Motor Matt's Red Flyer; or, On the High Gear / Motor Stories Thrilling Adventure Motor Fiction No. 6, April 3, 1909

CHAPTER XII.

A CLOSE CALL.

"Pile out, Josh, and get busy with those rocks!" yelled Matt.

It was a forlorn hope, for the pounding of the Red Flier could be heard around the turn, coming up hand over fist. Long before the way could be cleared, Brisco would be upon them.

And what had become of Spangler. Where had he gone? And why had he gone?

That was a conundrum, and Matt had no time to give to conundrums just then.

Josh, eager to do all he could, was tugging and straining at the rocks.

"It won't do, Josh!" shouted Matt. "Run for those boulders at the side of the road and wait for me."

To think quickly in an emergency was Motor Matt's long suit. Many a time his cool head had helped him out of a bad difficulty.

While he was shouting to the boy he was running back to the car. Snatching the wrench from where he had dropped it in the rumble, Matt went to work with lightninglike energy on the cap of the gasoline-reservoir.

In record time he had the cap off. Bending down he scooped up a handful of sand from the road and dumped the most of it into the reservoir, then, as quickly as he had removed the cap, he replaced it, flung the wrench into the car and jumped for the boulders.

Hardly was he back of the big stones that clustered along that edge of the valley, when the Red Flier shoved her nose through a cloud of dust and came scorching onward.

Brisco must have been astounded to see the runabout, deserted and at a halt in the road. The way, of course, was blocked for him as well as for the runabout, and he halted the Red Flier at a good distance from the other machine, leaped out and came running to the other car.

The stones in the road probably gave him a pretty good idea of what had happened, for he immediately began looking around him as though expecting to see some one—possibly Matt and Josh.

"Spang!" he whooped. "Where are you, Spang?"

"Here!" answered Spangler, appearing suddenly around the bend.

"What you been doing?" demanded Brisco.

"The dickens is ter pay, an' no mistake!" stormed Spang. "That young cub of a Motor Matt found out whar we'd cached the runabout, an' blamed if he didn't go in an' snake it right out from under Klegg's——"

"Thunder!" broke in Brisco. "Don't you reckon I saw the whelp? He was bearing down on me like a hurricane, slamming the runabout through for all she was worth."

"He went past here gally-whoopin'," answered Spang, "while I was makin' fer that hole in the hill. Come mighty nigh runnin' me down at that. I got out o' the way, faced around an' sent a couple o' bullets arter him, but the brat's too lucky ter stop any lead——"

"Depends on who throws the lead," snarled Brisco.

"I kin throw it with ary man that walks! But I didn't take time ter throw much. I calculated the runabout would come up ferninst you, Hank, afore it got out o' the valley, an' that King would have ter turn around an' chase back this way. So what does I do but begin pilin' stones whar they'd do the most good. Jest got enough down ter do the biz, an' went ter see what had happened ter Klegg. Great jumpin' sand-hills! What d'ye think that infernal kid done ter him?"

"What?" fumed Brisco.

"Doped him, by thunder! Doped him out er the same bottle we used last night! Klegg's up thar in the notch, dead ter the world!"

"What did you leave the hang-out for?" roared Brisco angrily. "Didn't I tell you, when I left, to stay there with Klegg? If you'd done as I said, this wouldn't have happened."

"I come out ter see if that kid was moseyin' down the valley," was the sullen rejoinder from Spang. "Ye said I was ter watch out an' make sure he didn't blunder outer the notch."

"Well, you made sure, didn't you?" taunted Brisco. "Where'd Legree's kid spring from? How'd he come to be along with King?"

"How'd I know? Think I'm a mind-reader?"

"Deuced funny thing! He was with King, and I'd like to know where he came from, and how he got here. There's a nigger in the fence, I'll bet. Where'd those boys go?"

"I don't know that, nuther."

"Did they pass you and go up the valley?"

"Nary, they didn't!"

"Then they must be hiding around here somewhere! Let's get 'em. If I lay hands on Motor Matt again he won't get off so easy."

There was only one place in that vicinity where any one could hide, and that was among the scattered rocks not far from where the runabout was standing.

Brisco and Spangler, making a hasty survey of the surroundings, at once hit upon the boulders as the place for them to look.

"They're over thar," cried Spangler, "an' I'll bet money on it."

As he spoke, he started at a run for the side of the valley, pulling a revolver as he went.

"Don't do any shooting," called Brisco, starting after Spangler, "just grab 'em and hold 'em."

"We'll tie King in that thar automobile when we run it over the cliff!" yelped Brisco viciously. "We'll l'arn him ter play his tricks on us!"

Matt and Josh had heard all this conversation. They were not standing still, either, but were busily finding some place where they could stow themselves away.

A fight with the two armed men was to be avoided, if possible. Matt knew that he and Josh would stand little chance in such a one-sided combat; and Matt had formed plans which he was eager to be carrying out.

A little way up the steep hillside there was a ledge, with a recess back of it.

Matt's quick eye picked out the spot, and he climbed briskly, hauling Josh along after him. The boulders shielded them from view while they were getting to the ledge, and Matt pushed Josh into the recess, and then rolled into it himself. From this position Matt was able to peer over the ledge and keep track of the movements of Brisco and Spangler.

"Are they comin' dis way, cull?" whispered the boy.

"Yes," answered Matt.

"Got deir guns ready, eh?"

"Of course, Josh. Scoundrels like Brisco and Spangler always draw and shoot if you give 'em half a chance."

"Dey're hot at de two of us, an' dey'll sure lay out ter do us up."

"We'll have to fight, if they force it on us."

"Wot kin we do?"

"There's a stone on the ledge. If they come too close I'll push it down on them."

"Better give dat dere stone a push right off, bekase——"

"Hist!" cautioned Matt.

Silence fell between the boys. Matt drew in his head, fearing he would be seen. He listened intently, however, and could tell by the scrambling feet below just how near Brisco and Spangler were coming. When they came too close, Matt was intending to push the stone down on them.

"Beats the deuce where those whelps went to!" grumbled the voice of Brisco.

"They must be here. Thar wasn't any place else they could go. I wasn't gone from the road more'n five minits, Hank."

"They wouldn't have had time to get past you?"

"Nary, they wouldn't. They're here, I tell ye; they must be."

"The whole side-hill is under our eyes. If you can see the cubs you can do better than I can."

"Seems like there was a shelf up thar a ways. Mebby they're on the shelf?"

"Gammon! That shelf isn't wide enough for a chipmunk to sit on."

"Anyways, I'm goin' up an' take a look."

Matt got ready to push out and roll the stone off the shelf. Before he could do that, however, a shout from Brisco halted him.

"Say, you! There were three horses in the hang-out with Klegg!"

"What o' that?" answered Spangler.

"Why, those boys have gone there and are getting the horses."

"How could they go thar, Hank? They didn't pass me."

"They might have got there when you didn't see them. While we're wasting time here, I'll bet something handsome they're getting out those horses. Come on! Don't lose another second fooling around among those rocks!"

"Waal, I don't reckon——"

"Come on, I say!" roared Brisco.

The two men were heard scrambling down the slope, getting farther and farther away.

Back in the little recess Matt could hear the boy chuckling and talking to himself.

"Come on, Josh!" whispered Matt, starting up. "Be careful, though! This is our day for luck, all right."

"Well, I guess!" answered the boy, rolling over the ledge. "Chee, but dey're a pair o' dough-heads. Good t'ing f'r us, too. What next, Matt?"

"We'll get to the Red Flier, turn it the other way along the trail, and ride back to Fairview."

"Oh, Lucy!" giggled Josh. "Fer a kid dat ain't had not'in' t' eat since yesterday mornin' I'm feelin' some fine! We gits de Red Flier, after all, an' dem guys is beat, hands down."

They were proceeding down the hillside while Josh was talking. When Matt reached the boulders that lined the road, he looked out.

Brisco and Spangler, hurrying as fast as their legs could carry them, were just vanishing around the bend.

"Now for the Red Flier—and Fairview!" said Matt, running out from among the boulders and laying a direct course for the red car.

"Dat's de talk, cull!" laughed Josh, hustling along after Matt.

Certainly it looked as though they were to have everything their own way, for a while at least—but they were not so lucky as they thought.

CHAPTER XIII.

CAR AGAINST CAR.

It may be that Matt and Josh made too much racket getting down the rocks, or that Brisco had a premonition that something was wrong. Be that as it might, however, yet Brisco and Spangler turned back a minute after they had gone charging around the bend.

Motor Matt, at that moment, was bending to the crank of the Red Flier, and it was Josh who excitedly announced the approach of their two enemies.

The boy had done his jubilating too soon, and the sight of Brisco and Spangler filled him with panic.

"Oh, chee!" he fluttered. "Dey're after us, Matt, like a couple o' grizzlies! Wow! Let's duck f'r de rocks agin!"

"Get into the car!" shouted Matt, giving the crank a whirl.

One beauty of the Red Flier was the quickness with which the machine caught up its cycle; and it had been the same with Matt's twin-cylinder motorcycle. Half a turn of the pedal was enough for the little Comet, and one pull of the crank did the business for the red car's motor.

While the machine popped its defiance of Brisco and Spangler, Motor Matt ran around and vaulted into his old familiar place. He felt at home—much more so than he had when driving the runabout.

Neither Brisco nor Spangler wasted any time with their revolvers. Both knew that the runabout was a faster machine than the Red Flier, and both felt confident that a quick start after the boys and a few minutes' chase would tell the tale.

Spangler scrambled into the car. Brisco slipped as he rounded the front of the runabout to turn over the engine, fell sprawling and hit his head on the handle of the crank.

He was not very much hurt, apparently, although from his flow of language his temper must have been severely injured. Besides, he had lost ten seconds—no very serious matter, considering the usual speed of the runabout—but Brisco was anxious for a rapid start and a quick finish for the chase.

As he yanked the lever savagely, the popping from up the road sounding like the rapid discharge of a Gatling gun. Motor Matt had turned the Red Flier with his customary celerity, and was off on the high gear with the muffler cut out.

"By thunder," howled the frantic Spangler, "oncet I ketch that Motor Matt I'll wring his neck fer him!"

"I'll help you," answered Brisco vindictively. There was a patch of skin gone from his forehead and a little dribble of red was flowing down his cheek.

"If they wasn't out o' sight," growled Spangler, "I'd pepper 'em."

"What's the use of peppering them?" scowled Brisco. "We'll climb right over 'em in less'n five minutes."

"Do it!" cried Spangler, as they shot ahead recklessly.

"Do what?" asked Brisco, just missing a boulder by a hair's breadth.

"Why, climb over 'em," snorted Spangler. "Run 'em down an' shove 'em inter the rocks! Let's hev a smash, with that young whelp right in the middle of it. He's made us trouble enough!"

"Don't be a fool, Spang!" returned Brisco. "If we ran into them we might smash the runabout. We've got use for this machine—after we clean up on Legree and this Motor Matt."

"That's so, too," said Spangler. "We may hev use fer it even if ye don't clean up on Legree. With another pair o' shoes an' tubes, an' a place whar we kin keep a supply o' gasoline an' oil, an' them steel bottles o' compressed air, we could circle all around through this here Southwestern kentry, takin' our toll wharever we wanted ter pick it up."

"Sure we could, and we will!"

"I'm glad o' one thing," observed Spangler.

"What's that?"

"Why, thar won't be any more glass throwed in the road, same as thar was during t'other chase we had with that Red Flier. King had a lot in the red car, if ye remember, an' I dumped it all out."

"We'll nip 'im this time," said Brisco, through his teeth.

"We got ter, that's what. If we don't—— Tear an' ages, Hank! Be keerful!"

The runabout had been hurled at a curve. There was no lessening of the speed, and the entire machine slid sideways to the edge of the road, banging into the rocks with a force that pitched Spangler against the dashboard. He came within one of going clear over upon the hood.

"Get back in your seat and hang on!" yelled Brisco. "We haven't commenced to run yet."

After that Spangler had no time to talk—he was too busy holding himself in the car.

Meanwhile the Red Flier had been streaking it through the hills, Josh keeping a pair of keen eyes on the back track, and Matt giving his entire attention to the road ahead.

"Chee, wot a bump!" cried Josh.

He had seen the runabout skid across the road, take a welt at the rock wall and then leap onward like a bullet from a gun.

"What's the matter?" shouted Matt.

He had to shout, for the wind of their flight caught the words out of his teeth and flung them, a mere wisp of sound, far to rearward.

"Brisco tried t' knock over a hill wit' his hind wheels," yelled Josh, "an' Spang tried t' turn a handspring over de bonnet. Wow! but dey're goin some, Matt!"

"So are we," screamed Matt, "Fifty-eight miles an hour."

"Ever race dat runabout afore?"

"Yes."

"W'ch winned?"

"The Flier—by a fluke. I scattered glass in the road—the runabout got into it and went lame."

"Got any glass along now?"

"Yes, in the tonneau; but——"

"None dere now, cull."

"Then Brisco must have thrown it out. It'll all right, though. This is going to be our race."

"We'd better keep our lamps skinned f'r Fairview. It's on'y seventy-five miles from w'ere we started, an we're goin' so fast we might run past de place an' never see it."

Josh felt hilarious. His panic was leaving him and his usual nerve was coming back.

"How's the runabout coming?" roared Matt.

"Gainin'!" whooped the boy. "Oh, sister, how she's comin'! Wisht I had some glass."

"She'll never catch us, Josh!"

"How's dat?"

"Because I've fixed her so she won't."

"I hope yous ain't shy in yer calkilations, Matt. Dem blokes'll sure kill us if we drops into deir hands."

"Watch her, Josh! Tell me when her speed slackens, or when anything goes wrong."

"She ain't slackenin' none yet, an' nuttin' ain't gone wrong."

"Well, watch and tell me."

Matt couldn't understand why the runabout wasn't beginning to develop trouble in the vicinity of the needle-valve. But it would come, sooner or later. Some of the sand was bound to get through the supply-pipe in time.

The valley had widened considerably, and now it began to develop dips and rises which afforded Matt opportunity for nursing the motor and preventing overheating. He could cut off the power on the down grades and give the throbbing cylinders a breathing spell.

Brisco had no such fine ability or discrimination. He took everything on the high gear.

"Still gainin'!" announced Josh.

"How far are they behind?"

"A hundred feet. It's a wonder dey don't shake some bullets out o' deir guns dis way. One of 'em's tootin' his bazoo at us."

"What does he say? Can you hear?"

"He says ter stop 'r he'll put a bullet into one o' our tires. Chee! If he does dat——"

Matt snatched one hand from the steering-wheel.

Honk, honk! he answered derisively.

Sping!

The warning report was followed by the whistle of a bullet. It did not come anywhere near the Red Flier, but spatted harmlessly into the valley wall.

Josh laughed wildly and waved his hand. The spirit of the race was surging through his veins and had wiped out all sense of fear.

"Wow!" he shouted. "Yous ought t' seen dat! Spang has been holdin' on t' de seat wit' bot' hands, but he let go wit' one t' fire at us. De runabout jumped sideways an' he lost his pepper-box overboard. Come clost t' goin' hisself! Say, I wisht he had!"

The runabout was devouring the distance in remarkable style. It was now only twenty-five feet behind, and so near that the sand and pebbles kicked up by the flying rear wheels of the red car struck in the faces of Brisco and Spangler.

Spangler lowered his head. Brisco jerked the goggles down over his eyes.

"Stop!" he roared, "or I'll run into you!"

Honk, honk! tooted Matt defiantly.

Brisco swore and gritted his teeth. With his temper at fever heat, what did he care how he injured the runabout just so he evened his score with Motor Matt?

Closer and closer came the runabout. Josh measured the decreasing distance with his eyes.

"Ten feet! Five, Matt, five! She's up t' us, now—look out!"

Not knowing what was to happen, Josh curled over the back of the seat and hung on with both hands.

There was a slight jar, followed by a sudden slewing on the part of the runabout, a quick lessening of speed and the whirr of a racing engine.

"Dey're stoppin'!" shouted the boy; "somet'ing has gone wrong wid de odder car!"

"I knew something would happen!" shouted Matt, as he slowed his speed a little to give the Red Flier a bit of a rest.

CHAPTER XIV.

DOWN THE MOUNTAIN.

"Dat engine o' deirs went wrong just at de right time t' save our bacon, Matt," said Josh.

Matt tossed a look backward. The runabout was at a stop, and Brisco was on the ground, tinkering frantically.

"If he knows what to do," said Matt, "he'll be able to come on again. But he'll have more trouble; and he'll continue to have trouble until he takes time to overhaul his fuel-tank."

"What did yous do?" asked the boy.

"Mixed a handful of sand with his gasoline."

"W'en?"

"While we were hung up in front of those rocks Spangler had laid for us."

"Didn't dat geezer see yous?"

"I got out of the way before Brisco showed up; and Spangler, at the time, was away looking for the man in the notch."

"Chee, but you're a wonder! Motor Matt heads de percession an' carries de banner! Yous t'ought o' all dat while I was hustlin' t' git behind dem rocks! Did yous t'ink we was goin' t' have a race?"

"I didn't know but we might. Anyhow, I thought it good policy to fix the machine so it wouldn't be reliable. What's the news from the rear, Josh?"

"Brisco is gittin' back in his seat."

"Is he coming on?"

"Dat's wot."

"Fast as ever?"

"I don't see no diff'rence in de runnin'."

"Well, something is sure to go wrong, just as it did before. One grain of sand clogged the needle-valve, Josh, and there's a thousand more grains to come down the supply-pipe. Face around a minute. The road forks here. Which one shall we take? Do you remember coming this way?"

The boy flopped around in his seat. The Red Flier was rushing toward a place where the road forked. Both roads were bordered by rocky walls, and both had the appearance of being equally well traveled—which wasn't saying much for the travel, at that.

"I don't remember nuttin'," answered the boy, "bein' scart stiff all de w'ile I was in de runabout. I'd say go t' de right. Dat's always a good t'ing t' do."

"If we had the least notion which way Fairview lay we could shape our course a little better. But we don't know, so we'll take chances and go to the right."

There was a slowing of speed while Matt made the turn. For a long distance this fork was a straightaway stretch and fairly level. Matt and Josh were congratulating themselves on the fact that they had made a fortunate choice, when suddenly they whirled out on a vista that surprised them.

At the end of the straightaway stretch, a sudden angle brought the side of a steep mountain under the boy's eyes. The road could be seen clinging to the mountain's side, describing horseshoe after horseshoe—edging its way between dizzy chasms and high cliffs.

"Wow!" gasped Josh, and collapsed in his seat. "Right here's w'ere we fall off de eart'."

Matt took another look behind. The runabout, with the stern, relentless face of Brisco over the wheel, was surging toward them.

"Here we go!" called Matt. "Hang on, Josh!"

"I'm glued! Yous can't shake me!"

The boy was game, and Matt flung the Red Flier at the mountainside and down the ribbon of treacherous road.

There were places where a cliff overhung the trail, and the wheels on the left almost scraped the rocks, while those on the right barely tracked on the brink of a gulf.

The boy's face went white, but his eyes glimmered brightly. He looked back from time to time and saw the runabout sliding after them.

A quick fear had rushed to Matt's brain. Oddly enough, it was not a fear for his own safety, for he knew the Red Flier and knew what he could do with it; but the runabout! If that trickle of sand cut off the power and caused the machine to slew ever so slightly, it would go over the chasm's edge and carry Brisco and Spangler with it!

The world would have been better off, perhaps, if such a mishap had come to pass; but Matt did not want it that way. His own instrumentality in the matter would have been too hideously clear.

And yet, if something did not happen to the runabout, the machine might collide with the Red Flier and drive it over the brink.

Matt knew he must keep ahead. Never had he driven more masterfully than then. His nerves were steady, his brain alert, and every inch of that curving, treacherous down grade was covered by his eyes.

It was more like falling down a hill than riding down. The Red Flier quivered like a thing of life, seeming to realize what was expected of it, and responding nobly.

Far off, over the level plain at the mountain's foot, could be seen the little cluster of houses that represented Fairview. It glowed in the morning sun like a toy village on a toy map.

As the road curved, struck a short straightaway, then curved again, the town swept vividly into view and again as quickly vanished.

At the most desperate part of the trail a rock had crumbled from the wall and rolled to the edge of the chasm. There it lay, almost under the nose of the rushing car.

The boy cast a despairing look into Motor Matt's set, determined face. All he saw was a swift gleam of the gray eyes.

Crash!

The car, skilfully guided so that it touched the inward side of the boulder, forced it from the edge and sent it bounding and smashing downward into the gulf.

A sharp breath tore through the boy's lips. Confidence again took possession of him. After that escape, what difficulty could come up that Motor Matt was not able to conquer?

Matt seemed to be made of steel. With one foot on the brake and both hands on the wheel, he kept rigidly to his work.

"How're they making it behind, Josh?" he called.

The boy knelt in his seat and looked back up the steep incline.

Fortune was riding with Brisco that day. But for that he must have been hurled from the trail in a dozen places.

Driving a car was comparatively new work for him, and the chances are that never before had he been on such a dangerous piece of road. Yet he was naturally a man of iron nerve, and would not hold back where Motor Matt led.

Spangler, from his appearance, was as frightened a man as there ever was in Arizona. A gray pallor had spread over his face, and his eyes were fairly popping from his head. Gripping his seat with both hands, he braced himself with his feet against the forward dip of the car.

"Dey're slidin' after us, cull," reported the boy.

"Gaining?"

"Dat's wot, but not like dey did on de level road."

"The foot of the mountain is just ahead of us. Can we get there before they overtake us?"

"Well, mebby we kin, but I wish de foot o' de mountain was half a mile nearer dan wot it is."

Facing about in his seat, Josh looked at the foot of the mountain for himself.

They were dropping toward it swiftly. There were no more curves—nothing but a straight fall, a shoot between bordering rocks and then a cheerful reach of road over the plain.

"We're in luck t' git out o' dis widout a broken neck," said Josh. "Chee, but dat level place looks good t' me."

"The Flier's a dandy car!" declared Matt.

"She's got a dandy driver, an' dat's no dream. W'ere'd we been widout Motor Matt at de steerin'-wheel? Yous is a four-time winner, an' dere's odders dat'll hear me say it."

"The runabout will be hot after us as soon as we hit the level ground again."

"Dey'll never ketch us, cull. I don't care how hot dey come, wit' yous handlin' de Flier."

With a final spurt the red car rushed through the rocks, and, for the first time since it had taken that up-and-down trail, both ends were on a level.

As they glided out onto the plain, Matt cast a look backward. There was a feeling of relief came over him at sight of the runabout charging through the rocks at the mountain's foot.

But, as he looked, and just as the runabout was on the point of striking level ground, there was a jerk to the left, a crash, and a sudden stop.

Brisco pitched forward over the wheel, shot clear past the hood, and doubled up and rolled along the stony trail.

Spangler went out on the left side, ricochetting into the air and turning a couple of grotesque somersaults. Like Brisco, when he dropped, he lay still.

A sharp breath escaped Matt's lips. Turning the Red Flier, he started back until he had come almost upon the silent form of Brisco; then he brought the Flier to a halt and jumped out.

"Chee, Moses!" muttered Josh, awed by the abrupt termination of the chase. "Do yous t'ink dem guys is killed, Matt?"

"That's what we've got to find out," flung back Matt, hurrying to Brisco and kneeling down beside him.

Human enmity seemed a paltry thing to Matt as his hand went groping over Brisco's breast, feeling for the heart-beats. A thrill of satisfaction shot through him as he found that Brisco was alive.

Hurrying on to Spangler, he was immensely relieved to find that worthy sitting up in the road and drawing a hand over his dazed eyes.

"What—what happened?" faltered Spangler.

"Nothing to what's going to happen now, Spangler," answered Matt, and picked up the second and last revolver which the ruffian had had about him.

"There ought to be some ropes in the runabout, Josh," called Matt. "Go and get them."

CHAPTER XV.

MOTOR MATT'S TEN-STRIKE.

Josh hustled for the runabout. One of the coiled ropes Matt had put in the car was hanging over a lamp, and the other had been thrown into the road. Taking the one off the lamp, the boy hurried back to the place where Matt was training the revolver on Spangler.

"Fine bizness!" laughed Josh. "Wot d'yous want me t' do, Matt? Put a bow-knot on his lunch-hooks?"

"Stand up, Spangler!" ordered Matt.

Spangler got lamely to his feet. He was still confused and bewildered.

"Somethin' hit us," he mumbled. "From the way I was throwed it must hev been a landslide. Whar's Hank? Is he killed?"

"Brisco will get along, I guess," said Matt. "Put your hands behind you, Spangler."

Just then, for the first time, it began to dawn on Spangler that Matt was making a prisoner out of him. The ruffian, although practically uninjured, had been badly shaken up. Nevertheless, he was in condition to resist, and he leaped backward, swearing.

"If ye think ye kin rope, down an' tie me," he cried, "jest bekase that thar machine bucked an' dumped me inter the road, ye got another——"

"Come this way!" cut in Matt.

The words, hard and keen, jumped at Spangler like so many knife-points. Motor Matt meant business, and showed it in every movement.

Spangler stepped forward.

"That's far enough," snapped Matt. "Now put those hands behind you."

With the open end of his own gun staring him in the face, there was nothing for Spangler to do but to obey. His hands went meekly behind him.

"Can you tie a good hard knot, Josh?" asked Matt.

"T'ink I ain't good f'r nuttin'?" protested the boy.

Passing behind Spangler, he used the free end of the rope for a few moments and then stepped back with the rest of the coil in his hands.

"If he gits dem mitts out o' dat he's a good 'un," announced Josh. "W'ere d'yous want him, Matt?"

"In the Red Flier. Step lively, Spangler. We've got to look after Brisco."

"Get ap!" clucked Josh, shaking the rope.

With a black scowl on his face, the baffled Spangler made his way to the touring-car.

"Get in on the back seat," went on Matt.

Spangler obeyed the order.

"Now, Josh," pursued Matt, "cut the rope and tie a piece of it around his feet."

The boy finished the work expeditiously, and when he and Matt drew away from the Red Flier they left Spangler helpless and fuming in the tonneau.

Brisco was still lying where he had fallen, and he was still unconscious. Matt made a more thorough examination of him. His pulse was stronger and, so far as Matt could discover, there were no broken bones.

"Wot keeps 'im in a trance?" asked the boy. "He's stayin' a long time in de Land o' Nod for not havin' nuttin' wrong wit' 'im."

"Pick up his revolver, Josh," returned Matt briskly, "and then sit down beside him and wait till he gets his wits back. Don't let him get away from you."

"Get away from me? Not on yer life, cull. I'd radder take dis mutt into Fairview dan pull down a t'ousan' in de long green. Dad wants him."

Paying no attention to the boy's rather obscure remark, Matt went to the runabout. He was expecting to find the machine badly smashed, and was happily disappointed.

Both front lamps were broken, and the mud-guard over the right wheel forward had been ripped away. The guard had fallen between the wheel and the rock, and undoubtedly had kept the wheel from being dished. The tire was punctured and the jolt had disabled the motor. For all that, however, the machine, with a few temporary repairs, could travel on its own wheels if not under its own power.

Brisco had not yet corralled his wits. Aided by Josh, Matt dragged the man off to one side, where he would be out of the way; then, cutting about six feet of rope from the other riata, he threw it down where Josh could get at it.

"When Brisco wakes up, Josh," said Matt, "just hold him steady till we put that rope on him."

"Wot yous goin' t' do, Matt?" inquired the wondering Josh. "Yous is busier dan a monkey wit' his hand in a coconut."

"We're going to haul the runabout into Fairview," said Matt. "But I've got to patch her up first."

Getting into the Red Flier, Matt backed her as close to the disabled car as he could; then, hitching onto the runabout with the ropes, he pulled it down onto the level plain.

With a jack taken from the touring-car he swung the runabout's wheel off the ground. The mud-guard, having been ripped off, was not in his way. After locating the puncture and marking it with chalk, he unscrewed the wing-nuts, pushed out the security-bolt, and then, with levers, dug out the inner tube.

Perhaps he was an hour getting the hole patched up, tire back in place and reinflated. When he was through, the runabout was ready to be dragged to Fairview.

"How's Brisco?" asked Matt, putting on his leather coat, which he had thrown off while working with the runabout.

"Same as wot he was, cull," replied Josh. "He ain't twitched an eye-winker."

"He may be shamming," said Matt, "in the hope of making a bolt for his liberty. We'll put him in the tonneau. You can ride with him and watch him every minute. I'll take Spangler in front with me."

"We're goin' t' take de hull outfit into Fairview?" grinned Josh.

"That's the idea."

"A whale of an idee it is, too, an' no stringin'. Reg'lar line-up o' crooks an' stolen automobiles, wit' Motor Matt in charge o' de bunch. Wow! It's de biggest come-easy dat I ever mixed up wit'. Mebby dere won't be rejoicin' w'en we goes pokin' into town wit' all dis load. Well, I guess yes."

Between them, Matt and Josh succeeded in carrying Brisco to the touring-car and getting him into the tonneau.

Spangler, having been transferred to one of the front seats, had been chewing the cud of reflection.

"Looky here, Motor Matt," said he, "ye ain't got no call ter kerry me ter Fairview. Think o' Klegg, down an' out an' mebby dyin' back thar in that notch. If anythin' happens ter him ye'll be responsible. Better turn me loose an' let me go back an' take keer o' him."

"Don't do so much worrying over Klegg," answered Matt. "I intend to have him looked after. Just as soon as we get to Fairview I'll have the sheriff, or some other officer, go to the notch and see that Klegg gets all the attention he deserves."

"Waal, even at that, ye ain't got no call ter lug me inter town. I ain't done a thing. Brisco was the feller that had it in fer you. It's him ye want ter git even with, an' not me."

"You didn't have a hand in robbing Mr. Tomlinson, did you?" said Matt sarcastically. "There are a lot of other things you've done, too, and I'm going to turn you over to Lem Nugent, the man who owns the runabout, as soon as we reach Fairview. It won't take long to get Nugent up from Ash Forks."

"Yous is a game loser, I don't t'ink," scoffed the boy. "W'ere's yer nerve, Spangler?"

"Say," said Spangler, giving his attention to Josh, "where did you butt inter this game?"

"I rode out o' Fairview wit' Brisco," grinned Josh. "He give me a ride."

"Give ye a ride?" echoed Spangler.

"Sure, on'y he didn't know it. I was under de coat in de back o' de runabout; an' I was still dere w'en yous mutts went t' dat hole in de wall. 'Course yous didn't see me. Yous was too mad at Motor Matt t' see anyt'ing."

The whole situation rushed over Spangler with demoralizing clearness. He was able to understand how Josh and Matt, by the exercise of pluck and brains, had succeeded in balking the plans of Brisco.

Spangler swore heartily. It seemed to be his only method for easing his feelings.

"The worst move we ever made," he muttered savagely, "was takin' Motor Matt out o' town last night. I didn't want ter do it, but Brisco had made up his mind, an' that settled it. We ain't got no one ter blame but ourselves fer what's happened. Go on. The quicker we git ter Fairview an' hev this thing over with, the better I'll be suited."

Spangler, resigning himself to the situation, sank back in his seat.

Matt went around to the rear of the car to make the ropes attaching it to the runabout more secure. As near as he had been able to discover there was a level road all the way to Fairview. They were coming into the town from the north and east, and not along the Ash Fork road, where there was a hill to be descended in order to reach the valley.

Having reassured himself about the ropes, Matt returned to the side of the Red Flier and mounted the running-board. Looking over the side of the tonneau, he swept his gaze over Brisco's unconscious face.

"I can't understand what keeps him that way, Josh," said Matt.

"Mebby he's badly shook up inside," answered the boy. "Wot he needs is a doctor."

"Well, he'll have one before long. Stay right beside him and watch him every minute. If he's playing possum with us, we want to make sure he don't gain anything by it."

"I'm right on de job," said Josh.

Matt climbed into his seat and started on the low gear. There was a creaking of the ropes as they took the pull, and the runabout started.

Everything worked smoothly, and Matt, with a load worth fifteen hundred dollars, set his face toward Fairview.

CHAPTER XVI.

MORE TROUBLE FOR THE "UNCLE TOMMERS."

The disappearance of Motor Matt and the Red Flier made Carl Pretzel not only bewildered but furiously angry. He was angry at Brisco and bewildered to account for the way he had pulled off his night raid.

"Oof dot feller inchures a hair oof Modor Matt's headt," wheezed Carl, shaking his fist in the air, "I vill camp by his drail, py chimineddy! I vill go on some var-paths! I vill make him be sorry for vat he dit, yah, so helup me!"

Leaving Carl to rant and vow vengeance, Legree rushed over to the railroad-station and sent a message. The message, owing to financial embarrassment on the part of Legree, had to go collect.

"Lem Nugent, Ash Fork.

"Come at once to Fairview. Important developments regarding your automobile.

Motor Matt."

Legree signed the message with Matt's name because he knew the cattleman wouldn't know anything about a man named Legree; and he also felt sure that Motor Matt's name would secure the cattleman's instant attention.

On his way back to the hotel he inquired for the sheriff. Fairview was too small to have a sheriff, but the town had a deputy sheriff. The deputy, however, was just then attending his father's golden-wedding, in Flagstaff, the marshal had gone with him, and the town was without an officer.

As if this was not sufficiently discouraging, when Legree got back to the hotel he found a very disquieting state of affairs.

The Uncle Tommers had been chased out of the hostelry by O'Grady and Ping Pong, his Chinese cook. They were gathered in a forlorn group in front, and Carl Pretzel was with them.

"Mistah O'Grady, sah," Uncle Tom was saying with all the dignity he could work up, "Ah's de official mascot ob Motah Matt. While Ah's been stayin' in yo' 'stablishment, Ah's been mascottin' fo' him. He will come back, yo' ma'k what Ah say. Gib us ouah breakfus en yo' sho gits yo' money!"

"Begorry, yez have got into me f'r all yez are goin' to," yelled the proprietor. "It's a passel av thramps yez are, iv'ry wan av yez! Av th' marshal was in town, Oi'd have yez all in th' cooler. Get out, befure Oi sic th' dog on yez! Scatther!"

"What's the matter here?" demanded Legree, pushing to the front.

"Py chincher," flared Carl, "dot Irish feller t'inks ve vas vorkin' some shkin games on him. He vas grazier as a pedpug, und he von't gif us some preakfast."

"En we's all hongry es sin," piped Uncle Tom plaintively. "Ah been mascottin' fo' Motah Matt twell Ah's dat fagged Ah dunno whut Ah's about, no, sah."

"I tried to get him to take my ring, Legree," put in Eliza, "but he won't. He says we're only a lot of dead beats, and never intend to pay him."

"Ah tole him," spoke up Topsy, "dat Ah'd wuk in his kitchum fo' de price ob a breakfus, an' he wouldn' hab it. Ah's honest, dat's whut Ah is. Ah nebber stole a cent fum anybody en mah life."

"See here, O'Grady," remarked Legree, "Motor Matt has money and he has offered to pay our expenses while we're stopping with you. I'll have money myself in a few days, and then I'll pay you. You're not taking any chances on this crowd."

"Faith, an' yez are roight about thot," scowled O'Grady. "Oi'm takin' no more chances wid yez. Motor Matt! Why, he run aff lasht noight! Sure, he did! He shneaked away so he wouldn't have t' pay me f'r yer kape. Oi'm keen enough t' see thot!"

"Py shinks," whooped Carl, dancing around and waving his fists, "don'd you say dod some more. I can lick der feller vat says somet'ings aboudt Modor Matt like dot. Ven he say he pay, he mean vot he say, und he do it, too. Yah, you bed you! Modor Matt vas my bard, und he don'd vas leafing a bard in der lurch like vat you say."

"Av Motor Matt is yer pard," said O'Grady, "bedad but it's sthrange yez haven't money. Git out, Oi say! Oi'm done wid yez."

"I tell you," went on Legree, "I'll have money myself in a few days."

"Yez can't make me belave any cock-an'-bull shtory like thot. Niver again will Oi take in anny wan widout baggage. Shoo! Clear out befure Oi git violent."

In O'Grady's present temper there was no reasoning with him, so Legree marshaled his comrades and led them off to a neighboring wood-pile, where they all sat down disconsolately.

"Ah's been accustomed tuh bettah treatment," mourned Uncle Tom. "Ah's got de bigges' notion dat evah was tuh put a hoodoo on dat hotel. Ah could do hit, but Ah restrains mahse'f till Ah gits odahs fum Motah Matt."

"Go 'long wif sich talk!" cried Topsy, out of patience. "'Peahs lak yo' done put dat hoodoo on de rest ob us. Nuffin' ain't gone right sence we left dat 'ar Brockville place."

"There'll be some one here from Ash Fork before long, who, maybe, will help us," said Legree. "Just be as patient as you can, friends, and we'll hope for the best."

"All de patience in de worl', Mistah Legree," answered Uncle Tom, "'doan' fill a pusson's stummick. Mah goodness, Ah didun' know Ah was so pesterin' hongry."

"I tell you somet'ing," said Carl, "oof I knowed vich vay Modor Matt vas, I vould go und findt him. I vas madt as some vet hens ofer dis pitzness. Here ve vas, hung oop on a vood-pile mit nodding to eat, und not knowing vere Modor Matt vent mit himseluf. Chonny Hartluck iss hanging aroundt mit us."

Leaving his disconsolate friends, Legree went back to the railroad-station. There he waited for four hours for the local train from Ash Fork. He was rewarded, however, by seeing a big man get off the train, stop on the platform, and look around expectantly.

Legree walked up to the arriving passenger.

"Mr. Nugent?" he asked.

"You've hit it," replied the cattleman, staring the stranded actor up and down with an unfavoring eye.

"Ah! Well, sir, my name's Legree. I suppose you're looking for Motor Matt?"

"Another bull's-eye for you. I came here on a telegram from Motor Matt saying that there had been important developments concerning my automobile that was stolen from me near Ash Fork. Where's Motor Matt?"

"He is unavoidably absent just now," answered Legree, "but I am confidently expecting him to appear at any moment. To be frank with you, sir, I sent that telegram and signed Motor Matt's name to it."

The cattleman became indignant.

"You're pretty fresh, seems to me!" said he. "What business had you doing a thing like that?"

"Because I wanted you here. Your car was in town yesterday. One of the thieves brought it in for a supply of gasoline and oil. Motor Matt and I tried to capture the thief, but he got away from us and took the car with him."

"Who are you, if you haven't any objection to answerin' a straight question?" demanded the cattleman.

"Step into the waiting-room with me for a few moments," replied Legree, "and I'll explain."

They went into the waiting-room and were gone possibly five minutes. When they came out on the platform once more, Nugent seemed to have developed a vast amount of confidence in Legree.

"Why didn't you tell Motor Matt what you've told me?" asked the cattleman.

"I wasn't telling anybody that, Mr. Nugent," answered Legree, "and I wouldn't be telling you now if I hadn't wanted to fix things with O'Grady so that I and my friends can continue to remain at his hotel."

"I know O'Grady," said Nugent. "Come along with me and I'll fix things up for you."

They went to the hotel at once. O'Grady, tilted back against the wall in front, was smoking a pipe and keeping a sharp eye on the wood-pile.

Uncle Tom, with a red bandanna over his face, was leaning back against the wood and was apparently asleep. All the rest were hovering listlessly about, waiting patiently for something to happen.

The sight of Lem Nugent, who was known throughout all that part of the country, wrought a great change in O'Grady. The cattleman and the actor were approaching together, and seemed to be on cordial terms.

"O'Grady," said Nugent, after he had exchanged greetings with the proprietor, "this gentleman is a friend of mine, and his friends are my friends, understand? Take them all in and give them the best you've got. And don't bleed me, you shyster. I'll stand the damage, but I won't be robbed."

"Whativer yez say goes wid me, Lem," said O'Grady. "Come on, all av yez," he cried, standing up and motioning toward the wood-pile. "Oi'll have th' Chink put a male on th' table f'r yez to wanst."

Uncle Tom may have been asleep, but he heard those welcome words and was up like a shot.

"Ah was mascottin fo' dat very t'ing," he admitted, as he ran toward the hotel. "Layin' back dar wid mah bandannah ober mah face, Ah was wukin' lak er hiahed man, yassuh. Now, den, yo' Topsy, yo' see what Ah kin do when Ah lays mahse'f out!"

Just as they were starting into the hotel, a shout from Carl brought them all to a halt and an about-face.

"Hoop-a-la!" yelled Carl, dancing around and throwing his cap in the air. "Look vonce ad vat's coming! Vat dit I say? Here vas a drain oof cars, mit Modor Matt pringing dem in. Ach, himmel, I peen so habby as I can't dell! Modor Matt iss coming!"

Under the startled eyes of those in front of the hotel two cars could be seen coming along the road. The Red Flier, with Matt and three passengers, was in the lead, and towing behind was the runabout.

"My car, by thunder!" shouted Nugent, starting for the road.

"And Spangler is with Motor Matt," cried the amazed Legree, "and Brisco, and the kid! How in blazes do you think that happened?"

A disgusted look crossed Uncle Tom's face.

"How yo' t'ink dat happened!" he muttered sarcastically; "en me a-mascottin' fo' Motah Matt all de time!"

CHAPTER XVII.

CONCLUSION.

Whether O'Grady really thought Motor Matt had taken French leave during the night or not, is a question. Certainly he was as surprised to see Matt traveling into town as were any of the rest of them.

All those around the hotel flocked to the road.

"Hello, Matt!" called Nugent, reaching up his hand. "It looks like you'd been accomplishing something."

Matt's acquaintance with the cattleman had been of exceedingly brief duration, and never before had he been hailed by him in that cordial tone.

"How are you, Mr. Nugent?" he returned, taking the cattleman's hand. "How did you happen to come over this way?"

"Got a telegram from you——"

"From me?" echoed Matt.

"I sent it, Matt," put in Legree, "and signed your name to it. When you disappeared last night I knew something had to be done, and that there ought to be a man with money to do it. So I sent for Nugent."

"It's all right, my boy," said Nugent, "and I'm tickled to death because I came. You're bringing in my car, I see, and the two fellows that took it away from me. Good! If we don't put 'em through for their crooked work, my name ain't Nugent."

"You'll have to send for a doctor for Brisco," said Matt. "He's been unconscious for two hours, and I don't know whether he's badly hurt or not. You see——"

At that moment Brisco proved that he was far from being badly hurt. With a jump he got out of the tonneau and started at a run toward the edge of town. Uncle Tom happened to be in his way, and was knocked heels over head.

"Dere he goes!" yelled Josh excitedly. "Clear out o' de way so I kin git a shot at 'im!"

But Josh was not allowed to carry out his warlike intentions. Legree took after the escaping ruffian, overhauled him before he had gone far, grabbed him by the shoulders, and hurled him to the ground.

O'Grady, rushing to Legree's assistance, lent a willing hand. Brisco had been a good customer of O'Grady's, but the situation had changed somewhat since the Uncle Tommers had been staying at the Shamrock Hotel.

"I reckon, Matt," remarked Lem Nugent dryly, "that the fellow ain't very badly hurt. How did you happen to get hold of the scoundrels?"

"They were chasing us," answered Matt. "We were in the Red Flier and they were in your car. Brisco ran into the rocks, and he and Spangler were thrown out. Neither of them seemed very much hurt, and Josh and I captured Spangler before he had fully got back his wits. Brisco appeared to be all right, but he was unconscious. I had an idea that he might be shamming. Probably he came to himself just as we got here, and thought the best thing for him to do would be to make a break."

"His break didn't help him any," said Legree, as he and O'Grady came marching back with Brisco between them. "Go up to my room, Josh," Legree went on, "and get those two plates. You'll find 'em under the northeast corner of the carpet. Front room, boy."

"Dat's me," answered Josh, handing Brisco's weapons to his father and bounding away.

"I'm going to tell you people something," proceeded Legree, "that will no doubt surprise you. And I think," he finished grimly, "that Brisco will be as much surprised as anybody."

Josh presently returned with a couple of flat, square packages. Leaving O'Grady to take care of Brisco, Legree took the packages in his hands.

"A crook by the name of Denver Denny, alias James Trymore," went on Legree, "escaped from the authorities at Denver and came to this part of the country. Denver Denny was a clever counterfeiter, and worked in conjunction with Hank Brisco. At least, following the output of the 'queer' as it trailed along in the wake of that Uncle Tom's Cabin Company, I came to that conclusion.

"Denny owned a set of very fine plates for the manufacture of bogus five-dollar silver certificates. When he was captured in Denver those plates were nowhere to be found. I conceived the notion that they might be in Brisco's possession, and in order to make sure, I became letter-perfect in the part of Legree, and Josh here got the part of Little Eva by heart, and we arranged to join Brisco's company of barn-stormers.

"We were with them for some time, watching Brisco all the while. Brisco was not shoving any of the 'queer' while we were with him, and I was inclined to think that I had made a mistake in connecting him with Denny's operations. However, Brisco had a little tin box, of which he was very choice and careful. His solicitude for that box aroused my curiosity. When Brisco pulled out between two days in Denver, and left his company stranded, by some freak of chance he dropped the box. Josh found it. We opened the box in Ash Fork and found these two packages in it." Legree lifted the two flat parcels so all could see. "I knew perfectly well that Brisco would come after his box, so I continued to play the part of a stranded actor, hoping to get my hands on him.

"Fate was kind to us," and here Legree turned and dropped a friendly hand on the young motorist's shoulder, "by bringing Motor Matt along. He came to the front gallantly and helped us. I should have captured Brisco sooner or later, even without his aid, but he has closed the affair in hurricane fashion and saved the government lots of trouble."

Everybody, Uncle Tommers, Matt, Carl, and Brisco and Spangler, were astounded. Nugent was the solitary exception, for Legree had revealed his identity to the cattleman in the railroad-station.

"These are the plates," went on Legree. "Brisco had them in the tin box."

"And you are——" began Matt, staring at Legree.

"A secret service man in the employ of the government."

A cry of fierce anger escaped Brisco. He made a fierce attempt to get at Legree, but O'Grady restrained him.

"Faith," said O'Grady, with cheerful disregard of his past actions, "Oi knowed yez was a bad egg th' minyit Oi set eyes on yez."

"Dis," remarked Uncle Tom, with immense pride, "is de best job ob mascottin' whut Ah's done yit!"

"Better give up, Brisco!" called Spangler from the touring-car. "They've got it on us an' we'll have ter take our medicine."

"Got it on us, yes," stormed Brisco, "but they wouldn't have done it if it hadn't been for Motor Matt."

"Not so quick, I'll admit," said Legree amiably, "but I'd have caught you sooner or later, Brisco. In my report I shall have something to say to the head of the department about Motor Matt. I'd like to hear, though, just how he happened to make this haul."

"Josh helped me," said Matt.

"Not enough so yous could notice it," returned Josh promptly; "Motor Matt was de man on de job from start t' finish. Yous take it from Little Eva, an' no stringin'."

The boy turned to Matt with a wide grin.

"Yous is wise t' why I went off wit' Brisco in dat runabout now, ain't yous? I wanted t' find out w'ere he had 'is hang-out so dad could turn a trick fer de gov'ment. But yous cut out dad, Matt."

"Listen, vonce," cried Carl, who had been trying for some time to get in a few words, "Matt's der pest efer. He prings luck venefer he goes mit anypody. Yah, dot's righdt. I know, pecause he prought luck mit me."

Uncle Tom was disposed to butt in with an objection, but the cattleman had something to say.

"There's fifteen hundred of my money goes to somebody for all this," said he. "Who gets it, Matt?"

"Divide it up between all of us," answered the boy generously. "The Uncle Tommers need it."

A shout of delight went up from the actor contingent.

"You can leave Josh in the division," said Legree, "but cut me out of it. I'm working for Uncle Sam."

Just at that moment the Chinaman stepped to the door and announced dinner.

"We'll talk all this over while we eat," said Nugent. "Come on, everybody."

Motor Matt and Carl, having lost more time in Fairview than they could well afford, started for Albuquerque early in the afternoon.

Eliza, Topsy, and Uncle Tom, now well supplied with money, were to proceed to Denver by train.

The secret service man and Josh were to remain in Fairview for a few days with their prisoners, and then to take them to Denver for trial.

"Matt," said Carl seriously, as the Red Flier leaped onward toward Albuquerque, "I vas a lucky feller to hook oop mit you. Vone oof dose tays, oof you don'd go pack on me, I vill vear tiamonts!"

"I'll never go back on you, Carl," laughed Matt; "but I'm a little 'juberous' about the diamonds."

THE END.

THE NEXT NUMBER (7) WILL CONTAIN

MOTOR MATT'S CLUE;

OR,

THE PHANTOM AUTO.

A Night Mystery—Dick Ferral—La Vita Place—The House of Wonder—Sercomb—The Phantom Auto Again—Surrounded by Enemies—The Kettle Begins to Boil—Ordered Away—A New Plan—A Daring Leap—Desperate Villiany—Tippoo—In the Nick of Time—A Startling Interruption—The Price of Treachery—The Luck of Dick Ferral.

NEW YORK, April 3, 1909.

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