The Project Gutenberg eBook, Motor Matt's Daring, or, True to His Friends, by Stanley R. Matthews This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: Motor Matt's Daring, or, True to His Friends Motor Stories Thrilling Adventure Motor Fiction No. 2, March 6, 1909 Author: Stanley R. Matthews Release Date: July 12, 2014 [eBook #46257] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 ***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MOTOR MATT'S DARING, OR, TRUE TO HIS FRIENDS*** E-text prepared by David Edwards, Demian Katz, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by Villanova University Digital Library (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/) Note: Images of the original pages are available through Villanova University Digital Library. See http://digital.library.villanova.edu/Item/vudl:300153 MOTOR STORIES THRILLING ADVENTURE MOTOR FICTION NO. 2 MAR. 6, 1909. FIVE CENTS MOTOR MATT'S DARING OR TRUE TO HIS FRIENDS By—Stanley R. Matthews. Street & Smith, Publishers, New York. MOTOR STORIES THRILLING ADVENTURE MOTOR FICTION 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 Street & Smith, 79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York, N. Y. No. 2. NEW YORK, March 6, 1909. Price Five Cents. MOTOR MATT'S DARING; OR, TRUE TO HIS FRIENDS. By the author of "MOTOR MATT." CONTENTS CHAPTER I. THE RUNAWAY MOTOR-CYCLE. CHAPTER II. UNDERHAND WORK. CHAPTER III. M'READY'S "STRIKE." CHAPTER IV. DACE PERRY'S DUPLICITY. CHAPTER V. A DISAGREEABLE SURPRISE. CHAPTER VI. OVERHAULING THE THIEF. CHAPTER VII. BACK TO THE BLUEBELL. CHAPTER VIII. TOO LATE! CHAPTER IX. HELD AT BAY. CHAPTER X. A DARING ESCAPE. CHAPTER XI. A HARD JOURNEY. CHAPTER XII. A STOUT HEART AND PLENTY OF HOPE. CHAPTER XIII. MATT WINS—AND LOSES. CHAPTER XIV. A QUEER TANGLE. CHAPTER XV. THE LAST SURPRISE. CHAPTER XVI. MOTOR MATT'S TRIUMPH. AMONG THE ALLIGATORS CHARACTERS THAT APPEAR IN THIS STORY. Matt King, concerning whom there has always been a mystery—a lad of splendid athletic abilities, and never-failing nerve, who has won for himself, among the boys of the Western town, the popular name of "Mile-a-minute Matt." Chub McReady, sometimes called plain "Reddy," for short, on account of his fiery "thatch"—a chum of Matt, with a streak of genius for inventing things that often land the bold experimenter in trouble. Welcome Perkins, a one-legged wanderer who lives with Chub and his sister while their father prospects for gold—Welcome is really a man of peace, yet he delights to imagine himself a "terror," and is forever boasting about being a "reformed road-agent." Dirk Hawley, a sporting man who usually gets whatever he goes after; and being both rich and unscrupulous is reckoned a dangerous character to have for an enemy. Dace Perry, a school companion of young King, who has learned to hate Matt so furiously that he is ready to go to almost any length in order to do our hero an injury. Tom Clipperton, known generally as "Clip," a quarter-blood, who is very sensitive about his Indian ancestry. Susie McReady, the small sister of Chub. Edith Hawley, the gambler's daughter. Mr. McReady, a prospector. Delray, a watchman in charge of the abandoned "Bluebell" Mine. Jacks, Bisbee,} two ruffians in the employ of Hawley. Pedro Morales, a Mexican wood-hauler. CHAPTER I. THE RUNAWAY MOTOR-CYCLE. "Shade o' Gallopin' Dick! Say, allow me to rise an' explain that I kin ride anythin' from a hoss to a streak o' greased lightnin'. I don't take no back seat fer anythin' on hoofs, 'r wheels, 'r wings. If ye think ye kin make Eagle-eye Perkins, ex-Pirate o' the Plains, take to the cliffs an' the cactus jest by flashin' a little ole benzine push-cart onto him an' darin' him to git straddle, ye're goin' to be fooled a-plenty. Shucks! Here, hold my hat." "You don't have to shed your hat, Perk." "Got to cl'ar decks fer action. When a man with a wooden leg goes gallivantin' around on a two-wheeled buzz-wagon, the less plunder he keeps aboard the better. Hold the hat an' hesh up about it. Which crank d'ye turn to make 'er start?" Ed Penny, on his one-cylinder motor-cycle, had come chug-chugging across the bridge over the town canal and stopped in front of the McReady home. While he was out in front, talking with Chub McReady, Welcome Perkins, the self-called reformed road-agent, had stumped out of the house and walked around the hitching-post against which Penny had leaned the machine. Welcome had snorted contemptuously. Penny had then whirled on the old man and had asked him if he thought he could ride the motor-cycle. This led to Welcome's outburst and the jerking off of his sombrero, which he handed to Chub. Both boys were enchanted with the prospect ahead of them. There was never anything Welcome hadn't done or couldn't do—to hear him tell about it—and this looked like a good chance to take some of the conceit out of him. "Ever ride a bike, Welcome?" asked Penny, his enthusiasm palling a little as he thought of what might happen to his machine. "Ride a bike!" exploded Welcome; "me! Why, I was raised on 'em. Never was scart of a reg'lar bike yet, so I reckon two wheels an' a couple o' quarts o' gasoline ain't goin' to make me side-step none. How d'ye start 'er, I ask ye? What knob d'ye pull?" Penny showed him how to start the gasoline and to switch on the spark. Welcome puffed himself up and patted his chest. "Nothin' to it," he rumbled. "Watch my smoke, will ye, an' see how easy ridin' a contraption like that comes to a feller that's knowed how to do things his hull life." He pulled off his coat and gave it to Chub to hold, along with his hat. Then he rolled up his shirt-sleeves. "Snakes alive!" he muttered, with a sudden thought. "How am I goin' to keep that wooden pin on the pedal?" "We'll tie it there, Perk," answered Chub promptly. "Wait a minute." He hung the coat and hat on the hitching-post and started off into the yard. While he was gone, Welcome began pulling up the strap that secured the pin to his stump of a leg. By way of showing how calm and self-possessed he was, he sang as he worked. "I oncet knowed a gal in the year o' '83, A han'some young thing by the name o' Em-eye-lee; I never could persuade her for to leave me be, An' she went an' she took an' she married me." When Chub got back with a piece of rope, Welcome was astride the saddle, his foot on the ground, with Penny, who was shaking with suppressed joy, helping to hold up the machine. "Tie 'er tight, son," said Welcome. "Don't you fret any about that, Perk," answered Chub, with a wink at Penny as he lifted himself erect. "Remember how to start?" "Think I'm an ijut?" demanded Welcome indignantly. "I got a head fer machinery, anyways, an' I could hev studied it out all by myself if ye'd given me time. Are we all ready?" Chub helped Penny pull the machine upright. "All ready!" they answered, in one voice, with sly grins at each other behind the old man's back. "Then see me tear loose." Welcome worked the requisite levers, the machine began to sputter, and the boys gave it a shove. There was a good deal of wabbling, at first, but as the machine gathered headway it got steadier, and Welcome dwindled away down the road. "Not so much of a joke, after all, Penny," observed Chub, in gloomy disappointment. "The old freak seems to know how to stay on and keep right side up. I thought he'd scatter himself all over the road right at the start." "One on us, Chub," returned Penny. "Ah," he added, his eyes on Welcome, "he's turning 'round in that big open space near the canal bridge. Gee-whiz! but that was a short turn. Watch him, will you! He's comin' this way like the cannon- ball limited." "What's he yellin' about?" queried Chub excitedly. "Something must have gone wrong." Both boys watched the approaching Welcome with growing wonder. He was coming like a house afire, his long hair [Pg 2] blowing out behind him, and he was howling like a Comanche. There was a look of helpless consternation on his face. "Gosh-all-Friday! How d'ye stop 'er? Ye didn't tell me how ter stop 'er!" Welcome shot past them like a bullet out of a gun, his voice trailing out behind him and becoming all jumbled up in the distance. "He can stay on, all right," whooped Chub, "but he can't stop! Why didn't you tell him how to stop, Penny?" "He never asked me!" answered Penny. "The thing is runnin' away with him!" Welcome described another hair-raising turn at another place that allowed him to circle, and came whooping back. "What'm I goin' to do?" he howled; "how long've I got to keep this thing up?" "Jump off!" suggested Chub. "Can't! Ye tied me on! Wow!" By that time Welcome was out of talking distance again. When he circled back on the next frantic round, it was plain that his gorge was beginning to rise. "I'll skelp somebody fer this!" he roared. "Ye framed it up between ye, that's what ye done! Dad-bing the pizen ole thing-um-bob!" Welcome was now tearing toward the bridge over the canal. A man was coming across the bridge on foot. "Great Cæsar!" exclaimed Chub, staring toward the bridge, "that's Dirk Hawley, the gambler, comin' this way?" "Welcome ain't makin' any move to turn around," answered Penny. "Looks to me as though he was going to knock Hawley into the canal." By a common impulse the boys started on a run toward the scene of threatened disaster. Hawley had come to a standstill in the middle of the bridge. "Slow down, you old catamaran!" he cried. "What d'ye mean by scorchin' like that?" "Head me off!" begged Welcome. "Can't stop—don't know how to stop! Trip me up 'r somethin'!" By the time Hawley had got this through his head Welcome was upon him. With a shout of anger, Hawley hurled himself to one side. He escaped being struck, and missed going into the water of the canal by a scant margin; but he had been obliged to throw himself flat down on the bridge, and in doing so he had jarred his body a little and jolted his temper a good deal. As he picked himself up he said a good many unkind things about Welcome, but the old fellow was plunging on beyond the bridge and had other troubles that took up his attention. Just as he had about made up his mind to run into the side of a building, or a fence, and bring himself to a halt at any cost, his frenzied eyes caught sight of another motor-cycle, sailing toward him. A thrill of hope darted through his breast. "Matt!" he yelped. "Stop me! The blamed thing's got the bit in its teeth an' I can't do nothin' with it!" Matt King slowed down, stared a moment at the frantic old man, laughed a little, then described a half-circle, put on more power, and raced along beside the runaway machine. It took him but a moment to lean over and shut off the engine. "How did you happen to get in a fix like this, Welcome?" he asked, when both machines were at a halt and the old man was standing on one foot and trying to jerk his wooden leg loose from the pedal. "Can't ye guess what onnery limb put this up on me?" glared Welcome. "Not sence I reformed hev I ever felt like p'intin' fer All Outdoors an' becomin' a hootin', tootin' border ruffian, as I do this here minit! Wow! The ole sperrit is a-bubblin' an' a-stirrin' around in me like all-possessed, an' I don't reckon I kin hang out agin' it." "Buck up, Welcome," said Matt, who knew the old fellow's eccentricities as well as any one, and understood just how much of a false alarm he was. "It won't do for you to backslide now, after you've lived a respectable life for so long. Here, I'll get the lashing off that wooden leg of yours." Leaning his motor-cycle against a tree by the roadside, Matt bent down and got busy with the rope. As soon as Welcome could jerk the pin loose, he whirled and stumped furiously back in the direction of Chub and Penny. Matt grinned a little as he looked after him. "I never saw the old chap stirred up as bad as he is now," he muttered. "I wonder what Dirk Hawley is doing over in this direction? Welcome came within one of knocking him into the canal. If that had happened there'd sure have been fireworks." After leaning Penny's machine against the tree, Matt mounted his own and started for the bridge. As he crossed the bridge he saw something white lying on the planks, and halted to pick the object up. It proved to be an old envelope with an enclosure of some sort, and was addressed to James McReady, Phœnix, A. T. This address was in ink, but the "James McReady" had been scratched out and the name of "Mark McReady" penciled above it. [Pg 3] James McReady was a prospector, and was in the hills looking for gold most of the time. He was Mark's father, and Mark's nickname was "Chub." Evidently this letter was intended for Chub, and had fallen from Dirk Hawley's pocket when he threw himself out of the way of Welcome and the charging motor-cycle. But how was it that such a letter happened to be in the possession of Hawley, the gambler? While Matt was puzzling over that phase of the question, a heavy step sounded on the bridge, and a gruff, commanding voice called out: "What are you doin' with that letter? Hand it over here; it belongs to me!" CHAPTER II. UNDERHAND WORK. That was not the first time Matt King had met Dirk Hawley. The man was highly successful in his nefarious profession, owned a gambling-house in Phœnix, and Matt knew, from personal observation, that he was both tricky and unscrupulous. During the recent Phœnix-Prescott athletic meet Hawley had tried to bribe Matt to withdraw from the bicycle-race, and had even gone so far as to have him abducted from Phœnix, in order to keep him out of it. The gambler, in conjunction with an enemy of Matt's named Dace Perry, had "plunged" heavily on the Prescott contestant, and only Matt's timely arrival at the track had saved the day for Phœnix.[A] See Motor Matt Weekly No. 1 for an account of Matt's exciting dash of twenty miles from the hills into Phœnix, and his arrival at the track in time to race with O'Day, the Prescott champion, and win the prize in the bicycle contest—a seven-horse-power motor-cycle. The story was entitled "Motor Matt; or, The King of the Wheel." Because of all this, there was little love lost between Hawley and Matt. The gambler's face, as he stood on the bridge with one hand outstretched, was full of anger and determination. Matt eyed him coolly. With a muttered imprecation, Hawley snatched at the letter, but Matt stepped back quickly and thrust the missive behind him. "What d'you mean?" panted Hawley savagely. "I mean that this letter isn't yours," replied Matt. "It's addressed to my chum, Mark McReady." "Never you mind who it's addressed to. I say it's mine, and that's all you need to know. Give it here! This ain't the first time your trail's crossed mine, young feller, an' I'm gittin' mighty tired of havin' you butt in an' try to give me the double- cross. If you know when you're well off you'll mind your own business—if you've got any to mind. Gi'me that, an' no more foolishness!" Hawley finished with a snap of his big, protruding lower jaw. He was a man accustomed to having his way, and from his manner it was plain that he intended to have it now. But if he was determined, so was Matt; and there was a glint in Motor Matt's gray eyes which Hawley would have done well to heed. Chub and Penny had approached the bridge from behind the gambler, drawn to the scene by the other's loud voice and blustering manner. Matt's face was toward the boys, but Hawley had his back to them and did not know they were so close. As Hawley made his last fierce demand for the letter, he sprang forward, intending to take it by force if he could not get it in any other way. Matt, who was watching him warily, leaped back and jerked his motor-cycle in front of him. Hawley came into violent collision with the hundred-and-fifty-pound machine, barking a shin on one of the pedals and getting a sharp dig in the stomach with one of the handle-bars. Matt hung to the motor-cycle and kept it from going over, for he was not taking any more chances with the Comet than he was obliged to. Breathless and fairly boiling with wrath, Hawley fell back. "Confound you!" he fumed, doubling up with both hands on the pit of his stomach, "I'll make you sorry for this! If you don't give me that letter, I'll——" "There it goes!" cried Matt, flipping the letter deftly over the gambler's head. "Catch, Chub!" he added. "That's addressed to you, but it dropped out of Hawley's pocket, here on the bridge. Take care of it." Chub grabbed the letter out of the air. "You bet I'll take care of it," he answered. "It was dad who scratched out his own name and wrote mine over it—I can tell his fist as far as I can see it. How in Sam Hill did Hawley happen to have this?" The gambler turned on Chub with an angry snarl. "I reckon it is yours," said he, with a puzzling change of tactics that Matt could not understand, "but that's no reason I should give it up to that young cub," and he turned to glare at Matt. "The letter came into my hands by accident, an' I was takin' the trouble to walk out here an' bring it to you when that old freak, Perkins, came within an ace of running me down." "Why didn't you give it to me, then?" demanded Chub. "You had plenty of chance while Matt was racin' after Welcome an' stoppin' the other machine." [A] "How could I give it to you," scowled Hawley, "when it was layin' on the bridge?" "You never made a move to take it out of your pocket," scored Chub, "an' you didn't know you'd dropped it on the bridge till you'd turned around an' saw Matt pickin' it up." "Aw, what's the use of chewin' the rag with a lot o' kids, anyhow?" snapped Hawley, whirling around and starting across the bridge toward town. As he passed Matt he gave him a hostile look. "I've got a big score to settle with you, my bantam," he said, between his teeth, "an' you can chalk it up that you're goin' to get all that's comin' before I'm done." Matt did not reply, but returned the gambler's look steadily. Then he watched him as he limped off down the road. "Here's a go!" exclaimed Chub, as soon as Hawley was out of ear-shot. "He never intended to give me the letter. I'd never have got it if Welcome hadn't come so near runnin' him down, an' if you hadn't seen it, Matt, an' got hold of it first. What sort of a game do you calculate he was tryin' to play?" "What did he say to you while I was sailing after Welcome?" asked Matt. "Why, he asked if I had heard anythin' from dad lately—wanted to know if anythin' had come by wireless from Delray at the Bluebell." Chub was of an inventive turn, and had constructed a wireless apparatus that enabled him to communicate with the Bluebell Mine, twenty miles away in the hills. Delray, the watchman at the Bluebell, was an old telegraph-operator, and a good friend of Chub's and Matt's. "He didn't say anything about having a letter for you?" "Not a yip. What's he developed such a sudden an' overwhelmin' interest in dad for? Why, he wouldn't even pass the time of day with dad, even if dad was willin'—which he wouldn't be, not havin' a very high opinion of Hawley anyhow. And yet, here's Dirk Hawley, walkin' 'way out here to bat up a few questions concernin' dad. But he wasn't intendin' to give me that letter, that's a cinch." "I'm dashed if I think he was, either," mused Matt. "He made a sudden shift, after I got the letter into your hands, Chub." "Take it from me," chimed in Penny, "Dirk Hawley's up to some underhand work. Mebby you two can figure it out, but I've got to be goin'. Hope old Perk'll get over his mad spell, Chub," he added, with a grin. "Susie'll smooth him down, Ed," laughed Chub, "but I guess he won't buy that gasoline push-cart of yours for me, now." "Was Welcome thinking of doing that?" put in Matt. "That's what he had in his mind, but after that wild ride, and the way he felt when he got through with it, I guess that little Reddy McReady will have to pass up the motor-cycle." "Well," said Penny, starting off, "a hundred takes 'er, Chub, if the reformed road-agent changes his mind." When Penny got over the bridge, and had headed for the place where his motor-cycle had been left, Chub and Matt went on with their talk about Dirk Hawley and the letter. "It's the biggest mystery I ever went up against," declared Chub. "Maybe there's a way you can clear it up," said Matt. "How?" "Why, by reading the letter," laughed Matt, "instead of standing there and bothering your head about it." "Sure," returned Chub. "That's the one thing to do, and it's the one thing I hadn't thought of." Just as he started to take the letter out of the envelope, a shrill voice reached the boys from along the road. "Mark! Come here, Mark—and hurry!" Chub and Matt shifted their gaze to the front of the house. Chub's sister Susie was standing by the gate and seemed to be considerably excited. As she called to her brother, she waved her hands frantically. "Gee-whiskers!" exclaimed Chub, pushing the letter into his pocket. "What's to pay now?" "Perhaps Welcome refuses to be smoothed down," suggested Matt. "It's somethin' besides that," declared Chub. Matt mounted the Comet and kept abreast of Chub as he hurried back toward the house. "Come around to the kitchen—quick!" called Susie, retreating hurriedly through the gate as the boys came close. Matt took his machine into the yard and leaned it against the wall. Chub had already followed Susie into the kitchen, and they were standing in one corner of the room, looking down at the wreck of Chub's wireless apparatus when Matt ran in. "What d'ye think of that?" wailed Chub, waving his hand toward the smashed instrument. "Who did it?" queried Matt. [Pg 4] "I don't know, Matt," answered Susie. "I was in the front part of the house when I heard a smash out here in the kitchen. I came as quick as I could, but there was no one here. The kitchen door was open, and I ran and looked out. I heard some one running through the bushes, but I couldn't see who it was." It had taken Chub several weeks to get together the materials for that wireless-telegraph apparatus. Induction coils and batteries he had sent away for, but all the rest of the material he had picked up here and there, wherever he could find them. The instruments had been crude, but they served their purpose and had been the pride of Chub's heart. As he stared at the wreck, Chub clenched his hands and his lip trembled. "Too bad, Chub," sympathized Matt. "Have you any idea who could have done it?" "This seems to be Dirk Hawley's day for underhand work," muttered Chub. "But Hawley couldn't have done this—he was hiking for town when it happened. Still, it may be that he was mixed up in it. Read that letter, Chub. There's a chance that it may give us a clue to the mystery." Chub dropped into a chair and pulled the letter out of his pocket. CHAPTER III. M'READY'S "STRIKE." "Why, it's from dad!" cried Susie, looking over her brother's shoulder as he opened out a brown, greasy-looking sheet of paper. "That's what, sis," returned Chub. "Dad scribbled this on a piece of candle-wrapper." "How did the letter get here? Where did it come from?" Matt explained how the letter had been dropped by Dirk Hawley and found on the bridge. The girl's face flushed angrily. "What business had Hawley with a letter of Mark's?" she asked. "That's just what we're tryin' to find out, sis," replied Chub. "Matt and I are pretty much up in the air, an' if this candle- wrapper don't give us a clue I guess we'll stay up. If you'll subside for a brace of shakes, I'll read this aloud, and we'll see where it lands us." "Go on," said the girl breathlessly. "I do hope there isn't anything the matter with dad." There is always more or less peril attending the work of a prospector. Mr. McReady had been gone for several weeks on his present trip, and this letter, which had fallen thus strangely into the hands of Chub and Susie, was the very first news they had had from him since he had left home. "It was written in the Phœnix Mountains," said Chub, examining the sheet, "five days ago. It's hard to read, as the pencil didn't make much of a mark on the grease-spots, but I guess I can puzzle it out." Chub read slowly, pausing from time to time to get over some difficult point in the writing. The letter was as follows: "My Dear Son: I am writing this in the Phœnix Mountains, about five miles northwest of the Bluebell Mine and a quarter of a mile to the left of the old pack-trail leading from Yuma to Prescott. Above me is a peak with a 'blow-out' of white quartz in the form of a cross. You can see the peak and the cross easily from the pack-trail. At the base of the peak I have piled my monuments on a gold claim which promises big things for the McReady family—in fact, I am sure it is the 'strike' which I have been trying to make for years. The discovery is mine, but if I get it safely located you will have to help me. I have lost the blank location notices I had with me, and I can't leave the claim to come to Phœnix after any more. A prospector named Jacks—grub-staked by Hawley, of Phœnix—was spying upon me when I made the 'strike.' Jacks is a ruffian, and if I left the claim for any length of time, he would put up his own location notice and rush to Phœnix to put another on record. "I am sending this to you by a Mexican wood-hauler named Pedro Morales. He's not the sort of messenger I'd like, but he's the only one I can find. I hope you'll get this all right. If you do, hire a horse somewhere and come out here at once with the two blank location notices. It is just as well to be careful when you come, so as not to have any trouble with Jacks. If your wireless-telegraph line is working, I may try to reach Delray at the Bluebell and have him forward a message to you confirming this letter. "Now, Mark, the McReady fortunes are at stake, and it's up to you to make good. And, whatever you do, hurry. From Your Father." There were many comments from Matt and Susie while Chub was reading. Chub's eyes lighted with exultation as he read of his father's "strike," and the face of his sister glowed with happiness. [Pg 5] "What d'ye think of that, sis?" cried Chub, when he had finished with the letter. "Hurrah for dad! It won't be long, now, before the McReadys move over on Easy Street." "Oh, it's great!" murmured the delighted girl. "Don't you think so, Matt? I just knew dad would strike it, one of these days." "We'll move back East, that's what we'll do," went on Chub, tramping excitedly around the kitchen; "we'll get right back to old Connecticut, where we came from, and dad will stop his crowhopping around these Arizona hills. Hoop-a-la! I'm so tickled I can't stand still. Ever feel like you was a brass band, Matt, an' had to toot? Well, that's me, right now! Where's Perk? The Old Joke ought to be around here and help us rejoice." "I hate to be the original and only wet blanket, Chub," put in Matt, "but you're side-stepping a whole lot of things you ought to be looking square in the face. First off, your father has got to have a couple of location notices before he can get a firm grip on that claim. That letter has been five days on the road—and when your father wrote it he asked you to hurry." Chub stopped prancing around the kitchen and came to a sudden halt. "Gee!" he gasped, with a wild look at his sister, "I was forgettin' all about that." Making a jump for the wall, he grabbed his hat off a nail. "Me for town after a couple of location blanks," he went on, "and then a hot-footed getaway into the Phœnix hills." Matt grabbed his arm before he could get through the door. "Easy, Chub," said Matt. "You may gain time in the end if you delay a little to talk the thing over and find out just what you're up against." "Why," returned Chub, "dad's in the hills waiting for location notices. All I've got to do is to get 'em an' take 'em out to him." "Sounds easy enough, I admit, but there's been underhand work already, Chub, and I'll warrant there's going to be more. It might only take a few minutes to figure this thing out as well as we can, and it will be a big help to know what's ahead of you." "Matt's right," nodded Susie. "As per usual," answered Chub. "What do you figure out from the letter, Matt?" "Hawley 'grub-staked' this fellow, Jacks," went on Matt. "That gives Hawley an interest in whatever Jacks finds, don't it?" "A half-interest," said Chub. "Well, somehow Hawley got that letter from the Mexican wood-hauler, who was bringing it to you. Jacks, from out in the hills, may have sent Hawley a tip to be on the lookout for the Mexican, for all we know. Anyhow, Hawley got the letter. He knew at once, from reading it, that if Jacks got the claim from your father it would be a good thing for Hawley." "Great Scott!" muttered Chub, staring at Matt with falling jaw. "The gambler's out for a big graft, all right." "I'd believe anything of Dirk Hawley," put in Susie. "If dad left that claim," went on Chub, "this fellow Jacks could slap up his own location notice and then ride for Phœnix with a duplicate. If he got the duplicate on record before dad got his own notice to the recorder's office, the claim would belong to Jacks and Hawley. I'll bet a dime against a chalk-mark that's what Hawley's workin' out! But what did Hawley come over here for, this morning?" "No trick at all to figure that out, Chub," said Matt. "Hawley asked you if you'd got any word from your father by 'wireless'——" "That's what he did!" "Your father said in the letter that he'd try to reach Delray and have him communicate with you. Hawley wanted to find out whether he had, and whether you had sent or taken the location blanks out to the hills. That means a whole lot to Hawley, if he's working to cheat your father out of his 'strike.'" "And it was Hawley who had some one sneak in here and wreck the wireless machine!" cried Susie excitedly. "If the instruments were smashed he knew Chub couldn't get any word from the hills." "What d'you think o' that!" growled Chub. "I wonder what Hawley has done already, and how long he's had that letter." "He hasn't had it long," averred Matt. "Take it from me, Chub, he wouldn't wait long, after he got hold of the letter, to come out here and see whether your father had been flashing any messages from the Bluebell." "Somethin' has got to be done, an' done quick!" declared Chub. "We're fightin' a man that's as full of tricks as a 'Pache Injun, an' he's not going to let the McReadys beat him out if he can help it. What's our next play, Matt? You've got a whole lot better head than I have for planning a thing like this." Before Matt could answer, there came a rap at the front door. Susie gave a startled jump. "Do you think that's—that's Hawley?" she whispered. [Pg 6] "Hawley's done at this end of the line," said Matt. "If I'm any prophet, he'll pull off the rest of his work in the hills." Chub was already on his way to the front door, and Susie and Matt followed him from the kitchen. When Chub pulled the door open, all were surprised. Tom Clipperton, a quarter-blood Indian, a school friend of Matt's and Chub's, was standing in the doorway. Beside Clipperton was a disreputable little Mexican with gold rings in his ears. "Howdy, Clip!" called Chub. "Come in, and bring your friend. You'll excuse me if I duck. Important business, you know." "Wait," answered Clipperton, in his quick, disjointed fashion. "This man's a wood-hauler. Hear what he's got to say. It's got a lot to do with you." "What's his name, Clip?" asked Matt, pressing forward. "Pedro Morales. I've known him for a long time. Helped him out of a bad scrape, once. He's never forgot it." There was an air of suppressed excitement about Clipperton, and a smoldering light in his black eyes. Catching Morales by the arm, he pulled him into the sitting-room. "Pedro Morales!" exclaimed Matt, turning to Chub and Susie. "Why, he's the man your father gave the letter to. You'd better wait and hear what he has to say, Chub. We're getting at the nub of this thing in short order." "Who told you?" demanded Clipperton, peering at Matt. "About the letter, I mean," he added. Matt explained briefly how Hawley had dropped the letter and how he had picked it up. "Hawley," scowled Clipperton. "Dace Perry must have given it to him." "Perry?" returned Matt and Chub, in a breath. "Yes, Perry," hissed Clipperton. "There's a plot. He's in it as well as Hawley. Tell 'em, Morales," Clip added, nodding to the Mexican. CHAPTER IV. DACE PERRY'S DUPLICITY. Pedro Morales was not feeling very easy in his mind. That fact was plain to be seen. With bent head, and holding his ragged hat in his hand, he shuffled from one foot to the other and shot shifty glances at Matt and Chub. "Me, I was all same good Mexicano," said he. "Clipperton, he know; he always been good friend with me." "Stow it, Pedro," growled Clip. "Tell about the letter." "Si," exclaimed Pedro. "I haul de wood from de hills, from de Phœnix Mountains, si. I come dat way two day ago, and some mans he geeve me de letter, and say I bring him by Phœnix and geeve him to some odder mans dat was call McReady, Mar-r-r-k McReady. Madre mia, me, I no sabe Mar-r-r-k McReady; I say I ask for him when I reach Phœnix and sell de wood yesserday. Den I come, make some question on de street, and feller say he know Mar-r-r-k McReady and take de letter to him. 'Bueno!' I say, and geeve him it." "It was Dace Perry he gave it to," said Clipperton. "Perry was across the street from the City Hall Plaza. I was in the Plaza. Saw Pedro talking with Perry. Was too far off to hear what they were chinning about. Didn't think much about it then. Saw Pedro this morning. He told me about getting a dollar for bringing in the letter. I wasn't long in finding out he'd given it to Perry. Some crooked work about it—I knew that." "Perry thinks about as much of Chub as he does of me," spoke up Matt, "and when Pedro tackled him about the letter, he thought he saw a chance to do something crooked." "He never intended to give the letter to me," put in Chub, "an' it's a dead open an' shut he read it." "Of course he read it! When he found out what it had to say about Jacks and Hawley, why, he made a bee-line for the gambler and turned it over to him. That's the kind of a chap Perry is." A fierce expression had crossed Clipperton's face during this talk about Perry. He felt that he had more cause to hate Perry than either Matt or Chub; and Matt was constantly fearing that Clip, who had Indian blood in his veins, would get himself into trouble by making some rash and desperate move against Perry. "He's a two-faced schemer!" growled Clipperton. "They say he owes Hawley a lot of money. Mebby that's why he's trying to help him." "Hang his reasons!" scowled Chub. "Perry turned the letter over to Hawley and that's enough for me to know. I'll get a hustle on and hit only the high places between here and dad's new 'strike.'" Chub started for the door. "See you again, Clip," he added; "Matt'll tell you why I've got to tear away like this." "Hold up a minute, Chub," called Matt. "I've lost a good deal of time now, old chap," returned Chub, pausing at the door. [Pg 7] "Don't get a horse," went on Matt. "Borrow Penny's machine. You can get out there quicker with that." "That's a prime idea!" declared Chub. "I'll get the location blanks and then go for the motor-cycle." "When you get it, come back here, and I'll take the Comet and go with you." "Why," cried Chub, "I thought you were going to point the Comet for Denver?" "My friends seem to need me," said Matt quietly, "so I'll let Denver wait." Chub ran back to grip Matt's hand and wring it warmly. "Motor Matt's a chum worth having!" he cried enthusiastically. "With you alongside of me, and two good motor-cycles under us, we'll win out against Hawley and Perry with ground to spare. I'll be back with Penny's machine just as soon as I can get here, Matt!" With that, Chub bolted through the door and made a rush for the road. "What's up, Matt?" queried Clip. Matt cast a significant look at Morales, and Clip took the Mexican by the arm, led him out on the porch, and bade him good-by. When Clip returned, Matt and Susie showed him the letter from Mr. McReady, and told him everything they knew connected with the situation, including the villainous smashing of the wireless apparatus. "Perry broke the machine," said Clip promptly. "Hawley told him to. He watched his chance, stole into the kitchen, and caused the wreck." "It looks that way, Clip," admitted Matt; "still, it's only a guess. We don't know for sure." "Wish I was as sure of some other things as I am of that," answered Clip darkly. "Dace Perry's a cur." "He got a wrong start, Clip, that's all that ails him." "I'd like to go with you and Chub. You may need me." "It's a cinch I'd like to have you go, Clip, but there are only two motor-cycles in town, and you couldn't keep up with us on a horse." "Well," said Clip, after a few moments' thought, "if I can't go with you I'll stay in town and watch Perry." "It's all right to watch him, Clip, but keep your hands off him. Hawley would like nothing better than to land you behind the bars, if he could." Clipperton took this advice in moody silence. He and Matt walked out on the porch to wait for Chub, and, while they were sitting on the steps, Welcome Perkins turned in at the gate and came stumping toward them along the front walk. There was an aggrieved look on Welcome's face. He carried a stick over his shoulder, and at the end of it swung a small bundle tied up in a red bandanna handkerchief. "What's the matter, Welcome?" asked Matt, casting a quizzical look at the old fellow. "Blamed if I ain't stood it jest as long's I'm goin' to," answered Welcome. "That onnery limb has played tag with me 'bout long enough. I been driv out o' my home, an' I'm goin' into the hills an' git lawless. That red-headed bandicoot of a Chub has got into a habit o' playin' football with me an' usin' me fer the ball. I'm plumb tired, an' there ain't no use tryin' to be respectable, no-how. When I'm the Terror o' the Hills, an' everybody 'most is huntin' of me, an' there's a price on my head, Chub McReady'll hev it to think about." "Well," said Matt, with a wink at Clip, "if you've got to go, Welcome, good-by and good luck. Don't be any more lawless than you can possibly help." Welcome looked disappointed. This was his usual "bluff" whenever things failed to go as he thought they ought to. He wanted Matt to get excited and argue with him to stay away from the hills. "Whenever I cut loose," went on Welcome morosely, "I allers go the limit. That's my natur', an' ye can't git away from a feller's natur' anyways ye try. I'm plumb sorry fer law an' order now that I've backslid, an'——" "Don't let us keep you, Welcome," said Matt. "I guess you're in a big hurry, and you've got a long walk before you get to the place where you can begin your depredations." "That's right," returned Welcome. "I'd a-been gone long before now if I hadn't had to go over town arter some things I need." He pulled a can of sardines out of one pocket and looked at it moodily for a second, and then drew a can of salmon out of another pocket. "I've heern tell," he continued, "that a fish diet is pacifyin'. I jest drapped in ter say good- by to Susie. She's allers been good to me, Susie has. Jim McReady's a mighty good friend o' mine, too, an' he's trusted me to stay here an' look arter Susie an' Chub while he's prospectin'. I want ye to tell Jim, Matt, how blamed hard I tried to do my duty, but that I jest couldn't stand the brow-beatin' an' bullyraggin' I got from Chub." At that moment Susie came out on the porch. "Why, Welcome!" she exclaimed; "what's the matter?" The old man gave a plaintive sniffle. "Been driv out ag'in, gal," he answered, "an' this here's the last time. I stood enough to drive a preacher to drink, but never no more, never no more. Good-by, Susie. You've allers been good to me, you hev, but that brother o' your'n 's a case." Welcome swung his stick over his shoulder and stepped forward to shake hands with Susie. "Welcome Perkins," she cried, "you go right into the house and stop this foolishness!" "Oh, let him go, Susie," said Matt. "Right now, when the McReady family have a big fight on their hands, Welcome makes up his mind he wants to leave. I didn't think it of him, but, if he's bound to go, tell him good-by and let him start." "What's that I'm hearin'?" queried Welcome, pricking up his ears. "The McReadys got a fight on?" "Never you mind about that, Welcome," returned Matt cheerfully. "Just hike right along. What do you care for the McReadys, anyhow? After the way you've been treated here, I should think you'd be glad to cut the whole family and dig out. Good-by!" "You dry up!" glared Welcome. "I'm talkin' to Susie. What's this about a fight, gal?" At that moment Chub came dashing up to the front gate on Penny's motor-cycle. "All ready, Matt!" he sang out. Welcome whirled around. When his eyes alighted on that motor-cycle of Penny's, unpleasant memories were revived, and he turned his back and stumped around toward the rear of the house. "Welcome is making a good bluff of it this time, Susie," chuckled Matt, getting up and starting to get his wheel, "but he'll calm down when you tell him the business Chub and I have in hand." "You and Chub be careful, Matt," implored the girl. "Hawley is capable of doing almost anything, and he has a grudge against you both." "And me," interpolated Clip. "But I'll watch him. And Perry, too." Susie stood on the porch, watching anxiously while Matt trundled the Comet down the walk and out of the gate. Welcome, anxious to know what was going on, but in his present temper not caring to make any inquiries of Chub or Matt, stood peering around a corner of the house. "Don't fret, sis," called Chub encouragingly. "Motor Matt is helping the McReadys, this trip, and you can bet we're goin' to win out. We'll cinch that 'strike' of dad's, and Hawley'll be so badly beaten he'll never know what struck him. So- long!" Matt waved his hand, and the sharp explosions of the two motor-cycles merged into a steady hum as the boys vanished up the road. Chub had no suspicion as to what sort of a hard fight lay ahead of them, or he might not have been so sanguine of success. CHAPTER V. A DISAGREEABLE SURPRISE. Penny's motor-cycle was a one-cylinder machine, and not a very late model. It weighed as much as the Comet, which had two cylinders and twice as much horse-power. Matt's machine, however, was the very last word in motor-cycle construction. In a pinch, it could streak along at sixty-five miles an hour, or, on the low gear, would do five just as readily. It was somewhere between these two extremes that Matt had to travel in order to let Chub keep alongside, but at no time were they doing less than a mile every two minutes. A highway known as the Black Cañon road led to the Bluebell Mine, and by taking a cross-thoroughfare shortly after leaving the house the boys whirled into their direct course. It was about eleven o'clock when they started, and they were planning to make their first halt with Delray at the Bluebell. "You could double the pace, Matt, if it wasn't for me," said Chub, leaning over the handle-bars and opening his machine up for all it would stand. "This thing-a-ma-jig of Penny's ain't in the same class with yours." "Oh, well, it's not so bad for a back number," answered Matt. "We're doing our thirty miles an hour just now, and I guess that's plenty. We'll make the Bluebell easily by noon," he added, cocking his eye at the sun. "I hope nothing has gone wrong with dad since he wrote that letter," went on Chub, after a brief silence. "He's able to take care of himself, so far as Bill Jacks is concerned, but if Hawley sends any roughs out there, something is sure goin' to happen." "I don't believe in crossing any bridges before you get to them, Chub. We'll just push hard for the place where your father made his strike, and hope for the best." It was half an hour after they left Phœnix when they crossed a new plank bridge over the Arizona canal, fifteen miles out. [Pg 8] "They weren't long getting another bridge over the canal," observed Chub, as the machines left the planks and started up a gentle slope beyond. "That was one bridge, Matt, you came pretty near not crossing, even when you got to it." Chub referred to the time Motor Matt was racing for Phœnix to take his place in the bicycle contest. A hireling of Hawley's had blown up the bridge in front of the Comet, and Matt had been obliged to cross the chasm on a narrow stringer. From the canal it was only five miles to the Bluebell Mine, and the distance was rapidly covered. As the boys drew close to the derrick, the ore-dump, and the little house where the watchman usually kept himself, they slowed down their machines and looked around expectantly. There was no sign of life about the place. "Probably Del's in the shack, gettin' his dinner," hazarded Chub. "I guess we could take time to eat a little something ourselves before we go on to the 'strike,' eh, Matt?" "Del's not getting dinner, Chub," answered Matt, coming to a halt and slipping out of his saddle. "There's no smoke coming out of the chimney, and that means there's no fire in the stove. I'll bet a picayune against a last year's bird's nest that Delray isn't here." "Hang it all!" returned Chub, leaning his machine against the wall of the house, "he's the watchman, an' he's got to be here. We'll investigate." They went into the house. The door had not been locked, but there was no sign of the watchman in the cabin's single room. "He can't be far away," averred Chub, "or he wouldn't have left the door like that." "Whether Delray's here or not, Chub, that doesn't cut much of a figure with our work," said Matt. "We know where we want to go and how to get there." "Sure, but I'd like to see Del and ask him if dad has tried to shoot anything into Phœnix by wireless. We can lose a little time here, I guess, without spoilin' the big end of our game." An exclamation from Matt drew Chub's instant attention. "Great Scott, Chub, look there!" Matt was pointing toward the table which supported the Bluebell end of the wireless apparatus. Sending and receiving- instruments had been completely wrecked, and parts of them were scattered over the floor. "Well, what d'you think of that!" muttered Chub. "Hawley was bound dad wouldn't get any message through to me by way of the Hertzian waves. Wonder if Dace Perry did this, too?" "Not much, Chub. These instruments, like those at your house, must have been broken some time to-day—you see, Del hasn't even had time to pick up the scrap. If Perry smashed the apparatus at the Phœnix end of the line, he'd have to be chain-lightning to get here and wreck these instruments, too. No, it wasn't Perry." "Think it was Jacks?" "One guess is as good as another. I'd like to hear what Del has to say about this. Maybe he's down in the mine?" "We'll take a look," said Chub, starting for the door. The ore-dump and derrick were only a little way from the house, and the boys were soon climbing the dump to the platform at the mouth of the shaft. Kneeling down at the opening in the platform, they leaned over and shouted Delray's name into the pitchy darkness below. No answer was returned. "He couldn't hear us if he was in some of the levels or crosscuts," remarked Chub. "Del was hired to keep a sharp watch on this mine while it's lying idle, an' I don't think he'd go 'way. He must be down there. I'll go back to the house for a candle, and we'll take a hunt through the workings." Chub was but a minute in getting back with a couple of candles. These were lighted, and the boys started down the rickety ladders, Matt leading the way. The shaft was a hundred feet deep, and there were two levels opening off it—one half-way down, and the other at the bottom. Matt and Chub got off the ladders at the first level, walked to the end of the passage, and there, by means of a winze connecting the two levels, descended to the bottom of the mine and made their way back to the shaft again. Thus they made the complete circuit of the workings—and without finding any trace of Delray. They climbed disappointedly up the shaft, after having been in the mine for about half an hour. "This is tough luck, Matt," muttered Chub. "I wonder if there has been any foul play here? When Hawley is out for a big winning, it isn't much that he'll stop at." "He wouldn't have the nerve to go too far with Delray," answered Chub. "Hawley is unscrupulous, all right, but he's not going to get the law down on him if he can help it." "He might have had some of his roughs run Delray off while those wireless instruments were bein' smashed." "No, I don't think he'd do even that. It looks to me as though some villain had stolen into the house and wrecked the instruments while Del was out—just as the job was done at your place in Phœnix." [Pg 9] "The farther we go in this thing the more mysterious it gets." "And the more we see that Hawley is leaving no stone unturned to beat your father out of that mining-claim. We'd better make a quick run to the 'strike,' Chub, and see what shape matters are in there. From the looks of things this far, the prospect worries me." "I'm some worried myself," admitted Chub, "and I'm gloomed up a heap because we can't find Delray. I know where that pack-trail is, though, and we'll hit it good and hard." While they were talking they were stumbling down the ore-dump and making their way to the...