Motor Matt's Daring; or, True to His Friends Motor Stories Thrilling Adventure Motor Fiction No. 2, March 6, 1909

CHAPTER X. CHAPTER X. A DARING ESCAPE. There had been so many ups and downs for Chub during the few hours he and Matt had been fighting for the claim that his discouragement now took a philosophical turn. "There goes our last chance, Matt," said he, with a grim laugh. "It's what they call stealing your own thunder, ain't it, when a swift bunch of toughs act like that?" Matt was mad clear through. His eyes snapped vindictively as he watched the exultant ruffians. "The recorder closes his office in Phœnix at six o'clock?" he asked. "Yes." "Then Jacks has played his trump card. The only way that location notice could be got to Phœnix in time to be recorded to-day was by sending Perry on the motor-cycle. When we left Delray, he said something about lending us a gun. I don't believe in guns, as a general thing, but if we had borrowed Delray's we could have met these scoundrels in their own way." Matt's voice was low, but it throbbed with a fierce desire to do something—anything—which might still win the day for the McReadys. "The biggest steal on record, that's what it is!" breathed Chub. "You could prove it in any court in the country, Chub. With your father's testimony, and ours, you'll have a good case against Jacks and Hawley." "It takes money for lawsuits," said Chub bitterly, "and the McReadys have been living from hand to mouth for more years than I care to think about. There's no use talking about a legal fight, Matt. Possession is nine points of the law, and the man who files his location notice first always holds the ground. We'll just sponge the 'Make or Break' off the McReady slate right now. For the rest of it, all I'm worrying about is dad." "If you fellers hev got through with yer confab," shouted Jacks, "ye'll jest turn face-about an' jog fer that scooped-out place in the foot o' the hill, right behind ye." Matt looked around. The spot mentioned by Jacks was a jagged notch among the rocks, twenty-five or thirty feet long by a dozen wide, and with precipitous walls on all sides, except, of course, at the opening in front. "What are you driving us into that hole in the rocks for?" demanded Matt. "We like yer comp'ny so all-fired well," answered Jacks, with a hoarse laugh, "that we're goin' ter keep ye with us all night. Arter it gits dark, we kin hang onter ye easier if ye're bottled up in that cut-out." "You're a nice pair of grafters—I don't think," flared Chub. "Somebody's goin' to settle for this business, and the more you pile it on the more you'll pay." "We're able ter pay all we'll have ter," grinned Jacks, "but jest now you're follerin' my orders, sabe ? Chase 'em in, Bisbee," he added, to his companion. "Shoo!" said Bisbee, and started forward, waving his weapon. "You're a couple of cowards!" yelled Chub, doubling up his fists. "You wouldn't dare shoot!" "Come on, Chub," said Matt quietly, taking his chum's arm and leading him into the notch. "We'll have our innings later." "But I don't want to be hung up in here all night," demurred Chub. "There's no tellin' what kind of a fix dad is in. We ought to be hunting for him." "Don't fret. They've left your father so he'll be all right until you can find him, even if you can't take up the hunt until to-morrow. Just let 'em think their bluff is working, that's all." Bisbee, with the revolver on his knees, had taken up his position at the front of the notch. From this position, even after it grew dark, he would be able to keep the boys from emerging from the cut-out. Matt and Chub sat down on a couple of stones and leaned back against the steep wall behind them. Through the opening they could look out toward the claim and see Jacks taking Perry's horse to the spring. Saddle and bridle were stripped from the horse, and the animal was secured with a long rope and picket-pin. After taking care of the horse, Jacks went back to McReady's camp, started a fire, and began getting supper. "Consarn 'em!" growled Chub, "they're taking everything in sight." "We'll not make any kick," answered Matt, "so long as they give us our supper. I feel as though I'd been through a famine. Besides, we need food for our night's work." He dropped his voice, to make sure Bisbee could not hear. "Night's work?" echoed Chub. "About all the work we'll do to-night, Matt, will be to sit on these boulders and try to sleep." "That's where you're wrong. When it's dark enough, and everything's quiet, I'm going to climb out of here, fix up the Comet , and take this location notice to Phœnix." "Shucks! What's the use? Even if you succeeded, you couldn't reach town before to-morrow. The other notice will have been recorded long before then." "I'll not say we're beaten until the recorder himself tells me it's too late." Admiration for his chum rose in Chub's eyes, although he shook his head hopelessly. "That's your style, Matt—you never seem to know when you're down and out. How're you goin' to get out of here?" Matt called Chub's attention to one of the side walls of the notch. There was more of a slope to the wall there than anywhere else, and Matt had already marked out his foot and hand holds, fixing half a dozen projecting stones and two or three straggling bushes firmly in his mind. "In broad day," said Chub, "that climb would be hard enough, but at night you'd be sure to fall and break your neck. Cut it out." "I'm going to make a getaway to-night," declared Matt firmly. "Why couldn't the two of us get the better of Bisbee? We could drop on him during the night, and if we worked it right, that gun of his wouldn't cut any figure." "I'd thought of that," said Matt, "but I've got to skirmish around the camp a little, you know, and tinker with the Comet . All that will have to be done secretly. My way's the best, I think." "You'll have to excuse little Chub from prancing up that precipice. He thinks too much of his neck to risk it on any such fool stunt." "When I'm ready to go I'll set up a yell. That will draw Bisbee and Jacks after me, Chub, and you can walk out of this hole in the hill as neat as you please." That ended their talk for a while. Just then Jacks came to the opening of the notch, and set down a tin cup of coffee and a plate of soaked hardtack and fried bacon. "Ye'll hev ter eat out o' the same dish an' drink out o' the same cup," said he. "This hotel's kinder short on plates an' cups. Howsumever, I don't reckon ye're anyways partic'ler." He withdrew with a jubilant flourish, and the two chums fell to on their food. After it was eaten, both of them felt a hundred per cent. better. Night comes suddenly in that part of the Southwest. One minute it is daylight, and almost the next the stars are out and the coyotes yelping. As night advanced a deep quiet fell over the captives and their captors. The horse and burro could be heard tramping around the spring, but these sounds, and the occasional bark of a coyote, were all that broke the stillness. Bisbee, sitting by the entrance into the notch, was as upright and silent as a black statue. Jacks, with a blanket under him, was lying across the entrance and snoring. Midnight was passed and the hour had come for Matt to make his attempt, so he reached over and touched his chum on the shoulder. "I'm off, old chap!" he whispered, his lips close to Chub's ear. "I've tied my shoes together by the laces and they're hanging around my neck—I can climb better and make less noise in my stocking-feet." Chub reached out his hand and wrung Matt's fervently. "I think it's foolish for you to try to get that notice to Phœnix, old chum," he answered, "but I appreciate what you're tryin' to do for the McReadys, just the same. If ever a fellow was true to his friends, it's a cinch that it's Motor Matt." "I hate to pull out and leave you, Chub," went on Matt, "but there's only one motor-cycle, you know, and, besides, you can't leave here until you find out about your father." "That's all to the good. We've got to separate. Good-by and good luck." "Be ready to run when you hear me yell," finished Matt. "So-long, Chub." It was as dark as a pocket in the notch, and Chub could not see Matt as he moved noiselessly across to the other wall. Presently, by straining his ears, Chub could hear muffled sounds—a sifting downward of sand, the faint crunch of a loose stone under a stockinged foot, a stifled breathing, as of some one working hard and trying to work quietly. Steadily the sounds mounted up and up. Chub, holding his breath, fixed his eyes on the blank darkness and waited. He almost fell off his boulder when he saw the blurred form of Bisbee lean forward, and heard him call: "What ye doin' in thar, you two?" "What's the matter with you?" retorted the quick-witted Chub. "We're tired out and want to sleep. Move over a little, Matt," he added, as though speaking to his chum, "you're takin' up more'n your half of the wall." The blurred form straightened again, and once more Chub began to breathe. The sounds on the wall had ceased, and Chub began to count the seconds and mentally to check off the minutes. Five minutes—ten—fifteen. Chub wasn't at all sure he was reckoning the time properly, but he began wondering what had become of his chum. The opposite side of the notch was the slope of the hill itself, and only child's play for Matt to get down. If he had got down, where was he? Chub reckoned up fifteen minutes more. His nerves were in rags and he was imagining all sorts of wild things, when a booming shout came from the distance. "Good-by, Jacks! You thought you had us, but you've got another guess coming!" Bisbee leaped to his feet with a yell. Jacks broke off his snores suddenly and lifted himself up. "What's the matter?" he demanded. "Them kids hev got away!" cried the startled Bisbee. A clatter of hoofs, rapidly receding in the direction of the pack-trail, could be heard. "They've took the hoss!" yelped Jacks. "Consarn 'em, anyways! Why didn't ye watch, hey? Come on! Mebby we kin stop 'em yit!" Bisbee and Jacks scampered off into the shadows, talking and snarling at each other as they ran. Chub, losing no time, laughed softly to himself and hurried out of the notch. It tickled him to think that Motor Matt's daring had won out, even though there wasn't much hope of his getting to Phœnix in time to save the claim. But why had Matt taken the horse? Chub had been expecting the explosions of a gasoline motor rather than the patter of hoofs. CHAPTER XI. A HARD JOURNEY. There were few better athletes than Matt King, and he was in the pink of condition. It was a matter of pride with him to keep himself at all times fit and ready for whatever fate threw his way. But scaling that steep wall, under the double necessity of doing it effectively and making little noise, was one of the hardest things he ever attempted. He had kept vividly in his mind the path he had mapped out, and the upward climb was merely the working out of a problem that he had already solved in theory; but he had to work out the problem in the dark, and to grope with his feet for the projecting stones and with his hands for the bushes. At last, with every muscle tingling and his breath coming hard through his tense lips, he drew himself over the crest of the wall. Here he paused for a moment's rest, and to put on his shoes. There was cactus on the hill-slope, and he didn't want to hamper himself by picking up a bunch of fish-hooks in his unprotected feet. When near the top of the wall he had heard Bisbee's demand to know what was going on, and he had chuckled at Chub's response. Chub's ready wit, it might be, had made the escape successful. Once in his shoes, Matt stole down the slope and made his way to the center monument on the claim. The Comet was lying just where Perry had let it drop. How Matt was to fix the machine in the dark he did not know, but he had had an idea that the motor-cycle had "bucked" because Perry did not understand just how to operate it. His first disappointment came as he knelt down by the machine and detected a heavy odor of gasoline. After a minute or two of groping about, he made the startling discovery that the gasoline-tank was empty. The cap that closed the opening into the reservoir had become loosened in the fall, and all the gasoline had trickled out. Here was a difficulty, and no mistake. Matt remembered having seen a gasoline-stove at the Bluebell, but he was under the impression that Delray didn't use the stove very much. If there was no gasoline to be had at the mine, then Matt would have to keep on to the Arizona canal, and try to get some at the first ranch he came to. There was no use now in looking for the trouble that had cut short Perry's flight on the Comet —that could be attended to later. What Matt had to do was to figure on getting a hundred-and-fifty pounds of mechanism to the Bluebell mine. To pedal the machine that distance, over the rough pack-trail with its sharp rocks and cactus, and at night, was a task he did not care to think about. It was then that the idea of taking the horse appealed to him. The horse could carry both him and the machine, providing he used judgment in stowing the Comet on the animal's back. Having made up his mind to get over the difficulty in this way, Matt raised the machine and trundled it toward the spring. To his satisfaction, he gathered that everything was serene in the vicinity of the notch. Not a sound reached him from there. If he had been nearer, perhaps he might have heard the resonant snores of the sleeping Jacks. When he had come close to the horse, Matt laid the motor-cycle down and went up to the animal, whispering and stroking his neck to prevent a startled snort or jump. With his knife he cut the picket-rope off close to the pin, and after twisting the rope about the horse's lower jaw, in lieu of a bridle, he cut the rope again. This gave him not only enough for a bridle, but also some twenty feet of lashing for the Comet . To hang the machine from the horse's back so that it would ride without injury to its mechanism was the next problem Matt had to solve. This was accomplished by first passing a loop of rope through the forks, and then drawing the machine up by the front with the rope over the horse's back. Naturally, the horse objected to this unusual procedure, and a good part of the half-hour required by Matt in effecting his escape was consumed in getting the horse accustomed to his strange burden. After the front of the Comet had been swung into place and fastened, Matt repeated the operation with the back of the machine and drew the rear wheel off the ground. The right pedal and toe-clip dug into the horse's ribs and caused a good deal of shying and side-stepping. But the interfering pedal had an advantage as well as a disadvantage, inasmuch as it braced the machine away from the horse's side and gave Matt room on the animal's back. His position, once he was astride the horse, was far from comfortable, but he thought he could make shift, at least, to ride until he had left the camp well behind. Heading the horse toward the trail, he shouted his good-by to Jacks at the top of his lungs, and then urged the horse into a gallop with his heels and the end of the rope hackamore. The Comet slipped, and plunged, and rattled, but Matt supported it with one hand and let the frightened horse take his own gait. He heard Jacks and Bisbee chasing after him, but was soon so far away that these sounds of pursuit were lost in the distance. A little later he turned into the pack-trail, and the most difficult part of his night journey lay ahead of him. Matt could have hidden his machine away among the rocks and left it there while he galloped on to Phœnix. There would have been nothing to gain by this move, however, except an easier ride to the Bluebell. The office of the recorder would not be open for business before eight o'clock the next morning, and Matt had plenty of time to reach his destination. If he could get a supply of gasoline at the mine, and found that the Comet could be easily repaired, he would leave the horse with Delray and get back to town on the motor-cycle. Before Matt had gone far along the pack-trail the difficulties of his position on the horse's back became so great that he was forced to dismount and walk. Even though he could have ridden comfortably, he would soon have been obliged to fall back on his own feet anyway. The trail was rough and hard to follow when it could be plainly seen, and now, when it twisted and turned through black arroyos and clung to the edge of half-hidden chasms, progress could only be safely made by going slowly and carefully. Leading the horse by the rope, Matt picked out the course with the utmost care. Once he lost the trail and was all of two hours finding it again; then the lashings of the Comet gave way suddenly, and the rear wheel dropped, causing the horse to give a frightened jump that nearly took him over the edge of a steep descent. At the most difficult part of the trail, where it ran along a shelf gouged out of the cliffs, Matt had to unship the wheel and swing it from the other side, in order to keep it from colliding with the rocks and being broken. Before the barranca and the Black Cañon were reached, a quivering line of gray had run along the tops of the eastern hills. Morning was at hand, and Matt, who had been working like a Turk through the dark hours, was not yet at the Bluebell! "The Comet has made me a heap of trouble," he muttered, "but I'll take the kinks out of the old girl when we get to the Bluebell, and then there'll be clear sailing all the way to town. It's about time I struck a streak of luck, seems to me. If Delray has any gasoline——" Matt broke off the remark suddenly, wincing as he thought of an added jaunt of five miles to the canal, leading the horse or pedaling a heavy motor-cycle. If luck ever did anything for him, he hoped it would show itself at the Bluebell. The sky was bright with coming day when Matt turned into the barranca , and the sun was up when he came in sight of the house and derrick at the Bluebell. There was some one on foot in the road, far away toward the canal. When Matt drew up by the house he saw that the approaching man was Delray. "I wonder if Del is still gadding about looking for the fellow who smashed the wireless instrument?" thought Matt, setting to work unloading the Comet . But it was something else that had taken Delray abroad that morning. He came, puffing, just as Matt got the Comet on the ground. "Well, by thunder!" exclaimed the watchman. "What's the matter with the machine? Where's Chub? Say, but I've had the duse of a time!" Delray mopped his face with a handkerchief and looked excited, and curious, and a little bit chagrined. "First off, Del," said Matt, "have you got any gasoline? Don't tell me you haven't! It's the one thing I need just now more than anything else." "That's right," cried Delray, surprising Matt with a fresh show of excitement, "if you ever needed gasoline, you need it now. But I don't think I've got a drop. Haven't used the gasoline-stove for a month, and it seems to me the can was empty when I last tried it. But wait; we'll make sure." Delray darted into the house. In a moment he came rushing back with a can. "There's some here, but I don't know how much," said he. "Bully!" exclaimed Matt. "A quart will take me to Phœnix on the high speed." He began working while he kept up a flow of talk. "Chub's in the hills, looking for his father, who's mysteriously missing from the claim. Jacks and a rascal named Bisbee held us up yesterday afternoon while Perry got away on Chub's wheel. Jacks and Bisbee tried to keep us bottled up in a hole in the rocks all night; but we managed to get away. Chub's going to look around for his father, and I'm going to take his father's location notice to Phœnix. Seen anything of Perry?" " Seen anything of him?" muttered Delray; "well, I should say I had! He came puffing along here yesterday afternoon, on Chub's motor-cycle, and I jumped for the road and headed him off. He tried to run me down, but I grabbed him. Why, he was all night in the house with me. He begged me to let him go, and tried to bribe me, but I was thinking of Chub and held onto him. About half an hour ago Tom Clipperton rode up on horseback. He was looking for you and Chub. I stepped out to talk with him, and while I was explaining the situation, we heard the popping of that motor-cycle, and saw Perry darting along the road. I had a rope on Perry's hands, and how he ever got rid of it is more'n I know. Clipperton took after him just a-smoking, but he might as well have tried to chase a lightning express-train on a hand-car. I ran down the road a ways, and was just coming back when I saw you." All this set Matt's nerves to tingling. Here was an unexpected stroke of luck. Perry had been held up all night at the Bluebell! Even though he had got away, there was a chance to overtake him. Matt flung down the can, adjusted the needle-valve of the gasoline shut-off which he had found out of order, and tried the motor. She took the spark finely, and was apparently in as good shape as before she had "bucked" with Perry. "Bully for you, Del!" cried Matt. "Perry leads me by half an hour?" "Yes; but that's a whole lot, and——" Matt did not hear the rest. He was off down the road, with the cylinders sweetly purring and the rubber tires kicking up a cloud of dust. The fatigue of his night work dropped from him, and he felt as fresh and fit as though he had had his usual amount of rest and sleep. Once more his face was set toward Phœnix, and he felt equal to anything. CHAPTER XII. A STOUT HEART AND PLENTY OF HOPE. Dace Perry was only half an hour in the lead! Had he been mounted on Motor Matt's two-cylinder, seven-horse-power marvel, this would have meant that, with fearless and skilful riding, he was already in Phœnix; but Perry was on a one-cylinder machine, that would have to be nursed by a proficient rider in order to do even thirty miles an hour. Matt figured that Perry would do twenty, or twenty-five. In other words, Perry's lead, as Matt reckoned it, was ten or twelve miles. Could the Comet reel off a score of miles while Perry was doing the eight or ten that lay between him and the recorder's office? Reason assured Matt that he had a fighting chance. There was a mile a minute in the Comet if Matt cared to let her go the limit and risk his neck. Notch by notch he opened her out. Why not do a mile a minute? There was less sand just ahead and better ground. Besides, he was working for Chub and Susie, and what good was a fellow who wouldn't risk his neck for his friends? This was a race for a fortune. It made little difference to Motor Matt that it was a fortune for the McReadys and not for himself that trembled in the balance. The hills melted away behind the speeding motor-cycle. The rise and fall of the road had little effect on the speed, and the tremendous momentum of one hundred and fifty pounds of steel, backed by a hundred and thirty more of brawn and daring, fairly lifted the Comet over the high places. Ahead of Matt were a horse and rider. The horse was galloping in Matt's direction, but took the roadside at a frightened leap as the motor-cycle sped by. The horseman shouted and waved an arm. It was Tom Clipperton, the descendant of a noble line of genuine owners of the soil—the Indians. What he said Matt could not hear, and Matt dared not take a hand from the grip-control to wave an answering hail. However, he yelled a greeting, and the cry trailed out behind him and died suddenly in the speed of his flight. That was not the first time Motor Matt had raced along the Black Cañon road. He had done it once before, but his speed then was not what it was now. That other time the Comet was new to him, but since that he had come to know the machine in every part as he knew his two hands. Before he fairly realized it, he was at the canal. The Comet seemed to take the bridge at a flying leap, and was off and away through shady lanes of cottonwood-trees. He passed several wagons and carriages coming toward him. They got out of the way and gave his charging steel wonder a wide berth. Occasionally he had to slow down to pass a vehicle moving toward Phœnix, but not often. The road was wide, and clean, and hard from edge to edge. Speed and more speed! That was all Matt was thinking of then. The itch to eat up the miles as they had never been devoured before was racing hot through his veins. He would make a record from the hills to Phœnix this time which would stand unequaled for a long time. He whirred across the second canal. His next bridge would be the one that spanned the town-ditch, and then he would be only a short half-mile from the court-house plaza, and the place where location notices were put on file. As he struck the last lap of country road and looked away toward the beginning of the angling thoroughfare known as Grand Avenue, he glimpsed a flurry of dust. That was Perry, fanning along on the one-cylinder machine. Matt was gaining on Perry hand over fist. As the dust blew aside, Matt could see Perry looking back, then turning again and coaxing Penny's wheel to fresh endeavor. "I've got him," thought Matt exultantly, "and he knows it! He'll begin to understand, one of these days, that crooked work can make lots of trouble, but was never known to pay in the long run." Perry, no doubt, was greatly astounded at sight of Motor Matt. He had left Matt in the hands of Jacks and Bisbee, and he had left the Comet temporarily useless. Small wonder if his brain was dazed and bewildered by the sight of that hurricane closing in on him from the rear. If Chub and Clip had any fault to find with Matt, it was because they thought him too "easy." This was because he had a habit of looking for the good qualities in a fellow, rather than for the bad ones. Perry, according to Matt, would have been all right if he hadn't got a wrong start; and Matt had even hinted to Chub that there might be something good even in that scheming follower of fortune's wheel, Dirk Hawley. Chub and Clip couldn't understand this kind of talk. They realized that it didn't show weakness, for they had sampled Matt's fiber too many times not to know his underlying strength of character. So they laid it up to eccentricity, and called it a hobby. Matt, however, called it a "principle"—and he had been known to fight like a wildcat for his "principles." Matt's mind was resting easy. He felt that the race was as good as won, that he would soon pass Perry, reach the court-house, and have the McReady location on file a good two minutes before Perry could reach the plaza. And just at that moment, when the whole matter of the McReady "strike" was looking its brightest, the unexpected happened again and changed the complexion of affairs. Matt was close to Perry—not more than a couple of hundred feet behind him, and still gaining rapidly—when he saw a white horse, ridden by a well-dressed young woman, riding toward them from the direction of Grand Avenue. The horse was mettlesome and high-spirited, and the sight of Perry's motor-cycle sent the animal leaping toward the roadside. The girl was a good rider—Matt could see that at a glance—but the horse was giving her all she could manage. Perry's proper move, in such a case, would have been to slow down—even to stop, if the actions of the horse and the safety of the rider seemed to demand it. But Perry was thinking only of the recorder's office and never slackened pace. The white horse plunged against the fence and reared high in the air. The girl, however, clung pluckily to the saddle. Matt, completely absorbed in the girl's peril, lessened his speed and watched the progress of events. Then, with his heart in his throat, he shut off the gasoline and clamped on the brake. One of the reins had snapped apart during the girl's frantic tugging at the bit. Entirely out of control, the frenzied animal flung off down the road, the piece of rein dangling from the bit-ring and the girl clinging desperately to the saddle. Her hat was lost and her yellow hair was streaming out behind her. Matt's first impulse had been to leave his machine and rush to the girl's assistance, but before he could pull his feet from the toe-clips, the horse was past him and careering along on its wild course. There are times when, in the space of a lightning-flash, a person's mind will deal with every conceivable phase of a situation. It was like that with Matt as the white horse and helpless rider went tearing past him. Unless something was done to stop the runaway animal, the girl would probably be thrown and perhaps killed. Against what he might do for the girl, Matt, for the fraction of an instant, balanced his duty to the McReadys. Then he used the pedals, turned on the gasoline, and switched on the spark. But instead of going on to Phœnix and the recorder's office, he turned the Comet and raced after the girl. CHAPTER XIII. MATT WINS—AND LOSES. Motor Matt had seven horses in the twin-cylinders to pit against that one frantic animal that was slashing along the road toward the canal. There was but one thought in his mind, and that was to spur the seven horses into a speed that could overtake the one before it reached the bridge and the water. He had been racing for a fortune before, but it was for a human life now. With keen, steady eyes he gaged the chances. The white horse was thundering along in the middle of the road, with the scrap of rein dangling on the left side of the bit. He aimed the Comet to bring up on the left side of the frightened beast. He was half a minute, perhaps, in coming alongside the horse, and during that brief interval he had a brief glimpse of the thrashing, steel-shod heels. A heart's beat later he was abreast of the girl and saw her white, fear-drawn face looking down at him. In another breath he was close to the horse's head. The time had come when Matt was to put forth his best effort, and win or lose at a single throw of the die. If the horse got away from him—— But he was not thinking of that; he was thinking how he could best hold the animal and bring him to a stop. The girl, far gone with fright, was swaying dangerously in the saddle. "Steady!" cried Motor Matt, reaching for the head of the runaway horse. His outstretched hand caught the piece of flying rein. It was his right hand he had to use, and he doubled the rein about the palm twice. Then a twist of the left handle-bar caused the Comet to slow down, and he pulled back on the bit. The frenzied horse, however, was not to be stopped so easily. Lurching ahead with a fresh leap, he dragged Matt from the machine, and carried him, a dead weight, for a dozen yards. Matt hung like grim death to the piece of rein, and his hundred and thirty pounds finally brought the horse to a standstill. As Matt floundered to his feet, the girl toppled into his arms—and the horse jerked loose and went on. But Matt was not concerned about the horse. The girl was saved, and that was enough for him. Dizzy and weak, he staggered with her to the roadside and laid her down beside an irrigation-ditch. Hearing some one behind him, he turned and saw a buckboard containing a man and woman. The man had halted the rig, and was handing the reins to the woman. The woman was leaning from the seat and peering anxiously at Matt and the girl over the side of the vehicle. The man sprang down and hurried toward Matt. "Finest thing I ever saw!" declared the man. "That girl might have been killed if it hadn't been for you. Say, you're a plucky piece, and——" The man stopped and stared. "Why, hello!" he went on. "You're Motor Matt, the lad that won the bicycle-race at the park a few days ago. Say, Malindy," he called to the woman, "this is Motor Matt. You've heard about him. He's the boy that won the race from O'Day, of Prescott." "The young woman, Silas!" returned the woman. "Was she hurt?" "She's only fainted, I think," said Matt. "It's a wonder the fellow on that other machine wouldn't stop," growled the man. "If he'd acted like he'd ought to, the horse wouldn't have run off with the girl. What was the matter with him?" "We were racing for the recorder's office," explained Matt. "We've both got notices to file, and the one that gets there first——" "Oh, ho! That's it, hey? And you thought more of saving the girl than you did of beating him! Here, shake! It's sort of refreshing to meet a boy like you. If your machine isn't busted, you hike right along, and maybe you'll beat the other chap yet. We'll take care of the girl, and see that she gets where she belongs in town. Hitch the horses, Malindy," he added to the woman, "and come here and help." Matt started off, limping as he went. "Are you hurt?" shouted the man. "Jolted up a little, that's all," answered Matt, stopping to pick up his cap. He was worrying about the Comet . Had he smashed it when the horse jerked him out of the saddle? By what seemed like a miracle, the motor-cycle had escaped injury. The jar of its fall had closed the gasoline shut-off, and he picked the machine out of the dust and once more got into the seat. Was there any use in going on to the court-house, he was asking himself. He felt more like going to his boarding-house and hunting for a bottle of arnica. Remembering that he had told Chub he wouldn't consider himself beaten until the recorder had told him Perry had already filed Jacks' location notice, he set the motor going and wheeled rapidly on toward Grand Avenue. He was about five minutes getting to the court-house. While he was bracing the motor-cycle up against the steps at the entrance, Perry came out of the building, followed by Dirk Hawley. "Here's King," laughed Perry, "just a little bit late." "Just a little," chuckled Hawley. "It won't do you any good to butt in here, King." "How do you know what I'm doing here?" demanded Matt. "Oh, I'm a pretty fair guesser. Run along home, an' tell the McReadys their little scheme wouldn't work." Matt, however, climbed doggedly up the steps, entered the corridor, and made for the place where location notices were filed. "Was a location notice filed here just now for Jacks and Hawley?" he asked of the clerk. "Right you are; just about two minutes ago." "Much obliged," said Matt. "That's all." He went out and got on his machine, but instead of steering for Mrs. Spooner's, he made for Chub McReady's. Susie was there, and he would tell her the whole story. If he hadn't stopped to chase that runaway horse, he would have been able to beat Perry to the court-house and so save a fortune for his friends. They had to be told how he had failed and why. Welcome Perkins was smoking a pipe on the porch as Matt rode up. He jumped excitedly to his feet when he saw who was coming. "Howdy, pard!" he called. "Did you an' Chub do the trick? Did ye beat out them villains, Jacks an' Hawley? Snakes alive, Matt, don't say ye didn't! From the looks o' yer face, I'm argyin' ye've had bad luck. Oh, ye ort to hev took me! Ye ort to hev let me take keer o' this." Hearing Welcome's loud talk, Susie came out on the porch. "Why, Matt!" she exclaimed. "Where's Mark? Didn't he come with you?" Matt shook his head as he climbed up the steps. "What's the matter with ye?" demanded Welcome. "I don't reckon I ever seen ye quite so cut up afore, Matt. Somethin' must hev gone a hull lot crossways to make you pull sich a face." "Nothing has happened to Mark, has there, Matt?" queried Susie anxiously. "A good many things have happened to both of us, Susie, since we left here," said Matt; "but Chub's all right." "You're kind of pale, Matt," went on Susie solicitously. "Here, take this chair." "What makes ye limp?" queried Welcome. "Hawley been roughin' things up with ye? Shade o' Gallopin' Dick! I never felt so all-fired worked up about anythin' as I do about that there 'strike' o' Jim's. Tell me right out, Matt, hev ye saved the claim?" "No," answered Matt heavily, as he sank into the chair, "we've lost out—and it's my fault." There followed a short silence, Welcome muttering and twisting at his mustache, Susie peering keenly at Matt's pale face, and Matt staring at the cottonwood-trees down by the town canal. Susie was the first to speak. Stepping quietly to Matt's side, she laid a small hand on his shoulder. "You've lost out, Matt," said she, "and if it's your fault, as you say, then there's a good reason why you lost out. Money isn't everything in this world." "Mebby not," spoke up Welcome dryly, "but it sartinly buys a lot o grub, an' clothes, an' critter comforts. The McReadys could stand a few o' them same comforts, I reckon. Sometimes, gal, when I see how ye're pinchin' along, an' Chub is hampered fer money to git things to do his inventin' with, I vow I can't hardly keep from hikin' fer the hills an holdin' up a few stages. It ain't right, I know, but the ole lawless feelin' bubbles up mighty strong, oncet in a while. If you an' Chub had waited an' asked fer my advice afore racin' off like ye done, Matt, mebby ye'd be hevin' a diff'rent story ter tell. Howsumever, tell the details. Ye lost, an' the biggest part o' the shock is over. The McReadys'll continner ter struggle along on bacon an' spuds, instid, as I had fondly hoped, bein' promoted to canned stuff. What ye hangin' fire fer, Matt? Go on an'——" "You don't stop talking long enough to give him a chance, Welcome," said Susie. "That's right," snorted Welcome; "blame me ! Blame the ole ex-pirate o' the plains fer every bloomin' thing that happens. I'm expectin' ye'll be sayin' next that it's my fault kase Matt an Chub couldn't beat out Jacks an' Hawley. Don't fergit, young lady, I'm grub-staked fer the hills, an'——" "Dry up!" cried Matt, and he said it so suddenly, and in such a tone that the old man keeled over against one of the porch-posts. Matt smiled a little. "You're doing all the talking, Welcome," he added, "and not saying anything, and here I sit with something to say and not able to get a word in edgeways." "Git in yer word," snapped Welcome, stamping his wooden pin on the porch, "git in a dozen words, or a millyun of 'em. 'Pears like ye kin talk a heap even if ye can't do anythin'." Welcome glared, began filling his pipe, and sat down on the top step of the porch. Before Matt could begin, Tom Clipperton hurried in at the gate and ran along the walk and up the steps. He was covered with dust, and was plainly just in from a hard, trying ride, but there was a glow in his black eyes as he reached over and grabbed Matt's hand. "Great! Everybody's talking about it. I'm proud of you." "Somethin' more we can't understand," growled Welcome. "What's great? What's everybody talkin' about? Where'd you come from, anyway?" "Matt was racing for town with Perry," went on Clipperton. "Perry had Penny's motor-cycle. Matt had the Comet . Matt was overhauling Perry at every jump. He'd have beat him in and filed the McReady location before Perry filed Jacks' and Hawley's. But Matt stopped to catch a horse that was running away with a girl. Perry's machine scared the horse. Catch him stopping! That's why Motor Matt lost out. Claim or no claim, everybody's proud of Matt." "Did you do that , Matt?" asked Susie, a soft light in her wide, brown eyes as she looked at him. "Why, yes," said Matt. "I couldn't get out of it." "I'm proud of you, too," said Susie quietly. "What you did was worth a dozen claims." "Money's money," growled old Welcome. "I ain't got no use fer dad-binged sentiment when it's so hard fer the McReadys to scrub along." "There's more to it," said Clipperton. "I've got something else to tell." "What's that, Clip?" queried Matt. "The girl you saved was Edith Hawley. Dirk Hawley's daughter." Matt sank back in his chair, dumfounded. CHAPTER XIV. A QUEER TANGLE. "Waal, I'm stumped!" snorted Welcome. "Matt stops his race ter save Dirk Hawley's gal, an' Dirk Hawley wins a bonanzer mine bekase o' it. Looks to me like a put-up job. Mebby the gal was bein' run away with a-purpose." "Welcome!" reproved Susie sharply. "That's right," whimpered the old man. "Jump onter me. Anyways, you know Dirk Hawley wouldn't be above doin' of a thing like that." "They say Edith Hawley is a fine girl," said Susie, "and just as different from her father as can be. I've heard that Hawley fairly worships her, and it's nonsense to think he'd let her risk her life to keep Matt from beating Perry to the recorder's office. But it's a queer tangle, isn't it, Matt?" she added, turning to her brother's chum. "Mighty queer," answered Matt. "I'd have stopped and helped the girl, just the same, even if I had known who she was." "Of course you would!" declared Susie. "You must have made a fast ride into town, Clip," said Matt. "Hit a high place, now and then," answered Clip. "You didn't hit any." "Why did you leave town?" "Saw Perry's chum, Ratty Spangler. He told me where Perry had gone. Then I got a horse and started out early this morning. Didn't know what I could do, but I wanted to do something. After you passed me on the road I tore in behind you. A good ways behind," Clip added. "Left my horse at the corral and hustled straight for here. It was the corral boss who told me what you'd done." "Susie an' me hev been waitin' fer quite a spell to hear what Matt done," complained Welcome. "We got a right to know, seems like." "Wait till I get dinner," said Susie, "then we can talk while we eat." "Prime idea," agreed Matt. "I was too busy to eat breakfast, and Chub and I had a mighty slim supper last night." "I'll hurry as fast as I can," said Susie, starting into the house. "You're to stay, Clip." The loss of a fortune hadn't seemed to make much of an impression on Susie. On the contrary, she seemed pleased to think that Matt had turned aside from the race with Perry to stop the runaway horse and save Edith Hawley. Clip went into the house after a bandage and a bottle of arnica, and proceeded to take care of one of Matt's shins, which had been badly skinned when he was jerked from the motor-cycle. Clip was a master-hand at anything of this sort, and, besides, inherited from his Indian forefathers the keen eye and subtle sense that go to make a born tracker, whether in the woods, or on mountain and plain. "Hawley an' Perry hev been purty thick," mused Welcome, while the bandaging was going on, "an' I'm kinder sorter wonderin' what Hawley'll say when he l'arns it was Perry as skeered his darter's hoss." "Perry did a big thing for Hawley by winning that race," said Clip. "Hawley's all for money, no matter how it's made. He'll forget about Perry's scaring the horse." "An' only to think it was Hawley's gal got between the McReadys an' a fortun'," groaned Welcome. "I shore won't sleep nights thinkin' about it. It's goin' to ha'nt me. Mebey it'll drive me into the hills fer good an' all." "If Delray hadn't come out of the house to talk with me," said Clip, "Perry wouldn't have got away from the Bluebell. He went like a streak when he came. Couldn't either of us stop him." "Funny how things turn out sometimes," mused Matt. "Why don't you come back to school, Matt?" asked Clip, with his usual abruptness in jumping from one subject to another. "Finish out the term, I mean, before you go to Denver. You've got ten friends there to Perry's one." A tinge of sadness crossed Matt's face. "I haven't any folks that I know of, Clip," said he, "and I'm up against a financial stringency. I'm going to Denver and get something to do." "Short on folks myself," grunted Clip. "And about as short on money. What you going to do there?" "I think I'll get into the automobile business—driving a car, or something like that. I've got to be among the motors, Clip, in order to be happy." "I'll buy Perry's motor-cycle and go with you. Never had a friend like Motor Matt. Don't want to let you get away." Clipperton was as sudden in his resolutions as he was in his talk. Matt lifted his eyes quickly, and there was that in Clipperton's look which led him to reach over and grip his hand. "We'd hook up like a house afire, Clip," said Matt heartily, "but you'd better think it over." "I've got my way to make, same as you. Let me hitch my string to your kite. Maybe I can help. Don't have to think it over. You know they haven't ever made it very happy for me here," said Clipperton, his eyes flashing and chest heaving with the indignation that filled his soul. At that moment, Susie came to the door and announced dinner. While they were eating, Matt struck into the experiences that had fallen to him and Chub. Beginning with the trouble caused by the freighter at the Bluebell Mine, he followed on down to the point where he had stopped the runaway horse. That incident he glided over, and finished by telling of his encounter with Hawley and Perry on the court-house steps. As he very well knew would be the case, Susie began at once to worry about her father. Welcome pushed away from the table, leaving his dinner half-eaten. "It's up to me," said he excitedly. "I knowed it u'd come. I'll git out ole Lucretia Borgia an' hike fer the mountings immediate. Jim McReady's my pard, an' if a hair o' his head has been teched, I'll mow down Jacks, an' Bisbee, an' Hawley an' everybody else that's had a hand in his undoin'. Everybody listen to me! It's Eagle-eye Perkins, the Terror o' the Plains, what's talkin'. Don't grieve, gal," he added, turning to Susie, "I'll go out there an' I'll bring Jim back, or I'll leave my ole carkiss among the rocks." Welcome thumped his chest—and immediately began to cough. "Where's Lucretia Borgia, gal?" he demanded. "I been missin' 'er fer a day or two." "Lucretia Borgia" was the high-sounding and significant name Welcome had bestowed upon an ancient revolver. The weapon had not been discharged in a dozen years, and owing to its rusty condition firing it had apparently ceased to become a possibility. "I—I threw it down the cistern, Welcome," said Susie. "The old trinket was harmless enough, but I was afraid it would get you into trouble." Welcome stared. "Trinket!" he mumbled. "Throwed it down the cistern! Lucretia Borgia, with all them tur'ble recordin' notches on the handle! This here's the last straw! I'm goin', right now, an' with nothin' on me no more'n a jack-knife with a busted blade! But I'll git Jim. He's my pard, he is, an' he's allers treated me white ." Welcome grabbed his hat and started for the door. Just as he reached it, a tall man with grayish hair and beard stepped through and collided with him. "Father!" screamed Susie. "Jim!" whooped Welcome. "Waal, snakes alive! We was jest thinkin' ye'd never git back till ole Welcome went out an' brought ye in!" "Don't overlook me," piped the voice of Chub, as he pushed through the door behind his father. "Howdy, Matt! I knew you were here when I saw the Comet out in front. Clip, too! Well, well, here's a gatherin' of the faithful, an' no mistake." CHAPTER XV. THE LAST SURPRISE. Mr. McReady and Chub could not have arrived at a more fitting moment. At no time had Matt done very much worrying on account of McReady, senior, for he had all along believed that the prospector was in no particular danger from Jacks and Bisbee. Those two worthies would go as far as they dared, but they would stop short of any desperate work. Hawley would have seen to that, even if Jacks and Bisbee had allowed their ardor to run away with their judgment. After the prospector had kissed Susie and shaken hands with Matt and Clip, two more plates were put on the table, and for half an hour those present listened to what had happened to the head of the McReady family. "I've had a tough time of it, and no mistake," said the prospector. "For the biggest part of my trip it was just the same old scramble through the hills, gopherin' around and horn-spooning nothing that had a speck of color. I was near discouraged, thinking how old a man I was getting to be, and how my family was drifting along and kicking the wolf off the door-step every morning. I started for home, allowing I'd get some kind of a job in town, and chance brought me along that old pack-trail. Knowing about the spring under the peak with the white cross, I went there to camp for the night—and then through sheer accident I struck that blow-out of white quartz with the rock just glittering with yellow specks. It took me half of the next day to locate the lode, and while I was pilin' the monuments I looked up and saw that villain, Jacks. "I had been running across Jacks frequently, during the trip, and it began to dawn upon me that seeing him so much wasn't altogether a coincidence. Everybody knows that Dirk Hawley grub-stakes him, although why Jacks wanted to trail after such an unsuccessful prospector as I am was a mystery. However, there he was, just at the time I had made my 'strike,' pushing toward me threateningly. He said that it was his claim, and that I had no business piling my monuments on it. I asked him why he hadn't piled his own monuments on the claim, if it was his. He hadn't anything to say to that, but tried to run me off the ground. "Well, instead of his running me off he got run off himself, and I could see him hanging around at a safe distance, keeping an eye on me. When I got ready to put up my location notice, I was thunderstruck to find that I had lost my bundle of blanks. Jacks, no doubt, had blanks, for they're a prime part of every prospector's equipment, but of course I couldn't expect him to let me have a couple; and if I left the claim and tried to get any, Jacks could tack up a location notice of his own and make a run to Phœnix with a duplicate. "Chub was the boy I thought of to get me out of that fix, but I didn't even think of him as a possibility until Pedro Morales came along the pack-trail with a couple of burros loaded with mesquit and palo-verde. I stopped the Mexican and made him wait while I took the wrapper off of some candles and wrote that letter; then, scratching out the original address on an old envelope, I wrote Chub's name over it, told Morales where to go to find the boy, and gave him some money and sent him on. "Then I waited, and watched, and hoped, all the time keeping as wary an eye on Jacks as he was holding on me. I never left the claim once, and I had a good-sized club of ironwood which I was ready to use on the slightest provocation. "Well, the days passed and Chub didn't come. I was hoping Jacks might go away for a spell and give me a chance to slip over to the Bluebell and flash a wireless message to Phœnix, but the rascal seemed glued to the spot. Finally, one day, Jacks walked over with a white flag. He said he wanted to see if we couldn't compromise, as he called it. I kept my club handy and watched him like a cat as we talked. But the trouble was I didn't do any looking behind me. First thing I knew I was grabbed around the arms from the rear, then Jacks jumped forward, and I found myself in the hands of two men, one of them being Bisbee. Hawley had sent Bisbee out to help Jacks get the better of me. Too late I realized how I had been trapped, but there was nothing I could do. "The scoundrels tied me hand and foot, loaded me onto Jacks' burro, and took me two miles away to the old Santa Maria shaft. The Santa Maria was abandoned years ago, and Jacks and Bisbee lowered me down to the bottom of the shaft, left a little food and water, and went away. The old ladders had long since decayed and fallen away, so I couldn't have been more of a prisoner if I had found myself behind bars and stone walls. Chub can tell you the rest." "You bet I can," put in Chub. "If it hadn't been for Matt's plucky getaway from that hole in the rocks, it's a cinch dad would probably have been down in the old shaft yet. When you gave that husky yell, Matt, Jacks and Bisbee thought we had both got away. They rushed off after you, and all I had to do was to hike out. I had time to take Old Baldy, and I set out on a night search for the Santa Maria, as you told me to do. I had a notion where the old mine was, although I didn't know exactly, an' of course night was a bad time to find anything I was so hazy about. But sure I had luck in my jeans. I stumbled on a camp of Mexican wood-cutters, and one of 'em took me to the Santa Maria. I can tell you I was mightily relieved when dad answered me from down in the shaft and said he was all right. The wood-cutter got a rope and we snaked dad out in a brace of shakes. Then we began to scratch gravel for the Bluebell, gettin' there about half an hour after you had left, Matt. "'Course dad an' me felt good when Del told us how he had held Perry a prisoner all night, an' how he had only got away half an hour ahead of you. Still, I wasn't indulgin' in any extra high hopes, and neither was dad. We just figured on coming into Phœnix, taking turn about riding the horse you had left at the Bluebell, when, just as though we had planned it, along came Major Woolford in his automobile. He had been out to the Montezuma Mine, and was on his way to town. He brought us in, and when we got here we heard how you came so near skinning Perry out of that race, and how you lost by side-stepping to grab a runaway horse and save Edith Hawley from bein' killed, or hurt." Chub paused. Mr. McReady, with glowing eyes, leaned toward Matt. "That was nobly done, my boy!" he cried. Susie's eyes kindled. "I knew you'd say that, dad," she said happily. "You couldn't expect anythin' else of Motor Matt," chimed in Chub. "That's his style, every time an' all the time. He's all to the good!" Matt was deeply touched. All the McReadys, notwithstanding the fact that his act in saving the girl had caused them to lose a chance at fortune which might never again come their way, approved heartily the course he had taken. The McReadys were generous and whole-souled; and, although they were in bitter need of a "strike," yet they were great-spirited enough to place humanity above the sordid question of mere money. "Dad-binged if I kin feel like you do," croaked Welcome Perkins dismally. "It ain't likely, Jim, ye'll ever git another chanst at a 'strike,' an' I hate to think ye got juggled out o' this in any sich a way." The prospector laughed. "Why, old friend," said he, "it may be a good thing. I'd have to do development work, you know, then hunt around for capital to put up a mill, and I would be loading up with lots of care and worry. Now, however, I've made up my mind to get something to do right here in Phœnix, so I can be with you, and Susie, and Chub right along. I'm getting to be pretty old for knocking around the hills." There was an undernote of wistfulness back of McReady's words that sent a pang to Motor Matt's heart. A moderate fortune would have enabled the prospector to pass his last days in comfort and give Chub and Susie a college education. Matt's conscience didn't reprove him for what he had done, but he couldn't help looking at the other side of the picture. McReady pushed away from the table, put his arms around Susie and Chub, and started for the front room. "Let's all go out on the porch," said he. "The sun is bright, the sky is fair, and it's easy to be happy if you only make up your mind to be thankful for all you've got. I'd rather be in my shoes, this minute, than in Jacks', or Hawley's." "Or Perry's," added Chub. "I wonder what that fellow thinks of himself?"

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