvation army hymns when newt stepped into the sick room. all night he was marching the streets, in his disordered mind, pounding the cymbals and exhorting. occasionally there crept into the oral wanderings a reference to the young man watching at the bedside. most unexpectedly--most unaccountably, to the doctor--a lucid moment came to prebbles in the early morning. he saw his son, he recognized him, and he felt his handclasp. there was a smile on the old man's lips as he drifted back into his sea of visions. but, from that moment, there was a noticeable change. there seemed more resisting power in the wasted body of the old clerk, as though hope for better things had grown up in him and was giving him strength. to matt, newt prebbles told what he knew about the accident to poor harry traquair. siwash charley, under agreement with murgatroyd, had tampered with traquair's machine before the fatal flight, just as he had tampered with matt's machine before the official trials at fort totten. but traquair had not been so fortunate as the king of the motor boys. newt had learned of this villainous work through siwash charley, and had received from siwash, at a time when the ruffian was under the influence of liquor, an incriminating note from the broker, signed with his _alias_, "george hobbes." prebbles had made use of this document, holding it over murgatroyd's head and extorting money from him on account of it. this, of course, formed a sad commentary on the character of young prebbles. but motor matt, in "advancing the spark of friendship," so played upon the facts in the case, and showed up the broker's duplicity, that the old clerk's illness formed the turning point in his son's career. such transformations are not so rare as it would seem. cameron, matt, ping, and roscoe arrived at the post in the afternoon following the arrival of matt and young prebbles. murgatroyd, of course, accompanied them. murgatroyd was tried, not on the traquair charge, but on the later one of conniving, with siwash charley, to injure the aëroplane at the government trials, thus endangering the life, not only of motor matt, but of lieutenant cameron as well. his sentence was commensurate with the evil he had attempted, and he followed siwash charley to the leavenworth prison. after a few days the post doctor was as certain prebbles would recover as he had been positive, at the time he sent his message to cameron, that he had not many hours to live. the reward paid by the government for the capture of murgatroyd was made over to the old clerk. on this, he and his son were to begin life anew. one of the first things matt did, after reaching the post with newt prebbles, was to write to mrs. traquair, at jamestown, settling a mystery which had long puzzled every one who knew of murgatroyd's attempts to secure the wells county homestead. there was coal under the soil of the quarter-section, and the railroad company wanted it. that was the secret, and mrs. traquair profited handsomely by the knowledge of it. the mortgage was paid, and the homestead passed into the hands of the railroad company. in a country so barren of trees as north dakota, coal is a valuable commodity. matt still kept the aëroplane, and still persistently refused to put it in storage at the post, to be called for later. "the _comet_," said matt, one evening when he and mcglory were again with cameron, "has got to earn something for joe, and ping, and myself." "ping comes in on the deal, does he?" laughed cameron. "share and share alike with the rest of us," averred matt. "that chinese boy is loyalty itself. down in that shelter tent, below the post trader's, he spends his nights and days watching the aëroplane." "and talking to it, and singing about it, and burning rice-paper prayers to the heathen josses, asking them to keep it carefully and not let it go broke while up in the air," put in mcglory. "oh, he's a freak, that ping boy; but, as matt says, he's a mighty good sort of a freak at that. look how he ran off with the rifles when we fooled the tin cup punchers on the hill! and remember how he slammed that stone through the window when murgatroyd had drawn a fine bead on me and was about to press the trigger. share and share alike? well, i should say." "you're still determined to go into the show business, matt?" asked cameron anxiously. "i don't see why we shouldn't," said matt. "five hundred a week isn't to be sneezed at. joe's agreed, and so has ping. when the first favorable day arrives, we're going to fly to fargo." two days later the favorable moment was at hand. all the soldiers at the post were out to witness the start, and even the gruff post trader was present to say good-by to the king of the motor boys and his friends. matt's last call, at the post, was made on prebbles. the old man was practically out of danger, but his recovery would take time, and for a long while yet he would have to remain in bed. he was not able to say much, but what little he did say matt considered an ample reward for the strenuous adventures that had befallen him and his chums on their flight to the upper missouri. newt had become his sworn friend. whenever matt wanted any help, in any way that was within newt's power to grant, he was surely to call on young prebbles. when finally motor matt took his way down the post hill for the last time, he was in an exceedingly thoughtful mood. he remembered when he had first come to devil's lake, knowing nothing about aëroplanes, and had practiced with the _june bug_ until he had acquired the knack of flying the machine and had made good and sold the machine to the government for enough to give large profit to himself and his friends, and, what pleased him most, to place mrs. traquair above want. he remembered, too, how he had sailed away alone into wells county on a fool's errand, had become entangled in a losing cause, and had experienced a sharp reverse. but, best of all, in his estimation, was the night journey back to the post from the missouri river, bringing newt prebbles to his father's bedside. down into the cheering throng below the post trader's store went the king of the motor boys, shaking hands with every one he met, indians, whites, or "breeds," receiving good wishes from all and heartily returning them. for the last time the aëroplane was dragged from the shelter tent, given a strong start along the old familiar roadway, and then watched as it climbed up and up into the air and winged swiftly eastward, carrying motor matt, and joe mcglory, and ping into untried ventures and fresh fields of endeavor. the end. the next number ( ) will contain motor matt's engagement; or, on the road with a show. "on the banks of the wabash"--in the calliope tent--an eavesdropper--queer proceedings--motor matt protests--a blaze in the air--was it treachery?--a call for help--black magic--the mahout's flight--the paper trail--carl turns a trick--the lacquered box--the hypnotist's victim--"for the sake of haidee"--the rajah's niece motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction new york, august , . terms to motor stories mail subscribers. (_postage free._) single copies or back numbers, c. each. months c. months c. months $ . one year . copies one year . copy two years . =how to send money=--by post-office or express money-order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. at your own risk if sent by currency, coin, or postage-stamps in ordinary letter. =receipts=--receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. if not correct you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once. ormond g. smith, } george c. smith, } _proprietors_. street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york city. mose howard's fish trap. nicodemus squab, professor of orthography in the jimtown district school, was a man of an inquiring turn of mind. overhearing some of the scholars discussing a prospective coon hunt that was to come off the following saturday night, the professor drew near and inquired if they would allow him to join them. "of course you kin jine us," said mose howard, who was the ringleader in all the devilment in the neighborhood. "glad tu have you go 'long. we'll come by for you." "thank you," said the professor. "i never was coon hunting in my life, though i've always wanted to go--just to see how it is done, you know." according to promise, mose howard, dick miller, and joe smiley came by for the professor, who was ready and waiting, and who joined the hunters, anticipating a jolly old time. after winding up the coon hunt, which resulted in the capture of five possums and three coons, mose howard proposed that they should go back by the fish trap and catch a mess of fish. the proposition was unanimously agreed to, and they struck off down the creek, the professor bringing up the rear, puffing and blowing, though highly elated at the variation that this additional act in the programme promised, as well as at the prospect of a successful raid upon the finny tribe. the "dofuny" contraption that mose dignified with the name of fish trap consisted merely of a large sack held open by a hoop, around which the mouth of the sack was fastened, and a couple of ropes, one end of which was fastened to each side of the hoop, while the other ends were fastened to trees on the opposite sides of the stream, in such a way as to allow the hoop to remain about halfway submerged. on the bank of the creek was a lantern, in which was about half a tallow candle. producing some matches, mose lit the candle and proceeded to explain to the professor the modus operandi of catching fish with his new-fangled trap. "you just take the lamp, and wade into the trap, and hold the lamp right in front of the mouth so that the fish can see how to run in, and we boys'll go away down the creek and pull off our clothes and wade into the creek and drive the fish up and into the trap." the professor, as unsuspicious of any trick as a sucking baby, shucked himself, and then taking up the lantern, waded into the trap that the boys set for him instead of for fish, and in the construction of which they had not only exhausted their financial resources in the purchase of the material out of which it was constructed, but also their ingenuity in the getting up and fabrication of the same. "ugh!" grunted the professor, as he reached the trap and placed the lantern in the position indicated, "this water is cold as ice. i want you boys to make haste." "yes, sir," responded the boys. "you'll hear us hollerin' as we come," said mose, and off they started down the creek in a trot. "all right," said the professor. as soon as they got out of sight their gait slackened to a walk, which they kept till they reached a point some four hundred yards distant from the trap, when, seating themselves on a log, they began the most uproarious din of yelling and howling that had ever awakened the slumbering echoes of those old woods since the aborigines had vacated the premises. after about an hour spent in this way the boys got up and advanced slowly up the bank of the stream about a hundred yards, when they seated themselves on another log, where they continued to whoop and yell like so many wild indians. after another hour thus spent they made another advance which brought the professor and the fish trap within their range of vision, though, owing to the darkness, they were not visible to him. "hurry up, boys!" he shouted. "i'm nearly froze, and the candle's nearly out." that was what they were waiting for--the candle to burn out--so that their failure to catch fish could be laid to the absence of the light. "yes, sir!" they shouted back; "we're hurrying as fast as we can!" and renewing their yells, they advanced slowly--very slowly--up the stream. "hurry up! hurry up!" again shouted the professor. "the candle will be out in two minutes." "ay, ay, sir!" shouted mose back; "but you must stop hollerin', or you'll skeer the fish." sure enough, in about two minutes the candle gave a last convulsive flicker, and in the twinkling of an eye thick darkness reigned as absolutely over the professor and the fish trap as elsewhere. "boys," said mose, in a tone of voice loud enough for the professor to hear him, "there ain't no use wadin' in this water any longer; let's go back an' git our cloze." seating themselves on a log, they sat perfectly silent for a while--long enough, as they thought, for it to have taken them to go back to where they commenced their drive, dress themselves, and reach that point on their return--when they got up and resumed their progress upstream. on reaching the trap, they found the professor on shore, and though he had completed his toilet, his teeth were chattering together worse than a pair of castanets rattling off a quickstep march. "we'll have to try it over ag'in some other time," said mose, "and fetch more candles with us. i thought we had plenty this time, but we didn't. i guess i'll bring enough next time." "why didn't you fellows hurry up?" said the professor. "what made you come so slow?" the chattering of his teeth as he spoke causing him to cut the words into more than the legitimate number of syllables to which they were entitled. "couldn't come no faster," said mose. "the water was so thunderin' cold the fish wouldn't drive fast." satisfied with this explanation, the professor fell into ranks as the boys filed off in the direction of home. the exercise of walking soon brought a reaction in his system, the first effect of which was to put a stop to the music of the castanets, and on reaching home he pronounced himself all right again. sometime during the ensuing week mose howard informed the professor that they were going to try the fish trap again the following saturday night, and asked him if he didn't want to go along. the professor gave an involuntary shudder as the recollection of that protracted soaking in ice water of the previous saturday night flashed across his mind. discretion prompted him to give a negative response. curiosity, however, got the better of discretion, and he accepted the invitation. "i'll be on hand," said he. "there's no fun standing in that cold water, especially when you get no fish; but if you can stand it i guess i can." at the appointed time the boys came by, when, the professor joining them, they proceeded to the fish trap. on arriving there, mose produced a couple of pieces of candle, one of which he proceeded to light and put in the lantern. it was nearly twice as long as the one they had burned out on the previous occasion. the other piece he placed in the lantern, so that it could be easily got at if it should be needed. this latter piece mose had had manufactured himself especially for the occasion, and had taken some little pains in its construction. after soaking the wick in water until it was perfectly saturated, he had taken a skillet and melted some tallow therein; then placing the wick in a mould, he filled the latter with the melted tallow, and the thing was accomplished. this particular candle he had carefully marked, so as to be able to distinguish it from any other candle. before completing their arrangements at the fish trap, preparatory to beginning the drive, the professor proposed that one of the boys should take his place at the trap while he accompanied the others and assisted in driving the fish. "kin you swim?" asked mose howard. "no," answered the professor. "well, you'd run the resk ov gittin' drownded, then," said mose. "you go on, then," said the professor, "and i'll mind the trap." so off the boys started, and going down the stream about a mile, seated themselves upon a log, and began yelling and whooping, as on the previous occasion. hour after hour passed, each hour seeming to the benumbed professor an age. the yelling approached slowly but surely. the boys had now arrived at a point where every motion of the professor was distinctly visible. the piece of candle mose had lighted and put in the lantern was nearly burned out. taking up the other piece, the professor proceeded to light it. placing it in the lantern, it gave a splutter and went out. dark! dark was no name for it. no moon, no stars, no matches. but that bogus candle would have been a match for a whole box of matches. "what in thunder's the matter now?" shouted mose. "the candle's gone out," shouted the professor back. "have you got any matches?" he inquired. "nary match," said mose. "what's to be done?" inquired the professor. "nuthin'," said mose. "the thing's played out. put on your cloze, while we go and git ourn, and then we'll git for home." seating themselves on a log, the boys remained quiet for a while, then rising to their feet, they came up to where the professor was waltzing around trying to get up a circulation. "another waterhaul," said mose. "looks a good deal like it," said the professor. "don't know why the mischief some of us didn't think tu bring some matches," said mose. "i don't know, either," responded the professor, in a deprecating tone of voice, as though he entertained the idea that somehow or other he had been mainly instrumental in producing the bad luck. "better luck next time," said mose philosophically, as he struck out for home, followed by the others. they had proceeded about two-thirds of the way home, groping their way as best they could through the thick darkness, when a shrill, prolonged scream directly ahead of them, and apparently at no great distance, broke upon their startled auriculars. "painter!" ejaculated mose, in a low tone of voice, though sufficiently loud to be distinctly audible to the professor, at the same time springing to one side, and the next moment he was out of the professor's hearing. the fact was he had only taken a couple of steps and then squatted in the grass as completely concealed from his companions by the intense darkness as though he had been on the opposite side of the globe. "painter!" repeated the other boys, following mose's example, of springing to one side and squatting in the grass. left alone, the professor, with hair on end, paused a moment to collect his scattered thoughts; but only for a moment. another scream long drawn out, and apparently but a few yards distant, set his dumpling-shaped body in motion, and the next moment he was streaking it across the country as fast as his duck legs could carry him. tumbling over a log lying on the edge of a bank some twenty feet high and nearly perpendicular, down which he rolled, he landed in a mud hole at the bottom. gathering himself up he began looking for his hat, which had parted company with him on the way down the bank, when, another scream breaking upon his ear, he struck out once more on his race for life, hatless and covered with mud from his head to his heels. coming to a brier patch, he was on the point of diverging from his course in order to try and go around it, when another scream precipitated the terror-stricken professor into the patch like a catapult. emerging from the brier patch with his coat tails torn into ribbons, the mud-begrimed professor held on the even tenor of his way without any diminution of speed for a hundred yards or so, when his pace began to slacken a little. another scream, however, put him to his mettle again, but as that was the last, and as he was about exhausted, he soon settled down to a walk, and presently stumbling over a log, he picked himself up and seated himself thereon. after resting a while, plunged in the meantime in a deep cogitation, he finally concluded to try and seek a shelter for the remainder of the night. so, starting forward, he wandered about first in one direction and then in another, and it was not until daylight began to streak the eastern horizon that he stumbled on a clearing in the woods, in the midst of which was a log cabin. cautiously approaching the cabin, he had reached the foot of a sapling some fifty steps from the door when a big dog came dashing around the corner of the house, barking in a most furious manner. no sooner did the professor catch sight of the dog bouncing along in the direction of him and the sapling than he was seized with such a sudden panic as to cause him to grasp the sapling in his arms and start up it, though, owing to want of practice, with hardly the agility of a squirrel. after a tremendous effort he succeeded in reaching a fork some ten feet from the ground, where he seated himself, and awaited the issue of events. he didn't have long to wait. the furious barking of the dog soon roused the inmates of the cabin. scarcely a minute had elapsed after the professor had succeeded, by the most superhuman exertions, in seating himself comfortably in the fork of the sapling, out of the reach of the dog, when the door of the cabin opened and a huge six-footer of a backwoodsman, somewhat airily attired, with a rifle of corresponding size with himself in his hand, emerged therefrom. "what you got thar, bull?" said the man, as he approached the sapling, at the root of which the dog was barking in a most vociferous manner. "what is it, old feller?" he continued. "b'ar, painter, ur catamount?" bull's response was an abortive attempt to climb the tree, accompanied by a most furious outburst of barking. "be quiet, old feller," said the man; "we'll soon see what it is," at the same time raising his rifle to his shoulder. "hold on there," shouted the professor, who was beginning to realize the perilous position in which he was placed, and the imminent danger he was in of being shot for a bear or catamount. "i am no varmint. i'm nicodemus squab, professor of orthography in the jimtown district school." "hallo," said the backwoodsman, as he lowered his rifle, "is that so? well, that gits me. what in thunder ur you doin' up thar?" "wait till i get down, and i'll tell you." and crawling out of the crotch in which he had been seated, the professor slid down the sapling, when he soon succeeded in explaining matters to the satisfaction of that thinly clad backwoodsman and his savage bulldog. it was now broad daylight, and when he reached jimtown the sun was some distance above the horizon, climbing upward toward the zenith. of course every man, woman, and child in the place beheld, with wonder-depicted countenances, the advent of the mud-begrimed, hatless professor, and a thousand conjectures were indulged in as to the cause of his singular appearance. the professor was disposed to be reticent on the subject, answering interrogatories in relation to the matter evasively; but the joke was too good to be kept, and in less than twenty-four hours his approach toward any crowd was greeted by a broad grin overspreading the countenances of a majority of the members thereof, and his departure signalized by a long guffaw. this conduct on the part of the citizens annoyed the professor considerably at first; then it grew monotonous, and he became disgusted. finally he burst into a flame of indignation, and after taking his revenge out of the hides of the pupils, especially mose howard and his confederates, the irate professor shook the dust of jimtown off his feet, and betook himself to parts unknown. photographs taken in dangerous places. "race war in alabama. take cinematograph pictures of fighting and country." "want pictures of dyaks of borneo as soon as possible." "series wanted of whale-hunting in arctic regions." the average man, receiving one of these messages with his breakfast, would not regard the commission exactly in the light of a pleasure trip. to the cinematograph man, however, such orders are all in a day's work. he simply packs up his machine, makes his arrangements in the shortest possible time, and goes right ahead with the business. it is thrilling and wonderful work at times; and it requires a little patience, too. "one of our photographers," said the manager of a company recently, "once sat beside a geyser in iceland for three weeks, waiting for an eruption to take place, in order that he might obtain some pictures of this wonderful phenomenon. the geyser seemed in no hurry to oblige him, so he left the district for a couple of days. when he returned he found that the eruption had taken place and the geyser had again become inactive. "another of our photographers, who went out to borneo to take pictures of the home life of the natives, narrowly escaped losing his head as well as his machine. the natives thought the latter was some new and powerful weapon, and it was only by the timely intervention of the interpreter, who explained matters, that they adopted a more friendly attitude. "by the way, this particular photographer raised a good laugh when he came home. we wanted some pictures taken while traveling down the water chute at an exhibition. it was necessary for the operator and the machine to be strapped to the boat, in order that he might be quite free to turn the handle and take the photographs as he shot down the chute. i asked the photographer from borneo to do the job. 'i would rather be excused,' he said; 'i've got a weak heart.' here was a man, who spent weeks among one of the most savage tribes in the world, who was afraid to go down a water chute. nerves are peculiar things. "i think, however, the worst experience which has befallen one of our photographers was that of the man we sent to take the pictures of a whale-hunting expedition. a fine school--i believe that is the correct term--of whales was sighted one day. the boats went in pursuit, and our photographer with his machine entered one of them. the crew of this boat managed to harpoon a fine big whale, who went through the sea at a terrific pace, dragging the boat behind him. our photographer was just congratulating himself on getting some of the most realistic pictures ever obtained, when suddenly the whale doubled in its tracks, and, to make a long story short, smashed the boat. luckily, another boat came up at the critical moment and rescued the crew and the photographer. but the latter is always bemoaning the fact that one of the finest sets of cinematograph pictures ever taken lies at the bottom of the arctic ocean." some of the most interesting pictures shown, however, are scenes taken en route while traveling by rail in various parts of the world. a special engine is chartered, and the operator, with his machine, takes his place on the front platform of the engine, or on a low truck which the engine pushes in front of it. thus mile after mile of scenery is photographed as the engine rushes along. it is a rather ticklish job, particularly in wild regions where all sorts of animals stray on to the line, and there is a risk of collision and general smash. doubtless many readers are acquainted with the entertaining and novel manner in which these pictures are afterward shown. one sits in a stationary model of a railway carriage, the picture being thrown on a screen at the end. a motor underneath the carriage gives a realistic impression of the noise made by a train when traveling, and thus one seems to be rushing through the country which is being depicted on the screen. it is a novel notion, which is deserving of all the success and popularity it has attained. costly fishes. the most beautiful and withal costly fishes in the world come from china, and of these the most expensive and rarest is the brush-tail goldfish. specimens of these have sold for as high as $ each, and in europe the prices range from $ to $ . the brush-tail goldfish is so small that a half-crown piece will cover it, and probably there is no living thing of its size and weight that is worth so much money. latest issues motor stories the latest and best five-cent weekly. we won't say how interesting it is. see for yourself. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --motor matt's daring rescue; or, the strange case of helen brady. --motor matt's peril; or, castaway in the bahamas. --motor matt's queer find; or, the secret of the iron chest. --motor matt's promise; or, the wreck of the _hawk_. --motor matt's submarine; or, the strange cruise of the _grampus_. --motor matt's quest; or, three chums in strange waters. --motor matt's close call; or, the snare of don carlos. --motor matt in brazil; or, under the amazon. --motor matt's defiance; or, around the horn. --motor matt makes good; or, another victory for the motor boys. --motor matt's launch; or, a friend in need. --motor matt's enemies; or, a struggle for the right. --motor matt's prize; or, the pluck that wins. --motor matt on the wing; or, flying for fame and fortune. tip top weekly the most popular publication for boys. the adventures of frank and dick merriwell can be had only in this weekly. =high art colored covers. thirty-two pages. price, cents.= --dick merriwell at the "meet"; or, honors worth winning. --dick merriwell's protest; or, the man who would not play clean. --dick merriwell in the marathon; or, the sensation of the great run. --dick merriwell's colors; or, all for the blue. --dick merriwell, driver; or, the race for the daremore cup. --dick merriwell on the deep; or, the cruise of the _yale_. --dick merriwell in the north woods; or, the timber thieves of the floodwood. --dick merriwell's dandies; or, a surprise for the cowboy nine. --dick merriwell's "skyscooter"; or, professor pagan and the "princess." --dick merriwell in the elk mountains; or, the search for "dead injun" mine. --dick merriwell in utah; or, the road to "promised land." --dick merriwell's bluff; or, the boy who ran away. --dick merriwell in the saddle; or, the bunch from the bar-z. --dick merriwell's ranch friends; or, sport on the range. nick carter weekly the best detective stories on earth. nick carter's exploits are read the world over. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --three times stolen; or, nick carter's strange clue. --the great diamond syndicate; or, nick carter's cleverest foes. --the house of the yellow door; or, nick carter in the old french quarter. --the triangle clue; or, nick carter's greenwich village case. --the hollingsworth puzzle; or, nick carter three times baffled. --the affair of the missing bonds; or, nick carter in the harness. --the green box clue; or, nick carter's good friend. --the taxicab mystery; or, nick carter closes a deal. --the mystery of a hotel room; or, nick carter's best work. --the tragedy of the well; or, nick carter under suspicion. --the black hand; or, chick carter's well-laid plot. --the black hand nemesis; or, chick carter and the mysterious woman. --a masterly trick; or, chick and the beautiful italian. --a dangerous man; or, nick carter and the famous castor case. _for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address on receipt of price, cents per copy, in money or postage stamps, by_ street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york =if you want any back numbers= of our weeklies and cannot procure them from your newsdealer, they can be obtained from this office direct. fill out the following order blank and send it to us with the price of the weeklies you want and we will send them to you by return mail. =postage stamps taken the same as money.= ________________________ _ _ _street & smith, - seventh avenue, new york city._ _dear sirs: enclosed please find_ ___________________________ _cents for which send me_: tip top weekly, nos. ________________________________ nick carter weekly, " ________________________________ diamond dick weekly, " ________________________________ buffalo bill stories, " ________________________________ brave and bold weekly, " ________________________________ motor stories, " ________________________________ _name_ ________________ _street_ ________________ _city_ ________________ _state_ ________________ a great success!! motor stories every boy who reads one of the splendid adventures of motor matt, which are making their appearance in this weekly, is at once surprised and delighted. surprised at the generous quantity of reading matter that we are giving for five cents; delighted with the fascinating interest of the stories, second only to those published in the tip top weekly. matt has positive mechanical genius, and while his adventures are unusual, they are, however, drawn so true to life that the reader can clearly see how it is possible for the ordinary boy to experience them. _here are the titles now ready and those to be published_: --motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. --motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. --motor matt's century run; or, the governor's courier. --motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the "comet." --motor matt's mystery; or, foiling a secret plot. --motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear. --motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto. --motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward. --motor matt's air ship; or, the rival inventors. --motor matt's hard luck; or, the balloon house plot. --motor matt's daring rescue; or, the strange case of helen brady. --motor matt's peril; or, cast away in the bahamas. --motor matt's queer find; or, the secret of the iron chest. --motor matt's promise; or, the wreck of the "hawk." --motor matt's submarine; or, the strange cruise of the "grampus." --motor matt's quest; or, three chums in strange waters. --motor matt's close call; or, the snare of don carlos. --motor matt in brazil; or, under the amazon. --motor matt's defiance; or, around the horn. --motor matt makes good; or, another victory for the motor boys. --motor matt's launch; or, a friend in need. --motor matt's enemies; or, a struggle for the right. --motor matt's prize; or, the pluck that wins. --motor matt on the wing; or, flying for fame and fortune. to be published on august th. --motor matt's reverse; or, caught in a losing game. to be published on august th. --motor matt's "make or break"; or, advancing the spark of friendship. to be published on august d. --motor matt's engagement; or, on the road with a show. to be published on august th. --motor matt's "short circuit"; or, the mahout's vow. price, five cents at all newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, by the publishers upon receipt of the price. street & smith, _publishers_, new york transcriber's notes: added table of contents. italics are represented with _underscores_, bold with =equal signs=. page , corrected "aëroplan" to "aëroplane" in "traquair and his aëroplane." page , corrected "tarquair" to "traquair" in "try-out of the traquair" and "you and mrs. traquair sold." page , corrected "wil" to "will" in "money will go to you." page , corrected "se" to "see" in "see the time-piece." page , converted ligature in "manoeuvre" to "oe" for text edition; ligature retained in html version. page , corrected "pebbles" to "prebbles" in "good stuff in young pebbles." page , corrected "thty" to "they" in "which they kept till." courtesy of the digital library@villanova university (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction no. sept. , five cents motor matt's mariner or filling the bill for bunce _by the author of motor matt_ _street & smith publishers new york_ [illustration: _the jolt was terrific. motor matt was thrown roughly against the front seat and bunce went into the air as though shot from a gun._] motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction _issued weekly. by subscription $ . per year. copyright, , by_ street & smith, _ - seventh avenue, new york, n. y._ =no. .= new york, september , . =price five cents.= motor matt's mariner; or, filling the bill for bunce. by the author of "motor matt." contents chapter i. "buddha's eye." chapter ii. the green patch. chapter iii. motor matt--trustee. chapter iv. bunce has a plan. chapter v. bunce speaks a good word for himself. chapter vi. the homemade speeder. chapter vii. trapped. chapter viii. the cut-out under the ledge. chapter ix. between the eyes. chapter x. the man from the "iris." chapter xi. aboard the steam yacht. chapter xii. grattan's triumph. chapter xiii. from the open port! chapter xiv. landed--and stung. chapter xv. a crafty oriental. chapter xvi. the mandarin wins. jerry stebbins' hoss trade. the phantom engineer. characters that appear in this story. =matt king=, otherwise motor matt. =joe mcglory=, a young cowboy who proves himself a lad of worth and character, and whose eccentricities are all on the humorous side. a good chum to tie to--a point motor matt is quick to perceive. =tsan ti=, mandarin of the red button, who proves adept in the ways of oriental craft, and shows how easy it is for a person to shift his dangers and responsibilities to other shoulders--if only he goes about it in the right way. =philo grattan=, a talented person who devotes himself to "tricks that are dark and ways that are vain," and whose superb assurance leads him to flaunt his most memorable crime in the face of the authorities through the medium of moving pictures. a man fitted by nature for a worthier part than he plays, and whose keen mind is not able to save him from deception. =bunce=, the mariner, and a pal of grattan. =pardo=, who charters a power-boat and uses it in forwarding a plot of grattan's. =bronson=, a railroad superintendent, who appears briefly but creditably. chapter i. "buddha's eye." "it's three long and weary hours, pard, before the boat for new york ties up at the landing. you don't want to cool your heels in the hotel, do you, while we're waiting? how about doing something to fill in the time?" it was about seven o'clock in the evening, and motor matt and his cowboy chum, joe mcglory, were sitting on the porch of their hotel in catskill-on-the-hudson. the hotel was on an elevation, and the boys could look out over the river and see the lights of steamers, tugs, motor boats, and other craft gliding up and down in a glittering maze. matt had been looking down at the river lights, and dreaming. he aroused himself with a start at the sound of his chum's voice. "what would you suggest, joe?" he asked. "let's take in the moving-picture shows. say, they're the greatest thing for a nickel that i ever saw. some yap gets into trouble, and then ladies and gents, and workmen, and clerks, and nurses with baby cabs take after the poor duffer, and there's a high old time for all hands. i'm plumb hungry for excitement, matt. this town has become mighty tame since we parted company with tsan ti." "if you think the moving-picture shows will furnish what you need in the excitement line, joe, we'll go out and take them in." matt got up with a laugh, and he and mcglory left the hotel, and laid a course for the main street of the town. at the first nickel theatre they came to, they gave up a dime, and moved into the darkened room. an illustrated song was in the lantern, and a young man with a husky voice was singing something about a "stingy moon." the motor boys stumbled around in the dark, and mcglory tried to slip into a seat that was already occupied. a stifled scream made him aware of his mistake, and he tumbled all over himself to get somewhere else. "speak to me about that!" he whispered to matt, with a choppy chuckle. "that's the trouble with these moving-picture honkatonks when you come in after the lights are out. oh, bother that stingy moon! i wish the chap with the raw voice would cut it out, and let the rest of the show get to climbing over the screen." "don't be so impatient, old chap," returned matt. "you've got to have something happening to you about once every fifteen minutes, or you get so nervous you can't sit still. in that respect, you're a lot like dick ferral, a sailor chum i cruised with a while ago. now----" "sh-h-h!" interrupted the cowboy. "the piano has had enough of the moon, and now here comes the first moving picture." white letters quivered on the screen. "buddha's eye" was the title of the series of pictures about to be shown. mcglory gulped excitedly, and matt stared. the motor boys had just finished a wild entanglement with a great ruby called the "eye of buddha," and this, the first picture in the first theatre that claimed them, reminded them, with something like a shock, of recent experiences. "sufferin' sparks!" muttered mcglory. "what's the difference between 'buddha's eye' and the 'eye of buddha,' matt?" "no difference, joe," answered matt. "this is just a coincidence, that's all." the interior of a buddhist temple was thrown on the screen. the views were colored, and priests in gray and yellow robes could be seen moving back and forth and prostrating themselves before a huge gilt idol. the idol was of a "sitting buddha" and must have measured full twenty feet from the temple floor to the top of the head. with a flash, the interior of the temple gave way to an enlarged view of the idol's head. the head had but one eye, placed in the centre of the forehead--a huge ruby, which glowed like a splash of warm blood. "the honam joss house, in the suburbs of canton!" whispered mcglory excitedly. "if it ain't, i'm a piute!" motor matt kept silence, wondering. the boys were next afforded a view of two men, plotting aboard a sampan near the island of honam. one was tall and had a dark face and sinister eyes. he wore a solar hat with a pugree. the other had on sailor clothes, had a fringe of mutton-chop whiskers about his jaws and a green patch over his right eye. mcglory grabbed matt's arm in a convulsive grip. "what do you think of that?" demanded the cowboy, in a husky whisper. "the tinhorn in the sun hat is grattan, and the webfoot is bunce. am i in a trance, or what?" "watch!" returned matt, fully as mystified as was his chum. the next picture was labeled, "the egyptian balls--view of excavations at karnak, on the upper nile." ponderous ruins were brought into view, showing egyptian fellahs digging in a subterranean chamber. an urn was lifted up and uncovered. from this urn the wondering workmen removed a number of crystalline spheres. one of the spheres dropped from an awkward hand, crashed to fragments on the floor of the chamber, and instantly all the workmen staggered, flung their hands to their faces, and fell sprawling, lying on the stones prone and silent. two men stole in upon them, covered with flowing arab robes, and their faces masked in white. swiftly they gathered up some of the balls, and the camera followed them as they left the chamber and stood under the broken columns of the ancient temple of karnak. the robes were flung away, and the masks removed. grattan and bunce, the sampan plotters, stood revealed. "i've got the blind staggers, i reckon!" mumbled mcglory, rubbing his eyes. "it was in egypt grattan got his dope balls--the glass spheres filled with the knock-out fumes. this--this--sufferin' brain twisters! it's more'n i can savvy." after grattan and bunce had gone through a pantomime expressive of their wild delight on securing the balls, the films entered into another series, entitled, "the theft of the great ruby from the honam joss house, near canton, china." the walls outside the temple were shown, and an avenue bordered with banyan trees, with rooks flapping among the branches. grattan and bunce were seen making their way along the avenue, entering the temple court, and coming into the chamber which had been flashed on the screen at the beginning. here was the huge idol again, and the yellow-robed priests moving about. for a space, grattan and bunce stood and gazed; then, suddenly, grattan pulled a hand from his coat, held one of the glass balls over his head for a space, then sent it crashing among the priests. the priests started up in amazement, recovered their wits, and rushed toward the foreign devils. but the priests were suddenly stricken before grattan and bunce could be roughly dealt with. white masks had been pushed over the faces of the two plotters, and the pair watched while the priests, overcome by the paralyzing, sense-destroying fumes from the broken balls, reeled to the temple floor, and lay there in inert heaps. the masks protected grattan and bunce from the baneful influence of the balls. as soon as the priests were stretched silent upon the floor, grattan unwound a ladder of silk from about his waist. one end of the ladder was weighted with a bit of lead, and this end was thrown over the idol's head. thereupon, grattan mounted the ladder, and dug out the ruby with a knife. upon descending, he and bunce went through another pantomime, suggesting their joy over the success of their shameless work, and then passed quickly from the court, stuffing their white masks into their pockets as they went. the next scene was in the room of a house in the foreign quarter, on the sea wall, called shameen. grattan was secreting the ruby in the head of a buckthorn cane. barely was the secreting done, when a fat mandarin burst in on them with a number of armed coolies at his heels. the mandarin seemed to be accusing grattan. grattan could be seen to shake his head protestingly. then grattan and bunce were searched thoroughly, and the room ransacked. in the utmost chagrin, the mandarin and his coolies left, without having been able to discover anything. a few minutes later, the thieves took their triumphant departure, grattan exultantly waving the buckthorn stick. scarcely breathing, and with staring eyes, the motor boys continued to watch the pictures as they raced over the white screen. what wonder work was this? from grattan's own lips matt had heard of the robbery at the honam joss house, in which grattan had played such an important part. so far, the pictures had shown it substantially as the details had come from grattan; there were a few minor differences, but they were insignificant. from this point, however, grattan's story and the story as told by the pictures were at variance. the thieves got into a couple of sedan chairs, each chair carried by four coolies. apparently, grattan and bunce were on their way to the river to embark for other shores. when near the landing, one of the poles supporting the chair in which grattan was riding broke. the chair fell, the bamboo door burst open, and grattan tumbled out. one of the coolies picked up the buckthorn cane, and another the sun hat with the pugree. grattan, in anger, knocked down the coolie who had picked up his hat. the other, coming to his countryman's aid, struck at grattan with the head of the cane. grattan dropped to his knees. the cane passed over his head, and the force the coolie had put into the blow carried the stick out of his hand, and sent it smashing against the side of a "go-down." the head of the cane was broken, and the great ruby rolled over the earth out of the débris, and lay gleaming in the sun under the eyes of the astounded coolies. then, with the inexplicable timeliness so prevalent in motion pictures, the fat mandarin and his coolies came upon the scene, the mandarin gathering in "buddha's eye" with extravagant expressions of joy, and grattan and bunce writhing desperately in the hands of the chair men and the mandarin's guard. that was all. the scenes to follow were of a humorous order, and probably had to do with some unfortunate getting into trouble and leading a varied assortment of people a gay chase, but mcglory had lost interest in the show. so had matt. as by a common impulse, the boys got up and groped their bewildered way out of the room and into the street. they were dazed, thunderstruck, and hardly knew what to think. chapter ii. the green patch. distracted by their mental speculations, the motor boys presently found themselves back on the porch of their hotel, occupying the same chairs they had left a little while before. once more matt was looking down on the river lights, coming and going across the broad stream like so many fireflies. "am i locoed, i wonder?" inquired mcglory, as though speaking to himself. "did i see that moving picture, with grattan and bunce in it and stealing the 'eye of buddha,' or didn't i?" "you saw the picture, joe," returned matt, "and so did i." "i reckon i did; and jumpin' tarantulas, how it got on my nerves! but how does it happen that the picture is being shown like it is? grattan told you, matt, just how the ruby was stolen from the honam joss house by himself and bunce; he told you how he went to egypt after the glass balls that were more than two thousand years old, and had been dug up at karnak. he didn't get the balls from karnak just exactly in the way the picture shows it, but he did steal the ruby in exactly the same fashion those films brought the tinhorn trick under our eyes. not only that, but grattan hid the ruby in the head of his cane. right up to that point the whole game is a dead ringer for the yarn grattan batted up to you. the rest of the pictures are pure fake. it was you who helped recover 'buddha's eye,' and it happened right here in the catskill mountains, near the village of purling, and not in china. but it was the smashing of the head of the cane that revealed the ruby."[a] [a] the thrilling adventures of the motor boys in recovering the eye of buddha were set forth in no. , motor stories. "we know," said matt, his mind recovering from the shock occasioned by the strange series of pictures so suddenly sprung upon him and mcglory, "we know, pard, that grattan was in the motion-picture business at the time he conceived the idea of stealing the ruby. he was traveling all over the world with his camera apparatus. probably his line of work has something to do with his putting the robbery into the form we have just seen it." "but why should grattan want to publish his criminal work all over the country in moving pictures? and he put himself into the pictures, too--and that old sea dog, bunce." "that part of it is too many for me, joe," answered matt. "however, i can't see as the moving pictures of the robbery cut much figure now. the mandarin, tsan ti, has recovered the ruby, and is on his way to san francisco to take ship for china. grattan and bunce made their escape, and are probably getting out of the country, or into parts unknown, as rapidly as they can. so far as we are concerned, the incident is closed. but it was certainly a startler to come face to face with a set of pictures like those--and so unexpectedly." "first nickelodeon we struck, and the first picture shoved through the lantern," muttered the cowboy. "are you positive, joe," went on matt, "that the two thieves who figured in the picture were really grattan and bunce?" "it's a cinch!" declared mcglory. "there can't be any mistake. i never saw a clearer set of pictures, and i'd know grattan and bunce anywhere--could pick 'em out of a thousand." "that's the way it looked to me, and yet there's one point i can't understand. it's a point that doesn't agree with your assertion that bunce was really in the picture." "what point is that?" "why, it has to do with the green patch bunce wears over his eye." "the patch was in the picture, all right." "sure it was! but which of bunce's eyes did it cover?" "the right eye!" "exactly! the green patch was over bunce's right eye, in the picture of the robbery, which we just saw; but when we had our several encounters with bunce, a few days ago, the patch was over the mariner's left eye." mcglory straightened up in his chair and stared at his chum through the electric light that shone over them from the porch ceiling. "glory to glory and all hands round!" he exclaimed. "you're right, pard. when we were trotting that heat with bunce, here in the catskills, it was his left eye that was gone. now, in the picture, it's his right eye. how do you explain that?" "the explanation seems easy enough," answered matt. "bunce must have two good eyes, and he simply covers up one for the purpose of disguise. either that, or else some one represented him when the moving pictures were taken, and got the patch over the wrong eye." "what good is a green patch as a disguise, anyway?" demanded mcglory. "give it up. the difference in the position of the patch merely led me to infer that bunce might not have really been in that moving picture. and if bunce wasn't in it, then it's possible that grattan wasn't in it, either. two men might have been made up to represent the two thieves. i can't think it possible that grattan and bunce, as you said a moment ago, should want to publish their crime throughout the country by means of these moving pictures. the films are rented everywhere, and travel from place to place." mcglory heaved a long breath. "well, anyhow, i don't want to bother myself any more with the eye of buddha," said he. "it's a hoodoo, and i never went through such a lot of close shaves, or such a series of rapid-fire events, as when we were helping tsan ti, the mandarin, recover the ruby. let's forget about it. we can't understand how those pictures came to be shown, and we're completely at sea regarding the green patch. but it's nothing to us, any more. we're for new york by the night boat, and then it'll be 'up the river or down the bay, over to coney or rockaway' for the motor boys. sufferin' cat naps! a spell of pleasure in the metro-polus is all that brought me east with you, anyhow. it's us for the big town, and with you along to see that no one sells me a gold brick, i reckon i'll be able to pan out a good time." the prospect of a week or two in new york, with a little rest and a little motoring, was also appealing powerfully to matt. he had not been in the big town for some time, and he longed to renew his acquaintance with its many "sights" and experiences. "we'll be there in the morning, joe," matt answered. "as you say, we need not bother our heads any longer about the eye of buddha, or grattan, or bunce, or tsan ti. we'll take our toll of enjoyment out of manhattan isle, and we'll forget there ever was such a thing as the big ruby." "you don't intend to think of business at all while you're there, eh?" "no. we'll just knock around for a couple of weeks and enjoy ourselves. of course we'll be more or less among the motors--i couldn't be happy myself if we weren't--and then, when we've had enough of that, i want to take a run up to my old home in the berkshire hills." great barrington had been very much in motor matt's mind for several weeks. he felt a desire to go back to the old place, and revisit the scenes of his earlier life. there was a mystery concerning his parents which had never been solved. he did not have any idea that a return to great barrington would settle that problem, but, nevertheless, it had something to do with luring him in the direction of the berkshires. "speak to me about that!" murmured mcglory. "you've always been a good deal of a riddle to me, pard. you've never let out much about your early life, and i come from a country where it's a signal for fireworks if you press a man too closely about his past, so i've just taken you as i picked you up in 'frisco, and let it go at that. but there are a few things i'd like to know, just the same." "i'll tell you about them sometime, joe," matt answered. "just now, though, i'm not in the mood. when we're ready to start for the berkshires----" he paused. the night clerk of the hotel had come out on the porch and was standing at his elbow, a small package in his hand. "motor matt," said he, in a voice of concern, "here's something that came for you by express, about five-thirty in the afternoon. it's been lying in the safe ever since. the day clerk couldn't find you, when the package came, so he receipted for it. he didn't tell me anything about it, when i went on duty, and he just happened to remember and to telephone down from his room. i'm sorry about the delay." "we're taking the ten-o'clock boat for new york," spoke up mcglory. "it would have been a nice layout if we'd got away and left that package behind." "i'm mighty sorry, but it's not my fault." "well," answered matt, taking the package, "no great harm has been done. it's an hour and a half, yet, before the new york boat gets here, and i have the package." the clerk went back into the hotel and matt examined the package under the light. "what do you reckon it is, pard?" queried mcglory curiously. "you can give as good a guess as i can, joe," matt answered. "i'm not expecting anybody to send me anything. it's addressed plainly enough to motor matt, catskill, new york, in care of this hotel." "and covered with red sealing wax," added mcglory. "rip off the cover and let's see what's on the inside. sufferin' tenterhooks! haven't you got any curiosity?" matt cut the cord that bound the package and took off the wrapper. a small wooden box was disclosed, bound with another cord. the box was opened, and seemed to be filled with cotton wadding. resting the box on his knees, matt proceeded to remove the wadding. then he fell back in his chair with an astounded exclamation. a round object, glimmering in the rays of the electric light like a splash of blood against the cotton, lay under the amazed eyes of the motor boys. "buddha's eye!" whispered mcglory. around the end of the veranda, in the wavering shadows, a face had pushed itself above the veranda railing--a face topped with a sailor cap and fringed with "mutton-chop" whiskers--a face with a green patch over one eye. chapter iii. motor matt--trustee. matt and mcglory had seen the eye of buddha, and they were not slow in recognizing it. but the bewildering events of the evening were crowned by this arrival of the ruby, by express, consigned to motor matt. by all the laws of reasoning and logic, the gem, worth a king's ransom, should at that moment have been in the possession of tsan ti, en route to the flowery kingdom. "oh, tell--me--about this!" stuttered mcglory. matt picked the ruby up in his fingers and held it in the palm of his hand. apparently he was loath to credit the evidence of his senses. from every angle he surveyed the glittering gem. "wouldn't this rattle you?" he murmured, peering at his chum. "rattle me!" exploded mcglory. "why, pard, it leaves me high and dry--stranded--gasping like a fish. tsan ti must be locoed! at last accounts, he was in a flutter to get that ruby back to the honam joss house and replace it in the idol's head, where it belongs. what came over the mandarin to box it up and ship it to you? i'm fair dazed, and no mistake. this cuts the ground right out from under me." matt, with a hasty look around, dropped the ruby into his pocket; then he pulled out some more of the wadding and discovered, in the bottom of the box, a folded sheet of white paper. "here's a letter," said he. "this will explain why the ruby was sent to me, i guess." "what good's an explanation?" grunted the cowboy. "i wouldn't be tangled up with that thing for a mint of money. sufferin' centipedes! it's a regular hoodoo, and hands a fellow a hard-luck knock every time he turns around. what's in the letter, anyway? if it's from tsan ti, i'll bet his paper talk is heavy with big words and all kinds of class a 'con' lingo. read it, do. i can't tell how nervous you make me hanging fire." "it's from tsan ti, all right," said matt, "and is dated new york." "new york! why, he was hitting nothing but high places in the direction of 'frisco, when he left here. how, in the name of all his ten thousand demons of misfortune, does he happen to be in new york?" "listen," answered matt, and began to read. "'esteemed and illustrious youth, whose never-to-be-forgotten services to me shine like letters of gold on a tablet of silver: behold----'" "oh, the gush!" growled mcglory. "'behold,'" continued matt, "'i send you the eye of buddha, the priceless jewel which belongs in the temple of hai-chwang-sze, in my beloved canton. you ask, of your perplexity, why is the jewel sent to you? and i reply, for the security's sake. upon my trail comes grattan, of the evil heart, weaving his plans for recovering the costly gem. i fear to keep it about me, and so i send to you asking that you remain with it in the catskill mountains until such time as i may come to you and receive it from your hands. this will be when the scoundrel grattan is safely beheaded, or in prison, and clear of my way for all time. i turn to you of my perfect trust, and i adjure you, by the five hundred gods, not to let the ruby get for one moment out of your possession. leave it nowhere, keep it by you always, either sleeping or walking, and deliver it to no one except to me, who, at the right time, will come and request it of you in my own person. will it be an insult to offer you one thousand silver dollars and expense money for consummating this task? i commend you to the good graces of the supernal ones whose years are ten thousand times ten thousand! "'tsan ti, of the red button.'" the reading finished, mcglory eased himself of a sputtering groan. "loaded up!" he exclaimed. "you and i, pard, just at the time we thought we were rid of tsan ti and buddha's eye for good, find the thing shouldered onto us again, and trouble staring us in the face! why didn't the mandarin deposit the ruby in some bank, or safe-deposit vault? better still, if grattan was on his trail, why didn't he have the express company take it to san francisco for him instead of sending it to you, at catskill? he knows less, that tsan ti, than any other heathen on top of earth. in order to keep himself out of trouble he hands us the eye of buddha, and switches the responsibility to us. wouldn't that rattle your spurs?" mcglory was profoundly disgusted. "i reckon," he went on, "that this sidetracks us, eh? the big town is cut out of our reckoning until the mandarin shows up and claims the ruby. he may do that to-morrow, or next week, or next month--and, meanwhile, here we are, kicking our heels in this humdrum, back-number, two-by-twice town on the hudson! say, pard, i'd like to fight--and i'd just as soon take a fall out of that pesky mandarin as any one else." "he offers us a thousand dollars and expenses," said matt. "tsan ti wants to do the right thing, joe." "a million dollars and expenses won't pay us for hanging onto that ruby. it's a hoodoo, and you know that as well as i do, pard. we can expect things to happen right from this minute. say, put it somewhere where it'll be safe! put it in the hotel safe, or in a bank, or any place. pass the risk along." "tsan ti expressly stipulates that i am to keep the ruby about me," demurred matt. "what of that?" snorted mcglory. "are you working for tsan ti? are you bound to do what he tells you to? what business is it of his if we choose to show a little sense and get some one else to take charge of the ruby? the mandarin's an old mutton-head! if he wasn't he'd know better than to send the eye of buddha to us. and in a common express package, at that. what value did he put on it?" mcglory picked up the wrapper that had covered the box and looked over the address side. "no value at all!" he exclaimed. "either he didn't think of that, or else he didn't want to pay for the extra valuation. if there had been a railroad wreck, and the ruby had been lost, our excellent mandarin would have collected just fifty plunks from the express company--and i reckon the eye of buddha is worth fifty thousand if it's worth a cent." "sometimes," said matt reflectively, "it's safer to trust to luck than to put such a terrific value on a package that's to be carried by express." "well," grunted mcglory, "i don't like his blooming oriental way of doing business, and that shot goes as it lays. i'll tell you what we can do," he added, brightening. "what?" "we can jump aboard that new york boat and tote the ruby back to new york; then we can hunt up tsan ti and return the thing to him and tell him not any--that we have done as much for him as we're going to. where's his letter sent from? what's the name of the hotel?" in his eagerness, mcglory snatched the letter from matt's knee and began looking it over. "there's no address," said matt. "tsan ti may be in chinatown," went on mcglory. "such a big high boy couldn't get lost in the shuffle around pell and doyer streets. let's go on by that boat and take our chances locating him!" "no," and matt shook his head decidedly, "that's a move we can't make, joe. i'm no more in love with this piece of work than you are, but we're in for it, and there's no way to dodge. tsan ti has unloaded the ruby upon us and we've got to stand for it." "but we're responsible----" "of course, up to a certain point. if the stone should be taken away from us, though, tsan ti couldn't hold us responsible. we didn't ask for the job of looking after it, and we don't want the job, but we're doing what we can, you see, because there's no other way out of it." "you could stow it away in a safer place than your pocket," grumbled mcglory. "in that event," returned matt, "we might be responsible. the thing for us to do is to follow out our instructions to the letter. if anything happens to the eye of buddha then it's the mandarin himself who's responsible." "and we're to hang out in the catskill mountains until tsan ti comes for the ruby!" mused mcglory, in an angry undertone; "and he's not going to come until grattan is 'beheaded' or clapped into jail. we're liable to have a long wait. of all the tinhorns i ever saw, or heard of, that grattan is the sharpest of the lot. fine job this red-button heathen has put onto us!" matt disliked the work of taking care of the valuable gem, and he would have shirked the responsibility if he could have done so, but there was no way in which this could be brought about. he and joe would have to stay in the catskills, for a while anyway, and wait for tsan ti to present himself. meanwhile, the trip to new york would have to be postponed. more to soothe his friend than as an expression of his own feelings, the king of the motor boys began taking a pleasanter view of the situation. "we know, pard," said he, "that tsan ti is a man of his word. when he says he'll do anything, he does it. he'll come for the ruby, and i think he's clever enough to fool grattan, and we know he'll pay us a thousand dollars. that money will come in handy while we're in new york." "if we ever get there," growled the cowboy. "we may get into so much trouble on account of that eye of buddha that we'll be laid up in the hospital when tsan ti presents himself in these parts." matt laughed. "you're so anxious to see the sights in the big town, joe," he observed, "that it's the delay, more than anything else, that's bothering you." "when i get started for anywhere," answered mcglory, "a bee line and the keen jump is my motto. but, so long as we have anything to do with tsan ti, we never know what's going to happen. i wish the squinch-eyed heathen would leave us alone." just then a form rounded the front of the hotel, gained the steps leading up to the porch, and climbed to a place in front of the motor boys. mcglory lifted his eyes. the moment they rested on the form, and realization of who it was had flashed through his brain, he jumped for the man and grabbed him with both hands. "bunce!" he whooped. "i told you things would begin to happen, pard, and right here is where they start!" then, with considerable violence, mcglory pushed the old sailor against one of the porch posts, and held him there, squirming. chapter iv. bunce has a plan. "avast, there!" gurgled bunce, half choked, trying to pull the cowboy's hands from his throat. the green patch was over his left eye, and the right eye gleamed glassily in the electric light. matt was as much surprised at bunce's appearance as was mcglory, but he held his temper better in hand. the cowboy, profoundly disgusted with the trend of recent events, showed a disposition to take it out of the sailor. had bunce been even the half of an able seaman he would have given mcglory a hard scramble, but he seemed a wizened, infirm old salt, although he had proved active enough during the experiences the motor boys had already had with him. "don't strangle him, joe!" called matt. "take your hands from his throat and grab his arm. he came here openly, and he must have known we were here. judging from that, i should say that his intentions are peaceable." "ask him," gritted mcglory, "why he doesn't change eyes with the patch. let's get to the bottom of this moving-picture business, too. we can have a little heart-to-heart talk, i reckon, and find out a few things before we turn the old webfoot over to the police." "right you are, my blood," gasped the half-suffocated bunce, as the cowboy dropped his hands to his arm and dragged him down into a chair, "a heart-to-heart talk's the thing. didn't i bear away for this place for nothin' else than to fall afoul o' ye? ay, ay, that was the way of it, but split me through if i ever expected such treatment as this what i'm a-gettin'. motor matt's the lad, says i to myself, to fill the bill for bunce, so i trips anchor an' slants away, only to be laid holt of like i was a reg'lar skull-and-crossbones, walk-the-plank pirate, with the jolly roger at the peak." "oh, put a crimp on that sort of talk," growled mcglory. "sufferin' freebooters! if you're anything better than a pirate, i'd like to have you tell me." "so, ho!" and bunce's eye glittered wrathfully, "if i had a cutlass, my fine buck, i'd slit ye like a herrin' for that. i'm a fair-weather sort of man, an' i hates a squall, but stir up nasty weather an' then give me somethin' to fight with, an' i'm a bit of a handful. nigh pangool, on the south coast o' java, i laid out a hull boat's crew with my fists alone, once, not so many years back. that was when i was mate o' the brig _hottentot_, as fine a two-sticker as ever shoved nose into the south seas--reg'lar bucko mate, i was, an' a main hard man when roused." at the time the eye of buddha was recovered, bunce had made his escape with grattan; and he had been equally guilty, with grattan, in the theft of the ruby from the honam joss house. that the sailor should have shown himself at all, in those parts, was a wonder; and that he should have shown himself to matt and mcglory, who knew of his evil deeds, was a puzzle past working out. "you say you came here to see me?" inquired matt. "ay, ay, my hearty," answered bunce. "motor matt, says i to myself, is the lad to fill the bill for me, an' i luffed into the wind an' bore down for catskill. here i am, an' here's you, an' if i blow the gaff a bit that's my business, ain't it? but take me to the cabin; what i has to say is between us an' the mainmast with no other ears to get a sizing of it." mcglory glared at bunce as though he would have liked to bore into him with his eyes and see what he had at the back of his head. "if you're trying to play double with us, you gangle-legged old hide rack," he threatened, "you'll live to wish you'd thought twice before you did it." "now, burn me," snorted bunce, "d'ye take me for a dog fish? by the seven holy spritsails, i'm as good a man as you, an' ye'll l'arn----" "enough of that, bunce," broke in matt sharply, getting up from his chair. "you want to say something to us in private, and i'm going to give you the chance. come after me; you trail along behind him, joe," and, with that, matt went into the hotel and up the stairs to the room jointly occupied by himself and mcglory. at the door, matt pushed a button that turned on the lights. as soon as mcglory and bunce were in the room, the door was locked and matt took charge of the key. "that's the stuff, pard," approved mcglory, with great satisfaction. "if the old tinhorn don't spout to please us, we can phone the office for a policeman." "ye're not sending me to the brig this trip, mates," spoke up bunce. "'cos why? 'cos in fillin' the bill for me, ye're givin' the mandarin a leg up out of a purty bad hole." "what have you got to tell us?" inquired matt curtly. "out with it, bunce." "when ye last seen me, my lad," said bunce, "i was sailin' in convoy with philo grattan. but he's doin' things i don't approve of, not any ways. it was all right to put our helm up an' bear down on a chink joss house to lift the eye o' buddha, an' it was all right, too, when ye helped the big high boy get the ruby back. that was all in the game, an' we'd ought to've made the most of it. but not philo grattan. d'ye know what he's layin' to do? nothin' more, on my soul, than to strangle tsan ti with a yellow cord an' take the ruby away from him. my eye, mates, but grattan's a clever hand at overhauling his locker for a game like that. the boss of the chinee empire sends these yellow cords to the chinks he don't like an' don't want around. when the cords come to hand, then the chinks receivin' thereof uses them to choke out their lives. tsan ti is found, dead as a mackerel, with the yellow cord twisted into his fat neck. eye o' buddha is missin' from his clothes. what's the answer? why, that tsan ti lost the ruby, an' used the cord sent him from the home country. that'll seem plain as a burgee flyin' from the gaff o' one o' these fresh-water yachts. won't it, now?" matt knew that tsan ti had received the yellow cord from china, and that he had been allowed two weeks in which either to find the stolen ruby or to use the cord. of course, the ruby had been recovered, and there was no necessity for using the hideous cord; but, if he was found strangled, it would have seemed as though he himself had committed the deed in compliance with orders from the chinese regent. bunce may have been romancing, but there was a little plausibility back of his words. "where is grattan?" demanded matt. "in these here hills, shipmate," replied bunce. "tsan ti isn't in the catskills!" "no more he ain't, which i grant ye offhand an' freely, but supposin' he's in noo york, held a pris'ner in a beach comber's joint in front street? an' supposin', furthermore, this same beach comber is a mate o' grattan's, an' waitin' only for grattan to come afore he makes tsan ti peg out? put that in your pipe an' smoke it careful." "you mean to say that tsan ti is a prisoner in new york--a prisoner of a confederate of grattan's?" "that's gospel truth! it happened recent--no longer ago than early mornin'. i bore the word to the beach comber in a letter of hand from philo, an' the beach comber met me in a snug harbor on the front where sailormen are regularly hocused an' shipped for all parts. i don't know where the beach comber's place is, not me, but i did get him topping the boom an' he reported the whole matter entire. however tsan ti fell into the net is a notch above my understandin', but there he is, hard an' fast, an' when i'd done with the beach comber i took the train for catskill to find grattan an' tell him what's been pulled off." bunce was a trifle hard to follow. "let's see if i've got this right," said matt, "when you and grattan escaped from the officers, at the time the ruby was recovered, you hid yourselves away among the catskills?" "ay, so we did!" "and then grattan gave you a letter to some man in new york and you carried it personally?" "personally, that's the word. i carried it personally." "and this man in new york entrapped the mandarin and is holding him a prisoner until he can hear what grattan wants done?" "ye've got the proper bearin's, an' no mistake." "and you came back on the train to tell grattan?" bunce nodded, and pulled at his fringe of whiskers. "then, why didn't you go and tell grattan," asked matt, "instead of coming and telling me?" "i'm no blessed cut-an'-slash pirate," protested bunce. "so long as the ruby was to be come by without any stranglin', i was willin' to bear a bob an' do my share; an' while mebby there ain't anythin' morilly wrong in chokin' the breath out of a heathen chinee, yet they'll bowse a man up to the yardarm for doin' the same. mates, on the ride back to the catskills i overhauled the hull matter, an' i makes up my mind i'd sailed in company with grattan as long as 'twas safe. if i can save the mandarin, i thinks to myself, mebby motor matt'll play square with me an' let me off for what i done in helpin' lift the ruby. if so be he thinks that way, says i to myself further, then he's the one to fill the bill for bunce. so, instid o' slantin' for the cove where the motor car is hid away, i 'bouts ship an' lays a course for this hotel." "what's your plan, bunce?" queried matt. "easy, does it; simple as a granny's knot. you kiss the book that i'm free as soon's i do my part, then i takes you to where grattan is, an' you lays him by the heels--just us three in it an' not a man jack else. the beach comber don't do a thing to tsan ti till he hears from grattan; an' how'll he ever hear from grattan if he's safe in irons in some jail in these hills? that's my plan, an' you take it or leave it. if ye don't follow the course i've laid, then grattan gets the ruby back, an' the mandarin's life along with it. if ye think i'm talkin' crooked, an' put the lashings on me an' hand me over to the police, then not a soul'll ever know where grattan's hid, an' he'll clear out an' get to noo york whether i see him or not--but tsan ti'll be for davy jones' locker, no matter what ye try to do to prevent it. i've said my say an' eased my mind; now it's you for it." with that, bunce calmly drew a plug of tobacco from his pocket and nibbled at one corner reflectively. chapter v. bunce speaks a good word for himself. matt made a brief study of bunce, leaning back in his seat and gazing at the mariner through half-closed eyes. the sailorman's get-up reminded matt of _dick deadeye_ in "pinafore." whether bunce was really a deep-water humbug, and whether he was to be taken seriously, were questions that gave matt a good deal of bother. "he's stringing us, pard," averred mcglory bluntly. "that tongue of his is hung in the middle and wags at both ends." "avast, my man-o'-war!" came hotly from the mariner. "i'm no loafing longshore scuttler to let go my mudhooks in these waters and then begin splicing the main brace out of hand. you'll get your whack, my blood, and get it hard, if you keep on in the style ye're goin'. belay a bit, can't you?" mcglory snorted contemptuously and put his tongue in his cheek. bunce began fingering his knife lanyard. "no more of that give-and-take," said matt. "i'm a hard man," observed bunce, "an' i've lived a hard life, winnin' my mate's berth on the ole _hottentot_ off trincomalee by bashing in the skull of a kanaka. more things i've done as would make your blood run cold just by listenin' to, but i'm straight as a forestay for all that, d'ye mind, an' i've a clean bill from every master i ever sailed with. 'he ain't much fer looks, bunce ain't,' as cap'n banks, of the ole _hottentot_ used to say, 'but in a pinch you don't have to look twice for bunce.' an' there ye have it, all wrapped up, tied small, an' ready for any swab as doubts me." "bunce," said matt dubiously, "i'm frank to say i don't know just how to take you. by your own confession you're a thief----" "only when chinks has the loot," cut in bunce hastily, "an' when it takes a bit of headwork an' a matchin' o' wits to beat 'em out." "you helped grattan steal the eye of buddha. plotted it on a sampan off canton, didn't you?" bunce shoved in his chair and showed signs of consternation. "scuttle me!" he gulped. "wherever did you find that out? grattan never told you where we had our chin-chin in the river of honam." "it's all pictured out," said matt, "and you can drop into a theatre, in this town of catskill, and see yourself and grattan committing the robbery." bunce fell limply back. "so, ho!" he mumbled. "then them pictures are out, eh? they wasn't to come out for a month yet--it was in the agreement." "agreement?" "ay, no more nor less. it was on the trip from 'frisco, east, mate, when grattan an' me had the ruby but not a sou markee in our pockets. we needed money. grattan knew some of these moving-picture swabs in chicago, and he allowed he could turn a few reds by givin' 'em the plan of the robbery an' helpin' act it out. 'avast,' says i, feelin' a warnin' twinge, 'don't touch it, philo!' but he would--an' did, first gettin' an' agreement from the swabs that they wouldn't put out the pictures for two months. we got a couple of hundred yen for the work, an' that's what brought us on to the catskills. so it's out, so it's out," and bunce wagged his head forebodingly. "did you play a part in the pictures, bunce?" went on matt. "not i, mate! i may be lackin' in the head, once in a while, but there's a few keen thoughts rollin' around in my locker. i wouldn't go in for it, an' you can smoke my weather roll on that." "there's a one-eyed sailor in the picture," said matt. "and he's a dead ringer for you," added mcglory. "which it ain't me, d'ye see?" scowled the mariner. "it's a counterfeit, got up to look like me--an' nothin' more." "then it's a mighty good counterfeit," averred the cowboy. "i'm a man o' high principles, mate, even though i do say it as shouldn't. i was brought up right, by a marblehead fisherman who hated rum, couldn't abide playin' cards, an' believed the-ay-ters was milestones on the road to the hot place. actin' in a play i wouldn't think of, an' that's the flat of it. but what's the good word, shipmate? are you sailin' this cruise wi' me to save the life o' the mandarin? i must know one way or t'other." "where is grattan?" "five miles away, snug as a bug in a rug where he'll never be found onless i con the course. we'll have to go to him soon, if he's captured. i'm due at the meetin' place to-night." "you spoke of a motor car----" "ay, that i did. it's hid in the woods beyond the railroad yards. we'll use that." "you had a couple of motorcycles," said matt. "which you and grattan stole from us," supplemented mcglory. "what's become of them, bunce?" "wrecked an' sunk," answered bunce. "mine sprung a leak an' went over a cliff in fifty fathoms of air; grattan's bounced up on a reef an' went to pieces. then we lifted the motor car, usin' of it for night cruises." "you stole a motor car, eh?" said mcglory grimly. "and on top of that you have the nerve to come along here and speak a good word for yourself." "stow it," growled bunce, "or you an' i'll be at loggerheads for good. what's the word?" and he turned his gleaming eye on matt. "you can use the telephone an' hand me over to the police, or you can do as i say an' save the mandarin. what's the word?" "when will we have to start after grattan?" asked matt. "by early mornin', mate, just when it's light enough to see." "and where'll we meet you?" "in the woods beyond the railroad yards. go there, stand on the track, an' whistle. i'll whistle back, then we'll come together--an' fill the bill." "you can expect us at six o'clock," said motor matt, unlocking the door and pulling it open. "brayvo, my bully!" enthused bunce. "an' ye'll come armed? grattan is a hard man, an' sizable in a scrimmage." "we'll be prepared to take care of grattan," answered matt. "good night, bunce." "good night it is," and the mariner vanished into the hall. as soon as the door was again closed, matt turned to find mcglory staring at him as though he thought he was crazy. "sufferin' tinhorns!" exclaimed the cowboy. "you can't mean it, pard?" "yes, i do," was the answer. "why, that old fore-and-after never told the truth in his life! he was using his imagination overtime." "the chances are that he was, but there's a bare possibility he was telling the truth. we know tsan ti is in new york, and we can't feel absolutely sure that the chinaman hasn't fallen into some trap laid by grattan. if that's the case, the mandarin may lose his life." "there's about as much chance of that, pard, as that you and i will get struck by lightning." "we'll say the chance that bunce is telling the truth is about one in a hundred. well, joe, that hundredth chance is what we can't take. besides, grattan is wanted. if he is really in the hills, and we can capture him, that will clear the road for tsan ti." "but what will you do with the eye of buddha?" matt was in a quandary about that. "will you tote it along on a trip of this kind?" proceeded joe, "or will you leave it in the hotel safe? maybe that's what bunce is playing for." "he don't know we have the ruby. how could he?" "i'm by. but he's up to something, and that's a cinch." "we'll have to give him the benefit of the doubt--on account of tsan ti." "consarn that bungling chink!" grunted the cowboy, venting his anger on the mandarin as the original cause of their perplexing situation. "you can't do a thing with that red stone but lug it along." "if the banks were open between now and the time we start, i might leave it with one of them for safe-keeping." "and go dead against your letter of instructions! then you would be responsible." "i'll think it over to-night," said matt, and began his preparations for turning in. but sleeping over the question didn't answer it. matt's quandary lasted until far into the night. he had no faith in bunce; he couldn't understand why tsan ti should have sent the ruby to him for safe-keeping; he doubted the wisdom of going into the hills with the mariner, and he understood well the risk of carrying the priceless eye of buddha with him on the morning's venture. when mcglory opened his eyes in the first gray of the morning, matt was tying up the box in which the ruby had come by express. "what are you going to do, pard?" inquired the cowboy, jumping out of bed and beginning to scramble into his clothes. "i guess, after all," answered matt, "that i'll leave this box with the clerk." "wish i knew whether that was the proper caper, or not, but i don't. one thing's as good as another, i reckon." at five-thirty they had a hurried breakfast, and, a little before six, matt handed the small box to the hotel clerk and asked him to put it away in the office safe. then the motor boys started for the railroad track and followed it away from the river and into the wooded ravine beyond the yards. "this is far enough, i guess," said matt, and began to whistle. the signal was promptly returned from a place on the left, and the head of the mariner was pushed through a thicket of bushes. "ahoy, my hearties!" came from bunce. "come up here and bear a fist with the car, will ye?" puzzled not a little at this request, matt and mcglory climbed the bank of the ravine and came alongside the mariner on a small, cleared shelf on the bank side. the "motor car" was before them, and at sight of it mcglory exploded a laugh. "speak to me about this!" he exclaimed. "had you any notion it was this sort of a bubble, matt?" chapter vi. the homemade speeder. what matt saw was an ordinary hand car equipped with a two-cylinder gasoline engine. across one end of the car was a bench, tightly bolted to the framework; back of this was a shorter bench for the driver of the queer machine. the king of the motor boys examined the car with a good deal of curiosity. power was communicated to the rear axle by chain and sprocket. the gasoline tank was under the driver's bench, and he unscrewed the cap and tested the fuel supply by means of a clean twig picked up from the shelf. "oh, she's loaded full," wheezed bunce. "i filled her myself, not more'n ten minutes ago." "do you know anything about motors, bunce?" inquired matt, giving the mariner a sharp look. "ay, that i do--in a way. i can turn on the oil and the spark when i wants to start, an' i can cut 'em off an' jam on the brakes when i wants to stop. that's all ye got to know in runnin' these benzine machines." "where does this belong?" "track inspector owns it. grattan an' me borried it." bunce grinned. "when we're done with the machine, we'll give it back." "we'll make a picture, pard," grumbled mcglory, "trailin' along with this tinhorn on a stolen speeder." "avast, i say!" growled bunce. "ye're too free with your jaw tackle. lend a hand, an' let's get her on the track an' make off. the section gang'll be out purty soon, an' we want to be away afore they see us." "sure you do," agreed mcglory sarcastically. "it'll be healthier for my pard and me, too, i reckon, if we're absent when the section men come along. that's why you wanted to make such an early start, eh?" without more ado, the motor boys helped bunce get the speeder down the slope and upon the rails. "any trains coming or going at this hour?" asked matt, with sudden thought. "say," jeered mcglory, "it would be fine if we went head on into a local passenger!" "no trains comin' or goin', mate," said bunce. "that's another reason for the early start. want me to run the thing?" "i'll do the running," answered matt. "you climb up in front with mcglory." bunce and mcglory got on the front bench. matt "turned the engine over" by running with the speeder for a few steps, then climbed to his seat, and they began laboring up a stiff grade through the ravine. the road was full of curves, and when it couldn't go around a hill it went over it. from his talk with bunce, the night before, matt had been under the impression that the stolen car was an automobile, and he had made up his mind to return the car to its owner--if the man's name could be learned--after it had been used for running down philo grattan. now, that he had discovered that the car was a track speeder, he was no less resolved to hand it over to the railroad company on the return to catskill. the speeder performed fairly well, considering that it must have been knocked together in the company's shops by men whose knowledge of their work was not extensive. a secondhand automobile engine had furnished the motor. "this isn't so bad," remarked mcglory, as they ducked around the shoulder of a hill, still on the up grade, with the motor fretting and pounding. "a motor ride's a motor ride, whether you're on an aëroplane, or rubber tires, or steel rails." "this is what they call a joy ride, joe," called matt, from the rear. "the owner of the car doesn't know we're out with it. i'll return it to the railroad company when we're through with our morning's work." "that's you. i hope the railroad company don't find out we've got it before we give it back. gee, man, how she's workin'!" "fine day an' clear weather for fillin' the bill," remarked bunce. "did ye come armed, mateys?" "sufferin' hold-ups!" exclaimed mcglory. "did you think for a minute, bunce, we'd jump into this without being heeled?" the cowboy, as he spoke, reached behind him and drew a short, wicked-looking six-shooter from his hip pocket. bunce recoiled. "where'd you get that, joe?" asked matt. "borrowed it from the hotel clerk." "well, put it away. i don't think we're going to need it. if we find grattan there'll be three of us to take care of him. he's alone, i suppose, bunce?" "sailin' by himself, mate," answered the mariner. "better le' me take the gun, my hearty," he added, to mcglory. "speak to me about that!" scoffed the cowboy. "why?" "i'll have to go for'ard when we come close to the place, an' if philo gets vi'lent, i'll look at him over the gun, an' it'll be soothin'." "i'm able to soothe him, i reckon, no matter whether you're ahead or behind." the speeder was making a terrific clatter. everything rattled--the brake shoes barged against the wheel flanges, the engine rocked on its bed, and the levers jarred in their guides. in order to talk, and make themselves heard, those aboard had to lift their voices. "sufferin' bedlam!" cried mcglory. "it's a wonder grattan and bunce were ever able to steal a rattletrap like this and get away with it. we're making more noise than a limited express." suddenly the motor gave a flash and a sputter and went out of business. in a twinkling the car lost headway and began sliding back down the grade toward catskill. matt threw on the brakes. the rear wheels locked, but still the car continued to slide downward. shutting off the power, matt dropped into the roadbed over the back of the bench, cleared the rails at a leap, and wedged one of the wheels with a stone. he had been obliged to work rapidly, for the car was on the move, and going faster and faster, as its weight gathered headway. but the stone sufficed, and the speeder was brought to a standstill. "what took us aback, like that?" demanded bunce. "too much gasoline," answered matt, tinkering with the supply pipe, "and i couldn't check it with the lever control." "this is a great old chug cart," laughed mcglory. "the railroad company ought to have been willing to pay somebody for running away with it. how'd you ever get over this road with it, bunce?" "when i came over the road it was downhill," answered the mariner, "an' all i had to do was to keep the craft on her course, an' scud along under bare poles." "you had to climb a hill before you took the down grade, didn't you?" "ay, so i did, but the car came up the hill easy enough." matt soon had the valve in the supply pipe adjusted, and all hands had to push in giving the car a start. when they were going, and the engine had taken up its cycle, there followed a wild scramble to get aboard. this was finally accomplished, and once more they were puffing up the hill, but with less pounding than before. "say, bunce," demanded mcglory suddenly, "did you take the speeder off the track and up the slope into those bushes alone?" "ay, ay, mate," was the answer. "but i had a rope and tackle to help." mcglory was convinced that bunce was wide of the truth, and matt inclined to the same opinion, although why the mariner wanted to deceive them in such a small matter was difficult to understand. presently, to the great relief of the motor boys, the top of the hill was reached. the descent angled downward, around rocky uplifts and through thick timber, so that it was impossible to watch the track in advance for any considerable distance. the descent, on such a makeshift power car as the speeder, was fraught with greater perils than the climb up the mountain. no power would be necessary, for the car would go fast enough without any added impetus. in order to keep it from going too fast, and jumping the track, the brakes would have to be judiciously used. "we're off!" cried mcglory, as the speeder began coasting down the grade. matt tried out the brakes. they were capable of slackening the pace, but as for stopping the car, no appliance could have done that. with rear wheels locked, the speeder hurled itself down the mountain, acquiring greater and greater speed as it went. in and out of cuts the car dashed, here and there rumbling over a trestle which gave the passengers fearful glimpses of space below them. mcglory and bunce hung to their bench with both hands. there was no talking, now, for all three passengers were holding their breath. finally the descent became less steep. as the grade flattened out slowly into something approaching a level, matt's work with the brakes began to achieve results. by degrees the mad flight of the car commenced to slacken. "sharp curve ahead!" sang out mcglory, heaving a deep breath of relief as the car continued to slow down. matt saw the sharp turn in the track where it rounded a shoulder of rock. naturally he could not see around the turn, and he was speculating as to whether their reduced speed would be sufficient to throw the speeder off the rails at the bend, or whether the car would make it safely. before his calculations had been brought to an end, the problem was working itself out. the speeder struck the curve, whirled around it with a shrieking of flanges against the rails, and then there went up a wild yell from mcglory and bunce. directly in front of the car was a tie across the track! a collision with the tie was inevitable. matt foresaw it, and clung desperately to his bench. "brace yourselves!" he yelled. the next moment they struck the tie. the jolt was terrific. motor matt was thrown roughly against the seat in front, and bunce went into the air as though shot from a gun. chapter vii. trapped. matt saw that mcglory had managed, like himself, to stay with the car, then both motor boys had a flash-light glimpse of the mariner ricochetting through the atmosphere and striking earth right side up by the track. but bunce did not remain in an upright position. the force with which he had been thrown launched him into a series of eccentric cartwheels, and when he finally stopped turning he was in a sitting posture, with his back against a bowlder. apparently he had escaped serious injury, which was a remarkable fact, in view of the circumstances. a broken neck might easily have resulted, or, at the least, a fractured arm or leg. "shiver me!" gasped bunce, dazed and bewildered by the suddenness of it all. then motor matt's and mcglory's shocked senses laid hold of another detail of the situation which was most astounding. the green patch had been shaken from the mariner's head, and he was peering around him with two good eyes! "tell me about that!" roared mcglory, pointing. "look at his lamps, matt! he's got two!" "i see," answered matt grimly. "suppose we approach closer, joe, and find out about this." bunce watched the boys descend from the speeder and advance upon him, but there was still a dazed gleam in his eyes which proved that he was slow in recovering his wits. "are you all right, bunce?" asked matt, reaching the mariner's side and bending down. "that--that craft must have--have turned a handspring," mumbled bunce. "purty tolerable blow we had, mates, an' i was snatched away from the bench, an' tossed overboard. it was done so quick i--i hardly knowed what was goin' on. by the seven holy spritsails! it's a wonder i'm shipshape an' all together." he got up slowly and began feeling gingerly of his arms and legs. "nothin' busted, i guess," he added. the ground where he had landed was cushioned with sand. to this fact, more than to anything else, he owed his escape from injury. mcglory picked up the green patch. "here's an ornament you dropped during that ground-and-lofty tumbling, you old tinhorn," said he. "what did you wear it for, anyhow?" "blow me tight!" exclaimed bunce, staring at the patch with falling jaw. "ain't that reedic'lous?" he added, with a feeble attempt to treat the matter lightly. "it is rather ridiculous, bunce, and that's a fact," answered matt. "you've a pair of very good eyes, it seems to me, and what's the good of that patch?" the mariner grabbed the bit of green cloth and pulled the string over his head. "i never said i'd lost one o' my lamps," he averred, settling the patch in place. "off table mountain, south africy, a cable parted on the ole _hottentot_, an' i was hit in the eye with a loose rope's end. for a while, i thought i was goin' blind. but i didn't, only the eye has been weak ever sence, an' needs purtection. that's why i wear the patch." "you've got it over the wrong eye, bunce," observed mcglory. "you've been wearing it over the left eye, and now it's over the right. have you got any clear notion which eye was hit with that rope's end?" bunce hastily changed the position of the patch. "i'm that rattled," said he, "that i'm all ahoo, an' don't rightly know what i'm about. i----" for an instant he stared up the track, breaking off his words abruptly; then, without any further explanation, he whirled and rushed for the timber. with a yell of anger, mcglory started after him. "come back, joe!" shouted matt. "here come some men who seem to have business with us." the cowboy whirled to an about face, and followed with his eyes the direction of his chum's pointing finger. four men in flannel shirts and overalls, and carrying spades, picks, and tamping irons, were hurrying up the track in the direction of the curve. "the section gang!" muttered mcglory. "a good guess," laughed matt. "we've been trapped." "trapped?" "that's the way it looks to me. we were seen coming down the mountain and those men, recognizing the speeder, laid the tie across the rails to catch the thieves." "sufferin' kiboshes, but here's a go! this comes of trying to fill the bill for an old tinhorn like bunce." "ketched!" yelled one of the approaching men, flourishing a tamping iron; "we've ketched the robbers that run off with mulvaney's speeder! don't you make no trouble," he added, slowing his pace and coming more warily. the other three men spread out and then closed in, barring escape for the motor boys in every direction. "you've made a mistake," said matt. "oh, sure!" jeered the section boss, "but i reckon we'll take ye to catskill, an' let ye tell the superintendent all about the mistake." "don't be in a rush about taking us to catskill," threatened mcglory. "you listen to what motor matt says, and i reckon he'll make the layout clear to you." "motor matt!" returned the boss ironically. "why don't ye say ye're the governor o' the state, or somethin' like that? ye might jest as well. motor matt ain't stealin' speeders an' runnin' off with 'em." the king of the motor boys had become pretty well known in the catskills through his previous work in recovering the ruby for tsan ti. even these section men had heard of his exploits. matt, seeing the impression his cowboy pard's words had made, resolved to prove his identity in the hope of avoiding trouble. "what my chum says is true, men," he declared. "i am motor matt. we didn't steal the railroad speeder. that was done by the man who was with us--the fellow who ran away. you saw him, didn't you?" "sure we saw him," answered the section boss, "but i wouldn't try to put it all off onto him, if i was you." "sufferin' blockheads!" rumbled mcglory. "use your brains, if you've got any, can't you? do we look like thieves?" "can't most always tell from a feller's looks what he is," returned the boss skeptically. "and this other chap can't be motor matt, nuther, or he wouldn't have stole the speeder. that there speeder has been missin' for three days, an' orders has gone out, up an' down the line, for all hands to watch out for it. when i seen it comin' down the grade, i knowed we had ye. all we done was to throw that tie acrost the track, an' the trick was done. ye'll have to go to catskill, that's all about it." "are you men from catskill?" inquired matt. "no, tannersville, but catskill's the place you're wanted. we'll put ye on the passenger, when it comes along." "but we don't want to go back to catskill just yet," matt demurred. "we've got business here, and it can't be put off." matt believed that bunce had run to get away from the section men, who, he must have realized, had caused the speeder's mishap in the hope of catching the ones who had stolen the car. there was yet a chance, matt thought, to overhaul bunce and find grattan. to go back to catskill, just then, would have been disastrous to the work he and mcglory were trying to do under the mariner's leadership. "sure ye don't want to go to catskill," went on the section boss, "right now, or any other time. but ye're goin', all the same. grab 'em, you men," and the boss shouted the order to the three who had grouped themselves around matt and mcglory. "hands off!" shouted the cowboy. matt saw him jerk the revolver from his pocket, and aim it at the man who was reaching to lay hold of him. the man fell back with an oath of consternation. "don't do that, joe!" cried matt. "oh, no," sneered the boss, "you fellers ain't thieves, i guess! what're you pullin' a gun on us for, if ye ain't?" "i'm not going to argue the case with you any further," matt answered shortly. "we're going back to catskill after a while, but not now. when we get there we'll report to your superintendent and explain how we happened to be aboard the stolen speeder. i was intending to return the car to the railroad company as soon as we had got through with it, and then----" "sure ye was!" mocked the boss. "ye wasn't intendin' to do anythin' but what was right an' lawful--to hear ye tell it. we got ye trapped, an' i ain't goin' to fool with ye any longer. put down that gun, you!" and he whirled savagely upon mcglory. "we're goin' to take ye, an' if you do any shootin' ye'll find yerselves in a deeper hole than what ye are now." "you keep away from me," scowled mcglory, still holding the weapon leveled, "and keep your men away from me. try to touch either of us, and this gun will begin to talk. we're not thieves, but that's something we can't pound into your thick head, so we're going to attend to our business in spite of you." the section boss was a man of courage, and was resolute in his intention to take the boys to catskill. certainly, so far as appearances went, he had the right of the matter, and matt didn't feel that he could explain the exact situation with any chance of having his words believed. "here's where i'm comin' for ye," proceeded the section boss, "an' if you shoot, you'll be tagged with more kinds o' trouble than you can take care of. now----" the section boss got no farther. just at that moment the rumble of a train coming up the grade could be heard. instantly the attention of the section boss was called to another matter. "the passenger!" he cried, jumping around and staring at the speeder and the tie. "there'll be a wreck if we don't clear the track. come on, men! hustle!" the peril threatening the passenger train banished from the minds of the section men all thought of the boys. all four of the gang ran to remove the obstructions from the rails. "come on, pard!" said mcglory; "now's our chance." matt, with a feeling of intense relief, bounded after his chum, and they were soon well away in the timber. chapter viii. the cut-out under the ledge. mcglory was inclined to view recent events in a humorous light. "speak to me about that, pard!" he laughed, when he and matt had halted for breath, and to determine, if possible, which way bunce had gone. "i told you what was on the programme if you became trustee for the eye of buddha. we never know when lightning's going to strike, or how." "i don't like episodes of that sort," muttered matt. "it puts us in a bad light, joe." "oh, hang that part of it! we can explain the whole thing to the railroad superintendent as soon as we get back to catskill. that section boss was a saphead. you couldn't pound any reason into his block with a sledge hammer. forget it!" "but you drew a gun on the section men. that makes the business look bad for us." mcglory chuckled. "see here, pard," said he. with that, he "broke" the revolver and exposed the end of the cylinder. there were no cartridges in the weapon! "now, what do you think?" laughed the cowboy. "i borrowed the gun in a hurry, and didn't think to ask whether it was loaded--and i reckon the hotel clerk didn't think to tell me. it's about as dangerous as a piece of bologna sausage, but it looks ugly--and that's about all there is to this revolver proposition, anyhow." matt enjoyed the recent experience, in which the harmless revolver had played its part, fully as much as his chum. "well," said the king of the motor boys, "what's done can't be helped, and we'd better be about our business with bunce. but what's become of the mariner? he ought to be around here, somewhere." "he's ducked," returned mcglory, "and i'll bet it's for good. we've found out he had a pair of good eyes, and he's got shy of us." "if we don't find him," mused matt, "it's a clear case that he was playing double with us. if we do find him, then we can take a little more stock in what he tells us about tsan ti. it will be worth something to feel sure, either way." "maybe you're right, but how are we going to pick up the webfoot's trail?" matt studied the ground. the earth was soft from a recent rain, and the fact gave him an idea. "track him, joe. you're used to that sort of thing. put your knowledge to some account." "in order to track the mariner," said mcglory, "we'll have to go back to the place where we saw him duck into the timber. it'll be a tough job, but i'm willing to try if we can once pick up the trail." "that's the only thing for us to do. if bunce was intending to deal squarely with us, he'd have shown himself before this." "let's see," mused the cowboy. "he said that grattan was hiding out about five miles from catskill, didn't he?" "yes." "then i reckon the place is somewhere around here. we're about five miles from the town, i should judge. still," and disgust welled up in the cowboy as he voiced the thought, "you can't tell whether bunce was giving that part of it straight, or not. he's about as crooked as they make 'em, that tinhorn." the boys, during their talk, had been moving slowly back in the direction of the railroad track. cautiously they came to the edge of the timber, close to the right of way, on the alert not only for the tracks left by bunce, but for the presence of the section men, as well. the section gang, they discovered, had left the vicinity of the sharp curve, and were nowhere in sight. the speeder, badly shaken by the jar of its collision with the tie, was off the rails, and the tie lay beside it. "no sign of the section men," announced matt, after a careful survey of the track. "mighty good thing for us, too, pard," said mcglory. "here's bunce's trail, and he traveled so fast he only hit the ground with his toes. come on! i can run it out for a ways, anyhow." mcglory's life on the cattle ranges had made him particularly apt in the lore of the plains. the trail was very dim in places, but even the disturbed leaves under the trees, and the broken bushes told mcglory where the mariner had passed. the course taken by bunce led across a timbered "flat" and down into a rocky ravine, then along the ravine to a ledge of rock which jutted out from a side hill. the under side of the ledge was perhaps a dozen feet over the bottom of the ravine, and under it was a sort of "pocket" in the hill. here there were evidences of a primitive camp. the soft earth under the ledge was trampled by human feet, and there was a large, five-gallon can that had once held gasoline, but which was now empty. a small mound of dried leaves had been heaped up at the innermost recess of the "pocket," and the bed still bore the faint impression of a man's body. "bunce was right about grattan being in hiding near catskill," observed matt. "here's the place, sure enough." "and bunce came here, pard," went on mcglory; "he made tracks straight for this hang-out as soon as he got clear of us. judging from what we see, i should say bunce met grattan, and that they both hurried off. but what was that gasoline for?" "for the speeder, maybe," replied matt. "they wouldn't keep the gasoline supply for the speeder so far from the track, would they?" "i shouldn't think so; still, i can't imagine what else they'd want gasoline for." "what sort of a game was bunce up to? if grattan was here, then everything was going right, so far as the plan to capture grattan was concerned. why didn't bunce wait for us, back there in the timber, and give us the chance to come on here and put the kibosh on the man we want?" "it's a mystery, joe," said the puzzled matt. "perhaps bunce believed that we'd be captured by the section men and that it wouldn't be possible to get hold of grattan. if he thought that, he might have come on to this place, given his new york report to grattan, and made up his mind to see the rascally game through to a finish. bunce couldn't have any idea that we'd escape from the section gang." "well," growled mcglory, "he might have waited and made certain of it." there was no accounting for the queer actions of the mariner. it seemed as though, after the collision with the railroad tie and the coming of the section men, he had changed his mind about helping the boys capture grattan. matt and mcglory moved around under the ledge, trying to find something else that would point positively to the presence of grattan in the "pocket." there was a strong odor of gasoline--much stronger than would have come from the uncorked, empty can. suddenly matt found something, and hurriedly called his chum. "what is it?" inquired mcglory, running to matt's side. matt pointed to two straight lines in the earth, leading out and up the ravine. "motorcycles," said he laconically, "two of them!" mcglory struck his fist against his open palm. "well, what do you think of that!" he cried. "motorcycles and speeders! say, those tinhorns were well fixed in the motor line. and bunce told us both motorcycles had been destroyed! sufferin' ananias, but he's a tongue twister!" "there's no doubt but that grattan was here," went on matt, "and that he had the two motorcycles with him. the gasoline was used to fill the motorcycles' tanks. as soon as bunce got to this place, the wheels were made ready and bunce and grattan rode off." "they're headed for new york, i reckon, to 'fill the bill' for poor old tsan ti!" "i don't believe it," declared matt. "i didn't take much stock in the story when bunce told it, but on the chance that it might be true, i felt as though we should give tsan ti the benefit of the doubt. but, now, i'm fairly certain the yarn was all moonshine." "bunce took a whole lot of trouble for nothing, pard," commented mcglory. "what was the good of his coming to the hotel, running the risk of our turning him over to the police, and then motoring out here with us on that ramshackle speeder if he never intended to help us capture grattan?" "maybe we'll discover that later. suppose we follow the trail of the motorcycles, joe?" "why? they're a dozen miles from here, by this time." "we can't overtake them, of course, but we can discover which way they went." it was an easy matter to trail the heavy machines up the ravine. about half a mile above the camp under the ledge, a wagon road crossed the ravine, and the wheels had turned into it. to the surprise of the boys, the wheels had turned in the direction of catskill. "it can't be those two tinhorns would have the nerve to go to the town," said mcglory. "i don't think they would," agreed matt, "but they have gone in that direction, at all events. it's up to us to walk back, so we may as well follow the road and the motorcycle trail." "this is what i call tough luck," said the cowboy, when he and matt were swinging along the road. "i didn't think there was any sense taking up with bunce, in the first place. nice way for that move to pan out! we go gunning for grattan on a speeder, and then hoof it back--to face a charge of robbery preferred by the section men!" "we'll settle that robbery charge quick enough," returned matt. "no doubt about that. i wouldn't feel so worked up over the thing if i could make any sort of guess as to what it was all about." "well," laughed matt, repeating one of mcglory's favorite remarks, "we can't know so much all the time as we do just some part of the time, joe." "no more we can't, pard," said the cowboy. chapter ix. between the eyes. the wagon road which the boys were following led them into catskill near the railroad station. the motorcycle tracks, after holding a straight course toward town for a long time, had finally vanished at an elevated point from which the motor boys had secured their first view of the river. "we might just as well call on the superintendent," suggested matt, when they were close to the station, "and explain about the speeder. by doing this now, we may dodge trouble later." "good idea," assented mcglory. they found the superintendent in his office, and he gave them an immediate hearing. "we called to tell you about that speeder, mr. bronson," began matt, having caught the super's name off the painted window in the door. "you mean mulvaney's speeder," returned bronson, "the one that was stolen two days ago?" "yes. my name's king, matt king, and i'm stopping at the----" "motor matt?" interrupted bronson, whirling squarely around in his swivel chair. he had suddenly developed a great interest in the interview. "yes," laughed matt, "i'm called that more often than i'm called by my last name. this is my chum, joe mcglory," and he nodded toward the cowboy. "i've heard of both of you," smiled bronson. "that was great business of yours, over near purling. but what in the world have you got to tell me about the stolen speeder?" "then you haven't heard about what happened this morning?" "haven't heard a thing about the speeder to-day. why?" "well, joe and i and another fellow were chasing down a grade with it, a few miles out of town, and a section gang from tannersville saw us coming and put a tie across the rails." "that stopped you, did it?" "did it!" echoed mcglory. "why, it stopped us so hard and quick that one of the passengers was scattered all over the right of way." "we hadn't anything to do with stealing the machine," went on matt, "and we didn't----" "of course not!" struck in bronson. "but where did you get it, and what were you doing with it?" "you heard how the great ruby was recovered, and how the thieves got away?" the superintendent's eyes sparkled. "everybody around here has heard about that," he answered. "we thought we had a chance to capture one of the thieves," proceeded matt. "the crook's pal came to us and offered to show us where grattan was, and when we joined the fellow this morning, he had the speeder tucked away among the bushes. we knew the speeder had been stolen, and were intending to bring it back as soon as we had finished our work; but the section gang made things so warm for us we had to change our plans." "and now you're fretting for fear the section men will send in word, and that i'll have you pinched!" laughed the superintendent. "i guess i'd think twice before i had motor matt arrested for stealing an old speeder like that. mulvaney, our track inspector, made it himself. he's rather choice of it, and that's why i sent out word to have the thing found, if possible. but, tell me, did you capture grattan?" "no, sir. we found where he has been staying, but he had got away before we reached the place." "hard luck! by the way, they've got a moving picture in one of the nickelodeons here, that tells the story of a ruby called 'buddha's eye.' everybody is going to see it. is that the same story as the one connected with the 'eye of buddha?'" "it's the same, mr. bronson, even down to the minor detail of the identity of the thieves." bronson whistled. "how in the dickens does that happen, eh?" he asked. matt could see no harm in explaining that point, as bunce had covered it, and told how the thieves, needing money in chicago, had suggested the idea for the picture, and how at least one of them had volunteered to play a leading part. the superintendent was astounded at the audacity of a thief who, after perpetrating such a successful robbery, and with the ruby then in his possession, could publish his crime through the medium of a moving picture. "it merely goes to prove," said the superintendent, "what a clever and daring scoundrel this fellow grattan is. too bad he escaped at the time the ruby was so cleverly recovered. more than likely, motor matt, he'll make trouble for you." "i guess he'll be too busy looking out for himself," laughed matt, "to pay any attention to me." "i hope so, certainly." matt and mcglory got up to leave. "don't bother your head about the speeder," the superintendent went on. "i'm glad your report reached me ahead of the one from the section gang. i'll know how to handle the matter, now, when i hear from the section boss. good-by, my lads, and good luck to you." "it didn't take long to fix that up," said mcglory, when he and matt were once more on their way to the hotel. "i knew it wouldn't," returned matt, "just as soon as we could get to some one who would be willing to take our word for what happened." "what the super said about grattan trying to get back at you, matt, for what you did in the old sugar camp, near purling, sounded to me like it had a lot of good horse sense mixed up in it." "what i told the super had a little horse sense in it, too, didn't it, joe?" "you mean about grattan having so much to do to keep out of the clutches of the law that he won't find any time to hit up your trail?" "yes." "i don't know about that. grattan is a tinhorn who is in a class all by himself. he seems to have all kinds of nerve, and to be willing to take all sorts of chances. that moving-picture deal gives us a pretty good line on him." when the boys got to the hotel, mcglory stumbled into a chair on the veranda. "gee, man, but i'm tired!" he exclaimed. "a cowboy is built for riding, and not for this footwork. it sure gets me going. sit down here for a while, matt, and let's palaver about new york, and what the chances are for our getting there." "they're pretty slim, i guess," answered matt, dropping into a seat at his chum's side, "if we're to wait until grattan is captured. tsan ti says, in his letter, that he won't come on until grattan is behind the bars, or safely off his trail." "which means to hang on here until--we don't know when. we're rid of bunce, but there'll be something else to hit us between the eyes before we're many minutes older. you can bet your moccasins on that. as long as we're tangled up with that ruby, we'll find hard luck flagging us all along the pike." at that moment the clerk emerged from the hotel office and crossed the veranda. he wore a troubled look, as though something had happened to worry him. "that man came, motor matt," said he, "and i gave him the box." mcglory fell back as though some one had struck him. "what man? what box?" he roused up to inquire wildly. the clerk caught the alarm in the cowboy's voice and manner. "why, don't you know?" he cried, appealing to matt. "it was the small box you left with me early this morning." "and--and you gave it up?" gasped mcglory huskily. "what else could i do?" protested the clerk. "i had the written order from motor matt. the man brought it." mcglory was too dazed to answer. his jaw fell, and he stared at the king of the motor boys. "let me see the order," said matt. the clerk pulled a letter from his pocket. "i hope there's nothing wrong?" he asked, handing the letter to matt. "i've been thinking there might be something wrong, but i didn't see how there could be. the handwriting of that letter matches your fist on the register--i was careful to look that up before i gave the man the box." "read it, pard," implored mcglory, in a mechanical tone. "'please deliver to bearer the small box which i left with you for safe-keeping, early this morning,'" matt read. "'i need it at once, and find that i can't come for it in person.' that's all of it, joe," said matt, "and i must say that it's a pretty good imitation of my handwriting. the name is a tremendously good forgery." the clerk nearly threw a fit; and mcglory nearly helped him. "then the letter is a forgery?" cried the clerk. "the man didn't have any right to the box?" "how could he have any right to the box," stormed mcglory, "when the letter asking you to turn it over to him was never written by motor matt? corral your wits. sufferin' hold-ups, it's come! we no sooner get out of one raw deal, than we tumble headfirst into another. now----" "take it easy, joe," cut in matt. "wait a minute." he turned to the clerk. "don't get worked up about this," said he; "you're not to blame. when did the man call and deliver the forged letter?" "not more than an hour ago," answered the clerk, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. "was there anything very valuable in the box?" "what sort of looking man was he?" proceeded matt. "slim, and dark, and undersized. fairly well dressed." "well, never mind. don't let it worry you." the clerk, visibly distressed, in spite of matt's reassuring words, went back into the office. as soon as he had vanished inside the hotel, the king of the motor boys gave vent to a low laugh. mcglory peered at him. "pard!" he murmured, leaning over to drop a hand on matt's knee. "have you gone off the jump on account of that confounded ruby? it's a blow between the eyes, all right, but, for heaven's sake, don't let it get you locoed." "locoed!" and matt pulled himself together, reached inside his vest and brought out a knotted handkerchief. untying the knotted ends of the handkerchief, he opened it out on his knee. "see here, joe!" said he; "that's how badly i am locoed." what mcglory saw was the ruby, glowing redly against the white linen. chapter x. the man from the "iris." not many times in mcglory's life had he been so tremendously at a loss for words as he was then. he stared at the ruby and he stared at matt. "you see, pard," said matt, "the ruby wasn't in the box when i gave it to the clerk. i kept the eye of buddha safely about me, all the time. it gouged me a little when the speeder stopped and i was slammed against the forward bench." "speak to me about this!" rumbled the cowboy. "it wasn't in the box--a tinhorn blew in with a forged letter--he got the box, but he didn't get the ruby. matt's done something--and he never told me what he was doing. what--how--why---- look here, you blooming old maverick, how did you ever come to think of such a dodge?" "it wasn't much of a dodge," answered matt. "in the first place, i didn't take any stock in that wild yarn told us by bunce. at the same time, while i didn't believe in it, i couldn't afford not to go with bunce on tsan ti's account. i tried to think why bunce should want to coax us into the hills, and the only idea that came to me had to do with the ruby. now, i reasoned, if the ruby _was_ back of bunce's little game, then it was clear he knew it had been sent to me for safe-keeping. i wanted to find just how much bunce knew, so i left the box with the clerk. bunce was watching, or else he had somebody else watching. if he'd thought i had the ruby with me, an attempt would have been made to get it while we were in the hills. but bunce believed i had left the ruby in the safe, so he dodged away, leaving you and me to be nabbed by the section men, while he went on to that 'pocket' under the ledge, found grattan, told him where i had placed the box, and the two got on their motorcycles and came close enough to town to get a man to help them secure the box. "grattan must have forged the letter. then this third man took it. the rascals had to work quick, for the game was played while we were taking a look around at the camp in the ravine, and walking into town. can't you understand, joe? by getting us into the hills, with that fairy story about tsan ti, grattan could play his hand either way. if we had the ruby with us, he could get hold of it; if we had left it behind, he could take advantage of our absence from catskill to execute some ruse in town while we were out in the country." "clever?" breathed mcglory; "why, he's the cleverest crook that ever happened. but i'd like to have a picture of him now!" the cowboy fell back in his seat and roared with mirth. "wouldn't i like to look in on him while he and bunce are opening that box?" he sputtered. "oh, but it's rich! clever as he is, grattan has found that he's butted up against some one who can give him cards and spades, and then beat him out. i've been proud of you, pard, more times than i can tell, but i'm just a little prouder now than i ever was before. shake!" matt caught his chum's hand. "it was only a guess, joe," he deprecated, "and it happened to work our way. there was nothing clever about what i did. the result was entirely a--an accident." "you had your head with you, all the same," insisted mcglory, "when you put that empty box in the safe. but how in thunder did bunce get next to that? how did he know that tsan ti had sent you the ruby, in the first place?" "well, he did know, and that's enough. a third man has jumped into the deal--another pal, who is helping grattan and bunce. perhaps he had something to do with keeping track of the ruby." "perhaps. but that old two-eyed counterfeit with the green patch--i wonder how much he'd sell out for, about now?" "bunce is pretty clever, in his own way, too," averred matt. "he must have laughed in his sleeve when he saw how we had swallowed that fish story of his about tsan ti." "he can laugh, now, on t'other side of his face. we're helping tsan ti, all right. grattan is on our trail instead of his. i'm not saying it was the right thing for the mandarin to shift the responsibility for that ruby onto you, but he was pretty long headed when he did it. he understood that if any one could take care of the ruby it was motor matt." "it will soon be dinner time, joe," said matt. "suppose we go up to our room, shake the dust out of our clothes, take a bath, and get ready to eat?" "that reminds me how hungry i am!" exclaimed mcglory, springing up. by the time dinner was ready, the boys were ready for dinner. their experiences of the forenoon had put a keen edge on their appetite, and the cowboy was in high good humor. he and matt had put in a strenuous morning, and so long as mcglory thought they had not accomplished anything, he was disgusted and "out of sorts." but to learn that grattan and bunce had been beaten at their own game, set twanging a most delightful chord in the cowboy's make-up. the motor boys had no plans for the afternoon, so they put in their time idling about the veranda. it was about three o'clock when a tall man, dressed in a natty white yachting costume with the name "iris," in gilt letters on the band of his cap, came briskly up the veranda steps, passed matt and mcglory and went on into the hotel. the man claimed only casual attention, on his first appearance, but, a few seconds later, he captured the entire attention of the two boys. he returned to the veranda, ushered by the clerk, and both stepped toward motor matt. "matt," said the clerk, "this is mr. pardo, of the yacht _iris_. mr. pardo, mr. king. he wants to see you about some business matter," the clerk added, as he vanished back into the hotel. the man from the _iris_ smiled cordially as he clasped matt's hand. "this is a pleasure, i assure you," said pardo. "i have heard quite a little about motor matt." "what can i do for you, mr. pardo?" asked matt. "that's the business part of our interview," was the answer, as pardo helped himself to a chair, "and i'm going to get right down to it. you are familiar with gasoline motors, i understand?" "yes." "with marine motors?" "i reckon you never heard how he put an automobile engine in a launch, at madison, wisconsin," struck in mcglory, "and won a big race. he's right at home with every kind of an explosive engine, whether it drives a craft in the air, on wheels, or in the water." "my chum is a trifle prejudiced, mr. pardo," smiled matt. "well, i guess you can do the work, all right. the question now is, can i secure your services?" "what for?" "of course," laughed pardo, "that's what you naturally want to know. i'm the owner of a power yacht, fifty feet over all, ten feet beam, equipped with a fifty-horse-power motor. she's the _iris_. i dropped down from albany, this afternoon, and when we tied up at catskill my engineer received a telegram from buffalo saying that his father was dangerously sick. he left at once, and here i am, anxious to make a quick run to new york, but caught in the worst kind of a hole. can't i get you to help me out? as soon as i reach new york i can get any number of reliable men to take charge of my engine room, but here in catskill help of that sort is scarce." mcglory's joy shone in his face. here was a chance to get down the river in style, and all that stood between matt and the trip was the ruby. "can't you run the motor, mr. pardo?" asked matt. "don't know the first thing about it," was the answer. "you see, i haven't had time to learn. this is my first trip in the _iris_, and i haven't had much chance to pick up a knowledge of her machinery. it's my idea that every man ought to know how to run his own boat--and i'll know it, too, before i'm many days older. but, just now, i've got to have some one. what do you say?" pardo noticed that matt was not especially eager to help him out. "if you can just get me down to new york," he pleaded, "that's all i will ask. if you have to come back to catskill for anything, you can come on the train in the morning. you won't be away very long, and it will be a big accommodation to me. i'll pay you well for your trouble, too, if that will be any inducement." "better go, pard," urged mcglory. "i don't think your business will suffer any. we can be back here by nine in the morning, if we want to." it was hardly likely, as matt reasoned the matter out, that tsan ti would present himself and ask for the ruby before he and mcglory could get back from new york. the opportunity to make a little money in a pleasant way was appealing, for the king of the motor boys had long desired to have the run of the engine room on a big power boat. "what time do you want to start, mr. pardo?" matt asked. "at nine, this evening," was the reply. "if you can help me out, you'd better arrange to be aboard at, say, eight-thirty. the _iris_ is close to the day-line dock, and you can't help but find her." "how much are you willing to pay for the trip?" queried matt. "it's just as well, you know, to have all that settled beforehand." "i'll give you a hundred dollars--not so much for the work, you understand, as for the time you are losing. your time may be worth even more than that. if it is----" "you are more than liberal," broke in matt. "i and my chum will be aboard the _iris_ at eight-thirty." the man from the _iris_ heaved a deep breath. "that's a big load off my mind," said he. "i could have telegraphed new york and had an engineer come up on a late train--but that would have delayed the start until close upon midnight. i shall expect you, motor matt," and pardo got up and went his way briskly. chapter xi. aboard the steam yacht. "i don't know," said matt, "whether this is the thing for us to do, or not, joe. tsan ti's letter asked us to stay in the catskills." "oh, bother the old heathen!" returned the cowboy. "he won't show up here for quite a spell. anyhow, if he does arrive to-morrow morning, before we do, he can wait for us, can't he?" "he's paying us for our time." "what if he is, pard? the old boy won't find any fault if we take this little run down the river. there's a point, too, that you don't seem to have thought of." "what is it?" "why, grattan has quit trailing tsan ti and gone to trailing you. by taking this trip down the river we may be able to throw grattan off the track." "that's so," answered matt, struck with the idea. "if the tinhorn is laying any more of his plans," chuckled the cowboy, "we'll fool him." "i'll leave word with the clerk," said matt, "to tell tsan ti where we've gone, and when we'll return; then, if he _does_ happen to get here before we do, he'll know we're intending to come back and meet him." "that's the talk!" matt immediately went into the hotel and stepped to the clerk's desk. "are you acquainted with mr. pardo?" he asked. "never saw him before," answered the clerk. "he came in here, introduced himself, and said he was looking for motor matt. i knew you were on the porch, so i volunteered to take him out and introduce you. looks like a fine gentleman. interview satisfactory?" "yes. he has a power yacht at the landing, and wants an engineer to get her to new york for him. i've taken the job, and joe and i will be away all night and not get back until sometime to-morrow forenoon. if any one calls and asks for me, you need not tell them where i have gone, but just let them know when i expect to return." "i'll do it, matt. didn't know you had an engineer's license?" "he's got everything," put in mcglory, "that goes with running a motor." the boys had no preparations to make, and as there were two hours to be passed before supper they concluded to run down to the dock and take a look at the _iris_. there was no difficulty at all in locating her, and the sight of her trim and graceful lines made matt eager to have a look at her interior plan. there was no one about her decks, however, whom he and mcglory could hail, and he hesitated to go aboard and arouse any one who might chance to be in the cabin. the cowboy, who was a wretched sailor, quite unaccountably was an enthusiast about boats, and his doting eyes sparkled as they traveled over the _iris_. she had a very high freeboard forward, and this, with her perfect lines, gave her an easy entrance and a guarantee that she would not pound or ship seas in any sort of weather. there was no midship bridge, or forward pilot house, but the boat was steered and the engine controlled from a big and roomy after deck. "she's a fair daisy!" declared the cowboy, "as spick and span as a freshly coined four-bit piece. sufferin' bones, but i'd like to own a boat like that!" "you'd find such a craft an expensive luxury, joe," said matt. "if you did much cruising, it would keep you poor just buying gasoline. let's go back up the hill. we can't see inside the boat, and it don't take long to get a pretty fair idea of the outside." returning to the hotel, the boys idled away the time until the supper call sounded. the meal over, there were still some two hours of waiting before they were due aboard the _iris_. mcglory suggested another visit to the theatre for a second look at the "buddha's eye" pictures. matt, thinking that as good a way as any for passing the time, acquiesced, and they were soon at the moving-picture place. there was standing room only--which proved how much of a hit the ruby robbery had made. the hit, of course, was entirely because of matt's adventures while recovering the gem for tsan ti. if those attending the show had known that motor matt was also present, and that he had the very eye of buddha in his pocket, there would have followed a furore of no small proportions. but the king of the motor boys, often in direct opposition to his best interests, was reserved and diffident. "gee!" exclaimed the cowboy, as he and matt left the theatre and wandered along the street, "if those people back there had only known who you were, and what you had in your pocket, there'd have been something of a stir." "i don't like that kind of a stir," said matt. "that's you! say, pard, you're altogether too modest and retiring. if you wanted to splurge a little, you could make yourself talked about from one end of the country to the other." "i'll leave that to those who like it. it's the quiet chap, who plugs along and does things without blowing his own horn who makes the biggest hit in the end." "i don't know but that's right, too." they dropped in at another show, promenaded the street, and finally discovered that it was nearly eight-thirty. turning their steps toward the water front, they presently reached the wharf alongside the _iris_. the craft had her "running" lights in position. there was a white light in the bow, visible from straight ahead and for ten points on either side, a green light to starboard and a red light to port, each screened so that it could be seen from dead ahead to two points aft of the beam, and a high white light aft and directly over the keel, showing all around the horizon. but, notwithstanding all these lights on deck, there were none visible through the cabin ports. "i wonder if mr. pardo has got here?" said matt. "what's the odds, matt?" returned mcglory. "it's eight-thirty, and we're due." they got aboard, gaining the after deck. the elevated white light cast a dim glow over polished mahogany and glittering brasswork, and matt bent down to examine the bulkhead controls. a door opened in the bulkhead, on the right of the steering wheel, and a man showed shadowily in the dark. "is that motor matt?" he called. "yes," was the reply. the man clambered up two or three steps, knocking his shins and swearing because of the darkness. "you're expected," said he. "go down into the saloon--a stateroom is the first thing you come to, and the saloon is beyond that." "why don't you light up?" asked matt. "mr. pardo has a headache, and the light bothers him. go on down--he's waiting for you." matt led the way, and mcglory followed. they left the door open, and a faint radiance followed them, but they were in unfamiliar surroundings, and had to grope their way along. "is that you, motor matt?" called a voice, which they recognized as pardo's. "yes," matt answered. "come on in here. i'm not feeling very well to-night, and the light hurts my eyes. you can guide yourself by the sound of my voice, can't you?" "we'll get there, all right." "is your friend with you?" "yes. i never travel without him." the next moment matt gained the open door in another bulkhead. before he could pass through it, two sinewy arms went around him from behind and a hand was clapped over his lips. he struggled, but he was caught as in a vise, and his efforts to free himself were useless. from near at hand, too, he heard sounds which indicated that mcglory, also, had been seized. "got them?" came the voice of pardo. "yes, sir," answered the man who was holding matt, "but they're fightin' like a pair o' young demons." "then throw them down on the side seats and hold pillows over their heads. we'll get under way at once." matt felt himself borne down on a cushioned bench. the hand was jerked from his lips, and the half-formed cry that escaped him was smothered in the pillow that was immediately pushed over his head. a bell jingled, and steps could be heard on the deck above, moving swiftly. "all right!" came a muffled voice. matt, half suffocated, could hear no more. he was fighting fiercely for his breath. presently he was conscious that the _iris_ was moving, and, as he lay gasping and helpless under the strong hands of his captor, there came faintly to his ears the hum of a motor and the lapping of waves against the hull. how long he was held down on the seat, half smothered by the pillow, he did not know. it seemed hours, but was probably no more than so many minutes. then, suddenly, the pillow was jerked away, and he lifted himself on his elbow, a glare of light in his eyes. for a moment or two the dazzling light blinded him. when his eyes became somewhat used to it, he discovered a man standing near him, his flannel shirt parted at the throat and his bronzed arms bare to the elbows. the man held a dirk in one hand and a piece of rope in the other. from this frowning figure, matt's gaze shifted across the narrow aisle to a cushioned bench opposite. mcglory was there, and there was likewise a ruffian keeping watch of him. "what--what does this mean?" demanded matt. "you'll find out, quick enough. are you goin' to make any trouble? if you are, say so, now, and you'll save yourself a knife in the ribs." "i want to know about this!" declared matt. "then get up and go into the saloon." "you, too," said the man who had charge of mcglory. "foller yer mate inter the saloon, an' if either o' ye let out a yell ye'll never know what struck you." matt, fearing the worst, swung his feet down from the upholstered seat and started forward. mcglory, who appeared to be in a trance, followed him mechanically. the door of the saloon was open, and matt passed through it, and stopped. mcglory crowded in beside him. the saloon was the full width of the boat, with seats on each side, and a table at one end. the small room was flooded with light, and three figures were seen in an angle formed by one of the seats where it partly crossed the forward bulkhead. the fixed table stood in the angle, and the three figures were leaning upon it. one of the men was grattan, another was bunce, and the third was pardo. in front of grattan, on the table top, lay two objects. one was a revolver, and the other the small box in which the ruby had been expressed to matt from new york. all three of the men were smiling. "speak to me about this!" muttered mcglory. "nabbed! nabbed as slick as you please! and i never guessed a thing. oh, sufferin' easy marks!" chapter xii. grattan's triumph. motor matt understood the situation. the full realization came to him with something like a shock. in some way grattan had secured the aid of the owner and crew of the _iris_ in carrying out his villainous designs. he had triumphed, for he had only to have matt searched in order to secure the ruby. philo grattan was an educated fellow, and could be a man of pleasing address when he so desired. in almost any honest line of work he could have distinguished himself, for his ability was high above the average. yet, like so many others equally gifted, he had been drawn toward a life of crime. "motor matt," said he, in a tone and with a manner that was friendly, "we meet again. the pleasure, on your part, i presume, is unexpected, and perhaps of a doubtful quality, but so far as i am concerned, i assure you that this renewing of our acquaintance leaves nothing to be desired." "not a blessed thing," struck in bunce, contorted with inward mirth, "sink me, if it does!" grattan dropped a heavy hand on the mariner's shoulder. "keep a still tongue in your head," he ordered sternly. "i'm able to do the talking." "then," and matt turned toward pardo, "this is simply a plot you have engineered to get me into the hands of grattan?" "simply and solely," was pardo's cheerful answer. "pardo is my friend," explained grattan. "he lives in albany, when he's at home--but he's rarely at home. he has been fortunate, of late, in sundry little ventures, and happened to be well supplied with money. no sooner had i lost my buckthorn cane, there in the old sugar camp, at purling, and been made aware of the fact that the eye of buddha had been found, than i communicated with friend pardo. i had met him in albany on my way to the catskills, so i knew he was at home. he met me in my temporary camp, and agreed to charter the _iris_ to help me down the river and out of the country after i had got back the ruby. the _iris_, together with a crew of men on whom we can depend, has been awaiting my convenience for the past two days. of course," and grattan showed his teeth in a smile, "my friend's name is not pardo, any more than mine is grattan, or than this salt-water bungler on my left is named bunce." although matt followed grattan closely, he had, at the same time, been covertly using his eyes. the door leading into the stateroom behind him was closed. on the other side of it he knew there was one brawny ruffian, and perhaps two. beyond the saloon's forward bulkhead he could hear the purring motor. there, he inferred, was the engine room and the galley, with another man who could be "depended on." at the steering and engine controls on the after deck was surely another man, and probably one on the deck overhead. he and mcglory were hemmed in on all sides. there must have been, counting those in the saloon, all of seven or eight men against them. so far as matt could see, the case was hopeless. matt's covert looks had not escaped the keen eyes of grattan. the scoundrel seemed able to read even the young motorist's thoughts. "don't think of escape, motor matt," said he. "that is entirely out of the question. neither you nor your friend are in any danger. i think too highly of you to rob the world of so much talent and ingenuity. let us have another friendly and intimate chat such as we had in the old sugar camp. i do not object to telling you things of great moment to me, because i have already taken measures to make the knowledge harmless. i escaped from the sugar camp, did i not? and all i told you then did not in any way hamper me in proceeding with my plans. i am willing to be equally frank now, in the hope that you, on your part, will give me some of your confidence. "you thought tsan ti, the mandarin, had started for san francisco with the ruby. orientals are crafty. he gave it out that he was going to san francisco, and immediately started for new york. i had him followed from the hotel kaaterskill, and shadowed while in new york. the man who served me was clever, but not clever enough to keep tsan ti from learning that he was under espionage. the mandarin became nervous. he did not appeal to the police, as his heathen mind counsels him to have nothing to do with the peace officers who serve the foreign devils. but he had his man, sam wing, and other chinamen, continually guard him. one of these chinamen was faithless. some of my money, expended by the man i had set to watch tsan ti, bought him. this chinaman was charley foo, and he betrayed the mandarin's trust for the sum of ten silver dollars. "charley was in the room with tsan ti when the ruby was boxed, wrapped and addressed to motor matt. charley, also, went with tsan ti and sam wing to the express office, and saw the package sent. then, quite naturally, charley told my man, and my man telegraphed pardo at hudson, and pardo got the message to me, out there in that lonely ravine. "then i began rehearsing bunce in his part. bunce is a natural blockhead, and i was three hours teaching him what he was to say and do. as an example of his folly, i will say that it was bunce who stole the speeder. the owner of the machine was inspecting a bit of siding that wound around a low hill. the speeder was on the main track. all bunce had to do was to get aboard, switch on the gasoline and the spark--and there you are. but why did we need the speeder when we had two good motorcycles? bunce can't tell. he doesn't know. he has a low mind, and the itch to steal unimportant things runs in his blood--and has more than once proved embarrassing to me. "however, i saw a chance to use the speeder in beguiling you to my ravine. the motorcycles would only have carried two, and there were to be three of you, including bunce. besides, the machines might have aroused your suspicions. so the speeder was used, and pardo went over the hill with bunce and helped him hide the speeder within an arrow flight of the catskill railroad yards. "bunce took a risk. he knew it. i impressed upon him the fact that, if he did not carry out his programme with earnestness, you would make a prisoner of him and turn him over to the police. we knew tsan ti had written that you must keep the ruby about you, and leave it nowhere for security. i flattered myself you would bring the gem with you, concealed somewhere upon your person. but pardo, wearing clothes which made him look vastly different, saw you leave the little box with the hotel clerk. instantly pardo ran ahead of you to the place where bunce was waiting, and told him. the seeming failure of our plans threw bunce into a panic--you can expect so little of bunce in a pinch!--and he would have thrown over the whole matter, then and there, had not pardo advised him. 'take them out into the hills,' said pardo, 'and leave them stranded there while you get away to the ravine and tell grattan. grattan will know what to do.' and grattan did." an ironical smile crossed the face of the strange man, and he paused a space. when he continued, his manner was again easy and vivacious. "ah, those section men! they helped gain time for me, and afforded bunce his opportunity to get away from you. bunce fled--you know how. he came to me and told me about the box, the box motor matt had left with the hotel clerk to be put in the safe. a fountain pen and a sheet of letter paper sufficed for the letter. i have seen your written name, motor matt, and when i have once seen a person's handwriting, i can copy it from memory after a lapse of one year or ten. some say it is a gift. "we had sharp work ahead of us, bunce and i. we rolled out of the ravine on our motorcycles, gained the river bank below catskill and signaled the _iris_. pardo came ashore in the tender, and he loaned us his motor-man for the work that claimed us. you know how he got the box, and we know what it contained--cotton wadding, but no ruby. motor matt, i could have shaken your hand and congratulated you--if you had been near and i had had time. "a few rebuffs are what i need to bring out the best that is in me. quick as a flash i thought of the motor-man's sick father in buffalo, and pardo's call at your hotel to get you to take the _iris_ to new york. shall i call it an inspiration? i believe it amounted to that. "bunce and i, snugged away in this saloon, slept and waited for the issue of our scheming. pardo came to report that you would be aboard the _iris_ at eight-thirty. i was almost sure of success, but not certain. you have a way, motor matt, of disappointing people like me, and i was not counting positively upon success until i had you in my hands. "well, here you are. i have only the kindliest feelings toward you, but you know what i want, and what i want, in this instance, i am going to have." grattan got up and stood beside the table, a superb figure of a man whose head just cleared the deck above. "i have devoted time, and study, and faced dangers innumerable," he proceeded, betrayed into passionate vehemence, "to secure the eye of buddha! i have beaten down every obstacle, and secured the stone only to lose it; now it is mine again, mine. motor matt," and he stretched out his hand, "i will trouble you for the eye of buddha!" chapter xiii. from the open port! motor matt made no move to give the ruby into the possession of grattan. thief though he was, yet philo grattan had a remarkable personality. matt had listened to him with deepest interest, but one hand had been busy in his pocket. mcglory was so deeply absorbed in what the master rogue was saying that his jaws gaped, and he hung breathlessly upon his words. near matt's left hand, with only the width of the side seat between, was an open port. "what!" exclaimed grattan, as though intensely surprised, "you hesitate? i dislike to treat you with any more roughness, motor matt. it seems to me you might understand how hopeless it is for you to try to keep the ruby. what is this tsan ti to you that you will risk so much for him? is it the money he pays you? i can't believe that. you have made a good deal of money in your work, i have been told, and you are not in need. "is it because you desire to help an unfortunate chinaman who must use the yellow cord in case he cannot return to china with the eye of buddha? foolish sentiment! what would this fat mandarin of the red button do for you if your positions were reversed? take the present case. what has tsan ti done? he is a coward. instead of facing his risks like a man, he turns the ruby over to you, thereby unloading the danger and responsibility. after you have me safely jailed"--and grattan's voice throbbed with contempt and scorn--"then this mandarin will hunt you up, take the ruby, which is worth a fortune, and pay you a thousand dollars! why are you the friend of such a coward? tell me, will you? here is where i should like a frank expression of your views." "i don't think tsan ti is a coward," matt answered. "you have the proof." "i have your side of the question, not his." "my side of the question! is there any other side?" "there may be." "i am disappointed in you, motor matt. such talk is foolish--almost worthy of bunce, here." "there is something else, too, grattan," went on matt, "something, i suppose, you will appreciate even less than what i have just said." "i don't think there can be anything i would appreciate less. however, let's hear what it is." "being true to a trust," answered matt sturdily. "even if a chinaman trusts you, standing fast and not betraying his confidence." bunce snickered, and pardo laughed outright. only grattan kept a serious face and peered steadily at matt. "yes," murmured grattan, "there is something in that. it is not for me--i have turned my back on such principles--but you are young and quite likely you have started right. that, however, does not affect our present situation. it is impossible for you to remain true to the trust the cowardly tsan ti reposes in you. i have you in my power. it is night, and the _iris_ is in the middle of the hudson river. the ruby is tied up in a handkerchief in your coat pocket. i tell you i want it." the voice was imperious, compelling. motor matt still passively faced grattan. "oh, shiver me!" grunted bunce. "let's lay hold of him an' take it." pardo pushed a hand toward the revolver on the table. with one movement, grattan, although still with his eyes on matt, dropped his own hand to the revolver and another hand on bunce's shoulder. "you'll speak when you're spoken to, bunce," said he savagely, "and pardo, you'll leave the revolver alone. i've managed this matter with fair success, up to now, and i believe i can wind it up. the ruby, motor matt!" "there it is!" said matt. his hand darted toward the open port. a knotted handkerchief, weighted with some small object, flashed through the port and vanished downward. a yell escaped bunce, and he flung himself across the table in a frantic attempt to lay hold of matt. pardo leaped for him, and the door leading into the stateroom opened and the man who was waiting stepped into the room. mcglory had jumped to help matt against pardo. the man who had just entered grabbed the cowboy and flung him roughly on the seat at the side of the room; then he and pardo hurled matt to the floor. "search him!" ordered grattan calmly. "by the seven holy spritsails!" bellowed bunce, "what's the use o' searchin' him? didn't he just throw the eye o' buddha into the river?" "he ought to be strangled for that!" cried pardo, in a temper. "search him, i tell you!" roared grattan. "are you all a pack of fools? he didn't throw the ruby into the river." "but we saw him," insisted pardo. "you saw his handkerchief go into the river, but it was only a trick. do you think he would sacrifice the ruby, even to prevent me from getting it? search him, i tell you." the search was made, and thoroughly. motor matt's pockets were turned inside out, but without result. garment by garment his clothes were stripped away and crushed in eager hands, but still without result. the ruby was as large as a small hen's egg, and not easily to be hidden. mcglory had gone into a trance again. as he lay on the seat and stared, he wondered if matt had really tossed the priceless gem into the hudson. "he hasn't got it, grattan," announced pardo. "then his friend has it," answered grattan confidently. "search him." thereupon the cowboy came in for his share of the rough handling. matt once more got into his clothes. just as the search of mcglory was finished, motor matt was reaching for his cap, which had tumbled off in the scuffle in the other room, and had been thrown into the saloon after the boys had entered it. "nothing here," announced pardo, as he turned from mcglory. "nary, there ain't," fumed mcglory. "motor matt's not the lad to shift his responsibilities like tsan ti. sufferin' hornets! you're a fine outfit of tinhorns, i must say." stepping quickly out from behind the table, grattan passed to matt and snatched off his cap. he weighed the cap for a moment in his hand, felt of the crown with his fingers, and then, still holding the cap, returned quietly to his seat. "sit down, bunce, you and pardo," ordered grattan. "pierson, go out and close the door." when the two men were seated, and after pierson had left the saloon, grattan leaned his elbows on the table, matt's cap between them. "this motor matt," said he, "is a lad whom i greatly admire. he takes precautions. his first precaution was removing the ruby from the box and depositing the box with the hotel clerk before he went out into the hills with bunce. in running away from the ravine with bunce to carry out my plan for securing the box, i ran directly away from motor matt and the ruby. motor matt had the ruby tied up in his handkerchief, then. he was seen, on the hotel veranda, to untie his handkerchief and show the ruby to his friend. when he came aboard the _iris_ he had taken another precaution. something else was tied up in the handkerchief, and the ruby was in the lining of his cap." swiftly grattan's hands descended, tore at the cap lining, and brought out the imperial stone. he laid it on the table, turning and turning it so the light might catch its fiery flash. "blow me tight!" mumbled bunce. "say, mates," he added, drawing a sleeve across his forehead, "that was a scare i don't want ever to go through ag'in. we've risked so much for that bloomin' eye o' buddha that i near went wrong in the head with the thought that it was in the bottom o' the river!" "it's comparatively easy for you to go wrong in the head, bunce," taunted grattan. "so that's the thing!" murmured pardo, his fascinated eyes on the gleaming stone. "did you ever see anything more beautiful?" asked grattan. "it's a true pigeon-blood ruby, and worth ten times the value of a diamond the same size." then, drawing out his own handkerchief, he wrapped the ruby carefully, and as carefully stowed it away in his pocket. "so," said he, "after a number of startling adventures in the catskills, the ruby is finally where it ought to be." "it ought to be in the head of that idol, in canton," said matt. the king of the motor boys was calm, and, while he may have had regrets, he had nothing to reproach himself for. he had done his best to keep the ruby--and he had failed. "motor matt," returned grattan, "a heathen temple is no place for such a jewel as this. in the honan joss house it benefits no one. when i sell it, it will benefit me a great deal, and bunce a little." "and me," put in pardo. "don't forget that i stand in on the divvy." "and pardo," added grattan. "and tsan ti must strangle himself with the yellow cord," said matt. "if that is his will, yes. i have no patience with these pagan superstitions. a heathen, who lives by them, cannot let them shuffle him out of the world too quickly. as for you, motor matt, you have nothing to be sorry for. you did your best to keep the ruby out of my hands--no one else could have done so much." "it's not the ruby i care for so much as saving tsan ti," answered matt. "find out if there's a landing near this point, pardo," said grattan. pardo stepped out of the room and could be heard talking with the man at the steering wheel. "no," he reported, coming back, "there's no safe landing for the _iris_ anywhere near here." "then put over the tender," ordered grattan; "motor matt and his friend are going ashore." chapter xiv. landed--and stung. pardo left the saloon to give the necessary orders to the man outside. there was a splash in the water as the tender was put over, and the _iris_ slowed until she had no more than steerage way. "get into your clothes, mcglory," said grattan to the cowboy. "i'm about ready to send you ashore." "the quicker the better!" exclaimed mcglory wrathfully. "we don't want to lose a minute getting to some place where we can send the officers after you." grattan laughed. "you will have your trouble for your pains," said he. "after you are landed, the _iris_ and those aboard her will vanish as completely as though they had gone to the bottom. i have planned for this. do what you please, and as soon as you please. philo grattan and his friends will never be captured." "ten thousand demons of misfortune pester a man who has anything to do with the eye of buddha," snarled mcglory, stamping into his shoes. "my pard and i know that. sufferin' hoodoos! haven't we been tangled up with all sorts of backsets since we met tsan ti? if it ain't one thing, it's two. you never know what minute's going to be the next." "i'll risk the ten thousand demons," smiled grattan. "something'll hit you," declared mcglory. "you take that from me, and spread your blankets on it." "you forget that i have carried the ruby for a good many thousands of miles." "i'm gloomed up more to think we ever saw that eye of buddha," scowled mcglory, getting up from the seat and jamming on his hat, "than to know that we lost it." "are you ready?" asked grattan. "i've been ready to leave this boat ever since we came aboard! you're a fine bunch of outlaws, the lot of you, and you'll all get hung, one of these days. i'd like to be around when it happens." matt left his wrathful chum to do the talking. so far as he was concerned, he had nothing to say. "we're going to put you ashore near a place where you can catch a train north, to catskill," said grattan, after a brief, whispered conversation with pardo. "there doesn't happen to be any telegraph station at the place, but the train will stop on signal." "there are other telegraph stations," fumed mcglory. "i reckon we can find 'em." "i hope, motor matt," went on grattan, "that you don't cherish any hard feelings?" "no matter how i feel, grattan," returned matt, "i think you've made a big mistake." "how?" "why, in your choice of a career. half the energy you put into your criminal work would make you a power in the world." "i used to talk like that," said grattan, with a tinge of bitterness, "when i was young. good-by." matt did not answer, but went out of the saloon and through the stateroom to the steps leading to the after deck. mcglory came close behind him. when they gained the deck, pierson was in the tender, and another man stood ready to help them over the side. silently pierson rowed them ashore through the moonlight. when the boys had debarked, pierson rowed swiftly back to the _iris_, and the lads on shore could hear the noise as the tender was taken aboard. "landed," muttered matt. "and stung," finished mcglory. "wasn't it neat? say, i take off my hat to grattan. he's the king bee of all the tinhorns. let's watch and see which way the _iris_ goes." the boys watched, but under their staring eyes the lights vanished one by one from forward and aft, and from starboard and port. the cabin windows winked out in darkness, and the gloom of the river swallowed up the motor yacht. her disappearance was helped by a cloud which floated across the face of the moon and threw the river into deepest shadow. "speak to me about that, pard!" exclaimed mcglory. "i wonder if it would do any good to send out telegrams?" "i don't think it would, joe," matt answered, "but if there was a telegraph office handy, we'd try it." "let's find the place where the trains stop. if a train comes along pretty soon, we can get to a telegraph office." when the cloud had swept on, and the moon shone out again, a survey of the place showed the boys a dark building at the top of the bank. they climbed up to the structure and found that it was an open shed, with benches. there was no light, and the cowboy struck a match and hunted for a time card. he could find none. "oh, hang such a place!" grumbled mcglory. "if we knew how far it was to the next station, pard, we could set out and hoof it." "haven't you done enough walking for one day, joe?" asked matt. "i believe i have. i'm going to sit down here and wait for a train to come along." suiting his action to the word, matt dropped down on one of the benches. his chum took a place beside him. "you're as full of surprises, pard," remarked mcglory, "as a cocoanut is of milk. there's no guessing what you're going to do next. you didn't tell me anything about taking the eye of buddha from that empty box when you left it with the clerk, and you never let out a yip about removing the ruby from the handkerchief and putting it in your cap. regular greaser trick--carrying things in your hat." "i thought i had to do something, joe. when i was at work in the engine room, i had planned to take off the cap and put it in my pocket." "what did you have in that handkerchief?" "my pocketknife." "great guns! was the knife in the handkerchief when we left catskill?" "no. the knife and the handkerchief were both in the same pocket. i managed to tie the knife up in the handkerchief, after a fashion, while we were facing grattan, and he was talking." "well, glory to glory and all sashay! and grattan never saw you!" "i'm inclined to think he did, from the way the thing turned out." "you didn't think you could fool grattan so he wouldn't search you, did you?" "it was a desperate chance to keep him from looking into my cap. but i might have known i couldn't fool him." just at that moment a lantern could be seen coming from down the track. a man reached the shed and began lighting a lamp at each end of it. "hello, neighbor!" called mcglory. "do you belong around here?" the man turned and looked toward the boys. evidently he had not seen them before, and the call startled him. "i live down the track a ways," he answered. "do you take care of this palatial depot?" "i put out the lights," was the reply. "a little late getting them out to-night, aren't you?" "well, no. there's no use putting them out before, 'cause the first train to stop hasn't come along yet." "how far is it to catskill?" "twenty mile." "where's the nearest telegraph office?" "three miles below. you fellers waitin' to ketch a train for catskill?" "yes. when will it be along?" "it's due now." "does it stop here?" "yes, if it's signaled." "how'll we flag it?" "i'll do that for ye with the lantern. that's what i come up here for--to put out the lights an' do the flaggin'." "here's a piece of luck, anyhow, matt," said mcglory. "we can go on to catskill and do our telegraphing from there." "we might just as well," said matt. matt's failure to keep the ruby was preying on his spirits. he couldn't help what had happened, but the sting of failure, when he always prided himself on "making good," was hard to bear. "buck up, pardy!" cried mcglory. "old tsan ti can't find any fault with you." "i know that. i'm thinking, though, we weren't cautious enough in going aboard that boat." "cautious? tell me about that! who wouldn't have been fooled, when the game was worked like grattan worked it? i don't know how any one could have helped what happened." "anyhow," said matt, "we fell down. it might have been just as well if i had disobeyed tsan ti's instructions and placed the ruby in some bank vault." "but the mandarin said no. you carried out orders to the letter, and that's what lost us the ruby." "we were to stay in the catskills, and we didn't. because we broke over our instructions, we fell into the hands of grattan." "he'd have got at you somehow even if we'd stayed in catskill. i never saw such a man to keep after a thing he's set his mind on. now, if we----" "train's comin'," called the man, stepping upon the track and waving the lantern. the rumble of the passenger could be heard, growing rapidly in volume. "well," remarked mcglory, as he and matt got up, "we've shuffled off the hoodoo and nothing more will go crossways with us. that's worth a whole lot. and if tsan ti is fool enough to choke himself with that yellow cord, well, let him do it. grattan was more than half right in what he said about that." the train, with its row of dimly lighted windows, came to a halt. matt and mcglory climbed aboard, and the train started on again. the boys walked from one car into another trying to find a vacant seat which they could share together. at last matt, who was in the lead, came to a halt in the aisle at the rear of the second coach. "move on, pard," said mcglory. "we'll try the next car. it can't be that all the coaches are as full as this one." but matt did not move on. he turned, amazement shining in his gray eyes, and pointed to a seat ahead of him, and on the right. two drowsy chinamen occupied the seat. one of them was fleshy, and took up two-thirds of the space. this man wore a black silk cap with a red button. his chin was sunk on his breast and he was snoring loudly. "tsan ti!" murmured mcglory, wondering if his eyes were playing him a trick. "and sam wing," added matt. "the mandarin is going to catskill to get the ruby. here's where i have to tell him the truth." with that, motor matt leaned over and touched tsan ti on the shoulder. chapter xv. a crafty oriental. meeting tsan ti in this peculiar fashion was a seven-day wonder to the motor boys. the workings of chance, in connection with various matters appertaining to the stolen ruby, could not have been better exemplified. tsan ti roused himself under matt's touch, and blinked up at him through sleepy eyes. by degrees the lad's face took form before him, and he gave an incredulous grunt and floundered to his feet. "estimable, never-to-be-forgotten friend!" the mandarin wheezed, his flabby face beaming as he reached for motor matt's hand. "also the notable mcglory, friend of my friend! this is a delight, all the more joyful because not expected until catskill. why is it i have the great honor to see you here?" "that's quite a yarn, tsan ti," replied matt. "let me hear it forthwith, i beseech!" and tsan ti ordered sam wing out of the seat and motioned for matt to take his place. the mandarin had been educated at one of the most famous colleges in the united states, and seemed, as mcglory expressed it, to have spent most of his time corralling adjectives. sam wing, apparently not in the least excited by the sudden appearance of the motor boys, got a seat across the aisle and continued his doze. mcglory managed to secure a place behind matt. "i, most devoted youth," said tsan ti, as soon as matt was seated, "am on my way to catskill of a purpose to talk with you. no longer am i followed by the suspicious person whom i know to have been in the service of grattan. so soon as i discovered this, i started immediately to find you. the five hundred gods of good luck must have decreed this meeting." "rather," answered matt, "the ten thousand demons of misfortune. i suppose, tsan ti, you are after the eye of buddha?" "quite true, honorable youth." "well," said matt, "i haven't got it." tsan ti started, then slumped back into his seat. "it has escaped you, vigilant one?" he inquired, his puffy eyelids half closing as he regarded matt. "it has escaped me, all right." "and who has it now?" "grattan." the mandarin turned his face away and looked out of the car window into the night. motor matt felt miserable enough. his words, just uttered, might have sealed the doom of the mandarin. "converse with me at length upon the subject," said tsan ti, again turning toward matt. "what you say is of vast importance, excellent friend." matt had twenty miles of slow traveling in which to make his disclosures, and he made them in detail, with now and then an explanatory word from mcglory. he began at the point where he had received the ruby, and set forth the manner in which bunce had presented himself. bunce's cock-and-bull story was gone into, and tsan ti's eyes twinkled humorously--matt wondered at the humor--as he heard how he had been lured into a basement by a beach comber and was being held a prisoner. the leaving of the box with the hotel clerk, the flight into the hills, and the disappearance of bunce, all dropped into the recital in chronological form; then came the tracking to the "pocket" under the ledge, and the following of the motorcycle trails in the direction of catskill, the arrival of the boys in town, and the report of the clerk concerning the forged letter and the removal of the box. "so there," put in the mandarin, "is where my ruby escaped from your unfortunate hands." "don't be so quick in your snap judgments, tsan," spoke up mcglory. "the ruby wasn't in the box, but in motor matt's pocket. my pard had left the empty box with the clerk for a bluff." the mandarin chuckled, and his body shook with his suppressed mirth. "remarkably well planned!" approved tsan ti. "who could have done better? you have a brain of great power, my renowned friend, and your talk gives me much amusement and instruction. grattan had the empty box and you had the ruby. what then?" then followed the call at the hotel of the man from the _iris_, and matt's agreement to take charge of the yacht's motor on the down-river trip, matt to return to catskill on the following morning. the treachery aboard the boat was listened to by the mandarin with flashing eyes. "grattan is possessed of a demon," declared tsan ti. "his wits are as keen as a sword's edge, and he knows how to use them. i do not wonder, estimable friend, that you fell into his power. even i, had i been in your place, could not have saved the jewel." "what's to be done now, tsan ti?" asked matt anxiously. "nothing," was the answer. "but--but--the yellow cord!" "it shall not be used by me." here was a mystery. if tsan ti could not bear the eye of buddha back to the canton temple, it was the august decree of the regent that he should perish by the yellow cord. the ruby had been recovered, and lost again, but tsan ti had no intention of strangling himself by invitation of his ruler. failing to understand this point, matt shifted the subject. "did you know, tsan ti," he queried, "that while you were in new york you had a chinese spy around with you? a man who was carrying news of everything you did to an agent of grattan's?" "you refer to charley foo, honorable one?" "yes." "grattan can plan, my son, and so can the mandarin. this agent of grattan paid charley foo ten silver dollars to betray me, and charley foo told me of it, showed the money, and asked what it was i would have him tell this hireling of grattan's. charley foo was of much help to me." tsan ti folded his hands complacently over his capacious stomach. "well, sufferin' bluffs!" murmured mcglory. "charley foo was the kind of a dark horse they were playing both ways. he told grattan's man only what tsan ti wanted him to know; then why, in the name of all that's hard to figure out, did tsan tell charley to let it be known that the ruby was being sent to motor matt?" "it was my wish that grattan should know about the sending of the ruby," said this most amazing chinaman. "then," went on mcglory, "you expected that grattan would get on motor matt's trail and make a dead set to get back the eye of buddha." "i thought it most likely, sagacious youth." "then," averred mcglory warmly, "you can't blame motor matt for losing the ruby." "am i blaming him, inconsiderate one?" returned tsan ti. "have i said one scolding word, or emitted anything but praise? motor matt has done excellently well, and i shall engrave his deeds on the tablets of my memory." "but the ruby is gone!" said matt. "not so, highly esteemed but most deceived friend. observe!" with that, tsan ti opened his yellow silk blouse and revealed a small bag suspended by a chain from his neck. opening the bag, he gave matt and mcglory a swift glimpse of a shining, blood-red jewel. "behold the eye of buddha," smiled the mandarin. "not grattan, with all his evil work, has it, but i." this, as might be expected, heaped up the measure of astonishing events and topped off the motor boys' bewilderment. "but the ruby--the eye of buddha grattan took from me----" "that, generous youth," answered the mandarin, dropping the bag on his breast and rearranging his blouse, "was not a ruby, but a base replica of the true gem. it is worth, possibly, five dollars. i secured it from a stonecutter in new york." by degrees the mandarin's crafty performance dawned on the motor boys. they were awed by the scope and audacious success of the design--completely fooling grattan as it had done. as a specimen of oriental craft, it was a revelation to matt and mcglory. chapter xvi. the mandarin wins. "listen, honorable friends," said tsan ti, "while i talk to you instructively. in the words of the great confucius, 'the cautious man seldom errs.' when i departed from you, amiable ones, on recovering the eye of buddha, i said that i was returning to my country by way of san francisco. such was my intention, of the moment, but further reflection dissuaded me. i decided to go to new york and proceed to china by the longer, but perhaps the safer, way. "in the great city i discovered that i was being pursued and spied upon, and a great fear overcame me. immediately i thought of motor matt. should i visit him with possible dangers, i besought of myself, in order that i might preserve the precious relic from the temple at honam? i thought of your bravery, never sufficiently to be praised, and i decided to make the risk. the cutter of precious stones was sent for, and i showed my ruby and asked that he make a counterfeit of it that would deceive any but a dealer in jewels. this was done, and quickly. i sent this comparatively valueless replica to you, motor matt, and told charley foo to let grattan's man know what i had done. also, the man was to be informed of my desire that motor matt should carry the stone about with him continually. "what would happen? i inquired of myself. most certainly, reflection made answer. grattan will be upon the brave youth's track, and he will never rest until he secures the gem. this is as i desired, although i dared not so express myself in my letter which accompanied the false gem. "after the package had left me, my heart failed. i feared i had exposed you to dangers which might cause your undoing. hence, without lingering further, sam wing and i took this train for catskill, i being of the intention to tell you what i had planned, and to let it be known, through charley foo, that the real gem was in my hands and not yours. "and see, i have come too late. grattan, the wise and unscrupulous, has taken the counterfeit ruby and is pleased to think he has cheated me, and that i shall pass by means of the yellow cord. all is well, and my plans are maturing most successfully. the five hundred gods of good fortune are smiling upon me. while grattan goes his course, firmly believing he has the eye of buddha, i travel mine, knowing he has been justly deceived." there was a little resentment in matt's heart as he listened to the mandarin's explanation of his crafty ways and means for circumventing grattan. tsan ti had thrown upon matt the weight of the whole proceeding, and had not taken means to inform him of the true state of affairs. the king of the motor boys, had he understood the nature of the mandarin's scheme, could have worked out his part of it even more successfully than he had done while being kept in ignorance. "you're a keen one, tsan," grunted mcglory, "but i'm a piute if i admire the free-and-easy fashion you have of making dupes of your friends." "it is that which has pained me," admitted the mandarin, "and it is my regret which was carrying me speedily to catskill to tell my widely known friend the exact truth. fate was quicker in the race than i. events have come swiftly to pass, and out of them rises grattan with the false ruby. i have been fortunate, and while he goes to parts unknown, i shall hope to reach china before he discovers his error." "queer that grattan, who knows the great ruby so well," said matt, "could be fooled with a piece of glass of the same shape and size." "and likewise of the exact color," returned tsan ti. "the color was most important of all. that grattan was fooled shows how admirably the cutter of precious stones has done his work." "you're really going to china this time, are you, tsan ti?" "of a certainty," declared the mandarin. "now that you have been met most wonderfully on this train, i shall not get off at catskill, but will accompany the cars to buffalo. from there, without delay, i shall go on to chicago, from there to denver, and so to san francisco, where i will embark on the first ship that will carry me across the pacific." tsan ti leaned over in front of matt and called out something in chinese to sam wing. sam wing lifted his nodding head with a start, and from his blouse produced a small sack of alligator skin, which he handed to his master. the sack was stuffed with banknotes, and from the lot the mandarin extracted three five-hundred-dollar bills. "will you consider it of an insulting nature if i offer you these?" inquired the mandarin of matt. "i won't, if he does," chimed in mcglory. "i think i'm entitled to the money, tsan ti," said matt. "the way you chinamen do business doesn't make much of a hit with me. your little plot wouldn't have been hurt in the least if you had just mentioned in the letter you sent with that supposed ruby that the gem was false, and that you sent it to me hoping grattan would get it and keep off your trail. i could have helped you even more in achieving your purpose." "it is to be regretted deeply that i did not," answered the mandarin humbly. "in my own country i would not have given two thoughts to the troubles i caused another, so long as my aim was just and wise; but here, in america, different standards rule, and that i brought dangers upon your head i shall never forget." the door of the coach opened and a brakeman thrust in his head to call out the station of catskill. "that means us, pard," said mcglory. "grab your money and let's hike." matt took the money and slowly placed it in his pocket. "you bear no ill will, worthy one, and friend whose memory will always blossom in the gardens of my recollections?" asked tsan ti. "it's all right, tsan ti," returned matt, getting up. "you win, and are off for the flowery kingdom with the eye of buddha. grattan loses, and he'll find it out sooner or later. as for joe and me, we'll call accounts square. good-by, and good luck to you." he took the mandarin's hand cordially. "may the five hundred gods of good luck smile continually upon you," said tsan ti. with that, motor matt and mcglory left the coach and dropped off the train. "back in catskill!" said the cowboy, "and after being fooled by bunce, and grattan, and tsan ti!" "we've fooled grattan twice where he has fooled us once, joe," returned matt. "right you are, pard; and there's plenty of chance for tsan ti to run into a snag between here and china." "i'm hoping he makes the trip without any trouble." "i don't know but i hope the same thing, although i get a trifle hot under the collar every time i think of the way we fretted over a piece of colored glass." they stood on the platform until the tail lights of the train had vanished from sight up the track. "the mandarin is getting a good start on the home trail, anyhow," remarked mcglory, as he and matt turned away to climb the slope that led to their hotel. "he's bound west by train, while grattan is fooling around, somewhere on the hudson, with the _iris_. i wouldn't turn over my hand, after what tsan ti told us, to put the kibosh on grattan, or even bunce." "grattan and bunce have got their deserts," asserted matt. "they'll be punished enough when they discover that they've had all their trouble and taken so many chances for nothing more than a bogus ruby." "fine business," chuckled mcglory; "and yet," he added, with a perceptible change in his voice, "there's something about that philo grattan that makes a hit with me. maybe i've got a yellow streak in my make-up, somewhere, and that it's wrong for me to own up to such a notion, but it's the truth." "if grattan was honest," said matt, "he'd be a fellow any one could like. but his ideas are all wrong. he can't see where the harm comes in removing a valuable ruby from an idol in a heathen temple, but if he'd step into tiffany's, in new york, and extract a gem like that from the show case and make off with it, his crime wouldn't be any the less." "a heathen has got property rights," agreed the cowboy, "just the same as you or me--or grattan, himself. where do you suppose grattan, and that choice assortment of tinhorns he has with him on the _iris_, are going?" "i don't know, pard, and what happens to them now doesn't bother me much. we're rid of them all, and i'm thankful for it. we've had too much of tsan ti, as well as of grattan and bunce." "that's what you say now, but just let the mandarin write you one of those embroidered letters of his, asking for help, and you'll head in his direction just a-smoking." "not again, joe. i know what the yellow peril is, now, and i'm going to fight shy of it." "amen to that, pard, and i hope you stick to it." "i will." "and there's nothing more between us and a high old time in manhattan?" "nothing but a stretch of river--or of railroad track, joe, if you'd rather go by train." "hooray!" jubilated mcglory. the end. the next number ( ) will contain motor matt's double-trouble; or, the last of the hoodoo. the red jewel--another end of the yarn--shock number one--shocks two and three--a hot starter--mcglory is lost, and found--"pocketed"--springing a coup--motor matt's chase--the chase concluded--a double capture--another surprise--baiting a trap--how the trap was sprung--back to the farm--conclusion. motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction new york, september , . terms to motor stories mail subscribers. (_postage free._) single copies or back numbers, c. each. months c. months c. months $ . one year . copies one year . copy two years . =how to send money=--by post-office or express money-order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. at your own risk if sent by currency, coin, or postage-stamps in ordinary letter. =receipts=--receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. if not correct you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once. ormond g. smith, } george c. smith, } _proprietors_. street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york city. jerry stebbins' hoss trade. at a recent interview with one jeremiah stebbins, he freed his mind in the following choice language: "everybody i've saw lately has ben a-winking and a-smirking, and a-laughing, and a-saying, 'how de dew, jerry? how's the hoss trade?' and sich like, and i've got tired on't; and i'm a going to tell the hull story to you newspaper fellers, and let you print it and done with it. "you see, the way on't was this. i live up in bucks county, pennsylvania, and once in a while i takes a trip down to philadelphia to see the sights, do some dickering, buy some store things, and so on. "i've al'ays considered myself pooty cute, and have gi'n lots o' advice to them that's around me, telling 'em about the city, and its big shows, and its cheating scamps, and what to do when they goes there, and how not to get took in, and all sich; and i 'spect it's jest because i've done all this ere that the laugh comes in agin me pooty rough-like. "you see there's a feller living right nigh me, named jim smithers, who's been down to philadelphia four times, and every time so'thing's happened to him in the way o' getting fooled by some o' them confounded scamps what don't 'pear to do nothing for a living but lay around, like nasty spiders, watching for flies, to ketch some o' us country chaps by some dirty trick or other, and git hold o' some o' our hard-earned dollars to loaf around on. i ain't afeared to speak my mind about 'em, and i don't keer a goll darn if you print it, nuther, and let 'em know that i think they're just about as mean as mean kin be. "waal, about jim smithers. he's pooty green yit; but the first time he went down to the big city he was as raw as a new cabbage, and he got took in fifteen dollars' worth on what you newspaper fellers calls the drap game. "in course you know all about that ere. a feller comes up behind the country chap, and, all unbeknown to him, drops a pocketbook, picks it up, and tells him it's hisn. but it ain't, you know, and the country feller says so. then the city scamp opens it a lettle, and it 'pears to be stuffed full o' bank bills; and he says it's a pity that some honest man has got to lose it, 'cause he hisself's a stranger in town, and is jest a-going out ag'in, and he can't stop to advertise it, and git the big reward that's sartin to be offered for it; but if the country feller's a mind to take it, give him fifteen or twenty dollars or so, he'll let him have his chance, and so on. "waal, jim smithers was ketched in this way, and he gin the other feller fifteen dollars--nigh all the money he had--and when he went to put so'thing into the _public ledger_ about it, and handed over one o' the bills to pay for 't, the grinning clerk told him as how he'd ben 'sold,' and the money wa'n't wo'th as much as white paper. wa'n't jim mad, then? and didn't us fellers plague him peskily about it arter he got home? "waal, the next time jim went to the city he got ketched in some keerd trick, and lost a twenty-dollar bill afore he knowed it. the third time he spent five dollars, a-buying prize packages that didn't have no prizes in 'em 'cept brass rings; and the last time some scamp ketched him ag'in on a hoss affair. "'jim smithers,' says i, arter he'd told me all about it, 'if i's you i wouldn't go down to philadelphia ag'in alone--i swon i wouldn't. jest as like as not some critter, a-running loose in the streets, will take you fer a green pumpkin, and eat you all right up, so's you won't never git back to your mar any more,' says i. "'oh, you think your darn smart, jerry stebbins, don't ye?' says jim back ag'in. 'jest you look out that you don't git ketched some day your own self.' "'they've all tried me, and found me too smart for 'em,' says i. "'we'll see in the end,' says jim. "'bout a week or so arter that, i went down ag'in to philadelphia. i had some arrants to do for some o' my neighbors; and i'd a notion to tend a auction sale of hosses, and if i could see any going right cheap, i thought mebbe i might buy one on a spec--for, though i says it myself, i'm pooty cute in a hoss trade, and have made a good many dollars afore now in fatting up some old critter and then swapping him off and gitting boot. "waal, i went to town, and, arter gitting through with my other business, i started right over to the bazaar, where they sells hosses--for i'd been there afore and knowed exactly where it was. "jest as i was a-going in, i met a dressy-looking chap a-coming out; and he says to me, says he: "'mister, kin you tell me where i kin buy a right good hoss pooty cheap?' "'i couldn't, less it's in here,' says i 'for that's jest what i wants to do myself.' "'waal, i shan't buy in this here cheating place,' says he, 'for i done that once afore, and paid a hundred dollars for a critter that i arterward had to sell for thirty-five; and right glad i was to git that much, and only lose sixty-five on the trade. if i's you i wouldn't risk no money in here.' "'i knows a hoss when i sees him,' says i, pooty proud, feeling my oats, 'and if anybody makes anything off o' jerry stebbins in a hoss trade, i hope they'll let me know.' "'s'pose you could pick out a good nice critter for me, mr. stebbins, and not get cheated in the price?' says he. "'i s'pose i could if i'd try,' says i. "'and would five dollars make you try?' says he. "'i guess it would,' says i. "'wal, then,' says he, 'i'll give you a five-dollar bill to do it,' says he. "he rammed his hand into his pocket to git the money; but afore he'd drawed it out, a slick-looking feller comes riding up on hossback, and says to my chap, says he: "'do you know anybody what wants to buy a right good hoss dirt cheap?' "'i dew,' says my man. "'how high be you willing to go?' says the hossback chap. "'i don't keer a darn, so's the critter's wo'th the money,' says t'other, and he gin me a sly wink. "'then i'll take you to a place where i know you'll be suited,' says the hossback chap. "'fur from here?' axes t'other. "'not more'n a mile at the outside,' says him on the hoss. "'will you jest go along, 'arn the five, and see that i ain't cheated?' says the foot feller to me, in a tone so low that t'other couldn't hear. "i said i would; and then my man axed the man on the hoss for his keerd, which he gin him and rid away. "while we was a-going to the place, my feller told me that his name was john jenkins; that he'd got as much money as he keerd about having, and if he could only git a hoss to suit him, and not pay more for't than 'twas wo'th, he'd be mighty pleased. "''tain't 'cause i ker a darn for the money, mr. stebbins,' says he to me, confiding-like; 'but it's 'cause i knows as how all these racehoss-jockey fellers takes a pride in gitting the best of everybody they deals with, and i hates to be beat in that are way. now i sees by your eyes, mr. stebbins, that you ain't a chap to be took in in a hoss trade, and i wants you to use 'em for me; and if things comes out all right, i won't stop to put another ten or twenty a-top of the five, you know.' "'i'll do my best, mr. jenkins,' says i; 'and i guess you'll find my best right up to the handle.' "when we got to the place we seen a stable, in a little, back, dirty street, and in it was two men and three hosses. "two of these 'ere hosses wan't o' no great account, but t'other one was a pooty slick smart-looking critter. "'how much for this 'ere one?' says mr. jenkins, putting his hand onto the beast. "waal, really,' says the dealer, 'we don't keer about selling that are critter.' "'i was recommended to come here for a place where i could buy a good hoss cheap,' says mr. jenkins. "'we really hain't got nothing to sell 'cept the other two critters,' says the jockey. 'we'll sell you them cheap.' "'i don't want 'em,' says jenkins, 'but only this 'ere one. hey, stebbins! what d'you say?' he says, speaking to me. "'waal, the critter you've picked out is pooty likely,' says i, 'but i don't think much of t'others.' "he called me out one side, and axed me what the best hoss was really wo'th. "'a good hundred and twenty-five,' says i. "'how about a hundred and fifty?' says he. "'i wouldn't go a mite over a hundred and forty,' says i. "'i'll have him, though, at some price, for i've sot my mind on't,' says he, in a determined way. "then he went back to the jockey, and offered him a hundred dollars for that critter. "the jockey chap laughed right in his face at fust, and then he 'peared to get mad, and said, says he: "'you're either a dealer yourself, or else you wants to insult me; and no matter which it are, i ain't a-going to trade with you at no price.' "'i'll give you a hundred and twenty-five,' says jenkins. "'pshaw!' says jockey. "'a hundred and fifty,' says jenkins. "'no,' says t'other. "'a hundred and seventy-five, then.' "'no.' "'i'll give you two hundred.' "'you can't buy him at no price,' says the hoss dealer, looking awful mad. "'then let us go to a more decenter place, mr. stebbins,' says jenkins to me. "we started off together, and as soon as we'd got out of sight of the stable, jenkins says to me, says he: "'friend stebbins, i wants that are hoss right bad, 'cause he's jest the critter to suit me. i wonder if you couldn't buy him for me?' "'i don't 'spect i could,' says i, 'for the feller that owns him has got his dutch up, and won't sell him to neither of us.' "'would you mind going back by yourself and trying?' says he. "'to obleege you i'll dew it,' says i. 'but the hoss ain't wo'th what you offered, and nothink like it.' "'i don't keer for that, mr. stebbins,' says he; 'it a'nt making a spec' i'm arter; i wants the hoss for hisself, 'cause i've sot my mind on't, and money ain't no object with me. i'll tell ye what i'll dew. if you'll buy that are hoss and fetch him round to my stable, i'll jest plank down two hundred and fifty dollars cash for him, and you may make what profit you kin. i don't keer what you give for him, but i'll give you two hundred and fifty dollars jest the minute he reaches my stable, and i'll go right down there now and wait for you.' "i told him i'd try my luck, and he writ down the direction for me to come to. "waal, i went back and found the two hoss fellers talking with the chap that had fust told us about the place. "the minute this chap seen me, he come for'ard and said he was right down sorry that his pardners had got mad at my friend--and if he'd been there it wouldn't have turned out so--though it was a insult for him to offer only a hundred dollars for a hoss like that are, which nobody could find his match nowhere for a cent less than three hundred dollars in gold. "'tell you what 'tis, mister,' he says, 'i know your friend, john jenkins--though he don't recollect me--and i know he's mighty rich, and a right down good customer where he likes to deal, and i hate like fury that he went away disapp'inted. now if you'll find him, and fetch him back, and git him to trade with us, i'll give you a five-dollar bill.' "i thought i'd got a good chance for a spec, so i says, says i: "'i don't think i could git him back; but if you folks here wants to sell that are hoss, and will take what he's wo'th, i don't mind buying him for my own self.' "'you kin have him for two hundred and twenty-five dollars, and not a cent short,' says he. "'that's more'n i'd give my old daddy for him,' says i. "then we began to talk, and palaver, and hile, and at last i got him down to two hundred and ten, and him to give in a old saddle and bridle, so's i could ride him off. "waal, i paid down the money, and then rode off for jenkins' stable feeling pooty proud and happy that i'd made a clean forty dollars by my barg'in. "but, somehow or other, i couldn't find jenkins' stable, nor jenkins nuther, and i hain't found 'em since. "to git right down to the gist on't, i'd been awfully fooled, and tricked into paying two hundred and ten dollars for a hoss that i didn't want myself, and that i's glad to git rid on, arterwards for one hundred and five, jest one-half the critter cost me. "waal, mister, that's the story that all the folks round my way is a-grinning and a-snickering over, and i s'pose i've got to grin and bear it till the hull darned thing dies out and be darned to it. "it's l'arned me for one thing, that them slick-looking, slick-talking city fellers kin lie and cheat like thunder; and for another thing, that it don't dew for a country chap to butt his brains ag'in them city scamps and al'ays 'spect to git the best on't." the phantom engineer. "whenever i tell the story," said alf whitney, throwing away his half-smoked cigar, and putting his long legs on the top of the table, in a way some men have when a story is to be forthcoming, "everybody winks at everybody else, as much as to say, 'alf had taken too much whisky that time,' or 'alf was asleep and dreamed the whole thing.' but i tell you, comrades, though you are at liberty to disbelieve what i tell you, it is true; and that's all i know about it. i'm no long-headed metaphysician to reason it all out--i only know what happened, and it's that i'm going to tell." we gathered closer around the red-hot stove in the bar-room of the anderson house, for it was a biting cold night, and the snow was too much for our train, destitute as we were of a snowplow, and we had given up the attempt to push through to c---- that night, and retaken ourselves to the hospitalities of the arlington. it had often been whispered among the railway employees that alf whitney had once had something strange happen to him. he was a young man yet, though the oldest and most skillful engineer on the road--noted for his skill and judgment, no less than for his sturdy endurance and his bravery, which nothing ever overcame. i suppose you people who ride in pullman cars, rocked in velvet cushions, and look at the scenery rushing past, through plate glass windows, heavy with gilt and rosewood mouldings, never think much of the man upon whom your safety depends--the man who, with his hand upon the lever which controls the monster that is bearing you along, stands tireless at his post, through cold and heat, through storm and sunshine, smutty, grimy with smoke, greasy and weather-hardened, but oftentimes the bravest and noblest man among you all. but this is a digression. we all hastened to assure alf that we were ready to believe whatever he might say; and he, smiling a little, as if he doubted the sincerity of our assurances, began his story. i give it in his own words, which are much better than mine would be. "six years ago, one dark stormy night, jack horton lost his life in a smash-up at rowley's bend. jack was an engineer, and as fine a fellow as ever trod the ground. he was handsome, too, and notwithstanding his dirty occupation, a great favorite with the ladies; for when he was off the machine long enough to get the oil and cinders washed off, and his other clothes on, he was the best-looking, as well as the best-mannered, young man anywhere in this vicinity. "he was engaged to marry esther clay; and esther was a beauty without anything by way of art to help her--a sound-looking, wholesome, healthy young girl--none of your die-away kind, fainting at the sight of a spider, and going into tantrums over a cow a mile off. she was just the kind of woman i could worship, and not put myself out any to do it, either!" "why didn't you go for her after jack was dead?" asked tom barnard carelessly. "hush! she is dead!" said alf, in a subdued voice; and the unwonted pallor that settled round his mouth gave me a slight clue to the reason he had never married. and afterward i knew that esther clay, dead, and pledged through all eternity to another, was more to him than any living woman! after a little he went on. "when jack was killed, it was the breaking of an axle that caused the mischief; and, of course, this axle broke on just the worst part of the road. they always do. you all know rowley's bend? you all know just how high the grade is there, and just how rough and jagged the rocks lie all along the embankment, clear down to the river. no need to dwell on this. the train pitched down into the dark, head first, and jack, true to his duty, never stirred from his post. it was a good while before we could get to him, the broken timbers of the piled-up cars so completely caged him in. she came there before we had taken his body out, and i shall never forget how she went down into the ruins where even the bravest of us hardly dared to venture, so insecure was the footing, and worked with her white, slender hands, until the blood ran from their wounds. she never minded it a particle, but worked on, with a face as pale and rigid as marble. but i am making a long story, and dwelling too much on details. jack was dead when they found him, and she lived just a month afterward. and, though everybody lamented at her funeral, and said it was 'so sad,' i do not think it was sad, for when two people love each other, truly and loyally, and one of them dies, it seems to me heaven's special mercy if the other is suffered to go along. "jack and i had always been great friends; and once when we were talking about the supernatural nonsense that so many believe in, jack said to me laughingly: "'if i die first, i'll keep a watch over you, old fellow; and when i see you running into danger, i'll whistle the brakes down. now remember!' after he died these careless words of his kept coming back to me, and try as i would not to remember them, the more they were present to my mind. "it was nearly two years after jack's death that i was taking the ten-fifty accommodation out to l----. it was a dark, drizzly night, and the headlight on the front of the engine pierced but a short distance into the gloom and fog ahead of us. i was running carefully, as i always run on such nights, and had nearly reached carney's ford when i saw something on the track before us. i whistled to down brakes, and reversed the lever. the train slackened, and i could see distinctly ahead of us the tall figure of a man. but we got no nearer to him, for though he seemed to be only walking, his speed was fully equal to ours. we should never overtake him. a cold shiver ran through me as i noted this fact. no mortal man could walk like that. "'richards,' said i to the fireman, who, ghastly and trembling with fear, was gazing at the strange apparition, 'it must be old nick himself, with the seven-league boots on!' "as i spoke, the figure turned toward us, and then i saw that in his hand he carried a red lantern, the well-known signal of danger. he lifted it, swung it slowly round his head once, and, as he did so, the blood-red light fell full on his face--the face of jack horton. for a moment he stood motionless, then he was enveloped in a pale, azure flame, which died out instantly, and left--nothing! "all this, which it has taken me so long to describe, took place in an instant of time, and by the time the phantom had vanished richards and i had managed to stop the train. we got off and went ahead. the red lantern had not signaled 'danger' for nothing. a heavy stick of timber was spiked across the track, and, had we gone on at full speed, it would have sent us to swift destruction. "the company ferreted out the rascal who had done this vile thing, and he is serving out a long term in the state prison now. i have seen him and talked with him, and he swore to me, with a voice that trembled even then with horror, that after he had spiked down the timber and had hidden in some bushes near by to watch the result, he had seen a tall man, with a red lantern in his hand, start up in front of the engine and walk, as nothing human could walk, until he reached the very spot where the danger lay. "'and then,' said the miscreant, 'he changed into a blue flame, and vanished, and i knew that my plan was upset, and that for once satan had gone back on them as he'd set to work.'" "well," said tom barnard, "what else?" "that is all," said alf, lighting another cigar. "but what was the fellow's object in seeking to disable the train?" "plunder. he had ascertained that a carrying company would have a large sum of money on board that night, and he was not averse to turning an honest penny." "but the phantom--how do you explain it?" persisted tom. "i don't explain it," said alf quietly. latest issues brave and bold weekly all kinds of stories that boys like. the biggest and best nickel's worth ever offered. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --through the earth; or, jack nelson's invention. by fred thorpe. --the boy chief; or, comrades of camp and trail. by john de morgan. --smart alec; or, bound to get there. by weldon j. cobb. --climbing up; or, the meanest boy alive. by harrie irving hancock. --comrades three; or, with gordon keith in the south seas. by lawrence white, jr. --a young snake-charmer; or, the fortunes of dick erway. by fred thorpe. --checked through to mars; or, adventures in other worlds. by weldon j. cobb. --fighting the cowards; or, among the georgia moonshiners. by harrie irving hancock. --the mud river boys; or, the fight for penlow's mill. by john l. douglas. --grit and wit; or, two of a kind. by fred thorpe. --right on top; or, yankee to the backbone. by cornelius shea. --a clue from nowhere; or, on a phantom trail. by harrie irving hancock. --never give up; or, harry holton's resolve. by john l. douglas. --comrades under castro; or, young engineers in venezuela. by victor st. clair. motor stories the latest and best five-cent weekly. we won't say how interesting it is. see for yourself. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --motor matt makes good; or, another victory for the motor boys. --motor matt's launch; or, a friend in need. --motor matt's enemies; or, a struggle for the right. --motor matt's prize; or, the pluck that wins. --motor matt on the wing; or, flying for fame and fortune. --motor matt's reverse; or, caught in a losing game. --motor matt's "make or break"; or, advancing the spark of friendship. --motor matt's engagement; or, on the road with a show. --motor matt's "short circuit"; or, the mahout's vow. --motor matt's make-up; or, playing a new rôle. --motor matt's mandarin; or, turning a trick for tsan ti. --motor matt's mariner; or, filling the bill for bunce. --motor matt's double-trouble; or, the last of the hoodoo. --motor matt's mission; or, the taxicab tangle. tip top weekly the most popular publication for boys. the adventures of frank and dick merriwell can be had only in this weekly. =high art colored covers. thirty-two pages. price, cents.= --dick merriwell's dandies; or, a surprise for the cowboy nine. --dick merriwell's "skyscooter"; or, professor pagan and the "princess." --dick merriwell in the elk mountains; or, the search for "dead injun" mine. --dick merriwell in utah; or, the road to "promised land." --dick merriwell's bluff; or, the boy who ran away. --dick merriwell in the saddle; or, the bunch from the bar--z. --dick merriwell's ranch friends; or, sport on the range. --frank merriwell at phantom lake; or, the mystery of the mad doctor. --frank merriwell's hold-back; or, the boys of bristol. --frank merriwell's lively lads; or, the rival campers. --frank merriwell as instructor; or, the skill of the wizard. --dick merriwell's cayuse; or, the star of the big range. --dick merriwell's quirt; or, the sting of the lash. --dick merriwell's freshman friend; or, a question of manhood. _for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address on receipt of price, cents per copy, in money or postage stamps, by_ street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york =if you want any back numbers= of our weeklies and cannot procure them from your newsdealer, they can be obtained from this office direct. fill out the following order blank and send it to us with the price of the weeklies you want and we will send them to you by return mail. =postage stamps taken the same as money.= ________________________ _ _ _street & smith, - seventh avenue, new york city._ _dear sirs: enclosed please find_ ___________________________ _cents for which send me_: tip top weekly, nos. ________________________________ nick carter weekly, " ________________________________ diamond dick weekly, " ________________________________ buffalo bill stories, " ________________________________ brave and bold weekly, " ________________________________ motor stories, " ________________________________ _name_ ________________ _street_ ________________ _city_ ________________ _state_ ________________ a great success!! motor stories every boy who reads one of the splendid adventures of motor matt, which are making their appearance in this weekly, is at once surprised and delighted. surprised at the generous quantity of reading matter that we are giving for five cents; delighted with the fascinating interest of the stories, second only to those published in the tip top weekly. matt has positive mechanical genius, and while his adventures are unusual, they are, however, drawn so true to life that the reader can clearly see how it is possible for the ordinary boy to experience them. _here are the titles now ready and those to be published_: --motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. --motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. --motor matt's century run; or, the governor's courier. --motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the "comet." --motor matt's mystery; or, foiling a secret plot. --motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear. --motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto. --motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward. --motor matt's air ship; or, the rival inventors. --motor matt's hard luck; or, the balloon house plot. --motor matt's daring rescue; or, the strange case of helen brady. --motor matt's peril; or, cast away in the bahamas. --motor matt's queer find; or, the secret of the iron chest. --motor matt's promise; or, the wreck of the "hawk." --motor matt's submarine; or, the strange cruise of the "grampus." --motor matt's quest; or, three chums in strange waters. --motor matt's close call; or, the snare of don carlos. --motor matt in brazil; or, under the amazon. --motor matt's defiance; or, around the horn. --motor matt makes good; or, another victory for the motor boys. --motor matt's launch; or, a friend in need. --motor matt's enemies; or, a struggle for the right. --motor matt's prize; or, the pluck that wins. --motor matt on the wing; or, flying for fame and fortune. --motor matt's reverse; or, caught in a losing game. --motor matt's "make or break"; or, advancing the spark of friendship. --motor matt's engagement; or, on the road with a show. --motor matt's "short circuit"; or, the mahout's vow. to be published on september th. --motor matt's make-up; or, playing a new role. to be published on september th. --motor matt's mandarin; or, turning a trick for tsan ti. to be published on september th. --motor matt's mariner; or, filling the bill for bunce. to be published on september th. --motor matt's double-trouble; or, the last of the hoodoo. price, five cents at all newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, by the publishers upon receipt of the price. street & smith, _publishers_, new york transcriber's notes: added table of contents. italics are represented with _underscores_, bold with =equal signs=. page , added missing quote before "tsan ti expressly stipulates." page , corrected "qundary" to "quandary." page , changed "thrown" to "throw" in "throw the speeder off the rails." page , added missing apostrophe to "if ye ain't?" page , changed "anl" to "and" in "and he's got shy." changed "or" to "of" in "vicinity of the sharp curve." page , changed "declarel" to "declared" after "i don't believe it." changed "her" to "here" in "a dozen miles from here." page , corrected double quote to single quote before "eye of buddha." page , corrected double "man" in "third man took it." page , corrected "countefeit" to "counterfeit" ("asked that he make a counterfeit"). page , retained error ("your darn smart") from original on assumption it is intended as part of dialect. page , corrected "pickel" to "picked" ("critter you've picked"). courtesy of the digital library@villanova university (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction no. sept. , five cents motor matt's mandarin or turning a trick for tsan ti _by the author of motor matt_ _street & smith_ _publishers_ _new york_ [illustration: _certainly it was not a time to laugh but motor matt could hardly help it_] motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction _issued weekly. by subscription $ . per year. copyright, , by_ street & smith, _ - seventh avenue, new york, n. y._ =no. .= new york, september , . =price five cents.= motor matt's mandarin; or, turning a trick for tsan ti. by the author of "motor matt." contents chapter i. on the mountainside. chapter ii. the yellow cord. chapter iii. the glass balls. chapter iv. the paper clue. chapter v. putting two and two together. chapter vi. a smash. chapter vii. nip and tuck. chapter viii. tsan ti vanishes again. chapter ix. tricked once more. chapter x. the diamond merchant. chapter xi. the old sugar camp. chapter xii. a tight corner. chapter xiii. a master rogue. chapter xiv. the glass spheres. chapter xv. the eye of buddha. chapter xvi. the broken hoodoo. a real pirate. some queer philippine customs. high leaps by deer. characters that appear in this story. =matt king=, otherwise motor matt. =joe mcglory=, a young cowboy who proves himself a lad of worth and character, and whose eccentricities are all on the humorous side. a good chum to tie to--a point motor matt is quick to perceive. =tsan ti=, mandarin of the red button, who appeals to motor matt for help in a very peculiar undertaking. =sam wing=, a san francisco chinaman, member of a _tong_ that is amiably disposed toward tsan ti. =kien lung=, courier of the chinese regent, who respectfully delivers the yellow cord to tsan ti. =grattan=, a masterful rogue who consummates one of the cleverest robberies in the annals of crime. =bunce=, a sailor who assists grattan and makes considerable trouble for the motor boys and the mandarin. =goldstein=, a diamond broker with a penchant for dealing in stolen goods. =pryne=, a brother-in-law of grattan, who plays a short but important part in the events of the story. chapter i. on the mountainside. "sufferin' treadmills! say, pard, here's where i drop down in the shade and catch my breath. how much farther have we got to go?" "not more than a mile, joe." "we must have gone a couple of hundred miles already." "we've traveled about six miles, all told." "speak to me about that! a mile up and down is a heap longer than a mile on the straightaway. we've been hanging to this sidehill like a couple of flies to a wall. what do you say to a rest?" "i'm willing, joe; and here's a good place. look out for that tree root. it's a bad one, and runs straight across the road." motor matt and his cowboy pard, joe mcglory, were pop-popping their way up a steep mountainside on a couple of motor cycles. they were bound for the mountain house, a hotel on the very crest of the uplift. a day boat had brought them down the hudson river from albany, and they had disembarked at catskill landing, hired the two machines, and started for the big hotel. the motor cycles were making hard work of the climb--such hard work, in fact, that the boys, time and time again, had been compelled to get out of their saddles and lead the heavy wheels up a particularly steep place in the trail. this was trying labor, and mcglory's enthusiasm over the adventure had been on the wane for some time. the big root of a tree, lying across the road like a half-buried railroad tie, was safely dodged, and under the shade of the tree to which the root belonged matt and mcglory threw themselves down. the cowboy mopped his dripping face with a handkerchief, pulled off his hat, and began fanning himself with it. "one of these two-wheeled buzz carts is all right," he remarked, "where the motor does the work for you; but i'll be gad-hooked if there's any fun doin' the work for the motor. and what's it all about? you don't know, and i don't. we made this jump from the middle west to the effete east on the strength of a few lines of 'con' talk. i wish people would leave you alone when they get into trouble. every stranger knows, though, that all he's got to do is to send you a hurry-up call whenever anything goes crosswise, and that you'll break your neck to boil out on his part of the map and share his hard luck." mcglory finished with a grunt of disgust. "i've got a hunch, joe," answered matt, "that there's a whole lot to that letter." "a whole lot of fake and false alarm. read it again, if you've got breath enough." "i've read it to you a dozen times already," protested matt. "then make it thirteen times, pard. the more you read it, the more i realize what easy marks we are for paying any attention to it. it's fine discipline, pard, to keep thinking where you've made a fool of yourself." matt laughed as he drew an envelope out of his coat pocket. the envelope was addressed, in a queer hand, to "his excellency, motor matt, engaged in aëroplane performances with burton's big consolidated shows, grand rapids, michigan." drawing out the enclosed sheet, matt unfolded it. there was a humorous gleam in his gray eyes as he read aloud the following: "honorable and most excellent sir: it is necessary that i have of your wonderful aid in matters exceedingly great and important. i, a mandarin of the red button, with some store of english knowledge, and much trouble, appeal to king of motor boys with overwhelming desire that he come to me at mountain house, near town named catskill landing, in state of new york. noble and affluent sir, will it be insult should i offer one thousand dollars and expenses if i get my wish for your most remarkable help? not so, for i promise with much goodness of heart. let it be immediately that you come, and sooner if convenient. may your days be fragrant as the blossoms of paradise, your joys like the countless stars, and your years many and many. "'tsan ti, of the red button.'" "sounds like a skin game," grumbled mcglory, as matt returned the letter to its envelope, and the latter to his pocket. "it's the first time a stranger in trouble ever sent me a letter like that," remarked matt. "regular josh. button, button, who's got the button? not us, pard, and we're _it_. there'll be no mandarin at the end of this blooming trail we're running out. you take it from me. now----" mcglory broke off suddenly, his eyes fastened on the pitch of the road above. "great hocus-pocus!" he exclaimed, jumping to his feet. "see what's coming!" matt, turning his eyes in the direction of his pard's pointing finger, was likewise brought up standing by the spectacle that met his gaze. a bicycle was coasting down the steep path, coming with the speed of a limited express train; and some fifty feet behind this bicycle came another, moving at a rate equally swift. in the saddle of the leading machine was a fat chinaman--a chinaman of consequence, to judge by his looks. he wore a black cap, yellow blouse and trousers and embroidered sandals. his thin, baggy garments fluttered and snapped about him as he shot down the road, and his pigtail, fully a yard long, and bound at the end with a ribbon, stood out straight behind him. the celestial behind was leaner and dressed in garments more subdued. it was exceedingly plain to the two boys that his heart was in his work, and that the end and aim of his labors was the overhauling of the man ahead. "wow!" wheezed the fat fugitive. "wow! wow! wow!" for about two seconds this stirring situation was before the eyes of matt and mcglory. then the tree root insinuated itself into proceedings. the fugitive saw the root heaving across his path with a promise of disaster, but going around it was out of the question, and stopping the speeding wheel an impossibility. the inevitable happened. matt and mcglory saw the bicycle bound into the air and turn a half somersault. the fat chinaman landed on his back with the wheel on top of him; then machine and chinaman rolled over and over until the impetus of the flight was spent. the two boys ran to the unfortunate bicyclist, gathered him up, and separated him from the broken wheel. the celestial refused to be lifted to his feet, but contented himself with sitting up. "my cap, excellent friend," he requested, pointing to where the cap was lying. "gee, but that was a jolt!" commiserated mcglory. "how do you feel about now?" "kindest regards for your inquiry," said the chinaman, extracting a small stone from the collar of his blouse, and then emptying a pint of dust from one of his flowing sleeves. "i am variously shaken, thank you, but the terrible part is yet to come. kindly recede until it is over, and add further to my obligations." matt had picked up the black cap. as he handed it to the chinaman, he observed that there was a red button in the centre of the flat top. he was astonished at the chinaman's manner, no less than at his use of english. his clothes were all awry, and soiled with dust, but he seemed to mind that as little as he did his bruises. putting the cap on his head, he took a fan from somewhere about his person, waved the boys aside with it, then opened it with a "snap," and proceeded methodically to fan himself. his eyes were turned up the road. matt and mcglory exchanged wondering glances as they stepped apart. the other chinaman, having a greater space in which to manoeuvre, had managed to avoid the tree root. by means of the brake he had caused his machine to slow down, and had then leaped off. after carefully leaning the bicycle against a tree, he approached his fat countryman in a most deferential manner. the latter nodded gravely from his seat on the ground. the pursuer thereupon flung himself to his knees, and beat his forehead three times in the dust. after that, the fat chinaman said something. presumably it was in his native tongue, for it sounded like heathen gibberish, and the boys could make nothing out of it. but the lean chinaman seemed to understand. lifting himself and sitting back on his heels, he pushed a hand into the breast of his coat, and brought out a little black box about the size of a cigarette case. this, with every sign of respect and veneration, he offered to the other celestial. the fat man took the box, waved his fan, and eased himself of a few more remarks. the lean fellow once more kotowed, then arose silently, regained his wheel, and vanished from sight down the road. the fat mongolian was left balancing the black box in his hand and eying it with pensive interest. "well, speak to me about this!" breathed mcglory. "what do you make out of it, matt?" "not a thing," whispered matt. "that fellow has a red button in his cap." mcglory showed traces of excitement. "glory, and all hands round!" he gasped. "have you any notion that the chink we're looking for has lammed into us in this violent fashion, right here on the mountainside?" "give it up. watch; see what he's up to." the fat chinaman, laying aside his fan, took the box in his left palm, and, with the fingers of his right hand, pressed a spring. the lid flew open. on top of something in the box lay a white card covered with chinese hieroglyphics. the chinaman lifted the card and read the written words. his yellow face turned to the color of old cheese, his eyes closed spasmodically, and his breath came quick and raspingly. mcglory grabbed matt's arm. "there's something on that card, matt," said he, "that's got our fat friend on the run." while the boys continued to look, the chinaman laid aside the card, and drew from the box a pliable yellow cord, a yard in length. that was all there was in the box, just the card and the cord. feeling that there was a deep mystery here, and a mystery in which he and his chum were concerned, the king of the motor boys stepped forward. "tsan ti?" he queried. box and cord fell from the fat chinaman's hands, and he turned an eagerly inquiring look in matt's direction. chapter ii. the yellow cord. "excellent youth," said the chinaman, "you pronounce my name. how is this?" "i'm motor matt," answered the king of the motor boys, "and this is my chum, joe mcglory. you asked us to come, and here we are. there's your letter to me." matt opened the written sheet and held it in front of tsan ti's face. the celestial's face underwent a change. a flicker of hope ran through the fear and consternation. "_omito fuh!_" he muttered, rising slowly to his feet. "the five hundred gods have covered me with much disgrace, this last hour, but now they bring me a gleam of hope from the clouds of despair. by the plumes of the sacred peacock, i bow before you with much gratefulness." he bowed--or tried to. his ponderous stomach interfered with the manoeuvre, and he caught a crick in his back--the direct result, probably, of his recent spill. "you are here to be of aid to the unfortunate mandarin, are you not, illustrious sirs?" went on tsan ti, leaning against a tree, and rubbing his right sandal up and down his left shin. quite likely the left shin was barked, and the right sandal was affording it consolation. "first aid to the injured, tsan," grinned mcglory, getting a good deal of fun out of this novel encounter. the cowboy had met many chinamen, but never before one of this sort. the experience was mildly exciting. "wit," chanted tsan ti, "is the weapon of the wise, the idol of the fool; a runaway knock at laughter's door; arrows from the quiver of genius; intellectual lightning from the thunder clouds of talent; the lever of----" "sufferin' cats!" exploded mcglory. "what is he talking about? in that letter, tsan, you speak about insulting us with a thousand plunks and expenses. was that a rhinecaboo or the real thing?" without changing his countenance by so much as a line, tsan ti lifted the bottom of his blouse, and unbuttoned the pocket of a leather belt around his huge girth. from the pocket he took five gold double eagles in good american money. "have i the understanding," he asked, "that you will be of help to my distress?" "tell us, first," answered matt, a little bewildered by the mandarin's queer talk and actions, "what it is you want." "what i want, notable friend, is the eye of buddha, the great ruby which was stolen from the forehead of the idol in temple of hai-chwang-sze, in the city named canton. i, even i, now the most miserable of creatures, was guardian of the temple when this theft occurred. i fled to find the thief, and kien lung, by order of the son of the morning, our imperial regent, fled after me with that invitation to death, the yellow cord." tsan ti pointed to the ground where the cord was lying. his flabby cheeks grew hueless, and he caught his breath. "an invitation to death?" repeated matt, staring at the yellow cord. "it is so, gracious youth," explained tsan ti. "when our regent wishes one of his officials to efface himself, he sends the yellow cord. it is the death warrant. the card tells me that i have two weeks before it is necessary that i should strangle myself. this happy dispatch must be performed unless, through you, i can recover the eye of buddha. so runs the scroll." "speak to me about this!" muttered mcglory. "but look here, old man, you don't have to strangle yourself because some high mucky muck, a few thousand miles off, sends you the thing to do it with, do you?" "unless it is done," was the calm response, "i shall be disgraced for all time, and my memory reviled." "oh, blazes! i'd rather be a live chinaman in disgrace, than a dead one with a monument a mile high." "you converse without knowledge," said tsan ti. "that's horse sense, anyhow." "let's get at the nub of this thing, tsan ti," said matt, feeling a deep interest in the strange chinaman in spite of himself. "you were in charge of a canton temple in which was an image of buddha. that image had a ruby set in the forehead. the ruby was stolen. you ran away from china to find the thief, and this kien lung, as you call him, trailed after you with the yellow cord from the regent. the cord was accompanied by a written order to the effect that, if you did not succeed in recovering the ruby in two weeks, you must strangle yourself. before the cord was delivered to you, you sent that letter to me." "what you say is true," answered tsan ti. "i have been for a long period endeavoring to keep away from kien lung. i knew what he had to give me, and i did not want it. now that i have the cord, you can understand, out of courtesy i must slay myself--unless, through you, i regain the eye of buddha." "how did you come to pick _me_ out for an assistant?" went on matt. "what you ought to have is a detective. this part of the country is full of detectives." "i cannot trust the detectives. the ruby is valuable, and i am a discredited mandarin in a far country. the detectives would keep the ruby, and then there would be for me only death by the cord. i read in the public prints generous and never-to-be-forgotten things about motor matt, and my heart assures me that you are the one, and the only one, to come to my aid." "you tune up like a professor," remarked mcglory. "where'd you corral so much good pidgin, tsan?" "i was educated in one of your institutions of learning," was the reply. "but, illustrious sirs, shall we return to the hotel on the mountain top? i have this go-devil machine to pay for. it did not belong to me. a dozen of the machines were near the porch of the hotel, where i was drinking tea. i saw kien lung coming toward me along the porch, and i left my tea and sprang to one of the machines. i learned to ride while i was educating myself in this country. kien lung was also able to ride, but that i did not know until i saw him later. shall we go on to the hotel? i am bruised and in much distress." "we might just as well find out all you can tell us about the eye of buddha before we go to the hotel," returned matt. "we are by ourselves, here, and i'd like to get all the information possible." tsan ti picked up the card and the yellow cord. thoughtfully he twisted the cord around and around his fat palm and tucked it into the black box. on the cord he placed the card, and over all closed the box lid. with a rumbling sigh, he dropped the black box into the breast of his blouse. "foreign devils," said he, once more bracing himself against the tree trunk, "call the temple of hai-chwang-sze the honam joss house. it is by the beautiful river, in the suburb named honam. around the temple there is a wall. the avenue of a thousand delights leads from the great gate to the temple courts, and noble banyan trees shade the avenue. at vespers, some weeks ago, two foreign devils were present. the hour was five in the afternoon. one of the foreign devils was english, and wore a tourist hat with a pugree; the other had but a single eye. lob loo, a priest, told me what happened. "the englishman threw a shimmering ball upon the temple floor. odors came from it, quick as an eyeflash. quick as another eyeflash, the priests reeled where they stood, their senses leaving them. lob loo tells me the foreign devils had covered their faces suddenly with white masks. then, after seeing that much, lob loo lost his five senses, and wandered in fields of darkness. "when lob loo opened his eyes, he saw glass fragments on the floor, and a ladder of silk swinging from the neck of the god. the image, renowned sirs, is twenty feet in height, and to reach the ruby eye the foreign devils had to climb. the eye was gone. when lob loo told me these things, i was seized of a mighty fear, and fled to hongkong. there the five hundred gods favored me, and i learned that a man in a tourist hat with a pugree, and another with a single eye, had sailed for san francisco. quickly i caught the next steamer, after sending cable messages to the leaders of a san francisco _tong_ who are cantonese, and friends of mine. when the ship brought the thieves through the golden gate, some of the _tong_ watched the landing. the thieves were in san francisco three days, and sam wing followed them when they left for chicago, then for new york, and then for these catskill mountains. when i reached san francisco, the leading men of the _tong_ had telegrams from sam wing. by use of the telegrams, i followed, and arrived here. wing had left a writing for me at the hotel, telling me to wait. i waited, but wing had disappeared. i kept on waiting, and out of my discouragement, remarkable sir, i wrote to you. that is all, until this morning, when kien lung came with the yellow cord. two weeks are left me. if the eye of buddha is not found in that time, then"--and tsan ti tapped the breast of his sagging blouse--"all that remains is the quick dispatch." both matt and mcglory had listened with intense interest to this odd yarn. although a heathen, and lately keeper of a heathen temple, the mandarin was nevertheless a person of culture and of considerable importance. the sending of the yellow cord was a custom of his country, and it was evident that he intended to abide by the custom in case the eye of buddha was not recovered within two weeks. "shall we turn the trick for him, pard?" asked mcglory. "this palaver of his makes a bit of a hit with me. i'd hate like sam hill to have him shut off his breath with that yellow cord. if----" the hum of an approaching automobile reached the ears of those at the roadside. the machine was coming from above, and matt pulled the broken bicycle out of the road. the boys and the mandarin stood in a group while waiting for the car to pass. tsan ti, seemingly wrapped up in his own miseries, gave no attention to the car, at first. there were two passengers in the car--the driver, and another in the tonneau. the car, on the down grade, was coming at a terrific clip, and the man in the tonneau was hanging on for dear life and yelling at the top of his voice: "avast there, mate, or you'll have me overboard! by the seven holy spritsails----" the voice broke off and gave vent to a frantic yell. although the driver had shut off the power and applied a brake, the car had leaped into the air when it struck the root. the man in the tonneau shot straight up into the air for two or three feet, and matt and mcglory had a glimpse of a grizzled red face with a patch over one eye, a fringe of "mutton-chop" whiskers, and a blue sailor cap. "the mariner!" came in a clamoring wheeze, from tsan ti. as the automobile whirled past, the mandarin flung himself crazily at the rear of the tonneau, only to be knocked head over heels for his pains. as he floundered in the dust, matt rushed for his motor cycle. "is that one of the two men who stole the ruby?" cried matt. "what fortune!" puffed tsan ti. "pursue and capture the villain! if he has the eye of buddha----" but the rest of it was lost. matt, followed by mcglory, was tearing away on the track of the automobile. chapter iii. the glass balls. turning the trick for tsan ti--as mcglory had termed it--was destined to entangle the motor boys in a whirl of the most astounding events; and these events, as novel as they were mysterious, followed each other like the reports of a gatling gun. the journey to albany, and down the river to catskill landing, and thence by motor cycle part way up the mountain, had been monotonous; but from the moment the mandarin and the bicycle went sprawling into the air over the tree root, and the lads had made the chinaman's acquaintance, fate began whirling the wheel of amazing events. matt and mcglory had had no time to discuss the weird tale recounted for their benefit by the mandarin. there was no opportunity to view the theft of the eye of buddha from any angle save that offered by the philosophical tsan ti. no sooner had the ostensible facts connected with the stolen ruby been retailed, than one of the thieves flashed down the mountain road, leaving the boys no choice but to fling away after him. the two motor cycles had absolutely no chance to go wrong on that downhill trail. had either motor "bucked," the weight of the heavy machine would have hurled its rider onward in a breakneck coast toward the foot of the hill. "sufferin' streaks!" cried the cowboy. "if we were to meet anybody coming up, there'd be nothing left but the pieces!" "i'm keeping a lookout ahead, joe!" matt called back, over his shoulder. he was in the lead, and his rear wheel was firing a stream of dust and sand into mcglory's eyes. but the cowboy was too excited to pay much attention to that. "we're goin' off half-cocked, seems to me!" he yelled. "we've known that fat chink for about ten minutes, and here we are, lamming into his game like a couple of wolves. what's the use of brains, pard, if you don't use 'em?" "while we were thinking matters over," matt answered, ripping around a sharp turn, "the one-eyed man would be getting away." "what're we going to do when we overhaul him? make an offhand demand for the eye of buddha? it sounds flat enough, and if the webfoot tells us we're crazy, and gives us the laugh, what're we going to do?" "brakes! brakes!" cried matt, and his motor cycle began to stagger and buck-jump as he angled for a halt. mcglory was startled by the command, but instantly he obeyed it. in order to avoid running his chum down, he not only bore down with the brakes but also swerved toward the roadside. he came to a sudden stop in a thicket of bushes, and extricated himself with some difficulty. matt was in the road, his motor cycle leaning against a tree. a yard in front of him lay a flat cap. he pointed to it. "what's that to do with a breakneck stop like we just made?" snorted the cowboy. "it's not the headgear we want, pard, but the man that owns it." "sure," returned matt. "look farther down the road, joe, and then you'll understand." a straight drop in the road stretched ahead of the boys for a quarter of a mile. halfway along the stretch was the automobile. the machine was at a stop, and the driver and the one-eyed man were leaning over the motor. the hood had been opened, and the driver was tinkering. "something has gone wrong," said matt, "and it happened soon after the sailor had lost his cap. our one-eyed friend, i think, will come back after his property. if he does, we'll talk with him. we can't go too far in this business, you know. i have considerable confidence in tsan ti, but still we're not absolutely sure of our ground." "the poor old duck is bound to snuff himself out with the yellow cord if he don't recover the ruby," returned the cowboy. "that's what hits me close to home. we're going it blind"--and here mcglory dug some of the sand out of his eyes--"and we jumped into this with a touch-and-go that don't seem reasonable; still, i've got a sneaking notion we're on the right track. what's that on the hat ribbon?" matt had picked up the hat, and was turning it over in his hand. "it's the name of a boat, i suppose," answered matt, taking a look at the gilt letters. "'_hottentot_,'" he added, reading the name. "oh, tell me!" exclaimed mcglory. "_hottentot!_ that's a warm label for a boat. but, say! suppose one-eye don't think enough of his cap to come back for it?" "but he will," answered matt. "this will bring him, i'll bet something handsome." as he spoke. matt pulled a square of folded paper out of the crown of the cap. "cowboy trick!" grinned mcglory. "carryin' letters under the sweatband of a stetson reminds me of home." matt had stepped to the roadside, the folded paper to one hand and the cap in the other. "had we better?" he pondered, voicing his thoughts. "better what?" queried mcglory. "why, keep this paper. it may prove important." "sure, keep it! what're you side-stepping for about a little thing like that? we're after the eye of buddha, and if that paper has anything to do with it, the thing's ours by rights." "but suppose tsan ti is working some game of his own? that was a fearsome yarn he gave us, joe." "sufferin' tenderfeet! say, didn't we come all the way from michigan to help him? think of that yellow cord, and what it means to---- oh, moses!" the cowboy broke off. "here comes the webfoot, now." matt, taking a chance that the sailor was a thief, that he had guilty knowledge of the whereabouts of the eye of buddha, and that the paper might furnish valuable information, thrust the note into his pocket, and hastily replaced it with a bit of paper quickly drawn from his coat. then, tossing the hat into the road, he stepped out and waited. the sailor was scrambling up the steep ascent with the agility of an a. b. making for the maintop. at sight of matt, appearing suddenly above him, he hesitated, only to come on again at redoubled speed. "ahoy, shipmates!" bellowed the old salt, as soon as he had come close enough for a hail. "seen anythin' of a bit of headgear hereabouts?" "there it is," matt answered, pointing. "blow me tight if there it ain't!" he jumped for the hat, and gathered it in with a sweep of one hand. "obliged to ye," he added, looking into the crown, and then placing the hat on his head with visible satisfaction. he would have turned and made off down the road, had not matt stepped toward him and lifted his hand. "just a minute, my friend," said matt. the sailor flashed a look toward the automobile. the driver had closed the hood, and was waving his arms. "nary a minute have i got to spare, shipmate," the sailor answered. "the skipper of that craft has plugged the hole in her bow, and we're ready to trip anchor and bear away." "wait!" and a sternness crept into matt's voice. "we must have a talk with you. perhaps you'll save yourself trouble if you give us a few minutes of your time." at the word "trouble," the sailor squared around. "now, shiver me," he cried, "i'm just beginning to take the cut of your jib. trouble, says you. are ye sailin' in company with that chink we passed a ways back on our course?" "what do you know about the eye of buddha?" demanded matt. "oh, ho," roared the other, "so that's yer lay, my hearty? well, you take my advice, and keep your finger out o' that pie. i'm not sayin' a word about the eye o' buddha. mayhap i know somethin' consarnin' the same, an' mayhap i don't. but i wouldn't give the fag end o' nothin' mixed in a kittle o' hot water for your chances if you stick an oar in that little matter." there was that about the sailor which convinced matt that he knew more concerning the ruby than he cared to tell. "stop!" cried the king of the motor boys. "not me," was the gruff answer, and both of the sailor's hands dropped into his pockets. "if he won't stop," cried mcglory, "then here's where we make him!" he and matt started on a run toward the sailor. the latter whirled around, his arms drew back, and his hands shot forward. two round, glimmering objects left his palms and tinkled into fragments at the feet of the two boys. an overpowering odor arose in the still air--wafted upward in a cloud of strangling fumes that caught at the throats of matt and mcglory, blinded their eyes, and sapped at their strength. mcglory fell to his knees. "the--glass--balls----" he gasped, and flattened out helplessly, the last word fading into a gurgle. "leave the eye o' buddha alone!" were the hoarse words that echoed in matt's ears. and they were the last sounds of which he was cognizant for some time. he crumpled down at the side of his chum, made one last desperate struggle to recover his strength, and then the darkness closed him in. chapter iv. the paper clue. now and then there are episodes in life which, when they are past and one comes to look back on them, seem more like dreams than actual occurrences. this matter of the chinaman, the eye of buddha, the sailor, and the glass balls looked particularly unreal to motor matt and joe mcglory. when matt opened his eyes, he found himself in a hammock. for a minute or two he lay quiet, trying to figure out how and when he had got into the hammock, and where joe was, and just how much of a dream he had had. the hammock was strung between a couple of trees, and from a distance came a subdued chatter of voices, and the low, soft strains of an orchestra. matt sat up in the hammock and looked in the direction from which the sounds came. the lofty, porticoed front of a huge hotel was no more than two hundred feet away. men in flannels and women in lawn dresses were coming and going about the porticoes, and the music was wafted out from inside the building. the young motorist's bewilderment grew, and he brushed a hand across his eyes. then he looked in another direction. two yards from the tree supporting one end of the hammock, the ground broke sharply into a precipitous descent, falling sheer away for a hundred feet or more. he could look off over a rolling country checkered with meadows and grainland and timber patches, with a river cutting through the vista and holding the scene together like a silver ribbon. he drew a long breath, and swerved his gaze to the right. here there was another hammock, one end of it secured to the same tree that helped support matt's airy couch, and the other end to a third tree which formed an acute angle with respect to the other two. in this second hammock was mcglory. like matt, he was sitting up; and, like matt again, he was staring. leaning against one of the three trees, were the two motor cycles. "joe!" cried matt. "is that you?" "hooray!" exclaimed the cowboy, with sudden animation. "i was just waiting for you to speak, in order to make sure i wasn't still asleep. jumpin' jee-whiskers, what a dream i've had!" "where are we?" inquired matt. a puzzled look crossed the cowboy's face. "don't you _sabe_ that?" he returned. "no." "shucks! that's just the question i was going to bat up to you." "how did we get here?" "i'm by, again. but, sufferin' brain-twisters, what a dream i've had!" he began laughing softly to himself. "what sort of a dream was it?" went on matt. "funnier'n a piute picnic! it was all mixed up with a fat chinaman, and a yellow cord, and a ruby called the eye of buddha, and a one-eyed sailor, and--and a couple of glass balls. oh, speak to me about that! say, pard, but it was a corker! the fat chink was doing all sorts of funny stunts, tumbling off a bike, and all over himself." "there wasn't any dream about it," declared matt, swinging his feet to the ground with sudden energy. the laugh died out of mcglory's face, and a blank look took its place. "go on!" he scoffed, not a little startled. "two fellows couldn't have the same kind of a dream," persisted matt, "and i went through identically the same things you did. that proves they were _real_! but--but," and matt's voice wavered, "how did we get here?" "there are the motor cycles we used when we buzzed out of catskill landing," and mcglory brightened as he pointed to the two wheels. "i see," mused matt, drumming his forehead with his knuckles. "nobody seems to be paying much attention to us," he added, his eyes on the groups around the hotel porches. "not a terrible sight, and that's a fact," agreed mcglory. "but why should they, pard? they don't know us." "somebody must have brought us here and laid us in the hammocks. the last i remember we were down and out. now, joe, a move of that kind would naturally stir up a commotion." "well, yes," admitted the cowboy, going blank again, "are you and i locoed, matt, or what?" "come on and let's try and find out." matt started for a man who was sitting in a canvas chair smoking a cigar and nursing a golf club on his knees. mcglory trailed after him. "i beg your pardon, sir," said matt, halting beside the chair, "but have you been here long?" "two weeks," was the answer with a hard stare. "i come to the mountain house every summer, and spend my va----" "i mean," interrupted matt, "were you sitting here when my friend and i were brought in?" "brought in? you weren't brought in. you two rode in on those motor cycles, leaned them against the tree, and preëmpted the hammocks." "sufferin' lunatics!" breathed mcglory. "i reckon we'd better call somebody in to look at our plumbing, pard." "what appears to be the trouble?" went on the stranger, politely curious. "it just 'appears,' and that's all," rambled the cowboy. "if we could only get a strangle-hold on the trouble, and hog-tie it, maybe we could take it apart, and see what makes it act so." the stranger sprang up, grabbed his golf stick, and looked alarmed. "never mind my friend, sir," said matt reassuringly; "we're just a little bit bothered, that's all." "a little bit!" repeated the stranger ironically; "it looks to me like a whole lot." "this is the mountain house, is it?" went on matt. he was severely shocked himself, but tried manfully to hide it while trying to work out the mystery. "certainly, sir," growled the man with the golf stick. "don't you try to make game of me, young man! i'm old enough to be your father, and such----" "we are not trying to make game of any one," protested matt. "but somebody is making game of _us_," put in mcglory, "and playing us up and down and all across the table. here in these hills is where rip van winkle went to sleep, ain't it? i wonder if he dreamed about fat chinamen, yellow cords, one-eyed sailors, and----" "cut it out, joe!" whispered matt sternly, grabbing his chum by the arm and pulling him toward the hotel. "can't you see he thinks we're crazy?" "_thinks_ we're crazy?" stuttered the cowboy. "then i've got a cinch on him, for i _know_ we are. where next?" "we'll go into the hotel and make some inquiries," replied matt, noting how the man with the cigar and the golf stick turned in his chair to keep an eye on them. "and for heaven's sake, joe," matt added, "let me do the talking. if you don't, we're liable to be locked up." "we ought to be locked up," mumbled mcglory. "we're lost, and we ought to be shooed into some safe corral and kept there till we find ourselves. sufferin' hurricanes! what kind of a brain-storm are we going through, _any_how?" matt and mcglory passed through the chattering groups on the porch and entered the lobby of the hotel. the music, which now came to them in increased volume, was accompanied by a clatter of dishes from the dining room. matt laid a direct course for the counter at one side of the lobby. "can you tell me," he asked, leaning over the counter and addressing the carefully groomed clerk, "if there is a gentleman named tsan ti staying at this hotel?" "come again, please," was the answer. "what was that name?" "tsan ti." "where's he from?" "canton, china." "wears a black cap and a yellow kimono," put in joe. "button in the cap--red button. he's the high old whoop-a-gamus that bossed the temple of what-you-call-um and let the eye of buddha get away from him. he _must_ be here." "such jocosity is out of place," said the clerk chillingly. "sufferin' zero!" muttered mcglory. "i reckon his home ranch is the north pole. what's jocosity, matt?" "then tsan ti isn't here?" asked matt. "certainly _not_. you might try the hotel kaaterskill." "kaaterskill!" minced mcglory. "now, what the blooming----" "joe," muttered matt, grasping his chum's arm, and pulling him away. "what's come over you, anyhow? you're acting like a hottentot." "that's it!" cried joe. "what?" "the name that one-eyed webfoot had on his cap. hottentot! hottentot! hottentot!" "joe!" warned matt, for the cowboy had sung out the word at the top of his voice. "what _ails_ you? great spark plugs!" mcglory brushed a hand across his face. "i feel like i'd taken a foolish powder, pard," he answered huskily. "let's get out of here before i make a holy show of myself." all at sea, they went back to the hammocks and sat down by the two motor cycles. "and this," remarked mcglory, breaking a long silence, "is what you call turning the trick for tsan ti! i told you that letter we received in grand rapids was plain bunk. read it again, pard." "i've read it thirteen times, joe," answered matt. "well, read it fourteen times and break the hoodoo." matt took the envelope from his pocket, and drew out the inclosed sheet. then he stared, then whistled, then leaned back against the tree. "now it's you who's doped," grinned mcglory. "can't you read it?" "sure," answered matt; "listen." "'bunce: be in purling at ten a. m., thursday. show this to pryne at the general store in the village, and pryne will show you to me. important developments. mum's the word. grattan.'" mcglory threw off his hat, and pawed at his hair. "put a chain on us, somebody, _please_!" he gasped. "where, oh, where, did you get that?" "here's a paper clue," said matt. "i took this out of that cap we found in the road, and, by an oversight, i tucked that letter from tsan ti into the cap so the sailor wouldn't notice the original note was missing." "then there _was_ a cap," muttered mcglory, "and it _did_ have 'hottentot' on the ribbon, and you _sure_ took out a note, and it's a cinch there _was_ a sailor. now, if all that's true, then where, in the name of the great hocus-pocus, is the fat chinaman?" chapter v. putting two and two together. with a sudden thought, matt stepped to the motor cycle mcglory had used, and gave the front wheel a critical examination. "what's that for?" asked the cowboy. "i'm only putting two and two together, joe," matt answered, returning to his place at his chum's side. "i reckon they make five, this inning," said mcglory. "i believe i've got the hang of it," went on matt. "you're just getting back to your natural self, joe. ever since we awoke in those hammocks, and up to this minute, you've been a trifle 'flighty.'" "well," acknowledged mcglory, "i felt as though i'd been browsing on loco weed." "how do you account for it?" "i don't. you're doing this sum in arithmetic. what's the answer?" "glass balls," said matt. "speak to me about those glass balls! that webfoot threw two of them, and they smashed right in front of us! and--and---- but, say, pard, it's not in reason to think that two things like those balls could lay us out." "remember how the eye of buddha was stolen? the one-eyed sailor and the englishman broke one of the glass balls in the temple, and all the priests were laid out." "oh, well, if you're going to take any stock in that fat chinaman and his yarn, i reckon you----" "now, listen," continued matt earnestly. "strange as it may seem, joe, there _are_ balls like those tsan ti was telling us about. we have had an experience with them, and we _know_. i suppose the glass spheres are filled with some powerful narcotic fumes which are set free the moment the balls are broken." "it's not in reason," protested joe. "it's a hard thing to believe that such objects exist, i'll admit," proceeded matt, "but we have got to credit the evidence of our senses. while one of the balls was enough to overcome the priests, in the temple, it was necessary for the sailor to use two against us, there in the open. the air, naturally, would soon dissipate the fumes. i shouldn't wonder," matt added reflectively, "but those balls were invented by the chinese. they seem to have a knack for that sort of thing." "queerest knock-out drops i ever heard of." "when you and i recovered sufficient strength to get up out of the road," continued matt, "we hadn't yet recovered full possession of our wits. you remember, joe, your front tire was punctured. well, that puncture was neatly mended, and the air pump must have been used to inflate the tire again. you and i must have done that, then rode up here and taken possession of the hammocks." the cowboy whistled. "able to make repairs, and to navigate, but plumb locoed for all that, eh?" he remarked. "that's my idea, joe. when we finally recovered our senses, in these hammocks, all that had happened seemed to have been a dream." "seems so yet, pard. what's become of tsan ti? and the other hatchet boy that brought the yellow cord? they don't know anything about tsan at the hotel, so he must have been overworking his imagination when he told us he had been having tea there. and that other yarn about seeing the man with the yellow cord and ducking on a borrowed wheel to get away from him! say, i reckon they'd have known something about a commotion of that sort if it had happened here." mcglory wagged his head incredulously. "the fat chink is up to something, matt," he finished, "and he's been talking with the double tongue." "i'll admit," said matt, "that there are some parts of the problem that look rather dubious, but, on the whole, tsan ti's story holds together pretty well. that story of the ruby was corroborated, in a way, by the sailor. from the fellow's actions, he must have known a good deal about the eye of buddha. why did he throw the glass balls at us? simply to keep us from following him. if the sailor hadn't been guilty of some treacherous work, he wouldn't have done that." "i'm over my head," muttered mcglory. "but, if the mandarin is so hungry to have us help him, what's the reason he's making himself absent? why isn't he here?" "let's give him time to get here. we weren't on that mountainside for more than two hours. it was nine when we left catskill landing, and about half-past ten, i should say, when we met tsan ti. it's nearly one, now." "well, what's the next move, pard? are you going to that purling place and ask for pryne at the general store?" "not right away. we'll give tsan ti a chance to present himself, first." "you don't think"--and here mcglory assumed a tragic look--"that tsan would go off into the timber and use that yellow cord, do you?" "he has two weeks before he has to do that." "_has_ to do it! why, he don't have to do it at all, except to be polite to that squinch-eyed boss of the flowery kingdom. honest, these chinks are the limit." matt got up and pulled his motor cycle away from the tree. "let's go into the hotel, and have dinner, joe," he suggested. "if we don't hear anything from tsan ti by four, this afternoon, we'll return to catskill." "and not do anything about that paper you got out of the sailor's hat?" asked the cowboy. "if tsan ti doesn't think we're worth bothering with, after we've come all the way from grand rapids to lend him a hand, we'll let him do his own hunting for the ruby." "keno, correct, and then some," agreed the cowboy heartily. "i've thought, all along, there'd be some sort of bobble about this eastern trip. but let's eat. i've been hungry enough to sit in at chuck-pile any time the last three hours." the boys left their wheels in charge of a man who looked after the motor cars belonging to guests, and went into the office for the second time. the clerk surveyed mcglory with pronounced disfavor while matt was registering. the cowboy met the look with an easy grin, and, after he and matt had washed their faces, brushed their hair, and knocked the dust out of their clothes, they went into the big dining room and did full justice to an excellent meal. neither had much to say about tsan ti. matt was half fearing the mandarin's business was a good deal of a wild-goose chase, and that the ponderous celestial, for reasons of his own, had absented himself permanently. following the meal, the boys went out to sit on the veranda. they had hardly taken their chairs when a big red automobile, with a rumble seat behind in place of a tonneau, sizzled up to the front of the hotel and came to a stop. there was one man in the car. as soon as the dust had settled a little, a black cap with a red button, a long queue, and a yellow blouse emerged with startling distinctness upon the gaze of the two boys. mcglory sat in his chair as though paralyzed. "it's tsan ti!" he murmured feebly, switching his eyes to matt. "tsan ti, and no mistake," answered matt. "first he rides a bike," said the cowboy, rapidly recovering, "and now he blows in on us at the steering wheel of a gasoline cart. he's the handiest all-around heathen i ever met up with. and look at him! he acts just as though nothing had happened. well, let me know about that, will you?" tsan ti turned sidewise in the driver's seat, and swept his gaze over the front of the hotel. he was less than half a minute getting the range of the motor boys. lifting a hand, he beckoned for them to come. "he wants us," said matt grimly. "we'd better go, and hear what he has to say for himself." "that's the talk!" agreed mcglory. a bland smile crossed the flabby face of the chinaman as the boys came close. "embark, distinguished friends," said he. after all the rough and tumble of the morning, tsan ti now appeared in perfect condition. he was entirely at his ease, and as well groomed a mandarin as ever left the chinese empire. "just a minute, tsan ti," returned matt coldly. "there are a few things we would like to have explained before we go any farther in this business of yours." "all shall be made transparent to you, most excellent youth," was the reply, "only just now embark, so that we may proceed on our way." "you said you were stopping at the mountain house," said matt severely. "a play upon words, no more. i was staying at the kaaterskill. what says the great confucius? 'the cautious seldom err.' i was cautious. time passes swiftly, and----" "get out and explain everything to us, tsan ti," broke in matt firmly. "if you want us to help you, you've got to take time to set us right on a few important matters. we hadn't talked twenty minutes with you before we jumped in to give you a helping hand--and succeeded in getting ourselves into trouble. as you say, 'the cautious seldom err.' that means us, you know, as well as you." the mandarin heaved a sigh of disappointment, floundered out of the machine, and accompanied the boys in the direction of the three trees and the swinging hammocks. chapter vi. a smash. the hotel kaaterskill was within a stone's throw of the mountain house. so far as situation went, there was small choice between them, but matt resented tsan ti's deception in declaring he was staying at one when he was really staying at the other. it seemed so trivial a matter compared with the mandarin's critical situation--as set forth by himself. "i don't like the way you are acting, tsan ti," said matt, as soon as they had reached the trees. "in your letter to me you asked me to meet you at the mountain house; and on the mountainside, after you received the yellow cord, you spoke about our going up to the mountain house; and again, as i remember it, it was on the porch of the mountain house where you were drinking tea when you saw kien lung coming toward you, and bolted away on the bicycle. what excuse was there for such a deception? and how can we help you if you are not open and aboveboard with us?" "the left hand, honored and exalted sir," returned tsan ti, "must not know what the right hand does when one is so unfortunate as i. sam wing, in leaving word for me at the house named kaaterskill, remarked upon the courier kien lung being after me upon his unhappy errand, and counseled that i keep myself obscurely. but i should have made communication with you at the mountain house had you arrived by that place for meeting me. my intentions were high-minded, albeit secretive." "then, for now," pursued matt, "we will let that pass. why did you vanish from the mountainside after we had been left to chase the one-eyed sailor? he threw two of those glass balls at us, and we were dropped in the road, unconscious. it was not a long distance from where we had left you, and you could easily have come down to us." "_omito fuh!_" muttered tsan ti. "my regret is most consuming! the gods crossed my will, notable one; nothing else could have kept me at a distance from you. it was thus. young men on bicycles, pursuing kien lung and me who had made away at high speed on two of their go-devil machines, swarmed suddenly around me like the sacred rocks in the banyans at honam. in spite of my entreaties, they carried me to the kaaterskill, and there i made repayment for the broken machine, and for the one which kien lung took for himself and did not return. these affairs occupied me profoundly until half an hour since; then i hired yonder devil wagon and started to find you. behold, you were on the veranda of the hotel as i fared past. confucius said, in ancient times, 'when i have presented one corner of a subject, and the pupil cannot of himself make out the other three, i do not repeat my lesson.' so the sight of you informed me the sailor of the single eye had escaped, and i concluded best that we hurry after him. am i not right, honorable friend?" "he's good with his bazoo," remarked mcglory. "i reckon he makes out a clean case for himself." matt was satisfied. still, he thought that instead of attending to his personal appearance and running around hiring an automobile, tsan ti might have taken some quicker method of finding out what had happened down the mountainside. but he was a chinaman, and his ways and means were not those of a caucasian. "where did you learn to drive an automobile, tsan ti?" asked matt. "we have the devil wagons in canton. there are many in the foreign quarter, and i have one of my own." tsan ti fanned himself and looked troubled. "there is something," he went on presently, "of which i must inform you. perhaps, when you know, you will leave me to find the eye of buddha unaided. but it is right that i should tell you." "what is it?" inquired matt. "this, courageous youth: the ten thousand demons of misfortune have been let loose upon those most closely concerned with the loss of the ruby. while the great buddha sits eyeless in the temple at honam, his wrath falls upon me in particular; and, now that you are helping me, it will likewise fall upon you. disasters have crowded upon me, and if you keep on in the search, they will surely overtake you. already you have had experience of them." "sufferin' snakes!" grunted mcglory. "it'll take more'n a heathen idol over in china to get me on the run." "i guess we'll face the music," laughed matt. "that ruby eye may be a hoodoo, but we're not superstitious enough to get scared." "excellent!" wheezed tsan ti. "i have done well to secure your invaluable services. shall we now proceed down the mountain in pursuit of the sailor?" "why, he may be a hundred miles from here by this time." "not so!" was the positive answer. "i have my warning that he is near, and that we must hasten." "warning?" repeated matt. tsan ti poked two fingers down the neck of his blouse and fished up a small black v-shaped object attached to a gold chain. "observe," he said solemnly, "my jade-stone amulet, covered with choice ideographs from the book of auguries. when it burns the skin upon the speaking of a name, then have i a warning. look!" he held the stone on his fat palm. "with it thus i breathe the words 'one-eyed thief' and"--he winced as though from pain--"the amulet nearly burns." mcglory dropped his head, and his shoulders shook with suppressed mirth. never had he met so humorous a person as this mandarin of the red button, with his yellow cord, his jade-stone amulet, and his load of trouble. matt was also possessed of a desire to laugh, but managed to keep his features straight. tsan ti observed the incredulity of the boys, and dropped the amulet back down his blouse. "let us go, doubting ones," he puffed, "and you will see. come, accompany me, and you will not be long in learning why the amulet burns!" "our motor cycles are here, at the garage," demurred matt, "and----" "they will be safely kept until you come for them again. let us, as you say, hustle." he was up and waddling toward the automobile before matt or mcglory could answer. the boys followed him, matt climbing into the front seat at the mandarin's side, and the cowboy getting into the seat behind. "hadn't i better drive?" queried matt. "it is a pleasure for me to guide and control the pounding demon," the chinaman answered. "ha, we start." but they did not start. naturally, the long halt had not left enough gas in the cylinders to take the spark, and tsan ti had neglected to use the crank. matt got down and turned the engine over--and came within one of being run down before he could get out of the way. regaining the car at a flying leap, he snuggled down in his seat and proceeded to hold his breath. of all the reckless drivers he had ever seen, tsan ti was the limit. he banged over the edge of the level into the long slope, engaging the high speed so quickly that matt wondered he did not strip the gear. as the car lurched, and swayed, and bounded tsan ti's joy shone in his puffy face. "glory to glory, and all hands 'round!" yelled the cowboy, from behind. "change seats with him, matt! if you don't, he'll string us from the mountain house clean to catskill." matt leaned over and gave the steering wheel a turn barely in time to keep them from hitting a tree. the wake the machine left behind it looked like a zigzag streak. first they were on one side of the road, and then on the other, juggling back and forth by the narrowest of margins, and keeping right side up in defiance with every law of gravity with which matt was familiar. "cut out the high speed!" shouted matt. "it's suicide to use that gear on such a slope as this. we could coast down this hill without an ounce of power." a mud guard was loose, and it rattled horribly. the chinaman was feeding too much gasoline part of the time, and not enough the rest of the time. now and again, the cylinders would misfire, pop wildly, then jump into a racing hum. that high-powered roadster made as much noise as a railroad train; and what with matt yelling directions, and mcglory whooping like a comanche at every close call they nipped out of, the uproar was tremendous. through it all the fat chinaman glowed and, at intervals, gave vent to ecstatic howls. whenever they escaped a tree that had threatened them, he exploded jubilantly. "i can't stand this, pard!" roared mcglory. "i'm goin' to jump out, if you don't stop him!" to argue with tsan ti, in all that turmoil of sound, was out of the question. hardly had the cowboy ceased speaking when, through the wild hubbub of noise, matt thought he heard a sharp detonation. of this he was not sure, but, almost immediately, a front tire blew up, and the machine swerved wildly. bang--_crash!_ the automobile made a wild effort to climb a tree, and the next thing motor matt realized was the fact that he was turning handsprings in the road. silence, sudden and grim, followed the frantic medley of sound. a bird twittered somewhere off in the woods, and the flutelike notes hit matt's tortured ear-drums like a volley of musketry. he got up, dazedly. his hat was gone, and one of his trouser legs was missing. the back of his head, still tender from a blow he had received in grand rapids, reminded him by a sharp twinge that it had been badly treated. matt limped to the tree that had caused the wreck, and leaned against it. then, and not till then, was he able to make a comprehensive view of the scene. the front of the automobile was badly smashed--so badly that it was a wonder matt had ever escaped with his life. one of the forward wheels had come off. mcglory, in his shirt sleeves--and with one sleeve missing--was on his hands and knees. he was facing the mandarin--staring at that remarkable person with a well-what-do-you-think-of-that expression. the mandarin was sitting up in the road. the black cap with the red button was hanging to one side of his head, one of his embroidered sandals was gone, and the yellow silk blouse and trousers were torn. in some manner the steering wheel had become detached from the post, and tsan ti was hanging to it like grim death. he seemed still to be driving, for the steering wheel was in the correct position. certainly it was not a time to laugh, but motor matt could hardly help it. chapter vii. nip and tuck. "that's right," whooped mcglory, twisting his head to get a look at matt, "laugh--laugh, and enjoy yourself! sufferin' smash-ups! it's a wonder the hospital corps didn't have to shovel us up in a bushel basket." "are you hurt, joe?" inquired matt. "hurt?" snapped mcglory, his gorge rising. "oh, no, of course not! we weren't going more than a hundred and twenty miles an hour when we hit that tree, so how could i possibly have suffered any damage? this comes of trotting a heat with a half-baked rat-eater. here's where i quit. that's right. go on and hunt your idol's eye, if you want to. say, if i could get hold of that yellow cord, i'd strangle the mandarin myself." mcglory climbed to his feet lamely and looked himself over, up and down. his coat was about twenty feet away, in one place, and his hat lay at an equal distance in another. as he moved about collecting his property and muttering to himself, matt stepped to the side of tsan ti. the mandarin, still dazed and bewildered, continued to cling to the steering wheel. matt bent down and took the wheel away from him. "illustrious friend," said the chinaman, blinking his eyes, "the suddenness was most remarkable. once more the thousand demons of misfortune have visited their wrath upon me!" "don't talk about misfortune," returned matt. "we're the luckiest fellows that ever lived to get out of a wreck like that with whole skins. the car's a ruin, tsan ti, and you'll have to pay for it." "of what use is money, interesting youth, to a mandarin who has received the yellow cord? i have rice fields and tea plantations, and millions of taels to my credit. the bagatelle of a cost does not concern me." matt helped him upright and dusted him off. as soon as he had pushed a foot into the missing sandal, he gave vent to a wail, and sat down on the side of the machine. "such vastness of misfortune takes my courage," he groaned. "the eye of buddha can not be recovered with all the thousand demons fighting against me. the jade-stone amulet burns me fiercely----" "wish it had burned a hole clear through you before you'd ever written that letter to matt," cried mcglory. "i have involved two honorable assistants in my so-great ill luck," went on the mandarin. "never mind that," said matt. "i thought you knew how to drive a car?" "he's the craziest thing on wheels when it comes to drivin' a bubble," called out mcglory. "here's where i quit. scratch my entry in the race for the eye of buddha. i always know when i've got enough. we've had four hours of this, and it's a-plenty." motor matt began looking for his cap. where it had gone was a mystery. he finally discovered it hanging to a clump of bushes. as he turned around, he was startled to see tsan ti with the yellow cord coiled about his throat. could it be possible that the mandarin, cast down by his latest accident, was on the point of carrying out the mandate of the regent? "i say!" shouted matt, hurrying forward. but the chinaman was interrupted in his fell purpose by an explosion in the car directly behind him. bang! he jumped about four feet, straight up in the air. matt saw a tongue of flame shoot upward from the car. the gasoline tank had been smashed. the inflammable contents, dripping upon the hot exhaust pipe leading from the muffler, must have caused the blaze. sizz-z-, _bang_, boom! the gasoline was vaporizing. as the startled mandarin watched the blaze, paralyzed and speechless by the unexpected exhibition, the yellow cord swung limply downward from his throat. mcglory rushed up behind him, and jerked the cord away. tsan ti did not seem to notice the manoeuvre--he was all wrapped up in the blaze and the explosions. the fire shot skyward, and matt grabbed the chinaman and hauled him to a safe distance. "bring the wheel, joe," matt yelled, "the one that came off!" mcglory had not the least notion what matt wanted with the wheel, but he got it, and they were all well down the road when a final terrific boom scattered fragments of the wreck every which way and sent little jets of flame from the diffused gasoline spitting in all directions. "good-by, you old benzine buggy!" said mcglory, addressing the flame-wrapped car. "you wasn't worth much, anyways, but i bet the mandarin bleeds for twice your value, just the same. what you looking at that wheel for, matt?" he finished, turning to his chum. "it was punctured by a bullet," replied matt, pointing to a clean-cut rent in the shoe. "bullet?" echoed mcglory. "speak to me about that! i didn't hear any shooting." "the car made so much noise that's not to be wondered at. i wasn't sure that what i'd heard was a shot, but----" matt had lifted his head to speak to mcglory. as he did so, his eyes glimpsed a figure skulking among the bushes at the roadside. the sunshine, and the glare from the fire, caused a ghastly radiance to hover about the bushes. in the weird shadows of the bushes and trees, a face stood out prominently--a face topped with a sailor hat, fringed with mutton-chop whiskers, and with a patch over one eye. the king of the motor boys gave a whoop and darted for the bushes. the face vanished as if by magic, but matt kept furiously on, mcglory chasing after him. "what's to pay, pard?" the cowboy was demanding. "the sailor!" flung back matt. "i saw him in the brush! he must have been the one who put that bullet into our front tire!" "whoop-ya!" yelled mcglory, all his hostility springing to the surface and causing him to forget his announced determination to "quit" and let the mandarin shift for himself. "let's put the kibosh on him! he's the cause of all this. hang the idol's eye! we've got an account of our own to settle. but look out for the glass balls." ahead of him matt could hear the crash and crackle of undergrowth, and now and then he caught a glimpse of the racing sailor. the timber grew more dense, and presently, just as matt thought he had the fellow, he was brought up short with the quarry out of sight and hearing. "he's dodged away," panted the cowboy. "maybe he's doubled back." "i'd have heard him if he'd done that," answered matt. "he has either stopped, and is lying low, or else he has gone on ahead. i thought i had him, for a minute. come on, joe!" matt flung onward, and leaped suddenly from the edge of the timber into a cornfield on a little flat between two shoulders of the mountain. he stopped and listened. the leaves of the corn rustled in the faint breeze, and, in the centre of the field, an ungainly scarecrow half reared itself above the tasseled stalks. "he's in the corn, that's where he is," puffed the cowboy. "mind your eye, pard, and look out for the dope balls." "you go one way across the field," suggested matt, "and i'll go the other. sharp's the word now, old chap. we're giving that fellow the run of his life, and he's having it nip and tuck to get away." the field was not large, and matt and mcglory crossed it rapidly, the king of the motor boys on one side of the scarecrow, and the cowboy on the other. they met on the opposite side of the field, without having seen the sailor. "i reckon he's dodged us!" growled mcglory, in savage disappointment. "the ornery old webfoot has----" he stopped aghast, his eyes on the scarecrow. the tattered figure was moving briskly through the corn, toward the side of the field from which the boys had just come. "there he goes!" shouted matt, darting away again. "he got into the scarecrow's clothes, and didn't have the nerve to wait until we had left the field." "speak--speak to me about--about this!" returned mcglory breathlessly, plunging after his chum through the rustling rows. once more in the woods, the boys found themselves even closer to the fleeting mariner than they had been before. he was in plain sight now, and shedding his ragged disguise as he raced for liberty. up the shoulder of the mountain he went, pawing and scrambling, then down on the other side, matt and mcglory close after him. he was making strenuously for a cleared space at the foot of the little slope. in the centre of the clearing were the remains of a stone wall, and near the wall stood a little stone house. the house appeared to be deserted, and the half-opened door swung awry on one hinge. "he's makin' for the 'dobe!" wheezed the cowboy. the words had hardly left his lips before the sailor vanished within the stone walls. matt ran recklessly after him. "look out for the double-x brand of dope!" warned mcglory. "you know what he did before, matt." but matt was already inside the house. the interior apparently consisted of a hall and two rooms, although the boarded-up windows cast a funereal gloom over the place, and made it difficult to see anything distinctly. matt sprang through one of the two doors that opened off the hall, and mcglory, still clamoring wildly for his chum to beware of the glass balls, followed. slam went the door of the room--probably the only door in the house that was in commission--and rattle-rattle went a key in the lock. then came a husky laugh, and the words: "belay a bit, you swabs! leave the eye o' buddha alone. an' that's a warnin'." feet pattered along the hall and out of it. "nip and tuck," sang out mcglory, while matt wrestled with the door, "and it wasn't the webfoot that got nipped, not so any one could notice. catch your breath, pard, and calm down. old one eye has made his getaway, and we might just as well laugh as be sorry." chapter viii. tsan ti vanishes again. there was wisdom in the cowboy's words, and matt gave over his attack on the door and turned to his chum with a disappointed laugh. "we can get out of here easy enough," said he, "but the sailor gains so much time while we're doing it that he wins out in the race. great spark plugs, but we're having a time! i'm almost tempted to think that those ten thousand demons, the mandarin talks about, are really pestering us." "ten thousand horned toads," scoffed mcglory. "this is what we naturally get for trying to turn an impossible trick for a heathen. what was the good of paying any attention to that letter, in the first place?" "well," answered matt, "we've discussed that point a good many times already, joe. i wanted to go to new york, anyway, and it was only a little out of our road to come down the river and drop off at catskill landing." "suppose we get our wheels, go back to catskill, and then take the next boat down the river? what's the good of all this strain we've taken upon ourselves? if we don't let well enough alone, something is sure going to snap, and like as not it'll be mighty serious. it's a wonder we ever came through that smash-up with our scalps." there was one window in the room. matt had passed to it and was making an examination. the glass was broken out of the sash, and the boards nailed to the outside of the casing were loose. he pushed two of the boards off, leaving a gap through which he and his chum could easily crawl. "if we'd done this in the first place, joe," said he, "we might have picked up the mariner's trail before he had got too far away." "too late now. it was our luck to get into the only room in the 'dobe, i reckon, that had a good door and a usable lock." "well," returned matt, "let's get out and hunt up the mandarin. i hope he won't make 'way with himself while we're moseying around in this part of the woods." the boys climbed through the window and the gap in the boards, and matt made a casual survey of the house's vicinity. of course the sailor was gone, and had left no clue as to the direction of his flight. setting their faces in the direction of the road, the boys started off briskly on their return to the wrecked car. "there's one thing you didn't do, pard," remarked mcglory, while they were on their way through the timber. "what's that?" "why, you didn't lisp a word to the mandarin about that note you took from the hottentot's cap. maybe, if the chinaman knew about that, he'd quit thinking of doing the polite and courteous thing for the regent." "i had intended telling tsan ti about the note," returned matt, struck by the illuminating suggestion, "but i hadn't time. i'll put it up to tsan ti, though, the first thing after we meet him again." "i've got the yellow string. if he has to make the happy dispatch with that, then i've blocked his game for a while. i don't know much about the etiquette of this yellow-cord _game_. do you?" "no." "well, leaving that out of the discussion for now, here's another point. do you reckon old one eye has found out, yet, how you juggled the notes on him?" "i can't see as that makes much difference," answered matt. "he left us in a hurry, there at that stone house. if he'd known we had the note, why didn't he stop and palaver about it?" "we were two against him, and he was in too much of a hurry." "why didn't he use the glass balls and take the note away from us while we were down and out?" "probably his supply of glass balls is running low." "that note is to be shown to the man in purling, and the man in purling is then to show the bearer of the note where this grattan is. now----" "that's a chance for us to find grattan," cut in matt. "you're planning on that, are you? sufferin' trouble! if it wouldn't be actin' more like a hired man than a pard, i'd go on a strike." "we're onto this mandarin's business now, joe," said matt, "and we ought to see it through to a finish." "it'll be our finish, i reckon." at this moment they stepped out onto the road close to the car. the machine was a charred and twisted wreck, and fit only for the junk heap. matt looked around for tsan ti, but he was nowhere in evidence. "vanished again!" exclaimed mcglory. matt threw back his head and shouted the mandarin's name at the top of his voice. no answer was returned, but the echoes of the call had hardly died away before they were taken up by the humming of another motor, and a little runabout came whirling down the road and brought up at the side of the wrecked car. two men were in the runabout, and one of the men was in a tremendously bad humor. the angry individual jumped from the runabout and peered at the number on the smoking board at the rear of the chassis. "it was my car, all right!" he cried. "and look at it! great scott, just look at it! total loss, and only a fat chink to look to for damages. oh, i'm s, t, u, n, g to the queen's taste, all right. who're you?" he demanded, whirling suddenly on the boys. matt told him. "you're from up the mountain, are you?" inquired matt. "where else?" replied the other crossly. "what's become of the chink that hired this car? do you know?" "probably he's gone back to the hotel." "oh, probably," was the sarcastic retort; "yes, probably! i've got money that says he's sloped for good. look here. they say there were two fellows in the car with the chink when it left the mountain house. are you the fellows?" "yes." "then, by jing, i'll hold _you_. twenty-five hundred is what i want, and i want it quick." "oh, rats!" grunted the man in the runabout. "i'll bet those fellows couldn't rake up twenty-five hundred cents. quit foolin', jackson, and let's go back." matt and mcglory, after their recent experiences in the collision and while chasing the sailor, were most assuredly not looking their best. but they could have drawn a draft on chicago for twenty-five hundred dollars and had it honored--had they been so minded. "oh, say moo and chase yourself!" cried mcglory. "you rented the car to the chinaman; you didn't rent it to us." "i'm going to hold you, anyhow," declared the man called jackson. "you'll have a good time trying it," retorted the cowboy truculently. jackson stepped toward mcglory. "don't you get gay with me," he shouted. "i'm not going to lose a twenty-five hundred dollar car and not make somebody smart for it. i told the chink that was what the car was worth." "i know something about cars," put in matt mildly, "and this one is out of date--four years old, if it's a day. if it had been a modern car, with the gasoline tank in the right place, it would never have caught fire, and you could have saved something out of the wreck. the proper feed is by gravity, and the right place for the tank is under the seat----" "oh, you!" sneered jackson, "what do you know about cars?" "he can forget more in a minute about these chug wagons," bristled mcglory, "than you know in a year. put that in your brier and whiff it. this fellow's motor matt, motor expert, late of burton's big consolidated shows, where he's been exhibiting the traquair aëroplane. now bear down on your soft pedal, will you?" "thunder!" breathed the man in the runabout. "is--is that a fact?" queried jackson, visibly impressed. "it's a fact," said matt, "but it needn't make any difference in this case. that car of yours, jackson, would have been dear at a thousand dollars. you'll get every cent the car is worth, too. the chinaman who hired it is a mandarin. he's in this country on private business. he has tea plantations, rice fields, and money in the bank till you can't rest. now, stop worrying about the damages and give my chum and me a lift up the hill. we'll find tsan ti at the kaaterskill. that's where he's been staying for a week or two." jackson was mollified. "of course," said he, "i don't want to be rough with anybody, but you understand how it is. this country is hard on cars, and i have to charge good prices and be sure the cars are hired by men who can put up for them if they go over a cliff or meet with any other kind of a wreck. i'm obliged to you for your information about tsan ti. he's been a good deal of a conundrum at the kaaterskill since he's put up there. a man, riding up from below, passed a couple of chinamen chin-chinning beside this wreck, and he brought word to me. that's how jim and i happened to come down." "you say the man from below passed _two_ chinamen talking near the car?" queried matt, with a surprised glance at mcglory. "that's what he said." "there was only the mandarin in the car when we had the smash," said matt. "where could that other one have come from?" mcglory said nothing, but his face was full of things he might have said--doubts of the mandarin, of course, and vague suspicions of double dealing. jim backed the runabout around, and matt and mcglory crowded into it. there was a hard climb up the hill, overloaded as the runabout was, but finally the mountain house was passed and the other hotel reached. the boys, in their tattered garments, aroused considerable curiosity among the hotel guests as they crossed the colonnaded porches and made their way into the office. they inquired for tsan ti, and bellboys were sent to the chinaman's room and around the porches and grounds, calling his name. but he wasn't to be found. "up a stump some more," growled mcglory, "and all because that jade-stone amulet got overheated and caused the mandarin to look for trouble. oh, blazes! _when_ will we ever acquire a proper amount of horse sense for a couple of our size? you couldn't expect much more of me, matt, but--well, pard, i'm surprised at _you_." chapter ix. tricked once more. matt and mcglory were bruised and sore. they were also pretty tired. from the moment they had met tsan ti on the mountainside that morning, they had been knocked about from pillar to post. "if trouble will please hold off for a couple of hours," said mcglory, "i'll give a good imitation of a fellow snatching his forty winks and getting ready for another round. what do you say, matt? the mandarin isn't here. he may come, but i wouldn't bet on it, as i'm sort of losing faith in the yellow boy with the red button. he has a disagreeable habit of getting out from under whenever anything goes wrong, and we find ourselves stalled. i reckon, though, you'll want to stay here and give him a chance to blow in?" "we can hold on here for two or three hours," answered matt, "take a bath, and a rub down, and a bit of a rest, then fasten our clothes together with a supply of safety pins and motor back to catskill and get another outfit of clothes from our grips. then, after a good night's sleep, we'll go to purling." "no matter whether the mandarin shows up or not?" "no matter what the mandarin does, joe. i've worked up a big interest in that eye of buddha, and i'm going to find out whether it's a fair shake or a myth." "i'll bet all my share of the aëroplane money against two bits that we never see the old hatchet boy again, and also that something hits us before we can get back to catskill." "you're guessing, joe." "well, that's my chirp, in anything from doughnuts to double eagles. that jackson party might as well hang that wrecked bubble in a tree as a memento--the man with the rice fields and the tea plantations, and so on, has started for the high timber just to dodge paying for that pile of scrap down the trail." "you're wrong," said matt confidently. "wait till the cards are all on the table, pard, and then we'll see." they had a most refreshing bath and a long rest in a couple of lazy-back chairs on an upper veranda. orders had been left with the clerk that word should be brought to them at once if tsan ti put in an appearance. mcglory awoke from a drowse to unbosom himself of a subject which had not, as yet, claimed its proper share of attention. "the fellow who came up the mountain and told jackson there was a burning car piled by the roadside," said he, "said there were two chinamen watching the conflagration. think chink number two was kien lung with another yellow cord, matt?" "no." "then who was he?" "i've been thinking that it was sam wing, the san francisco chinaman, who has been keeping track of the two thieves for the mandarin." "that's you!" exclaimed mcglory. "why, i never thought of that dark horse. have you any notion he coaxed the mandarin away on important business?" "that's likely." "anything's likely. for instance, it's quite likely the fat chinaman is a washee-washee boy from 'frisco with a fine, large imagination, and that he's stringing us." "why should he want to do that?" "no _sabe_, but there's a lot of things we can't _sabe_ concerning this layout." "tsan ti has money----" "he showed us all of a hundred in double eagles. but did he let us get our hands on the coin? not any. he allows, in his large and offhand way, that he has millions of taels--but that may be one of his tales," and mcglory grinned. "anyhow," said matt doggedly, "we ride to purling to-morrow and see the man at the general store." matt fell into a drowse again. no one from the office came to announce the arrival of tsan ti, and when the hour arrived for the evening meal the boys had their supper sent to their room. they were not arrayed properly for "dining out." following the meal they patched up their garments with safety pins, settled their bill, and walked over to the mountain house garage. dusk was falling as they trundled their machines into the road and lighted their lamps. "we'll have an easier time of it going down the mountain," said matt, "than we had coming up." "don't be so sure, pard," answered mcglory. "there are a number of things to trouble us besides the road." "don't cross any trouble bridges until you come to them, joe," advised matt. the motor boys were feeling a little stiff and sore, but their engines were humming cheerfully, and there was a joy for them in the downward spin through the woods. they remembered the tree root, and slowed down for it as it came under their headlights; and they also remembered the location of the wrecked automobile and gave it a wide berth. at about the place where they had encountered the one-eyed sailor, with everything going smoothly and a fair prospect of reaching catskill in record time, the crack of a firearm suddenly split the still air to the left of the road. startled, they clamped on the brakes and came to a halt in time to hear a shrill cry of "help! help!" ringing out weirdly from the dark woods. "sufferin' hold-ups!" murmured mcglory. "and here we are with nothing more than a couple of jack-knives to our names." "what do you suppose it can be?" asked matt, dropping the bracket from his rear wheel and letting the motor cycle stand in the road. he moved off toward the left and listened. "there's a row on in there," declared mcglory. "i can hear some one pounding around in the timber." "so can i," said matt. "we've got to do what we can, joe. that may mean robbery--or worse. come on!" the generous instincts of the motor boys prompted them to go at once to the assistance of a possible victim, and they hurried into the timber. the sounds of scuffling which they had heard died out suddenly, and while they were moving around through the gloom, trying to locate the scene of the trouble, there reached their ears the chug-chugging of motors getting under way. "our motor cycles!" exclaimed matt, darting back toward the road. "gad-hook it all!" cried mcglory; "it was a frame-up! a trick to run off our wheels!" although they were only a few moments regaining the road, the lamps of the two motor cycles were gleaming more than a hundred feet away. "stop!" yelled matt, racing down the road. his answer was a raucous laugh--such a laugh as they had heard before. and then came the words, bellowed hoarsely: "leave the eye o' buddha alone!" after that silence, during which the gleaming lamps turned an angle in the road and were blotted from sight. "seems to me," said mcglory grimly, "i've heard that voice before." motor matt did not reply at once. perhaps his feelings were too deep for words. "and i was expecting something, too!" said the cowboy, in a spasm of self-reproach. "sufferin' easy marks! matt, some of the stuff from those glass balls must still be playing hob with our brains. otherwise, how is it these backsets keep happening in one, two, three order? there go a pair of motor bikes that'll stand us in four hundred good big cart wheels. that was right, what you said before we left those wheels and flocked into the timber. that shot and those sounds of a scuffle _did_ mean robbery. that's a lesson for us never to help a person in distress. likewise it's a hint that we'd better pull out and leave the mandarin to manage his own troubles." "it's a hint that we'd better go to purling to-morrow and look for grattan," and there was an unwonted sharpness in motor matt's voice that caused mcglory to straighten up and take notice. "when you tune up that way," said the cowboy, "it means mischief. there was another man with the hottentot. do you think the _hombre_ was this grattan sharp?" "no. grattan is expecting the sailor at purling to-morrow. this was some one else." "the ruby thieves have quite an extensive gang. it's walk for us, from here to catskill." "from here to the first farmhouse," corrected matt. "we'll get some one to take us to catskill with a horse and buggy." he bit off his words crisp and sharp, which, to mcglory, proved how deeply he resented the scurvy trick by which they had been lured away from the motor cycles. "how easy it is to understand things when you look back at' em," philosophized the cowboy, swinging along at matt's side, down the dark road. "the webfoot and his pal fired that shot and raised a yell for help, then they jumped up and down in the bushes, and the result had all the effect of a knock-down and drag-out. one-eye must have had us spotted, and he and his pal were lingering in the trailside brush, watching for our headlights. oh, yes, it was easy. the 'illustrious ones' tumbled over themselves to fall into the trap. if i had that----" "there's a farmhouse," said matt, and indicated a point of light close to the foot of the mountain. "nearly every house in these parts is either a boarding house or a hotel. we can get a rig, all right, i'm pretty sure." chapter x. the diamond merchant. it was midnight before the motor boys were deposited on the walk in front of their hotel in catskill. a team and two-seated wagon had brought them, and they had not left the vicinity of the road at the foot of the mountain until they had driven around for an hour, made inquiries concerning two men on motor cycles, given a description of the sailor, and passed word that the men were thieves and were to be arrested and held if found. matt, according to agreement, paid the driver who had brought them to catskill five dollars for his services. before going to bed matt gathered a little information concerning the village of purling. he learned that it was six miles from cairo, and that cairo was on the railroad and could be reached by a morning train. but the train would not serve. by proceeding to the village in that way, the boys would not be able to arrive before noon, and, according to the note in the sailor's cap, they were expected at the general store by ten o'clock. "we'll hire an automobile," said matt, "and a driver that knows the mountains. i guess we'd better speak for the machine to-night." at the same place where they had secured the motor cycles they arranged for a touring car and a driver who knew the country, but the arrangement was not effected until they had deposited three hundred dollars as a guaranty that the motor cycles would be returned, or the owner indemnified for their loss. "three hundred plunks gone where the woodbine twineth," mourned mcglory, as they were going to bed, "and all because we're helping to turn a trick for tsan ti. good business--i don't think." "this grattan," said matt, "is probably lying low somewhere near purling. if he isn't, he wouldn't be making it so hard for his pal to get at him. the sailor will be there, and he won't get to see grattan without the letter. we'll catch the fellow, and we may catch grattan--say nothing of the possibility of recovering the eye of buddha." "we'll draw a blank in the matter of that idol's eye, pard, you take it from me. but there's a chance of our putting a fancy kibosh on bunce and getting back the go-devil machines. still, there's also a splendid chance for a fall down. listen. the _hottentot_ man examines the note in his cap. he sees it's not the few lines he got from grattan, but a lot of 'con' talk from the mandarin. that leaves one eye in the air, but gives him a line on _us_. what'll happen? i wish i knew." "the sailor may not look at the letter in his hat until he gets to purling, so----" "don't think it, pard. that would be too much luck to come at a time when we're hocussed crisscross and both ways." by seven the boys were up, had overhauled their grips, and got into fresh clothes, and were sitting down to breakfast at the first call. by seven-thirty the touring car was at the door for them, freshly groomed and shining like a new dollar. it was a sixty horse-power machine, and a family carryall for the personal use of the proprietor of the garage. not having been used for hackabout purposes, the car was more dependable than one that had been hammered about over the rough roads by anybody who could tell the spark plug from the magneto and had five dollars an hour to pay for a junket. the proprietor, who was a good fellow at heart and wanted to do everything possible to help the boys recover the stolen motor cycles, made this concession. so, with matt in the driver's seat, the native who knew the way beside him, and mcglory with the tonneau all to himself, the touring car flashed out of catskill landing and took to the hills. of the drive motor matt made that morning, the driver on his left entertained the most enthusiastic recollections. never had he seen a car handled so cleverly; and when the car balked--which the best of cars will do now and then--the way the king of the motor boys located the difficulty and adjusted it was something to think about. at nine-thirty the touring car landed its passengers in front of the general store. two men were sunning themselves on the bench in front, and a sleeping dog looked up lazily, snapped at a fly, and then went to sleep again. "where's mr. pryne?" asked matt, stepping up to the two men on the bench. "i'm pryne," answered one of the two, measuring matt with an expectant light in his faded blue eyes. "look at this," said matt, and presented the letter from grattan. the man, who was roughly dressed and certainly had nothing to do with the store, studied the writing carefully. "this is all right," he remarked; "_all_ right, but"--and his eyes traveled doubtfully over mcglory--"only one was expected." "don't worry about that, mr. pryne," answered matt genially; "this chap," and he lowered his voice to a whisper, "is a pal." "there's another one to go," murmured pryne. matt was startled; then, thinking the other one was the sailor, he braced himself for short, sharp work. "where is the other one, pryne?" "here," and pryne indicated the other man who had been sitting with him on the bench. matt gave more careful attention to this other individual. he was a hebrew--one glance was sufficient to decide that. also, he was ornately clad, wearing many large diamonds and making a fulsome display of heavy gold watch chain. the jew pushed forward with a wink and an ingratiating smile. "goldstein is der name," said he, thrusting out a hand. "i'm der man from new york, yes, der"--and he whispered the rest in matt's ear--"diamond merchant. you know for vat i come." a thrill ran through the king of the motor boys. no, he did not know "for vat" the diamond merchant had come, but he guessed that it was to purchase the eye of buddha. the mandarin's story was being borne out by every fresh development. "we're a little ahead of time," observed pryne, "but i guess it won't make no difference." "not the least," replied matt. "i don't believe it will be necessary for me to take my pal along, so i'll just give him a few instructions about the motor car and we'll be going. this way, joe," and matt took mcglory to one side for a brief talk. "what you going to do when you reach where you're going, with all that gang against you?" whispered the cowboy. "the outfit would be more than a handful for the two of us--and here you're cutting me out of the game right at the start." "no," whispered matt, "i'm not cutting you out of the game. you've got the most important part to play. listen. find a constable, if you can do it in a hurry, and pick up two or three more men and follow us. do it carefully, so that pryne won't suspect. also tell the driver of the car to look out for the one-eyed sailor. if he comes here at ten o'clock, tell the driver to have him captured and held--and the other man, too, if they both come. that's your programme, joe, and everything depends on you." the cowboy's eyes began to glitter and snap as the gist and vital importance of his pard's instructions drifted through his mind. "you know you can bank on me, matt," he answered. "but don't move too fast--make a delay. i've got a lot to do, and you're liable to get so far ahead i'll lose track of you." "i'll delay matters as much as i can." matt returned to goldstein. "where's pryne?" he queried, observing, with a qualm, that the guide had vanished. "he is gone for der team," replied goldstein. "i am sorry," he added, jumping to another subject, "that der price of precious stones is come down. fancy prices don't rule no more for such luxuries." "you'll have to pay something for this treasure from the temple of honam if you get it," answered matt. "i will do all that is in reason, yes, but der chances vas great, and i take them." "haven't grattan and i taken chances, goldstein?" returned matt sharply. "you have, yes. well, we shall see, we shall see." goldstein was carrying a small satchel which he kept in hand continually, whether he was sitting down or standing up. "i come prepared to talk business," he said, with a sly grin, directing his glance at the satchel. "my orders was to wait here until bunce iss arrived with der letter. i had a letter myself," he laughed. at this juncture pryne drove around the corner of the building and drew up at the platform in front of the store. "jump in, gents," said he. "it won't be long till i snake you out to my place." matt and goldstein climbed into the back seat. under the seat was a bag of ground feed. as pryne was driving out of town, matt drew his knife from his pocket, opened the blade, and dropped a hand over the back of the seat. a jab or two with the knife made a hole in the bag. the wagon was an old one, and the boards in the bottom of the box had wide cracks between them. looking back casually, matt saw that a fine trail of "middlings" was leaking into the road. "that will do the trick," he thought exultantly. "my cowboy pard can be depended on to attend to the rest." chapter xi. the old sugar camp. pryne's team was by no means a swift one. the horses jogged slowly out into the hills, pryne constantly plying a gad. "seems to me like," remarked pryne, looking around suddenly, "that grattan allowed bunce had only one eye." "that's another pal of his," said matt coolly. "you've got us mixed, pryne." "waal, mebby. git ap, there," he added to the horses; "you critters are slower'n merlasses in january." for a few minutes they rode in silence, the dust eddying around them and only the creak of the wagon, the thump of the horses' hoofs, and the swish of the gad breaking the stillness. goldstein, his satchel on his knees, kept flicking a gaudy and heavily perfumed handkerchief in front of his face to clear away the dust. matt was busy with his thoughts, and was wondering what was to happen at the end of the journey. abruptly, pryne turned again in his seat. "seems, too," he ventured, "as how grattan said this bunce was a sailor an' wore sailor clothes." "that's the other fellow again, pryne," matt smiled. "you haven't got much of a memory, i guess." "waal, it ain't long, but it's mighty keen." "my cracious," murmured goldstein, "but der dust is bad. how much farther is it yet?" "we turn at the next crossroads and pull up a hill," answered pryne; "then we leave the hill road for a ways, an' we're there. it's my ole sugar camp. trees is mostly played out, though, an' we don't make sugar there no more. it kinder 'pears to me like," he added, another thought striking him, "grattan said bunce had whiskers around his jaws." "that's the other pal," said matt. "git ap, there, prince!" called pryne, slapping the off horse with the gad. "how long have you known grattan, pryne?" inquired matt. "always, since i got married. my wife's his sister. annaballe--that's the old woman--she's english, she is. come over visitin' in cairo, ten year back, an' i up and asked her to marry me. grattan was to the weddin', an' that was the first an' only time we'd met till a few days ago. great traveler, grat is. he's been to ejup, an' rooshia, an' chiny an' all them countries. great traveler. takes pictur's for these here movin'-picture machines." matt heard this with interest. it reminded him of another time when he had encountered a moving-picture man and had had a particularly thrilling experience. and this experience with grattan promised to be even more thrilling. "is the sugar camp a safe place?" asked matt. "nobody ever goes to the old camp now no more," replied pryne. "my cracious, vat a dust!" said goldstein. "how big is der eye?" he whispered to matt. "wait till you see it," matt answered. "pigeon's blood, yes?" matt supposed he meant to ask if the eye of buddha was a pigeon's blood ruby. taking a chance, matt nodded. "she is a true oriental, eh?" went on goldstein, a greedy glint coming into his eyes. "it must be if it comes from china." "so! if she weigh five carat, she is vorth ten times so much as a diamond. but diamonds ain't vorth so much now." matt looked behind him. the sack of middlings was half emptied. "are we halfway to the old sugar camp, pryne?" matt called. "better'n that," was the reply. "here's where we turn for up the hill." the hill was long and high, and the road turned into a little-used trail and ascended through timber. the horses pulled and panted and the gad fell mercilessly. "somethin' of a climb," said pryne casually. "one of them tires back there is loose--the one on the right-hand side. kinder keep an eye on it, will you?" matt looked at the tire, which was on his side of the wagon. as yet, it was all right. matt hoped it would remain so, for if pryne got out to drive it on he might discover the loss of his middlings--and other things which would have a tendency to excite his suspicions. "der dust ain't so much here," observed goldstein, in a tone of relief. "ain't so many wagons to churn it up," said pryne. then fell silence again, matt busy with his thoughts. where was tsan ti? while matt was running down the eye of buddha for him, what was the chinaman, to whom the recovery of the ruby meant so much, doing? these speculations were bootless, and matt fell to thinking of the glass balls. if grattan had a supply of them, all the men mcglory could bring would not be able to prevent him from getting away. success in the king of the motor boys' venture hung by an exceedingly slender thread. "it will be hard business to cut it up," came the voice of goldstein, breaking roughly into matt's somber reflections. "hard to cut what up?" matt asked. "der eye. when it ain't best to sell precious stones in one piece, then we cut them up." matt understood what the jew was driving at. large diamonds are hard to market, especially if the diamonds have been stolen. in order to dispose of them they are often cut up into smaller stones. "you see," proceeded goldstein, "dis ruby is valuable because of its size, yes. der size makes all der difference. if it is cut under fife carat, dere vasn't much sale. anyhow, diamonds is sheaper as they was. i lose a lot of money by der fall in der price of diamonds." "here's where we turn from the hill road an' strike out for the sugar camp," remarked pryne. he swerved from the steep road as he spoke and drove into a bumpy swath cut through the timber. for half a mile or more they jolted and banged along, then pryne pulled to a halt. "i'll hitch here," said he, getting out, "an' i'll leave the rig. the rest of the way we'll go on foot. it ain't fur," he added hastily, noticing the solicitous glance which goldstein threw at his patent-leather shoes. "first time i efer come to a place like this to buy precious stones," remarked the jew, clambering slowly down. matt had a bad two minutes waiting for pryne to hitch the horses and fearing he would come to the rear of the wagon and discover the slashed bag of feed. but pryne was apparently unsuspicious. turning away from the tree to which he had hitched the horses, he called to matt and goldstein to follow him. their path took them through the old sugar "bush," among maples that were dead and dying and whose trunks were deeply scarred by the sap hunters. presently an old log building came into view. "there's the place," said pryne. part of the building was nothing more than a tumble-down shed. one end of the structure, however, was walled in, and seemed to have been made habitable by the use of rough boards. a length of stovepipe stuck up through the roof--about the only visible sign that the place was used as a dwelling. with pryne in the lead, the odd little group moved around the side of the log wall to a door. to say that matt's heart did not beat more quickly, or that visions of violence did not float before his mental gaze, would be to say that he was not human. he had a keen realization of the dangers into which he was about to throw himself. the moment he passed the door deception would be a thing of the past. grattan would recognize him as a stranger--a prying stranger who had come to the sugar camp with the intention of securing the eye of buddha. matt's problem was to engage grattan's attention, and keep him from going to extremes, until mcglory should arrive with reënforcements. just how matt was to do this he did not know. he was trusting to luck--and luck had not been favoring him to any great extent lately. the door of the log hut was closed. pryne rapped on it. "who's there?" demanded a voice from within. "it's pryne, grat," was the answer. "goldstein and bunce with you?" "sure. i've fetched 'em." "then bring them in. i'm ready and waiting." pryne bore down on the wooden latch and threw open the door. "go right in, gents," said he, stepping back. goldstein, with a laugh, passed through the door first. matt followed. pryne brought up the rear and closed the door. what light there was in the one room in which matt found himself came through the broken roof. there were no windows in the log walls. "he was there, all right, grat," cried pryne, with a loud guffaw, "an' he didn't make no bones about comin' with me. he was mighty anxious to come, seemed like, but i don't calculate he guessed he'd find so many folks here." matt's eyes, by that time, had become accustomed to the gloom, and he was able to look around and distinguish various objects. first, he saw a heavy-set man on a bench. this man had a dark face and a sinister eye, and was leaning back against the wall. both his hands clung to a buckthorn cane with a large wooden handle. the cane was crossed against one of his knees and held it slightly elevated. "throw yer binnacle lights this way, my hearty, as soon's ye're done sizin' up my shipmate," came a voice from the opposite side of the room. matt whirled, a startled exclamation escaping his lips. it was the one-eyed sailor who had spoken. the fellow was sitting on another bench, a wide grin on his weather-beaten face. the trap had been sprung--and it was the most complete trap matt had ever been in. "i told ye more'n once to leave the eye o' buddha alone," chuckled bunce, "but ye wouldn't take a warnin'. _now_, see where ye are!" chapter xii. a tight corner. it was a characteristic of motor matt that he never became "rattled." a clear head and steady nerves were absolutely essential in his chosen career. to these he added a quick and sure judgment. "surprised, are you?" asked grattan, with a choppy laugh. "well, yes, in a way," replied matt coolly. "i wonder if you know what you're up against?" "you have a stolen ruby, called the eye of buddha, and goldstein is here to buy it." "my cracious!" gasped the jew, throwing up his hands. there was no doubting his surprise, so matt knew that he, at least, was not in the plot. "close your face, goldstein," scowled grattan. "this business isn't going to bother you. take a seat, motor matt," he added. "we'll have a little chin-chin before we get busy." there was an empty bench along the end wall. matt walked over to it and seated himself, glad that there was to be a "chin-chin." this meant delay, and would give time for mcglory to arrive with reënforcements. "i don't understand what's der matter," gulped goldstein, pressing back against the wall and hugging his satchel in his arms. "i don't like der looks of things, no." "you can't help the looks of things," snapped grattan, "and you'll understand the situation a lot better before you get away from this sugar camp. sit down." there was a three-legged stool close to the jew, and he dropped down on it in a state of semi-collapse. his eyes passed to pryne, who had drawn a revolver and was standing in front of the door. undoubtedly goldstein had a lot of money in his satchel with which to pay for the ruby, so it is small wonder he was worried upon finding himself a participator in such a scene. "i thought der young feller was bunce!" he exclaimed, moistening his dry lips with his tongue. "put a stopper on your jaw-tackle!" yelled the sailor. "that's the line we've run out to you for now, and you'll lay to it." the jew swallowed hard on a lump in his throat and fell limply against the wall behind him. goldstein had even more to lose as the outcome of that desperate situation than had matt, but the king of the motor boys saw at a glance that he was absolutely useless so far as resistance was concerned. grattan dropped his suspended foot on the floor and turned to pryne. "did any one come with motor matt, pryne?" he inquired. "two fellers come with him," was the response. "they got to purling in a automobile." "who were those fellows, motor matt?" demanded grattan, shooting a sharp glance at the young motorist. "the driver of the car, from catskill landing," said matt, "and my chum, joe mcglory." "why did you leave them in purling?" "the driver had to stay to look after the car, and i didn't think it was necessary to bring mcglory along for a bodyguard." grattan threw back his head and peered at matt through half-closed eyes. "you're a cool one," he remarked. "why were you coming here to see me?" "i wanted to get the ruby." bunce roared. grattan commanded silence sharply, and the sailor's merriment ceased as suddenly as it had begun. "did you think," went on grattan, "that you could, single-handed, take the ruby from me by force?" matt was silent. "or did you think you could talk me out of it?" "i hadn't much of an idea what i could do," said matt. "it was just barely possible you'd be generous enough, when you learned the circumstances, to give or sell the eye of buddha to tsan ti." grattan curbed the old sailor's fresh inclination to laugh with a quick look. "what are the circumstances?" he queried. "tsan ti has received the yellow cord. if he does not recover the idol's eye in two weeks, he must destroy himself." "young man," said grattan, "i have been two years planning to get my clutches on the eye of buddha. i have haunted canton, feasted my eyes upon that priceless splash of red in the forehead of the idol in the honam joss house until the itch to possess it fairly drove me mad. but the temple was too well guarded, the priests too many, and the walls too high. it was only when i learned of the balls of ptah and their powers that the feat looked at all feasible. in order to see these balls of ptah for myself, i made the long journey from hongkong to the ruins of karnak on the nile." taking the buckthorn cane under his arm, grattan stepped across the room to a table near the bench where bunce was sitting. on the table rested a small box with a strap handle. grattan opened the lid of the box, and from a nest of cotton picked one of the shimmering glass balls. he handled the ball gently, and a glow came into his eyes as he held it up. "a quantity of these balls," he proceeded, "were unearthed a year ago from among the ruins of karnak. they are of egyptian glass, thousands of years old, and each of the big beads has blown into its surface the _praenomen_ of hatasu, a queen who is conjectured to have lived more than fourteen hundred years before our era. a party of workmen discovered the balls, and chanced to break one of them." grattan paused, turning the shimmering sphere around and around in his hand. "all the workmen," he went on, "were thrown into an unconscious condition, and it was in this manner that the peculiar properties of the balls were discovered. why they are called the balls of ptah i don't know, and what they contain that has such a peculiar effect on living beings, no one has ever been able to discover. but i heard of them, stole a dozen, and tried one on the museum guards in making my escape. it answered the purpose," he went on dryly. "if it had not, i would have been caught." almost reverently he replaced the ball in the cotton-lined case and closed the lid. returning to his bench, he resumed his original position, sweeping an amused glance around him at the awed faces of goldstein, pryne, and matt. "armed with one of the balls of ptah," he proceeded, "i picked up the ancient mariner"--he nodded toward bunce--"and we manufactured a silk ladder twenty feet long, and weighted it at one end. then, one day, we repaired to the honam joss house at five in the afternoon. that ball of egyptian glass, crushed to fragments on the floor, overcame the priests. bunce and i protected our own faces with masks, equipped with oxygen tubes reaching into small tanks of compressed air in our pockets. to throw the weighted end of the ladder over the head of ptah took us possibly a minute; for me to climb the ladder and dig the ruby from the idol's forehead consumed possibly five minutes; and for bunce and me to get out of the temple took five minutes more. we were safely out of canton when the storm broke." matt had listened to all this in supreme wonder. the audacity of the undertaking caused his pulses to stir, but he wondered why grattan should recount such an exploit to him, and in the hearing of pryne and goldstein. "you know now," continued grattan, "what the eye of buddha has cost me, and you say it is just barely possible i would be generous enough to yield the gem to tsan ti in order to save his life!" "or you might sell it to him," suggested matt. "i might, if he could pay what it is worth." "grattan," spoke up goldstein with sudden fervor, "you have promised me der first shance!" "keep still!" growled grattan. "you'll get all the chance you want before you leave here." "the mandarin is a rich man," said matt, who, of course, was parleying merely to gain time. "he has a little money with him, but that is all. every plantation he owns in china, every string of cash in his strong boxes is guarded by the regent. if he does not recover the eye of buddha, the property will be confiscated. and he can't touch a cent of his fortune until he returns the ruby to its place in the idol's head. so, you see, your friend, the mandarin of the red button, is in a bally hard fix. he can't buy the ruby, and certainly i won't give it to him." this was intensely interesting to matt. he was listening, now, in a casual way, for the approach of mcglory and his party, and he was planning what he could do with the balls of ptah in order to keep grattan from using them. "you're a clever lad, motor matt," went on grattan, "and i admire clever people. you performed a neat trick when you removed that folded note from bunce's cap. it was a foolish place to keep such a thing, but bunce is a good deal of a fool. for instance, i reached the catskill mountains with six of the balls of ptah--the only ones of the kind to be had--and the crack-brained sailor man stole two of them and threw them away on you and your chum, gaining little and losing something which might prove of priceless value to us." "now, shipmate," began bunce, in a wheedling voice, "you don't get the right splice on that piece of rope; you----" "that'll do," said grattan, waving his hand. bunce subsided. the power of grattan over the sailor was absolute. it was easy to see whose had been the plotting mind and the guiding hand in the exploits of the two. "you are sharp enough to wonder, i suppose," said grattan, again addressing matt, "why i am going into these private details for your benefit. the answer is simple. our plans are laid to leave here to-day. you can't stop us, no one can stop us. the balls of ptah will disarm all opposition, and the four of them will see us out of the country with goldstein's money." "but if goldstein has the eye of buddha," said matt, "i will know it and can prove it. he can't hold stolen property." "certainly he can't. goldstein gets the ruby and we get goldstein's money. you have goldstein arrested and prove in a court of law that he bought the idol's eye from the original thieves. then----" a howl came from goldstein. "i von't buy, i von't buy! that is a skin game. i von't buy der stone." "oh, yes, you will," and, for the first time, a laugh came from grattan's lips. "you've brought the money and you'll buy before you leave." then, for the first time, goldstein understood the true meaning of the situation. he flashed a wild look at pryne and the revolver, and sank back against the wall and groaned. chapter xiii. a master rogue. "as i said before," resumed grattan, "i admire clever people. goldstein is not clever. i send a letter to him at new york and tell him to come to purling, ask for pryne at the general store, and bring money enough to buy the eye of buddha. his covetous soul prompts him to defy the law, buy the ruby for half its value, and cheat bunce and me. he rushes into the trap. i tell you he is as big a fool as bunce--almost." "mercy!" begged goldstein. "oh, mister grattan, don't rob me! der price of diamonds has gone off, and i lose much money----" "silence!" thundered grattan. goldstein fell whimpering back against the wall. "it was only by a chance, motor matt," went on grattan, "that i discovered your trick in exchanging a letter of your own for one of mine in the ancient mariner's cap. bunce did not know i was harbored in this old sugar camp. pryne knew it, and also my sister, who happens to be pryne's wife. no one else knew it. bunce and i had discovered that we were being trailed by a san francisco chinaman, and that he was firing telegrams back to the slope for tsan ti. from catskill i came here to wait until the ruby could be exchanged for goldstein's money. bunce went around the vicinity of catskill keeping watch for the spying chinaman, and for tsan ti. he didn't find the 'frisco hatchet boy, but he did discover, this forenoon, that the mandarin was staying at the hotel on the mountain. bunce was traveling around in an automobile, and he had my letter asking him to come to purling, which i had mailed to him at the catskill post office. when he found tsan ti was staying in the hotel, bunce thought he would hurry to purling and take his chance of finding me. on the way down the mountain, as ill luck would have it, he passed you and the mandarin. then came that exchange of notes. when bunce discovered that, his panic was still further increased. the road he took to purling passed along the foot of this hill. "i was out taking my constitutional, at the time, and fate threw bunce and me together, for i hailed him as he was passing. the driver of the automobile was a man we both knew we could trust. bunce and i had a talk, and i read the letter you had put in his hat in the place of the one i had sent. the circumstances attending the exchange of that note convinced me that in you i had an uncommonly clever person to deal with. i guessed that you would use the note and try to find out where i was. i didn't want you to do that, but i arranged with pryne, if you did, to bring you out here. i also sent bunce on the rightabout back to the mountainside, and told him to make away with your motor cycles. that, i hoped, would keep you from purling by giving you something else to hunt for instead of the eye of buddha. but i didn't know you--i failed to do your cleverness full justice. "bunce went into hiding at the roadside from the mountain top, knowing you would have to come that way. when you sped down the road in an automobile, with your chum and tsan ti, bunce was rattled. he had been expecting you on motor cycles, and had framed up a little plan which he worked so successfully later. however, he put a bullet into one of the automobile tires and caused a smash. the fool! he came near getting us into the toils of the law so deep we could never have escaped. his folly continued, however, when he skulked close to the burning machine to note the extent of the ruin he had caused. he had a close call when you took after him. more by luck than by any good judgment, he got away from you, and was close enough to see and hear what went on when the owner of the wrecked automobile met and talked with you in the road. "bunce hunted up the driver of the car, who had been waiting for him in a convenient place not far from the road. the two went into hiding in the brush, spotted your motor-cycle lamps, captured your machines, and the wheels are now handily by to help us in our getaway." matt had listened to this talk abstractedly. he was waiting and listening for mcglory and the reënforcements. why didn't they come? they had had ample time, and matt was positive they would pick up the trail he had left and follow without difficulty. mcglory was a good trailer, and he would be quick to understand the sifted line of middlings when he saw it. "shipmate," said bunce, "you haven't given me my proper rating. it wasn't all luck an' touch an' go with me. i done noble, i did." "you mean well, bunce, but you're not clever," said grattan. "my eye! wasn't it clever the way i put on them scarecrow fixin's in the cornfield?" "and then lost your nerve and ducked while motor matt and his chum were looking at you? oh, yes, that _was_ clever." there was scorn in grattan's voice. matt had heard enough to realize that grattan was a master rogue. he was playing a bold game, and with consummate skill. he was willing to talk, to lay bare the innermost details of his work, for he had planned escape and felt sure he would get away. matt wondered if he would not succeed in spite of mcglory and the men he was to bring with him. those balls, those balls of ptah! they appeared to be the key that was to help grattan through the coil of the law. "i am rewarding you, motor matt, for your cleverness," pursued grattan, "and for the narrow escape bunce gave you in that automobile. the reward is the eye of buddha. i sell it to goldstein for the money he has in that satchel; then, while bunce and i are safely out of the hut, i break one of the balls of ptah by hurling it through the open door; you and goldstein become unconscious; you recover and make a prisoner of goldstein; and, finally, by due process of law, you recover the ruby for tsan ti. very simple. so far as i can see, goldstein is the only one to suffer." matt was still listening, listening. where in the world was mcglory? grattan turned toward the shivering jew. "goldstein," said he sternly, "how much money have you in that satchel?" "mercy, mr. grattan!" implored the diamond merchant. "i have lost much money by der decline in----" "how much have you in the satchel?" repeated grattan. "only a little, mr. grattan. i dit not bring much." "didn't you bring enough to pay a good price for the ruby?" "how was i to know vat der ruby was worth? fife thousand dollars is what i brought----" "five thousand! five thousand to pay me for two years of planning, and the risk! you have brought more than that." "where is der ruby, mr. grattan?" "where you'll not find it until i see how much money you have in the satchel. give it to bunce. bunce, you open the grip and count the money." "don't do that, please, mr. grattan! i have lost much money by der drop in----" "take it over and give it to bunce." tremblingly, goldstein got up with his precious satchel. his face was pallid, and he seemed scarcely able to move. he started toward the sailor; then, suddenly, when he was close to pryne, he whirled and grabbed at the exposed revolver. the satchel dropped, and goldstein, with the fury of desperation, fought like a madman. it was his money he was fighting for--money that was, perhaps, dearer to him than life itself. nothing else could have goaded him into such a mad attempt to escape from the hut. bunce sprang toward the struggling pair at the door, and grattan also arose and stepped toward them. this offered matt a chance for a daring _coup_. unseen in the excitement, and unheard because of the noise of the scuffle, he glided to the table and opened the box. deftly he extracted one of the balls and allowed the box-cover to fall into place. the ball passed into his pocket. while he stood by the table, grattan suddenly caught sight of him. "go back to your bench, motor matt!" he ordered. "you have everything to gain and nothing to lose by sitting tight and obeying orders. get back, i tell you." matt backed to the bench and sat down. bunce and pryne flung goldstein to the floor, and while pryne kicked him toward his seat bunce regained his own place with the satchel. "i did not think goldstein had it in him," laughed grattan. "when you take his money, you touch him in a vital place. be sensible, goldstein," he added. "we've got too strong a grip on you." the jew lifted himself to the stool, bruised and battered. his head was bowed and he presented a pitiable sight. "now, then, bunce," said grattan, "look into the satchel. let's see how much goldstein brought with him for purposes of barter. i didn't expect to get anywhere near what the eye of buddha was worth, but----" there came a pounding on the door. instantly all were on their feet, consternation written large in every face but grattan's and matt's. grattan believed that, even with intruders at hand, he was master of the situation. matt, armed with one of the balls of ptah, was inclined to dispute the question with him. "open up!" cried a voice. there was a bar across the door and pryne stood with one hand on the fastening to make sure it held against the attack. grattan fluttered a hand for silence. "who's there?" he demanded. "porter, the constable, from purling, and five other men." grattan leaped to the table and caught up the box. holding it in front of him, the buckthorn cane under his arm, he whispered to his confederates: "bunce, you and pryne stand ready to leave the room. when i give the word, go--and go quick." then, lifting his voice, grattan added: "open the door, pryne, and admit the constable from purling and five men." pryne bent to the bar. "stop!" cried matt. pryne raised himself quickly. he and bunce, grattan and even goldstein stared at the king of the motor boys. matt was standing on the bench, his right hand lifted, and one of the shimmering spheres in his hand. "don't come in here yet, mcglory!" shouted matt. "i'll give the word when i want you to come. you see, grattan," he added, "i'd a little rather have my friends stay on the outside until they can come in here _after_ i break the glass ball." chapter xiv. the glass spheres. tremors shook the one-eyed sailor. the satchel quivered in his hands. pryne was filled with consternation, and showed it as plainly as did bunce. the full meaning of the situation had not dawned on goldstein as yet, but the light was slowly breaking. grattan alone, of all those confronting matt, seemed in full possession of his wits. "don't throw that, don't throw that!" stuttered bunce. "avast, i say!" "where'd he get the thing?" demanded pryne. "clever lad!" murmured grattan. "you must have taken that out of the box during the disturbance caused by goldstein. i saw you by the table, but i didn't think that was your game. well, what are you intending to do? you have one of the balls and i have three. i don't know that i grasp your intentions." "if these glass balls are broken," answered matt steadily, "it means that all of us, every person in this room, will be stretched out on the floor, unconscious and helpless. those outside will escape the effects of the narcotic, or whatever it is contained in the spheres. those who are at the door happen to be my friends. they will wait a space; then, after the fumes have cleared out of the room, they will come in, make prisoners of you, bunce and pryne, save goldstein's money for him, and recover the eye of buddha." "let me understand this fully," continued grattan. "how do you know those outside are your friends?" "listen," said matt. "mcglory!" he called. "on deck, pard!" came the answer of the cowboy. "you're in a nice row of stumps, i must say. who's in there with you?" "grattan, bunce, goldstein, and pryne." "what's the layout?" "i'm on a bench at one side of the room with one of the glass balls. grattan stands opposite me with three more. if i throw the ball i'm holding, then i want you fellows to wait until it's safe to come in." "speak to me about that!" grattan was thoughtful. "how did those fellows manage to find their way here?" he asked. "pryne had a sack of ground feed in the back of the wagon. i slashed it with my knife and we left a plain trail." "jumpin' mariar!" breathed pryne. "you've hit it off nicely, pryne!" scowled grattan. "annabelle ought to be proud of you for that. bunce isn't the only fool i've been tied up with, this time." he turned again to the king of the motor boys. "you're deeper than i imagined, but you're a point shy in your reasoning, son. you'll not get the eye of buddha by proceeding in that fashion. i was dealing generously with you when i offered to trade the ruby for goldstein's money." "you have no right to rob goldstein," said matt. "i couldn't help you without being equally guilty." "goot boy!" applauded goldstein. "that's der truth." "this diamond merchant," argued grattan, "is only a 'fence' for stolen property. he came out here to cheat me, cheat tsan ti, cheat the law. we're simply beating him at his own game." "two wrongs never made a right," answered matt. "you talk foolishly. but, even though you carry out your plan, i say again _you will not get the eye of buddha_. that is safely hidden where it will never be found. besides--look at bunce." matt had been giving his full attention to grattan. he now swerved his eyes toward the sailor and found a revolver leveled in his direction. "here's scoldin' sairy starin' ye in the face," said bunce. "don't tease us no more or she'll speak." "the moment that ball leaves your hand, motor matt," declared grattan, "bunce will fire. the rest of us will be left merely unconscious on the floor, but you--well, you're clever enough to imagine what will happen to _you_. are you willing to talk sense? i promise to leave the eye of buddha with goldstein in exchange for his satchel of money, but we must be allowed to escape with the satchel." "i'll not help you rob goldstein," answered matt. "ye'd rather be sent to davy jones' locker, i suppose?" put in bunce. "that's where ye'll go, as quick an' sure as though ye was wrapped in canvas and thrown over the side with a hundred-pound shot at yer pins." goldstein, palpitating between hope and despair, watched and listened to this crossfire of threat and defiance wherein the fate of his money was at stake. a half-crazy light arose in his eyes and he seemed meditating some desperate move. grattan lifted his voice. "hello, out there! we've got motor matt under the point of a revolver, and if you don't retreat from the vicinity of this hut, there'll be shooting." "is that so, pard!" came wildly from mcglory. "stay where you are," cried matt. "they won't shoot--they don't dare." "bunce," began grattan, "you'd better----" grattan had no time to finish. with a wild yell of fury goldstein flung himself at grattan and seized the buckthorn cane, jerking it away and whirling it about his head. "the buckthorn!" shouted bunce, in more of a panic than the jew's manoeuvre seemed to call for; "he's got the buckthorn cane!" grattan let go of his temper for the first time, and whirled and leaped at goldstein. the jew struck at him viciously, the blow falling short and knocking the box of glass balls out of his hand and upon the floor. "mask! mask!" bellowed grattan. the box flew open as it fell and matt caught a glimpse of broken glass fragments flying out of it, and of something white lifted to the faces of grattan and bunce. all was turmoil in the room. grattan rushed at goldstein and tried to recover the cane. matt flung at him the ball--the last conscious act the king of the motor boys could remember. the pungent odor arose to his nostrils, choking him, blinding his eyes and robbing him of his strength. he crashed down from the bench, and then a mighty hand seemed to sweep over him and drop a black pall of silence. motor matt opened his eyes. he was lying out in the sun, the bare boughs of the maples over him, and mcglory kneeling at his side. "you had a rough time of it, old pard," said mcglory, "but you didn't stop a bullet--and that's some satisfaction." matt groped around in his mind to pick up the trend of events. suddenly all the details flashed through his brain. "what became of grattan and bunce?" he asked, sitting up. "they smashed through a boarded-up window, pard," replied mcglory. "and got away?" "like a couple of streaks. they used our motor cycles." "why don't you follow them?" "follow them? what's the good? that happened an hour ago. the purling constable rushed back to the village to do some telephoning, and it's barely possible the two tinhorns will be corralled. i wouldn't bank on it, though. luck hasn't been coming that way for us since we struck the catskills." "an hour ago!" muttered matt, rubbing his forehead. "it seems as though all this excitement had only just happened." "that's the way those dope balls act. i was afraid of 'em. and it wasn't so blooming pleasant for us fellows to stand out here while all that ruction was going on in the house. when one eye and his pal crashed through the window--or maybe it wasn't a window but a hole in the wall that was just patched up with boards--we all took after 'em. out close to the road they jumped on a couple of motor cycles--ours, by the looks of them--and were off a-smoking. when they came out of the cabin they had white things over their faces----" "masks," said matt. "they had them handy. but for that you'd have found them in the cabin along with goldstein and me. by the way, where _is_ goldstein?" "we left him in the house. we weren't in so much of a hurry to bring him to his senses as we were you." "and pryne--what's become of him?" "stretched out beside the diamond buyer." "did you find the eye of buddha?" "that's a dream, matt. no, we didn't find it. all we found was a satchel of money--the satchel goldstein had with him at the store in purling." "there were six of you--five with the constable. where are the other four?" "the constable miscalled the number," laughed mcglory, "so his talk would have a bigger effect. there were only four of us all told. you see, we left the driver of the car in purling to look after bunce when he showed up there. and he was here, all the time! sufferin' surprises! say, i was sure stumped when i heard the hottentot was in that cabin." "there were three besides you," went on matt, persisting in his attempt to get the matter of numbers straight in his mind, "and the constable has gone to purling. where are the other two?" "here they come," and mcglory pointed to a couple of chinamen, who at that moment emerged from the hut. matt stared and rubbed his eyes. "am i still under the influence of those glass balls?" he muttered, "or is that really tsan ti coming this way?" "it's the mandarin, fast enough," chuckled mcglory, "and the chink that's with him is sam wing." observing that matt had recovered his senses, tsan ti hastened forward. chapter xv. the eye of buddha. tsan ti was not particularly happy. he seemed pleased to meet matt once more, but underlying this pleasure was a deep and settled melancholy. "greetings, astonishing friend," said the mandarin. "you have performed actions never to be forgotten; imperishable deeds which----" "cut out the frills, tsan ti," interrupted matt, "and tell me where you went after joe and i left you at the wrecked car." "sam wing approached me while i was seeking exhaustively for the yellow cord, which i had lost and which i had the overwhelming desire to use. sam wing was ascending the mountain, traveling on foot, to gain the top and find me. he had a report to convey. he conveyed it. he had seen the aged mariner in purling, and he had come at once for me. i stopped for nothing--not even to explain my absence to you who had left me in such hurry. i went with sam wing forthwith, and we found some one to transport us to purling. there we watched out the night in vain, and toward morning repaired to the house of a poor person, who afforded us food and a couch on which to rest. i was resting when sam wing came to my side and declared there was a youth in the place who was hunting for the peace officer. i went out, hoping to meet the peace officer myself and ask for news of the sailor. imagine my marvelous astonishment upon discovering your distinguished friend. he wanted men and he could find few, so sam wing and myself accompanied him. accept my congratulations, eminent friend, upon your escape. it is with sorrow, however, that i view the flight of the sailor and that other, whom i saw, on a former momentous occasion, wearing a sun hat with a pugree. these, i imagine, assisted their escape out of the sense-destroying fumes." from his blouse, tsan ti developed two squares of white cloth with holes clipped in each to fit a pair of eyes. a strong odor of drugs accompanied the display of the masks. "it was objects similar to these," went on the mandarin in pensive retrospection, "with which the thieves covered their faces in the temple at honam. pah!" and he flung the bits of cloth from him in repulsion. "you were a long time getting here, joe," said matt, turning to his chum. "i was a long time getting the constable," answered joe, "and there wasn't another _hombre_ in the town who cared to take the risk of going with me. finally i found the constable, and then tsan ti and sam wing came our way. we started, in a rig the constable borrowed from in front of the general store." "you picked up the trail?" "tell me about that!" laughed mcglory. "sure we picked it up, pard. how could we have missed it?" "it is unfortunate," spoke up tsan ti gloomily, "that the yellow cord was lost at the time the devil car took fire. it was of great importance to me as the means of carrying out the invitation given by our gracious regent. the sailor and his confederate have fled, and the eye of buddha has gone with them. the ten thousand demons of misfortune continue to make me feel their displeasure. there is nothing left but the happy dispatch." "aw, cheer up," growled mcglory. "buy a string of laundries, somewhere, and tell your gracious regent to go hang." "i am bound by ancient ceremony to accept and use the cord," insisted tsan ti, mildly but firmly. "well, you've got a few days yet. don't use the cord until you have to." "i cannot use it until i find it, solicitous friend." "suppose you never find it?" "then kien lung will hunt for me and give me a second." "sufferin' heathens!" murmured mcglory, in disgust. matt got to his feet. "let's go and see how goldstein is getting along," he suggested. "what became of that satchel, joe?" "we left it in the house--thought that was the safest place for it." "we'll have to take care of that. it contains the money goldstein brought to use in buying the eye of buddha." together matt, mcglory, tsan ti and sam wing made their way back to the hut. just as they reached the door goldstein sprang to his feet, the buckthorn cane in his hand. "look at him!" exclaimed mcglory. "he's still locoed, matt, and in about the same state of mind you and i were when we repaired that bursted tire, rode to the mountain house, and went to sleep in the hammocks." the diamond merchant's face was full of anger and apprehension. his clouded faculties were still possessed of the notion, it seemed, that his satchel of money continued to be the object of grattan's designs. jumping at the log wall, goldstein struck a terrific blow with the head of the cane. "i hope he keeps hammering the wall," breathed the cowboy. "if he ever came at one of us like that we'd have to take him down and lash his hands and feet. gee, but he's vicious." again and again goldstein struck the logs with the cane. at last the head of the cane snapped and flew into fragments, and a glittering object flashed toward the door, struck sam wing and dropped downward. a gleam of sun caught the object, and it glowed like a huge drop of blood. a chattering screech went up from tsan ti, and forthwith he slumped to his knees and picked the object up in his trembling hands. startled chinese words came from sam wing; the mandarin answered, and there followed a frantic give and take of native gibberish, mostly whoops, grunts and falling inflections. "sufferin' gold mines!" cried mcglory. "say, pard, is that red thing the eye of buddha?" "it must be," answered matt excitedly, hurrying into the room and picking up the cane and some of the fragments of the head. "great spark plugs!" he exclaimed, examining the pieces. "what do you make out, pard?" demanded mcglory. "why," went on matt, "the head of the cane was hollow, _and the ruby was concealed in it_!" "no!" "fact! here, look for yourself. i wondered why grattan was so careful of that cane. the last thing i remember was seeing him rush at goldstein and try to get the cane away from him. goldstein had grabbed the stick and had knocked the box of glass balls out of grattan's hand with it. of course, at the time grattan tried to get the stick back, the balls were spilling their knock-out fumes all over the room, and he couldn't waste much time getting into his mask and lighting out. he had to leave the cane behind--it was either that or be laid out by the glass balls and captured. perhaps he thought we'd never find out the ruby was in the cane and that he could come back later and recover it." "goldstein has smashed the mystery!" jubilated mcglory, "and when he comes to he won't know a thing about it." matt was dazed, and the two excited chinamen were still gabbling like a couple of frantic ducks; mcglory was walking around, rubbing his eyes, and goldstein was sitting on the stool undergoing the last stage of his awakening. "what's der matter?" inquired the diamond broker. "where is--what is---- ach, der satchel, der satchel!" his eyes had alighted on the grip, and he shot off the stool and gathered up the precious object. his first move was to open it and make sure of the contents. "where is grattan?" he asked, with a sudden tremor. "where is der feller that wanted to steal my money?" "you don't have to fret about him any more," said mcglory. "he's lit out--in something of a hurry. i don't reckon he'll be back." "what a lucky escape, what a lucky escape!" chanted goldstein; "mein gracious, what a lucky escape!" matt, observing that tsan ti and sam wing were not yet done with their wild felicitations, strolled around the room. he saw the place where bunce and grattan had crashed through the wall. fire, at some time or other when the sugar makers were boiling their sap, had eaten into the logs, leaving a large hole which had been covered with boards. grattan and bunce, knowing about the weak spot in the wall, had chose to get out of the cabin in that way rather than by attempting to pass through the door. while matt was looking at the breach in the timbers, he heard a series of shouts from the chinamen. a glance in their direction gave him a fleeting glimpse of pryne, forcing his way through the door and over the heads of tsan ti and sam wing. "that tinhorn's getting away!" shouted mcglory. he would have chased after pryne had matt not gripped him by the shoulder and held him back. "let the fellow go," said matt. "he was roped into the game by grattan, and was only a tool, at the most. we've recovered the eye of buddha, and have saved goldstein's money for him, so i guess we're doing well enough." the rough way the chinamen had been treated by pryne appeared to have made them remember that there were others in the cabin besides themselves. tsan ti got up, balanced the ruby on the palm of his hand, and stepped toward matt, as happy a mandarin as could be found, in china or out of it. "see, estimable and glorious friend," he cried. "this is the eye of buddha, which caused me so much misfortune and came near to causing my death. it has been found, and but for you it would have been lost to me forever. my life is yours, illustrious one, my fortune, my lands--everything i own!" matt paid little heed to the mandarin's rapturous talk. his eyes were on the ruby, which was as large as a small hen's egg and of the true pigeon's blood color. its flashing beauty was marvelous to behold. "out of my goodness of heart," went on the mandarin, "and from no desire to insult, believe me, i shall present my eminent friend with a thousand dollars and his expenses. is it well, excellent one?" "quite well, thank you," laughed mcglory, answering for his chum. "here, tsan, take this and send it back to your gracious regent. tell him to use it on himself, and oblige." with that, the cowboy laid the ominous yellow cord across the mandarin's shoulders. chapter xvi. the broken hoodoo. the constable, in leaving the sugar camp for purling to do his telephoning, had taken his own rig. having finished his work in purling, he made his return journey to the sugar camp in the automobile which matt and mcglory had hired. a few words were enough to convince the driver of the car that it was useless for him to wait at the general store for the one-eyed sailor. the automobile could not ascend the rough hill road, but waited at the foot of the slope while the constable climbed to the sugar camp and informed those there that a conveyance was ready to take them wherever they wanted to go. pryne having suddenly recovered and bolted, only matt, mcglory, goldstein, and the two chinamen were in the hut. without loss of time they accompanied the constable down the long wooded slope. "what are the prospects for capturing bunce and grattan, officer?" inquired matt, while they were slipping toward the foot of the hill. "mighty poor," answered the constable, "if you want me to give it to you straight. but i've done everythin' i could. there ain't any telegraft line to purling, so i had to telephone my message to cairo. they're pretty much all over the hills by now." "then what makes you think bunce and grattan will get away?" "why, they'll be goin' so tarnation fast on them pesky machines there won't be any constable in the hills with an eye quick enough to recognize 'em from the description. anyhow, what do you care? the fat chinaman's happy, an' the jew's so glad he walks lop-sided. what is it to you whether them hoodlums git away or not?" "oh, hear him!" muttered mcglory. "it means three hundred cold, hard plunks to us, constable. the two pesky machines that took those tinhorns away have to be paid for by motor matt and pard mcglory." "do tell!" "if you hated to hear it as bad as i hate to tell it you wouldn't ask me to repeat." "noble sir," spoke up tsan ti, "you and your worshipful friend shall not be out a single tael. i, whom you have benefited, will pay for the go-devil machines. that, if you will allow me, comes in as part of your expenses." "now, by heck," said the constable, "that's what i call doin' the han'some thing. i've put in a leetle time myself, to-day," he added, "an' i cal-late i'm out nigh onto ten dollars. but i helped do some good, an' that's enough fer me." "here, exalted sir," observed the mandarin, and dropped a twenty-dollar gold piece into the constable's palm. "i don't believe i got any change," said the officer. "no change would be acceptable to me," answered tsan ti, with dignity. "waal, now, ain't i tickled? there's a dress in that fer s'manthy an' the kids. 'bliged to ye." "the old boy's beginning to get generous, matt," whispered mcglory. "maybe, after all, he really intends to fork over that thousand and expenses." "of course he does," said matt. when they reached the automobile, all six of them crowded into the car. seven passengers--counting the driver--made tight squeezing in accommodations built for five, but goldstein and the constable were dropped at purling, and comfort followed those who remained, thereon. goldstein, following his burst of ecstasy over the recovery of the satchel, had relapsed into a subdued condition. very likely he realized that he was under something of a cloud, inasmuch as he had come to purling to treat with a thief for the loot of a magnificent haul. goldstein remembered that grattan had not been at all backward in giving motor matt the details of everything connected with the eye of buddha, and the reflections of the diamond broker could not have been at all comfortable or reassuring. matt allowed the jew to go his way without a rebuke. he felt that the man had been punished enough; and, besides, he was the cause of their discovering the place where the ruby had been concealed. but for goldstein, the eye of buddha might never have been located. on the way to catskill from purling, matt gave an account of what had taken place in the old sugar camp. grattan had been at considerable pains to explain many things that had been dark to matt and his friends, and the king of the motor boys passed along the explanation. the history of the egyptian balls was particularly interesting to tsan ti, no less than other details connected with the robbery; and the way bunce had played tag up and down the mountainside with matt and mcglory held a deep fascination for the cowboy. "taking this little fracas by and large," observed mcglory, when matt had finished, "i think it's about the most novel piece of business i ever had anything to do with. it began with a lot of 'con' paper talk shoved at pard matt by tsan ti, and from the moment we met up with the mandarin there's been nothing to it but excitement, and a little uncertainty as to just where the lightning was going to strike next." "you two illustrious young men," said tsan ti gravely, "have laid me under staggering obligations. money may pay you for your loss of time, but nothing except my gratitude can requite you for the excellence of your service. you will hear from me through sam wing to-morrow." the boys got out of the automobile at the hotel, and matt had the car take tsan ti and sam wing up the mountain to the kaaterskill. "they're a pair of pretty good chinks, after all," said mcglory, "and i'm glad to think i had a little something to do with keeping the yellow cord from getting in its work on tsan ti." on the following day, tsan ti sent sam wing to catskill with a heavy canvas bag. "me blingee flom tsan ti," explained sam wing. "him takee choo-choo tlain fol san flisco, bymby ketchee boat fol china. heap happy." "he has a right to be happy," said mcglory. "how much did he have to put up for that wrecked motor car, sam?" asked matt. "twenty-fi' hunnerd dol'." "he went and stung him!" whooped mcglory. "the old robber." "no makee hurt. twenty-fi' hunnerd dol' all same tsan ti likee twenty-fi' cent to me. him plenty lichee man." when sam wing went away, matt and mcglory dumped the contents of the canvas sack out on the table. the money was all in gold, and totaled two thousand dollars, even. "he figured out expenses at a thousand dollars," remarked the cowboy. "they're 'way inside that figure." "he's the sort of fellow, joe," said matt, "who'd rather pay a man ten dollars when he only owed him five, than five when he owed ten." "sure! he's the clear quill, but he sure had me guessing, the way he jumped around. i'll bet he connected with more good, hard jolts on this trip to america than he ever encountered in his life before." "we came pretty near it, ourselves," laughed matt. "i can't remember that i ever had a more violent time." "it was some strenuous, and that's a fact. if you live a hundred years, pard, and drive automobiles all the while, you'll never scrape closer to kingdom come, and miss it, than you did when we came down the mountainside with the mandarin at the steering wheel." "i wouldn't go through that experience again for ten times the amount of money there was in that bag." "i wouldn't, either--not for the eye of buddha. there's no easy money in turning a trick for tsan ti. i reckon we earned all we got." the end. the next number ( ) will contain motor matt's mariner; or, filling the bill for bunce. "buddha's eye"--the green patch--motor matt, trustee--bunce has a plan--bunce speaks a good word for himself--the home-made speeder--trapped--the cut-out under the ledge--between the eyes--the man from the "iris"--aboard the steam yacht--grattan's triumph--from the open port--landed, and strung--a crafty oriental--the mandarin wins. motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction new york, september , . terms to motor stories mail subscribers. (_postage free._) single copies or back numbers, c. each. months c. months c. months $ . one year . copies one year . copy two years . =how to send money=--by post-office or express money-order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. at your own risk if sent by currency, coin, or postage-stamps in ordinary letter. =receipts=--receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. if not correct you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once. ormond g. smith, } george c. smith, } _proprietors_. street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york city. a real pirate. "at the time i commenced following the sea," said old captain gifford, in relating a thrilling experience of his early life, "there were pirates all about the west indies, and the dread of them was always uppermost in a sailor's thoughts. we didn't mind the yellow fever. when a man died with that, he died--it was a visitation of providence, and his fate was to be thought upon calmly and sorrowfully; there was no horror in the reflection. but to be murdered--murdered upon the high seas--that was a thing which it made one sick to think of. "resistance on the part of a ship's crew, if unsuccessful, was certain death--and often, too, in the most cruel form; for the revengeful, drunken pirates, with their worst passions aroused by the conflict, would in such a case take delight in torturing their victims. and even where no opposition had been attempted, the plea that 'dead men tell no tales' was generally sufficient to insure the massacre of all on board. "so you see it was about as long as it was broad. there was very little encouragement to surrender. it was simply a question as to whether one would die fighting like a lion or be butchered on the deck like a sheep. "of course there were exceptions; but these were not frequent enough to inspire much hope in the event of capture. slaughter was the rule, and if not committed in every instance, the fortunate ones might thank their stars. "in those days we used to hear dreadful stories of such tragedies. sometimes these would come to light through the confessions of condemned pirates; while in other cases a single survivor of some hapless crew of a merchantman would relate the tale of the capture and death of his shipmates--he himself having been spared through some freak of the miscreants, perhaps to serve on board their vessel. "i commenced following the sea at the age of fifteen, making my first voyage in the brig _agenora_, captain christopher allen, bound to trinidad de cuba. in all there were nine persons belonging to her, being the captain, the two mates, and the cook, with five hands before the mast, counting a son of captain allen and myself. but, of course, i did not amount to much at that time. "young argo allen was seventeen, so that he had the advantage of me by two years, besides having made one voyage to the west indies. he was one of the best fellows that ever lived; and having learned on his first voyage to 'hand, reef, and steer' after a fashion, he was always ready to assist me to the extent of his knowledge. indeed, i think one young sailor generally feels a sort of pride in helping another who knows less than himself. "we had a long passage out, with calms and head winds, and argo and i talked much of pirates. he told me how scared he had been upon his former voyage, when the vessel was overtaken by a low, black schooner, which, upon coming up with her, sailed past within a cable's length, with a crew of fifty or sixty horrible-looking wretches staring at the brig in perfect silence. "'after getting a little ahead,' said argo, 'she tacked and came back. my hair rose right up then--it fairly lifted my hat! but she simply repassed us on the other side, and went off about her business.' "'how do you account for it all?' i asked. "'oh, that's easy enough,' he replied. 'we were outward bound, with a cargo of new england produce, and the pirates knew that we were not likely to have money on board. this was all that saved us; but i wouldn't be so scared again for the price of the brig!' "so argo allen had seen a real pirate, and it actually made me look up to him with a kind of admiring awe, not that i had any desire to meet with a like experience; but then it must, i thought, have been so thrilling--such a thing to think of and to tell of! "on arriving at trinidad, we disposed of our cargo at a very high price; while, on the other hand, our return invoice of molasses was purchased at an unusually low figure; so that, after loading for home, captain allen found that he had, above all expenses, a good three thousand dollars in doubloons. "meanwhile argo and i were greatly pleased at meeting with two of our townspeople, a mr. and mrs. howard; and it delighted us still more to learn that they were to take passage with us for the north. they had been sojourning in cuba for a number of months, but were now anxious to go home, as the yellow fever season had arrived and there were already many cases of it in the city. "although captain allen was in high spirits at having made such a profitable voyage, he felt some uneasiness at the idea of sailing with so much money on board. the pirates, he said, had their spies in all the cuban ports, and these secret agents, by watching the run of trade, could easily determine what vessels were likely to offer the most tempting booty. "at length, all being ready, and mr. and mrs. howard coming off to us, we hove up our anchor and made sail. the greatest danger, captain allen believed, would be close off the port, and so he had given out that we should probably remain three or four days longer. it may have been this which saved us from being molested at the start, and i think it was. "but now an unexpected misfortune came upon us. we sailed with the land breeze very early in the morning, and while we were getting under way one of our crew was taken down with the yellow fever. we were only a few miles clear of the land when another was attacked in the same manner, and before night the cook and second mate also took to their berths. we kept on, however, and indeed the course of the wind would have prevented us from returning had we thought of doing so. "there remained, capable of doing duty, only the captain and chief mate, one old seaman, argo, and myself; but captain allen said that should no more of us be disabled, the vessel could still be managed. as a last resort, he added, he might put into havana or key west. "on the second day we passed that famous resort of the west indian pirates, the isle of pines. the _agenora_ gave it a wide berth, i assure you; but our hearts were in our throats for the whole fifty miles of its coast line. it seemed as if the breeze were all the time threatening to die out and leave us becalmed there. however, we ran the gantlet in safety, and continued our course toward cape st. antonio, the most western point of cuba. "during the following night, the chief mate and the remaining seaman were both stricken with the fever, leaving only the captain and us two boys, together with our passenger, mr. howard, to handle the brig, with six dreadfully sick people on board. "this was a sad state of things; but the breeze was bright and fair, and we hoped to double cape st. antonio the next day, thus getting to the northward of cuba, after which it would be easy to reach havana. "on that day, however, it fell entirely calm, with a dense fog covering the sea, so that the vessel lay idle, heading by turns all around the compass. "we had by this time nearly come up with the cape, and it was a bad place to meet with a calm, for this headland was a notorious piratical rendezvous, almost as much so as the isle of pines. however, if we must lie helpless, the fog would be in our favor, the captain said. "in the meantime mrs. howard showed herself an extraordinary woman. she was only twenty-four years old--a mere girl, as it were, and a very beautiful one--but she seemed as if she knew just what to do and how to do it. she cooked for us who were well, and, in spite of her husband's remonstrances, braved all the danger of attending upon the sick, like a veritable florence nightingale. "after lasting for about twenty-four hours the fog disappeared and a light breeze sprang up. a current had taken us along for some miles, and we were directly off cape st. antonio. "at first no water craft of any description was to be seen, but presently we were startled at perceiving a small sloop-rigged vessel putting out from the land and making directly toward us. that she must be a pirate was beyond all question, as no other vessel would have been hiding in such a place. "looking through his glass, the captain saw that, in addition to her sails, she had out a number of long sweeps, or oars, and this at once told us that there was no possibility of escaping from her with the faint breeze which we had. "the _agenora_ carried two six-pounders and a good supply of small arms, yet, with only four of us to handle them, they offered but a forlorn hope against thirty or forty men, with probably a heavy pivot gun and other cannon. nevertheless, there was but one thing to do, and that was to fight to the death if necessary. "'my poor wife!' we heard mr. howard say to the captain; 'she shall never fall into the hands of those wretches while i have a single breath remaining.' "captain allen was pale, but very cool. he and mr. howard loaded the six-pounders, while we boys attended the muskets, putting heavy charges into all of them. "in a short time we were able to count the sweeps which the sloop had out. they were fourteen in number--seven on a side, with two men at each. this made twenty-eight men, besides the fellow at the tiller and six or seven others; so that there were at least thirty-five of them. the only cannon that we could see was one mounted amidships, and no doubt on a pivot. "as they got nearer we brought the _agenora_ around so that both the six-pounders would bear upon them, and then captain allen sighted one of the guns, while mr. howard stood by with a glowing portfire, ready to clap it upon the priming at the word. "'now,' said the captain presently, 'let it go!' "instantly there was a deafening bang! and the recoil of the gun fairly shook the brig. how we watched for the result! skip, skip, skip, went the shot from wave to wave, close to the sloop, yet without touching her. "almost before we could speak or think, a sheet of smoke burst from the pirate vessel, and 'pat, pat, pat,' right on board of us, came a charge of grape shot, and a twelve-pound ball--as we found afterward it must have been, from the hole it made in our bulwarks. "there was no time to lose, and our second cannon was fired as quickly as possible; but its contents missed the pirate, though they struck near enough to throw a shower of spray upon her deck. "again the miscreants fired in return, and redoubled their labor at the sweeps. the breeze was at last wholly gone, so that they had to depend entirely upon their strength of muscle, but of this they had enough and to spare. "argo and myself now opened fire with the muskets--'bang, bang, bang!' but i don't think we hit a single one of the villains. we saw them loading their big gun for a third shot, and it seemed as if, at such short range, they must tear us all to pieces. but captain allen and mr. howard were also loading--cramming one of the six-pounders to the muzzle with grape and cannon balls. "the pirates were just ready to fire as the captain ranged along his gun. "'quick, mr. howard!' he cried. 'touch her off!' "the report rang through our ears, and we could have shouted as we saw the effect. the sloop's long gun was tumbled over, and the men who managed it strewn mangled upon the deck. a number of the heavy sweeps dropped from the hands that held them, or were sent whirling into the air. i think this one discharge must have killed more than a dozen men. "for a few moments the victory appeared to be won; but just then the _agenora_ swung around in such a manner that neither of the cannons could be made to bear upon the enemy. the pirates saw our dilemma, and a few powerful strokes of their sweeps brought them right under our bow. "we ran forward to prevent them from boarding, but they swarmed over the bowsprit and head rail, cutlass in hand, till it was plain that two men and two boys were to be no match for such a number of desperate villains. in spite of all we could do, they were in a fair way to make short work with us, when on a sudden the scene was changed. "mrs. howard had anticipated such an emergency from the very first, and now, with a ladle in one hand and a kettle of boiling hot tar in the other, she ran to our relief. "the tar in such a state could be dipped up as easily as water, and in a quarter of a minute all the headmost pirates had got it full in their faces. filling their eyes and mouths, or running down their half-naked breasts, it must have put them in great agony. they went tumbling back upon those behind them, and as we quickly followed up our advantage, the deck was almost instantly cleared. "in a few minutes the sloop was making all possible speed away from us, but she had out only six sweeps instead of the fourteen with which she had commenced the chase. "all of us except mrs. howard had been more or less wounded, so that we did not attempt to molest the pirates as they retreated; while on their part, as the cannon we had knocked over for them was their only one, they could not fire upon us. i think they must have had nearly twenty men killed or disabled, to say nothing of those who were scalded by the hot tar. "i shall never forget how carefully mrs. howard bound up the ugly cuts in our arms. she seemed to know everything, just like one's own mother--and yet she was such a young woman! "we got a breeze soon after the fight was over, and were thankful for it, too, as we did not know how many more pirates there might be in the neighborhood. it took us around cape st. antonio, and two days later we arrived at key west, where we were put into quarantine. "of our yellow-fever patients, two died just as we dropped anchor, but the remaining four soon after began to improve and finally recovered. we lay in quarantine for a number of weeks, and then, with the vessel thoroughly fumigated, were permitted to sail for home. "upon our arrival there, the good old _agenora_ became an object of much curiosity, while as to mrs. howard, she was visited by a host of friends, anxious to hear the story of our peril from her own lips. "i am sometimes asked if in all my seafaring life it was ever my fortune to meet with a real pirate--one whom i knew to be such. to that question i think myself justified in saying 'yes'--and further, that it was an experience which i never desired to repeat." some queer philippine customs. the occurrence of a death in a filipino family in bulacan is the signal for an immediate celebration. "our brother has gone to a happy land, and we must rejoice," they say. relatives and friends are invited to come, and an orchestra is summoned. then the dancing and feasting begin, and continue until the time of the funeral, which in this climate takes place within twenty-four hours. those who have the means buy a black cloth-covered casket ornamented with spangles and bows of bright blue ribbon. the poor rent the "town coffin," a plain tin box, evidently designed for those of medium stature, for a year or two ago, in a funeral procession, the feet of the deceased, incased in bright blue plush chinelas, were seen sticking out at one end. the orchestra heads the procession through the streets, usually playing some lively air learned from the american soldiers. the popular funeral music is "a hot time," and it keeps the procession moving at a brisk pace. thursday is the favorite day for weddings in bulacan, as it is "bargain day" in the matrimonial market. on thursdays the priest marries many couples at a time, and consequently at less expense to each couple. four o'clock in the morning is the favorite hour. following the ceremony the newly married pair return to the bride's home, where dancing and feasting ensue till sundown. a bride to whose wedding feast some americans were invited had a romantic prelude to her nuptials. the parents of the bride were strenuously opposed to the match, owing to a strong disinclination on the part of the groom to do any sort of labor. so anastasia was sent up into the mountains to visit among relatives, and traces of her whereabouts were carefully concealed from felicidad, the groom elect. but felicidad, although too indolent to support his prospective bride, did not purpose that another should win her, so he summoned several faithful friends to his aid and began an active search. his devotion was rewarded with success, and three weeks later felicidad returned in triumph, with radiant anastasia borne aloft on the shoulders of two of his trusty friends. the following thursday, in company with fifteen other happy couples, they were married. high leaps by deer. mr. gordon boles, a sportsman who has hunted all over the world, has recorded some remarkable leaps taken by deer when pursued. his observations have been chiefly in his native district, exmoor, the land of "lorna doone," in india, and in northwestern canada. uncontrollable fear and partial blindness caused by long pursuit, he gives as reasons for deer taking leaps which usually end in death. once, while hunting with the devon and somerset stag hounds, he saw a hind leap feet from a cliff to the seashore. she was dashed to pieces. in the excitement of the chase one of the hounds followed her. on another occasion a stag made a bold burst for the open, going straight for the sea. he came to the edge of a cliff, some hundreds of feet above the beach, and then dashed restlessly backward and forward, as if seeking a path to descend. he either missed his footing or jumped, and when the hunters came up he was seen below, a shattered mass, with the horns broken into small pieces. mr. boles is inclined to think that the stag committed suicide deliberately. another deer, which made the leap at about the same place, landed safely and swam out to sea. men pursued him in a boat and killed him. in india mr. boles wounded a sambur, which resembles somewhat the common deer. the sambur showed fight on a narrow path overhanging a precipice. mr. boles fired again, but in his excitement aimed too low, the ball passing beneath the deer and striking the ground just back of his hind legs. the deer turned and deliberately leaped over the height. a fine buck he wounded in northwestern canada, when pursued by the dog, jumped from a height of feet into a shallow stream and broke his neck. latest issues buffalo bill stories the most original stories of western adventure. the only weekly containing the adventures of the famous buffalo bill. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --buffalo bill's balloon escape; or, out of the grip of the great swamp. --buffalo bill and the guerrillas; or, the flower girl of san felipe. --buffalo bill's border war; or, the mexican vendetta. --buffalo bill's mexican mix-up; or, the bullfighter's defiance. --buffalo bill and the gamecock; or, the red trail on the canadian. --buffalo bill and the cheyenne raiders; or, the spurs of the gamecock. --buffalo bill's whirlwind finish; or, the gamecock wins. --buffalo bill's santa fe secret; or, the brave of taos. --buffalo bill and the taos terror; or, the rites of the red estufa. --buffalo bill's bracelet of gold; or, the hidden death. --buffalo bill and the border baron; or, the cattle king of no man's land. brave and bold weekly all kinds of stories that boys like. the biggest and best nickel's worth ever offered. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --working his way upward; or, from footlights to riches. by fred thorpe. --the fourteenth boy; or, how vin lovell won out. by weldon j. cobb. --among the nomads; or, life in the open. by the author of "through air to fame." --bob, the acrobat; or, hustle and win out. by harrie irving hancock. --through the earth; or, jack nelson's invention. by fred thorpe. --the boy chief; or, comrades of camp and trail. by john de morgan. --smart alec; or, bound to get there. by weldon j. cobb. --climbing up; or, the meanest boy alive. by harrie irving hancock. --comrades three; or, with gordon keith in the south seas. by lawrence white, jr. --a young snake-charmer; or, the fortunes of dick erway. by fred thorpe. --checked through to mars; or, adventures in other worlds. by weldon j. cobb. --fighting the cowards; or, among the georgia moonshiners. by harrie irving hancock. --the mud river boys; or, the fight for penlow's mill. by john l. douglas. --grit and wit; or, two of a kind. by fred thorpe. motor stories the latest and best five-cent weekly. we won't say how interesting it is. see for yourself. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --motor matt's quest; or, three chums in strange waters. --motor matt's close call; or, the snare of don carlos. --motor matt in brazil; or, under the amazon. --motor matt's defiance; or, around the horn. --motor matt makes good; or, another victory for the motor boys. --motor matt's launch; or, a friend in need. --motor matt's enemies; or, a struggle for the right. --motor matt's prize; or, the pluck that wins. --motor matt on the wing; or, flying for fame and fortune. --motor matt's reverse; or, caught in a losing game. --motor matt's "make or break"; or, advancing the spark of friendship. --motor matt's engagement; or, on the road with a show. --motor matt's "short circuit"; or, the mahout's vow. --motor matt's make-up; or, playing a new rôle. _for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address on receipt of price, cents per copy, in money or postage stamps, by_ street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york =if you want any back numbers= of our weeklies and cannot procure them from your newsdealer, they can be obtained from this office direct. fill out the following order blank and send it to us with the price of the weeklies you want and we will send them to you by return mail. =postage stamps taken the same as money.= ________________________ _ _ _street & smith, - seventh avenue, new york city._ _dear sirs: enclosed please find_ ___________________________ _cents for which send me_: tip top weekly, nos. ________________________________ nick carter weekly, " ________________________________ diamond dick weekly, " ________________________________ buffalo bill stories, " ________________________________ brave and bold weekly, " ________________________________ motor stories, " ________________________________ _name_ ________________ _street_ ________________ _city_ ________________ _state_ ________________ a great success!! motor stories every boy who reads one of the splendid adventures of motor matt, which are making their appearance in this weekly, is at once surprised and delighted. surprised at the generous quantity of reading matter that we are giving for five cents; delighted with the fascinating interest of the stories, second only to those published in the tip top weekly. matt has positive mechanical genius, and while his adventures are unusual, they are, however, drawn so true to life that the reader can clearly see how it is possible for the ordinary boy to experience them. _here are the titles now ready and those to be published_: --motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. --motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. --motor matt's century run; or, the governor's courier. --motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the "comet." --motor matt's mystery; or, foiling a secret plot. --motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear. --motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto. --motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward. --motor matt's air ship; or, the rival inventors. --motor matt's hard luck; or, the balloon house plot. --motor matt's daring rescue; or, the strange case of helen brady. --motor matt's peril; or, cast away in the bahamas. --motor matt's queer find; or, the secret of the iron chest. --motor matt's promise; or, the wreck of the "hawk." --motor matt's submarine; or, the strange cruise of the "grampus." --motor matt's quest; or, three chums in strange waters. --motor matt's close call; or, the snare of don carlos. --motor matt in brazil; or, under the amazon. --motor matt's defiance; or, around the horn. --motor matt makes good; or, another victory for the motor boys. --motor matt's launch; or, a friend in need. --motor matt's enemies; or, a struggle for the right. --motor matt's prize; or, the pluck that wins. --motor matt on the wing; or, flying for fame and fortune. --motor matt's reverse; or, caught in a losing game. --motor matt's "make or break"; or, advancing the spark of friendship. --motor matt's engagement; or, on the road with a show. --motor matt's "short circuit"; or, the mahout's vow. to be published on september th. --motor matt's make-up; or, playing a new role. to be published on september th. --motor matt's mandarin; or, turning a trick for tsan ti. to be published on september th. --motor matt's mariner; or, filling the bill for bunce. to be published on september th. --motor matt's double-trouble; or, the last of the hoodoo. price, five cents at all newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, by the publishers upon receipt of the price. street & smith, _publishers_, new york transcriber's notes: added table of contents. italics are represented with _underscores_, bold with =equal signs=. throughout this text version, the oe ligature in manoeuvre has been expanded; the ligature is retained in the html version. page , changed "consarnin 'the" to "consarnin' the". page , removed unnecessary quote before "tsan ti turned sidewise." page , corrected "boy's" to "boys'" in "king of the motor boys'." page , removed unnecessary quote after "revolver leveled in his direction." page , corrected double to single quote before "dead men tell no tales." page , corrected typo angenora in "the _agenora_ carried two six-pounders". courtesy of the digital library@villanova university (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction no. sept. , five cents motor matt's make up or playing a new role _by the author of "motor matt"_ _street & smith publishers new york_ [illustration: _"maskee!" cried the astounded hindoo as motor matt leaped at him_] motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction _issued weekly. by subscription $ . per year. copyright, , by_ street & smith, _ - seventh avenue, new york, n. y._ =no. .= new york, september , . =price five cents.= motor matt's make-up; or, playing a new rÔle. by the author of "motor matt." contents chapter i. high jinks in the side show. chapter ii. the "barker" shows his teeth. chapter iii. the man from washington. chapter iv. a clue in hindoostanee. chapter v. something wrong. chapter vi. a blunder in the right direction. chapter vii. the house with the green shutters. chapter viii. the pile of soot. chapter ix. matt meets an old acquaintance. chapter x. rescue! chapter xi. bill wily repents. chapter xii. matt lays his plans. chapter xiii. motor car and aeroplane. chapter xiv. the oak opening. chapter xv. aeroplane wins! chapter xvi. conclusion. a brave deed. a locomotive hero. geese drown a squirrel. characters that appear in this story. =matt king=, otherwise motor matt. =joe mcglory=, a young cowboy who proves himself a lad of worth and character, and whose eccentricities are all on the humorous side. a good chum to tie to--a point motor matt is quick to perceive. =carl pretzel=, an old chum who flags motor matt and more trouble than he can manage, at about the same time. in the rôle of detective, he makes many blunders, wise and otherwise, finding success only to wonder how he did it. =ping=, the chinese boy. =ben ali=, the hindoo hypnotist and elephant trainer, who executes a master-stroke in the matter of his niece, margaret manners, and finds that a letter in hindoostanee can sometimes prove a boomerang. =dhondaram and aurung zeeb=, two hindoos who have appeared before as confederates of the crafty ben ali, and who now show themselves for the last time in their villainous part, and vanish--one into prison and the other into parts unknown. =margaret manners=, the niece of the rascally ben ali and a ward of the british nation temporarily. in her particular case, justice is slow in righting a grievous wrong--and would have been slower but for motor matt and his aëroplane. =reginald pierce twomley=, who represents the british ambassador, wears a monocle, and who, in a passage at arms with dhondaram, proves himself a man in mcglory's eyes and a near-pard. =boss burton=, manager and proprietor of the "big consolidated," who, in his usual manner, forms hasty conclusions, discovers his errors, and shows no sign of repentance. =the bearded lady, the armless wonder, the elastic skin man, the zulu chief and the ossified man=, all freaks in the side-show tent, who appear briefly but brilliantly in the light of a roman candle. chapter i. high jinks in the side show. "hello, dere, viskers!" grinned carl pretzel, reaching up to grab the hairy paw of the zulu chief. "howdy, dutch!" answered the chief, with a nasal twang that suggested new england. "by jocks, i ain't seen yeou in quite a spell. how's tricks, huh?" "dricks iss fine, i bed you. say, sheef, dis iss mein leedle shink bard, ping pong. he iss der pest efer--oxcept me. shake hants, ping, mit a zulu sheef vat vas porn near pangor, maine." "tickled tew death," said the chief effusively, taking the yellow palm of a small chinaman who pushed himself closer to the platform. the scene was the side-show tent of the "big consolidated," boss burton's "tented aggregation of the world's marvels." the show had raised its "tops" at reid's lake, near the city of grand rapids. a high wind had prevented motor matt from giving his outdoor exhibition of aëroplane flying, and the disappointed crowds were besieging the side show, eager to beguile the time until the doors for the big show were open. with the exception of carl and ping, no outsiders had yet entered the side-show tent. carl, having once played the banjo for the zulu chief while he was dancing on broken glass in his bare feet, was a privileged character. he had walked into the tent without so much as a "by your leave," and he had escorted ping without any adverse comment by the man on the door. the freaks and wonders of the side show were all on their platforms and ready to be viewed. the ossified man had been dusted off for the last time, the bearded lady had just arranged her beard most becomingly, the elastic skin man was giving a few warming-up snaps to his rubberoid epidermis, the educated pig was being put through a preliminary stunt by the gentlemanly exhibitor, and the armless wonder was sticking a copy of the stars and stripes in the base of a wooden pyramid--using his toes. the armless wonder occupied the same platform as the zulu chief. his specialty was to stand on his head on the wooden pyramid, hold a roman candle with one foot, light it with the other, and shoot vari-colored balls through a hole in the tent roof. in front of the wonder, neatly piled on the little stage, were half a dozen long paper tubes containing the fire balls. "how you was, dutch?" inquired the wonder, doubling up in his chair and drawing a bandanna handkerchief over his perspiring face with his foot. "_ganz goot_," laughed carl, carelessly picking up one of the roman candles. "i vill make you acguainted, oof you blease, mit mein leedle shink bard." "shake!" cried the wonder heartily, offering his right foot. "it does me proud to meet up with a friend of pretzel's." "allee same happy days," remarked ping, releasing the foot and backing away. "yeou tew kids aire chums, huh?" put in the zulu chief, leaning down to arrange the row of photographs in front of him. "surest t'ing vat you know," answered carl. "dutchy boy heap fine," declared ping. "we both one-piecee pards." "that's the talk!" exclaimed the armless wonder. "too much weather for the flyin' machine to-day, huh? motor matt was afeared to go up, i reckon, dutch?" "afraidt?" protested carl. "modor matt vasn't afraidt oof anyt'ing. he couldn't haf shtaid ofer der show grounds, und dot's der reason he dit'nt go oop. der vind vould haf plowed him galley-vest, und den some." "i see. these here aëroplanes are hard things to handle, and----holy smoke! drop it! put it out!" carl, as has already been stated, had picked up one of the roman candles. while talking with the armless wonder, he leaned back against a tent pole and clasped his hands--the candle in one of them--behind him. ping had stepped back. the roman candle, held fuse end outward, looked most inviting. digging a match out of his kimono, ping scratched it on the pole and applied the flame unseen to the fuse. while the armless wonder was talking, carl heard a long-drawn-out hiss, a smell of smoke came to his nostrils, and a niagara of sparks floated around him. naturally he was startled, and it flashed over him that something was wrong with the roman candle. bringing the candle around in front of him for examination, he had it leveled at the wonder the very instant the first fire ball was due. the ball was not behind schedule. rushing from the end of the tube, it caught the wonder in the breast, and he turned a back somersault off the platform. bewildered by the mysterious cause of the situation, carl swerved the candle in order to get a look through the smoke and sparks at the place where the wonder had been seated. a roar came from the zulu chief. a ball of flaming red had slapped against his shoulder, and he jumped for the next platform on the right. landing on the edge, his weight overturned the structure. there was a scream from the bearded lady and a whoop from the elastic skin man, and the next moment they landed in a tangled heap on top of the zulu chief. "put it out!" the armless wonder continued to yell. "point it up or down!" bellowed the gentlemanly trainer of the educated pig. "ged some vater!" howled carl, running back and forth and waving the candle; "ged a pucket oof vater und i vill drown der t'ing in it!" the dutch boy didn't know what to do. if he dropped the candle he might get hit with some of the balls himself, and if he turned it straight upward he might set fire to the top of the tent. while he was running up and down, trying frantically to think of some way out of the trouble, of course the fire stick was continuing to unload. whizz--slap! a wad of yellow fire hit the pig, which squealed and bolted. the gentlemanly attendant tried to head off the porcine marvel, but it ran between his outspread feet and knocked him off the stand. a rain of lettered blocks followed. the frantic pig bunted into ping, tripped him, and hurled him against carl. both boys went down, and carl rolled over and over, discharging red, white, and blue balls as he revolved. up to that moment the ossified man had escaped. but now his turn had come. he was said to have been turning to stone for thirty years, and was supposed to be so brittle that he had to be handled with extreme care. the first ball that struck him, however, caused him to jump off his board slab with a yell. from the way he rushed to get out of the tent, it was pretty certain that he was as wiry and pliable as the average. the educated pig, to an accompaniment of yells, howls, and screams, and with the lurid glare of the popping balls lighting the smoky interior of the tent, ran on blindly, overturned the stage set aside for the zulu chief and the armless wonder, showered broken glass over everybody, and then tore through the tent wall and out into the open. naturally, this bedlam, suddenly turned loose in the tent, had excited the wonder and curiosity of the ticket seller, the "barker," and the man at the door. as the man at the door looked in, the last of the balls struck him below the belt, and he collapsed in the arms of the "barker," who was crowding in behind him. the last of the balls! that hollow, pasteboard tube seemed to have been a perfect mine of shooting stars. it had disgorged itself of a dozen. carl had not counted them--he was too busy with other matters--but it seemed to him as though the tube had been fully an hour getting rid of its contents. a madder assortment of freaks it would have been harder to find than wrangled and protested, there in the side-show tent, while they rubbed their bruises and shook the kinks out of themselves. "it was one of the armless wonder's roman candles," came in sepulchral tones from the ossified man as he climbed back to his slab. "i'll quit the show, and give two weeks' notice this minute," piped the bearded lady as she picked her way through the scattered glass, "if they don't cut out these fireworks. my goodness! you might just as well be killed outright as scart to death. wha'ju jump onto our stage for?" and she glared at the chief, who was gently massaging his burned spot. "by jocks," answered the chief, "i didn't care where i jumped s'long's i got away from the fireworks." "it was the dutchman done it," flared the wonder. "he's a freak," rumbled the ossified man. "kick him out." "i don'd peen a freak," said carl angrily, throwing the burned-out tube at the o. m. "oof i vas, den here iss vere i should shday." "did you set that roman candle to goin'?" demanded the "barker" fiercely. "i don'd set him to going, py chimineddy! i hat him in my handt, und he vent off mit himseluf. dot's all aboudt it." "this ain't no place for them kind o' jokes," cried the elastic skin man. "he's played hob with this outfit: give him a h'ist!" the ticket seller, the "barker," and the man on the door all three fell upon carl. between them they had the dutch boy turning cartwheels through the entrance. ping, the cause of all the trouble, slipped away quietly under the canvas wall--but not until he had picked up something white from the earthen floor of the tent. the object lay close to where carl had lain, and ping conceived the idea that it belonged to the dutch boy and that it was his duty to recover it and return it to the owner. chapter ii. the "barker" shows his teeth. when carl finally rounded up his wits he found himself sitting under the lee of the "animal top," leaning against one of the guy ropes. the wind was blowing half a gale, and the big tents swayed and tugged at their fastenings. there was only one idea just then in the dutch boy's mind, and that was this: "how dit dot roman gandle go off mit itseluf? i remember taking him in my handt und holting him pehindt me, und den--whizz, bang! ach, how der shparks dit fly! dere vas fordy-'lefen palls in der gandle, und i hit a freak mit efery pall. donnervetter, vat a hot time!" at this point ping came rounding the curved canvas wall, head to the wind, blouse and wide trousers flapping, and pulling himself along by means of the guy ropes. "hello, clal!" he called, mooring himself to a tent stake. "hello yourseluf once!" answered carl, drawing one powder-blackened hand up and down his trousers leg. "how you like der pooty firevorks?" "by klismus!" grinned the chinaman, "him velly fine. fleaks no likee." "how dit der gandle go off mit itseluf? tell me dose." ping's grin faded from his yellow face, and he grew solemn and serious. "no savvy, clal. him devil joss stick, awri'. whoosh!" a sudden suspicion darted through carl's brain as he stared at ping. the chinese boy was altogether too serious. "py shiminy grickets!" whooped carl, "vas it you dot douched him off ven der gandle vas my pack pehindt und i don'd see? dit you make all der drouples? oof i vas sure oof dot, den i vould eat you oop like some ham santviches." ping gave a yell of protest. "we allee same fliends, huh?" he demanded. "why my makee tlouble fo' fliend?" "vell, i don'd know for vy, aber such chokes iss nod vat i like. oof i findt oudt dot you lit der gandle, den i vill ged efen for dot. you bed my life, i pay efery debt vat i owe." ping looked serious. then, glad that he was able to change the subject, he remarked: "you losee one piecee papel in tent, clal?" "i don't got one piecee paper, shink. how could i lose somet'ing vat i don't got?" "my findee him same place you makee tumble. look." ping drew the folded sheet from his blouse. carl stretched out his hand. "i vill take a look at dot," said he. when opened flat, the sheet contained writing, but it was not writing that carl could read. "vedder it iss a ledder or nod," mused carl, "i don'd know. vat i see on dis paper looks schust like hen dracks. it don'd vas english, und it don'd vas german. iss it shink wriding, ping?" ping dropped to his knees and examined the sheet of paper upside down and sideways. "my no savvy," he answered. "him not china writing. some fleak lettee dlop--him fleak writing. him no gottee sense." carl wrinkled his brows ominously. "i tell you somet'ing," said he. "dere iss more to dis alretty as we know, ping. i peen a tedectif. meppy you vill make a tedectif, too. subbose we findt oudt vat der ledder iss aboudt?" "plaps we no makee find out." "dot's vere der tedectif part comes in." "plaps we no gottee sense enough, clal." "_ach, du lieber!_" grunted carl. "ditn't i findt dot margaret manners vat vas draveling mit der show? ditn't i get dot ben ali hindoo feller on der run? ditn't i vin fife tousant tollars?" "you no gettee fi' thousan' dol'." "i vill get dot. it has to come from inchia, und inchia iss more as ten tousant miles from vere i am. it takes time to get money from inchia. i was a shmard feller to do all dot. meppy i gif you some lessons und you vill be as shmard as vat i am." "plaps." "you vant to choin in mit me, hey?" "awri'. no savvy pidgin, clal. what we do?" before carl could answer, the "barker" for the side show came running around the tent wall. carl grabbed the letter out of ping's hand and thrust it into his pocket. "what yuh got there?" demanded the "barker," coming to a halt and glaring at carl. "you don'd got some pitzness to know," was the dutch boy's calm reply. the "barker's" name was bill wily, but, on account of his shady character, he was generally known as wily bill. "i lost a letter durin' that shake-up in the tent," said wily bill, truculently, "an' it looked to me as though that sheet yuh just tucked away in your jeans was the one. hand it over." "don'd get gay mit yourseluf," warned carl, rising to his feet. "where'd yuh git that paper?" "dot's for me to know. oof you get pitzness any blace else, don'd let us keep you a minid. moof on. i don'd like you none too vell, anyhow." "you'll give me that paper," declared wily bill angrily, "or i'll twist that dutch neck o' yours." "meppy you vill," answered carl, "aber i don'd tink. here it iss different as it vas in der show. you don'd got der freaks und der odders to helup." "i'll find burton," fumed wily bill, "and i'll tell him yuh've stole that there paper off me." "den you vill be telling purton vat ain'd so." the "barker" took a step forward. "yuh goin' to give me that?" he shouted. "say," answered carl, with a happy thought, "you tell me vat iss in der ledder, den oof it agrees mit vat iss dere you prove he belong mit you, und i gif him oop. oddervise, nod. hey?" "oh, you fall off the earth!" growled wily bill. "i don't have to tell what's in the letter in order to prove it's mine, see? fork over." carl had thought he might get wily bill to translate the "hen tracks," but the "barker" either could not or would not. "you und me don'd agree on dot," said carl stoutly. "you tell me vat iss in der ledder, oder you don'd get him. dot's all aboudt it." "look here," and wily bill made a threatening gesture with his clinched fist, "pass that over or i'll push yer face inter yer back hair. now, then. cough up or take the consequences." "i dradder fighdt as eat some meals!" whooped carl. "come on vonce, oof dot's der game. hit me in der eye! dot geds my madt oop kevicker as anyt'ing, und i fighdt pedder der madder vat i ged. eider eye, it _machts nichts aus_. blease!" with a savage exclamation, wily bill threw himself forward and lunged with the full force of his right. carl ducked sideways. the fist missed him, and the impetus of the blow hurled wily bill over the guy rope. boss burton, the proprietor of the show, seeing the clash from a distance, was hurrying up to take a part in proceedings. he arrived just in time to collide with the tumbling form of the "barker." it was with difficulty that burton retained his footing. the breath was knocked out of him, and as he tottered and gasped he glared at wily bill. "dere iss poss purton," chuckled carl. "schust tell him vat you vant und see vat he say." "what're you roughing things up like this for, wily?" demanded the showman. "you know very well i don't allow any fighting on the show grounds." "that dutchman," answered the "barker," getting his temper a little in hand, "has got a letter belongin' to me. i want it, an' he won't give it up." "is that so, carl?" asked burton, whirling on the dutch boy. "i don'd know vedder or nod it iss so," replied carl. "i got a ledder, und he say it pelongs by him. aber he von't say vat iss in der ledder, so how could i know?" "isn't the envelope addressed?" "dere iss no enfellup." "isn't there a name on the letter?" "dere iss no name anyvere." "it's from a pal o' mine, burton," explained wily bill, "and i dropped it out of my kick in the tent. this dutch lobster and that chink turned on a row in the side show. the dutchman got one of the armless wonder's roman candles, and while he held it behind him the chink touched a match to it, and we had all kinds of fireworks for a----" "donner und blitzen!" yelled carl, facing ping and shaking his fist. "den it _vas_ you, hey? i von't be no tedectif mit you! you vas no bard to blay sooch a choke! i vill ged efen, yah, so hellup me! oof you----" "that will do," cut in boss burton sternly. "we'll settle this letter business before we do anything else. where did you get the thing, carl?" "dot false-alarm chink gif him by me," answered carl, watching angrily while ping allowed the wind to waft him out of sight around the side-show tent. "where did he get it?" "he picked him oop from vere i lay on der groundt. dot's vat he say, aber my confidences in him vas padly shook." "give it to me." there was no dodging such an order from the proprietor of the show, and the folded sheet was handed over. burton looked at the letter. while he was doing so, wily bill made a desperate grab for it. the showman was too quick for the "barker," and jerked the sheet out of reach. "that's your game, is it?" growled burton. "go back to your job, wily. come to me after the show, and we'll talk this over. i don't like the way you're acting in this matter, and if you know when you're well off, you'll put your foot on the soft pedal and keep it there. not a word! clear out!" with a black scowl, and a look at carl that boded him no good, wily bill turned on his heel and made his way back to the side show. chapter iii. the man from washington. "sufferin' hurricanes, what a blow!" remarked joe mcglory. "what good's a flying machine, pard, when a spell of weather puts it down and out? the _comet's_ a back number in a hatful of wind." "hatful!" repeated motor matt. "if this breeze isn't doing fifty miles an hour i'm no hand at guessing." the two motor boys were in their old rendezvous, the calliope tent, sitting on a couple of overturned buckets and listening to the roar and boom of bellying canvas, the flutter and snap of banners, and the whistle of violently disturbed air around the tent poles. the big card played by burton was the aëroplane flights, two of which were given every day, before the afternoon and the evening performance--wind and weather permitting. since the motor boys' engagement with burton, matt had not failed to take the aëroplane aloft on an average of more than two days a week. this violent wind made the morning flight at reid's lake one of the "off" days. there was a chance, however, that the wind would go down with the sun, and that it would be possible to do a little flying before the evening show. it was saturday, and the "big consolidated" was to remain at reid's lake over sunday and give two performances monday. on monday, therefore, it was quite possible the _comet_ would be able to carry out her part of the circus programme. "up in north dakota," observed joe mcglory, "where it blows like sin when it _does_ blow, you've capered around in the sky in the face of a breeze every bit as strong as this, matt." "there it was different," answered the young motorist. "i didn't have to manipulate the machine over the show grounds, and there were not thousands of people directly underneath to suffer if the aëroplane didn't come down in the place from which it started. i don't want any more accidents like the one we had at jackson." "where a snake short-circuited the engine, and you had all kinds of hair-raising experiences," breathed mcglory. "speak to me about that! by gorry, i wouldn't even look on while you pulled off another such performance, pard, for a million in yellow boys!" before the king of the motor boys could make any reply, landers, the man who had charge of the calliope, showed himself in the tent door. behind him trailed a smooth-faced man of forty, in a cap and gray tweeds. "that's motor matt," said landers, pointing to the young motorist. "this gentleman wants a word with you, matt," he added, "and i volunteered to show him where you could be found." landers ducked away again, and the stranger pushed into the tent. "fancy!" he exclaimed, staring at matt, then at mcglory, and then letting his eyes wander around the tent. "so this is motor matt. ah, by jove!" mcglory picked up a bucket, emptied the water out of it, and turned it upside down. "sit down, pilgrim," said the cowboy, "and make yourself comfortable." the other pulled up his trousers at the knees and deposited himself carefully on the bucket. he laughed a little, lifted a round piece of glass from his coat and tucked it into his right eye, and then took another look at matt and mcglory. "only fancy!" he murmured. "if you want to join the show," said mcglory, with a wink at matt, "you'll have to see burton." "join the show?" returned the other. "why, i don't want to join the blooming circus. i'm just looking for motor matt, don't you know." "you're not looking for him, neighbor, but at him. it's your move." "deuced odd, that. my move. in other words, i'm to tell my business, eh? it's private, very. i want to talk with motor matt alone." mcglory started to get up, but matt stopped him with a gesture. "this is my chum, joe mcglory," said he. "i have no secrets from him. fire away, sir." "aw," drawled the other. "well, if that's the way of it, then here goes." drawing a morocco case from his pocket, the stranger extracted a card and handed it to matt. "reginald pierce twomley," ran the legend on the card; then, down in the lower left-hand corner were the words: "attaché british embassy, washington." matt passed the card to mcglory. "glad to see you, mr. twomley," said matt. "what can we do for you?" reginald pierce twomley lighted a cigarette. it was a pretty cigarette, with a gilt monogram on one side. he offered the case to the boys, but they respectfully declined. "aw, let us approach our business with method," said mr. twomley. "i have come from washington--aw--on very important business. allow me to prove my right to act as agent for his excellency the ambassador by recapitulating a few facts with which you must be familiar. "at one time, my dear sir, there was with this circus a hindoo mahout who called himself ben ali. that was not his real name, but it will serve. with ben ali was a young lady who was called haidee. ben ali was a rotter--the worst case of thug that ever came out of the bombay presidency--and he had a powerful rajah for a brother. ben ali took care of the rajah's elephant herd. the rajah's sister married one lionel manners. manners died, his wife perished by the infernal practice of _suttee_--even now secretly practised in spite of the english government--and ben ali left india with manners' only daughter, margaret. the girl known as haidee was in reality margaret manners. am i correct?" matt nodded. "ben ali was an adept in the hypnotic line," proceeded twomley, looking thoughtfully into the smoke of his cigarette, "and miss manners was in this country and with the show against her will. her uncle, the rascally ben ali, kept her under his evil influence, and was gradually causing her to forget even her own identity. the mahout bore a grudge against his powerful brother, the rajah, and he had stolen the girl in a spirit of revenge. eventually, he hoped to force the rajah to pay many rupees for miss manners before ben ali released her. but this is beside the mark. i don't care a hap'orth about that part of it. the point that concerns the british ambassador, sir roger morse-edwards, is this: "you and your friends, motor matt, discovered who haidee really was. you rescued her from the evil spell of the mahout, and she was left in lafayette, indiana, in charge of a worthy english lady, pending advices from her uncle, the rajah, in india. we have received advices, not from the rajah, but direct from our foreign office. i was sent forthwith to lafayette to get miss manners, take her to new york, and, with a suitable maid as companion, send her by first steamer to liverpool, and so to london." "good!" exclaimed matt, with visible satisfaction. "miss manners is a very fine girl, and i suppose her future will make up for the many hardships she has undergone while in this country." "exactly," answered twomley, "if we could find her. but we can't. she has disappeared." "disappeared?" gasped matt. "that is the way of it. i went to this english lady in lafayette, and she received me with astonishment. several days before a man, professing to be from the ambassador, had called and taken miss manners away. we are done, done as brown as a kipper, and a telegram to washington brought an answer requesting me to hunt up this show and have a talk with you." motor matt was astounded. and so was mcglory. "have you any idea who the man was that called on the english woman in lafayette and took miss manners away?" "no. the lafayette police are looking for him." "have you any idea that ben ali is mixed up in the affair?" "i have, motor matt, and a very clear idea. i was ten years in india, and learned the natives there, and their ways. it was for that, i fancy, that sir roger asked me to come for miss manners. while i was about taking the train at lafayette, yesterday, i received another message from the ambassador. that message informed me that a telegram had been received from ben ali, informing sir roger that he again had the girl in his possession, and that she would be delivered to any agent sir roger might send after her on payment of ten thousand pounds." "fifty thousand dollars!" exclaimed matt. then he whistled. "old ben ali is out for the stuff," muttered mcglory grimly. "he's a crafty beggar!" commented twomley. "i left all the telegrams with the police, and sir roger is taking the whole matter up with the united states state department. the secret service of the government will presently be at work on this case, for it is of international importance. can you give any information, motor matt, that will help us find ben ali, or miss manners?" matt shook his head. "why doesn't the ambassador agree to send some one to meet ben ali? then the rascal could be caught." "he's too clever to let himself be caught. he----" just here boss burton strode into the tent, followed by carl. "shut up about that, carl," the showman was growling. "you haven't any right to that letter, and i'm going to keep it." "i'm in der tedectif pitzness," returned carl, "und i need dot ledder, py shinks, to helup unrafel der case. modor matt," and carl appealed to his pard, "make purton gif me der ledder." "what letter?" demanded matt. "i'll tell you what we'll do," said burton to carl; "we'll leave the letter with matt. if wily can prove it's his, then matt can turn the thing over to him." burton handed a folded sheet to matt. the latter, entirely in the dark, opened the sheet and laid it on his knee. "what sort of writing is this?" he asked. "that's too many for me. it isn't chinese--carl said ping told him that--and it isn't dutch. of course, it's not english. and who it belongs to, or where it came from, or what's the good of it, is more than i know. but it appears to have caused a lot of bother." "it's hindoostanee," spoke up twomley, staring at the open sheet. "i can read the language. if you wish, i'll translate it." then, for the first time, burton and carl turned on the englishman and took his measure. chapter iv. a clue in hindoostanee. "who are you, my friend?" inquired burton bluntly. "a friend of motor matt," replied twomley easily. "he'll vouch for me, i fancy." "mr. twomley, attaché of the british legation at washington, burton," said matt. "mr. burton," matt added to the englishman, "is the proprietor of the show. the other lad is carl pretzel, who is also a chum of mine. we can talk over this matter before them. carl had everything to do with the finding of margaret manners, back there at lafayette." "aw," drawled twomley, screwing his monocle in his eye, and regarding the dutch boy, "he's the claimant for that thousand pounds reward, i dare say." tremors of excitement ran galloping through carl. "haf you prought der money?" he fluttered. "vas you looking for me to pay ofer dot rewart?" "i am sorry to say that i haven't brought the money. that matter is still in abeyance." "vat iss dot?" asked the puzzled carl. "i don'd _verstch_ dot vort apeyance." "he means the matter is still pending, carl," put in matt. "in other words, you haven't got the money yet." "i know dot, aber vill i ged it? dot's vat gifs me some vorries." "the rajah's a regular topper," said twomley. "he'd never miss a thousand pounds, and i fancy he'll do the right thing." "mooch opliged," breathed carl, in deep satisfaction. "it vas a habbiness to know dot i ged him some dime." "now, if you wish," went on twomley, stretching out his hand for the letter. "just a moment, mr. twomley," said matt. "we don't know much about this letter, and i'd like to find out where and how carl got it, and what the dispute is about." the dutch boy launched into an explanation, beginning with the roman candle and ending at the place where burton refused to turn the letter over to wily bill. carl touched but lightly on the culpability of ping in the matter of the roman candle. in this he was wise. motor matt's orders were to the effect that there should be no bickering between the dutch boy and the chinese lad. they had been at swords' points for a long while and had only recently developed a friendly feeling for each other. "i always sized up that wily bill for a false alarm," remarked mcglory. "can he read that hindoostanee lingo? i'll bet my spurs he can't! if that's the case, what's he doing with the letter?" "he must have wanted it a whole lot," said matt, "or he wouldn't have made such a fight to get it. perhaps the letter itself will be a clue. tell us what's in it, mr. twomley," and matt passed the letter to the englishman. the latter studied the sheet with absorbed attention. finally he sprang up. "by jove!" he exploded. "what's the matter?" inquired matt. "this is luck! just fancy such a clue coming into our hands at this very moment when it is most needed. aw, it's--aw--incredible." "you might give us a chance to pass judgment on that, mr. twomley," returned burton. "maybe it's not so incredible as you seem to think." "it was written by ben ali," said the attaché. "_that_ tinhorn!" exclaimed mcglory. "i thought we'd cut him out of our herd altogether. beats creation how he keeps bobbing up." "who's it for?" spoke up matt. "has bill wily any right to it?" "the name of wily doesn't appear anywhere in the writing," answered twomley. "in fact, the letter's addressed to a fellow named dhondaram." here was another hot shot. both mcglory and matt were brought excitedly to their feet. "dhondaram!" growled burton, with an expressive glance at the king of the motor boys. "i thought we'd heard the last of that villain." "who was he?" demanded twomley. "a hindoo----" "so i gather from the name." "he blew into the show grounds with a cobra and a home-made flute, when we were at jackson, and i gave him ben ali's place as driver of our man-killin' elephant, rajah. oh, he did a lot of things, dhondaram did. we captured him, but he got loose and dropped off the train between stations." "aw, ben ali didn't know that," reflected twomley. "ben ali must have thought he was still with the show, and sent this letter to him." "what does the letter say?" asked matt, with some impatience. "it asked dhondaram to finish his work as soon as possible and to join ben ali, with the money, in short order." a silence followed, and during the silence the motor boys exchanged wondering looks. "what was dhondaram's work?" queried twomley. "nothing more or less than putting pard matt out of the running," replied mcglory. "ben ali's on the warpath against matt, because of what he did in lafayette, and dhondaram tried hard to wipe my pard off the slate." "ben ali speaks of money," went on twomley. "what does that mean?" burton muttered wrathfully. "i'll bet a thousand," said he, "that refers to the proceeds of the afternoon performance in jackson, which the ticket man and this dhondaram tried to get away with. ben ali put up the job with dhondaram, and the ticket man was helping them out." "matters must have been lively all around in jackson," observed twomley. "dhondaram didn't get the money?" "not so you could notice," answered mcglory. "pard matt jumped in and plugged that little game." "ben ali," reasoned the king of the motor boys, "has probably been thinking of recapturing miss manners for some time. all he had dhondaram try to do, in jackson, was to help on his villainous schemes. but dhondaram failed. probably ben ali is needing some money pretty badly, about now. what is the date of that letter, mr. twomley?" "there is no date." "then there's no telling how long bill wily has carried it in his pocket?" the attaché shook his head. "he must have got it after we left jackson, pard," interposed mcglory. "if he had got it before, he'd have passed it on to dhondaram." "how he got it at all is a mystery," mused the young motorist. "he has probably seen and talked with ben ali." "before the show got to jackson, then," continued the cowboy, who was doing a little sharp thinking. "if he had talked with ben ali after the doings in jackson, he'd have told the old skinner how dhondaram fell down." "there's a clue here, but it's not so promising as it might be," came disappointedly from the englishman. matt walked toward the tent door. "our best clue," said he decisively, "is bill wily. we'd better go to the side show and have a talk with him." "bring him here, matt," suggested burton. "we can talk with him in this place to better advantage than in the side-show tent. i'll go with you and make sure he comes. the rest of you wait," and the showman started from the calliope tent after matt. inquiry of the man on the door at the side show developed the fact that bill wily had started for town. he had been gone about five minutes, matt and burton were informed, and had left the show grounds for the street-car track. "he's making a getaway!" averred burton. "that's the way it looks," agreed matt. "we've got to stop him, if we can." without loss of time the king of the motor boys and the showman hustled for the place where the street-car track made a loop, just beyond a big concert garden. they were hoping to catch wily before he could board a car. but in this they were disappointed. a car was moving off in the direction of town, and all their frantic yells and gestures were powerless to secure the attention of the conductor. "it'll be fifteen minutes before there's another car," panted burton, "and by that time the 'barker' will be--the deuce only knows where. it's a cinch, matt, that he's scared, and is running away. if there was an automobile handy, we could overhaul the car." burton looked in every direction. "but, of course," he added, "whenever you want a chug-wagon there's none in sight." a familiar humming drew motor matt's attention. looking in the direction of the sound, he saw a motor-cycle spinning along the road from the direction of grand rapids. a young fellow of nineteen or twenty was in the saddle. "there's something that will do--if we can borrow it," said matt, and jumped into the road and waved his hands. the motorcycle came to a stop. "are you flagging me?" asked the driver of the machine. "yes," said matt hurriedly. "i want to overhaul the street car that just left here. there's a man aboard that we've got to catch. will you let me take your motorcycle?" "well, i guess not!" was the reply. "the last time i loaned this machine i was two days getting it back into shape again." "i'll give you twenty dollars for the use of it, young man," put in burton eagerly. "no inducement," was the answer. "there's hard luck for you, motor matt," grunted burton. the young fellow had been on the point of starting away, but he suddenly paused and turned to matt. "are you matt king," he asked, "the fellow they call motor matt?" "yes," was the reply. "doing an aëroplane stunt with the show?" "yes." "well, take the machine. it won't cost you a cent, either. i work in a motor-car factory in the rapids, and we've heard a good deal about you there. i'm tickled to death to be able to help you out. bring the machine back here when you're done with it, and you'll find me waiting." "such is fame!" laughed burton. with a hasty word of thanks, matt headed the machine the other way and got into the saddle. one turn of the pedal and the motor took up its cycle. half a minute later the king of the motor boys was out of sight down the road. chapter v. something wrong. mcglory, carl, and twomley waited in the calliope tent until their patience was exhausted. "py shiminy," fluttered carl, "i bed you somet'ing for nodding dot vily pill don'd vas by der site show yet." "i reckon you've dropped a bean on the right number," agreed the cowboy. "what's our next jump, your highness?" the question was put to the englishman. "aw, i say," said the latter, in remonstrance, "i'm not that, don't you know. i'm not of the peerage. an uncle and three cousins, all distressingly healthy, stand between me and an earldom." "i want to know!" murmured mcglory, in mock surprise. "why, i didn't think any one this side a lord could wear one of those little window panes in the right eye." "you jest," said twomley, with a faint smile. "fancy!" "well, anyhow, what are we going to do? sit here and wait, or hit the trail ourselves and find out what's doing?" "hit the trail?" echoed twomley, lifting his brows. "deuced odd, that. why should we hit it, and what shall we hit it with?" "vat a ignorance!" murmured carl. "we'll hit it with our feet, excellency," went on mcglory. he had a hearty contempt for the monocle, and took it out on the wearer. "i don't know whether i rise to that," returned twomley, "but if it means to go forth and look into the cause of our friends' delay in returning with wily bill, then, it's ay, ay, with a will." "come on, then, and we'll vamose." mcglory led the way to the side-show tent, and twomley and carl followed him closely. the crowds had long since entered the big tents, and the performance in the "circus top" was in full blast. with the beginning of the "big show" there was no business left for the annex, and the ticket seller was withdrawn under the lee of a canvas wall, hobnobbing with the man on the door. these two informed mcglory, twomley, and carl that wily bill had left for town on the street car, and that motor matt and burton had started for the car line in the hope of overhauling him. but that had been all of half an hour before. the three searchers immediately departed for the car-line loop. there they found burton and a young fellow kicking their heels impatiently and keeping their eyes down the track. "where's matt?" asked mcglory. "ask us something easy," replied burton. "wily has hiked for town. when we got here the car he was on was too far down the track to stop. this young man"--the showman indicated his companion--"came along on a motor cycle. matt borrowed the machine with the intention of overtaking the car and bringing wily back, but neither has shown up yet. must be something wrong." "vell, i bed you!" said carl anxiously. "on some modor cycles mile-a-minid matt alvays geds vere he iss going pefore he shtarts. somet'ing has gone crossvays alretty, und dot's no tream." "i'm doing a century to-day," remarked the motor cycle owner, "and this is cutting into my time." "don't fret about your wheel, neighbor," spoke up mcglory. "you'll get it back, all right." "i'm not fretting. motor matt's welcome to a dozen of the gasoline bikes if i had 'em. but i'd like to be moving on." burton looked at his watch. "matt's been gone thirty-five minutes," he announced. "if he was running all the time," observed the lad from the motor-car works, "he could be thirty-five miles from here." "perhaps," ventured twomley, "he has mucked the play, somehow." "mucked the play!" exclaimed the exasperated mcglory. "that's not his style, your lordship." "we'll wait twenty-five minutes longer," announced burton. "if matt isn't back by then, this young man and i will start along the car track in my runabout and we'll see what we can find." "dake me along," clamored carl. "i vas afraidt somet'ing iss wrong mit matt." "if there are any extra passengers in the runabout," said mcglory resolutely, "i'm the one." "my word!" muttered twomley. "i hope everything's all serene, i do, indeed. i'm a juggins at waiting when there's so much excitement going on." "juggins is good," grunted mcglory. "you can retire somewhere, mr. twomley, and hold onto your nerves while the rest of us hunt up the 'barker.' you'll not shine much till we find wily bill, anyhow." "you're an odd stick," answered twomley, whose good nature was not a thing to be ruffled. he was sharp enough to see that the cowboy had a pique at him, and he had sufficient good sense to take it calmly. "py shinks," said carl, after ten more weary minutes had passed, "matt has hat time to do some centuries himseluf, und i can't guess it oudt for vy he don'd get pack. oof you don'd dake me in der runaboudt, den, so helup me, i vill valk. anydink is pedder to shtand as uncerdainties." carl constantly watched the road that paralleled the car track. and so, for the most part, did the englishman. "my word, but it is trying!" murmured twomley. "if we could only see a bit of dust, then we'd know motor matt was coming, and my relief would be profound." "dust! _ach, himmelblitzen!_ vy, matt vill go so fast on dot machine der dust vill be a mile pehindt und you don'd see dot." "here's something," came from mcglory. "speak to me about it, will you? where's ping? little slant-eyes is always around when anything is doing, but i haven't seen him since he finished watering the calliope." carl knew why ping wasn't around. ping was afraid carl would do something to him to play even for the roman-candle business. oh, yes, that was an easy one for carl to guess. there was secret satisfaction for the dutch boy in the reflection. and he gloated over it and kept it to himself. "time's up," announced burton, snapping his watch, "and here's where i go for the runabout. my thoroughbred is hitched to the buggy, so be ready to go with me," he added to the owner of the motor cycle. "i'm not worrying about the wheel, understand," said the lad, "but about the century i'm to turn. i'm making it right in the teeth of this wind." inside of five minutes burton came with the runabout, his kentucky thoroughbred stamping off the ground at a record pace. the runabout seat was narrow, and burton and the lad from the motor-car factory filled it comfortably. but they took mcglory on their knees and whipped away, leaving twomley and carl gazing after them disconsolately. hardly were the runabout and its passengers out of sight when a car rounded the loop and deposited its passengers on the platform. "led's ged on der car, misder dumley," suggested carl. "ve vill vatch der road as ve go, und oof ve see somet'ing ve vill trop off. i peen a tedectif feller, und oof dere iss any clues dey von't ged avay from me." "go you!" answered twomley heartily. any sort of action was a relief for his impatience, and he and carl scrambled aboard the car. meanwhile the pedigreed kentucky cob was pounding off the distance. in the horse's performance the proud showman lost sight of the main business in hand--temporarily. "see that knee action!" he exulted. "did either of you ever see a prettier bit of traveling? we're doing a mile in two-thirty!" "bother the horse!" growled mcglory. "keep your eyes on the road for clues." "clues! i'll bet money the 'barker' wouldn't get off the car. how could matt make him? he couldn't, of course. nothing short of a cop and a warrant could make wily bill leave the car if he was set for reaching grand rapids. i might have known that, if i had stopped to think. we'll have to keep right on into town--and, then, like as not, we won't find either matt or wily. now----" "whoa!" cried mcglory. "you're shy a few, burton. here's where we stop." "what's up?" returned burton, reining in his spirited roadster. "look there!" mcglory pointed to the left-hand side of the road. close to a steep bank, against a clump of bushes, stood the motor cycle. "jupiter!" exclaimed burton. "great scott!" cried the owner of the machine. mcglory tumbled clear of the runabout and started toward the bushes. he had not taken half a dozen steps, however, before he came to a dead stop. a form fluttered out of the bushes and approached him excitedly. "ping!" gasped the cowboy. "speak to me about this! where'd you come from, ping? and where's pard matt?" the chinese boy's feelings apparently defied expression. he tried to speak, but his lips moved soundlessly. hopping up and down in his sandals, he waved his arms and pointed--not toward grand rapids, but off across a piece of rough woodland. chapter vi. a blunder in the right direction. ping had felt certain that his move in touching off the roman candle had not been seen. it was a disagreeable surprise to him, therefore, when bill wily told carl just who was responsible for the fireworks. ping and carl were trying hard to be pards. their hearts were not in the attempt, for deep in the spirit of each one slumbered a latent animosity against the other. but they had to try to fraternize. motor matt had issued an edict to the effect that, if they did not become pards, he and mcglory would cut them out of the motor boys' combination. so the lads did their utmost to appear friendly. they wandered around together, and whenever matt or mcglory was in sight they locked arms and addressed each other in terms of endearment. when they were away from matt and mcglory they still kept up the pretense, but in a manner that was more subdued. ping could not resist the temptation to touch a match to the roman candle. he had not expected to cause such a disturbance, and the fact that chaos had reigned in the side show, and that his culpability had become known, filled him with apprehension. carl would tell matt, and matt would sidetrack his chinese pard. ping worried, and had no desire to see matt, or any one else. the show was to be at reid's lake for three days, and there was no sunday performance. ping, therefore, could flock by himself until monday afternoon. ping's work consisted of watering the steam calliope, and in helping the aëroplane take its running start for the flights. owing to the wind, there would be no morning flight, and--very likely, as he argued to himself--no afternoon ascension, either. and ping knew motor matt would not work on sunday. taken all in all, this was a most propitious time for ping to absent himself from the show grounds. with the idea that he would go into grand rapids and hunt up some of his countrymen, he left the grounds and made his way around the concert garden to the car-line loop. here his nerve began to fail him, and he allowed two or three cars to come and go without getting aboard. finally he bolstered up his tottering resolution and climbed into one of the cars. looking through the open window, after he had taken his seat, he saw wily bill swing up by the hand rails. ping was asking himself what this could mean when the car pulled out. a little worried, he knew not for what reason, he got up from his seat and walked to the forward platform, thinking it well to keep out of bill wily's sight. suddenly he became aware of something. a voice, from far behind, was shouting for the car to stop. the passengers, thrusting their heads from the windows, were looking back, and some of them were talking excitedly. ping, hanging out from the lower step, turned his gaze rearward, and what he saw caused his heart to thump wildly against his ribs. one of the little two-wheeled devil wagons was rushing along the road that paralleled the track, coming like a limited choo-choo train, and motor matt was in the saddle! ping had but one thought. the dutch boy had told matt about the roman candle, and matt was chasing the street car in order to remove his chinese pard, read the riot act to him, and cast him adrift. what a turn ping had! he crouched down on the step, and the clatter of the gong, as the conductor gave the motorman the bell from the rear platform, sent a shiver of dread through his nerves. rather than face matt and be cut out of the motor boys' combination, ping would have done almost anything. the only thing that suggested itself at that moment was to jump and run. his original intention to lie low until the roman-candle incident blew over grew stronger in his mind. the car was beginning to slow down, but it was still proceeding at a lively gait when ping threw himself straight out from the lower step. the chinese boy did not know the proper way to alight from a swiftly moving trolley car, and the result of his leap can be imagined. the passengers who were looking out from that side of the car had a vision of a small chinaman in the air, pigtail flying. the next instant the chinaman touched ground, but found it moving too fast for a secure foothold. ping bounded into the air again, his slouch hat going in one direction, his sandals in another, and he himself describing what is technically known as a parabola. the le bons--the best "kinkers" in the big consolidated--could not have twisted themselves into more fantastic shapes than did ping during that stunt of ground-and-lofty tumbling. he landed on the ground like a frog taking to the water from the top of a toadstool, and he wound up his performance by throwing a number of choice cartwheels and then sitting up in the dust and looking around in considerable mental perturbation. about the first thing he saw and was able to realize was that another besides himself had made a jump from the car. the other was wily bill, and he must have dropped from the rear platform a little before ping dropped from the platform forward. wily bill, however, must have known how to jump from a swiftly moving car and yet keep his balance, for he was on his feet and making a dash for a brushy bank at the roadside. motor matt had swerved his motor cycle and was making in the "barker's" direction, calling loudly the while for him to stop. the light that dawned on ping, just then, was a good balm for his bruises. matt was not chasing him, after all, but had been hot on the trail of wily bill! while ping sat there in the dust, hat and sandals gone, his clothes torn and awry, and himself more or less disorganized, he saw wily bill scramble up the steep bank and vanish among the bushes on the top of it. possibly thirty seconds later, matt sprang from the motor cycle, leaped up the ascent like an antelope, and likewise vanished. "by klismus!" murmured ping, rubbing his knees. "velly funny pidgin! my no savvy. one piecee queer biz, you bettee. wow! china boy all blokee up! motol matt no wanchee pullee pin on china boy. hoop-a-la!" between his physical pain on account of his bruises and his rejoicing over the discovery that matt had not been following him, ping failed to observe that the street car had stopped and backed up to the place nearest the spot where he was crooning to himself and rubbing his bruised limbs. it was not until the conductor and the motorman faced him that ping realized that he was the object of their consideration. "didju fall off?" asked the conductor. "no makee fall," answered ping, cocking up his almond eyes, "makee jump." "blamed wonder yu didn't break yer neck!" growled the motorman. "chinks don't know nothin' anyhow." "hurt?" asked the conductor, animated by a laudable desire to avoid a damage suit in behalf of the company. "heap sore," chattered ping, "no bleakee bone. hoop-a-la!" he jubilated, a wide grin cutting his yellow face in half. "woosh!" he added, as the grin faded and a look of pain took its place. "well, i'm stumped!" muttered the conductor. "is he crazy, or what?" he added, looking at the motorman. "pass it up," snapped the motorman. "chinks is only half baked, best you can say for 'em. let's snake 'im aboard and go on. we've lost enough time." one got on either side of ping and lifted him to his feet. they would have dragged him to the car had he not resisted. "leavee 'lone!" he shouted, squirming. "oh, snakes!" ground out the exasperated motorman. "ain't you fer the rapids?" "no wanchee go glan' lapids!" declared ping. "why my makee jump my wanchee go glan' lapids?" "that's so," said the conductor. "what did he jump from the car for if he wanted to go on with us? we'll leave him, jim. i thought, when i saw him hit the ground, we'd have to take him to the hospital, but he seems to be all right." jim, with an angry exclamation, let go of ping and hustled back to his place at the front end of the car. the conductor mounted the rear platform, and the starting bell jingled. as the passengers looked back, they saw the chinese boy attempt a war dance in his stocking feet, then suddenly cease and reach down to clasp his right shin. "he's got out o' some lunatic asylum," thought the conductor. "well, it's none o' my funeral," he added, and went into the car and began collecting fares. ping, when the car was out of sight, limped around collecting his scattered wardrobe. while he was about it, he was wondering, in his feeble way, why motor matt was chasing bill wily. probably, he reasoned, wily had cut up so rough with carl that matt had thought best to pursue the man and call him to account. ping was not in very good condition to take part in the chase, but if he could manage it, and proved of some assistance to motor matt, such a move would go far toward making his peace with the king of the motor boys. "my makee tly," groaned ping, limping to the place where the motor cycle had been left. with infinite patience he crawled up the steep slope. one of his legs felt as though it didn't belong to him--it seemed more like a cork leg than anything else, and was numb from ankle to thigh. but, somehow, he managed to get up the bank with it. pausing there, he called aloud for motor matt. his voice echoed weirdly in the scant timber of the rocky ground in front of him, and the shout brought no response. "my findee motol matt," declared the chinese lad to himself, as he limped into the timber. "my ketchee motol matt, mebby ketchee wily bill. woosh! hoop-a-la!" chapter vii. the house with the green shutters. while making his slow and painful way among the scrub oaks that grew out of the stony earth, ping was looking in all directions for matt and wily. he was listening, too, with all his ears. but he could neither see nor hear anything of the two for whom he was searching. "my findee!" he said, with dogged determination. "motol matt no chasee china boy, him chasee wily bill," and again he exulted. action was perhaps the best tonic he could have had. as he swung onward, the leg which did not seem to belong to him began to remind him, in no uncertain manner, that it was really his, and that he was responsible for its condition. a slow pain made itself manifest, running up the member like a streak of lightning and giving ping a "gone" feeling in the pit of his stomach. but he was "game." shutting his teeth on more than one groan, he kept resolutely on through the bleak timber, looking and listening. finally he came out on a rough crossroad, which he followed. five minutes of wabbling along this road brought him to the end of it--and across the end squatted a dingy white house with green shutters. the shutters were closed, and the house had the appearance of being deserted. here, ping felt, was the end of his trail. he was on the wrong track, and the question that pressed upon him was what he should do next. withdrawing to a clump of bushes, he sat down and gave the matter extended thought. who lived in the house? and was there any one at home? if there was any one in the place, would they talk with him and tell him whether they had seen matt or the side-show man? ping, unlike carl, made no boasts of being a "tedectif." he could blunder around and, maybe, stumble upon something worth while, but it would be purely a hit-and-miss performance. yes, he decided, he had better go to the house and see whether there was anybody there. barely had he made up his mind when, with amazing suddenness, bill wily rushed around the corner of the house, jammed a key into the door, and disappeared. he did not close the door behind him, being, as it seemed, in too much of a hurry to attend to such trifling matters. while ping was still wrenched with this startling exhibition, an even more astounding spectacle was wafted his way. motor matt followed wily around the house corner, paused an instant in front of the open door, then was swallowed up in the dark interior. ping had not called out, for amazement had held him speechless. the chinese boy had blundered in leaping from the street car, but, as it had chanced, that had been a blunder in the right direction. all the heathen gods of luck had been ranged on his side, too, when he followed the crossroad and went into communion with himself in the clump of bushes facing the green-shuttered house. in about two minutes, ping figured, matt would have bill wily by the heels. so it followed, if ping was to have any part in the capture, he would have to hurry. in the excitement of the moment he forgot his bruises, emerged from the undergrowth, and made his way rapidly toward the house. at the open door he stopped, thrust his head into the hallway, and used his ears. the silence was intense, and not the faintest sound was to be heard. there was something weirdly mysterious about this. with matt and wily both in the house, and each more or less hostile toward the other, there should have been a good deal of noise. a qualm raced through ping's nerves. there was something ominous about mysteries, and he had made it a rule to fight shy of ominous things. he did not consider them at all good for a chinaman's health, or his peace of mind. and a melican house, too, deserted and with closed shutters, offered dangers not lightly to be reckoned with. but ping, as yet, was motor matt's pard; and whereever motor matt led the way, then ping would be more of a hired man than a pard if he did not follow. shutting his teeth hard, and breathing only when necessary, the chinese boy crossed the threshold of the house with the green shutters. he was in a narrow hall that extended through the house from front to rear. a stairway led to the second floor, and two doors opened off to left and right. throttling his fears, ping moved toward the door on the right, his sandals scuffling over the uncarpeted floor. there was no furniture in the house, and the floor was bare. the swish of the sandals sent vague fears cantering through the little celestial, and he curled up his toes in order to wedge the soles of his footgear closer to the bottoms of his feet. the room he entered was dark. with a trembling hand he groped in his blouse for matches. had he lost his matches in taking that header from the street car? his fears in that respect were short-lived, for he quickly found half a dozen of the small fire-sticks. scratching one, he held it up and peered around. the room was empty--bare as a last year's bird's nest. going back into the hall, he examined a room on the opposite side. that one also was empty, and over all the emptiness arose a musty odor as of a building long untenanted. two more rooms remained to be examined on the first floor. one of these was the kitchen, and a quantity of soot had drifted down and lay in a heap on the floor. ping kept away from the soot, and was glad afterward that he had done so. across the hall was the last of the four rooms comprising the lower part of the house--dark, deserted, and musty as were the other three. failure to encounter danger of any visible sort had heartened ping wonderfully. "my makee go up stlails," he thought. "mebby my ketchee something top-side." he moved softly, but the stairs creaked and rasped under his sandals in spite of his wariness. there were four rooms upstairs, just as there were below, and in none of the dark chambers did he discover any trace of motor matt or of wily bill. ping was "stumped." the longer he thought of the mystery the more terrified he became. he believed in demons. ben ali, he knew, was possessed of them, for he had heard how the hindoo, with his eyes alone, had put people to sleep and made them do strange things while they dreamed. ping, naturally, had no idea that ben ali was in any way concerned with matt's pursuit of wily bill, but the chinaman's mind reverted to ben ali, and aurung zeeb, and dhondaram, three hindoos, all of whom, at various times, had formed a part of the big consolidated. had he dared, ping would have shouted matt's name at the top of his voice. but he was afraid. a dragon, spouting fire from its red mouth, and with a hundred claw-armed feet, might materialize and attack him, did he dare awake the echoes of that sombre house. turning swiftly away from the last room, ping got astride the banisters, slid to the bottom of the stairs, and ducked through the front door. the bright sunshine was never pleasanter to him than at that moment. he gulped down a few draughts of pure outside air and started off toward the bushes, bent upon a little solitary reflection. by a sudden thought, he whirled abruptly, softly drew the door shut, turned the key in the lock, and then slipped the key into his pocket. he had locked the door on the mysteries, and he hoped the fiends of darkness would respect the barrier until he could think of some way to exorcise them. once more in his original place among the bushes, ping watched the house warily and tried to approach the problem in a reasonable way. but it was not a question of reason. his investigation had developed facts that defied every logical process. what had become of motor matt? this was the point that disturbed the chinese boy most. if he could find motor matt, he would be content to leave the question of wily's whereabouts out of the count. abruptly ping had an idea. perhaps wily had rushed out of a rear door, and matt had followed him? during his investigations, ping had tried no doors or windows. getting to his feet, he made a circle around the house. there was one door in the rear, and only one. cautiously he approached and tried the knob. the door was locked. as for the windows, every one was tightly closed in with the green shutters. these discoveries left ping in a daze. after several minutes of bewilderment, he finally made up his mind to return to the show grounds, find mcglory, and acquaint him with the situation. mcglory would know what to do! then, there was the two-wheeled devil wagon motor matt had left at the foot of the bank, by the roadside. a hazy idea of riding the machine back to the show grounds passed through the chinaman's mind. to regain the road by the street-car track took time, but the distance was covered much more rapidly than ping had covered it coming the other way. strange to relate, the chinese boy's bruises caused him little concern. all his aches and pains were lost in the details of the inexplicable situation connected with the deserted house. while he was in the brush, at the foot of the bank, eying the motor cycle a bit dubiously, he heard a patter of hoofs, a grind of wheels, and a sound of voices. looking up, he saw burton's runabout at a stop. burton was in the buggy, and so was a young fellow ping had never seen before--and mcglory. the cowboy was just scrambling out of the vehicle and starting in the direction of the motor cycle. the sight of reinforcements caused all ping's wonder, and doubt, and apprehension to revive with redoubled force. he attempted to shout, but no words escaped his lips. rushing forth to meet mcglory, he waved his arms and pointed in the direction of the house with the green shutters. chapter viii. the pile of soot. ping was not many minutes recovering the use of his tongue. mcglory grabbed him and shook his powers of speech back into their normal condition. "where's motor matt?" cried mcglory. "my no savvy!" "how did you happen to be here?" "stleet cal." "what're you making a run from the show grounds for without saying a word to matt?" that was a point which ping did not care to reveal. he was not above being careless with the truth in a pinch, having been raised that way. but, while he might resort to a little harmless fiction with mcglory, he would have cut his tongue out before he would have fibbed to motor matt. "makee see wily bill ketchee cal," ping explained; "my ketchee same cal. follow wily bill. wily bill jump from cal. my jump, too. tumble all ovel load. wily bill lun fo' top-side bank. motol matt chasee. motol matt leavee gas hlorsee by bank. my follow, no findee." out of this pigeon english mcglory captured a few germs of sense. "what the nation was he following wily for?" demanded burton. "how did he know we wanted wily?" ping was still equal to the emergency. "dutchy boy havee low with wily bill," he explained. "that's right," went on burton; "you _were_ around during the row. i'd forgotten that. that may have been enough to put you on wily's trail, although i can't figure it out exactly. but you followed him, and then you followed matt when he ran after wily. they went up the bank and into the woods, you say?" "allee same." "then where did they go?" demanded mcglory. "makee tlacks fo' house with green blinds." "they made tracks for a house with green blinds? now we're getting at it. where's this house?" "othel side woods. my findee, you savvy; makee sit down, do heap big think. bymby, 'long come wily bill, unlock do', go in house. plenty soon, 'long come motol matt, go in house, too." ping became oppressed with the awe aroused by the event next to be described, and his voice sank into a husky whisper. "my makee tlacks inside, hunt evel place, no can find. house allee same empty. motol matt disappeal, vanish, makee go up in smoke. woosh! my plenty 'flaid." "what's he givin' us?" snorted burton. "he's talking through his hat, seems like, to me." "he's run into something that he can't cumtux," returned mcglory. "it's plain enough, though, that a house with green shutters is at the end of our trail. ping can take us there, and it will be up to us to do the rest." "say, young feller!" cried burton, standing up in the runabout and addressing the lad from the motor-car works. the latter was pulling his motor cycle out of the bushes and making ready to forge away on the rest of his "century" run. "well?" returned the youth, one leg over the saddle and ready to pedal off. "load that machine into the runabout and drive this rig back to the show grounds for me, will you?" requested burton. "i'm hungry to see this game through, and i can't leave the horse hitched in the road." "couldn't get the motor cycle into the buggy," was the answer. "anyhow, i guess i've helped you about as much as you could reasonably expect." "there's twenty coming to you," went on burton. "take the rig back and i'll make it thirty." "there's nothing coming to me. i told motor matt he could use the machine, and welcome. now that he's done with it, i'll go on with my run." the motor began to pop, and presently settled into a steady hum. a minute later the motor cycle and its rider were out of sight. just then, when it looked as though burton was to be permanently retired from the rest of the pursuit, a street car from the lake rattled to a halt, and carl and twomley dropped from the steps. "here's the englishman," muttered mcglory, without much enthusiasm. "and carl!" added burton. "he'll take the rig back for me, and the rest of us will start for the house with the green shutters." "vat's to pay?" clamored carl, running toward mcglory and ping. ping's confidence in carl, like carl's confidence in ping, was badly "shook." the chinese boy backed away. "here, carl," cried burton. "jump into the runabout and take it back to the grounds for me. i've got business with mcglory." "meppy i don'd got some pitzness mit mcglory, same as you," demurred carl. "vere iss modor matt?" "there's no time to palaver, carl," interposed mcglory. "take the rig back." when matt was away, mcglory was the boss. carl could not very well disobey such a pointblank order. much against his will, he climbed into the runabout. "my word!" cried twomley. "you seem to have discovered a clue of some sort. who's the chinaman?" "never mind that, now," returned barton. "come with us, twomley, and we'll tell you as we go along." "lead off, ping," ordered mcglory. carl, very much out of temper, shook his fist at burton, and then at ping. following this, he turned the rig the other way and rode moodily back toward the show grounds. ping, meanwhile, had climbed the bank, and was leading the party of investigators through the woods in the direction of the crossroad. as they went along, burton was telling twomley what ping had discovered. the information given by the chinaman was lacking in many important points, but its very incompleteness added to the tensity of the situation. when they came to the end of the crossroad, ping halted and indicated the house with the green shutters. "you say," remarked mcglory, giving the house a swift sizing, "that wily bill ran into the house?" "all same," answered ping. "and that pard matt trailed after him?" "all same." "then you went in, looked around, and couldn't see anything of either of them?" "my no findee." ping shivered. "when my makee come out, my lockee do'." he dug up the key and handed it to mcglory. "well," declared mcglory, "if motor matt and wily bill went in there, and didn't come out again, we'll find them." "if the chinaman didn't find them," struck in twomley, "they must have come out." "we'll soon know what's what," and the cowboy made his way to the door, thrust the key into the lock, and pushed the door ajar. the same dark, funereal silence that had greeted ping stared mcglory, burton, and twomley in the face. "my no findee," chattered ping, drawing back; "you no findee." mcglory pressed into the hall. "i'll take the rooms on the left," said he, "and the rest of you take the ones on the right. do your bushwhacking, and then, if you don't find anything, meet me at the foot of the stairs for a look overhead." nothing was found. the back door was securely bolted on the inside, and all the windows and blinds of the various lower windows firmly fastened. the situation upstairs was exactly the same. puzzled and bewildered, the party returned to the lower hall. "if ping's giving it to us straight," said mcglory, "neither matt nor wily got out of here. they couldn't have gone through the rear door or any of the windows, without leaving them open. and they couldn't have left by the front door because it was locked, and ping had the key." "they might have slipped out while ping was nosing around upstairs," suggested burton. "they'd have made some noise," objected the cowboy. "matt didn't have any call to keep quiet, and ping would surely have heard him. let's go back to the rear rooms again." burton and twomley had examined the kitchen. mcglory now looked that room over for himself. he was no more than two minutes in picking up a clue. the lighted match which he held close to the floor showed footprints outlined in black. he traced them to the pile of soot under the chimney. "here's where we find something!" he cried. "open those shutters, you fellows! we want light while we run out this trail of soot." twomley and burton unfastened the windows and pushed back the blinds on their screeching hinges. the sunlight, drifting into the room, brought out the trail with weird distinctness. "maybe the chinaman blundered into the soot and left the trail," hazarded burton. "my no makee tlail," declared ping. "no touchee soot." "there's only one of the chink, anyhow, pards," said mcglory, "and at least two pairs of feet walked through that pile of black stuff. one man wore shoes, and the other wore slippers. the slippers left marks a good deal like ping's sandals, but the marks are too big for ping. we'll find out a few things now, i reckon." with eyes bent sharply on the floor, the cowboy crossed the kitchen into the hall, and then moved along the hall to a spot under the stairs. the stairs were not enclosed, but sprang directly from the hall floor. in the angle formed by the flight and the floor the sooty trail vanished. "now what?" queried burton. "it looks like we were up in the air as much as ever." without replying, mcglory drew his knife from his pocket, opened it, and went down on his knees. chapter ix. matt meets an old acquaintance. matt's pursuit of the street car reminded him of his old motor-cycle days in arizona. the familiar hum of the twin cylinders between his knees carried his mind back to his ill-fated gasoline marvel, the _comet_, in honor of which he had named the aëroplane he was using with the show. the borrowed motor cycle had all the improvements, and the way it could run warmed the cockles of matt's heart. in less than a minute after leaving burton and the machine's owner, the king of the motor boys was shooting along the road like a bullet out of a gun. he was pursuing an electric car that ran at a high rate of speed, but the motor cycle must have been going five feet to the car's one. before matt fairly realized it he was within sight of the car. when he was close enough to be heard he began to call to the conductor to stop. the passengers heard him, as the row of heads thrust out from each side of the car conclusively proved; and the conductor also heard him, for he appeared on the rear platform. matt could see the conductor reaching for the bell rope. at the same time, wily bill rushed out on the back platform, took in the situation at a startled glance, and then dropped dexterously from the car at the track side. matt was so wrapped up in what wily bill was doing that ping's leap from the front platform escaped him entirely. wily bill scurried for the side of the road, and matt shut off the power and glided after him. "hold up there, wily!" cried matt. the "barker" paid no attention, but plunged up the bank and darted off into the timber. by that time motor matt's blood was up. he knew that a great deal depended on the capture of wily. if the "barker" could be made to tell when and how he had received that note in hindoostanee, a clue to the whereabouts of ben ali and the missing margaret manners would be secured. appreciating fully the exigencies of the case, matt sprang from the wheel and leaped up the bank. from the top of the rise he could see nothing of wily, but a crashing of the undergrowth told him plainly in which direction the man had gone. he was but an instant in taking after him. wily's actions were those of a guilty man; in fact, they inferred a deeper guilt than the mere possession of a note in hindoostanee would indicate. this, naturally, made the fellow's capture all the more important. for a quarter of a mile, matt judged, wily led him a chase through the woods. the "barker" had lost a little of his lead, but was keeping up his fierce pace with a good deal of vigor. then, suddenly, he began to double. matt would run on, looking and listening, only to find that there was no thrashing brush ahead. when he stopped, the sounds made by the fleeing fugitive had changed their direction, and the young motorist had to whirl and take another course. for some time this variation of the game of hare and hounds continued, matt drawing steadily nearer and nearer. at last matt caught his first glimpse of wily, since he had fled over the bank from the street car, at the rear of a house whose windows were closed with green shutters. wily stood out against the house wall, his form sharply defined, just as matt rushed from a fringe of hazels. the "barker" cast a look over his shoulder, gave vent to a panting exclamation, and darted around the end of the house. when matt reached the front of the structure, wily had vanished. the key to his disappearance was furnished by the wide-swinging front door, key still in the lock. besides, wily had not had time to go around the other side of the house, or to get into the woods again, so matt knew he must have entered the building. with scarcely a moment's hesitation, the king of the motor boys followed the fugitive. coming in out of the bright sunshine, the darkness of the shut-in hall was intense. as matt ran on past one of the doors leading to a room on the right a sinewy, turbaned form leaped out and a fist shot through the gloom, landing on the back of matt's head with tremendous force. matt staggered, regained his balance, and whirled around. his brain was reeling, but, looking toward the light that entered at the open door, he saw that the man who had struck him was not wily, as he had imagined, but a hindoo--none other than his old acquaintance, dhondaram. flinging out his arms, he leaped at the hindoo. then it was that wily completed the work that dhondaram had begun. another blow from behind, savagely given with all the "barker's" strength, caused matt to sink to his knees and then straighten out unconscious on the bare floor. "you saw what was goin' on?" asked wily breathlessly. "even so, sahib," answered the other, in a low tone. "i'm in luck to find you here. wasn't intendin' to blow in at this place till night--but any port in a storm. pick him up and let's get away somewhere." "the kitchen, sahib." between them, the unconscious king of the motor boys was lifted and carried into the kitchen. "hang it!" growled wily, floundering through the soot pile; "this won't do. there may be more after me. there's another place, under the stairs. sharp's the word, now. carry him there." matt was not bereft of his senses for long. there was too much steel and whalebone in his athletic body to keep him steeped in oblivion for any great length of time. the first thing he saw, when his eyes slowly opened, was a candle planted in the earth. he was lying, hands and feet bound and a cloth over his mouth, in a sort of pit. above him were the stringers and boards of a floor. a few moments passed while he was picking up the thread of events. while he was piecing details together, he heard a light footfall on the floor overhead, advancing and retreating. later there came the creaking of boards as of some one climbing a flight of stairs. wily and dhondaram, silent and motionless as statues, knelt in the earth, the fluttering gleam of the candle over them, and were listening to the footfalls with bated breath. from the manner of these two matt understood forthwith that the person in the upper part of the house must be one whom his captors feared. had it not been for the cloth that smothered his lips, matt would have shouted at the top of his voice and so have informed a possible friend where he was. inasmuch as he could neither move nor make an audible sound, the prisoner lay quiet. there was no cellar under this house with the green shutters, only a scooped-out place in the earth where possibly potatoes and other vegetables had been kept. presently the footsteps once more descended the stairs and could be heard leaving the house. wily turned to dhondaram with a deep breath of relief. "that was a close call," he muttered. "if we'd been a second later gettin' down here----" he bit off his words quickly. the door had slammed and the grating of a key could be heard. "_maskee!_" rumbled dhondaram. "the door has been closed and locked, sahib. you left the key in the door." "i was in too big a hurry to do anythin' else. as it was, motor matt came within one of layin' hands on me. see if he's got his wits back." on hands and knees the hindoo crept to matt's side and peered into his face. matt kept his eyes closed. "not yet, sahib," answered dhondaram. "it is well. he shall not waken in this world. the goddess kali----" dhondaram did not finish the sentence. he had referred to the malign hindoo deity invoked by thugs, and it may be he thought the talk unsuited to american ears. lifting himself on his knees, he drew from the breast of his jacket a glittering blade. the next moment wily bill had caught his arm. "chuck it!" he growled sternly. the hindoo turned his glittering eyes on the "barker." "sahib, you do not understood," said he, in a hissing voice. "i understood you're intendin' to use the knife," answered wily bill, "an' i won't have it. what d'you take me for? they don't hang people in this state, but i don't intend to pass the rest o' my days in the 'pen.' put that knife back where you took it from." "it is my duty to do this thing," flared the hindoo. "go on!" "ben ali saved my life in my own country, and i joined the show of burra burton because he told me. i tried to remove motor matt because he told me. that will pay my debt to ben ali. i failed in my work while i was with the show, but now----" "you're goin' to fail here, too. i've got a tender regard for my liberty, an' that's why i was runnin' away from the show grounds. there was a fracas turned on in the side-show tent, an' i got mixed up in it. durin' the row i lost a letter that came to me by mail--a letter that contained somethin' for you. ben ali, in my letter, said where he wanted to meet you. i don't know what he said in your letter, as that was in hindoostanee." dhondaram's eyes glowed expectantly, and he held out his hand. "the writing, sahib." "i haven't got it. didn't i just tell you it was lost? that's what made me bolt from the grounds. one of motor matt's friends got the thing, and when i tried to get it, burton took possession of it. if that letter's ever translated, i'll bet it contains stuff that would make the show too hot to hold me. i got away while there was time--but there wasn't any too much time, at that. if----" dhondaram drew back. "motor matt, sahib," muttered dhondaram, "he's listening to your talk." the prisoner had opened his eyes, and the keen glance of the hindoo had detected it. both dhondaram and wily turned their gaze on matt. chapter x. rescue! motor matt understood full well the gravity of his situation. never until that moment had he known the cause of the murderous dhondaram's hostility to him, but now it appeared that he was merely seeking to cancel a debt which he owed ben ali. bill wily's regard for his own welfare was all that stood between motor matt and the knife of the misguided hindoo. "give me that knife, dhondaram," ordered wily. "i will keep the knife, sahib," replied the other. "keep it, then, and be hanged to you," answered wily angrily, "but you'll settle with me if you try any knife tricks on the prisoner. i guess you rise to that, all right enough. take off the gag. i want to talk with motor matt." dhondaram bent down and removed the cloth. "i'm a 'barker,'" went on wily, still addressing the hindoo and making brief display of a revolver, "but here's somethin' that bites as well as barks. put away that knife." silently the hindoo returned the knife to his jacket and sank back on his heels. "what was you chasin' me for, motor matt?" asked wily. "why were you running away from me?" matt countered. "that's my business. you answer my question. i guess you'd better treat me white, 'cause it's me that keeps the hindoo from doin' a little knife work on you." "burton wanted you to tell him something about that letter," matt answered, making up his mind that a little of the truth would not be out of place. "oh, ho!" muttered wily. "does he think i can read hindoostanee?" "no. what he wanted to know was where you got the letter. the hindoos who have been connected with the show haven't turned out very well--they are all fugitives from the law, even dhondaram." not a ripple crossed the placid brown face of the hindoo; only his glittering eyes revealed the feeling that slumbered in the depths of his soul. "i guessed there'd be a stir about that letter," went on wily, "an' that's the reason i made up my mind to pull out. i'd had to explain, an' no matter what i'd said i'd have been fired, anyway. i used to live in grand rapids, and the home town was a good place for me to cut loose from the show, see?" "why are you treating me like this?" asked matt quietly. "couldn't help it. them kid pards o' yours was the cause o' the hull bloomin' twist-up!" wily bill swore savagely under his breath. "i'd like to take the kinks out o' that dutchman. he's too much on the buttinsky order. you chased after me, hung on, an' wouldn't let go. what else could i do but make myself safe?" "you didn't have to have dhondaram knock me down." "it wasn't him did that. he tried, but i had to finish the job. but i was treatin' you well, at that. i could have dropped down back of a clump o' bushes, there in the timber, and picked you off with this." wily touched his hip pocket. "but i didn't. that ain't my style. i'd rather have you like this an' come to a little agreement with you. as for dhondaram, i hadn't an idea he was in the house. i'd given him a key, an' i knew he might be here, but i wasn't expectin' him so soon. mebby it was lucky for me that he was around." "so that's it, eh?" commented matt sarcastically. "you've been meeting dhondaram, and helping him, when you knew he had been a prisoner of burton's and had escaped from the show train between jackson and kalamazoo. if a person helps a fugitive of the law to escape, he is guilty of a crime and can be punished for it." "there you hit it! but i was ducking out--and you wouldn't let me duck. i'm going to leave, in spite of you and burton. that's the worst i've done--talkin' with dhondaram and carryin' hindoostanee letters. but i'll not be jugged for that, or----" a hiss of warning came from dhondaram. at the same moment he leaned down and replaced the cloth over matt's lips. distant voices were heard, then the sound of a key rattling in a lock. "the fellow that was here before has brought some others," whispered wily. "hang the luck! i wish we had got out o' here while we had the chance. now, then, we're in for it an' no mistake." "listen, sahib!" frowned the hindoo. the voices that had been heard outside the house were now talking in the hall. it was impossible to distinguish words, but matt's heart leaped as he recognized mcglory's voice and burton's. they were looking for him! "they cannot find us down here, sahib," murmured the hindoo, his voice soft and purring as that of a tiger cat. "they will go as the first one went, then we can leave." this was wily's hope. breathlessly he listened to the sounds above. the footsteps and the voices faded away into the upper regions of the building. "now," muttered wily, "we might be able to dodge through the front door. they're all upstairs." dhondaram shook his head. "the door in the floor, sahib, cannot be found," he whispered reassuringly. "the _feringhis_ will not discover us. be patient." presently matt heard his friends returning to the lower floor, heard them enter the kitchen, heard the sound of lifted windows and opening blinds, marked the slow and steady advance from the kitchen into the hall, and along the hall to a point under the stairs. by then, even dhondaram had begun to take alarm. "they're at the trap!" gasped wily bill. "is there no way out of this hole, sahib?" demanded dhondaram through his teeth. "only by the way we came in. i lived in this house and i know all about it." dhondaram smashed the flat of his hand down over the light of the candle. the stygian blackness that reigned showed plainly the rim of daylight under the lifting door. "the revolver!" hissed dhondaram. "shoot, sahib!" "no, i tell you!" answered wily. "i'll have none o' that, or----" with a savage snarl, dhondaram hurled himself on wily bill in a furious effort to secure the revolver and fight off the approaching rescuers. the trapdoor had been thrown entirely back, and daylight was flooding the pit. the sounds of the struggle between the hindoo and wily bill reached the ears of those above. "here they are!" cried the voice of mcglory, and instantly he leaped downward. with a blow of his fist the hindoo staggered the cowboy, leaped upward, and gained the floor. "dhondaram!" yelled burton, who was just preparing to follow mcglory down under the floor. the word was hardly out of his lips before the showman was compelled to drop back to avoid a sweeping blow of the knife in the hindoo's hand. mcglory was looking for matt, and paid little attention to the hindoo. he found his pard with his groping hands, for his eyes were blinded by the sudden change from day to the darkness of the pit. "bully for you, pard!" exclaimed mcglory. "lashed hand and foot, or i'm a piegan! speak to me about this, will you? and gagged, too. sufferin' blazes, but you've had a time! there, how's that?" the cowboy pulled away the cloth. "wily's here," were matt's first words. "he and the hindoo had a fight, and----" "bother wily! it's you i'm after," and, with his open knife, mcglory slashed at the cords. "now we can look after wily." leaving that part of the work to his chum, matt leaped upward and climbed over the edge of the floor. burton was running toward one of the front rooms. "where's the hindoo?" cried matt. "the englishman tagged him in here, after heading him off at the door," panted burton. "i always knew that thug was a killer, and if i hadn't been quick he'd have knifed me." a smash of glass came from the front room and two of the blinds were smashed open. the light afforded by this gave matt and burton a view of a desperate struggle in which the attaché of the british legation was proving himself a whole man, in every sense of the word. unarmed, and with every disregard for his personal danger, twomley had set upon the hindoo. dhondaram's knife had ripped twomley's coat and brought a stain of red, but the englishman had both hands around the hindoo's throat, and they were flinging here and there around the room. the smash of glass and the crash of the blinds had been caused by dhondaram falling heavily against one of the windows. then suddenly, before either matt or burton could go to his aid, twomley hurled his antagonist from him with terrific force. the hindoo fell sprawling against the wall, and dropped stunned to the floor. his knife slipped from his hand, and burton kicked it aside while he and matt threw themselves upon the supine figure. "take his turban," said matt, "and bind his hands with it." the turban was merely a long strip of twisted cloth, and there were two or three yards of it--enough for both his wrists and ankles. barely was the tying finished when mcglory drove wily into the room with his own six-shooter. "talk about this, friends," laughed mcglory. "wily bill fights with the hindoo, and has the tuck about all taken out of him. i snatch his revolver, and then we come out from under the floor, wily in the lead and acting real peaceable. you've caught dhondaram, too. everything's lovely, eh?" "all serene," answered the englishman. he had removed his coat and was binding his handkerchief about his arm. "twomley captured dhondaram, joe," said matt, "and did it alone." "getting stabbed for his pains," added burton. "a scratch," was twomley's cool response. "how could you expect me to do a thing like that without getting a nick or two? a pretty show altogether. and it might have been a good deal worse." chapter xi. bill wily repents. mcglory motioned wily to take a seat on the floor, near dhondaram, and then turned toward twomley. "so you put the kibosh on our brown friend all by yourself, did you?" he asked. "it wasn't much," was the diffident answer. "i know these hindoos somewhat." "you're the clear quill," said mcglory, "and i've got a different estimate of you. what do you think?" he added to burton. "they had my pard down in the spud cellar, covered with ropes and gagged." "nice how-d'ye-do!" growled burton. "what sort of a way is that to act, bill wily?" and he flashed a look of anger and contempt at the "barker." "i've made a holy show of myself," mumbled bill wily. "that comes of gettin' confidential with these here chocolate-colored crooks. they're no good." "what do you think of yourself, hey?" "not much, burton, an' that's a fact. i'm down and out, and just because i wanted to shake your show an' not have any trouble. what a lot of excitement over nothin' at all!" "fancy that!" remarked twomley, mildly surprised. "i guess the man doesn't know the true state of affairs." "he'll know everything before we're done with him," snapped burton. "you're not goin' to bear down too hard on me, are you, burton?" pleaded wily. "why shouldn't i?" "what've i done?" "i can't tell that till i hear what happened to motor matt. if these disgraceful proceedings get out, it will be a black eye for the show." boss burton was a queer fish. he had always a high regard for carrying out every promise he made in his show "paper," and was also solicitous about the good name of the big consolidated; at the same time, he had done a number of things which gave matt a poor opinion of his character. matt, taking advantage of the opening afforded him, told what had happened after he had left burton on the motor cycle. the rough treatment he had received brought scowls to the faces of mcglory and burton. "that hindoo might have knifed you, and all on account of wily there!" breathed the showman. "but he didn't," returned matt, "and that was on account of wily, too. keep that in mind, burton." "your head, pard," said the cowboy solicitously. "you've had a couple of good hard raps, and i'll bet that block of yours feels as big as a barrel." "i'm like twomley," smiled matt, "and couldn't expect to come through such a tussle without a few marks. but it's nothing serious. another thing, burton," he added, turning to the showman, "just recollect that, if wily wanted to, he could have used that thing joe has in his hand. but he wouldn't, and he fought with dhondaram rather than let him use it." "wily hadn't the nerve," commented burton. "he's in the parlor class when it comes to strong-arm work. he's more of a shell worker and a confidence man." "don't be rough, burton," begged wily bill. "what've you got to say for yourself?" "i'm blamed sorry things turned out like they did. that's all." "just how sorry are you? sorry enough to make a clean breast of everything?" "that depends on what'll happen to me. you let the ticket man off when he and dhondaram tried to loot the jackson proceeds. i didn't do half as much as him." "tell me what you've done, and then i'll tell you what i'm goin' to do," said burton. "i knew ben ali pretty well when he was with the show," returned wily, "but he didn't put it up with _me_ to help steal the ticket-wagon money. i'm not makin' such a terrible sight as spieler for that side-show outfit, and when i get a letter in kalamazoo, inclosin' another in hindoostanee and askin' me to deliver same, what am i goin' to do? that letter contained a money order for ten dollars." "and it was from ben ali?" asked motor matt. wily nodded. "we got into kalamazoo about three in the morning," proceeded wily bill, "and when i dropped off the train, dhondaram stepped out from between a couple o' box cars----" "it was the night we left jackson that we had dhondaram lashed and lying in the aisle of the sleeper on section two of the show train," interrupted burton. "he got loose and skipped. i fired a shot at him, but he jumped off the train. how could he have done that and then shown up in kalamazoo the morning we got there?" the showman was trying to pick flaws in wily's narrative, but the "barker" was equal to the emergency. "for the reason, burton, that he didn't jump off the train. dhondaram rode the platform, and now and then he dodged down on the bumpers when the train men came too close. as i say, he met me as i dropped off, and we had a bit of a chin together." "why didn't you grab him," demanded burton, "and turn him over to me?" "that's where i was lame, i expect, but you forget i was a friend of ben ali's, and dhondaram was also a friend. that made a sort of hitch between us. then, too, dhondaram told me he was expecting word from ben ali in my care. i hadn't received any word, and i told him so. dhondaram said that i would get a letter, sooner or later, and that he'd like to meet me somewhere near grand rapids. that's when i told him about this house and gave him one of my keys to it." "what have you got to do with this house?" queried burton. "i happen to own it," was the surprising answer. "it ain't worth much, an' it's been condemned by a railroad that intends runnin' a line of rails and ties right over the place where it stands. for that reason it's closed up. i'm to get twelve hundred dollars for the property any day now. why," and wily bill looked around, "when i was a kid i used to live here. when the folks died i rented the house an' took to roamin' around. it was a good place to meet dhondaram and give him a letter if there was any come from ben ali. i wasn't expectin', though, to call here before night. the letter from ben ali reached me in kalamazoo in the afternoon, at a time when dhondaram must have been travelin' north." "what did you do with your part of the letter?" wily's profession of repentance seemed to be sincere, and burton and matt were doing their utmost to find out everything he was able to tell. dhondaram, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, glared at wily fixedly while he talked. the savage menace of the hindoo's look, however, seemed to make not the slightest impression on the "barker." "i tore up my part o' the letter, burton," replied wily. "didn't think it best to carry it around. if i'd torn up dhondaram's part, too, i guess i'd have been a whole lot better off." "i guess you would," agreed the showman dryly. "what had ben ali to say to you?" "he told me where he wanted dhondaram to meet him. you see, ben ali's been busy, an' hasn't been payin' much attention to what's been goin' on in the show." "by jove," put in twomley, "i should say he had been busy." "ben ali didn't know dhondaram had cooked his goose, so far as the show was concerned, in jackson, the same day he joined on." "where did ben ali send his letter from?" inquired matt. "lafayette." "and where does he want to meet dhondaram?" "five miles west of the rapids, on the wagon road to elgin. there's an openin' in the woods, somewhere there, and ben ali wants dhondaram to join him at the place to-morrow morning. i don't know what's up, but i guess it's somethin' mighty important for the hindoos." "does ben ali know about this house of yours?" "not a thing. i never told him. i guess i was foolish to jump off the car and run over here, but the ruction in the side show and the loss o' that hindoostanee letter sure got me on the run. i thought mebby, if i couldn't dodge motor matt in the woods, i could get him somewhere and have a talk with him that would let me out. but things didn't come out as i wanted. i couldn't shake him in the timber, so i rushed for the house. dhondaram was here, ahead o' schedule, an' he complicated matters a-considerable." "do you think," asked matt, "that we could go to that place on the elgin road and meet ben ali instead of letting dhondaram do it?" twomley started, for he instantly caught matt's idea. dhondaram likewise showed much concern, and undoubtedly he surmised what was at the back of the young motorist's head. "i don't think you could," replied wily. "ben ali ain't nobody's fool, and he'll have the road watched to see that only the right party comes. if the wrong party comes, then ben ali, more'n likely, 'll fade out of the oak openin'. you can't get there any way by road without ben ali findin' out just who's after him. that's my notion." "suppose we should come in on him from both sides at once?" suggested burton. "then he'd slide out between you. oh, he's a slippery proposition, that boy!" twomley nodded affirmatively. "he speaks the truth," he averred. "a man who can do what ben ali has done is a rogue of the first water." "there's a way to get at him," said matt confidently. "here, in a thickly populated country, that scoundrel can't have things his own way." "he's takin' chances," put in wily, "but that's his stock in trade--takin' chances an' throwin' in a little hypnotism now an' then. why he's so particular about meetin' dhondaram is what gets me." "he needs money," said burton sarcastically, "and he has to run a few risks to get it." "i've got a plan," said matt, starting toward the door. "what is it?" asked burton and mcglory. matt turned around in the doorway and cast a suggestive glance at wily and dhondaram. "i'll not go into it now," said he, "but it all depends on the truthfulness of bill wily. if wily has given us a straight story, then the plan will work. if it does, then i shall insist that wily be allowed to go free, without any punishment for what he has done. if the plan doesn't succeed, and ben ali is not out on the elgin road to-morrow morning, i think wily can be put through for the work he has done here in this old house." "i'm willin' to leave it that way," said wily, "providin' you're careful how you come onto ben ali, so as not to scare him away, an' providin' boss burton gives me his word to back up motor matt's." "i'm in on the deal," declared burton. "both wily and dhondaram will have to be left here under suitable guard until after the plan is executed," continued matt. "count me in as one of the guard," spoke up twomley, lighting a cigarette, "but send over some food and something to sit on. and," he finished, pointing to the weapon in the cowboy's hand, "mr. mcglory might lend me that." "mcglory will stay and help you with your guard duty," said matt. "i'll have to hurry off now. i suppose ping and carl are at the show grounds and are looking after the aëroplane?" "ping!" exclaimed mcglory, looking around. "why, where the nation is he? he was the one who brought us here, and i haven't thought of him until this minute. but carl's at the grounds, matt. anyhow, one of the canvasmen is on duty at the aëroplane's berth." "don't fret about the machine," reassured burton. "i'm going right back to the grounds and i'll look after it personally." "just a minute, gents," called wily. "how did you fellows know we were under the floor." "you walked in the soot," laughed burton derisively. "mcglory can tell you all about that." thereupon he and motor matt left the room. they passed the trap in the hall floor, and matt observed that it was flush with the boards and difficult to locate for any one who did not know it was there. "i guess the trouble i had here, burton," remarked matt, as he and the showman passed through the front door, "will turn out to be a pretty good thing, after all." "not for ben ali," returned burton, "if he is caught and turned over to twomley." "i was thinking of margaret manners," said matt. chapter xii. matt lays his plans. on the way through the woods and back to the road by the car track, motor matt was extremely thoughtful. by ben ali's cleverness in getting some white man to represent the agent of the british ambassador, the hindoo had succeeded in luring his niece from the home of the english woman in whose care the girl had been left. once this was accomplished, it was easy to guess how the artful hindoo had proceeded. miss manners had been a hypnotic subject for so long that it was useless for her to attempt to fight against the black magic of her rascally uncle. he had but to catch her eye and snap his fingers, and the girl would be utterly in his power. to fight such a man as ben ali called for ways and means at once bold and wary. he was not to be easily snared. "you're as mum as an oyster," grunted burton, as they neared the road. "i've spoken to you half a dozen times, and you didn't seem to hear me. come back to earth now, and tell me what's on your mind?" "i'll tell you later, burton," laughed matt. "i've got a hard problem to solve, and i don't want to say anything about it until it's all worked out." "from what you said at that house with the green shutters, i take it you're not going back to the show with me?" "no." "be back there in time to take the aëroplane aloft at six-thirty? the wind's down, and you can pull off the trick." "there'll be no aëroplane flight this afternoon, burton. i have more important matters to attend to." burton began to bristle. "by jerry," he cried, "what am i giving you your salary for? we've missed one ascension to-day, and the people will be wild if we don't have one this afternoon." "then," answered matt, "tell them that we'll give an aëroplane performance for the whole of grand rapids to-morrow. that ought to satisfy them, and i know you'll make a lot of capital out of it." burton stopped stock-still and stared. "you're crazy?" he bluntly inquired. "to-morrow's sunday, and i've never yet been able to get you to make an ascension on sunday. backsliding, eh?" "for this one time," said matt. "i'm not doing this for the benefit of your show, burton, but because, as i size the matter up now, there's nothing else to be done." "whew!" whistled the showman, "you're about the biggest conundrum, now and then, that i ever tackled. when'll you get back to the grounds?" "this evening, some time." "hunt for me the minute you get there, and let me know what's up." they found ping waiting for them in the road. he was a disconsolate-looking chinaman, and ran up to matt the moment he slipped down the steep bank. "you heap mad with ping, huh?" the chinese boy chattered. "you know him makee shoot loman candle, play plenty hob with side show? woosh! my velly bad china boy." matt laughed. that laugh caused ping to brighten. "i'll have to forgive you this once, ping," said matt. "a whole lot of good has resulted from that flare-up in the side-show tent. but i don't like practical jokes--you know that. get on the car and go back to the grounds with burton. as for the roman-candle business, we'll talk about that later." "you no pullee pin on china boy?" faltered ping. "no. you make your peace with carl, that's all." "hoop-a-la!" said ping, and limped aboard an electric car that burton had flagged. matt caught a car going the other way, and, as soon as he reached monroe street, hurried to the nearest automobile garage, bent upon making the most of the daylight that remained. he hired a car and a driver who knew the city. it was a small roadster, and matt had the driver take him beyond the city limits and out for five miles on the elgin road. they passed through a small oak opening, which looked as though it might be the place where ben ali was to meet his crony, dhondaram. "this will be far enough," said matt. "now, turn around and take us back to town." the king of the motor boys gave careful attention to all the landmarks, going both ways. returning, dusk had begun to fall, and his survey could not be as comprehensive as the one made on the outward trip. however, he was abundantly satisfied with the information he had acquired. when they reached the garage, matt bargained with the proprietor for a powerful touring car, with the same driver who had already been with him, to be at the show grounds at reid's lake at eight o'clock the following morning. after that, he dropped in at a restaurant and had a good meal, then boarded a car for the lake, and rode back to the grounds with a crowd of people who were going to the evening performance of the show. he had a good deal of amusement listening to the disappointed expressions of the people regarding the failure of burton to have any aëroplane flights. mixed up in the talk were a number of complimentary references to motor matt and his chums. these, so far as they applied to himself, the king of the motor boys tried not to hear. but, nevertheless, they caused a glow of satisfaction to mount to his face. it was certainly pleasant to know how his efforts in the line of duty had struck a popular chord. that wild half-hour in the air, over jackson, when matt found his batteries short-circuited by a coiling cobra, had been exploited through the press. these, while arousing the popular admiration, only made the general disappointment more keen because of the failure of the saturday flights at reid's lake. when matt got off the car at the lake, he made his way to the brilliantly lighted show grounds, and repaired immediately to the calliope tent. burton was there, smoking a cigar and nervously walking back and forth in front of the canvas-covered calliope. "the people are pulling me all to pieces, matt," he cried the moment the king of the motor boys entered the tent. "they're saying we could just as well have had a flight to-night, that i'm not living up to my promises, and all that. by jerry, it hurts!" "let it be announced in the circus tent," said matt, "that there'll be a flight to-morrow morning at nine o'clock--not for exhibition purposes, as motor matt doesn't give a performance on sunday--and that all who wish to can see it." "good!" declared burton. "i guess that'll catch them. but what are you making the flight for, if not to please the people?" "for the purpose of backcapping ben ali, capturing him, and finding out where he has taken margaret manners." burton whirled around and gave matt a steady look. "what have you got up your sleeve?" he demanded curtly. "are you going to try that, all alone, in the _comet_?" "not all alone. you, and twomley, and joe are going to help. send harris and another trusty man over to that house with the green shutters, will you, and have them relieve the englishman and mcglory. i want them here to talk with them." harris was burton's brother-in-law, and a thoroughly reliable man in every respect. "i've already sent them supper, a lantern, and a couple of chairs," said burton, "but it seems to me all foolishness to hold the prisoners in the house. why not send 'em to jail, where they belong?" "because wily may not belong in jail, and because, if dhondaram is taken there to-night, ben ali might hear of it and not present himself in that oak opening on the elgin road to-morrow." "can't you tell me what you're going to do?" "not till twomley and joe get here." with that, matt dropped down on a cot, at one side of the tent, and tried to get a little rest. he was used to the band, and to the many other sounds that characterized a show just preceding a performance, and these did not bother him; but his head! that had suddenly begun to remind him that it had been badly treated during the afternoon. chapter xiii. motor car and aeroplane. it was about nine o'clock in the evening when matt was awakened by the arrival of mcglory and twomley. burton, curious and eager, came into the calliope tent with them. "i'll tell you what my plan is," said matt, sitting up on the edge of the cot, "and then you can all go to bed and get a good night's rest. ben ali is a crafty scoundrel, and it is necessary for us to capture him in order to find out what he has done with miss manners." "that's the point," approved twomley. "if we can't get hold of ben ali, the secret service men will have a bally time locating the girl." "i'm inclined to think that bill wily told nothing but the truth," proceeded matt. "you never can tell about wily," struck in burton. "it's because he's so shifty and unreliable that they call him wily bill. i wouldn't bank too much on what he says." "it's neck or nothing with him," suggested twomley. "he has everything to lose by not telling the truth, and i believe the fellow appreciates that fact." "you can gamble a blue stack he does!" declared mcglory. "did you see the look dhondaram gave him while he was handing us that long palaver? if the hindoo ever gets foot-loose, i wouldn't stand in wily's shoes for a bushel of pesos." "to my mind," said matt, "the fact that dhondaram was in that house proves the truth of wily's story. well, true or false, my whole plan is built up on what the 'barker' told us. we're to assume that ben ali will be in that oak opening, five miles from grand rapids on the elgin road." "who knows whether there's an opening there or not?" asked burton. when the showman once lost confidence in a man, he put no trust in anything the man might do or say. "the opening is there," said matt. "i went out in an automobile and saw it for myself." "ah! so that's what you passed up the afternoon flight for, eh?" "partly," answered matt. "now, let us suppose that ben ali is in that opening to-morrow, waiting for dhondaram to arrive with money which ben ali thinks he has stolen. quite likely the hindoo will have some one with him--perhaps the old ticket man whom you discharged, burton, and perhaps aurung zeeb. this ticket man has played the part of the agent representing the british ambassador in turning that trick in lafayette----" "sufferin' traitors!" chanted mcglory. "i've a hunch, pard, your finger's on the right button." "so," pursued matt, "it is fair to assume that ben ali has some one to watch the elgin road in the vicinity of the oak opening. if he is warned that any suspicious persons are approaching, the hindoo will slide away snakelike and dodge pursuit." twomley nodded. "you're a fair daisy, motor matt, in placing the situation squarely in front of us. by jove, it looks like a hard nut to crack." "matt will crack it," averred mcglory. "listen, now, to how he proposes to do it." "how are you going about it?" inquired burton impatiently. "i've had this on my mind ever since you and i left the house with the green shutters, and i can't tell how nervous you make me hanging fire about it. seems like a mighty simple thing to go out in the woods, meet a fellow where he intends to be, and nab him." "not so deuced simple as you suppose, mr. burton," returned twomley, "when you consider the character of the man, and his ability to make passes, look at you, and give you your ticket to the land of nod." "we're going to work out this problem by motor car and aëroplane," said matt. "aëroplane!" exclaimed mcglory. "that means you and me, pard." "the motor car for you, joe," smiled matt. "you and twomley, and burton will go along the elgin road in that." "what's the good?" demurred burton. "you all seem to think it a cinch that the car will be seen, and that ben ali will get out of the way." "you'll lag behind, you and your car," continued matt, "and you'll let me and the aëroplane move ahead. i'll keep over the road as well as i can, and you can see me. when i sight our quarry i'll descend; then you can put on all speed and come up." "the aëroplane will be a dead give-away!" asserted burton. "ben ali and his outposts will see that as quick, or quicker, than they will the automobile." "suppose ben ali sees only one man on the machine, and thinks that the man is dhondaram?" asked matt. "would he run, then?" there was a silence, a startled silence, while the words of the young motorist were being pondered by his listeners. "how'll ben ali think dhondaram is running the _comet_, pard?" queried mcglory. "because the man on the aëroplane will not look very much like motor matt, and _will_ look a little like a hindoo." "you're going to make up for the part?" "it won't be much of a make-up. a white robe over my ordinary clothes will do." "but your face----" "in the air and at a distance, my face won't tell against the deception. when the _comet_ has landed in the opening, then it will be ben ali and me for it--with an automobile full of reinforcements rushing to the scene." "it sounds good," said mcglory thoughtfully. "here's something," observed twomley, who had a clear head and a quick brain. "ben ali can think for himself. won't he think it queer that dhondaram is navigating the flying machine? dhondaram, i make no doubt, is highly gifted, but will ben ali credit him with skill enough to operate the aëroplane?" "he may not," admitted matt; "still, if ben ali sees the machine, and a man in it who looks like dhondaram, even if ben ali doubts he'll hold his ground in order to make sure. ben ali won't run from one man. besides, he's expecting dhondaram. that's a weighty point." "i believe it will work," said twomley. "at any rate, it will hold ben ali in the opening until the automobile has a chance to come close. then the scoundrel is ours, no matter what he tries to do. by jove, i like the idea!" "another thing," spoke up mcglory. "if ben ali smells a rat and tries to make a run, matt can keep over him and follow him." "hardly that, joe," returned matt. "the woods are pretty thick along the elgin road, and you know how big the top of a tree looks when you're gazing down on it. besides, if there's any wind, the _comet_ is going to be a fair-sized handful to take care of." "there you are," said burton. "how do you know the opening is big enough for you to come down in? it won't do," and something akin to panic took hold of the showman, "to damage the aëroplane." "oh, go off somewhere, burton, and wring out your wet blanket," growled mcglory. "you're tryin' to throw it over everything." "we've got to get a look at this business from every angle," said burton doggedly. "well, be easy about the oak opening," came from matt. "it's large enough to alight in and to start from. if there's only a little wind, there'll be no danger." the englishman reached over and took matt's hand. "allow me," said he, with a solemn handshake. "win or lose, my bucko, you have my admiration." matt flushed. "why," said he, "this is all talk, as yet, twomley." "it's the sort of talk, my lad, that precedes notable achievements. nine-tenths of all the great work that's done owes more to the head than to the hands. what about the automobile?" "that will be here at eight o'clock in the morning." "you even thought of that! i suppose i'll have to be catching a car for town." twomley got up and flung away the remains of a cigarette. "you'd better stay here," suggested matt. "there's an extra cot behind the calliope, and i'm sure burton will give you your breakfast in the morning." twomley cast a glance around him. the odor from the animal tent, of which the calliope house was only a lean-to, was strong and disquieting. a lantern, tied to one of the tent poles, shed a murky light over the litter of buckets and ropes that strewed the tent floor. matt had made ready for bed by kicking off his shoes and removing his coat and hat. it was all very primitive. in washington twomley looked as though he might have been of a fastidious nature. but, whatever he was at washington, he was "game" at reid's lake. "go you," said he briefly. "just where is that cot, my dear sir?" mcglory dragged it out for him and opened it up. "i'll pull it away from the wall of the animal top," said the cowboy. "rajah, the bad elephant, is just on the other side of that piece of canvas, and he has the habit of snooping around in here with his trunk." "i don't fancy rajah will bother me," and twomley shucked out of his low patent leathers. "i could almost make a pard out of you," remarked mcglory. "nice work you've mapped out for sunday," was burton's sly fling as he paused at the door on his way out. "motor matt, who refused to make flights on sunday for me for an extra hundred a week, lays out to pull off a go like this! well, i'm surprised." "fate is no respecter of the calendar, burton," matt replied, with some show of feeling. "i'll work all day to-morrow if i can accomplish anything for margaret manners." "shake again," said the attaché. chapter xiv. the oak opening. reid's lake was a popular resort, and a large crowd rendezvoused there on sundays and holidays. the coming of the crowd, however, had shifted to the beginning of the day, so that the start of the aëroplane might be witnessed. owing to burton's enterprise, an "extra" of one of the evening dailies was on the grand rapids streets at nine in the evening, announcing, in large type, that boss burton, regretting the disappointment caused the grand rapids people because of the failure of the aëroplane ascensions on the first day of the show, was glad to announce that the king of the motor boys would take his famous machine aloft on the following morning at nine o'clock. this was one of the little things burton could do, on occasion, which jarred on matt's nerves. he made it appear in the news columns as though matt was making the ascension because burton had so willed it, and as though the showman had willed it because of the disappointment which had been caused the great rapids people on the first day of the show. when matt discovered this, it was too late to remedy it. he had the satisfaction, however, of telling burton just what he thought. extra cars were put on the run between town and the lake to accommodate the crowds. and the people came not only in the street cars, but also in carriages, wagons, and automobiles. carl and ping had slept under the lower wings of the _comet_, as was their usual custom when the weather was at all propitious, and to the casual observer it would have looked as though the roman-candle incident had been entirely forgotten. matt was early at the machine, looking it over carefully and making sure that everything was in readiness. the _comet_, he found, had never been in better trim for work than she was that morning. then, too, such a day for aëroplane flying could not have been surpassed. there was not enough wind stirring to flutter the banners on the tent tops. it was necessary for mcglory, twomley, and burton to get away somewhat in advance of matt, and to take up a position beyond the outskirts of the city on the elgin road. at sharp eight-forty-five the motor car got away. mcglory was usually in charge of the start during the aëroplane flights, but now matt placed carl in command. the importance of the position filled carl with glory, and was correspondingly depressing to ping, who really knew more about the aëroplane than carl could have learned in a hundred years. carl and ping were assisted by half a dozen stout canvasmen. before matt took his seat, to the wonder of the crowd pressing against the guard ropes, he shook out a white robe and arranged it about him in such a manner as to leave his arms perfectly clear, but covering every part of his clothing. after that he stepped on the footboard and dropped down in front of the motor. the canvasmen, divided by carl into two groups of three each, were placed behind the wings. "all ready, carl!" called matt. "retty it iss!" shouted carl. the motor started merrily, the bicycle wheels began to turn, and the canvasmen to push. slowly the _comet_ gathered headway. faster and faster it went, leaving the canvasmen behind; then, like a great bird, it soared into the air, followed by wild cheering. a vagrant puff of wind struck the planes, just over the concert garden, and only quick work on the part of the intrepid young motorist averted a disaster. gathering headway under the impetus of the thrashing propeller, the aëroplane darted upward into the blue and began reaching out toward the city. matt, while manipulating the aëroplane, had little time for sights and scenes below him. he was obliged to keep every faculty riveted on his work. now and again, however, as he took his bearings and laid his course, he glimpsed the staring people in the roadways and on rooftops. some of these spectators had opera glasses and binoculars. over the flat roofs of the city he whirled, cheered almost continuously. the motor had never worked better. everything depended on the motor. if the power had happened to fail, matt could have glided harmlessly down the airy slope to earth--providing the city afforded him a good clear space in which to alight. a street zigzagged with telegraph, and telephone, and electric light wires was not such a place. passing the close-packed buildings of the business section, matt gained the residence districts, and held on in a straight line for the elgin road. he watched his landmarks, and, while they looked differently to him from aloft than they did from the ground, he knew he was going right when he saw the waiting automobile. mcglory was standing up and waving his hat. throwing full speed into the propeller, matt set the automobile a fifty-mile pace. at such a speed only a few minutes were necessary to carry the flying machine close to the oak opening where ben ali was to be in waiting for dhondaram. peering forward and downward, matt guided and manoeuvred the _comet_ by sense of touch alone, watching eagerly the while for the great gap in the woods. finally he saw it, and what he glimpsed in the centre of the cleared space--etched into his brain as by the instantaneous operation of a photographic lens--was startling, to say the least. the irregular circle of the opening was crossed through its centre by the hard, level road. off to one side of the road were the dying embers of a fire, and near the fire lay a bundle, on which a young woman was sitting, her head bowed dejectedly. a turbaned figure stood at a distance from the girl--the figure covered with a red robe and its brown, staring face uplifted. this was ben ali. and the girl--who was she? was it possible, _could_ it be possible, that the girl was margaret manners? a wild hope leaped in motor matt's breast. ben ali leaned on a club, leaned and watched with never a move toward running away. probably he was speculating as to whether his confederate, dhondaram, had learned to operate the air craft. matt gave ben ali scant time to come to a conclusion. quick work was now in order, and the _comet_ ducked downward and slid through the air with slowing motor. guided by a true, steady hand, the wheels brushed the roadway, then began to turn as the weight of the machine rested more heavily upon them. a short run of a dozen feet brought the _comet_ to a stop. ben ali had not stirred from the place where matt had first seen him standing. gathering the white robe about him, motor matt stepped hurriedly to the ground and ran toward ben ali. the hindoo, staring serpent-like, recoiled, his red robe falling away slightly as his hands raised the club. "ben ali," cried the king of the motor boys, "i have caught you at another of your tricks. did you think i was dhondaram? dhondaram is a prisoner, and you will soon join him in jail." there followed a tense moment, during which ben ali's eyes glowed and scintillated with their marvelous powers, and his hands tightened on the bludgeon. it was not a time to delay matters, and the young motorist made ready for desperate work against the arrival of the automobile. "_maskee!_" cried the astounded hindoo, as motor matt leaped at him. ben ali's amazement appeared to hold him paralyzed for the moment. it was not until matt had caught the club that he aroused himself and began vigorous resistance. every instant matt expected the automobile to come whirling to the spot with his friends. he had the club, but ben ali, with a tigrish spring, seized him about the throat and clung to him like a leech, and all the while ben ali's eyes were rolling about in a way that was horrible to behold. matt dropped the club to catch at the hindoo's straining arms. he felt a wave of weakness sweep through him, while the flashing eyes continued to exercise their baneful spell. was he being hypnotized in spite of himself? he had read that this was impossible, and that no man could be put in a state of hypnosis against his will. yet what did that strange weakness mean? a tremor ran through matt's body. he tried to call aloud, but his lips framed voiceless words. by degrees he felt himself growing weaker and weaker, yielding more and more to the spell of the baneful orbs that sought his undoing. then, when it seemed as though he was about to come entirely under ben ali's power, there fell a blow--sudden, quick, and accompanied by a wild, feminine cry. ben ali's tense fingers relaxed their grip, his form slumped forward, and matt stood staring at the girl. she was margaret manners, there was not the least doubt of that. in order to save him, the girl had seized the bludgeon, had approached her uncle from behind, and struck him down. the girl's face was wild with grief, but there was a burning resolution in the eyes. "i had to!" she cried hysterically. "i had to do that in order to save you. it was the spell, the spell of the eyes! he would have made you his victim, motor matt, just as certainly as he has worked his will with me! oh, let us get away from here! quick!" in a frenzy of fear she cast aside the club and seized his arm with both hands. "there are others--aurung zeeb is one. they are armed, and they will soon be here." matt dashed a hand across his forehead, as though to free his brain from some frightful dream. "there are others, you say?" he gasped. "yes, yes," she answered distractedly. "where?" "watching the road! they---- ah, too late, too late!" matt whirled and looked across the oak opening. from the side lying nearest the town came a running figure. it was aurung zeeb. where was the automobile? matt could not hear it, and there was now no time to wait. the girl had dropped to her knees and thrown her hands over her face. "come!" he called, bending down and catching her by the arm. "we can get away from here. be brave, and trust to me!" the girl started up, and he ran with her toward the aëroplane. as they drew near the machine, matt saw another hindoo coming into the opening along the other road. chapter xv. aeroplane wins! matt supposed that the automobile must have broken down somewhere on the road. his friends had not arrived in time to help him, so he was thrown upon his own resources. while he and miss manners were racing toward the aëroplane, matt was measuring his chances. the appearance of the second hindoo, on the other side of the opening, complicated the dangers of the situation. if these hindoos were armed, as the girl had declared, then the case was indeed desperate. in making its start, however, the _comet_ would be running away from aurung zeeb, and straight toward the other hindoo. this second man would have to leave the road or be run down; and if the start was made quickly enough, the _comet_ could get away from aurung zeeb. "sit there," cried matt, lifting the girl to a seat on the lower plane. "hold on," he added, starting the motor, "and don't move." the girl's small fingers twined convulsively into the hand-holds. matt dropped into his own seat and turned the power into the bicycle wheels. slowly they took the push, the great wings lurching and swaying as the aëroplane moved. would it be possible for the machine, unaided by a crew of men behind the wings, to take to the air before the trees on the opposite side of the opening interfered? this was a momentous, nay, a vital, question, and could only be solved by actual trial. out of the tails of his eyes matt saw ben ali rising groggily to his feet. he flung up his arms and shouted. crack! from behind came a bullet, ripping through the canvas of the upper plane, but, fortunately, doing no damage to the machinery. aurung zeeb was doing the firing. and this same aurung zeeb had failed ben ali once in a dangerous pinch. this had caused a rupture of the friendly relations between the two men, but their differences had evidently been patched up. now aurung zeeb was doing his utmost to help ben ali--and, perhaps, to land himself in the same trouble in which dhondaram had been entrapped. another bullet was fired, but aurung zeeb must have been shooting as he ran, for his aim was poor. faster and faster raced the aëroplane, and matt kept measuring the distance between the machine and the trees on the farther side of the opening. the hindoo, in the road ahead, was running out of the aëroplane's path like a frightened hare. by then, ben ali had joined in the chase, but the speed of the _comet_ was too great for the pursuers. they were close to the edge of the timber, very close, when matt felt the wings beginning to lift. a dozen feet farther and they were in the air. in a flash the power was switched from the wheels to the propeller. the aëroplane dropped a little before it yielded to the thrashing blades of the screw; then it picked up the lost headway and arose. the upward tilt was frightful, but necessary if a wreck in the treetops was to be avoided. never a word had come from margaret manners. white as a ghost, she held to her place, swaying her body to preserve a poise against the tilt and pitch of the huge framework. the wheels brushed against the outer ends of the tree limbs, but the machine continued to glide into the air, walking upward as though climbing the rounds of a ladder. if the motor had failed from any cause, there could have been no harmless gliding back to earth. a sheer drop downward would have been the result. but the motor performed its work, and the trees presently hid the hindoos and screened the _comet_ from any further attack. then, and not till then, did the king of the motor boys draw a full breath. "are you holding on, miss manners?" asked matt. "yes," was the reply in a stifled voice. "you're not afraid?" "no." "bravo! we'll soon be back at the show grounds. you have seen the last of ben ali." high above the trees matt brought the _comet_ to an even keel, then laid out in a straightaway flight toward the lake. this time he did not follow the elgin road, but struck across country the nearest way home. that was not the first time margaret manners had had a ride in the aëroplane. some time before, when, under the name of haidee, she had traveled with the big consolidated, she had ridden on a trapeze swung below the machine. it was against matt's will, and only a trick of burton's had made it possible for the girl to make the ascension. at the time she was under hypnotic influence, and could not realize what she was doing. so, it followed, this was really the first ride she had ever taken in the aëroplane while mistress of her own faculties and able to understand her situation. she behaved admirably, and did not even cry out when the wings tilted sideways, or ducked forward with the seeming intention of hurling her and matt to the earth. there was no talk between the two. in silence matt attended to his work, drove the _comet_ at speed over the show grounds, circled, and came down in the roped-off space set apart for the machine. the crowds were still lingering, waiting for the aëroplane to return. cheering began as soon as the _comet_ was in sight, and was kept up until she was safely on the ground in the position from which she had originally started. carl and ping were waiting, too, and the eyes of both boys were big with astonishment when they saw and recognized margaret manners. "vell, py shiminy grickets!" exclaimed carl. the girl smiled at him wanly as matt helped her from her seat. "you and ping take care of the machine, carl," cautioned matt, as he led miss manners to the guard ropes and parted a course for her through the jostling mob. "hurrah for motor matt!" shouted some one. "he goes out alone and comes back with a passenger!" a laugh followed the cheer. "what's the price for a trip on the _comet_?" called some one else. "where does your air-ship line run?" "give me a ticket to san francisco!" matt met the joking good-naturedly and piloted miss manners to the calliope tent. the girl was tired and worn out. "you'd better get a little rest, miss manners," matt suggested. "what you have passed through this morning would have shaken nerves much stronger than yours." "i don't want to rest," she answered; "i want to talk. you have saved me again, motor matt, but what is the use of it all if i can't leave this country and go to england, or back to india? ben ali will find me again." "you are through with him," said matt, "just as i told you. a man has come from the british legation in washington to get you and send you away by the first boat leaving new york." "the man who came to mrs. chadwick's in lafayette said the same thing," answered the girl wearily. "it seems as though there is no escaping ben ali." "has he hypnotized you many times since he took you from mrs. chadwick's?" asked matt anxiously. "only once. i gave up hope, and went with him without trying to resist. he said he intended to send me back to india, but not until the rajah had paid him a lot of rupees." "he treated you well?" "he always treated me well--in his way--but the horror of going into a trance and saying and doing things i know nothing about is more terrible than ever to me. it was the fear of a trance that made me promise not to make uncle ben any trouble." "who was the man who impersonated the agent of the british ambassador?" "i had never seen him before." "i thought that perhaps he might have been the man who sold tickets in the ticket wagon for burton--the one who was with the show when you and ben ali were traveling with us." she shook her head. "i should have known that man if it had been he." "where did the man take you?" "on the train somewhere. i thought we were going to washington until we got off the train at a little station and met uncle ben. it was then he threw me into a trance, and when he awoke me we were at a little house near the place where we went this morning to wait for dhondaram. aurung zeeb was at the house, and so was the other hindoo--a man i had never seen before. you are sure," the girl asked tremblingly, "that this other agent of the british ambassador is really the person he pretends to be?" the girl's lack of confidence was pitiable. she had suffered so much that matt could readily understand her feelings. "i am positive, miss manners," he answered gently. "you must rest now. i will have mrs. harris come and stay with you for a while." the girl did not object, and matt had soon found mrs. harris and sent her to the calliope tent. two hours later, while matt was lounging around the front of the animal tent, a tired party consisting of burton, twomley, and mcglory arrived from the direction of the street-car line. "you matt!" cried mcglory. "why didn't you wait and give us a chance?" "if i'd waited much longer," answered matt, "there wouldn't have been a chance for anybody. did you see me coming back from the oak opening?" "did we?" echoed twomley, putting his monocle in his eyes. "by jove, i should say we did. fancy! you up aloft, sailing as nice as you please with miss manners beside you, and burton, mcglory, and me tramping along the road." "what was the matter?" asked matt. "matter?" fumed burton. "what's the matter when you set out in an automobile and don't arrive where you're going? the motor bucked, three miles out of grand rapids, and you sailed right along and never paid any attention to us. mcglory, twomley, and i started to walk the rest of the distance, when we saw the machine couldn't be fixed up for an hour or so, and before we'd gone a mile you sailed off in the direction of the show grounds--and never looked our way! oh, blazes! i'm done with automobiles." chapter xvi. conclusion. motor matt's regret was keen over the failure to catch ben ali, aurung zeeb, and the unknown hindoo. it was one of those cases, however, where it was best to be satisfied with the work accomplished, and to forget the failure whereby three miscreants escaped the consequence of their evil deeds. and it was possible that ben ali was not long to enjoy his freedom, for twomley asserted that all the powers of the united states secret service would be bent toward accomplishing his ultimate capture. when it came to dealing legally with dhondaram, a serious question arose. if the hindoo was to be punished severely, it would be necessary to take him to jackson, where the worst of his crimes had been committed. this would require the presence of complaining witnesses, of which burton was one. for a man traveling from place to place constantly, as was burton, such a move could not be made without great sacrifices. it was deemed better, therefore, to have dhondaram brought to book for the lesser crime committed in the house of the green shutters. "assault with murderous intent" was the charge, and a light sentence followed. bill wily, agreeably to promises given him, was released. whether he profited by his experience or not, motor matt never afterward discovered. such a lesson as he had had, however, should have been enough for any man. for a little matter of ten dollars, he had entered blindly into the schemes of ben ali--and ben ali's schemes left their mark on every person who had anything to do with them. twomley was a delighted englishman, if there ever was one. he had fulfilled the mission with which he had been intrusted by sir roger, and he had done so after discovering that his errand to lafayette, so far as securing miss manners was concerned, was useless. a roman candle in the side-show tent had lent itself to the perpetration of a practical joke; and out of that joke had come the clue which had made possible the second rescue of margaret manners. carl was very much pleased to learn that so much good had developed from a row in the freak tent, but whether or not he forgave ping for setting off the roman candle is open to question. carl had declared that he would "play even" with ping for the candle episode, and those who knew carl best believed that he would prove as good as his word. monday morning twomley and miss manners took a train for new york, but not until both the attaché and the girl had expressed to matt and the motor boys their appreciation of all that they had done. it was somewhat indelicate of carl, perhaps, to mention the matter of his five thousand dollars before miss manners, but he was beginning to worry about the money. as he expressed it, "der longer vat der time iss, der more vat i don'd seem to ged dot rewart. i peen sefendeen years olt, und meppy i don'd lif more as sixdy years from now." twomley assured carl that he would do whatever he possibly could to hurry the money along. and with this promise carl had to be satisfied. with the turning over of dhondaram to the police, the liberating of bill wily, and the departure of twomley and miss manners, a series of thrilling incidents connected with motor matt's show career came to a close. and motor matt's show experiences were likewise drawing near an end. just how close this end was he did not dream that monday morning when he and mcglory accompanied the attaché and his charge to the train. when the two boys got back to the show grounds, however, boss burton had a telegram for matt. burton was frankly worried about that telegram. some other showman, he felt sure, was offering matt a bigger salary for his aëroplane performances. "don't you forget for a minute," said burton, watching keenly as matt opened the telegram, "that you're hooked up with me on a contract for the season. you can't break that contract, you know." "there were conditions, burton," said matt. "the only condition i remember was something about the government buying the aëroplane--which is all a dream. the government has bought one of the machines, and that's enough. it takes a motor matt to run one of those cranky traquair air ships. it'll be a long while before uncle sam buys another." matt read the message through, gave a whoop of delight, and passed the yellow slip on to mcglory. then mcglory jubilated. "what's to pay?" demanded burton. "uncle sam has done the trick!" crowed the cowboy. "he takes the _comet_ at the same price he paid for the _june bug_--fifteen thousand spot--machine to be crated and shipped immediately, if not sooner. whoop-ya! that settles the aëroplane business for king & mcglory. the next game we get into will be something, i reckon, that i can take a hand in, and not leave pard matt to do all the work." burton's face grew gloomy. "let me look at that message," he requested. matt handed it to him, and he read it over two or three times, then dropped it savagely, and ground it under his heel. "you don't _have_ to sell," said he angrily. "you can turn that offer down if you want to." "no, i can't," matt answered. "the sale was virtually made up in north dakota weeks ago. besides, i'm not the only one interested in the deal." "who else besides mcglory?" "why, mrs. traquair, the widow of harry traquair, who invented the extension wings and a few other things that have made the aëroplane a success. half of the fifteen thousand the government pays for the machine goes to mrs. traquair." "oh, blazes!" growled burton. "don't tell the woman anything about it. send word back to the war department you don't want to sell; then i'll make a new contract with you for a thousand a week. in seven or eight weeks you boys will receive all your share of what the government pays for the _comet_." matt listened to the showman gravely. "you don't mean what you say, burton," said he. "if you think for a minute that i'd play crooked with mrs. traquair, or with the government, then you've got pretty far off your track. it's in our contract that, if the government wants the machine, the contract terminates. here's where the motor boys' engagement with the big consolidated comes to a close." "you'll make a couple of flights to-day, won't you?" asked burton, swallowing his disappointment. "yes, i'll do that much for you," matt answered, "and then, bright and early to-morrow morning, we begin crating the machine for shipment." "blamed if i don't sort of hate to see the machine go," murmured mcglory. "many a hair-raising old trip you've had in the _comet_, pard, with me below lookin' up at you and almost kicking the bucket with heart failure! mainy a thriller the machine has given us, and--well, i reckon it's done some good, too." "that's the best part of it, joe," said the king of the motor boys. the end. the next number ( ) will contain motor matt's mandarin or, turning a trick for tsan ti. on the mountainside--the yellow cord--the glass balls--the paper clue--putting two-and-two together--a smash--nip and tuck--tsan ti vanishes again--tricked once more--the diamond merchant--the old sugar camp--a tight corner--the glass spheres--a master rogue--the eye of buddha--the broken hoodoo. motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction new york, september , . terms to motor stories mail subscribers. (_postage free._) single copies or back numbers, c. each. months c. months c. months $ . one year . copies one year . copy two years . =how to send money=--by post-office or express money-order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. at your own risk if sent by currency, coin, or postage-stamps in ordinary letter. =receipts=--receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. if not correct you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once. ormond g. smith, } george c. smith, } _proprietors_. street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york city. a brave deed. the mining town of capelton was alive with excitement. a long-looked-for event was about to take place. mr. hilton, the owner of the mines and more than half the village, was to give a ball in honor of his son's twenty-first birthday, and also to celebrate the return of his only daughter from the parisian school to which she had been sent when but ten years old. carl hilton was an only son, and because of his parents' indulgence had become selfish and tyrannical. his father idolized him, and was blind to his faults. he was to become a partner in the mines on attaining his majority. as mr. hilton had been out of health for more than a year, carl had attended to most of the business, and he had so tyrannized over the miners that they one and all hated him; but they loved and respected his father, and for his sake bore in silence the abuse of the son. to this birthday ball all the miners and their families had been invited, and the rumors of the great beauty of nina hilton only added to the excitement and anticipation. i will not weary the reader by a description of the affair, and no event of interest occurred until supper was announced. it fell to the lot of fred chase, one of the foremen in the mines, to escort the beautiful nina, and so deeply did they become engaged in conversation that it was some minutes before fred noticed that carl sat directly opposite, and was watching them closely. with an effort the young man concealed his annoyance, and continued his attentions to nina. "i intend to visit the mines to-morrow," said the girl, in tones loud enough to be heard by her brother. "i want to descend the new shaft." "i shall be very happy to conduct you through the mines, but you must not descend the new shaft, for it is not safe. i have warned your brother that the roof of the mine is in danger of falling, but he only laughs at me, and i fear some terrible accident will be the result of his neglect." "you are a fool, fred chase! the shaft is safe enough; if you talk like this, the men will all be afraid of it, and refuse to work. i shall take nina there myself to-morrow," said carl angrily. the young man's face flushed, but he controlled himself, and answered coldly: "i spoke the truth; the shaft is not safe, and unless more timber is put in to support the roof, you will soon have proof that i am right. i only hope that no lives will be lost." "pooh! you are a coward. i will show you to-morrow how little faith i put in your words." the eyes of all present were drawn to the two by carl's excited tone, and fred's reply was plainly heard. "call me a coward, if you will, but time will prove the truth of my assertion. neglect for twenty-four hours to order more timber to be placed in the new shaft for the support of its roof, and you alone will be responsible for what follows." carl did not answer, but glanced angrily at fred, who, after a minute's pause, turned to nina again, and changed the subject of conversation. the following morning carl started for the new shaft alone. nina refused to accompany him, and begged him to delay his visit until the roof was made secure. "nonsense, sis! it is safe enough. that fool, fred chase, wanted to impress you." carl believed what he said. he had not visited the shaft for several weeks, and had not seen the timbers bend beneath the weight of earth above them. he reached the shaft just as half a dozen miners came from it, and in answer to his inquiries, was told that fred chase and another man had remained behind to finish filling the last car with ore. "i am going down," he said, and in a few minutes was lowered to the bottom of the shaft. in the distance he could see the lights of the two miners. he advanced toward them. by the light of his own lantern he saw that some of the beams were bent; all seemed weighted to their utmost capacity, and he could not but own to himself that fred chase was right. he involuntarily shuddered as, in passing one large post, a slight crackling sound was heard; but it was not repeated, and he went on, determined to again make light of the matter. "you see, i am not afraid of your shaft," he said sneeringly, as he reached the spot where the two men were standing with the now loaded car beside them. "only cowards need boast of their bravery," said fred sternly. "i am going on a short distance to look at the ore; you may wait for me at the foot of the shaft, and we will all be drawn up at once," continued carl. he strolled on, while fred and his companion returned, as directed, to the entrance. they had barely reached it when they heard a loud report behind; a cry of fear mingled with the noise of falling rocks; then all was still. with pallid faces the men looked at each other, for each knew what had happened. the roof had fallen, and carl hilton was either crushed beneath the rocks or imprisoned in the opening beyond. only an instant did they stand motionless. then fred grasped the rope and gave the signal to be hoisted to the top. they told their sad story, and a messenger was dispatched to mr. hilton's residence. soon the entrance to the shaft was a scene of wild excitement. the stricken relatives of the buried man had reached the spot as soon as possible. the father offered large rewards to any who would attempt the rescue of his son; but not a man would volunteer. mr. hilton doubled and trebled his reward, but to no avail; to his entreaties were added the frantic pleading of the mother and nina's distressed sobs. fred had stood silent, with his eyes bent on the ground, until the old man, in sheer despair, cried out: "i will give half of my fortune, and it is a large one, to the men who will help me reach my boy!" fred came forward with a look of resolve on his face. "mr. hilton, not for your entire fortune would i enter that mine to save your son; but for humanity's sake, i will do my best to rescue him." a cheer from the miners greeted these brave words. with a wave of his hand, fred commanded silence, and running his eye over the crowd, said slowly: "i must have three trusty men to help me. who will go?" for an instant no one responded; then charles gray, fred's chosen companion, stepped to his side. "i will go, fred," he said quietly. two more men quickly followed the example of their brave leader, and, armed with spades, bars, ropes, and a bottle of brandy, they were lowered into the shaft. then followed a time of anxious suspense to the waiting crowd, who could only pray for the safety and success of the rescuing party. the first act of the workers was to place extra beams, a few of which were lowered down the shaft for the purpose, as near as they could to the fallen roof, to help bear any strain that might be resting on those already there. in a few minutes they realized their wisdom, for a cracking sound was heard which caused them to retreat toward the shaft; but it was not repeated, and they returned to their work. at the end of three hours of cautious digging they came to the car which fred and his companion had stayed behind to fill, and they stopped for a few moments' rest. "he cannot be far from here, for we had barely reached the shaft when the roof fell. hark! what was that?" fred stopped suddenly to listen. "it was a groan! he is alive! let us get to work, for he must be quite near," said charlie gray excitedly. with new zeal they worked on, and in half an hour they had reached an opening caused by two large rocks, which had fallen together in such a manner as to leave a space between them. in that space lay carl, with one arm doubled under him, and one foot pinioned by a large stone. the poor fellow was terribly bruised and cut, but conscious. very gently he was lifted by the men and borne to the foot of the shaft. the signal was given, and they were carefully drawn to the top, and when they laid carl on the ground a shout went up from the miners that echoed loudly over the hills. "god bless you, fred, and your brave companions!" said mr. hilton huskily, as he grasped the young man by the hand. "from my heart i thank you." "no thanks are due. i could not bear to see a fellow creature die without trying to save him." the crowd soon dispersed, and carl was conveyed to his home. after many weeks of suffering he recovered; but the crushed foot was useless--he was a cripple for life. as soon as he was able to do so, carl sent for fred. "forgive me, fred," he said frankly. "i was wrong not to heed your advice, but my punishment has been great. forget the past, and allow me to thank you for saving my life." fred could not refuse the apology thus offered, and the two became fast friends. about a year afterward mr. hilton bestowed his daughter's hand upon the brave young man who had saved his son's life, and on his wedding day fred became one of the owners of the mines. he is now a wealthy and prosperous man, and, with his beautiful wife, is almost worshiped by the miners. a locomotive hero. well, boys, if you wish it, i'll tell you the story. when i was a youth of eighteen, and lived with my parents, i had a boyish ambition to become an engineer, although i had been educated for loftier pursuits. during my college vacation, i constantly lounged about the station, making friends with the officials, and especially with an engineer named silas markley. i became much attached to this man, although he was forty years of age and by no means a sociable fellow. he was my ideal of a brave, skillful, thoroughbred engineer, and i looked up to him as something of a hero. he was not a married man, but lived alone with his old mother. i was a frequent visitor at their house, and i think they both took quite a fancy to me in their quiet, undemonstrative way. when this markley's fireman left him, i induced him to let me take his place during the remainder of my vacation. he hesitated for some time before he consented to humor my boyish whim; but he finally yielded, and i was in great glee. the fact was that, in my idleness and the overworked state of my brain, i craved for the excitement, and, besides, i had such longing dreams of the fiery ride through the hills, mounted literally on the iron horse. so i became an expert fireman, and liked it exceedingly; for the excitement more than compensated for the rough work i was required to do. but there came a time when i got my fill of excitement. mrs. markley one day formed a plan which seemed to give her a good deal of happiness. it was her son's birthday, and she wanted to go down to philadelphia in the train without letting him know anything about it, and there purchase a present for him. she took me into her confidence, and asked me to assist her. i arranged the preliminaries, got her into the train without being noticed by markley, who, of course, was busy with his engine. the old lady was in high glee over the bit of innocent deception she was practicing on her son. she enjoined me again not to tell silas, and then i left her and took my place. it was a midsummer day, and the weather was delightful. the train was one which stopped at the principal stations on the route. on this occasion, as there were two specials on the line, it was run by telegraph--that is, the engineer has simply to obey the instructions which he receives at each station, so that he is put as a machine in the hands of one controller, who directs all trains from a central point, and thus has the whole line under his eye. if the engineer does not obey to the least tittle his orders, it is destruction to the whole. well, we started without mishap, and up to time, and easily reached the first station in the time allotted to us. as we stopped there, a boy ran alongside with the telegram, which he handed to the engineer. the next moment i heard a smothered exclamation from markley. "go back," he said to the boy; "tell williams to have the message repeated; there's a mistake." the boy dashed off; in a few minutes he came flying back. "had it repeated," he panted. "williams is storming at you; says there's no mistake, and you'd best get on." he thrust the second message up as he spoke. markley read it, and stood hesitating for half a minute. there was dismay and utter perplexity in the expression of his face as he looked at the telegram and the long train behind him. his lips moved as if he were calculating chances, and his eyes suddenly quailed as if he saw death at the end of the calculation. i was watching him with considerable curiosity. i ventured to ask him what was the matter, and what he was going to do. "i'm going to obey," he said curtly. the engine gave a long shriek of horror that made me start as if it were markley's own voice. the next instant we slipped out of the station and dashed through low-lying farms at a speed which seemed dangerous to me. "put in more coal," said markley. i shoveled in more, but took time. "we are going very fast, markley." he did not answer. his eyes were fixed on the steam gauge, his lips close shut. "more coal," he said. i threw it in. the fields and houses began to fly past half-seen. we were nearing dufreme, the next station. markley's eyes went from the gauge to the face of the timepiece and back. he moved like an automaton. there was little more meaning in his face. "more!" he said, without turning his eye. "markley, do you know you are going at the rate of sixty miles an hour?" "coal!" i was alarmed at the stern, cold rigidity of the man. his pallor was becoming frightful. i threw in the coal. at least we must stop at dufreme. that was the next halt. the little town was approaching. as the first house came into view the engine sent its shrieks of warning; it grew louder--still louder. we dashed over the switches, up to the station, where a group of passengers waited, and passed it without the halt of an instant, catching a glimpse of the appalled faces and the waiting crowd. then we were in the fields again. the speed now became literally breathless, the furnace glared red hot. the heat, the velocity, the terrible nervous strain of the man beside me seemed to weight the air. i found myself drawing long, stertorous breaths, like one drowning. i heaped in the coal at intervals as he bade me. i did it because i was oppressed by an odd sense of duty which i never had in my ordinary brainwork. since then i have understood how it is that dull, ignorant men, without a spark of enthusiasm, show such heroism as soldiers, firemen, and captains of wrecked vessels. it is this overpowering sense of routine duty. it's a finer thing than sheer bravery, in my idea. however, i began to think that markley was mad--laboring under some frenzy from drink, though i had never seen him touch liquor. he did not move hand or foot, except in the mechanical control of his engine, his eyes going from the gauge to the timepiece with a steadiness that was more terrible and threatening than any gleam of insanity would have been. once he glared back at the long train sweeping after the engine with a headlong speed that rocked it from side to side. one could imagine he saw a hundred men and women in the cars, talking, reading, smoking, unconscious that their lives were all in the hold of one man, whom i now suspected to be mad. i knew by his look that he remembered that their lives were in his hand. he glanced at the clock. "twenty miles," he muttered. "throw on more coal, jack; the fire is going out." i did it. yes, i did it. there was something in the face of that man i could not resist. then i climbed forward and shook him roughly by the shoulder. "markley," i shouted, "you are running this train into the jaws of death!" "i know it," he replied quietly. "your mother is on board." "heavens!" he staggered to his feet. but even then he did not remove his eyes from the gauge. "make up the fire," he commanded, and pushed in the throttle valve. "i will not." "make up the fire, jack," very quietly. "i will not. you may kill yourself and your mother, but you shall not murder me!" he looked at me. his kindly gray eyes glared like those of a wild beast, but he controlled himself in a moment. "i could throw you off this engine, and make short work of you," he said. "but, look here, do you see the station yonder?" i saw a faint streak in the sky about five miles ahead. "i was told to reach that station by six o'clock," he continued. "the express train meeting us is due now. i ought to have laid by for it at defreme. i was told to come on. the track is a single one. unless i make the siding at the station in three minutes, we shall meet it in yonder hollow." "somebody's blunder?" i said. "yes, i think so." i said nothing. i threw on coal. if i had had petroleum, i should have thrown it on; but i never was calmer in my life. when death actually stares a man in the face, it often frightens him into the most perfect composure. markley pushed the valve still farther. the engine began to give a strange panting sound. far off to the south i could see the dense black smoke of a train. i looked at markley inquiringly. he nodded. it was the express. i stooped to the fire. "no more," he said. i looked across the clear summer sky at the gray smoke of the peaceful little village, and beyond that at a black line coming closer, closer, across the sky. then i turned to the watch. in one minute more--well, i confess i sat down and buried my face in my hands. i don't think i tried to pray. i had a confused thought of mangled, dying men and women--mothers and their babies. there was a terrible shriek from the engine, against which i leaned, another in my face. a hot, hissing tempest swept past me. i looked up. we were on the siding, and the express had gone by. it grazed our end car in passing. in a sort of delirious joy, i sprang up and shouted to markley. he did not speak. he sat there immovable and cold as a stone. i went to the train and brought his mother to him, and, when he opened his eyes and took the old lady's hand in his, i turned hastily away. yes, gentlemen, i have been in many a railway accident, but i have always considered that the closest shave i ever had. what was the blunder? i don't know; markley made light of it ever afterward, and kept it a secret; but no man on the line stood so high in the confidence of the company after that as he. by his coolness and nerve he had saved a hundred lives. geese drown a squirrel. jack, a big gray squirrel, who, with his mate, jill, inhabited the island in the duck inclosure in the bronx park zoo, new york city, sacrificed his life to his love of high living. it was this way: jack and jill long ago discovered that by crossing over the ten-foot-wide stream of water which separates the island from the mainland on all sides they could reach a trough filled with corn, which was replenished daily, for the ducks and geese, which rightfully inhabit the pond and island. a wire fence dividing the inclosure used by the mallard ducks from that enjoyed by the canada geese offered a means of communication between the island and the corn trough, and jack and jill long ago became expert in running along the top of this ticklish pathway. daily the two squirrels made pilgrimages to the corn trough, eaten to repletion, and then returned to the island. the ducks and the geese always swam close to the fence, flapping their wings and uttering hoarse cries of rage, but were never able to catch the nimble squirrels. little by little, however, jack lost his native agility as he partook of more and more of the rich food, and when he started back from a particularly heavy feast he waddled slowly along the top of the fence instead of hopping nimbly along as had been his wont. one of the mallards saw him and realized that he was too heavy and too well fed to move hurriedly. the duck sounded a cry which brought all of its mates, and they attacked jack viciously. the squirrel tried to hurry, but at last was pushed off the fence and fell into the pond. in an instant he was surrounded by big canada geese. persons on shore saw him fight desperately for life, but finally he was forced under water. the geese churned the pond into a foam, and when they swam majestically away there was nothing to be seen of jack. jill, who ran back and forth on the shore of the island while jack was fighting for his life, retired to a tree after the tragedy, and has not been seen since. keepers think that she will not try to reach the corn trough any more. latest issues motor stories the latest and best five-cent weekly. we won't say how interesting it is. see for yourself. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --motor matt's quest; or, three chums in strange waters. --motor matt's close call; or, the snare of don carlos. --motor matt in brazil; or, under the amazon. --motor matt's defiance; or, around the horn. --motor matt makes good; or, another victory for the motor boys. --motor matt's launch; or, a friend in need. --motor matt's enemies; or, a struggle for the right. --motor matt's prize; or, the pluck that wins. --motor matt on the wing; or, flying for fame and fortune. --motor matt's reverse; or, caught in a losing game. --motor matt's "make or break"; or, advancing the spark of friendship. --motor matt's engagement; or, on the road with a show. --motor matt's "short circuit"; or, the mahout's vow. --motor matt's make-up; or, playing a new rôle. tip top weekly the most popular publication for boys. the adventures of frank and dick merriwell can be had only in this weekly. =high art colored covers. thirty-two pages. price, cents.= --dick merriwell's colors; or, all for the blue. --dick merriwell, driver; or, the race for the daremore cup. --dick merriwell on the deep; or, the cruise of the _yale_. --dick merriwell in the north woods; or, the timber thieves of the floodwood. --dick merriwell's dandies; or, a surprise for the cowboy nine. --dick merriwell's "skyscooter"; or, professor pagan and the "princess." --dick merriwell in the elk mountains; or, the search for "dead injun" mine. --dick merriwell in utah; or, the road to "promised land." --dick merriwell's bluff; or, the boy who ran away. --dick merriwell in the saddle; or, the bunch from the bar--z. --dick merriwell's ranch friends; or, sport on the range. --frank merriwell at phantom lake; or, the mystery of the mad doctor. --frank merriwell's hold-back; or, the boys of bristol. --frank merriwell's lively lads; or, the rival campers. nick carter weekly the best detective stories on earth. nick carter's exploits are read the world over. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --the triangle clue; or, nick carter's greenwich village case. --the hollingsworth puzzle; or, nick carter three times baffled. --the affair of the missing bonds; or, nick carter in the harness. --the green box clue; or, nick carter's good friend. --the taxicab mystery; or, nick carter closes a deal. --the mystery of a hotel room; or, nick carter's best work. --the tragedy of the well; or, nick carter under suspicion. --the black hand; or, chick carter's well-laid plot. --the black hand nemesis; or, chick carter and the mysterious woman. --a masterly trick; or, chick and the beautiful italian. --a dangerous man; or, nick carter and the famous castor case. --castor the poisoner; or, nick carter wins a man. --the castor riddle; or, nick carter's search for a hidden fortune. --a tragedy of the bowery; or, nick carter and ida at coney island. --four scraps of paper; or, nick carter's coney island search. _for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address on receipt of price, cents per copy, in money or postage stamps, by_ street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york =if you want any back numbers= of our weeklies and cannot procure them from your newsdealer, they can be obtained from this office direct. fill out the following order blank and send it to us with the price of the weeklies you want and we will send them to you by return mail. =postage stamps taken the same as money.= ________________________ _ _ _street & smith, - seventh avenue, new york city._ _dear sirs: enclosed please find_ ___________________________ _cents for which send me_: tip top weekly, nos. ________________________________ nick carter weekly, " ________________________________ diamond dick weekly, " ________________________________ buffalo bill stories, " ________________________________ brave and bold weekly, " ________________________________ motor stories, " ________________________________ _name_ ________________ _street_ ________________ _city_ ________________ _state_ ________________ a great success!! motor stories every boy who reads one of the splendid adventures of motor matt, which are making their appearance in this weekly, is at once surprised and delighted. surprised at the generous quantity of reading matter that we are giving for five cents; delighted with the fascinating interest of the stories, second only to those published in the tip top weekly. matt has positive mechanical genius, and while his adventures are unusual, they are, however, drawn so true to life that the reader can clearly see how it is possible for the ordinary boy to experience them. _here are the titles now ready and those to be published_: --motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. --motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. --motor matt's century run; or, the governor's courier. --motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the "comet." --motor matt's mystery; or, foiling a secret plot. --motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear. --motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto. --motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward. --motor matt's air ship; or, the rival inventors. --motor matt's hard luck; or, the balloon house plot. --motor matt's daring rescue; or, the strange case of helen brady. --motor matt's peril; or, cast away in the bahamas. --motor matt's queer find; or, the secret of the iron chest. --motor matt's promise; or, the wreck of the "hawk." --motor matt's submarine; or, the strange cruise of the "grampus." --motor matt's quest; or, three chums in strange waters. --motor matt's close call; or, the snare of don carlos. --motor matt in brazil; or, under the amazon. --motor matt's defiance; or, around the horn. --motor matt makes good; or, another victory for the motor boys. --motor matt's launch; or, a friend in need. --motor matt's enemies; or, a struggle for the right. --motor matt's prize; or, the pluck that wins. --motor matt on the wing; or, flying for fame and fortune. --motor matt's reverse; or, caught in a losing game. --motor matt's "make or break"; or, advancing the spark of friendship. --motor matt's engagement; or, on the road with a show. --motor matt's "short circuit"; or, the mahout's vow. to be published on september th. --motor matt's make-up; or, playing a new role. to be published on september th. --motor matt's mandarin; or, turning a trick for tsan ti. to be published on september th. --motor matt's mariner; or, filling the bill for bunce. to be published on september th. --motor matt's double-trouble; or, the last of the hoodoo. price, five cents at all newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, by the publishers upon receipt of the price. street & smith, _publishers_, new york transcriber's notes: added table of contents. retained some inconsistent hyphenation; in many cases, words are hyphenated when used as adjectives but unhyphenated when used as nouns. italics are represented with _underscores_, bold with =equal signs=. front and rear covers, accent is missing from "role" in original; retained inconsistency. page , corrected ? to ! after "howdy, dutch!" page , corrected "shimiiy" to "shiminy" in "py shiminy grickets!" page , corrected "wiley" to "wily" in "go back to your job, wily." page , removed stray single quote after "going to keep it." page , added missing quote before "i'm the one." page , corrected typo "minues" in "inside of five minutes." page , removed unnecessary quote before "yes, he decided." (adding a quote after "yes" would also have been an option; however, this series usually does not quote thoughts). page , changed "doin 'a" to "doin' a." page , changed "go" to "got" in "what have you got to do with this house?" page , changed "he" to "the" in "the loss o' that hindoostanee." page , changed "foolishnes" to "foolishness." page , changed "fair to asume" to "fair to assume." changed "every" to "ever" in "on my mind ever since." page , expanded oe ligature to "oe" for this text edition. ligature retained in html version. courtesy of the digital library@villanova university (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction no. sept. , five cents motor matt's "short circuit" or the mahout's vow _by the author of "motor matt"_ _street & smith publishers new york_ [illustration: _the huge beast towered above motor matt like a mountain, but the king of the motor boys held his ground._] motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction _issued weekly. by subscription $ . per year. copyright, , by_ street & smith, _ - seventh avenue, new york, n. y._ no. . new york, september , . price five cents. motor matt's "short=circuit" or, the mahout's vow. by the author of "motor matt." contents chapter i. the serpent charmer. chapter ii. a bad elephant. chapter iii. burton's luck. chapter iv. motor matt's courage. chapter v. dhondaram's excuse. chapter vi. robbery. chapter vii. between the wagons. chapter viii. a peg to hang suspicions on. chapter ix. a waiting game. chapter x. a trick at the start. chapter xi. in the air with a cobra. chapter xii. a scientific fact. chapter xiii. ping on the wrong track. chapter xiv. facing a traitor. chapter xv. meeting the hindoo. chapter xvi. a bit of a backset. on the bahama reefs. the story of a wild goose. characters that appear in this story. =matt king=, otherwise motor matt. =joe mcglory=, a young cowboy who proves himself a lad of worth and character, and whose eccentricities are all on the humorous side. a good chum to tie to--a point motor matt is quick to perceive. =ping=, a chinese boy who insists on working for motor matt, and who contrives to make himself valuable, perhaps invaluable. =carl pretzel=, an old chum who flags motor matt and more trouble than he can manage, at about the same time. in the rôle of detective, he makes many blunders, wise and otherwise, finding success only to wonder how he did it. =dhondaram=, a hindoo snake charmer and elephant trainer, who is under an obligation to ben ali and gets into trouble while trying to discharge it. =andy carter=, ticket-man for burton's big consolidated shows; a traitor to his employer, and who emerges from his evil plots with less punishment than he deserves. =boss burton=, manager and proprietor of the "big consolidated," who, in his usual manner, forms hasty conclusions, discovers his errors, and shows no sign of repentance. =archie le bon=, a trapeze performer who swings on a flying bar under motor matt's aëroplane--and has a bad attack of nerves. =ben ali=, an old hindoo acquaintance who figures but briefly in the story. his vow, and the manner in which he sought its fulfillment, brings danger to the king of the motor boys. chapter i. the serpent charmer. a brown man in a white turban sat by the river. it was night, and a little fire of sticks sent strange gleams sparkling across the water, and touched the form of the brown man with splashes of golden light. the man was playing on a gourd flute. the music--if such it could be called--was in a high key, but stifled and subdued. under the man, to keep his crouching body from the earth, had been spread a piece of scarlet cloth. in front of him was a round wicker basket, perhaps a foot in diameter by six inches high. as the man played, the notes of the flute coming faster and faster, the lid of the basket began to tremble as by some pent-up force. finally the lid slid open, and a hooded cobra lifted its flat, ugly head. with eyes on those of the serpent charmer, the cobra began weaving back and forth in time to the music. now and then the snake would hiss and dart its head at the man. the latter would dodge to avoid the striking fangs, meanwhile keeping up his flute-playing. it was an odd scene, truly, to be going forward in a country like ours--cut bodily from the mysteries of india and dropped down on the banks of the wabash, there, near the intensely american city of lafayette. while the brown man was playing and the cobra swayed, and danced, and struck its lightning-like but ineffectual blows, another came into the ring of firelight, stepping as noiselessly as a slinking panther. he, like the other, wore a turban, and there was gold in his ears and necklaces about his throat. the first man continued his flute-playing. the other, with a soft laugh, went to the player's side, sank down, and riveted his own snakelike orbs upon the diamond eyes of the cobra. once the serpent struck at him, but he drew back and continued to look. with one hand the newcomer took the flute from the player's lips and laid it on the ground; then, in a silence broken only by the crackling fires, the eyes of the man snapped and gleamed and held those of the cobra. the effect was marvelous. slowly the cobra ceased its rhythmical movements and dropped down and down until it retreated once more into the basket; then, with a quick hand, the lid of the receptacle was replaced and secured with a wooden pin. "yadaba!" exclaimed the first man. "not here must you call me that, dhondaram," said the second. "i am known as ben ali." dhondaram spat contemptuously. "'tis a name of the turks," he grunted; "a dog's name." "it answers as well as any other." these men were hindoos, and their talk was in hindustani. "you sent for me at chicago," proceeded dhondaram; "you asked me to come to this place on the river, and to bring with me my most venomous cobra. see! i am here; and the cobra, you have discovered that the flute has no power to quiet its hostility. your eyes did that, yada--your pardon; i should have said ben ali. great is the power of your eyes. they have lost none of their charms since last we met." ben ali received this statement moodily. picking up a small pebble, he cast it angrily into the fire. "why have you brought me here?" inquired dhondaram, rolling a cigarette with materials taken from the breast of his flowing robe. "because," answered ben ali, "i have made a vow." "by krishna," and dhondaram threw himself forward to light his cigarette at the fire, "vows are evil things. they bring trouble--nothing less." "this one," hissed ben ali, "will bring trouble to an enemy of mine." "and to yourself, it may be," added dhondaram, resuming his squatting attitude on the scarlet cloth and whiffing a thin line of vapor into the air. "the goddess kali protects me," averred ben ali. "it is written in my forehead." "what else is written in your forehead?" asked dhondaram after a space. "what was it that caused you to send for me, and to ask me to leave my profitable work in the museum, come here, and bring the worst of my hooded pets?" ben ali, in the silence that followed, picked up more pebbles and cast them into the fire. "during the feast of nag-panchmi," he observed at last, "years since, dhondaram, a mad elephant crushed a boat on the ganges. you were in the boat, and i snatched you from certain death." dhondaram's face underwent a swift change. "that, also," he said in a subdued tone, "is written in my forehead. i remembered it when your letter came to me. i owe you obedience until the debt is paid. i am here, ben ali. command me." "_such baht!_ you, with the cobra, dhondaram, will go against my enemy and fulfill my vow. that will repay the debt." a look of fear crossed dhondaram's face. it passed quickly, but had not escaped the keen eyes of ben ali. "you are afraid!" and he sneered as he spoke. "and if i am?" protested the other. "i am bound to obey, and lose my life, if i must, in paying for the saving of it during the feast of nag-panchmi. who is your enemy, aurung zeeb?" ben ali struck the ground with his clinched fist. "aurung zeeb is a coward!" he exclaimed. "he fled and left me to work out my vengeance alone. _hurkutjee!_ let us speak no more of him. you knew of my brother, the rajah? how our sister married the _feringhi_, captain lionel manners, of the english army? how he died, and his wife perished in the _ghats_, by _suttee_? of the daughter they left, margaret manners? how, out of hatred to the rajah, i brought the girl to this country and destroyed her will by the power of the eyes? how we traveled with the show of burton sahib?" dhondaram nodded gravely. "i know," he replied. "but you do not know of the _feringhi_ boy, the one who flies in the bird machine, and who is called motor matt. because of him i have lost the girl, and she was making much money for me. i was _mahout_ in the show for burton sahib's worst elephant, rajah. no other could drive him, or take care of him. you are a _sapwallah_, a charmer of serpents, but you are also a charmer of elephants. you can drive them, dhondaram, as well as i. you can take care of this rajah beast as well as i." "i learned to work with the elephants from my brother, the _muni_," observed dhondaram. "you have lost the niece you called haidee?" "she is under the care of the british ambassador, but she is staying in this town. perhaps i may get her back--that i do not know. but my vow, dhondaram, against this _feringhi_ boy, motor matt. that is for you to carry out. he has wrecked my plans. i will wreck his. he has put me in danger of my life. through me, he shall be in danger of his own." "what am i to do?" queried dhondaram. "the show of burton sahib is some distance from here, but i will tell you how to find it. the cobra will help you join it, for burton sahib is always watching for performers. you must learn to do better with this cobra. by performing with the serpent before burton sahib, you will please him. he must have some one to take care of the elephant, rajah. you will apply for the place. ha! do you follow me?" dhondaram nodded. "when you have applied for the place i will tell you what to do. the air machine must be wrecked. rajah will do that. the _feringhi_ boy must be put where he will not interfere with my plans for my niece--the cobra _must do that_." dhondaram stirred restlessly. "the law of this country," he murmured, "has a long arm and a heavy fist." "if you do as i say," went on ben ali, "you will not be reached by the arm nor caught by the fist. you will be safe, and so will i; and the vow of ben ali will have been carried out." "you cannot do this yourself?" "i should be seized if i showed my face again in the show of burra burton! i should be thrown into the strong house of the _feringhis_ if i appeared among the tents. motor matt has said this, and he has the power to carry out his threat." "had motor matt the power to do this when he saved haidee?" "he had." "and he held his hand! why?" "because haidee was under the spell of my eyes. in order to free her, he had to bargain with me. the bargain was that i should go free, but never to trouble motor matt or the girl any more. with the girl in my hands, i could secure many rupees from my brother, the rajah, for her. and i hate that brother. he is rich, but he made me the keeper of his elephants! he lived in luxury, but i herded with the coolies." again ben ali struck his clinched fist on the earth. "it may be," said dhondaram, "that burton sahib has secured another keeper for the bad elephant, rajah? in that case, he would not want me." "it is not likely," returned ben ali. "all the other keepers are afraid of rajah. aurung zeeb was the only hindoo who could have managed rajah, and he dare not return to the show any more than i. burton sahib will want some one, and he will take you. you will go to him, perform with the cobra, win his favor. then, and not till then, you will ask for the post of elephant keeper. burton sahib, my word for it, will give you rajah to look after. then, my friend, you can carry out the terms of my vow. you will pay your debt, and we shall be quits. i shall have no further claim on you." "and i shall escape the arm of the _feringhi_ law?" "even so." "tell me what i am to do, and how." then, as the little tongues of flame threw their weird play of lights and shadows over the dusky plotters, the talk went on. chapter ii. a bad elephant. "great spark-plugs!" motor matt was passing the canvas walls of the menagerie tent of the "big consolidated" when a human form ricocheted over the top of it and landed directly in front of him on a pile of hay. the dropping of the man on the hay was accompanied by a wild sound which the king of the motor boys recognized as the trumpeting of an angry elephant. following this came the noise of quick movements on the other side of the wall, and hoarse voices giving sharp commands. matt ran to the man who had fallen on the hay. he was sitting up and staring about him blankly. "well, if it isn't archie le bon!" exclaimed matt. "what sort of way is that to come out of a tent, le bon?" "couldn't help myself, matt," was the answer. "a couple of tons of mad elephant gave me a starter. gee! no more of that in mine. i'm glad this hay happened to be here." le bon got up. evidently his brain was dizzy, for he supported himself against a guy rope. "was it rajah?" asked matt. "yes." "don't you know any better than to fool with that big lump of iniquity?" "i do now. burton has offered twenty-five dollars to any one connected with the show who'll take rajah out in the parade. thought i'd try it, and i began by doing my best to make friends with the brute. rajah was about two seconds wrapping his trunk around me and heaving me over the wall. i'm in luck at that, i suppose. the big fellow might have slammed me on the ground and danced a hornpipe on me." "you don't mean to say that burton is going to have rajah in the parade!" exclaimed matt. "says he is," answered le bon, "but i'll bet money he won't get any one to ride the elephant. you'd better trot along inside. your dutch pard, carl, had a row with me. we both wanted to try and manage rajah and annex the twenty-five, and the only way we could settle the question was by drawing straws. for all i know, carl may be trying to make friends with rajah now. head him off, matt, or there'll be a dead dutchman on the grounds." "carl must be crazy!" exclaimed matt, whirling around and darting under the canvas. archie le bon was an acrobat, and one of several brothers who had a hair-raising act in the circus ring; and if archie couldn't manage rajah, it was a foregone conclusion that carl wouldn't be able to. still, it was like carl to be willing to try something of the sort, and the young motorist was eager to call a halt in proceedings before it was too late. inside the "animal top" a crowd of men was belaboring rajah with clubs and sharp prods. the elephant, chained to stakes firmly planted in the ground, was backing away as far as the chains would permit, head up and trunk in the air. boss burton, proprietor and manager of the show, was directing operations. matt's dutch pard was very much in evidence. armed with a piece of sharpened iron, he was hopping around like a pea on a hot griddle, taking a hack at rajah every time he saw an opening. joe mcglory was hopping around, too, trying to grab the excited dutchman and snake him out of harm's way. suddenly rajah lowered his head and executed a wide sweep with his trunk, in a half circle. carl and a _mahout_ who had charge of the other elephants had their feet knocked from under them. the _mahout_ was thrown flat and quickly dragged to safety, while carl was stood on his head in a bucket--a bucket that happened to be filled with water. mcglory caught carl by the heels and dragged him out into the centre of the tent, the dutchman thrashing his arms and sputtering as he slid over the ground. "confound the brute!" roared boss burton; "i'll either take the kinks out of him and have him in the parade, or i'll shoot him. leave him alone for half an hour, and then we'll maul him some more. how's le bon?" "not a scratch," archie le bon answered for himself, coming in under the canvas. "but i might have had a broken head." "you've had enough?" queried burton. "a great plenty, thank you. i'm no elephant trainer, burton, and while i'd like to make a little extra money i guess i'll look for something that's more congenial." "dot's me, too," said carl to matt and mcglory. "i don'd vas some elephant trainers, i bed you. vat a ugliness old racha has! dot trunk oof his hit me like a railroadt train." "you were going to try and ride the elephant in the parade, carl?" demanded matt. "i vas t'inking oof id vonce, aber never any more. he iss vorse as i t'ought." "i heard what he was up to, matt," put in mcglory, "and hit the high places for here. arrived just in time to see le bon go out between the edge of the wall and the edge of the tent top. sufferin' skyrockets, but it was quick! everybody rushed at rajah, and carl was right in the thick of it. i thought he'd be smashed into a cocked hat before i could get hold of him." "who vas der feller vat left dot pucket oof vater in der vay?" grumbled carl, mopping his tow hair with a red cotton handkerchief. "id vas righdt under me ven i come down. i don'd like dot. id vas pad enough mitoudt any fancy drimmings in der vay oof a pail oof vater." "well, it's a lesson for you to leave rajah alone." "t'anks, i know dot. oof he vas der only elephant vat dere iss, i vouldn't haf nodding to do mit him. vile i'm vaiding for dot fordune to come from india i haf got to lif, but i vill shdarve pefore i dry to make a lifing taking care oof racha. br-r-r, you old sgoundrel!" and carl turned and shook his fist at rajah. just at this moment boss burton stepped up to matt and his friends. "here's a hard-luck proposition!" he glowered. "my biggest elephant raises cain in a way he never did while ben ali had charge of him. ben ali was a villain, but he knew how to manage elephants. but rajah goes in the parade, you can bet your pile on _that_." "you don't mean it, burton!" cried motor matt. "oh, don't i?" and there was a resolute gleam in the showman's eyes as he faced matt. "you watch and see," he added. "you're taking a lot of chances if you stick to that notion," grunted mcglory. "the brute's liable to smash a few cages and let loose a lion or two. by the time you foot the bill, burton, you'll find you're riding a mighty expensive hobby." "rajah goes in the parade," shouted the angry showman, "or i put a bullet into him. i've got my mad up now." "who'll take him?" queried matt. "if i can't find any one to put him through his paces, by gorry i'll do it myself!" "then the big consolidated," said mcglory, "might as well look for another boss." "see here, burton," went on matt, "you've been having the aëroplane tag your string of four elephants during the parade, and rajah's been at the end of the string and right in front of the flying machine. you've got to give the machine another place. i'll not take chances with it, if rajah's in the march. you ought to remember what a close call the brute gave us in lafayette." "nobody's going to change places in the parade!" declared burton. he was a man of mercurial temperament, and could only be managed by firmness. "either rajah stays out of the procession," exclaimed motor matt calmly, "or the _comet_ does." "and you can paste that in your hat, burton," added mcglory. "what pard matt says goes." "oh, hang it," growled burton, coming to his senses; "if you fellows bear down on me like that, of course you win out; but i hate to have a measly elephant butt into my plans and make me change 'em. now----" "say, mr. burton," spoke up a canvasman, stepping to the showman's side and touching his arm, "there's a dark-skinned mutt in a turban what wants ter see ye in the calliope tent." burton whirled on the canvasman. "dark skinned man in a turban?" he repeated. "does he look like a hindoo?" "dead ringer for one." "maybe it's ben ali----" "no, he ain't. i know ben ali, and this ain't him." "that tin horn won't show up among these tents in a hurry, burton," said mcglory. "he knows he'll get what's coming, if he does." "then," continued burton, "it's dollars to dimes it's aurung zeeb." "not him, neither," averred the canvasman. "this bloke wears a red tablecloth and carries a basket. looks ter me like he had somethin' he wanted ter sell." "i'll go and talk with him. come on, matt, you and mcglory." matt, mcglory, and carl followed the showman under the canvas and into the calliope "lean-to." here there was a chocolate-colored individual answering the canvasman's description. but he was not wearing the red tablecloth. instead, he had spread it on the ground and was sitting on it. in front of him was a round, flat-topped basket, and in his hands was a queer-looking musical instrument. "you want to see me?" demanded the showman, as he and the boys came to a halt in front of the hindoo. the latter swept his eyes over the little group. "you burton sahib?" he inquired, bringing his gaze to a rest on the showman. "yes," was the answer. "you look, see what i can do?" queried the hindoo. "if you've got something you want to sell----" "the honorable sahib makes the mistake. _dekke!_" then, with this native word, which signifies "look," the hindoo dropped his eyes to the round, flat basket and brought the end of the musical instrument to his lips. chapter iii. burton's luck. while the notes of the gourd flute echoed through the tent, the cover of the round basket began to quiver and shake. finally it slipped back, and there were startled exclamations and a brisk, recoiling movement on the part of the spectators as the head of a venomous cobra showed itself. "a snake charmer!" muttered burton, disappointment in his voice. "they're as common as albinos--and about as much of a drawing card." "that's a cobra di capello he's working with," remarked matt, staring at the snake with a good deal of interest. "i saw one in a museum once, and heard a lecturer talk about it. the lecturer said that the bite of a cobra is almost always fatal, and that there is no known antidote for the poison; that the virus works so quickly it is even impossible to amputate the bitten limb before the victim dies." "shnakes iss pad meticine," muttered carl, "und i don'd like dem a leedle pit." "sufferin' rattlers!" exclaimed mcglory. "i've been up against scorpions, gila monsters, and tarantulas, but blamed if i ever saw a snake in a sunbonnet before--like that one." the cobra's hood, which was fully extended, gave it the ridiculous appearance of wearing a bonnet, and there was something grewsome in the way the reptile's head swayed in unison with the flute notes. suddenly the head darted sideways. motor matt's quickness alone kept him from being bitten. he leaped backward, just in the nick of time to avoid the darting fangs. mcglory, wild with anger, picked up an iron rod that was used about the calliope and made a threatening gesture toward the snake. "speak to me about that!" he breathed. "what kind of a snake tamer are you, anyhow? if you think we're going to stand around and let that flat-necked poison thrower get in its work on us, you----" the cowboy made ready to use the rod, but matt caught his arm. "hold up, joe," said matt. "no harm has been done, and this is a mighty interesting performance." "aber der sharmer don'd vas aple to put der shnake to shleep mit itseluf," demurred carl. "der copra don'd seem to like der moosic any more as me." "probably the snake's fangs have been pulled," put in burton. "i know the tricks of these snake fakirs." "he got very good fangs, sahib," declared the hindoo, dropping the flute and getting up. "he pretty bad snake, hard to handle. now, watch." leaning forward, the hindoo made a quick grab and caught the snake about the neck with one hand. after whirling it three times around his head, he let it fall on the earth in front of him. to the surprise of the boys and burton, the cobra lay at full length, rigid and stiff, and straight as a yardstick. the serpent charmer then walked around the cobra, singing a verse of hindustani song. "la li ta la, ta perisi, la na comalay ah sahm-re, madna, ca-rahm ram li ta, co-co-la lir jhi! la li ta la, vanga-la ta perisi." "jupiter!" exclaimed burton. "i've heard the bengal girls chant that song when they went to the well, of an evening, with their water pitchers on their heads. that's the time i was in india after tigers." "_dekke!_" cried the hindoo; "i have killed my snake, my beautiful little snake! but i have a good cane to walk with." then, taking the rigid reptile up by the tail, he pretended to walk with it. "how you like to buy my cane, sahib?" he asked, swinging the cobra up so that its head was close to the young motorist's breast. matt shook his head and stepped quickly back. "take the blasted thing away!" snarled mcglory. "don't get so careless with it." "the snake's hypnotized," explained burton. "when he swung it around his head he put it to sleep." the hindoo smiled; then, thrusting the head of the rigid snake under his turban, he pushed it up and up until all but the tip of the tail had disappeared under the headdress. after that, with a quick move, he snatched off the turban. the venomous cobra was found in a glittering coil on his head. with both hands the hindoo lifted the drowsy cobra from his head, dropped it into the basket, closed the lid, and pushed the peg into place. "that's a pretty good show," remarked burton, "but it's old as the hills. where did you come from?" "chicago," replied the snake charmer. "i want a job with burton sahib." "what's your name?" "dhondaram." "there's not a thing i can give you to do in the big show," said burton, "but maybe the side show could find a place for you. snake charmers are side-show attractions, anyhow." dhondaram was giving most of his attention to matt, although speaking with burton. "he acts as though he knew you, pard," observed mcglory. dhondaram must have caught the words, for instantly he shifted his gaze from matt to the showman. "burra burton can't give me a job in the big show?" he went on. "no," was burton's decisive reply. "you're a hindoo. tell me, do you know a countryman of yours named ben ali?" dhondaram shook his head. "or aurung zeeb?" another shake of the head. dhondaram, seemingly in much disappointment, gathered up his scarlet robe and his basket and started out. "know of any one who can handle an elephant?" burton called after him. dhondaram whirled around, his eyes sparkling. "i handle elephants, sahib," he declared. "you can?" returned the showman jubilantly. "well, this is a stroke of luck, and no mistake. are you good at the job?" "good as you find," was the complacent response. "this elephant's a killer," remarked the showman cautiously. "he can't kill dhondaram, sahib," said the hindoo, with a confident smile. "he has just been in a tantrum, and threw one man through the tent." "the elephant, when he is mad, must be looked after with knowledge, sahib." "well, you come on, dhondaram, and we'll see how much knowledge you've got." dhondaram dropped in behind burton, and matt and his friends fell in behind dhondaram. together they repaired to the animal tent. "don't like the brown man's looks, hanged if i do, pard," muttered mcglory. "me, neider," added carl. "he iss like der shnake, i bed you--ready to shtrike ven you don't exbect dot. aber meppy he iss a goot hand mit der elephant. ve shall see aboudt dot." when they were back in the animal tent, burton and the boys found rajah still in vicious mood. straining at his chains, the big brute was swaying from side to side, reaching out with his trunk in every direction and trying to lay hold of something. "_himmelblitzen_, vat a ugly feller!" murmured carl, standing and staring. "he vouldt schust as soon kill somepody as eat a wad oof hay. you bed my life i vas gladt i gave oop trying to manach him." "there's the elephant, dhondaram," spoke up burton, pointing. "he's a killer, i tell you, and i'll not be responsible for damages." "i myself will be responsible, sahib," answered the hindoo. "hold my basket, sahib?" he asked, extending the receptacle toward carl. carl yelled and jumped back as though from a lighted bomb. "nod for a millyon tollars!" he declared. "take id avay." dhondaram smiled and placed the basket on the ground; then over it he threw the red robe. "_dekke_, sahibs," he remarked, taking a sharp-pointed knife from a sash about his waist. "look, and you will see how i manage the elephant in my own country." fearlessly he stepped forth and posted himself in front of rajah. it may be that the angry brute recognized something familiar in the hindoo's clothes, for he stopped lurching back and forth and watched the brown man. "you got to be brave, sahibs," remarked the hindoo, keeping his eyes on the elephant's. "if you have the fear, don't let the elephant see. the elephant is always a big coward, and he make trouble only when he think he got cowards to deal with. watch!" with that, dhondaram stepped directly up to the big head of rajah. up went the head, the trunk elevated and curved as though for a blow. matt and his friends held their breath, for it seemed certain the brown man would be crushed to death under their very eyes. but he was not. rajah's trunk did not descend. in a sharp, authoritative voice dhondaram began talking in his native tongue. every word was accompanied by a sharp thrust of the knife. the huge bulk of the elephant began to shiver and to recoil slowly, releasing the pull on the chains. presently the big head lowered and the trunk came down harmlessly. then, at a word from the hindoo, the elephant knelt lumberingly on his forward knees, stretching out his trunk rigidly. dhondaram stepped on the trunk and was lifted, gently and safely, to the broad neck. at another word of command, rajah rose, and dhondaram, from his elevated place, smiled and saluted. "it is easy, sahibs," said he. "this elephant is not a bad one." burton clapped his hands. "do you want a job as rajah's _mahout_?" he asked. "yes," was the answer. the showman turned to matt. "are you willing to take the _comet_ in the parade with rajah," he inquired, "now that we have a better driver than even ben ali to look after the brute?" "dhondaram is a marvel!" exclaimed matt. "yes, burton, we'll be in the parade with the aëroplane." "good! hustle around and get ready. there's not much time. come down, dhondaram, and get the blankets on rajah. the parade will start in half an hour." the boys hurried out of the tent and into the calliope "lean-to." the _comet_ had to be put in readiness, and mcglory and ping, the chinese boy, had costumes to put on. chapter iv. motor matt's courage. during the exhibition at lafayette, indiana, the _comet_ had caught fire while in the air and the king of the motor boys had made a dangerous descent in safety. the machine had been damaged, however, and, when the show left the town, matt and his friends had remained behind to make repairs. these repairs had occupied two days. when they were finished, matt and mcglory had rejoined the show, flying from lafayette in the aëroplane and scattering burton's handbills over the country as they came. carl pretzel and ping, the chinaman, had caught up with the show by train, there being no place for them on the _comet_. the flight through the air had been made in the face of a tolerably stiff breeze, and matt and mcglory had found it necessary to lie over almost the entire night on account of a high wind. the flying machine, however, had caught up with the show that very morning. the big consolidated had pitched its tents in the outskirts of jackson, michigan, just across the railroad tracks on the road to wolf lake. matt's work, for which he and his friends were receiving five hundred and fifty dollars a week, was to drive the aëroplane, under its own power, in the parade, and to give two flights daily on the grounds--one immediately after the parade and the other before the evening performance--wind and weather permitting. during these flights archie le bon was carried up on a trapeze under the flying machine. when the boys reached the place where the aëroplane had been left in charge of ping, they began at once replenishing the gasoline and oil tanks and seeing that everything was shipshape for the journey on the bicycle wheels. ping, while primarily one of the _comet's_ attendants, had also shown a decided regard for the steam calliope. the calliope operator was teaching him to play a tune on the steam sirens, in return for which attention the chinaman always provided the musical instrument with the water necessary to make the steam that operated the whistles. knowing that he would have to look after the aëroplane, ping had performed his calliope duties early in the day. the arrival of carl with matt and mcglory was a distinct disappointment to ping. he and the dutch boy had had a set-to at the time of their first meeting, and, although matt had made them shake hands, yet there still rankled in their bosoms a feeling of hostility toward each other. nevertheless, they kept this animosity in the background whenever matt or mcglory was near them. during the trip from lafayette to jackson on the train the two had ridden in different cars. they were not on speaking terms when away from matt king and his cowboy pard. carl was just beginning his engagement with the big consolidated. he was traveling with the show while waiting for some money to reach him from india. there was nothing for him to do about the _comet_, so he secured a job playing the banjo in the side show while a so-called zulu chief performed a war dance on broken glass in his bare feet. when the flying machine was in readiness the wagons and riders were already forming for the parade. "you'll have to hustle to get into your clothes, joe," said matt, "you and ping. get a move on, now. while you're away i'll watch the _comet_." mcglory and ping started at once for the calliope tent, which they used as general rendezvous and dressing room. they rode on the machine in costume--mcglory in swell cowboy regalia and ping in a barbaric get-up that made him look as though he had tumbled off a last year's christmas tree. carl had nothing to do until after the aëroplane flight, and so he remained with matt until the procession started. "here comes dot pad elephant, racha," murmured carl, pointing to the string of four elephants lumbering in their direction from the animal tent. "der hintoo iss pooty goot ad bossing der elephant, aber i don'd like his looks." "he's all right, carl," laughed matt easily. "it's rajah's looks you don't like." "vell, i dell you somet'ing, bard. oof der elephant geds his madt oop, all you got to do is to turn some veels und sail indo der air mit der _gomet_." "we couldn't do that. when the _comet_ takes to the air she has to have a running start. there's no chance for such a start while we're in the parade." "so? vell, keep your eyes shkinned bot' vays und look oudt for yourseluf. i got some hunches alretty dot you vill haf drouples." "we'll not have any trouble," returned matt confidently. a few minutes after the elephants had dropped into line in front of the aëroplane, mcglory, his big spurs clinking at his heels, and ping, rattling with tin ornaments and spangles, ran toward the _comet_. ping was helped to the upper wing, and matt and mcglory took their places in the seats on the lower plane. carl drew off and cast a gloomy look at ping, sitting cross-legged on the overhead plane and languidly beating the air with a fan. "you look like nodding vat i efer see!" whooped carl, envious to a degree that brought out the sarcastic words in spite of himself. "my see plenty things likee dutchy boy when my no gottee gun," chattered ping. "py shinks," rumbled carl, beside himself, "i vill make you eat dose topacco tags vat you haf on!" "makee tlacks," answered ping, with a maddening wave of the fan; "makee tlacks to side show and plingee-plunk for zulu man! my makee lide in procesh." the chinaman's lordly way worked havoc with carl's nerves. he howled angrily and rushed forward. at just that moment the parade got under way, and the aëroplane lurched and swayed across the ground toward the road. "carl," cried matt sternly, "keep away!" the dutch boy had to content himself with drawing back, shaking his fist at the glittering form on the upper wing of the aëroplane, and saying things to himself. the parade was but a wearying repetition of the many matt, mcglory, and ping had already figured in. the glitter of tinsel, the shimmer of mirrors, the prancing steeds and their mediæval riders, the funny clowns, the camels and elephants, and the blare of the bands had long since lost their glamour. for matt and his friends the romance had died out, and they were going about their work on a business basis. the motor boys and their gasoline air ship always commanded attention and were loudly cheered. the fame of motor matt's exploits had been told in handbills and dodgers by the clever showman, and, too, burton had seen to it that the young motorist secured ample space in the newspapers. this, naturally, aroused a great deal of interest, and it had long ago been conceded that burton's greatest attractions were matt and his aëroplane. rajah was a very good elephant during the entire parade. as usual, his mate, delhi, marched ahead of him, and always had a pacifying effect. dhondaram, perched on rajah's neck, kept the huge brute lumbering in a straight line. but it seemed strange to matt and mcglory that rajah, after his fit of madness, could be so suddenly brought into subjection. "i'll bet my spurs," remarked mcglory, early in the parade, "that rajah will cut up a caper yet." "if he does," answered matt, "i hope the _comet_ will be out of his way. but this dhondaram, joe, seems to be an a one _mahout_, and i believe he can hold rajah down." it was about half-past eleven when the dusty paraders began filing back into the show grounds, the cages pulling into the menagerie tent, the riders taking their horses to the stable annex, and matt driving the aëroplane to the spot from which the first exhibition flight of the day was to be made. "you and ping go and peel off your show togs," said matt to mcglory, as soon as the _comet_ had been brought to a halt and he and his friends had dropped off the machine, "and then come back and take charge of the start. i've got to fix that electric wiring, or i'll get short-circuited while i'm up with le bon." he pulled off his coat while he was speaking, and dropped coat and hat on the ground; then, as mcglory and ping made their way toward the calliope tent through a gathering throng of sightseers, the young motorist opened a tool box and stepped around toward the rear of the aëroplane to get at the battery and adjust the connections. a sharp tent stake, carelessly dropped by one of the show's employees, lay in the way and matt kicked it aside. he gave a look around, and saw that dhondaram was having some trouble getting rajah into the menagerie tent. thinking nothing of this, matt proceeded to the rear of the planes and threw himself across the lower wing, close to the motor and the battery. while he was busily at work he heard a series of startled yells, apparently coming from the crowd that was massing to witness the flight of the _comet_. withdrawing hastily from his place on the lower plane of the machine, matt dropped to the ground and ran around the ends of the right-hand wings. what he saw was enough to play havoc with the strongest nerves. right and left the crowd was scattering in a veritable panic, and through the lane thus made came rajah, hurling himself along in a direct line for the _comet_. there was no one on the animal's back, and the gay trappings which covered him were fluttering and snapping in the wind of his flight. rajah had always had a dislike for the aëroplane. its ungainly form seemed to annoy him. in the present instance this was no doubt a fortunate thing. had the brute not kept his attention on the air ship, he might have turned on the frightened throng and either killed or injured a dozen people. motor matt knew rajah was charging the _comet_, and the lad's first impulse was to get out of the way; then, reflecting that he and his friends stood to lose the aëroplane unless he made a decided stand of some sort, he caught up the tent stake, which lay near at hand, and jumped fearlessly in front of the flying machine. this move was not all recklessness on matt's part. he recalled what dhondaram had said to the effect that an elephant was a coward, and brave only when he had cowardly human beings to deal with. well behind rajah came a detachment of canvasmen, carrying ropes and iron bars, and one armed with a rifle. the king of the motor boys had seen these men, and he knew that if he could keep rajah from his work of destruction until the men had had time to come up the _comet_ would be saved. cries of consternation went up from the spectators as they saw the elephant plunge toward matt. the lad gave a fierce shout as the brute drew close, and waved the tent stake. "get out of the way, king! out of the way, or you'll be killed!" this was burton's voice ringing in matt's ears, and coming from he knew not where. but the command had no effect on the daring young motorist. he did not move from his position. rajah wavered. although he slackened his headlong rush, he still continued to come on. when he was close, and matt could look into his vicious little eyes, he halted, crouched back, and lifted his trunk. the lad jumped forward and began to use the pointed end of the stake vigorously. rajah's head was up, and his sinuous trunk twined in the air. the huge beast towered above motor matt like a mountain, but the king of the motor boys held his ground. chapter v. dhondaram's excuse. what might have happened to matt had not the canvasmen arrived while he was pluckily facing and prodding rajah, it is hard to say. certainly the young motorist's brave stand held the elephant at bay and saved the aëroplane. before rajah could make up his mind to strike matt down and trample over him to the _comet_, the frenzied brute was assailed on all sides and, under the angry direction of boss burton, was beaten into a state of sullen obedience. "where's that confounded hindoo?" roared burton, as two of the other elephants hauled rajah off toward the animal tent. mcglory, in his shirt sleeves, pushed through the crowd and up to the aëroplane in time to hear the question. "dhondaram is up there in the calliope tent," said the cowboy; "leastways he was a while ago. when ping and i dropped into the lean-to to change our togs, the hindoo was stretched on the floor, groaning like a man who was having a fit. he didn't seem to be so terribly bad off, in spite of the way he was taking on, and i didn't have much time to strip off my puncher clothes and get back here. just as i got into my regular make-up, and before i could take another look at dhondaram, a fellow ran by and yelled that rajah was runnin' wild again and headin' for the _comet_. that was enough for me, and i hustled hot foot for here. i saw you, pard," and here the cowboy turned to matt, "standing off that big brute with a tent stake. speak to me about that! say, i'm a piegan if i ever thought you'd get out of that mix with your scalp." "it was a fool thing you did, king," growled burton, very much worked up over the way events had fallen out. "you had about one chance in a hundred of getting out alive. what did you do it for?" "there wasn't any other chance of saving the _comet_," answered matt, a bit shaken himself now that it was all over and he realized how close a call he had had. "your life, i suppose, isn't worth anything in comparison with the value of this aëroplane," scoffed burton. "that sort of talk is foolish, burton," said matt. "i remembered what dhondaram had said about not being a coward around rajah, so i jumped in and got between the elephant and the machine. but there's no use talking now. the aëroplane has been saved, and there's nothing much the matter with me." "there _is_ some use of talking," snapped burton. "here comes dhondaram, with ping. now we can find out how rajah got away. dhondaram has starred himself--i don't think. if that's the best he can do, on his first try-out, i might as well give him the sack right here." the hindoo and the chinese boy were coming through the excited crowd toward the aëroplane. dhondaram staggered as he walked, and there was a wild look in his face. "what's the matter with you, dhondaram?" demanded burton sharply, as the eyes of the little group near the _comet_ turned curiously on the hindoo. "i was sick, sahib," mumbled the brown man, laying both hands on the pit of his stomach and rolling his eyes upward. "sick?" echoed burton incredulously. "it must have come on you mighty sudden." "it did, sahib. i came in from the parade, then all at once i could not see and grew weak--_jee_, yes, so weak i could not stay on rajah's back, but fell to the ground and lay there for a moment, not knowing one thing. when i came to myself i was in a tent, and the _feringhi_ sahib,"--he pointed to mcglory--"and the chinaman sahib were getting clear of their clothes. when i get enough strength, i come here. _such bhat_, sahib. what i say is true." "you had rajah properly tamed," went on burton; "i never saw him act better in the parade than he did this morning. what caused him to make such a dead set at this flying machine the moment you dropped off his back?" "who can say, sahib?" asked dhondaram humbly. "he not like the machine, it may be. has he a cause to dislike the bird-wagon? the elephant, burton sahib, never forgets. a hundred years is to him as a day when it comes to remembering." one of the canvasmen stepped up and asserted that he had seen dhondaram drop off rajah's back and then get up and reel away. thereupon the canvasman, expecting trouble, called for some of the other animal trainers, and they picked up the first things they could lay hands on and started after the charging elephant. this was corroborative of the hindoo's story, as was also the statement made by mcglory. "are you subject to attacks like that?" queried burton, with a distrustful look at the new _mahout_. "not at all, sahib," replied the hindoo glibly. "it was the first stroke of the kind i have ever suffered. by krishna, i hope and believe it will be the last." "well," remarked burton grimly, "if you ever have another, you'll be cut out of this aggregation of the world's wonders. now hike for the menagerie and do your best to curry rajah down again." without a word dhondaram wheeled and vanished into the crowd. mcglory turned, caught matt's arm, and pulled him off to one side. "what's your notion about this, pard?" he asked. "i haven't any," said matt. "it's something to think over, joe, and not form any snap judgments." the cowboy scowled. "these hindoos are all of the same breed, i reckon," he muttered, "and you know what sort of fellows ben ali and aurung zeeb turned out to be." matt nodded thoughtfully. "i don't believe one of the turban-tops is to be depended on," proceeded mcglory. "they're all underhand and sly, and not one of 'em, as i size it up, but would stand up a stage or snake a game of faro if he got the chance." "there you go with your snap judgment," laughed matt. "it's right off the reel, anyhow," continued mcglory earnestly. "that rajah critter was as meek as pie all through the parade. it don't seem reasonable that he'd take such a dead set at the _comet_ all at once. and, as for dhondaram getting an attack of cramps, he stood about as much chance of that as of bein' struck by lightning." matt was silent. "blamed queer," continued mcglory, "that ben ali and aurung zeeb should drop out, and then, two days after, this other hindoo should show up. for a happenchance, pard, it's too far-fetched. there's something rotten about it." "what had dhondaram got against the _comet_?" asked matt. "i pass that." "you're hinting, in a pretty broad way, joe, that the new _mahout_ deliberately set rajah on to smash the aëroplane." "then i won't hint, pard, but will come out flat-footed. that's just what i think he did." "why?" "you've got to have a reason for everything? well, i haven't any reason for that, but i think it, all the same." "ping!" called matt. the chinese boy was standing by the front of the aëroplane, patting the forward rudders affectionately, looking at the machine with a fond eye, and apparently exulting over the fact that it had been saved from destruction. at matt's call, the boy whirled around and ran toward his two friends. "whatee want, motol matt?" he asked. "you came here with the hindoo," said matt. "how was that?" "my follow hindoo flom tent. him no gettee sick. my savvy. when mcgloly makee lun flom tent, hindoo jump to feet chop-chop, feel plenty fine. him makee play 'possum. whoosh! when him come, my come, too." "talk about that!" exclaimed mcglory. "worse, and more of it. there's a hen on of some kind, pard." "ping," proceeded matt, "i've got a job for you." "bully!" cried the chinaman delightedly. "what i want you to do," said matt, "is to watch dhondaram. don't let him see you at it, mind, but just dodge around, keep tab on him, and don't let him suspect what you're doing." "hoop-ala!" said ping, delighted at having such a piece of work come his way. "think you can attend to that?" "can do! you bettee. my heap smarter than hindoo. you watchee, find um out." "all right, then. away with you." ping darted off toward the animal tent. at that moment burton hurried up. "better get busy and make your ascent, matt," said burton. "the crowd's all worked up about that elephant business, and the quickest way to get the people's minds off it is by giving them something else to watch and talk about." "i'll start at once," replied matt, taking his seat in his accustomed place on the lower plane. "let her flicker, joe." the king of the motor boys "turned over" the engine, switched the power into the bicycle wheels, and the _comet_, pushed by mcglory and half a dozen canvasmen, raced along the hard ground for a running start. chapter vi. robbery. motor matt made as graceful an ascent and as pretty a flight in the aëroplane as any he had ever attempted. archie le bon, swinging below the machine on a trapeze, put the finishing touch to the performance by doing some of the most hair-raising stunts. loud and prolonged were the cheers that floated up to the two with the _comet_, and there was not the least doubt but that the aëroplane had successfully diverted the minds of the spectators from the recent trouble with rajah. after the _comet_ had fluttered back to earth, and the crowd had drifted away toward the side show, matt and mcglory left a canvasman in charge of the machine and dropped in at the cook tent for a hurried meal. there was now nothing for the two chums to do until the next flight of the day, which was billed to take place at half-past six. "did you ever have a feeling, pard," said the cowboy, as he and matt were leaving the mess tent and walking across the grounds toward the calliope "lean-to," "that there was a heap of trouble on the pike, and all of it headed your way?" "i've had the feeling, joe," laughed matt. "got it now?" "no." "well, i have." mcglory halted and looked skyward, simultaneously lifting his handkerchief to test the strength and direction of the wind. watching the weather had become almost a second nature with the cowboy since he and matt had been with the big consolidated. aëroplane flights are, to a greater or less extent, at the mercy of the weather, and the more wind during an ascension then the greater the peril for motor matt. "think the weather is shaping up for a gale this afternoon, joe?" queried matt. "nary, pard. there's not a cloud in the sky, and it's as calm a day as any that ever dropped into the almanac." "not exactly the day to worry, eh?" "well, no; but i'm worrying, all the same. what are you going to do now?" "catch forty winks of sleep in the calliope tent. we didn't get our full share of rest last night, and i'm feeling the need of it." when they got to the "lean-to" matt laid a horse blanket on the ground, close to the wheels of the canvas-covered calliope, and stretched himself out on it. a band was playing somewhere about the grounds, and the sound lulled him into slumber. the cowboy was not sleepy, and he was too restless to stay in the "lean-to." matt was hardly asleep before mcglory had left on some random excursion across the grounds. a man entered the calliope tent. he came softly, and halted as soon as his eyes rested on the sprawled-out form of motor matt. the man was dhondaram. a burning light arose in the dusky eyes as they continued to rest on the form of the sleeper. for some time the doors leading into the "big show" had been open. crowds were entering the menagerie tent, and passing from there into the "circus top." the noise was steady and continuous, so that it was impossible for matt, who was usually a light sleeper, to hear the entrance of the hindoo. dhondaram lingered for several minutes. he had not his flat-topped basket with him, and he whirled abruptly and hurried out of the "lean-to." from the look that flamed in the face of the hindoo as he left, it seemed as though he was intending to return again--and to bring the cobra with him. he had not been gone many minutes, however, when boss burton entered the calliope tent. this was where he usually met the man from the ticket wagon, as soon as the receipts had been counted and put up in bags, received the money, and carried it to the bank. this part of the work had to be accomplished before three o'clock in the afternoon, as the banks closed at that hour. the money from the evening performance always accompanied burton in the sleeping car on the second section of the show train, and was deposited in the next town on the show's schedule. burton did not see matt lying on the ground, close up to the calliope, and seated himself on an overturned bucket and lighted a cigar. the weed was no more than well started, when dhondaram, carrying his basket, appeared softly in the entrance. at sight of burton, the hindoo stifled an exclamation and came to a startled halt. "what's wrong with you?" demanded the showman. "nothing at all, sahib," answered dhondaram, recovering himself. "feeling all right now?" "yes, sahib." "good!" without lingering for further talk, dhondaram faced about and glided away. the conversation between the showman and the hindoo had awakened matt. the young motorist sat up blinking and looked at burton. he knew how the proprietor of the big consolidated always met the ticket man in the calliope tent, about that time in the afternoon, and checked up and received the proceeds for deposit in the local bank. "much of a crowd, burton?" called matt. "oh, ho!" he exclaimed. "you've been taking a snooze, eh?" "a short one. trying to make up for a little sleep i lost last night. what time is it, burton?" "about half-past two. say," and it was evident from burton's manner that the thought flashing through his brain had come to him suddenly, "i want to talk with you a little about that dutch pard of yours." "go ahead," said matt, leaning back against one of the calliope wheels; "what about carl?" "is he square?" continued burton. "square?" repeated matt. "why, he's as honest a chap as you'll find anywhere. if he wasn't, he wouldn't be training with mcglory and me. you ought to know that, burton." "you ain't infallible, i guess. eh, matt? you're liable to make mistakes, now and then, just like anybody else." "i suppose so, but i know carl too well to make any mistake about _him_. what gave you the idea he was crooked?" "i never had the idea," protested burton. "i just asked for information, that's all. he came to the show on your recommendation, and i've taken him in, but i like to have a line on the people i get about me." "there's more to it than that," said matt, studying burton's face keenly. "out with it, burton." "well, then, i don't like the dutchman's looks," acknowledged burton. "ping told me----" "oh, that's it!" muttered matt. "ping told you--what?" "why, that he caught the dutchman going through his pockets last night. if that's the kind of fellow carl is, i----" "take my word for it, burton," interrupted matt earnestly, "my dutch pard is on the level. he makes a blunder, now and then, but he's one of the best fellows that ever lived." "what did ping talk to me like that for?" "he and carl don't hitch. there's a little petty rivalry between them, and they're a bit grouchy." "is ping so grouchy that he's trying to make people believe carl's a thief?" "ping is a chinaman, and he has his own ideas about what's right and wrong. i'll talk to him about this, though." "you'd better. certainly you don't want one of your pards circulating false reports about another." burton looked at his watch impatiently. "i wonder where andy is?" he muttered, "he's behindhand, now, and if he delays much longer, i'll not be able to get to the bank before closing time." "he may have had such a big afternoon's business," suggested matt, "that it's taking him a little longer to get the money counted, and into the bags." "the business was only fair--nothing unusual. andy has had plenty of time to sack up the money and get here with it." andy carter was the ticket man. he was middle-aged, an expert accountant, and was usually punctual to the minute in fulfilling his duties to his employer. "have you seen anything of dhondaram lately?" matt inquired casually. "he blew in here with his little basket just before you woke up. didn't you see him?" "i heard you talking," answered matt, "and that's what wakened me, but i didn't see who you were talking with. did he get rajah under control again, burton?" a puzzled look crossed the showman's face. "he can manage that big elephant as easily as i can manage a tame poodle, and he wasn't two minutes with the brute before he had him as meek as moses. what i can't understand is how rajah ever broke away and went on the rampage like he did." "there are others on this ground who deserve your suspicions a whole lot more than my dutch pard," observed matt. "you mean that i'd better be watching dhondaram?" "not at all," was the reply. matt was already having the hindoo watched, so it was hardly necessary for burton to attend to the matter. "the hindoo's actions are queer." "hindoos are a queer lot, anyhow. but they're good elephant trainers, and that's the point that gets me, just now." "where did dhondaram say he----" motor matt got no further with his question. just at that moment a man reeled through the entrance. his hat was gone, his coat was torn, and there was a bleeding cut on the side of his face. with a gasp, he tumbled to his knees in front of burton. "great jupiter!" exclaimed burton, leaping to his feet. "andy! what's happened to you?" "robbed!" breathed the ticket man, swaying and holding both hands to his throat; "knocked down and robbed of two bags of money that i was bringing here. i--i----" by then the startled matt was also on his feet. "who did it?" shouted the exasperated burton. "did you see who did it? speak, man!" but carter was unable to speak. overcome by what he had passed through, he crumpled down at full length and lay silent and still at the showman's feet. chapter vii. between the wagons. excitement, and a certain reaction which follows all such shocks as the ticket man had been subjected to, had brought on a fainting spell. a little water soon revived carter, and he was laid on the blanket from which matt had gotten up a little while before. "now tell me about the robbery," said burton, "and be quick. while we're wasting time here, the thieves are getting away. i can't afford to let 'em beat me out of the proceeds of the afternoon's show. who did it, carter?" "i don't know, burton," was the answer. "don't know?" repeated the showman blankly. "can't tell who knocked you down and lifted the two bags, when it was done in broad day! what are you givin' us?" he added roughly. "it's a fact, burton," persisted carter. "i was hit from behind and could not see the man who struck me." "you've got a cut on your face. how do you account for that if, as you say, you were struck from behind?" "the blow i received threw me forward against a wagon wheel. the tire cut my cheek. i dropped flat, and didn't know a thing. when i came to myself, of course, the money was gone." "here's a pretty kettle of fish, and no mistake!" fumed burton. "how much money did you have, andy?" "a little over eighteen hundred dollars." "eighteen hundred gone to pot! by jupiter, i won't stand for that. can't you think of _some_ clue, andy? pull your wits together. it isn't possible that a hold-up like that could take place in broad day without leaving some clue behind. think, man!" "maybe that new dutch boy could give you a clue," replied carter. "he's a friend of motor matt's, isn't he?" "he's a pard of matt's," said burton, casting a significant look at the king of the motor boys. "what makes you think he might give us a clue? don't hang fire, andy! every minute we delay here is only that much time lost. go on--and speak quick." "i had just left the ticket wagon," pursued carter, trying to talk hurriedly, "when the dutchman stepped up to me. he wanted a word in private, as he said, and i told him he'd have to wait until some other time. he said he couldn't wait, and that what he had to tell me was important. i couldn't get away from him, and i agreed to listen to what he had to say providing he didn't delay me more than two or three minutes. with that, he led me around back of the "circus top" and in between two canvas wagons. that's when i got struck from behind." motor matt listened to this in blank amazement. boss burton swore under his breath. "it's a cinch the dutchman had a hand in the robbery," the showman declared. "he lured andy in between the wagons, and it was there that some of the dutchman's confederates knocked andy down and lifted the bags. if we can lay hands on this carl, we'll have one of the thieves." "don't be too sure of that," interposed matt. "carl pretzel never did a dishonest thing in his life, and i'm sure he can explain this." "don't let your regard for the dutchman blind you to what's happened, matt," warned the showman. "the only thing he asked andy to go in between the wagons for was so that the dastardly work would be screened from the eyes of people around the grounds." he turned away, adding: "we'll have to hunt for carl--and it will be a hunt, i'll be bound. unless i miss my guess, he and his confederates are a good ways from here with that eighteen hundred dollars." burton ran toward the tent door, followed by matt. before either of them could pass out, carl and mcglory stepped through and stood facing them. carl had a red cotton handkerchief tied round the back of his head. "here he is, by thunder!" cried the surprised burton. "so, you see," spoke up matt, "he didn't run away, after all." "it's some kind of a bluff he's working," went on burton doggedly. "i want you," he added, and dropped a heavy hand on carl's shoulder. "for vy iss dot?" inquired carl. "what do you want the boy for?" said mcglory. "he helped steal eighteen hundred dollars the ticket man was bringing over here for me to take to the bank," said burton; "that's what i want him for." "iss he grazy?" gasped carl, falling weakly against mcglory. "vat dit i do mit der money oof i took it, hey? und ven dit i take it, und vere it vas? by shinks," and carl rubbed a hand over his bandaged head, "i'm doing t'ings vat i don'd know nodding aboudt. somepody blease tell me vat i peen oop to." "don't you get gay," growled burton. "it won't help your case any." "give me the straight o' this," demanded mcglory. burton stepped back and waved a hand in the direction of andy carter. "look at andy!" he exclaimed. "he's been beaten up and robbed of two bags of money that he was bringing here. the dutchman lured him in between a couple of canvas wagons, and that's where the job was pulled off." "speak to me about this!" murmured the dazed mcglory. "what about it, matt?" he added. matt did not answer, but stepped over to carl. "why did you ask carter to step in between the wagons, carl?" the young motorist asked. "pecause i vanted to shpeak mit him alone by himseluf," answered carl. "vat's der odds aboudt der tifference, anyvay?" "what did you want to speak with him about?" "vell, i don'd like blaying der pancho for dot zulu feller. i dit id vonce, und den fired meinseluf. vat i vant iss somet'ing light und conshenial--hantling money vould aboudt suit me, i bed you. dot's vat i vanted to see der ticket feller aboudt. i vanted to ask him vould he blease gif me some chob in der ticket wagon, und i took him off vere ve could haf some gonversations alone. dot's all aboudt it, und oof i shtole some money, vere it iss, und vy don'd i got it? tell me dot!" "that's a raw bluff you're putting up," scowled burton. "you're nobody's fool, even if you do try to make people think so." "i ain't your fool, neider," cried carl, warming up. "you can't make some monkey-doodle pitzness oudt oof me. you may own der show und be a pig feller, aber i got some money meinseluf oof it efer geds here from inchia, so for vy should i vant to svipe your money, hey?" "what happened between the wagons, carl?" went on matt. "just keep your ideas to yourself, burton," he added, "and don't accuse carl until he has a chance to give his side of the story. did you see the man who knocked carter down?" "i don'd see nodding," said carl. "do you mean to say," asked carter, rising up on the blanket, "that i wasn't knocked down?" "i don'd know vedder or nod you vas knocked down. how could i tell dot?" "you were there with carter--there between the wagons," cried burton angrily. "why shouldn't you have seen what happened?" "look here vonce." carl pulled off his cap and bent his head. "feel dere," he went on, touching the back of his head. "be careful mit your feelings, oof you blease, und tell me vat you findt." "a lump," said matt. "ouch!" whimpered carl. "it vas so sore as i can't tell. my headt feels like a parrel, und hurts all ofer. dot's der reason i ditn't see vat habbened. i vas knocked down meinseluf, und it must haf peen aboudt der same time der dicket feller keeled ofer." "there you have it, burton," said matt, facing the showman. "carl wanted a job in the ticket wagon, and thought he might get it by talking with andy carter. when they got in between the wagons they were both knocked down." "rot!" ground out burton. "why didn't carter see the dutchman when he came to? or why didn't the dutchman see carter, if he got back his wits first?" "carl was looking for carter when i met up with him," put in mcglory. "the dutchman wasn't near the wagons when i recovered my senses," came from the ticket man. "und i don'd know vedder you vas dere or nod, carter," explained carl. "ven i got to know vere i vas at, i foundt meinseluf vanderin' around mit a sore headt. but i tell you somet'ing, burton. i peen a tedectif, und a fine vone. how mooch you gif me oof i findt der t'ieves und recofer der money? huh?" "i believe you know where that money is, all right," declared the showman, "and if you think i'm going to pay you something for giving it back, you're wrong. if you want to save yourself trouble, you'll hand over the funds." "you talk like you vas pug-house!" said carl. "i ain't got der money." "who helped you steal it?" "nopody! i ditn't know it vos shtole ondil you shpeak aboudt it." "stop that line of talk, burton," put in matt. "carl's story is straight, and it satisfies me." "how much money did the dutchman have when he came here this morning?" asked burton. "t'irty cents," replied carl. "modor matt paid my railroadt fare from lafayette to chackson." "search him, mcglory," ordered burton. "let's see if he has anything about his clothes that will prove his guilt." carl began to laugh. "what's the joke?" snorted burton. "vy," was the answer, "to t'ink i haf eighdeen huntert tollars aboudt me und don't know dot. go on mit der search, mcglory." carl lifted his hands above his head, and the cowboy began pushing his hands into carl's pockets. in the second pocket he examined he found something which he pulled out and held up for the observation of all. it was a canvas sack, lettered in black, "burton's big consolidated shows." "one of the bags that held the money!" exclaimed carter. "i told you so!" whooped burton. matt and mcglory were astounded. and so was carl--so dumfounded that he was speechless. chapter viii. a peg to hang suspicions on. "vell, oof dot don'd grab der banner!" mumbled carl, when he was finally able to speak. "i hat dot in my bocket und don'd know nodding aboudt it! somepody must haf put him dere for a choke." "that's a nice way to explain it!" growled burton. "it cooks your goose, all right. anything in the bag, mcglory?" "nary a thing," answered the bewildered cowboy, turning the bag inside out. "go on with the search," ordered burton. mechanically the cowboy finished looking through the dutch boy's clothes, and all the money he found consisted of two ten-cent pieces and a couple of nickels. "where did you hide that money?" demanded burton sternly, stepping in front of carl. "i don'd hite it no blace," cried carl. "you make me madt as some vet hens ven you talk like dot. ged avay from me or i vill hit you vonce." "carter," went on burton in a voice of suppressed rage, "call a policeman." the ticket man had scrambled to his feet, and he now made a move in the direction of the tent door. "hold up, carter!" called matt; then, turning to burton, he went on: "you're not going to arrest carl, burton, unless you want this outfit of aviators to quit you cold." the red ran into burton's face. "are you trying to bulldoze me?" he demanded. "i've got eighteen hundred dollars at stake, and i'm not going to let it slip through my fingers just because you fellows threaten to leave the show and take the aëroplane with you. i tell you frankly, king, i don't like the way you're talking and acting in this matter. we've got good circumstantial evidence against your dutch friend, and he ought to be locked up." "i admit that there's some evidence," returned matt, "but you don't know carl as well as i do. it isn't possible that he would steal a nickel from any one. if there was ten times as much evidence against him, no one could make me believe that." "you're allowing your friendship to run away with your better judgment. what am i to do? just drop this business, right here?" "of course not. all i want you to do is to leave carl alone and let the motor boys find the thief." "i want that money," said burton, with a black frown, "and i'm satisfied this dutchman knows where it is." "and i'm satisfied he doesn't know a thing about it," said matt warmly. "how did that bag get into his pocket?" "if you come to that, why isn't there some of the stolen money in the bag? do you think for a minute, burton, that carl would be clever enough to plan such a robbery, and then be foolish enough to carry around with him the bare evidence of it? you don't give him credit for having much sense. why should he keep the bag, and then come in here with it in his pocket?" burton remained silent. "furthermore," proceeded matt, "if carl is one of the thieves, or the only thief, why did he come in here at all? why didn't he make a run of it as soon as he got his hands on the money?" "every crook makes a mistake, now and then," muttered burton. "if they didn't, the law would have a hard time running them down." "i'll tell you what i'll do," said matt. "leave carl alone. if i can't prove his innocence to your satisfaction, i'll agree to stay four weeks with your show for nothing. you'll be making more than two thousand dollars, and you've only lost eighteen hundred by this robbery." burton's feelings underwent a change on the instant. "oh, well, if you put it that way," he said, "i'm willing to let the dutchman off. i only want to do the right thing, anyhow." "you vas a skinner," averred carl contemptuously. "i knowed dot from der fairst time vat ve met." "sing small, that's your cue," retorted burton. "remember," and he whirled on motor matt, "if you don't prove the dutchman's innocence, you're to work for me for four weeks without pay. i'm willing to let it rest in that way." with that burton took himself off. his show was doing well and he was not pressed for funds. as for the rest of it, he had shifted everything connected with the robbery to the shoulders of motor matt. mcglory was a bit dubious. he had not known carl as long as matt had, and had not the same amount of confidence in him. "matt," remarked the dutch boy with feeling, "you vas der pest friendt vat i efer hat, und you bed my life you don'd vas making some misdakes ven you pelieve dot i ditn't shdeal der money. i don'd know nodding aboudt der pag, nor how it got in my bocket. dot's der trut'." "i know that without your telling me, pard," said matt. "the thing for us to do now is to find out who the real thieves are." "there must have been only one," said mcglory. "there must have been two, joe." "how do you figure it?" "why, because both carl and carter were knocked down at the same time. neither saw what had happened to the other. two men must have done that." "vat a headt it iss!" murmured carl. "modor matt vould make a fine tedectif, i tell you dose." "you've got a bean on the right number, pard, and no mistake," exulted mcglory. "did you see any one near the wagons when you led the ticket man in between them?" asked matt, turning to look at the place where he had last seen the ticket man standing. but carter had left. presumably, he had followed after burton. "i don'd see nopody aroundt der vagons," answered carl. "der t'ieves vas hiding, dot's a skinch. day vas hid avay mit demselufs in blaces vere dey couldt handt carter und me a gouple oof goot vones. ouch again!" and carl rubbed a gentle hand over the red cotton handkerchief. "take us to the place where you and carter were knocked down, carl," said matt. "we'll look the ground over and see if we can find anything." the dutch boy conducted his two friends toward the rear of the circus tent. here there were two big, high-sided canvas wagons drawn up in a position that was somewhat isolated so far as the tents of the show were concerned. the wagons had been left in the form of a "v," and carl walked through the wide opening. "dis iss der vay vat ve come in," said he, "i in der lead oof der dicket man. ven i ged py der front veels oof der vagon, i turn around, und den--_biff_, down i go like some brick puildings had drowed demselufs on dop oof me. shiminy grickeds, vat a knock! i don'd know vere carter vas shtanding, pecause i ditn't see him, i vas hit so kevick." matt surveyed the ground. the turf had retained no marks of the violent work. he examined the rear tires of the wagons. the rims, for the whole of their circumference that was off the ground, were covered with a coating of dried mud; and this caking of mud was not broken at any place. "carter must have stood here, in this position," observed matt, placing himself between the two rear wheels. "he says that he fell against one of the wheels and cut his cheek on the tire. i can't find any trace of the spot where carter came into such rough contact with either of the tires." "don't you think he was telling the truth, pard?" asked mcglory in some excitement. "is it possible he was using the double tongue, just to----" "easy, there," interrupted matt. "carter was dazed when he fell, and could hardly have known whether he struck against the tire or against something else. he may have dropped on a stone----" "no stones here," objected mcglory, with a quiet look over the surface of the ground. "well, then it was something else that caused the injury to his cheek. he----" "here's something," and mcglory made a dive for the ground and lifted himself erect with an object in his hand. "i reckon it don't amount to anything, though." "let's see it," said matt. mcglory handed the object to the young motorist. it was a peg, perhaps half an inch thick by three inches long, and had a knob at one end as big as a marble. "great spark-plugs!" exclaimed the king of the motor boys, staring from the peg to mcglory and carl. "what's to pay?" queried mcglory. "you act as though we'd found something worth while." "we have," declared matt, "and everything seems to be helping us on toward a streak of luck in this robbery matter." "how vas dot?" queried carl. "this peg belongs to the hindoo," said matt. "it's the contrivance he used for fastening down the lid of that flat basket in which he carries the cobra." mcglory went into the air with a jubilant whoop. "he's the thief!" he cried. "i've had a feelin' all along that he was a tinhorn. this proves it! sufferin' blackguards, matt, but you've got a head!" "vere iss der shnake?" came from carl, as he looked around in visible trepidation. "oof der pasket iss oben, den der copra is loose on der grounds. vat a carelessness!" "and remember," said matt, addressing the cowboy, "that i had set ping to watch the hindoo before the robbery took place. if dhondaram is the robber, then ping was on his trail at the time and must know something about it." "speak to me about that!" exulted the cowboy. "our friend the hindoo has been putting in some good licks since he joined the big consolidated! he hasn't let any grass grow under his feet." motor matt whirled around and walked out from between the wagons. "let's find ping," he called back, "and get a report from him. that ought to settle everything." mcglory and carl, feeling that something important was about to be accomplished, hurried after matt as he moved off across the show grounds. chapter ix. a waiting game. the chinese boy was not in evidence anywhere about the camp. after a search in all directions, matt, mcglory, and carl, reasoning that ping's trail had led him to other places outside the show grounds, returned to the calliope tent. there, to their overwhelming surprise, they came upon dhondaram, sitting nonchalantly on his square of scarlet cloth and smoking a cigarette. the hindoo's face lighted up genially at sight of the three boys. "_salaam_, sahibs!" said he in a friendly tone. "i come here to rest. it is permitted? i thought so. rajah takes work to manage--_jee_, yes, much work. it tires me. do you use the little smokes? take one, sahibs." dhondaram offered his little red box of rolled paper poison, only to have his courtesy declined. matt was looking around. he was hoping to see the basket, but it was not in sight. mcglory had something at the end of his tongue, and carl was all agog with a desire to talk, but matt silenced each of them with a look. "where's the cobra, dhondaram?" asked matt. "i'd like to see you juggle with the snake again." the hindoo smiled and showed his white teeth. "_maskee!_" he exclaimed, "that is my sorrow. my little snake is gone. now that i am taking care of elephants, sahib, i have not the time to charm serpents. i sold the cobra an hour ago." "sufferin' tarantulas!" murmured mcglory. "what fool would want to buy a thing like that?" "the cobra, sahib," said the hindoo, turning to the cowboy, "is a curiosity. many _feringhis_ like curiosities and pay for them. 'tis well. i like the elephants better than the serpents." "what did you do with the snake basket?" asked matt. "that must be sold with the cobra, sahib. what would the new owner do with the serpent unless he had the place to keep him? _dekke!_ he take the snake, also he take the basket. i throw in the basket, as you call--give it as boot." with eyes narrowly watching dhondaram's face, matt produced the peg and tossed it on the red cloth. "what did the new owner do," the king of the motor boys inquired, "without the peg to keep the basket shut?" not a tremor crossed the hindoo's face. "ah, ha!" said he. "i lose the peg and motor matt sahib find it. but it is nothing. there are many things that can be used as pegs--a splinter, a bit of wood, almost anything. where you pick it up, sahib?" "oh, out on the grounds," answered matt indefinitely. "sahib recognize the peg when he find him? you have much observation, mattrao sahib." the suffix "rao" is added to a name as a sign of great respect. probably dhondaram felt that he was paying matt a high compliment, although, naturally, matt knew nothing about that. dhondaram got up slowly and lifted the red cloth from the ground. "i will now go," said he, "and find how my bad rajah is conducting himself. he must be watched carefully, and spoken to." with a courteous nod the hindoo left the tent. as soon as he was gone matt rolled over and lifted one side of the canvas wall. the hindoo, with never a look behind, walked in his easy way around the calliope "lean-to" and into the "animal top," by the front entrance. "nerve!" sputtered mcglory, "he's got a square mile of it. never turned a hair. even the sight of that peg didn't phase him." matt was still peering from under the canvas. "there's something here i can't understand," said he, a few moments later, and he dropped the canvas and faced his friends. "vat it iss?" asked carl. "why, we set ping to watching dhondaram, and by all the rules of the game the chinaman ought to be on the fellow's track. but he isn't, so far as i can see. what's become of ping, mcglory?" "dhondaram has shaken him," hazarded the cowboy. "the chink wasn't sharp enough for the turban boy." "that may be," mused matt, "although i doubt it. ping is about as smart a chinaman as you'll find in a month's travel. it's mysterious." "then again," went on mcglory, "maybe ping is on dhondaram's trail and you don't know it. he's either too wise for us, or else not wise enough for the hindoo. pick out whichever conclusion you want." but matt shook his head, puzzled. "he don'd vas mooch goot, dot chink feller," spoke up carl gloomily. "vone oof dose days you will findt him oudt." "don't try any slams on ping," said mcglory. "he's the clear quill, he is, even though he's a rat-eater and a heathen. ping has turned some pretty fine tricks for matt and me, and like as not he's busy coming across with another. you've got too much of a grouch at the slant-eyed brother, carl." "i say vat i t'ink, und dot's all," replied carl. "i can lick him mit vone handt tied aroundt my pack." "cut it out, carl," said matt. "ping's a good fellow, and has always stood by me. i don't want any hostile feelings between two of my pards." "py shinks," cried carl, "he iss more hosdyle at me as i am at him. aber he's a shink, und he hides vat he t'inks pedder as i can do. somedime you findt it oudt, den you know." "go and look for ping, carl," said matt. "find him, if you can, and bring him where i can talk with him. it's more than likely that your innocence of that hold-up will have to be proven by the chinaman, so it will stand you in hand to be friendly with him." "honest," fumed carl, getting up, "i hat radder go to chail mit meinseluf as to led der shink prove dot i ditn't took der money." "well, you go and find him. you and ping must be friends if you're both to stay with me." carl was far from being in love with the task assigned to him, but nevertheless he went off to do what he could toward performing it. "those two boys don't mix worth a cent," remarked matt, when carl had left. "they're like oil and water." "they mix too much," grinned mcglory. "when they got acquainted with each other it was a 'knock-down' in more than one sense of the word. they've been hungry to mix it up with each other ever since." matt had no answer for this. he was well acquainted with the dispositions of both boys. "when i first got acquainted with carl," said matt reminiscently, "he was having trouble with a chinese laundryman. that was 'way off in arizona." for a time there was silence between the friends, broken at last by the cowboy. "what can we do now, pard?" "it's a waiting game for us, and if ping doesn't know something that will help carl out of the hole he is in, we'll have to hunt for some other clues." "dhondaram is a smooth article, and no mistake. if he really stole the money, who helped him? and why is he staying with the show?" "i don't know, pard," returned matt. "we'll have to let the thing work itself out, somehow." "you don't intend presenting burton with our wages for a month, do you?" "that's the very last thing i'd ever do!" declared matt. "then, if that's the case, we can't keep up this waiting game too long." the afternoon performance was over, and the crowd of people began filing out of the tents. only the "grand concert" remained, and that would soon be at an end, and the time would arrive for another ascension with the aëroplane. "i wish," remarked matt thoughtfully, "that we could work out this robbery business before we leave jackson. some town crook may be mixed up in it with dhondaram, and when the show leaves the place we may all be leaving the money behind." "burton isn't worrying," said mcglory. "he's positive carl is guilty, and that you can't prove anything else. in other words, boss burton is planning to have us work four weeks for nothing." "he'll be disappointed," said matt. "let's go and get supper, joe. it won't be long before the evening crowd begins to arrive, and i want to put the _comet_ in shape." while they were eating at the long table in the mess tent carl came in. "i don'd find nodding," said he, dropping wearily into a chair. "der shink is harter to find as a hayshtack mit some neetles in it. meppy he iss over in der town, or else gone oop in a palloon, or else"--and here carl leaned closer to matt and spoke in a whisper--"meppy he took der money himseluf und has gone pack py shina." "that will do, carl," said matt sternly. "ping is as honest as you are." "anyhow," spoke up mcglory sarcastically, "he didn't ask carter to go between the wagons, and we didn't find a bag in his pocket." "dot's righdt, rup id in," glowered carl. "oof i could ged dot money from inchia i vould fly der coop und i vouldn't come pack any more. all der tedectif vat iss in me say der shink is gone mit der show money. i say vat i t'ink." "well," said matt, "don't say it to anybody else." when he and mcglory left the mess tent and moved off toward the aëroplane, carl was still eating. matt was counting upon having as successful a flight that afternoon as he had made in the morning. the repaired aëroplane was in better trim for flying than it had been when new, and there was not even the small breeze which had accompanied the first flight of the day. but, if matt could have known it, he was destined to meet with one of the most desperate and hair-raising exploits of his aëroplane career during that second flight from the jackson show grounds. chapter x. a trick at the start. the guard who had been in charge of the aëroplane since the parade had returned to the show grounds was relieved by matt and mcglory. as soon as he had left, matt, in accordance with his usual custom, made a careful examination of the machine. he knew very well what might happen if he found, after being launched into the air, that some of the many parts of the aëroplane were loose, or the machinery not working properly. long ropes, stretched on each side of the road on which the flying machine got its start, served to keep the people back and to give matt and his corps of assistants plenty of room. so far as the young motorist could see--and his investigation was always thorough--the aëroplane was in as serviceable a condition as it had been for the morning's flight. it was a most ungainly looking machine when resting on the ground, but was transformed into a thing of grace the moment it spurned the earth and mounted skyward. "she looks as fit as a fiddle," remarked mcglory, his face shining with pride. "she'll do her work easy as falling off a log," said matt. "the repairs we made on her, in lafayette, seem to have been an improvement." "we don't want to make any more improvements of that sort," remarked mcglory, thinking of the accident which had made the repairs necessary. "ah," cried matt, "here comes le bon. and look who's with him," he added in a lower tone. the cowboy turned his head and swept his gaze over the throng that pressed the guard rope to the north of the road. le bon, in his trapeze costume, was crawling through the press, and close behind him came dhondaram. mcglory scowled. "what's the hindoo coming for?" he muttered. "i'm getting so i hate the looks of that fellow." le bon came close, walking with the springy tread of the trained athlete. "it looks as though we were going to have as nice a time aloft as we had this morning, matt," he observed, coming to a halt and taking a look at the sky. "what's the hindoo trailing you for?" queried mcglory. "he wanted to come along and see the flight at close quarters. he's a pretty good fellow, mcglory, and i told him to push along with me. what's the harm?" "no harm at all," interposed matt hastily. mcglory spun around on his heel and would not remain near to talk with dhondaram. the hindoo, as he halted in front of matt, was smiling in his most ingratiating manner. "i have come to look, sahib," said he, "at your most wonderful performance. it is read of everywhere, and in chicago most of all. it will be a pleasure. it is permitted?" "you can stay here," answered matt, "providing you keep out of the way." "i will see to that, mattrao sahib," and the hindoo walked around the aëroplane, giving it his respectful attention. the wonder was growing upon matt as to the whereabouts of ping. the chinese boy was always on hand when the flights were made, for the _comet_ was the apple of his eye and he took it as a personal responsibility to make sure that the "get-away" was always safely accomplished. he did not appear to be trailing the hindoo. if he had been, why was he not somewhere in the crowds that were pressing against the guard ropes. "watch the brown tinhorn, le bon," muttered mcglory, in the kinker's ear, "and see that he don't tinker with anything." "why," exclaimed le bon, "he wouldn't do anything like that!" "he might," was the sharp response. "i haven't any faith in these fellows who wear a twisted tablecloth for a hat. if anything should go wrong, up in the air, it'll spell your finish as well as my pard's. i'm going to have a word with matt." the band had come from the mess tent. instruments in hand, the members had climbed into the band wagon, which was hauled up near the point from which the _comet_ would start, and a rattling melody was going up from the horns, the drums, and the cymbals. the aëroplane flight was motor matt's own particular part of the show. it was an instructive part, too, for aside from the thrill of seeing a human being piloting a big mechanical bird through the air the observers were given the last word in aërial navigation. "what's on your mind, pard?" asked mcglory, halting at matt's side. "you're as thoughtful as a cold game gent who's looking into the open end of a gun." "have you seen anything of ping, joe?" said matt. "chink 'signs' haven't been at all plentiful since our squinch-eyed brother tried to run out the hindoo's trail." "i'd like to know where the boy is, that's all." "don't fret about him. i'd like to have a picture of ping in a corner he couldn't get out of. you take it from me, johnny hardluck hasn't got such a corner in his whole bag of tricks." at that moment burton rode up to the aëroplane on his favorite saddler. "innocent or guilty?" he asked, leaning down from his saddle and accompanying the words with a significant wink. "innocent, of course," answered the king of the motor boys. "can you prove it to me?" "not yet." "and you never will. better let me have the dutchman locked up. that'll scare him so he'll tell all he knows, and maybe it isn't yet too late to get the money back." "keep hands off my dutch pard, burton," said matt. "we've made an agreement about that." "exactly." boss burton straightened. "i guess you'd better get a-going, matt," he added. "the whole town seems to be outside the guard ropes, and i don't think we could get any more spectators if we waited all night." burton backed his horse away from the starting line and lifted one hand. instantly a breathless silence fell over the vast throng, while every individual member of it craned his or her neck to get a better view of what was going on. the aëroplane, as has already been stated, had to make a running start on bicycle wheels in order to develop the speed necessary for the wings to take hold of the air and lift the machine. the wheels were low, and le bon had to sit on the lower plane beside matt and hold the trapeze on his lap until the _comet_ was high enough for him to drop from the footboard. the _comet's_ motor was equipped with a magneto, but, at the beginning and while the machine was on the ground, the spark was secured with a make-and-break circuit. when the motor was properly going the magneto took hold and an automatic switch brought it into commission. mcglory superintended the ground work during the start. some half a dozen men, under his direction, ranged behind the planes, started the machine, and ran with it. the power in the bicycle wheels soon carried the aëroplane away from them. at twenty-eight miles an hour the great wings felt the tug of the air, the wheels lifted from solid ground, and a sharp pull at a lever started the big propeller. matt had made so many ascensions that he handled every part of his work with automatic precision, and the aëroplane, amid the wild cheers of the crowd, darted skyward. mcglory, standing perhaps a distance of fifty feet back from the point where the machine left the earth, saw a bag hanging to the under plane, close to an opening that led up through the plane to the motor and the driver's seat. what was the bag? the cowboy asked himself, and how did it chance to be swinging there? mcglory had only a few moments to make his observations, for the _comet_ was climbing swiftly upward and the bag was growing rapidly smaller to the eye. he ran forward, stumbling and looking, and burton, evidently with his eyes on the same object, galloped past him with glance upturned. suddenly a black object appeared over the top of the bag, grew longer, wriggled queerly, and could be seen disappearing into the space between the two planes. the cowboy halted his stumbling feet and reeled, his brain on fire and his breath coming quick and hard. that black, wriggling thing must have been the cobra! the cobra, which the hindoo had said he had sold to some one on the show grounds! mcglory's mind was a hopeless chaos of fears, doubts, and wild speculations. while he stood there, burton, a wild look on his face, came galloping back. "that bag!" he gasped, drawing rein with a quick, nervous hand at the cowboy's side. "did you see it, mcglory?" "yes," answered the other. "it was one of the bags that had stolen money in it!" declared burton; "i saw the black lettering on the side! is it the one you got from the dutchman?" mcglory shook his head, still dazed. "i've got that--in my grip--at the calliope tent," he managed to gasp. "where did that one come from?" then mcglory came to his senses. "i don't care a whoop about the bag, or where it came from," he shouted. "did you see that snake come out of it and crawl up onto the lower plane? did you see that?" "yes, but----" "don't talk to me! find that hindoo--he was here before the start and he put that bag there. find him!" yelled mcglory. then, at the top of his lungs, the cowboy shouted frantically to matt, in the hope of letting him know his danger and putting him on his guard. but it was a fruitless effort. the tremendous cheering drowned mcglory's voice, and it was impossible for him to make his voice heard. chapter xi. in the air with a cobra. both motor matt and le bon were delighted with the start of the aëroplane. "she gets better and better," averred le bon. "i guess i'll take to flying myself." while in the air matt's every faculty of mind and quickness of body were called into action. he had to _feel_ the motion of the air on the huge wings, as communicated to the framework under him, and shift the wing extensions back and forth to meet the varying resistance of air pressure and make it coincide with the centre of gravity. to withdraw his attention for an instant from the work of managing the machine might result in a disaster that would bring destruction to himself and le bon. but he had schooled himself to talk while keeping busy with his work. "better not try it, archie," matt answered. "it's too much of a strain on a fellow's nerves. are you ready to drop with the trapeze?" "whenever you are," was the response. there was always a jolt when le bon's weight reached the ends of the trapeze ropes, and extra care was required in taking care of the _comet_. matt brought the air craft around in a sweeping circle and headed the other way to cover the north and south extent of the grounds. he, likewise, the moment the turn was made, turned the aëroplane upward. "what's the matter with mcglory?" asked le bon, peering down. "he's looking up and waving his arms." "he wouldn't do that," said matt, "unless something is wrong. when you get on the trapeze, archie, look over the under part of the machine and see if you can find anything out of whack. i can't imagine what's gone crosswise, for the aëroplane never behaved better." reaching the top of the airy slope, some two hundred feet above ground, matt pointed the machine earthward. "now's your time, archie," he said to le bon. the athlete stood erect, firmly clutching the trapeze bar, and dived out into space. swiftly matt brought the craft to an even keel, just as the whole fabric fluttered under the jolt. in a twinkling the _comet_ righted herself, and le bon was left swinging on his frail bar, a hundred and fifty feet above the show grounds. his position under the machine was such that matt could not see him. "all right, archie?" shouted matt, keeping his eyes ahead and manipulating his levers incessantly. "right as a trivet," came up from below. "mcglory is still throwing himself around down there." "do you see anything wrong with the machine?" "not a thing. what's that bag hanging under the wing for?" "is there a bag there?" "yes, a canvas bag. there are letters on it. wait, and i'll read them." there followed a silence during which, supposedly, le bon was spelling out the letters. "'burton's big consolidated shows'," went on le bon. "that's what's printed on the bag, matt." "great spark-plugs!" exclaimed matt. "anything in the bag, archie?" "it's as limp as a rag and looks to be empty. how did it get there?" "give it up. if it's empty, i don't see how it can do any harm. i don't like the thoughts of the thing, though, and we're not going to remain up as long as usual. get busy with your work." renewed cheering greeted the daring feats performed on the trapeze by le bon. in the midst of it the motor missed fire and died altogether. the slowing rotations of the propeller caused the _comet_ to glide earthward. a terrified yell broke from le bon. "what's the matter, up there?" "keep your nerve," flung back the king of the motor boys; "something's wrong with the motor--but we'll be all right." yes, matt knew that the aëroplane would glide earthward and land him and le bon without injury; but, if it could not be guided, it was as likely to land on the heads of that dense crowd as anywhere. that would mean serious, if not fatal, injury to many men--perhaps to women and children. motor matt's face went white, and his heart pounded in his throat. nevertheless he kept a cool head and a steady hand. he figured out the exact point where they would come down. it was in the very thickest part of the crowd, and the people were trying frantically to get out of the way. then, just as it seemed as though nothing could prevent a terrible accident, the motor again took up its cycle and the slowly whirling propeller increased its speed. a long breath of relief escaped matt's tense lips as he drove the aëroplane upward and the direction of the roped-off road. "what ails the blooming motor?" came from le bon in a distraught voice. "we came within one of killing a lot of people. i'm all in a sweat." "i don't know what's the matter with the motor," answered matt, "but i'm going to find out just as soon as i turn to go back on the course." "better descend. this is more than i can stand." "we can't descend until we reach the right place." matt made a wide turn, the engine working perfectly. "hold on tight, below there," he called. "i've got to take my attention from running the motor for a moment, and if we give a wild pitch or two don't be afraid. i'll be able to keep the machine right side up." "i'm pretty near all in," came from le bon in a subdued voice, "but it would take an axe to chop me off this trapeze." matt gave a quick look behind him. what he saw nearly froze him with horror. a cobra--undoubtedly the very snake he had seen in the calliope tent--was twined about two of the electric wires. the wires, as originally strung, were an inch and a half apart, and insulated. the coils of the six-foot cobra encircled both. as the coils contracted the wires were forced together, and two points of the copper, where the insulating material was worn off, were brought in contact. thus a short circuit was formed and a bad leak made for the electricity. at the moment matt looked the coils of the cobra had loosened, causing the tightly strung wires to spring a little apart, thus restoring the spark to the cylinders. but at any moment the coils might tighten again and cause another short circuit. as though to crown the terrors of the moment, the cobra's head was lifted from the wires by a third of the anterior length of its body--a favorite position assumed by the cobra in gliding along the earth--and the diamond-like eyes were fastened upon matt with deadly animosity. motor matt's one thought was this: if he were bitten by the snake before he had manipulated a safe landing, the swift working of the virus in his veins would keep him from doing his duty in preventing injury to the spectators below. with white face and gleaming eyes, he turned from the cobra and manoeuvred to place the aëroplane lengthwise of the roped-off space on the ground. before he could place the machine in proper position the motor again commenced to miss fire, and then died all over again. a groan was wrenched from matt's lips as the machine fluttered downward toward the massed human heads underneath. the groan was echoed by le bon. "we're dropping toward them again!" yelled the man below. matt turned in his seat, letting the aëroplane take care of itself. throwing himself back, he caught at the hooded brown head with his hand. there was a dart, quick as lightning, and matt's wrist was touched as though by a hot coal. with a loud cry he flung his arm forward, dragging the full length of the cobra from the wires. for the fraction of an instant the snake hung in midair, then yielded to the impetus of the arm to which it held and coiled sinuously outward and downward into space. the motor had again resumed its work, but the _comet_ hung at a frightful angle and was dropping like so much lead, the atmosphere striking the planes almost on their edges. matt was calm, now, and cool as ever. he went to work at the levers, righted the machine within fifteen feet of the bobbing heads, and sent it upward into the air. he was alone, for le bon, when so close to the ground, had dropped. in fact, owing to the length of the trapeze ropes, le bon's feet had almost swept the heads of the terrified spectators. steadily upward climbed the machine. every moment was precious to the king of the motor boys, for if he was to receive medical aid to counteract the bite of the reptile, it could not be long deferred. but what was the use of indulging in hope? he had been bitten by the cobra, and the lecturer in the museum had declared that a person so injured could not hope. vaguely matt wondered why the poison in his veins had not already rushed to his brain and paralyzed him into inaction. he was feeling as strong as ever, and as able to effect a safe landing without danger to the people on the show grounds. that was the thing he had set out to accomplish, and it was the thing he would do. freed of le bon's weight, the _comet_ was more manageable. with steady hand and cool, unshaken judgment, he laid the _comet_ parallel with the road, glided downward with a rush, shut off the power, and touched the hard ground squarely between the guard ropes. the jar of the landing was hardly perceptible, and matt stepped out of the car, to be grabbed by mcglory and to see burton, dismounted and anxious, at his side. "the cobra----" began matt. "killed," struck in burton. "did it bite any one in the crowd?" "no; every one was out of the way, and the fall itself nearly did the business for the reptile." "then get a doctor for me," said matt, showing a trickle of blood on his wrist. "that's the cobra's mark." chapter xii. a scientific fact. for an instant, following motor matt's tragic announcement, mcglory and burton were stricken dumb with horror. the cowboy was first to recover his wits, and he leaped to the back of burton's horse. "doctor!" he shouted, galloping madly along the road between the ropes that separated the crowd; "we want a doctor! where's a doctor?" in a crowd like that it was natural that there should be many doctors, and no less than three forced themselves through the throng, dived under the ropes, and hurried to motor matt. among these three physicians was doctor horton, an old man of no particular school, but widely read and eminent in his profession. "he'll die," said one of the medical men. "if that snake was a genuine cobra, and if its fangs were not removed, motor matt might as well make his will--and be quick about it." "my opinion exactly," said the other physician. "bosh!" answered doctor horton derisively. the other two turned on him. "what do you mean, horton?" they demanded. "just what i say," was the response. "this brave lad, who endangered his own life to save innocent spectators, is as sound as a dollar this minute." "then the snake was not a cobra," averred one of the others. "it _was_ a cobra," snapped doctor horton; "i saw it." "then its fangs had been pulled." "they had not been pulled--i saw them, too." "it is not possible, in that case, that the young man was bitten." "not bitten?" cried doctor horton ironically, lifting matt's wrist, which he was holding. "certainly he was bitten, and by one of the most poisonous snakes of which we have any knowledge. there's the mark, gentlemen, and it's as plain as the nose on your face. we were looking up at him, weren't we, when he was fighting the cobra and fighting, at the same time, to keep the flying machine from dropping into the crowd? and didn't we see him fling out his arm with the snake hanging to his wrist? the force in the throw of the arm--and there's some strength there, gentlemen, believe me," interjected the doctor, patting the biceps--"flung the reptile off. it fell, and so close to me that i had the pleasure of putting my heel on its head. do you suppose for a minute that the cobra could hang to motor matt's arm without biting? i am surprised at you." "what's the answer?" inquired one of the other two. "the venom of the cobra," proceeded doctor horton, "acts swiftly on the human system. yet we see here none of the symptoms attending such poisoning. by now, you understand, they should be well advanced. you ask me the reason our brave young friend is in a normal condition? a scientific fact has come to his rescue. it is well known," and the doctor accented the "well" and gave his medical confrères a humorous glance, "that the cobra can bite, but cannot release its poison _unless the fangs come together in the wound_. in this case, the fangs did not meet, consequently the bite was as harmless as that of the ordinary garter snake." dr. horton slipped his fingers along matt's wrist and gripped his hand. "you are to be congratulated; my lad," he went on. "it was your quickness in seizing the snake, i infer, and in hurling it from the aëroplane, that prevented it from laying firm hold of you. tell us what happened. we have learned a little from the acrobat who was on the trapeze, and who dropped off when near the ground, but we were all too much excited, at the time, to pay much attention to him. besides, he was under the aëroplane, and in no position to know just what went on in your vicinity. give us the facts." matt, relieved beyond expression, told of the cause of the short circuit, and of his attempts to get the machine in the right position for alighting; and finished with a terse account of the way he had grabbed the cobra and flung it from him. the exciting chronicle was set forth in few words and with the utmost diffidence. the recital, however, struck an undernote of courage and self-sacrifice in the line of duty that caught doctor horton's admiration. "once more," said the physician, taking matt's hand. "what you accomplished, my lad, was nobly done. how many could have kept their wits in such a situation? not many--hardly one out of a thousand. you're the manager of this show, are you?" he added, turning to burton. "i am, yes, sir," replied boss burton. "then you owe motor matt a lot. a fearful accident has been averted, and you might have been swamped with damage suits." the crowd surged around the _comet_, and stout canvasmen had to be summoned to force the people back. burton, mounted on his saddle horse, saw a chance to say a few words. "good people," he shouted, "every act down on my bills is faithfully given exactly as represented. i tolerate no misstatements in any of my paper. the gallant young motorist, who has exhibited his aëroplane to you this afternoon in an act more thrilling than even the most imaginative showman could advertise, is but one of many artists of world-wide reputation whom i have secured, at fabulous expense, to amuse you behind yonder tented walls. this is the only show now on the road to give, absolutely free, such a grand outdoor flying machine exhibition. other acts, equally thrilling and instructive, will soon be performed in the two large rings and on the elevated stage under the main canvas. the doors are now open." with that boss burton, having secured probably the greatest advertisement his show had ever received, rode off in the direction of the tents. while the crowd followed, and matt and mcglory found themselves, for the first time, able to have a little heart-to-heart talk, they drew off to one side and began making the most of their opportunity. "say, pard," said the cowboy glumly, "i'm about ready to quit this aëroplane business." "why?" asked matt. "there's not money enough in the country to pay me for going through what i did when i saw you swinging aloft with the cobra." "you saw it?" queried matt. "that's what i did, and i yelled and tried to let you know about it, but the crowd was making so much noise you couldn't hear." dusk was beginning to fall, and the gasoline torches about the show grounds leaped out like dazzling fireflies. mcglory stared at them thoughtfully for a space, then passed a handkerchief across his damp forehead. "it don't pay," he muttered. "you take all the risk, matt, and ping and i just slop around and kick you off when you make your jump skyward. i'd rather, enough sight, have been up in the machine with you than standing down here on the ground, watching and worrying." matt did not dismiss his cowboy pard's words with the careless laugh he usually had for such sage remarks. "it's all nonsense, of course," said he, "your talking about me taking all the risk and doing all the work. i fly the machine because i'm the only one who can do it, but you help me in other ways that are just as important. i'm in the air for perhaps thirty minutes each day, while you're on the ground, old pard, and watching things during every hour of the twenty-four." "watching things!" exploded mcglory. "speak to me about that! how well do i watch things? did i see the hindoo when he hitched that bag with the snake to the aëroplane? it was my business to get onto that, and i didn't know until you had left the road and were too far up to hear me. that's what i'm kicking about. i fell down--and i'm to blame for the whole bloomin' mishap." "you're not," said matt sharply, "and i won't have you say so. it's useless to harp on such things, anyhow, joe, so let's discuss something of more importance." "the way you fooled the cobra? why, that's----" "not that, either. the bag tied to the aëroplane has the name of the show lettered on it, so----" "burton and i both discovered that," interrupted mcglory. "carter had two bags containing the show money. we already had one, and that bag's the other. wait, and i'll get it." mcglory dived under the lower wing of the machine and groped about until he found the bag. "there was nothing in it but the snake," said he, as he rejoined matt. "it was a bagful of trouble, all right, at that. fine two-tongue performance the hindoo gave when he said he had sold the snake. sufferin' ananias! i suspected him of putting the bag there the minute i saw the cobra crawling up onto the lower wing, behind you and le bon." "did you hunt for the fellow?" asked matt. "_did_ we! why, burton had every man that could be spared from the show chasing all over the grounds. what's more, he sent word to the police, and they're on the hunt. here's what that hindoo tinhorn has done: he tried to make rajah wreck the aëroplane, and he tried his best to get you and the cobra mixed up while in the air. why? what's his reason for actin' like that?" "give it up, joe. not only has dhondaram done all that, but he has lifted burton's ticket-wagon money. there's something back of it all, and i'd give a farm to know just what it is. if i----" mcglory was interrupted by a cracked voice, down the road, lifted in what purported to be song: "hi le, hi lo, hi le, hi lo, bei uns gets immer je länger je schlimmer, hi le, hi lo, hi le, hi lo, bei uns gets immer ja so!" "carl!" exclaimed matt. "i could tell that voice of his among a thousand." "but what the nation is he coming with?" cried mcglory, peering along the road into the gloom. "looks like he had a rig of some kind." the "rig," when it drew closer, proved to be one of the donkey carts driven by the clowns in the parade. the dutch boy was walking ahead and leading the donkey. "hooray for der greadt tedectif!" whooped carl, bringing the donkey outfit to a halt. "modor matt, i haf dit vat you say." "what have you done, carl?" returned matt curiously. "come aroundt by der cart und take a look!" thereupon carl caught matt's arm and led him to the cart. the cart was small and mounted on low wheels, and matt and mcglory had no difficulty in looking down into it. ping, his hands and feet tied together, was roped to the seat. suddenly he set up a wail. "my velly bad china boy!" he whimpered, "velly bad china boy. motol matt, you no like ping ally mo'." "dot's vat i dit," observed carl, puffing out his chest, folding his arms, and striking an attitude. "i ketch der shink, like vat you say, und he shpeak oudt himseluf dot he don'd vas any goot. vat i tell you ven ve vas at subber, hey? i vas der greadest tedectif vat efer habbened, i bed you." chapter xiii. ping on the wrong track. to say that motor matt and joe mcglory were surprised at the odd situation confronting them would paint their feelings in too faint a color. "how did this happen?" demanded matt. "me," said carl, "i made it habben. venefer i go afder some fellers i ged him. yah, so!" "what's ping tied up for?" "to make sure mit meinseluf dot he vould come." "where did you find him?" "in vone oof dose ganvas wagons bedween vich der money vas took. he vas ashleep. i ged me some ropes und vile he shleep, py shiminy, i ged der rope on his hants. den i porrow der mu-el und der leedle vagon. i see der flying mashine in der air, und i hear der people yell like plazes, aber i don'd haf time for nodding but der shink. you say to pring him, und i dit. dere he vas. ven modor matt tell carl pretzel to do somet'ing, id vas as goot as dit." another wail came from ping, but it was not accompanied by any words that could be understood. "take the ropes off him, carl," ordered matt. "you should not have tied him like that." "den for vy he shleep in der ganvas wagon ven you tell him to drail der hintoo?" "ping will explain about that." "my velly bad china boy," gurgled the prisoner. "motol matt no likee ally mo'. givee china boy bounce." carl, with an air of great importance, proceeded to take the cords off ping's hands. the moment the ropes were all removed ping leaped at carl over the side of the cart, grabbed him savagely, and they both went down and rolled over and over in the road. the mixture of pidgin english and dutch dialect that accompanied the scrimmage was appalling. quickly as they could, matt and mcglory separated the boys and held them apart. "i told you somet'ing," yelled carl, "und dot iss der shinks is der vorst peoples vat i know." "dutchy boy no good!" piped ping. "no lettee china boy savee face. woosh!" "here, now," spoke up matt sternly. "tell us all about this, ping. did you follow the hindoo, as i told you?" "allee same," answered the chinese boy. "why did you leave the trail? did you lose it?" "my velly bad china boy," insisted ping, with the usual wail. "you didn't lose the trail?" "no losee, just makee stop." "you quit following the hindoo?" "allee same," sniffed ping. "what was the reason?" "my velly----" "yes, yes, i know all that, but tell me why you quit following dhondaram." "him makee tlacks fo' ticket wagon, makee pidgin with tlicket man, makee go to canvas wagon, makee hide. bymby, 'long come dutchy boy, blingee tlicket man. tlicket man him cally two bag. hindoo makee jump, hittee dutchy boy, knockee down." ping chuckled as though he considered the matter a good joke. "tlicket man and hindoo man takee money bags, empty allee same in hat, takee snake flom basket, puttee snake in one bag, puttee othel bag in dutchy boy's pocket. my savvy. hindoo man and tlicket man stealee money, makee think dutchy boy stealee. my thinkee one piecee fine business. stopee follow tlail. dutchy boy findee heap tlouble. my no ketchee motol matt, for' motol matt makee china boy tellee 'bout dutchy boy. woosh! ping him velly bad china boy. no likee dutchy boy. heap likee him get in tlouble." here was a lot of information tied up in a small and ragged bundle of pidgin. in order to develop all the different parts of it, matt undertook a line of patient cross-examination. when the talk was finished the fact that stood out prominently was this, that ping had allowed his feeling against carl to beguile him into a most reprehensible course of conduct. he saw the thieves at work, and guessed that they were trying to involve carl in the robbery. ping was glad to have carl involved, so he stopped following the hindoo and hid himself away in order that matt might not find him and learn the truth. it was sad but true that the china boy had let his hostility to carl lure him away on the wrong track. "ping," said matt sternly, "you acted like a heathen. carl is a friend of mine, and entitled to your consideration. instead of helping him out of his trouble, you held back in the hope that he would get into deep water. you can't work for me if you act like that." "my makee mistake, velly bad mistake," moaned ping. "no makee ally mo'." "you have been telling yarns about carl, too," went on matt. "you told boss burton that you had found carl going through your clothes and taking----" "py shiminy grismus!" whooped carl. "take your handts avay, mcglory, und led me ged at dot yellow feller. schust vonce, only vonce! he has peen telling aroundt dot i vas a ropper! _ach, du lieber!_ i vas so madt i feel like i bust oop." "hold your bronks, carl," growled mcglory. "you're not going to get away." "allee same, motol matt, my speakee like that," acknowledged ping. "dutchy boy say china boy no good. my no likee." "you told things that were not true," proceeded matt, "and they helped to get carl into trouble." "my savvy." "are you sorry you did it?" "heap solly, you bettee." "py shinks," fussed carl, "i'll make him sorrier as dot, vone oof dose days." "i guess, joe," remarked matt, "that we'll have to cut loose from both carl and ping. what's the use of trying to do anything with them? they act like young hoodlums, and i'm ashamed to own them for pards." "pull the pin on the pair of them, matt," counseled mcglory. "they make us more trouble than they're worth." a howl of protest went up from carl. "for vy you cut loose from me, hey?" he demanded. "i dit vat you say. i pring in der shink." "you don't do what i say, carl," answered matt. "i have tried to get you two boys to bury the hatchet, but you won't. this bickering of yours has resulted in a lot of trouble for all hands, and pretty serious trouble, at that. we can't work together unless we're all on friendly terms." "my makee fliendly terms," said ping eagerly. "givee china boy anothel chance, motol matt. plenty soon my go top-side, you no givee chance." "schust gif me some more shances, too, bard," begged carl. "i don'd vant to haf you cut me adrift like vat you say." "well," returned matt thoughtfully, "i'll give you just one more opportunity. take the mule and wagon, both of you, and return them to the place where carl found them. remember this, though, that you can't travel with mcglory and me unless you show a little more friendship toward each other." carl and ping stepped forward in the gloom. there was a moment's hesitation, and then carl took the mule by the halter and moved off. ping trailed along behind. "don't say a word to any one about what ping discovered," matt called after the boys, and both shouted back their assurances that they would not. "well, tell me about that!" gasped mcglory, his voice between a growl and a chuckle. "ping saw the robbery, and was keeping quiet about it just to let carl get into a hard row of stumps. he's a heathen, and no mistake." "but the point that interests me a lot," said matt, "is the fact that carter himself is mixed up in the robbery! he planned it with this rascally hindoo, who joined the show this morning and has been doing his villainous work all day. carter was trying to get the benefit of the robbery and, at the same time, shirk the responsibility and stay with the show." "how's that for a double deal?" muttered mcglory, amazed at the audacity of the ticket seller as matt put the case in cold words. "but then," he added, "ping may not be telling the truth." "i've lost a good deal of confidence in ping," returned matt, "but i believe he's giving the matter to us straight. one of the money bags, as ping says, was put in carl's pocket while he was lying dazed and unconscious from the blow dealt him by dhondaram; and ping also says that the snake was put in the other bag. that has all been proved to be the case." "and carter must have slashed himself on the cheek just to make it look to burton as though he'd had a rough time during the robbery!" "exactly." "all this fails to explain, though, why dhondaram tried to destroy the aëroplane, and then fastened the bag with the snake to the lower wing of the machine." "we're on the right track to discover all that. let's hunt up burton, and then we can all three of us have a talk with andy carter." "that's the talk!" agreed mcglory. "you stay here, pard, and i'll hunt up some one to watch the _comet_ while we're gone. after what's happened to-day, i hate to leave the machine alone for a minute." mcglory was not long in coming with a man to look after the aëroplane, and he and matt left immediately to find boss burton. chapter xiv. facing a traitor. inquiry developed the fact that boss burton was in the ticket wagon with carter, checking over the evening's receipts and making them ready to be carried to the train and safely stowed until the next town on the show's schedule was reached. "we'll catch carter right in the strong wagon," laughed mcglory, as he and matt hurried to the place. the door of the wagon was always kept locked. matt knocked, and the voice of burton demanded to know what was wanted. "it's motor matt," replied the young motorist. "let us in for a few minutes, burton." "i'll come out and talk with you. there's not much room in here." "i'd rather talk in there," said matt. "it's important. mcglory is with me." a bolt was shoved and the door of the wagon pulled open. "what's all the hurry?" asked burton, as the boys crowded in. "you'll know in a few moments," answered matt, closing the door behind him and forcing the bolt into its socket. carter sat at a small table on which a shaded oil lamp was burning. he and burton, it seemed, had finished their work, and there were two canvas bags, lettered like those with which matt was already familiar, near the lamp. the bags were bulging with silver and bills. convenient to carter's hand lay a six-shooter. matt's eye was on the weapon. there was no telling what carter would do when he learned why the boys had paid their call on him and burton. "what's up?" asked burton. "something i've got to talk over with you and carter," replied matt. casually he picked up the revolver. "a s. and w., eh?" he murmured, giving the weapon a brief examination. then, still holding the weapon, he transfixed the ticket man with a steely look. "where's the money that was stolen this afternoon, carter?" he asked. carter started up. "what do you mean?" he flung back, his face flushing and then becoming deadly pale. "that's what i'd like to know," blustered burton. "you act as though you thought andy knew where that money was." "he does know," said matt decisively. "the whole plot has come out. there were two robbers, dhondaram and carter." "i'll not stand for this!" cried carter wrathfully. "burton," and he leveled a quick gaze at the showman, "are you going to let this upstart come in here and insult me?" there was an odd glimmer in the showman's eyes. "be careful, matt," he cautioned. "you're making mighty grave charges." "are they any graver," asked matt, "than the charges you made against carl?" "you haven't the same foundation for them that i had--and have now, for that matter." "you're on a wrong tack, burton," proceeded matt. "the theft of that money was the result of a plot between the hindoo and carter here----" "and i struck myself in the head and cut my face, eh?" sneered carter. "a likely yarn." "whether you were knocked down or not is open to question. but there isn't any doubt about your cutting your face. you say you fell against one of the wagon wheels. there's not a particle of evidence to bear out the story. you wanted to make it appear as though you were robbed. dhondaram hid himself in one of the wagons----" "oh, he did!" returned carter ironically. "he knew your dutch pard was going to ask me to go there, i suppose. if that's the case, why wasn't your dutch pard in the plot, too?" that was the one weak place in matt's theory. according to ping, dhondaram had gone into hiding at the wagons. matt supposed that ping was a little at sea, or that the hindoo had not made for the wagons until he had seen that carl and carter were going there. "dhondaram knew what was going to happen," continued matt, "and he placed himself where he could be of most aid in carrying out the plot. he knocked carl down, and while the lad lay senseless you and dhondaram emptied the money bags into your hats. one of the bags was placed in carl's pocket, and the hindoo took the snake from the basket and placed it in the other bag. you two wanted the basket for the money, and you wanted the empty bag in carl's pocket in order to throw suspicion on him. we all know how the other bag was used. dhondaram said----" carter gave a startled jump, and a muttered oath fell from his lips. "did that infernal scoundrel tell you all this?" rasped out the ticket man. "i'm not saying a word about----" "i know he did!" ground out carter, going all to pieces on the mere suspicion. "he told it all, and you----" with a sharp cry of rage, carter flung himself at motor matt and made a desperate effort to secure the revolver. matt hung to the weapon, and burton caught carter and pushed him down in his chair. "here's a fine how-d'ye-do," grunted burton. "andy, you've worked for me two years, and i never thought you'd turn against me like this!" "it was ben ali roped me into it," was carter's angry reply. "if i had that gun in my hands, i'd show you a trick or two. well," and he threw a look at burton, chagrined but defiant, "what are you going to do about it?" the showman sat down on the edge of the table. "you admit the whole business, eh, andy?" he asked. "dhondaram seems to have given his side of the story, and i might as well give mine," answered the ticket man. matt flashed a look at mcglory. the king of the motor boys had not intended to convey the impression that the hindoo had been captured and had confessed, but carter, out of his guilty conscience, had jumped to that conclusion. "you might as well tell it all, andy, and be perfectly frank with me," said burton. "what had ben ali to do with the affair?" "he figured it out while he was with the show," went on carter. "so----" he broke off suddenly. "but what good is it going to do me to tell you all this?" he asked. "it may do you a lot of good, andy, and it may not do you any. you'll have to take your chances on that." carter was thoughtful for a few moments, and then gave vent to a bitter laugh. "well," said he recklessly, "here goes, neck or nothing. i'll see to it, though, that this dhondaram has his share of the responsibility," and a glitter crept into the ticket man's eyes. "as i say, ben ali figured out how the game could be worked. we were going to try it long before we reached lafayette, but circumstances didn't just shape themselves so we could pull it off. i thought about the deal for some time before i agreed to go into it. the habit you have, burton, of making me tote the money bags to the calliope tent after the ticket office closes for the afternoon show first gave ben ali the idea. but ben ali, as you all know, made things too hot to hold him, in the show, and had to pull out. i was glad of it, for i thought the temptation had been taken away from me entirely, but this morning along comes dhondaram, direct from ben ali----" "from ben ali?" echoed motor matt. "speak to me about that!" grunted mcglory. "surprise to you, eh, motor matt?" observed carter, with an evil grin. "ben ali is a bad man to get down on you, and i guess he's got as big a grouch against motor matt as he could have against any fellow on earth. ben ali, since he left the show, has been framing up a scheme to put the king of the motor boys out of business. in order to carry out his plan, he sent to chicago for dhondaram--and, between you and me, that's where ben ali made a mistake. the two hindoos met near the town of lafayette somewhere, and ben ali told dhondaram what he wanted. dhondaram was to hire out as a keeper for rajah, and the elephant was to do the business for the aëroplane. the cobra was to make things warm for motor matt. it was all cut and dried between the two hindoos. but i was rung into it when ben ali told dhondaram to work the hold-up here in jackson. dhondaram came to me at the ticket wagon and i had a short talk with him. he said he'd bowl me over and get the money, and then take chances on getting away and playing even with motor matt later. i didn't know how the hindoo was to work it; and i wouldn't have gone into the game at all if i had known all that was to happen. "dhondaram heard me talking with the dutchman when he flagged me and wanted to talk. he must also have heard the dutchman mention the canvas wagons, for he was there when we reached them. the first thing i knew the dutchman was down, lying like a log on the ground. there was nothing for me to do then but to mar myself up and make it look as though there had been a fracas. we put the money in the basket, and hid the basket under a pile of old canvas in one of the wagons. it was arranged that i should meet dhondaram to-night, bring the basket, and then we'd divide the loot. "but i was suspicious of dhondaram. he was a stranger to me, and i wasn't going to trust him. during the afternoon, while the aëroplane flight was on, i took the basket out of the wagon and stowed it in another place. by doing that i made it impossible for the hindoo to pick it up and slope without meeting me. that's all." "where's the money?" inquired burton. he had had abundant faith in andy carter, and there was something almost sad in the showman's face as he listened to the tale of treachery. carter leaned forward. "i'll tell you that, burton," he answered, "just as soon as you promise to let me off and not make any move against me on account of the robbery." the brazenness of the proposition struck burton, and struck him hard. but it was the logical thing for carter to do, in the circumstances. it was a trump card, and he was cunning enough to know how to play it. "i'm getting a good many surprises to-night," muttered burton, "but i guess i deserve it for trusting a whelp like you. i agree, of course. you know very well i can't do anything else." "you'll not take any legal action against me?" asked carter eagerly. "no." "of course i can't work for the show any longer?" "well, i should say not! what do you take me for?" "i thought as much, but i wanted to make sure." "just a moment," put in matt. "where were you to meet dhondaram, and at what time?" "didn't he tell you that? it was to be sometime before the show was over, at the edge of the grounds on the south side. i was to come that way with the basket, and whistle. where did you nab the hindoo? i suppose it was that infernal snake business that got you after him." "he hasn't been nabbed," returned matt. "you took that for granted, carter." carter sank back in his chair and stared. then he swore under his breath. "i'm a fool of the first water, and no mistake," said he, "but that hindoo will kill me if he's left at large. you can capture him if you go where i told you and do what i said. i'm playing in tough luck, burton," he added dejectedly. "you're playing in more luck than you ought to have, at that," snarled burton. "put on your hat and coat, and we'll go for the money." "no," put in matt, "let me take his hat and coat." burton stared, then gave a short laugh as matt's plan drifted over him. "right you are, matt," said he. "put on the hat and coat. i guess carter won't take any harm going out in his shirt sleeves and without his hat. but give me the gun. that will be of use in case andy forgets his agreement." a few minutes later they all left the ticket wagon, locking the door behind them. the wagon was constructed of boiler iron, and the money in the bags would be safe where it was until the time came for loading the show and getting ready to move to the next town. chapter xv. meeting the hindoo. andy carter, as it turned out, was playing his part in good faith. perhaps he reasoned that he had been sufficiently treacherous, and that the very least he could do was to wind up a bad business on the square. the basket, removed by him from the canvas wagon to prevent the hindoo from making off with it, had been carried to a clump of bushes not far from the railroad tracks, on the north side of the show grounds, and covered with a pile of broken sticks and other refuse. men were already pulling down some of the auxiliary tents and loading them into wagons and driving the wagons to the waiting train. the elephants and nearly all the animal cages had been loaded, while the band wagons and the "chariots" had been stowed in their cars late in the afternoon. "i suppose you're through with me, now?" inquired carter, after burton had secured the basket. "i will be," said burton, "as soon as i make sure that all the money is here." "you'll be too late to catch the hindoo," demurred carter, "if you insist on going back to the wagon and counting over all that stuff." "then we'll lay the hindoo by the heels before we count it. you can go with us, carter. it'll do you good to see the fellow caught." "he'll kill me!" declared carter, drawing back. "i guess he won't. there are too many of us for him to cut up very rough." "if he sees all of us coming across the grounds, he'll suspect something and sheer off." "there's sense in that, all right," remarked burton. "on the whole, i believe i'll change my plans." burton stopped one of the wagons that was moving toward the train. "where's harris?" he asked of the driver of the wagon. "he's comin' right behind me," was the answer. harris was burton's brother-in-law, and had always been in the showman's confidence. he was riding on a pile of tent poles, holding a couple of trunks on the load. "harris," called burton, "i want you to take this basket down to the train for me. don't let it get out of your hands." "another snake in it, burton?" queried harris, as he reached down for the basket. "well," answered burton, "i wouldn't look into it to find out. mind what i say and don't let the basket get away from you." having been reassured on this point by harris, burton, matt, mcglory, and carter moved on. picking up two men at the dismantled animal tent, burton turned carter over to them. "andy has resigned," the showman explained dryly to the men, "and he wants to go to the train after his trunk. you men go with him, and keep hold of him all the time. understand? see that he don't take anything but what belongs to him." carter was none too well liked among the show people, and the two men agreed cheerfully to look after him. "now," said burton, as he walked off with matt and mcglory, "we're in shape to meet the hindoo. i don't know what i can do with the scoundrel after i get my hands on him. if he is put in jail here, i'll have to come back myself, or send somebody else, to make out a case against him. that wouldn't do--it would only cause extra expense and a loss of time. i guess we'll tie him up and take him along with us on section two of the train." "dhondaram ought to be made pay for what he has done," said matt. "i think you ought to go to a little inconvenience, burton, in the interests of law and order." "the inconveniences may be more than you think, matt. suppose you would have to come back here to testify against the hindoo? that would mean no aëroplane work for two or three days. i couldn't stand for that." by that time, the three were close to the south side of the grounds. there were scattered clumps of bushes, here, and a few trees. "we'd better hang back, matt," whispered burton, "while you go on and do the whistling. we'll be near enough to help you when dhondaram shows himself. if he's too ugly, i'll use the revolver." "he's got a bowie, matt," cautioned mcglory. "don't let him get a hack at you with it. he could help out ben ali's scheme of vengeance a good deal handier with the knife than with the cobra." matt stepped on ahead of burton and mcglory, and began to whistle softly. he had not gone twenty feet before the whistle was answered and a dark figure stepped shadowily from behind some bushes. "carter sahib!" came a low call. "dhondaram?" returned matt. "here!" came the eager answer. "have you brought the basket, sahib?" "you know why i was to meet you," replied matt, ignoring the question. he disguised his voice as well as he could, and the low tone in which he spoke served still further to hide his identity. the hindoo could see that matt was not carrying anything, and evidently his distrust was aroused. "the sahib is fooling me!" he exclaimed. "you have not brought with you the basket. part of the money is mine." matt had supposed that the hindoo would run, as soon as he detected the trick. but he did not. on the contrary, he bounded straight at matt and caught him by the shoulders. "i want you, dhondaram!" cried matt, dropping his attempts at concealment. "you're a prisoner!" matt was strong, but the hindoo was as slippery as an eel. with his arms about him, matt tried to hold the villain, and in a measure succeeded. dhondaram, however, heard the running feet and the voices of burton and mcglory and redoubled his desperate efforts to escape. he broke from matt's arms, but matt caught his left wrist and clung to it like a leech. with his right hand the hindoo jerked his knife from his sash and made a vicious lunge with it. matt avoided the lunge, and before the attack could be repeated the showman and the cowboy had reached the scene. then, even with all three of them against him, dhondaram made a desperate resistance. but numbers prevailed, and the rascally scoundrel's hands were bound at his back by means of his turban, which was opened out and twisted into a makeshift rope. "he's a fighter, and no mistake," panted burton, as he held the prisoner by one arm while mcglory took the other. "no more nonsense, dhondaram," the showman threatened, flashing the weapon in front of his eyes. "you see what i've got? well, look out that i don't use it." the six-shooter, dimly visible in the gloom, had a quieting effect on the hindoo. "don't shoot, sahib," he begged. "i go where you want." "that's better," said burton. "trot along, and we'll soon be where we're going." their destination was the train, and they presently had dhondaram in the sleeping car attached to section two. very few of the show people had arrived, as yet, and an attempt was made to get a little information out of the prisoner. but the hindoo would not talk. in response to every question put to him, he shook his head and held his tongue. "he'll talk with us in the morning," said burton confidently. "just tie his feet, boys, and leave him here. i've got to go back to the ticket wagon." matt and mcglory made the prisoner's feet secure, and a tap on the window called matt's attention. thinking it might be burton, wishing to give him a private message, matt left the car. it was not burton, but carter and the two men set to watch him. carter wanted his hat and coat. while matt was returning the borrowed garments, carl and ping came along, talking amiably with each other. matt sent them into the car to look after the hindoo, and also to tell mcglory to come out and help prepare the aëroplane for loading. "i don't know, pard," said mcglory, as he and matt made their way hastily to the place where the _comet_ had been left, "but i reckon the motor boys have got a little the best of this ruction that dhondaram kicked up. burton has recovered the stolen money, carter has been fired, and dhondaram is a prisoner. luck's on our side after all, eh?" "that's the way it looks," answered matt. chapter xvi. a bit of a backset. the preparing of the aëroplane for loading was not a difficult matter. the small front planes were removed, and lashed between the two larger planes. this narrowed the machine sufficiently so that it could be loaded into the car especially prepared for it. after the machine had been safely stowed, the two tired lads went to their section in the sleeper. burton was there, sitting under a lamp and hastily running over the contents of the basket. "i guess it's all here," said he, dumping the silver and bills into the receptacle and closing the lid. "anyhow, i'm too much fagged to bother any more with the stuff to-night. it's about time we all turned in, don't you think?" "i'm ready's whole family, when it comes to that," yawned mcglory. "talk about your strenuous days! i think this has been a harder one than that other day we put in at lafayette, indiana. what do you say, matt?" "we seem to have worked harder than we did then, and to have less to show for it," said matt. "less to show for it!" repeated burton. "i don't know what you mean by that, son. it isn't every day you save your flying machine from a mad elephant and wrestle with a cobra on the _comet_, in midair!" "and it's not every day the big consolidated is held up, thieves captured, and _dinero_ recovered, all before we leave town," supplemented mcglory. "it was exciting enough," said matt, "but it all seems so useless." "the hand of ben ali was behind it all," remarked burton, pulling off his shoes. "that villain ought to be run down and put behind the bars for ninety-nine years. you'll not be safe a minute, matt, until he's locked up." "i guess," ventured the king of the motor boys, "that ben ali, after this lesson, will keep away from me." "i wish i could think so," said burton. "what'll you do with dhondaram?" inquired mcglory. "you can't send him to jail in any other town for an offense he committed in jackson." "sending him to jail is the last thing i'm thinking of," was burton's response. "what i want is to induce him to talk. he may give us a line on ben ali that will enable matt to keep away from the wily old villain." "don't hang onto dhondaram on my account," said matt. "i've told ben ali what to expect if he ever comes near me again." "that's you!" exulted mcglory. "all your scare-talk, burton, goes clean over matt's head." the showman pulled off his coat and leaned back in his seat reflectively. he did not seem to have heard mcglory's observation. "i've got a notion," began burton, "that----" he paused. "what's the notion?" urged the cowboy. "it ain't like you to hang fire, burton." "well," pursued burton, "it's this way: i've got an elephant on my hands that can't be handled by any white trainer in the show. dhondaram can handle the brute to the queen's taste. what's the answer?" "you don't mean to say," expostulated matt, "that you're going to keep dhondaram with the show just to take charge of rajah?" "it's either that or sell the elephant," declared burton. "then, sufferin' cats!" cried mcglory, "sell the brute. you're more kinds of a bungler, burton, than i know how to lay tongue to. keep dhondaram with the show, and he'll do something, before you're through with him, that will hurt." "i'll sleep on it," muttered burton. "i've only got four elephants, and i need rajah." "schust a minid, oof you blease," came the voice of matt's dutch pard from the aisle of the car. matt, mcglory, and burton turned around and saw not only carl, but ping as well. "what is it, carl?" asked matt. "i vant to know somet'ing," carl went on, "und dot iss, was i innocend or guildy? vat you say, misder purton?" "oh, splash!" exclaimed burton, "that was settled a long time ago. andy carter, the ticket man, admitted that he and the hindoo were the thieves." "den modor matt don'd haf to vork four veeks for nodding, schust for me?" "of course not." "dot's all i vanted to know, oxcept somet'ing else." "well, what?" "der hintoo brisoner iss in der blace vere ping shleeps. ping vants to go to ped, und i am to haf der ubber bert'. vat iss to be dit mit der hintoo?" "roll him into the aisle and let him lie there," replied burton. "put a blanket under him, if you want to, and give him a pillow." "t'anks," said carl, and the boys started away. "wait, carl," called matt. "there's a little something i want to know. how are you and ping getting along together?" "finer as silk," grinned carl. "he likes me pedder der more vat he knows me, und it's der same mit me. shinks iss hardt to ondershtand, but i'm schust gedding ondo ping's curves. he made a misdake in me, und now he feels pedder aboudt it. how iss dot, bard?" finished carl, turning to the chinaman. "awri'," answered ping, although not very enthusiastically. "that's the talk!" cried matt heartily. two hours later, the second section of the show train was loaded and speeding on its way. all was quiet in the sleeping car, save for the snores of the tired men who occupied the bunks. perhaps it was two o'clock in the morning when an uproar filled the sleeper. there were yells, a revolver shot, the slamming of a door, and then a measure of quiet. matt thrust his head out of his berth and saw mcglory, equally curious and excited, looking out from the berth overhead. all up and down each side of the car were other heads. "what's the matter?" asked matt. boss burton, in his underclothes, was standing in the aisle, a smoking revolver in his hand. "confound the luck!" he sputtered. "the hindoo has made a getaway. i happened to wake up and to think about him, and took a look along the aisle from my berth, just to make sure he was safe. i thought i was dreaming, or had the blind staggers, or something, when i saw him sitting up. his hands were free and he was taking the rope off his feet. i grabbed my revolver from under my pillow and rolled into the aisle. dhondaram had started for the door. i blazed away, did nothing but smash a window, and the hindoo jumped from the train." "are you going to stop and put back after him?" inquired archie le bon. "i guess i won't, although losing the fellow is a bit of a backset," observed burton regretfully. "the show can stand all the backsets of that kind that come its way, burton," said harris. "what will we do for somebody to manage rajah?" "oh, hang rajah!" said another of the le bon brothers. "i hope the first section runs into the ditch and smashes the brute. he came within one of killin' archie, back there in jackson." it was the general opinion, as the occupants of the various berths drew sleepily back into their beds, that it was a good thing dhondaram escaped. "wonder just how much that bit of a backset means for us, pard?" mcglory inquired of the king of the motor boys before dropping back on his pillow. "nothing, i hope," was the response. "we'll know for sure, i reckon, before we're many days older," muttered the cowboy as he straightened out in his bed and returned to his dreams of cobras and charging elephants. the end. the next number ( ) will contain motor matt's make-up; or, playing a new rÔle. high jinks in the side show--the "barker" shows his teeth--the man from washington--a clue in hindustanee--something wrong--a blunder in the right direction--the house with the green shutters--the pile of soot--matt meets an old acquaintance--rescue!--bill wily repents--matt lays his plans--motor car and aëroplane--the oak opening aëroplane wins--conclusion. motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction new york, september , . terms to motor stories mail subscribers. (_postage free._) single copies or back numbers, c. each. months c. months c. months $ . one year . copies one year . copy two years . =how to send money=--by post-office or express money-order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. at your own risk if sent by currency, coin, or postage-stamps in ordinary letter. =receipts=--receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. if not correct you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once. ormond g. smith, } george c. smith, } _proprietors_. street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york city. on the bahama reefs. "and so your sister's going to spend the winter at nassau, for her health, eh? well, she might do worse, for it's very pleasant there, with its lovely climate, and pineapples, shells, sponges, and curiosities. yes, i've been to the bahama islands. didn't start for there, and didn't make any entry at the custom house, but i got there, all the same. it was a lively adventure, and no mistake." it was captain joe who made this speech, one day, as we sat on a wooden pier, angling for fish, which, i may add, we didn't catch. the captain, now that his active sea days were over, lived with his brother near-by, and was never so happy as when fishing with us boys, or spinning yarns to while away the time whenever the inconsiderate fish refused to bite. "i reckon i may as well tell you about it," he went on, "since that steamboat has stirred up the mud till no fish can see the bait. "i was eighteen years old then, and the doctors gave me just twelve months to live, for i was very delicate, and so, when we started, one raw november day, from boston, for a voyage to rio and back, i was as blue as an indigo bag. "the wind was fierce and cold, and the sea was lumpy, and we tumbled and rolled about like the mischief for five or six days, when we struck finer weather, and i at once began to feel better. "but a few days later the weather grew bad rapidly, so that by midnight it was blowing half a gale, with a tremendous sea on that made the good brig _polly ann_ tumble about as lively as a scotchman dancing the highland fling. "it was a fearful storm, indeed, almost a regular hurricane, and lasted for two days before it gave any signs of blowing itself out. "and then, when at last it began to subside, we found that we had sustained considerable damage, both our topmasts being gone, the mainmast sprung, and the rudder so twisted as to be of little service. "we had taken no observation for sixty hours, and were rather uncertain as to our location, which did not add to our comfort by any means. "it was well past midnight, and i had dropped off into a doze, when i was awakened by a tremendous shock that made everything tremble. "as i sat upright in my berth, there was a second shock, lighter than the first, and then the brig began to pound and thump, with a grinding, crushing sound. "in another moment the mate came running down into the cabin after something, with a scared look on his face, and cried out: "'we're on the reefs, and the brig's going to pieces!' and then he rushed on deck again. "i got up and tried to climb the ladder, but a dash of water came through the open hatch and washed me back. "somebody jammed the hatch shut, and i was a prisoner below. "the next moment a big wave lifted the brig up and sent her higher up on the reefs, and she rested quietly with no more pounding or thumping. "the captain came down after a while, and said we were ashore on the bahama reefs, and as the ship was easy now, and there was no immediate danger, we could do nothing but wait for daylight. "as dawn broke, i was on deck with the rest, the excitement of the occasion, or something else, having put new life into me, and i cared nothing for the sheets of spray and foam that, flying over the rails, drenched us all to the skin every minute. "before us, half a mile distant, was a low, white coast, covered with sand hills, and a few cocoa palms, their long, slender leaves thrashing about in the wind like a lot of enormous feather dusters. "the sea about us was churned into a mass of foam as the incoming waves were broken in pieces on the coral reefs, whose sharp, jagged tops of honeycomb rock rose here and there above the surface like the brown teeth of some marine monster. "between the coral reefs and the shore there was a stretch of smoother water, in marked contrast with the tumbling sea outside. "it was a perfect caldron of foaming water close about us, in which no boat could live a second, and so we waited as patiently as we could for the going down of the adjacent sea. "half an hour thereafter, to our great relief, we beheld a stanch little schooner rounding a point well inside the reefs, and making for us; and as she drew nearer we saw that her decks were full of men, white and black, clad in such a variety of costumes, with such diversity of loud colors, as at once suggested a piratical band of the seventeenth century. "but appearances were deceptive, for instead of freebooters bent on plunder, the strangers were good samaritans coming to our rescue--a lot of bahamian wreckers--men ever ready to save life and property for a consideration. "the captain of the little craft, which rejoiced in the highly appropriate name of the _fearless_, a sturdy, square-built man of fifty, with light hair and bluish eyes, and a salty air about him, balancing himself with the skill of an acrobat on the port rail, and making a trumpet of his hands, began a shouting conversation with us, in which he informed us that he wouldn't give a penny for our lives if we weren't ashore mighty soon, as the wind, backing to the northwest, would blow great guns again in a few hours, when our brig would probably go to pieces. "as the result of this confab, the wreckers began to make preparations to get us off the brig, which they accomplished in a skillful and courageous manner, running a line from the _fearless_ to our vessel, over which we were hauled in turn, though we were sorely battered and drenched by the angry sea that leaped up furiously, as if loath to lose its prey. "it was well they worked so rapidly, for we were scarcely ashore, and the schooner anchored behind a point, when the storm began to rage again with great fury, burying the old brig in mountains of foaming water. "when at last the storm abated, it was found that the brig had broken in two, the stern part sinking in deep water, and the cargo being scattered for miles along the coast, some of it being picked up, but in a useless condition, so that the wreckers realized substantially nothing in the way of salvage. "in a few days our company went in the _fearless_ to green turtle cay village, where they eventually secured a passage home. "as for myself, i refused to accompany them, having discovered a decided improvement in my health, which i naturally attributed to the climate, which was perfection itself, with a clear, bright sky, soft, genial breezes, and a pure, dry atmosphere that seemed to put new life into me with every breath. "so i remained to complete the cure so auspiciously begun, lodging with a planter named bethel, whom, to pay my board, i helped with the lighter work in his pineapple fields by day, giving his children a bit of schooling by night, to the mutual satisfaction, i am certain, of all concerned. "the half of the hulk of the _polly ann_ still clung to the great reefs where she had struck, at low tide being nearly out of water; and every day i looked at it, for it was in plain view from our veranda, with feelings of mingled pity and friendship--for it somehow always suggested to my mind my far-away home and the dear ones there. "ever since the wreck, the weather had been perfect--such charming days and nights as can be found only in the bahamas following each other uninterruptedly, until, as christmas approached, i conceived the idea that it would be nice to have our holiday luncheon on the deck of the hulk, and in this scheme all acquiesced, thinking it would be novel and delightful. "but the twenty-third of december ushered in a gale that swept with fury along the coast. "for twenty-four hours the elements held high carnival, and then, on christmas eve, there came a great lull, and the fierce storm, veering to the southward, died away as suddenly as it had arisen, giving us hope that our original plan might yet be carried out. "we were up early on christmas morning, and looking seaward, were astonished beyond measure at what we saw. "the hulk of the _polly ann_ had been loosened from the clutch of the coral reef and carried bodily over the ledge by the great waves--had been hurled upon the low inside beach, a huge broken mass, with its stern buried deep in the wet sand, its heavy timbers splintered to pieces, and its rusty iron bolts twisted like corkscrews. "we rushed to the beach--now as hard and smooth as a floor--and saw, scattered about near the nose of the _polly ann_, some circular pieces, which we at first took to be brownish-colored shells, but which we soon discovered were nothing of the kind. "i picked up a piece and found it to be nearly two inches broad, perfectly flat and smooth, the edge worn almost sharp, with some inscription on one side and figures on the other, which we could scarcely trace, so black and discolored was the entire surface. "i ran to a bit of honeycomb rock and rubbed the piece briskly over it, until presently the tarnish began to come off, and i shouted to bethel that it was a piece of silver. "'my stars!' he cried out, in great excitement, 'if it's not an old spanish dollar.' "and then he danced about like mad for a minute. "next we fell to work picking up all we could find till both our hats were nearly full of the pieces. "'where in the world did they come from?' asked bethel, after we had gathered in the last coin. 'i didn't suppose your old brig carried such a cargo, did you?' "'i never thought so, surely,' said i; 'nor do i believe she did.' "'where else could these coins have come from?' asked bethel. "'i don't know,' said i. 'but as the _polly ann_ is only ten years old, and these coins are near two hundred, if they are a day, why, it doesn't stand to reason they were in the brig. however, we will soon see. if they came out of her, there's more inside. come, we will look.' "we crept inside the old hull and examined carefully among her shattered timbers and twisted bolts, and spent two hours in prying up the planks inside the bow and along the bottom, but at last, tired and breathless, gave it up as a bad job, and came out as empty-handed as we went in. "'i told you so,' said i. 'they never sailed the sea in the _polly ann_.' "we spent the afternoon in counting our coins, finding we had between three and four hundred of them, and we grew quite hilarious over our christmas gift, as we styled it, and speculated in vain as to where the coins could have come from. "the next morning bethel said to me: "'i've been thinking half the night about those coins, and i remember my father used to tell of a spanish vessel that went ashore somewhere along here when he was a boy, and was gradually washed to pieces; and, do you know, i've an idea these pieces have been cast up by the sea from the old wreck. it's curious, however, that we never found any of them till this brig came plowing up the beach with her nose.' "while we were talking, two of the children came in with several of the pieces, which they had found at the water's edge, exactly like those we had picked up the day before. "'i tell you, sir,' cried bethel excitedly, 'my guess was right. i believe that old spaniard lies buried in the sand right where the _polly ann_ has stuck her bow in the beach. man alive, there may be millions down there!' "we rushed to the beach, and with shovels began to dig up the sand vigorously all about the wreck. "every now and then we came across another coin, which encouraged us tremendously, and we worked until we had dug a hole big enough to hold an ox cart. "but no more coins appeared, and we were getting discouraged, when bethel struck a heavy timber that ran under the forefoot of the brig, and which did not belong to the _polly ann_. "we cleared away the sand alongside this timber, and there lay a box, made of teak wood, split open from end to end, and jammed hard and fast between the decaying timber and the forefoot of the brig. "the splinters from the box were fresh and clean, showing that it had been crushed to pieces by the stem of the brig when she was driven into the beach by the storm. "and then we dug out the sand from under the debris of the teak box, and down came a shower of black silver pieces, exactly similar to the others, which we carefully and eagerly secured and piled up on the dry beach near by. "there was no longer any mystery as to where the coins came from, for we found the rotten timbers of the old spanish ship underlying the sand in every direction, none being less than ten feet from the surface. "for days we pursued our hunt for treasure, tunneling all about, but except those in the teak box not another piece did we find, and at last we desisted, satisfied that we had exhausted the deposit. "we kept the thing a secret, lest the authorities, taking advantage of some old and unjust law, might claim a portion of our treasure trove; and as there were no near neighbors, and as a brisk gale, which blew later on, filled up our excavations in the sand, this was an easy thing to do. "we divided our find, and my portion was nearly five thousand dollars, which i brought with me to the united states late in the ensuing summer, and disposed of it to a broker in boston, who was very curious to learn where i got it. "but he will never know, unless he learns it from this story. "my christmas gift was most acceptable, as you can readily believe; out what i valued far more was the fact that my eight months' residence in the lovely climate of the bahamas made me a well man, and my lungs ever since have been as stout as a blacksmith's bellows. "it's all right, my boy. tell your sister she'll have a nice time at nassau, and if she doesn't come back in the spring as good as new, then captain joe'll never prophesy again as long as he lives. "she'll not find any spanish dollars, maybe, but there's things worth more--and one is good health." the story of a wild goose. two years ago, one evening, while i was returning home from an unsuccessful shooting excursion along the atlantic shore, i observed a flock of wild geese coming toward me, but sailing high. i stood perfectly still, and when the flock was directly overhead i aimed and fired. in the twilight i could see the flock scattering at the report, and a bird wheeling downward with one wing limp and useless. he landed on a patch of plowed ground with a thud and lay half stunned. in a moment i had secured my prize. it was a large gander in prime condition, with a full, deep body, and healthy, lustrous feathers, and i determined to spare his life. i quickly tied his legs and fastened the uninjured wing. then, carefully lifting the bird and getting the broken limb into as comfortable a position as possible, i carried him home. most sportsmen have a crude knowledge of surgery, and i soon had the broken member bandaged with splints and strips of cotton and my captive resting comfortably, unbound, in a warm outhouse. in the morning, when i went out to feed him, he was walking around lively enough, and, although, of course, very shy and timid, he ate a hearty breakfast of corn as soon as he thought himself unobserved. in a few days he grew tame enough to allow me to stroke him with a bit of stick. it was long before he would suffer himself to be touched by the human hand. after some months the bird would answer to his name, michael, would eat out of my hand, and when i let him out into the yard, after clipping his wings, would follow me around like a dog. he invariably fled at the approach of a stranger, but he never "hissed" like a domestic goose. strange to say, although a flock of domestic geese was kept by a neighbor, he never paid the slightest attention to their cries and calls. after a time i allowed him to roam the fields at will. at night he returned without fail to his pen. i became much attached to the bird, so much so that goose shooting became distasteful to me and i discontinued the practice. last spring i received a letter from a particular friend requesting me to secure a wild goose for him. for various reasons i could not well refuse, so i at once made arrangements for a shooting excursion. in the midst of my preparations it occurred to me that i might employ michael as a decoy to lure the geese within gunshot. sometimes a domestic goose is used for this purpose, but seldom with complete success. the wild goose is an intelligent bird, and rarely places implicit confidence in his domesticated relative. in a secluded bight some miles down the coast i moored a small raft near shore and tethered michael to it by a stout string fastened to his leg. his wings by this time had grown to the length they possessed before being clipped, and the injured limb was as strong as ever. michael seemed well pleased with his situation, stretched his wings a few times as if the salt breath of the ocean stirred half-buried memories, but on finding himself secured settled down comfortably on the raft and calmly preened his gray feathers. i carefully screened myself behind a clump of scrub spruce and placed some spare cartridges conveniently near. i thought that if a passing flock should approach fairly near i might be able to fire a successful second shot if the first proved a miss. after a wait of perhaps an hour i heard in the distance a faint "honk" that quickened the heartbeats. michael also heard it, and ceasing to arrange his feathers, raised his head to listen eagerly. i watched him closely. his neck was proudly arched and his eyes glistened with excitement as he stepped as near the edge of the raft as his tether would allow. presently another "honk" dropped from the distant blue, and away to the south i could descry a large v-shaped flock flying fairly low, but altogether too much to the left of my position to render possible a successful shot. it was now time for michael to make himself heard, and i was beginning to grow somewhat uneasy at his silence, when all at once--"honk! honk!"--his joyous invitation sped up to the ears of the watchful leader of the air travelers. "honk?" queried that wary veteran suspiciously, but at once he slackened his pace somewhat. "honk! honk!" called michael reassuringly; "honk! honk!" he repeated coaxingly. for a moment the old leader seemed to hesitate, then slowly he turned in my direction, and presently the flock was sailing directly toward me. my rifle was ready and in position. i was well screened by the bushes. the light was admirable. everything was favorable to a good shot. in five minutes the flock was within range. michael had uttered several invitations during this time in reply to short interrogations from the leader, but he had suddenly relapsed into silence. he could see the approaching birds and was gazing at them with intense eagerness. my finger was on the trigger, when all at once, to my amazement, michael pealed out a strange cry, loud and shrill, utterly unlike any sound that i had ever heard him utter. it was the note of danger, the alarm signal of the wild goose. the effect on the approaching flock was electrical. the leader instantly turned and sped away with arrow-like swiftness, closely followed by his feathered retinue, leaving me motionless with surprise. when my captive first heard the calls of his comrades he instinctively answered with notes of invitation. the excitement of hearing and seeing his own kindred made him forget the danger that he was leading them into, but as they approached he seemed all at once to realize the situation. he knew that red death lurked behind the seemingly innocent shrubbery close at hand. perhaps the memory of his own sharp wound sprang into his mind. at all events, although he knew that to utter the warning cry would debar himself from the companionship of his kind, he unhesitatingly gave that warning with no uncertain sound. i laid down my rifle and pulled the raft in to the shore. michael was standing at the limit of his tether, gazing after his retreating friends. as the raft moved he sprang into the air, only to be jerked back by the restraining cord. i untied the string from the raft and drew the bird toward me. he submitted to my caresses, but i guessed how earnestly he longed to soar away after his kindred. he had saved some of them from death or captivity; they were free to roam the clear air of heaven while he---- i quickly untied the string from michael's leg and gently pushed the bird from me. instantly he spread his wings and sprang upward. with eager neck outstretched he swept rapidly after the vanishing flock, uttering hearty "honks" of jubilation. i felt that he was worthy of liberty. latest issues brave and bold weekly all kinds of stories that boys like. =the biggest and best nickel's worth ever offered. high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --working his way upward; or, from footlights to riches. by fred thorpe. --the fourteenth boy; or, how vin lovell won out. by weldon j. cobb. --among the nomads; or, life in the open. by the author of "through air to fame." --bob, the acrobat; or, hustle and win out. by harrie irving hancock. --through the earth; or, jack nelson's invention. by fred thorpe. --the boy chief; or, comrades of camp and trail. by john de morgan. --smart alec; or, bound to get there. by weldon j. cobb. --climbing up; or, the meanest boy alive. by harrie irving hancock. --comrades three; or, with gordon keith in the south seas. by lawrence white, jr. --a young snake-charmer; or, the fortunes of dick erway. by fred thorpe. --checked through to mars; or, adventures in other worlds. by weldon j. cobb. --fighting the cowards; or, among the georgia moonshiners. by harrie irving hancock. --the mud river boys; or, the fight for penlow's mill. by john l. douglas. --grit and wit; or, two of a kind. by fred thorpe. motor stories the latest and best five-cent weekly. we won't say how interesting it is. see for yourself. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, cents.= --motor matt's quest; or, three chums in strange waters. --motor matt's close call; or, the snare of don carlos. --motor matt in brazil; or, under the amazon. --motor matt's defiance; or, around the horn. --motor matt makes good; or, another victory for the motor boys. --motor matt's launch; or, a friend in need. --motor matt's enemies; or, a struggle for the right. --motor matt's prize; or, the pluck that wins. --motor matt on the wing; or, flying for fame and fortune. --motor matt's reverse; or, caught in a losing game. --motor matt's "make or break"; or, advancing the spark of friendship. --motor matt's engagement; or, on the road with a show. --motor matt's "short circuit"; or, the mahout's vow. --motor matt's make-up; or, playing a new rôle. tip top weekly the most popular publication for boys. the adventures of frank and dick merriwell can be had only in this weekly. =high art colored covers. thirty-two pages. price, cents.= --dick merriwell's colors; or, all for the blue. --dick merriwell, driver; or, the race for the daremore cup. --dick merriwell on the deep; or, the cruise of the _yale_. --dick merriwell in the north woods; or, the timber thieves of the floodwood. --dick merriwell's dandies; or, a surprise for the cowboy nine. --dick merriwell's "skyscooter"; or, professor pagan and the "princess." --dick merriwell in the elk mountains; or, the search for "dead injun" mine. --dick merriwell in utah; or, the road to "promised land." --dick merriwell's bluff; or, the boy who ran away. --dick merriwell in the saddle; or the bunch from the bar--z. --dick merriwell's ranch friends; or, sport on the range. --frank merriwell at phantom lake; or, the mystery of the mad doctor. --frank merriwell's hold-back; or, the boys of bristol. --frank merriwell's lively lads; or, the rival campers. _for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address on receipt of price, cents per copy, in money or postage stamps, by_ street & smith, publishers, - seventh avenue, new york =if you want any back numbers= of our weeklies and cannot procure them from your newsdealer, they can be obtained from this office direct. fill out the following order blank and send it to us with the price of the weeklies you want and we will send them to you by return mail. =postage stamps taken the same as money.= ________________________ _ _ _street & smith, - seventh avenue, new york city._ _dear sirs: enclosed please find_ ___________________________ _cents for which send me_: tip top weekly, nos. ________________________________ nick carter weekly, " ________________________________ diamond dick weekly, " ________________________________ buffalo bill stories, " ________________________________ brave and bold weekly, " ________________________________ motor stories, " ________________________________ _name_ ________________ _street_ ________________ _city_ ________________ _state_ ________________ a great success!! motor stories every boy who reads one of the splendid adventures of motor matt, which are making their appearance in this weekly, is at once surprised and delighted. surprised at the generous quantity of reading matter that we are giving for five cents; delighted with the fascinating interest of the stories, second only to those published in the tip top weekly. matt has positive mechanical genius, and while his adventures are unusual, they are, however, drawn so true to life that the reader can clearly see how it is possible for the ordinary boy to experience them. _here are the titles now ready and those to be published_: --motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. --motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. --motor matt's century run; or, the governor's courier. --motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the "comet." --motor matt's mystery; or, foiling a secret plot. --motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear. --motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto. --motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward. --motor matt's air ship; or, the rival inventors. --motor matt's hard luck; or, the balloon house plot. --motor matt's daring rescue; or, the strange case of helen brady. --motor matt's peril; or, cast away in the bahamas. --motor matt's queer find; or, the secret of the iron chest. --motor matt's promise; or, the wreck of the "hawk." --motor matt's submarine; or, the strange cruise of the "grampus." --motor matt's quest; or, three chums in strange waters. --motor matt's close call; or, the snare of don carlos. --motor matt in brazil; or, under the amazon. --motor matt's defiance; or, around the horn. --motor matt makes good; or, another victory for the motor boys. --motor matt's launch; or, a friend in need. --motor matt's enemies; or, a struggle for the right. --motor matt's prize; or, the pluck that wins. --motor matt on the wing; or, flying for fame and fortune. to be published on august th. --motor matt's reverse; or, caught in a losing game. to be published on august th. --motor matt's "make or break"; or, advancing the spark of friendship. to be published on august d. --motor matt's engagement; or, on the road with a show. to be published on august th. --motor matt's "short circuit"; or, the mahout's vow. price, five cents at all newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, by the publishers upon receipt of the price. street & smith, _publishers_, new york transcriber's notes: added table of contents. inconsistent hyphenation ("getaway" vs. "get-away") retained from original. italics are represented with _underscores_, bold with =equal signs=. page , corrected typo "chaper" in "chapter ii" heading. page , added missing quote after "i'll go and talk with him. come on, matt, you and mcglory." page , corrected "interposel" to "interposed" after "don't be too sure of that." page , corrected typo "aëoplane" in "repaired aëroplane." page , corrected "fo" to "to" in "burton rode up to." page , changed ? to ! in "don't talk to me!" page , changed oe ligature to "oe" in "manoeuvred" (ligature retained in html version). page , removed extra quote after "trick or two" and before "well." corrected "burton" to "carter" in "carter was thoughtful for a few moments." page , corrected single to double quote after "you took that for granted, carter." page , added missing accent to aëroplane in contents of next issue (twice).