CHAPTER VI.
A NEW VENTURE.
"That old persimmon is about ripe enough to be picked," growled McGlory, as he and Matt climbed the stairs on their way back to their room. "He's one of those cold game gents that gets quick and deadly every time a fellow looks at him cross-eyed. The next time he and I come together there's going to be fireworks."
"The chances are," said Matt, "we've seen the last of him. We'll close up our business with Mrs. Traquair at three o'clock, and then we'll catch the first train for Totten. That will finish our dealings with Siwash Charley, and with Murgatroyd, too, I hope. There's a lot of work ahead of us during the next two weeks, and we'll——"
Matt and McGlory were just turning from the hall into their room. Some one had arrived in the room during their absence. As fate would have it, it was Ping.
The Chinaman sat in a rocking-chair near the window. He was nervous and uncomfortable, not so much because of his recent experience with the bear, perhaps, as because he feared the sort of reception he was to receive from Motor Matt.
"Well, if it ain't Little Bright-eyes himself!" grinned McGlory. "You're more kinds of a surprise party, Ping, than I know how to describe. What did you set off that cannon cracker under the bear for?"
"My no shootee fi'clackel," expostulated Ping. "Melican boy shootee. Beal make one piecee mistake—chasee Ping, no chasee Melican boy. Whoosh! No likee."
"Where did you come from, Ping?" asked Matt.
"Mad'son. My no workee fo' anybody but Motol Matt. Tlakee tlain, come 'long."
"You didn't intend to stay in Madison any of the time, did you?"
Ping shook his head.
"Why didn't you tell me you were not going to stay there?"
"Plaps, my tellee, you no likee. My makee wait till come to Jimtown, then tellee. You no likee, no can send back."
A crafty grin worked its way over Ping's yellow face.
"You can't shake him, pard," laughed McGlory.
"How did you know where we were coming?" asked Matt.
"No savvy the pidgin. Come on same tlain."
"Then you got here on the same train we did?"
"Sure."
"Where have you been keeping yourself?"
"My stay by othel hotel. Bumby, thisee molnin', makee sneak fo' Gla'stone House. Watchee beal, then fi'clackel makee go bang. China boy lun allee same Sam Hill. Teleglaph pole him heap slick. Makee climb, makee slide down, thlee time. Beal ketchee one shoe, ketchee othel shoe, mebbyso ketchee China boy neck, sendee top side, but fo' Motol Matt. Whoosh! You heap mad with Ping?"
"What's the use of getting mad at you, Ping?" smiled Matt.
The little Chinaman bounded joyfully out of his chair.
"My workee for you some mo'?" he asked.
"You seem bound to work for me, whether I've got anything for you to do, or not."
"My no havee luck 'less my workee fo' you. Plenty queer pidgin. One piecee luck come plenty time when my stay 'lound Motol Matt; no gettee luck when my no stay. What you do now, huh?"
"We're going to hit the clouds on two canvas wings, Ping," said McGlory.
"No savvy," returned Ping.
"Matt's going to fly. Savvy fly? All same bird," and the cowboy flapped the edges of his coat, and lifted himself on one foot.
"My no makee good bird," said Ping, the white running into the yellow of his face. "My makee fall, bleakee neck."
"You'll wish you'd stayed in Madison, Ping, before you get through with this bag of tricks," went on McGlory, winking at Matt. "We're going to let you——"
The cowboy was intending to have a little fun with Ping, but, at that moment, a boy from the office appeared in the doorway.
"Mrs. Traquair is waiting for you down in the office, Motor Matt," he announced.
"It's three o'clock!" exclaimed Matt. "Get your two hundred and fifty, Joe, and come with me."
"I've got it, pard, right in my jeans," answered McGlory.
"You can stay here, Ping, till we come back," went on Matt to the Chinaman.
"Can do," chirped Ping.
Thereupon Matt and McGlory went downstairs, and the king of the motor boys introduced his friend to Mrs. Traquair. The clerk directed them to a lawyer, and they were soon in the lawyer's office, stating their business.
Mrs. Traquair had brought her husband's papers along with her, and also a duplicate of the mortgage on the Wells County homestead.
The lawyer's name was Matthews, and he was no friend of Murgatroyd.
"Murg's a skinner," observed Matthews, "everybody in these parts knows him for that. I'll bet he's been planning all along to get his clutches on this invention of your husband's, Mrs. Traquair. Motor Matt is doing the handsome thing by you, I must say. He takes all the risk, spends all his time and money, and then gets nothing if the try-out at Fort Totten isn't a success. Just sit down, please. I'll not be more than five minutes drawing up a memorandum of agreement."
When the paper had been drawn up, signed, and witnessed, and the money turned over, the only thing that remained was for Mrs. Traquair to give the boys an order on Benner, the post trader at Fort Totten, for the aëroplane. This second paper having been written out and signed, and the five hundred dollars turned over, Matt and McGlory found themselves embarked on a new venture.
It was different from anything Matt had yet undertaken. Driving a dirigible balloon was utterly unlike manœuvring an aëroplane. In a "dirigible" one had only to sit calmly in the driver's seat, keep the motor going, and attend to the steering. In an aëroplane, on the other hand, there was a certain knack to be acquired. Air pressure under the wings was never the same for two consecutive moments, and if the swiftly changing centre of air pressure was not met instantly by extending or contracting the wings, disaster would be sure to result. But Matt had studied the subject, felt sure that he could acquire the necessary knack, and was determined to carry the venture through to a success.
"You're a plucky young man," said Matthews to the king of the motor boys when the business had been finally wound up, "but I want to warn you to look out for Murgatroyd. It does me good to hear how you sailed into him, but that was something Murg will never forget. As matters are now, you've beaten him, but he'll never let it rest at that. He'll move heaven and earth to get even with you. Keep your eyes skinned, that's all. You're engaged in a worthy work, and I believe you'll succeed, but you've got to be wary. I'm going with Mrs. Traquair to pay this interest. Murg won't attempt any bulldozing tactics while I'm around, you can depend on that."
"You might see that he doesn't persecute Mrs. Traquair while we're at Fort Totten, Mr. Matthews," said Matt. "If he gets his interest, he can't make her any trouble, can he?"
"He can't make her any more trouble until next year, when the interest and principal both become due. Long before that, I hope Mrs. Traquair will be able to settle up with Murgatroyd in full. She can, too, if your work at Totten is successful."
"How much do I owe you for drawing up these papers?" Matt asked.
"Not a red!" was the prompt response. "Do you think I don't know what you are trying to do for Mrs. Traquair? And do you think I won't do as much as I can to help her? Why, I got Harry Traquair's patents through for him, and I'm proud to say that he was my friend. He knew Murgatroyd was a skinner, just as well as I did, and at the time of his death he was exhausting every effort to fit himself for making a 'go' of that deal at Totten. He was planning on using that money to get himself out of Murgatroyd's strangling grip. It looks like a special favor of Providence, Motor Matt, that you happened along here just when you did."
Reference to her husband brought tears into Mrs. Traquair's eyes. Stepping to Matt impulsively, she caught one of his hands.
"I appreciate what you are doing, Motor Matt," said she in a low tone, "and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I know the risks you are running, but somehow I have the utmost confidence that you are going to pass safely through them all, and please the officers at Fort Totten."
Matt was touched by the poor woman's gratitude. He pressed her hand cordially and reassuringly.
"I've gone into this thing to succeed, Mrs. Traquair," he answered, "and you may count on me to do my best."
"When do you go North?" asked the lawyer.
"We can't go before morning. The afternoon passenger has left, and we'll have to take the 'accommodation' at eight o'clock."
"Well, good-by, and good luck. If I can ever do anything for you here, in a legal way, don't hesitate to call on me."
Matthews gripped the young motorist's hand heartily, and the little party separated, the lawyer and Mrs. Traquair starting for Murgatroyd's office, while Matt and McGlory made their way back to the Gladstone House.
"Little as I know about flyin'," remarked McGlory, "and scary as I am about letting you go up in that aëroplane of Traquair's, just the same I feel like patting myself on the back. It's a brand-new venture, pard, but it's a good one. There's something in it, you see, besides just helping ourselves."
"It's not going to be easy," remarked Matt.
"That's you! Sure, it ain't going to be easy, hitting up a cloud trail and sliding around through the air in a machine that's——"
"I don't mean that," interrupted Matt. "During the last hour or so I've had a hunch that Murgatroyd is going to get busy."
"I'll take care of that old hardshell," declared the cowboy, with confidence, "if you do the rest of the work with that sky-scraper. That's what I'm along for, savvy?"
CHAPTER VII.
A PARTNER IN VILLAINY.
Murgatroyd's interview with Matthews and Mrs. Traquair, at the time the one hundred and fifty dollars interest was paid, threw the broker into a spasm of chagrin and temper. One would have thought that Murgatroyd would have been delighted to get his interest money. But it was not the interest that Murgatroyd wanted, so much as financial embarrassment on the part of Mrs. Traquair, which would ultimately lead to foreclosure of the mortgage on the Wells County homestead.
To Motor Matt the broker rightly attributed the widow's ability to pay the interest. And if Motor Matt had given Mrs. Traquair the interest money, it was a foregone conclusion that Matt had interested himself in the aëroplane at Fort Totten.
Matt, the wrathful broker reasoned, was to fly the aëroplane at the forthcoming government trial. If he pleased the government, and the machine was bought, then Mrs. Traquair would be able to take up the mortgage.
Murgatroyd paced his office for a long time after Matthews and Mrs. Traquair left. In the midst of his reflections, Prebbles thrust his head in at the door.
"A caller, sir," he announced.
"Who is it?" demanded Murgatroyd sharply.
"Siwash Charley."
A feeling of gratification swept through the broker's nerves.
"Send him in here. And, I say, Prebbles, you can put on your hat and coat and go home. You're quitting an hour earlier than usual, but you can make it up some other day."
Precious few holidays old Prebbles got without "making them up."
"Very good, sir," he said in his usual humble fashion, and faded into the other room.
A moment later Siwash Charley faced the broker.
"Shut the door, Siwash," said Murgatroyd.
"That looks like we was a-goin' ter talk over things that was mighty important," said Siwash Charley as he closed the door.
"We are."
"You're an ole fox, all right," chuckled the other; "reg'lar ole gouger. Money layin' around ev'rywheres," Siwash added, his eyes on the desk where the money paid by Mrs. Traquair had been left.
"There's a hundred and fifty in that pile, Siwash," said Murgatroyd. "If you agree to help me, I'll give you that; and, if you carry out the work successfully, I'm going to give you a hundred and fifty more."
Siwash Charley's eyes opened wide.
"Must be somethin' mighty tough on ter make ye loosen up like that," said he. "Mebby it's so tough I won't dast ter touch it."
"I guess it's not too tough for you," returned Murgatroyd dryly.
"I've done a heap o' things fer you, Murg, as won't bear the searchin' light o' day," observed Siwash Charley. "From now on, though, I'm a-goin' ter be a leetle keerful."
"If you don't want the job," rapped out the broker, "say so, and I'll get somebody else."
"How kin I tell whether I want it or not till ye explain what the work is?"
"I'll not go into details until you agree to take hold. I'd be in a nice fix, wouldn't I, if I told you what was up, and then had you back out on the proposition."
"Ye'll have ter tell me somethin' about it, that's shore."
"I'll tell you this much, Siwash, and that is that the two young fellows you mixed up with, when the bear treed the Chinaman, are the ones you'll have to go after. That ought to be enough, hadn't it?"
Charley's eyes kindled viciously.
"I'm arter them two," he growled.
"Of course you are," went on the broker, noting with satisfaction the effect his words had had on his caller. "You're pretty well acquainted up around Devil's Lake, aren't you?"
"I spent a good many years thar, Murg."
"Do you know Benner, the post trader?"
"Him an' me uster be blanket mates."
"Well, this young fellow who roughed things up with you, is called Motor Matt."
"That's his name, hey? I'm going ter saw off squar' with this Motor Matt. Revenge is the sort o' por'us plaster I put on my grudges ter draw out the pizen. I'm wuss ner a rattler's bite when I land on a feller, Murg."
"There's a flying machine in the post trader's store at Fort Totten. Traquair sent it up there for a government trial, two weeks from to-day."
"I see."
"This Motor Matt knows something about gas engines and flying machines, and I'm pretty sure he's going to Totten on the train to-morrow morning to familiarize himself with the Traquair flying machine, and try it out for the government when the time comes."
"Then I kin lay fer him around Totten, hey?"
"Not alone, Siwash."
The burly ruffian gave a grunt of disgust.
"Think I kain't handle that outfit alone, Murg? Oh, thunder! Why, them two fellers ain't much more'n kids. I kin pick 'em up, one in each hand, an' knock their heads tergether."
"Don't be overconfident, Siwash. If you are, it'll lose the game for us. You ought to have two more men associated with you—fellows you can depend on. You can either get them at Totten, or here in Jimtown."
"Who'll pay 'em?" asked Siwash cautiously.
"I'll give them twenty-five dollars each, if the work succeeds."
"That brings us down ter the work ag'in," said Siwash. "What is it, Murg?"
"Well, I don't want the flying machine tried out for the benefit of the government. I want something to happen so that this Motor Matt won't be able to give a demonstration of what the aëroplane can do."
"Got er axe ter grind, hey?"
"That part of the game is my business, Siwash, not yours," said the broker sharply. "The point is, do you want to follow out my plans, and make the money I'm offering you?"
"I'm hungry fer money, all right, Murg," ruminated Siwash. "I jest sold that pet b'ar ter Bostwick fer twenty-five—b'ar that I captered as a cub an' fetched up by hand. But twenty-five won't last me fer long. If I kin git three hundred off'n you it'll be quite a boost. Still, fer all that, I'd about made up my mind ter be honest from now on, an' cut out these hyer crooked deals. The way ye come at me, though, kinder sets me ter calculatin' that I'll go inter pardnership with ye fer one more round, an' then start ter bein' honest arter that."
Siwash Charley pushed up the right sleeve of his buckskin coat, unwrapped a reddened bandage, and exhibited a ragged wound.
"This hyer's what makes me listen ter ye, Murg," he gritted. "It ain't the three hundred dollars so much as this hyer arm. That's whar the young cub landed on me with the stone. I kain't never pass that up without sawin' off squar'."
"Of course you can't," declared Murgatroyd, doing everything in his power to foster Siwash Charley's hard feelings, "it wouldn't be like you to forget a thing like that, Siwash. I guess you haven't weakened to that extent."
Siwash Charley swore under his breath, replaced the bandage, and pulled down the sleeve of his coat.
"Will you help me?" went on the broker. "I've got to have your promise, before I can tell you the plan I've thought out."
"Yes, I'll help you," answered the ruffian.
"And you know of two trustworthy men you can get to go with you?"
"I could pick up a dozen game fellers right here in this man's town all inside o' fifteen minutes. They're fellers, mind ye, who'd run the risk o' puttin' their necks in a noose fer twenty-five plunks."
"Those are the men we want. You're not to tell them anything about me, mind."
"That's allers yer game, Murg," and something like discontent pulsed in Siwash Charley's hoarse voice; "ye don't seem ter hev the sand ter stand up an' face the music."
"I can't afford to. How long do you think my loan business would last if I was found out in a job like this? You've got to screen me, Siwash."
"I'll promise ter do that, an' I ain't goin' ter let no one find out that I'm mixed up in it, either, if I kin help. Go ahead."
The broker got up, and moved softly to the door. Opening it quickly he peered into the outer office. Apparently satisfied, he closed the door again, and returned to his chair.
"Walls have ears," he remarked with a grim smile. "Draw your chair closer, Siwash."
The other, with another of his ill-omened chuckles, pulled his seat nearer to Murgatroyd; then, for five minutes, Siwash listened while the broker spoke in low, quick tones. When Murgatroyd was done, Siwash leaned back with an exultant expression on his face.
"By Jericho," he exclaimed, "we kin do it, Murg! Thar'll be no flyin' at the fort two weeks from terday. This Motor Matt kain't git ter Totten afore termorrer. If ye'll start me an' them other two fellers in a ottermobill, an' land us at Totten afore mornin', I'll agree ter take keer o' the flyin' machine. If I kain't do that, then I'll agree ter take keer o' Motor Matt. Count on me, Murg."
"Enough said, then," answered Murgatroyd, getting up. "Take your money, Siwash, and get out of here. It won't do for us to be seen leaving Brown block together. You go out first, and I'll follow, a little later. The automobile will be at the place I told you within an hour, and a trusty man will be along to drive it."
Two minutes later, Siwash Charley swaggered out of the entrance to the office building and slouched off toward a "shady" part of the town.
Five minutes after Siwash left, Murgatroyd emerged.
The broker was hardly out of sight, before Prebbles glided out of the Brown block, his face puckered with fear and apprehension. But there was resolution in the clerk's face, too, and he made his way in the direction of the Gladstone House.
CHAPTER VIII.
MATT SHIFTS HIS PLANS.
Matt, McGlory, and Ping had their supper together. Following supper, Ping went back to the other hotel where he had been staying, for the purpose of getting his luggage. The luggage was not extensive, being completely wrapped in a yellow silk handkerchief, knotted at the corners. There was a pair of grass sandals in the handkerchief bundle, and the Chinaman stood in need of new footgear.
When Ping had gone, Matt and McGlory sat out in front of the hotel, waiting for early bedtime to roll around. While they sat there, a stoop-shouldered, wizened figure shambled along the walk.
"Prebbles!" exclaimed Matt.
"Not so loud," croaked Prebbles. "Come along—drop in behind—don't let anybody notice."
Matt was surprised.
"Who's that?" queried McGlory.
"A clerk in Murgatroyd's office," whispered Matt, getting up.
"Look out for him, then, for he may be——"
"He's all right," cut in Matt. "Come along, Joe. Prebbles has something on his mind."
Deferring to Matt's better judgment, McGlory arose, and he and Matt followed Prebbles around one corner of the hotel, and into the dusky regions that lay in the vicinity of the rear of the building.
Here, in a place where they could talk unheard by outsiders, Prebbles halted.
"What's the matter, Prebbles?" queried Matt, as he and McGlory drew close.
"Who's that with you?" asked Prebbles guardedly.
"A friend of mine."
"Is he the one that hit Siwash Charley with the stone?"
"Yes."
"All right, then. I got to be careful. If I'm not, Murg'll find out about this and pull the pin on me. I get eight dollars a week workin' for him, and I can't afford to lose it. Eight dollars a week pays my board, takes care of my laundry bills, buys a War Cry, and gives a little to the army every week. You boys belong?"
"Belong to what, Prebbles?" asked Matt.
"To the Salvation Army," answered Prebbles earnestly.
"No," answered Matt.
"I do. Soon's I leave here, and get my supper, I'm going to the barracks, get into my uniform, take my tambourine and march with the rest. I was converted two weeks ago. That's why I hate Murgatroyd and his ways. He's a robber. I want to do right, and that's why I'm here."
"What do you work for the old skinflint for, if you want to do right?" put in McGlory.
"There's nothing wrong with tainted money," replied Prebbles, "if you use it in the right way."
"I shouldn't think your employer would like to have you in the army," said Matt.
"He likes it. You see, he thinks it gives the office a standing which it hasn't got, me being connected with the army. But little he knows what I'm doing on the side. It's because I belong, Motor Matt, that I spoke to you as I did when you left the office this forenoon; it's because of that, too, that I suspected something was up when Siwash Charley came into the office at close to five o'clock and Murg told me to take my hat and coat and go home; and it's because of that that I'm here, now, to give you a warning."
McGlory gave vent to a low whistle.
"Looks like Siwash and Murg were stackin' up against us, pard," said he.
"Does Siwash Charley know Murgatroyd?" inquired Matt.
"Well, I should say," breathed Prebbles. "Siwash is a hard citizen, and used to live by gambling, stealing, and other ways that the law wouldn't sanction if he was found out. He's a hard case, Siwash is—most as hard a case as Murg. I didn't leave the office when I was told to go. I put on my hat and coat, walked real heavy to the door, slammed it, and then slipped back to a curtain that hides a lot of old letter files. Back of the curtain there's a stovepipe hole from the outside room into Murg's. I climbed up on the letter files and listened at that hole. Wouldn't have done it if I didn't belong. Say," and Prebbles straightened himself with feeble pride, "it makes a regular lion of a man to join the army. You ought to be in; you don't know what you're missin'."
"The army's a good thing, Prebbles," said Matt, "and I'm glad you belong to it. Siwash and Murgatroyd talked about me?"
"Did they?" echoed Prebbles. "Well, they didn't talk about anything else. You see, Murg has got a mortgage on the Traquair homestead, up in Wells County, and he wants to get the quarter section on the mortgage. I don't know why, but he's set, and determined to foreclose and annex the land. That's what he's workin' for. Everything was coming his way, Motor Matt, till you blew in and befriended Mrs. Traquair. Now Murg's afraid you'll win that government money and fix things so'st Mrs. Traquair can pay off the mortgage. Murg's goin' to fight you, and he's rung in Siwash and two of Siwash's friends to help him."
"Speak to me about this!" murmured McGlory. "That hunch of yours, Matt, is panning out good color already."
"How is he going to fight us, Prebbles?" asked Matt.
"By fixing things so'st you can't exhibit the flying machine at the time set. If it ain't exhibited then, the government'll back out. In case Siwash and his pals can't spoil the machine, then their orders are to eliminate Motor Matt. Oh, it's a villainous scheme, I tell you that."
"I guess we can take care of ourselves, Prebbles," averred Matt. "The first train for Totten leaves in the morning, and we're going up on that. Siwash and his pals can't get there ahead of us, and we'll be able to look after the aëroplane and see that nothing goes wrong with it."
"That's where you're lame," fluttered Prebbles. "Siwash and his pals have already started for Totten."
"Started!" exclaimed Matt. "How?"
"Automobile. That gang of scoundrels will get to Totten in time to carry out Murg's villainous plans to-night. I've wasted an hour tellin' you this, waitin' for you to get through supper. You see, I couldn't walk into the hotel and talk to you; everybody would have seen me, and told Murg about it. Then Murg would have pulled the pin on me."
"What are Siwash and his friends going to do at Totten?" queried Matt, more wrought up over the information of Prebbles than he cared to admit.
"I don't know that, Motor Matt. When they talked over that part of it, they dropped their voices so low I couldn't hear. But you can bet it's a slick scheme, if Murg had anything to do with it."
"Sufferin' slow freights!" murmured McGlory. "It looks as though Murg had knocked us out of the running right at the start off."
"Prebbles," said Matt, "do you know of any one, here in town, who has a good automobile we could hire?"
"Well, there's a fellow named Black, a real estate man, who has a car. In spite of his name, he's as white a man as you'll find in a month of Sundays. Real estate's kinder dull, just now, and I know he sometimes lets out his car."
"Where does he live?"
"I pass his place on the way to my boarding house. If you want, I'll have him come around and see you."
"There's not much time to lose, Prebbles, as Siwash and his pals are already on the road. Call me up on the phone and let me know if he'll take us to Fort Totten to-night. If he will, have him hustle his car right around to the hotel."
"He'll ask a heap of money for the trip," suggested Prebbles. "How much are you willing to——"
"Tell him we'll give him fifty dollars if he'll get us to Fort Totten before morning."
"That'll fetch him! I guess I better start right off. You won't tell anybody about me giving Murg away to you? I don't want to have Murg pull the pin, you understand."
"Certainly we won't tell anybody!" answered Matt. "We're obliged to you, Prebbles, and here's a five-dollar bill to pay you for your trouble."
Prebbles drew back from the money.
"You can't make me take that," he declared. "Murg's the only robber in the loan office. I'd be as bad as him if I took the money. I'm doing this because I want to be square. They'd kick me out of the army if I took money for doin' what's right."
"Take this," insisted Matt, "and give it to the mission. You can do that, can't you?"
"Sure." Prebbles pocketed the money. "I'm off, now," he went on, starting away. "I hope you won't have more trouble than you can take care of, but you've got a hard gang against you. Good-by."
"So long, Prebbles."
The clerk vanished, and Matt and McGlory, their nerves tingling with the prospect ahead of them, went back into the hotel, and took chairs near the telephone booth.
Mr. Black himself called up, fifteen minutes later. He was willing to take the boys to Fort Totten that night, for the sum of fifty dollars; his machine was ready, and he'd be at the hotel in five minutes.
"Bully!" exulted McGlory, when Matt came out of the booth and reported what the real estate man had said. "Say, pard," the cowboy added, "you're throwin' your money around like a nabob. At this rate, how long'll that stake last that you picked up in Madison?"
"Till we pull down that government money on account of the aëroplane, Joe," returned Matt decisively.
"You're banking on that?"
"To the last cent. I'll soon be on the wing, Joe, and making a fight for fame and fortune. That's got to be a winning fight, in spite of Siwash Charley and his pals, and in spite of Murgatroyd."
Matt's quiet confidence always inspired confidence in others.
"Whoop!" jubilated McGlory. "You've got a cheery way about you, pard, that's as catchin' as the measles. Sure we'll win; and we'll save the old homestead for Mrs. Traquair like the feller in the play."
CHAPTER IX.
DODGING TROUBLE.
The wagon road from Jamestown to Devil's Lake follows the railroad all the way. At Minnewaukon, near the western end of the lake, the wagon road to Fort Totten leaves the iron rails and points southeast.
The trail from Jamestown to Minnewaukon crosses a prairie almost as level as a floor, and the trail itself is like asphalt. From Minnewaukon southeast, the road is not so well traveled. Formerly the mail was hauled from Minnewaukon to the post by wagon, but the mail carrier was put out of business by a launch that crossed the lake from Devil's Lake City, on the north shore. The garrison at the fort, too, has dwindled to a corporal's guard, so that the post has become practically abandoned.
Black's car was not a late model. It had the obsolete rear-entrance tonneau, and was equipped with a four-cylinder thirty-horse-power motor. However, the car could "go." It would have been a poor car, indeed, which could not show its heels on such a road.
It was eight o'clock when Matt, McGlory, Ping, and Black ducked out of Jimtown, and struck into the trail that followed the railroad track and the river. Black attended to the driving, and Matt occupied the seat at his side. McGlory and Ping occupied the tonneau.
Matt explained to Black that there was a car, somewhere ahead, which they wanted to beat to the post trader's store at Fort Totten; also, that the car ahead was filled with men who were not on friendly terms with Matt and his companions.
Black was a man of spirit.
"You want to pass that car, then," said he, "and you want to dodge trouble?"
"Exactly," agreed Matt. "We don't want to butt into any trouble if we can help it. A whole lot depends upon our getting to the post trader's store right side up with care, and ahead of the other outfit."
"We'll do what we can," and Black nursed the car to its best speed.
The night was cool, the sky was cloudless, and the two acetylene lamps burned holes in the dark far in advance of the car as it devoured the miles. The forward rush, and the motor's music, thrilled Matt as they always did whenever he was connected with a speeding engine.
They whipped through a little town, hardly glimpsing the scattered lights before they had left them astern.
"This machine is a back number," remarked Black, "but she can slide along pretty well, for all that."
"You're right," said Matt. "I never saw a car with a rear door that could hold a candle to this one. But the road helps. It's like a boulevard."
"Take these Dakota roads, when they're neither too wet nor too dry, and they're hard to beat. We're going to lose time, though, going around the sloughs."
"Sloughs?" queried Matt.
"Just bog holes," went on Black. "They gully the prairie, here and there, have no inlet or outlet, and the water rises and falls in 'em like tides of the ocean. Queer, and I don't think the rise and fall have ever been explained. A wagon with high wheels can spraddle through, but low wheels and a lot of weight have to go round. But the car ahead will have to go around, too. There's one of the sloughs, just ahead. We'll begin going around it right here."
Having been for several years in the real estate business, selling farms up and down the Jim River, Black had an accurate knowledge of the country.
Three extra miles were added to the journey by going around the slough north of Parkhurst. But this was a whole lot better than taking a chance and miring down.
"Did you know Harry Traquair, Mr. Black?" Matt asked, when they were once more in the road and forging ahead.
"I did," answered Black, "and he was one of the finest fellows you ever met. Still, for all that, I thought he was a little bit 'cracked' on the flying-machine question. He was always of an inventive turn, and he built his first aëroplane in his head, up on his farm in Wells County, long before he ever came to Jimtown and built one of canvas, and spruce, and wire guys. The Traquairs have had pretty hard sledding for the last three years. Mrs. Traquair had all the faith in the world in her husband, but she was possessed with the idea that some accident was going to happen to him, and she was never around when he flew the aëroplane. Too bad Harry Traquair had to be killed just as he was about to give his machine the first government test."
"That's the way luck runs, sometimes," said Matt. "What town's that?" he added, as they whisked through another cluster of lights.
"Buchanan," answered Black. "Say, but we're coming! The next place is Pingree, then Edmunds, then Melville. After Melville we'll swoop into Carrington, the biggest town between Jamestown and the lake. Here's where I'm going to hit 'er up for the last ounce of power in her cylinders. Hold on to your teeth, everybody!"
More gasoline and a faster spark hurled the car onward in a way that made Ping chatter and hang to the rail behind the front seats.
Then something went wrong. The motor began to miss fire, the speed slackened, and the motor died with a gasping splutter.
"Oh, hang the luck!" growled Black, getting down.
While Matt kept hands off, Black tried out the primary circuit, then the secondary, then the buzzer. After that he cranked and cranked, but nothing happened except a distressing cough when the engine tried to start.
"Wouldn't that knock you slabsided?" growled Black. "I guess I'll have to take the carburetor to pieces, run pins through the spray nozzle and sandpaper the float guides. If that don't work, I'll go under the car and take off the fuel pipe, and——"
"It's a gravity feed, isn't it?" asked Matt.
"Yes."
"Well, don't lose any time on the carburetor, just yet."
Matt got at the gasoline tank. What he did Black couldn't see, but he wasn't more than a minute doing it.
"Now turn over your engine," said Matt, as he climbed back into his seat.
Black gave the crank a pull, and the pleasant chug in the explosion chamber came to his ears.
"What the dickens did you do?" he asked, dropping in behind the steering wheel and getting the car under way.
"The tank vent was clogged," explained Matt. "You can't feed by gravity if the gasoline tank is hermetically sealed."
"That's right; but how did you know the vent was plugged?"
"By the noise."
Black turned this over in his mind as they rushed onward.
"I guess you know a thing or two about motors," he remarked. "I never heard of a fellow who could tell the tank was hermetically sealed merely by the noise of the engine."
"It takes practice," said Matt, "that's all."
Pingree, Edmunds, and Melville were passed in record time, and the car rushed into Carrington at a quarter to ten. Carrington was quite a town, and the party halted to make some inquiries about the car that was preceding them.
From a man at one of the hotels they learned that a car had stopped at a filling station, about nine o'clock, and had dashed on to the northward about nine-fifteen. There were four men in the car, and one of them was Siwash Charley.
Siwash Charley seemed to be well known through that section, and the fact that the man at the hotel knew him made Matt and his friends certain that their enemies were less than an hour ahead.
"We're gaining on 'em!" cried McGlory, as the car shot through the outskirts of Carrington. "If we can keep on gaining, we'll reach the post trader's with ground to spare."
"We're good for it," averred Black. "Hold onto your hair and eyebrows."
The air fairly sang in the ears of the boys as the real estate man, throwing himself spiritedly into the contest, hurled his machine onward over the hard roadbed.
They flashed through a couple of towns which, Black said, were Divide and Sheyenne.
"The next place," the real estate man went on, "is Oberon. After that comes Lallie, and then Minnewaukon. But it's a waste of time to go to Minnewaukon. If we went there, we'd have to come southeast to Totten. We can leave the road at Lallie and go northeast to Totten, thus saving a few miles and considerable time. If——"
He broke off with a startled exclamation. Then, in a twinkling, it was out clutch, down brake, and a kick at the switch.
Another car, at a dead stop in the road ahead, had come like a blot under the glow of their lamps.
At that point the prairie was level, and no such thing as fences were to be seen.
"Sufferin' hold-ups!" exclaimed McGlory. "Something's gone wrong with the Siwash outfit. Look! Two of the gang are plugging this way."
The cowboy had "called the turn." Two dark forms untangled themselves from the dusky blot in the road which represented the car, and were running back along the trail. As the figures came closer, it could be seen that they were carrying rifles.
"Quick!" hissed Matt in Black's ear. "Go around the car—take to the prairie. We can make it if there's gas enough in the cylinders to take the spark."
As luck would have it, the engine took the spark and Black worked the car rapidly out of the road, heading so as to give the other car a wide berth.
The dry grass crunched under the swiftly moving tires, and the car leaped away as Black coaxed her to do her best.
"Halt!" shouted a husky voice; "halt, or we'll put a bullet into you!"
"Drop down!" ordered Matt; "they're going to shoot."
"Let 'em shoot," said Black pluckily. "It's pretty dark for accurate firing, and we'll be out of range in a minute. I——"
Sping! Sping!
Two reports came from behind, two flashes leaped from the guns, and two bullets fanned the air close to the occupants of the car.
But the car dashed on over the rolling turf, and presently regained the road, once more, well in advance of the other automobile.
"I guess that's dodging trouble, all right!" muttered Black, with a grim laugh.
CHAPTER X.
BLANKED.
Only two shots were fired. Before the two scoundrels in the road could send any more bullets after Matt and his friends, their car had swept back into the road and the other automobile acted as a barricade.
"Siwash must have known who we were," remarked McGlory. "How do you reckon he found that out?"
"The way we kept on going when he ordered us to halt was enough for him," said Matt.
"I'll bet it was a surprise," chuckled McGlory. "Wish I could be close to Murg when he hears about it. We're in the lead, now, and I hope we can keep it."
"If the motor hangs together," returned Black, "we'll not only keep it, but increase it. That's a murderous gang, back there," he added. "There must be something mighty important awaiting you fellows at the post trader's to cause Siwash Charley to break loose like that!"
"Murgatroyd is back of it," said Matt.
"Murgatroyd? There's a double-dyed scoundrel, if I ever knew one."
Black's expressing himself in this manner opened the way for Matt to tell him the true inwardness of that night's work.
"You're the sort of fellows I like to help!" cried Black, as soon as Matt had placed the situation before him. "It's a fine thing for Mrs. Traquair, and it speaks mighty well for you that you've jumped into this thing like you've done. Not many young fellows would have gone to all that trouble, with the prospect of a broken neck, or a bullet between the ribs as a possible reward. But let me tell you something, Motor Matt."
Black spoke very earnestly, and commanded the instant attention of the king of the motor boys.
"What's that, Mr. Black?"
"If I were you, I'd be more afraid of that aëroplane than of Siwash Charley or Murgatroyd."
"Flying the aëroplane is the least of my worries. I'm sure I can handle it all right."
"Don't be too sure. Traquair invented the machine, and it stands to reason that he knew it as well as any human being could; but see what happened! Something snapped, a gust of wind hit the aëroplane, and the whole business came down like a piece of lead."
"Accidents are always liable to happen, of course," said Matt; "the only thing to do is to guard against them as well as you can, and do your best."
"This North Dakota wind is a hard thing to figure on," pursued Black. "It gathers terrific force coming across the prairies, and it's liable to come up quick. I don't think Traquair's aëroplane could stand a sixty-mile-an-hour wind."
"She couldn't make any headway against it, but I believe she could be kept upright."
"That's your look out, Motor Matt, and I don't want to throw any wet blanket on your hopes. Be careful, that's all, and——"
Black broke off with an angry exclamation. The motor began to miss fire, and finally came to a stop.
Matt, his head inclined, had been listening sharply.
"What's the matter now?" asked Black, getting out.
"It's the carburetor, now," said Matt. "Sounds to me as though it was clogged."
The carburetor was taken apart and freed of the obstruction that kept the gasoline out of the mixing chamber.
A delay of half an hour was caused, and while they were at a halt an anxious look out was kept along the road, behind. Much to the relief of the boys and the real estate man, the other car failed to put in an appearance.
"They must be hung up with something serious," observed Black, as he once more started the car in the direction of Lallie.
"It can't be too serious to suit me," laughed McGlory. "I won't make any kick if they're kept back there on the road for a week."
"No such luck as that, Joe," said Matt.
Black was about to say something more when the motor went wrong again. It began to pound furiously.
Black's exasperation reached a point where he was tempted to say things. Matt, however, laughed at his impatience, and proceeded to right the trouble, warning his friends to keep a sharp look along the back track while he was doing it.
There was an hour's delay, this time, but still the other car did not show up, and Matt and his companions finally continued on their way, congratulating themselves that they were still in the lead.
Not much time was spent in Lallie. The town was dark, and all the inhabitants had undoubtedly been abed and asleep for several hours.
Matt looked at his watch just as they were bumping over the railroad tracks into the northeast road that led to Totten.
"Two o'clock," announced Matt.
Black groaned.
"Elegant time we're making," said he, "but we'll be at the post trader's by three o'clock, providing we don't have any more breakdowns."
This road was not nearly so good as the one they had been following, mainly because it was not so well traveled. Not more than fifteen miles an hour could be made.
"There's another road to Totten from Oberon," observed Black. "That road comes into this one about five miles this side of Totten. We'll soon be at the forks, now. I didn't suggest taking the Oberon road, because it's a good deal worse than the one we're following."
When they were close to the forks, the creak of a wagon reached their ears, and the gas lamps showed them a loaded vehicle just pulling into the Oberon road. This was the first team they had met since leaving Jamestown.
"Say, there!" yelled a man on the wagon. "Slow up a little with that chug cart o' yourn, will ye? My hosses ain't used ter sich sights."
Black lessened the speed and came on more slowly. The wagon was at a standstill, and the horses were snorting and rearing against the pole. The car got past without causing an accident, however, and, a little after three, drew up in front of the post trader's store.
The store was at the foot of a hill which overlooked the lake, and was surrounded by the fort. As was to be expected, the store was dark, and seemed deserted.
"Benner lives in the back part," said Black. "Go around the side of the building, Matt, and knock on the door. You'll not be long getting him up. I'll wait here till I see what luck you have, and then I'll put up the car and bunk down somewhere for the rest of the night."
Matt and McGlory jumped out of their seats and followed around the plank wall of the building. Although it was dark as Egypt in the shadow of the wall, yet they succeeded in locating the door, and pounded a loud summons on its panels.
The post trader was a sound sleeper, and it took three or four minutes to develop any signs of life within the dark store building.
At last, however, they could hear some one stirring around. A light appeared in a window, and a shuffling step was heard approaching the door.
"If you're Injuns," cried an angry voice, "get out! You can come after what you want in the mornin'."
"We're not Indians," said Matt. "Are you Mr. Benner?"
"That's my name, yes."
"Then we've got important business with you. Please open the door."
"Beats all a feller can't have no sleep," grumbled Mr. Benner, shoving a bolt and jerking the door open.
A big, sandy-haired man, in undershirt and trousers, stood confronting the boys, a flickering candle upheld in his right hand.
"What d'ye want?" demanded Benner.
"Here's a paper I want you to read," answered Matt, taking from his pocket Mrs. Traquair's order for the aëroplane, and handing it to the post trader.
Benner grabbed the paper in his left hand, and held the candle in front of it.
"Jumpin' Mariar!" he gasped. "Here's an order for that bloomin' flyin' machine."
"Yes. We're here to take charge of it, Mr. Benner."
"Oh, y' are, eh? Well, I haven't got it. Looks kinder suspicious, too, this here order does."
"Haven't got it?" repeated Matt, staring at McGlory.
"Ain't I tellin' ye?" answered Benner in an irritated tone.
"Did some men come here in an automobile, a little while ago, and take it away?"
"Any one would have played hob takin' that flyin' machine away in an automobile," scowled Benner. "There's somethin' mighty queer about this. Step inside, you two, an' I'll show you that telegram."
Intensely disappointed, the two boys stepped into the room. Benner placed the candle on the table, and picked up a yellow sheet, which he handed to Matt.
"That come to the fort, about two hours ago, an' the leftenant sent it down ter me," explained Benner. "I had to hustle some, but I worked through the trick. Now, less'n an hour after I get to bed, here you fellers come askin' for the flyin' machine. That's more'n I kin understand, that is."
The telegram read as follows:
"Send flying machine on the jump to Oberon. Get it off within an hour after you receive this. Will settle for your trouble with the man who brings it."
This message was addressed to the post trader, at Fort Totten; had been sent from Oberon, and was signed by "Mrs. Traquair."
"Oh, sufferin' dummies!" cried McGlory. "Blanked, or I'm a Piute!"
Matt was fully as much wrought up as was his chum.
"This message is a forgery, Mr. Benner!" he cried. "Mrs. Traquair isn't in Oberon, and she never sent it."
"How was I ter know that?" snorted the post trader. "Soon's I got the message, I routed out my man, Jake, an' we hitched up to the wagon, loaded on that consarned machine that I've been holdin here, an' Jake started with it fer Oberon."
The cowboy gave a groan, and fell over against the wall.
"That must have been him we passed, Matt," he murmured.
Without pausing to reply, Matt whirled and ran out of the room. The aëroplane was on the road to Oberon, but the automobile could easily overtake the wagon. It was well, however, not to lose any time.
CHAPTER XI.
SIWASH SHOWS HIS TEETH—AND HIS HEELS.
Black's astonishment was great when Motor Matt reappeared at the front of the building and leaped into the car.
"Hustle for the Oberon road, Mr. Black!" Matt cried.
"What's to pay?" asked Black as McGlory flung himself into the tonneau.
"You remember that wagon we passed?" asked Matt.
"Of course, but——"
"Well, the aëroplane is aboard the wagon."
"Great Cæsar!" Black was already on the ground, cranking up. "How did that happen?" he asked, getting back into the car and turning it the other way.
When they were well started, Matt explained about the telegram received by the post trader.
"It's easy to understand what happened," said Matt. "Murgatroyd's plan was to send Siwash Charley here after the aëroplane. If Siwash had had all night and part of to-morrow to work in, he and his pals would have got away with the flying machine in spite of us. But Siwash had to make another move when he saw us on the road. It was a clever move, too, although it only won out by a scratch. Siwash went on to Oberon and sent that message, signing Mrs. Traquair's name to it. If we hadn't had so many breakdowns, we'd have reached the post trader's before his man got away with the aëroplane."
"Well," declared Black, "we can overhaul the wagon long before it gets to Oberon. If Siwash Charley had used his head a little more, he'd have known there wasn't one chance in ten of this move of his succeeding.
"And to think of us sailin' right past that wagon," muttered McGlory, "and even slowing up so as not to scare the horses! Funny how things will turn out sometimes."
The Chinese boy had been using his eyes and ears a great deal more than his tongue. But his emotions, at every stage of that ride from Jamestown, had changed with Matt's and McGlory's. Now Ping was all chagrin, and a wild desire to "push on the reins" and overhaul Jake.
The road was fairly good until the automobile reached the forks; after that, it ran into hilly country where there was considerable sand.
Black forced the car all he could, but the poor speed it developed filled the impatient boys with dismay and anxiety.
"We'll never overtake that wagon in a thousand years, at this gait," fumed McGlory.
"You forget, Joe," answered Matt, "that if we're going slow, the wagon is going a lot slower."
"That's the talk," said Black. "We'll come up with the wagon several miles this side of Oberon."
As the car ground through the sand, and chugged up the hills, the boys kept a sharp watch ahead. Dawn brightened in the east, and the gray streamers crept steadily toward the zenith.
"Five o'clock," said Matt, looking at his watch. "The sun will be up in half an hour."
"Precious little I care for that," chuckled Black. "There's Jake!"
The car had topped a hill which gave its passengers a long view out over the level prairie. Far away in the distance the dim gray light showed the boys a dark blot on the plain. It was impossible to tell much about the blot, at that range, but there could be no doubt concerning it. Surely it was the wagon; it could be nothing else.
"Jake must have punctured a tire," observed McGlory humorously. "What has he stopped for?"
"Possibly he stopped to breathe his horses," suggested Black. "We'll eat up the ground, now, for the road is on the level, and there's less sand."
Black let the car out. As he and the boys came closer and closer, a startling scene slowly unfolded before their eyes.
The wagon was at a standstill, just as the cowboy had said, and beside it was a motor car. Four or five figures could be seen moving around in the vicinity of the wagon. Abruptly these figures hunched together, and stood quietly.
"It's the other automobile," said Black between his teeth. "Siwash Charley and his pals came out from Oberon to meet Jake."
"They've got together and are looking this way," breathed McGlory.
"Mebbyso they makee shoot," chattered Ping.
"Shall we go on?" queried Black. "It's for you to say, Motor Matt. I don't think Siwash will dare rough things up so close to the fort, and in broad day."
"Yes," said Matt grimly, "we've got to go on. For all we know, Murgatroyd may have told Siwash to destroy the aëroplane. In fact, that may be what he's doing, now. Go on, Mr. Black, and go with a rush."
The boys fell silent as the car bounded on along the road. All of them felt the danger of their position, but neither McGlory, Black, nor Ping would have thought of asking Matt to turn back.
In a few moments the boys were so close they could see the guns which Siwash Charley and his friends were holding in their hands. Matt, however, had more concern for the bulky load in the wagon than for the guns. So far as he could see, the load was intact, and had not been tampered with.
The wagon was facing toward Oberon, and the car—drawn up alongside the wagon—was pointed toward Fort Totten. Several yards in front of the car stood Siwash Charley, and two other men, who looked fully as villainous. All of these three had rifles.
Jake was standing up in the front part of the wagon, hanging to the reins with one hand and looking back. The driver of the automobile was leaning against the front of the car, watching passively for what was to come. An atmosphere of ugly foreboding hovered over the scene as Black stopped his car within a dozen yards of Siwash Charley and his two pals.
"That's erbout as fur as we reckoned we'd let ye come," shouted Siwash Charley. "If ye'd got hyer ten minutes later, ye'd hev found the flyin' machine scattered all over the perary."
"Do you mean to say," cried Matt, standing up in the car, "that you were going to wreck the aëroplane?"
"That's what," answered Siwash Charley, "an' we're goin' ter do it, yet. Ye needn't think that yer comin' will make any diff'rence. I told you cubs I'd git even with ye fer what ye done, but when I showed my teeth ye didn't allow I'd bite. I'm showin' my fangs ag'in, an' this time thar's goin' ter be somethin' doin'."
"Siwash Charley," said Matt, "you don't mean to say that a trifling disagreement, like the one we had in Jamestown, is enough to make you destroy that aëroplane?"
"I reckon ye don't know me, Motor Matt," blustered Siwash. "I allers make it a p'int ter saw off even, an' I reckon I kin squar' my account with you a heap better by bustin' up the flyin' machine than in any other way. I'll give ye two minutes ter turn that thar machine o' yourn and take the back track."
Simultaneously with the words, Siwash lifted his rifle to his shoulder, and pointed it directly at Matt.
The king of the motor boys did not stir, but his gray eyes snapped dangerously as they looked into the eyes gleaming along the barrel of the gun.
"You're not going to do any more shooting, Siwash Charley," said Matt, his voice steady. "You took two shots at us last night, and if either one of them had struck me, or any of my friends, you and Murgatroyd would have paid dearly for it."
The mention of Murgatroyd caused Siwash to drop his gun suddenly.
"Murgatroyd hasn't got a thing ter do with this," he roared. "It's my own affair I'm settlin'."
"Murgatroyd has got everything to do with this!" retorted Matt. "He got that car for you, and sent you out of Jamestown last night. You hoped to reach the fort ahead of us—and you'd certainly have done so if we'd waited until this morning and taken the train. If you make any trouble for me here, Murgatroyd will be arrested in Jamestown just as quick as a message can be wired to the police. And you'll make trouble for yourself, too, for you played a trick in getting that aëroplane off the government reservation. You can show your teeth as much as you please, but if you try to bite you'll regret it."
"I'm done chinnin' with you!" whopped Siwash Charley, once more bringing his gun to his shoulder. "Turn that ottermobill t'other way, an' hike out o' this. Ye got a minute left."
Black got out of the machine, and walked around to the crank.
"Leave the crank alone, Black," ordered Matt. "That scoundrel's a coward, and he doesn't dare to shoot."
Black hesitated.
"Better do as he says, pard," observed McGlory, climbing over the back of the seat and ranging himself shoulder to shoulder with Matt.
The cowboy's words were addressed to Black. The latter retreated from the front of the machine, and stood at the roadside, watching developments anxiously.
It was a situation of the gravest peril, but Matt could not go away and leave the aëroplane to be wrecked.
"Are ye goin'?" yelled Siwash furiously. "If ye think I dasn't shoot, I'll show ye I ain't afeared o' nothin'."
"Put down that gun!" ordered Matt.
The scoundrel's finger flexed on the trigger. In another instant the trigger would have been pressed. But something happened. Jake, standing in the front of the wagon, whirled a long blacksnake whip about his head by the lash. Suddenly he let it go, and the weighted handle shot through the air, and struck Siwash Charley's fated right arm. The end of the whip handle landed at about the place where McGlory's missile had struck, the day before.
With a swirling bellow of pain, Siwash dropped the rifle and staggered back, clasping his right forearm with his left hand.
He swore terribly, but the torrent of profanity was cut short by one of his pals.
"Sojers!" cried the man, sweeping Siwash Charley's gun off the ground. "Hustle out o' this, or we're done fer!"
"Swatties!" jubilated McGlory, waving his hat. "Speak to me about this!"
Matt faced the other way. There, sure enough, were half a dozen mounted troopers galloping toward the scene.
The pop of the other car's motor could be heard, and when Matt looked around, once more, Siwash Charley and his comrades were kicking up the dust in the direction of Oberon.
"Siwash Charley showed his teeth," laughed Black, immensely relieved, "and now he's showing his heels. Motor Matt," he added soberly, "I wouldn't have been in your shoes, a moment ago, for all the money in the United States Treasury!"
The king of the motor boys did not hear the last remark. He had leaped down from the car, and had run forward to the wagon, where he was reaching up and shaking hands with Jake.