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The Project Gutenberg eBook of Motor Matt, the King of the Wheel, by Stanley R. Matthews.
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<body>
<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 46075 ***</div>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
<a href="images/coverlarge.jpg"><img id="coverpage" src="images/cover.jpg" width="400" height="557" alt="A thousand dollars if you
stop that boy! shouted the
man in the back of the
touring-car" /></a>
</div>
<hr class="chap" />
<h1>MOTOR STORIES</h1>
<table summary="scaffold">
<tr>
<td style="width: 50%; padding-right: 1.5em;" class="tdr">
THRILLING<br />
ADVENTURE
</td>
<td style="width: 50%; padding-left: 1.5em;" class="tdl">
MOTOR<br />
FICTION
</td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="bb bt tdl">
NO. 1<br />
FEB. 27, 1909.
</td>
<td class="bb bt tdr">
FIVE<br />
CENTS
</td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="tdl large">
MOTOR<br />
MATT
</td><td class="tdr large">
THE KING<br />
OF THE WHEEL
</td>
</tr><tr>
<td> </td>
<td class="tdc">
BY<br />
<span class="smcap">Stanley R. Matthews</span>.
</td>
</tr>
</table>
<hr class="chap" />
<table summary="scaffold" class="bbox">
<tr><td colspan="2" class="tdc huge">MOTOR STORIES</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr large" style="padding-right: .25em;">THRILLING ADVENTURE</td><td class="tdl large" style="padding-left: .25em;">MOTOR FICTION</td></tr>
</table>
<p><i>Issued Weekly. By subscription $2.50 per year. Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1909, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress,
Washington, D. C., by</i> <span class="smcap">Street & Smith</span>, <i>79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York, N. Y.</i></p>
<table summary="scaffold" class="bb bt">
<tr><td style="width: 33%;" class="tdl">No. 1.</td><td style="width: 33%;" class="tdc">NEW YORK, February 27, 1909.</td><td style="width: 33%;" class="tdr">Price Five Cents.</td></tr>
</table>
<p class="center">
<span class="huge">MOTOR MATT;</span><br />
<br />
OR,<br />
<br />
<span class="large">The King of the Wheel.</span><br />
</p>
<hr class="r5" />
<p class="center">By STANLEY R. MATTHEWS.</p>
<hr class="r5" />
<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</a></h2>
<p class="center">
<a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I. BAD BLOOD.</a><br />
<a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II. THE UNEXPECTED.</a><br />
<a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III. DACE SHOWS HIS HAND.</a><br />
<a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV. WELCOME SHOWS HIS HAND—WITH SOMETHING IN IT.</a><br />
<a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V. DACE PERRY'S CRAFTINESS.</a><br />
<a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI. THE TRY-OUT.</a><br />
<a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII. THE MAJOR'S SURPRISE.</a><br />
<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII. THE RABBITT'S FOOT.</a><br />
<a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX. MATT SHOWS HIS COLORS.</a><br />
<a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X. A CHALLENGE.</a><br />
<a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI. FOUL PLAY.</a><br />
<a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII. COOL VILLAINY.</a><br />
<a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII. THE BLUEBELL.</a><br />
<a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV. COMING OF THE "COMET."</a><br />
<a href="#CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV. THE FLIGHT OF THE "COMET."</a><br />
<a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI. MOTOR MATT, KING OF THE WHEEL!</a><br />
<a href="#THE_MAN-HUNTER">THE MAN-HUNTER.</a><br />
<a href="#THE_RAT_CRUSADE">THE RAT CRUSADE.</a><br />
</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.</a></h2>
<p class="chaptitle">BAD BLOOD.</p>
<p>"Hello, peaches!"</p>
<p>The girl in the calico dress turned quickly. There
was a startled look in her brown eyes, and she drew
back a little from the gate.</p>
<p>The laughing words had been flung at her breathlessly
by a boy who was trotting along the road—a boy in
running-togs with "P. H. S." in red letters across the
breast of his white shirt. He came from the north, and
the girl had been leaning upon the gate and looking
south, across the bridge that spanned the canal and led
into the town of Phœnix.</p>
<p>"I—I don't think I know you," murmured the girl, a
look of repugnance crossing her brown, pretty face.</p>
<p>"Yes, you do," panted the boy, swinging in toward the
gate and coming to a halt. "Sure you know me."
Catching hold of the gate-palings he steadied himself
and grinned in a manner which he must have thought
engaging. "Why, you've seen me a dozen times, anyhow.
Take another look."</p>
<p>After stealing a furtive glance at him the girl took
a step backward.</p>
<p>"I've seen you, yes," she said quietly, "but I don't
know you—and I don't think I care to know you."</p>
<p>"Don't jump at conclusions like that," the boy went
on with a cool laugh. "You're old McReady's girl,
Susie, and I'm—well, right here's where I introduce myself.
I'm Dace Perry, captain of the High School cross-country
team. Had the boys out for a practise run this
morning, and as I'm 'way in the lead of all of them except
Clipperton, I reckon I'll linger in this fair spot until
they come up. Don't be so bashful, Susie; I won't bite,
honest."</p>
<p>"I'm not afraid of your biting, Dace Perry," answered
Susie with a flirt of the head. "If all I've heard of you
is true, you're more given to barking than anything else."</p>
<p>Temper flashed an instant in the boy's sloe-black eyes,
giving an ugly hint of the darker side of his character.
When the anger faded an unpleasant crafty look was left
on his face.</p>
<p>"You can't believe all you hear, and not more than
half you see," he remarked. "Where's Nutmegs? I
know him."</p>
<p>"There's no such person as 'Nutmegs,'" answered the
girl tartly. "If you mean my brother, Mark, he's in his
laboratory down by the canal."</p>
<p>Perry stared a moment, then gave vent to an amused
whistle.</p>
<p>"Laboratory, eh? Well, that's a good one, Susie.
Where's the reformed road-agent? Is he in the laboratory
joint, too?"</p>
<p>"No, Welcome has gone into town, but I can call Mark
if you——"</p>
<p>"No, don't call him, Susie," interrupted Perry. "I've
got something to tell you about Matt King. Say, I
thought that would make you open your eyes. I reckon
you don't think much of Matt King, eh?"</p>
<p>Vivid color mantled the girl's cheeks.</p>
<p>"Matt is a chum of Mark's, and a good friend of mine,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span>
she answered, "and everybody says he's the best all-around
athlete in the high school. Major Woolford has
picked him to represent the athletic club in the bicycle
races with Prescott and——"</p>
<p>"King has got to make good at the try-out first,"
scowled Perry.</p>
<p>"He'll do that, all right," averred Susie. "I guess
there's no doubt about his being able to beat <i>you</i>."</p>
<p>"If what I've heard about him is true," continued
Perry, "I reckon he won't have anything to do with the
try-out, or with the race, either."</p>
<p>Sudden interest flashed in Susie's face. "What have
you heard?" she demanded curiously.</p>
<p>So deeply concerned was she in this information about
Matt King which Perry professed to have acquired, that
she stepped eagerly to the gate.</p>
<p>This was what Perry had been waiting for. Susie
McReady had jarred his vanity and his temper several
times during their brief interview, and it was his nature
to try to "play even." His idea of squaring accounts
with the girl was directly in line with his low ideals and
his insolent nature.</p>
<p>Leaning forward quickly Perry flung one arm about
the girl's neck.</p>
<p>"I reckon you'll know me after this," cried Perry, and
attempted to give the struggling girl a kiss.</p>
<p>Unseen by either of the two at the gate, a boy had
glided noiselessly toward them on a wheel. He came
from the direction of town and, as he crossed the bridge
and saw Susie and Dace Perry, an inkling of the situation
at the gate darted through his mind, and caused him
to put more power into the pedals.</p>
<p>Suddenly the captain of the cross-country team was
caught from behind and hurled backward with such force
that he measured his length on the ground.</p>
<p>"Oh, Matt, Matt!" exclaimed Susie.</p>
<p>"What's the matter with you?" snarled Perry, quickly
regaining his feet. His face was black with rage and he
stepped toward Matt with doubled fists.</p>
<p>"I guess there's nothing much the matter with me,"
answered Matt coolly, "but you're a good deal of a cur,
Dace Perry."</p>
<p>"What do you mean by butting in here like that?"
fumed Perry, anything but logical now that anger had
got the whip-hand of him.</p>
<p>"That's the way I was raised," answered Matt.</p>
<p>"I reckon the way you was raised gave somebody a
lot of trouble," sneered Perry.</p>
<p>"Well, you can bet I'm going to give somebody a lot
of trouble if Susie is bothered any more."</p>
<p>"You're swaggering around with a chip on your shoulder
all the time, ain't you?"</p>
<p>"Not so you can notice it," laughed Matt, "but you'll
always find a chip on my shoulder when a fellow acts
like you were doing just now."</p>
<p>"Oh, punk!" Dace Perry changed his mind about
wanting to fight and backed off down the road. "This
isn't the end of our little ruction, Matt King. I'll give
you the double-cross yet, see if I don't!"</p>
<p>"So-long!" answered Matt.</p>
<p>Perry shook his fist, looked northward along the road
in the evident hope of locating some of his team, then
turned disappointedly and sprinted for the bridge.</p>
<p>"I was never so glad of anything in my life, Matt,"
breathed Susie, "as to have you get here just when you
did."</p>
<p>"I'm a little bit tickled myself, Susie," laughed Matt,
picking up his wheel and standing it alongside the fence,
"but I guess Perry won't trouble you any more."</p>
<p>"I hate him!" cried Susie, stamping her foot. "He's
never been a friend of Mark's, nor of yours, either,
Matt."</p>
<p>"I guess Mark won't lose any sleep over that, and I
know I won't."</p>
<p>"All the same, Matt, you'd better look out for him. A
coward who fights you behind your back is more to be
feared than a braver enemy who faces you in the open."</p>
<p>"That's a cinch. But let's forget Dace Perry for a
while and think of something more pleasant. Where's
Chub, Susie?"</p>
<p>Before the girl could answer, a husky voice was
wafted toward the two from along the road.</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Oh, a bold, bad man was this desperado,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">An' he blowed inter town like an ole tornado—<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Ta-rooral—ooral—ay!"<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>Susie and Matt looked in the direction from which this
burst of melody—if such it could be called—proceeded.
An old man with a wooden leg was approaching, keeping
the tempo of his song with jabs of the pin that took
the place of his right foot.</p>
<p>"Here's Welcome Perkins," said Matt, with a broad
smile, leaning back against the gate-post and fixing his
eyes on the old man.</p>
<p>"He's been to town after something for Mark," returned
Susie.</p>
<p>Welcome Perkins, otherwise Peg-leg Perkins, otherwise
the "reformed road-agent," always reminded Matt
of a picture out of a comic supplement. He was little,
and wizened, and old—just how old no one knew, but it
was popularly supposed that he was somewhere around
seventy. He had a pair of the mildest washed-out blue
eyes ever set in a man's head, notwithstanding the fact
that he was constantly asserting that he had passed his
early life as a "pirate of the plains"; and displayed with
pride an old, played-out six-shooter whose hand-grip was
covered with notches—notches that made Welcome sigh
and grow pensive every time he looked at them. Welcome
averred that he was trying to live down his lawless
past, but that his roaring, rampant, untamed disposition
made the effort a struggle and a burden.</p>
<p>The old man wore a long and particularly vicious-looking
mustache, which he was constantly training upward
at the ends in order to make it even more desperate
in appearance. His scanty gray locks were allowed
to grow long, and they were surmounted with an
old sombrero, always carefully whacked into the regulation
Denver "poke." His ragged blue shirt was drawn
in at the waist with a U. S. Army belt, from which depended
a holster containing the notched and useless
weapon already mentioned. <i>Chaparrejos</i>, or "chaps,"
which, like their owner, had seen better days—or worse
and more lawless ones if Welcome's word was to be
taken—covered his left lower extremity and all that was
left of his right. The right leg of the chaps was cut
away at the knee in order to give freer play to the
wooden pin.</p>
<p>Silas McReady, the father and sole remaining parent
of Susie and Mark, was a prospector, and constantly in
the hills. Welcome was an old-time friend of Silas, and
for years had been fastened upon the McReady household
like a barnacle.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p>
<p>"Howdy, pard!" roared Welcome as he drew near the
gate and reached out his hand. "It's plumb good for a
ole outlaw like me to grip a honest pa'm. It helps to
make me fergit what I was and to brace up an' be what
I ort. I'm a horrible example o' what happens to a man
when he cuts loose in his youth an' bloom an' terrorizes
all outdoors—but I can't begin to tell ye how pacifyin' to
my reckless natur' is the grip of a honest hand."</p>
<p>"Then give it a good grip, Welcome," grinned Matt.
"I'd hate to have you get turbulent and go on the war-path.
If a man of your age——"</p>
<p>Welcome, still holding Matt's hand, allowed his eyes
to wander along the road to the northwest. Suddenly
the weather-beaten, leathery face grew stern and the
faded eyes snapped.</p>
<p>"Scud for the house, you two!" yelled Welcome;
"scud! Trouble's a-tearin' down on us out o' the hills,
an' here's whar Eagle-eye Perkins, Pirate o' the Plains,
gets busy!"</p>
<p>The old man threw himself on Matt and pushed him
through the gate. In his excitement, the strap that secured
the wooden pin to Welcome's stump of a leg,
broken and mended times out of mind, gave way and
dropped Welcome into the yard behind Matt and Susie.</p>
<p>The eagle-eyed defender paid no attention to his fall,
but as the gate swung shut drew himself up against the
palings and jerked his obsolete weapon clear of the
holster.</p>
<p>"Put your trust in Eagle-eye Perkins," he called
valiantly to Matt and Susie; "if them red demons get at
ye they walks over me to do it!"</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.</a></h2>
<p class="chaptitle">THE UNEXPECTED.</p>
<p>Welcome Perkins was as full of vagaries as a moving-picture
show is full of trouble. Although he proudly referred
to himself as "Eagle-eye," yet his sight was none
too good, even when he had on his spectacles.</p>
<p>Matt and Susie, standing in the background, laughed
as half a dozen puffing boys in sleeveless white shirts,
running-pants and spiked shoes came abreast of the gate
and straggled on toward the bridge. When the last one
had flickered out of sight, Welcome muttered under his
breath, sat upon the ground and began tinkering with
the broken strap of his wooden leg.</p>
<p>"All-fired queer," said he, "how my mind's allers
a-huntin' trouble that-away. 'Course if I'd a-had them
spectacles on my nose I might have seen that them was
runners from the high school, but I only ketched the
flash o' them red letters on their white shirts, an' I jest
up an' thinks o' Injuns right off. It's the ole sperrit
b'ilin' around inside me, I reckon, an' I'm afeared it'll
make me do somethin' yet that I'll be sorry for. I used
to be a powerful man in a tussle."</p>
<p>Welcome pulled at the mended strap and got the
wooden leg back in place; then he picked up the old
weapon and Matt helped him to his feet.</p>
<p>"It must be awful," said Matt, with a sly look at
Susie, "to have the disposition of a Royal Bengal tiger
and forced to keep a muzzle on it all the time."</p>
<p>"Tur'ble," answered the old man with a gruesome
shake of the head; "I can't begin to tell ye how tur'ble
onhandy I find it oncet in a while," and with that he
started off toward the back yard.</p>
<p>"Welcome is as jolly as a show," laughed Matt. "It's
a mighty good thing that old pop-gun of his is harmless.
If it wasn't for that he might make a mistake some time
that would be anything but pleasant. It's a cinch he's an
old false-alarm, but there's always a possibility that he'll
explode by accident and do damage. Where did you
say my pal Chub was?"</p>
<p>"In his laboratory," said Susie. "He sent Welcome to
town after something, and I guess the old humbug has
gone to the laboratory with it."</p>
<p>"What's Chub trying to invent now?" queried Matt,
as he and Susie started around the house on the trail of
Perkins.</p>
<p>"I think it's smokeless powder," replied Susie.</p>
<p>"Great hanky-pank!" gasped Matt. "Why, that's
already been invented. Besides, Susie, Chub hadn't ought
to be fooling around with stuff like that."</p>
<p>The back yard of the McReady home stretched down
to the cottonwoods that fringed the bank of the canal.
Here, in an old poultry-house, Mark, otherwise "Chub"
McReady, did most of his experimenting.</p>
<p>A dozen feet from the "laboratory" was a tall pole
rising some forty feet from the ground and overtopping
the trees. At its lofty extremity was an arm with the
tip of a lightning-rod swinging downward from its outer
end.</p>
<p>"How's the wireless working, Susie?" asked Matt as
they moved toward the canal.</p>
<p>"Mark got a spark from the Bluebell Mine last night,"
said Susie; "just one flash, that's all. After that something
seemed to go wrong. That's generally the way
with Mark's inventions, Matt. I wish he'd stop fooling
away his time; but, even if his time isn't valuable, there's
always the expense. Welcome encourages him, though,
and furnishes most of the money. I wonder where Welcome
gets it?"</p>
<p>"Welcome's a sly old possum in spite of his foolishness,
and it's my opinion he's got a stake settled away
somewhere. This wireless-telegraph experimenting is
harmless enough, but I'm Dutch if I think it's the right
thing for Chub to tamper with this smokeless-powder
idea. Something might happen, and——"</p>
<p>Just then something <i>did</i> happen, something that was
clearly not down on the program. There was a muffled
roar from the laboratory, followed by a burst of
smoke from the door and the open window. With a
wild yell, Welcome Perkins rolled through the window,
heels—or heel—over head. He was on fire in several
places.</p>
<p>A chunky, red-haired boy came through the door as
though he had been shot out of a cannon. This was
Chub, and he was badly singed.</p>
<p>"Whoo!" yelled Chub, coming to a dazed halt and
rubbing one hand across his eyes. "That was a corker,
though. I guess something went crossways. Say, Perk!
Hold up there, Perk!"</p>
<p>Welcome Perkins had scrambled erect and was stumping
along for the canal like a human meteor. He was
carrying his hat and seemed to think his life depended
on getting where he was going in the shortest possible
time.</p>
<p>Without waiting to explain matters to Matt and Susie,
Chub darted after Welcome.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span></p>
<p>"Goodness' sakes," screamed Susie, "the laboratory is
burning up!"</p>
<p>"Small loss if it does burn up," answered Matt, "but
we'd better do what we can to put out the fire and keep
sparks away from the house."</p>
<p>Matt ran swiftly into the kitchen of the adobe house,
picked up a bucket of water and darted back toward the
laboratory. There was a good deal of smoke, but not
very much fire, and the single pail of water was enough
to quench the flames. But the interior of the laboratory
was completely wrecked.</p>
<p>"There'll be no conflagration, Susie," announced Matt,
coming out of the place and joining the girl near the
door. "Chub was a lucky boy to get out of that mess as
well as he did. Let's hike for the canal and see what
he and Welcome are doing."</p>
<p>"Mark might have killed himself," said Susie, half
sobbing with the strain her nerves had undergone, "and
he might have killed Welcome, too. He's got to stop this
foolish experimenting. You tell him, Matt, won't you?"</p>
<p>"You can bet I'll do what I can, Susie," answered
Matt; "I don't want Chub to blow himself up. If Welcome
furnishes the money, though, I don't just see how
we're going to keep Chub from furnishing the time for
all this fool investigating. The thing to do is to find
where Welcome keeps his grub-stake and take it away
from him."</p>
<p>When Susie and Matt reached the canal there was a
spirited dispute going on between Chub and Welcome.
The latter, from his appearance, must have jumped into
the canal and extinguished the flames that had fastened
upon his clothes, for he was as wet as a drowned rat.</p>
<p>"Perk," Chub was shouting, "I told you to get alcohol,
<i>alcohol</i>! What was it you brought back?"</p>
<p>"No sich of a thing!" whooped Welcome, jumping
up and down in his excitement and raining water over
everybody. "Sulfuric acid, that there's what ye said—an'
that there's what I got."</p>
<p>"And there was me," snorted Chub, "trying to mix
sulfuric acid with gunpowder. Say, Perk!"</p>
<p>"Wow! Talk to yerself, talk to anybody else, but don't
ye talk to me. I've had plenty, I have. Look! Everythin'
I got's sp'iled."</p>
<p>"Perk," counseled Chub, "you jump into the canal
again and stay there."</p>
<p>"Jump in yerself—yah! I'm goin' out inter the hills
an' hold up stages an' things jest like I useter do—an'
it's you what's driv' me to it. Thar's somethin' for ye
to think of when ever'body's huntin' me an' thar's a price
on my head an' I ain't got no place to go. When that
thar time comes, Chub McReady, jest remember it was
you driv ole Welcome Perkins to his everlastin' doom!"</p>
<p>Then, with his head high in the air, the ex-pirate of
the plains stumped off through the cottonwoods, jabbing
wrathfully with his wooden pin at every step. Chub
watched him a moment, then leaned against a tree and
looked sheepishly at Susie and Matt.</p>
<p>"I guess I was too hard on Perk," remarked Chub, a
slow grin working its way over his freckled face, "for
I was as much to blame as he was. By rights, we both
ought to jump in the canal and stay there. How's the
fire?"</p>
<p>"Matt put it out, Chub," said Susie. "I'm going to tell
dad about this when he gets back. You've got to stop
this nonsense before you kill yourself or somebody else."</p>
<p>"All right, sis," answered Chub humbly, "I'll stop. If
I could only get that wireless-telegraph line to workin'
between here and the Bluebell I'd have somethin' to
keep me busy. Say, Matt, if you've got time I'd like to
have you tell me what's the matter with that wireless
apparatus. Got a spark from the Bluebell last night, but
that's all it amounted to. You're no inventor, but you're
always pretty handy in telling me where I make a miscue
in my machines. Go up to the house, sis," Chub added
to Susie, "and keep that old fire-eater from going out
into the hills and slaughtering somebody. I don't think
he'd slip out at all, and I know he wouldn't massacre a
horned toad, but he likes us to believe he's just naturally
a bad man trying to reform, and it's just as well to keep
an eye on him."</p>
<p>Before Susie left she cast a significant look at Matt.</p>
<p>"Let's go up the canal a ways, Chub," said Matt,
when he and his chum were alone, "where we can make
ourselves comfortable and have a little quiet confab."</p>
<p>"You've got more'n your hat on your mind, Matt,"
returned Chub, "I can tell that by the look of you; but
if it's this business of mine that's put you in a funk——"</p>
<p>"It's not that altogether, Chub," interrupted Matt.
"You see, I've got to leave Phœnix, and I want to talk
with you about it."</p>
<p>Chub was astounded, and stood staring at Matt with
jaws agape. His hair and eyebrows were singed, there
was a black smudge on his face, and his clothes were
more or less demoralized. In his bewilderment he made
a picture that brought a hearty laugh to Matt's lips.</p>
<p>"Come on, Chub, what's struck you in a heap?" said
Matt, catching his arm and pulling him off along the
canal-bank. "You act as though I'd handed you a jolt
below the belt."</p>
<p>"That's just the size of it, Matt," returned Chub.
"Say, if you leave Phœnix you've got to take Reddy
McReady along with you—or you don't go. That's flat.
Are you listening to my spiel, pal?"</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.</a></h2>
<p class="chaptitle">DACE SHOWS HIS HAND.</p>
<p>"First off, Bricktop," said Matt, after he had taken a
comfortable seat on a boulder, "you've got to stop messing
around with high explosives. Smokeless powder has
been on the market for some time, and you're wasting
your energies."</p>
<p>"Shucks!" grinned Chub, "sis has been talkin' to you.
That's what I told her we were after, but that was
only part of it. Perk gave me the idea. If we could
take a grain of powder and make it drive a bullet a
mile, or ten grains and make it drive a bullet ten miles,
we'd have the biggest thing that ever happened. Three
men with gatling guns could kill off an army before it
got in sight. It's a whale of a notion!"</p>
<p>"You bet it's a whale," agreed Matt. "You'd have
so much power back of that bullet, Chub, it would blow
the thing that fired it into smithereens—and I reckon the
three men who were laying for the enemy would go
along with the scraps, all right."</p>
<p>"You're a jim-dandy, Matt. Say, I didn't think of
that," gasped Chub.</p>
<p>"Well, old chum, sit up and take notice of these things,
and you'll save yourself a lot of trouble. I've been thinking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span>
over that wireless proposition of yours, and I've got a
hunch that your ground-wire isn't anchored right.
There's an old wire meat-broiler out back of your wood-shed—I
saw it there the other day when you were poking
around looking for scrap-iron. Hitch your ground-wire
to the handle and bury the broiler about six feet
down; then, if everything is in shape at the Bluebell, I'll
bet something handsome you get all kinds of sparks."</p>
<p>Chub stared at his chum in open-mouthed admiration.</p>
<p>"You're the wise boy!" he chirped; "if I had your
head along with my knack of corralling stuff and getting
it together I'd have Edison, Marconi and all that bunch
lashed to the mast. King & McReady, Inventions to
Order and While You Wait. Oh, gee!"</p>
<p>Carried away by his fancies, Chub lay back on the
ground and stared upward into the cottonwood branches
above him, dreaming things Munchausen would never
have dared to mention.</p>
<p>"Come back," said Matt dryly, "come back to earth,
Chub. This is a practical old world, and I'm right up
against it. That's why I'm thinking of Denver."</p>
<p>Chub sat up in a hurry at that. "Now what are you
trying to string me about Denver for?" he demanded.
"What's the matter with Phœnix as a place to stay? It
ain't so wild and woolly as a whole lot of other places
in the West and Southwest; but since you arrived here
you've been mighty spry about catching on."</p>
<p>"Phœnix is all right," said Matt. "Wherever I hang
up my hat"—and just a shade of wistfulness drifted into
his voice as he said it—"is home for me; but the fact of
the matter is, Chub, I've got to knock off schooling and
get to work—and I've got to do it <i>now</i>."</p>
<p>"You're crazy!" gasped Chub. "Why, you'll graduate
in June, and you can't think of leaving school before
that."</p>
<p>"I've got to," returned Matt firmly. "I've been rubbing
the lamp too long for my own good."</p>
<p>"What do you mean by 'rubbing the lamp'?"</p>
<p>"I've got to bat that up to you, Chub, and when I'm
done you'll be the first person I ever told about it. In
the first place, I'm a stray—what they call a 'maverick'
out here on the cattle-ranges. Everybody calls me King,
and I came by the name fairly enough, but for all I
know Brown, Jones or Robinson would hit me just as
close."</p>
<p>"You're King, all right," declared Chub, with a touch
of admiration and feeling, "king of the diamond, the
gridiron, the cinder path, the wheel and"—Chub paused
"the king of good fellows, with more friends in a minute
than I've got in a year."</p>
<p>"And more enemies," added Matt, gripping hard the
eager hand Chub reached out to him.</p>
<p>"A chap that don't make enemies is a dub," said Chub.
"We've got to be hated a little by somebody in order to
keep us gingered up. But go on, Matt. I'll turn down
the lights and pull out the tremolo-stop while you tell
me the history of your past life."</p>
<p>"I'm going to cut it mighty short, Chub," returned
Matt, "and just give you enough of it so you'll understand
how I'm fixed. As long as I can remember, and
up to a year ago, I was living with a good old man
named Jonas King, in Great Barrington, Massachusetts.
I called him Uncle Jonas, although he told me he wasn't
a relative of mine in any way; that so far as he knew
I didn't have any relatives, and that he'd given me his
name of King as the shortest cut out of a big difficulty.
He sent me to school—to a technical school part of the
time—but never breathed a word as to who I was or
where I had come from. When he died"—Matt paused
and looked toward the canal for a moment—"when he
died he went suddenly, leaving me by will a fortune of a
hundred thousand dollars——"</p>
<p>"Bully for Uncle Jonas!" ejaculated Chub joyously.</p>
<p>"Not so fast, Chub," went on Matt. "A brother of
Jonas King's stepped in and broke the will, and I was
kicked out without a cent in my pockets. I got a job in
a motor factory in Albany, but I hadn't held it down
more than a month before I received a letter enclosing
a draft for three hundred dollars. The letter told me to
come to Phœnix, Arizona, go to school, and wait for further
word from the writer, which I should receive inside
of six months."</p>
<p>Chub's eyes were wide with interest and curiosity.</p>
<p>"That sounds like you'd copped it out of the Arabian
Nights, Matt," said he. "Who sent you that letter?
Some uncle in India?"</p>
<p>"It wasn't signed, and the letter was postmarked in
San Francisco. The six months went by and I never
heard anything more; and now it's nearly a year since
I reached Phœnix and I'm"—Matt laughed—"well, I'm
about dead broke, and I've got to get to work."</p>
<p>"Three hundred dollars can't last a fellow forever,"
commented Chub sagely. "I always knew there was a
mystery about you, but I didn't think it was anything
like that. You don't have to knock off your schooling
now, though. Just come out to our joint and stay with
us. It's worth the price just to trail around with Perk.
What do you say?"</p>
<p>Chub was enthusiastic. His eyes glowed as he hung
breathlessly upon Matt's answer.</p>
<p>"You know I couldn't do that," said Matt. "I've
rubbed the lamp for the last time, and what I get from
now on I'm going to <i>earn</i>." He leaned over and laid a
hand on his chum's arm. "It isn't that I don't appreciate
your offer, Chub, but a principle is mixed up in this
thing and I can't afford to turn my back on it."</p>
<p>Chub was silent for a space. When Matt King used
that tone of voice he knew there was no arguing with
him.</p>
<p>"You can't break away from Phœnix right away, anyhow,"
said Chub gloomily. "There's the Phœnix-Prescott
athletic meet, and Major Woolford wants you to
champion his club in the bike-race. You'll not turn that
down. Why, it means as much as two hundred and fifty
dollars if you win the race—and the try-out's this afternoon."</p>
<p>"I'll not ride in the try-out," answered Matt, "because
I can't afford to hang on here until the meet. I've sold
my wheel, and riding out here to see you is the last time
I'll use it. With the money I get for that, and a little I
have in my clothes, I can reach Denver and find something
to do among the motors. I'll be at the try-out this
afternoon, but I'm going there to tell the major he'll have
to count me out."</p>
<p>Chub picked up a pebble and flipped it disconsolately
into the canal. "Oh, gee!" he muttered, "this is too
blamed bad! Ain't there any way you can get around
it, Matt, without tramping rough-shod on that principle
of yours?"</p>
<p>Before Matt could answer a muffled sound caused him
and Chub to look up. Both were startled and jumped to
their feet. Dace Perry and his cross-country squad were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span>
in front of them. There were seven in the lot, and they
carried a hostile air that threw Matt and Chub at once
on their guard.</p>
<p>Matt was quick to comprehend the situation. Perry,
full of wrath because of the rough treatment young King
had given him, had waited beyond the bridge for his runners
to come up; then, after giving the lads his side of
the story, Perry had led them quietly back across the
bridge and along the canal to the place where Matt and
Chub were having their confidential talk.</p>
<p>There were only one or two boys in the squad who
were not completely dominated by Perry. One of these
was Ambrose Tuohy, a lengthy youth, who rejoiced in
the nickname of "Splinters," and Tom Clipperton, a
quarter-blood Indian, and the best long-distance runner
in the school. Clipperton was shunned by most of the
students on account of his blood—a proceeding he felt
keenly, and which made him moody and reserved, although
sometimes stirring him into violent fits of temper.
Clipperton had never given Matt a chance either to like
or dislike him. With his black eyes narrowed threateningly,
Clipperton stood beside Dace Perry as the seven
boys faced Matt and Chub.</p>
<p>Chub had not heard about the affair that had taken
place at the gate, and naturally could not understand the
hostility evinced by Perry and his squad; but the evidences
of enmity was too plain to be mistaken, and when
Chub got up he had a stone hidden in his fist.</p>
<p>"Surprised, eh?" sneered Perry, advancing a step toward
Matt. "I never forget my debts, King, and right
here and now is where I settle the score I owe you. I
tipped off my hand at the gate, and here's where I'm going
to show it."</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.</a></h2>
<p class="chaptitle">WELCOME SHOWS HIS HAND—WITH SOMETHING IN IT.</p>
<p>"Why didn't you bring the whole gang, Perry?" inquired
Chub, with one of his most tantalizing grins.
"Billy Dill seems to be missing."</p>
<p>Clipperton, easily swayed by any one who took the
right course, hated subterfuge, and was peculiarly outspoken.</p>
<p>"Dill sprained his ankle," said he, in his usual short,
jerky sentences. "That's why he's not here. He wanted
to come, but couldn't. I reckon there are enough of us,
anyway."</p>
<p>"I reckon there are," remarked Chub, his grin broadening
dangerously. "All you fellows need is a few feathers
to be a whole tribe."</p>
<p>A sharp breath rushed through Clipperton's lips, his
muscles tightened, his fists clenched, and the war-look of
his savage ancestors swept across his face. Chub's fling
had caught him in the old wound.</p>
<p>"Cut it out, Chub," muttered Matt; "Clip's not responsible
for this."</p>
<p>Perry also said something in a low tone to Clipperton.
The latter's face was still black and relentless, but he
held himself in check. Matt advanced a little toward
Perry and turned slightly so as to face the boys with him.</p>
<p>"If it's a fight you fellows want," said he, "I guess
you'll find the latch-string out. I want to give you the
other side of this, though, before you proceed to mix
things."</p>
<p>"That's right," snapped Perry, "crawfish! It's about
what I'd expect of you."</p>
<p>There was a glint in Matt's eyes as he whirled on
Perry.</p>
<p>"You can butt in later," said he, "and I'll come more
than half-way to give you all the chance you want. Just
now I'm going to have my say, Dace Perry, and I don't
think"—Matt's voice was like velvet, but it cut like steel—"<i>I
don't think</i> you're going to interfere."</p>
<p>"We've got Perry's side of it," said "Ratty" Spangler,
a youth well nicknamed, "and that's enough for <i>us</i>. Eh,
boys?"</p>
<p>The chorus of affirmatives was short one voice—that of
Splinters.</p>
<p>"If I'm in on this," spoke up Splinters, "we play the
game right or we don't play it at all." He fronted
Matt. "Perry says, King," he went on, "that you've had
a grouch against him for a long while, and that you
tried to work it off by taking him from behind and
slamming him into the road."</p>
<p>"I did have a grouch and I did slam him into the
road," said Matt. "If Chub had been around I'd have
left it to him—but Chub wasn't handy."</p>
<p>Then, briefly, Matt told of the affair at the gate. Chub
growled angrily and sprang forward, only to be caught
by his chum and pushed back.</p>
<p>"Wait!" cautioned Matt. "I guess you'll get all the
rough-house you want, Chub, before we're done."</p>
<p>A chorus of jeers came from Perry's followers—Splinters
excepted.</p>
<p>"That'll do me," said Splinters, turning on his heel and
starting off.</p>
<p>"Where you going, Tuohy?" shouted Perry.</p>
<p>"Home," was the curt response.</p>
<p>"You're taking this tenderfoot's word against mine?"</p>
<p>"I'm sorry——"</p>
<p>"Come back here, then!"</p>
<p>"Sorry King didn't do more than slam you into the
road. Oh, you're the limit."</p>
<p>"Either you come back here or you quit the team,"
yelled Perry, his voice quivering with rage.</p>
<p>"Much obliged," flung back Splinters, keeping on into
the timber; "it's a pleasure to quit."</p>
<p>The rest hooted at him as he vanished. This defection
from the ranks brought the tension of the whole affair
to the snapping-point. What happened immediately after
the departure of Splinters came decisively, and with a
rush.</p>
<p>Spangler and Perry, hoping to catch Matt at a disadvantage,
hurled themselves at him. An instinct of fair
play held Clipperton back. He turned for an instant to
see what the other three members of the squad were going
to do, and in that instant another momentous thing
happened.</p>
<p>Chub, hovering in the background, saw Spangler and
Perry dashing toward Matt. Brass knuckle-dusters glimmered
on the fingers of Perry's right fist. Chub caught
the flash of the knuckle-dusters and, being too far away
to place himself shoulder to shoulder with Matt, he let
fly with the stone he had been holding in his hand.</p>
<p>In his excitement Chub did not throw accurately. The
stone missed Perry by a foot and struck Clipperton a
grazing blow on the side of the head. Clipperton staggered
back, a trickle of blood rilling over his cheek, and
whirled with a fierce cry.</p>
<p>Matt, notwithstanding the fact that Perry and Spangler<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span>
claimed most of his attention, had witnessed Chub's disastrous
work with the missile. Just as Clipperton whirled,
Matt leaped backward and threw up his hand. This
move, coming at that precious instant, gave Clipperton
the impression that it was Matt who had hurled the
stone.</p>
<p>In everything that Clipperton did he was lightning-quick.
The blow had aroused all the passion that lay at
the depths of his nature. With the face of a demon, and
with a swiftness that was wonderful, he launched himself
forward as though hurled by a catapault. The impact
of his body knocked Perry out of his way, and in
a twinkling he and Matt were engaged, hammer and
tongs.</p>
<p>On occasion Matt could be every whit as sudden in his
movements as was Clipperton. Just now his quarrel was
not with Clipperton, and he hated the twist fate had
given the course of events. Nevertheless Clipperton, his
half-tamed nature fully aroused, demanded rough handling
if Matt was to save himself.</p>
<p>Perry, perhaps not averse to having the fight taken off
his hands, ordered his team-mates to keep back. In a
group the five runners watched the progress of the battle.
It was the first time any of them had ever seen Clipperton
cast aside all restraint and display such murderous
energy.</p>
<p>The quarter-blood was about Matt's own age, and his
perfectly molded body and limbs were endued with tremendous
power. But he had more power than prowess,
and his fiery energy lacked the cool-headed calculation
which alone could make it effective.</p>
<p>On the other hand, Matt King had science as well as
strength, and energy as well as self-possession. No matter
what the pinch he was in, he could think calmly, and
with a swiftness and precision which alone would have
won many a battle.</p>
<p>Chub knew that Matt had no love for a brawl; but
Chub also knew that Matt tried always to play square
with himself, and that if brawls came there was no
dodging or side-stepping, but straight business right
from the word "go." There was straight business now,
and in many points it was brilliant.</p>
<p>Again and again Clipperton, his eyes like coals, his
straight black hair tumbled over his forehead, and his
face smeared with the red from his wound, hurled himself
at Matt only to be beaten back. The one feature of
the set-to that stood out beyond all others was this, that
Matt was merely on the defensive. The fury of his opponent
offered opening after opening of which Matt could
have taken advantage; yet, strangely enough to Perry
and his followers, Matt held his hand. Watching Clipperton
constantly with keen, unwavering eyes, he countered
every blow and beat off every attack.</p>
<p>Baffled at every point, Clipperton at last grew desperate.
Rushing in he tried to "clinch," and Matt, while
seeming to meet him on this ground, suddenly caught
him about the middle and flung him over the steep bank
into the canal.</p>
<p>A moment of silence followed the loud splash Clipperton
made in the water, a silence broken by a shout
from Perry.</p>
<p>"Let's throw the tenderfoot after Clip, fellows! Into
the canal with him!"</p>
<p>After the object-lesson which Matt had given the runners
in the manly art, no one of them was eager to try
conclusions alone with the "tenderfoot," but by going
after him in a crowd there was little risk and an almost
certain prospect of success.</p>
<p>Chub ran to his chum's side. Just as Perry, Spangler
and the others started forward to carry out Perry's suggestion,
another actor appeared on the scene, heralding
his arrival with a whoop that went thundering among
the cottonwoods.</p>
<p>"Scatter, ye onnery rapscallions! Here's me, Eagle-eye
Perkins, the retired Pirate o' the Plains, drorin' a
bead on every last one o' ye with ole Lucretia Borgia.
Scatter, I tell ye, an' don't force me to revive the gory
times that was, when I wants to be peaceful an' civilized."</p>
<p>Perry and his friends stayed their advance abruptly
and all eyes turned on Welcome Perkins. The reformed
road-agent had never looked more desperate than he did
then. He was wet, and singed, and his clothes were
burned in places, but the ends of his mustache stuck
truculently upward, his wooden pin was planted firmly
in the moist earth, and his antiquated six-shooter was
swaying back and forth in the most approved border
hold-up style.</p>
<p>In Phœnix Welcome was generally believed to be
a boaster, with a past as harmless as that of a divinity
student, and his loudly voiced regret for old deeds of
lawlessness was supposed to result from a desire to be
"in the lime-light" and to play to the galleries; but
"Lucretia Borgia" looked big and dangerous, and there
was no telling how far the erratic old humbug might go
with the weapon.</p>
<p>In the canal Clipperton was already swimming to the
opposite bank, apparently but little the worse for his
fight and his ducking. It was clear that he was going
to climb out and run for town.</p>
<p>"Come on, boys!" called Perry sullenly, facing about
and starting along the bank at a slow trot.</p>
<p>The rest fell in behind him and trailed out of sight
among the trees. Chub began to laugh.</p>
<p>"Why, you old practical joke!" he gasped, "that gun's
about as dangerous as a piece of bologna sausage."</p>
<p>A twinkle stole into Welcome's faded eyes. "Don't
ye know, son," said he, "it ain't the dangerousness of a
thing that counts so much as the popperler impression
about its <i>bein'</i> dangerous? Lucretia Borgia ain't spoke a
word fer ten year, an' she's all choked up with rust now,
an' couldn't talk if she wanted to. But the sight o' her's
enough—oh, yes, it's a-plenty.</p>
<p>"I seen the hull o' this fracas, an' the ole sperrit that
I'm tryin' to fight down an' conker stirred around inside
o' me to that extent that I jest had to take holt or bust
my b'iler. I heerd that young whipper-snapper say he'd
tipped his hand to Matt at the gate an' had come here to
show it. Waal, bumby I reckoned that I'd show <i>my</i>
hand—an' with somethin' in it. It's jest a bit of a sample
o' what I useter be in the ferocious ole times. But
come on; let's fergit about fights an' fightin', which is
plumb unworthy of civilized folks, an' go up to the
house."</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.</a></h2>
<p class="chaptitle">DACE PERRY'S CRAFTINESS.</p>
<p>The captain of the cross-country team was a shining
example of what wrong bringing-up can do for some
boys. His doting mother had spoiled him, and his father,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span>
a wealthy Denver mining-man, had for years been
too busy accumulating money to pay any attention to
him. When his wife died, the elder Perry suddenly
realized that he had an unmanageable son on his hands.</p>
<p>While his mother lived, Perry had gone the pace. He
was only sixteen when she died, but for more than a
year he had been traveling in fast company, drinking and
gambling, and doing his best to make, what he was
pleased to call, a "thoroughbred" out of himself. His
doting mother had been lenient and easily deceived. She
had stood between Perry and his father, and when the
latter occasionally refused to supply the boy with money
she would give it to him out of her own allowance.</p>
<p>With the passing of Mrs. Perry all this was changed.
Mr. Perry, in order to get Dace away from dissipated
Denver companions, shipped him off to Phœnix and left
him there in charge of a friend who happened to be the
principal of the Phœnix High School. This was a
change for the better in some ways. Dace had naturally
a splendid physique, and he had an overweening pride
in becoming first in high-school athletics, no matter how
he might stand in his studies. He cut out the "budge,"
as he would have called liquor, because it interfered with
his physical development; also he cut out smoking for
the same reason. But he continued to gamble, and the
poor old professor was as easily hoodwinked as Mrs.
Perry had been.</p>
<p>Perry, Sr., kept his son rigidly to a small allowance.
As a result Dace was always head over heels in debt, for,
although an inveterate gambler, he was not much more
than an amateur at the game, though learning the tricks
of the trade fast enough.</p>
<p>When Matt came to the school he aroused Perry's instant
and unreasoning dislike. From the best athlete
among the seniors Perry was relegated to the position
of second best; and this, for one of his spoiled disposition
and arrogant ways, constituted an offense not to be forgiven.
Now, for the first time, the strained relations existing
between Matt and Perry had come to an open
break.</p>
<p>Baffled in his plot to give Matt a thrashing, Perry
trotted sullenly and silently back toward the bridge across
the canal. Before the bridge was reached his spirits had
brightened a little, for his crafty mind had found something
in the present situation that pleased him.</p>
<p>"See here, fellows," said Perry abruptly, coming to a
halt and gathering his followers around him, "you all
saw Matt King throw that stone at Clip, didn't you?"</p>
<p>"It wasn't him," piped Tubbits Drake; "it was Nutmegs,
although it looked mighty like King did it."</p>
<p>"I say it was King," scowled Perry.</p>
<p>"Oh, well," grumbled Tubbits, "if you say it was King,
all right."</p>
<p>Tubbits was an impecunious brother. He was always
trying to borrow two-bits—in other words, a quarter—from
his large and select list of acquaintances, and the
habit had resulted in the nickname of "Two-bits," later
shortened to "Tubbits."</p>
<p>"I say it," went on Perry, "and you've all got to swear
to it. Savvy? If any one says anything different, I'll
punch his head. Chums are like those French guys in
the 'Three Musketeers'—one for all, and all for one.
What one chum does, the other has to stand for. King
and Nutmegs are chums, see? So, even if King didn't
really throw that rock, he'll have to take the consequences
on Chub's account. Clip <i>thinks</i> King did it, and
there's been trouble. Just let Clip keep on thinking the
way he does."</p>
<p>"Sure," said Ratty Spangler. "If anybody wants to
know about who shied the rock, we'll all say it was the
tenderfoot."</p>
<p>"That's all," responded Perry curtly, and trotted on to
the bridge.</p>
<p>Just as Perry had imagined would be the case when
he brought about this peculiar understanding concerning
the one who threw the stone, Tom Clipperton was on
the other side of the canal, waiting for his team-mates to
come up with him. Clipperton's scanty running-garb was
wet through, but that was a mere trifle and didn't bother
him. He had bound a handkerchief about his injured
forehead, and was thinking moodily of the easy way in
which he had been handled by Matt. Perry went up to
him and dropped a friendly hand on his shoulder.</p>
<p>"How're you coming, Clip?" he asked.</p>
<p>Clipperton grunted petulantly, shook off the hand and
started along the road. Perry, used to his moods, fell in
at his side and caught step with him.</p>
<p>"It was a low-down trick, Clip," said Perry, with
feigned sympathy, "but just about what any one could
expect from a fellow like King."</p>
<p>"He threw the rock," snarled Clipperton, hate throbbing
in his voice. "I didn't see the rock in his hand.
When it hit me his hand was in the air. Did any of the
rest of you see him?"</p>
<p>"We all saw him make that pass at you!" averred
Ratty Spangler. "Didn't we, fellers?"</p>
<p>"We did!" all the rest answered as one.</p>
<p>The breath came sharp through Clipperton's lips.
"He'll pay for it," he hissed. "You watch my smoke and
see."</p>
<p>"That's the talk!" encouraged Perry craftily. "That
tenderfoot ought to be kicked out of the school—he ain't
fit for decent fellows to associate with. If that old one-legged
freak hadn't pulled a gun on us, Clip, we'd have
settled with King for what he did to you right there.
How are you going to get even with him?"</p>
<p>"I know how," growled Clipperton. "I'll meet him
again. I'll meet him as many times as I have to until I
do him up."</p>
<p>"You're too headstrong, Clip," returned Perry, "if you
don't mind my saying so. That's no way to make a
saw-off with Matt King. Be sly. Go after him in a way
he don't expect. That's your cue if you want to get <i>him</i>—just
take it from me."</p>
<p>Clipperton turned a half-distrustful look on Perry.</p>
<p>"I'm no coward," he muttered. "Man to man. That's
the way to settle everything."</p>
<p>"Sure, when you're dealing with a fellow of the right
sort. But what's Matt King? Why, Clip, he was afraid
of you from the start, and that's the reason he tried to
get in his work at long range with the stone."</p>
<p>"D'you think that?" demanded Clipperton huskily.</p>
<p>"No think about it; it's a lead-pipe cinch. When you
balance accounts with a fellow like that go after him in
his own way."</p>
<p>"What would you do?"</p>
<p>"You're a crack shot, Clip," observed Perry. "I know
that because I saw you making bull's-eyes in the shooting-gallery
the other day."</p>
<p>Clipperton looked startled.</p>
<p>"What's my shooting got to do with it?"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p>
<p>"Well," went on Perry, "have you got a gun, or can
you get one?"</p>
<p>Tubbits and Ratty Spangler grew morbidly apprehensive.</p>
<p>"Looky here, Dace," demurred Tubbits, "don't let Clip
go and do anything rash."</p>
<p>"Don't be a fool," snapped Perry. "I reckon I've got
some sense left. Old Peg-leg drew a cannon on us, but
I'm too well up in law to advise Clip to pull a gun on
anybody—even Matt King." His voice grew friendly
and confidential as he went on talking with Clipperton.
"Can you get a pistol and stuff it in your pocket when
you come to the try-out this afternoon, Clip?"</p>
<p>"Yes," was the reply. "What do you want me to do
with it?"</p>
<p>Perry turned to the boys behind.</p>
<p>"Jog along, you fellows," said he; "Clip and I have got
business to talk over. And mind," he added, as Tubbits,
Spangler and the rest moved off ahead, "keep mum about
what you've already heard."</p>
<p>"Mum it is," said the cross-country squad obediently,
and drew away from the plotters.</p>
<p>"Matt King had better take to the cliffs and the cactus,"
remarked Ratty Spangler, with a chuckle. "Ginger,
there's going to be doings at the try-out this afternoon.
What do you s'pose they want with a gun, Tubbits?"</p>
<p>The uncertainty was just desperate enough to fill
Ratty with delightful anticipations. He hoped in his little
soul that Perry and Clip wouldn't go far enough to
involve the rest of the cross-country team, but he wanted
them to be sure and go as far as they could.</p>
<p>"Blamed if I know," answered Tubbits. "I'm shyer
of guns than I am of rattlesnakes. When that old skeezicks
of a Perkins shook that piece of hardware at us a
while ago, I thought I'd throw a fit. Why, the mouth of
it looked as big as the Hoosac Tunnel to me. No,
thankee, no guns in mine."</p>
<p>"We could jerk him up for that," asserted Ratty.
"Say, if we'd have him arrested——"</p>
<p>"Arrest nothin'!" snorted Tubbits. "We'd look pretty
small hauling old Perkins up before a judge and then
telling why we'd gone back along the canal with Perry.
Some things are well enough to leave alone—and that's
one of them."</p>
<p>The boys were well into town by then, and the party
separated, each going his different way and wondering
what was to happen during the afternoon.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.</a></h2>
<p class="chaptitle">THE TRY-OUT.</p>
<p>"There he is, Jack!" exclaimed Major Woolford, leaning
across the railing of the judges' stand and pointing;
"that's the youngster I was telling you about. By gad,
he's the speediest thing that ever happened when it comes
to a bike. Give him a sizing, Jack, and then take off
your hat to Young America at its best. You see, I know
what he can do, and I'm the one who told Carter to bring
him to the track for a try-out. Walks like he was on
springs and handles himself without a particle of lost
motion—every move decisive and straight to the mark.
Oh, I don't know! As long as the Old Star-Spangled-Long-May-it-Wave
can give us lads like that I reckon
the country's safe."</p>
<p>The major slipped his stop-watch into one pocket of his
vest and pulled a cigar-case out of another. As he passed
the case to his friend, Governor Gaynor, he noticed an
amused smile on the governor's face. The major was
president, and the governor an honorary member, of the
Phœnix Athletic Club.</p>
<p>"Protégé of yours, major?" inquired the governor, striking
a match.</p>
<p>"Not much, Jack," answered the major. "I don't believe
in protégés, favorites, or any other brand of humbug
that leads to the door marked 'pull.' Give me a
young fellow that stands on his own feet—the kind that
does his own climbing, Jack, without wasting valuable
time looking around for some one to give him a boost.
That's the sort of a chap Matt King is. Just keep your
eye on him."</p>
<p>Below the judges' stand, in front of which ran the
tape, a crowd of forty or fifty persons had assembled.
Fully half the crowd was made up of members of the
club, young, middle-aged, and a few with gray in their
hair—all devotees of clean, wholesome American sport.
The other half of the crowd consisted mostly of high-school
boys who were furnishing the majority of candidates
for the try-out.</p>
<p>Matt, to whom the major had called the governor's
attention, had leaped lightly over the fence that guarded
the farther side of the track. Lined up just back of the
fence were Susie McReady, Chub and Welcome Perkins.
They had come to see the try-out, hoping against hope
that something would happen to make Matt change his
mind and become a candidate in the bike event. Leaning
against the top rail of the fence, Matt stood watching
the busy officers of the club and listening to the incessant
clamor of the high-school boys.</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"'Rah! 'rah! 'rah! Do or die!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Phœnix! Phœnix! Phœnix High!"<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>The athletic clubs of both Phœnix and Prescott were
for the encouragement of amateurs. Professionals were
barred. The clubs could pick up material for their rival
contests wherever they chose so long as they did not enlist
any one who had ever competed for a money prize.</p>
<p>There was an odd expression on Matt King's open,
handsome face as he looked and listened—a touch of
wistfulness, it might be, softening the almost steelly resolution
of his gray eyes.</p>
<p>"What do you know about him, major?" asked the
governor, staring across the track through the cigar-smoke
and feeling an instinctive admiration for the trim,
boyish figure in cap, sweater and knickerbockers.</p>
<p>"Our acquaintance lasted less than an hour, and was
mighty informal," chuckled the major. "I was returning
from the Indian School in my motor-car, about a
week ago, when along comes that boy on his wheel. He
tried to go by, and—well, when I'm out for a spin in that
six-thousand-dollar car I'm not letting anything on hoofs
or wheels throw sand in my face. I tells the driver to
speed her up, and by and by we have the boy's legs working
like piston-rods. He was still abreast of us when
some confounded thing or other slips a cog under the
bonnet; then we begin to sputter and buckjump, and finally
stop dead. The boy gives us the laugh and goes on.</p>
<p>"Mike, my driver, gets out to locate the injury. But
it's too many for Mike. He was just telling me he'd
have to go to the nearest farmhouse and telephone the
garage, when the boy on the wheel comes trundling back.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span>
He asks me as nice as you please if there's anything the
matter, and if he can't help us out. I was just about
to tell him that he had another guess coming if he
thought he could make good where Mike had fallen
down, when he slips out of his saddle, makes a couple of
passes at the machinery, closes the bonnet and begins
to crank up. Mike got back in his seat and laughed like
he thought it was a good joke; then he pretty near threw
a fit when the machine jogged off as well as ever. The
boy gave us the laugh again, this time from the rear.
And that's how he happened to make a hit with me.
I've heard that he knows more about motors than——"</p>
<p>"All ready, boys!" came the voice of the starter.</p>
<p>Dace Perry and two other boys had their wheels at the
tape, but Matt King continued to lean against the fence
and made no move to come forward.</p>
<p>"Hurry up, King!" shouted the starter. "What's the
matter with you?"</p>
<p>"I haven't a wheel any more, Mr. Carter," answered
Matt, "and I'm not a candidate. That's what I came out
here to tell you."</p>
<p>"Not a candidate?" boomed the major, from up in the
stand. "Don't you know the prize that goes to the winner
in this event when we meet Prescott is as good as
two hundred and fifty dollars? It's not a money prize,
for we don't intend to make professionals out of you
boys, but——"</p>
<p>"He's lost his nerve, that's what's the matter with
him."</p>
<p>The words were so uncalled for, and the taunt in the
voice so vicious, that every eye turned at once on the
speaker. The captain of the cross-country team, arms
folded and hostile gaze leveled at Matt, stood leaning
against his machine.</p>
<p>"Quitter!" scoffed a voice in the crowd.</p>
<p>"Dry up, Perry!" called the starter. "You too, Spangler.
Neither of you has any call to butt in."</p>
<p>Matt left the fence and advanced slowly across the
track toward Perry.</p>
<p>"I've lost my nerve, have I, Dace Perry?" Matt inquired,
with a half-laugh.</p>
<p>"What else do you call it?" demanded Perry, keeping
his black eyes warily on the other's face.</p>
<p>As Matt stood staring at Perry his expression changed
to one of the utmost good humor. Finally, with a broad
smile, he turned to the starter.</p>
<p>"It looks as though Perry was going to be lonesome,
Mr. Carter," said he, "if I don't ride with him. Can you
dig up a wheel for me?"</p>
<p>Half a dozen in the high-school crowd set up a yell.
"Take mine, Matt; take mine!"</p>
<p>"I know something about yours, Splinters," went on
Matt, facing one of the lads, "and if you'll oblige me
I'll spin it around the track."</p>
<p>"You bet!" chirruped Splinters, bounding away.</p>
<p>"I didn't come here for a try-out, Mr. Carter," said
Matt, "but I don't want Perry or any one else to think
that I'm a quitter or that my nerve is giving out. Can
I ride in this race even if I shouldn't be able to meet
the fellow from Prescott when the big event is pulled
off?"</p>
<p>"What's the use of jockeying around like that?" grumbled
Dace Perry. "What's the use of a try-out if the fellow
that makes good don't hold down his end at the big
meet?"</p>
<p>Carter was in a quandary, and cast an upward look
toward Major Woolford.</p>
<p>"What do you say to that, major?" he asked.</p>
<p>"If we select you to represent the Phœnix Athletic
Club in the bicycle-race, Matt," inquired the major,
"why can't we count on you to be on hand and see the
thing through?"</p>
<p>A touch of red ran into Matt's face.</p>
<p>"I may not be in Phœnix when the Prescott fellows
come down, major," he replied.</p>
<p>"I'll take chances on that," growled the major. "Try
him out, Carter."</p>
<p>Splinters, at that moment, came up with his machine.
"I was going into this myself, Matt," said he, with a
significant look at Perry, "but changed my mind. My
racing-clothes are over in the dressing-room. They
wouldn't be overly wide for you, but they'd be plenty
long."</p>
<p>"Much obliged, Splinters," returned Matt, rolling the
bicycle to the tape, "but I'll race as I stand."</p>
<p>A moment more and the four boys were shoved away
at the crack of the starter's pistol. The major, watch in
hand, followed the flight around the track with eager
eyes.</p>
<p>"See him go, Jack!" he cried. "Why, that boy is off
like a scared coyote making for home and mother. Dace
Perry hasn't a ghost of a show."</p>
<p>The track measured a mile, and was a perfect oval.
There were no trees to intercept the vision, and every
part of the course could be seen by the major and the
governor.</p>
<p>At the quarter Matt was the length of his wheel ahead
of Perry, and Perry was the same distance ahead of the
foremost racer behind him. At the half the distance, so
far as Matt and Perry were concerned, remained the
same, but the other two racers were hopelessly in the
rear.</p>
<p>"Look at Perry work!" rumbled the major. "He's got
his back up like a Kilkenny cat on the fence, and I can
almost hear him puff clear over here. But that King
boy has him beaten to a frazzle. Look at the <i>form</i> of
him, will you? Great! Man alive, it's just simply <i>superb</i>!"</p>
<p>"There doesn't seem to be any love lost between King
and Perry," observed the governor, following the major
as he pushed excitedly around the stand in order to keep
the racers at all times under his eyes.</p>
<p>"The trouble with Perry," said the major, "is that he's
got the disposition of an Apache Indian. He wants to
be the whole thing in the high school, and Matt King,
during the short time he's been in town, has been boxing
the compass all around him. Just look at the difference
between the two, Jack. They're at the three-quarters
post and are still the same distance apart. King intends
to beat Perry, but he's considerate enough to hang back
and win out by no more than a nose. If positions were
changed so that Perry was in the lead instead of King,
I'll bet good money that——"</p>
<p>Just at that moment, when the two leading racers were
making their final spurt along the home-stretch, and when
every nerve was as tense as a back-stay and every spectator
had dropped into silence preparatory to hailing the
victor with all his lung power, a spiteful <i>crack</i> cut the
air from some point below the grand stand.</p>
<p>Simultaneously with the incisive note, Matt's bicycle
was seen to swerve suddenly across Perry's path. Perry's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span>
wheel rushed into Matt's with a rattling crash and both
riders were flung to the ground with terrific force.</p>
<p>"Great guns!" gasped the major, aghast. "I wonder if
they're killed?"</p>
<p>"We'd better go and find out," returned the governor
grimly.</p>
<p>Hurrying down the stairs, the major and the governor
joined the excited crowd that was flocking toward the
scene of the mishap.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.</a></h2>
<p class="chaptitle">THE MAJOR'S SURPRISE.</p>
<p>Well in the lead of those who were hurrying to the
scene of the disaster was Chub McReady, his feelings
about evenly divided between fear for Matt and anger
because of the foul play that had caused the accident. A
little way behind Chub, in a rushing crowd of excited
high-school boys, came Welcome Perkins, his wooden
peg traveling over the ground as it had never done before.
Susie was flying along not far from Welcome, a
look of wild alarm in her face. The major and the governor
were pretty well in the rear.</p>
<p>Matt had picked himself out of the wreck, before any
of the crowd reached the scene, and, with the assistance
of the two other racers, was lifting Dace Perry and
carrying him to the grassy paddock beside the track.
Matt's clothes were torn, and there was a rent in his
right sleeve through which flowed a trickle of blood.</p>
<p>"Is he killed? How badly is he hurt? What caused
the smash?"</p>
<p>These and a dozen other questions were flung at Matt
by the breathless crowd as Perry was laid down. Matt's
face was white, but he did not seem to be very seriously
injured. Kneeling beside Perry he laid a hand on his
breast.</p>
<p>"He's all right, I guess," said he, looking up as the
major elbowed his way to Perry's side. "He's stunned,
major," he added; "I don't think it's any worse than
that."</p>
<p>"Is there a doctor here?" called the major; "telephone
for a doctor, somebody! See if he has any broken bones,
Carter. Egad, Matt, you two fellows came together like
a couple of railroad-trains. It's a wonder you weren't
both killed. What was that I heard just before your
bicycle ducked across in front of Perry's?"</p>
<p>"The tire blew up," answered Matt coolly.</p>
<p>"Something funny about that," put in Splinters, who
was close to the major. "Both tires are new. You didn't
run over anything, did you, Matt?"</p>
<p>"Some one fired a pistol," cried Chub; "nobody ever
heard a tire pop like that! It came from beyond the
lower end of the grand stand. Somebody put a bullet
through that tire!"</p>
<p>"Nonsense!" scoffed the major. "What are you talking
about, McReady? Who'd do a dastardly thing like
that? Besides, it would take a mighty good marksman
to put a bullet into a tire moving as fast as that one was."</p>
<p>"Look a-here," fumed Welcome Perkins, "I don't
reckon there's a man in the hull Territory that's heard
as much shootin' as what I have. I'm tellin' ye a gun
was fired, an' by the shade o' Gallopin' Dick, it was fired
at Matt there!"</p>
<p>"Clear out!" growled the major, "you're locoed. Who'd
want to take a shot at Matt King? What do <i>you</i> think
about it, my lad?" and the major turned to Matt.</p>
<p>Matt had dropped down and Susie was pushing back
his torn sleeve.</p>
<p>"The tire went up, major," said Matt quietly; "that's
all I know about it."</p>
<p>"See here," cried Susie, holding Matt's bare forearm
for the major to see, "Matt's hurt worse than Dace
Perry."</p>
<p>"You're wrong, Susie," returned Matt hastily, "it's
only a cut, and not much of a cut at that. Please tie my
handkerchief around it, will you?"</p>
<p>Matt jerked a handkerchief out of his pocket with his
left hand and Susie began tying it over the wound.
While Perry was being pulled and prodded in a search
for broken bones, he suddenly opened his eyes and sat
up. There was a dazed look in his face, but he seemed
to be all right.</p>
<p>"How d'ye feel, Dace?" inquired Tubbits Drake anxiously,
bending down over Perry.</p>
<p>"I'm all right," replied Perry; "a little bit dizzy, that's
all. King fouled me! Did you see him as we started
down the stretch?"</p>
<p>"Listen to that!" snorted Chub fiercely. "Some of
your gang played a low-down trick on Matt, Dace Perry,
or he wouldn't have got in your way."</p>
<p>"Tut, tut!" growled the major; "that's enough of that
sort of talk. It was an accident, and nothing more.
King would have been an easy winner, and there wasn't
any cause for him to foul Perry. You boys are lucky
to get out of the scrape as well as you did. How are the
wheels?"</p>
<p>"Perry's is pretty badly smashed," reported some one
who had taken a little time to look at the two bicycles,
"but Tuohy's will be all right with a little tinkering.
There's a hole in the rear tire, and the track is perfectly
clean where the bicycles came together."</p>
<p>The significance of these words was not lost upon the
crowd. Major Woolford turned to Horton and Coggswell,
two members of the club who were making the race
with Matt and Perry.</p>
<p>"You fellows were coming toward the lower end of the
grand stand when the accident happened," said he; "did
you see any one there?"</p>
<p>"We were 'tending to our knitting strictly," answered
Coggswell, "and had no time to look at the grand stand.
But we both thought we heard the report of a revolver."</p>
<p>"You didn't, though," declared the major. "That report
was the tire when it let go. You'd better try another
brand of tires, Tuohy."</p>
<p>As neither of the lads had been seriously injured it
became necessary that another trial be made in order to
determine who was the better man; and this time Matt
started with grim determination in his eye, never once
being headed, so that he wheeled across the line ten
yards ahead of Dace.</p>
<p>This time there was no suspicious bursting of a tire,
and at the conclusion the major spoke up:</p>
<p>"King's our man for the fight with Prescott; and if
anything happens that he doesn't show up, we'll use
Perry. That will be all for to-day. Will you ride home
with me, Jack?"</p>
<p>The major was trying bluffly to appear at his ease, but
it was quite clear that his mind was far from serene.</p>
<p>"My man is here with the horse and buggy, major,"
replied the governor, "and I've got some important business<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span>
awaiting me at the office. I think you've picked a
winner for the race with Prescott," and he gave the
major a significant look as he turned away.</p>
<p>Mike was coming up with the major's motor-car, and
the proprietor reached out and took Matt by the arm.</p>
<p>"I want you to ride back with me, King," said he, and
in another minute Matt was in the tonneau with the
major beside him.</p>
<p>"Get the wheel fixed up, Splinters," called Matt; "I'll
stand the damage."</p>
<p>"No, you won't, old chap," answered Splinters.
"You've stood enough damage as it is."</p>
<p>"Home, Mike," said the major, and the car moved off
across the track and toward the wagon-road.</p>
<p>Matt waved his hand to Chub, Susie and Perkins; and
members of the club and some of the high-school boys
stopped their heated discussion of the cause of the accident
long enough to give a rousing cheer.</p>
<p>"What's your candid opinion, King?" asked the major
when the car had left the park and was spinning along
the highroad. "You're talking to a friend, understand,
and I want to get to the bottom of this."</p>
<p>"I haven't any opinion, major," said Matt. "You
know as much as I do."</p>
<p>"But did you hear the report of a revolver?"</p>
<p>"I thought I did."</p>
<p>The major muttered savagely. "Have you any enemy
lawless enough to take that way of doing you up?"</p>
<p>"I don't think I have. We'd better let the thing stand
just as it is, I guess. There was no great harm done, if
you count out the damage to the wheels."</p>
<p>"By gad, I like your spirit! The thing has an ugly
look, but for the good of the club the less said about it
the better. Sure your arm's all right?"</p>
<p>"It will be as good as ever in a few days."</p>
<p>They met a doctor who had been telephoned for and
was hurrying to the park. The major turned him back
with the information that his services were not needed.</p>
<p>For the rest of the distance to his home the major
leaned back in his seat and said nothing. When they
reached a street which was close to the place where he
boarded, Matt wanted to get out, but the major shook
his head mysteriously, and they rode on. In due course
the car halted in front of the small building which served
for a garage, and the major told Mike to leave the car
outside and to go in "and bring out the other machine."</p>
<p>"I've got something I want to show you, King," said
Woolford, getting out of the car, "and that's the reason
I brought you here. If you're the kind of a lad I believe
you are, the surprise I'm going to spring on you will
keep you in Phœnix for that race with Prescott."</p>
<p>The major's mysterious manner aroused Matt's curiosity;
then, a few minutes later, his curiosity was eclipsed
by astonishment and admiration. Through the open door
of the garage Mike was rolling a span new motor-cycle!</p>
<p>Motors were Matt's hobby. Anything driven by a
motor had always appealed to him, but motor-cycles and
motor-cars captured his fancy beyond anything and
everything else in the motor line.</p>
<p>"Great hanky-pank!" he exclaimed, as the machine,
glossy and bright in every part, was brought to a stop
between him and the major.</p>
<p>"Like the looks of her?" laughed the major.</p>
<p>"She's a fair daisy and no mistake!" cried Matt delightedly.</p>
<p>The mass of compact machinery would have been puzzling
to a boy who knew nothing about gasoline motor-cycles,
but Matt's sparkling eyes went over the beautiful
model part by part.</p>
<p>"It's one of the latest make and not being generally
sold, as yet," explained the major, still smiling at the
unfeigned pleasure the sight of the mechanical marvel
was giving Matt. "Notice the twin cylinders? Seven
horse-power, my boy. Think of that! Why, you could
scoot away from a streak of lightning on that bike.
What do you think of her name, eh?"</p>
<p>On the gasoline-tank, back of the saddle, the word
<i>Comet</i> was lettered in gold.</p>
<p>"A good name for a racer," cried Matt, "and I'm
Dutch if I ever saw anything to equal her. She's a jim-dandy,
major."</p>
<p>"I reckon you know how to ride one of the things, eh?
Jump on and try her a whirl."</p>
<p>"May I?" returned Matt, as though he thought the
major's invitation too good to be true.</p>
<p>"Sure!" laughed the major jovially. "She's full of
gasoline and all you have to do is to turn it on and throw
in the spark."</p>
<p>Matt mounted while Mike steadied the machine; for a
few moments he worked the pedals and then, with a
patter of sharp explosions, he turned on the power and
was off up the road like a bird on the wing.</p>
<p>It was a short spin, but the joy of it was not to be
described. Every part of the superb mechanism worked
to perfection. Matt tried it on the turns, tried it on a
straightaway course, tried it in every conceivable manner
he could think of, and the machine answered
promptly and smoothly to his every touch. When he
returned to the major and Mike, Matt's face was glowing
with happiness and excitement.</p>
<p>"How does she run?" asked the major.</p>
<p>"It's the slickest thing on wheels!" returned Matt enthusiastically.
"I never saw anything finer."</p>
<p>"How would you like to own her?"</p>
<p>Matt had got down from the saddle and Mike was
steadying the machine. The major's words staggered
the lad.</p>
<p>"Own her?" cried Matt; "I?"</p>
<p>"Why not?" The major leaned toward him and
dropped a hand on his shoulder. "The <i>Comet</i> goes to
the winner of the bicycle-race. You can own her, King,
if you want to!"</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.</a></h2>
<p class="chaptitle">THE RABBITT'S FOOT.</p>
<p>Major Woolford wanted Matt in that bicycle-race.
He hadn't any idea why the boy hung back at the try-out,
or why he was thinking of leaving town, but in
showing him the prize that went to the victor he had
played a trump card.</p>
<p>Matt's bosom swelled as he eyed the beautiful machine,
and his mind circled about ways and means for staying in
Phœnix until the Phœnix-Prescott athletic meet. What
Matt had received for his bicycle, together with what
little money he already possessed, was barely sufficient
to land him in Denver. If he stayed on in Phœnix, and
used up some of this money for living-expenses, he
might have a motor-cycle when he was ready to leave the
place, but how was he to get to Denver?</p>
<p>Even as he put the question to himself, quick as a flash<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span>
the answer came: "Ride the <i>Comet</i> to Denver, to Chicago,
to New York—wherever you want to go!" The
idea electrified the boy.</p>
<p>"I'll be in that race, major," he cried, turning to the
president of the athletic club, "<i>and I'll win the prize</i>!"</p>
<p>"Sure you will!" exclaimed the delighted major. "I
reckoned you'd stay as soon as you saw what the prize
was to be. A lad who likes motors as well as you do
wouldn't let a machine like that get away from him."</p>
<p>"Who races for Prescott?" asked Matt.</p>
<p>"A local celebrity called Newton O'Day. Perry beat
O'Day in the bicycle-race last year, and although I hear
O'Day has developed a phenomenal burst of speed since
then, I shouldn't wonder if Perry could repeat the trick."</p>
<p>"Then you don't really need me, major?" said Matt.</p>
<p>"You bet we do! Perry is so crooked he can't walk
around the block without running into himself. I might
trust him as a last resort, but it would certainly have to
be that. The two clubs come together two weeks from
to-day, and you're down for our side in the bicycle event,
King, with Perry for second choice in case anything
should happen to keep you away. But you don't want to
let anything happen; see?" The major talked with great
earnestness and laid a confiding hand on Matt's shoulder.
"After what happened at the park this afternoon it
might be just as well for you to step high, wide and
handsome, and keep eyes in the back of your head.
We're counting on you, don't forget that." The major
turned to his driver. "Take King's machine back into
the garage, Mike," he added. "We're going to turn it
over to him in a couple of weeks."</p>
<p>"You bet you are, major," averred Matt, "if racing
will win it."</p>
<p>He walked to his boarding-place with a bounding
heart, and seemed to be stepping on air. Ever since
motor-cycles had been on the market he had dreamed
of owning one. Now there was a chance that his dream
would come true, and that he was to own a seven-horse-power
marvel, fleet as the wind. Small wonder the boy
was elated.</p>
<p>The machinery of the <i>Comet</i> was controlled by the
grip on the handle-bars, and by various flexible twists
of the wrist. Matt's game arm had suffered somewhat
through manipulating the grip control, but by the time
the <i>Comet</i> was his he knew his arm would be as well as
ever.</p>
<p>Matt lodged on First Avenue, in the home of a woman
who had lost her husband in a mining explosion, and
had been compelled to take boarders for a living. He
had a pleasant front room on the second floor, and when
he bounded up-stairs and burst into his private quarters
he was a little bit surprised to find Chub there. There
was an ominous look on Chub's freckled face.</p>
<p>"Somebody died and left you a million?" inquired
Chub. "You look as chipper as an Injun squaw with a
string of new beads."</p>
<p>"Well," laughed Matt, "I do feel just a little hilarious."</p>
<p>"It must have tickled you a whole lot to pull out of
that smash by the skin of your teeth," muttered Chub.
"Shucks, Matt, I never saw a fellow that takes things
like you do."</p>
<p>"It's twice as easy to laugh at your troubles, Chub, as
to throw a fit and pull a long face. All a fellow needs is
to get the knack. But I've had something else to help
me buck up," and Matt, as he flung himself into a chair,
proceeded to tell his chum about the motor-cycle, and
about his decision to stay in Phœnix for the athletic-club
contests.</p>
<p>Chub's face brightened. Ever since he had learned that
Matt was going to leave town he had been more or less
gloomy, and the knowledge that he was to remain for
the big meet was mighty cheering.</p>
<p>"Bully!" exclaimed Chub. "You'll win that motor-cycle
hands down—provided you're not interfered with."</p>
<p>"I'll not be interfered with, Chub," returned Matt
confidently. "For heaven's sake, don't go and make a
wet blanket out of yourself. What's on your mind, anyhow?
You're as blue as a whetstone."</p>
<p>Chub's face had gloomed up again. With hands
jammed into his trousers pockets and with legs outstretched
he slouched back in his chair and grunted
savagely.</p>
<p>"They can't fool me, nit," he growled. "A pistol went
off when you were passing the lower end of the grand
stand, and that's what busted the tire. There's only one
chap in school who could shoot like that, and he's the
only one, aside from Dace Perry, who'd try to do you
any dirt. You know who I mean—Tom Clipperton."</p>
<p>"That's mighty slim evidence for a charge against
Clipperton, Chub," said Matt gravely. "Don't be rash."</p>
<p>"Rash!" muttered Chub. "You don't want to shut
your eyes to what Clip can do, Matt. He's never been
more than half-tamed, and has a standing grouch at
everybody on account of his blood. I nagged him some
this morning, and he was ripe for anything when I
whaled away with that rock. And then to have him get
the notion that <i>you</i> threw it. Oh, gee!" Chub's discontent
was morbid. "Say," he went on, "when Susie and
I and Perk were coming from the track we met Clip going
home with Perry, Spangler, Tubbits Drake and that
bunch. I waltzed over and told Clip that he was off his
mark a little about that rock, and that I, little Reddy
Mac, was the author of that slam."</p>
<p>"You didn't?" exclaimed Matt.</p>
<p>"Don't you never think I didn't. But what good did
it do? They gave me the frozen laugh, the whole gang
of 'em, and Perry said it was a raw blazer of a play,
and that I couldn't succeed in putting myself between
you and trouble. Now, Matt; Perry, Spangler, Drake
and the others <i>know</i> I let fly with that stone, and they're
letting Clip think the other way so as to make him take
you off Perry's hands."</p>
<p>Matt was thoughtful for a minute. "Well, what of
it?" he asked presently.</p>
<p>"What of it?" repeated Chub. "Oh, gee-whiskers!
Can't you see what it means to have a real Injun in war-paint,
like Clip, camped on your trail? Take it from me,
Matt, it means trouble for you between now and the
day of the race."</p>
<p>"All right," said Matt cheerfully, "I've had trouble
before."</p>
<p>"Not the sort Clip, with Perry and that cross-country
team back of him, will hand out to you. Seems like I'm
always making a mess of things," Chub snorted. "That's
the way Johnny Hardluck spars up to me. I get in a
few whole-arm jabs and then, just as everything looks
rosy, there's an error, and fate gets past my guard.
This day's a sample. I begin with powder and sulfuric
acid, hit Clip below the belt with a reference to his
Injun blood, and then land on him with a corker of a
rock intended for Perry. It wouldn't be so bad, Matt,
if <i>you</i> didn't come in for the consequences."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p>
<p>"Never mind me," laughed Matt. "I'm big for my
size and old for my age, and I've always been able to
take precious good care of number one. I'm sorry for
Clip. His mixed blood worries him, and Perry knows
how to keep him all worked up. But nobody knows just
what happened at the try-out, so don't do any wild guessing,
Chub, and, above all, keep your guesses to yourself."</p>
<p>"<i>I</i> know what happened at the try-out," asserted Chub,
"and there's no guess about it, either. Clip is superstitious.
Remember that rabbit's foot, mounted on a silver
band, he always carries as a luck-bringer?"</p>
<p>Everybody in the school knew about Clip's rabbit's
foot. He had carried it the year before when he had
beaten Vance Latham, the Prescott champion, in the
mile race.</p>
<p>"What about that?" asked Matt, wondering what the
luck-bringer had to do with the affair at the track.</p>
<p>"You know how the grand stand is built, out at the
park," pursued Chub. "Any one can get under it and
look out onto the track between the board seats. If any
one wanted to, he could climb the timbers, rest the barrel
of a revolver on a board and make a good shot at
any one on the track. That notion struck me before I
left the park this afternoon, and I stole away to do a
little investigating. I'm beginning to think Sherlock
Holmes is a back number compared to me. Look here
what little Reddy Hawkshaw found under the stand and
close to the lower end!"</p>
<p>Chub jerked his right hand out of his pocket and flung
an object at Matt. The latter caught it deftly. It was a
silver-mounted rabbit's foot, attached to a piece of fine
steel chain.</p>
<p>Matt drew in a quick breath and turned his startled
eyes on Chub.</p>
<p>"<i>Now</i> what have you got to say?" inquired Chub.
"I'm the original, blown-in-the-bottle trouble-maker, but
you can bet I haven't gone wrong on <i>this</i>!"</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.</a></h2>
<p class="chaptitle">MATT SHOWS HIS COLORS.</p>
<p>Looking down on Matt and Chub from one of the
walls were four lines carefully printed on a big white
card. It was Matt's work, the printing; and the four
lines had been in his room at Uncle Jonas King's in the
old house in the Berkshires.</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Let me win if I may when the game's afoot;<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Let me master my Fate when I choose her:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Playing square with myself in the fight, my boy,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">If I fail let me be a good loser."<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>From Chub's triumphant face, Matt's eyes wandered
to the lines on the card and dwelt there for a time.</p>
<p>"I guess you can't get around that rabbit's foot, Matt,"
said Chub, "and I guess Major Woolford can't, either.
Clip has been settled on for the mile race with Prescott
this year same as he was last, but you take it from me
the major won't have anything to do with him when I
show him that rabbit's foot and tell him where I found
it. And maybe," finished Chub, "he'll scratch Dace
Perry's entry, too, for it's a dead open-and-shut they
were both in this. Perry, though, didn't figure on having
your wheel jump across in front of his and cause a
smash-up."</p>
<p>Matt, with that rabbit's-foot charm as an eye-opener,
saw through the whole dastardly proceeding. Crafty
Dace Perry was egging Clipperton on, thus "playing
even" with Matt at little cost to himself.</p>
<p>"What did Perry hope to gain by having Clip shoot a
bullet into my tire?" queried Matt musingly.</p>
<p>"If you'd taken a header from the bicycle, and broken
a leg or an arm, that would have put you out of the
running. Perry would have been cock of the walk in
the bike event, and Clip could have soothed himself with
the reflection that he'd squared up for that rocky deal he
thought you gave him this morning. But we can fix
'em! Let's go and have a talk with the major, Matt."</p>
<p>In his eagerness Chub reached for his hat.</p>
<p>"I guess we won't," said Matt.</p>
<p>"Shucks!" gasped Chub; "you're not going to show up
that pair and make 'em take their medicine?"</p>
<p>"I'm not going to give Tom Clipperton a black eye
when Perry is the one most to blame, and when the
whole thing is the result of a misunderstanding. We
can't say anything about Perry without bringing Clip
into it. And I'm not sure," Matt added, "that it's advisable
to air the thing, anyway. All Prescott would be
tickled to hear of the bickering, and every person in
Phœnix who loves clean sport would be disgusted. I'll
take care of the rabbit's foot, and we'll let the whole
matter rest and not tell any one anything about it.
You've kept quiet so far, haven't you, Chub?"</p>
<p>"Yes, mum as a church mouse; why, I didn't even tell
Susie or Perk. I had a mind to bat it up to Clip, Perry
and the rest when I tackled 'em on the way from the
track, but thought I hadn't better. The whole gang
might have jumped me and taken the rabbit's foot away.
But, look here. You don't mean this, do you?"</p>
<p>"You bet I do mean it, Chub. If you're a chum of
mine you'll do as I tell you."</p>
<p>Chub heaved a sigh like a boiler-explosion. "Another
spoke in little Chub's wheel," he muttered. "There's
never any telling which way you're going to jump, Matt,
or how. You know what Perry is. Professor Todd
don't know he's mixing with Dirk Hawley, the gambler,
and fellows of that sort; but he is, and he's going
wrong."</p>
<p>Matt recalled what the major had said concerning
Perry, and about the little confidence he had in him.
Was this because Perry associated with blacklegs, and
particularly with Dirk Hawley?</p>
<p>"What Perry is doing doesn't make any difference
with what we're to do, Chub," said Matt. "Clip is only
a tool of Perry's, and some day he's going to find out
how he's being made a catspaw. When that time comes,
Perry will have a little trouble on his own hands."</p>
<p>"All right, Matt," said Chub, getting up, "have it your
own way. It's pretty near supper-time, and I've got to
hike. Will you be over this evening? Maybe I'll get
into communication with Delray, up at the Bluebell."</p>
<p>"If I get time I may run over," answered Matt, "but
don't look for me."</p>
<p>Just as Chub was about to lay his hand on the door-knob
a knock fell on the panel. He opened the door
and found Mrs. Spooner, the landlady, outside. There
was an odd look on Mrs. Spooner's face.</p>
<p>"There's a man down-stairs as wants to see Matt,"
said she. "He come in one of them gasoline wagons,
an' Matt may be as surprised to hear as I am to tell
him that it's—<i>Hawley, the gambler</i>!"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p>
<p>Mrs. Spooner's voice sank to a frightened whisper.</p>
<p>"Dirk Hawley!" muttered Chub, staring at Matt.
"Sugar, what in tunket can the blackleg want with you?"</p>
<p>Matt was as much surprised as were Mrs. Spooner
and Chub. He did not even know the man, although he
had seen him many times, and had heard a good deal
about him that was not to his credit.</p>
<p>"I'm puzzled to know why he's coming to see me,"
muttered Matt, taking a look at the motor-car through
the window. "Have him walk up, Mrs. Spooner, and
I'll find out what he wants."</p>
<p>Chub hesitated a moment as though he would like to
stay for the interview, but finally he left, passing Hawley
on the stairs.</p>
<p>Dirk Hawley owned one of the largest gambling-dens
in Phœnix, and was reputed to be worth a mint of
money. He wore fierce diamonds, had a racing-stable
and cut a wide swath among the gambling fraternity.
He stepped blandly into Matt's room, and took his sizing
for a moment with keen, shifty eyes.</p>
<p>"You don't know me, I reckon," said he loudly, "but
it's dollars to doughnuts I ain't a stranger to you for
all that. Ask anybody and they'll tell you Dirk Hawley's
a good sport to tie to. Rise to that? Dirk Hawley
never goes back on his friends. I've come here to get
acquainted with you, King, and to make a friend of
you." He put out his hand. "Shake," he added.</p>
<p>"I don't care to shake," answered Matt. "We're not
traveling the same way, Mr. Hawley, and I don't know
what good it would do for us to get acquainted."</p>
<p>Hawley drew down the lid of his right eye and
chuckled.</p>
<p>"No? Well, there's nothing flatterin' about that, but
I like your frankness, hang me if I don't. Now, I'm
going to drop down in one of these nice easy chairs
and tell you just how much more I can do for you in a
day than Woolford could in a month."</p>
<p>Picking out the biggest chair, he sank into it; then,
extracting a gold-mounted cigar-case from his pocket, he
extended it toward Matt. Matt shook his head. Hawley
chuckled again, extracted a fat cigar and slowly
lighted it.</p>
<p>"I'm no hand for beating about the bush, King," he
proceeded, studying the lad as he talked; "when I know
what I want, I go right ahead and make my play,
straight from the shoulder. Ain't that right? Sure.
Now, I reckon you know I ain't one of these goody-goody
sports. Woolford plays the racing-game for the
game itself, but I play it for that—and for somethin' else.
If it was only the game that made a hit with me, I
wouldn't be ridin' around in a ten-thousand-dollar motor-car,
or makin' a pleasure out o' business, same as I do.
Understand? Who was it started Paddy Lee, the fastest
hundred-an'-twenty-yard man that ever come down the
cinder-path? Why, me. I discovered Paddy, and he's
over in England now, taking money away from the Britishers
hand over fist. Candy, just candy. Now, say,
mebby you ain't next, but I've been watchin' you ever
since you hit Phœnix. That's right. I've got an eye
for a likely youngster, and if you want a friend to push
you, for a part of the stakes you can pull down, why not
try me out? This is the first time I ever went at a man
like this—mostly, they come to me, an' are tickled to
death if I take any notice of 'em. But here I am, flat-footed,
askin' you to let me take your athletic future in
my hands and make you a world-beater. What do you
say?"</p>
<p>Matt was not expecting anything like this. For a moment
it took his breath. Misinterpreting the boy's silence,
Hawley fairly radiated genial confidence.</p>
<p>"Catchin' on, first clatter out of the box!" he murmured
admiringly. "Always knew you had a head on
you. And what good's a runner or a bicycle-racer without
a head? Tush! From the minute a chap is on his
mark till he comes in a winner, he has to use his brains
as well as his heels. Now, King, if you and I hook up,
it's a professional I'm going to make you; see? You'll
go in for big things and shake the biggest plum-tree.
My idees o' what's right and proper, though, have got
to govern. You're a young hand, while I cut my teeth
on a hand-book at the Sheepshead races. I become your
manager, right from the snap of the pistol, and I begin
by keepin' you out of small-fry contests. You can't race
in the Phœnix-Prescott meet. I'll just send you to a
friend o' mine up in Denver to put you in trainin' for
a big bicycle-race at the Coliseum in Chicago; an' jest
to ease up your feelin's for scratchin' your entry in the
Phœnix-Prescott side-show, I tucks five hundred of the
long green in your little hand and sends you north to-morrow.
What say?"</p>
<p>Matt was "stumped." The longer Hawley talked the
more astounded Matt became. Just what Hawley wanted
to do with him the boy did not know, but he gleaned
enough to understand that he'd have to turn his back
on a whole bunch of cherished "principles" if he fell in
with the gambler's desires.</p>
<p>"I guess you've got into the wrong pew, Mr. Hawley,"
remarked Matt. "I haven't any desire to help you
shake plum-trees, and if I ever went into racing for a
business you're the last man I'd pick out to see me
through."</p>
<p>"Ain't my money as good as anybody else's?" flared
Hawley, losing some of his amiability.</p>
<p>"I'm not talking about money. What I want to say is
that you and I can't hitch up worth a cent."</p>
<p>"That's how you stack up, is it?" returned Hawley.
"Well, look here"—he drew a roll of bills out of his
pocket—"there's five hundred in that roll and it's all
yours if you go to Denver to-morrow and stay there for
a month."</p>
<p>Matt had a thought just then that touched him like
a live wire.</p>
<p>"You're trying to keep me out of that Phœnix-Prescott
contest, Mr. Hawley," said he, with a square look
into the gambler's eyes. "What sort of an ax have
you got to grind, anyhow?"</p>
<p>Dirk Hawley got up, shoved the roll of bills into his
pocket, and moved to the door.</p>
<p>"You're too wise for your own good, my bantam," he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span>
sneered. "Perry pretty near hits it off in what he tells
me about you. If you think you're going to ride in that
bicycle-race you've got another guess coming. Just paste
that in your little hat and keep your eye on it."</p>
<p>Then, with an angry splutter, Dirk Hawley let himself
out of the room and slammed the door. A few moments
later Matt heard his big motor-car puffing away
from the curb.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X.</a></h2>
<p class="chaptitle">A CHALLENGE.</p>
<p>For several days Matt pondered over that queer talk
he had had with Dirk Hawley. All he could make out
of it only left him more mystified than ever. It seemed
certain that Hawley had mentioned putting Matt into
training for big racing-events merely as a ruse to get him
to Denver. The gambler wanted to keep him out of the
Phœnix-Prescott race, and was willing to spend $500
in order to do so. But what was his reason?</p>
<p>Even though Dirk Hawley had plenty of money he
would not let go of $500 unless he expected to get
value-received for it. There was a possibility that, as a
friend of Dace Perry's, Hawley wanted to get Matt out
of the race in order to give Perry a show. However,
Perry would hardly spend $500 in order to win a $250
motor-cycle; and certainly the gambler would not put
up the money for him. It all looked very dark and very
mysterious to Matt.</p>
<p>The gambler's threat did not bother him in the least;
and he was so self-reliant that he did not take the matter
of Hawley's visit to the major. Had he, at that time,
the remotest inkling of what Hawley's real purpose was,
he would have acted differently and told the major everything.
But when this knowledge came to Matt, events
happened which made it impossible for him to go to
Major Woolford and lay bare the gambler's scheme.</p>
<p>Although Perry had beaten O'Day, the Prescott rider,
in the bicycle-race the year before, and Matt knew very
well he could beat Perry, yet Matt was taking no chances.
O'Day was working hard and, it was said, had developed
phenomenal speed. In order to make assurance doubly
sure, Matt went into active training at once. The major
furnished him a good racing-wheel, and morning and
evening he was out with it.</p>
<p>A youngster named Penny, who was in his first year
at the high school, had a one-cylinder motor-cycle, and
Matt got him to act as pace-maker. Every afternoon
Penny and Matt were at the track. For his morning
spin, Matt went out alone.</p>
<p>Perry, also, was taking hold of the practise-work in
vigorous style. He was out as much as Matt was, and
often Matt saw Hawley's motor-car setting the pace for
him.</p>
<p>Perry did some remarkable stunts in the wake of that
six-cylinder machine. Results were more spectacular
than valuable, however. With the body of a big touring-car
to split the air and act as a wind-break, it would
have been strange if Perry had not made a good showing.</p>
<p>For his training Matt dug out of his trunk the leather
cap, coat and leggings for which he had had no use
since leaving the motor-factory in Albany. This cumbersome
clothing hampered him somewhat, but he knew
that if he could do well in that he would be able to work
much better when stripped for the contest with O'Day.</p>
<p>"Perry has taken to practise just as though he was to
be the big high boy in that bicycle-race," remarked Chub.
"He was only second choice, and what's he working so
hard for when he knows you're going to hold down the
Phœnix end against O'Day?"</p>
<p>"Probably he wants to be fit for the race of his life
in case anything happens to me," said Matt.</p>
<p>"Well, you take care that nothing happens to you,
Matt," cautioned Chub.</p>
<p>During all this time Matt saw very little of Clipperton.
Whenever they met, which they were bound to do occasionally,
Clipperton threw back his shoulders and scowled
blackly. Ratty Spangler, Tubbits Drake and a few
more of Perry's friends not only kept their hostile attitude
toward Matt, but influenced some of the other students
to come over to their side. But Matt was not
lacking for friends. Splinters formed himself into a
committee of one and passed around a true version of the
affair by the canal. Splinters, of course, knew nothing
about the matter of the rock, but he knew enough to turn
the best boys in the school against Perry.</p>
<p>The Prescott Athletic Club, with several hundred Prescott
rooters, was to come to Phœnix by special train on
Saturday forenoon. On the afternoon of Friday, the
day preceding the "big meet"—as all loyal Phœnix and
Prescott people called the athletic event—Matt got back
from the track to find a letter waiting for him on the
table in his room.</p>
<p>Mrs. Spooner explained that she had found the missive
pushed under the front door, and hadn't the least
idea who had left it. Matt stared when he opened the
letter and began to read. It was from Tom Clipperton,
and was very much to the point.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>"<span class="smcap">Matt King</span>: You think you're a better man than I
am. I'll give you another guess. We can settle our
differences in one way. Man to man. Come alone to the
place where you threw me into the canal. Make it 9
o'clock to-night. Either I'll give you the worst thrashing
you ever had, or you'll give one to</p>
<p class="sig">
"<span class="smcap">Tom Clipperton</span>.<br />
</p>
<p>"P.S.—There's a moon."</p></blockquote>
<p>"It's a challenge," muttered Matt grimly. "I don't
want to fight the fellow—it will only make a bad matter
worse. I'll have to, though, unless I can talk with him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>
and tell him a few things he'll believe. Clip is not half
bad at heart, and if he'd only get rid of some of his
foolish notions, and stay away from Perry, he'd make a
mighty good chum."</p>
<p>Crumpling up the note, Matt threw it into a waste-basket.</p>
<p>"I'll have to give him a licking, though, if he won't
have it any other way," he added under his breath.</p>
<p>The McReady home was only a little way from the
place of meeting selected by Clipperton. It was about
half-past seven when Matt left Mrs. Spooner's, intending
to call on Chub, and leaving in time to meet Clipperton
on the bank of the canal at nine.</p>
<p>Chub and Susie were at home, but Welcome Perkins
was in town, taking his part in the general excitement
preceding what was to be a red-letter day in the annals
of Phœnix. Chub was in front of his wireless apparatus,
for the accommodation of which a corner of the kitchen
had been set apart. Flashes were coming brightly in
the spark-gap between the two brass balls of the home-made
apparatus.</p>
<p>Chub had begun his experiments in message-sending
with an ordinary telegraph-instrument, which he had
manufactured himself. One end of the wire had been
in the laboratory and the other in the kitchen. After
Susie had learned the code, and was able to operate the
key, Chub used to take fifteen minutes wiring his sister
for something which he could have gone after in almost
as many seconds.</p>
<p>Following the telegraph-instrument came experiments
in wireless work, in conjunction with an old telegraph-operator
who was watchman at the Bluebell Mine, twenty
miles away. Many weeks passed before Chub finally
got his materials together, and assembled the instruments
and erected the necessary wires at home and at the Bluebell.
Delray, the operator-watchman at the Bluebell,
helped Chub as much as he could at that end of the line,
and Matt was constantly called upon for advice as failure
succeeded failure. Now, for the first time since he
had begun operations, Chub was in extended communication
with Delray, and his delight as he worked the
key and the sparks flew between the terminals, was
scarcely to be measured.</p>
<p>"Bully!" cried Chub, as he sat back in his chair, "this
is the first time the Arizona ether has ever been stirred
up like Del and I are doing it now. I asked him if he
wasn't coming to the fun to-morrow afternoon. Let's
see if he got it."</p>
<p>Chub had hardly finished speaking before the sounder
began to click. Chub bent forward with an eager, satisfied
look on his face, and Susie stood with bowed head
reading the message as it came through.</p>
<p>"He can't come," said Chub; "says he'd give a good
deal to see Matt beat O'Day, but that there's no one to
relieve him, and he'll have to stay at the Bluebell. He's
the only man up there now, you know, Matt. To-morrow
night, about this time, I guess you'll be shooting along
on the <i>Comet</i>, eh?"</p>
<p>"I'm going to win that race, Chub," answered Matt,
with quiet confidence.</p>
<p>"Wish I was as sure of inventing a flying-machine as
I am that you're going to beat out O'Day."</p>
<p>"Is that what you're going to do next—invent a flying-machine?"
laughed Matt.</p>
<p>"Either that or build an automobile."</p>
<p>"Build an automobile," suggested Susie; "you won't
have so far to fall if anything gives out."</p>
<p>Just then Chub thought of something he wanted to
say to the Bluebell and jumped for the key. Matt talked
with Susie for a little while, but kept quiet about his expected
meeting with Clipperton. When he left, he proceeded
the length of the front walk and passed through
the gate, in order to give Susie, who was watching him,
the impression that he was going back to town. He
could turn back along the canal just below the bridge,
and so come to the place where Clipperton would be
waiting for him. On his way to the canal he most unexpectedly
ran into Welcome Perkins, who was burning
the air in the direction of home.</p>
<p>"Whoop!" cried Welcome fiercely, "it's a wonder ye
wouldn't look where ye're goin'—runnin' inter a one-legged
ole pirate like a cyclone. Where's yer eyes, anyway?
Think I ain't got nothin' else to do but——
Shade o' Gallopin' Dick! Why, if it ain't Matt King—jest
the very feller I wanted to see. There's the horriblest
thing a-goin' on, pard, ye most ever heard of! I
got so heathen mad I come purty nigh fallin' from grace,
drorin' ole Lucretia Borgia an' damagin' every one in
sight. Nobody knows what a rip-roarin' ole fury I am
when I cut loose, or——"</p>
<p>"What's on your mind, Welcome?" said Matt, trying
to pin the old man down to more facts and less language.</p>
<p>"That's what I'm a-tellin' ye," fluttered Welcome.
"Rushed around to Mrs. Spooner's—fine ole lady, Mrs.
Spooner, but she's scart of me. Soon's she saw who it
was a-rappin' on the door she screams frightful, an'
wouldn't talk with me till I'd got off the porch." Welcome
sniffed plaintively. "That's what a blood-curdlin'
past'll do fer a man. Don't you never turn into a hootin',
tootin' road-agent, Matt, or——"</p>
<p>"I'll turn into something worse than that," broke in
Matt, "if you don't tell me what you're trying to. Now,
then, make another start."</p>
<p>"Mrs. Spooner she says you ain't there, an' I reckons
ye've gone to see Chub," went on Welcome, "so off I
comes this way. Whisper," he sputtered in Matt's ear,
excitedly, and drew him close to the fence at the roadside.
"This is so tur'ble it won't bear tellin' above yer
breath."</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.</a></h2>
<p class="chaptitle">FOUL PLAY.</p>
<p>"I don't b'leeve in gamblin'," whispered Welcome, "an'
bettin' is next door to knockin' a human down an' goin'
through his pockets; but that's what Dirk Hawley is
doin'—bettin' right an' left two to one, three to one, any
odds he can git, that"—and here Welcome grabbed
Matt's arm in a convulsive grip and brought his face
close to Matt's—"O'Day'll win that race to-morrer!
Ain't that scandalous? An' him a Phœnix man!"</p>
<p>"Of course Hawley will bet," said Matt, "that's his
business. I don't believe in it, and I know Major Woolworth
don't, but you can't keep it from figuring in
athletic contests like those to-morrow. The major plays
the game for the game itself, while Hawley plays it for
what he can get out of it."</p>
<p>"That ain't all," breathed Welcome. "If Hawley was
bound to bet I thought he ort to be bettin' on the best
man—which is you. My, my, but I got in a twitter over
the way Hawley was actin', an' I a'most hate to tell ye
how I cut loose, Matt."</p>
<p>"Tell it, Welcome," urged Matt; "I'll try not to be
shocked."</p>
<p>"Well," and the old man gulped on the words as
though they came hard, "I met that Spangler boy on
the dark street alongside Hawley's place an'—an'—well,
I was so chuck full o' that ole pirate feelin' I jest pulled
Lucretia Borgia, pushed 'er in his face, an' axed him
real cross what Hawley was doin', an' why. The Spangler
boy gits the shakes right off, an' his teeth chatters as
he unloads the news. Perry is bettin' on O'Day himself,
an' Hawley has fixed it so's you won't race, Matt, an'
Perry's agreed to throw the race. That's what the
Spangler boy told me, an' he got down on his knees
an' begged me not to let Hawley or Perry know where
I got the infermation. What d'ye think o' that?"</p>
<p>Matt was startled. He might easily have inferred that
Welcome was making a mountain out of a mole-hill, as
he was too apt to do, but for the fact that there was
evidence to support Welcome's story.</p>
<p>Hawley had tried to get Matt out of town so he would
not take part in the race. This, of course, was to throw
the Phœnix chances of winning into Perry's hands, and
thus make sure that O'Day would win. Perry's training
had been only a "bluff" in order to make Phœnix people
believe that he was preparing to do his best in case he
had the opportunity to race with O'Day.</p>
<p>The whole contemptible plot drifted through Matt's
brain. The one thing that puzzled him was how Hawley
had planned to keep him out of the race. Here it was
almost the eleventh hour and Hawley had not yet made
any move to keep Matt off the track—excepting, of
course, that offer of a $500 bribe.</p>
<p>"Somethin' has got to be did!" declared Welcome in
an explosive whisper. "It's up to you, pard."</p>
<p>"Look here, Welcome," said Matt earnestly, "you leave
this whole thing to me, and don't breathe a whisper of
what you have found out to any one, not even to Chub.
I'll do everything that's necessary."</p>
<p>"But, say——"</p>
<p>"Not a word. Go on into the house, calm your turbulent
spirit and let me handle the difficulty. I'm going to
some place now, and can't stop here any longer. Mum
it is, mind!" and Matt hurried on to the canal.</p>
<p>Just below the bridge he waited until he heard the
<i>pat</i>, <i>pat</i> of Welcome's wooden pin on the McReady
front walk, then he turned to the left, vaulted over a
fence and started along the canal through the cottonwood-trees.</p>
<p>Suddenly he paused, an idea plunging lightninglike
through his brain. Was that letter of Tom Clipperton's
merely a lure? Had Clipperton written it for the purpose
of getting him into the hands of a gang of roughs
who would so handle him that he would be a candidate
for the hospital rather than the track on the following
day?</p>
<p>Standing there on the canal-bank, with the moonlight
sifting through the cottonwood branches in silver patches,
Matt King did some hard thinking.</p>
<p>He had always entertained a certain amount of respect
for Tom Clipperton. He believed that Clipperton was
square, and that there were some things he would not do
even while under the influence of Dace Perry—and this
in spite of what had happened at the try-out.</p>
<p>Matt would have welcomed the chance to make Clipperton
his friend, for he believed there was more real
manhood in the quarter-blood than in Perry and all the
rest of his followers put together. The question with
Matt now was, should he carry his trust in Clipperton
to the limit, and go on to the appointed place where he
expected to find him alone?</p>
<p>Matt King was absolutely fearless. Whenever he believed
in a thing he always had the courage of his convictions.
It was so now. Having reached a decision, he
continued on through the moonlight. As he stepped into
the small open space where the clash had occurred two
weeks before, a form untangled itself from the shadow
of the trees and came toward him. It was Clipperton.</p>
<p>"You've come," said Clipperton, in a voice of satisfaction.
"I didn't know whether you would or not.
Thought you mightn't have the nerve. Throw off your
coat."</p>
<p>"Don't be in a rush, Clipperton," answered Matt. "I'm
going to give you all the satisfaction you want before we
leave here, but I'd like to talk a little before we get busy."</p>
<p>"What's the good of talk? Either you're going to get
a good licking or I am. Let's see which."</p>
<p>"We'll see which in about two minutes. When we
faced each other in this place nearly two weeks ago, you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span>
came here with Perry. I told all of you why Perry
came——"</p>
<p>"Perry told us, too. I'm taking Perry's word, not
yours."</p>
<p>"Of course," said Matt dryly. "Perry stands pretty
high with you now, but there's going to be a change.
You must know, Clipperton, that I have faith in you or
I wouldn't be here to-night. It would be easy for you
to have a gang in ambush and beat me up so I wouldn't
be able to leave my bed for a week——"</p>
<p>A snarl rushed from Clipperton's lips. "If you think
I'm enough of an Indian to do that——"</p>
<p>"I don't."</p>
<p>"Didn't I trust you, too? You could have brought
McReady along. Are you going to strip?" There was
angry impatience in Clipperton's voice.</p>
<p>"There was a mistake about that rock," Matt went on
coolly. "It wasn't thrown at you, but at Perry."</p>
<p>"Perry says different. That you threw it at me."</p>
<p>"Perry is careless with the truth. Before we begin,
let me give you your rabbit's foot. If you ever needed
it, you're going to need it now."</p>
<p>Matt held out his hand. Clipperton said something
and recoiled a step; then, slowly, he advanced and took
the luck-bringer from Matt's fingers.</p>
<p>"Where'd you get this?" asked Clipperton.</p>
<p>"It was found under the grand stand where you
dropped it when you fired at my wheel."</p>
<p>Clipperton was silent, standing rigid and erect in the
moonlight. There was a queer gleam in his eyes as he
fixed them on Matt.</p>
<p>"How many have you told that to?" he demanded.</p>
<p>"Not one. If I had, you wouldn't be in that mile run
to-morrow."</p>
<p>As Matt finished speaking Clipperton leaped forward
abruptly. "Look out!" he called.</p>
<p>Thinking Clipperton was going to attack him, Matt
squared away and put up his hands. At that moment
he was seized from behind and hurled to the ground.</p>
<p>"Stand off!" he heard Clipperton yell furiously. "He's
here to fight me! What does this——"</p>
<p>"Shut up, you fool!" threatened a voice, and was followed
by a rush of feet in Clipperton's direction.</p>
<p>Matt was struggling with all his might, but there were
four boys crushing him down and strangling him to prevent
outcry. Who the boys were he could not see, as
there were handkerchief masks over their faces.</p>
<p>"Quick!" muttered a voice. "Where's that rope?"</p>
<p>Matt was turned roughly on his face, several hands
fumbling at his wrists and ankles and at least one pressing
a cloth, soaked with some drug, to his nostrils.</p>
<p>Presently, as in a dream, he felt himself lifted and
borne hurriedly away. His senses were rapidly leaving
him, and he had no idea as to what direction he was being
taken. There was a mumble of voices in his ears
and sounds of stumbling feet. Presently he was lifted
and crumpled into a cushioned seat. A <i>chug chug</i> of a
starting engine came faintly to his ears, and he felt a
swift forward movement of the seat on which he was
lying. The cloth was still covering his face and stifling
him. Then, a moment more, everything became a blank.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.</a></h2>
<p class="chaptitle">COOL VILLAINY.</p>
<p>It was several hours before Matt regained consciousness.
His first tangible feeling was one of nausea. Opening
his eyes, he found himself in a bare little room,
lighted by a candle planted in its own drippings on the
hard earth floor.</p>
<p>Matt's hands and feet were tied, and his limbs felt
terribly numb and cramped. As his wits slowly returned,
he began to note his surroundings more in detail.</p>
<p>The walls of the room were of adobe clay, but they
had caved in in several places and parts of the thatched
roof had fallen to the floor. The litter of clay and tule
thatching had been brushed aside to leave the center of
the room clear.</p>
<p>On the floor near Matt lay his leather cap. Close to
the sputtering candle, squatting tailor-fashion, a doubled
elbow on one of his knees and a black pipe in his fingers,
was a resolute-looking man in cowboy clothes. Alongside
of him lay a broad-brimmed hat and a coiled riata.</p>
<p>"Where am I?" called Matt.</p>
<p>The man turned his grizzled face in Matt's direction.</p>
<p>"Oh, ho!" he chuckled. "Come back ter earth, have
ye? I was allowin' it ort ter be time. Whar be ye?
Why, ye're in a desarted Mexican <i>jacal</i> in the foot-hills
o' the Phœnix Mountains, about twenty miles from the
capital of Arizony Territory. Anythin' else ye're pinin'
ter know?"</p>
<p>"Who brought me here?" demanded Matt.</p>
<p>"You was brought in one o' them hossless kerriges,
bub. That was a hull lot o' style, now, wasn't it? I've
heern tell that lots o' people pays five dollars an hour ter
ride in them benzine buggies, but you got yer ride fer
nothin'. Ain't ye pleased?"</p>
<p>"This is no time for foolishness," said Matt. "I was
dragged away from Phœnix against my will, and the
best thing you can do is to take these ropes off me and
let me go."</p>
<p>"The best thing fer you, mebby, but not exactly the
best thing fer myself, not hardly. Jest lay thar an' be as
comfortable as ye can, bub. We'll git along fine if ye're
only peaceable. I'm goin' ter let ye go, bumby."</p>
<p>"By and by? When will that be?"</p>
<p>"After them races are over in Phœnix."</p>
<p>Matt's freshly awakened brain was just beginning to
get a grasp of the situation.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p>
<p>"This is Hawley's doing!" he cried. "He had me captured,
there on the bank of the canal, and brought out
here in his machine! This is his scoundrelly way for
keeping me out of that bicycle-race. Who are you?"
Matt asked angrily.</p>
<p>"Me?" grinned the cowboy; "oh, don't worry none
about that. I'm only jest the feller that helps. Roll over
an' go ter sleep. I'll sit up an' see that nothin' comes in
ter pester ye."</p>
<p>"There's a way to take care of people like you and
Hawley," threatened Matt. "If you want to save yourself
trouble, you'll release me."</p>
<p>"Waal, I don't figger it jest that way, bub," drawled
the cowboy. "To let ye go afore Saturday night would
be a mighty short cut ter trouble fer yours truly."</p>
<p>"But I'm to ride in that bicycle-race to-morrow!"</p>
<p>"Ter-day, bub, not ter-morrer. That bicycle-race is
ter-day, since it's some little past midnight. We passed
the fag-end o' Friday clost ter an hour ago. Yep, I understood
ye was goin' ter race with O'Day at four o'clock
p. m. But ye've changed yer mind about that."</p>
<p>"I haven't changed my mind," answered Matt desperately.</p>
<p>"Then somebody else changed yer mind fer ye, which
don't make a particle o' difference, seein' as how ye can't
help yerself. Good night, bub. I'll jest set here an'
smoke an' doze an' make shore that nothin' don't happen.
The man as got me ter do this was powerful pertickler
about that."</p>
<p>There was nothing to be gained by talking with the
fellow—Matt was not slow in making up his mind to
that. The terrible pains he had felt when he had first
opened his eyes were leaving him slowly, and this afforded
him some comfort. Turning a little in order to
make his position more easy, he closed his eyes and fell
to thinking.</p>
<p>When he went to that place on the canal to meet Clipperton
he had walked into a trap—but it was not a trap
of Clipperton's setting. Hawley—and Perry, perhaps—had,
as usual, used Clipperton as a tool. Matt was
positive of this from the way Clipperton had acted when
the trap was sprung. There were things about that challenge
of Clipperton's which he did not understand, and
probably never would understand until some one of his
enemies explained the matter to him.</p>
<p>But, with the passing of recent events, fresh light was
thrown upon the story told by Welcome Perkins. If
Matt could not get back to Phœnix before 4 o'clock, Saturday
afternoon, Perry would ride against O'Day—and
Major Woolford's club would lose the bicycle-race. Incidentally,
Hawley's scheming would enable him to win
a lot of money.</p>
<p>The betting part of Hawley's schemes Matt cared little
about. What he did worry over was Major Woolford's
disappointment, and the fact that the <i>Comet</i> would
go to O'Day—and go to him unfairly. Besides, Matt had
set his heart on having the <i>Comet</i> for his own, and all his
future plans clustered about his ownership of that splendid
machine. He must get away, he <i>must</i>! By hook or
crook he was in duty bound to get back to Phœnix in
time for the bicycle-race, and to confront Hawley and
Perry and foil their villainous plans. But how was he
to escape?</p>
<p>Carefully he began tugging at the ropes about his
wrists. They were discouragingly tight, and he soon
discovered that he could do nothing with them. While
he was racking his brain in an endeavor to think of
something that would serve his turn, the craving of his
tired body for rest and sleep gradually overcame him
and his thoughts faded into slumber.</p>
<p>When he opened his eyes again it was broad day. The
sun must have been two or three hours high, for its
beams were shining in through an opening in the eastern
wall that had once served as a window.</p>
<p>"Mornin', bub," drawled the voice of the cowboy.
"Had a fine snooze, didn't ye? An' ye jest woke up in
time fer grub. I've had my snack, an' I kin give my hull
attention ter passin' ye yours."</p>
<p>The cowboy began fishing some crackers and cheese
out of a paper bag.</p>
<p>"Can't you take the ropes off my hands while I eat?"
asked Matt.</p>
<p>"Waal, I'd like ter, mighty well, seein' as how I'm
the most obligin' feller by natur' you most ever set eyes
on, but I give my promise that I wouldn't take them
ropes off'n yer hands until sundown. 'Course ye wouldn't
have a feller go back on his word, would ye?"</p>
<p>There was no satisfaction to be got out of the fellow,
and Matt was obliged to wriggle to a sitting posture and
have his jailer feed him. From time to time the cowboy
would press a canteen of water to his lips.</p>
<p>Matt had a good appetite and he ate heartily, feeling
that if he found a chance at attempting anything he could
not do his best on an empty stomach.</p>
<p>"Thar ain't much variety to this here grub," apologized
the cowboy, "but thar's plenty of it an' it does me proud
ter see ye eat so hearty. I'm twicet as glad ter see ye
chipper as I would be ter see ye down in the mouth."</p>
<p>"I try to be a good loser," said Matt.</p>
<p>"That's you! Bicycle-races ain't all thar is in this
world."</p>
<p>"What time is it?"</p>
<p>"I ain't got no watch, but I kin figger purty clost by
the sun." Stepping to the doorway the cowboy cast a
critical glance at the cabin's shadow. "Half-past eleven,
bub," he went on, turning back into the room, "is what
I make it."</p>
<p>A thrill of dismay passed through Matt's nerves. Half-past
eleven and the bicycle-race, the last event on the list,
was to be at four o'clock! Only four hours and a half!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>
And there was Matt, a prisoner, and twenty miles from
Phœnix!</p>
<p>"You seem to be a pretty good fellow," said Matt
eagerly, "and why is it you can help Hawley in this cool
villainy of his? That bicycle-race means a lot to me!
I don't know how much Hawley is paying you to keep
me here, but if you will let me go, and give me a few
weeks to pay it, I will double the money."</p>
<p>The cowboy shook his head. "I'm some pecooliar,
thataway," he observed. "When I give my word I'll do
a thing, you can bank on it I'm right thar with the
goods. Now, if ye had a million, which it ain't in reason
a boy yore age would have, an' if ye offered me half of it,
I'd shore spurn yer money. When I hire out I goes ter
the highest bidder, an' I sticks thar like a wood-tick ter
a yaller dog. Sorry, bub, but that's the way I stack up."</p>
<p>There was no beating down the cowboy's resistance.
He was there to do the work Hawley had paid him for,
and nothing could swerve him from what he believed to
be his duty.</p>
<p>Apparently not caring to have any further conversation
with Matt, the cowboy began walking back and forth in
the room, whistling to himself and now and then humming
a snatch of song. Finally he sat down, picked up
his coiled riata and began braiding the brushy end of
the rope and overlaying it with twine.</p>
<p>The minutes passed. For a time Matt tried to count
them, his heart all the while growing heavier and heavier.
This was a time when it was hard indeed to be a "good
loser."</p>
<p>There was a tremendous rivalry between the two athletic
clubs—a rivalry in which the separate towns that
claimed them took active part. In the contests the year
before the Prescott club had got the better of the Phœnix
club in the matter of points. Phœnix had won the one-mile
dash, the broad jump, the bicycle-race and the hammer-throw,
but Prescott had cleaned up all the other
events. Matt knew how eager the major was to have
Phœnix get the better of the rival town, and the loss of
the bicycle-race, which counted high in the final summing-up,
might turn the scale in favor of Prescott.</p>
<p>In his mind, as he lay helpless there on the floor of
that abandoned <i>jacal</i>, the boy pictured the throngs of
people moving along Washington Street toward the park.
He heard the horns, the megaphones, the band, and he
saw the white and blue of Phœnix High waving defiance
to the red and white of Prescott High. Above everything
came the school yells, and he stifled the groan that
rose to his lips. He ought to be there, and he was twenty
miles away! Yes, it <i>was</i> hard to be a good loser.</p>
<p>The cowboy must have divined something of what was
going on in Matt's mind, for, as he laid aside his repaired
riata and got up, he looked toward Matt.</p>
<p>"I'm sorry, bub, honest," said he, "but thar ain't a
pesky thing I kin do except watch ye till sundown. Why,
I ain't even got a hoss here. It's clost to two o'clock,
now, an' if ye was loose ye couldn't git ter Phœnix in
time fer that bicycle-race."</p>
<p>Matt made no reply. He could not trust himself to
speak. The cowboy picked up the water-canteen and tried
to drink, but the canteen was empty.</p>
<p>"I'm goin' ter the spring, bub," he remarked, starting
for the door. "It ain't fur, an' I'll be back in a few
minits. I'm dryer'n the desert o' Sahary, an' I reckon
you wouldn't mind havin' a drink neither."</p>
<p>With that he left the room and vanished around the
wall of the hut. Matt could hear his thin-soled, high-heeled
boots crunching the sand as he moved away.</p>
<p>It was then that something happened which fairly took
Matt's breath. A face appeared in the door—a swarthy
face set sharply in lines that suggested a fierce strain
and failing strength. Two gleaming black eyes looked
in at the boy on the floor. The next moment a dusty
form staggered into the room, reeled across the floor to
Matt and went down on its knees.</p>
<p>"Clipperton!" whispered Matt, scarcely knowing
whether he was awake or dreaming.</p>
<p>Without a word Clipperton began cutting at the ropes
with a jack-knife. Slash, slash. It was quickly done, the
severed coils falling from Matt's wrists and ankles.</p>
<p>"Come!" breathed Clipperton huskily. "Time is short.
The man will be back."</p>
<p>Matt was groggy on his feet. Clipperton, none too
steady himself, contrived to support him to the door.
Once outside they started hurriedly across the bare hills,
Matt speechless with the wonder of it all.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII.</a></h2>
<p class="chaptitle">THE BLUEBELL.</p>
<p>The two boys got out of sight in a swale before the
cowboy returned from the spring. Looking back, just
before they dropped from view of the <i>jacal</i>, they were
unable to see anything of the man.</p>
<p>Taking Matt's arm, Clipperton drew him along the
swale, then over the western bank of it and into a shallow
valley between two low hills.</p>
<p>"It's nearly two o'clock," Clipperton was muttering.
"Twenty miles—four o'clock. We'll get a horse at the
Bluebell. You can make it if you <i>ride</i>."</p>
<p>"Where did you come from, Clipperton?" asked Matt.</p>
<p>"Phœnix."</p>
<p>"How did you come?"</p>
<p>"On foot. Didn't dare look for a horse. Afraid they'd
find out and stop me."</p>
<p>Matt halted and laid a hand on Clipperton's arm.</p>
<p>"Did you come out here, all the way from Phœnix, on
foot, to help me?" he asked quietly.</p>
<p>"Why not?" flamed Clipperton. "I got you into the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span>
trouble. I was afraid you might think I knew what
Perry and the rest were doing. I didn't. It was a put-up
job, but I didn't know until too late. I—I could kill
Perry! He told me to write that letter. Said he'd keep
his hands off and stay away. You saw how he did it."</p>
<p>Swirling hate poured out with the words. Clipperton
was breathing hard and talked in husky gasps.</p>
<p>"You were to do that mile race at two o'clock," said
Matt.</p>
<p>"I did a twenty-mile race; somewhat earlier."</p>
<p>"Why, that race was as good as a hundred dollars to
you!"</p>
<p>"If I win this it'll please me more."</p>
<p>"You've won it, Clip," said Matt, in a low tone.
"You've got me away from that hut."</p>
<p>"I haven't won it!" cried Clipperton. "It's won when
you face the starter on your wheel and cut out Perry.
The coyote!"</p>
<p>"You've found out about Perry?"</p>
<p>Clipperton muttered something in a savage undertone.
Matt put out his hand and Clipperton clasped it quickly.</p>
<p>"I guess we understand each other, Clip," said Matt.
"How far away is the Bluebell?"</p>
<p>"At the end of this valley. Hurry. You've <i>got</i> to get
to Phœnix in time."</p>
<p>"I don't see how I can, even with a horse."</p>
<p>"You can. You <i>must</i>!"</p>
<p>They made their way down the valley as fast as they
could, Matt's benumbed limbs slowly regaining their
strength, and Clipperton keeping up by sheer force of
will. From time to time they gazed behind them, but
they could see nothing of the cowboy. If he was looking
for them he was evidently searching in the wrong direction.</p>
<p>"How did you find out where I had been taken, Clip?"
queried Matt.</p>
<p>"Tubbits Drake knew," replied Clipperton. "I went
to him early this morning. I made him tell me. Then
I started. It was a long twenty miles. I had to wait
at the hut until the man went away. If he hadn't gone
when he did he would have had to fight. Perry, Drake,
Spangler and three men furnished by Hawley captured
you. They were hiding by the canal all the time, Hawley's
motor-car brought you out here. Hawley wasn't
with it. He sent his driver. I was a fool. But I know
a few things <i>now</i>."</p>
<p>By the time Clipperton had finished, he and Matt had
come to the end of the valley. Rounding the base of
one of the hills an ore-dump broke into view, surmounted
by a derrick. From the top of the derrick swung one
of the aerial wires of Chub's wireless telegraph-line.</p>
<p>A few yards from the foot of the derrick was a small
house. A man in his shirt-sleeves sat tilted back in a
chair in the shade. He was watching the two boys curiously
as they hastened toward him.</p>
<p>"Hello, neighbors!" he called, when they had come
close. "Kind of queer to see a couple of lads loose in
these hills on foot. What are you—— Jumping Jerushy!"
the man suddenly exclaimed. "If it ain't Matt
King! Why, I thought——"</p>
<p>"I know what you thought, Delray," said Matt hurriedly.
"I was abducted from Phœnix last night in order
to keep me out of the race. I was being held a prisoner——"</p>
<p>"At Pedro Garcia's old <i>jacal</i>," interpolated Clipperton.</p>
<p>"And Clip, here, got me away," went on Matt. "I
have to get to Phœnix by four o'clock."</p>
<p>Delray whistled. "Mebby you could do it if you had
wings, Matt," said he. "Why, it's nearly two o'clock, and
there's twenty long miles between here and Phœnix.
That's a deuce of a note. Abducted by Hawley! Thunder!
What did he do that for?"</p>
<p>"Let him take your horse," cried Clipperton, sinking
down in the shade. "He can make it!"</p>
<p>"Horse?" echoed Delray. "I haven't got a horse.
There isn't a horse this side of the Arizona Canal, eight
miles away. Give it up, Matt. There'll be bicycle-races
after you're dead and gone."</p>
<p>A half-stifled groan broke from Clipperton's lips. Matt
and Delray, looking toward him, saw that he had his face
in his hands.</p>
<p>"What's the matter with him, Matt?" asked Delray.</p>
<p>"I've lost the race for King," said Clipperton, lifting his
haggard face. "I did it! But I got to him as quick as I
could. Perry—I—I——" The words died huskily away
on Clipperton's lips and he finished by shaking his fist
menacingly in the direction of Phœnix.</p>
<p>Matt walked over to Clipperton.</p>
<p>"You didn't lose the race for me, Clip," said he, "and
I want you to understand that here and now. You were
no more to blame for it than the man in the moon. I
ought to have——"</p>
<p>Matt halted abruptly. In front of him was the derrick,
the lightning-rod point of Chub's aerial wire glistening in
the sun. He whirled and jumped like a madman for
Delray.</p>
<p>"Great Cæsar's ghost!" cried Delray, "have you gone
dippy, Matt?"</p>
<p>"Is that wireless apparatus working?" shouted Matt.</p>
<p>"It was, last night."</p>
<p>"If it's working now," went on Matt excitedly, "maybe
I can put this trick through yet. Get at your key, Delray!
Try and get Chub."</p>
<p>"What the blazes——" Delray stared. "Say, Matt, do
you think I can send you through to Phœnix by wireless?"</p>
<p>"Get Chub!" yelled Matt. "Don't stand there like a
stick, Delray. Get Chub, I tell you! I'll tell you what
to say when you get him. There's a chance, a <i>chance</i>!"</p>
<p>While the dazed Delray went into the house and sat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span>
down at his sending-key, Matt hovered frantically around
him. The minute Delray touched the key the Hertzian
waves got busy, crackling and flashing between the two
polished balls of the terminals.</p>
<p>"I don't know why you think I can get anybody in
Phœnix this afternoon, Matt," complained Delray. "The
whole town must have emptied itself into the park. It's
a safe guess, anyhow, that Chub will be there."</p>
<p>Matt's heart went down into his shoes. He hadn't
thought of that. Of course, Chub would be at the track!
Chub was there to see Matt win the motor-cycle! Oh,
the irony of fate!</p>
<p>Clipperton thrust his drawn face in at the door. His
eyes glowed with a hope which was past his understanding.</p>
<p>Delray rattled the key and the flashes quivered back
and forth between the balls, jumped off the lightning-rod
tip at the top of the derrick and darted in every direction
with the swiftness of thought.</p>
<p>Suddenly the sounder began to click. "What's this,
what's this?" mumbled Delray, bending over the relay instrument
and listening intently. Scarcely breathing, Matt
and Clipperton kept their eyes on Delray's face. "Why,
it's Susie McReady!" exclaimed Delray. "Matt King is
missing—Chub and Perk at the park hunting for him—everybody
in town hunting—Susie came back to the house
to ask me to hunt—now, what do you think of that?
Talk about luck! But what good is it going to do?
That's what gets me."</p>
<p>"Tell Susie I'm here," said Matt; "tell her I was abducted
from Phœnix last night to keep me out of the
race; tell her to call up Major Woolford on the phone
at the park; tell her to have the major lay quick hands
on Ed Penny and send him along the Black Cañon road
on the <i>Comet</i> as fast as he can come; have Susie tell the
major to tell Penny that everything depends on the record
he makes between Phœnix and the Bluebell, and that
I'll walk along the Black Cañon road to meet him and
save a little time. Shoot 'er through! Hustle, old chap."</p>
<p>"Oh, tell, tell, tell!" groaned Delray. "Why, you're
talking like a house afire. Here goes."</p>
<p><i>Click</i>, <i>click</i>, <i>clickety-click</i>, sang the key, the crackle of
the spark keeping a merry accompaniment. Delray repeated
the message. As he was finishing, Matt started
for the door.</p>
<p>"Wait," called Delray, "here's an answer." The sounder
began to click and then stopped dead. "No, there
ain't," muttered Delray; "something's slipped a cog and
the home-made machine is out of commission. Anyhow,
Matt, she held together until we got your message
through. Go it, and good luck to you!"</p>
<p>Matt was already through the door and striking a bee-line
for the Black Cañon road, which ran past the derrick.
Clipperton had caught his second wind and was
following him.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV.</a></h2>
<p class="chaptitle">COMING OF THE "COMET."</p>
<p>Matt hardly dared hope for success. There was a
chance—perhaps one chance in a hundred—that everything
would work as it should, and Penny arrive along
the Black Cañon road with the <i>Comet</i> in time for Matt to
make such a run into Phœnix as was never heard of before.
But when Matt thought of the many things on
which success hinged, his heart stood still before the very
audacity of his thought of winning out.</p>
<p>In the first place, everything depended on the quickness
with which a number of intricate details were accomplished
in Phœnix—and all these were left in the
hands of a girl! True, Susie McReady was a girl in a
hundred, quick-witted, and able to hustle in a pinch, but
it was not to be supposed that she could do as well as
Chub would have done.</p>
<p>Then, Susie would have to take chances getting Major
Woolford on the phone. In the crowd at the park it
might be impossible to find the major for an hour—and
it was quite likely a loss of ten minutes would spell disaster.
But if Susie <i>could</i> get the major on the phone, Matt
knew that the energetic president of the Phœnix Club
would move heaven and earth to find Penny and start
him along the Black Cañon road.</p>
<p>The major, too, would delay the start of the bicycle-race
as long as he could. Prescott, however, if it saw a
chance to pull off the race without Matt, was allowed to
insist, under the rules governing the contests, that the
starter bring the racers to the mark on the dot.</p>
<p>As the difficulties before him piled steadily up under
Matt's mental view, he halted his pace, almost discouraged
by the outlook. Clipperton toiled up alongside of him.</p>
<p>"You shouldn't have tried to chase along with me,
Clip," said Matt. "You're pretty near all in, old man.
Jupiter! but you've made a record this day!"</p>
<p>"You can make a better one," panted Clipperton. "I
want you to make good. But how are you going to? Put
me next."</p>
<p>Matt explained about Chub's wireless line, about the
seven-horse-power motor-cycle which could do sixty-five
miles an hour on the high speed if a rider was reckless
enough and had the right kind of a road, and he finished
by giving the situation at the Phœnix end of the route.</p>
<p>Clipperton's eyes snapped and sparkled. He had been
born to champion forlorn hopes, and certainly this idea
of Matt's was desperate enough to make the biggest kind
of a hit with him.</p>
<p>"Great!" he muttered breathlessly. "If you win it will
be the biggest thing on record. Won by wireless, and a
jump of twenty miles on the <i>Comet</i>. Fine! Motor Matt,
Mile-a-minute Matt, King of the Wheel. Say, you're a
wonder."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p>
<p>"Not so you can notice it, Clip, not yet. Just now, all
I can do is to hope for the best."</p>
<p>For some time they continued on through the hills,
finally reaching a high part of the road which gave them
a view of a flat stretch of desert leading away to the
Arizona Canal.</p>
<p>There were several canals in Salt River Valley and
contiguous to Phœnix, all constructed for irrigation purposes.
It was the "Town Canal" that ran past the McReady
home, and between that and the Arizona Canal
there was still another of the artificial streams. The
Arizona Canal, however, formed the outpost of the waterways.</p>
<p>Pausing on the "rise," Matt and Clipperton peered
across the glimmering yellow sands. A fork in the road
lay below them.</p>
<p>"The branch goes to Pedro Garcia's old <i>jacal</i> and beyond,"
said Clip. "Look!" he added excitedly.</p>
<p>Matt followed Clip's extended finger with his eyes. Off
along the branch road, trudging slowly toward the main
trail, a distant form could be seen.</p>
<p>"The cowboy!" muttered Matt. At that distance he
could not identify the figure, but intuition told him who
it must be.</p>
<p>"Yes," returned Clipperton grimly. "He thinks we
started for Phœnix."</p>
<p>"What time is it now, Clip?"</p>
<p>"We're four miles from the Bluebell. It's taken us an
hour. So it must be nearly three."</p>
<p>"Sixteen miles from Phœnix and only a little more than
an hour left! I'm expecting too much, Clip. Susie has
had an hour to find the major and get Penny started this
way with the <i>Comet</i>. Somebody hasn't been able to make
good and I guess I'm let out."</p>
<p>"No!" shouted Clip. "What's that coming this way?
See!"</p>
<p>Clipperton pointed along the main road where it ran
in a light streak across the desert. A cloud of dust, more
like a column of smoke than anything else, was sweeping
toward the hills.</p>
<p>Matt held his breath as he gazed. The dust cloud
seemed fairly to jump at them; then, suddenly, the wind
whipped it aside, and brave Ed Penny, glorious old
Penny, could be seen crouching upon the saddle of the
<i>Comet</i>. He was shooting for the hills like a cannon-ball.</p>
<p>"Hurrah!" yelled Clipperton, jerking off his cap and
throwing it into the air. "Motor Matt is going to win!"</p>
<p>The <i>Comet</i> took the "rise" like a bird on the wing.
Penny, covered with dust and half-blinded, halted only
when he heard Matt's voice calling to him. Clip sprang
to support the machine while Penny got off.</p>
<p>"That you, King?" queried Penny, dizzy and staggering.</p>
<p>"Yes!" shouted Matt, gripping the brave fellow's hand.
"Bully boy, Penny! How's everything at the park?"</p>
<p>"Panic! Mile race lost because Clip wasn't there. All
Phœnix wild because King is missing. Major red-headed.
Jerked me out of the high-school bunch and snatched me
into town in his automobile; threw me onto the <i>Comet</i>
and offered me twenty-five dollars if I'd get the machine
to you inside of an hour, and fifty dollars if you got
to the park in time for the race. Jinks, but that machine
is a dandy!"</p>
<p>Matt and Clip were lifting the <i>Comet</i> around. Clip
held the machine while Matt rose to the saddle.</p>
<p>"Wait!" roared Penny; "don't start yet."</p>
<p>"Why not?" asked Matt.</p>
<p>"Hawley is coming! See that dust? Pull the <i>Comet</i>
out here beside the road and crouch down so we can't
be seen when the dust blows away. The driver of the
car may take the other road at the forks."</p>
<p>Here was startling news—news that might snatch success
out of Matt's hands just when the prospect of victory
seemed brightest.</p>
<p>Another dust cloud was coming. As the three boys
drew aside and crouched down the cloud dissipated slightly
and through it they could see Dirk Hawley's motor-car,
hitting nothing but high places and reaching for the
hills like a streak.</p>
<p>"He saw the major grab me and rush me away from
the park," explained Penny, referring to Hawley. "His
driver and another man were in the car besides himself.
They took after me. I led them by a quarter of a mile
at the bridge over the Arizona Canal. They stopped
there and the man in the tonneau with Hawley got out.
The whole bunch means trouble! What's Hawley got to
do with this, anyhow?"</p>
<p>"He's got a lot to do with it," muttered Matt, "but I
haven't time to explain now. Ah, look at the cowboy,
Clip!"</p>
<p>The cowboy, who was coming across fairly high
ground, could be seen waving his arms. Evidently he
saw the motor-car and recognized those who were in it.</p>
<p>"That does the trick!" whispered Clipperton excitedly.
"Hawley was coming along the Bluebell trail. The cowboy
is drawing them into the other road. Luck! That
will clear the way so you can get past on the <i>Comet</i>.
Wait until the car is close to the cowboy. Then make a
rush."</p>
<p>"For heaven's sake," begged Penny, "beat him in,
Matt! The <i>Comet</i> can do it."</p>
<p>"The <i>Comet</i> is going to do it," said Matt, between his
teeth.</p>
<p>All three of the boys watched while the motor-car flung
itself up the gentle slope toward the cowboy.</p>
<p>"Now!" said Clip, starting up and laying hold of the
<i>Comet</i>.</p>
<p>They trundled the machine back into the road and Matt
got into the saddle and laid hands on the grip-control.</p>
<p>"Ready?" cried Penny.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p>
<p>"Let her go!" answered Matt.</p>
<p>Penny and Clip gave him a shove. <i>Pop</i>, <i>pop</i>, <i>pop</i>,
snapped the motor, the explosions presently coming so
fast that they sounded like a dull roar. Off went the
exhaust, and Motor Matt slipped down the slope like a
brown streak, kicking the dust up behind him.</p>
<p>"He'll win, he'll win!" cried Clipperton. "The men in
the motor-car see him. The cowboy is getting into the
front seat alongside the driver. They can't head him!
Hurrah for Motor Matt!"</p>
<p>Hawley and those with him had seen the sliding streak
rushing down from the hill and making for the canal.
There was a scramble about the motor-car, a frantic
cranking-up and jumping start on the high-gear. But
it was plain to the two boys on the hill that Matt would
pass the forks of the road before the car and its passengers
could get there.</p>
<p>Penny danced around excitedly.</p>
<p>"Why did Hawley drop that man off at the bridge?"
he fumed. "That's what I can't understand. That man
at the bridge spells trouble with a big T. What's Hawley
butting into this game for, anyway?"</p>
<p>"He's been plunging on O'Day," answered Clip. "He
knows O'Day loses if Matt gets to the park in time. Of
course, he wants to stop him. Put two and two together,
Penny."</p>
<p>"That's right, Clip," explained Penny. "It's up to
Matt, now."</p>
<p>"Leave it to him. The game couldn't be in better
hands."</p>
<p>Then, with staring eyes, Clip and Penny watched the
two dust flurries. The cloud kicked up by the <i>Comet</i>
passed the forks of the road a full minute ahead of the
fog raised by the motor-car.</p>
<p>"Three groans for Hawley!" chortled Clip.</p>
<p>"But that man at the bridge," groaned Penny. "He
sure is worrying me."</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV.</a></h2>
<p class="chaptitle">THE FLIGHT OF THE "COMET."</p>
<p>Matt King was on his mettle. Phœnix was sixteen
miles away, and he had, as he figured it, forty minutes
to get there and make his way to the park. Could he
do it? He <i>could</i> and <span class="smcap">would</span>!</p>
<p>The presence of Hawley in his crack machine added
an element of danger, but Matt knew in his soul he could
slide away from the motor-car as a jack-rabbit slips clear
of a bounding greyhound.</p>
<p>He saw the dust-fog of the coming car as he whirled
past the forks of the road. It was jumping at him with
terrific speed, and he saw the chauffeur and the cowboy
in front of the big machine and Hawley in the tonneau,
standing and leaning over their heads in his excitement
and determination.</p>
<p>If Matt got clear, Dirk Hawley stood to lose a lot of
money; and to touch the gambler in his pocketbook was
to touch him in his tenderest spot.</p>
<p>Matt laughed as he rushed onward. He felt that the
race was his, barring accidents; and the <i>Comet</i> was brand-new,
and careful handling made accidents a remote possibility.</p>
<p>Seven horses were purring in the cylinders, whirling
the racing tires, and showing heels such as seven horses
never showed before. The steady murmur of the machine
filled Matt's heart with exultation. He was flying,
and the tires seemed scarcely to touch the ground they
covered. Cactus, rock, greasewood brush shot toward
him and were lost behind.</p>
<p>At the start he was four miles from the bridge over
the Arizona Canal; now the bridge lay before him at the
foot of a long slope with a slight curve at the end. In two
minutes he would be there!</p>
<p>As the dust was left behind, he saw a dim figure standing
by the bridge. Then he remembered what Penny had
said about Hawley dropping one of his passengers at
that point, and a sudden fear shot through Matt's nerves.
The man waved his hand, ducked downward and disappeared
under the canal. In the space of a breath, almost,
he reappeared and dashed back toward the roadside.
Then on Matt's startled ears there burst the dull <i>boom</i> of
an explosion. Under his eyes the bridge seemed to rise
up and drop back into the canal.</p>
<p>Matt slowed down, his heart in his throat and his nerves
in rags. Hawley had left that man behind to blow up the
bridge, well knowing that Matt could not pass the chasm
on his motor-cycle, and that the nearest bridge he could
reach was miles away.</p>
<p>The whirr of the car behind him grew loud and louder
in his ears, and above it came yells of triumph. Dazed
and feeling himself all but beaten, Matt nevertheless continued
on toward the wrecked bridge.</p>
<p>The next moment he saw something that aroused his
hopes. One stringer was left, spanning the gulf from
bank to bank—a square timber that offered possibilities,
albeit dangerous ones. A nail in the stringer would
mean a bursted tire! Even a sliver might cause damage
that would stop the <i>Comet's</i> flight. Gritting his teeth
Matt speeded up the machine, tore down the slope and
took the end of the timber at a bound.</p>
<p>The motor-car was close and he dared not look behind
him. Every faculty had to be centered upon that narrow,
dangerous path over which he was rushing at perilous
speed. He could not see what the cowboy was doing,
nor know how a scant forty feet of rope fell short, for
the cowboy, past master at throwing the lariat, had leaned
forward over the long bonnet and made a cast.</p>
<p>"A thousand dollars if you stop that boy!" Motor Matt
heard this yelled fiercely in Hawley's voice, and behind
him the noose fell short!</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p>
<p>If there were nails or slivers in that square timber, the
rubber tires missed them. Matt gained the opposite side
of the canal and sped up the bridge approach. The man
who had set off the explosion leaped into the road, swinging
his arms and shouting; then very suddenly he leaped
out again, for the hundred-and-fifty-pound motor-cycle
was coming toward him at deadly speed. Matt was
abreast of the man and beyond him in the space of a
heart-beat, and he stole a quick look behind.</p>
<p>Dirk Hawley had overreached himself. His evil machinations
had resulted in destroying the bridge, but he had
foiled himself and not the daring youngster who had
taken a bold risk and crossed the gap. The motor-car
was at a dead stop on the other side of the canal, and a
baffled group of three surrounded it and called wild words
to the man on the other side.</p>
<p>A loud laugh escaped Matt's lips and dwindled behind
him in a mere wisp of sound. He was safe! Now his
race was against time alone.</p>
<p>Fortunately there were few travelers on the Black
Cañon road. The traveling for that part of the day had
mostly been done, and people from all the ranches were
at the park. He had to slow down and turn out for a
Mexican wood-hauler, and the few other people he passed
gave him a wide berth and watched wonderingly as he
whizzed by.</p>
<p>Alfalfa-fields sped past him, and the cottonwood-trees
lining the roadside ditches trooped behind so quickly
that they became a mere blur. The road was like asphalt
and rubber tires never had better going.</p>
<p>Like a dart Matt hurled onward, minute after minute,
ranch-houses doing strange dances as he met and left
them. Before he fairly realized it he was turning into
Grand Avenue and plunging along beside the street-car
track. Into the Five Points he whirled, striking pavement
that appreciably increased his gait. The stores
seemed deserted, and only here and there could a man
be seen on the streets. A yellow cur pranced yipping
out at him, then whirled with his tail between his legs
and ran howling from the monster that devoured distance
with the combined speed of a dozen dogs.</p>
<p>Turning into Washington Street, Matt found himself
with a straight-away stretch clear to the park. There was
more travel here, for this was the main thoroughfare of
the town. Every store and shop was dressed in bunting.
Matt must have been recognized as he raced, for everything
got out of his way, and more than one cheer went
up as he flickered by.</p>
<p>In passing the Court House Plaza he caught the time
from the face of the big clock. Six minutes of four! He
opened her out a little more, and the <i>Comet</i> ate up the
miles as she had not yet done. Mile-a-minute Matt! He
was true to the name, now, and Phœnix had never been
traversed from end to end as he was doing it.</p>
<p>Presently he was in the outskirts of the city, another
minute and he was close to the park fence, another and he
had slowed down for the wagon-gate. The man on duty
there recognized him and leaped aside.</p>
<p>"Hoop-a-la!" roared the man, waving his hat. "In with
you! Not a minute to spare."</p>
<p>Toward the race-course he guided the <i>Comet</i>. Everywhere
the edge of the great oval was black with people.
Like wild-fire the word traveled, "King is coming! Here
comes King! Bully for King!"</p>
<p>Close to the dressing-rooms Matt pulled up. The major
was there, Chub was there, Susie was there—and
Perk. They <i>knew</i> he would arrive, and they had everything
ready.</p>
<p>"Oh, you!" howled the delighted Chub, throwing his
arms about Matt and pulling him out of the saddle.
"King of the Motor Boys, that's what you are."</p>
<p>Susie grabbed him and, in her excitement, landed an
ecstatic kiss on his dusty face.</p>
<p>"Motor Matt!" she cried, waving the high-school colors.
"<i>Now</i> will Prescott High be good?"</p>
<p>"Shade o' Gallopin' Dick!" yelled Welcome, doing an
odd war-dance on his wooden pin. "He's my pard, he
is! Watch me soothe my turbulent soul with a grip o'
his honest pa'm."</p>
<p>Matt was torn from the selfsame grip by Major Woolford.</p>
<p>"You're the boy!" said the major. "No time to lose,
for the starter is calling the men for the race. Here's
your wheel. No time to change your clothes, but you
can peel off your coat. McReady, help with his shoes."</p>
<p>Matt threw off his cap and coat. Chub had unlaced
one shoe and Susie the other. Matt kicked out of them
and into lighter foot-gear. Then, with time for hardly a
word, he grabbed the racing-wheel that was waiting for
him, and made his way to the track.</p>
<p>"Matt King is entered to race for Phœnix in the one-heat
one-mile bicycle contest," the starter was yelling
through a megaphone. "As King is not here, and as, according
to the rules, the race starts at four sharp, Phœnix
substitutes her second choice, Dace——"</p>
<p>"<i>King is here!</i>"</p>
<p>It was the booming voice of Major Woolford, just
crossing the track to take his place in the judges' stand.</p>
<p>Simultaneously with the words, Matt, in his nondescript
racing-attire, made his way along the track toward
the tape.</p>
<p>There followed a breathless pause. Although the word
had gone around that King was coming, the Prescott
rooters tried to treat it as a canard. They didn't want
King.</p>
<p>Dace Perry, as Matt walked toward him, reeled back
from his machine. His face went white as death, and a
hopeless look arose in his eyes. Without a word he
caught his machine by the handle-bars and made for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span>
paddock. His thunderstruck adherents, Spangler, Drake
and the others, were waiting to offer what consolation
they could give.</p>
<p>Following the breathless pause, a veritable roar went
up from the grand stand and all around the track. It
was a Phœnix roar, of course, and it was Phœnix people
who stood on their seats, threw up hats and shook canes
and handkerchiefs. The high-school boys, clustered together,
let loose with their triumphant yell. Colors were
waved—Phœnix colors—and the flags of Prescott High
were temporarily retired.</p>
<p>"King, King, King-King-King!" chanted Phœnix
High, in unison.</p>
<p>"Oh, he ain't so much!" came a feeble wail through
a megaphone. "Hold your shouting until after the race!"</p>
<p>"Drown him!" whooped Phœnix. "Send him to the
asylum! Back, back to the padded cell!"</p>
<p>O'Day took Matt's sizing with a troubled eye, then
clenched his teeth. He would do his best—but he had
doubts. A half-confidence is worse than no confidence
at all.</p>
<p>"Buck up, O'Day!" implored the Prescott rooters.
"You can do the trick! Don't let him throw a scare into
you. <i>He's ridden twenty miles and he must be about
all in!</i>"</p>
<p>That last was the key-note. When O'Day heard it
he brightened. Matt was in from a trying trip, just in,
and he had to go the round on a pound of crackers and
cheese! But Prescott didn't know him.</p>
<p>The two racers took their places, hugged by a couple of
men at the saddles.</p>
<p>"All ready?" <i>Bang!</i></p>
<p>Matt was hurled down the track. For the first time
since he had left Clip and Penny his feet were busy, more
than busy.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI.</a></h2>
<p class="chaptitle">MOTOR MATT, KING OF THE WHEEL!</p>
<p>There have been walkaways and walkaways, but never
before such a walkaway as King had over O'Day, the
crack cyclist from Prescott. For Matt all that had gone
before seemed only to have paved the way for the best
that was in him. He was "on his toes" every second,
and left O'Day at the quarter; at the half O'Day was
twice the length of his wheel behind and pedaling like
mad; at the three-quarters O'Day was hopelessly in the
rear and working his feet in a mechanical way, merely
as a matter of duty. Matt crossed the tape a winner by
fifteen feet and Prescott put its head in its hands and
groaned.</p>
<p>Phœnix swarmed down from the grand stand and tumbled
over fences all around the oval. The Phœnix high-school
boys charged down upon the victor, yanked him off
his machine, took him on their shoulders and galloped
up and down the track.</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"'Rah! 'rah! 'rah! Do or die!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Phœnix! Phœnix! Phœnix High!"<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>Prescott made up its mind it had better go home. The
special train left at six, anyway, and the bicycle-race
closed the list of events. Phœnix was a winner on points,
although losing the one-mile sprint on account of the absence
of Clipperton, one of the shorter dashes and the
hammer-throw.</p>
<p>Poor old Welcome, howling for joy, tried in vain to
tear his way through the high-school crowd and get at
Matt. Susie, her face glowing with happiness, watched
the conquering hero as he was bounced and slammed
about on the shoulders of Splinters and a few more of
the seniors. The governor, forcing his way through the
throng, reached up to grasp Matt's hand.</p>
<p>"Well done!" cried the governor. "You're a marvel,
King—not merely because you got the best of O'Day
but on account of the way you got here from the Bluebell
to do it."</p>
<p>Matt flushed. His honors, falling thick upon him, were
embarrassing, and he would rather have taken himself
off to some quiet spot and clasped just a few friendly
hands.</p>
<p>"This is yours, King," called Major Woolford blithely,
pointing to the <i>Comet</i>, now well groomed after her dusty
trip, and sparkling like a brand-new dollar. "Will you
ride it home or shall we send it?"</p>
<p>"Send it, major!" cried Chub, "he's going home with
us!"</p>
<p>A little later Matt, finally tearing himself away from
his adoring friends—and nearly every one seemed to be
his friend now—got into a carryall with Chub, Susie
and Welcome Perkins and was driven to the McReady
home.</p>
<p>While Susie was getting the meal ready, Matt sat in
the place of honor and recounted all that had happened to
him since he had left his friends on the preceding evening.</p>
<p>Just as he finished, Tom Clipperton showed himself in
the doorway.</p>
<p>"Heard you were here, King," said he hesitatingly.
"Penny and I rode in with a freighter. It was all over
but the yelling by then. I'm mighty glad you won out."</p>
<p>Clip would have turned away from the open door had
Chub not jumped for him and dragged him inside.</p>
<p>"No, you don't, Clip," said Chub. "We're going to
have a feast here, and you're invited. Besides, I've got
something to say to you. In the eyes of the McReady
outfit, and of old Perk, the ex-heathen, you stand as high
as Bunker Hill monument. Now, listen. I threw that
rock down by the canal, and I threw it at Perry——"</p>
<p>"I know," answered Clip. "Got it out of Drake."</p>
<p>"Are we pards? If I've ever said anything you don't
like, I ask your pardon. How's that? Shucks! I'm so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span>
plumb happy this afternoon I want to be at peace with all
creation. Shake!"</p>
<p>Chub extended his hand, and Clipperton, with a slow,
quiet smile rarely seen on his face, caught the same
heartily.</p>
<p>"I've been foolish," said Clip, shaking hands all around.
"It takes experience to show us some things. I've had
a heap of experience since last night. But I don't want
to butt in. It's your supper-party——"</p>
<p>"Get away if you can!" snorted Chub, "I——"</p>
<p>The sounder in the corner began to click. Chub broke
off abruptly and leaped for the machine.</p>
<p>"Dry up, all of you!" he cried. "Delray's telling me
something."</p>
<p>"He must have fixed the machine, then," said Matt. "It
went wrong a little just after we had got through with
it at the Bluebell."</p>
<p>"She's all right now, anyway. Listen to this: Delray
wants to know if Matt got here in time for the race.
Watch me knock the tar out of the ether in sending him
the news!"</p>
<p>Chub grabbed the key and rattled away at it until the
spark-gap was fairly blue.</p>
<p>"I reckon that will put <i>him</i> next," laughed Chub; "hear
what he's sending now—it's just one word—'Hooray!'"</p>
<p>A few minutes later a jolly party sat around the dining-table.
Matt interrupted the flow of conversation to do a
little justice to one who had not, as yet, been prominently
mentioned.</p>
<p>"I want to propose a toast," said he, "and we'll drink
it in Adam's ale—standing, if you please."</p>
<p>The party arose and picked up their water-glasses.</p>
<p>"I give you Miss Susie McReady," said Matt, "without
whose efficient aid I should never have been able to get
here from the Bluebell or to meet O'Day!"</p>
<p>"Hear, hear!" yelped Welcome Perkins, pounding with
his wooden leg.</p>
<p>Susie blushed crimson and sank into her chair.</p>
<p>"Just a minute, before you sit down," said Chub. "Allow
<i>me</i> to give you Tom Clipperton, who was jointly
responsible with Miss McReady for the success of Motor
Matt. Tom Clipperton, the fastest boy on the mile and
the twenty miles in Phœnix High or any other school!"</p>
<p>This was greeted with cheers and it could be seen that
Clip was mightily pleased. A warm glow smoldered
in his dark eyes.</p>
<p>"Jest one more," piped Welcome, "an' keep on yer feet.
I'm givin' ye ole Lucretia Borgia, who's more dangerous
than what she looks—I mean, looks more dangerous than
what she is. Lucretia Borgia, notches an' all, pards!"</p>
<p>A roar of laughter greeted this toast.</p>
<p>"Now, it's my turn," said Clip. "Take this one from
me. I give you Matt King. A firm friend and a generous
foe. Mile-a-minute Matt, King of the Motor Boys!
Motor Matt, the best ever!"</p>
<p>Bedlam was at once let loose, and Welcome Perkins
made a noise like a menagerie at feeding-time. Matt,
raising his hand, kept his friends on their feet.</p>
<p>"I want to give you just one more, pards," said he,
"and what Clip said about a 'generous foe' reminds me
of the duty. I give you O'Day, Dace Perry, Ratty Spangler
and Tubbits Drake. What's the use of holding any
sort of a grouch at this joyous time? If they can't be
friends of ours, let's treat them honestly as foes. Will
you take them?"</p>
<p>A scowl had leaped to Clipperton's face. The toast
was intended for him, for his was a nature that rarely
forgave an injury. Perry had gained his enmity and
Matt was seeking to bridge the gulf to the extent of
keeping Clip from taking the offensive and doing something
he might be sorry for.</p>
<p>"They say that Perry lost a pile of money backing
O'Day," said Chub, breaking an embarrassing silence,
"and that he's head over heels in debt to Hawley. This
has been a rough day for Perry."</p>
<p>"He brought it on himself," growled Clipperton. "He
made a fool out of me. I owe him something. Man to
man I want to pay the debt."</p>
<p>"Will you drink the toast, Clip?" asked Matt, fixing
his eyes on the shining orbs of the quarter-blood.</p>
<p>"I—I wish I was more like you, King," faltered Clip.</p>
<p>"O'Day, Perry, Spangler and Drake," went on Matt.
"Will you take them, pards?"</p>
<p>Every glass was lifted but Clipperton's. He continued
to look at Matt, then slowly raised his glass to his lips.</p>
<p>It was a trifling thing, perhaps, but for Tom Clipperton
it meant much.</p>
<p class="center">THE END.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p>
The next number (2) will contain another rousing
motor story, in which Matchless Matt and some of his
friends figure, and a stirring drama is unfolded in a
fashion to delight the reader. It will be entitled:</p>
<p class="center">
<span class="large">MOTOR MATT'S DARING;</span><br />
<br />
OR,<br />
<br />
<span class="large">TRUE TO HIS FRIENDS.</span><br />
</p>
<hr class="r5" />
<blockquote>
<p>The Runaway Motor-cycle—Underhand Work—McReady's
"Strike"—Dace Perry's Duplicity—A
Disagreeable Surprise—Overhauling the Thief—Back
to the Bluebell—Too Late—Held at Bay—A
Daring Escape—A Hard Journey—A Stout
Heart and Plenty of Rope—Matt Wins and Loses—A
Queer Tangle—The Last Surprise—Motor Matt's
Triumph.</p></blockquote>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p>
<table summary="scaffold" class="bbox">
<tr><td colspan="2" class="tdc huge">MOTOR STORIES</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr large" style="padding-right: .25em;">THRILLING ADVENTURE</td><td class="tdl large" style="padding-left: .25em;">MOTOR FICTION</td></tr>
</table>
<p class="center bb bt">NEW YORK, February 27, 1909.</p>
<p class="center"><b>TERMS TO MOTOR STORIES MAIL SUBSCRIBERS.</b></p>
<p class="center">(<i>Postage Free.</i>)</p>
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<tr><td>1 copy two years</td><td class="tdr">4.00</td></tr>
</table>
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<table summary="scaffold">
<tr><td>
<span class="smcap">Ormond G. Smith</span>,<br />
<span class="smcap">George C. Smith</span>,
</td>
<td style="font-size: 200%">}</td><td style="padding-right: 1em;"><i>Proprietors</i>.</td>
<td class="tdc">
<b>STREET & SMITH, Publishers,<br />
79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York City.</b>
</td></tr></table>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="THE_MAN-HUNTER" id="THE_MAN-HUNTER">THE MAN-HUNTER.</a></h2>
<p>Jack Percival started when an ugly black face peered
through the long grass not two yards from where he sat,
and his hands stole cautiously toward the butt of his rifle.
'Twas seven weeks since he had seen a man, black or white,
other than his chum, Paul Armstrong, but he felt no overwhelming
rapture at the breaking of the monotony. When
one is in a country inhabited only by cannibals, it is surprising
how strong the love of solitude becomes.</p>
<p>Before him he could see the mountain of darkness thrusting
its flat peak into the clear blue of the African sky; on
every side the jungle closed him in like a wall—a dense
mass of greenery spangled with flaming flowers. For the
rest, he was encompassed by a most unutterable silence, and
a hideous misshapen visage, black as coal, was staring at
him from beyond the tangle of monkey-ropes that hung
from the yellow-wood trees.</p>
<p>Jack was no greenhorn, and he kept perfectly cool, although
he was expecting every instant to feel an assegai
piercing his breast. Turning his eyes from the direction of
the ebon face, he fixed them thoughtfully on the camp-fire,
as if oblivious to the presence of the motionless native.
But all the time his right hand was creeping, creeping toward
the rifle that lay within easy reach.</p>
<p>It was nerve-shaking work, and he could not repress a
gasp of relief as his gripping fingers closed upon the stock.
The moment had come for action. With a lightning movement,
he covered the impassive face beyond the curtain
of monkey-ropes, and his forefinger was hard pressed upon
the trigger as he bounded to his feet.</p>
<p>"Now, then, you black beast!" he hissed angrily. "What
you think of that, eh? No soup for you to-night, old chap!
I've got the drop on you, and I mean to keep it. Cooee!"</p>
<p>He ended his sentence with a long-drawn Australian yell,
and it was answered immediately by another from the
gloomy interior of the jungle. Jack had expected the
aborigine to make an attempt to escape, but he did nothing
of the sort. Parting the trailing creepers with both hands,
he continued his scrutiny with as much interest as if the
young man had been the first specimen of his kind to penetrate
into the region.</p>
<p>"Makes me feel like the fat lady in a side-show," Jack
muttered, shifting uneasily beneath this intent regard. "I
wonder what's up with the beggar? Ah, here's Paul!"</p>
<p>Paul it was. He came leaping cheerfully through the
undergrowth, with a brilliant-plumaged paroquet slung over
his shoulder, his gun swinging in one hand. For a second he
halted in amazement as he caught sight of the unwelcome
visitor, and then, dropping the bird, he advanced warily,
his firearm raised for action.</p>
<p>"Where on earth did you get that, Jack?" he whispered.
"Is it tame?"</p>
<p>"Blessed if I know. He simply crept up and peered at
me through the monkey-ropes, and he hasn't said as much
as a word yet."</p>
<p>Paul, who had a tolerably wide acquaintance with the
natives of the interior, surveyed the black wonderingly. He
was a gigantic figure of a man, clothed only in a breech-clout,
and armed with a wooden-pointed assegai. In appearance
he was a cross between a full-blooded Zulu and
a Kafir, but he seemed to possess all the immobility of an
Indian chief.</p>
<p>"A new breed," Paul announced, in a puzzled way. "All
the other natives that I have tumbled across would have
left their assegais as a sort of visiting-card before this.
I'll try him with a bit of Seleke. He looks like them, to
my mind, and I've heard yarns about their trekking into
the interior to escape the persecution of the Zulus—don't
blame 'em, either."</p>
<p>Lowering his rifle, he turned to the black man, who had
gravely squatted down upon the ground, with his bare hands
upturned as a sign of peace.</p>
<p>"Greeting, child of the Seleke," he said solemnly. "Have
you any wish to lay before the white travelers who venture
into your domains?"</p>
<p>The native's face lighted visibly at sound of the Seleke
tongue, and he made reply in the same language, although
in a slightly different dialect.</p>
<p>"Greeting, white men from the sun! You are welcome,
and doubly welcome, to the realm of Moshesh, chief of the
Dumalas. You are sent for a purpose, godsmen, and I am
sent to pray you to break your march at the village of
N'koto, not a noon's march from here."</p>
<p>Both Paul and Jack surveyed him suspiciously.</p>
<p>His friendliness was both unexpected and extraordinary
to any one cognizant, as they were, with the customs of
the African of the interior.</p>
<p>True, they might have some surviving veneer of civilization,
being an offshoot from the Selekes, but it was a very
slender thread of safety to trust to.</p>
<p>"We are sent for a purpose, are we?" Paul muttered.
"For the purpose of being converted into black man's pork
pie, I suppose. Jack, what on earth are we to do with this
chap? He's getting on my nerves. I wish he'd move, and
not look so much like a stuffed monkey."</p>
<p>"Ask him what he wants," proposed the other. "If we
kick him out, he'll be potting at us with that sardine-opener."</p>
<p>Nodding, Paul turned to the native again.</p>
<p>"What are you called, O child of the Seleke?" he asked,
reverting to the man's own dialect.</p>
<p>"I am called N'tshu Gontze," was the dignified response.</p>
<p>"The dickens you are! Sounds like a kind of fish," interjected
Jack, who would have joked in the face of a simoon.
"Ask him what his grandfather's name is, Paul."</p>
<p>"Why is our presence desired in the kraal of your
chief?" Paul continued, maintaining his gravity by an
effort, and frowning at his irrepressible comrade. He knew
that a Seleke whose dignity has been tampered with is a
more unpleasant companion than an enraged orang-otang.</p>
<p>"We are the victims of a terrible scourge, and we would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span>
seek the lightning-rods of the brave white princes to aid us,"
Gontze answered earnestly. "In a month our numbers have
been decreased by dozens. Every other night a man, a
woman, or a child perishes, and we are powerless to help
ourselves. We dare not hunt, our women scarce dare to
venture beyond the bounds of N'koto, and we starve for
want of food."</p>
<p>The two hunters listened to this impassioned harangue
with close attention.</p>
<p>It not only explained the native's curious appearance,
but, if true, it was a guarantee of their own safety.</p>
<p>"We are not willing to break our march without reward,"
Paul returned, after a short interval of thought.
"The Selekes are rich; they have much gold, and the white
men need it in their kraals."</p>
<p>Gontze nodded.</p>
<p>"It is known. Follow me, godsmen from the sun, and
you shall be feasted and rewarded royally."</p>
<p>Paul, who was quick in coming to a decision, nodded
assent.</p>
<p>In addition to the prospect of a rich haul of gold or
ivory, from which he was by no means averse, the sporting
fever had awakened in his blood at the prospect of a bout
with a man-eating tiger, as he had surmised the terror of
N'koto to be, and, having assisted Jack to stamp out the
ashes of the fire, he signified to Gontze their readiness to
follow.</p>
<p>The man turned on his heel and strode into the jungle.
The two lads hastily gathered together their goods, and
silently followed the track he made.</p>
<p>It was late evening when the thatched roofs of N'koto
came in view, and the sun was painting the sky with a dye
of crimson, touching the trees with rosy fingers, and transforming
the crocodile streams to pools of blood. A strange
silence fell for a few minutes, as though every living thing
in the jungle lay frightened by the gathering gloom. Then
the night fell suddenly, and they were struggling through
pitch-darkness, relieved only by the red glare of the fading
sunglow in the western horizon.</p>
<p>The village had been erected in a clearing made in the
very heart of the forest, and was surrounded by a high
stockade of tree trunks. Within, the darkness was dispelled
by the flare of a hundred torches, and, as the two white
men and their guide approached, the central gate opened
and a party of men burst into view, all shouting like demons,
and thrashing the ground with their torches as they
capered to and fro, filling the air with wreaths of smoke
and flying sparks.</p>
<p>"They are trying to frighten something—a lion, probably,"
Paul whispered to Jack, who was rather scared by the
frenzied uproar. "Haven't you noticed Gontze lately? He
has been nearly frightened out of his skin for the last half-mile."</p>
<p>Paul's conjecture proved a correct one.</p>
<p>The instant that the white men had passed through the
gateway the turmoil ceased as if by magic, and the Selekes
hurried after them, as though, like Tam o' Shanter, they
had seen the evil one at their heels.</p>
<p>It was an impressive scene within the compound. The
way to the royal kraal was lined by three hundred men and
women, all decked in gay plumes and brightly colored garments
woven of dyed grasses, and the lights of the torches
glittered on spear-points and greasy skins with weird effect,
which was enhanced by the guttural thud-thud of the tom-toms
and the eery, demoniac blast of cowhide horns.</p>
<p>When they entered the kraal of Moshesh, however, the
uproar ceased abruptly, and in the midst of intense stillness
they walked across the rush-covered floor to where the
chief was seated upon a throne of buffalo-robes. He was
an elderly, white-haired man, with a circlet of ivory upon
his brow, as a symbol of his authority. He seemed even
more civilized than the tribe, and as Paul and Jack bowed
before him he addressed them in fluent English.</p>
<p>"Welcome, white men! May you live forever, and remember
always the kraal of Moshesh with happiness! Be
you seated."</p>
<p>The two hunters obeyed in silence, knowing that it would
not be etiquette to speak until food had been placed before
them. Moshesh, descending from his throne, squatted before
them in a very unkinglike manner, and they were soon partaking
of roast monkey, pressed betel-nuts, and similar
dishes, to which they had become inured by custom.</p>
<p>The repast concluded, Moshesh, who had eaten enough
for four ordinary men, rolled over so that he could lean
his fat back against the wall, and in a few melancholy sentences
conveyed to his guests the story that had already
been told in part by Gontze.</p>
<p>The substance of his recital was that, a month previously,
the headman of the village had mysteriously disappeared,
and as—the chief said gravely—he was very useful,
a search-party had been organized by the bereaved relatives.
During the hunt they had come upon the lair of a
monster lion, and one of the party had paid the penalty
with his life.</p>
<p>The lion, in a few days, had proved not only to be a man-eater,
but a man-hunter. If a Seleke ventured alone beyond
the stockade, he was seldom seen again, and two men
had been snatched literally from the very gates. Hunting
was at an end; they could only go for their water in a
strong body and at a great risk, and were, in fact, living in
a state of siege, while the man-hunter slowly but surely
diminished their numbers, with a cunning and ferocity that
proved him to be the dwelling-place of a very evil spirit
indeed. If they organized a hunt, he disappeared entirely,
and, said Moshesh, they were at their wit's end when they
heard that the mighty white hunters, with their lightning-rods,
had honored the country of the Seleke with their distinguished
presence.</p>
<p>Paul, who was the spokesman, allowed the chief to bring
his rambling recital to an end before he spoke.</p>
<p>"We have been on the march all day and are weary,"
he said then. "But in the morning we will rid you of this
scourge." He spoke as though he had only to raise his
hand and the thing would be done. "But, O Moshesh, if it
find favor in your sight, we would crave a reward for the
loss of our time."</p>
<p>"Two golden tusks shall be yours," the chief rejoined, with
an air of indifference. "It is well. May my guests sleep
long and happily, free from the spirit of evil dreams, and
awake with the strength of fourscore lions. I have spoken."</p>
<p>He made a signal, and three men came forward to conduct
the white hunters to the hut that had been allotted to
them. In spite of the strangeness of their quarters, they
were soon wrapped in deep slumber, secure in the fact that
their mission would protect them from the rapacity of the
Selekes.</p>
<p>At ten o'clock the next morning the hunt set forth. Conquering
his fears, Moshesh had made the occasion a species
of celebration, and the Selekes had turned out almost en
masse to witness the destruction of the beast that had terrorized
them for so long.</p>
<p>Gontze, who appeared to possess as much bravery as all
the rest of the tribe put together, had constituted himself
guide, as he was aware of the exact situation of the animal's
lair.</p>
<p>For half an hour they walked on through the jungle,
which grew more and more impenetrable as they progressed,
until they were forced to have a party of men with knives
to carve a way through the undergrowth.</p>
<p>"We near the spot, Strongarm," Gontze murmured presently,
pointing to a cross hacked in the wood of a date-palm.
"I placed that mark there myself when I was here
before, knowing that the creepers spread themselves faster
than one can cut them down. The lion's lair is through
there."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p>
<p>He paused as he spoke, pointing with outstretched arm to
a dim, mysterious glade that lay directly ahead. It was a
wild, bushy kloof, covered by a maze of Kafir bean, acacia,
spekboem, geranium, plumbago, euphorbia, and a score of
other growths to which no man can put a name. Shielded
from the hot rays of the copper-colored sun, it looked cool
and delightful to the eye, but the party of Selekes shrank
back at Gontze's words, surveying the place with a horror
that was half-superstitious.</p>
<p>"So that is where my lord lives, is it?" Paul muttered,
as he stooped to peer along the dim aisles of jungle, starred
with flowers like candles in some vast cathedral. "I see
no sign of a spoor."</p>
<p>"Said I not that the weeds grow almost visibly, O Strongarm?"
Gontze, to whom the remark was addressed, returned.
"The lion gorged himself two suns ago, and still
lies sleeping. The grass has covered his spoor."</p>
<p>Paul Armstrong nodded, and stepped aside to confer with
his chum.</p>
<p>They were both anxious to obtain the two golden tusks
that the chief had promised them, and they wanted to make
sure of the man-eater at the first shot, if possible. If they
allowed him to escape from his lair, it might be days before
they could entice him within firing distance again.</p>
<p>However, their plan of campaign was soon formed, and
they returned to the place where they had left Gontze, to
find that the chief, with most of his retainers, had drawn
off and left them to their own devices, a fact for which
they were duly thankful. Three of the Selekes had been
left behind—Gontze and two other men, who had evidently
been picked for their strength, to judge by their gigantic
stature.</p>
<p>"I am going to walk up to the lair and entice the beast
out," Paul said calmly. "My friend will be seated up in a
tree, and will pop off Mr. Man-eater as he passes. You
three had better be up in the trees, too; only don't stick
those assegais into me by accident, please."</p>
<p>The Seleke listened in amazement to this proposition.</p>
<p>"But the white man is surely mad!" he broke out, in
dismay, so soon as he could speak. "It is sure death to walk
up to the lair!"</p>
<p>"It will take a lively lion to catch me, in this maze of
trees," Paul answered carelessly. "You'd better hurry up, I
think, or the lion might take a fancy to come out before
we are ready."</p>
<p>Jack Percival was already settling himself, with a grimly
determined air, in the tree that Paul had indicated, and at
a word from Gontze, who still shook his head dismally, the
two natives followed suit, clambering into a tree on the
opposite side of the glade, and holding their assegais ready
for instant use.</p>
<p>Waving his hand to Jack, Paul gripped his rifle firmly,
and stepped carefully through the tangle of weeds that carpeted
the kloof. Before he had gone far he came suddenly
upon a cavernous opening in the clay bank, around the
mouth of which hundreds of bones were strewn, picked to
an ivory whiteness by the voracious driver-ants, which
swarmed in hordes, like poor relations, about the entrance
to the great beast's den.</p>
<p>With his heart thumping wildly, Paul paused to listen,
shuddering at the noisome odor that was wafted to his
nostrils. From within he could hear the sound of deep,
harsh breathing, varied occasionally by a long-drawn snore.</p>
<p>Stooping, he picked up a great chunk of earth and flung
it with all his force into the cavern. He heard the dull
thud of its fall distinctly, followed by the patter of the
spreading fragments, and then a cry rose to his lips, but
was resolutely stifled.</p>
<p>The noise of the lion's snoring had ceased!</p>
<p>In spite of himself, he shrank farther and farther from
the mouth of the lair, and it was only by a tremendous
effort of will that he could prevent himself from taking to
his heels in precipitate flight. He could hear a soft pad-pad
of velvety footsteps, and the rattling of dry bones one
against the other. Then suddenly came a roar louder than
thunder, and before Paul could move a step a tawny form
flashed into view, as the lion, with one tremendous spring,
bounded toward him.</p>
<p>There was no time to fire. Flinging his rifle aside, he
fled like the wind, straight for the spot where his friend
was waiting. Another roar from behind seemed to shake
the forest to its foundations, and he put all his strength into
a mighty effort to distance the great beast that was overtaking
him with enormous leaps. Then a cry of agony burst
from his lips as, catching his toe in a trailing creeper, he
went headlong to the earth.</p>
<p>In spite of the suddenness of the shock, he never lost
consciousness for a moment. He felt a heavy, evil-smelling
body come crashing down onto his own, and his right arm
was seized in a grip that brought a shout of agony from
between his clenched teeth. Next instant the man-eater
lifted him into the air with as much ease as if he had
been a baby, and stood gazing round in splendid defiance, its
tail lashing slowly from side to side.</p>
<p>"I'm afraid to shoot from here, Paul. I'm coming down."</p>
<p>Paul heard Jack's voice as in a dream. He was beginning
to feel faint with the pain of his crushed arm, but he
did not mean to die without a struggle. Stealthily drawing
his hunting-knife, he raised it in the air to the full extent of
his arm and plunged it up to the hilt in the lion's side, aiming
for the heart.</p>
<p>Phat! Phat!</p>
<p>The sharp report of a rifle seared his brain, as Jack,
stealing up behind, gave the brute both barrels in quick
succession. Simultaneously with the detonations, as it
seemed, the grip of those cruel jaws relaxed, and even as he
fell back in a dead faint he had a vision of the Selekes
plunging their assegais again and again into the quivering
body of the man-hunter.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="THE_RAT_CRUSADE" id="THE_RAT_CRUSADE">THE RAT CRUSADE.</a></h2>
<p>The crusade against rats, begun in Norway a few years
ago, is gradually extending over the world. For many
months San Francisco has been waging remorseless warfare
upon the rodent dwellers of the city, and several hundred
thousand of the pests have been destroyed. The persons
who are active in directing the slaughter predict that if the
other cities of the State can be induced to assist, California
can be entirely cleared of rats in the course of a couple of
years.</p>
<p>Long ago scientists proved that the rat family is one of
the worst enemies of mankind. By nature the rat is an
unclean animal, and, dwelling in multitudes as it does, in the
most populous parts of cities, it is a constant menace to
public health. Microscopic examination of fresh rat hides
invariably reveals myriads of disease germs. Almost every
contagion known to the medical profession may be communicated,
or, rather, is communicated, to persons living in
rat-infested neighborhoods.</p>
<p>The methods employed by the San Francisco rat-hunters
are simple, inexpensive, and most effective. Traps are being
used, but ferrets and terriers are most frequently employed.
A ferret is started into the burrow of a rat community,
while three or four dogs are kept in leash without. The
tiny ferret explores the galleries of the house, sometimes
chasing a dozen or more rats into the open. Then begins
the work of the dogs. The ferret is a bloodthirsty little
creature, and is held in terror by most animals of several
times his size. Three or four diminutive ferrets and a
half-dozen trained terriers will destroy several hundred rats
in a day.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p class="large center">ESPECIALLY IMPORTANT!!</p>
<p class="huge center">MOTOR STORIES</p>
<p class="center"><b><i>A New Idea in the Way of Five-Cent Weeklies.</i></b></p>
<p>Boys everywhere will be delighted to hear that Street & Smith are
now issuing this new five-cent weekly which will be known by the
name of MOTOR STORIES.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>This weekly is entirely different from anything now being published. It details
the astonishing adventures of a young mechanic who owned a motor cycle.
Is there a boy who has not longed to possess one of these swift little machines
that scud about the roads everywhere throughout the United States? Is there a
boy, therefore, who will not be intensely interested in the adventures of "Motor
Matt," as he is familiarly called by his comrades?</p>
<p>Boys, you have never read anything half so exciting, half so humorous and
entertaining as the first story listed for publication in this line, called <b>"Motor Matt;
or, The King of the Wheel."</b> Its fame is bound to spread like wildfire,
causing the biggest demand for the other numbers in this line, that was ever
heard of in the history of this class of literature.</p>
<p>Here are the titles to be issued during the next few weeks. Do not fail to
place an order for them with your newsdealer.</p></blockquote>
<p class="medium">
No. 1. Motor Matt; or, The King of the Wheel.<br />
No. 2. Motor Matt's Daring; or, True to His Friends.<br />
No. 3. Motor Matt's "Century" Run; or, The Governor's Courier.<br />
No. 4. Motor Matt's Race; or, The Last Flight of the <i>Comet</i>.<br />
</p>
<hr />
<table summary="scaffold"><tr><td class="tdl" style="padding-right: 1em;">32 LARGE SIZE PAGES</td>
<td class="tdr">SPLENDID COLORED COVERS</td></tr></table>
<p class="large center">PRICE, FIVE CENTS PER COPY</p>
<hr />
<p class="center">AT ALL NEWSDEALERS, OR SENT POSTPAID BY THE PUBLISHERS
UPON RECEIPT OF THE PRICE.</p>
<p class="center large"><i>STREET & SMITH, Publishers, NEW YORK</i></p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p class="center large">NUMBERS 1 TO 396</p>
<p class="center huge">TIP TOP WEEKLY</p>
<p class="center medium">ARE CONTAINED IN THE MEDAL LIBRARY</p>
<p>We know that there are thousands of boys who are very much interested in the early adventures
of Frank and Dick Merriwell and who want to read everything that was written about them.</p>
<p>We desire to inform these boys that numbers 1 to 396 are pretty well out of print in the TIP
TOP WEEKLY, but all of them can be secured in the numbers of the NEW MEDAL LIBRARY
given below.</p>
<p class="center">
<span class="medium"><i>The</i> NEW<br />
MEDAL<br />
LIBRARY<br /></span>
AT<br />
FIFTEEN CENTS<br />
</p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 150px;">
<a href="images/i1large.jpg"><img src="images/i1.jpg" width="150" height="343" alt="" /></a>
</div>
<p>
150—Frank Merriwell's School-days.<br />
167—Frank Merriwell's Chums.<br />
178—Frank Merriwell's Foes.<br />
184—Frank Merriwell's Trip West.<br />
189—Frank Merriwell Down South.<br />
193—Frank Merriwell's Bravery.<br />
197—Frank Merriwell's Hunting Tour.<br />
201—Frank Merriwell in Europe.<br />
205—Frank Merriwell at Yale.<br />
209—Frank Merriwell's Sports Afield.<br />
213—Frank Merriwell's Races.<br />
217—Frank Merriwell's Bicycle Tour.<br />
225—Frank Merriwell's Courage.<br />
229—Frank Merriwell's Daring.<br />
233—Frank Merriwell's Athletes.<br />
237—Frank Merriwell's Skill.<br />
240—Frank Merriwell's Champions.<br />
244—Frank Merriwell's Return to Yale.<br />
247—Frank Merriwell's Secret.<br />
251—Frank Merriwell's Danger.<br />
254—Frank Merriwell's Loyalty.<br />
258—Frank Merriwell in Camp.<br />
262—Frank Merriwell's Vacation.<br />
267—Frank Merriwell's Cruise.<br />
271—Frank Merriwell's Chase.<br />
276—Frank Merriwell in Maine.<br />
280—Frank Merriwell's Struggle.<br />
284—Frank Merriwell's First Job.<br />
288—Frank Merriwell's Opportunity.<br />
292—Frank Merriwell's Hard Luck.<br />
296—Frank Merriwell's Protégé.<br />
300—Frank Merriwell on the Road.<br />
304—Frank Merriwell's Own Company.<br />
308—Frank Merriwell's Fame.<br />
312—Frank Merriwell's College Chums.<br />
316—Frank Merriwell's Problem.<br />
320—Frank Merriwell's Fortune.<br />
324—Frank Merriwell's New Comedian.<br />
328—Frank Merriwell's Prosperity.<br />
332—Frank Merriwell's Stage Hit.<br />
336—Frank Merriwell's Great Scheme.<br />
340—Frank Merriwell in England.<br />
344—Frank Merriwell on the Boulevards.<br />
348—Frank Merriwell's Duel.<br />
352—Frank Merriwell's Double Shot.<br />
356—Frank Merriwell's Baseball Victories.<br />
359—Frank Merriwell's Confidence.<br />
362—Frank Merriwell's Auto.<br />
365—Frank Merriwell's Fun.<br />
368—Frank Merriwell's Generosity.<br />
371—Frank Merriwell's Tricks.<br />
374—Frank Merriwell's Temptation.<br />
377—Frank Merriwell on Top.<br />
380—Frank Merriwell's Luck.<br />
383—Frank Merriwell's Mascot.<br />
386—Frank Merriwell's Reward.<br />
389—Frank Merriwell's Phantom.<br />
392—Frank Merriwell's Faith.<br />
395—Frank Merriwell's Victories.<br />
398—Frank Merriwell's Iron Nerve.<br />
401—Frank Merriwell in Kentucky.<br />
404—Frank Merriwell's Power.<br />
407—Frank Merriwell's Shrewdness.<br />
410—Frank Merriwell's Set-back.<br />
413—Frank Merriwell's Search.<br />
416—Frank Merriwell's Club.<br />
419—Frank Merriwell's Trust.<br />
422—Frank Merriwell's False Friend.<br />
425—Frank Merriwell's Strong Arm.<br />
428—Frank Merriwell as Coach.<br />
431—Frank Merriwell's Brother.<br />
434—Frank Merriwell's Marvel.<br />
437—Frank Merriwell's Support.<br />
440—Dick Merriwell at Fardale.<br />
443—Dick Merriwell's Glory.<br />
446—Dick Merriwell's Promise.<br />
449—Dick Merriwell's Rescue.<br />
452—Dick Merriwell's Narrow Escape.<br />
455—Dick Merriwell's Racket.<br />
458—Dick Merriwell's Revenge.<br />
461—Dick Merriwell's Ruse.<br />
464—Dick Merriwell's Delivery.<br />
467—Dick Merriwell's Wonders.<br />
470—Frank Merriwell's Honor.<br />
473—Dick Merriwell's Diamond.<br />
476—Frank Merriwell's Winners.<br />
479—Dick Merriwell's Dash.<br />
482—Dick Merriwell's Ability.<br />
485—Dick Merriwell's Trap.<br />
488—Dick Merriwell's Defense.<br />
491—Dick Merriwell's Model.<br />
494—Dick Merriwell's Mystery.<br />
</p>
<p><b>Published About January 5th</b></p>
<p>497—Frank Merriwell's Backers.</p>
<p><b>Published About January 26th</b></p>
<p>500—Dick Merriwell's Backstop.</p>
<p><b>Published About February 16th</b></p>
<p>503—Dick Merriwell's Western Mission.</p>
<p><b>Published About March 9th</b></p>
<p>506—Frank Merriwell's Rescue.</p>
<p><b>Published About March 30th</b></p>
<p>509—Frank Merriwell's Encounter.</p>
<p><b>Published About April 20th</b></p>
<p>512—Dick Merriwell's Marked Money.</p>
<p><b>Published About May 11th</b></p>
<p>515—Frank Merriwell's Nomads.</p>
<p><b>Published About June 1st</b></p>
<p>518—Dick Merriwell on the Gridiron.</p>
<p><b>Published About June 22nd</b></p>
<p>521—Dick Merriwell's Disguise.</p>
<p class="center">STREET & SMITH, <i>Publishers</i>, NEW YORK CITY</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="Transcribers_Notes" id="Transcribers_Notes">Transcriber's Notes:</a></h2>
<p>Added table of contents.</p>
<p>Some inconsistent hyphenation retained (e.g. "wildfire" vs. "wild-fire").</p>
<p>Images may be clicked to view larger versions.</p>
<p>Page 5, changed "wiseless" to "wireless."</p>
<p>Page 7, added missing "s" to "chum's."</p>
<p>Page 9, changed "fencee" to "fence."</p>
<p>Page 14, added missing period after "superstitious" and changed
"ringing" to "bringing."</p>
<p>Page 20, changed single to double quote after "ye yours."</p>
<p>Page 25, added missing t's to "Matt" at start of chapter XV.</p>
<p>Page 30, changed "ascent" to "assent."</p>
<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 46075 ***</div>
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