Motor Matt's Red Flyer, or, On the High Gear 2

Motor Matt's Red Flyer, or, On the High Gear 2

CHAPTER VII. A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE. "Do you know this cattleman in Ash Fork who had the runabout stolen from him?" asked Legree. "I know him by sight," answered Matt; "I'm not acquainted with him." "Are you sure that he will pay five hundred dollars for the recovery of his automobile?" "He said he would, and he's able to do it. And he offers to pay five hundred dollars apiece for the capture of Brisco and Spangler." "Then there's a chance for you to make fifteen hundred. I'd advise you to stay here and do it." Matt leaned against the car and went into a brown study. Mr. Tomlinson had not required him to get to Albuquerque in a hurry. He could take a reasonable amount of time for the trip. But Mr. Tomlinson _did_ expect the car to be brought safely to its destination. Would Matt in any way endanger the car by staying a short time in Fairview? That was the question that bothered him. "I t'ink, Matt," said Carl, "dot I could use some oof dot fifdeen huntert. Vy nod shtay und dry dem a virl?" "If I stay, Legree," observed Matt, "I won't be called on to use the Red Flier for chasing Brisco and Spangler, will I? The car doesn't belong to me and I can't take any chances with it." "You can do as you please about that, Matt. I'm after Brisco. If you get Spangler and the runabout, you'll have to do it in your own way. Spangler and Brisco, though, seem to be working together, just now, so my work ought to help you." "Why not get an officer here and----" "Do you want to divide with an officer what the cattleman is willing to pay?" "You know a lot that you're not telling me, Legree," said Matt quietly. "Well," grinned Legree, "when it comes to that, I know a lot that I'm not telling anybody--just now. You've heard more from me than any one else--excepting the kid." "I think I'll lay over here until to-morrow," said Matt. "Hoop-a-la!" exulted Carl. "Be jeerful, everypody. I t'ink, Matt," he added, "dot I vill infest my haluf oof dot fifdeen huntert tollars in gofermend ponds, und----" "Don't invest it till you get it, Carl," interposed Matt dryly. "Pull off your coat, now, and we'll wash up the car and fill the tanks." For two hours the boys were more than busy. While in Motor Matt's hands, the machine was always as carefully groomed as a race-horse. Not only that, but after the day's run he made it a point to go over the machinery with a wrench and pliers, tightening up everything that had worked loose and making sure that every part was in complete working order. The water-tank was filled. Ten gallons of gasoline were needed for the gasoline reservoir, but before he bought any from O'Grady, Matt tested it carefully with a hydrometer. Finding it nearly the same grade as he had been using, he funneled it into the tank, not only straining it through wire gauze but through thin chamois skin as well. The oil supply was also replenished. When the boys were through, the Red Flier was as spick and span as when it had come from the shop. Not only that, but it was fit to take the road at a moment's notice and make a record run. To Matt's regret, there was no place in town where the car could be housed for the night. There were two or three old barns, but they were so foul and unclean that he would not take the machine into them. He preferred to leave it outdoors all night, sleeping in the tonneau and guarding against tampering. When supper was announced, Carl watched the car while Matt ate; and when Matt had finished, Carl went in for his own meal. Uncle Tom, feeling much better now that his physical necessities had been relieved, walked out to the car with Matt when he left the dining-room. There was something on the old negro's mind. He seemed flustered and backward about getting at it. Finally he broached the astonishing proposition, leading up to it by degrees. "Ah's done let out ob er job by de scan'lous actions ob dat 'ar Brisco, Marse Matt," said he moodily. "Hard luck, Uncle Tom," answered Matt sympathetically. "Where do you live when you're at home?" "Ah's one ob dem 'ar rolling stones, en Ah ain't had no home sense Ah was knee-high tuh a possum, no, suh. Fo' de las' few houahs, Marse Matt, Ah's been kind ob cogitatin' en mah haid an' I 'bout come tuh de conclusion dat yo' outlook in life is juberous, yassuh. Yo's a puffick gemman, but yo' take so many chances dat yo' prospecks am sholy juberous." "How can I help that, Uncle Tom?" asked Matt, enjoying immensely the old darky's vagaries. "Ah knows how dat kin be fixed, sah," went on Uncle Tom. "What yo' has got tuh hab is a official mascot, sah, tuh be wif yo' all de time an' wuk off de hoodoo. Ah 'lows, sah, dat I could fill dat job. How much yo' willin' tuh pay fo' an official mascot by de monf?" That was too much for Motor Matt. Laying back in the tonneau he laughed till he shook. "Doan' laff, Marse Matt," begged the old fraud; "hit's a mouty complexus bizness. Tu'n hit ober in yo' mind, sah, en if yo' t'ink Ah'm wuth mah bo'd an' keep, jess considah Ah'm engaged." "Why, Uncle Tom," said Matt, "I haven't much more than enough to board and keep myself, so I guess my prospects will have to continue to be 'juberous.'" "Doan' say dat, sah; t'ink it ober. Ah'll hold mahse'f open fo' de engagemunt." Uncle Tom stumped back into the house, and Matt kicked off his shoes and snuggled down under a blanket which O'Grady had furnished him. Half an hour later, Carl came out with a blanket of his own. "What are you going to do, Carl?" asked Matt, rousing up and peering at his friend through the gloom. "Dis iss some games vot two can blay ad, my poy," chuckled Carl. "I vill shleep py der machine mit you." "Go on!" scoffed Matt. "What's the use of denying yourself a good bed when you can just as well have one?" "Vell, I dredder shtay mit you. Don'd say nodding, pecause it vasn't any use. My mindt iss made oop, yah, you bed you." "All right, then," said Matt. "Curl up on the steering-wheel and enjoy yourself." The front seat, of course, was divided into two sections, so it was impossible for Carl to stretch himself out in it; however, he wrapped his blanket around him and crowded down between the seat and the dash, head and shoulders over the foot-board on one side, and his feet tangled up in the foot-pedals and levers on the other. Just as Matt was getting to sleep a wild _honk, honk!_ brought him up like a shot out of a gun. "What's that?" called Matt. "Dot vas my feets," explained Carl coolly. "I hit dem against dot rupper pag vat makes a noise. Oof der car vas vider, den I vouldn't be too long for der blace vat I am. Meppy I puy somet'ing else don gofermend ponds mit dot money. Meppy, yah--so----" and Carl's words drifted off into a snore. Matt settled down again, and this time nothing disturbed him. Carl had some bad dreams that night. He thought his feet were caught in a giant clothes-wringer, and that a locomotive was hitched to his head. Some one would run him through the wringer, flattening him out up to the knees, and then the locomotive would back up and pull him out again. When his dreams had tired him out with that set of incidents, they shut him up in a little tin box, and three men on horseback played football with him; other experiences, too numerous to mention, followed, and at the wind-up Carl thought he dropped several miles through the air and smashed through a skylight. Starting up with a groan, he rubbed his eyes and looked around. It was morning. Carl was sitting up on the ground, chilled and chattering. At first he thought that skylight episode was not a dream, and he looked up to see the place he had come through. Instead of seeing anything so unsubstantial, his eyes encountered the face of Legree. "You sleep like a log, Carl!" exclaimed Legree. "Where's Motor Matt? What's become of the automobile?" Then, in a flash, Carl's hazy mind connected with the tangible things surrounding him when he went to sleep. "Vy," he cried, struggling to his feet and staring around, "I vas in der car mit Modor Matt! I vent to shleep in it mit him." "I know you did; but where are Matt and the car now?" Carl rubbed his eyes again, and then took a more careful look about him. He was standing in the very place where the car had stood. But there was no sign of the car! And no sign of Motor Matt! The blanket Carl had taken into the Red Flier with him was lying crumpled on the ground, a dozen feet away. "Vell, py shinks!" gasped Carl. "I don'd like dot. I don'd like some shokes vere sooch a monkey-doodle pitzness iss made mit me. Modor Matt nefer made dot shoke." "There's no joke, Carl," answered Legree; "I wish to gracious it _was_ a joke. The Red Flier left here some time during the night. No one heard it. No one knew it was gone until I looked out of the window of my room. You were lying on the ground here, but neither the car nor Matt were in sight. Do you think Matt would pull out and leave you?" "Leaf me? Matt? Vell, he vas my bard, und how you figure oudt dot he do dot? No, py shinks! Oof he ain'd here he vas dook off, und oof he vas dook off id vas dot Prisco und Spangler vat dit it!" With that, Carl went over to the well and sat down. He was still confused, but slowly the realization of what had happened was growing upon him. And as the realization grew, his temper mounted with it. CHAPTER VIII. SPIRITED AWAY. Carl was not the only one who had been troubled with dreams that night. Motor Matt floundered through one of the worst nightmares he had ever had. The whole scheme of the thing was rather vague, but mighty depressing. He seemed to be engaged in some tremendous struggle, striking away and countering a thousand or more huge fists that leaped at him out of the gloom. One by one he put the clenched hands out of business, and when he had conquered the last of them he opened his eyes in bewilderment. The humming of a motor was in his ears. It was the Red Flier's motor, he could tell that instinctively. The stars were overhead, the cool, damp smell of the night was all around, and the glow of the acetylene lamps was glimmering and dancing in advance. The car was moving briskly through the silence. Matt had a queer, sick feeling at the pit of his stomach. Counting out the time he raced the limited train on his motor-cycle, collided with a freight-wagon and was laid up for a fortnight, he had never been confined to his bed for a week in his life. He wondered what ailed him, and his mind was sluggish and slow in working out the problem. He had felt just as he did then once before. That was the time he had been drugged and taken out of Phoenix to keep him from racing with the Prescott champion, O'Day. Had he been drugged now? If so, why, and by whom? By degrees the cool air cleared his befogged brain. He went back over the chain of events, picking it up where he had dropped it. The queer party of stranded actors--the arrival at Fairview--the escape of Brisco from the hotel--the ride into the hills to look for the boy--the pursuit by the horsemen and the loss of the tin box--all these events dragged through Matt's mind. He and Carl had gone to sleep in the automobile. Why was the car moving? Had Carl, giving rein to some wild impulse, cranked up the car and started for a night ride? Matt stirred. "Carl!" he called, "what are you trying to do?" Matt became aware, then, that there was some one beside him in the tonneau. "Carl, hey?" came a jeering voice, as a strong hand reached over and pushed Matt back in the seat. "Ye got another guess comin'. Thar ain't no Dutchman along, this trip." "Tuned up, has he?" asked a voice from the front seat. "Yep; he's got back ter airth, Hank." "Surprised?" The man in front laughed hoarsely as he asked the question. "Waal, kinder. He thought his Dutch pard was erlong." Matt, while this talk was going forward, realized with a shock that the two men in the car were Brisco and Spangler. Brisco was in the driver's seat, and Spangler was in the tonneau. With a quick gathering of all his strength, Matt flung himself toward the door of the tonneau. His first unreasoning impulse was to get away from his captors. The car must have been going forty miles an hour, and the roadside was lined with sharp stones. If Matt had succeeded in his desperate attempt, he could hardly have escaped without serious injury; but his rash move was nipped in the bud. Spangler, who was in the tonneau for the purpose, grabbed Matt and hurled him back into the seat. "None o' that!" he growled. "Want ter break yer bloomin' neck? Not as I keer much about yer neck, but Hank an' me hev got diff'rent plans fer ye." Matt was still dizzy and weak. The nausea at his stomach was leaving him slowly, but it made him feel as limp as a rag and utterly helpless. "Did you men run away with this car?" he asked. "Looks that-away, don't it?" returned Spangler. "Where's Carl?" "Didn't hev no time ter bother with the Dutchman, so we left him behind." "Was he hurt?" "Hurt? Nary, he wasn't hurt. We ain't opinin' ter hurt anybody this trip so long as we hev our way. The Dutchman was snoring like a house afire. All we did was ter lift him out o' the keer an' lay him on the ground. We give him a smell o' somethin' on a han'kercher, jest ter make him snooze a leetle harder, that's all." "You drugged both of us, then?" "That was the easiest way ter keep ye from makin' er noise." "Where are you taking me?" "Ye'll know afore long." It was a rugged road they were traveling, and the Red Flier negotiated it with many a juggling bump. Mountainous rocks, half-screened by bushes and trees, glided by, and there were dusky gashes and seams, and now and then a splash of falling water. Rougher and rougher grew the trail, and the reckless driving of Brisco caused Matt's nerves to thrill with fears for the car. "You'll rack the car to pieces if you keep driving like that!" Matt called sharply. "What's it to you?" taunted Brisco. "It means a whole lot to me. This car belongs to Mr. Tomlinson, and I've promised to take it safely to Albuquerque." "Be hanged to you and Mr. Tomlinson!" snarled Brisco. "We'll fix this car before we're done with it. If you ever take it to Albuquerque, you'll have to scoop up the pieces and tote 'em there in a lumber-wagon. That's part of what we're going to do to play even with you and him!" Matt's heart skipped a beat, and a cold chill ran through his body. Could the villains really mean to destroy the Red Flier? "You'd better think well about what you do," warned Matt. "If you ruin this car, Mr. Tomlinson will never let up on you till he puts you where you belong." Spangler brought his hand around in a sweeping blow. Matt dodged the hand so that the stroke was only a glancing one. "Shut up!" he cried savagely. "Ye ain't here ter make any threats, 'r throw any bluffs." At that moment, Brisco brought the car to a stop, putting on the brakes so suddenly that the wheels locked and slid. "I reckon this'll be far enough," said Brisco, turning in his seat. "Make him get out, Spang." "Hear that?" cried Spang. "Open the door and git down." "What's this for?" returned Matt, making no move to obey. For answer, Spangler, with an oath, seized him by the collar and jerked him roughly out of the tonneau. Matt was unable to make any resistance. As he stood in the road, the jagged uplifts by which he was surrounded seemed to swim about him in circles. Spangler got back in the car, as Matt staggered to a big boulder and leaned against it, and Brisco backed the car around until it was headed along the back course. "Wait!" cried Matt, as a thought of what all this might mean to him took shape in his brain. "We're going to wait--and for just about a minute," returned Brisco. "Are you going to steal that car?" asked Matt, "just as you stole Nugent's?" "You're too much of a meddler," snapped Brisco. "If you could go along and mind your own business, you'd be a whole lot better off. You had to tangle up with Tomlinson, back there at Ash Fork, and you hadn't any call to butt in. If it hadn't been for you, we'd 'a' won out on that game and been all to the good. I don't reckon we'd have bothered you at all, though, if you'd been content to carry out your orders and push on to Albuquerque. But you couldn't do that; oh, no. You're trying to be first aid to the weak and down-trodden wherever you run into them, so you had to mix up with that bunch of stranded actors. "When I drove the runabout into Fairview after gasoline and oil, I dropped Spangler off to lay for the tramps and get that tin box. You had to butt in, as per usual. I got away from Fairview by the skin of my teeth, picked up Spang at the place where he was waiting, and we went on to where our other pard had some horses. We side-tracked the runabout there, and slid back toward Fairview, intending to push through the timber--a move we couldn't make in the car. Then"--and here a swirling oath dropped from Brisco's lips--"we dropped into your little trap." "What trap?" demanded Matt. "Oh, no, you don't know a thing about that, do you? You weren't moseying out there just to give us a chance to lift that tin box, were you? And you hadn't the least notion it was empty, had you? If you hadn't turned that trick, my bantam, we wouldn't have turned this one. We're going to settle with you, all right. This is a part of the country that isn't traveled once a week, and you're seventy-five miles from Fairview. By the time you get back to town, we'll have got what was in that box, and have smashed the Red Flier into a heap of jack-straws. I know a nice little cliff alongside the road, and when we're through with the car we'll lash the wheel, open her up and let her go over the edge! I reckon that'll cook your goose with Tomlinson. He didn't calculate you were going to use his car transporting a lot of stranded actors, and mixing up in their affairs on the way to Albuquerque." For a space, Motor Matt's heart stood still. "You wouldn't dare do that!" he shouted. "Wouldn't I?" and a reckless, mocking laugh came with the words. "From what you know of me don't you think I would? Hope you'll have a nice, easy walk to Fairview, Motor Matt! There'll be some surprises in store for you when you get there. Good-by!" Spangler also shouted a jeering farewell. The car got in motion, the humming slowly decreased, and the glow of the tail light winked suddenly into darkness. Motor Matt had been abandoned. But, worse than that, the two scoundrels who had spirited him away from Fairview were bent on the wanton destruction of Mr. Tomlinson's car! CHAPTER IX. AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. Motor Matt came nearer being utterly cast down, at that moment, than ever before in his life. Weak and sick as he was, perhaps his discouragement was not to be wondered at. Sinking down at the foot of the boulder against which he had been leaning, he began finding fault with himself. It was all right to pick up the stranded actors and carry them on to Fairview. That was merely a kindness for which no one could blame him. But to jump into their troubles, at a time when he was engaged in work for Mr. Tomlinson and was not, strictly speaking, his own boss, that gave the affair another look. Now, because of his desire to help Legree, Eliza, and the rest, there he was, hung up in the hills seventy-five miles from Fairview, with the Red Flier in Brisco's hands and pointed for the scrap-heap. Mr. Tomlinson would be perfectly justified in laying the destruction of the car to Matt's own disregard of orders. And it was Mr. Tomlinson who had selected Matt to take the Red Flier to Albuquerque because he was satisfied the car would receive better care in his hands than in any other! There was enough in these reflections to make Motor Matt dissatisfied with himself. But he was not, and never had been, a "quitter." And the one cry of his soul had always been for Fate to keep him from joining the ranks of the "quitters." As a matter of fact, Motor Matt was a self-reliant American boy, and there was never the least danger of his going over to the useless crowd of mistakes and failures. Naturally, he might make a misplay now and then--running behind just enough to keep him "gingered up" for ultimate success in the big things. While he crouched at the foot of the boulder, the cool air clearing his brain and the sick feeling leaving him, he fell to planning for turning the tables against his enemies. What was there he could do, afoot and seventy-five miles from town? At first, the prospect seemed utterly hopeless; but Matt knew that a brave heart and a firm will had time and again snatched victory from seeming defeat. He would start for Fairview. Possibly, although the road was not much traveled, he might have the good luck to encounter some freighter who would give him a lift. Without losing a moment longer, he got up and started off in the direction taken by Brisco and Spangler. He wondered, as he swung along, what Carl would think when he came to himself and found the car missing--and Matt gone with it. And what would Legree think? And Eliza? But what those in Fairview might think was a minor consideration. The great point was the recovery of the Red Flier before the car's captors could wreck the machine. Brisco was the only one of the two scoundrels who could run a car, and even Brisco's knowledge was superficial. An hour's instruction, from the driver of Nugent's runabout, was all Brisco had had. Brisco now had two stolen cars and he could run only one of them--unless, indeed, the third man he had picked up knew something about motors. Matt, perhaps, had walked a mile through the gloomy hills, when he heard a noise as of some one in the road ahead. He halted, half-fearing that Brisco and Spangler were coming back. But that could not be, he reasoned. If they had wanted to come back, they would have used the car--and the noise Matt heard was of footsteps. He listened, straining his ears and eyes. Only one man was coming. He could not see, but hearing alone told him there was but one. Backing into the deep shadow of a nest of boulders, he continued to wait. The man, whoever he was, was coming hurriedly. Sometimes he ran, and occasionally he stumbled. As he drew closer, Matt saw that he was a small man, and as he came closer still the figure resolved itself into that of a mere boy. "Hello!" called Matt, stepping out into the road again. The figure gave a startled jump. "Chee!" it cried. "Say, who's dat?" Matt's pulses quickened, and a glow of hope ran through him. "Hello, kid!" he shouted. "What're you doing here?" "I'm a jay if it ain't Motor Matt!" came delightedly from the boy as he dashed forward. "How's dis f'r a come-off? Say, it sure knocks de wind out o' me! Where'd yous come from, yerself? Was yous on dat automobile wid Brisco an' Spang?" By then the boy was close enough to grab Matt's hand and give it a shake. "Yes," answered Matt; "I was on the car with them and they let me out and turned back." "How'd de mutts come t' git yous on de mat, hey?" Matt explained how he had been spirited away. "Well, on de level," breathed the boy, "dat's de rummest move I ever connected wit'. Raw? Oh, sister!" "Now tell me something about yourself," said Matt. "Why did you get into that car? And where have you been since you left Fairview?" "Easy, cull! T'ings is bein' pulled off in such a bunch it's hard t' straighten dem out. Le's do de ham-restin' act, right here on dis nice bunch o' rocks, while we chin a little." They sat down, side by side. "You must have had some reason, Eva, for hiking out with Brisco like you did, and----" "Cut out de 'Eva.' Fergit de styge name. I was on'y dat back o' de tin lamps, an' no more of 'em fer mine. Call me Josh. Not dat I'm a josher, understan', 'cause I ain't. An' here's somet'in' else I'm battin' up t' yous: Dere's a few t'inks rattlin' around in me block dat I can't let yous in on. Not bekase I ain't willin' meself, but bekase it ain't on de program. See? "First off, Matt, I crowded into dat car becase de idee looked good t' me. Dat's all yous is t' know about dat f'r now. I rode t' w'ere Brisco stopped de car an' took on Spang--about de place w'ere dad an' yous had de set-to on account o' dat box. "Den we moved on ag'in, me still under de coat an' wonderin' how long I could keep shy o' de lamps o' dem two dubs. You can bet yer lid, Matt, I didn't breathe on'y when necessary. I was de sly boy, all right. W'en we pulled up ag'in, we was clost t' t'ree horses, all saddled an' bridled, an' wit' a beer-faced guy on one o' dem. "De runabout was backed into de brush, an' Brisco an' Spang got onto two o' de horses an' all t'ree o' dat strong-arm bunch pulled deir freight back down de road. It was right den I wished dat I knowed how t' work dem cranks an' t'ings so'st I could make dat car go w'ere I wanted. But I didn't know de tail lamp from de carburetter, so I jess had t' lay low an' wait. "W'en dem jays got back, dere was yer Uncle John right under de coat, same as usual, an' still holdin' his breat'. If one o' de mugs lifted de coat, I was plannin' to work me pins an' head right into de weeds, like anot'er bear was on me trail. "But dey didn't look under de coat, none of dem. Dey was too mad. Chee! but dey was r'iled! Blatter, blatter, blatter, dey went, swearin' like a plumber wot's burned hisself wit' his torch. Say, de air was blue an smelt like de odder place. If dey'd piped me off den, dey'd have took me skelp, all right. "From de spiel dey was givin' each odder, I hooked onto de infermation dat dey'd got de box an' dat dere wasn't not'in' in it--w'ich I knowed all de time. Dey was crowdin' all deir swear-words onto Motor Matt. Yous had fooled dem, dey said, an' dey was goin' t' saw off even if it took a leg. "Brisco give de mug on de horse his orders to go t' some place w'ere Brisco an' Spang would go foist an' wait. Wid dat we started up ag'in--me on de job an' still sayin' me prayers back'ards, for'ards, an' sideways. I couldn't see where we went, but we was goin' f'r a hunderd years, seemed like, I was dat worked up t'inkin' I might git nabbed. Den we stopped, backed t'roo some brush, an' stopped ag'in, dat time t' stay. "I had drawn into me shell, listenin' w'ile Brisco an' Spang was rammin' around de place w'ere we was. After a w'ile, deir bazoos seemed t' move off, an' I stuck out me coco an' piped de layout. "We was in a well. Anyways dat's how it looked. De well was about fifteen feet acrost, steep rocks all around an' on'y one place w'ere dere was a break. De break was choked up wit' brush, an' I'm wise right off dat we'd backed t'roo it w'en we come into de well. "I see anot'er nice little clump of brush off t' de right, an' it looked so invitin' dat I slipped out from under de coat an' ducked f'r it. "I was in dat clump w'en de odder bloke, who dey called Klegg, blowed in t'roo de break wid de hosses; an' I was still dere w'en night come down, an' de t'ree of dem lighted up de runabout an' went away w'id it. "Couldn't git in de back seat den, kase Klegg was dere, so dey bumped off into de night an' left me in de well wit' de t'ree horses. "I kinked me thinker all up t'ryin' t' guess whedder I'd better stay right dere or borry one o' dem horses an' ride some place. Well, I didn't ride, not knowin' any good place t' ride to. Couldn't even make a guess which way de town was. "I went out t'roo de brush an' moseyed around in de dark till _chugetty-chug!_ along come dat runabout ag'in an' backed t'roo de brush into de well. But dere was on'y one man in it, an' it was Klegg. W'ere was Brisco an' Spang? Dat was wot fretted me. W'ile I was frettin', along comes dat red tourin'-car. I made out Brisco in front, an' Spang in de rear--an' dere was some odder mug in de rear wot I couldn't get next to. De tourin'-car went on past de well. "Chee, but I was rattled! Wot was happenin', I says t' meself, an' w'y was it happenin'? De tourin'-car come back ag'in an' in it was Brisco an' Spang, but de odder guy had been left somew'ere. De tourin'-car was backed into de well, w'ere de runabout had gone, an' I started dis way t' see wot I could find. Say, Matt, I was knocked stiff w'en I found yous! Great, ain't it, how luck takes a shoot, once in a w'ile? If dat---- Wot's de matter w'id yous? W'ere yous goin'?" Matt had jumped up, grabbed Josh by the arm and was pulling him down the road. "Come on!" said he. "We haven't got any time to lose!" CHAPTER X. A DARING PLAN. "Say," panted Josh, as he and Matt traveled rapidly along the road, "put me wise to dis move, can't yous? Wot's in yer block, Matt?" "Do you know what Brisco intends to do with the Red Flier?" asked Matt. "He's layin' in a supply o' benzine-buggies t' start a garage, 'r somet'ing, ain't he?" "He ran off with that touring-car just to play even with me, Josh. He says I've meddled with his affairs long enough, and that he's going to run the Red Flier over a cliff just to pay me back for using the car to help you people." "Wouldn't dat frost yous?" muttered Josh. "And he said I was seventy-five miles from Fairview," went on Matt, "and that by the time I had walked to the town he would have finished his business there." "Brisco has got anodder guess comin'. He ain't so warm. Dad can show him a t'ing 'r two, an' don't yous fergit dat. Chee! Dat guy's de limit. But wot's yer game, cull?" "You say that both cars are in that 'well,' as you call it?" "Dat's w'ere dey was w'en I started for here." "Well, I'm going to get the Red Flier away from that outfit!" Matt spoke as confidently as though he had merely remarked that he was going over to the hotel after his dinner. "Say, cull," returned the boy, "I like yer nerve, all right, an' I marks yous up f'r de entry, but how yous goin' t' git under de wire? Dere's t'ree o' dem guys, an' dey've got a lot o' artillery. How we goin' t' git away wit' de car if dey don't want us to?" "I don't know," replied Matt, "but we've got to do it somehow." "Yous is a reg'lar lollypaloozer, Motor Matt, an' I'd back yous t' win any ole day, but dis looks like too big a load. But yous can count on me. Dad'll tell yous dat I'm big f'r me age an' no mutt in a getaway, so jest set yer pace an' I'll push on de reins." "How far is it to the place where the automobiles were left?" "We're close t' dere now. I'm wonderin' w'y Brisco dropped yous widin a short walk o' de hang-out--dat is, if he was fixin' t' stay at de place?" "I don't know," answered Matt; "but that's what he did and it's enough for me. I've got to recover that car, Josh. If I don't, and if anything happens to it, I'd look nice making my report to Tomlinson, wouldn't I?" "If yous hadn't picked up dat bunch o' tramps on de road yous wouldn't have got into dis fix." "I'm not sorry I helped you out, Josh." "Sure not. Yous ain't dat kind, Motor Matt. All de same, yous would have been peggin' along to'rds Albuquerque, nice as yous please, if it hadn't been for dat crowd o' Uncle Tommers. Dere'll be doin's in Fairview in de mornin', w'en dad finds out yous ain't w'ere yous ought t' be." "What can your father do?" "He can do a lot w'en he gits started. Don't yous never t'ink he's a slow one, Matt." Matt knew that Legree could keep a cool head in a pinch, but, for all that, he didn't see how he could do anything when he didn't have money enough even to pay his board-bill. "Mr. Tomlinson has a lot of confidence in me," said Matt; "and, if that car is wrecked, I'll have----" "Sh-h-h!" whispered Josh, coming to a wary halt and laying a hand on Matt's arm. "Look ahead, dere. See dat black splotch on de side o' de hill by de road?" "Yes," answered Matt, straining his eyes in the direction indicated. "Dat's de brush dat hides de openin'. Are we bot' goin' t' blow in dere an' try t' make a run wit' de red car?" "We can't do the trick in such a hurricane way as that. We've got to lay some other plan. I'll go in and look the ground over, Josh, and maybe I can get hold of an idea." "I'll try t' git holt o' one, too, w'ile I'm waitin' fer yous. Don't make much noise w'ile yous is in de bushes, Matt, or dem terriers'll pepper yous." "I'm going to sneak into the place as quietly as I can. I don't think they'll hear me." Leaving the boy a little way from the dark patch of verdure clinging to the face of the hill, Matt went on carefully. As he approached closer to the vague blot it gradually took form under his eyes. The wall of the hill seemed to be cracked through from crest to base and wrenched apart until it formed a narrow opening. Up both sides of the opening grew the bushes, their branches spreading out and forming a thick screen. On account of the darkness, Matt could not make a very close examination of the queer fissure, but he saw enough to convince him that Nature had contrived a secure retreat for Brisco and Spangler. The bottom of the opening, Matt judged, was all of ten feet in width. Dropping down on his hands and knees, he began crawling through the middle of the break, parting the bush branches from in front of him as he advanced. So wary was he that he made very little noise. He had gone perhaps a dozen feet through the brushy tangle, when a glow of light struck on his eyes. This acted as a sort of beacon, and served to guide him the rest of the way. A dozen feet more brought him to the opposite side of the opening and to the edge of the bushes. Crouching silently on the ground he proceeded to survey the peculiar niche in front of him. Josh's description, likening the place to a "well," was quite appropriate. The niche was circular in form and its walls arose steeply to a height of at least fifty feet. In the shadow of the walls the place was very dark, but the glowing lamps of an automobile enabled Matt to see enough to send a chill of disappointment through him. There was only one automobile in the niche! And that one was the runabout! Brisco and Spangler must have emerged and gone off somewhere with the Red Flier. Had they taken it away to destroy it? The three horses were not far from the runabout. They were secured to some bushes, and could be heard pawing and stamping. Matt could also hear something else, and that was the snoring of a man in deep sleep. After a moment's hesitation he continued to creep onward, redoubling his care and vigilance. He was upon the man before he was fairly aware of it, one of his groping hands coming in contact with an outstretched foot. The snoring ceased with an explosive grunt and Matt drew back breathlessly. The man did not rouse up. Shifting his position slightly he continued to snore. Making a detour, Matt got around the man--whom he knew was not Brisco or Spangler, and consequently must be Klegg--and reached the runabout. Pausing there, the young motorist let his mind circle about this new phase of the situation. If he couldn't get the Red Flier, why not take the runabout? That would afford himself and Josh a quick means for making the return trip to Fairview. Besides, no matter what happened to the Red Flier, there was something to be gained in getting the runabout away from the thieves. Close to the car was a heap of horse-trappings. Matt felt about among the saddles, bridles and blankets until he had found two coiled riatas. Could he, by quick work, get one of the ropes around Klegg's hands before he was thoroughly awake and able to struggle? Josh would have been of use in such an attempt, and Matt decided that he could not make it successfully unless he did have the other to help. He would go back after Josh, he decided; but first he would look over the runabout and make sure it was ready for the road. Laying the ropes in the front of the car, he arose to his feet, softly removed the tail lamp from its bracket, and flashed it into the rumble. The coat, used so cleverly by the boy, was still there, crumpled on the floor as though by a man's feet. Passing on to the forward part of the car, the pencil of light jumped from point to point, Matt's eyes following critically. Everything seemed to be shipshape and in good order. A small object on one of the front seats caught the youth's attention. It was pushed well back into the angle where the back joined the seat, and Matt picked it up and held it in the glow of light. It was a small bottle, and the label bore the written word, "Chloroform." Matt stifled an exclamation. Undoubtedly it had been some of that bottle's contents which had helped Brisco and Spangler get the better of him, in Fairview, and run off with the touring-car. Then a startling expedient darted through Matt's mind. Turn about was fair play. With the aid of the drug he could clear a passage for the runabout, and without resort to any violence. Setting the lamp down on the front seat, Matt drew the cork of the bottle, took a handkerchief from his pocket and proceeded to wet it with the chloroform. Then, re-corking the bottle and laying it aside, he went down on his hands and knees and started toward Klegg. A lightening of the sky over the steep walls that hemmed in the niche told of coming day. The darkness would be a help to Matt and Josh in getting to the road and away, and if advantage was to be taken of night Matt knew he would have to hurry. But he was well equipped to carry out his plans now, and lost no time in getting about them. CHAPTER XI. ON THE ROAD. Kneeling beside Klegg, Matt leaned over and held the saturated handkerchief close to his face. The fumes were strong, and seemed to strangle him. With a gurgling grunt he shifted his position. Matt moved the handkerchief and again held it over his face. This time Klegg sputtered a little, but did not change his position. Evidently the narcotic was beginning to have its effect. After a moment, Matt allowed the handkerchief to drop on Klegg's face. He left it there for two or three minutes and then threw it aside. Klegg was breathing heavily and seemed to be completely under the influence of the drug. Catching hold of the blanket on which the man was lying, Matt began to pull it toward the wall of the niche. "Chee!" whispered a voice close to Matt's side. "Wot kind of a smell is dat, cull? Wot yous done to Klegg?" "I thought you were going to wait outside, Josh?" answered Matt. "Dat's wot I t'ought, but yous was so long in comin' dat I took de notion t' come in an' look yous up. Wot's de play?" "I found a bottle of chloroform in the runabout, and it must have been out of that same bottle that Brisco took the stuff that put me to sleep. Thought I'd see how it worked on Klegg." "Yous is a jim dandy, Matt!" laughed Josh delightedly. "But w'ere's Brisco an' Spang?" "They're not here, and neither is the touring-car." "Tough luck! Yous figgerin' on makin' a getaway wit' de runabout?" "Yes. We might use that for a quick run to Fairview and get the sheriff to hunt up Brisco and Spangler. I'll go with the sheriff and use the runabout. It's a faster car than the Flier, and we may be able to catch the two thieves before they wreck Mr. Tomlinson's car." "Yous has got a head on yous, Matt, an' no mistake," said the boy admiringly. "An' yous pulled all dis off yerself! Well, say, if yous ain't a winner dis heat yous ought t' be. Dat's right--on de level an' no stringin'. Dad would like t' have a guy like yous t' work wit' all de time. An' so would Little Eva, de child wonder. But it's gittin' daylight, Matt, an' if we're goin' t' pull our freight, let's be at it." It was already light enough so that they could see without the lamps. These were extinguished, and then Matt put the tail lamp back in its place, started the engine and got into the driver's seat. On the low gear they moved slowly across the bottom of the niche. Josh was still laughing softly to himself. "Chee, cull, but I'd like t' be around w'en Brisco an' Spang find dat Klegg feller!" he chuckled. "Dat would be as good as a circus. Dis is almost too good t' be true, ain't it?" "It will be, Josh," replied Matt, "if I can only get back the Red Flier." "Dem coves'll be careful o' dat odder machine when dey find dis one has been took away from dem." "I know that--providing they find out the runabout is gone before they destroy the Flier." Setting the runabout at the bushes, Matt drove through the undergrowth, Josh keeping the branches out of his face while he attended to the steering. "On de road ag'in!" jubilated the boy, as they emerged from the mouth of the opening and turned to the left. "All I wish is," answered Matt, "that I knew we were going right." "Dere's on'y two ways t' go, cull. One's up to'rds w'ere you was dropped by Brisco an' Spang, an' t'odder's de way we're headin'. It's a cinch we're hittin' it off about proper. W'ere d' youse t'ink dem odder mutts went wid de tourin'-car?" "I'm afraid they took it off to carry out their threat and make junk of it." "I hope yous ain't got it right. If dey did dat, it 'u'd put yous in a bad hole. Yous couldn't make Tomlinson take dis car f'r de odder, could yous?" "Hardly. This car belongs to Nugent, in Ash Fork." Something was rattling about the car, and it got onto Matt's nerves. Halting for a moment, he located the difficulty. The screw-cap of the gasoline-tank was loose. Taking a wrench out of the tool-box he tightened the cap, then dropped the wrench in the rumble and returned to his seat. "Yous don't like t' hear anyt'ing rattle, hey?" queried Josh. "Makes me nervous," laughed Matt. "Now hold onto your teeth, Josh. I'm going to let her out!" "De quicker we kin go de better. Let's see how fast de ole gal kin travel." They whirled around a turn in the narrow valley. The unexpected was lying in wait for them, for they came upon Spangler, on foot and walking toward the niche. Josh gave a startled yell. Spangler, dumfounded at sight of the runabout, charging toward him with Motor Matt and the boy in front, stood as though rooted to the ground. "Down, Josh!" cried Matt, advancing the spark; "get down behind the dashboard!" As Matt spoke he sounded the horn. Spangler climbed out of the way with more haste than grace, and the runabout dashed past him. "Yi-yip-ee!" tuned up the boy, waving his hand mockingly. "D'radder do dat dan git run down, hey?" "Drop!" yelled Matt, and in a tone that made Josh crumple down between the seat and the dash. Bang! Matt had expected a bullet, and he was not disappointed. But it went wide. Bang! The next one came closer, but still left a safe margin. There was no more shooting. Wondering at it, Josh rose up and looked backward. "Now wot d'youse t'ink o' dat!" he cried. "Wot's dat mug doin' dat for?" "What's he doing?" asked Matt. "W'y he's hustlin' a big stone into de middle o' de road. See 'im work! Chee! Wot's de meanin' o' dat?" The car whipped around another turn, wiping Spangler and his strange activities out of sight. Josh dropped down on the seat. "That's got a bad look," said Matt, coaxing the runabout to a still faster gait. "We've got to get out of this as quick as we can." "Chee!" cried the boy, holding to the seat with both hands, "we're goin' fast enough. Gid-ap! Wow! wot a spurt! Don't let anyt'ing slip a cog, cull. If de ole benzine-buggy hit a rock an' stopped, I'd go right on f'r a couple o' miles afore I landed. Oh, wot a clip! We've got de Cannonball Limited licked t' a frazzle!"