CHAPTER XIII.

MOTOR CAR AND AEROPLANE.

It was about nine o'clock in the evening when Matt was awakened by the arrival of McGlory and Twomley. Burton, curious and eager, came into the calliope tent with them.

"I'll tell you what my plan is," said Matt, sitting up on the edge of the cot, "and then you can all go to bed and get a good night's rest. Ben Ali is a crafty scoundrel, and it is necessary for us to capture him in order to find out what he has done with Miss Manners."

"That's the point," approved Twomley. "If we can't get hold of Ben Ali, the Secret Service men will have a bally time locating the girl."

"I'm inclined to think that Bill Wily told nothing but the truth," proceeded Matt.

"You never can tell about Wily," struck in Burton. "It's because he's so shifty and unreliable that they call him Wily Bill. I wouldn't bank too much on what he says."

"It's neck or nothing with him," suggested Twomley. "He has everything to lose by not telling the truth, and I believe the fellow appreciates that fact."

"You can gamble a blue stack he does!" declared McGlory. "Did you see the look Dhondaram gave him while he was handing us that long palaver? If the Hindoo ever gets foot-loose, I wouldn't stand in Wily's shoes for a bushel of pesos."

"To my mind," said Matt, "the fact that Dhondaram was in that house proves the truth of Wily's story. Well, true or false, my whole plan is built up on what the 'barker' told us. We're to assume that Ben Ali will be in that oak opening, five miles from Grand Rapids on the Elgin road."

"Who knows whether there's an opening there or not?" asked Burton.

When the showman once lost confidence in a man, he put no trust in anything the man might do or say.

"The opening is there," said Matt. "I went out in an automobile and saw it for myself."

"Ah! So that's what you passed up the afternoon flight for, eh?"

"Partly," answered Matt. "Now, let us suppose that Ben Ali is in that opening to-morrow, waiting for Dhondaram to arrive with money which Ben Ali thinks he has stolen. Quite likely the Hindoo will have some one with him—perhaps the old ticket man whom you discharged, Burton, and perhaps Aurung Zeeb. This ticket man has played the part of the agent representing the British ambassador in turning that trick in Lafayette——"

"Sufferin' traitors!" chanted McGlory. "I've a hunch, pard, your finger's on the right button."

"So," pursued Matt, "it is fair to assume that Ben Ali has some one to watch the Elgin road in the vicinity of the oak opening. If he is warned that any suspicious persons are approaching, the Hindoo will slide away snakelike and dodge pursuit."

Twomley nodded.

"You're a fair daisy, Motor Matt, in placing the situation squarely in front of us. By Jove, it looks like a hard nut to crack."

"Matt will crack it," averred McGlory. "Listen, now, to how he proposes to do it."

"How are you going about it?" inquired Burton impatiently. "I've had this on my mind ever since you and I left the house with the green shutters, and I can't tell how nervous you make me hanging fire about it. Seems like a mighty simple thing to go out in the woods, meet a fellow where he intends to be, and nab him."

"Not so deuced simple as you suppose, Mr. Burton," returned Twomley, "when you consider the character of the man, and his ability to make passes, look at you, and give you your ticket to the Land of Nod."

"We're going to work out this problem by motor car and aëroplane," said Matt.

"Aëroplane!" exclaimed McGlory. "That means you and me, pard."

"The motor car for you, Joe," smiled Matt. "You and Twomley, and Burton will go along the Elgin road in that."

"What's the good?" demurred Burton. "You all seem to think it a cinch that the car will be seen, and that Ben Ali will get out of the way."

"You'll lag behind, you and your car," continued Matt, "and you'll let me and the aëroplane move ahead. I'll keep over the road as well as I can, and you can see me. When I sight our quarry I'll descend; then you can put on all speed and come up."

"The aëroplane will be a dead give-away!" asserted Burton. "Ben Ali and his outposts will see that as quick, or quicker, than they will the automobile."

"Suppose Ben Ali sees only one man on the machine, and thinks that the man is Dhondaram?" asked Matt. "Would he run, then?"

There was a silence, a startled silence, while the words of the young motorist were being pondered by his listeners.

"How'll Ben Ali think Dhondaram is running the Comet, pard?" queried McGlory.

"Because the man on the aëroplane will not look very much like Motor Matt, and will look a little like a Hindoo."

"You're going to make up for the part?"

"It won't be much of a make-up. A white robe over my ordinary clothes will do."

"But your face——"

"In the air and at a distance, my face won't tell against the deception. When the Comet has landed in the opening, then it will be Ben Ali and me for it—with an automobile full of reinforcements rushing to the scene."

"It sounds good," said McGlory thoughtfully.

"Here's something," observed Twomley, who had a clear head and a quick brain. "Ben Ali can think for himself. Won't he think it queer that Dhondaram is navigating the flying machine? Dhondaram, I make no doubt, is highly gifted, but will Ben Ali credit him with skill enough to operate the aëroplane?"

"He may not," admitted Matt; "still, if Ben Ali sees the machine, and a man in it who looks like Dhondaram, even if Ben Ali doubts he'll hold his ground in order to make sure. Ben Ali won't run from one man. Besides, he's expecting Dhondaram. That's a weighty point."

"I believe it will work," said Twomley. "At any rate, it will hold Ben Ali in the opening until the automobile has a chance to come close. Then the scoundrel is ours, no matter what he tries to do. By Jove, I like the idea!"

"Another thing," spoke up McGlory. "If Ben Ali smells a rat and tries to make a run, Matt can keep over him and follow him."

"Hardly that, Joe," returned Matt. "The woods are pretty thick along the Elgin road, and you know how big the top of a tree looks when you're gazing down on it. Besides, if there's any wind, the Comet is going to be a fair-sized handful to take care of."

"There you are," said Burton. "How do you know the opening is big enough for you to come down in? It won't do," and something akin to panic took hold of the showman, "to damage the aëroplane."

"Oh, go off somewhere, Burton, and wring out your wet blanket," growled McGlory. "You're tryin' to throw it over everything."

"We've got to get a look at this business from every angle," said Burton doggedly.

"Well, be easy about the oak opening," came from Matt. "It's large enough to alight in and to start from. If there's only a little wind, there'll be no danger."

The Englishman reached over and took Matt's hand.

"Allow me," said he, with a solemn handshake. "Win or lose, my bucko, you have my admiration."

Matt flushed.

"Why," said he, "this is all talk, as yet, Twomley."

"It's the sort of talk, my lad, that precedes notable achievements. Nine-tenths of all the great work that's done owes more to the head than to the hands. What about the automobile?"

"That will be here at eight o'clock in the morning."

"You even thought of that! I suppose I'll have to be catching a car for town."

Twomley got up and flung away the remains of a cigarette.

"You'd better stay here," suggested Matt. "There's an extra cot behind the calliope, and I'm sure Burton will give you your breakfast in the morning."

Twomley cast a glance around him. The odor from the animal tent, of which the calliope house was only a lean-to, was strong and disquieting. A lantern, tied to one of the tent poles, shed a murky light over the litter of buckets and ropes that strewed the tent floor. Matt had made ready for bed by kicking off his shoes and removing his coat and hat. It was all very primitive. In Washington Twomley looked as though he might have been of a fastidious nature. But, whatever he was at Washington, he was "game" at Reid's Lake.

"Go you," said he briefly. "Just where is that cot, my dear sir?"

McGlory dragged it out for him and opened it up.

"I'll pull it away from the wall of the animal top," said the cowboy. "Rajah, the bad elephant, is just on the other side of that piece of canvas, and he has the habit of snooping around in here with his trunk."

"I don't fancy Rajah will bother me," and Twomley shucked out of his low patent leathers.

"I could almost make a pard out of you," remarked McGlory.

"Nice work you've mapped out for Sunday," was Burton's sly fling as he paused at the door on his way out. "Motor Matt, who refused to make flights on Sunday for me for an extra hundred a week, lays out to pull off a go like this! Well, I'm surprised."

"Fate is no respecter of the calendar, Burton," Matt replied, with some show of feeling. "I'll work all day to-morrow if I can accomplish anything for Margaret Manners."

"Shake again," said the attaché.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE OAK OPENING.

Reid's Lake was a popular resort, and a large crowd rendezvoused there on Sundays and holidays. The coming of the crowd, however, had shifted to the beginning of the day, so that the start of the aëroplane might be witnessed.

Owing to Burton's enterprise, an "extra" of one of the evening dailies was on the Grand Rapids streets at nine in the evening, announcing, in large type, that Boss Burton, regretting the disappointment caused the Grand Rapids people because of the failure of the aëroplane ascensions on the first day of the show, was glad to announce that the king of the motor boys would take his famous machine aloft on the following morning at nine o'clock.

This was one of the little things Burton could do, on occasion, which jarred on Matt's nerves. He made it appear in the news columns as though Matt was making the ascension because Burton had so willed it, and as though the showman had willed it because of the disappointment which had been caused the Great Rapids people on the first day of the show.

When Matt discovered this, it was too late to remedy it. He had the satisfaction, however, of telling Burton just what he thought.

Extra cars were put on the run between town and the lake to accommodate the crowds. And the people came not only in the street cars, but also in carriages, wagons, and automobiles.

Carl and Ping had slept under the lower wings of the Comet, as was their usual custom when the weather was at all propitious, and to the casual observer it would have looked as though the Roman-candle incident had been entirely forgotten.

Matt was early at the machine, looking it over carefully and making sure that everything was in readiness. The Comet, he found, had never been in better trim for work than she was that morning.

Then, too, such a day for aëroplane flying could not have been surpassed. There was not enough wind stirring to flutter the banners on the tent tops.

It was necessary for McGlory, Twomley, and Burton to get away somewhat in advance of Matt, and to take up a position beyond the outskirts of the city on the Elgin road. At sharp eight-forty-five the motor car got away.

McGlory was usually in charge of the start during the aëroplane flights, but now Matt placed Carl in command. The importance of the position filled Carl with glory, and was correspondingly depressing to Ping, who really knew more about the aëroplane than Carl could have learned in a hundred years.

Carl and Ping were assisted by half a dozen stout canvasmen.

Before Matt took his seat, to the wonder of the crowd pressing against the guard ropes, he shook out a white robe and arranged it about him in such a manner as to leave his arms perfectly clear, but covering every part of his clothing.

After that he stepped on the footboard and dropped down in front of the motor.

The canvasmen, divided by Carl into two groups of three each, were placed behind the wings.

"All ready, Carl!" called Matt.

"Retty it iss!" shouted Carl.

The motor started merrily, the bicycle wheels began to turn, and the canvasmen to push.

Slowly the Comet gathered headway. Faster and faster it went, leaving the canvasmen behind; then, like a great bird, it soared into the air, followed by wild cheering.

A vagrant puff of wind struck the planes, just over the concert garden, and only quick work on the part of the intrepid young motorist averted a disaster. Gathering headway under the impetus of the thrashing propeller, the aëroplane darted upward into the blue and began reaching out toward the city.

Matt, while manipulating the aëroplane, had little time for sights and scenes below him. He was obliged to keep every faculty riveted on his work. Now and again, however, as he took his bearings and laid his course, he glimpsed the staring people in the roadways and on rooftops. Some of these spectators had opera glasses and binoculars.

Over the flat roofs of the city he whirled, cheered almost continuously.

The motor had never worked better. Everything depended on the motor. If the power had happened to fail, Matt could have glided harmlessly down the airy slope to earth—providing the city afforded him a good clear space in which to alight. A street zigzagged with telegraph, and telephone, and electric light wires was not such a place.

Passing the close-packed buildings of the business section, Matt gained the residence districts, and held on in a straight line for the Elgin road. He watched his landmarks, and, while they looked differently to him from aloft than they did from the ground, he knew he was going right when he saw the waiting automobile.

McGlory was standing up and waving his hat.

Throwing full speed into the propeller, Matt set the automobile a fifty-mile pace. At such a speed only a few minutes were necessary to carry the flying machine close to the oak opening where Ben Ali was to be in waiting for Dhondaram.

Peering forward and downward, Matt guided and manœuvred the Comet by sense of touch alone, watching eagerly the while for the great gap in the woods.

Finally he saw it, and what he glimpsed in the centre of the cleared space—etched into his brain as by the instantaneous operation of a photographic lens—was startling, to say the least.

The irregular circle of the opening was crossed through its centre by the hard, level road. Off to one side of the road were the dying embers of a fire, and near the fire lay a bundle, on which a young woman was sitting, her head bowed dejectedly. A turbaned figure stood at a distance from the girl—the figure covered with a red robe and its brown, staring face uplifted. This was Ben Ali. And the girl—who was she? Was it possible, could it be possible, that the girl was Margaret Manners? A wild hope leaped in Motor Matt's breast.

Ben Ali leaned on a club, leaned and watched with never a move toward running away. Probably he was speculating as to whether his confederate, Dhondaram, had learned to operate the air craft.

Matt gave Ben Ali scant time to come to a conclusion. Quick work was now in order, and the Comet ducked downward and slid through the air with slowing motor. Guided by a true, steady hand, the wheels brushed the roadway, then began to turn as the weight of the machine rested more heavily upon them. A short run of a dozen feet brought the Comet to a stop.

Ben Ali had not stirred from the place where Matt had first seen him standing.

Gathering the white robe about him, Motor Matt stepped hurriedly to the ground and ran toward Ben Ali.

The Hindoo, staring serpent-like, recoiled, his red robe falling away slightly as his hands raised the club.

"Ben Ali," cried the king of the motor boys, "I have caught you at another of your tricks. Did you think I was Dhondaram? Dhondaram is a prisoner, and you will soon join him in jail."

There followed a tense moment, during which Ben Ali's eyes glowed and scintillated with their marvelous powers, and his hands tightened on the bludgeon.

It was not a time to delay matters, and the young motorist made ready for desperate work against the arrival of the automobile.

"Maskee!" cried the astounded Hindoo, as Motor Matt leaped at him.

Ben Ali's amazement appeared to hold him paralyzed for the moment. It was not until Matt had caught the club that he aroused himself and began vigorous resistance.

Every instant Matt expected the automobile to come whirling to the spot with his friends.

He had the club, but Ben Ali, with a tigrish spring, seized him about the throat and clung to him like a leech, and all the while Ben Ali's eyes were rolling about in a way that was horrible to behold.

Matt dropped the club to catch at the Hindoo's straining arms. He felt a wave of weakness sweep through him, while the flashing eyes continued to exercise their baneful spell.

Was he being hypnotized in spite of himself? He had read that this was impossible, and that no man could be put in a state of hypnosis against his will. Yet what did that strange weakness mean?

A tremor ran through Matt's body. He tried to call aloud, but his lips framed voiceless words. By degrees he felt himself growing weaker and weaker, yielding more and more to the spell of the baneful orbs that sought his undoing.

Then, when it seemed as though he was about to come entirely under Ben Ali's power, there fell a blow—sudden, quick, and accompanied by a wild, feminine cry.

Ben Ali's tense fingers relaxed their grip, his form slumped forward, and Matt stood staring at the girl.

She was Margaret Manners, there was not the least doubt of that. In order to save him, the girl had seized the bludgeon, had approached her uncle from behind, and struck him down.

The girl's face was wild with grief, but there was a burning resolution in the eyes.

"I had to!" she cried hysterically. "I had to do that in order to save you. It was the spell, the spell of the eyes! He would have made you his victim, Motor Matt, just as certainly as he has worked his will with me! Oh, let us get away from here! Quick!" In a frenzy of fear she cast aside the club and seized his arm with both hands. "There are others—Aurung Zeeb is one. They are armed, and they will soon be here."

Matt dashed a hand across his forehead, as though to free his brain from some frightful dream.

"There are others, you say?" he gasped.

"Yes, yes," she answered distractedly.

"Where?"

"Watching the road! They—— Ah, too late, too late!"

Matt whirled and looked across the oak opening. From the side lying nearest the town came a running figure. It was Aurung Zeeb.

Where was the automobile? Matt could not hear it, and there was now no time to wait.

The girl had dropped to her knees and thrown her hands over her face.

"Come!" he called, bending down and catching her by the arm. "We can get away from here. Be brave, and trust to me!"

The girl started up, and he ran with her toward the aëroplane. As they drew near the machine, Matt saw another Hindoo coming into the opening along the other road.

CHAPTER XV.

AEROPLANE WINS!

Matt supposed that the automobile must have broken down somewhere on the road. His friends had not arrived in time to help him, so he was thrown upon his own resources.

While he and Miss Manners were racing toward the aëroplane, Matt was measuring his chances. The appearance of the second Hindoo, on the other side of the opening, complicated the dangers of the situation.

If these Hindoos were armed, as the girl had declared, then the case was indeed desperate. In making its start, however, the Comet would be running away from Aurung Zeeb, and straight toward the other Hindoo. This second man would have to leave the road or be run down; and if the start was made quickly enough, the Comet could get away from Aurung Zeeb.

"Sit there," cried Matt, lifting the girl to a seat on the lower plane. "Hold on," he added, starting the motor, "and don't move."

The girl's small fingers twined convulsively into the hand-holds. Matt dropped into his own seat and turned the power into the bicycle wheels. Slowly they took the push, the great wings lurching and swaying as the aëroplane moved.

Would it be possible for the machine, unaided by a crew of men behind the wings, to take to the air before the trees on the opposite side of the opening interfered?

This was a momentous, nay, a vital, question, and could only be solved by actual trial.

Out of the tails of his eyes Matt saw Ben Ali rising groggily to his feet. He flung up his arms and shouted.

Crack!

From behind came a bullet, ripping through the canvas of the upper plane, but, fortunately, doing no damage to the machinery. Aurung Zeeb was doing the firing.

And this same Aurung Zeeb had failed Ben Ali once in a dangerous pinch. This had caused a rupture of the friendly relations between the two men, but their differences had evidently been patched up. Now Aurung Zeeb was doing his utmost to help Ben Ali—and, perhaps, to land himself in the same trouble in which Dhondaram had been entrapped.

Another bullet was fired, but Aurung Zeeb must have been shooting as he ran, for his aim was poor.

Faster and faster raced the aëroplane, and Matt kept measuring the distance between the machine and the trees on the farther side of the opening. The Hindoo, in the road ahead, was running out of the aëroplane's path like a frightened hare.

By then, Ben Ali had joined in the chase, but the speed of the Comet was too great for the pursuers.

They were close to the edge of the timber, very close, when Matt felt the wings beginning to lift. A dozen feet farther and they were in the air.

In a flash the power was switched from the wheels to the propeller. The aëroplane dropped a little before it yielded to the thrashing blades of the screw; then it picked up the lost headway and arose.

The upward tilt was frightful, but necessary if a wreck in the treetops was to be avoided.

Never a word had come from Margaret Manners. White as a ghost, she held to her place, swaying her body to preserve a poise against the tilt and pitch of the huge framework.

The wheels brushed against the outer ends of the tree limbs, but the machine continued to glide into the air, walking upward as though climbing the rounds of a ladder.

If the motor had failed from any cause, there could have been no harmless gliding back to earth. A sheer drop downward would have been the result.

But the motor performed its work, and the trees presently hid the Hindoos and screened the Comet from any further attack.

Then, and not till then, did the king of the motor boys draw a full breath.

"Are you holding on, Miss Manners?" asked Matt.

"Yes," was the reply in a stifled voice.

"You're not afraid?"

"No."

"Bravo! We'll soon be back at the show grounds. You have seen the last of Ben Ali."

High above the trees Matt brought the Comet to an even keel, then laid out in a straightaway flight toward the lake. This time he did not follow the Elgin road, but struck across country the nearest way home.

That was not the first time Margaret Manners had had a ride in the aëroplane. Some time before, when, under the name of Haidee, she had traveled with the Big Consolidated, she had ridden on a trapeze swung below the machine. It was against Matt's will, and only a trick of Burton's had made it possible for the girl to make the ascension. At the time she was under hypnotic influence, and could not realize what she was doing. So, it followed, this was really the first ride she had ever taken in the aëroplane while mistress of her own faculties and able to understand her situation.

She behaved admirably, and did not even cry out when the wings tilted sideways, or ducked forward with the seeming intention of hurling her and Matt to the earth.

There was no talk between the two. In silence Matt attended to his work, drove the Comet at speed over the show grounds, circled, and came down in the roped-off space set apart for the machine.

The crowds were still lingering, waiting for the aëroplane to return. Cheering began as soon as the Comet was in sight, and was kept up until she was safely on the ground in the position from which she had originally started.

Carl and Ping were waiting, too, and the eyes of both boys were big with astonishment when they saw and recognized Margaret Manners.

"Vell, py shiminy grickets!" exclaimed Carl.

The girl smiled at him wanly as Matt helped her from her seat.

"You and Ping take care of the machine, Carl," cautioned Matt, as he led Miss Manners to the guard ropes and parted a course for her through the jostling mob.

"Hurrah for Motor Matt!" shouted some one. "He goes out alone and comes back with a passenger!"

A laugh followed the cheer.

"What's the price for a trip on the Comet?" called some one else.

"Where does your air-ship line run?"

"Give me a ticket to San Francisco!"

Matt met the joking good-naturedly and piloted Miss Manners to the calliope tent. The girl was tired and worn out.

"You'd better get a little rest, Miss Manners," Matt suggested. "What you have passed through this morning would have shaken nerves much stronger than yours."

"I don't want to rest," she answered; "I want to talk. You have saved me again, Motor Matt, but what is the use of it all if I can't leave this country and go to England, or back to India? Ben Ali will find me again."

"You are through with him," said Matt, "just as I told you. A man has come from the British legation in Washington to get you and send you away by the first boat leaving New York."

"The man who came to Mrs. Chadwick's in Lafayette said the same thing," answered the girl wearily. "It seems as though there is no escaping Ben Ali."

"Has he hypnotized you many times since he took you from Mrs. Chadwick's?" asked Matt anxiously.

"Only once. I gave up hope, and went with him without trying to resist. He said he intended to send me back to India, but not until the rajah had paid him a lot of rupees."

"He treated you well?"

"He always treated me well—in his way—but the horror of going into a trance and saying and doing things I know nothing about is more terrible than ever to me. It was the fear of a trance that made me promise not to make Uncle Ben any trouble."

"Who was the man who impersonated the agent of the British ambassador?"

"I had never seen him before."

"I thought that perhaps he might have been the man who sold tickets in the ticket wagon for Burton—the one who was with the show when you and Ben Ali were traveling with us."

She shook her head.

"I should have known that man if it had been he."

"Where did the man take you?"

"On the train somewhere. I thought we were going to Washington until we got off the train at a little station and met Uncle Ben. It was then he threw me into a trance, and when he awoke me we were at a little house near the place where we went this morning to wait for Dhondaram. Aurung Zeeb was at the house, and so was the other Hindoo—a man I had never seen before. You are sure," the girl asked tremblingly, "that this other agent of the British ambassador is really the person he pretends to be?"

The girl's lack of confidence was pitiable. She had suffered so much that Matt could readily understand her feelings.

"I am positive, Miss Manners," he answered gently. "You must rest now. I will have Mrs. Harris come and stay with you for a while."

The girl did not object, and Matt had soon found Mrs. Harris and sent her to the calliope tent.

Two hours later, while Matt was lounging around the front of the animal tent, a tired party consisting of Burton, Twomley, and McGlory arrived from the direction of the street-car line.

"You Matt!" cried McGlory. "Why didn't you wait and give us a chance?"

"If I'd waited much longer," answered Matt, "there wouldn't have been a chance for anybody. Did you see me coming back from the oak opening?"

"Did we?" echoed Twomley, putting his monocle in his eyes. "By Jove, I should say we did. Fancy! You up aloft, sailing as nice as you please with Miss Manners beside you, and Burton, McGlory, and me tramping along the road."

"What was the matter?" asked Matt.

"Matter?" fumed Burton. "What's the matter when you set out in an automobile and don't arrive where you're going? The motor bucked, three miles out of Grand Rapids, and you sailed right along and never paid any attention to us. McGlory, Twomley, and I started to walk the rest of the distance, when we saw the machine couldn't be fixed up for an hour or so, and before we'd gone a mile you sailed off in the direction of the show grounds—and never looked our way! Oh, blazes! I'm done with automobiles."

CHAPTER XVI.

CONCLUSION.

Motor Matt's regret was keen over the failure to catch Ben Ali, Aurung Zeeb, and the unknown Hindoo. It was one of those cases, however, where it was best to be satisfied with the work accomplished, and to forget the failure whereby three miscreants escaped the consequence of their evil deeds.

And it was possible that Ben Ali was not long to enjoy his freedom, for Twomley asserted that all the powers of the United States Secret Service would be bent toward accomplishing his ultimate capture.

When it came to dealing legally with Dhondaram, a serious question arose. If the Hindoo was to be punished severely, it would be necessary to take him to Jackson, where the worst of his crimes had been committed. This would require the presence of complaining witnesses, of which Burton was one. For a man traveling from place to place constantly, as was Burton, such a move could not be made without great sacrifices.

It was deemed better, therefore, to have Dhondaram brought to book for the lesser crime committed in the house of the green shutters. "Assault with murderous intent" was the charge, and a light sentence followed.

Bill Wily, agreeably to promises given him, was released. Whether he profited by his experience or not, Motor Matt never afterward discovered. Such a lesson as he had had, however, should have been enough for any man. For a little matter of ten dollars, he had entered blindly into the schemes of Ben Ali—and Ben Ali's schemes left their mark on every person who had anything to do with them.

Twomley was a delighted Englishman, if there ever was one. He had fulfilled the mission with which he had been intrusted by Sir Roger, and he had done so after discovering that his errand to Lafayette, so far as securing Miss Manners was concerned, was useless.

A Roman candle in the side-show tent had lent itself to the perpetration of a practical joke; and out of that joke had come the clue which had made possible the second rescue of Margaret Manners.

Carl was very much pleased to learn that so much good had developed from a row in the freak tent, but whether or not he forgave Ping for setting off the Roman candle is open to question.

Carl had declared that he would "play even" with Ping for the candle episode, and those who knew Carl best believed that he would prove as good as his word.

Monday morning Twomley and Miss Manners took a train for New York, but not until both the attaché and the girl had expressed to Matt and the motor boys their appreciation of all that they had done.

It was somewhat indelicate of Carl, perhaps, to mention the matter of his five thousand dollars before Miss Manners, but he was beginning to worry about the money. As he expressed it, "Der longer vat der time iss, der more vat I don'd seem to ged dot rewart. I peen sefendeen years olt, und meppy I don'd lif more as sixdy years from now."

Twomley assured Carl that he would do whatever he possibly could to hurry the money along. And with this promise Carl had to be satisfied.

With the turning over of Dhondaram to the police, the liberating of Bill Wily, and the departure of Twomley and Miss Manners, a series of thrilling incidents connected with Motor Matt's show career came to a close.

And Motor Matt's show experiences were likewise drawing near an end. Just how close this end was he did not dream that Monday morning when he and McGlory accompanied the attaché and his charge to the train.

When the two boys got back to the show grounds, however, Boss Burton had a telegram for Matt.

Burton was frankly worried about that telegram. Some other showman, he felt sure, was offering Matt a bigger salary for his aëroplane performances.

"Don't you forget for a minute," said Burton, watching keenly as Matt opened the telegram, "that you're hooked up with me on a contract for the season. You can't break that contract, you know."

"There were conditions, Burton," said Matt.

"The only condition I remember was something about the government buying the aëroplane—which is all a dream. The government has bought one of the machines, and that's enough. It takes a Motor Matt to run one of those cranky Traquair air ships. It'll be a long while before Uncle Sam buys another."

Matt read the message through, gave a whoop of delight, and passed the yellow slip on to McGlory.

Then McGlory jubilated.

"What's to pay?" demanded Burton.

"Uncle Sam has done the trick!" crowed the cowboy. "He takes the Comet at the same price he paid for the June Bug—fifteen thousand spot—machine to be crated and shipped immediately, if not sooner. Whoop-ya! That settles the aëroplane business for King & McGlory. The next game we get into will be something, I reckon, that I can take a hand in, and not leave Pard Matt to do all the work."

Burton's face grew gloomy.

"Let me look at that message," he requested.

Matt handed it to him, and he read it over two or three times, then dropped it savagely, and ground it under his heel.

"You don't have to sell," said he angrily. "You can turn that offer down if you want to."

"No, I can't," Matt answered. "The sale was virtually made up in North Dakota weeks ago. Besides, I'm not the only one interested in the deal."

"Who else besides McGlory?"

"Why, Mrs. Traquair, the widow of Harry Traquair, who invented the extension wings and a few other things that have made the aëroplane a success. Half of the fifteen thousand the government pays for the machine goes to Mrs. Traquair."

"Oh, blazes!" growled Burton. "Don't tell the woman anything about it. Send word back to the war department you don't want to sell; then I'll make a new contract with you for a thousand a week. In seven or eight weeks you boys will receive all your share of what the government pays for the Comet."

Matt listened to the showman gravely.

"You don't mean what you say, Burton," said he. "If you think for a minute that I'd play crooked with Mrs. Traquair, or with the government, then you've got pretty far off your track. It's in our contract that, if the government wants the machine, the contract terminates. Here's where the motor boys' engagement with the Big Consolidated comes to a close."

"You'll make a couple of flights to-day, won't you?" asked Burton, swallowing his disappointment.

"Yes, I'll do that much for you," Matt answered, "and then, bright and early to-morrow morning, we begin crating the machine for shipment."

"Blamed if I don't sort of hate to see the machine go," murmured McGlory. "Many a hair-raising old trip you've had in the Comet, pard, with me below lookin' up at you and almost kicking the bucket with heart failure! Mainy a thriller the machine has given us, and—well, I reckon it's done some good, too."

"That's the best part of it, Joe," said the king of the motor boys.

THE END.

THE NEXT NUMBER (30) WILL CONTAIN

Motor Matt's Mandarin

OR,

Turning a Trick for Tsan Ti.

On the Mountainside—The Yellow Cord—The Glass Balls—The Paper Clue—Putting Two-and-two Together—A Smash—Nip and Tuck—Tsan Ti Vanishes Again—Tricked Once More—The Diamond Merchant—The Old Sugar Camp—A Tight Corner—The Glass Spheres—A Master Rogue—The Eye of Buddha—The Broken Hoodoo.

NEW YORK, September 11, 1909.

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A BRAVE DEED.

The mining town of Capelton was alive with excitement. A long-looked-for event was about to take place. Mr. Hilton, the owner of the mines and more than half the village, was to give a ball in honor of his son's twenty-first birthday, and also to celebrate the return of his only daughter from the Parisian school to which she had been sent when but ten years old.

Carl Hilton was an only son, and because of his parents' indulgence had become selfish and tyrannical. His father idolized him, and was blind to his faults. He was to become a partner in the mines on attaining his majority. As Mr. Hilton had been out of health for more than a year, Carl had attended to most of the business, and he had so tyrannized over the miners that they one and all hated him; but they loved and respected his father, and for his sake bore in silence the abuse of the son.

To this birthday ball all the miners and their families had been invited, and the rumors of the great beauty of Nina Hilton only added to the excitement and anticipation.

I will not weary the reader by a description of the affair, and no event of interest occurred until supper was announced. It fell to the lot of Fred Chase, one of the foremen in the mines, to escort the beautiful Nina, and so deeply did they become engaged in conversation that it was some minutes before Fred noticed that Carl sat directly opposite, and was watching them closely. With an effort the young man concealed his annoyance, and continued his attentions to Nina.

"I intend to visit the mines to-morrow," said the girl, in tones loud enough to be heard by her brother. "I want to descend the new shaft."

"I shall be very happy to conduct you through the mines, but you must not descend the new shaft, for it is not safe. I have warned your brother that the roof of the mine is in danger of falling, but he only laughs at me, and I fear some terrible accident will be the result of his neglect."

"You are a fool, Fred Chase! The shaft is safe enough; if you talk like this, the men will all be afraid of it, and refuse to work. I shall take Nina there myself to-morrow," said Carl angrily.

The young man's face flushed, but he controlled himself, and answered coldly:

"I spoke the truth; the shaft is not safe, and unless more timber is put in to support the roof, you will soon have proof that I am right. I only hope that no lives will be lost."

"Pooh! You are a coward. I will show you to-morrow how little faith I put in your words."

The eyes of all present were drawn to the two by Carl's excited tone, and Fred's reply was plainly heard.

"Call me a coward, if you will, but time will prove the truth of my assertion. Neglect for twenty-four hours to order more timber to be placed in the new shaft for the support of its roof, and you alone will be responsible for what follows."

Carl did not answer, but glanced angrily at Fred, who, after a minute's pause, turned to Nina again, and changed the subject of conversation.

The following morning Carl started for the new shaft alone. Nina refused to accompany him, and begged him to delay his visit until the roof was made secure.

"Nonsense, sis! It is safe enough. That fool, Fred Chase, wanted to impress you."

Carl believed what he said. He had not visited the shaft for several weeks, and had not seen the timbers bend beneath the weight of earth above them. He reached the shaft just as half a dozen miners came from it, and in answer to his inquiries, was told that Fred Chase and another man had remained behind to finish filling the last car with ore.

"I am going down," he said, and in a few minutes was lowered to the bottom of the shaft. In the distance he could see the lights of the two miners. He advanced toward them. By the light of his own lantern he saw that some of the beams were bent; all seemed weighted to their utmost capacity, and he could not but own to himself that Fred Chase was right. He involuntarily shuddered as, in passing one large post, a slight crackling sound was heard; but it was not repeated, and he went on, determined to again make light of the matter.

"You see, I am not afraid of your shaft," he said sneeringly, as he reached the spot where the two men were standing with the now loaded car beside them.

"Only cowards need boast of their bravery," said Fred sternly.

"I am going on a short distance to look at the ore; you may wait for me at the foot of the shaft, and we will all be drawn up at once," continued Carl.

He strolled on, while Fred and his companion returned, as directed, to the entrance. They had barely reached it when they heard a loud report behind; a cry of fear mingled with the noise of falling rocks; then all was still.

With pallid faces the men looked at each other, for each knew what had happened. The roof had fallen, and Carl Hilton was either crushed beneath the rocks or imprisoned in the opening beyond.

Only an instant did they stand motionless. Then Fred grasped the rope and gave the signal to be hoisted to the top.

They told their sad story, and a messenger was dispatched to Mr. Hilton's residence. Soon the entrance to the shaft was a scene of wild excitement. The stricken relatives of the buried man had reached the spot as soon as possible. The father offered large rewards to any who would attempt the rescue of his son; but not a man would volunteer.

Mr. Hilton doubled and trebled his reward, but to no avail; to his entreaties were added the frantic pleading of the mother and Nina's distressed sobs.

Fred had stood silent, with his eyes bent on the ground, until the old man, in sheer despair, cried out:

"I will give half of my fortune, and it is a large one, to the men who will help me reach my boy!"

Fred came forward with a look of resolve on his face. "Mr. Hilton, not for your entire fortune would I enter that mine to save your son; but for humanity's sake, I will do my best to rescue him."

A cheer from the miners greeted these brave words. With a wave of his hand, Fred commanded silence, and running his eye over the crowd, said slowly:

"I must have three trusty men to help me. Who will go?"

For an instant no one responded; then Charles Gray, Fred's chosen companion, stepped to his side.

"I will go, Fred," he said quietly.

Two more men quickly followed the example of their brave leader, and, armed with spades, bars, ropes, and a bottle of brandy, they were lowered into the shaft.

Then followed a time of anxious suspense to the waiting crowd, who could only pray for the safety and success of the rescuing party.

The first act of the workers was to place extra beams, a few of which were lowered down the shaft for the purpose, as near as they could to the fallen roof, to help bear any strain that might be resting on those already there. In a few minutes they realized their wisdom, for a cracking sound was heard which caused them to retreat toward the shaft; but it was not repeated, and they returned to their work. At the end of three hours of cautious digging they came to the car which Fred and his companion had stayed behind to fill, and they stopped for a few moments' rest.

"He cannot be far from here, for we had barely reached the shaft when the roof fell. Hark! What was that?"

Fred stopped suddenly to listen.

"It was a groan! He is alive! Let us get to work, for he must be quite near," said Charlie Gray excitedly.

With new zeal they worked on, and in half an hour they had reached an opening caused by two large rocks, which had fallen together in such a manner as to leave a space between them. In that space lay Carl, with one arm doubled under him, and one foot pinioned by a large stone. The poor fellow was terribly bruised and cut, but conscious. Very gently he was lifted by the men and borne to the foot of the shaft. The signal was given, and they were carefully drawn to the top, and when they laid Carl on the ground a shout went up from the miners that echoed loudly over the hills.

"God bless you, Fred, and your brave companions!" said Mr. Hilton huskily, as he grasped the young man by the hand. "From my heart I thank you."

"No thanks are due. I could not bear to see a fellow creature die without trying to save him."

The crowd soon dispersed, and Carl was conveyed to his home. After many weeks of suffering he recovered; but the crushed foot was useless—he was a cripple for life.

As soon as he was able to do so, Carl sent for Fred.

"Forgive me, Fred," he said frankly. "I was wrong not to heed your advice, but my punishment has been great. Forget the past, and allow me to thank you for saving my life."

Fred could not refuse the apology thus offered, and the two became fast friends.

About a year afterward Mr. Hilton bestowed his daughter's hand upon the brave young man who had saved his son's life, and on his wedding day Fred became one of the owners of the mines. He is now a wealthy and prosperous man, and, with his beautiful wife, is almost worshiped by the miners.

A LOCOMOTIVE HERO.

Well, boys, if you wish it, I'll tell you the story. When I was a youth of eighteen, and lived with my parents, I had a boyish ambition to become an engineer, although I had been educated for loftier pursuits.

During my college vacation, I constantly lounged about the station, making friends with the officials, and especially with an engineer named Silas Markley. I became much attached to this man, although he was forty years of age and by no means a sociable fellow.

He was my ideal of a brave, skillful, thoroughbred engineer, and I looked up to him as something of a hero. He was not a married man, but lived alone with his old mother. I was a frequent visitor at their house, and I think they both took quite a fancy to me in their quiet, undemonstrative way.

When this Markley's fireman left him, I induced him to let me take his place during the remainder of my vacation. He hesitated for some time before he consented to humor my boyish whim; but he finally yielded, and I was in great glee.

The fact was that, in my idleness and the overworked state of my brain, I craved for the excitement, and, besides, I had such longing dreams of the fiery ride through the hills, mounted literally on the iron horse. So I became an expert fireman, and liked it exceedingly; for the excitement more than compensated for the rough work I was required to do.

But there came a time when I got my fill of excitement. Mrs. Markley one day formed a plan which seemed to give her a good deal of happiness. It was her son's birthday, and she wanted to go down to Philadelphia in the train without letting him know anything about it, and there purchase a present for him. She took me into her confidence, and asked me to assist her. I arranged the preliminaries, got her into the train without being noticed by Markley, who, of course, was busy with his engine.

The old lady was in high glee over the bit of innocent deception she was practicing on her son. She enjoined me again not to tell Silas, and then I left her and took my place.

It was a midsummer day, and the weather was delightful.

The train was one which stopped at the principal stations on the route. On this occasion, as there were two specials on the line, it was run by telegraph—that is, the engineer has simply to obey the instructions which he receives at each station, so that he is put as a machine in the hands of one controller, who directs all trains from a central point, and thus has the whole line under his eye. If the engineer does not obey to the least tittle his orders, it is destruction to the whole.

Well, we started without mishap, and up to time, and easily reached the first station in the time allotted to us. As we stopped there, a boy ran alongside with the telegram, which he handed to the engineer. The next moment I heard a smothered exclamation from Markley.

"Go back," he said to the boy; "tell Williams to have the message repeated; there's a mistake."

The boy dashed off; in a few minutes he came flying back.

"Had it repeated," he panted. "Williams is storming at you; says there's no mistake, and you'd best get on."

He thrust the second message up as he spoke.

Markley read it, and stood hesitating for half a minute.

There was dismay and utter perplexity in the expression of his face as he looked at the telegram and the long train behind him. His lips moved as if he were calculating chances, and his eyes suddenly quailed as if he saw death at the end of the calculation. I was watching him with considerable curiosity. I ventured to ask him what was the matter, and what he was going to do.

"I'm going to obey," he said curtly.

The engine gave a long shriek of horror that made me start as if it were Markley's own voice. The next instant we slipped out of the station and dashed through low-lying farms at a speed which seemed dangerous to me.

"Put in more coal," said Markley.

I shoveled in more, but took time.

"We are going very fast, Markley."

He did not answer. His eyes were fixed on the steam gauge, his lips close shut.

"More coal," he said.

I threw it in. The fields and houses began to fly past half-seen. We were nearing Dufreme, the next station. Markley's eyes went from the gauge to the face of the timepiece and back. He moved like an automaton. There was little more meaning in his face.

"More!" he said, without turning his eye.

"Markley, do you know you are going at the rate of sixty miles an hour?"

"Coal!"

I was alarmed at the stern, cold rigidity of the man. His pallor was becoming frightful. I threw in the coal. At least we must stop at Dufreme. That was the next halt. The little town was approaching. As the first house came into view the engine sent its shrieks of warning; it grew louder—still louder.

We dashed over the switches, up to the station, where a group of passengers waited, and passed it without the halt of an instant, catching a glimpse of the appalled faces and the waiting crowd. Then we were in the fields again. The speed now became literally breathless, the furnace glared red hot. The heat, the velocity, the terrible nervous strain of the man beside me seemed to weight the air. I found myself drawing long, stertorous breaths, like one drowning.

I heaped in the coal at intervals as he bade me. I did it because I was oppressed by an odd sense of duty which I never had in my ordinary brainwork. Since then I have understood how it is that dull, ignorant men, without a spark of enthusiasm, show such heroism as soldiers, firemen, and captains of wrecked vessels.

It is this overpowering sense of routine duty. It's a finer thing than sheer bravery, in my idea. However, I began to think that Markley was mad—laboring under some frenzy from drink, though I had never seen him touch liquor.

He did not move hand or foot, except in the mechanical control of his engine, his eyes going from the gauge to the timepiece with a steadiness that was more terrible and threatening than any gleam of insanity would have been. Once he glared back at the long train sweeping after the engine with a headlong speed that rocked it from side to side.

One could imagine he saw a hundred men and women in the cars, talking, reading, smoking, unconscious that their lives were all in the hold of one man, whom I now suspected to be mad. I knew by his look that he remembered that their lives were in his hand. He glanced at the clock.

"Twenty miles," he muttered. "Throw on more coal, Jack; the fire is going out."

I did it. Yes, I did it. There was something in the face of that man I could not resist. Then I climbed forward and shook him roughly by the shoulder.

"Markley," I shouted, "you are running this train into the jaws of death!"

"I know it," he replied quietly.

"Your mother is on board."

"Heavens!"

He staggered to his feet. But even then he did not remove his eyes from the gauge.

"Make up the fire," he commanded, and pushed in the throttle valve.

"I will not."

"Make up the fire, Jack," very quietly.

"I will not. You may kill yourself and your mother, but you shall not murder me!"

He looked at me. His kindly gray eyes glared like those of a wild beast, but he controlled himself in a moment.

"I could throw you off this engine, and make short work of you," he said. "But, look here, do you see the station yonder?"

I saw a faint streak in the sky about five miles ahead.

"I was told to reach that station by six o'clock," he continued. "The express train meeting us is due now. I ought to have laid by for it at Defreme. I was told to come on. The track is a single one. Unless I make the siding at the station in three minutes, we shall meet it in yonder hollow."

"Somebody's blunder?" I said.

"Yes, I think so."

I said nothing. I threw on coal. If I had had petroleum, I should have thrown it on; but I never was calmer in my life. When death actually stares a man in the face, it often frightens him into the most perfect composure. Markley pushed the valve still farther. The engine began to give a strange panting sound. Far off to the south I could see the dense black smoke of a train. I looked at Markley inquiringly. He nodded. It was the express. I stooped to the fire.

"No more," he said.

I looked across the clear summer sky at the gray smoke of the peaceful little village, and beyond that at a black line coming closer, closer, across the sky. Then I turned to the watch. In one minute more—well, I confess I sat down and buried my face in my hands. I don't think I tried to pray. I had a confused thought of mangled, dying men and women—mothers and their babies.

There was a terrible shriek from the engine, against which I leaned, another in my face. A hot, hissing tempest swept past me. I looked up. We were on the siding, and the express had gone by. It grazed our end car in passing. In a sort of delirious joy, I sprang up and shouted to Markley. He did not speak. He sat there immovable and cold as a stone. I went to the train and brought his mother to him, and, when he opened his eyes and took the old lady's hand in his, I turned hastily away.

Yes, gentlemen, I have been in many a railway accident, but I have always considered that the closest shave I ever had.

What was the blunder?

I don't know; Markley made light of it ever afterward, and kept it a secret; but no man on the line stood so high in the confidence of the company after that as he. By his coolness and nerve he had saved a hundred lives.