Motor Matt's Mystery; or, Foiling a Secret Plot

CHAPTER X. CHAPTER X. A SHIFT IN THE SITUATION. Matt had never done any more rapid-fire thinking than he did then. While Carl and Spangler, carried away by the excitement of the chase, were yelping frantically and throwing themselves around in the tonneau, and while Hank was growling and threatening, Motor Matt was driving mechanically and turning the situation over in his mind. Pringle, Trymore, Hank, and Spangler were all concerned in the robbery of Tomlinson. Trymore, in some way yet to be explained, must have got hold of the pearls and have tried to get away with them and leave his pals in the lurch. Hank, Spangler, and Pringle had been trying to get hold of Trymore, and had felled the tree and laid that trap where the road wound around the mountain. Pringle had been left with the horses while Hank and Spangler made their attack on the car; by getting out, as he had done, Trymore had checkmated his pals, had found Pringle and the horses, and the two had made it up between them to hustle away with all the live stock and leave Hank and Spangler tied up with the automobile on the wrong side of the tree. All this, at least, represented Matt's quick guess at the situation, built upon certain things he knew and others which he took for granted. Trymore and Pringle had about five minutes' start of the Red Flier; but the motor-car, under Matt's skilful control, was registering fifty miles an hour by the speedometer on the dashboard. If Trymore and Pringle kept to the road, they must surely be overtaken in short order. Spangler was the first to sight the horsemen. "Thar they are, by thunder!" he cried, in savage exultation, "we're goin' a dozen feet to their one, an' we'll smash right inter 'em, in half a minit." "We'll empty the saddles, that's what we'll do!" said Hank, through his teeth. "We'll teach that brace of come-ons to play lame duck with us !" Out of the tails of his eyes Matt saw Hank draw a revolver; and over his shoulder leaned Spangler with another weapon. The young motorist, no matter how desperate the situation, did not intend to allow any successful shooting from the Red Flier. Quick as a flash, he steered the car over a roughened part of the road. During the shake-up that followed, the aim of the two ruffians was disconcerted, and their shots went wild. Trymore and Pringle, goading their horses frantically, were doing their utmost to get away from their vengeful comrades. They knew, however, that if they kept to the road it would be only a matter of seconds before they were overhauled. The whistle of the bullets impelled a quick change of tactics, and they turned from the trail and took to the timber. By this move, they screened themselves from the weapons of the pursuers, but got into country where they would have to travel more slowly. In the haste with which this fresh maneuver was executed, the led horse got away. "Consarn 'em!" exclaimed Hank. "If they think they're going to get away by pulling off such a game as that, they're going to get fooled. Stop the car!" he added, to Matt. Matt slowed down to a halt. Before the Red Flier had been brought to a standstill, Hank and Spangler were over the side, Hank catching the loose horse and spurring after the fugitives, and Spangler floundering after him on foot. Presently, pursued and pursuers vanished, and Matt and Carl sat in the car and wondered what was going to happen next. "You bed my life," fumed Carl, "I hope dey ged Pringle." The Dutch boy was so deeply concerned over Pringle that he had lost sight of the more important points of the situation. "They're crooks, all four of them," said Matt. "They stole the pearls from Tomlinson, in the first place, and now they're trying to beat each other out of them." "Und Domlinson don'd vas Domlinson afder all?" inquired Carl. "The fellow who called himself Tomlinson is Denver Denny, alias James Trymore. Didn't you hear what Hank and I said to each other, a few minutes ago, Carl?" "I don'd hear nodding but schust some yells made py dot odder feller. Vell, vell! Led's all dry und be jeerful. Der deputy sheriff hat dot news aboudt Tenver Tenny in his bocket all der time, und he heluped der crook across der shdreet, und made him comfordable py der hodel, und dit eferyt'ing he could for him! Ach, Drymore vas a shrewrd sgoundrel, I bed you." "He's a bold one!" declared Matt. "Vere iss der real Domlinson alretty? Und how dit Drymore ged der audomopile?" "That's what we've got to find out, Carl." "It vas a pig orter." "But we're going to fill it—and get back the pearls, too." Carl shook his head. "I like to t'ink dot, aber it don'd vas bossiple. How ve do anyt'ing ven ve shday here mit der car? Drymore von't come pack." "I think he will," said Matt confidently. "I'll bet something handsome that Hank and Spangler make that mountain too hot to hold Trymore, and that he comes rushing for the car. Trymore won't know that we've found out who he is, and he'll try to keep on with the Tomlinson rôle. We'll let him think we're fooled, then capture him and recover the pearls." "Dot vas some pright itees," returned Carl admiringly, pulling down his fiery vest and smoothing the wrinkles out of it, "aber my vone pitzness in life, schust now, iss to ketch Pringle und ged py Tenver. It seems like ve vas gedding furder und furder avay from Tenver all der time. You t'ink ve pedder shday righdt here, Matt?" "Trymore saw us here last," answered Matt, "so it will be here that he comes to find us." "Und oof ve can ged avay mit him und mit der bearls," said Carl, "ve vill fool der odder roppers, aber I don'd ged no shance ad Pringle. 'Wienerwurst!' He say it in der note. Pympy, vone oof dose tays, I make him know vich iss der saussage. Yah, so!" Matt had been listening for sounds of the flight and pursuit. They had died out, shortly after the quartet of thieves had disappeared, but Matt was confident that he would hear them again. The contour of the mountain was such, at that place, that it would be impossible for Trymore and Pringle to cross to the other side. They would have to make along the slope, trusting to luck to dodge Hank and Spangler and get back to the trail. Unless they were captured, it was a foregone conclusion that Trymore and Pringle would try to reach the car. Inasmuch as Hank was mounted, he would be able to press the fugitives hard. While the boys waited and watched, they heard the distant report of a revolver. The dull echoes, ringing through the woods, were taken up by a faint yell. "Somepody vas shot!" cried Carl excitedly. "Oof it vas Pringle, I don'd ged him; und oof id vas Drymore, ve don't ged der bearls." "Listen!" said Matt. "Somebody is coming this way." There was a crashing of brush up the slope, growing louder by swift degrees. Matt sprang out, cranked up the engine, and hurriedly got back into the car. "Vat now?" queried Carl. "I'm going to turn around," said Matt, "and be ready to rush Trymore back to Ash Fork. He's coming—I'm sure of it. That means that we capture him and recover the pearls. A big day's work, Carl!" "Meppy ve ged some rake-offs, den, hey?" returned Carl. "Ve don'd got mooch luck so far, oudt oof dis shake-oop." Matt, having turned the Red Flier, brought the machine to a halt and sprang out to be ready with the crank. If Trymore came, with Hank hot at his heels, not a second could be lost in getting away. The scrambling noise was still coming down the mountainside, growing louder and louder, but with no one breaking into view. As Matt stood by the front of the machine, trying to follow the sound with his eyes, he saw a horseman appear in an opening among the timber. It was Hank. He slid across the open space like a streak, bound down the slope and evidently in pursuit of Trymore. Just as Hank disappeared, a form tore through the bushes close to the trailside and rushed for the car. "Help!" cried the man. "Get me out of this or I'll be killed." Poppety-pop! spluttered the engine, as Matt bent to the crank. "Pringle!" shouted Carl; "oof it ain'd Pringle I vas a geezer! Oh, be jeerful, eferypody. Come, Pringle, come to me! I peen vaiding here, und somepody else vas vaiding pehindt, aber meppy you pedder dake shances mit me." A thrill of disappointment ran through Matt. He was expecting Trymore with the pearls, and now to be forced to run away with Pringle looked like losing out on the whole proposition. But there could be no lingering with the hope of ultimately securing Trymore. Hank and Spangler would be quick to understand the possibilities of the car, in Trymore's case, and they might puncture a tire, or do some other damage to eliminate the machine. Pringle, caught between two fires, did not hesitate to take his chances with Carl. With a wild leap he slammed himself on the foot-board and against the tonneau. Carl had the door open, and laid hold of him and dragged him in. Matt, smothering his disappointment, slid into his seat and started the car. At that moment, Hank plunged out of the timber. "Here, you!" he yelled to Matt. "Wait! I want that fellow!" "You can't have him," shouted Matt, and jumped to the high gear. Then away they went, covering the back trail as rapidly as they had gone over it the other way. CHAPTER XI. A SURPRISE. Hank made a desperate attempt to overhaul the car. In fact, he tried so hard to capture Pringle that Matt wondered at it. Why should he give so much attention to the fellow when the man he and Spangler wanted most was still on the mountainside? Hank goaded his horse to top speed, shouted threats, and even smashed the tail lamp with a bullet before the Red Flier could get out of the way. No other damage was done, and Matt drew a long breath of relief when the angry robber was safely left behind. Meanwhile things had been happening in the tonneau. Carl's idea of revenge was to take his troubles out of Pringle's hide, and he was going about it with considerable violence. The body of the car rocked from side to side on the chassis under the fierce turmoil in the tonneau. "Wienerwurst, hey?" sputtered Carl, rolling Pringle over on the seat. "You cut loose from Wienerwurst, hey? I make you t'ink it tifferent, you lopster!" "Leave go o' me. Pretzel!" cried Pringle. "I'll eat you, if you don't, an' that's what. Say, you monkey——" "Monkey!" gurgled Carl. "Dot's somet'ing more. Pringle und Pretzel, der moosickal team haf bust oop! Und now come der firevorks. How you like dot, hey? Und dot, und dot! Dose vas my gompliments. Wienerwurst hants dem to you mit jeerfulness." Thump, smack, bang! went Carl's fists. Matt, having made sure that there was now no danger to be apprehended from Hank, halted the car and leaned over the back of the seat to take a hand in the squabble himself. "That'll do, Carl!" he cried, grabbing the Dutch boy by the collar as he pummeled the form on the leather cushions. "I hafen't paid him all vat I owe him yet," shouted Carl. "That's enough, anyway. Leave him alone. If——" "Dere he goes!" screamed Carl; "und look—look vat he's got in his hant alretty!" The moment Matt dragged the Dutch boy from his late partner, the latter had leaped from the seat, grabbed something that had fallen from his pocket, and had sprung down from the car. As he leaped away, Matt saw that the object in his hand was the green silk bag ! Pringle had been saved from Hank, and he was now anxious to save himself from Carl and Matt. With a flying leap from the car, Matt made after him. A sharp run followed. Pringle was no match for the athletic Motor Matt. Catching up with him at the end of a fifty-yard dash, the young motorist grabbed the fellow by the arm and jerked him to a halt. Pringle was a slab-sided, beak-faced youth with buttermilk eyes. Merely a glance at him was enough to show Matt that he was thoroughly unreliable. "No more fighting," said Matt sharply, snatching the bag from Pringle's hand. "Back to the car with you, on the double-quick." "That ain't yours," snarled Pringle, referring to the bag. "Nor yours, either," answered Matt. "I'm taking charge of it for Tomlinson." This remark about Tomlinson seemed to take Pringle's breath. "Who's Tomlinson?" he asked, trying to play the innocent. "You know." "Some one's been stringing you." "You're trying it now, Pringle, but it won't work." Carl, leaning out of the tonneau, was waving a revolver. "Py shiminy, Matt," he called, "here I vas heeled all der time und forgot aboudt it. Dis gun pelongs mit der Drymore feller. Shtep avay vile I draw some beads on dot gangle-legged hide-rack, vat you got along." "Put that up!" said Matt sternly. "If it went off, I'd be in as much danger as Pringle. That rope that was used to lash the wheel is wrapped around the foot-rest in the tonneau. Get it, and we'll tie Pringle's hands." "What are you mutts trying to do?" demanded Pringle. "You ain't got no call to handle me like this." "Oh, no, I guess nod!" taunted Carl, pulling Pringle's hands to his back and getting busy with the rope. "You vas a fine sbecimen oof a tinhorn, hey. Wienerwurst! Vell, I vas more oof a hot tamale as dot, hey?" "What do you want to knock a partner like this for, Dutch?" demanded Pringle. "Just because I had to pull my freight without getting your permission? Aw, you make me tired!" "See here," said Matt sharply, as Pringle was made to get into the tonneau, "there's no use of your trying to play possum with us, Pringle. We know all about what you've done—not only to Carl, but to Tomlinson. You'll go to Yuma, all right. Just now we're going to take you to Ash Fork and leave you, and the pearls, with the deputy sheriff." This announcement took the wind out of Pringle's sails. The white ran into his face, and he sank back and stared helplessly from Carl to Matt. At that moment the pounding of a motor was heard along the road in the direction of Ash Fork. In that region, where automobiles were few and far between, the sound claimed Matt's instant attention. The other car was coming like the wind. It was a high-powered runabout with a single rumble-seat behind. There were two passengers—one a big man in cap and dust-coat, and the other a businesslike driver in leather fixings and goggles. The runabout was new, as could easily be seen, and there was an extra tire in irons at the driver's side. At that point in the road passing was easy, and the runabout surged by without decreasing speed. "Look out ahead!" shouted Matt, making a trumpet of his hands. But his warning didn't even win a backward glance from the big fellow with the driver. The dust the runabout kicked up soon screened the car from sight. A few moments later, the dust whisked out of view around the point of the mountain. "Chiminy grickets, dot feller vas going some!" exclaimed Carl. "He don'd vas on speaking-derms mit anypody to-day, I guess." "I'll bet that's the fellow I came to Ash Fork to see about a job," said Matt. "He answers the description, all right, but from the looks of things he's got a driver." "Vich leds you oudt," returned Carl. "Dis odder chob oof yours ad a hundert tollars a mont I don'd t'ink vill last. Meppy ve don'd ged py Tenver, neider. Vat a luck it iss! Aber be jeerful. Pringle iss here," and Carl reached over to nudge Pringle in the ribs. "Cut it out!" scowled Pringle. "What can I do to get clear of this?" "You can go py Ash Fork fairst, und den py Yuma. Dot vill led you oudt in den years, meppy." "Rub it in! Oh, by all means!" "Do you want to tell us what you know?" asked Matt, facing Pringle. "Will it put me in deeper, or help me out?" returned Pringle. "It won't do you any harm. We know a good deal about this business, as it is. For instance, Pringle, you got a note from Denver Denny telling you that the pearls were on the way——" "Dere id iss," said Carl, pushing the note in front of Pringle's eyes. "Look him ofer, den you know ve don'd make some pluffs." "You answered the letter from Flagstaff," went on Matt, "and sent it to Brockville, saying you were glad the pearls were on the way and that you would meet Trymore at that place." "Und dere iss dot vone, too—only ve don'd got it," put in Carl. "Dot's der vone vere you say someding aboudt Wienerwurst, vich iss me." "No," said Pringle, "I know you don't got it. Hank got it. You're real cute in that red vest. It's almost like we were in the lime-light, doing the sketch. Quite a line you lads have got on me. But I wouldn't linger around here. That other benzine buggy is coming back, and Hank's up front. Spang's behind, too, and they're reaching out for us." Pringle was turned partly around in the tonneau, so that his eyes could command the road in the rear. Matt took a quick glance toward the point of the mountain. Pringle was right! The runabout was charging along the trail like a thunderbolt. The big man in the dust-coat had vanished. In his place sat Hank, and behind Hank was Spangler. Hank had a revolver in his hand and was pointing it at the driver, holding him to his work. "Ach, du lieber!" whooped Carl. "Pull avay, Matt! Dey're afder us." Matt turned over the engine in record time, jumped for his seat and started. CHAPTER XII. ESCAPE. It was easy for Matt to guess what had happened. Hank and Spangler had stopped the other car—by rolling the tree across the road again, or in some other way—and had taken possession of the runabout. The scoundrels were in luck to have such a car come their way at just that time. Being a lighter machine than the touring-car, and fully as powerful, Matt knew that Hank and Spangler had the advantage. The two scoundrels were in desperate earnest, there could be no doubt about that. They had risked much for the pearls and would not let them slip through their fingers now if they could help it. Pringle was as anxious to get away from the runabout as were Matt and Carl. If Hank and Spangler caught him, their vengeance would be swift and terrible. Pringle's easiest way out of the difficulty was to stay with the two boys. Although the country through which the road ran was bluffy and rough, yet the road itself traveled the level places and was hard and firm. Matt speeded up the engine to the limit and drew out every ounce of power. "Dey're gaining!" shouted Carl; "dey're coming oop on us, Matt! Vell, I t'ink dis is our hoodoo tay, anyvays." "Tear her to pieces!" cried Pringle. "Is this the best you can do? It will be all day with me if Hank comes alongside!" They were doing fifty-five miles an hour, and Matt knew that they could not do any better, no matter what happened. He was hoping for something to turn up—that was all that could help them now. Carl thought that was their hoodoo day, but he had occasion to change his mind. "Somet'ing iss going wrong mit der odder machine, Matt!" he called. "Dey're preaking down, I bed you." "That's what!" came from Pringle. "Hank acts as though he wanted to kill the driver. Is the driver making a play, or has something really slipped a cog? They're at a standstill." Matt decreased the Red Flier's speed and looked back. The driver of the other car was on the ground and both Hank and Spangler were standing over him with drawn guns. "Judging from what the driver is doing," said Matt, "it can't be a tire they've blown up. Water in the carburetter, perhaps. If that's the case, they'll be after us like a singed cat in less than a minute." A bend in the road hid those in the touring-car from a view of their enemies behind. The road curved back and forth, through that part of the hills, and Matt was just making ready to let the Flier out again when Pringle made a suggestion. "You can't give them the slip on a straightaway run, can you?" he called. "No," answered Matt. "And if they're only hung up for two or three minutes they'll catch us?" "Easy." "Well, I don't want to be hooked by that outfit, and I know a way we can dodge 'em." "How?" "Right ahead, on the left, there's a gully in the hills. You can go through it from end to end, easy enough, and at the farther end there's another road. Duck into that gully, quick!" This seemed like a good move to Matt. He pulled the Red Flier down to the low gear. "Oof you vas drying to make us some drouples, Pringle," warned Carl, "you vill ged vorse as you have hat yet." "Aw, splash!" snorted Pringle. "What do you take me for? I was helpin' Denny to skip with the pearls, and Hank would kill me for that, if he could. I'm a lot more anxious to dodge him than you fellows are. Take the gully! I know what I'm talking about. I was through the place with Hank and Spang this morning." Matt's keen eyes were already surveying the gully, and the ground that lay between the mouth of it and the road. The other car could be heard coming, and there was scant time for making a decision. A turn with the steering-wheel headed the Flier for the opening, and she glided in between the sloping walls of the narrow swale. Hardly was the car out of sight when the runabout came ripping along in a cloud of dust. None of those aboard saw the Red Flier, but had their eyes on the next turn of the trail. "Fooled!" laughed Pringle huskily. "If you take my advice, you'll keep going through the gully. As I just said, there is another good road beyond." This advice seemed good to Matt, for, if they had pushed out into the road again and headed the other way, they might soon find the runabout once more behind them. The bed of the gully was sandy, but there were no sharp stones or anything else to injure the tires. Proceeding carefully, Matt kept the car headed for the other road. "I got a bottle of corn-juice in my back pocket," said Pringle, after a while, "and I feel the need of a nip. How about having one, all around?" "Not for me," returned Matt promptly. "Und nod for you, neider, Pringle," said Carl. "You vas too mooch oof a feller for der booze, und dot's vat's blayed der tickens mit you." "How did you come to hook up with Hank, Spangler, and Trymore?" asked Matt. "If I put you next," replied Pringle, "I expect you to do what you can for me." "I'll do that—only I want the truth." "That's what you'll get, right off the bat. I'm down, and you've got the pearls, and Hank and Spang are hot on my trail. I've all to win by putting you wise, and I don't see how I've got anything to lose. "This Denny Jerome, otherwise Denver Denny, otherwise James Trymore, and some others, is an old pal of mine. We used to turn a knockabout spiel behind the footlights on a little two-by-four Western circuit; but Denny got to selling gold bricks to Jaspers and quit on me. I did a little with him, on the side, but the pace was too swift for my nerve. Denny got jugged, and made a getaway, and a friend told him that Tomlinson had picked up some pearls down in Yuma, and was to bring them back to Denver in his touring-car. That looked like good picking for Denny, and he slid for Brockville, A. T., and sent Hank to Yuma to see whether Tomlinson was really going to tote the pearls along with him or have the sense to put them through to Denver by express. "Hank's the wise boy, all right, and he not only discovered that Tomlinson was just as foolish as he was made out to be, but picked up the road they were taking from Tomlinson's chauffeur. Hank then took the train for Brockville, Denny sent word to me, and I pulled out to join him and Hank and Spang. "We laid for the touring-car beyond Ash Fork—stopped it by rolling a big stone into the road. Tomlinson and his driver showed fight, and Denny got a bit of a gouge in the block. He seemed all right, though, and pulled himself together in time to relieve Tomlinson of the silk bag. "Close by that place where we blocked the trail there's an old adobe hut between two hills. From the looks of it, no one has lived there for a hundred years. The play was for Hank, Spang, and little Bright-eyes to take Tomlinson and the chauffeur to the hut and leave them there, neatly roped. Well, we did it; then, when we flocked back to the road, we found that this nice big car was gone and Denny gone with it. Strange as it may seem, Denny had forgot to leave the pearls. "Oh, well, the air was blue for a while. Then, after Hank and Spang had taken their oaths they'd get the pearls and Denny's scalp along with 'em, we soldiered along toward Ash Fork, hugging the hills all the way. We went into camp in a dry-wash close to town, and when evening settled down, Hank sneaked into the burg and came back with a hot clue. The Red Flier was in the hotel barn, and Denny was in the hotel. The question was, did Denny have the pearls in his clothes, or had he hid 'em around the automobile? It looked like a raw play for him to keep the pearls in his pocket and run the risk of being caught with the goods, and we were all thinking he must have put 'em in the buzz-wagon. "Hank and Spang went into town on their horses to have a look through the barn. Just as they had given up trying to find the pearls, some one came in and went to the machine while some one else stood in the door. Hank had a dark lantern—all of Denny's belongings he'd left with us—and he flashed it on the chap by the car. The fellow had a letter. Spang got it. They went after pearls and came back with the paper-talk I'd sent to Spang at Brockville. Then there was more language, and more swearing about what we'd do to Denny when we dropped onto him. "There were only two ways Denny could go out of Ash Fork. One road was back toward the place where Tomlinson was held up. We knew he wouldn't go that way. The other road headed for Flagstaff. Hank stole an ax and we moved along the Flagstaff road early in the morning. We rode through this gully—that's how I came to know about it—and we crossed the mountain through the crack in the top of it and dropped a tree across the trail. Then we went up into the gap, where we could see a mile or two in every direction, and spotted the car when it came along with our absent-minded pal. "Hank and Spang rushed down with their horses, just throwing a bluff in order to make sure the car got around the mountain to the tree. After that, Hank and Spang came up the hill, left their horses with me, and scrambled down to a lot of bushes. "I was holding three horses in the gap. See? Then, all at once, who shows up but Denny. I was for yelling to Hank and Spang, but Denny stops me. He had the pearls, he says, and I might as well have half of 'em. What's the use of letting Hank and Spang in on a good thing when we could have it all to ourselves? Well, I went him one. Denny got onto one horse, and I got onto the other and led the third. You're wise, I guess, that we counted on getting away while that buzz-wagon was hooked to the tree; consequently, we were scared stiff when we heard it climbing after us. "We took to the timber. What else could we do? The led horse parted company with me, Hank caught it, and then he pushed us hard. My horse tumbled; that left me on foot. All Denny and I had been thinking about was getting back to the car and making you fellows get us out of our hole. We might have made the riffle, I guess, if Denny hadn't played out and tumbled from his saddle. That hurt in the head must have weakened him some; anyhow, he laid on the ground as stiff as a mackerel. Not being able to do anything for Denny, I guessed I'd do what I could for Bright-eyes, so I stopped to get the silk bag. Came pretty near stopping too long, because some one took a shot at me, and I guess I jumped twenty feet. "Hank was after me, and Hank was on his horse. What's more, Hank had seen me taking the silk bag. I knew right off it was a nip-and-tuck race, with the chances in favor of a man called Pringle getting nipped. Well, I traveled. When I reached a high place and couldn't go on my feet I laid down and rolled over. That's how I got to the car, and was warmly greeted by Pretzel. You know the rest. Is the spiel worth anything?" Matt, while steering the car through the gully, had been following Pringle closely. "I'm willing to let you go, Pringle," said he, "providing you take us to the place where you left Tomlinson and his chauffeur, and providing neither of them is hurt." "Und broviding," added Carl, "you gif me pack vat you dook dot vas mine." "You're on, both of you!" said Pringle. "I didn't think my dope would bring all that. Ahead of the car is the end of the gully, and just over the end is that nice road I was telling you about. That road will take us past the adobe hut and keep us out of Ash Fork all the way. It might be well to push the pace, though. Now that Hank and Spang have got a machine of their own, they may get the notion that we'll try to do something for James Q. Tomlinson, and make a play to block us." The unfortunate jeweler had been in Matt's mind all the time, ever since the mystery had cleared enough so he could understand what had happened. In order to reach the road Pringle described, it was necessary to climb the gully-bank. The climb was a stiff one, but Matt put the Red Flier at it without loss of a moment. There was warm work ahead—and it would be warmer if Hank and Spang tried to block proceedings with the runabout. CHAPTER XIII. THE HUT IN THE HILLS. The Red Flier made fine work of the climb, rounding the crest of the gully-bank in excellent form. The road they were after lay in plain sight, with smooth ground between. "Which way now, Pringle?" asked Matt, when they had reached the trail. "Turn to the right," answered Pringle. "You and your new partner are in luck, Pretzel," he added, when the turn was made and the car was skimming along toward the adobe hut and Tomlinson. "You'll cut a fine large cake when you break in on Mr. Gotrocks and tell him he's saved, and that you're prepared to hand him all the pearls in the bag. Wish I had you for the next twenty-four hours, Dutch." "Oof you hat blayed skevare mit me, Pringle," replied Carl, "you vouldn't haf peen in sooch a mix. I alvays t'ought you vas a pad egg, aber you know how to blay der panjo." "Sure, and we make a good team. How'll it be if I meet you in Brockville, after I get away, and we hit up Needles with the sketch? All the stuff's at Needles." "Say, I vouldn't haf nodding more to do mit you. I'm for Tenver so kevick as I can ged dere." "Well, be jeerful, be jeerful." "Schust vatch my shmoke a leedle und see. Vill you send my shtuff py Tenver?" "I will, so help me!" "You vill—I don'd t'ink. You check der trunk, hey?" "Sure." "Vere iss der check?" "In my jeans. Going to frisk me for it?" Carl pushed his hand into Pringle's trousers pocket, and dug up a brass tag. "Vell," said he, "you dit tell der trut'. I vill keep der sheck, Pringle, und ven I got some time I vill sendt it on und have der paggage come to me ad Tenver." "What about my stuff? You ain't going to hog the whole business, are you?" "Vell, oof you know anypody in Tenver, I vill leaf your shtuff any blace vat you say." "Andy Hickman has a saloon there. Leave it with him. What's the use of keeping me tied any longer? You might just as well take off the rope." "Not until we see how we find things in the hut in the hills," said Matt. "Yah," agreed Carl, "meppy you vas sdringing us. How ve know dot undil ve findt it oudt?" "Have I strung you any, so far?" protested Pringle. "It vas all righdt, so far, aber somet'ing mighdt come oop farder on. Hey, Matt?" "That's right, Carl," answered Matt. "We'll keep him a prisoner until we find Tomlinson." This road, like the one they had left, angled about through the hills. They passed one vehicle—a buckboard with two passengers—going in the other direction. The horses attached to the buckboard were not used to automobiles, and shied badly. Matt slowed to a stop while the driver of the team was going past. "Seen anything of another automobile, mister?" called Matt. "Nary, I haven't," answered one of the men, "although I hear Lem Nugent, o' Ash Fork, has been blowin' himself fer one o' the things." The horses danced past on their hind legs, and Matt started up again. "There's the Fork," announced Pringle, a few minutes later, nodding his head toward the left. "This is as near as we come to the town." They were forging along rising ground, just then, and the huddle of buildings that represented the town lay below them, and about a mile away. "How far is the hut from here, Pringle?" asked Matt. "Twenty-five miles, I should say, at a rough guess," was the answer. "We'll cross the railroad in another mile, and after that you'd better look for buzz-wagon tracks in the dust. If you see any, then you can bank heavy that Hank and Spang are ahead of you." "Couldn't they go the other road?" "They could, but they wouldn't. They'd make a nice picture running through town, Hank with a gun at the driver's head, wouldn't they? Nix. They'll keep in the background as much as they can—and this road is pretty well back. They don't want to be seen by anybody but us, just now, Hank and Spang don't." "Does this road run into the Ash Fork trail?" "Yep—a mile t'other side of the hut. The hut's between the two roads, close to this and not so close to the other. If the hut had been closer to the other road, maybe Hank, Spang, and I would have heard Denny when he cut loose from us with this car." The Red Flier descended a slope just then, crossed the railroad-track, and climbed another slope beyond. Matt was worrying about the other car. There were no tracks in the road, so it was certain the runabout hadn't passed that way as yet, but there was plenty of time for it to reach the road and catch up with the Red Flier. The one thing to do was to travel at speed, forestalling possible interference from Hank and Spang by getting well ahead of them. During the rest of the trip, which Matt made at the top gait, no travelers or vehicles were met. The twenty-five miles were covered in thirty minutes, and when Pringle called on Matt to stop, he brought the Red Flier to a standstill at a place where the hills rose steeply on each side of the trail. "Here we are," said Pringle. "The hut is on the left side of the road?" queried Matt. "Through that gouge," and Pringle, with a nod, indicated a break in the hills. "Going to take me along?" "I guess I can find the place, all right," answered Matt. "You can stay here with Carl until I see if things are as you say." "What if Hank and Spang come along?" Matt turned to the Dutch boy. "You have that revolver, Carl," said he, "and if you see the other car, or hear it, fire a signal. I'll not be gone any longer than I can help." "I vill keep a sharp lookoudt, you bed you," answered Carl, "und I vill shoot oof I vant you. Mach schnell, Matt, for I haf der feeling in my pones dot somet'ing iss going crossvays." Without pausing for further talk, Matt ran into the passage between the hills. A hundred feet carried him through it and out upon a little plateau. Here there was a spring, a thicket of manzanita, and a small ruin of a house. Opposite the point where Matt came upon the plateau was another narrow valley, leading toward the east and apparently communicating with the other road. Hurrying to the house, Matt stepped through an unclosed breach in the mud wall that had once served for a door. The gloomy interior blinded him for a space and it was impossible for him to see any one. "You scoundrel!" cried an impassioned voice. "Untie these ropes and let us go at once. You will save yourself trouble if you do that, and give me back that bag of pearls. There's law in this country yet, and I'll make it my business to see that it reaches you." Gradually, as Matt's eyes became accustomed to the gloom, he made out the forms of two men seated on a bench along one of the walls. "Are you Mr. Tomlinson, of Denver?" inquired Matt, stepping toward the man who had spoken. "My name, sir," was the haughty reply. "How long are you going to leave us here, without a mouthful of food and no water to drink? By gad, you'll suffer for this!" "You're mistaken, Mr. Tomlinson," said the young motorist. "I'm not one of the robbers, and had nothing to do with putting you here. By a stroke of luck I have been able to recover your pearls and to find out where you were. Your car is waiting in the west road, and I am here to release you and take you to Ash Fork." This startling news left Tomlinson speechless for a moment. "You—you have come to release us?" he returned. "Yes," and Matt, with an open knife in his hand, passed to the bench and began severing the cords that held Tomlinson and his chauffeur to the hard seat. The prisoners had been in their cramped positions all night, and when the ropes fell away, so numb were their limbs that they could hardly hold themselves upright. "Give us some water," begged Tomlinson. There was a canteen lying on the floor. Matt picked it up, found that it was full, and uncapped it and held it to Tomlinson's lips. "The villains that brought us here," spoke up the chauffeur, "left that canteen, but they never stopped to figure out how we were to get at it with our hands tied." "They were willing, Gregory," said Tomlinson, "to let us starve and die, right here. I never thought a set of men could be such inhuman wretches. But who are you, young man?" "My name is King, Matt King," replied the youth. "You say that by a stroke of luck you were able to get my pearls and find out where I had been left? I wish you would explain how——" "I haven't time to explain anything, just now, as we may be interfered with by the robbers at any moment. They have stolen a fast motor-car and are chasing us. If you and your chauffeur are able to walk, Mr. Tomlinson, we'd better get to the west road as soon as we can. The thieves——" A noise at the door caused Matt to whirl in that direction. He was astounded to see Spangler standing in the entrance. CHAPTER XIV. BACK TO THE CAR. There was but one place where Spangler could have come from, and that was the east road. The stolen car must have been driven along the direct trail leading to Ash Fork and have stopped so as to let Spangler out at the nearest point to the hut. As Matt turned on the ruffian, Tomlinson and Gregory started up from the bench. "There's one of the rascals!" exclaimed Tomlinson. Spangler, for a moment, had shown evidences of surprise. Getting quick control of himself, he pushed into the hut and started for Matt. "Waal, my bantam," he sneered, "I reckon ye didn't make sich a clean gitaway, arter all. Here's where ye git what's comin' if ye don't fork over that bag. Hurry up with it! Ye've made us a heap o' trouble an' we ain't allowin' ter put up with any more o' yer foolishness." "Why, you infernal scoundrel," cried Tomlinson wrathfully, "you're my prisoner! Put down that revolver, or——" "Oh, you say moo an' chase yerself!" scoffed Spangler. "I got bizness with young King, here, an' if you butt in ye're goin' ter git hurt. I'll take them pearls," he added to Matt, "an' I'll take 'em now ." Spangler was only one against three, but he was armed, and two of the men he faced were worn out with the physical suffering they had endured. The ruffian was counting confidently on having things his own way, and Matt was wondering how he could checkmate him. Hank must be somewhere around. Probably, Matt reasoned to himself, Hank was in the east road keeping guard of the driver of the stolen car. "Your lease of liberty is short," fumed Tomlinson; "I'll spend my last dollar, if I have to, in bringing you and the rest of your infernal gang to book." "Fer the last time, King!" growled Spangler, moving his revolver significantly. "I've chinned all I'm goin' ter about that bag. Either pass it over or take what's comin'." Matt had got around behind the bench. He had done this in a casual manner so as not to arouse Spangler's suspicions. Just as the ruffian finished, Matt kicked the bench against his legs. Spangler staggered back. He did not lose his balance, but, in order to keep from falling, he had to throw up his arms. This was the opportunity Matt wanted. Like a flash he jumped over the bench and his right fist shot out in a blow straight from the shoulder. It was no light tap, for the young motorist put all his heart and science into that darting right-hander. Spangler was caught on the point of the jaw and driven against the crumbling adobe wall. The revolver fell from his hand, and Matt pounced upon it and brought it level with Spangler's breast. "By gad!" cried the admiring Tomlinson. "What do you think of that, Gregory? Did you ever see anything neater than that? King, you're a wonder! Bravo!" "He's quicker'n chain lightning!" averred Gregory. Spangler was having recourse to his usual tactics whenever things went wrong with him, and was swearing like an army teamster. "That will do, Spangler!" said Matt sternly. "Swearing never helped anybody and it's not going to help you. Stow it." "I'll have yer life fer this, my buck," gritted Spangler, rubbing the point of his jaw, and glaring. "Not right away you won't," returned Matt coolly. "Step around to the other wall. We want to pass that door, and you're too close to it." "If ye think ye're goin' ter make a clean gitaway," scowled Spangler, as he moved across the room, "ye've got a surprise ahead o' ye. Ye kain't bump Hank as easy as ye bumped me." "What are you going to do, King?" asked Tomlinson. "Get away from here as quick as we can," answered Matt. "Aren't you going to take that scoundrel along, now that we've captured him?" "No, it's impossible." "Impossible?" echoed Tomlinson incredulously. "Why, we've got him right in our hands." "His partner is close by, in another road, and his partner has a faster car than your Red Flier, Mr. Tomlinson. We've got to get away from here in a hurry. Take my word for it. There's no time to talk about it. Hurry out, you and Gregory, and make for the west road. I've got a friend there watching the car." "But——" "Hurry!" There was a compelling note in Matt's voice that caused Gregory to catch hold of his employer's arm and pull him toward the door. "He knows what he's talking about, Mr. Tomlinson," said Gregory. "Here's a chance for you to get away, and get back your pearls and the car. The boy has shown that he has pluck and sense, and we'd better do what he says." This logic overcame Tomlinson's objections, and the two passed out of the hut. Matt backed after them. "Ye better leave that gun," called Spangler. "I'll leave it," answered Matt, "just as soon as it's safe. Where's Hank?" "Ye'll find him quick enough!" was the grim response. Getting through the door, Matt turned and hurried after Tomlinson and Gregory. Tomlinson was bareheaded. He wore an automobile-coat that reached to his heels, but there was no coat or vest underneath it. The missing garments, it seemed clear, had been appropriated by the scheming Trymore. "If we could have taken that villain with us," fretted Tomlinson when Matt came up with him and Gregory, "we would have had at least one of the gang. Now they'll all go scot-free." "We've got to think of ourselves, first and foremost," said Matt. "If you and Gregory escape, and you get your car and your pearls, the sheriff can go after the gang." "But see what they did to me!" went on Tomlinson querulously, opening his dust-coat and showing himself stripped to the shirt. "The rascal I wounded took part of my clothes, my watch, pocketbook, and some personal papers. Then, to throw us into that miserable hovel as though we were dogs? Gad, it makes my blood boil to think of it." "You might take the pearls," said Matt, and handed him the bag. "If you could travel a little faster——" "Can't go any faster!" declared Tomlinson. "We haven't had anything to eat or drink for nearly twenty-four hours, and my hands and feet feel like sticks. I'm anxious to know how you managed to get these pearls, King——" "I'll tell you all about that just as soon as we get to Ash Fork." Matt's anxiety was intense. He felt sure that Hank was doing something, and the thought bothered him. Tomlinson and Gregory were creeping along, gathering strength with every minute, yet not fast enough to suit Matt. "I was foolish ever to carry these pearls with me," went on Tomlinson, "but I expected to dispose of part of them to a dealer in Albuquerque, and thought I could take the lot that far in the automobile. How did the robbers know I had them? That's what I can't understand." "Did you write to Denver that you had secured the pearls and were going to carry them with you as far as Albuquerque?" asked Matt. "Yes, but——" "Then the news must have got out there. I happen to know that a Denver man was back of the plot to steal the gems. There was a leak in your Denver office. How long did you stay in Yuma, Mr. Tomlinson?" "Ten days." "That gave the Denver man plenty of time to lay his plans. You bought the pearls from a Mexican who came to Yuma from La Paz?" "Where did you find that out?" "Is it the truth?" "Yes." "Well, that shows there must have been some one in your Denver office who told what you were doing. The information I just gave you came from Denver Denny, the fellow you wounded at the time of the robbery." "By gad, I'll overhaul my office force from the errand-boy up, as soon as I get back home!" "A good idea." "That robbery was the most barefaced proceeding you ever heard of! Gregory and I were spinning along toward Ash Fork, never dreaming of trouble, when we were halted by a big stone in the road. Gregory got out and had just rolled the stone out of the way, when four men rushed at us. I had a revolver and I blazed away. One of the villains staggered—but he couldn't have been very badly hurt, for he pulled himself together and came at me. Two of them laid hold of Gregory, and two laid hold of me; then one of them—the fellow I wounded—stayed with the car while the other three took Gregory and me to that wretched hut. If I live, I'll make every one of those men answer for what they've done! How such a robbery could take place, on a public road, in broad day, is something I can't——" Tomlinson's rambling remarks were interrupted by a sound that brought Matt's heart into his throat. Two revolver-shots, in quick succession, came from the west road! That meant that Carl saw trouble of some sort coming the way of the red car. "Run!" yelled Matt, dropping the revolver and grabbing Tomlinson by the arm: "you've got to run! Catch hold of him on the other side, Gregory. You'll be captured again if we don't hike out of this in short order." Gregory was a younger man than Tomlinson and had withstood their recent physical discomforts much better. He and Matt, between them, contrived to rush the Denver man toward the road. They did not have much farther to go, and when they broke through the little gap Carl greeted them with a wild shout: "Der odder car! It vas coming, Matt, coming like a house afire!"

Related documents

• Motor Matt's Clue; or, The Phantom Auto#53214
• Motor Matt's Make-and-Break; or, Advancing the Spark of Friendship#55163
• How They Caught Lucy Letby / Dylan Frost#921886
• The Mysterious Wanderer; Vol. II#47361
• The Mysterious Sketch#48069